GENREALITY

I sometimes wonder if I didn’t get into the world of fiction because of curiosity. I mean, I know the story of how all this craziness began. I tripped at a party and embarrassed the hell out of myself. Ran to a corner where friend stood to hide and we started talking about books. At some point in the conversation she said, “You should write a romance novel.” I don’t even remember in what context that was, but that germ of an idea stuck in my head.

When I came home I was curious to see if I could do it. I’d written the biography “Joss Whedon: The Genius Behind Buffy.” Actually, I’d written the guts, my publisher Glenn Yeffeth made it real book. I’d been curious to see if I could pull that off too. I honestly didn’t know when I began these projects if I could do them.

But I’m the kind of person who likes to accept almost any opportunity that comes her way, especially when it comes to books. Back to that first story… I came home and for the next two weeks I spent every hour I wasn’t working on the day job or taking care of two young boys, working on that book.

I remember the moment when I realized I’d found my “real” dream job. I’d written a scene where the lead wasn’t sure what to do about the man in her life. She cared for him, but didn’t think he would ever really understand what she was. My eyes teared and I typed and a lump formed in my throat. Everything in that scene felt so real. That’s when I knew I wanted to write fiction.

If I hadn’t let my curiosity take over, I might never have discovered this love for writing fiction. Sure, some days I might wish I hadn’t, especially the ones where I get 20 hours of sleep over a five-day period. But for the most part I love what I do. Taking that leap of faith is one of best things I’ve ever done for myself.

The same sort of thing happened with moving to Harlequin. I’d been friends with editor Kathryn Lye for years. She is just one of those people I adore. During RWA (The big convention for romance writers) we usually try to get together. Sometimes we’d watch new pilots so she could see trends. Other times we’d talk about everything from books to life as we know it.

A few summers ago we were in San Francisco and had breakfast. Once again we were talking about everything and nothing. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but she asked me what I was working on next. I told her I was in the mood to do something different. I wanted to do a spy version of “Women’s Murder Club.” It was an idea that had been mulling around in my head for a long time.

She said that would be the perfect sort of thing for Blaze and that I should consider writing for them. I was shocked. I’d never even thought about it, but I would have give anything to work with her. (She’s a phenomenal editor and I’ve already learned so much from her.) Several months later I was writing “Take Me if You Dare” for Harlequin. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.

There were challenges again. I’d never written third person. I’d never been in a guy’s head for POV. I’d never written a book without magic of some kind. I was CURIOUS to see if  I could even do it.

As a writer it’s important to challenge yourself and dive into new things. It’s good to be curious and to accept opportunities when they come your way. I have this saying, “Throw yourself out there and see what happens. You never know what’s going to work.”

I’m curious if there was ever a time when you took a leap of faith and it worked out? Tell me about it, I really want to know.

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Some simple things to keep in mind:

If the publisher is putting its money at risk to produce and distribute the book, then that is a traditional publisher, regardless of medium (print, eBook, POD).  Thus Who Dares Wins Publisher is a traditional publisher.

If the author is putting her money at risk to produce and distribute the book, then that is self-publishing, whether they do all the work themselves or hire someone else to do it.  The author keeps copyright and use their own ISBN.

If the author is putting her money at risk by paying someone else to produce and distribute the book and that other party also takes a percentage of royalties, then that’s vanity or subsidy publishing.  The publisher uses their ISBN.

The average self and subsidy published book sells around 50 copies.  TOTAL.  Most are purchased by the author and go to family and friends.

Vanity publishing houses that market to authors work on a basic rule of income:  their revenue stream comes from the authors, not readers.  That’s the bottom line.  For example, Lulu’s own CEO said they wanted a million authors selling 100 books each, rather than 100 authors selling a million books each.

These businesses prey on people’s dreams.  Every new author believes they will be the ‘one’ to break out.  And when it doesn’t happen, they rarely make any noise about it, because no one likes advertising failures.  Thus all we hear about are the few successes and not the vastly greater numbers of failures.

If you use Print on Demand, remember it’s a technology.  It produces a trade paperback book, pretty much indistinguishable from a traditional publishers trade book.  It has an advantage in that you can produce one book at a time if need be, keeping your ‘print run’ low.  At Who Dares Wins Publishing we have 100% sell through, because we keep our inventory at a level to anticipate sales based on Internet sales and upcoming speaking engagements.

POD is done through Lightning Source, Inc. (LSI).  They do ‘distribute’ the book.  However, it’s a pull rather than pull system.  In 2007, 4 million books were produced via LSI.

