The Christ Corporation Series
writing
The Storyteller: The Heart of Darkness–First Chapter Preview
There’s still some road left to walk in getting The Storyteller: The Heart of Darkness into your hands, but in the meantime I thought I would offer a glimpse into the project. It’s a story I’ve been developing/writing for more than seven years and I have a mountain of notes to prove it. All told, it will be five books in length, with the adventure and mystery deepening and darkening as you journey forward with our protagonist, Oliver Miles. It isn’t simply a story, though. It’s not just a collection of words on a page, guiding you forward. As The Storyteller himself will tell you, this story is alive. And it’s been waiting for you.
Here’s the briefest of brief rundowns of what awaits you:
Sixteen-year-old Oliver Miles is not just a fan of The Damon Grell Chronicles, he is also about to become the last hero of the world in which the series of books takes place. Drawn into Elysium, Oliver must navigate through a world both familiar and unfamiliar—where magic is hidden in books, where life is born one word at a time, where the secret of his birth and the path to his future rest in a powerful darkness that threatens the world, and where he must find the answer to the one question that might save them all: Who is the Storyteller?
The Storyteller is watching you...
This links to a Word document, so if you don’t have that, it won’t download.
Click here to read the first chapter.
The Not Way to the Bye Way
Here’s a little note to all the writers out there who are attempting to get their books–self-published or otherwise–into independent bookstores: While social media may indeed be a useful tool in which to market/promote yourself/your work, it’s also a trap that prohibits you from making real, honest, contact with the booksellers who will sell your work. Don’t allow yourself to believe that it has usurped the more professional form of contact that bookstores for years have relied upon. Phones still ring in the store, and if they don’t, well, then you don’t need to worry about that store. The mail, despite rising costs, is still delivered, and stores also receive a type of mail known as “electronic mail”. You might even want to utilize the non-social media aspects of the internet, and find that store’s web page. Even Google would suggest that route, and if it’s good enough for Google, it’s good enough for you.
Now, this all may sound straightforward and obvious, but the volume of writers who abstain from protocol in favor of the easier, less research heavy–and let’s face it–lazier route is staggering. It’s as if the advent of social media has awakened schools of sleeping bats in caves that have been isolated from the whole of history and time. They just fly out, screaming their little bat heads off, and drop their query poop all over you. Case in point:
Don't Let This Happen to You
Usually, snark is to be expected from booksellers who find themselves annoyed by this type of query. Close the bookstore, and the snark level will rise like the tide before a hurricane. Combine the above with a “note” that looks as though it were written by a texting high-school student and you may as well curl up in a ball and wait out the assault. The one thing you can expect is that any bookstore you contact through Facebook in this manner can be crossed off your list. You will never be taken seriously. You will never get your book in that store. Much like agents and editors, a bookseller is swamped by requests on a daily basis. The crap will be sifted and tossed aside without a second glance. Take your queries to booksellers every bit as serious as you do to agents and editors.
The Bookstore #8, Publish What?
The latest in the ongoing series of The Bookstore is one that booksellers everywhere will relate to. With the advent and ease of print-on-demand publishing, bookstores are hit repeatedly by that customer who want to have their book displayed in the store. These customers are not only persistent, they refuse to understand why booksellers don’t want to stock their title(s). Usually it has quite a lot more to do with the lack of editing and skill in the work than it does that the majority of these titles are deemed un-returnable, should they not sell in-store. So, they’re stuck with a crap book with a crap cover that no one will buy for a dollar. But worse than that customer is the one who has come to believe that booksellers–because they are so entrenched in the industry–have lead-ins to publishers that may be exploited at a moment’s desire. And that’s where we find Eddie today. Face to face with a customer who believes himself to be a writer, and is determined to make use of Eddie’s contacts and/or complete and utter understanding of what publishers want.
Tweeting the Quack
This is actually a post from the Southern Authors Blog, A Good Blog is Hard to Find, but I would be doing it a great disservice if I didn’t post it everywhere, so, here it is. May your day be filled with the glory of my brilliance.
And stuff.
——-
This is a duck. His name is Ducky Thomas. He is a duck named Thomas.
He’s stuffed full of cute, loves adventures, and is quite convinced that the world is the most fantastic thing a duck could ever hope for. He also loves the cat who loves him most.
