Deborah J. Ross's Blog, page 145

GUEST BLOG: Catherine Lundhoff on “Adventures in Marketing: Promoting My First Novel”

Book promotion: the thing most
of us love to hate but have to do. What follows is an overview of what I did
before and after my first novel was published in May, 2012.



Back in the misty regions of
2011, my publisher (Lethe Press) and I agreed that my first novel, Silver
Moon, would be published in 2012. Armed with a copy of Jeff VanderMeer’s BookLife,
I started planning. I knew I was going to need all the marketing help I could
get and practice makes perfect and all that.







I started
out by trying to define my book. I had to understand what I was selling, apart
from “my first novel.” Silver Moon is
a novel about a menopausal woman who turns into a werewolf. It is also about
developing a community and starting a new life. And my protagonist begins to
come out as a bi woman over the course of the novel. It is not, however,
primarily a romance nor is it erotica. This description helped me identify possible
target audiences for the book: older women, werewolf fans, fans of LGBTQ
fantasy, general fantasy readers, etc.




Then I moved
on to what I had to work with.





            Pros :

 5 other books written or edited and a number of
short stories published = name recognition
Awards received for existing books = more name
recognition
Working with the same publisher (Lethe Press) I
had worked with for my other books = consistency
Reviewers and a (small) fan base familiar with
and friendly to my work = existing foundation for a launch
Existing social media presence, blogs,
professionally-designed website = means of promotion under my control
Membership in several organizations that would
support my book promotion (Broad Universe, Outer Alliance, SFWA, etc.) =
opportunities for outreach as well as networking with other authors




Cons :

 Primary name recognition in another genre, and all
my current work is under my own name
Name recognition is not approaching cult figure
status, let alone bestseller status
Fairly small promotional budget
My novel is not primarily a romance and has no
erotic content (romance and erotica are the bestselling genres in LGBTQ
fiction)
I had written a fantasy novel featuring
werewolves and a protagonist who was not a teen




Once I defined what I was selling and who I wanted to market the book to, I made a list of reviewers and bloggers who I thought might like the book. This list was based on favorable reviews of similar books or having worked with them in the past. In addition, I made a list of venues to approach for readings. I also kept my eye out for podcasts that were looking for guests and for guest blogging opportunities.

Then I picked WisCon, the annual feminist science fiction convention that takes place each May in Madison, WI, for the book launch. I had done a previous book release at WisCon and had a 20-year history with the con, so I was reasonably confident that I could sell a book about a fifty-year-old woman who turns into a werewolf to some of the attendees. I would also able to combine my release with the Outer Alliance party at the con.

I kicked off pre-promotion for the book several months before it came out, doing readings at the following: Marscon 2012, a science fiction reading series at DreamHaven Books, a multi-author reading at Quatrefoil Library in St. Paul, a blog interview on Out in Print and a podcast on lesbian and bi werewolves, all in March.













Then I set
up a reading at Women and Children First Bookstore in Chicago the weekend
before WisCon. I also set up a reading at Outwords Books in Milwaukee for the
week in between Chicago and Madison. I should mention that I knew that these
two bookstores existed and hosted readings because other authors recommended
them to me. Networking is my friend.

           

At the
beginning of April, I wrote up a press release and sent it to bookstores,
review sites and other venues that I wanted to approach. This gave me a way to
introduce myself to all of the various venues I hadn’t worked with before. By
the time my ebook and print ARCs of Silver
Moon showed up, I had created a list of 25 review venues and book bloggers.
“25” was an arbitrary number that seemed achievable with the rest of my life schedule.




Then I did
the following:

A
Goodreads giveaway of two ARCs to stir up interest in the book
One ARC
and a press release sent to Write On! Radio on KFAI (Twin Cities radio
show)
One
ARC and a press release to the SF Site in hopes of getting a review
and on the New Titles list
A
request/proposal for a Big Idea post on John Scalzi’s blog, Whatever
Networking
with other werewolf fans, readers and writers on Twitter via #werewolfwednesdays
to announce the book launch
ARCs
and press releases sent to three werewolf bloggers with a lot of site
traffic
Panel
proposals to upcoming conventions to ensure that I had visibility and a
chance to mention my book
ARCs
and press releases to several podcasts and fantasy blogs
Press
release to a local bookstore for a Twin Cities reading/signing with mystery
author Jessie Chandler
ARCs
to the 15 or so reviewers who expressed an interest in the book (I got a
few refusals/no responses but I also got requests and new invitations from
blogs and magazines I hadn’t approached initially)           


How did it
go? Well, to sum up, I did 5 guest blogs, four podcasts, three interviews,
three bookstore readings, four conventions that included panel appearances and a
reading/interview on Write On! Radio. Next up, I’ll be doing a taped interview
and reading for a public access show on writing and three more conventions
(Diversicon, Worldcon, Gaylaxicon), all with readings and panel appearances.
The book has been reviewed on multiple blogs and review sites including Publisher’s Weekly and Lambda Literary Reviews. And I did all
this over the course of about three months.

   

Did it
work? Honestly, I don’t know yet. The book has more buzz than my other books
and my publisher says it’s doing well but I haven’t seen my sales figures yet.
Even when I do, small press books take awhile to find their people, as a rule;
sales figures for the second half of the year may be very different. Was it
worth it? Definitely! Best con moment ever was having my Big Idea post run on
the Thursday of WisCon weekend, which resulted in me meeting many swell people.
Am I exhausted? Um, yes. 








The moral
of the story is, I guess, that research and persistence can pay off when it
comes to publicity. There is no one way to promote your book but planning can
only help. Finally, take the long view. You’re in it for that book and the next
one and the next. A bad week on Amazon is not the end of the world. Good luck!
Now I’m off to go do some more promo before bed.




-------------------




Catherine Lundoff is the two-time Goldie Award-winning author of Night’s Kiss (Lethe Press, 2009) and Crave (Lethe Press, 2007) as well as A Day at the Inn, A Night at the Palace and Other Stories (Lethe Press, 2011) and Silver Moon: A Women of Wolf’s Point Novel (Lethe Press, 2012). She is the editor of Haunted Hearths and Sapphic Shades: Lesbian Ghost Stories (Lethe Press, 2008) and the co-editor, with JoSelle Vanderhooft, of Hellebore and Rue: Tales of Queer Women and Magic (Lethe Press, 2011). http://www.catherinelundoff.com>



Links for buying Silver Moon:

Lethe Press - http://lethepressbooks.com/lesbian.htm

Amazon.com - http://tinyurl.com/bwgsz9f

IndieBound - http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781590213797

           

Jaydium, Chapter 4

JAYDIUM







by Deborah J. Ross, writing as Deborah Wheeler







Chapter 4





Slatey
gray stones lay tumbled around the tunnel entrance, partly blocking it. About
fifty feet inside, the passageway widened and curved, then straightened for
another twenty or thirty feet and turned again. In the diffuse illumination of
the scrubjet=s running lights, the walls
alternated between matte and highly reflective gloss. Sometimes the rock
surfaces looked as smooth as melted glass, sometimes so rough and jagged that
slivers of it could double as knives.




