Hugh Howey's Blog, page 79

The Hardback Giveaway!

The winners are:

Hardbacks


Ser Anthony Cross
Idella
Liana M.
Sara

Paperbacks


Amber
Romrose
Adalbjorg
Alex

 

The Hardback Giveaway

The entries for the hardback giveaway have been entered into a spreadsheet (thanks, Paul), which means the contest is now closed. I was absolutely gobsmacked by the number of you willing to do so much for a free book. I expected a few dozen entries. I got a couple hundred. And many of you went to the limits, doing all 10 items from the help-an-author list. Those efforts are greatly appreciated. I hope it helped form some quick habits, and that you’ll spread the love with other books you’ve enjoyed. It means a ton to we writers to have you involved in the success of our works.

Tomorrow night (Wednesday), I’ll do a live drawing from the 1,031 entries. We’ll announce the 4(!) hardback winners, figure out how to get shipping addresses from the lucky sots, and I’ll show you the consolation prizes that 5 others will receive for being so awesome. These consolation prizes are nearly as badass as the hardbacks, and they haven’t been revealed anywhere else, so you’ll see them here first.

Stay tuned!

A NaNo Sample.

DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T WANNA!!!!

So, what goes on with a NaNo? Well, it’s all about an outpouring of words. You have to type 1,667 a day to finish by November 30th. For me, that’s usually no big deal. This year, it’ll be different. I’m busy revising SECOND SHIFT while writing THIRD SHIFT. I have two trips to take and a writing workshop to teach. I’m usually a few days ahead by now. Instead, I’m right on the line.

What I thought I’d do — since I enjoy writing in this glass house over here — is throw up a scene from today’s output so anyone interested can view my process. It’s just over 1,000 words long, so you almost need to double this every day. If you hate spoilers, don’t go any further.

Silo 17

Year Two

Jimmy took his breakfast—one can of peaches and one of pineapple—to the great steel door. He unshouldered his rifle and sat down, resting his back against server eight.

The rifle had taken some figuring out. His father had disappeared with the loaded one, and when Jimmy discovered the crates of arms and ammo, the method of inserting the latter into the former had posed a puzzle. He made the task a Project, like his father used to make their chores and tinkering. Ever since he was little, Jimmy had watched his dad disassemble computers and other electronics, laying out all the pieces—each screw, every bolt, the nut spun back on the bolt—all arranged in a neat pattern so he knew where they went again. Jimmy had done the same with one of the rifles. And then with a second rifle, when he’d accidentally knocked the pieces from the first with his boot, sending them scattering.

With the second, he saw where the ammo ended up and how it got there. The spring in the ammo holder was stiff, which made it difficult to load. Later, he learned that this was called a “clip,” after finding the entry for “Gun” under “G” in the tins full of books. But that had come weeks after he’d figured out how the thing worked on his own, with the hole in the ceiling to show for it.

He kept the rifle in his lap, across his thighs, and balanced the cans of fruit on the wide part of the stock. The pineapple was his favorite. He had some every day, watching the stock on the shelves dwindle. He’d never heard of such a fruit, had to look the thing up in another of the books. It’d been the pineapple that’d led him on his first dizzying tour through the tins. Things had quickly gotten out of control. “B” for “Beach” had led to another book. “O” for “Ocean” had confused him with its sense of scale. And then the “Fish” under “F.” He had forgotten to eat that day, and the room with the radio and his little mattress had become a hazard of open books and empty tins. It had taken him a week to get things back in order. Several times since then, he had lost himself in similar excursions.

Pulling his can opener and fork from his breast pocket, Jimmy worked the peaches open, first. There was the whispering pop of air as he made the first cut. Jimmy had learned not to eat the contents if it didn’t make that pop. Luckily, the toilets were still in operation back when he’d learned that lesson.

