Michael A. Stackpole's Blog, page 9

Is Amazon the Sauron of Publishing?

Amazon's announcement of their new Science Fiction and Fantasy imprint, 47North, has got me looking toward the publishing future. There are certainly plenty of folks, most in traditional publishing and book retailing, who would agree that Amazon is Sauron, and that the Kindle is the One Ring, and that their goal is to completely vertically integrate publishing into a monopoly that squeezes everyone but authors and Amazon out of the picture. The fact that they've gone from being a retailer to a publisher with seven imprints (including the New York imprint—how's that for jabbing traditional publishers in the ribs?), would certainly seem to justify fears expressed by traditional publishers and every other retailer in the world.

Choosing to open a science fiction and fantasy imprint is significant, especially when one notes the line in the press release that says, "47North will publish original and previously published works, as well as out-of-print books." [Emphasis mine.] Speculative fiction has a good reputation as being a genre with a solid long-tail: backlist sales, when the books are available, remain strong. Readers who discover SF and discover an author tend to buy everything by that author that they can get their hands on. Publishers have been running around scooping up backlist rights as fast as they can (offering half of what they offered before 2009, and a quarter of what authors can make if they electronically self-publish those same titles). For harddrive space in a server farm, Amazon will produce a crop of perennial books which will sell steadily. With a little promotion, a series can take off, and sales of that author's other work will rise accordingly. Because of the "others also bought" feature at Amazon.com, one person's discovery will lead to others discovering authors who haven't been actively promoted.

More importantly, the "previously published" aspect of that comment is a key to Amazon's future. They have access to daily statistics and analysis that tells them which authors are trending or about to trend. Even before the authors themselves can translate daily sales figures into a projected future, Amazon will know which authors are going to be a good investment for 47North. They'll get to cherry pick talent and promote their "discoveries." Amazon also has the ability to promote digital sales of books and later on produce a print compilation of digital novels, offering a unique print product. This is actually stated as a plan in their press release.

Amazon will use its demographic data to pick winners out of a vast field of authors. This lack of demographic data has always been a weakness with traditional publishers. Traditional publishers have always been in the position of fighting the last war. The surprise popularity of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo prompted publishers to search for bestselling crime novels that needed translation—a strategy which has failed to produce another It-Girl success. Amazon's willingness to promote authors—doubling down on an investment which they realize, by having data and analyzing it, is about to crest, simply makes good business sense. When was the last time traditional publishing ever threw promotional money at a title to lift its sales and boost its trend?

Publishers really can't ignore that this is a shot across their bows—though I imagine they will. Just the fact that Amazon pays on a monthly basis makes authors look on them favorably. Their willingness to promote is another plus. The fact that they're willing to let authors publish what they want when they want, regardless of whether or not a committee thinks it will be a blockbuster, is a third factor in their favor. True, in this latter case, publishers make a capital investment in books, so need to be sure that there is a reasonable expectation of a return on that investment, but by lowering overhead and by using electronic publishing as a farm system to develop writers, traditional publishers could successfully lock up talent, gather data for analysis, and guarantee that Amazon will have to deal with them if Amazon wants access to the properties they own.

Retailers are in an even more precarious situation. Barnes & Noble—and to a much lesser extent Apple & Google—has to look at securing its lines of supply. This includes physical books, certainly, but more importantly it means intellectual property. A key to their survival will be whether or not they choose to establish imprints as Amazon has done. Without exclusive content which draws customers to their stores (online and real world), they lose. For consumers, the choice comes down to going to Amazon, where they can get everything B&N offers plus exclusive content, or B&N, where they can't get the exclusive content. Human psychology dictates that even if the reader has no real desire for that exclusive content, they still feel constrained if they can't get it. They want the choice, and B&N isn't giving them that choice.

Brick and mortar retailers also have to look to their lines of supply. While independent bookstores may hate Amazon's discounting, they know that Amazon's promotion of titles will drive demand. Do they stick to their principles and refrain from trading with "the enemy" or do they order from Amazon and piggyback on Amazon's promotion to sell lots of books? It's a tough choice to make, but one that could spell the difference between going out of business and earning a profit. Since most independent books trade heavily on their sense of community—based around events held in the stores—the latter strategy can work very well for them. Cultivating a "stick it to the man" attitude in which patrons thumb their noses at Amazon by buying Amazon books at their local store definitely could work. (Brain bender, yes, but there's plenty of folks that would go for it.)

For authors, Amazon (and electronic publishing), looks very good. We earn 70% of a retail price we set, and we get the money in sixty days. Amazon spends a lot of money convincing people to buy empty boxes and allows me to supply the stuff they'll put in those boxes. While some might fear that Amazon—once it establishes its monopoly—will cut the pay rate or otherwise upset the apple-cart, I believe that worry is premature. Amazon's plan for complete vertical integration requires the compliance of authors. They need what we supply. When Amazon approaches that monopoly position, we know that there will be enough money involved in the business that investors—perhaps even the entertainment conglomerates who own the traditional publishers—will be willing to fund one or more rivals to Amazon's sales platform and delivery system. The fact that the new Kindles are based on Android means hackers will root them and be happy to supply links to other retail sites. Moreover, users of said devices will become more sophisticated and comfortable in finding those alternate retail sites. But even if Amazon were foolish enough to contemplate pulling a Walmart and demanding that suppliers take less, my guess is that we'd not face that situation for another three years anyway.

In terms of actually attaining a monopoly position, here things are more doubtful. Not only do they not control the raw material they sell, but there are lawyers and lawsuits lurking out there which pose a threat to that business model. I would imagine that legislation which taxed Internet sales might be threatened to curtail Amazon's more predatory tendencies; and then there are price-fixing and anti-trust lawsuits which could tie them up. Those cases could drag through the courts for years, if not decades, and with technology changing as swiftly as it does, advancement in delivery systems could render any and all monopolist dreams moot before any decision ever got handed down.

All in all I think the world of publishing today hasn't been changed by Amazon's announcement. Sure, the establishment of 47North should be a canary in the coal mine as far as traditional publishing is concerned, but it's the last in a long line of very dead canaries. I stand by my previous prediction that holidays 2011 will be the last gasp of traditional book retailing as we know it. Major contractions will come on the print side of things while electronics continue to grow an an increasing pace. I also suspect, along about next summer, when Internet sales again slump (as they tend to do while folks are outside, away from computers, spending money on vacations and stuff—what are they thinking?), that pundits will predict a resurgence of paper publishing. They'll even point to an uptick in sales to prove that point, but it will just be a dead-cat bounce. (From the Wall Street saying when a diving stock rebounds…"A dead-cat that bounces up, is still dead.)

For writers right now, the course to success is rather simple: create inventory. Bring backlist work into inventory. Write new work. Spread your work around to give readers a greater chance of discovering you. Worrying about price points and why you're not selling like Amanda Hocking is wasted energy. If electronic publishing is a tide which will raise all boats, the point is not to have the biggest boat. The point is to have as many boats as you can on the water. You want to have a fleet or two because that's how you maximize the benefit of the rising tide.

_________________________

In case you missed it, I have a new novel out: Perfectly Invisible. I've provided three sample chapters here on my website, or you can click on any of the online retailers below and download a free preview of the novel. It's the first of a series in which I'll provide both novels and shorter works. (The novel is 50,000 words long, or a five hour read for the average reader.)

The full novel is available for purchase right now from my webstore. Just click on the cover image to the left, or on that link. The novel runs $3.99, and the package in my store has both the Kindle and epub versions of the books, so you'll have a copy that works with any of your readers. As always, the books are presented without DRM (digital rights management) and I have a note with instructions for getting the book onto ereaders and smartphones. Please remember, by purchasing stories direct from authors, not only do you pay less, but you become a patron of the arts. You vote with your dollars, and that tells us what you'd like to see us continuing to write.

For the Kindle edition, just hit this link.

To purchase it through iTunes for your iPad/iPhone/iPod, just hit this link.

To purchase it through Barnes & Noble for your Nook, please use this link.

Second Life Office Hours for 12 October 2011

Tonight, as I do every Wednesday evening, at 6 PM Pacific time, I'll host office hours in Second Life. Readers and writers are cordially invited to attend. I'll be in voice chat, answering questions and talking about issues of the day. The event usually goes on for about 1.5 hours, but I've been known to stay longer. Over the last couple of weeks we have had an influx of new attendees and have enjoyed a good solid round of discussions.

