Pity For The Trapped Man

Once upon a time, a man was trapped in a mandatory training seminar.

The presenter - who, in fairness, looked nothing at all like a sadistic fiend who delighted in slow misery - had begun his presentation by stressing the importance and significance of every facet of the 261 page report. He explained that the 261 page report was a major improvement over the previous report, which (including indices, addenda, and supplements) had run to several thick three-ring binders. These three-ring binders the presenter picked up from a table and held up for all to see, thus communicating the absolute truth of what he said.

The new version of the report (the 261 page version) was, therefore, a dramatically condensed and simplified version. It was, the audience was informed, a tremendous improvement over the older version of the report compiled by the presenter's predecessor. Every section, subsection and sub-subsection had been carefully and painstakingly revised, rewritten, and updated. Every section, subsection, and sub-subsection was, therefore, worthy of the closest scrutiny.

However, the presenter assured his audience, he did not intend to take up any more of their valuable time than was absolutely necessary. He would summarize the report as briefly as possible while still providing the relevant information so critical to everyone's daily tasks. After this assurance, he began to read from his slides.

The trapped man fought to stay awake. Slide after slide came and went with the slow, inexorable force of a glacier on the march. Each slide was a dense, bullet-pointed cliff face to be scaled, a craggy obstacle course heavily spiked with UTLAs and MFLAs (Undefined Three Letter Acronyms and Mysterious Four Letter Acronyms, respectively). Each slide held at least twelve bullet points. Each bullet point was between nine and fifteen words long, and each was explained by the presenter with a paragraph of dense legalese, read directly from the important, significant, condensed and simplified 261 page report. The trapped man concluded (correctly) that to the presenter, every word of every paragraph of every section, subsection and sub-subsection was a precious jewel, a beautiful child of his own creation.

In-depth explanations were read out on the roles, responsibilities, oversight, management, deputizations and chains-of-command of people the trapped man did not know, for jobs the trapped man had no interaction with, and for corporate locations the trapped man would never see.

White text on a blue background made the trapped man think of the light-gathering cellular structures of the human eye, and about how the human eye (relatively insensitive to blue light) worked with the human brain to interpret blue light as a cue for nighttime. The trapped man could feel the effects of the artificial twilight on the screen, how it mixed with the droning monotone of the presenter's voice in the overheated room. The sound was like the rustling of poplar trees, moving to and fro in a summer breeze. It was the sound of a slow stream sped to falling foam as it rushed on rocky rapids...

The trapped man walked along the riverbank, balancing carefully on the mossy stones, dim and indistinct in the fading light. The footing was tricky so close to the water and the trapped man considered each step before taking it. Mist rose from the water, obscuring the stars overhead, just starting to emerge in the purpling sky. The lulling sounds of the trees and the water were hypnotic at the water's edge. Tiny silver fish rose from the water to feed on the insects that buzzed and hummed and swarmed over the surface of the stream. With little flashes of reflected starlight, the fish rose up, showed themselves, and were gone again. His eyes on the silvery fishes dancing under the dark blue water, swimming in the dimness of the soft summer night, the trapped man slipped on the stones and fell forward into the stream.

When the trapped man fell out of his chair with a half-snore, half-cry, the presenter stopped, mid-paragraph. The general laughter of the room was silenced by a scowl of disapproval from the presenter. There followed a ten minute digression from his prepared slides, the presenter's intention of said extemporaneous digression was to once again stress to the captive audience the importance and significance of the 261 page report. The presenter was sorry that some people might consider the material to be a bit dry, but he assured the audience that the training was being conducted for a reason, and that everyone - and (he clarified) by "everyone", he meant "every single person in this room" - had responsibilities which had to be carried out in accordance with the standards laid out in this report.

The presenter stated, however, that he did not wish to take up any more time with such distractions. He trusted that everyone would recognize the need for the fullest possible attention to this important material. His digression complete, the presenter began again with the paragraph which explained and expanded on bullet 5 of slide 22.

And once again, a man was trapped in a mandatory training seminar.

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The Next Big Thing

Helen Howell tagged me in a blog post round robin called The Next Big Thing. It's a self-interview with ten questions, to be answered in a blog post.

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing

What is the working title of your book?
"Verbosity's Vengeance: A Grammarian Adventure Novel"

Where did the idea come from for the book?
This started in October 2010 as a tiny idea about the power of language and the restrictions of grammar. It led to a loopy FridayFlash story which was well received. The close proximity to NaNoWriMo prompted me to take this story as the germ of that year's effort. Over that month, I expanded the story to 51,000 words. It's now almost finished at 114,000 words.