The
tunnel twisted into the heart of the mountain for a half mile. Then it divided,
one branch leading up and back towards the surface and the other downward at a
steep angle.

Eril,
watching Kithri maneuver the scrubjet through the tangle of intersections,
considered how easily singlo flight could lead to disaster unless the >jet were kept at little better
than a crawl. The craft itself was maneuverable enough to fly two or three
times their present rate. It was the slowness of their unaided human reflexes
that would send them crashing into a curving tunnel wall.









Thinking
analytically about the difficulties of tunnel flight was pure evasion, and Eril
knew it. Duoflight required teamwork, although during he=d rarely flown secondary. When
they=d sorted housekeeping, he=d agreed to let Kithri handle the
controls. So why had he fought her like some rookie, too green not to panic the
moment they hit the storm? Had this mission robbed him of all common sense?




Instinct.
Blind instinct,
he told himself. Whenever there=s
trouble, you never let anyone else make decisions for you. You live--or die--by
your own mistakes.





But
was that any way to inspire Kithri=s
trust, by trying to take her ship away from her?

Weiram,
his squadron chief, had berated him more than once for being a loner.




"You=re a fine pilot, none
better," the old man had said. They=d
been sitting in the disordered cavern that passed for his office, aboard the
flagship that was his last command. His silver-white hair looked sallow in the
ancient jaydium light.




"But
once the lazer fire starts, you forget everything you=ve learned about teamwork. You go
on as if you=re a one-man squadron and can
take all the risks yourself. That=s
not a disaster when all you=re
responsible for is a stinger, but you can=t
run a battleship that way."




Later,
much later, speaking from his coldly efficient administrative suite in the
Federation Control Complex, First Councillor Eades had echoed that judgment.




"The
new Corps needs people with initiative and self control, not glory-hungry
troublemakers."

Eril
kept his face blank and his eyes on the uniform of unadorned black that was
Eades=s trademark. He didn=t know what it was that drove him
to one scrape after another, but it wasn=t
glory-hunger.









"Even
with your war record, that last stunt you pulled in New Paris can=t be ignored," Eades said.
"Five civilians injured and a star-class navigator out of commission for
months. What are you, some kind of thrill addict? I should shunt you straight
into Exploration, as far away from civilized space as I can put you."




Eril
held his tongue. The New Paris riot had started innocently enough, a few
friendly drag-sprints down the back alleys. By the time the crowd mushroomed
into a frustrated, war-sickened mob, he=d
been long gone. But people recognized his face from all the news tri-vids. They
remembered him as the instigator--Colonel Eril Trionan, the war hero.




"Your
father was in Exploration, wasn=t
he?" said Eades, as if that explained all of Eril=s transgressions.




"My
father," Eril said through clenched teeth, "disappeared when I was
five. And yes, he was in Exploration. But I=d rather stay where the action
is. Sir."




"Weiram
put some rather glowing words about you in his last report," Eades said,
"so I=m willing to forgo my better
judgment. For the record, I do so reluctantly. Still, I suppose some allowance
might be made for the fact that until three years ago, you were a source of
pride rather than embarrassment to the Service."




Eril
tried to look trustworthy as he waited for Eades=s decision.









"If
you want a shot at the Courier Corps so much, Colonel Trionan, you go find your
own duo partner. If you can convince anyone to fly with you--someone who
qualifies for the Corps in his own right--then I=ll believe you really mean
it."




Easy, Eril had thought. But the other
veterans, even his squadron mates, shuffled around as they found one polite
excuse after another to say no. They respected him, true, but none would
trust him that far. He=d
been too much the hothead, the hero, the loner.




Luck
finally turned his way again when Hank, who wanted nothing more to do with the
Federation, suggested his old jaydium running partner. "Flies like a space
devil," he=d
said, "and hungry, real hungry to get off Stayman. Assuming she=s still there, you two might
suit. That is, if you don=t
kill each other first."




Now
for all he knew Eril had already managed to alienate her. Fighting her for control
of her own ship was not an auspicious beginning. Maybe Eades was right and he=d be better off with the
Explorers, going years between touchdowns on settled worlds. At least the only
hell to pay there would be his own.




But
maybe he still had a chance. Eril remembered the silken heat of Kithri=s mind in his. That hadn=t been an illusion on his part,
had it? He=d made a bad start, but she hadn=t dumped him at the earliest
opportunity or headed right back to the >port.
She must feel something of the same attraction, no matter what she said. It was
too soon to give up. Somehow he=d
find a way to win her over.




oOo









Kithri
slowed the scrubjet, levelling off in a still narrower branch, and Eril turned
his attention back to the tunnel walls. They were passing through a
particularly reflective section, but the passage seemed more closed-in, not
less so.




"It
feels like the tunnel=s
swallowed us up," he said aloud.




"Hank
had the same reaction," Kithri said. "It drove him to jitters
sometimes. He kept looking over his shoulder to see what was watching."




Eril
had trouble imagining Hank Austin subject to "jitters" of any sort.
Despite his looks, he=d
been an able co-pilot, or neither he nor Eril would have made it out of the war
alive. Eril didn=t
want to waste his breath defending him to Kithri. He changed the subject.
"Where=s the jaydium?"




"Hold
on, we still have to get past the old workings--see, there." Kithri
pointed to a section of wall that looked to Eril exactly like the rock around
it, except that it was perfectly smooth from floor to ceiling.




"Tell
me something about the stuff," he said conversationally. "Something I
wouldn=t learn from the technical
tapes."




"Hank=s probably told you more miners= tales than you ever wanted to
hear." After a pause, she added hesitantly, "Did you know that when
jaydium was first discovered, they thought it might be an organic
residue?"




"I
thought it was quasi-crystalline."




"There=s no identifiable cellular
structure, I didn=t
mean that. But it doesn=t
behave like an ordinary mineral."









Eril
remembered his Academy physics instructor insisting that if jaydium existed
anywhere else besides remote Stayman, it would have been discovered hundreds of
years earlier and drastically altered the course of human spaceflight. Even
now, its nature was still poorly understood. Get any three experts from the
Jaydium Institute together, and you=d
have five different theories as to why it acted the way it did.




