R.W. Ridley's Blog, page 31

The Book That Can’t Wait – Good idea or marketing ploy that will quickly fade?

I’m not sure how I feel about this idea.  Here’s a quick description I lifted from Yahoo!

Buenos Aires-based bookshop and publisher Eterna Cadencia has released El Libro que No Puede Esperar – which translates as ‘The Book that Cannot Wait’ – an anthology of new  fiction from Latin American authors printed in ink that disappears after two months of opening the book.

The video at the end of this post explains their reasoning for publishing a book with a short shelf life, but the quick pitch is they believe their authors will be more successful if readers change their reading habits and devour a book as soon as they buy it instead of taking their time to read it.

Take it from me, publishing is a tough, tough business.  How tough?  I wrote The Takers in 2004.  Eight years later I’m still getting requests from publishers to read it, rewrite it, and resubmit it.  That’s eight years trying to get one book published by traditional publishers.  If not for my agent, I would have given up years ago.  At this point it’s turned into a weird social experiment.  I’m just curious how much interest and rejection one manuscript can collect in my lifetime… I’m assuming my agent will stop submitting it for consideration once I’m dead.  Hell, maybe he’ll have me killed so he won’t feel obligated to keep shopping it around.

I should insert a note here about my agency.  They haven’t been with me the whole eight years.  They picked me up about four years ago.  I have no complaints.  They’ve been friggin’ champs in this process.  They’ve never earned a dime off of me, but they’ve spent a whole lot of time and money trying to make good on a promise they made to me a long time ago.  “We’re going to do whatever it takes to get you a publishing deal.”  Kudos to them for going the extra mile.

So, that being said, I cheer for new authors when they get published because I know what they went through.  I want them to succeed, but industry numbers reveal that year in and year out, 70% of books published by traditional publisher fail to earn back the advance money paid to the authors, and we’re not talking about huge advances either. Those get all the press, but they are few and far between.  Most advances are in the $5,000 - $10,000 range.

When an author can’t generate sales, he or she rarely gets a second chance.  That’s why I’m intrigued by the Book That Can’t Wait. I like the premise that it may help the authors included in the anthology get a second opportunity to publish and earn money, but at the same time, it prevents people from sharing the book.  Sharing is a huge benefit for authors.  True, it doesn’t help sales numbers in the short run, but it greatly bolsters the sales numbers in the long run.  Word-of-mouth was, is, and always will be the greatest marketing tool for authors. When one of my readers shares one of my books with a friend or family member, another person is added to my word-of-mouth army.

Is the answer here really to bully readers into reading faster?  I know this is primarily a marketing ploy that will fade almost as quickly as the ink they use, but I find it interesting that they’re trying to change the habits of the reading public instead of adopting a strategy that will maybe alter their own paradigm.  For instance: they may want to reconsider putting their resources into publishing anthologies in the first place.  They just don’t do that well, and the authors involved don’t make a lot of money.  And, as a consequence, they don’t get a lot of exposure.  They may also think about a marketing strategy that does less to build brand awareness for the publisher and spend some of those marketing dollars to actually promote the authors.  People don’t buy publishers.  They buy authors.

I applaud them for trying something new, but in the end, I just don’t see this being of much use to either readers or authors.

I’m thinking of changing my name..

Respect the exclamation point!

Nothing drastic.  I’m simply going to add an exclamation point to my last name.  That way when people say my name they’ll sound really excited or at the very least emphatic. It’s so simple yet so brilliant.

Lou’s Diary – Entry 4 (text)

It’s been two days since my last entry… I think.  I haven’t really had the energy to do much and nothing’s changed since the last time I wrote in this notebook.  There’s only so much I can say about being cold and hungry before it starts sounding like I’m whining.  I’m starting to think I won’t die of hunger or freeze to death.  Honestly, I don’t think I can die.  The most I can do is suffer.  Dying would be better.

Gee, that’s a happy thought.

Anyway, I’m writing today because there’s something new to talk about.  I rounded the bend of the trail this morning and was greeted by a long yellow ribbon hanging from a limb of a tree covered in snow and ice.  I must have stared at it for fifteen minutes before I worked up the courage to approach it.  I don’t know what’s so scary about a yellow ribbon hanging from a tree, but for some reason it freaked me out.

