Michael J. Sullivan's Blog, page 84

On Their Way

Countdown, Day-4  Monday marks the launch of Percepliquis. As you can see we have an inventory ready to ship and will be packaging and shipping them out today for those who preOrdered and hopefully they will get to you on or very near Monday. Those of you buying the ebook version will be able to download them on Monday.  
We are still T-18 days away from the Heir of Novron release. I received my shipment of Heir copies on Wednesday, which means that copies could be hitting local book stores in the next few days as well. In the past, books appeared in stores just about a week after I got mine. So watch for them, and remember to snap a picture and send it to me when you see them. The first person who does will win a Riyria t-shirt.
Those wishing an ebook version of Heir of Novron, you still have another 18 days to wait. Why? Because the offical release is the 31st, but only the ebook can be punctually released. Percepliquis is being released two weeks early to account for the good chance that Heir will appear in stores early simply due to shipping realities, and to reward those long-time readers who helped make the series such a success.  
So keep a watch on your mail, and in your local stores—the last book is coming.

Using Cerebro

Countdown, Day-7
In response to someone asking if he had seen a specific comment about his books online, Mark Lawrence, author of Prince of Thorns , remarked on Facebook that no mention of his book slips passed him.
I think that's the way it is with new authors. Maybe it changes when you have fifty books on the shelves and have made cameo appearances in your own novel-to-film adaptations. For example I doubt Stephen King will take note of his name appearing in this post. Being that this is a line I have yet to cross, at this stage any mention—any comment, no matter how small or trivial—is a treat to discover. The mere fact that people you don't know are talking about you, is so strange as to be mesmerizing. Days ago you were this invisible entity flitting about the net, now you exist on it in avatar form. I say this, because it isn't really you. What exists on the net is an idea of you, an impression that people develop, ideas they associate with your name that you have little control over. In many ways it is similar to an online game. Players can't help but associate your actions in the game to your character, and an impression is developed that is the sum of your words, actions, and even the look of your avatar. This imprint might bear only a distant resemblance to the real person, but it doesn't matter. The avatar is all that most people ever see, so for them the projection is reality.
This disconnect is what surprises new authors. It surprised me. We forget others don't know us, and that something fundamental has changed. Normally when aspiring authors meet strangers there is often an immediate sense that whatever the other person is doing with their life is likely more important and more successful. Not only are you only chasing a dream of making stuff up for people's entertainment, but you haven't even succeeded. When people asked what I did, I rarely admitted to being a writer. They would most assuredly ask, "Anything I'd know?" I would then have to explain that I'm not yet published and feel ashamed as if I've been caught in a lie, like I just claimed to be Winston Churchill and should have known they'd guess I wasn't telling the truth.
You spend years learning, you are hopeless, clueless, just plain—less. So when after you've been published and meet with some level of success, it is utterly bizarre when readers don't merely treat you as equals, but as something more.
I doubt there is a new author alive that doesn't use Google Alerts, or some other method of searching the net for any mention of their name, or the name of their book. (Although Mark Lawrence informs me he turned off his alert feed for Prince of Thorns as it became a time sink.) If they are like me, they expect to find conversations discussing how utterly awful their work is and possibly even snide comments about their mother.
My network detector once located a review of my first book on a tiny blog called My World…in Words and Pages , written by Melissa Hayden. She had read it and—thank goodness—liked it. Assuming this was a very quiet, little blog, I broke my rule about reviews and made a comment of thanks. I actually cringed a bit when I hit the submit button. How would she take that? Me coming there and intruding on her conversation? Would she think me rude just barging in? Would she think I was trying to advertise on her site? All the old insecurities of being an eternal aspiring author rushed back. I was published sure—but self-published. That was worse, as to many people it was an admission of failure. Almost as soon as I posted I felt it was a mistake. I checked back the next day bracing myself for an inferno of accusations and insults. Instead I found this: 
Wow, Michael! Thank you so much for stopping by, I feel very honored. I am really glad you liked the review. I am really looking forward to Avempartha. I have a few theories on a few people and can not wait to see what you have in store. I do hope the rest of the series does make it to the shelves, now that I am hooked on them. Thank you for the wonderful comment.
Followed by the comments from others:
Wow, Mel! You did such a good review the author stopped by how cool!
… I think it's the coolest thing you stopping by to comment on her review! I would love an author to do that with my blog! … Okay, so I think authors are like movie stars! At least in my eyes you are!...
Then the next day Melissa wrote:
Michael,
If you are still around, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions...
It was strange, as if I was this mystical creature that she hoped not to offend, and wasn't sure could hear her. I happily did an interview for Melissa and found out later that she is actually well-known and respected in the book blogging circles. Who knew? I just found it so odd that I would receive such a reception. I'm nobody, but apparently not to her.
That was fun and I made a friend of Melissa who recently became one of the select few to receive an advanced copy of Percepliquis which she recently reviewed.
So this idea of being Xavier plugged into Cerebro and reaching out into the Interwebz to read the minds of everyone who thinks about my books is sadly addictive but often exciting, like recently when I discovered author Beverly Jenkins mentioned me in a USA Today interview concerning three authors she reads, admires, and has met or would like to meet. She pointed out two New York Times Best Selling authors, Jim Butcher, and Ilona Andrews. She was likely pressured for time on the final name as the last person she mentioned was…me.
Now yesterday, Robin and I went out to lunch and she brought her iPad and hockey puck. The hockey puck is what she calls this little black mobile wifi hub that indeed looks a good deal like a hockey puck. As we were having lunch we checked Twitter and discovered that authors Mazarkis Williams, and Douglas Hulick had found my blog post A Digital Feast . I knew they would—I mentioned them and I know the superpower of new authors to locate all reverence to their books. We had a running dialog that probably had something to do with forming a league to combat evil in the universe, when a new twitter post popped up. It read:
Bezig met discussie van De Gesloten Universiteit (Natalie Koch) en Theft of Swords (Michael J Sullivan) op het forum.
How odd. Looking at it we saw what appeared to be the word university, my book, my name, and the word forum. What language, we had no idea. Was some foreign university discussing the literary merits of Theft of Swords? Perhaps I was now being taught as a classic? Okay, I didn't believe that one either.
"Robin to the bat cave!" I love being able to say that. I'm not so sure my wife does.
Getting home we began digging using the Google translator and deciphered the message as:
Engaged in discussion of The Unseen University (Natalie Koch) and Theft of Swords (Michael J Sullivan) on the forum. # ff-reading group
Turns out this is a Dutch book club's forum who had selected Theft of Swords for their January 2012 selection. Previous choices had been Brent Weeks, Brandon Sanderson, and Orson Scott Card.
Also listed—and let's see how long it takes for them to see this—Tee Morris and Philippa Ballentine's Phoenix Rising . Tee lives near me and we've known each other for a few years. I've even strained a few muscles helping him move furniture in his house. Phoenix Rising is a steampunk novel that just came out last year—Tee's first Big Six publication.
With the positive experience Melissa provided me, I tried to log on to the Dutch site, but it required a registration. This has stopped me before, but I was intrigued and submitted. By early evening I was admitted and logged in. It was nearly midnight in Amsterdam.
I located an About the Author section under my book's name and there I found a post which I Google translated to:
Following my last twitter message that we are reading his book this month, follows the writer (the book club) is now on Twitter ... If you want to pass something genius you can.
This was immediately followed by:
En hij zit hier nu ook!!!!!  or And he's here now !!!!!
Using a translator program I composed what I hoped was a message that said:
I'm using Google translator. Not sure if what I write will be readable. I want to thank you for selecting my book. If you can leave questions in English. I will try to answer in that language. By the way, a Dutch translation in the works.
This began a night of eavesdropping on Dutch conversations that was a bit like listening to a really distant station on an AM radio.
"This is also ever come sounds quite enjoyable"
"Mmm, I've just started and it's already very good. Although both the story and the characters are really different from me seem Eddings has it there is something of road. Happy fantasy perhaps?"
"That genre appeals to me to do. This has become very top of my virtual ntl. You have me very, curious consolation!"
"Okay, okay, you got me enthusiastic stories hot run for this book and after some covert actions on the Internet, is the book with me at the e-reader and I'm so start."
So this is going to be trickier than I expected.
In case you are interested in discussing Theft with fellow readers, there's an easier way. Goodreads has a group who just started reading the entire series, so you can come over there and chat with others. I even stop in from time to time.
And as of today, we are officially one week away from launch.