Jaydium
gave off light indefinitely in the absence of oxygen, but more than that, its
light was tunable, generating a faster-than-light field around anything it
enclosed. Before its discovery, Terran scientists had already developed a
fabulously expensive fusion-powered drive. Jaydium=s light-field effect slashed the
cost of spaceflight and sent humankind into the stars in hordes instead of
trickles.




Jaydium=s primary drawback was its
perishability when exposed to air. Properly sealed, it would last longer than
the vessel itself, so the replacement demand was small, except when ships were
regularly getting smashed to powder. Eril had piloted some antiquated fighters
late in the war, but their jaydium panels still shone bright and clear.
Sometimes the jaydium was the only thing on those ships that still worked
right.




oOo




They
brought >Wacker to a halt where three convoluted
branches joined in a miniature cavern, far more spacious than the tunnels they=d been travelling. Eril drew in a
tentative lungful as she unsealed the door. The air felt thick, as if it had
sat undisturbed for centuries. He detected a peculiar, almost metallic odor.
"Are you sure this stuff=s
safe to breathe?"









"Jaydium
does have a distinctive smell, doesn=t
it?" Kithri answered. "Hank always said I was imagining it."




"He
also swore his nose was fine-tuned only to Centurion brandy."




"Well,
you=re not Hank, are you?"




"I=m glad you noticed the
difference," he said, and caught her startled reaction.




Their
boots rang as they stepped out on the rock floor. >Wacker stood on a patch of roughened
surface, and the traction was good. Kithri opened an external storage drawer
and took out canisters of sealant and pouches of storage containers. Upon
contact with oxygen, these would foam up into solid, insulated boxes, capable
of accommodating a range of cargo shapes and virtually impervious to mechanical
assault.




"As
soon as we chip a piece, we seal it in slickoil and spray epoxy, then the
insulation," she told Eril. "That=ll give us about six hours before
degeneration starts. We should have plenty of time to duo it back to
Port Ludlow."




 "That=d hold me until the next
glacial age."




She
picked up the lazer cutting tool and handed it to him. "You chip first and
I=ll pack. When you=ve had enough, we=ll switch. You can cut for only
so long before your shoulders get the jangles."




Eril
glanced from the precision light generator to the cleft Kithri indicated as
their chipping site. "Jangles? From what? These cutters can go through
titanium steel without a shiver."




"Jaydium=s different. Jaydium=s always different."









Kithri
showed Eril how to make shallow vertical cuts in the tunnel wall. "Don=t burrow, no matter how tempting
it seems," she advised. "The bedrock=s stable. It won=t collapse on you. But once you
start chipping into a cavity, you get weird vibrational resonances. We wouldn=t be fit to fly again for hours,
and that=s if we=re lucky."




Eril
swept the focused light along the exposed tunnel surface. A layer of dark stone
fell away, shattering as it hit the floor. The lazer felt familiar enough,
although its size was better suited to Kithri=s smaller hands. He=d used a similar tool for
emergency repairs.




Kithri
stood at his shoulder as he worked. "Don=t push the cutter through,
stroke it through," she murmured. "Follow the way the stuff wants
to be cut. Give it a chance to open up in front of the lazer, and ease up when
you finish the stroke."




He
tried his best to follow her instructions. After a few passes, an insidious
vibration began to creep up his forearms. His wrists and elbows felt as if tiny
mallet-wielding devils had taken up residence there. Any sudden maneuver
intensified the sensation. Only the smoothest movement kept the tickling under
control.




"Okay,"
she said, still watching, "you=re
almost there. Just keep on like you=ve
been, nice and easy..."









Eril
managed not to break his rhythm when, a few minutes later, the light of raw
jaydium burst through the slivers of dark rock. Sealed jaydium tended to be
yellowish or orange, green when it deteriorated, but this was rose-tinted, so
subtle it was only a hint of color. Fist-sized slabs of it glimmered from the
surrounding stone, illuminating the entire tunnel.




Kithri
took a fragment from his hands and began swabbing it with slickoil. She looked
very young in the pink light, almost pretty with her huge, dark-lashed eyes and
ruddy cheeks. The dent in her nose was barely noticeable.




"Keep
going and don=t
wait for me," she said without looking up. "I can seal just as fast
as you can chip."




As
Eril went back to work, his confidence returned. He knew he was doing a
creditable job, even for a rank beginner. There was nothing like hard labor for
taking your mind off past indiscretions. Kithri was clearly willing to work
with him, for the time being anyway. Sooner or later they=d stop and he find another opening.




They
worked on, cut and seal, until the passage of time muted in the monotony of
repetitive action. Eril=s
hands and arms began trembling. Prickles shot through his upper body with each
sweep across the jaydium face. He switched off the lazer tool and arched his
back. His muscles shrieked in protest. He stepped away from the rock face.




"Is
it‑‑all right‑‑to leave that?" He gestured toward the facet of glowing,
exposed jaydium.

Kithri
nodded as she placed the last sealed chip in the insulated storage container.
"After a few hours, a layer of ash will re‑seal the face."









She
took the lazer tool from him. "Your turn to pack. First the oil‑‑remember,
be generous--and then the spray epoxy. Keep the stuff off your fingers if you
can, because I don=t
have much solvent. Stop me if I get ahead of you."




The
sealants proved tricky to handle and the oil had an unpleasantly bitter odor
that masked the tang of the jaydium. Kithri cut for roughly twice as long as
Eril had, but she looked tired when she finally put down the lazer tool.




"Let=s stow what we=ve cut," she said. "We=ve got enough time for a bite to
eat and another round apiece."




They
hunkered down the far side tunnel wall with slabs of hardbread smeared with
canned cheese from Kithri=s
supplies. "Why are you here?" she asked. "And don=t give me that line about the
money again. Any guy who can fly like you can doesn=t need to run jaydium, not unless
he=s made himself downright
unwelcome everywhere else."




Eril
took a gulp of stale water from the flask. "Why are you still here
on Stayman?" he countered. "You=re
young, obviously educated, and you=ve
got your whole life ahead of you. Is this all you=ve ever wanted?"




Kithri
snorted in derision. "Before the war I=d have killed for a chance to get
off this rock. To University...to anywhere. My father‑‑he was a chemical
geologist--he tutored me for the entrance exams when he wasn=t studying everything he could
get his hands on about jaydium. But then...we had some expenses. Now with the
Federation hanging on by its toenails, even running jaydium won=t buy me a passage to someplace
better. Not flying singlo, anyway."




"That=s exactly what I=m doing here."




"Talk
sense."









"It=s true that Hank married my
sister," Eril said slowly, not wanting to rush things. "But he was
also one of the best duopilots in my squadron‑‑"




"Your squadron?" Her gray eyes
widened.