This is a video about a bookstore. It has nothing to do with ducks–not yet anyway I guess I must admit–but does indeed have a lot to do with the point.
They both have something in common. They have nothing directly to do with the books I write, but have everything to do with me as a writer. They are independent of what is published, but a vital cog in the publicity of who I am. And they aren’t the end or the beginning. They are the journey.
There. I’ve waxed poetic. Now I can get on with the point.
We all know about Twitter. If you have the time and patience, you can gather a following, make a name for yourself, your opinions, and your work. The same can be said for Facebook, albeit in a more centralized, and long-term kind of way. You’re going to make your friends, have your followers, talk about anything from The Simpsons and their obvious lack of relevance to Obama and his quest for health care. You’ll be “liked”, have the “@” symbol thrown your way, tagged, or even re-posted/re-tweeted. People will laugh with you, at you, talk about why your opinion is pointless and not at all as potent as what they have to say, and send messages to one another about whatever it is you posted last. Above all, they will know you as a writer, and understand you as a person in ways readers never could before, and they will look forward to what you have to post next.
But they are merely one step toward lifting you, as a writer, into the conversations of the world.
We live in a digital age. One in which communication is almost entirely of the written word. We view Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Foursquare, Plancast, Tumbler, and so on as pure facets of publicity, meant to broaden our audience and stamp a nice, fancy, little brand upon our heads. All of which is most certainly true. But it’s not the mere existence of our digital selves on these sites that makes full embrace of what they offer us. It’s what we write. It’s how we use them. It’s taking the blank slate and filling it with content that both evolves who we are as writers, and demonstrates fully what we can do with the words we are blessed with. True, starting a blog and writing about anything–anything at all–is exactly the right approach. But it isn’t the endpoint.
When I first started blogging, I didn’t intend on writing about the adventures of a stuffed duck, and I had no plans to begin at first a blog, and then a series of videos about life in a bookstore. But the more I worked through my personal blog, the more I came to see each entry as a script of my life–pages of the mind fluttering from the inner sanctum of thought to the public forum offered to me. Each entry was another showcase of what I could offer. In a very real sense, each time I posted a blog, I was adding to my resume. Obviously, it is every writer’s great hope that each book that is published will further enhance the aura and legacy of who they are (read in: you will become instantly uber-famous, and own two castles in a decade). But it doesn’t have to end there any more. In fact, the sheer number of books that are being published by extension of the popularity of a blog speak volumes to the time in which we live. Used to be that you had to find a press to print your article, or a series of collected works in which to be included in order to broaden the scope of your work. Now you have the internet, and whatever time you offer it. Work it all in unison and not only do people start to pay attention–no matter how small your collective–but they start to anticipate what’s to come. Then that audience can grow as people share what you have to offer–which is far less work than what you will put into creating it, given that the sharing aspect of it is usually accommodated by the gratifying click of a button.
It’s so very cliche, but the truth is, you never know who is watching, who is reading, who will share what you have to say, who is paying attention to as you scream from every corner of the internet you can crawl from, “HEY! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!” So, go. Do. Find your inner duck. And make every word count. Your future readers will take note.
Ducky Thomas Goes to Richmond
This is Ducky Thomas:
This is Ducky Thomas. He is a duck named Thomas.
Recently, Ducky Thomas had an adventure. He went to Richmond, Virginia on a trip. It wasn’t the grandest of trips, but it was exciting all the same. He went on this journey with me, as I took to the town as a speaker at the James River Writers Conference. Unfortunately, however, he did not attend the conference, as it cost quite a bit of money to pay the way for an attendee, and, well, ducks are just not allowed in the library. So, while I was away, he manned—er, ducked–the hotel room where he…well, I suppose I should let his words speak for themself:
“I’ve never gone on a trip before. For that matter, I’ve never gone anywhere before. Before this weekend, I had only been out of the bedroom, where I stay, just once to sit on Zach’s desk. He said he wanted to take my picture, which was okay with me, but ducks aren’t much on make-up, and don’t often pose for pictures, so I was a bit nervous about it all. And that was just for a picture! Imagine how I felt when he asked me if I wanted to go to Richmond! ‘Golly!’ I had exclaimed. ‘I don’t even know what a Richmond is, but I sure do want to see it!’ So, sure enough, he told me I could go, and went to something called, ‘Target’–which I believe is not far away, but must be a magical place, seeing as how he returned quickly with a wonderful black traveling house with wheels for me to ride in. Who knew there were such things in the world! It had plenty of room for me to rest comfortably, and I was able to keep all of Zach’s belongings safe during the trip–though I do have to admit that the darkness made me sleepy, and aside from some bumpy moments, I slept quite a lot. Fortunately, no one tried to open the house, and before I knew it, Zach was opening the door and I opened my sleepy eyes to see something amazing! It was a brand new place, much bigger than the bedroom I’m usually in! And, it had a really big window that let me see one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen! Ever ever!