Tonight's Agenda

We'll discuss Amazon.com's new Science Fiction and Fantasy imprint, 47North. What does this mean for the future of publishing as we know it, and how does it further Amazon's plans to dominate the world of books. What will publishers do to strike back, and can they do anything, or is all lost already?

Plus: your questions, problems and perspectives on writing and selling of fiction today!

6 PM Pacific time, don't forget!

Second Life is internet chat software with a graphics interface. It's probably most easily imagined as Skyping via The Sims. With folks playing plenty of multiplayer, online games where voice chat is just part of the gaming experience, this will be nothing new. The software is free, the learning curve fairly shallow and there are plenty of folks who are willing to help you get squared away. Download the free software, sign up, and you're set to go.

You attend office hours this evening by logging into Second Life, then clicking on this link. It will take you to a browser page. Click on the orange "visit this location" button in your browser. Second Life will then offer to teleport you straight to the office hours location. Just click the teleport button. (Alternately you can search on Third Life Books, Pen Station or Noble Charron (my alter ego) and we can work things out from there.

_________________________

In case you missed it, I have a new novel out: Perfectly Invisible. I've provided three sample chapters here on my website, or you can click on any of the online retailers below and download a free preview of the novel. It's the first of a series in which I'll provide both novels and shorter works.

The full novel is available for purchase right now from my webstore. Just click on the cover image to the left, or on that link. The novel runs $3.99, and the package in my store has both the Kindle and epub versions of the books, so you'll have a copy that works with any of your readers. As always, the books are presented without DRM (digital rights management) and I have a note with instructions for getting the book onto ereaders and smartphones. Please remember, by purchasing stories direct from authors, not only do you pay less, but you become a patron of the arts. You vote with your dollars, and that tells us what you'd like to see us continuing to write.

For the Kindle edition, just hit this link.

To purchase it through iTunes for your iPad/iPhone/iPod, just hit this link.

To purchase it through Barnes & Noble for your Nook, please use this link.

Second Life Office Hours for 5 October 2011

Tonight, as I do every Wednesday evening, at 6 PM Pacific time, I'll host office hours in Second Life. Readers and writers are cordially invited to attend. I'll be in voice chat, answering questions and talking about issues of the day. The event usually goes on for about 1.5 hours, but I've been known to stay longer. Last week we had an influx of new attendees and had a good solid round of discussions.

Tonight's Agenda

We'll discuss my new novel, Perfectly Invisible, and how I'm approaching using it as part of a comprehensive digital publishing strategy.

This will include information and techniques devoted to "forcing" a story—finding a story when you're fresh out of ideas, and making it work quickly and well.

Plus: your questions, problems and perspectives on writing and selling of fiction today!

6 PM Pacific time, don't forget!

Second Life is internet chat software with a graphics interface. It's probably most easily imagined as Skyping via The Sims. With folks playing plenty of multiplayer, online games where voice chat is just part of the gaming experience, this will be nothing new. The software is free, the learning curve fairly shallow and there are plenty of folks who are willing to help you get squared away. Download the free software, sign up, and you're set to go.

You attend office hours this evening by logging into Second Life, then clicking on this link. It will take you to a browser page. Click on the orange "visit this location" button in your browser. Second Life will then offer to teleport you straight to the office hours location. Just click the teleport button. (Alternately you can search on Third Life Books, Pen Station or Noble Charron (my alter ego) and we can work things out from there.

_________________________

In case you missed it, I have a new novel out: Perfectly Invisible. I've provided three sample chapters here on my website, or you can click on any of the online retailers below and download a free preview of the novel. It's the first of a series in which I'll provide both novels and shorter works.

The full novel is available for purchase right now from my webstore. Just click on the cover image to the left, or on that link. The novel runs $3.99, and the package in my store has both the Kindle and epub versions of the books, so you'll have a copy that works with any of your readers. As always, the books are presented without DRM (digital rights management) and I have a note with instructions for getting the book onto ereaders and smartphones. Please remember, by purchasing stories direct from authors, not only do you pay less, but you become a patron of the arts. You vote with your dollars, and that tells us what you'd like to see us continuing to write.

For the Kindle edition, just hit this link.

To purchase it through iTunes for your iPad/iPhone/iPod, just hit this link.

To purchase it through Barnes & Noble for your Nook, please use this link.

HSS: Perfectly Invisible Chapter Three

(Perfectly Invisible is the first of the stories I'll tell in the Homeland Security Services universe. In this world, the 1993 attack on the Twin Towers succeeded, killing over 60,000 people. It resulted in the passage of the 28th Amendment—something we'd recognize as The Patriot Act on steroids. It included the establishment of classes of American Citizenship, acknowledging in law the class stratification that already exists. A second terrorist strike in 1996 wiped out the Liberal Wing of the American political landscape and by 2011, an entire generation has grown up in a conservative nation.

These HSS stories will not be liberal nightmares, nor will they be Randian paeans to the blessings of an objectivist paradise. They're a look at a universe so terribly close to ours, and yet removed from it by enough for us to wonder "what if?")

Chapter Three

The headquarters of United Pharma weren't that far away, and she had plenty of time to get over there, so Miracle decided to walk. She even cut west a block so her course would take her parallel to the Scar for a bit, then headed back east around ground zero. She wanted time to think and despite the reason for the Scar's existence, she found it calming. The engineering effort, which had taken years and many vocal fights and protests, had actually worked.

Investigators had hauled every scrap of the buildings out to New Jersey and had gone over them. Her sister had worked on that part of the investigation. She had told Miracle that bombs never actually destroyed anything, they just broke it down into small bits. The investigators put those bits together when they could, segregated out the human remains, then sent everything back to New York. The soil in the Scar had been excavated, the towers' fill put in, then the soil placed on top to create the Scar. While some folks had complained that it was just one big barrow, she'd felt it was right that people who had died in a city they loved would remain there.

She'd also seen the 1996 Memorial Site in Chicago. They'd turned their big crater into an even bigger memorial flame that burned with natural gas. She'd found a memorial flame ironic given how everyone had died there; and the profligate use of natural gas a puzzler, too; but that's how the survivors in Chicago wanted it, and in its grief, the nation let them have it. Their site was all granite and cold in the heartland, while the Scar lived.

She had been a couple months shy of her ninth birthday when the towers fell. She wouldn't have remembered her age, save that her sister couldn't come home for her birthday party because of the investigation. For Miracle, the Scar had essentially always existed, first as a white concrete scab, then a green belt. People, from time to time, talked about New York, Chicago and the world before the attacks, but she never quite believed them. Not that she thought such times never existed, but that after such a shock, memories of the times before then could not be trusted.

She went further east and after a couple blocks headed north again. United Pharma's headquarters made the most of glass and chrome and industrial white. She thought of it as Laboratory Chic. Though the lobby lacked a medicinal smell, everything else suggested this was a place where medical miracles happened. She strode up to the reception desk and flashed her badge.

"Agent Dunn. I need to speak with Bruce Farnsworth."

The receptionist, a Latina who involuntarily shrank from the HSS badge, forced a smile and reached for the phone. "I'll call up and tell him…"

"She spoke to you as a courtesy, not so you could warn him."

The bass voice came from a waiting area off to the left of the entry. Though potted plants and some half-walls shielded it from the main lobby, she'd walked past it outside and had stared into it through the glass wall. She could have sworn it had been empty, but a huge man unfolded himself from the couch. He'd been the one to speak, and though his voice had carried to her and the receptionist, he had not shouted, nor had his voice betrayed urgency or alarm.

Half a foot taller than she, narrow at the hips and wide at the shoulders, he had a head full of closely cropped, steel grey hair. Ruggedly handsome fit him, with emphasis on rugged. One long scar started the right side of his forehead and cut diagonally back to where it vanished in his hair. Another scar on the left side connected his cheekbone to his jaw. He wore black leather kid gloves over massive hands and Miracle guessed the gloves hid other scars. His bright emerald eyes gave her the once over, then he nodded but didn't extend a hand.

"I'm Fyn."

"I'm…"

"I heard." Fyn headed for the elevators. Two security guards in grey slacks, blue shirts, navy jackets and blue and white striped ties moved to stop him, but Fyn just stared them back into place.

