Iain Rob Wright's Blog, page 3
November 12, 2014
Adventures in Cardiff with Matt Shaw
I'd never been to Cardiff before, I'm embarrassed to say, and when Matt Shaw originally invited me to attend the Comic Con there with him, my first instinct was to decline. I was aware that book signings tended to cost more than they made back and that even the most popular author usually spent a lot of time sitting around wishing that more people read (unfortunately we book lovers are the few). However, Matt suggested it would be fun and I appreciated him asking me, so I went against my gut feeling and said yes. I'm glad I did.
Cardiff was a great city with plenty to do (and eat). The train station leaves a little to be desired but oh well. My great adventure out of the house began badly and got worse. My wife, Sally, dropped me off at the train station in Redditch and I immediately ran off without getting my bag out of the boot. I had to come back and face her mocking laughter. When I finally approached the platform with my bag in hand, I made eye-contact with a bald headed ruffian. I gave him a look that showed him I was all business and then thought nothing of it. Ten minutes later, I heard someone anxiously worrying how to get to Cardiff. The conductor tried to explain the necessary routes, but then I turned around and said, "I'm going to Cardiff." I was surprised to see that the anxious traveller was none other than the bald headed ruffian. His little face lit up at the realisation that he could now just tag along and follow me to his destination. He thanked me profusely and I told him our intended route. When we switched trains, he came and sat opposite me over a table. It was then that he informed me that he had been let out of Redditch's prison that very day for drug dealing. I was travelling with Heisenberg!
As it turned out, the ex-convict was an addict, but a decent human being when not on the chronic, having worked as a missionary for the last few years until falling off the wagon several months before. We spoke at length and actually had a lot in common. He borrowed my phone and made half-a-dozen calls (including one to a methadone clinic) and he bought me a cup of tea to say thanks (there is no better way to win my favour than to give me tea). For the next two days I would receive random calls from gruff-sounding gentlemen asking 'who's this', but never mind. I was glad to have met my new friend, Dillon, on the cross-country train to Cardiff.
Then I arrived in Cardiff, ready to kick ass and eat crumpets (I was all out of crumpets). Matt informed me he was waiting in the North car park, but the problem was that I had been unceremoniously expelled into the southern courtyard. What were we to do? With our great adventure quickly turning into an unspeakable nightmare, Matt and I were forced to act. Matt came running for me immediately, determined to reach me before it was too late. I went to a nearby pub and took a piss. Five minutes later, Matt and I turned a corner and saw each other in the distance. We came together like two long-separated lovers finally reuniting. "Alright?" Matt said. "Yeah," said I.
Then we were on our way, taking half-an-hour-to find our way across one single road to our hotel. We checked in, ignoring the judging looks that Giuseppe gave us, and went upstairs to our suite...My God, the Humanity!
Inside the womb of Hell was like stepping into an anti-tardis. I felt the walls closing in on me like a tightening sphincter. What I was met with chilled my very bones. The curtains were woven with human flesh. Flaked, congealing bio matter clung to the fabric like an after party for a Porn Awards Ceremony. The carpet was sticky. My mattress had a huge, gaping hole in it. The toilet was built INSIDE the shower. The beds were smaller than WW1 cot beds and there was a fuming honey badger in the corner (that's a lie). Still, Matt had paid and invited me. I knew that I should be polite and not say anything about the condition of the room. The polite thing to do would be to say nothing.
"This is the worst hotel room I've ever been in," I shouted. "It stinks!" I exclaimed. "This is disgusting!" Immediately I took out my phone and began recording so that I could later inform my wife of the abject horror I was being subjected to. Matt stood aside patiently while I conducted my expose. Then we unpacked.
At the arena (which was gloriously close to the hotel), Matt and I encountered a massive queue of traders wanting to get in. Not wanting to wait, Matt decided to go to the front of the queue and talk to one of the security guards. I never found out what he said to the man, but we were immediately let in without having to join the queue and were treated like VIPS the rest of the weekend. All of the staff knew us and would have our High-Vis jackets waiting for us each time we arrived.
We went inside with our books (which Matt had been holding for me the last 3 weeks). I had brought with me a promotional t-shirt, hoodie, and 1500 vouchers for my books. Matt had brought posters for each of us, a banner for both of us, and a price list for my books. He commented that everything I had brought benefited only me, whereas everything he brought was for the both of us. He was right. It was a shitty thing to do. :-(
My guilt weighing heavy on my heart, I soldiered on. I directed Matt where to put my posters and had a look around while he got to work setting up our display. Unfortunately, we had been provided with titanium plated backing boards. We went through hordes of drawing pins which bent in fear at the very sight of the board. We eventually got all of my posters up on the wall but were forced to give up when it came to Matt's posters. At least my side of the table looked okay. Phew!
Finished for the time being, we went into town to have dinner. We found a TGIs and started chatting. I asked Matt what it was like being 40. He informed me he was 34. Slowly we bonded and started chatting about all kinds of things, including the rudest, most aggressive waitress ever (she really didn't like me for some reason). When the food came, I managed to finish before Matt had even laid his napkin out on his lap. That's just how I roll. When the bill was brought by a second waitress (perhaps the first could bear to look upon me no longer) I said I would pay it. "How sweet," she remarked. Matt then went into length about how we were on a date - a story which the waitress wholeheartedly believed. I told him to shut up, not because I have any problem with being viewed as gay, but because I would like to think that if I were, I could do better than Matt Shaw.
Then we were off to the cinema. After Matt's satnav failed, I tried using my phone, only I set it to pedestrian mode which tried to lead us sideways across the highway. When we finally made it across the water we parked in a multi-storey which was on the wrong side of the highway. We got straight back in the car but it still charged us £2 anyway! The outrage. By the time we arrived, the heavens had opened in fury and we were both soaking wet.
After a shaky five minutes where I became irate by the venue's lack of salt n vinegar Pringles, we went and bought some popcorn and cokes. Matt had a hot dog. I paid for it all, wanting to be a good guest. The movie was Interstellar. The girl next to me had brought her own grapes. I won't repeat what Matt called her.
[image error] The first 90 minutes of the film were great. When Casey Afflick turned up, I started to worry, When Matt Damon came on screen at the two hour mark, I had a feeling of dread. During the final hour, when Matthew Mcongahoheyowooia started saying things like "I need to use love to navigate the 5th dimension. They are us communicating through gravity and crossing space and time..." I threw up in my lap. Matt and I looked at each other with expressions of mutual condolence. We had both been the victims of some strange cinematic prank.
After the movie it was late, so we went back to the room. Aside from the smell, we dared not touch the spunky curtains and so we were left with a light-bathed room. It was also unbearable hot, but with the window open the entire sound of Cardiff made its way inside. At one point an ambulance flew past our room. I got to sleep about 4am. At 5am I woke up for a wee. When I flushed the chain, I thought an earthquake was occurring; the entire floor shook. It was Satan's own flusher. Until 8am I slept soundly and, if Matt Shaw is to be believed, snored like a banshee. At that point we staggered across the road like zombies, bypassed the queue, and went inside. Immediately I rushed off to get a cup of tea, only to be told to come back later. I went back later, only to be told to come back in a bit. I came back in a bit, only to be told to wait a while. I waited a while only to be told that their machine was broken. Dejected I returned to Matt who had managed to fix his half of the display through the clever use of velcro stickers (purchased from Rymans, no rubbish). As Matt and I sat in silence, waiting for the unwashed public to be let inside, the young entrepreneurial couple beside us started having a tiff, so we watched that until 9 0 clock when business kicked off. Things were quiet, so I continued my quest to obtain a cup of tea. I found a vendor willing to serve me at the far side of the room. I returned to Matt triumphant.
At 10.30 I finally sold some books. Then some more. Then a fan came up to buy a signed paperback for his wife. During this time, Matt sat in silence, slowly wilting like the entertainment value in a Matthew Mcongahoheyowooia movie. Then he could take it no longer and went to have a look around. Two minutes later someone came and bought a Matt Shaw novel. Matt had missed his first sale, but luckily I was there to make it for him. Then it all kicked off. For the next few hours, Matt and I sold lots of books and spoke to lots of readers, There was an incident involving a fellow author turning up in a mask, but that's a story for another day, as too is the story concerning a guy dressed as Spiderman having his picture with us despite having no clue who we were.. All in all, it was a good time where Matt and I felt really good about ourselves. I could tell, most of all, it meant a lot to Matt to see people showing an interest in his work. I was glad, because I'd felt really sorry for him during that first 90 minutes where it looked like things were going to go badly for him.
After the busy period ended, Matt went shopping. He splurged an obscene amount of money on a Freddie Kruegar/Robert Englund hat, and then immediately regretted it as he knew his wife would kill him (he also tried to convince me that Freddie wears a black and red sweater, whereas any true horror aficionado knows it is red and green). He also bought Wolverine's claw, but stopped himself from buying a Willy Wonka bar and golden ticket. So I went and bought that for him, to say thanks for inviting me. He seemed to appreciate it and we had a little bro moment. By the end of the day we were in good cheer, yet knackered. We went and ate at a ChimiChangas which was lovely. Matt only managed half of his meal, so I ate that as well. Because that's how I roll. Then we went back to our room (which was beginning to feel like home) and showed each other funny youtube videos till 12.30 at night. Kevin Spacey is awesome at impressions!
The next day was slower but we still sold books. I instructed Matt to lower my pricing board and he did as he was told. We made friends with the young couple on the neighbouring stand and Matt immediately started making Welsh jokes at their expense. They were a lovely couple and it was nice meeting them. They were selling Pop! Vinyl figures which were simply everywhere! Before close of day, and after much discussion about topics such as Altered Beast, Labyrinth, and the Goonies, I noted that Matt had spent a fortune on himself yet had bought nothing for his wife. I, myself had bought Sally a Hershel figure (her favourite TWD character) and a TWD board game). Matt saw my point and ran to buy his wife a Frozen Olaf figurine.
Then it was all over. I waited while Matt took my remaining books back to his car and then waited for him to come back and get me. He drove me to the train station and then told me he "had had a really good time and a lot of fun," to which I replied "You're very welcome."
I journeyed home with 400 hundred passengers crammed inside a train the size of a Pringles tube, eventually making it back to my home town of Redditch at 9.30. I was met by my wife, Sally, who gave me a big hug and asked me all about it. And so I told her.
I really enjoyed my weekend with Matt. He's a funny guy and I trust him, which is rare for me. Likely I will do another function with him at some point in the future, but being away from my family is hard, so I can't say when that will be. I see me working with Matt more closely as a friend now rather than a simple colleague. He and I have already discussed the possibility of writing a book together and that will likely happen when our schedules allow. It should be good.