This is what a Richmond looks like!
There were lots of what Zach called, 'outtomobeels.' That's the rolling things over there!
Whoa. Richmond.
Well, boy, was I excited! I just sat in that window ALL day long! And when it got dark, everything got all sprinkled in little lights everywhere. It sure was incredible! Zach was gone most of the time, where he said he was spending time with the Righter people, who like to talk about the Righter things. Apparently, Zach knows something of this Righting, because he was very excited about all that he had done while he was there. He was almost as excited as I was about seeing the Richmond all day! Well, anyway, he told me that he sat on a panel about religion, which does sound kind of unpleasant, and maybe a little painful, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all, so I guess it’s not that bad. I listened as he talked about his adventures that day, and then the next day too. He spent an awful lot of time with the Righters, where they talked about the Right way to do things, I suppose. It’s good that people try to be Right, I’ve been told, so it’s even better that they have conferences to discuss it. Zach said that the people there liked him so much that they bought all of the books that were for sale! Yay for Zach! He said that there were more panels that he sat on (I still don’t know why he sat on them, but, I’m just a duck, and will not understand, I guess). There was one on Fan Tah See, which is, according to Zach, about make-believe stuff that is in stories, and sometimes has dragons, magic, and shallow vampire characters that only little girls like. And then there was the one on Die A Log, which is a funny name to me. I mean, from what I could tell from my perch over the Richmond, it seems to me that logs–which I know from a television show that I watched with Zach, come from trees–are very pretty, and very helpful to things. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill one. But Zach made it sound kind of delightful, and said that the Righter people asked a lot of really neat questions about Die A Log that he, and two other Righters by the names of David L. Robbins, and Lauren Oliver, answered. I don’t know them, but they sound neat!
Well, he just seemed to really enjoy his time, which was wonderful to hear, because I was beginning to worry that I might be having too much fun looking at the Richmond–more fun than Zach–and that made me feel bad. I didn’t want Zach to miss out on the fun, either. He did sit with me for a while watching the sun rise one morning, which was really neat! I had never seen that before either! I was glad he got to see it too, though he had to leave before I could tell him that. But I think he already knew. So, I guess that was pretty much it, after that. Zach said he met lots of new people, and that there was something funny about something he said the Righters called a, ‘humanzee.’ I don’t know what that is, but as I’ve said, I’m a duck, and I don’t really know too much about things. Zach told me, as he was putting me back in the black, boxy house, with wheels that he hoped that he could keep in contact with his new friends, and that some of them were really nice, and pretty good Righters that needed to simply believe in themselves a bit more. I liked the way that sounded, and so I just smiled at Zach, closed my eyes, and fell asleep. The next thing I knew, we were home again.
I don’t have to stay in the bedroom anymore. Now I get to spend time on Zach’s desk while he does his Righting. It makes me happy. But not as happy as knowing that Zach has promised to take me to other new places too! I can’t wait!
-
It's a big world for such a small duck.
And Now Here’s Something We Hope You Really Like!
I was a huge fan of Rocky & Bullwinkle. I still am, even if I’ve forgotten just about every episode, or clip, I’ve ever seen. But what I do remember, and what I will always remember, is the opening sequence, and the theme music that goes with it.
A flying squirrel? Are you kidding me? How awesome is that? Only slightly less awesome than a clumsy, but witty, moose, that much I’m certain of!
Hey, as a side note, I had a flying squirrel once. His name was Quirkus.