What genre does your book fall under?
Superhero science fiction.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Alex Graham aka the Grammarian: Martin Freeman
Professor Verbosity: Ray Liotta
Kate Hunter: Ellen Page
Walter McHenry aka the Avant Guardian: Brendan Gleeson

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
When Professor Verbosity threatens to attack Lexicon City with an unspeakable superweapon, the Grammarian is just the hero to save the day... assuming he can hire a sidekick first.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
That's an excellent question.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
First draft (51K) was written during the 30 days of NaNoWriMo 2010.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
The Grammarian is a superhero, and the book is a fast-paced superhero adventure. It has lots of explosions, fights, mysteries to investigate, red herrings, betrayals, a love interest, chases, escapes, and a hero who drinks coffee. Mix equal parts Batman, Iron Man, Reed Richards, Plastic Man, and Deadpool, then add a dash of Richie Rich and Ron Weasley. The jokes and wordplay about grammar, punctuation, vocabulary, etc. might be reminiscent of the Thursday Next books, or perhaps The Phantom Tollbooth, although I didn't consciously model the Grammarian on either one.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?
I'd written a few tragic superhero stories, but never one that was consciously funny. This idea came along at just the right time.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Allow me to introduce Kate Hunter, my female lead:
"Alex, come on!" Walter rolled his eyes. "Does she look like a Ph.D. to you? Besides, LPU is an engineering technology research school. I mean, really, open your eyes, pal! Have you ever seen anyone who looks less like an engineer?" He winked at Kate, all boyish charm.

In a flash, Kate's smile was gone as muscles clenched along her jaw line.

Uh oh, Alex thought. He glanced at Walter and winced. Even though Kate's changed expression shouldn't have been hard to read, Walter was oblivious.

She looked up at the big man and said, "You're right, Walter, I'm not a postdoc and I'm not an engineer."

"See, Alex? I told you."

"I'm a full professor in the Materials Science department. LPU was so eager to hire me away from CalTech, they threw in tenure. My undergraduate work at Yale was in organic chemistry, and my master's degree at the University of Chicago was in cryogenic electron capture. For my doctoral work at M.I.T., I invented a method for autoassembly of interphase semitransitional solids. Here at LPU, I’m continuing my work on quantum oscillation dampening fields. Lots of chemistry and physics, but you're right, no engineering degree."

She handed her empty glass to Walter, whose mouth was hanging open wide enough for his foot.

"Now then, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen," she said, "I think I've had enough entertainment for one evening."

Alex, pleased and surprised, caught the chagrined look on Walter' face. However, before Alex could say anything, a pistol shot exploded from the far side of the room, followed by a man's voice, shouting, "All right, nobody move!"

TAG: I'm supposed to tag three people. I tag:
Jodi Cleghorn
Jim Allen
Laura Eno

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So much for THAT idea

That book I kept saying was finished? It isn't.

I put all of my beta readers' comments side by side and re-read them. It's clear that I need one more little scene to help flesh out (and perhaps differentiate) a couple of the supporting characters. This will also give them a bit of screen time during a section where they are otherwise out-of-mind. For the sake of character development and intrigue, letting A say what a tedious grasper B is help to establish A as rather snobbish and judgmental and sets B up as someone who could be seen as a tedious grasper.

Plus, there's all the clunky sentences I need to polish.

The extra scene and the line edits will take this book to 115,000. As everyone knows, this is a ridiculous number of words for a first novel. I am nothing if not ridiculous, though, so it stands as is. The beta readers all said its pacing moved along at a fast clip, so my 115,000 should feel lugubrious.

If the Harper Voyager open sub window had come a fortnight later, I might have been ready for it. As it is, I'm going to have to concede the field to John Wiswell and all the others who have a book ready to roll for it.

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FridayFlash: Dust Devils

Dust Devils
by Tony Noland

'neath the boots of the mighty, 'neath the shoes of the proud,
'neath the soles of the flighty, 'neath the heels of the loud,
The dust devils lurk and they work darkling magic,
The truths and the lies in admixtures so tragic.

A step made too slow so the child lies a'bleeding;
A stride made too long so the lover cries, bleating.
Fate has ordained every step in your course
But the dust devils twist you, turn fine into coarse.
Fortunes are lost, wealth bestowed on another,
One minor false step and all hopes die a'smother.
A little bit slower, a little bit faster
One step is the difference 'twixt love and disaster.
Chaos and anger, hatred and fright
The drunkard's walk taken is a devil's delight.