He worked his way through the peaches, savoring each bite before drinking down the juice. He wasn’t sure if you were supposed to drink that part—the label didn’t say—but it was his favorite. He grabbed the pineapples and his opener, was listening for the pop of air, when he heard the keypad on the great steel door beep.

“Little early,” he whispered to himself. He set the can aside, licked his fork, and put it back in his breast pocket. Cradling the rifle to his armpit, he sat and watched for the door to move. One crack, and he would open fire.

Instead, it was four beeps from the keypad as a set of numbers were entered, followed by three sets of rapid beeps to signal that it was the wrong code. Jimmy tightened his grip on the gun while they tried again. The screen on the keypad only had room for four digits. That meant ten thousand combinations if you included all zeros. The door seemed to allow three incorrect attempts before it wouldn’t take any more, not until the following day. Jimmy had learned these things along with the men outside. He used to watch them on the screen downstairs. Now he stood guard. They both had their routines, he and these others. It was a bit of human contact, if scary.

He listened to the keypad beep with another guess and then chirp three times with the good news. Good news for him, anyway. Still, that was another number down, which meant time was running out. Twelve-eighteen was the number. Jimmy cursed himself for even thinking the code; his finger went to the trigger, waiting. But thoughts couldn’t be heard. You had to speak to be heard. He tended to forget this, because he heard himself thinking all the time.

The third and final attempt for the day began, and Jimmy couldn’t wait to eat his pineapples. On the server behind him, he had done the math. He assumed they’d started at 0000 and were working their way up. That’s how he would do it. With no idea when the first try had been, he assumed the worst, that it was day one. Three a day meant they would stumble on the right code on day 406 on the second try. That was just over a month away.

But then there was the lingering fear that they might skip some numbers, that they had started somewhere else, or that they might get lucky if they were going random. For all Jimmy knew, more than one code might open the door. And since he didn’t pay attention to how his father had changed the code a year ago, he couldn’t move it higher. And what if that only got them closer? Maybe they started at 9999. He could move it lower, of course, hoping to pass one they’d already tried, but what if they hadn’t tried it yet? To take action and let them in on accident would be worse than doing nothing and then dying. And Jimmy didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to kill again.

This is how his brain whirled as the four digits were entered. And when the keypad chirped angrily at the good news, he was slow to relax his grip on the gun. Jimmy wiped his sweaty palms off on his thighs, and picked up his pineapples.

“Hello, pineapples,” he whispered. He bent his head toward his lap and punctured the can, listening closely.

The pineapples whispered back. They told him they were safe to eat.

WOOL in Bookstores!

How cool and crazy is this? A reader posted the above pic on Twitter yesterday. They were in one of the Powell’s locations in Portland. As they entered the Gold Room, they headed toward science fiction and wondered idly if perhaps WOOL would be shelved there. It was a dim hope, right? But there on the featured shelf with the latest releases were brand new copies of the Omnibus!

Pretty crazy. It’s awesome that CreateSpace makes these print-on-demand books available through wholesale outlets so that libraries and bookstores can order copies. It really is a brave new world for publishing. Of course, the bookstore takes the risk that the copies won’t sell (which means they won’t be able to return them for a full refund), but the current return system needs to be modified, anyway. What this really tells me is that the reader is king. If you stir up the demand, the system will find a way to supply you. The power is entirely in your hands.

NaNoWriMo!

National Novel Writing Month has begun! If you’re participating, good luck! Here’s my profile if you want to send me a message or buddy me. And here are the first words out of my head this morning as I begin book 8 of the Silo Series!:

****

The loud came before the quiet. This was a Rule of the world, for the bangs and shouts need somewhere to echo.