Miracle shrugged. "I'm with him, and you don't want to call Farnsworth."

"Yes, ma'am. Fifth floor. You'll need…"

Miracle looked at the visitor badges she was about to proffer. "You really think so?"

"No, ma'am. Have a nice visit."

Miracle crossed to where Fyn stood. He wore the regulation slacks and vest, but had a white mock-turtle underneath. Instead of a suit jacket he chose a longer jacket—not quite a trench-coat, but close—and Miracle believed he could hide a full arsenal beneath it.

"Sorry I'm late."

"You're not. I tend to be early." Fyn stood aside as the elevator door opened. "All yours."

She moved into the box and pressed the button for the fifth floor. She kept her back to the box's wall, noted where the security camera was located, and realized that Fyn positioned himself so the camera would have a poor view of him.

"So, were you actually in that waiting area when I walked by?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I had your back."

She frowned and thought about the lobby. "You were on the other side. You crossed behind me."

"I had your back." Fyn didn't smile per se, but looked bemused nonetheless. "You were distracted."

"I won't make a habit of it."

"I'll still have your back."

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. She stepped out and he stepped behind her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Do what you need to with this guy. No matter what you do, I will always be the badder cop."

"Got it." Miracle approached the security desk in the elevator lobby. "Agents Dunn and Fyn, HSS. We're here to see Bruce Farnsworth."

The security man's Adam's-apple bobbed a couple of times. He got up, slid his ID through a lock slot, punched in a passcode, then waved them in. "He's toward the back, left."

Miracle scanned his corporate ID. "Mr. Driscoll, were you working on this floor last Friday?"

"Yes."

"Nancy Pelham, did she come in? When did she leave?"

He glanced back toward his desk, but Fyn eclipsed his view of it. "I would have to check, but in at eight, long lunch, one to three after, I think. Pretty usual, except leaving early. That wasn't… I mean, she often worked late."

The security guard took them to an outside office with two narrow glass panels on either side of a wooden door. Driscoll went to knock, but Miracle pushed past him and Fyn shouldered him out of the way. "Be sure to check your records."

As Driscoll retreated, Farnsworth stood up from behind his desk. "It's about time you got here. I can't make this damned thing work." A new smartphone sat on his desk, surrounded by cables, plastic bags and manuals.

Miracle frowned. "We're not your IT department."

"Then what are you doing here?" Though a couple inches shorter than Fyn, Farnsworth weighed the same but had distributed the weight differently. Classic pear shape, with the grey pallor of someone who doesn't get to play enough golf. His thinning brown hair was the reason every golfing picture on his wall showed him in an ugly green cap. Most of the shots were of him with celebrities at a United Pharma sponsored Pro/Am event. His smiles were genuine, the celebrities' were frozen. A half dozen pictures showed him with other celebrities, accompanied by a chunky woman in a variety of gowns. Miracle decided she was Farnsworth's wife and, again, the pictures were taken at company events. The only picture that couldn't be classified that way was one showing him and two kids, all done up for camping, with his smile being the only genuine one in evidence.

Miracle flashed her badge, which killed his protest. "I'm Agent Dunn, this is Agent Fyn. Do you know a Nancy Pelham?"

Farnsworth's soft features composed themselves in a mask of anger, which Miracle found about as frightening as a puppy's growls. "I have been calling her. She's late for a meeting. What has she done?"

"What makes you think she's done anything?"

Farnsworth blinked, his anger melting in to confusion. "Well, she must have. You're HSS."

Miracle pointed to his chair. "Sit down, Mr. Farnsworth." She kept her voice steady and even. She gave him an order instead of making a polite request. He already was confused and worried enough to have assumed a subordinate role. Once he responded to her command, it would set a pattern that would get him to answer her questions quickly.

Miracle took the chair opposite him, but Fyn remained standing, as if made of iron. "Mr. Farnsworth, we're investigating the circumstances of her death."

"Her d-death?" His jowls quivered. "How did she die?"

"This is an HSS investigation into the death of a Citizen, so that is need-to-know information." Miracle produced her phone and glanced at Pelham's file. "We have Miss Pelham working here on a project as a consultant. Explain."

"Well, it is a project for which we are trying to find a name. That's why she was here."

"What kind of project?"

"I don't see…"

Miracle looked up from her screen. "Seriously? It was a drug. What kind, what does it do?"

Farnsworth lowered his voice. "It's kind of like Viagra, but for women. You know, a man and his wife, things have become stale, her libido has dropped to nothing." He cast a quick, sideways glance at a picture of his wife, then blushed a little. "So they plan a date night, she takes the drug—strictly under a doctor's supervision, you understand—and they're able to enjoy themselves. We wanted a name and a campaign that would appeal to women. We'd started calling it Recepta, but Nancy thought it should be called Romantika; and wanted this romance novel fantasy campaign thing."

Another date-rape drug.Miracle tapped a note into her phone. "Side effects?"

"Mild buzz, like a couple glasses of wine and, well, some short term memory degrading."

The perfect date-rape drug. "And she thought the fantasy aspect would prepare women for the fact that everything seemed like a dream?"

"I guess." Farnsworth mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "If she's dead, did you find her laptop?"

Miracle nodded. "It was tied into her stereo."

"That would have been her personal unit." Farnsworth opened a drawer and pulled out a small netbook with United Pharma's logo actually embossed into the lid's plastic. "We gave her one of these so she could get on our network here."

"I will make sure that's in the report." Miracle half-glanced out toward the office. "Was she seeing anyone here? You, perhaps?"

"Me? Oh, God, no." Farnsworth slumped back in his chair. "United Pharma and all of its subsidiaries have a strict no-fraternization policy. We can't date in the company, with consultants, customers or suppliers. It applies to independent contractors like her, too. One strike and you're out. Not that I would be dating. I'm happily married, you see." He pointed at the pictures.

Miracle glanced at them, then back at him. "But if you were single, you'd have been tempted."

"She was way out of my league. I had the feeling she was here to work on this project and that she'd bought some long-term contracts on UP stock. When we released Romantika or word got out, she'd make a fortune. I don't think she was seeing anyone. From here, I mean—we all love our jobs. A lot of the crew goes out on Fridays for Happy Hour; and I think they do trivia at a bar on Tuesday nights. Trivia Tuesday. I don't get invited and couldn't go anyway. Maybe she did hook up. That's what they say now, right? Hook up?"

"Did she send expenses through United Pharma? We'll need those records."

"Yes, of course."

"Where were you yesterday?"

Farnsworth frowned. "Let's see. Church. I did the readings. Lunch with the in-laws. Then I came into the city to do some work, got home in time to watch the end of the Knicks game. Fell asleep in front of the TV. Went to bed about two, I think."

"Very good, thanks." Miracle made a note, then stood. "Show us her work area."

"Right, right this way." Farnsworth came around his desk and Miracle held her breath for a moment. She could smell the acrid fear on him, strong enough that she was afraid it wouldn't wash off. She let Fyn precede her, and his passing mixed enough air that she could breathe without wanting to gag.

Farnsworth took them to a small office. "If you need anything…"

Fyn pulled a small thumb drive from his jacket pocket and flipped it to the man.

Farnsworth caught it in both pudgy hands, fumbling with it before closing a fist around it. "Company policy forbids…"

Fyn raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you are HSS." Farnsworth smiled. "Not like you're going to put a virus into the computer or anything, right?"

"Her expenses, outgoing emails and instant messages in your system, please. And a list of everyone in your department." Miracle gave him an encouraging nod. "We'll see ourselves out after we're done here."

"Yes, of course. I'll have this for you." He pulled the door shut behind himself.

Miracle sat down at Pelham's desk. "So, what kind of software will that plant on his computer?"

"Keystroke logger, plus it will just rename instead of delete files and send us copies of the files he wanted gone." Fyn looked toward the door. "We have seventy-two hours to get a warrant, if we need it."

But the files will remain accessible forever. She looked up at him. "What do you think he's hiding?"

Fyn shook his head. "Not my department, you're the detective. I'll listen if you want to share."

"He had lust in his heart for Nancy Pelham; which must have been tough given what they were working on. Work with her all day, then go home to his wife." Miracle began to go through the desk drawers. "Dammit, neat as a pin. Nothing out of place."

"Sterile."