Thank you for Cardiff for having me and thank you to those who bought a book from me. It made me feel like a bigshot! And thank you to Matt Shaw for pulling me out of my shell and giving me an experience I won't forget.
Cardiff was a great city with plenty to do (and eat). The train station leaves a little to be desired but oh well. My great adventure out of the house began badly and got worse. My wife, Sally, dropped me off at the train station in Redditch and I immediately ran off without getting my bag out of the boot. I had to come back and face her mocking laughter. When I finally approached the platform with my bag in hand, I made eye-contact with a bald headed ruffian. I gave him a look that showed him I was all business and then thought nothing of it. Ten minutes later, I heard someone anxiously worrying how to get to Cardiff. The conductor tried to explain the necessary routes, but then I turned around and said, "I'm going to Cardiff." I was surprised to see that the anxious traveller was none other than the bald headed ruffian. His little face lit up at the realisation that he could now just tag along and follow me to his destination. He thanked me profusely and I told him our intended route. When we switched trains, he came and sat opposite me over a table. It was then that he informed me that he had been let out of Redditch's prison that very day for drug dealing. I was travelling with Heisenberg!As it turned out, the ex-convict was an addict, but a decent human being when not on the chronic, having worked as a missionary for the last few years until falling off the wagon several months before. We spoke at length and actually had a lot in common. He borrowed my phone and made half-a-dozen calls (including one to a methadone clinic) and he bought me a cup of tea to say thanks (there is no better way to win my favour than to give me tea). For the next two days I would receive random calls from gruff-sounding gentlemen asking 'who's this', but never mind. I was glad to have met my new friend, Dillon, on the cross-country train to Cardiff.
Then I arrived in Cardiff, ready to kick ass and eat crumpets (I was all out of crumpets). Matt informed me he was waiting in the North car park, but the problem was that I had been unceremoniously expelled into the southern courtyard. What were we to do? With our great adventure quickly turning into an unspeakable nightmare, Matt and I were forced to act. Matt came running for me immediately, determined to reach me before it was too late. I went to a nearby pub and took a piss. Five minutes later, Matt and I turned a corner and saw each other in the distance. We came together like two long-separated lovers finally reuniting. "Alright?" Matt said. "Yeah," said I.
Then we were on our way, taking half-an-hour-to find our way across one single road to our hotel. We checked in, ignoring the judging looks that Giuseppe gave us, and went upstairs to our suite...My God, the Humanity!
Inside the womb of Hell was like stepping into an anti-tardis. I felt the walls closing in on me like a tightening sphincter. What I was met with chilled my very bones. The curtains were woven with human flesh. Flaked, congealing bio matter clung to the fabric like an after party for a Porn Awards Ceremony. The carpet was sticky. My mattress had a huge, gaping hole in it. The toilet was built INSIDE the shower. The beds were smaller than WW1 cot beds and there was a fuming honey badger in the corner (that's a lie). Still, Matt had paid and invited me. I knew that I should be polite and not say anything about the condition of the room. The polite thing to do would be to say nothing.
"This is the worst hotel room I've ever been in," I shouted. "It stinks!" I exclaimed. "This is disgusting!" Immediately I took out my phone and began recording so that I could later inform my wife of the abject horror I was being subjected to. Matt stood aside patiently while I conducted my expose. Then we unpacked.
At the arena (which was gloriously close to the hotel), Matt and I encountered a massive queue of traders wanting to get in. Not wanting to wait, Matt decided to go to the front of the queue and talk to one of the security guards. I never found out what he said to the man, but we were immediately let in without having to join the queue and were treated like VIPS the rest of the weekend. All of the staff knew us and would have our High-Vis jackets waiting for us each time we arrived.
We went inside with our books (which Matt had been holding for me the last 3 weeks). I had brought with me a promotional t-shirt, hoodie, and 1500 vouchers for my books. Matt had brought posters for each of us, a banner for both of us, and a price list for my books. He commented that everything I had brought benefited only me, whereas everything he brought was for the both of us. He was right. It was a shitty thing to do. :-(My guilt weighing heavy on my heart, I soldiered on. I directed Matt where to put my posters and had a look around while he got to work setting up our display. Unfortunately, we had been provided with titanium plated backing boards. We went through hordes of drawing pins which bent in fear at the very sight of the board. We eventually got all of my posters up on the wall but were forced to give up when it came to Matt's posters. At least my side of the table looked okay. Phew!
Finished for the time being, we went into town to have dinner. We found a TGIs and started chatting. I asked Matt what it was like being 40. He informed me he was 34. Slowly we bonded and started chatting about all kinds of things, including the rudest, most aggressive waitress ever (she really didn't like me for some reason). When the food came, I managed to finish before Matt had even laid his napkin out on his lap. That's just how I roll. When the bill was brought by a second waitress (perhaps the first could bear to look upon me no longer) I said I would pay it. "How sweet," she remarked. Matt then went into length about how we were on a date - a story which the waitress wholeheartedly believed. I told him to shut up, not because I have any problem with being viewed as gay, but because I would like to think that if I were, I could do better than Matt Shaw.Then we were off to the cinema. After Matt's satnav failed, I tried using my phone, only I set it to pedestrian mode which tried to lead us sideways across the highway. When we finally made it across the water we parked in a multi-storey which was on the wrong side of the highway. We got straight back in the car but it still charged us £2 anyway! The outrage. By the time we arrived, the heavens had opened in fury and we were both soaking wet.
After a shaky five minutes where I became irate by the venue's lack of salt n vinegar Pringles, we went and bought some popcorn and cokes. Matt had a hot dog. I paid for it all, wanting to be a good guest. The movie was Interstellar. The girl next to me had brought her own grapes. I won't repeat what Matt called her.
[image error] The first 90 minutes of the film were great. When Casey Afflick turned up, I started to worry, When Matt Damon came on screen at the two hour mark, I had a feeling of dread. During the final hour, when Matthew Mcongahoheyowooia started saying things like "I need to use love to navigate the 5th dimension. They are us communicating through gravity and crossing space and time..." I threw up in my lap. Matt and I looked at each other with expressions of mutual condolence. We had both been the victims of some strange cinematic prank.
After the movie it was late, so we went back to the room. Aside from the smell, we dared not touch the spunky curtains and so we were left with a light-bathed room. It was also unbearable hot, but with the window open the entire sound of Cardiff made its way inside. At one point an ambulance flew past our room. I got to sleep about 4am. At 5am I woke up for a wee. When I flushed the chain, I thought an earthquake was occurring; the entire floor shook. It was Satan's own flusher. Until 8am I slept soundly and, if Matt Shaw is to be believed, snored like a banshee. At that point we staggered across the road like zombies, bypassed the queue, and went inside. Immediately I rushed off to get a cup of tea, only to be told to come back later. I went back later, only to be told to come back in a bit. I came back in a bit, only to be told to wait a while. I waited a while only to be told that their machine was broken. Dejected I returned to Matt who had managed to fix his half of the display through the clever use of velcro stickers (purchased from Rymans, no rubbish). As Matt and I sat in silence, waiting for the unwashed public to be let inside, the young entrepreneurial couple beside us started having a tiff, so we watched that until 9 0 clock when business kicked off. Things were quiet, so I continued my quest to obtain a cup of tea. I found a vendor willing to serve me at the far side of the room. I returned to Matt triumphant.
At 10.30 I finally sold some books. Then some more. Then a fan came up to buy a signed paperback for his wife. During this time, Matt sat in silence, slowly wilting like the entertainment value in a Matthew Mcongahoheyowooia movie. Then he could take it no longer and went to have a look around. Two minutes later someone came and bought a Matt Shaw novel. Matt had missed his first sale, but luckily I was there to make it for him. Then it all kicked off. For the next few hours, Matt and I sold lots of books and spoke to lots of readers, There was an incident involving a fellow author turning up in a mask, but that's a story for another day, as too is the story concerning a guy dressed as Spiderman having his picture with us despite having no clue who we were.. All in all, it was a good time where Matt and I felt really good about ourselves. I could tell, most of all, it meant a lot to Matt to see people showing an interest in his work. I was glad, because I'd felt really sorry for him during that first 90 minutes where it looked like things were going to go badly for him.
After the busy period ended, Matt went shopping. He splurged an obscene amount of money on a Freddie Kruegar/Robert Englund hat, and then immediately regretted it as he knew his wife would kill him (he also tried to convince me that Freddie wears a black and red sweater, whereas any true horror aficionado knows it is red and green). He also bought Wolverine's claw, but stopped himself from buying a Willy Wonka bar and golden ticket. So I went and bought that for him, to say thanks for inviting me. He seemed to appreciate it and we had a little bro moment. By the end of the day we were in good cheer, yet knackered. We went and ate at a ChimiChangas which was lovely. Matt only managed half of his meal, so I ate that as well. Because that's how I roll. Then we went back to our room (which was beginning to feel like home) and showed each other funny youtube videos till 12.30 at night. Kevin Spacey is awesome at impressions!
The next day was slower but we still sold books. I instructed Matt to lower my pricing board and he did as he was told. We made friends with the young couple on the neighbouring stand and Matt immediately started making Welsh jokes at their expense. They were a lovely couple and it was nice meeting them. They were selling Pop! Vinyl figures which were simply everywhere! Before close of day, and after much discussion about topics such as Altered Beast, Labyrinth, and the Goonies, I noted that Matt had spent a fortune on himself yet had bought nothing for his wife. I, myself had bought Sally a Hershel figure (her favourite TWD character) and a TWD board game). Matt saw my point and ran to buy his wife a Frozen Olaf figurine.Then it was all over. I waited while Matt took my remaining books back to his car and then waited for him to come back and get me. He drove me to the train station and then told me he "had had a really good time and a lot of fun," to which I replied "You're very welcome."
I journeyed home with 400 hundred passengers crammed inside a train the size of a Pringles tube, eventually making it back to my home town of Redditch at 9.30. I was met by my wife, Sally, who gave me a big hug and asked me all about it. And so I told her.
I really enjoyed my weekend with Matt. He's a funny guy and I trust him, which is rare for me. Likely I will do another function with him at some point in the future, but being away from my family is hard, so I can't say when that will be. I see me working with Matt more closely as a friend now rather than a simple colleague. He and I have already discussed the possibility of writing a book together and that will likely happen when our schedules allow. It should be good.