"The
war=s officially over," he went
on, "but we=re
still scrambling to keep order in the settled worlds. You=ve been lucky here on Stayman‑‑not
like Pandora or Albion or half a dozen other worlds that somebody considered
easy pickings. The Fed protected you better than most because of the
jaydium."




Eril
paused. Stayman could barely feed herself as it was, and it had been nothing
short of criminal to abandon the scientists and their families here. He didn=t want to appear to be defending
the Fed. "I=m
not on a pleasure trip, I=m
recruiting."




"Recruiting?" Her eyes got even bigger.




He
smiled. "Hank told me about this brushie he=d run jaydium with. He said she
could fly circles around him in her sleep. I had to see for myself."




"Hank
said that? About me?"




"You
got any other candidates? I didn=t
come five parsecs across space to fly duo with that old sourbug in the
tavern."




Kithri
choked down the last of her bread, lowering her eyes so he could no longer read
in them. "Entrance," she repeated. "To what, exactly?"




"Courier
Corps."




She
shook her head. "Never heard of it."









"It
never existed before, it=s
the brainchild of First Councillor Eades. The Council=s too isolated and settled space
too spread out. They need agents who can be their eyes and arms out there so
their resources get put where they do the most good. There are lots of
situations when speed and inspiration are needed more than brute force. At
least that=s the theory."




"And
you=re recruiting for this
thing?"




He
nodded.




She
took a deep breath and looked away. "I can fly surface, yes, but
space--that=s something else. I don=t have any formal training, my
astrophysics is ten years out of date‑‑"




"Never
mind the rest," he said, trying to keep his voice smooth. "You=ve got what it takes, all right.
Compared to a coriolis, space is a vacuum, remember? You kept your head in that
storm, so I know you can think straight." It was a risky thing to say, but
if she was going to hold what happened against him, he might as well know now.




Kithri
scowled, her face flushing. "Why me? There must be more than enough
out-of-work veterans begging for the job."




"Can
you picture Hank on a diplomatic mission?"




"Skies,
no!" The scowl vanished into a fleeting grin.









"Actually,
that=s not the real problem," he
said. "The training sessions will teach you whatever you need to know. The
problem is finding the right people, and it=s even harder when you=re looking for pairs who can fly duo.
Yes, we can recruit from within the Service, but too many of those pilots are
like Hank, and those that are left are spread even thinner than before, with
all our losses and the number of trouble spots to watch. Eades wants new, fresh
blood."




He
studied her face and saw mostly confusion. But there was something darker
behind her eyes. Something he could but not put a name to. He decided to take a
chance and push harder.




"What
do you say? Or are you so afraid of trying something new that you=d choose a jaydium tunnel over
the stars?"




"No!
I‑‑I‑‑," Kithri stammered. "I=m
not afraid. It=s
just that I don=t
like to be pushed into things." She was talking too fast, her words
tumbling over one another. "Of course I=d jump at the chance to get off
this dust‑chip. Your offer sounds good‑‑too good. There=s got to be a hitch somewhere.
Like--like, Why should I give a damn about your Federation?" Her voice
turned harsh. "They were the ones who left us here to rot, cut off the
lithicycline, stuck Port Ludlow there when the jaydium was here
because they didn=t
give a shit about what the miners had to go through to scratch out a
living. I just want off this rock, not into someone=s Do-Good Club!"




Eril
brushed the rest of the bread crumbs from his fingers to give himself time to
think. He=d expected her to object to him
personally or else to vent some vague resentment against the Fed. He hadn=t expected this raw hostility.




No,
not hostility, he realized with an echo of their brief duo rapport.




Pain.









"If
that=s the way you feel about
it," he said quietly, "we=d
better get this jaydium back to the Port." The muscles behind his
shoulders felt tight, as if the only way to release them was to hit something.
He forced gentleness into his voice. "Think about it, would you."




She
looked away. "Maybe I will, maybe...when I=ve got a choice."







o0o





If you can't wait to find out what happens next, you can download the whole thing from Book View Cafe
(And the files will play nicely with your Nook or Kindle, as well as
other devices). If not, come on back next week for the next episode...

Deborah on the multiplicity of sub-genres

Over on Amazing Stories, the "Chain Mail" discussions with Book View Cafe authors tackled this question:

Recently there has been an uptick in the number of “sub-genres” related to the field. Where before there was just “science fiction”, that split into ‘space opera’, ‘hard’ and ‘new wave’ during the late 50s/early 60s, now there’s — science fiction romance, western sf, post-apocalyptic, slipstream, alternate reality — the list goes on. Is it helpful to have all of these sub-categorizations (allowing readers to find what they really want) or detrimental by pigeonholing work and placing impediments between a reader and the discovery of new types of works?



Here's my answer:



I have no idea if this is a good thing or a bad thing, and even if I
did, I would most likely be wrong. However, I do have some thoughts on
the tendency to make more and smaller sub-sub-sub genres. One pertains
to the desire on the part of many readers to find a book that is exactly
like the last one they loved in terms of reading experience. This
tendency explains why there are so many sequels-ad-nauseum in both
film/TV and books.




Years ago, I took over stewardship of the library at my daughter’s
elementary school, so I got to watch what books which kids were picking.
The big thing back then was Goosebumps. We parent librarians had high
hopes for the series, because the titles and covers appealed to boys who
were otherwise “reluctant readers.” With glee, we watched the boys
check out one after another of these books. I at least had my fingers
crossed that at some point, they’d branch out. Mostly, however, they
didn’t. They wanted that exact experience, and after reading three or
five or twenty books with basically the same plot, they’d get bored and
stop reading. As frustrating as this was to witness, I believe that some
reading is better than none, and those kids carried with them the
memory of first discovering that books can be cool. And picked up
another book some day. Maybe Harry Potter.




The other thing about sub-sub (etc.) genres is that so many of them
are crossovers. Science fiction mysteries. Westerns with magic.
Paranormal Romances. Steampunk vampires. There’s a playfulness in taking
elements we love and seeing how many new ways we can combine them. It
must drive the marketing people nuts.



This, I think, is a very good thing.



The photograph is by
Eva Watson-Schülze (1867-1935), public domain.

Jaydium, Chapter 3

JAYDIUM








by Deborah J. Ross, writing as Deborah Wheeler





Chapter 3






Relieved to still be alive, Kithri signaled shipbrain to begin the disengagement from duoflight. She resolved not to say anything about Eril's brief mutiny. They were still alive, she'd never see him again after today, and perhaps the storm itself had taught him better than to try it again. This wasn't space, where he knew all the dangers and how to deal with them. Yet she couldn't help thinking that in the end, when it mattered, he'd come through better than she expected. With him as a partner, she could duo her way through a black hole.