Miracle nodded. "Yeah, that's it. It's like a room service meal with plastic wrap over the dinner. It's unspoiled. No pocket litter, nothing from trivia night or happy hour. Driscoll said she took long lunches, but not even a receipt. And thing of it is this: I know she's a collector. She had these weird dolls in her apartment. Folks that collect tend to amass things. It's just what they do. But she didn't."

"Except the dolls?"

"Yeah." Miracle stood and headed for the door. "Could be she was all digital save for the dolls."

She passed back through the office to Farnsworth's domain.

He looked up and pulled the thumb drive from his computer. "Here, I think that is everything."

She took it from him. "Two other questions."

"Yes?"

"No pictures, nothing in her office. Was she just not sentimental?"

"Oh, no." Farnsworth smiled. "She had them on her computer, the screensaver. Her parents, brothers, sisters, pets. A lot of old summer trip pictures." He pointed at the shot of himself with his kids. "Perfectly normal stuff."

"Did she mention dolls, or have pictures of them?"

Farnsworth shivered. "I saw one, once. She'd come back from lunch with it. I think she won it in an auction on Ebay. Said it cost a fortune. Something spooky about it. Two feet tall, black hair, dressed all like the folks in Sense and Sensibility, you know, old-timey clothes. I didn't like it."

"Very good, thank you." Miracle gave him a nod and placed a card on his desk. "If you think of anything else."

"Of course."

In the elevator down, Fyn's eyes tightened. "There was something significant about his describing that doll."

Miracle arched an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"You covered most of your reaction. What was it? Had he seen the doll at her apartment?"

"Not likely." Miracle shook her head. "He's right, the things are creepy. I'm sure he remembered it and got the description right. I don't doubt it was expensive. The significant thing is this: it isn't at her apartment, and we need to know why not."

_________________________

Thanks for taking the time to read through the sample chapter of Perfectly Invisible. I had a lot of fun writing it, and am looking forward to more adventures with Miracle, Fyn and the rest of Team Krait.

The full novel is available for purchase right now from my webstore. Just click on the cover image to the left, or on that link. The novel runs $3.99, and the package in my store has both the Kindle and epub versions of the books, so you'll have a copy that works with any of your readers. As always, the books are presented without DRM (digital rights management) and I have a note with instructions for getting the book onto ereaders and smartphones. Please remember, by purchasing stories direct from authors, not only do you pay less, but you become a patron of the arts. You vote with your dollars, and that tells us what you'd like to see us continuing to write.

The book will also be available from other online retails like Barnes & Noble and Amazon, as soon as it clears their approval process.

HSS: Perfectly Invisible Chapter Two

(Perfectly Invisible is the first of the stories I'll tell in the Homeland Security Services universe. In this world, the 1993 attack on the Twin Towers succeeded, killing over 60,000 people. It resulted in the passage of the 28th Amendment—something we'd recognize as The Patriot Act on steroids. It included the establishment of classes of American Citizenship, acknowledging in law the class stratification that already exists. A second terrorist strike in 1996 wiped out the Liberal Wing of the American political landscape and by 2011, an entire generation has grown up in a conservative nation.

These HSS stories will not be liberal nightmares, nor will they be Randian paeans to the blessings of an objectivist paradise. They're a look at a universe so terribly close to ours, and yet removed from it by enough for us to wonder "what if?")

Chapter Two

Miracle had been expected to bristle at Phil's first use of the term snakes as applied to HSS agents. She'd noticed an all but imperceptible hesitation on Dr. Reynolds' part as Phil said it again. When Homeland Security Services had been formed in the wake of the Twin Towers collapse back in 1993, pundits who tired of calling HSS agents "the American Gestapo" quickly reduced HSS to hiss, and then dubbed the agents "Snakes."

HSS team leaders retaliated by nicknaming their teams after snakes, and even designed team logos and patches for them. Since this was the sort of thing military units did, opponents to the 28th Amendment—the Patriot Amendment—and its 1996 companion Act, the Good Citizen Act, used the practice to brand HSS teams paramilitary death squads. While the pundits' hysterics made for good television and did cause some trouble for the Director of Homeland Security during Congressional Hearings, HSS leadership was content to take heat over cosmetic issues since they couldn't talk about their actual operations without compromising security, and certainly didn't want reporters digging to closely into their surveillance programs.

Seeing nothing more to be gained from her presence at the crime scene, Miracle hopped a subway heading downtown to the FBI district office. She'd been assigned to Krait Team which, like all HSS teams, had no jurisdictional limitations. Wherever they traveled, they descended on the local FBI office and commandeered what they needed to get the job done. Because Krait was based in New York, they had an office suite in the same unfinished skyscraper as the FBI, but one floor below it. They didn't appear on the building directory and the only way into that area was through an internal stairway in the FBI offices.

Though Phil had been needling Miracle because they'd worked together before, many folks resented the Snakes. Phil's description of them as the Green Berets of the Department of Justice had not been wrong. Personnel for the first teams had been yanked from the best and brightest of the FBI, Marshals Service, the military, CIA, NSA and State or Municipal police departments. The military saw them as civilians, and law enforcement saw them as entitled hotshots. Even she'd harbored a bit of resentment during her Metro days, despite her sister having been one of the early Snakes.

Miracle left the subway, headed up to the street and into the office building. She took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor and checked in with FBI reception. The receptionist handed her a visitor badge, which got her into the offices. Her HSS badge's RFID chip opened the glass door on the stairs. She descended quickly and came out into a foyer which, through the window opposite, provided a panoramic view of the Scar.

She stood there, transfixed. When the World Trade Center's North Tower had come down in 1993—foundational pillars having been blown by truck bombs planted beneath it—it came down like a tree notched by an expert woodsman. It slammed into the South Tower which fell like a domino into the city. Glass, steel and concrete, as well as papers, furniture and other ephemera of human existence, slashed a scar through buildings and burying roads. Likened to a flow of cold lava, it destroyed everything from ground zero to the entry to the Brooklyn tunnel, on east to Broadway and south to the financial district. The initial collapse took out buildings 3 and 4 in the complex, St. Nicholas's Greek Orthodox Church, Trinity Church and anything else in the way.

The attack killed an estimated 67,000 people and even almost twenty years later there were credible claims that could add another twenty thousand to that count. And that didn't include the deaths from asbestos and other noxious vapors first responders and residents breathed in.

"I wasn't in favor of what they decided should be done, but it has grown on me."

Miracle turned, not having heard the slender, brown-haired man approach. He wore the same dark suit she did, complete with a vest, but chose a textured gold tie to complete his outfit. His hair had been cut conservatively short. He wore a bemused smile and Miracle supposed he regularly met visitors this way, catching them unawares just to gauge their reaction.

"What did you think they should do?"

He offered her his hand. "I'm Austin Brand, by the way. I know you're Miracle Dunn." He took a step closer to the window, peering through their reflections in the glass. "I was in the Goldilocks camp. I didn't want to see everything rebuilt as if the attack had never happened. I wasn't looking forward to what they did do. I wanted a memorial park, sure, but also some light development, so we'd not have a huge cemetery on the West Side."

She nodded. "I like the Green Fields, with the monuments, open theatre and ball fields. You can reflect, you can enjoy, you can live again in a place that was synonymous with death. Used to take my lunch down there when I was working Robbery/Homicide."

"I know. We pulled footage of you from the archives." Brand smiled. "This is a much better look for you, by the way. You carry it off well."

"Thanks, I guess."

Another man appeared, taller than either of them, fit; with white-blond hair, blue eyes and a ramrod straight posture. He extended his hand to her, giving her a chance to notice both a fresh manicure and gold cufflinks with diamond chips set in them. He wore a black tie, the knot of which was narrow and dimpled as per current fashion, and his collar was appropriate for the knot.

"Agent Dunn, I am Thom Carrollton. Welcome to Team Krait."

"Thank you." Miracle met his grip firmly and pumped his arm three times. "Glad to be working with you."

"And work it will be." Thom pointed at Austin. "Dowager Empress on two for you. Agent Dunn, I can show you where we make the worst coffee in the world, then to your desk."