Thank you for Cardiff for having me and thank you to those who bought a book from me. It made me feel like a bigshot! And thank you to Matt Shaw for pulling me out of my shell and giving me an experience I won't forget.
November 11, 2014
Signed Books Now Available...
After doing Cardiff Comic Con I am left with a limited supply of signed books. I have set up a store front of Facebook (along with a new author's page). If this becomes popular then I will continue to stock my paperbacks in order to sign and send them.You can visit the new store front here: https://www.facebook.com/authoriainrobwright?sk=app_251458316228
I'm sure you've also noticed that THE PICTURE FRAME is also now available to buy (paperback coming soon). You can grab a kindle copy here: UK US
Cardiff Comic Con was a lot of fun and it was great meeting fans and strangers alike. I have already gained a few new readers and it was great spending time with Matt Shaw (who's a lot kinder and sensitive in real life than he is online) as well as meeting other authors such as Steve Lockley and Graeme Reynolds. I may do more Cons in the future but will have to weigh up the financial costs and time away from my family. All being well I would like to do more.As always, it's been a great year and another 12 months where I have got to live my dream, make money, and be at home with my family. That's down to you, the people buying my books, so once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart,
October 24, 2014
Jeff Carlson, bestselling author and pretty swell guy...
When I first published The Final Winter, I had no one on my facebook and no one to turn to for advice. I was a naive loner just hoping for the best, and I felt like I had no right to try and call myself an author. During that time I was writing some book reviews, and one novel I reviewed was
Plague Year
by Jeff Carlson. It's an awesome apocalyptic novel (1st in a trilogy) about a nanovirus that destroys all biological matter (people) below 10,000 feet. It is unique and a shit load of fun. I suggest you all read it.
When Jeff saw my review he contacted me to say thanks. He found out I was an author and offered to let me post on his blog. He also sent me signed copies of the Plague Year trilogy. It was overwhelming to have a bigshot New York Times Bestselling author give me the time of day. It's because Jeff was such a nice guy that I forged ahead with my own career. He made my struggle to become an author enjoyable and worth it. If my first encounter with another author had been negative, then I might have shied away and decided that the whole thing wasn't for me. Jeff's kindness is part of why I am here today writing books and making a living. I owe him for that.
So it gives me great pleasure to do for Jeff what he originally did for me almost 4 years ago. I am giving him my blog. Authors and readers alike should be interested, for Jeff has a successful career in traditional publishing as well as the new self-publishing revolution. He is a true hybrid author that knows what it's like on both sides of the fence. Here's what he had to say.
Oh, and before we get started, you can check out Jeff''s books at his website: http://www.jverse.com/
Hi, Jeff, tell us about yourself.Well, my official bio is fun because I’m not a formal guy, so I hope the humor bleeds through even my corporate thumbnail…
“Jeff Carlson was born on the day of the first manned moon landing and narrowly escaped being named Apollo, Armstrong, or Rocket. His father worked for NASA Ames at the time. His granddad on his mother’s side was a sci fi fan whose library included autographed copies of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy. Both men were strong, early influences — and in the high tech 21st Century, it’s easy to stand with one foot in reality and the other in thriller novels.”How’s zat?
Could you tell us what work you currently have available?Straight from the biography again!
Jeff is the international bestselling author of Plague Year, Interrupt, and The Frozen Sky, hailed by Publishers Weekly as “Pulse pounding.”
That’s only time PW had something nice to say about me, ha ha, so I cling to it. My other PW review was for Plague Year, which was trashed by a frustrated Author with a capital A. Plague Year was my first novel. I didn’t realize it at the time, but PW reviews aren’t necessarily written by people who like the kind of book they’re reviewing.
This unnamed genius was moonlighting for PW because she hoped to parlay her byline with the famous magazine into opening doors at New York agencies and publishers for her profound literature. She slammed Plague Year for being a post-apocalyptic genre novel full of sex and violence, which, to be fair, is an apt description. I like blowing things up. Helicopters. Space shuttles. Cities. Blow ‘em up! Aha ha ha. And if that’s not your cup of tea, no problem, although I have to admit the pan still bothers me. By any stretch, Plague Year was a commercial success. Readers embraced it. But she went out of her way to publicly sneer at the book.Have I had too much coffee again today? Hee hee.
To actually answer your question: Plague Year is a trilogy. Interrupt is an epic disaster novel and a stand-alone. I also have a short story collection called Long Eyes, and I’m in the process of sequels to The Frozen Sky, which will become another trilogy.
Tell us about your latest release and why people should buy it.Betrayed is the second book in the Frozen Sky series. If I were pitching it as a movie, I’d say: “This story is Pitch Black meets The Thing with a strong female lead.” By that I mean it’s a high-concept sci fi thriller with a smart, brave heroine. No, she doesn’t pack a giant machine gun like Ellen Ripley. Yes, she’s capable and resilient.
Also, my aliens aren’t mindless killers. It’s true they’ll rip your face off and eat it if you let ‘em. By the same token, they’ll become your fiercest defenders if you prove yourself worthy.
The Frozen Sky is a metaphor for the icy crust of Jupiter’s sixth moon, Europa. Beneath the surface, the ice is ten to twenty kilometers thick. In my story, it’s riddled with catacombs and volcanos and nasty blind eight-armed creatures who’ve never imagined a universe beyond the ice. Not until the human race comes knocking. The books are set 100 years in the future, so we have cool armored suits and mecha and AI, but we also have all of our usual weaknesses. We’re divided. We argue. We lie and cheat.
When the competing Earth crews meet the savage alien tribes… well, let’s just say it’s a glorious mess. Ambushes. Ice quakes. Monsters and robots and cyber warfare, oh my. Even a dash of romance. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.
For someone unfamiliar with your work, how would you describe your writing?
I hope I could say my writing style is compact and evocative. Oh yeah, and my plots are freaking brilliant! Aha ha ha ha. I don’t write Star Trek-level sci fi with goofy-looking people in rubber ears or simplistic plots neatly wrapped up in an hour. My goal is to bring the readers deeper than that.
What else do you have in the pipeline?Currently I’m busy with Frozen Sky 3. After that, I’m on the hook for a few short stories. After that, another big present-day thriller. There are always nine or twelve concepts baking in my brain. You know how it is: More ideas than time. Staying on task is half the battle. Don’t let yourself be distracted. Stay focused on the book at hand.
What writers have had the most influence on your own writing?Some of these names may surprise you. Frank Baum. James Michener. Jean M. Auel. Stephen King. John Irving. Wendy Pini. John Varley. Joe Haldeman.
Pini of course was the driving force behind the graphic novels of ElfQuest, which were more than pure fantasy adventure. She gave her characters heart, even the bad guys like the trolls and Winnowill. Great stuff.
Michener and Irving wrote real-world stories about the human condition, Michener on a wide scale, while Irving’s focus has been more personal and close to home. Auel’s Clan of the Cave Bear series reads like alternate history on par with Michener’s epic tomes… and Baum, I’m sure, was smoking wheelbarrow-loads of opium while meandering through his diverse, wacky landscapes of Oz.
Especially the early King novels such as The Stand, Roadwork, and The Long Walk made visceral impressions on me as a kid. Varley and Haldeman are gifted sci fi writers who brought dry, hard-eyed realism to some of my favorite adventures like Millennium, Steel Beach, The Forever War, Tool of the Trade, and the Worlds trilogy.
What was the last book you read?Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Mayberry, which was recommended by a friend. It’s a YA novel, so I thought some of the story twists were predictable and most of the boy-girl dynamic was unnaturally restrained — I mean the fifteen-year-old hero was absolutely duh when it came to speaking to the mega hot, feisty, freckled heroine; just kiss her, you fool! — but otherwise the characters were awesome and Mayberry introduced several very cool new ideas about zombies, which isn’t easy to do. The subgenre is such a well-travelled road. I was impressed that he came up with fresh details about how the living dead might operate.
“Fresh!” That’s a zombie joke!
How do you feel about the recent changes in the publishing industry, specifically the rise of the ‘indie author’ and the opportunities now available for traditionally published authors who opt to go it alone?Oh, man. Trick question. Got, like, two hours?
I followed the so-called traditional path in writing. When I was fourteen, I cranked out a million-word rip-off of The Stand starring a spunky bunch of teens straight out of Red Dawn. The book was awful but it had soul. Years later, I got serious, took some English Lit classes, and began writing short stories. It is really, really hard to squeeze a whole plot and at least a hint of character development into the space of thirty pages, especially if you’re also explaining vampire dogs or cutting edge weapons tech. Each story was also a new chance to experiment with pacing, voice, and POV.
Eventually I started selling short stories to small press publications, then to semi-pro and full-on professional magazines with glossy ads and decent pay rates. Next I wrote Plague Year. I found an agent. Penguin grabbed the book after a small bidding war. From penning the first sentence of the rough draft to publication day, nearly three years passed. I think a few insanely determined people still become writers in this fashion even now after the e-revolution.Late in 2010, I self-re-e-published the original short story of “The Frozen Sky,” which had appeared in the Writers of the Future 23 anthology. My 99c electronic reprint sold 40,000 copies.
I’d always wanted to develop this concept into a full-fledged novel. The setting is literally as large as Europa, which is a lot of room for new storylines, new characters, surprises and reversals. My experience was in the traditional world, but I had been gabberflasted by the success of re-releasing the short story on Kindle, Nook, and iTunes.Late in 2012, I self-published The Frozen Sky: The Novel. To date, it’s found 37,000 readers. For a hard sf novel, that’s a hefty number, much bigger than a non-big name writer would expect to reach through a Big 5 publisher in New York. Japanese rights to the novel sold to Tokyo Sogensha, and I hope its ongoing popularity will lead to more interest overseas and in Hollywood. Let’s face it. The Frozen Sky is a cool idea, and far better executed than Europa Report. (Also, my book came first. It’s smarter and sexier than Europa Report and offers non-cliché twists and turns.) As for the many different forms of publishing in our brave new e-world, these days I’m dancing on all sides of the fence. Traditional publishing was good to me, and I would readily accept the right deal. Meanwhile, Interrupt was published by 47North, one of the new Amazon imprints stocked with topnotch editors and publicists who were stolen from New York and set free of their corporate restraints. These people are wild-eyed e-pirates on the photon’s edge of the future, dude!
Collaborating with the teams at 47North was fantastic. Interruptdid very, very well. It isn’t accurate to say 47North is a traditional publisher because their focus is Kindle, but the process from first draft to final proofs was similar and I’m proud of being a triple hybrid now — a Big 5 author, a Seattle cabal revolutionary, and a self-published writer.
Anything else you’d like to tell us about?