He was awesome. And he liked grapes. And pockets. And urinating on my shoulder.
But anyway, Rocky the Flying Squirrel got me to thinking about openings. And squirrels. And it occurred to me that, just perhaps, there’s a lesson in there for aspiring writers. As always, there’s a story, albeit a short one.
The fact of the matter is that a story–any story–requires a handle for the reader/viewer to grab hold of. Something to ensure that they grip that opening, and hang on until you reveal what all meant. What that opening sequence had to do with anything. And don’t fool yourself, it has everything to do with your story, and its ultimate end point. Watch any movie, and in the first ten minutes, if it doesn’t give you something to grab onto, you’re done. You don’t want to invest yourself in it, but in all likelihood, you spent the money to watch it, so, well, you endure it, and offer it a tepid, “Meh,” when the end credits roll.
In a book, you have the first few pages to hook the reader, if not less than that. For the prospective agent, or editor, you have as little as the first paragraph. You want to tell a story to begin your story. You want to give the reader the feeling that they just unwittingly jumped into a car on the most exhilarating/frightening/horrifying roller coaster they will ever know.
I journey to Richmond, almost every year, in October to attend the James River Writers Conference, where I have yet to fail to leave wiser than I arrived. They have, for the past few years, opened the conference with something they call, “First Pages,” which is nothing more than a critique that is as much Sumo wrestling, as it is Pie in the Face. As a writer, you anonymously submit the first page of your manuscript, or story, and two extremely talented readers perform your work before the 150 attendees, and a panel that usually consists of an editor, an agent, an established writer, and a roll of the dice. I boldly submitted the first page of Anointed at one of these sessions, leaned back in my chair, and awaited the praise that was sure to come.
M-hm.
I was butchered, and justifiably so. My opening was droll, rambling, and nothing happened. It was a horrible opening. It was a serviceable third chapter, but it did nothing to offer hope that it would be anything but what it appeared. Who really wants to endure 336 pages of rambling? Of course, the book isn’t 336 pages of rambling, but that opening that I offered left the impression that everything to follow was precisely that. So, that weekend, motivated by the crudely horrible things that they panel said of my opening (not the work itself, but the opening), I wrote a scene in which Satan, and the Anti-Christ walked into a bar. There was dialogue, there was some idle rambling (as it is a great tool of humor I employ), but there was also action, as the characters worked through the scene, and there was intrigue. There were characters that immediately offered questions, and a story within the story; a story that played out through the entire work, and resolved itself in the end.
It was like stepping into the car of the roller coaster, and anticipating what was to come, rather than the feeling that the ride was over before it ever really began. Give your reader a moment to look forward to the ride, give them a glimpse of the rails, the precipitous climb to that first drop, and perhaps even a few twists, and turns, beyond. But don’t drop them in the car along the way, somewhere on a flat plain, where the only thing they can possibly feel is apathy for the ride.
A Haunting in God’s Office
A few days ago, I announced that Flutter: An Epic of Mass Distraction, had been given the release date of October 1, 2010. I also promised some material from that forthcoming work. So, today we’ll take a peek into one of the more bizarre, and unfocused, locations in the whole of the scope of Heaven: God’s Office. Yes, even God has an office. And he has a picture of you in it. Well, you, and another few billion people. Also, his office is haunted, though the spirit in question isn’t much of a menace. A whiny, moody, ghost, true, but not menacing. This scene also included the arch-angel of dreams, Morpheus, who has a lot to live up to, given that his identity was, in effect, swiped and utilized in the Matrix. So, anyway, here you go, with no further set up. Enjoy and feel free to comment!
God’s office was infinite.
This was as much a product of His love for a spacious workspace, something tolerable to His love for plastic plants, and pictures of loved ones—and there were billions of those—as it was a universal necessity. To say that a limited, defined, space would produce an undesirable amount of clutter on His desk would be a gross understatement. It would, in fact, produce nothing short of Armageddon.
The prospect of the utter obliteration of humanity aside, God also had a fascination with aesthetics. Further, He had a fascination with structure. And though He was still working to understand the finer nuances of Feng Shui, and how to best apply such principles to an infinite space, He was quite fond of His space, and had plopped in a few million bookcases, end tables, chairs, and trinkets for good measure.
It was good, as He might say.