The Indies

Countdown, Day-8
The indies is where I used to live and I'm not talking about a place in southeast Asia.
For me the publishing landscape is analogous to the way things were in the eighteenth century. My story would be that of a man born in a small monarchy, Lichtenstein perhaps, who failed to make the heads of Europe turn and due to economic reasons set sail to the New World to make my fortune. It was rough, but I did well, and I made a name for myself. Then I was offered a royal appointment in London. London isn't the sin city I was led to believe by all the talk in the colonies and of course I know the "rebels" aren't backward, feral heathens either.
Having sailed the sea between, I don't see the need for war. There are good and bad indie books just as the same can be said of traditionals. Too much is based on opinion to be definitive. The Big Six have a huge navy and control the seas, but the cost of living in England is high. You can make a fine living on a small farm in Virginia, but where is the theater? Both are fine choices and many people of means cross the Atlantic back and forth as the mood suits them.
So it would be remiss of me to ignore the many fine writers back in my old neighborhood, a fresh, and exciting world of inventors and entrepreneurs and finding quality indie fantasy books is really quite simple. Amazon is a great place for "author discoverability" and provides lists for Bestselling, Top Rated, Most Wished For, and Hot New Releases. The number of sales it takes to rank onto these lists ensures that a lot of people have purchased the books, so high sales + lots of reviews = a pretty darn good bet.
My wife and I know, or at least have spoken with, many of the following authors, and although I've not had a chance to read their works their records speak for themselves and I hope you'll give them a try.
David Dalglish is a hugely popular indie fantasy author. He was really becoming popular just as I was exiting the indie world, and I think of him a bit as a younger brother who has since grown taller than me. He's an example of the new indie author—having never bothered to even submit his work to the Big Six. He has three series including: Half-Orcs (1-5),  Shadowdance Trilogy (1-3),  The Paladins (1-3). He's also has short stories in collections: A Land of Ash, The Gate: 13 Dark & Odd Tales, Lessons III: Demonic Dolls and Other Morbid Drabbles, and a short story he co-wrote with Sean Sweeny: Refugees: A Short Story of Survival. In general his books range in price from $0.99 - $4.95and you can tryout The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, Book 1) for free. He sells ebooks and a number of the titles are available in print as well. He has more than 410 Amazon Ratings and 1,404 Goodreads ratings. On Amazon's Epic Fantasy Kindle Bestseller List he has books ranked at: #20, #21, #30, #82, and #96.
B.V. Larson is an indie author, who like me was recently picked up by a major publisher, but one of those who straddles the ocean between. The science fiction and fantasy imprint of Amazon will be putting  out his Technomancer book in the summer of 2012. In addition he has numerous indie titles in both fantasy and science fiction including: Haven Series (6 books), Star Force Series (5 books), Hyborean Dragons (6 books),  Imperium Series (2 books), Seeker Series (2 books), Shifting, Velocity, The Vampire's Image, Creatures, Spyware, and Lost Shores. Not only does he routinely top the fantasy and science fiction lists, but he has made the Amazon Top 100 Lists with several titles. He also prices his books from $0.99 - $4.95. He has almost 990 Amazon Ratings and 1,182 Goodreads rating. On Amazon's Science Fiction Kindle Bestseller List he has books at: #12, #64, #74. On Amazon's Magic and Wizards Books Bestsellers List he has books at: #26, and #62.
Daniel Arenson's "Requiem books (the Song of Dragon Series)" have been tearing up the chart – bumping my books out of a few choice spots…thanks Daniel. His works include: Song of Dragons Series (1-3), The Gods of Dream, Eye of the Wizard, Firefly Island, Flaming Dove, and a writing tips book entitled: The Word Weaver's Grimoire. Daniel started his career, as I did by publishing through a small press and then decided to go out on his own. He has 200 Amazon Ratings, and 543 on Goodreads. His Light of Requiem is #2 on the Hot New Releases in Epic Fantasy (two above Rise of Empire at #4). On Amazon's Epic Fantasy Kindle Bestseller's list he has books at: #13, #15, and #17 (my books are #26, #41, and #74 so he's currently outselling me).  He also can be found on the Magic and Wizards List at #22. His ebooks range from $2.99 - $3.99 and some titles are also available in paperbacks).
Michael G. Manning is proof that you don't need dozen's of books to make a splash on the indie scene. He has just a single series with two books published so far: Mageborn: The Blacksmith's Son & The Line of Illeniel, but both have, I believe, hit the Amazon Top 100. I know for sure one has. The first is priced at $0.99 and the second for $2.51. The books can be found on Amazon's Epic Fantasy Kindle Bestsellers list at #8 and #12. He has over 230 Amazon ratings with just these two books.
I could name dozens of others, who are either indie or published through small presses and selling well such as: K.C. May, Aaron Pogue, J.R. Rain, Deborah Geary, Joseph Lallo, Christopher Bunn, Brian Rathbone, Michael R. Hicks, M. R. Mathias, Lindsay Buroker, Thomas DePrima, Vaughn Heppner, Gregory J. Downs, Brian S. Pratt, Michael Foster, Christopher Williams, and even some well selling author's from my wife's small press: Nathan Lowell, Marshall S. Thomas, and Leslie Ann Moore. Many of these authors offer free or deeply discounted books so they are painless to tryout. 
So I suspect when I visit the salons in Paris this spring, there will be both Old World and New World authors, and thankfully, art—like science—have never noticed borders.