"Are you sure it's the worst? In the Seventeenth we were under judicial order not to torture prisoners with ours." Miracle followed Thom, noting that she didn't even get a polite chuckle out of her joke. Without looking back he led her into a small break room which, unlike the rest of the office, had abandoned any claims at being antiseptic. The coffee pot appeared as if it hadn't been cleaned in at least a month and the coffee had a viscosity to it which demanded dilution. She found some milk which was flirting with expiration and chanced it; all the while noticing that Thom was studying her.

"Do I pass?"

"Did you think this was a test?"

"Agent Brand ran his in the foyer; I figured this was yours." She sipped her coffee carefully. She'd had better boiled in a rusty can over a campfire. "What's the grade? Is there extra credit?"

Thom held up his hands. "No test, really."

"Then, let me ask you, why is this break room a sty?"

"Janitorial cannot get clearance; the support staff resents the mobile team getting to travel while they remain shut up in the FBI's basement, and we are just to damned busy to clean."

Thom added a bit too much vehemence to the phrase damned busy for it to be true. Miracle coupled that with his clothes and manicure to guess that he led the sort of private life where he did have a janitorial staff, and a governess to care for his children. For a half-second she wondered if he'd gotten into law enforcement as his community service, then stayed in because he liked it; but he'd clearly been born a Patriot, so wouldn't have been required to do community service. That meant serving in HSS was something he considered his obligation to society, but such obligations only went so far.

"Well, you're in luck. When I need to think, I tend to clean." She poured the coffee down the sink. "If we catch a really frustrating serial killer case, doctors will be able to perform surgery in here."

Thom smiled. "Good to know. Tell me about the case we caught this morning."

"Do you want me to brief you, or the whole team?"

Thom jerked his head toward the back of the office. "Our boss is down in DC for meetings on the Hill. Fyn has not arrived yet, so you have Brand and me. We will have to do. Come on."

He led the way through an area of open desks and back to where partitions sectioned off the hindmost third of the office space. The solid walls held an array of flat-screen monitors, most of which remained black. Desks had been arranged to face the walls and partitions, with a large table composed of touch-screen panels in the middle. The entrance to the team room split the partition wall. Brand sat to the right, Thom to the left, and an empty desk sat opposite him against the exterior wall. The back right corner had been given over to a desk which had been turned to face into the room, with monitors arrayed like the crenels atop a castle wall.

Miracle moved to what was to be her desk, but didn't pull the chair out. Just as with Green Beret teams, each member had a specialty which was his major contribution to the group. Based on the spreadsheets and records Brand had flashing over the trio of monitors on his desk, he was the financials and stats guy. Thom, given his grooming and confident air of command, handled the political and societal end of things. She was there for her abilities as an investigator, which left Fyn to do the heavy lifting.

Brand spun around in his chair. "I got the files squirted over from Metro. Nancy Pelham is clean and within statistical norms. Too much so."

Miracle arched an eyebrow. "She the real thing, or have you found fingerprints?"

"Could be the real thing. I'll know better when I compare her bills and litter to her file. I ran her ID for all commercial identity fabrication services, but nothing popped. Could be a custom Beauty job, but if it runs more than skin deep, I'd be surprised."

"Not much litter to go on. I didn't see a stack of bills or receipts. She had take-away in the fridge, but no menus in the kitchen, so she must have ordered drive-by. Credit cards should show that and I can follow up. Will you go through her computer and see about online billing and payment?"

"I'll have a tech do the grab, then I'll do breakdowns."

Thom hit a button, turning a monitor on. "Send me her PR, please."

"One Permanent Record coming up." Austin ran a finger across the appropriate monitor, sweeping it toward Thom's desk. In the blink of an eye the information appeared on Thom's monitor.

The blond man scrolled up and down, pausing a couple of times. "No flags, no stand-outs. No next of kin notification. Parents are in a flat-flyover state." Thom fished a large, silver coin from his desk and flipped it. "I will have the Marshals do the notification."

She smiled. "Who was the other choice?"

Austin laughed. "Whoever pissed him off last."

"Whomever." Thom returned the coin to his drawer. "United Pharma offices open at nine. No reason to let them know you are coming. I will have Fyn meet you there. I will seed the relevant files to the cloud and you can pull down what you need."

"If you don't mind, please send me all the files. What you think of as relevant and what I need might not be the same thing."

"Easy, Agent Dunn, I was not usurping your perogative."

"It's like this, Miracle. Thom insulates us from the boss, so he's pretty literal. He would have sent you all the files, and a few more for good measure. The boss can play fast and loose with things, so Thom looks for precision."

"Got it, thank you." Miracle nodded. "I'll rebuild Pelham's life and we'll see who put an end to it. As for the other body… I'm not sure where to begin."

Austin turned back to his desk. "That's a bit more interesting. The building got bought and renovated starting in February of 1999. It's been in receivership twice and there's no records of who holds the mortgage. City directories show two residents in 6A since that time, three in 6B and 2-4 in the apartments across the hall. Looking at Post Office changes of address it looks like there used to be six apartments on the upper floor, and folks on the sixth were moved down or out when the renovations began. The closed space would have been 6B, but last tenant in it moved in during 1990, got scratched in '93. Chances are you took your lunch right where his mortal remains ended up."

"Thanks for the cheery thought. That would have left the apartment vacant for six years before it was remodeled?"

"No, an executive housing firm snagged it; made it into a home away from home for temp workers and visiting corporators. The firm appears to be gone, but I'll find its old website and see if any records are lurking out there."

Thom had brought a second monitor to life. "Doctor Reynolds has ordered a hazmat crew to sample the air and dust to see if there are any poisons abiding in your tomb. She wishes to rule out anthrax or anything else dangerous before anyone goes in."

Miracle frowned. "She didn't seem that concerned when I looked through it. I could have been breathing something in."

Thom, a small smile on his face, gave her a sidelong glance. "Reynolds probably knows more about you than you do. She knows you were inoculated against the things you are most likely to encounter. She also wanted to see how cautious you were."

"Another test?"

Austin spun around, laughing. "Get used to it, honey, it's a constant around here. If it's not us keeping each other sharp, it's the reporters, bureaucrats and bad guys. The good thing is that our tests will keep you alive, whereas the others are meant to kill you."

Miracle almost bristled at being called honey, but Austin had sounded close enough to her father when he said it that it stayed her ire. "Just remember, what goes around comes around."

"Bring it, sister." Austin's grin grew large. "Thom's too by-the-book to be fun, and Kip, the guy you're replacing, was a bit too into advancement to know when to lay off."

Miracle jerked a thumb at the empty desk. "And Fyn?"

Austin sobered up and turned back to the screens.

Miracle looked at Thom.

Thom interlaced his fingers and settled his hands in his lap, in a gesture appropriate for a school boy beginning a lecture. "Fyn eschews testing. He believes it is waste of time. He just watches and waits. He knows life will test you and he is there to learn the results."

"What does he do with them?"

"The results are what he bases his decisions on." Thom nodded solemnly. "And that is usually whether he will save you or let you die."

Perfect Invisible ©2011 Michael A. Stackpole. The novel is slated to go on sale on 10/1/2011.

Second Life Office Hours for 28 September 2011

Tonight, as I do every Wednesday evening, at 6 PM Pacific time, I'll host office hours in Second Life. Readers and writers are cordially invited to attend. I'll be in voice chat, answering questions and talking about issues of the day. The event usually goes on for about 1.5 hours, but I've been known to stay longer. Last week we had an influx of new attendees and had a good solid round of discussions.

Tonight's Agenda

We'll discuss Amazon's new Kindle Fire, its price-cutting on the other Kindle models, and what that portends for the future of digital publishing.

Plus: your questions, problems and perspectives on writing and selling of fiction today!

6 PM Pacific time, don't forget!

Second Life is internet chat software with a graphics interface. It's probably most easily imagined as Skyping via The Sims. With folks playing plenty of multiplayer, online games where voice chat is just part of the gaming experience, this will be nothing new. The software is free, the learning curve fairly shallow and there are plenty of folks who are willing to help you get squared away. Download the free software, sign up, and you're set to go.

You attend office hours this evening by logging into Second Life, then clicking on this link. It will take you to a browser page. Click on the orange "visit this location" button in your browser. Second Life will then offer to teleport you straight to the office hours location. Just click the teleport button. (Alternately you can search on Third Life Books, Pen Station or Noble Charron (my alter ego) and we can work things out from there.