With the exception of Morpheus, the only angel to have earned visitation rights, no spirit—human or angel—had ever stepped foot in God’s Office. The only company He kept, and the only soul that had ever occupied this luxurious space at the same time on a regular basis, was a fraction of His being—a splinter of Self created purely as a means to combat His galactic boredom—known as the Holy Ghost. This was as much a product of His affinity for the Holy Ghost, as it was that it simply could not go anywhere else. Ever. In a way, the Holy Ghost was God’s personal pet, imprisoned in an infinite office, bound to amuse its creator, and as complicated a being as a jello mold encased in a blanket, providing the jello was bitter and reeked of teenage angst.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
The Holy Ghost, contemplated God. “Woooo?” it asked.
God looked at Himself, and balled tiny fists. WHY SHOULDN’T I BE? MORPHEUS THINKS THIS BEST, AND I RATHER AGREE WITH HIM.
Though it lacked a defined shape, and form, to any degree, it did sparkle quite a lot, if only dully. And though any action in which it partook was typically not entirely visible to any eyes short of God’s unless it wore the Holy Sheet, the Holy Ghost shrugged. It liked to shrug. Being in God’s presence had cemented the need for a quality shrug. “Woo, wooo, wooo,” it replied.
PLEASE STOP THAT, said God. IT’S NOT VERY BECOMING. FRANKLY IT’S ENTIRLY UNECESSARY, AND MORPHEUS HAS NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE SAYING.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Morpheus smiled dimly at the Holy Ghost. “I’ve no desire to be a bother. But, for the record, I think You look absolutely adorable. Though I do admit to simply being happy just to be able to see you, for a change.”
God stretched his tiny arms outward, eyebrows raised to the translucent specter in His seat. “SEE? ADORABLE.”
The Holy Ghost sighed somewhere from the depths of the fourth level of Heaven, and slumped further into the seat. “Fine. Whatever. I just don’t get why you can’t be the old man with the beard, and all, you know? It’s like you’re more You that way, and stuff,” it moaned.
I’VE BEEN THE OLD MAN WITH THE BEARD BEFORE. HUMANS DISREGARD ANYTHING THAT PLAYS TO A STEREOTYPE. THEY HAD ME COMMITTED. RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD SABBATICAL. I’VE NEVER FELT SO SHORT-CHANGED.
“That’s what she said.”
WHAT?
“I believe,” Morpheus interjected, “that our transparent friend was curious as to how long you stayed, during that unfortunate time?”
The Holy Ghost shrugged. “Whatever.”
WELL, I LEFT IMMEDIATELY, OF COURSE. WHY DO YOU ASK?
“Well, it’s, like, you forget who you are, and all, when you’re there too long, you know?”
God snorted, allowing a simple laugh. I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT FORGET WHO I WAS. I SIMPLY NEGLECTED TO REMEMBER EVERY FACET OF MY BEING. A CAVERNOUS DIFFERENCE OF INEVTIBLE RESULTS THERE. SUCH THINGS CAN HAPPEN WHEN YOU DABBLE IN HUMANITY. FILL AN EMPTY GLASS WITH WATER, AND SEE HOW LONG IT TAKES TO FORGET THAT IT WAS ONCE EMPTY. HUMANITY IS NO DIFFERENT. THE TRICK IS NOT TO STAY TOO LONG. OR TO FILL THE GLASS TOO MUCH. I’VE TRIED TO GET HUMANS TO UNDERSTAND THIS, BUT IT SEEMS THEY ARE FAR TOO BUSY DEBATING THE ORIGINS OF THE EGG TO SEE THAT THE CHICKEN WAS NEVER INTENDED TO BE SEPARATE FROM IT AT ALL. EITHER WAY, I’LL BE FINE. He nodded to Morpheus. I’LL BE FINE, he repeated.
“You’re so blind! You deserved to be accused of insanity! Jeez!” The Holy Ghost triumphantly crossed its arms, and, if possible, slumped further into the chair.
I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE ACCUSED OF INSANITY. IT WAS SIMPLY THE RESULT OF A POOR CHOICE IN WARDROBE, AND A LACK OF SELF-AWARENESS. THIS TIME WILL BE DIFFERENT. YOU WILL SEE. THEY WILL NOT DENY A CHILD HIS VOICE.