The Great Book Hunt of 2012

Countdown, Day-9
We're close now, very close. 
When I was in my teens I ran a road rally, which is sort of like a suburban form of scavenger hunt, in that cars are used. There are various types of the road rallies and scavenger hunts. Most gave you a list of items that you are required to find like a pinwheel, or a shoelace. Mine were a bit different.
I provided clues, verbal puzzles of increasing difficulty that would lead to the next clue. "Your next clue lies at the big M," is an example, and it would indicate the McDonalds (we only had one in our town.) You would then race in your car to the McDonalds and since it said the clue was at the M, that meant you needed to look on the M sign itself. There you would find another clue taped to it. That would be the easiest sort of clue. They got a lot harder.
What might you call an eleven inch ruler? — Little Casear (pizza)
Some were just a series of numbers, other a jumble of letters, other poems, and some photographs or even a recorded song.
And I made the clues themselves challenging.
I spray painted a giant clue on the surface of a parking lot that could only be seen by climbing a nearby tower. I took out an ad in the local paper for another.I taped one on a competitor car's bumper. (Actually all of them, but they didn't know that.)One was buried in a forest. One taped to the moving handrail of an escalator. Another in a specific page in a book in a library.
I did this every year and became notorious as the popularity of the event grew and I had as many as twenty cars causing trouble around my little town, but surprisingly the police and security guards often joined in the fun—once they found out what was going on. And in the end I reserved the back room of a restaurant where I gave out the trophies.
I don't plan to do that again, but since we have the time, let's have a little fun, shall we? 
The release of Percepliquis and Heir of Novron are only days away. Exactly how many? The timing is a little funky due to the realities of the publishing business. This is not a flip-the-switch kind of thing. It is more of a general, it happens when it happens, kind of event. I'm confident Percepliquis will be released darn close to the 16th because stores aren't involved, so that isn't much of an issue however, Theft of Swords was officially supposed to be available on November 23rd , but on November 13th Bryan Young, a gentlemen in Houston, took this picture …


He was the first one to find a copy out in the wild. That was a full 18 days ahead of the scheduled release. Heir of Novron is scheduled to be officially available online and at stores on January, 31. We are now 23 days ahead and even I have yet to see the American edition of Heir of Novron—not even a proof. 
So here's the deal...
The first person to snap a photo of the American edition of Heir of Novron (no purchase necessary) and send it to me at michael.sullivan.dc@gmail.com, will win an exclusive Riyria t-shirt. This t-shirt was designed by me and is not available anywhere, not even by purchase from me. Thus far I have only given these shirts out as gifts to reward specific people, such as close friends who helped proof the original versions of the books, some folks at Orbit working on my books, and those people at One More Page Books who hosted my release party. 


Bryan got one—and you could too. (Starting to sound like an infomercial.)
The Great Book Hunt of 2012, will be the first national scavenger hunt I've ever run. You'll have far less chance of being arrested, but you'll get a prize you can wear.
Good luck!