She knew she was rationalizing, making excuses. If she had any sense she'd turn around and fly back to Port Ludlow right now. But if she did, she=d be throwing away her last real chance to get off Stayman...



It's just one run. I can survive anything for just one run.



With the end of duolinkage, Kithri's vision returned to normal. She slowed the scrubjet to subsonic. To the north, just inside the boundary of the Plain, lay a pile of partially completed permacrete structures, the abandoned first colony site. Fine white dust rose from the disturbed soil where the slow-growing scrub had not yet, after centuries, re-established its dominion. The merest breeze blew it aloft, an eloquent reminder of the fragility of Stayman's ecology and the dismal failure of the first spaceport. The Federation had long since moved its base to the current location, where water was more readily available. It had never tried to revive the first site, a costly and difficult project. There was no reason to, as long as the miners were willing to haul the jaydium across the Plain.



Kithri lifted her eyes to the vast, whitened Manitou range, rising high above a line of brownish dust haze. Peak after purple peak surged skyward, hard-edged against the dark blue horizon. The drifted snow on the summits glimmered in the sunlight.



Behind her, Eril drew a quick, hissing breath. She was still in such rapport with him that she experienced his awe as if it were her own. The pleasure she felt at his mental touch built into a preorgasmic thrill. She caught her breath, her heart pounding in her chest.




Kithri drew the scrubjet to a halt at the rocky edge of the Plain. Her fingers flew across the buckles of the restraining straps. She yanked the door open and scrambled, breathless, to the ground. Eril tumbled out after her and caught her in his arms.



She held him tightly, fiercely, as if she could press her flesh through the layers of clothing and into his. His mouth on hers felt like velvet and then like steel. He cupped her head with his hands, his fingers stroking the smooth skin behind her ears. She slid her lips over his cheek, down the line of his jaw to the soft hollow of his throat, tasting him, inhaling his scent like perfume.



It's like making love to myself, she thought in amazement. The male self that is my perfect complement.



Kithri drew away, eyes closed as she drew his hands over her breasts. She swayed, almost overcome with the intensity of her feelings, and sank to her knees.



She put one hand to the barren ground for balance. A sharp-edged stone cut deep into her palm, drawing blood. The pain shocked her halfway back to rationality. The pounding in her ears faltered as she stared at the red droplets staining the grit on her hand.



That's my life draining away into the dust. Her stomach twisted into a knot of ice.



She drew herself upright, her sensual rapport with Eril shattered. "That's quite...something...I'd wondered what it was like--the backlash," she murmured, glancing away. "Hank always got randy after a duo flight, but I didn't feel anything."



"The women I trained duo with--we never connected like this." Eril's voice sounded husky and his pupils were so huge, his eyes looked totally black. "If you didn't feel anything for each other to begin with--there was nothing. Sometimes Hank and I would make bad jokes about it when we weren't in a scramble." His fingers sank into her shoulders and he pulled her closer, caressing her mouth and cheek. "Who cares what it was like then?"



Kithri pushed him away, wiped her eyes with the back of one hand and clambered to her feet. "This isn't getting us any jaydium."



Eril lunged upright, his breath coming in huge gulps. "That's all there is to it, then? We go on as if nothing had happened‑‑"



"What do you expect?" she snapped. "Instant affinity? Eril, we don't even know each other. Yes, I wanted you ‑‑ I wanted us. A moment ago--if there'd been room in 'Wacker or grass instead of this cursed rock ‑‑ well, there wasn't. Life's like that. It's over now. It's time to get back to work."



He caught her arm as she started back to the 'jet. "Have it your own way. But the next time we duo it'll happen again. Maybe worse. Do you think you'll be able to walk away from me then?"



Kithri turned from him, unable to reply, and jumped back into Brushwacker.




oOo


They flew slowly along the rapidly climbing slopes, past the altitude boundary of the meager vegetation. The familiar rhythm of the scrubjet soothed Kithri's jangled nerves. Her awareness of Eril's touch on the controls lingered as if they were still joined in duo, and that disturbed her. His parting challenge would not dissipate as simply as a few ephemeral hormones. She would have to find a rebuttal for him, for her own peace as well.



I always seem to want what I can't have. Why can't I take what little comfort life has to offer?



She had no answers. Not for him, not for herself.




oOo


As they climbed, the automatic pressurization came on, compensating for the thinner air. Kithri spotted the first few tunnels, some half-blocked with fallen rock. She pointed them out to Eril. The early settlers had thought them volcanic because of their superficial resemblance to lava tubes, but more detailed studies revealed that they ran through, rather than along, the crustal plates. The conventional opinion was they couldn't be natural and they couldn't be anything else.



Kithri's father had been particularly intrigued by the traces of odd organic acids in the slag. He hoped they might lead to understanding why jaydium was not found anywhere else in settled space. Pearls, amber, coral--each planet had its own distinctive varieties. Jaydium was unique, found only on Stayman.



Although it had not been his primary assignment, jaydium and everything associated with it had been Raddison Sunnai's abiding passion. He was a chemical geologist, one of the last scientists the Federation sent to Stayman as dwindling resources and escalating internal chaos forced a reordering of priorities. Then there was the war and no more Federation ships, only demands for more jaydium.



Kithri helped him with what research he could continue, chipping jaydium to pay the bills and buy enough books to pass her University admissions equivalency. After the war began, however, there were no more scholarships. Jaydium mining itself could not pay for interstellar transport and off‑planet tuition, not after supplies of the space-crystallized drug, lithicycline, had wiped out their small savings. Lithicycline was the only treatment known for neurodyscrasia, and it was palliative at best.



It had taken Raddison Sunnai three years to die. The lithicycline shipments had stopped after one.



Left with nothing but memories, Kithri flew frantically, going without sleep and often without meals during the brief visits of the Federation freighters, only to find that half or more of each haul had deteriorated past recovery in the slow singlo flight back. Then Hank came along and she made more on the first two duo flights than she had in the whole year before. Almost the entire haul had been good, and for the first time she began to think that she might stand a chance of buying her way off Stayman. Then Hank enlisted in the Federation forces, and her savings slowly trickled away, along with her hope for the future.



If her father hadn't taught her to fly duo she wouldn't have had even that. For a brief, heart-wringing moment she remembered the shock as her mind first blended with his. And then...



The memory hit her smack in the solar plexus--the tumult of her awakening adolescent sexuality and her father's ashen face, his trembling hands carefully avoiding even the most casual touch.



She remembered thinking, This isn't happening, oh please let this not be happening! I will just close my eyes and still my heart and all will be well...