Tinfoil hats! Wireless microscopic retinal displays! Genetically-enhanced NSA chem trace molecular compounds in canned banana cream pie filling and hot dogs! Watch out! They’re following us everywhere! Even in the shower!
But we don’t have time to get into that now… ;)
Jeff
Again, you can visit Jeff's website at: http://www.jverse.com/
You can purchase The Frozen sky here: http://www.amazon.com/The-Frozen-Sky-Novel-ebook/dp/B009GLM5LG/
When Jeff saw my review he contacted me to say thanks. He found out I was an author and offered to let me post on his blog. He also sent me signed copies of the Plague Year trilogy. It was overwhelming to have a bigshot New York Times Bestselling author give me the time of day. It's because Jeff was such a nice guy that I forged ahead with my own career. He made my struggle to become an author enjoyable and worth it. If my first encounter with another author had been negative, then I might have shied away and decided that the whole thing wasn't for me. Jeff's kindness is part of why I am here today writing books and making a living. I owe him for that.So it gives me great pleasure to do for Jeff what he originally did for me almost 4 years ago. I am giving him my blog. Authors and readers alike should be interested, for Jeff has a successful career in traditional publishing as well as the new self-publishing revolution. He is a true hybrid author that knows what it's like on both sides of the fence. Here's what he had to say.
Oh, and before we get started, you can check out Jeff''s books at his website: http://www.jverse.com/
Hi, Jeff, tell us about yourself.Well, my official bio is fun because I’m not a formal guy, so I hope the humor bleeds through even my corporate thumbnail… “Jeff Carlson was born on the day of the first manned moon landing and narrowly escaped being named Apollo, Armstrong, or Rocket. His father worked for NASA Ames at the time. His granddad on his mother’s side was a sci fi fan whose library included autographed copies of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy. Both men were strong, early influences — and in the high tech 21st Century, it’s easy to stand with one foot in reality and the other in thriller novels.”How’s zat?
Could you tell us what work you currently have available?Straight from the biography again!
Jeff is the international bestselling author of Plague Year, Interrupt, and The Frozen Sky, hailed by Publishers Weekly as “Pulse pounding.”
That’s only time PW had something nice to say about me, ha ha, so I cling to it. My other PW review was for Plague Year, which was trashed by a frustrated Author with a capital A. Plague Year was my first novel. I didn’t realize it at the time, but PW reviews aren’t necessarily written by people who like the kind of book they’re reviewing.
This unnamed genius was moonlighting for PW because she hoped to parlay her byline with the famous magazine into opening doors at New York agencies and publishers for her profound literature. She slammed Plague Year for being a post-apocalyptic genre novel full of sex and violence, which, to be fair, is an apt description. I like blowing things up. Helicopters. Space shuttles. Cities. Blow ‘em up! Aha ha ha. And if that’s not your cup of tea, no problem, although I have to admit the pan still bothers me. By any stretch, Plague Year was a commercial success. Readers embraced it. But she went out of her way to publicly sneer at the book.Have I had too much coffee again today? Hee hee.
To actually answer your question: Plague Year is a trilogy. Interrupt is an epic disaster novel and a stand-alone. I also have a short story collection called Long Eyes, and I’m in the process of sequels to The Frozen Sky, which will become another trilogy.
Tell us about your latest release and why people should buy it.Betrayed is the second book in the Frozen Sky series. If I were pitching it as a movie, I’d say: “This story is Pitch Black meets The Thing with a strong female lead.” By that I mean it’s a high-concept sci fi thriller with a smart, brave heroine. No, she doesn’t pack a giant machine gun like Ellen Ripley. Yes, she’s capable and resilient.
Also, my aliens aren’t mindless killers. It’s true they’ll rip your face off and eat it if you let ‘em. By the same token, they’ll become your fiercest defenders if you prove yourself worthy.
The Frozen Sky is a metaphor for the icy crust of Jupiter’s sixth moon, Europa. Beneath the surface, the ice is ten to twenty kilometers thick. In my story, it’s riddled with catacombs and volcanos and nasty blind eight-armed creatures who’ve never imagined a universe beyond the ice. Not until the human race comes knocking. The books are set 100 years in the future, so we have cool armored suits and mecha and AI, but we also have all of our usual weaknesses. We’re divided. We argue. We lie and cheat.
When the competing Earth crews meet the savage alien tribes… well, let’s just say it’s a glorious mess. Ambushes. Ice quakes. Monsters and robots and cyber warfare, oh my. Even a dash of romance. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.
For someone unfamiliar with your work, how would you describe your writing?
I hope I could say my writing style is compact and evocative. Oh yeah, and my plots are freaking brilliant! Aha ha ha ha. I don’t write Star Trek-level sci fi with goofy-looking people in rubber ears or simplistic plots neatly wrapped up in an hour. My goal is to bring the readers deeper than that.
What else do you have in the pipeline?Currently I’m busy with Frozen Sky 3. After that, I’m on the hook for a few short stories. After that, another big present-day thriller. There are always nine or twelve concepts baking in my brain. You know how it is: More ideas than time. Staying on task is half the battle. Don’t let yourself be distracted. Stay focused on the book at hand.
What writers have had the most influence on your own writing?Some of these names may surprise you. Frank Baum. James Michener. Jean M. Auel. Stephen King. John Irving. Wendy Pini. John Varley. Joe Haldeman.
Pini of course was the driving force behind the graphic novels of ElfQuest, which were more than pure fantasy adventure. She gave her characters heart, even the bad guys like the trolls and Winnowill. Great stuff.
Michener and Irving wrote real-world stories about the human condition, Michener on a wide scale, while Irving’s focus has been more personal and close to home. Auel’s Clan of the Cave Bear series reads like alternate history on par with Michener’s epic tomes… and Baum, I’m sure, was smoking wheelbarrow-loads of opium while meandering through his diverse, wacky landscapes of Oz.
Especially the early King novels such as The Stand, Roadwork, and The Long Walk made visceral impressions on me as a kid. Varley and Haldeman are gifted sci fi writers who brought dry, hard-eyed realism to some of my favorite adventures like Millennium, Steel Beach, The Forever War, Tool of the Trade, and the Worlds trilogy.
What was the last book you read?Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Mayberry, which was recommended by a friend. It’s a YA novel, so I thought some of the story twists were predictable and most of the boy-girl dynamic was unnaturally restrained — I mean the fifteen-year-old hero was absolutely duh when it came to speaking to the mega hot, feisty, freckled heroine; just kiss her, you fool! — but otherwise the characters were awesome and Mayberry introduced several very cool new ideas about zombies, which isn’t easy to do. The subgenre is such a well-travelled road. I was impressed that he came up with fresh details about how the living dead might operate.
“Fresh!” That’s a zombie joke!
How do you feel about the recent changes in the publishing industry, specifically the rise of the ‘indie author’ and the opportunities now available for traditionally published authors who opt to go it alone?Oh, man. Trick question. Got, like, two hours?
I followed the so-called traditional path in writing. When I was fourteen, I cranked out a million-word rip-off of The Stand starring a spunky bunch of teens straight out of Red Dawn. The book was awful but it had soul. Years later, I got serious, took some English Lit classes, and began writing short stories. It is really, really hard to squeeze a whole plot and at least a hint of character development into the space of thirty pages, especially if you’re also explaining vampire dogs or cutting edge weapons tech. Each story was also a new chance to experiment with pacing, voice, and POV.
Eventually I started selling short stories to small press publications, then to semi-pro and full-on professional magazines with glossy ads and decent pay rates. Next I wrote Plague Year. I found an agent. Penguin grabbed the book after a small bidding war. From penning the first sentence of the rough draft to publication day, nearly three years passed. I think a few insanely determined people still become writers in this fashion even now after the e-revolution.Late in 2010, I self-re-e-published the original short story of “The Frozen Sky,” which had appeared in the Writers of the Future 23 anthology. My 99c electronic reprint sold 40,000 copies.
I’d always wanted to develop this concept into a full-fledged novel. The setting is literally as large as Europa, which is a lot of room for new storylines, new characters, surprises and reversals. My experience was in the traditional world, but I had been gabberflasted by the success of re-releasing the short story on Kindle, Nook, and iTunes.Late in 2012, I self-published The Frozen Sky: The Novel. To date, it’s found 37,000 readers. For a hard sf novel, that’s a hefty number, much bigger than a non-big name writer would expect to reach through a Big 5 publisher in New York. Japanese rights to the novel sold to Tokyo Sogensha, and I hope its ongoing popularity will lead to more interest overseas and in Hollywood. Let’s face it. The Frozen Sky is a cool idea, and far better executed than Europa Report. (Also, my book came first. It’s smarter and sexier than Europa Report and offers non-cliché twists and turns.) As for the many different forms of publishing in our brave new e-world, these days I’m dancing on all sides of the fence. Traditional publishing was good to me, and I would readily accept the right deal. Meanwhile, Interrupt was published by 47North, one of the new Amazon imprints stocked with topnotch editors and publicists who were stolen from New York and set free of their corporate restraints. These people are wild-eyed e-pirates on the photon’s edge of the future, dude!
Collaborating with the teams at 47North was fantastic. Interruptdid very, very well. It isn’t accurate to say 47North is a traditional publisher because their focus is Kindle, but the process from first draft to final proofs was similar and I’m proud of being a triple hybrid now — a Big 5 author, a Seattle cabal revolutionary, and a self-published writer.
Anything else you’d like to tell us about?
Tinfoil hats! Wireless microscopic retinal displays! Genetically-enhanced NSA chem trace molecular compounds in canned banana cream pie filling and hot dogs! Watch out! They’re following us everywhere! Even in the shower!
But we don’t have time to get into that now… ;)
Jeff
Again, you can visit Jeff's website at: http://www.jverse.com/
You can purchase The Frozen sky here: http://www.amazon.com/The-Frozen-Sky-Novel-ebook/dp/B009GLM5LG/
October 6, 2014
KDP feedback wanted...
Hi guys:
I now have an avenue to pass on feedback to a UK KDP executive. But feedback from one person is just an opinion. It would be great to have a consensus of opinion as that will hold more weight. In the comments below, please leave any questions you would like me to pose to this KDP executive and I will pass them all on at the end of the month. I won't be doing this regularly, as I do not want to inundate the poor woman with emails, but perhaps twice a year I will check in with you all and pass on your questions.
So, to repeat, this is an opportunity to get your feedback to a KDP executive. If you have something you would like to say, say it in the comments below before the end of the month.
P.S. Matt Shaw is a bastard.