Some things to consider if you hire someone to produce your book:

-Make sure you keep copyright and all rights to the book.  On the flip side, I heard a self-publishing company rep at a conference warn authors a danger of going with a “New York” traditional publisher is they take your copyright forever.  No.  Be careful of all the ‘experts’ especially those who have a vested interest in slanting their information a certain way.

-Make sure there isn’t a clause where that publisher gets a percentage of your advance if you subsequently sell it to a traditional publisher.

-Check out the quality of their production.  At WDWPUB we recently did a book that took almost a week to format correctly.  This also holds true for those who think they can format and upload their books to the various outlets (Kindle, iBookstore, Smashwords, etc etc.) on their own.  To do the formatting, cover, photos, etc, correctly requires the proper equipment, expensive programs, expertise, and time.  Be careful in your contract that there aren’t hidden fees for all that.  This is the reason we don’t charge our authors, but we don’t take books on that we don’t think will sell.  We make money when the author makes money.

-ISBNs have gotten cheaper but they still cost.

-Once more, self-published, vanity-published books RARELY sell more than 100 copies.

-Less than ½ of 1 percent sell more than 500.  The CEO of iUniverse a few years back admitted that 84 titles out of the 17,000 they produced one year sold more than 500.  That’s almost exactly .5%.

-Some companies may not charge you.  Apparently.  But some have clauses requiring you to do other things to make money off you:  make you buy X numbers of copies.  Even take a ‘marketing’ course for a large fee.

-Most companies take on anyone with a checkbook.  At WDWPUB so far we’ve taken on only 2 authors this year.  Both had what was needed:  a great book (both non-fiction) and the ability to market.  Kristen Lamb’s:  We Are Not Alone: The Writer’s Guide to Social Media has been out a few weeks now.  And in production is Amy Shojai’s Caring for Your Aging Cat which is a reprint of a book originally published in 2003 by Penguin.

-Much of what most of these self-publishing companies offer you is boilerplate you can do yourself or things that sound great but are really nothing.  Getting you onto Amazon—anyone can do that.  A marketing package that are some boilerplate announcement sent to the usual suspects and immediately trashed, since they’re sending out thousands of the same thing and there’s nothing different about it.

That’s not to say there aren’t legitimate self-publishing companies out there who will do a quality job on your book.  But even then, the onus of marketing and promotion is on you.

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Laura Nutt Coen…you are commenter #6, and that means you win the $15 Amazon GC. You have one week to contact me to claim your prize.

I’m brain dead. Yes, it happens when I spend too much time thinking about a story. Does this happen to you? I know some people think and think and it helps them. They line up all the details and possabilities and character traits before they even sit down to write. Some people do it on paper and call it plotting, some do it in their mind. Me? I find there’s a perfect balance to how much I can think about a story or character before I start writing.

If I don’t think enough, everything (characters, plot, story) is flat.

If I think too much, my brain goes into overdrive and all I see are holes everywhere.

The key is knowing when it’s time to start writing. For me anyways. I missed the right time to start on an idea I love. I’ve thought about it too much and now all I see are holes and problems. So I’m shoving that idea to the back of the line and moving on to the next.

In the meantime I spent yesterday (Monday) draining my brain so I can refill it with the next idea. Draining it meant I went to see a brainless movie. (Step Up 3d..what can I say? I love Twitch!) I had dinner with the family. Then I watched another brainless movie Triple X. (Love Vin Diesel too)

The last thing I did…write a list.

I picked up a book when I was in Vancouver a couple weeks ago called My Listography; my amazing life in lists.

Each page asks you to write a list about something else, and I’ve really enjoyed it, so I’ve decide to share it with you all. Todays list was 5 people I’d like to meet. (Not counting me fellow Genreality authors, who I’d love to meet in person.)

My picks, in no particular order:

Johnny Depp (actor)
Jeremy Piven (actor)
Janet Evanovich (author)
Lynn Viehl (author)
Scott Murdoch (Photographer)

Who would be on your list?

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I travel quite a bit — a couple of big trips a year and several little ones.  I often get asked, do I work when I travel?  Yes and no.

I write every day, and I’m pretty religious/superstitious about it.  Good things happen when I write every day, and things have been going so well I’m really loathe to stop.  But I think I’ve mentioned before my definition of “write everyday” is pretty broad.  I don’t have a specific word count.  Intensive brainstorming and outlining counts as writing, as does extensive revising.  And journaling.