In desperation she'd made that one run with Dowdell. The duotouch of his mind had been like a creeping itch, and the light in his eyes as he reached for her had given her nightmares for a solid month. She could still taste the metallic tang of adrenalin and blood. She'd thrown him against the dusty rock hard enough to break his collarbone. After that she refused to share Brushwacker with anyone except Hank, who had never reached past her barriers...as Eril had.



I just have to get through one trip, she told herself. Eril will never come back to this chip of rock, and that'll be the end of it. One thing's for sure, I won't be following him into space, so it's better--for both of us--that we leave it this way.



For a moment, she almost believed it.




o0o




If you can't wait to find out what happens next, you can download the whole thing from Book View Cafe (And the files will play nicely with your Nook or Kindle, as well as other devices). If not, come on back next week for the next episode...

Next chapter of Jaydium coming up!

Check back tomorrow for Chapter 3 of Jaydium, my romantic science fiction adventure. You can find scroll back or find links to all the previous chapters under "Read A Story." Here's a teaser:





She held him tightly, fiercely, as if she could press her flesh through
the layers of clothing and into his. His mouth on hers felt like velvet
and then like steel. He cupped her head with his hands, his fingers
stroking the smooth skin behind her ears. She slid her lips over his
cheek, down the line of his jaw to the soft hollow of his throat,
tasting him, inhaling his scent like perfume.

It's like making love to myself, she thought in amazement. The male self that is my perfect complement.

Kithri
drew away, eyes closed as she drew his hands over her breasts. She
swayed, almost overcome with the intensity of her feelings, and sank to
her knees.

She put one hand to the barren ground for balance. A
sharp-edged stone cut deep into her palm, drawing blood. The pain
shocked her halfway back to rationality. The pounding in her ears
faltered as she stared at the red droplets staining the grit on her
hand.

That's my life draining away into the dust. Her stomach twisted into a knot of ice.

Is This Story Too Big…Or Is The Book Too Small?

Recently, I read two novels that left me chewing over the issue of story size. The two novels were Love On The Run by Katharine Kerr and A Discovery of Witches
by Deborah Harkness. Both were absorbing, with characters I cared about
and nifty plot twists, ideas to chew on, and interesting locales. In
other words, they were respectable novels by competent authors. I
enjoyed them, yet each in a different way left me wishing the book had
been either longer or shorter.



Love On The Run is the
fourth in a series about a paranormal investigator, Nola O'Grady, her
sweetheart Ari who is by no means mundane, the various doings of the
super-secret agency that employs her, and her family, variously gifted
and not always on the right side of the law on this and several other
worlds. By the time Love On The Run takes place, we've had a
chance to get to know these characters and worlds. The multiplicity of
related alternate universes reminded me of some of my favorite early
Andre Norton science fiction.



A Discovery of Witches is
actually the first volume in a trilogy, but for some reason I did not
realize that until I sat down to write this essay. I was thoroughly
prepared to enjoy it -- what a delight to begin a story in the research
shelves of the Bodleian Library, tracking down and deciphering ancient
manuscripts.

I loved the opening chapters with Diana, a scholar of the
history of science who has forsaken her heritage as a witch to pursue
the life of the intellect. A manuscript with hidden writing that
disappears once she turns it back in, mysterious supernatural creatures
(witches, vampires, daemons) who gather in the library and start
following her around, and a sexy, dangerous-mysterious vampire, all kept
my interest. I especially enjoyed the scenes of sculling on the river
and vampire yoga, amid the growing sense of a menacing magical world.



Somewhere
the book lost me, however, and I've been puzzling over why. I think
there were two aspects. One is a totally personal reaction, that what
promised to be an epic in the sense of worlds-at-stake, of whole races
with their own complex histories and conflicting goals, and a strong
heroine who must dig deep within herself and transform not only her life
but the relationship between the disparate races...got hijacked by a
Romance. It felt as if this amazing character got dumped in the middle
of Twilight-For-Conflicted-Witches, and the biggest question was when they were going to actually Do It.



In
addition to this, the book ended in an unsatisfying way, with the chief
creepy guy (the vampire Pope, by the way) never showing up for even a
Climax-Light and the heroine decamping to another time period to hone
her witchcraft. One could argue that this is all a set-up for the
volumes to come (according to Amazon, it's a trilogy), but even in a
multi-book work, each book must have an arc of tension and resolution,
even if it is partial resolution. The Lord of the Rings is most certainly one long narrative, but The Fellowship of the Ring,
for all its open-endedness, leaves us with a sense of a ledge to rest
on. It may be a very narrow, precarious ledge, with the fires of Mt.
Doom erupting on all sides, but it is nevertheless a place in which the
reader can catch his breath, and it comes after a climax-like sequence
(and, just as importantly, a catharsis-like moment with the death of
Boromir and the breaking of the Fellowship).



I managed to set aside my annoyance with A Discovery of Witches
and look more deeply. What did this book promise? What was I eager to
read more about? And what is the relationship between the more intimate
and, let's face it, smaller story of "can a witch and a vampire find
True Love" and "Worlds At Stake"?



Some stories insist on taking
place in vast, richly-detailed landscapes, but they are essentially
domestic tales. We do not fall in love with Longbourn in the same way we
long for Middle Earth. Others insist with equal fervor in spinning off
backstory, minor characters with minds of their own, ideologies and deep
cultural divides. No matter how the author tries to corral the story
into a nice tidy shape, it keeps branching out like a fractal pattern. I
suspect that I found A Discovery of Witches so unsatisfying was that it promised one thing and delivered another.



This brings me back to Love On The Run. The first book in this series, License To Ensorcell,
fit reasonably well within the "urban fantasy" category. I say
reasonably because Kerr is far too imaginative and thoughtful a writer
to ignore the interwoven connections, implications, and nuances of even a
"simple" story. As a result, each book elaborated established elements
and introduced new ones, whether it was parallel worlds,
dimension-traveling psychic squids, sentient were-leopards, Nola's
eating disorder, Ari's childhood in a seriously warped New Age kibbutz,
or why the Peacock Angel is a force of evil in one dimension but a power
for good in another. The list goes on, spanning three more books, yet
despite the burgeoning complexity, each book represents a complete
episode. The overall reading experience, however, is one of something
grand and multifaceted struggling to free itself from the
straight-jacket of a narrow genre. It felt as if there simply was not
enough space within the predictable urban fantasy niche for all these
parallel worlds. One consequence is that when Kerr starts bringing
together emotional and plot threads, the result kicks the story impact
up exponentially. "Love On The Run" is the perfect title because the
romance, although present and continuing to develop, has to take place
in moments snatched while dealing with one escalating crisis after
another. The series reminds me of an oft-quoted observation about Dr.
Who's Tardis: "It's bigger on the inside."