Thanks,
Iain
I now have an avenue to pass on feedback to a UK KDP executive. But feedback from one person is just an opinion. It would be great to have a consensus of opinion as that will hold more weight. In the comments below, please leave any questions you would like me to pose to this KDP executive and I will pass them all on at the end of the month. I won't be doing this regularly, as I do not want to inundate the poor woman with emails, but perhaps twice a year I will check in with you all and pass on your questions.
So, to repeat, this is an opportunity to get your feedback to a KDP executive. If you have something you would like to say, say it in the comments below before the end of the month.
P.S. Matt Shaw is a bastard.
Thanks,
Iain
October 2, 2014
My meeting with ACX, Audible, and KDP...
So, yesterday I attended a luncheon meeting in Whitehall, along with Matt Shaw, the UK's current number 1 horror writer (and 23rd worldwide). It turns out that Matt is a funny guy in person and a lot taller than I am. Free wine was provided which Matt drank copiously before staggering out of the pub and telling me that he "never drinks."
At the meeting were several other authors (mostly from other fields such as erotica, historical thrillers, literary fiction, et al). Excitingly, there were also several Amazon executives from various departments, notably ACX, Audible, and KDP. I was fortunate enough to speak with most of them and had a chance to fire some questions at them.
I will briefly go over the issues I raised and provide a summary of the responses I was given. I will say, right now, that I didn't get anything concrete, as the main focus of ACX is still pretty fluid in terms of directions. It seems like Amazon are letting it grow organically rather than strategising and pushing it in a forced direction. This is not dissimilar to KDP during it's infancy. It was very much under the radar at first, before gearing up substantially into what it is today. I got a similar feeling that ACX is destined to do the same, and as such will only improve and grow from what is already an exciting platform. Here are some of the questions I asked.
1.Why did ACX recently lower the royalty rates?
The reply to this question was somewhat defensive, and the answer I eventually got was that the initial royalty rates were designed to generate interest and were never sustainable in the long term. It was stressed that ACX and KDP are entirely different platforms (and companies) and that a change in one does not signal a change in the other, so there is no need to fear that the 70% KDP royalty rate is likely to change. I suggested that the disappointing news of a royalty drop was put to authors rather patronisingly (Matt Shaw shrank back in his chair at this point), and I was asked what would be the best way to give bad news without upsetting people, which I thought was a fair point. The overall point that I gleaned from this question was that the current rate is not going to change for the foreseeable future so we will have to get used to it. I don't personally agree that ACX warrants 60% of profits and it would be nice to be shown a breakdown of how they arrived at that figure (i.e. costs incurred by ACX etc). Still, it's their ballgame and no one is forced to sign up. Sometimes, we lose sight of that and forget that no one is entitled to anything. The only power we have is to go wherever the terms and conditions are best, and currently that is ACX.
2.Why is a 7 year contract term required to use ACX?
I asked why this appearingly arbitrary number was chosen as the contract term, seeing as ACX is essentially a distributor and not needing to recoup any major upfront costs. I was told that 7 years is industry-standard and in line with other publishing contracts. I felt this was a little contradictory as ACX is not like other publishers. Other publishers cover costs of audiobook production and provide advances, whereas ACX does not. I'm not sure if there is any flexibility on ACX's stance on length of contract, but I did stress that if they want authors to commit to such a long period of time, then ACX should sweeten the pot with things such as promotional tools etc. Which leads me onto...
3.Can we have promotional tools to help bolster flagging sales?
I explained that ebook sale numbers on KDP are constantly fluctuating and that the most entrepreneurial authors are able to influence their levels of success by shrewd and frequent use of the promotional tools given to them by KDP (such as Countdown Deals, freebies etc). I explained that my own ACX titles tend to start off very well before dipping to a much lower level of sales (a level where they sadly remain for the most part). I then have very limited means to create future spikes in sales during that long 7 year contract period. I explained that there would be no point in an author caring much about pushing their ACX titles after that initial sales spike as there is little means for them to affect things; this hurts ACX as much as the author as it leads to stagnant older titles. By providing promotional tools, ACX can ensure that authors retain a continuing interest in their backlist titles - as they do with KDP titles currently - and can boost flagging sales by running regular promotions and stoking renewed audience interest.
I am happy to report that this discussion went down very well and was something the ACX/Audible execs were very happy to consider. Interestingly, I was told that if I had an active promotion of my own running (a paid advert for example), that I should email ACX support and let them know about it as they would be happy to feature my titles simultaneously to maximise returns. They also stated that if an audiobook sells well enough, they might be willing to issue more freebie codes (like the 25 given out upon initial publication). To do this, an author/narrator should email support. The gist of this is that ACX seemed very open to working with authors on an ad hoc basis, so if you want their support with a promotion you are doing, then let them know. They will help if they are able.
4.Why is reporting two days behind and so primitive (in relation to KDP)?
Reporting is 48 hours behind due to the coordination required between separate companies (including one not associated with Amazon at all). ACX has to receive sales data from Audible, Amazon, and Apple, before it can pass those figures onto us. It was expressed that reporting was a key improvement area for ACX and eventually they would like to have a dynamic dashboard similar to KDP, or at the very least Createspace. I would expect improvements to come incrementally like they do in KDP and I have every confidence that the website, reporting, and feedback from ACX will steadily improve. I also stated that it's nigh on impossible to know how much one is earning in realtime as the royalty tariffs are so confusing. I was told that ACX are currently trying to work out what is the best way to pay authors per sale and that it will likely change at some point. The utopia would be that one day a dashboard exists for Createspace, KDP, and ACX all in one, where authors can manage their entire business and link products together into cohesive promotion campaigns. That won't happen tomorrow, but it sounds like an awfully nice idea.
5.Can we do bundle deals with ebooks, paperbacks, al a "Match Book"?
It was expressed to me that there are complications regarding this, as audio rights are separate to digital and paperback rights. It wasn't rejected as an idea, and there are already occasional offers for customers to purchase discounted audiobook for ebooks they have purchased in the past. I imagine that if bundling products together becomes workable, it will happen at some point in the future.
6.Can we have variable royalty share terms?
I put forward an idea for a 25% royalty share (instead of 50%) and part payment (instead of full). I would be happy to give my narrator a 25% royalty of sales and pay him $1000 up front (instead of his usual $2000 fee). Currently I am giving him 50% royalties with no fee payable. This idea was received well and will be reported up the line of command. ACX seemed to be very interested in flexibility as it is a good way to increase the amount of authors using the service.
7.Can we change artwork after publication?
I can't currently find a way to do this, but I was told that I should be able to and that if I have a problem just contact support who will do it manually. Again it's good that ACX support are willing to help with issues on a one to one basis.
8.Can we apply the ACX structure to translators for foreign editions?
I was told speculatively that their are already mumblings within Amazon concerning ways for self-publishers to exploit foreign rights. It may not happen tomorrow, but I would expect Amazon's next publishing venture to be aimed at getting translators and authors together. Apparently, Amazon has been assembling a small stable of translators within their businesses, but the the exec who spoke to me said it hadn't been stated from above exactly why. Interesting indeed.
---
Those were the main points I discussed. What I will say is that the Amazon execs were all young and passionate about helping authors. I left feeling excited and comforted that Amazon's goals are in line with my own. We often worry about Amazon pulling the rug out from under us, but I did not get that impression at all. The KDP UK exec was only 3 weeks into the job but she gave me the impression that authors and other content providers are regarded very highly by Amazon and a key part of their future strategies.
ACX is currently a win win in my opinion; a no brainer. It is the best way to exploit your audio rights and is likely to get even better. From personal experience I can say that the income is not unsubstantial. It is not currently as lucrative as KDP but it far exceeds my paperback sales. I believe audiobooks are a growth area and I got the overall impression from the luncheon meeting that ACX and Audible will be ramping up soon and that sales and exposure for audio titles will increase, maybe even rocket.
It is a fun experience working with narrators and hearing your book in audio. My own colleagues, Chris Barnes, and the wonderful Nigel Patterson, are both great to work with, and highly recommended. Give them your work and you won't be disappointed.
You can sign up to ACX here: www.acx.com. I could post a guide to using the site, but it really is quite straight forward once you get into it. So throw yourself in.
Incidentally, my own audiobooks are something I am very proud of and you can get them all here (with more coming soon): UK US
September 16, 2014
The Photo Frame Chapter 1
Chapter 1 of the Photo Frame written today (in early draft form). Pre-orders coming soon.