I scanned the length of the ribbon up the tree and saw that it was tied around a bundle of… something.  I gave it a yank and the bundle, along with a ton of snow, came crashing down.  I did not need that.  The bundle was a flannel shirt wrapped around a ski cap, work gloves, a plastic baggy full of almonds and a note impaled by a large hunting knife.  The note read as follows;

“How are you still alive?  You’re dumb as they come as far as I can tell.  You got no less than four gores following you at any given time.  I’m spending most my days leading them off your trail.  I ain’t got time for this nonsense.  You’re on your own from here on out.  Do yourself a favor and get off the damn mountain before they stop sniffing around and start biting. – FT”

I wrote, “I can take care of myself!” on the back of the note, wadded it up, tied the ribbon around it and wrapped it back around the tree limb. FT is full of it if he thinks he needs to protect me.   I’m Lou.  I was made to fight monsters and bad guys.  If anything, I probably should be watching out for him…

I was on my sixth almond before I realized I had forgotten something.  I unwrapped the note, straightened it out and wrote “Thanks for the stuff.”  After I put the note back, I headed down the trail wearing the gear FT had left me, and I held on tight to the knife with one unsettling question buzzing around in my brain.

What the hell is a gore?

How to read a tree

Do you see ursa major in the tree?

My alien overlords have asked me to pass along the directions on how to read trees.  I thought it would be fun to introduce you to the practice of tree reading.  Lest you think me nuts, it’s a little skill I created for the characters in my upcoming book, appropriately called Tree Readers, where certain earthlings are able to receive messages in the trees from a superior alien race.  Here’s how Earl explains tree reading to his son Key.

Tree reading was the most difficult concept to understand for Key, but according to his father it was the most important part of their mission.  It was the line of communications.  Soldiers were nothing without orders and the orders came through the trees.

“You mean the trees talk?” Key once asked his father.

His old man grunted.  “Of course not.  Not the way you think any way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The shading, the light, the shape of the leaves and branches, they all form messages…”

“Messages?”

“Letters and numbers that form words and instructions.”

“Letters?  Like A-B-C-D…”

Key’s father rolled his eyes.  “It’s more complicated than that.  You don’t look for letters of the alphabet.  You look for shapes.”

“Shapes?  What shapes?”

“The constellations.  Remember, we talked about those.  They’re patterns in the stars that people used to use to navigate.”

“I remember.”

“Right, so there are 88 recognized constellations.  For us, 26 of the constellations are associated with a letter in the English language.  For instance: the constellation Norma is the letter ‘L.’ Got it?”

Key nodded as if this made sense.  “What about the other 62 constellations”

“Numbers, compass directions, symbols: anything having to do with coordinates and secret instructions.”

“Oh,” Key replied, hoping that they could stop talking about the trees and their constellations and coordinates and symbols, but his father always talked about it.   He drilled the code into Key’s brain, and tested him endlessly.  He was instructed to never speak about the tree reading with anyone, and he never thought it was odd because it had always been a part of his life.  He never even thought to ask how the messages got there or who was sending them.

Simple, right?  Anyone with the key code and a camera can do it.  In case you want to see if the messages are really there, I’m passing along part of the code below. The name of the constellation is coupled with the letter, number, or word that it is associated with.  In addition, here is a link to a hyperlinked list of the constellations.  Click on the constellation and it will show the pattern for that constellation.

Good luck and happy tree reading.  BTW – If you get a message, send it to me and head for the freakin’ hills because I just made all this crap up!   Well, at least that’s what the trees told me.

Tree Reader Code

Letters

Phoenix -A
 Virgo – B
Hydra – C
Apus –D
Delphinus – E
Reticulum – F
Tucana – G
Lepus – H
Sagitta – I
Vulpecula – J
Fornax – K
Norma – L
Triangulum – M
Pyxis – N
Ursa Minor – O
Crater – P
Equuleus – Q
Grus – R
Andromeda – S
Columba –T
Boötes – U
Octans – V
Aquila – W
Cassiopeia – X
Microscopium – Y
Dorado – Z

Numbers

Ara – 0
Sagittarius – 1
Lynx – 2
Cetus – 3
Telescopium – 4
Indus – 5
Pictor – 6
Crux – 7
Perseus – 8
Carina – 9

Other

Antila – West
Hercules – East
Scorpius – North
Cepheus – South
Aquarius – Longitude
Pavo – Latitude
Cancer – Altitude

Lou’s Diary – Entry 4 (Video)

Lou Diary – Entry 4 (Video)

I’m going to need you to buy 20,000,000 copies of my books…

… Give or take.  Why?  For a totally selfless reason.  I want to buy this house in Laguna Beach… I meant selfless on your part not mine.  I’m being a totally materialistic jerk.

Your money will be put to good use.

Someone has to live here. It might as well be me.

A mistake in Banshee Worm King I may not change

My neighor Tommy

Last week I was on vacation in beautiful Laguna Beach, CA.  If you ever have the chance to visit LB, do it.  It’s in Orange County, but it is not the OC you know from that awful reality show.  It’s much classier and friendlier.