Jimmy was in class when the Great Loud began. He was learning rules that soon would not apply. During Civics Hour, they studied the Pact. Here were rules on top of rules. It was the last bit of instruction before they graduated and moved off to shadow. Many of their friends already had. Done with their book learning, they now apprenticed with their hands. Jimmy would have at least two more years of advanced study if he were to follow in his father’s footsteps. He was sixteen, and while Mrs. Pearson spoke of the seriousness of choosing a life partner and registering a relationship according to the Pact, Sarah Jenkins was turning in her seat to smile back at him. Civics lessons and biology lessons were being shuffled together, hormones spoken of along with the laws that governed their excesses. Sarah Jenkins was cute. He hadn’t thought so at the beginning of the year, but now he was seeing it. Sarah Jenkins was cute and would be dead in just a few hours.

Get out the Vote!

Today’s amazing news! WOOL has been nominated for a Goodreads Choice Award! This is the only major book award chosen by YOU, the reader! The nomination, in fact, is because of how many of you added the book to your lists, rated it, and wrote reviews. So thank you for what is already an incredible accomplishment.

Goodreads sent me an email urging me to beg for your votes. They even suggested a video, but with no mention of dancing. Shame, that. If you loved WOOL, feel free to vote. I’ve also been nominated for a Goodreads Author of the Year Award. You know how much I’d love to win either of these. As an award that comes from you all, nothing could be better. So spread the word! Get out the Vote!

Spooky Empire!

I’m getting on the road tomorrow to head up to Orlando for Spooky Empire! I can’t wait. I hope there’s time to hit Halloween Horror Nights over at Universal. Oh, and I’ll be on a panel with the great R.L. Stine! I’m so excited about this that I have . . . butterflies in my stomach.

My panel schedule (so that I can look at my own website and see where I need to be):

Friday at 9:00 PM ~ Know Your Zombie

Saturday at 5:00 PM ~ Self Publish vs. Big Publisher

Sunday at 11:00 AM ~ Books to Film

Sunday at 1:00 PM ~ Writing Horror 101

Sunday at 3:00 PM ~ Getting Published (Moderating)

Should be a blast!

 

Check it, yo!

Win a Hardback!

I’m dying to send someone one of these hardbacks from the UK. In fact, I’m thinking we need a contest. It’ll be open for a while, so don’t rush off and bang your toe on anything to get started. Just take a deep breath. This will be either the easiest or the most onerous contest you’ve ever entered. That’ll be up to you.

This is like a scavenger hunt of sorts, all based on an honor system. I saw a post recently by D.M. Andrews that listed 10 things you can do to support your favorite authors. It’s an egregious amount of work, to be sure. It involves clicking on things and writing stuff. Not much fun. In fact, it’s almost exactly like Facebook.

The contest will work like this: Do as many or as few of these ten things as you like. You don’t even have to do any! You just have to promise not to break any rules or violate common decency. Don’t write a review of a book you haven’t read. Don’t upvote a review unless you truly find it useful. Make a Listmania because you really believe it will help other readers. And don’t lie about your participation. In general, don’t be a dick. The Easter Bunny is watching.

After you’ve done as much clicking and writing as you feel like, leave a comment on this blog post with the number of crappy, awful things you suffered through for your love of free goodies. (Various other comments are welcome, but only the entries with a simple number will be considered for the contest). The number you enter should lie between 0 and 10. This is how many extra entries your name will be given. All the names will go into a virtual hat, which means each horrible little busybody task you perform will be like punching another lottery ticket. Also: depending on the level of participation, I might have to give away several of these bad boys.

The contest will run for a few weeks, so don’t strain yourself. If you’ve already written a review, that totally counts. If you do a bunch of extra credit and suck up to me, that’ll probably count in your favor as well. Again, no bitching about all the work. Just comment with a big fat zero and be done with it. That’ll get you one entry.

Okay, best of luck! Here’s a link to the list again. Yeah, it’s a bunch of sucky work. But it’s an awesome learning experience to see how easy it is to support your favorite authors. Go forth and do this for other reads you really enjoy. You have NO IDEA how much this means to us writers. It makes the blood, sweat, and tears we shed totally worthwhile.

Oh, and a reminder of what you’re gunning for!:

The hardbacks are here!