A Digital Feast

Countdown, Day-10

For good or ill, moving to a New York publisher after being a self-pub is like shifting from public school to a private one. You find yourself in a new neighborhood with different kids that look better than you. Kids who know all the fashion trends and are up on current events happening in Asia, while all you know is which alleys are safe to walk home through. These are kids you never expected to be playing with. Kids who dress in better clothes, who stand straight and talk with perfect diction. You don't make friends easily, because they intimidate you and—you imagine—laugh behind your back. Who let him in? This is a school of privilege, of big names, famous names.
I don't know anyone here.
I recently read A Moveable Feast by Hemmingway, which is a memoir of his early days spent as an expatriate in Paris. This was back when he was an aspiring writer, a moment in time touched on in the recent Woody Allen movie Midnight in Paris. In his depiction of the era, Hemmingway provides a portrait of a world where artists of the time all knew each other. They either bumped elbows at Parisian cafes, or were in correspondence with their fellows stuck in London or New York. I strongly suspect this is a very romanticized view that Hemmingway may not have intended.
This idea that everyone in a given field knows each other has fascinated me. I often see famous comedians speak of having shared apartments with other famous comics during their struggling years. Actors all either went to school together or bussed tables at the same restaurant. Tolkien and Lewis were good friends and visited the Eagle and Child pub regularly, and Hemmingway and Fitzgerald were drinking buddies in the many haunts of France. How does this happen? Over the long years when I was learning I never met another writer.
This idea of an artistic community that is connected and supportive or even competitive with friendly rivalries is appealing to just about everyone, particularly artists, hence the Allen movie. But as I said, I doubt it was ever truly that way in the 1920s. How could it be when the Algonquin Round Table and Harlem Renaissance were in New York, The Bloomsbury Set was in England, The Lost Generation was in Paris, and Steinbeck, Hammett and Chandler were on the west coast? Nevertheless the very existence of these informal social salon-like gatherings suggests a cohesion of artists that I don't see today, or at least didn't until recently.
In reflecting on Hemmingway's Paris, I began to draw correlations to today, but it wasn't until I was speaking to my wife about other up-and-coming writers that I began to see connections. The reality is that the artistic landscape has become far less romantic but far more global, as the literary communities of old have reappeared—on the net. Twitter, forums, and sites like Goodreads are the new salons, and it is here that I have met and begun to know my fellow authors.
I also discovered how it happens—how artists come together, how they end up knowing each other. Imagine crash landing on a desert island with ten other survivors. You aren't too likely to just walk off and separate yourself, winging it on your own. People trying to survive in a hostile environment tend to gather together for mutual benefit even if they compete for the same food sources. And the literary field is a very hostile world, like one of those computer games where each level is harder than the last, and there's always an impossible boss mob you have to defeat before advancing.
Authors are desperate people. We're starving for any forward movement and no one understands that more than another author. If you have ten fans and I have ten fans, by helping each other out, maybe we can both have fifteen? No one says this. There are no formal or informal alliances. We aren't that smart and tend to be far too proud, fair, and honest for such backroom antics. But we can't help our subconscious. If you think it's great that the author of a well-known book responds to your email, or tweet, it is ten times that when another author compliments your book. Not only is it just plain cool that they took the time to write you, but they also took the time to read you. That right there is fantastic, but then you have the additional godsend of all of those author's fans seeing that comment and noticing you for the first time.
This is one of the reasons authors connect, for mutual advancement. I saw it happen a lot in the self-pub world. Some even made pacts to rave about the other's book regardless of their true feelings. I found myself in one of those once, but couldn't do it. Luckily the other author had not posted about my book and I was able to break the deal. It pissed them off. "This is how it's done." I was told. I couldn't do it and this made me some enemies early on.
Nothing like that has happened since I came to Orbit, but I can see the benefit of author cross-promotion and just plain friendship. I know editors who get nervous when authors talk to each other the way one might seeing two ex-lovers having lunch and hearing their name come up.
So here I am in this new school standing alone on the playground not even sure who my classmates are. I imagine I am isolated and everyone else are above me. You always think this on your first day, that because you don't recognize anyone, that you are the only new face. But there are others who only recently started too—my classmates. They are the other young faces standing awkwardly. Just to make sure however I checked the official school lists—the Amazon book pages. Certain names keep popping up around mine, these are:
Jon Sprunk's Shadow Son seriesMark Lawrence's Prince of ThornsDouglas Hulick's Among TheivesMazarkis Williams's The Emperor's Knife
Apparently we are all a bunch of thieves and assassins, so don't mess with us. Especially Lawrence, that guy is crazy.
In A Moveable Feast Hemmingway writes about how he reads the other new authors to keep up on what they're doing, mentioning this Aldus Huxley guy. This got me thinking about my own peers, (that still sounds arrogant—sorry but it does.)
Jon Sprunk's Shadow's Son page on Amazon
I met Jon at Balticon this last year. He was very friendly and respectful as if I was an equal or something. I picked his first book, Shadow's Son, up at the Baltimore Book Festival (a signed copy—sweet!) and read it. I'm not a fan of the gritty and cynical fantasy, and I did not expect to like it, but I was pleasantly surprised. I was also a bit irritated as Jon knows bigger words than I do. For all its darkness, Caim is still a hero. Besides I think the Shadow covers, along with Brett's Desert Spear are the best covers I've seen. They practically scream, "Read this!" 
Mark Lawrence's Prince of Thorns page on Amazon  As you can see, I'm the number one "also bought" on Mark Lawrence's page. Prince of Thorns is highly respected on the forums and hit a number of the Best of 2011 lists. So what could I do, I had to read it.
Lawrence is dark. He makes the total absence of light feel pale. I'm not a huge fan of cynical fantasy, but while I was snooping around looking at reviews for his novel I read one that respectfully rejected it on moral grounds. Even the reviewer could not denounce his writing, but they rejected the book because Lawrence appeared unapologetic. I suppose if I had read ten "great book, must read!" reviews I would not have been as interested as I was after that one negative review. It bothered me that such an accusation would be leveled at an art form with the suggestion that Lawrence himself may be morally consistent with his characters if he did not in some way indicate otherwise in the novel. I immediately bought the book and started reading.
I'm now sixty pages into Prince of Thorns, and I am deeply impressed with the writing. I did not expect to enjoy this book as much as I am, which given my predisposition against gritty fantasy, attests to Lawrence's tremendous talent.   
Mazarkis Williams's The Emperor's Knife page on Amazon Douglas Hulick's Among Theives page on Amazon
I haven't gotten around to either Douglas Hulick or Mazarkis Williams, but I will be looking at their books soon. Then one day, when we all find ourselves in a café or pub I will be able to chat intelligently and write my own memoir about the heyday of fantasy literature just after the turn-of-the-century and how I knew the greats before they were required reading by high school English teachers.

How Has It All Come Down To This?