The Holy Ghost rolled its eyes, and, being short on further, more visible, dramatics, offered a huffed, “Whatever.”
God considered the Holy Ghost, and placed His small hands on His small hips. DON’T SAY, ‘WHATEVER,’ TO ME. I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. THIS IS A VERY DELICATE SITUATION, AND IT REQUIRES A DELICATE VOICE. IT WILL ALL WORK OUT FINE, YOU’LL SEE. ONCE I’VE MET WITH IZZY, AND LOCATED OUR WAYWARD SOUL, I CAN RETURN AND DEAL WITH THE OTHER PROBLEMS AT HAND FROM HERE. IT’S SHORT WORK. MORPHEUS, YOU WILL CARE FOR THINGS WHILE I’M AWAY. Morpheus offered a dramatic bow. I WILL BE SET UP SOON ENOUGH TO MONITOR MATTERS FROM EARTH.
“That should be awesome for us all, I’m sure,” muttered the Holy Ghost.
THINGS WILL BE FINE, AND I’LL RETURN AS PLANNED. YOU’LL SEE. DON’T WORRY. I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING.
“Of course you do,” replied Morpheus, remaining prostrate. “You are God. God knows all.”
In response, God simply nodded. He was not often prone to doubt, at least none that the universe at large could be made aware of, but He had to admit that this situation was a difficult one, and had already proven itself to be tricky to set in motion precisely the way He desired. INDEED I DO. NOW, He said to the Holy Ghost, YOU WILL REMEMBER TO DO YOUR JOB AS INSTRUCTED? IT IS VITAL THAT YOU DO.
The Holy Ghost shrugged. “Whatever.”
God raised His eyebrows.
“Yeah,” shot the Holy Ghost, “I said, ‘whatever,’ didn’t I? We’ve only been over it a bajillion times.”
After a moment, God nodded, raised a small hand, and waived a farewell to the Holy Ghost, and to the nearly doubled-over form of Morpheus, feeling slightly at odds with the feeling of physicality. It had been close to a hundred years since He had last taken a trip to earth. Even for God, that was a lengthy bit of rope. BE WELL, THE BOTH OF YOU. I SHALL RETURN WHEN TIME IS IN MY FAVOR.
In a physical sense, God turned to a nearby wall, stepped into an open tubular portal, and shot out of sight in a whoosh of air. In the infinite expanse of the quite unphysical realm of God’s Office, however, He simply vanished in a trickle of rippled light.
The Holy Ghost looked at the now empty space where God had stood, shrugged, and began a search through God’s desk for a crossword puzzle to keep it occupied.
“This is all very exciting. He left you a job, did He?”
“Yeah,” said the Holy Ghost. “Some letter I have to give to some angel when he gets here, or whatever.”
“Truly? How wonderful. A message of grand importance I gather?”
“Not really. Just a stupid message that doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense at all. Typical. You wanna see it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t presume to corrupt the job left to you, but, maybe for the sheer fun of exploration, let’s give it a look, yes?” The Holy Ghost pulled a folded letter out of a top drawer, and slid it across the desk. “Well,” said Morpheus, reading the short note. “Now the fun truly begins, doesn’t it?”
“Whatever.”
The Electronic Age Doesn’t Care if You Have Pages
The other day, I wrote a blog on the Mercury Retrograde Press site about the advent of technology, and what it means to the book buying world. In a blatant display of laziness, and continued promotion of ME, I offer it here as well (though I highly recommend a trip to the MRP site!!!).
Here it be:
So, I’m a reader, just like you, and I’ve spent the better part of my life collecting books, selling them to used book stores when I have too many, and then investing the better part of the next few years desperately trying to buy them back. I like being able to peruse my shelves, touch the spines, journey through the tactile memories of when I first read them. I enjoy the feel of the page against my fingers, love the process of turning my way through another world (gently…do not bend!), and will never tire of falling asleep with the solid weight of a tome against my chest.
I cannot fathom a life without books.
But the Electronic Age can. It can imagine a world in which paper is rendered irrelevant, and bookshelves are replete in unwatered plants, and pictures of loved ones, with nary a book to set them apart. It can imagine a world in which an epic is downloaded, where heroes battle nemeses not across a page, but through the pixelated kaleidoscope of a computer screen. It wants your books, and no amount of kicking and screaming will turn it away.