_______________________

Doing things like holding office hours cuts into my writing time. If you're finding office hours or my other posts about writing useful, and haven't yet gotten yet snagged my latest novels, please consider purchasing a book. Nice thing about the new age of publishing is that you become a Patron of the Arts, letting writers know what you'd like to see more of simply by voting with a credit card. (Authors charge less when they sell direct, so you save, we make more, and that frees us to write more.)

My latest paper novel, At The Queen's Command, is available at book retailers everywhere.

My digital original novel, In Hero Years… I'm Dead is available for the Kindle and in the epub format for all the other readers, including the Nook, iPhone, iPod Touch and iPad. (Imagine the Batman, Watchmen and Kick-Ass movies all rolled into one, as written by Dashiell Hammett, and you've pretty much got the idea of the book. Oh, and with some satire and political commentary slipped in for irony.)

HSS: Perfectly Invisible Chapter One

(Perfectly Invisible is the first of the stories I'll tell in the Homeland Security Services universe. In this world, the 1993 attack on the Twin Towers succeeded, killing over 60,000 people. It resulted in the passage of the 28th Amendment—something we'd recognize as The Patriot Act on steroids. It included the establishment of classes of American Citizenship, acknowledging in law the class stratification that already exists. A second terrorist strike in 1996 wiped out the Liberal Wing of the American political landscape and by 2011, an entire generation has grown up in a conservative nation.

These HSS stories will not be liberal nightmares, nor will they be Randian paeans to the blessings of an objectivist paradise. They're a look at a universe so terribly close to ours, and yet removed from it by enough for us to wonder "what if?")

Chapter One

Miracle Dunn paused outside the open doorway to apartment 6A. The silver Homeland Security Services badge clipped to her belt had gotten her past the Metro uniforms down in the apartment house's lobby. She'd kept her dark aviator sunglasses on which, along with her dark suit jacket, slacks and double-breasted vest over a regulation white shirt and dark tie, marked her as government issued. She wore her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and had secured it with an elastic band that matched her suit.

The uniforms in the lobby were meant to be impressed with her cool anonymity, but the Metro homicide detectives would be anything but. Not only not impressed, but resentful at HSS interference forcing them to surrender a case. As she entered the apartment, walking down a short corridor leading past the bathroom and a galley-sized kitchen, she removed her sunglasses, but set her face in as neutral an expression as she could manage. She modeled it on those her instructors at Quantico had worn every single day. Firm nonchalance.

Phil Quinn went and ruined it. He'd always been preternaturally observant, but she could tell from his grin that he'd been expecting her. The middle-aged man in a rumpled trench-coat swiped the back of his hand over his forehead. "It's okay, boys, the day is saved. The Snakes have sent their best."

Two other detectives and a Metro crime tech laughed. The forensic pathologist, who wore an HSS windbreaker, didn't even turn from the corpse to see who had walked in.

"Inspector Quinn, so nice to see you again."

"So formal, Agent Dunn." Phil pulled a take-away cup of coffee from a cardboard tray and extended it to her. "I'm just yanking your chain. When I called, I was glad to hear you were catching."

She accepted the coffee and her expression cracked. "It's good  to see a friendly face, and great to be back to work after six months in a class room."

"I wanted to come down to Quantico for your graduation, but JR had the flu, so Dee swapped weekends with me and I got to nurse him."

"I got the flowers, Phil, thanks." She popped the plastic top off the coffee and sipped. Light cream, two sweeteners and a touch of cinnamon. Phil never forgets anything. "What do we have?"

"Always liked that you were business first." Quinn led her toward the apartment's far wall. Blood spatter centered around a bullet-hole which had seen sealed beneath a sheet of plastic. The lower half of the splatter had been smeared by the victim's slow slide to the ground. Brown-haired woman, late-twenties, slender, naked, lay slumped at the base of the wall with a gunshot wound to her chest, just above her left breast.

"What we have is the vic, through and through GSW."

Miracle frowned. When she'd been with Metro homicide, she'd worked dozens of simple homicides like this, and never had HSS been called in. "What makes this special?"

The forensic pathologist looked up from where she knelt beside the body. A petite woman of Asian ancestry, she pushed glasses up on her nose with the back of a blue latex glove. "GSW, yes, likely cause of death but…" She reached down and opened one of the woman's brown eyes. Blood stained the eyeball. "Petechial hemorrhaging. Bruising around her neck. She was strangled before she died. Given the nature of the bruising, two to three hours would be accurate. I will know after I get her back to the lab and do a full examination."

Miracle dropped to a knee to take a better look. "Okay, the strangulation complicates things, Phil, but I still don't see why this is HSS."

Phil pointed at the hole in the wall. "Bullet went all the way through. I went along to the next apartment to see if anyone had been hurt. I get in, look, no bullet hole, which is impossible."

He held a hand out to the lab-tech. "Barber, need your light again."

The man flipped it to Phil, who exchanged it for Miracle's coffee.

"Be careful, Agent Dunn, don't mess up my crime scene." The pathologist held her arms out, proscribing a path. "And I expect you in my lab as soon as possible so I can get swabs and samples for elimination purposes."

Miracle frowned. "All of that information is in my files. Metro's had it for ever."

The Asian woman snorted. "Metro. Uh huh."

Phil laughed. "Since HSS is to the Department of Justice what the Green Berets are to the Army, Metro is strictly Neighborhood Watch by comparison. Of course Dr. Reynolds will need to take her own samples. I got that lecture down right, Doc?"

Reynolds gave the Metro detective a withering stare, then returned her attention to the body.

Miracle worked her way around the corpse. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and hunched down. She flicked the flashlight on, peeled back the plastic seal over the hole, and shined the light through. Given the hole's size, Miracle figured the bullet had been at least a .45, which would have sounded like a cannon in the small apartment and should have awakened the neighbors in the wee hours of the morning.

The beam played over a dusty narrow room. It caught a lot of cobwebs, which acted like fog. Furniture and appliances appeared in all the right places and looked upscale if a little dated. More important than that, however, was the mummified corpse stretched out in a recliner, facing the dead television.

Miracle flicked the light off and turned. "That's a big old TV in there. Makes time of death, what, twelve years ago?"

Phil tapped his nose with a finger. "That's why you got tapped for HSS, Agent Dunn, and why this whole messy case lands squarely in your lap."

Miracle stepped away from the hole, resealed it and handed the tech his light back. "What have you got on the here-and-now?"

Phil handed her the coffee cup, then flipped open his iPad. "The vic's name is Nancy Pelham. She's a Legacy. She's been in here for four months of a two year lease.  Records are vanilla; she works as a creative marketing consultant. She's working for United Pharma, Limited. That's what I've got so far. I'll email it to you."

"DunnM at…"

"I know the formula, Miracle." The Metro detective closed the tablet. "Barber, what have you covered?"

The tech sighed. "The body, immediate area. I was going to hit the bedroom area next and work clockwise."

Phil smiled. "He's yours until Doctor Reynolds' team can get up here, but he's good."

Miracle smiled. "Gonna walk me through, for old time sake?"

"I never thought HSS agents needed help."

"Truth is, Phil, I wanted to see if you still have it."

"I see you aced the Tact Extraction Course." Phil chucked easily. "Tell you what, kid, for old time's sake, you toss the place, tell me what you see, and we can debate."

"You want to see if I've still got it?"

"I want to see if the Fed's taught you any Sherlock Holmes tricks I can steal."

"You're on."

They started in the bathroom. White tile dominated. The tub faucet leaked, leaving a rusty stain on the porcelain. Shampoo and conditioner were high end, but not salon brands; and were purchased in large enough sizes to have come from a warehouse club. The razor in the shower was nearing the end of its life based on the wear on the lubrication strip. Toilet paper and tissue were name brands and known for comfort. Whitening toothpaste, tube squeezed from the bottom, cap attached. One toothbrush, fairly new. The soap in the shower and at the sink were small bars with all the decorations worn off them, neutral scents, nothing exotic.

The medicine cabinet had no prescription drugs, just the normal, run of the mill mix of pain killers and creams. Cosmetics were limited to the basics: lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara and a foundation. A brush and comb had been squeezed onto the lower shelf. Nothing outrageous.

Miracle glanced at Phil's reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror as she closed it. "Trace might show hairs from a man, but nothing indicates she had a live-in or frequent visitor."