It seems to me that a
story can be perfectly well written, enjoyable to read, and yet be the
wrong size. Or perhaps, be jammed or stretched into the wrong mold. Or
just not be at peace with itself and the focus of its true heart and
energy.

Jaydium, Chapter 2

JAYDIUM


by Deborah J. Ross, writing as Deborah Wheeler




Chapter 2


"Assist?" came Eril's voice.



The long muscles in his thighs flexed alongside Kithri's arms as he settled the auxiliary foot controls. With an effort, she ignored the sensation. "Take us due east to the hills, then through them along the lowest route."

"Speed?" There was no hint of excitement in his voice.

"Don't get us smashed."

Kithri rested her hands lightly on the controls, sensing the subtle changes as Eril eased into command and increased their speed. He flew with almost arrogant confidence, but he wasn't greedy‑-he'd left a good twenty percent to her discretion.

They reached the first wrinkle of hills at moderate subsonic speed. Eril guided the scrubjet along the narrow gullies where vegetation covered the jagged rock like splotches of green-black ink. At first his handling felt rough-edged, his reactions to the winding canyon jerky. Kithri nudged the stabilizers and tried to keep her muscles loose. He was doing a hell of a lot better than she had on her first try.

She'd been eleven, less than a year on Stayman and still homesick for Albion's flowers. That was before the war, when the Federation still manned the colony and provided services to the jaydium miners and their families. That was when they still had families. Her father sat before her in the pilot's seat, his body a bulwark against this unfamiliar, desolate world.

"All right, Kithryne Sunnai," he said. He was given to using her full name when he wanted her to pay particular attention. Sometimes when a topic was really important to him, he sounded like one of his own geology lectures. Even now, she could remember the rhythm of his words, his voice, his hands covering hers on the scrubjet controls.

"Stayman's your world now, and you've got to learn her like the inside of your own room, learn her mountains, her Cerrano Plain, learn how to chip and run her jaydium. Learn the dangers of her coriolis storms and alkali pits. So you can take care of yourself when--if anything happens to me. This scrubjet will be your friend when there's nobody else you can trust..."


Had he known, even then, of the neurodyscrasia already setting its fatal enzymatic markers in the deepest recesses of his brainstem? Had he known how little time they had left together? Had he guessed what her life would become, between Hank's broken promises and dustbug miners like Dowdell? Was he trying to warn her, to prepare her, to give her what she'd need to survive?

The little ship had flinched under her childish touch like a wild creature shying away from human control. "No, don't fight her, don't think of Brushwacker as an enemy you've got to conquer," her father said. "Think of her as an extension of yourself, just as your arms and legs are. Know exactly where and how you want to go, and then put her right...there..."

A swerve of the scrubjet jerked Kithri's attention back to the present. Eril had been flying in graceful, even swoops along the canyon floor. The walls narrowed and he'd oversteered in bringing them back to a straight line. Quickly he compensated and evened out. Then they began to climb, snaking through the twisted passes, always clinging to the ground. The ink-blotchy vegetation grew sparser, ragged-looking, and finally gave way to yellowish lichen.

They reached the crest and looked down from the last hill. The vast Cerrano Plain lay before them, flat from scrubjet nose to horizon. Alkali-tolerant scrub grew in patches, blending in the distance into a swath of silver-gray. The pale soil underneath was so fine, it was almost powdery. Wherever the first human explorers had driven their heavy land-moving equipment, they'd torn away the thin protective crust. Over the years, wind eroded the trails into wildly sculpted gullies like scars on the Plain's fragile skin. Plumes of dust rose from the old trails, blown aloft by the constant winds.

Kithri reached for the headsets that would join her mind to Eril's and to the computerized shipbrain. As she leaned forward, her arm brushed against the inner surface of Eril's thigh. She wondered what it would be like to touch him deliberately, to run her fingers over the warm, sleek flesh beneath the layers of clothing. Her heartbeat soared.

What was happening to her? She'd never reacted to a man like that before, certainly not the tavern dustbugs or Hank with his hyper-inflated ego. Yet ever since Eril had come racing after her, this awareness of him had been growing.

Get yourself under control, Kithri! The jaydium's the important thing, not a few jerk-you-around hormones.

Kithri pulled on her headset and slid the padded neuroprobes into place. The gel contacts felt familiar and cool on her skin. She blinked, her brain refusing at first, as it always did, to integrate the vibrating double images, the overlay of her own organic vision on top of the computerized analysis. The equipment that made duoflight possible by linking two human minds to shipbrain was a highly sophisticated adaptation of the apparatus used to link an ordinary computer to its human operator. Several additional safety devices had been added, notably the unspoken emergency abort command that would disengage the entire system. Kithri could have chosen her own phrase, but she'd kept the one her father had programmed. Terminal Escape Velocity. She'd never had to use it, but sometimes it sifted like a ghostly echo through her dreams.

The visual images blended together as shipbrain fed data into Kithri's mind and her temporal lobes sent back fine-tuning signals. The effect was very like the addition of another sensory dimension. A moment later, Eril completed the duo configuration.

Whenever Kithri linked with Hank, she always felt a flash of searing pain before he settled into synch. She'd studied enough physiology to know it was due to the differences in their synaptic patterns, but that didn't make it any easier. Old Dowdell's mind had been repulsive rather than painful, and she could no longer remember what it had been like when her father taught her. She held her breath and Eril joined with her.

There was no sudden agony, but a silken touch, a whisper of delight, and then Eril was inside her mind. For a dazzling instant their awareness merged, they thought as one organic unity. Shipbrain receded to a background monotone.

She was Eril, he was Kithri and, miraculously, there was no difference between them. She saw through his eyes. She felt the warmth of her own shoulders between his thighs. Her skin tingled, her heart beat wildly, and tantalizing shivers rippled along her nerves.

The moment of merging faded like honey melting on the tongue, and Kithri was once more a separate entity floating in the web of Kithri/Eril/shipbrain.

*Ready?* Kithri put 'Wacker in a straight path across the Plain as she and Eril sorted the housekeeping. The division of tasks that she and Hank had worked out was irrelevant now and she wanted to put it all behind her.

Bio‑homeostasis? Eighty percent to Eril, without a question. Kithri's heart rate and blood pressure were almost back to normal under his sure touch. She shifted the remaining twenty percent as emergency backup to the ship. Navigation was hers, eighty-five with fifteen percent to ship memory, and power train and life support split a ragged three ways.

*Down to business* Kithri took hold of the helm, using shipbrain's external sensors for orientation. With a sure touch, she steadied the 'jet and sent it supersonic across the Plain.

After a few minutes, she felt Eril relax, lulled by the flat, featureless expanse below them and the empty indigo sky above. His calmness sent ripples of relaxation through her own body. Yet years of running jaydium had taught her better than to trust the Cerrano for even a moment. She kept watch with Brushwacker's senses as well as her own.