Most of the writing I do when I travel is journaling.  Especially if I’m in a particularly interesting place I’ve never been before (last summer I spent a couple of weeks in Hawaii with my family, and over Thanksgiving I went to Barcelona and the south of France with friends), keeping a journal is pretty much imperative.  I want to describe and reflect on the great things I’ve seen, the amazing meals, the little adventures that ought to be a part of every trip.

This may not seem like “work” (work being stuff that gets written for publication and earns an advance check down the line), but it actually is.  It’s practice in writing about setting, describing landscape, establishing a scene.  I love sitting with my journal at the end of the day, decompressing by reviewing everything I experienced, and then finding the right words to be able to capture what I saw and felt.  At some point in the future I’ll need a scene in a novel that uses those skills, and maybe even a similar scene that I can draw on to make the writing that much more vivid and interesting.

Here’s a bit from last fall’s journal:

November 23 2009 (Carcassonne, France)

I just stepped out on the balcony of our room for a moment.  It’s about 8:30 pm or so I’m guessing.  It occurs to me if this was a D&D adventure or a Steven Erikson book, I could watch thieves travel across the Spanish tile rooftops of the town by the light of the just past new moon.  That I could lean on the ledge and be accosted by a handsome stranger.

Had a lovely dinner in (I think) d’Ostel de Troubadours, which had a low ceiling with thick beams, was dark and atmospheric, and had a roaring open fire in a little ancient fireplace.  It turns out they cook dinner on the open fire, and it was marvelous.  I had salad, sausage and potatoes–the sausage was strong and flavorful without being too spicy.  And the potatoes.  The potatoes in Barcelona, too.  Soft, rich, buttery, perfectly cooked.  And ice cream for dessert.  And a bottle of rosé wine.

I’m leaving today for my next trip — Worldcon in Australia, then two weeks of vacation.  Charlene’s going to be subbing for me the next three weeks.  When I get back, I’m sure I’ll have some stories to tell!

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I’m in Los Angeles this weekend attending the Writers of the Future award ceremony and talking to this year’s winners about how the contest and workshop impacted my writing career.   Fun stuff.

In other news, as we prepare for the mass market paperback release of Canticle (8/31) and the hardcover release of Antiphon (9/14), Tor is running a limited-time special on the e-book of first volume, Lamentation.  Hard to go wrong with a price like $2.99!

So to celebrate that and to introduce you all to a small corner of my Imagination Forest, I thought I’d post the first little bit of the book.  Here, you’ll meet Rudolfo, Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses and General of the Wandering Army.  He’s one of four protagonists whose life is about to change….

See you on the other side! 

Prelude

Windwir is a city of paper and robes and stone.

It crouches near a wide and slow-moving river at the edge of the Named Lands. Named for a poet turned Pope – the first Pope in the New World. A village in the forest that became the center of the world. Home of the Androfrancine Order and their Great Library. Home of many wonders both scientific and magick.

One such wonder watches from high above.

It is a bird made of metal, a gold spark against the blue expanse that catches the afternoon sun. The bird circles and waits.

When the song begins below, the golden bird watches the melody unfold. A shadow falls across the city and the air becomes still. Tiny figures stop moving and look up. A flock of birds lift and scatter. The sky is torn and fire rains down until only utter darkness remains. Darkness and heat.

The heat catches the bird and tosses it further into the sky. A gear slips; the bird’s wings compensate but a billowing, black cloud takes an eye as it passes.

The city screams and then sighs seven times and after the seventh sigh, sunlight returns briefly to the scorched land. The plain is blackened, the spires and walls and towers all brought down into craters where basements collapsed beneath the footprint of Desolation. A forest of bones, left whole by ancient blood magick, stands on the smoking, pock-marked plain.

Darkness swallows the light again as a pillar of smoke and ash blots out the sun. Finally, the golden bird flees southwest.

It easily overtakes the other birds, their wings smoking and beating furiously against the hot winds, messages tied to their feet with threads of white or red or black.

Sparking and popping, the golden bird speeds low across the landscape and dreams of its waiting cage.

* * *

Chapter 1 

Rudolfo

Wind swept the Prairie Sea and Rudolfo chased after it, laughing and riding low in the saddle as he raced his Gypsy Scouts. The afternoon sun glinted gold on the bending grass and the horses pounded out their song.