Year in Review


Countdown, Day-11
I've always wondered what it would be like to be at ground-zero of something—something historic but in a good way. At Kitty Hawk working on a tan when two brothers in goggles showed up, in London brushing up on my acting when The Theater was rebuilt and named The Globe, in Athens just trying to figure things out when Socrates began teaching, in Paris between the wars, and Lexington when the shot was fired.
Then it happened.
The explosion occurred in November 2010. I don't remember the day, I doubt anyone remembers the hour. At first only those of us who were connected noticed. Just like in any of the science fiction movies where the researchers buried in their labs are the first to spot the shadow out in space or hear the sound that isn't supposed to be there. We were on the frontlines and we saw the numbers doing the impossible—we started freaking out.
The revolution had begun.
People speculated for years afterwards as to what caused it. They asked us because we were there, and it was damn strange to watch the news and see them getting it all wrong. Makes you wonder what else they get wrong. How much is just bad guessing. They didn't even get the terms right. It was like listening to the older generation trying to street-speak, not certain what's a noun and what's a pronoun.
The Kindle. The death of books. The end of literature. Chaos. The sky always falls when winds blow, and there are plenty of little chickens screaming doom. Not because they're scared, but because they were excited. They wanted to see something go boom. The truly scared people didn't say a word.
Us self-pubs were toiling away in the silent brown plains, sod-busting in the lands no one else wanted. Then someone was drilling a well and it came up a gusher. Before long all the wells looked to be gushers. The Kindle, the iPad, the Nook, they ushered in the age of the ebook, the electronic revolution that changed everything.
Well, not everything. I'm still married to Robin, still have the same three kids, still live in the same little house, still driving the same crappy car. When I think about it very little changed in my general life, but a lot changed in regards to my career. For example…I suddenly had one.
After years of trying to get folks to read my books one at a time, more than ten thousand people bought at least one of the five I had on the market in December 2010 alone. January of 2011 was even bigger. I wasn't alone. I wasn't even special. Amanda Hocking, John Locke, H.P. Mallory, D.B. Henson, David Dalglish, Nathan Lowell, B.V. Larson, Victorine Lieske, Joe Konrath, we were all near the eruption point, all touched by the blast. If real-life was a comic book, we'd all have developed powers and become superheroes, maybe formed a league by now. Instead we made money with our books, many of us for the first time in our lives. We were dying of thirst, reaching out our cups into the surf and were hit by a wave.
The first reaction was not to do anything, too afraid we'd wake up. Only it wasn't a dream and most of us found offers from the big companies. I wasn't any different. Orbit noticed the numbers. The sales caught their attention, and my story did the rest. If it was a Steve Spielberg film the publishers would be the folks in black suits and SUVs with the tungsten lights and the insta-tents with their own air filters. Only it wasn't a summer blockbuster, it was a winter miracle that made a lot of dreams come true.
I reached an agreement with Orbit and spent last winter getting to know Devi Pillai, the senior editor who championed my books. She edited the manuscripts. The process was remarkably painless. In the cold months that saw three record snowstorms in the area, I went over the proposed changes and in between edits, I played with creating another novel that had nothing to do with Royce and Hadrian, or epic fantasy. At that time, no one knew what was happening. No public announcements had been made yet. I was waiting on Orbit who wanted to break the news.
At the same time my wife was having to fly all over the country for her job, (something neither of us enjoyed) a job she was growing to dislike more each day. As the sales of my books continued to climb, her employers grew nervous. Those of us who were there at the explosion discovered each other and talked. I even met Joe Konrath and Blake Crouch for dinner in New York. We all had the same story—wow.
As February ended I was settling into my new life as a secretly New York published author. I chatted with my agent frequently, and exchanged a flurry of emails with my editor, and even had calls with my marketing exec and publicity manager. I had seen book cover art for the series and the first set of edits were done, but still there was no announcement. Normally I'm a patient guy, but it was coming on March and my readers all expected Percepliquis to be published in April. I was already receiving emails asking when it would be available, when they could schedule book clubs, when they could get advance copies to do reviews, and all I could do is say I can't talk about it. This quickly became intolerable and I spoke to Orbit and on the 22nd they published the announcement.
Almost immediately I received a deluge of negative posts, and emails complaining about the delay in the release of the last book of the series. On forums across the net I was labeled a sellout and a liar. I was accused of sacrificing my fans and my integrity for money. This could not be further from the truth as one of the biggest problems with signing a contract with Orbit was that I would be sacrificing far more potential income because of a smaller piece of the pie. I'm also miserably honest, so these two accusations hurt.
I spent a week in a deep depression. The prevailing wisdom was that I should not post in response to the comments as it would only make things worse. By the end of that very long week, I was ready to quit writing once again, to burn Percepliquis, halt the Orbit deal, and pull all the books from the market. I'm fueled by appreciation—not money, and my pilot light was flickering. I'd go get a job at the local Starbucks. I told my wife this. She knows me and looked ashen. Finally I cast caution aside and posted on the 27th explaining what happened and apologizing for not keeping my promise to publish the last book in April.