“Keep it steady, move slowly, or we’ll never find a thing.” Johnny watched his son swing the metal detector around like a sword and sighed. Whenever Ricky did anything, he did it fast. The boy did not walk, he ran. He did not eat his dinner, he wolfed it down. Life was not a stroll for Johnny’s exuberant ten year old, it was a mad, arm-flailing sprint.“I’m trying, dad, but it’s not doing nothing.”“Anything. It’s not doing anything.”Ricky huffed at his father. “Help me.”“Okay, okay.” Johnny trudged across the field and helped his son keep the wand steady. It wasn’t Ricky’s fault, really, the thing was old and heavy, as much a relic as anything they hoped to find. “There you go,” he said softly. “Just like that. Back and forth, back and forth.”Together the two of them covered an area about the size of a tennis court, and got nothing. The wand beeped rhythmically, but never got excited for a single second. As a kid, Johnny remembered combing beaches with his own father and finding loose change galore. He wanted his son to feel that same rush of excitement, hearing a metal detector screech at a find! But alas, it seemed like disappointment. Ricky was clearly growing bored with what he probably consider walking around aimlessly with a metal stick.There was little place for a father to entertain his son nowadays, beyond spending money on gadgets that did it better and for longer. Television and toy companies were the ones raising the nation’s children, not their parents. Ricky would rather spend his days with grumpy birds on his iPad than in a field looking for nonexistent buried treasure with his dad. Kids didn’t get excited by adventure these days, they wanted immediate gratification. Johnny wouldn’t mind so much, but he wanted his son to grow up into a relaxed, content adult, not a stressed out consumer always reaching for that next rung on the never ending ladder of modern affluence.“Can we go inside now. It’s getting cold.”Johnny took a sniff and felt the crisp air in his nostrils. “Yeah, I suppose we should. I never brought your coat. Didn’t think we’d need it. Time to head back.”Immediately, Ricky began skipping along, heading down the sloping field, back towards the house. The mid-century cottage was 2 miles from anything else with plumbing, and it had pretty much saved Johnny’s life. Buying the quaint little abode, with its cobbled stone walls, original fireplaces, and thatched roof, had been a desperate escape from the endless cycle of stress that had become his life. Getting away from the city and grabbing six acres all his own had given him back his freedom: freedom that had been previously eaten up by credit card bills and mortgage statements, noisy neighbours and gas-spewing traffic, cold-callers and, of course, the odd crazed fan finding his address and wanting to be friends.Being the nation’s most treasured Mystery writer was not all it had cracked up to be. The money was great and the work was soul enriching, but the editors, publishers, and even the fans on occasion, were hard work. Johnny was truly blessed for what he did, but the blessing was also a curse. His job had become his life and his life his job. The phone calls, emails, and Internet posts never ceased. The begging and pleading for his next novel was all anybody cared about, but he was only one man. New York Times Bestselling or not, Johnny had needs beyond writing books and making money. He needed to be a husband and a father, as well as a writer.So, three years ago, he had used the advance money for three of his upcoming releases and purchased the run-down, yet beautiful Poe’s Place Cottage. The property was surrounded by fields on three sides, and a long, dusty driveway kept them set well back from the seldom used B-road that lined the fourth. The fresh air and nature brought his heels back down to earth and reminded him to concentrate on taking one breath after the other. That was all life was about, when you really boiled things down. Just take one breath after the other and deal with whatever came between. Think only about the next second, not the next year. For the first time in a decade, Johnny had remembered what it was to be happy.“Dad, why do foxes always poop in our field?”“Where do you suggest they go?”“In the hedges or something. Not right where I can step in it.”“I think they do it to mark their territory.”Ricky fiddled with the strap of the metal detector over his shoulder and gave his father a quizzical look. “Mark their territory from who?”“Other foxes. If a strange fox comes along and sees another ones droppings, they know to stay clear. It’s how a fox let’s other animals know that this is his turf.”“But it’s not. This is our turf. You bought the field and now a fox is shitting in it.”Johnny pointed his finger. “Language. Your mother hears you using that word, she’ll hit the roof.”“I’m ten, not two.”“You’re still a newborn as far as she’s concerned, so watch your mouth. Anyway, I kind of like having a fox around the place. Reminds me I’m in the country.”“The country is boring.” Ricky kicked a stone embedded in the dirt and sent it spinning into the air. They both watched it roll down the hill before Johnny carried on talking. “You’re very lucky to grow up in a place like this, Ricky. Better than I had as a boy. I know the country is quiet, but believe me, things are worse in the city.”“Why?”“They just are. Everything is too busy. Everywhere is cracked and broken, and dirty.”“The country is dirty.”“No…no it’s not. It’s clean. And nothing ever breaks in the country. Nature heals itself. A tree falls down, another grows in its place. Take our cottage. When we moved in, it was all crumbling and broken down, and smelt bad. Because nobody had lived in it for a long time, weeds had taken root everywhere and we had rats and mice. Nature saw that nobody was living in the cottage, so it moved in. Nature makes the best of what it has. It always copes. In the city, things just fall apart. Trust me, son, you’re lucky to live here. When you’re older you’ll see that.”“Maybe, but I still hate all the fox shit.”“The city has dog shit, and that stinks a whole lot worse. And mind your language.”“Sorry. Hey, when we get back can we have pizza?”“The pizza place doesn’t deliver here. I’d have to go out.”“Pleeease.”Johnny sighed. “Okay, let me thi-”Whhhhaaaaaoooooooooow!Johnny looked at his son, who was standing frozen like he had a live grenade in his hand instead of a metal detector.“Ricky, you’ve got something.”“What do I do, what do I do?”Wahhhowowowoooooo!Johnny laughed. He pulled the trowel free from where he had strapped it to his belt. “You dig, silly. Here take this.”Ricky grabbed the trowel from his father and leapt down onto his knees in front of the imaginary X spot. The metal detector swung about like a guitar strapped around a drunk musician’s neck.“Here, give that to me,” Johnny said, taking the metal detector and clicking it off to stop the annoying whining.Ricky struck the dirt with the point of the trowel and split the dirt. Luckily it had rained just that morning and the ground was moist and yielding. Not that Liz would be best pleased about the grass stains no doubt working their way into the knees of Ricky’s jeans right now.She wanted him out of her hair for an afternoon, so she can’t blame me for a bit of muckiness.It wasn’t long before Ricky was huffing and puffing. He’d dug a hole a good foot wide and had gone down by about the same amount. It was wonderful to see the boy so excited; Johnny just hoped it didn’t end with in disappointment, like the manhole cover Johnnie had once unearthed when he was about the same age. He’d dug for more than thirty minutes that day to get at the shiny chunk of metal, before eventually realising that it was nothing fantastical or ancient at all, but simply a chunk of iron from an old sewer.“We should have bought a shovel,” Ricky said. “What if it’s something huge. It’ll take all day if we find a Roman shield or a helmet or something.”Johnnie dropped down on his knees beside Ricky. “Let me take over,” he said. “We’ll take it in turns.”And so they did. For twenty minutes, they went back and forth, digging until their forearms burned. At one stage, Johnny double-checked with the metal detector to make sure something was there. The speaker whined deliriously to let them know that indeed there was. There was something buried in the field, and it was at least a few feet deep.Five minutes later, Johnny hit the edge of something with the trowel.“Did you hear that?” Ricky yelled.“Yeah, I heard it. Here, you do the last part. It was your find.”Ricky beamed and took the trowel. “Thanks, dad.” He dug furiously, his vigour renewed. The soil gave way to sand and clay, and the buried item quickly revealed itself. Whatever it was, it was covered in some kind of sackcloth, the old brown fabric you used to find potatoes in. Ricky grabbed a corner and started pulling.Johnny wondered if they should be more delicate. What if they really had found something valuable. The last thing they wanted was to smash it into pieces by being too heavy handed. But it was too late to say anything. Ricky tumbled backwards with the muddy sack securely in his hands.“I got it,” he yelled. “I got it.”Johnny grinned. “Yeah, you got it, son. Let’s take a look.”Ricky placed the sack reverently down on the ground. He brushed its surface with both hands and delicately removed the dirt and debris. “What do you think it is?”“Only one way to find out.”Ricky reached his hand inside the sack and Johnny suddenly felt a wave of nausea. It quickly passed, along with the light breeze on the back of his neck, as Ricky slid out a black hunk of what looked like wood. He examined the item in his hands, turning it over carefully. “It’s…a picture frame.”Johnny frowned. It did indeed look like a picture frame. The thick wood was stained so dark a brown that it almost appeared black, and it’s edges were finely carved with intricate etchings made by hand, not machine. “It looks old,” was all he could say.“Maybe it’s an antique.”Johnnie nodded. “We’ll have to get it valued. Ha, maybe you’ll have enough money to buy your own Playstation this Christmas. I can use the money I save to buy myself a new writing desk.”Ricky pulled a face. “No way. You promised me a Playstation and you can’t get out of it. Anyway, I don’t want to sell this.”Johnny folded his arms and hugged himself. It had suddenly got much colder. “What do you want with a dirty old picture frame?”Ricky ran his fingertips over the glass surface of the object. “I dunno. We found it together, buried all the way in the ground. I want to keep it.”“Okay, then we’ll get it all cleaned up.”Ricky leapt to his feet, grinning from ear to ear and clutching the frame tightly against his chest. “I can’t wait to show mom.”Johnny giggled. His son’s exuberance was contagious, and one of the few things to make him forget himself completely. Before they headed back, though, Johnny knelt down and scooped up the sack which had held the buried photo frame. “We should check there isn’t any messages inside. Sometimes people bury things hoping they’ll be found years down the line.”“Like a time capsule,” Ricky said.“Yeah, like a time capsule.” Johnnie straightened the sack out and reached inside. He felt a twinge of excitement when his fingertips came into contact with something at the bottom, and all of a sudden he was a kid again, scouring the beaches with his dad. Perhaps he and Ricky were about to find out the story behind the mystery of the buried photo frame. But it didn’t feel like a letter at the bottom of the sack. It was something loose and hard. He grabbed a fistful of whatever it was at the bottom of the sack and pulled it out.When he opened his hand again he grimaced.“What is it?” Ricky asked.Johnny shoved the bone fragments back inside the sack and folded it up. “Just some worms and stuff,” he lied. “Must have crawled inside and died.”Ricky laughed hard. “And you just shoved your hand in them. Ha!”“Cheers, son. Now, come on, let’s go show mum what you found.”“Yay!”
The two of them set off down the field, back towards Poe’s Place Cottage and the warmth of its natural fires.