Rudolfo savored the wide yellow ocean of grass that separated the Ninefold Forest Houses from one another and from the rest of the Named Lands—it was his freedom in the midst of duty, much as the oceans must have been for the seagoing lords of the Elder Days. He smiled and spurred his stallion.

It had been a fine time in Glimmerglam, his first Forest House. Rudolfo had arrived before dawn. He’d taken his breakfast of goat cheese, whole grain bread and chilled pear wine beneath a purple canopy that signified justice. While he ate, he heard petitions quietly as Glimmerglam’s steward brought the month’s criminals forward. Because he felt particularly benevolent, he sent two thieves into a year’s servitude to the shopkeepers they’d defiled, while sending the single murderer to his Physicians of Penitent Torture on Tormentor’s Row. He dismissed three cases of prostitution and then afterwards hired two of them onto his monthly rotation.

By lunch time, Rudolfo had proven Aetero’s Theory of Compensatory Seduction decidedly false and he celebrated with creamed pheasant served over brown rice and wild mushrooms.

Then with his belly full, he’d ridden out with a shout, his Gypsy Scouts racing to keep up with him.

A good day indeed.

“What now,” the Captain of his Gypsy Scouts asked him, shouting above the pounding hooves.

Rudolfo grinned. “What say you, Gregoric?”

Gregoric returned the smile and it made his scar all the more ruthless. His black scarf of rank trailed out behind him, ribboning on the wind. “We’ve seen to Glimmerglam, Rudoheim and Friendslip. I think Paramo is the closest.”

“Then Paramo it is.” That would be fitting, Rudolfo thought. It couldn’t come close to Glimmerglam’s delights but it had held onto its quaint, logging village atmosphere for at least a thousand years and that was an accomplishment. They floated their timber down the Rajblood River just as they had in the first days, retaining what they needed to build some of the world’s most intricately crafted woodwork. The lumber for Rudolfo’s manors came from the trees of Paramo. The furniture they made rolled out by the wagonload and the very best found its way into the homes of kings and priests and nobility from all over the Named Lands.

He would dine on roast boar tonight, listen to the boasting and flatulence of his best men, and sleep on the ground with a saddle beneath his head—the life of a Gypsy King. And tomorrow, he’d sip chilled wine from the navel of a log camp dancer, listen to the frogs in the river shallows mingled with her sighs, and then sleep in the softest of beds on the summer balcony of his third forest manor.

Rudolfo smiled.

But as he rounded to the south, his smile faded. He reined in and squinted against the sunlight. The Gypsy Scouts followed his lead, whistling to their horses as they slowed, stopped and then pranced.

“Gods,” Gregoric said. “What could cause such a thing?”

Southwest of them, billowing up above the horizon of forest-line that marked Rudolfo’s furthest border, a distant pillar of black smoke rose like a fist in the sky.

Rudolfo stared and his stomach lurched. The size of the smoke cloud daunted him; it was impossible. He blinked as his mind unlocked enough for him to do the math, quickly calculating the distance and direction based on the sun and the few stars strong enough to shine by day.

“Windwir,” he said, not even aware that he was speaking.

Gregoric nodded. “Aye, General. But what could do such a thing?”

Rudolfo looked away from the cloud to study his Captain. He’d known Gregoric since they were boys and had made him the youngest Captain of the Gypsy Scouts at fifteen when Rudolfo himself was just twelve. They’d seen a lot together, but Rudolfo had never seen him pale before now.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Rudolfo said. Then he whistled his men in closer. “I want riders back to each of the houses to gather the Wandering Army. We have Kin-Clave with Windwir; their birds will be flying. We’ll meet on the Western Steps in one day; we’ll be to Windwir’s aid in three.”

“Are we to magick the scouts, General?”

Rudolfo stroked his beard. “I think not.” He thought for a moment. “But we should be ready,” he added.

Gregoric nodded and barked out the orders.

As the nine Gypsy Scouts rode off, Rudolfo slipped from the saddle, watching the dark pillar. The column of smoke, as wide as a city, disappeared into the sky.

Rudolfo, Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses, General of the Wandering Army, felt curiosity and fear dance a shiver along his spine.

“What if it’s not there when we arrive?” he asked himself.

And he knew—but did not want to—that it wouldn’t be, and that because of this, the world had changed.

***

Well, there it is.  If you enjoyed it, I hope you’ll consider picking up this book and the others in the series.   Meanwhile, I’m going go enjoy some sun, some good company and some quiet time away from home to work a bit on Requiem.  

Next week:  Goshwowsensawunda Moments, Part 2:  Television

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