I braced myself for the new attacks, the new insults, and I wondered how the others who had been at the blast site had weathered their shifts.
To my surprise there were no more insults. Support came instead. The comments on the forums changed their tone. Email offered their own apologies, and I realized that my fans were only mad because they loved the books. That turned it around for me. Then in March, Orbit decided they would allow me to put out a single volume of Percepliquis with my own cover and layout to satisfy all those who had loyally bought my first five novels and wanted to complete the set. With that news, whatever remaining bitterness disappeared.
Also in March my daughter and I began collaborating on Plotholes, a series of satirical cartoons that I published on my blog. That was before she became obsessed with publishing her own webcomic, Ugly Vampire, and now has little time for Plotholes.
In April, Robin finally was able to quit her job and for the first time I became the sole bread-winner of the family, which I think may have pleased me even more than her. This coincided with her birthday and for once I was able to get her what she wanted.
In May I attended the Nebula Awards here in DC and then went up to New York for Book Expo America (BEA) where I met my publishing crew at Orbit for the first time and did a signing of Theft of Swords ARCs—the first time I ever had a line waiting for me to sign books. It felt like I was pretending, like I had won some fantasy camp weekend where you go and are treated like a real baseball player, racecar driver, or published author. I stood at a big booth while three assistants organized the line, held books open to the signing page and ushered signed fans off like security at a concert. No I'm sorry no pictures of Mr. Sullivan from that side, and yes he only drinks Deer Park. Remember to save the pens, we're sending them to the Smithsonian. Talk about a rush.
The spring found me going over edits for Rise of Empire and as summer started, I moved on to Heir of Novron. I was still stealing free time to get in some writing on the new book I was calling Antithesis.
The summer was unusually hot. Robin was hit by a car while biking—no serious injuries, but a scare, and the refrigerator just up and died on us. To balance against that, foreign language rights continued to be sold as Riyria marched on in its conquest of the world, making Robin less nervous about quitting her job. I updated this blog and closed the old website, and began a series of writing tips—mostly because I could never think of topics. Write about what you know, they say. I settled for writing about what I think I know and hoped it would be good enough.
With all the edits complete, I began proofing the final galleys for the Orbit editions, as my original five novels, one-by-one, were removed from the market until in August, all of my original books had been discontinued and an era—for me at least—ended. That same month DC had a substantial earthquake followed promptly by a hurricane—coincidence? I think not.
With the last of my duties done for Orbit, in late August, I turned my full attention to Antithesis. Part of that was doing some research out west, and I took Robin and my son with me to Death Valley. An earthquake, a hurricane, a flood, and a forest fire later, we returned home.
With no Riyria books on the market for the first time in three years, Robin asked me to write a short story to keep my name out there and to whet the appetite of potential new readers in the three month interim before the Orbit book launch. I think it took me two days and The Viscount and the Witch soon hit the market detailing a bit of Royce and Hadrian's life eleven years before the events in Theft of Swords.
The writing advice posts I put out each Sunday, caught a little following and soon the Polish publisher, who was putting out the Riyria books asked permission to publish some of them in a magazine. Sometime later I received a copy in the mail. The only thing I could read was my name on the cover. So while I've never been published in an English speaking magazine, I've obtained front cover status in Poland. Funny how the world works.
All through autumn boxes kept arriving at the door—boxes of books. Books from the UK, books from the Czech Republic, books from New York. My books. Different covers, different thicknesses. For those of you who remember ordering books as a kid in school and having that cardboard box waiting on the teacher's desk for the end of class—it was like that.
I also attended the Science Fiction/Fantasy Writer's Association banquet in New York. I didn't know anyone and felt like the odd-kid-out and spent most of my time chatting with Tim Holman from Orbit— at least I recognized him. There was no candy cart, ginger-haired kid with a rat, or sorting hat, and no one knew my name, but also there was no Malfoy.
Then in November, Theft of Swords was finally released. It began popping up in the UK and at American book stores ahead of the official release date, and it was fun to see fans posting photos of their finds. The release party at One More Page Books, was a huge success with a crowd of people and the second line I've ever had for a signing.
Rise of Empire just sort of dribbled out with little fanfare as they too just began appearing in bookstores. Robin and I began drive-by signings just to see the books on the shelves and found them on the New and Noteworthy tables as well.
 Initial response was tremendous. The books were at the top of Amazon's Hot New Release lists for Historical Fantasy, Epic Fantasy and just plain old fantasy. All three, actually four because Percepliquis was also making the list based on preorders could be found on the Best Sellers, Top Rated, and Most Wish For Lists. Reviews were better than the first time around, a slew of bloggers had been lined up to post during the initial roll out, and I was soon notified by Orbit that their first print run had sold out and they were ordering a second. As the year ended, there was this pause as the orchestra limber their fingers for the big finale.
And now I'm here, waiting for the conclusion to this epic fantasy, this series of fortunate events. I'm curious and hoping for a happy ending.