Within minutes, shipbrain alerted her to a massive circular air disturbance ahead, three hundred miles in diameter. Instantly she recognized it as a coriolis storm. Driven by the immense heat gradients built up over the reflective Plain and amplified by the rotation of the planet, coriolis winds whipped to hundreds of miles per hour. The eye was usually still, but severe local turbulence along the periphery could prove deadly to even the most skillful pilot.

Kithri tightened her grip on the controls. *Trouble coming*

*I don't see a thing* Eril said.

*Clear-air coriolis, a big one. Check the infrared, not visual. We'll try to stay out of the worst of it. Hold on!*

'Wacker accelerated smoothly to match the wind speed. Then the tiny ship touched the invisible edge of the storm. It shuddered and bucked, spinning out of control.

An imaginary hand crushed Kithri's chest, forcing the air from her lungs. Struggling for breath, she tried to brace herself against it. The harness straps bit deep into her flesh as they held her firm in her seat. She gasped and shut her eyes. Ordinary vision was useless here--she couldn't respond quickly enough. No single unaided human could, only two minds linked in duo.

Kithri drew on shipbrain, using her years of experience in dealing with minute shifts in wind direction and velocity. The connection to the computer was solid, the ship responsive. She reached for Eril to take up the data sorting and sensor management she couldn't handle.

Instead of the silken unity of their first moments of fusion, Kithri collided with a mental blank like a solid wall. She recoiled, stunned.

*What the hell?*

One moment Eril had been part of her, the next he simply wasn't there. Kithri's first thought was that he was dead, but no--his mind had gone suddenly opaque. More than that, in her moment of confusion he'd somehow managed to grab a huge percentage of helm control.

What did Eril think he was doing? Was he trying to get them both killed? Did he think he could pilot Brushwacker better than she could?

*My ship! Give me back my ship!*

Furious and terrified, Kithri signaled for manual control. She'd been caught in worse and survived, flying singlo, just her and shipbrain. But she'd never had to fight for command of her own ship before. After an agonizing delay, the scrubjet responded. It felt as agile as a wallowing barge in the raging air currents.

Half of Kithri's mind was deep in the meld with shipbrain, while the other half struggled to hold the ship steady. Her sweating hands clenched the manual helm. She leaned forward, using her muscular shoulders to force the ship toward what looked like a clear path ahead. Ever treacherous, the winds shifted, lifting and twisting the tiny craft. Suddenly Brushwacker slipped sideways, plunging towards the heart of the storm.

Her life on Stayman might not be much, but she was'=t ready to die. Not yet, not like this.

*Damn it, Eril! Stop playing hero and let me fly this thing!*

Kithri's words, or the desperation behind them, somehow got through. Eril's resistance passed as quickly as it had arisen. His mind linked smoothly with hers again, a pulse of solid support. He kept her adrenalin levels steady as he channeled more and more data to shipbrain.

Kithri felt as if she'd just been pulled out from beneath a Manitou avalanche. Quickly she switched back from manual. The scrubjet moved light and nimble under her control. A moment later, it leveled out, flying with the storm. Power, there was so much power streaming into her from Eril's mind. He took up so much of the data selection that all she had to do was imagine the ship balanced and steady.

Now to edge back toward the periphery of the storm...

But the coriolis wasn't done with them. Before they'd gone a hundred feet, 'Wacker struck a local turbulence. Clear winds churned and swirled like a miniature tornado. Gusts slammed into the 'jet and its metal frame wailed with strain. Data, fluctuating wildly from one moment to the next, flooded the ship's sensors.

It took all of Kithri's will and years of experience not to panic. She'd never been caught like this, nor known anyone who had and lived to tell about it. Now she rode the winds with all her skill and intuition, sweating and trembling, searching for a way back into the main current of the storm.

Then Eril's mind surged up and blended with hers, holding the 'jet steady with unerring control. She nudged the helm, flying with the winds and using their raw power instead of uselessly fighting them. Under Eril's sure touch, the engines rotated, compensating exactly for the turbulence. They worked together as smoothly as if they were part of a single mind. 'Wacker leveled out and slipped easily through the air streams, once more speeding east.


                                                                              o0o





If you can't wait to find out what happens next, you can download the whole thing from Book View Cafe (And the files will play nicely with your Nook or Kindle, as well as other devices). If not, come on back next week for the next episode...

Jaydium - next chapter up tomorrow

Hungry for “a wild and woolly journey through time and space,” some really cool aliens, and a touch of romance?




Far in the future, an interplanetary civil conflict has ground to an
uneasy halt, leaving its human victims bitter and desperate: Kithri, the
daughter of a scientist, abandoned on a desolate mining planet with no
hope to use her talents, and Eril, shell-shocked pilot, finding adapting
to peace more difficult than he dreamed.



Chapter 2 is scheduled for Friday July 13, 2012. If you're new to reading along, you can find a list of links to previous chapters by clicking, "Read A Story."

Jaydium on sale - this week only

For you folks who've been following along and can't wait to see what happens next, I've added an extra enticement to buying the book -- it's on Specials sale at Book View Cafe at $0.99 for one week only.



Do check out our weekly Specials -- you never know what goodies you'll find!

Query Letters Take Practice

"If you don't tell me what your book is about, it's game over,"  says literary agent Janet Reid,in her blog post, "Every query letter must have this one thing."


This seems self-evident, but Janet's blogged about a gazillion different ways writers can get it wrong. Some of that is undoubtedly due to not understanding the function of a query letter. It could also be due to the difficult of changing gears. Harry Turtledove once said that novels teach you what to put into a story, and short stories teach you what to take out. Well, query letters are like short stories all mixed up with novels and then put on diet pills (the kind that make you so jittery, you want to jump out of your skin). Here you've spent all this time developing and deepening and creating interwoven connections and layers of nuance...and then you ask your muse to encapsulate 100,000 words in ONE SENTENCE.

Yep, it's the elevator pitch. Without the snazzy. But with the snazzy. A different kind of snazzy.

Even seasoned writers blanch at the prospect. But look at it this way: in today's publishing market, this is a necessary skill. That's true even if you're self-published - you still need to communicate that nugget of coolness-of-story-experience in very few words. The thing is, we think we can do this just because we can write a novel. It's a different skill. One that we can learn. One that we can practice. (And one that our friends can help us with, by feedback.)

So I remind myself (a) I wasn't born knowing how to do this; (b) having written umpteen novels does not in itself grant me the knowledge of how to do this; (c) just like learning to write said novels, I'm going to make a bunch of mistakes before I get better at it.