Would you like to test drive the final drafts of Blood Point, my next Nightmare Vacations horror story? If so, register below to become a Beta Reader.
Beta Readers are one of the last stops on the road from a story idea to a published novel. They’re a final chance to revise a book and the first chance to find out what paying readers will think.
The difference between beta readers and other editors, readers or critics is that they’re not writers. Beta readers need to be ordinary people who read for pleasure and like books similar to Blood Point.
If you like supernatural horror stories with a touch of folklore and fantasy, you might be an ideal beta reader. If you like to give constructive feedback, you’ll be perfect.
Blood Point: what’s the story?
2,200 BC
A pagan priestess brutally executes a girl betrothed to the High King of Ireland. The burial place of Chionn Eitigh, the head of the princess, becomes a legend.
1842 AD
The master of Kinnitty, Thomas Bernard, builds a grand pyramid tomb for his family. His folly disturbs an ancient burial, releasing an unspeakable evil.
2023 AD
Josh Cooper and his daughter Holly visit Kinnitty Castle Hotel following a family tragedy. The pyramid looks like a perfect spot to see the sun set on Midsummer’s Eve. It’s been closed for almost two hundred years. Tonight, it opens for them.
What does a Beta Reader do?
A beta reader’s job is to tell an author whether their book works as a reading experience. They read the book just like anyone else, but every so often the author stops them to ask a few questions.
Some authors like feedback for every chapter, some for the whole book. Most want you to stop you three or four times as the story moves from one act to the next, and that’s what I’ll be doing.
Typical questions include how long it took to get hooked into the story, how you react to the characters, and whether the end is satisfying.
Author Mary Robinette Kowal has just four questions for her beta readers. She calls them her ABCDs:
- what was Awesome?
- what was Boring?
- what was Confusing?
- and what Didn’t you believe?
I’m not looking for essays, so you can say as much or as little as you like. You don’t even have to finish the book — but do tell me why.
Do you want to know about typos and spelling mistakes?
I don’t expect beta readers to be proofreaders too. I’ve done my best to eliminate errors but this isn’t the final version. If you want to point out any mistakes, I will be very grateful.
When will Beta Readers get Blood Point and how long will they have to read it?
If all goes well, Blood Point will be ready to read in mid-June 2024. It isn’t an epic novel so I’m hoping to get feedback within a month.
What if a Beta Reader hates your book?
It might be hard to say it, but I’d still like to know. You might be the only one, but if all my beta readers hate Blood Point for the same reason, something needs to change.
Do you pay Beta Readers?
Unfortunately not. You’ll get a free ebook, you’ll be one of my first readers and your feedback might change the final version.
If you like the published version of Blood Point, you can leave an opinion on Amazon, Goodreads or Bookbub as an advanced reviewer.
I need at least 20 beta readers to get a useful range of feedback, so unfortunately I can’t pay them a useful amount. If you enjoy the book, I will send you a paperback copy when it’s published.
Paid services do exist, but at €80 minimum per reader, it’s a rich man’s game to get a broad range of opinions.
Why don’t writers get friends and family to do this?
It sounds like a great idea, but it’s pretty rare that an author’s friends and family are also into reading the same genres that they write.
People that you already know can also bring the baggage of your personal relationship. They might be too kind or too harsh and there’s no room for either of those things at this stage. Ordinary readers like you can say what they want without any complications.
Do you need Alpha Readers? Are they a thing?
The alpha reader is someone you trust to read your first draft, usually someone who knows about writing. Their job is to give you an idea of how much work you’ll need to turn into something you can publish.
My alpha reader was also my development editor. He gave me impartial feedback and professional suggestions that I was able to compare to my own ideas.
How can I become a Beta Reader for Blood Point?
The newsletter sign up form below also adds you to my list of Beta and ARC (Advanced Reviewer Copy) readers when you tick the appropriate boxes.
My newsletter comes out roughly every month. I’m currently serialising extracts from Blood Point. Catch up with the first part here.
Later this year I’ll be previewing the first book in my science fiction trilogy, In Machina.
One reply on “Wanted: beta readers for Blood Point”
What kind of music makes you feel? Which songs or tunes hit you so hard that you want to laugh or cry or dance for joy, even when you’ve heard them a hundred times?
A song popped up while I was on a train this weekend that prompted me to celebrate Grandaddy, a band whose work often hits me in the feels.
And it was quite beautiful
The first time that I heard Everything Beautiful Is Far Away, I wanted to cry at the sadness of this lonely astronaut, stuck far away on a dead world and hallucinating life just out of reach. The lyrics are matched to an unworldy, sparse tune that arrives in a staccato burst as though it’s a desperate broadcast across the aether from a barren, alien landscape.
But it’s the last verse that really kills me every time:
The song reminds me of the end to Stephen Baxter’s Titan, a fairly bleak novel about a bunch of soon-to-be-jobless astronauts who take NASA’s unwanted hardware on a one-way mission to Saturn’s largest moon after a scientifically illiterate Christian fundamentalist hijacks American politics. Of course, that could never happen. It’s only fiction.
One day, not long after my wife died, YouTube ambushed me with Everything Is Beautiful Is Far Away and the song finally reduced me to tears. I had to put it on a banned list for a while of things I wasn’t ready for, along with the opening to Pixar’s Up.
And the sprinklers that come on at 3 AM
The Group Who Couldn’t Say is the opposite, a song about a successful sales team who win a day out to the countryside and can’t fathom the beauty they find there. As with many of Grandaddy’s lyrics, it captures the hollow heart of modern life where even the machines seem to pity humans enslaved to productivity.
I can never heart the start of this song without pausing whatever I’m up to, just so that I can enjoy the lyrics. One line in particular always makes me want to laugh out loud:
And it’s really this that inspired me to write about two songs that capture, in their four minutes, emotions that I would aspire to evoke in an entire novel.
And to celebrate a band of lo-fi indie heroes that I somehow never managed to see live during my gig-going days. Fingers crossed I might have another chance now they’ve started to tour again.
Music in books: good or bad?
I don’t generally agree with the practice of embedding lyrics and song titles in literature. Copyright issues aside, I find that music is such an intensely personal experience that one person’s perfect tune might well be like nails on a blackboard for another listener.
Or worse still, it triggers no reaction at all.
I can almost guarantee that your favourite song leaves me nonplussed, but please don’t be offended. It doesn’t mean you lack taste. It just means that your tastes and mine are different. Vive le difference, etc.
It’s also why I don’t trust people who say they like all sorts of music (or literature or other art). It’s a noble aspiration to find merit in every art form, but it makes me suspicious that what’s really taking place is a calculated intellectual appreciation without the emotional reaction that art demands.
So I hope that you loved these songs. Or hated them. But if you think they’re just nice, you can get in the sea. I don’t much care for nice.
And while I have your attention, I’m still looking for beta and ARC readers for my new book, Blood Point. You can sign up here.