'neath the boots of the mighty, 'neath the shoes of the proud,
'neath the soles of the flighty, 'neath the heels of the loud,
The dust devils lurk and they work darkling magic,
The truths and the lies in admixtures so tragic.

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Introverted Wife: All Hallows Read Posters 2012

Introverted Wife: All Hallows Read Posters 2012: Chills are creeping in. Ghosts and goblins are creeping out. It's once again time to get your spooky read on. Last year I made poste...



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What does "published" mean?

Today over at Write Anything, I talk about what it means to be published, given all the different possibilities open to authors these days.

Read, enjoy, comment.

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A miserable, cold, light-less hell

On Wednesdays, I compose a limerick based on the prompt from Three Word Wednesday. Today's words are: brisk, detached, miserable  (it's more fun if you read it aloud - try it!):

These brisk days of autumn foretell
Sure coming of winter's death-knell
Elm leaves detached,
The lawn choked and thatched:
A miserable, cold, light-less hell
    ~~~~~ * * * ~~~~~

OK, "hell" might be a bit strong, but nothing makes you want to throw it all away and weep for the futility of life like the depressive onset of seasonal affective disorder in the first gray, chilly days of autumn. But at least I got a limerick out of it.

My book of limericks inspired by Three Word Wednesday is FREE to borrow from Amazon:


"They made me laugh, they made me sad, they made me think and squirm and reflect. ... Tony Noland has a way with words that is nothing short of astonishing" - Jeff Posey, Amazon review

That's right, FREE. Of course, if you're not in Amazon Prime, it still only costs $0.99. That's less than a coffee. And I'm not talking Starbuck's, I'm talking about the burnt mud they sell at the convenience store. It's worth the buck - you'll love it!

Don't have a Kindle? NO PROBLEM! Get one of the free Kindle apps for PC, Mac, iPhone, Android and a host of other devices. You can read "Poetry on the Fly" (or any of my other great writing) anywhere you like!

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This book is THAT good

With all comments back from beta readers, a couple of things are clear. I need one more tiny scene to flesh out a couple of supporting characters. This is to help differentiate them and give them both a bit more screen time.

No problem! I'll have my MC talk to Supporting Character A about Supporting Character B. A will say that B is a jerk, and MC will say, "Oh, you're only saying that because [B's backstory]. If you weren't [A's backstory], you'd like him."

Boom. Problem solved. Tony is a genius.

Also, I have a tweak for the ending. Fixes something that's been bugging me and will make you all swoon with delight. You will love me and my book.

How much will you love this book? Let me tell you: soon, "Tony" will jump up past Jacob, Jayden, and Noah to get back up into the Top 10 names for newborn boys. And "Noland" will suddenly rocket past Sophia, Isabella and Olivia to the Top 10 names for girls born in 2014.

I'm not kidding. This book is THAT good.

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I Found A Dead Alien Buried In The Sands Of Mars.

I found a dead alien buried in the sands of Mars.

No, I said a dead ALIEN. Not a dead MARTIAN. Mars was never capable of supporting life.

Bullshit. Bacteria don't count.

Fine. Mars was never capable of supporting extensive life, the kind of biomass density that altered the geospatial environment the way primordial life on Earth did.

Jesus, do you have to be such a picky asshole? What difference does it make? You know what I'm talking about!

Fine. The arespatial environment. Are you happy?

Well, it must make a difference to you or you wouldn't have insisted on it.

Yes, you did.

Fine. Whatever.

Yes, I'd love to get back to the alien. I was blasting a course for the heatpipe that'll connect Reactor Three to the new dome. This stretch of pipe runs through a long swale near Cravelli Crater.

I don't know. Somebody made the calculation and decided it was cheaper to put it underground than to lay it on the surface.

How should I know? I'm not an accountant. My job is to dig the tunnel, lay the pipes, and make sure they won't leak the molten salt. Another contractor will backfill with the aerogel insulation. I guarantee my work for thirty years. I can't vouch for the insulation contractor.

Because after the new domes at Landing and then again at Expansion grew out too close to Reactors One and Two, respectively, they decided to put Reactor Three way the hell out in the middle of nowhere and pipe the heat into the new dome. One and Two leak gamma rays and fast neutrons, see? So, instead of designing Three so it wouldn't leak, they just put it farther out in the wastes. It'll be safe enough to build, but after they turn it on, nobody is going to be able to get close to it for at least fifteen years.