“Keep it steady, move slowly, or we’ll never find a thing.” Johnny watched his son swing the metal detector around like a sword and sighed. Whenever Ricky did anything, he did it fast. The boy did not walk, he ran. He did not eat his dinner, he wolfed it down. Life was not a stroll for Johnny’s exuberant ten year old, it was a mad, arm-flailing sprint.“I’m trying, dad, but it’s not doing nothing.”“Anything. It’s not doing anything.”Ricky huffed at his father. “Help me.”“Okay, okay.” Johnny trudged across the field and helped his son keep the wand steady. It wasn’t Ricky’s fault, really, the thing was old and heavy, as much a relic as anything they hoped to find. “There you go,” he said softly. “Just like that. Back and forth, back and forth.”Together the two of them covered an area about the size of a tennis court, and got nothing. The wand beeped rhythmically, but never got excited for a single second. As a kid, Johnny remembered combing beaches with his own father and finding loose change galore. He wanted his son to feel that same rush of excitement, hearing a metal detector screech at a find! But alas, it seemed like disappointment. Ricky was clearly growing bored with what he probably consider walking around aimlessly with a metal stick.There was little place for a father to entertain his son nowadays, beyond spending money on gadgets that did it better and for longer. Television and toy companies were the ones raising the nation’s children, not their parents. Ricky would rather spend his days with grumpy birds on his iPad than in a field looking for nonexistent buried treasure with his dad. Kids didn’t get excited by adventure these days, they wanted immediate gratification. Johnny wouldn’t mind so much, but he wanted his son to grow up into a relaxed, content adult, not a stressed out consumer always reaching for that next rung on the never ending ladder of modern affluence.“Can we go inside now. It’s getting cold.”Johnny took a sniff and felt the crisp air in his nostrils. “Yeah, I suppose we should. I never brought your coat. Didn’t think we’d need it. Time to head back.”Immediately, Ricky began skipping along, heading down the sloping field, back towards the house. The mid-century cottage was 2 miles from anything else with plumbing, and it had pretty much saved Johnny’s life. Buying the quaint little abode, with its cobbled stone walls, original fireplaces, and thatched roof, had been a desperate escape from the endless cycle of stress that had become his life. Getting away from the city and grabbing six acres all his own had given him back his freedom: freedom that had been previously eaten up by credit card bills and mortgage statements, noisy neighbours and gas-spewing traffic, cold-callers and, of course, the odd crazed fan finding his address and wanting to be friends.Being the nation’s most treasured Mystery writer was not all it had cracked up to be. The money was great and the work was soul enriching, but the editors, publishers, and even the fans on occasion, were hard work. Johnny was truly blessed for what he did, but the blessing was also a curse. His job had become his life and his life his job. The phone calls, emails, and Internet posts never ceased. The begging and pleading for his next novel was all anybody cared about, but he was only one man. New York Times Bestselling or not, Johnny had needs beyond writing books and making money. He needed to be a husband and a father, as well as a writer.So, three years ago, he had used the advance money for three of his upcoming releases and purchased the run-down, yet beautiful Poe’s Place Cottage. The property was surrounded by fields on three sides, and a long, dusty driveway kept them set well back from the seldom used B-road that lined the fourth. The fresh air and nature brought his heels back down to earth and reminded him to concentrate on taking one breath after the other. That was all life was about, when you really boiled things down. Just take one breath after the other and deal with whatever came between. Think only about the next second, not the next year. For the first time in a decade, Johnny had remembered what it was to be happy.“Dad, why do foxes always poop in our field?”“Where do you suggest they go?”“In the hedges or something. Not right where I can step in it.”“I think they do it to mark their territory.”Ricky fiddled with the strap of the metal detector over his shoulder and gave his father a quizzical look. “Mark their territory from who?”“Other foxes. If a strange fox comes along and sees another ones droppings, they know to stay clear. It’s how a fox let’s other animals know that this is his turf.”“But it’s not. This is our turf. You bought the field and now a fox is shitting in it.”Johnny pointed his finger. “Language. Your mother hears you using that word, she’ll hit the roof.”“I’m ten, not two.”“You’re still a newborn as far as she’s concerned, so watch your mouth. Anyway, I kind of like having a fox around the place. Reminds me I’m in the country.”“The country is boring.” Ricky kicked a stone embedded in the dirt and sent it spinning into the air. They both watched it roll down the hill before Johnny carried on talking. “You’re very lucky to grow up in a place like this, Ricky. Better than I had as a boy. I know the country is quiet, but believe me, things are worse in the city.”“Why?”“They just are. Everything is too busy. Everywhere is cracked and broken, and dirty.”“The country is dirty.”“No…no it’s not. It’s clean. And nothing ever breaks in the country. Nature heals itself. A tree falls down, another grows in its place. Take our cottage. When we moved in, it was all crumbling and broken down, and smelt bad. Because nobody had lived in it for a long time, weeds had taken root everywhere and we had rats and mice. Nature saw that nobody was living in the cottage, so it moved in. Nature makes the best of what it has. It always copes. In the city, things just fall apart. Trust me, son, you’re lucky to live here. When you’re older you’ll see that.”“Maybe, but I still hate all the fox shit.”“The city has dog shit, and that stinks a whole lot worse. And mind your language.”“Sorry. Hey, when we get back can we have pizza?”“The pizza place doesn’t deliver here. I’d have to go out.”“Pleeease.”Johnny sighed. “Okay, let me thi-”Whhhhaaaaaoooooooooow!Johnny looked at his son, who was standing frozen like he had a live grenade in his hand instead of a metal detector.“Ricky, you’ve got something.”“What do I do, what do I do?”Wahhhowowowoooooo!Johnny laughed. He pulled the trowel free from where he had strapped it to his belt. “You dig, silly. Here take this.”Ricky grabbed the trowel from his father and leapt down onto his knees in front of the imaginary X spot. The metal detector swung about like a guitar strapped around a drunk musician’s neck.“Here, give that to me,” Johnny said, taking the metal detector and clicking it off to stop the annoying whining.Ricky struck the dirt with the point of the trowel and split the dirt. Luckily it had rained just that morning and the ground was moist and yielding. Not that Liz would be best pleased about the grass stains no doubt working their way into the knees of Ricky’s jeans right now.She wanted him out of her hair for an afternoon, so she can’t blame me for a bit of muckiness.It wasn’t long before Ricky was huffing and puffing. He’d dug a hole a good foot wide and had gone down by about the same amount. It was wonderful to see the boy so excited; Johnny just hoped it didn’t end with in disappointment, like the manhole cover Johnnie had once unearthed when he was about the same age. He’d dug for more than thirty minutes that day to get at the shiny chunk of metal, before eventually realising that it was nothing fantastical or ancient at all, but simply a chunk of iron from an old sewer.“We should have bought a shovel,” Ricky said. “What if it’s something huge. It’ll take all day if we find a Roman shield or a helmet or something.”Johnnie dropped down on his knees beside Ricky. “Let me take over,” he said. “We’ll take it in turns.”And so they did. For twenty minutes, they went back and forth, digging until their forearms burned. At one stage, Johnny double-checked with the metal detector to make sure something was there. The speaker whined deliriously to let them know that indeed there was. There was something buried in the field, and it was at least a few feet deep.Five minutes later, Johnny hit the edge of something with the trowel.“Did you hear that?” Ricky yelled.“Yeah, I heard it. Here, you do the last part. It was your find.”Ricky beamed and took the trowel. “Thanks, dad.” He dug furiously, his vigour renewed. The soil gave way to sand and clay, and the buried item quickly revealed itself. Whatever it was, it was covered in some kind of sackcloth, the old brown fabric you used to find potatoes in. Ricky grabbed a corner and started pulling.Johnny wondered if they should be more delicate. What if they really had found something valuable. The last thing they wanted was to smash it into pieces by being too heavy handed. But it was too late to say anything. Ricky tumbled backwards with the muddy sack securely in his hands.“I got it,” he yelled. “I got it.”Johnny grinned. “Yeah, you got it, son. Let’s take a look.”Ricky placed the sack reverently down on the ground. He brushed its surface with both hands and delicately removed the dirt and debris. “What do you think it is?”“Only one way to find out.”Ricky reached his hand inside the sack and Johnny suddenly felt a wave of nausea. It quickly passed, along with the light breeze on the back of his neck, as Ricky slid out a black hunk of what looked like wood. He examined the item in his hands, turning it over carefully. “It’s…a picture frame.”Johnny frowned. It did indeed look like a picture frame. The thick wood was stained so dark a brown that it almost appeared black, and it’s edges were finely carved with intricate etchings made by hand, not machine. “It looks old,” was all he could say.“Maybe it’s an antique.”Johnnie nodded. “We’ll have to get it valued. Ha, maybe you’ll have enough money to buy your own Playstation this Christmas. I can use the money I save to buy myself a new writing desk.”Ricky pulled a face. “No way. You promised me a Playstation and you can’t get out of it. Anyway, I don’t want to sell this.”Johnny folded his arms and hugged himself. It had suddenly got much colder. “What do you want with a dirty old picture frame?”Ricky ran his fingertips over the glass surface of the object. “I dunno. We found it together, buried all the way in the ground. I want to keep it.”“Okay, then we’ll get it all cleaned up.”Ricky leapt to his feet, grinning from ear to ear and clutching the frame tightly against his chest. “I can’t wait to show mom.”Johnny giggled. His son’s exuberance was contagious, and one of the few things to make him forget himself completely. Before they headed back, though, Johnny knelt down and scooped up the sack which had held the buried photo frame. “We should check there isn’t any messages inside. Sometimes people bury things hoping they’ll be found years down the line.”“Like a time capsule,” Ricky said.“Yeah, like a time capsule.” Johnnie straightened the sack out and reached inside. He felt a twinge of excitement when his fingertips came into contact with something at the bottom, and all of a sudden he was a kid again, scouring the beaches with his dad. Perhaps he and Ricky were about to find out the story behind the mystery of the buried photo frame. But it didn’t feel like a letter at the bottom of the sack. It was something loose and hard. He grabbed a fistful of whatever it was at the bottom of the sack and pulled it out.When he opened his hand again he grimaced.“What is it?” Ricky asked.Johnny shoved the bone fragments back inside the sack and folded it up. “Just some worms and stuff,” he lied. “Must have crawled inside and died.”Ricky laughed hard. “And you just shoved your hand in them. Ha!”“Cheers, son. Now, come on, let’s go show mum what you found.”“Yay!”
The two of them set off down the field, back towards Poe’s Place Cottage and the warmth of its natural fires.
Stop, Collaborate, and Listen
Two heads are better than one, they say. Take the Simpsons, TV’s longest running sitcom. Every episode begins life in a boardroom with, like, a dozen funny Jewish fellas (and lasses) shooting ideas off of each other while chewing bagels and slurping coffee. It’s impossible to spot every opportunity, every joke, every story beat all on our own. We are only human, and as a society nearly all of our most remarkable achievements were made collectively. For example, Facebook wouldn’t ever have existed without those two twins for Mark Zuckerberg to steal from. The pyramids would never have gotten built without all of those plucky slaves carrying blocks for the kind, benevolent Pharaohs. America wouldn’t be America without 64 States. You catch my drift?
Fiction is no different. While the traditional form of a novel is a single writer’s vision written down for the rest of us to enjoy, it’s becoming more commonplace to find novels co-written by two, three, or even three-and-a-half writers. The reasons for this are because it’s fun, easy, and makes money. That’s right, despite having to share the wealth, writing a collaboration can be lucrative. And that’s what writing is all about, huh? The money.
Recently I wrote a sequel to a book. The interesting thing is that the book was a sequel to another dude’s book, not my own. I loved Origins by JA Konrath and I wanted the story to continue. As Joe was taking his sweet time, I decided to ask if I could write the next entry myself. He said yes.
I wrote the entire novel, using Joe’s characters and adding my own. I linked his world to mine, sharing our individual created universes. When I was done, Joe took several months making his own changes until the book was almost exactly 50% his and 50% mine. We both agreed that the book was a hoot and that werewolves and bananas rule.
As the bigger, richer author, Joe paid for the artwork and editing, although I would’ve been happy to split it. Then we released the book to both of our audiences. They loved it. Our mutual fans loved seeing our individual characters interact. Joe’s fans loved getting a sequel to Origins. My fans loved seeing my characters in a new universe. My fans were introduced to Joe, while his many many fans were introduced to me. When the dust settled, one thing became clear. We had both managed to provide one another with new readers. We had shared our fan bases.