And you are kicking and screaming, aren’t you?
Just ask any book aficionado, and you will receive a diatribe against the Machine, unlike any this side of John Connor’s rebellion. “No way,” they will say, just shy of screaming. “The book will always exist. People like to hold a book, to bend a book, to flip pages, and remove dust jackets! This whole e-publishing thing is a fad, meant to placate the lazy, techno-geeks amongst us. Just a fad, that’s all.”
Mhm.
To a degree, though, they are right; and to a greater degree they are drowning in a shallow pool of denial. Motoko Rich of The New York Times recently wrote a splendid article about the rise of the e-book, in which he spends a very short amount of time extolling a very large amount of readable information, all of which is meant to help us understand the financial ramifications of the e-book vs. the traditional paper-bound. It’s a fantastic read, and is quite the enlightening journey through the numbers involved. And, in the end, it’s difficult to argue to point he makes. The current economic downturn has everyone thinking cheap, lean, and efficient. The publishing industry has been hammered over the past two years, and is reeling in one direction, or another, hungry for any means by which to gain a better foothold on the future. The truth is–whether we like it or not–e-books are a more cost-effective process.
Here is the crux of his cost-based argument for e-books:
On a typical hardcover, the publisher sets a suggested retail price. Let’s say it is $26. The bookseller will generally pay the publisher $13. Out of that gross revenue, the publisher pays about $3.25 to print, store and ship the book, including unsold copies returned to the publisher by booksellers.
For cover design, typesetting and copy-editing, the publisher pays about 80 cents. Marketing costs average around $1 but may go higher or lower depending on the title. Most of these costs will deline on a per-unit basis as a book sells more copies.
Let’s not forget the author, who is generally paid a 15 percent royalty on the hardcover price, which on a $26 book works out to $3.90. For big best-selling authors — and even occasionally first-time writers whose publishers have taken a risk — the author’s advance may be so large that the author effectively gets a higher slice of the gross revenue. Publishers generally assume they will write off a portion of many authors’ advances because they are not earned back in sales.
Without accounting for such write-offs, the publisher is left with $4.05, out of which it must pay overhead for editors, cover art designers, office space and electricity before taking a profit.
Now let’s look at an e-book. Under the agreements with Apple, the publishers will set the consumer price and the retailer will act as an agent, earning a 30 percent commission on each sale. So on a $12.99 e-book, the publisher takes in $9.09. Out of that gross revenue, the publisher pays about 50 cents to convert the text to a digital file, typeset it in digital form and copy-edit it. Marketing is about 78 cents.
The author’s royalty — a subject of fierce debate between literary agents and publishing executives — is calculated among some of the large trade publishers as 25 percent of the gross revenue, while others are calculating it off the consumer price. So on a $12.99 e-book, the royalty could be anywhere from $2.27 to $3.25.
All that leaves the publisher with something ranging from $4.56 to $5.54, before paying overhead costs or writing off unearned advances.
But that’s not the only reason that we, as the book buying populace, need to come to understand, and even to a degree, appreciate the reality of electronic publishing. Just look around you. We live on the computer. We’re on Facebook, or Twitter, playing computer games, writing, or reading documents for work, getting our news, watching videos on You Tube, or catching up on shows on Hulu. We have the I-phone, blackberry, the I-Pad (that still hurts to say), and various other mobile devices that have essentially become mini-mobile-pc’s that dominate our days. How many times have you gotten stuck playing that ridiculously awesome paper ball in the waste basket game? Generations of children are being raised on this as a normal facet of society, and no amount of reminiscing about rotary phones will change what the future holds. Computers–the Electronic Age–is here, and it stands to reason that books will follow. Actually, books must follow. If we want people to read, then we have to give in to the conveniences they so desperately seek, and allow that books won’t exist if publishers aren’t around to print them.
Me? I still want to sprawl out on a lawn chair at the beach with a paperback. I still want to stick my nose in a book, and smell the scent of paper. And I still want my dream library, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, replete with as many cobwebs as they can build. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go flop on the bed, with my copy of The Magicians, and read until I fall asleep.