While on my vaca in the OC, I got an email from a very impassioned reader.  She gave me some kind remarks about the Oz Chronicles series, and she gave me some constructive criticisms, as well.  One of the things she pointed out was that in Banshee Worm King Stevie is referred to as Tommy at one point.  She didn’t say where, but I’m sure she’s right.  What very few people know is that in the earliest draft of The Takers Stevie’s name was Tommy.  I changed it at the request of my mother because there was a young man named Tommy who took his own life in my home town shortly after I graduated high school.  Tommy was my developmentally challenged neighbor, and while he didn’t create comic books, he wrote bizarrely entertaining science fiction stories.   Mom didn’t feel comfortable with me naming the character after him, so I changed it because I love my mom.

It doesn’t surprise me that I inadvertently called Stevie Tommy because when I think of the character I think of my old neighbor.  He was a great kid, and I frequently think about him.  He loved his stories and was so eager to share them with whomever would listen.

It’s unconventional, but I’m considering leaving the mistake in the book as a tribute to Tommy.  I haven’t made up my mind yet because I’m concerned it may pull people out of the story, but I kind of feel like Tommy should get some sort of nod for the inspiration he provided.

It’s something I’ll have to mull over in my crowded gray matter for the next few days.  Stay tuned!

New book project here I come

I’m taking my usual Oz hiatus (except for the Lou diary entries) by working on a non-Oz project.  This one is a dark Young Adult book about an alien invasion called Tree Readers.  I actually started this story months and months ago but lost my focus when I had to jump back on the Oz bandwagon.   I’m planning on wrapping TR and sending it off to my secret agent man to see what he thinks.  In the meantime, here’s a little sample (typos included).

The messages are in the trees.

.

Stanley Keenan was six the first time he helped his father kidnap someone.  It was a kid about his own age named Bobby Darden.  His father spent weeks training him how to win the kid’s trust.  They’d go to the park every Tuesday and Saturday at the same time Bobby would be there with his mother.  Stanley slowly got to know Bobby.  He liked him.  He was fun.  In a lot of ways, he was Stanley’s best friend.  In fact, he was the one who first called Stanley Key.  It was a nickname he would use for the rest of this life.

After six weeks of becoming Bobby’s buddy, Key lured him to a line of trees on the North side of the park, and his old man appeared with a couple of ice cream cones.

Bobby was in the back of Key’s father’s RV before he knew what was happening, lapping up the ice cream like it was his last meal.  For all Key knew, it was.

Bobby and Key played in the back of the RV while Key’s old man drove out of town.  Bobby was assured that his mother had asked Key’s father to take him on a trip to Six Flags.  She wanted to come but couldn’t because of work.  Bobby thought his mother was the coolest parent on the planet at that moment.

Little did he know that she noticed her son missing ten minutes after the abduction.  She told herself that he had just wandered off.  That she would find him soon.  She was sure he would be just around the corner, doing something he shouldn’t be doing because that was his nature.  If there was trouble, Bobby could find it, but it was usually harmless fun.

The minutes passed and she grew more and more anxious.  The volume of her voice got louder.  The urgency in her tone was more pronounced.  The other parents started to take notice at this women darting from tree to tree calling out her son’s name.  Their hearts began to pound.  A mother had lost her child. Could anything be worse?  They all scooped up their own children and began to help in the search for the poor woman’s child.

They wouldn’t find him.  He was growing restless in the back of Key’s father’s RV.  He had been happy and content with the thought of going to an amusement park at first, but several hours had passed, and he began to miss his mother in spite of himself.  He had never gone so long without so much as a phone call from her.  Looking out the window of the RV, he could see that it was dark outside.  Darker than he had ever seen it before.  Something was wrong.  He was only five, but he could feel it.  Key tried to keep Bobby’s mind off his mother by showing him his comic book collection, but Bobby couldn’t even pretend to care about the stupid comic books.

“I want to go home, Key,” Bobby said.

Key gripped his latest Superman comic.  “Don’t you want to go to Six Flags?”

Bobby shook his head.  “Not anymore.”

Key’s hands began to sweat.  His father told him that this might happen.  He warned him that Bobby would beg to go home, but it was his job to keep him happy and quiet.  “What about the roller coasters?”

“We can’t ride ‘em.  We ain’t tall enough.”

“Sure we can,” Key smiled.  “My dad said so.  He knows the guy who built all the roller coasters.  They got us special passes.”

Bobby looked down.  “I don’t care.  I just want to go home.”

“Don’t say that so loud,” Key said.  He looked at his father to see if he heard.  If he had, he knew that was it for Bobby.  They’d pull over and his old man would make sure that Bobby stopped asking to go home.  One way or another.

“Tell your dad,” Bobby said.

“I can’t.”

“I just want to go home.”

Key covered Bobby’s mouth with his hand.  “Shhhh.”

“Everything alright back there boys?” Key’s old man asked.

“Yes, sir,” Key answered.