The Set

Countdown—Day 12
The UK proof arrived completing that set.
I find it amazing what can be done with paper thicknesses. As you can see, Rise of Empire has the thickest spine, and Heir almost looks like the shortest book. It's not—not by a long shot. The UK edition for Heir clocks in at 928 pages, not including the extras, where Rise is only 781. And Theft is a mere 664. But you'd never tell that by looking at them.
In the American editions, the difference is even more profound as those of you who have them can attest. Theft is considerably thicker than Rise, but the weight! Theft seems to float compared the Rise which has the feel of a college text book.
I suppose the thought here is to try and keep the thicknesses similar aiming for consistency. But for anyone looking at Heir and thinking, "Hey, this is going to be a quicker read than the other two," it may be, but not because of its length.

Angels With Screen-Burned Faces

Countdown, Day-13
Percepliquis, my last book in the Riyria Revelations series is being released in 13 days, but you already knew that. You've known for some time, a lot of people have, and the reason is because of bloggers. Book reviewers and fantasy aficionados who discovered me wandering around the dirty streets of self-published row. I was thin—gaunt really—starving in the shadow of the traditional skyscrapers, knocking on the locked doors. Even the little houses closed their drapes and hushed up when I stepped on their porch.
"Six book series! All finished!" I cried. "Just read it."
"Shut up you lunatic! No one cares about traditional heroic fantasy anymore."
I looked down the street I stood on. It was plenty dark and gritty and my shoes had holes. I could see them through the windows of the restaurants, tucking white napkins under their chins. The new kids Sanderson, and that other one—Rothfuss.  I sat on the damp curb, my feet in the gutter. How could a single pane of glass separate whole worlds? And by what magic could one enter that world of music and light, a world I could only smell in the form of cooking food.
Everyone paused between bites to look up as Gaiman and Pratchett entered.  No one cared when Martin came in, though a few sneered. They were mad at him, coming so late. Gaiman noticed and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 
I shivered on the street. I wasn't alone. There were others, faint non-descript faces. I would see them trudge by, and forget them as soon as they passed.
"I'll read yours if you read mine." 
Often I huddled around a burning barrel sharing a cheap bottle of booze. We'd complement each other, speak of how great it would be when we were all in swank apartments on the glitzy part of town, the side we couldn't even see from there. Vampire epics, Arthurian legends, demon detectives, and ghost romances, we all looked awful—all misfit toys that Simon and Schuster forgot.
"You there!" a guy in a car rolled up. Cheap suit, crumpled hat, chewing the butt of a cigar. "Whatchagot?"
"I—ah…"
"Speak up! I ain't got all day."
"Six book fantasy series—ah…traditional though."
"Traditional, huh? Not much call for that now. Folks tired of it. I still like 'em though, read 'em as a kid, you know? Let me look. No promises. The rest of you stay back." He took the book. "Hey, you look like a nice kid. If it's okay, I'll put in a good word for you." Then he looked stern, "But it's gotta be good, you know?"
I swallowed and nodded. "Who are you?"
"Me? Just another blogger. There's lots of us now. We like to come down here and circle the park at night, just to see, you know—to see if there's a genius we can discover. Some filthy little Tolkien or Rowlings eating out of a soup can with their index finger."
"Can you make us famous?"
He laughed and stomped his foot on the floorboards. "Hell no! I told you, we're just bloggers. Just a bunch of guys and gals who likes reading, see? We like to find the next thing, you know? Find it so we can wave it at our friends. There's a bunch of us. We're pretty tight. One of us sees something they like they tell the others. Honestly…" He leaned out the window. "Those swells downtown, aren't all that. Some are, but they all started somewhere, you know? Somewhere like this I guess. Somewhere no one's looking."
"You discovered a lot of good authors down here?"
"Nope. Some ain't so bad, but most are crap. Still, you can see that in some—in some there's this glimmer, you know? This idea, and you can just tell that one, could be it."
"It?"
"Yeah, the next big swell—that is if they survive. That's the problem down here. I mean just smell it. Heh—you probably can't smell it anymore, can you? But listen, writers die down here. Everyone enters this park in spring when the flowers are all blooming and stuff, but the cold weather comes and soon it's winter. Get's cold here in winter. Somehow looking up at those buildings, at the warm people eating in the restaurants makes it colder."
"Were you a writer?"
"A writer? I told you boy-o, I'm a blogger." He starred at the barrel for a long minute with a sad look. "Anyway, you hang tough and I'll let you know about this book. I like the cover—different."
"I did it myself."
"Nice."
His car rolled out and I returned to the barrel to watch the sparks rise and send my dreams with them.
"Hey you? You Sullivan?"
"Me? Yeah."
It was another car, different—different guy too, but the same. "Listen I heard what Book Critic said 'bout you. I don't believe it 'acourse. Gimme the book. Let me see."
"You another blogger?"
"Yeah, so what?" He said and I thought how he kinda looked like a wolf in a way.
"Ah—nothing. What did the other guy say?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, Critic?" the man shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Guy's off his nut. He says you're better than some of the big boys. He's on drugs of course. I mean look at you! Have you ever had gloves with fingers tips?"
He took the book and drove off too.
Next week there were five more cars. One fella, a really nerdy guy wearing a hat like a crown lent me a comb for my hair—he wanted a picture. Nice guy. Then this other fella I speculated might be a junkie at first, he wanted to talk too. Then this nice girl who went on and on about this science fiction guy, and another blogger who's ink dribbled when he took notes. He didn't want to talk at first, he just watched from his car across the boulevard, but eventually he came over too. Finally there came this dame, a real bookworm with a reputation for being a hardcase, she wanted my picture too and to ask me my life story, how I got to the park, how I survived and how it felt to be the talk of the town. I answered, "I am?"
"Not the whole town," she clarified. "But the bloggers are buzzing. Their buzzing so loud people are noticing."
"Simon and Schuster?"

"No honey, not them, and not Jesus either if you were about to ask that next."

"Who then?"

"People—readers." She closed her notebook, slipped her camera away and paused. "You know, enough readers know about you, want you, and you just might get an answer the next time you knock on Old Simon's door."

I didn't tell her that I had stopped knocking on downtown doors. I had stopped knocking on up town doors. I had stopped knocking on all the doors. No one was ever going to help me. I was all alone.

Then I stopped—but someone had. That guy in the car—that blogger.

If it hadn't been for the bloggers and reviewers, the small and the tall, I'd still be in that park, or likely, I wouldn't be anywhere. I was a one shot deal, a flare fired in the night hoping someone would see. They did and now I'm an author with my final of six books hitting shelves in thirteen days. But the bloggers haven't forgotten about me.

Recently, beginning December 19th, Alex C. Telander devoted his blog Book Banter to a weeklong focus on me, letting me host his blog with five guest posts, on such topics as, What every Author Needs to Know to Make a Living, Traditional or Self-published, A Bit About Contracts. Those, and more, you can read here. You can also hear an interview I did with Alex back in June also on his site by going here.
This week Ritesh Kala and his book review site is also devoting a solid week to help promote the forthcoming release. This will consist of a bio on me, an intro to the series, Ritesh's review of Theft of Swords, an interview, and finally a guest blog by me. He is also holding a Giveaway of Theft of Swords, which is open internationally and good through January 10th.
I never would have succeeded without the literary merchant marines of the interwebs, the little gossip angels with screen-burned faces, the digital bibliophiles of the brave new world.  They were the ones to take the chance, who wasted time on a man with no name.
And it would seem…they still are. 
What can I say. They knocked this author out of the park.
Thanks guys.

Percepliquis PreOrder Now

Countdown—Day-14
I told you I would let you know when the time came. Well, it's here.
PreOrders will now commence for Percepliquis. The books will ship on January 16th. This is only for the printed, single edition, green cover, final book of the series. If you want ebook versions (kindle, nook, ipad, etc) those will not be sold by me directly. They are purchasable by Orbit through all standard outlets and will be auto-delivered on the 16th as well. (You can use the provided link to find buttons to buy those as well.)
This edition of Percepliquis has been authorized for creation and release by Orbit to meet the desires of those who already own the original printed set of five books so that you may have a completed set. The ebook formats are availible for those who likewise bought the original ebooks individually and don't wish to pay extra to re-buy Wintertide.
If you are not one of these people, you should be buying Heir of Novron. For one thing, it is now the only way to get Wintertide, which you will want to read before this one. Also Heir of Novron, which contains both Wintertide and Percepliquis, is cheaper. Why? Because I produced Percepliquis, and I don't have the resources to do the sort of large print run that Orbit can. As such my single version of Percepliquis, even discounted through this direct offer, will cost $14, (it costs more than the other books in the series, because it is almost exactly twice as long as Crown was—off by only a page or so—and paper costs money,) while you can get both books in Heir of Novron for only $10. But if you need the green book to finish the set you have on your shelf. Now's the time to place your order.
You will also have the option to indicate if you would like me to sign the book. It doesn't change the price—I don't charge for autographs—and I will just sign it, or you can have it personalized to a particular person by inserting the name you want in the field, but please either choose signed, signed & dedicated, or unsigned. Don't just leave that blank. If you do I will assume you want no signature.
PreOrder soon as this will determine how many copies we will have on hand to mail out when the 16th comes. Those ordering late might have as long as a two week delay in getting their copies mailed.