"Her getting strangled while naked in the middle of the night suggests she had at least one." Phil shrugged. "But, I agree with your assessment mostly, except for one thing."

Miracle cocked her head. "What did I miss?"

"Everything is laid out neatly. Everything is clean, but the faucet is leaking and that stain is nasty. She's been her four months. Why wouldn't she have had it cleaned or fixed?"

"Good question." Generally speaking, people fit into a slot on the neat-freak or slob continuum and stick there, except when outside pressure overwhelms them. stressed folks just collapse into a state where clutter abounds and little areas of neatness remain where they can eat or sleep—and their neatness is relative to everything else. On the rare occasion, a person retreats and becomes hyper neat; since that is the only area where they can successfully exert control—establishing order amid chaos. Pelham, it appeared, tended toward the neat-freak end of things, which made the rust stain something that should have been done away with.

Bearing all that in mind, Miracle moved to the kitchen. More white tile.  The pantry shelves held a few staples, again bought in warehouse club quantities. The dishes had been washed and placed in a drying rack beside the sink. The dish towels had been folded. The stovetop showed little sign of cooking; the freezer had a number of frozen, low-cal meals, and the refrigerator had a few take-out cartons, each labeled with a date. Condiments had been exiled to the fridge door, cheeses, meats and veggies had been segregated into their bins, but there were few enough of each that the fridge looked largely empty.

She turned to Phil. "You said this was a two-year lease, right? Was the apartment furnished?"

The detective gave her a smile and a nod. "Nailed it. Kind of has the feel of an executive apartment, doesn't it? Homier than a hotel, but not by much."

Miracle pulled out her iPhone and made a note to check on whether or not Pelham had a cleaning service, or if the building offered the same. "How did the call come in? Did you already take a witness back to the precinct?"

"Anonymous 911, burner phone, 6 AM. I did a quick canvas, no one heard anything, but the walls here are pretty well insulated. Everyone commented on that."

Easy way for them to duck involvement. "You tell them HSS would be taking over the case?"

"I wanted information, Miracle, not to terrorize them."

"I just started. I don't get to terrorize until my probation is up."

She continued through the apartment, where the color scheme shifted from white to golds and browns. The furniture was all blond Scandinavian do-it-yourself modern which looked to be anywhere from new to five years old. Tasteful and clean. Pelham had a few books stacked up, but had a Nook recharging on a table. No gaming console, but a decent flat-screen and stereo—new and warehouse store available. iPhone in the docking station which was clipped into a laptop. An iPad a generation newer than the one Quinn had sucked a charge from the laptop's other USB port. A cable snaked from the laptop into the stereo. None of the cables had tangled.

Aside from the dead body, the only oddness in the apartment's great room was a trio of long-limbed dolls that had an anime look about them. They sat, all three, on the couch and were faced toward the television, but Miracle didn't get the sense that they had been arranged to study it. "It seems as if they were put there so they'd not be looking at something else."

Phil nodded.  "Two of them in the corners of the couch normally, one in the recliner? The two on the couch would have seen the bedroom area. The third was moved from the chair, and all three arranged to look away from both the chair and the bedroom?"

"Not a surprise."

"Yeah, they're creepy looking—beautiful, but creepy." Phil shook his head. "I hope my daughter never wants them."

"Better her than your son."

"Good point."

Miracle turned and studied the sight lines into the bedroom, where the colors got a bit darker, moving to chocolate and bronze. The square apartment's layout was such that a wall ran into the room, to the midpoint, from the hall side of things. It divided the entryway, closet, bathroom and kitchen from the bedroom. The bedroom itself had a raised floor with two steps to get up into it. Two wardrobes and a dresser took the place of a closet. The bed's head rested against the wall through which the bullet had passed. The bed had been made and was flanked by two nightstands with lamps, again all some-assembly-required.

"Clothes?"

Quinn laughed. "A Snake could dress out of that closet, save for the scarves. Blues and greens, mostly solids, a few patterns. A few suits are still in the dry cleaning bags, from right across the street next to the Coffee Break franchise."

Miracle looked at Phil, then at the others in the room. "Phil, this case is just too easy. Strangled, naked, shot; it's a love triangle of some sort. Track down her lovers, or her lovers' lovers, and we have our man. Is this some sort of a set-up?"

"You don't think I'm passing you an easy one, do you?"

"You couldn't have known I'd catch it."

"Right." Phil shrugged. "Look, you might be right that this case is an easy one, but it's the ones you figure are easy that always turn out to be weird. If you're right, you get a quick close and look good with your team. If not, you'll still close it and look good. But it isn't Pelham or her weird dolls or the stain in the bathroom that makes this an HSS case. It's that the bullet passed through a wall and into a place that, as nearly as anyone can tell, hasn't existed for over a dozen years. Now I know two things. First, making a place that has a corpse in it disappear requires the sort of juice that is way above my pay grade. Second, if anyone is going to figure out what happened in there, it's going to be a Snake. And, since it's you, my friend, just this once, I'll cheer for the Snakes."

Perfect Invisible ©2011 Michael A. Stackpole. The novel is slated to go on sale on 10/1/2011.

Second Life Office Hours for 21 Sept 2011

Tonight, as I do every Wednesday evening, at 6 PM Pacific time, I'll host office hours in Second Life. Readers and writers are cordially invited to attend. I'll be in voice chat, answering questions and talking about issues of the day. The event usually goes on for about 1.5 hours, but I've been known to stay longer.

Second Life is internet chat software with a graphics interface. It's probably most easily imagined as Skyping via The Sims. With folks playing plenty of multiplayer, online games where voice chat is just part of the gaming experience, this will be nothing new. The software is free, the learning curve fairly shallow and there are plenty of folks who are willing to help you get squared away.

You attend by logging into Second Life, then clicking on this link. It will take you straight to my office where I hold office hours.

Tonight's Agenda

Identifying a writer's biggest competition, and crafting a strategy to beat it.

Plus: your questions, problems and perspectives on writing and selling of fiction today!

6 PM Pacific time, don't forget!

_______________________

Doing things like holding office hours cuts into my writing time. If you're finding office hours or my other posts about writing useful, and haven't yet gotten yet snagged my latest novels, please consider purchasing a book. Nice thing about the new age of publishing is that you become a Patron of the Arts, letting writers know what you'd like to see more of simply by voting with a credit card. (Authors charge less when they sell direct, so you save, we make more, and that frees us to write more.)

My latest paper novel, At The Queen's Command, is available at book retailers everywhere.

My digital original novel, In Hero Years… I'm Dead is available for the Kindle and in the epub format for all the other readers, including the Nook, iPhone, iPod Touch and iPad. (Imagine the Batman, Watchmen and Kick-Ass movies all rolled into one, as written by Dashiell Hammett, and you've pretty much got the idea of the book. Oh, and with some satire and political commentary slipped in for irony.)

Morass no more

The most commonly asked question I have put to me by authors and readers alike is this: "In the world of digital publishing, how does an author prevent their work from sinking into the morass of stuff out there?" I've heard it on planes, at conventions, online, in email and at talks. Everyone is afraid works of merit will never see the light of day because there are so many things being published. The question comes with a pretty high anxiety level, too.

Here's the problem with that question: It is utterly meaningless. People seem to believe that the morass situation is some how new and different because of the digital publishing boom. It's not new—it's old, ancient, unspeakably so. It's the specter that's haunted authors since before the Library at Alexandria burned down.

Consider the following facts.

1) Before digital, the question was "How can I get a publisher to notice my work in that vast morass of books they have to sort through?" The answer was "Write really well and put your work out there." Many folks also enlisted an agent to promote the work. Don't dwell on the word agent—substitute advocate. In the digital age, that's going to have to be you—but authors have always had to advocate for their own work, and the digital age gives us more and better tools for doing that.

2) The gatekeepers were never very good at making sure books didn't get lost in the morass. First off, if they were truly all about plucking gems from the slush piles, Harry Potter wouldn't have bounced around like a pinball before it found a home outside the big six publishers. Second, we'd not have had a novel by Snooki hit the New York Times bestseller list. The gatekeepers have one job and one job only: making money. They don't even advocate for the books as much as authors do—when was the last time you saw a publishing house promote a book that did better than expected, trying to trigger more sales?