Like I said, I'm not an accountant. Save on the reactor, spend on the long heatpipes. They must figure that the room for the new dome to grow is worth it. This alien, though... I gotta think that'll screw up some plans.

Yeah, OK. So, anyway, I blasted a course in the rock. It wasn't too bad... loose conglomerate, vacuum welded. It must have been a big sand dune back when Mars had water. Cravelli was a shallow lake, fed by a stream or two. This ship must have landed on the shore of the lake and then been buried.

Because it was a ship, that's how I know. Mars might have had some bacteria, but there was never any higher life here. None that evolved here, I mean. This ship was a product of a technological civilization, buried under a solidified sand dune at least twelve million years old. Just because I lay pipe for a living doesn't mean I'm stupid, pal.

No.

I said, no. As in "no, I didn't blast the door". It was open. When the impact gel charges went off, the rock shiver-fractured, just like it was supposed to. When I first saw the open doorway, I thought it was a cave. Crazy, right? My last job was on Enceladus. You wouldn't believe the kind of caves that moon has got. Like cathedrals, or entire stadiums turned upside down. There was this one -

Well, because that's why I thought it was a cave. That was my first reaction, see? But Mars doesn't have any caves. It was because I spent so much time on Enceladus that I -

Fine.

No, whatever. If you don't want to hear it, that's fine. I don't give a shit.

Because it looked like a cave, that's why. The open doorway was dark, and the rocks around it made it look like a natural opening. Until I shone a light in, I thought I was going to be famous for being the first guy to discover a cave on Mars.

He was right there, yeah. Sitting in a chair, facing the door.

No, none of the rock hit him. He was too far back.

He was just sitting there. No signs of struggle or fighting. He looked kinda ragged, but that's all.

Ragged, you know? Like he was threadbare. His clothing was worn, scuffed at his... at his... well, I guess where his knees and elbows would be, except he had two knees and a long, curving kinda elbow joint.

They were just worn looking. As though he'd been wearing them to do manual labor for a long time. Like how a farmer's overalls get worn at the knees. Like that.

No, but I've seen plenty of movies.

Fine, not like a farmer. Whatever.

I moved over to him and looked at him. Shone my light on him to get a better look, see? He was completely desiccated. The atmosphere on Mars will suck you dry if you leave your suit open. His helmet dome was on his lap, completely removed.

Hey, I don't judge. If Mr. Alien committed suicide, then that makes him as human as the next guy. It gets pretty fucking lonely out here. I've known guys that couldn't take it anymore and opened a vent. It happens.

This isn't about me.

I'm just saying that he didn't come from Mars, so he had to come from somewhere else, right? He looked like he'd been stuck here a long time. Whether he was marooned or on some kind of an assignment... it can get to you.

No, he was the only one. The ship wasn't that big.

Jesus, I don't know! I found a dead alien buried in the sands of Mars, and now you want me to speculate about how he got there?

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Why my novel isn't ready yet

Despite what I said about rushing to publication in order to meet Harper Voyager's open submission window, I now realize that the editing of this novel is NOT complete. I sat down to read over the first 1000 words, confident that they would be so ZOMG awesome that they couldn't fail to impress a publisher.

What I found was half a dozen things to fix. Inconsistent pronouns, poor word choices, word repetitions, muddy and unclear pronoun antecedents, physical impossibilities of position and sequence... clearly, this needs a full read-through, just like I originally planned.

This delay is, I hope, a sign of craft and quality. Believe me, I want this book to be finished and out in the real world. However, it's more important to me that this book be fantastic in every way possible before it leaves the nest. I want an editor to fall in love with this book (or at least with the success this book could be), not groan at the amount of work it would take to get it in shape.

My beta readers have worked hard (and in the case of Cathy Russell, still working hard) to get me great feedback on the book. It would be a shame for me to lose focus and rush the process at this point. After all, I don't want them to look bad by having their names in the acknowledgements!

One thing that is still true, though. I'm making all these changes in one big Word document instead of in the scene-based yWriter5. Since part of the problem was the abruptness of the transitions between scenes, this will let me smooth those over. Yet another thing to fix.

MORAL: Don't rush it. A book that's 99% has one lousy word in every hundred. That's two or three clinkers per page. Take the time to make it 99.99% done.