The Countdown Begins

Well, this is it. It's January 2012, the time I've deluded myself you've all been waiting for. At the stroke of midnight the ball had hit bottom and the real countdown began—the fifteen days to the release of Percepliquis. Am I the only one with a six-foot hourglass spilling red sand with days of the week etched on the side? All of you who have just finished Rise of Empire and have been waiting two weeks, think of those who finished Wintertide and have waited nine months. And those who waited nine months think of those who read my books before they were published, but never saw the last book and have waited two years. And those who have waited two years imagine how I feel. I've waited—all told—about twenty years for this release. Twenty years of knowing how it would all end, but never being able to tell anyone, never being able to find out if anyone else would think what I created was good.
The books have sold well up until now, but no one has known the whole story. You might think you do. You might think you know the characters, and many of you have theories on what will happen, but you've been wrong before, and the deeper you get in the series the less confident you may be about the outcome. People who were quick to declare they knew everything after the first book, weren't so fast to speculate after the second, and by the fifth I had caught enough with my misdirection so that few—if any—publically proclaim they have not been surprised at least once.
Two books form the backbone of any series, oddly enough, those are the first and last. The first forms the initial impression. It must be good, or no one will read further. The problem is, the second has to be better in order to be just as good, but the middle books are never held to the standard of the first. Readers expect a lull. The last book—that's different. The last book is the finale. Everyone expects a massive display of fireworks. It has to be bigger, faster, smarter, funnier, more exciting, more colorful, more beautiful than all the others. It's why everyone made the journey. No matter how much fun we had on the trail, no matter how many laughs, no matter that we saw a deer, or an eagle, or that half buried flying saucer, when we get to the top of the mountain, we want a view that will make us forget everything that came before  as, huh—what? Oh that.
Problem is, if you've done  a good job on that first book, and if you did a better job on the second—now you have to top it. And if the second book had to be twice as good just to be equal with the first, the last book has to blast that away by one of those astronomical distances they always use examples for—if your first book was the size of a grain of sand, your last would have to be the size of the Andromeda Galaxy just to avoid reader disappointment.
I really messed up. I tried to make each book a little better than the one that came before it. I purposely shifted the focus, altered the style, and changed the setting of each book to ensure they were distinct and not seen as just a sequel. And each time I raised the stakes. With each book the problems were worse, the outcome more dire, and the odds of success slimmer.  It's like one of those cartoons where one character pulls a knife, the other a pistol, the first a rifle, the second a bazooka, etc. Wintertide was an M1 tank.
I should be nervous. I should be concerned that fans won't like the conclusion, but I'm really not. I know it's good. I've always known that Percepliquis is the best of the series, and not by a little. I hate stories where the ending is a letdown. I didn't want to do that. I was so concerned, I might have gone a bit overboard. Percepliquis is everything I feel a fantasy novel should be. And while I had to dance around and bluff past the first five in order not to give away the ending, I can finally lay my cards on the table and show you what I've really been playing with all this time. I've been holding a pretty nice hand to my chest for years trying to keep a stone face, but now all the bets are in. Or rather they will be in two weeks.
While I sip my tea and watch the sand spill, here is the first review of the final book of the Riyria Revelations by Scott at Iceberg Ink. Scott's reviews of the series have always delighted me, and not because he's a huge fan (although that don't hurt a bit,) but because he exemplifies the qualities of a good reviewer. He provides opinion with information helpful to a reader in an well-thought out and entertaining fashion, while managing to avoid any spoilers at all. He has done that again with this new review, and all of you can relax and read his comments without any concern of learning something that will harm your reading experience.
Scott also, perhaps more than anyone else who I have never personally spoken with, "gets it." He has always displayed a keen insight into what I was doing and why. That doesn't mean he guessed where the story was going, but that he knew why it went where it had. Some critics, positive and negative, misinterpret aspects of the story, making assumptions that aren't true—"Sullivan clearly did this because…" and they are dead wrong. Some give me too much credit and some far too little. I've always wondered if English professors who "explain what authors meant" in their writing, have any real clue what they're talking about. From my own experience I seriously doubt it.
Scott gets it, and he's a careful reader, something I don't find very often.
Some read Crown and came away thinking the writing style was simple because that was all I could manage, and that the tale was rudimentary, lacking depth or complexity. I can absolutely see why they came to this conclusion. In some respects I intended this. I wanted readers not to be looking for more, I wanted to distract them with this fun little story while I secretly planted the seeds for greater things, and I wanted the story to be easy to read with the world-building coming in after the reader was interested enough to learn it. But Scott's careful reading saw through my plot. This is part of his review back in October 2010:
The writing is easy and flows with a voice that is decidedly deft. This guy knows how to pen a story, no question. In a lot of other fantasy series today there is so much focus on world building that the story itself can get a little bogged down and though it's not horrible to have that sort of novel out there, it is refreshing to have a book that returns to the roots of the genre, while holding on to a few of the things that make current fantasy books so good. Sullivan cleverly straddles the line between complex thread-built, long arcing plot (which is certainly there, but it is only smoke and whispers....a line here, an idea there...at this point)  and a whimsical story with interesting characters that picks you up and whisks you away on a fantastic story that will have you cheering for more. 
After reading this first review, I kept my eye on this one. Like I said, I've had other wonderful reviews of my books, but this guy—he liked the story for all the same reason I did, and saw more than he should. Scott reviewed all five of my books on his site, and now he's reviewed the last from an advanced copy that I felt he had earned the right to read early.
Once again, his review has not disappointed.
Thanks Scott…but more importantly, nice review. One of these days you might even get me to watch Doctor Who.