3) Readers don't pay all that good attention to authors and their work anyway. When I started my series of posts on my Conan adventure, several folks reacted with comments along the lines of "Oh, you're writing Conan?" I mean, heck, this was not exactly a state secret (since I had blogged about it before) and the book was out for a full month before that series of posts began. Granted, folks have busy lives and bookstores are getting harder to find; but these are folks who follow me on Facebook and Twitter. While I don't expect them to hang on every word, it's been hard to miss that I wrote the novelization of the Conan movie. (Note: this would be an advocacy failure on the part of the publisher and the author.)

4) Writers get tunnel vision about how readers read. Think about it for a second. As readers, do we only pick up work we consider to be gems, or do we read tons of work looking for gems? I don't think I'm only speaking for myself when I note that I've sampled at least a dozen or two authors for every one I consider a keeper. What this means is simple: the morass isn't really a morass because readers graze, they don't cherry pick. The fact that sampling is so very easy in the digital age encourages this behavior.

Once readers find an author they like, they dig right in.

And they recommend that author's work to others.

The goal, then, for authors is not to worry about how to avoid sinking in the morass. The goal is to produce enough high quality work that when you're discovered, readers will want to read more. Serial stories are especially attractive in this regard. If they like one, they'll come back for more just to have the complete set. We all do it. (Yes, even you, don't shake your head like that. You know you do.)

It also helps if you spread the work around in different genres. Since Mysteries sell more than SF, if you like mysteries, write one. Let that be a story that will bring new readers to you. Try a fantasy, do some hard SF, or military SF, or anything else you like. The key here is to pick stories you like, since you'll write them well, and your enthusiasm will warm the readers' hearts.

As I have noted previously in posts, the path to success involves two things: producing and promotion. How do you promote? First, you write more. Second, you provide samples of the work to entice folks to try it. You use Facebook and Twitter and Google+ as places to promote your work to people you know. You provide samples and interesting articles on your website, so folks tweet about your posts, or share them with others.

Any writer who dwells on the question of sinking in the morass is really engaging in a very nasty and self-destructive form of procrastination. This writer uses the possibility that his work will sink to delay doing anything until he's solved, or until he discovers a solution to, that conundrum. The problem there is, of course, that his refusal to write means he's cutting himself off from the solution to the problem. Writing is too hard as it is to be sabotaging yourself. Writers write. Do that, do it well, and your audience will find you.

Instead of worrying about how to avoid being lost, writers need to ask themselves how they'll be able to meet the demand of all the readers who want their material. They need to use that problem as the basis for planning. Create a plan for producing inventory (stories) that support and cross-promote each other, and you're there.

For readers who fear they will miss gems, go out and look for good books. Make sure you write reviews or blog about books you like—and look for blogs by others that do the same thing. By promoting good books, by buying more books by good authors, you tell authors what you want to read. Writers will take the hint. As long as you download samples and read them before you buy, you protect yourself from spending money on truly wretched work. Then once you've discovered a gem of a book, you can recommend it to others and they, in turn, will do the same for you.

This fear of rejection, of not having your work noticed or acknowledged, touches all of us. If you will, to go unnoticed is to have your very existence called into question. Very potent stuff. But sitting back silently, by refusing to write, you simply surrender to the problem. You fight back and you become victorious by turning out the best stories you can and sharing them with others. As long as you keep fighting and making yourself a better writer, you'll win. Quitting is the only way you lose, and worrying about the morass is just quitting before you ever really get started.

DragonCon and Catching Up

I think I am mostly recovered from DragonCon 2011. It was, as always, a wonderful experience. It's an overwhelming spectacle, with friends everywhere I look. If it weren't for the need to sleep, I don't think I'd ever have seen the inside of my hotel room.

Without doubt the high point of the convention was the response to the Inner Circle series of Writing Classes that Aaron Allston and I offered. This was the third year for our classes. In the past two years the attendance maxed out at 80 people, more or less, which is a great draw. This year I remember, on the first day, counting the number of seat we had in the room. We had 160 seats, and by the end of the series, we had classes where folks were standing in the back of the room. I was completely blown away. I really want to thank everyone who attended, asked those great questions, and recommended to their friends that they might want to attend.

Aaron and I have already spoken with DragonCon's leadership. We'll be back again next year. We'll retire a few of the workshops and bring some brand new ones in, so there will be something for everyone next year. I said I'd not be content until they had to put us in a ballroom. Aaron said he'd not be content until they gave us the Westin! I defer to Aaron's wisdom in this regard.

At the show I got really lucky with elevators. I only had to make the trek up the stairs to the 14th floor twice during the show. A couple of years ago I tore the meniscus in my left knee. The tear is weird because it doesn't bother me when I run, play in the goal at soccer, dance or ride a bike; but walking has been progressively agonizing. However, last November, on a whim, I started taking glucosamine and chondroitin. It's supposed to be good for helping with joint deterioration. I've heard from doctors that it works in about 50% of folks; and I appear to be in that 50%. So, if in the past, late in the convention, I was distracted or a bit cranky, it was because I was walking around on a knee that felt like it was loaded with ground glass. After four big shows this year and a lot of walking (I pace when I lecture), it's back to the usual aches and pains from shows.

The only bad part about the knee feeling good is now that I have no practical reason for carrying a sword cane. For some reason I've always thought that would be cool. (Not as cool as a fez, of course…) I think the romance of the sword cane comes from reading Doc Savage novels.

At the convention I got asked a couple of questions repeatedly, so I figured I'd mention them here in case any one else would find the answer useful.

1) What's your next Star Wars™ novel? I loved writing in the Star Wars™ universe, and have many fond memories of working on the novels, short stories and comics. I am very happy that Aaron's been given a new X-wing book to write. However, I'm not scheduled to do any new Star Wars™ work. Del Rey and Dark Horse Comics hold the publishing rights to the property, so it's their decision as to who they ask to work for them. If they don't have a place for me in their publishing program, they won't invite me in. It's a business decision. I understand that and respect it. They know where I am, and if their needs change, they know how to get in touch.

2) When will the next Crown Colonies book come out? The second Crown Colonies novel is titled Of Limited Loyalty. While I was at DragonCon, Night Shade Books was finishing up the pre-production work on the book. It's set for a December release, so you should find it in stores just in time for the holidays.

3) When will your Homeland Security Services novel come out? I had intended to have Perfectly Invisible out in August. Gencon, the Conan movie premiere and the last round of edits on Of Limited Loyalty ate up the month. So, I'm looking to get that book out this month. Just keep watching this space for its release.

4) What are you working on now? I've got a couple of projects I'm playing with:

[untitled] military SF story: Aaron Allston, several other authors and I are working up a collection of short, military SF pieces for a digital anthology. I've been toying with a series of fighter pilot stories set in my Purgatory Station setting. These stories will take place a couple decades before the other stories I've written in the universe and fill in a key piece of that universe's history. I'm working on the first story right now, but have notes on a whole series of them. It will be a lot of fun to be writing military SF and dropping characters back into cockpits—and getting to toss in all sorts of alien societies and politics will just make it that much more fun.

[untitled] steampunk World War One novel: I did an earlier post about the classes I'll be teaching at Arizona State University this fall. As part of that, I'll be working on a short novel in a world I've been developing for a number of years—I'll be doing all the stuff the students are at the same time. I've already done two stories in this universe: both of the Chance Corrigan stories are set in 1902 in this universe. These new stories will take place in 1917 and start in the trenches of WWI. The big difference between that world and ours is that the story world is petroleum-poor. Steam and Tesla broadcast power are the big energy sources (well, men and beasts of burden still function, too). I've long loved the WWI era, and I'm really looking forward to cranking out the first of many stories about these characters.

An Ungrateful Rabble: In October and November I'll be tackling the third of the Crown Colonies novels. Night Shade Books bought the series as a trilogy, and this third book will have plenty of surprises built in. What I'm really enjoying about this series is that it allows me to mix action and adventure with the explorations of issues like personal freedom, and what it takes to be human. This book will be a lot of fun to do because I'll be able to push the growth cycles for many of the characters. I'm sure there will be other surprises that I'll discover during the writing, and that thought has me smiling.

Beyond those projects I'm talking with a couple of companies about doing stories set in their franchise universes, and there's more Conan in the offing. For the next year or so, anyway, I'll have plenty to do. Then I can go to DragonCon 2012 for a rest!