And that is probably the key benefit to collaborating: you share fan bases. The second benefit is that you release a book that appeals to two sets of fans instead of one, which usually means lots of sales. In my case, I had a third benefit: I was able to piggyback on the shoulders of a publishing giant, JA Konrath. I raised my profile and cemented myself as a name in many reader’s minds (horror readers mostly). If you are a big name author, collaborating with an up and comer is a great way to pay it forward. I’ll be doing just that very soon.
HOLES IN THE GROUND IS AVAILABLE TO BUY HERE: UK US
Fiction is no different. While the traditional form of a novel is a single writer’s vision written down for the rest of us to enjoy, it’s becoming more commonplace to find novels co-written by two, three, or even three-and-a-half writers. The reasons for this are because it’s fun, easy, and makes money. That’s right, despite having to share the wealth, writing a collaboration can be lucrative. And that’s what writing is all about, huh? The money.
Recently I wrote a sequel to a book. The interesting thing is that the book was a sequel to another dude’s book, not my own. I loved Origins by JA Konrath and I wanted the story to continue. As Joe was taking his sweet time, I decided to ask if I could write the next entry myself. He said yes.
I wrote the entire novel, using Joe’s characters and adding my own. I linked his world to mine, sharing our individual created universes. When I was done, Joe took several months making his own changes until the book was almost exactly 50% his and 50% mine. We both agreed that the book was a hoot and that werewolves and bananas rule.
As the bigger, richer author, Joe paid for the artwork and editing, although I would’ve been happy to split it. Then we released the book to both of our audiences. They loved it. Our mutual fans loved seeing our individual characters interact. Joe’s fans loved getting a sequel to Origins. My fans loved seeing my characters in a new universe. My fans were introduced to Joe, while his many many fans were introduced to me. When the dust settled, one thing became clear. We had both managed to provide one another with new readers. We had shared our fan bases.
And that is probably the key benefit to collaborating: you share fan bases. The second benefit is that you release a book that appeals to two sets of fans instead of one, which usually means lots of sales. In my case, I had a third benefit: I was able to piggyback on the shoulders of a publishing giant, JA Konrath. I raised my profile and cemented myself as a name in many reader’s minds (horror readers mostly). If you are a big name author, collaborating with an up and comer is a great way to pay it forward. I’ll be doing just that very soon.
HOLES IN THE GROUND IS AVAILABLE TO BUY HERE: UK US
September 5, 2014
New Iain Rob Wright Multi-bundle value collections...
For those of you looking to complete your Iain Rob Wright Collection, my books are now available in a variety of money-saving bundles. These sets will allow you to buy my entire back catalogue at a saving of up to $15/£10. Or you can simple save a few bucks by grabbing a couple at a time.
Visit my Product page to find them.
USA
http://www.amazon.com/Iain-Rob-Wright/e/B0052WR48C/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1342621543&sr=8-2-ent
UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Iain-Rob-Wright/e/B0052WR48C/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1345901198&sr=1-2-ent
Visit my Product page to find them.
USA
http://www.amazon.com/Iain-Rob-Wright/e/B0052WR48C/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1342621543&sr=8-2-ent
UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Iain-Rob-Wright/e/B0052WR48C/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1345901198&sr=1-2-ent
August 19, 2014
Work and Fatherhood
Hi everybody.
I've been away from the office for a few months now and will be due to return soon. Being a father has been a tiring, emotional, yet ultimately rewarding experience and I can't wait for what every day brings.
Despite loving every minute I have spent with my wife and son, Jack, it is almost time for me to get writing again. As much as writing is my job, it is also my therapy. I am an emotional, somewhat anxious person, and writing allows me to get a handle on my emotions, and function much better than if I were to bottle things up. I am also yearning to return to the community that has given me so much love and support. My personal life is tumultuous to say the least; there are outside factors that damage the happiness of my wife and I, yet the truth is that when I am with my fans and colleagues, chatting online and working together, I feel invincible. I live a great portion of my life in doubt, worrying about past errors and fearing wrong decisions in my future, as is the case with people with low self-esteem guilt and self-flagellation issues, but when I am working and writing I truly feel free and happy, and all of the pains in my life are meaningless. Despite that, it has been a sad 18 months for me as I have witnessed how selfish and nasty people can be in pursuit of their own egos and desires. I try every day to be a good man, and I hope I succeed, but I am realising that not everyone cares so much about whether or not they are hurting other people. Worse still, I have realised that being around negative influences can make me negative as well, and that is not who I want to be. Positivity is the only thing I am going to allow into my son and wife's lives.
One of the outcomes of being a writer I did not expect to find is being so loved and valued by people who have never met me. It truly is remarkable. You all make my life such a positive and fun place to be and I am eternally grateful for your love. The fact that I have 2500 fans and colleagues, with more and more each day, is staggering to me. I never ever thought I was that interesting.
Going forward, I will be writing a short horror novel based on a haunted photo frame. I will also be writing another book in the Sarah Stone series, although I am sorry to report that the first book has been a relative flop compared to my horror books. I obviously need to be build a thriller fan base independently of my horror one. My main project coming up will be a multiple character horror trilogy/series called The Gates. Think World War Z crossed with Game of Thrones by way of War of the Worlds. One day I also may get around to a fantasy series called A Kingdom Cracked, but we will see. What I am learning gradually is that Horror is my home and I should not stray too far.
In the new year, I will also be focusing on graphic novels and foreign editions, but those will be side projects. My writing comes first. I am currently in the process of working with an editor to get all of my backlist into the best shape possible. I have come along a lot as a writer in the last 3 years and I feel my earlier works are not as professional as my current ones. I also need to to retcon some story lines I won't be following up with, such as New Dynasty and the Black Strand (most of your wouldn't have even caught the references). I will be starting a new connected universe that will be much more detailed than my previous Damien-Verse and hopefully it will make you never miss the old one.
Anyway, I will be back to work full-time in a month or so and look forward to connecting with you all again. As always I will endeavour to help and support other writers as you all help and support me. I also look forward to sharing my son's life with you all. I trust you enough that you all feel like aunts and uncles to my little Jack and he is very lucky to have so many well-wishers.
Love to you all.
Iain
I've been away from the office for a few months now and will be due to return soon. Being a father has been a tiring, emotional, yet ultimately rewarding experience and I can't wait for what every day brings.
Despite loving every minute I have spent with my wife and son, Jack, it is almost time for me to get writing again. As much as writing is my job, it is also my therapy. I am an emotional, somewhat anxious person, and writing allows me to get a handle on my emotions, and function much better than if I were to bottle things up. I am also yearning to return to the community that has given me so much love and support. My personal life is tumultuous to say the least; there are outside factors that damage the happiness of my wife and I, yet the truth is that when I am with my fans and colleagues, chatting online and working together, I feel invincible. I live a great portion of my life in doubt, worrying about past errors and fearing wrong decisions in my future, as is the case with people with low self-esteem guilt and self-flagellation issues, but when I am working and writing I truly feel free and happy, and all of the pains in my life are meaningless. Despite that, it has been a sad 18 months for me as I have witnessed how selfish and nasty people can be in pursuit of their own egos and desires. I try every day to be a good man, and I hope I succeed, but I am realising that not everyone cares so much about whether or not they are hurting other people. Worse still, I have realised that being around negative influences can make me negative as well, and that is not who I want to be. Positivity is the only thing I am going to allow into my son and wife's lives.
One of the outcomes of being a writer I did not expect to find is being so loved and valued by people who have never met me. It truly is remarkable. You all make my life such a positive and fun place to be and I am eternally grateful for your love. The fact that I have 2500 fans and colleagues, with more and more each day, is staggering to me. I never ever thought I was that interesting.
Going forward, I will be writing a short horror novel based on a haunted photo frame. I will also be writing another book in the Sarah Stone series, although I am sorry to report that the first book has been a relative flop compared to my horror books. I obviously need to be build a thriller fan base independently of my horror one. My main project coming up will be a multiple character horror trilogy/series called The Gates. Think World War Z crossed with Game of Thrones by way of War of the Worlds. One day I also may get around to a fantasy series called A Kingdom Cracked, but we will see. What I am learning gradually is that Horror is my home and I should not stray too far.
In the new year, I will also be focusing on graphic novels and foreign editions, but those will be side projects. My writing comes first. I am currently in the process of working with an editor to get all of my backlist into the best shape possible. I have come along a lot as a writer in the last 3 years and I feel my earlier works are not as professional as my current ones. I also need to to retcon some story lines I won't be following up with, such as New Dynasty and the Black Strand (most of your wouldn't have even caught the references). I will be starting a new connected universe that will be much more detailed than my previous Damien-Verse and hopefully it will make you never miss the old one.
Anyway, I will be back to work full-time in a month or so and look forward to connecting with you all again. As always I will endeavour to help and support other writers as you all help and support me. I also look forward to sharing my son's life with you all. I trust you enough that you all feel like aunts and uncles to my little Jack and he is very lucky to have so many well-wishers.
Love to you all.
Iain
July 19, 2014
First Sarah Stone novel finally here...
A book I have been talking about for ages, a book that I have worked harder on than any before, a book that I hope is my best work yet, is finally here. SOFT TARGET, the first book of the Sarah Stone series is now available to purchase. Summary and links below.
NOWHERE IS SAFE...
When a quaint village in the United Kingdom is stuck by a suicide bomber, the once proud nation is brought to its knees with grief. Yet that first attack was just the beginning of something much greater and much worse. Something that nobody could ever have predicted.
The days that follow will determine if the UK even has a future left, or if it will be reduced to anarchy and ashes.
The only person that stands between the people of the UK and its complete destruction is an angry, damaged ex-solider named Sarah Stone. Sarah despises her own country and what it did to her, which is what makes it so hard when she is forced to save it.
SOFT TARGET is the first in a series of books featuring acerbic protagonist Sarah Stone. It is a non-stop action thriller in the same vein as 24.
BUY NOW: AMAZON UK AMAZON US
NOWHERE IS SAFE...When a quaint village in the United Kingdom is stuck by a suicide bomber, the once proud nation is brought to its knees with grief. Yet that first attack was just the beginning of something much greater and much worse. Something that nobody could ever have predicted.
The days that follow will determine if the UK even has a future left, or if it will be reduced to anarchy and ashes.
The only person that stands between the people of the UK and its complete destruction is an angry, damaged ex-solider named Sarah Stone. Sarah despises her own country and what it did to her, which is what makes it so hard when she is forced to save it.
SOFT TARGET is the first in a series of books featuring acerbic protagonist Sarah Stone. It is a non-stop action thriller in the same vein as 24.
BUY NOW: AMAZON UK AMAZON US
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