“We’re just about there.  Just talked to Bobby’s mom on the phone.  Good news.  She got off work and she’s waiting for us near the gate.”

Key breathed a sigh of relief.  “There, you see.  Your mom’s waiting for us.”

Bobby managed a smile.  “Good.” His eyes darted from Key to Key’s dad.  “Does your dad really know the guy who built the roller coasters?”

Key nodded.  “Says he does.  They served in the army together.”

“Your dad was in the army?”

“Still is.  That’s why we move so much.  He’s always going on secret missions.”

“Wow,” Bobby said.  “Cool.  Does your mom go on secret missions, too?”

“Nah,” Key said.  “She died when I was born.  It’s just me and my dad.”

The two boys felt the RV slow and eventually come to a stop.  Key’s father unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to the back of the vehicle.

“You boys wait here.  I’ve got to do some business.”  He moved to the door and then turned back to the two boys.  “Don’t even think about going outside.”

Both boys nodded.  They slowly moved to the front of the RV after Key’s father exited.  They watched him through the front windshield as he approached a black four-door car.  Key’s father turned back to the RV.  Bobby and Key ducked down so they wouldn’t be seen, but they weren’t sure why.  They had been instructed not to leave the RV, but Key’s old man didn’t say anything about not looking out the windows.

They watched intently as Key’s father leaned inside the car.  He appeared to be talking to someone, but the boys couldn’t see anyone.   Bobby reached out and grabbed Key’s arm.  He scooted closer to his best-friend.  His grip on Key’s arm got tighter as his father raised his voice.

Key’s old man stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.  He headed back to the RV and the boys could hear him mumbling.   Both boys yelped and jumped when he opened the side door.

“Bobby,” Key’s father said.  “Can you come here, please?”

Bobby Looked at Key.  What should he do?  He didn’t want to go outside.  It was dark out there.

“Bobby,” Key’s father said.

“I don’t want to go,” Bobby whispered.

“It’s okay,” Key said.  “My dad’s in the army, remember?  He’ll protect you.”

Bobby considered Key’s logic and then stood up.  He ever so slowly stepped toward the door.

Key’s father reached out his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.  “It’s okay.”

Bobby reluctantly grabbed his hand and allowed himself to be guided out the door.

Key crawled into the passenger seat and watched as his father placed his hand on Bobby’s back between his shoulder blades and walked him to the black car.

Bobby looked back once and Key was sorry he did.  He was scared for him.  Key didn’t like that feeling, being scared for someone else.  It tied him up inside, and he wanted to roll down the window and beg his father to bring Bobby back, to take him home where he belonged, but he didn’t.  His father told him he would feel that way. He told Key that doubt was normal.  But he promised him they were doing the right thing.

“The greater good,” he called it.

Key’s father opened the trunk of the car, bent down, and whispered something in Bobby’s ear.  The small boy hesitated and then to Key’s amazement crawled into the trunk without so much as a gentle shove from his father.

That was last time Key saw Bobby Darden, but it wouldn’t be the last time he saw that black car.

Lou’s Diary – Entry 3 (text version)

This morning I woke up and there was another pack of crackers lying on the ground next to me.   I would have thought it nothing more than an incredible stroke of luck or some intervention by the Storytellers if it hadn’t been resting on top of a note that read, “You are being watched.  F.T.”

I ate my crackers with a knot in my stomach.  I’m guessing this F.T. person… I hope it’s a person… thought they were doing me a favor by giving me a heads up on being watched, but frankly, I’d rather not know. What good does it do me?  I don’t have any weapons.  I’m weak from hunger.  I’m pretty sure my insides are frozen solid.  Worrying about being watched is just one more layer of crap I’ve got to deal with.

And what’s with this F.T.?  Why don’t they just show themselves?  It’s creepy and rude to sneak up on me at night, even if you’re leaving me food.  So, help me God… if I catch up to this F.T. and they’ve got something better to eat than stale, frozen crackers, I’m going to punch them in the face.  I guess I should be thankful, but screw that.

I’m laughing at my lack of gratitude.  It’s really all I have the strength to do right now.  This F.T. probably expects a big hug and kiss from me if we were ever to meet, but instead he’ll get a good dressing down from a bratty little made-up girl for failing to recognize that I needed a good sight more than crackers and a warning.

I need someone to end my misery.

Is it bad for me to talk like that?  I don’t think so because no one is around to care… except for F.T., and they only care enough to spare some barely edible crackers.

I hear something.  And this time I know it’s not the wind.  It’s a grunt… almost a growl.  I want to shut my eyes and pretend none of this real.  I just want it all to go away… The growl again.  It sounds big.

It’s a funny thing about being scared.  I’ve completely forgotten about being cold and hungry.  I don’t know who F.T. is, but they were right.  I am being watched.