Fluttering Your Way This October
I killed a man.
Well, actually I killed several people, but to keep to the point, I killed a man by the name of Timothy Webb. I thought this would be enough to keep him forever out of MY life, but, alas, I was mistaken. Apparently, God took quite a fancy to him, and his actions as Christ, and CEO, at The Christ Corporation, and decided to make him an angel. He gave Timothy his metaphorical wings, granted him the gift of a Key that supposedly held the power of Jesus, patted him on the back, and sent him on his way.
His first act was to show up on the doorstep of MY imagination, and demand that I do something about it. I just kind of stared at him, in terrible disbelief, and shrugged. This did nothing to satisfy him, so he invited himself in, began rambling about being ill-equipped to be an angel, and something about Natasha–the maligned angel known as Satan in our world–recovering well from her temporary bout of humanity. So, for the next few hours we sat, until it became apparent to ME that the only way I would get rid of Timothy would be to write another story for him. I proposed the idea, made up a completely fabricated storyline, waived him on, and then proceeded to forge onward with a plot that, in no way resembled the idea I had discussed with Timothy. From this was born, Flutter: An Epic of Mass Distraction.
It now has a release date: October 1, 2010.
What is Flutter? Well, it’s more devil fiction than Anointed, has significantly more explosions, plenty of characters who don’t survive to see the end, and an angelic system of social networking that is eerily familiar to Twitter. But that’s not much of a description. Kind of leaves you wanting, I admit. So, instead, I offer you a brief look at some of what I wrote for my publisher, when I turned over the reigns of my baby:
In my eyes, it carries the same voice, and some of the feel, but none of the story structure of Anointed. I wanted to write something, on the heels of a book that was philosophical, and, at times, rambling, with something a little more adventurous, a little more off the wall, and a lot more explodey (I really like that word all of a sudden)…I have included references, or creatures, as follows: Quantum Leap, Star Trek, Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, Back to the Future, The Matrix, a dragon, a vampire (tee hee…I like him!), a bobsledding monkey, a wizard/piano duel , zombies, and a chocolate hot tub. Ok, the last may not be fantasy in terms of the genre, but you find me anybody who doesn’t like everything listed before it, that isn’t as fond of the hot tub, and I’ll quit writing. Oh, also, there’s a reference to swine flu, and to Google Buzz (which is mistakenly called Fuzz). That, along with Natasha in a bikini, a porch made of cheese (it’s Gouda than you think! Ugh…), a God who thinks he’s a child, a video game of explosive proportions, ugly angels, an escalator in the sky, a prison in Heaven, the rebirth of Jesus, and a very unfortunate moment for the masters of The Christ Corporation…there’s so much activity, and no break to sit in a restaurant to discuss the history of Satan, or in an office to discuss the history of Christ. What I hope I have created is a book that you really just can’t put down, and one that makes you both want to read its predecessor, and anxiously await what is to come.
I like that I can be a complete tard when I write to her. Granted, she published the first book, so it’s not like I’m going to fool her at this point. It’s not quite back copy material (that bit you might read on the back of a book that summarizes the story), but it covers most of what I consider to be cool about Flutter. I’ve been asked what this book is meant to lampoon, given the generalized lampoon of Christianity in Anointed, to which I say it’s predominantly a lampoon of social media, and how easily distracted the world has become by it, and to technology in general. I’d like to think that I can wield this tale like a weapon, and waggle it in the face of all those who have fallen prey to its mighty grip, but, well, I’m one of them. Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Goodreads, email, blogging, texting, computer games, anything and everything that occurs on the cell phone, and so forth–I’m there. Or, at least, mostly there. So are you, most likely. Be warned: The angels know, and they’re about to do something rash. Ish. Rash-ish. More in the vein of rash, but less rash than rash might be. Kind of, severe, in that, “Don’t make me come down there,” kind of way.
So, I’ll keep it at that for now. I hope to offer a few snippets in the coming weeks. The first will likely be a scene that takes place in God’s Office, as He prepares for a trip to Earth, with the ever-present moan of the Holy Ghost guiding the way.
Until then, I need to go lock the door. I’m sure Timothy wants to know what to do now.
I Have a Wrong Way to Go (until I find the right one) 