An excerpt:


/////

At the foot of the airship, blood flowed through Verbosity's fingers where he clutched at his ruined face shattered jaw. Moaning and staggering, the supervillain half-climbed, half-fell into his airship and slapped at a control panel. The quadrotors roared as the craft lifted and launched smoothly jerkily forward, clearing the edge of the big doorway by less than a foot. The Grammarian saw his nemesis clutching at a seat belt through the open door, hanging on with manic strength to keep from falling out of the open door as the airship yawed around and began to climb into the night sky. Whatever kind of autopilot Professor Verbosity had for the airship was doing its job perfectly. The last glimpse the Grammarian had of the escaping criminal was him holding on onto a safety harness with one hand while clutching pressing at the ruin of his blood-soaked face with the other.

It was the only time he had ever known Professor Verbosity to leave without making some kind of speech.

/////

For the record, that was "clutched", "clutching" and "clutching", as well as "ruined face" and "ruin of his... face" all in the same paragraph. This paragraph is just one among many that needs attention. Ugh.

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Wednesday limerick

On Wednesdays, I compose a limerick based on the prompt from Three Word Wednesday. Today's words are: dignity, lacerate, ripe  (it's more fun if you read it aloud - try it!):


  Dignity won't let me gripe
Or cut loose with blue language, ripe -
'cause I'd lacerate
your ears with such hate,
So I'll stick to "Golly! Gee! Yipe!"
    ~~~~~ * * * ~~~~~

The fingers of my left hand were crushed in a door jamb last night. I did not say "Golly! Gee! Yipe!". What I DID say, I will not reprint here.

My book of limericks inspired by Three Word Wednesday is FREE to borrow from Amazon:



"They made me laugh, they made me sad, they made me think and squirm and reflect. ... Tony Noland has a way with words that is nothing short of astonishing" - Jeff Posey, Amazon review

That's right, FREE. Of course, if you're not in Amazon Prime, it still only costs $0.99. That's less than a coffee. And I'm not talking Starbuck's, I'm talking about the burnt mud they sell at the convenience store. It's worth the buck - you'll love it!

Don't have a Kindle? NO PROBLEM! Get one of the free Kindle apps for PC, Mac, iPhone, Android and a host of other devices. You can read "Poetry on the Fly" (or any of my other great writing) anywhere you like!

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Web serials: the video

Earlier today, I moderated a discussion of serial fiction with some publishers who've been working in this field. This discussion was organized by Claudia Christian and TuesdaySerial. We talked about pricing, publishing, reader feedback, mobile readers, serials vs. serialized novels, niche marketing... lots of great stuff. While I moderated the conversation on-screen, my TuesdaySerial colleagues PJ Kaiser and Larry Kollar were behind the scenes fielding questions and working out the technical details.

The panel consisted of: Claudia Hall Christian (author of Alex the Fey , Denver Cereal and The Queen of Cool, and co-founder of Cook Street Publishing); Yael Goldstein Love (novelist, co-founder and editorial director of Plympton, teacher of fiction writing at Boston’s Grub Street, and publishing assistant at The Paris Review); Angie Capozello (founder and moderator of The Penny Dreadful and a co-moderator for http://fridayflash.org); and Jerry Fan (founder of JukePop, Inc.).

Due to technical difficulties, scheduled participants Kate Sullivan (founder of Candlemark & Gleam) and Jason Allen Ashlock (Co-founder and President of Movable Type Management) were not able to join us for this videochat, but will no doubt be brought back for a future roundtable discussion.

Later on, a transcript will be attached to this video, but for now, enjoy these 56 minutes of publishing industry professionals talk about this resurgent form of literature.



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The market for serial fiction

Reprinting the announcement from Tuesday Serial:

/////

Serial Fiction Round Table: The publishers – Hosted by Claudia Christian and Tuesday Serial

October 1, 2012
Since Amazon’s announcement about Kindle Serials, the publishing community is talking about Serial Fiction. In fact, here at Tuesday Serial, we set a record for our highest page views ever in the days immediately following the announcement (Thanks, Amazon!).
People are asking questions like:
  • What is the market for serials vs. serializations of novels?
  • What kind of pricing structure will the industry settle on – an up-front subscription to the whole serial or a micropayment pay-as-you-read?
  • How much can reader feedback be expected to influence the arc of the serial as it unfolds?
Writers have been buzzing and publishers have been buzzing. So, we thought, why not invite some publishers and writers so we can buzz together! So, Tuesday Serial, in collaboration with Claudia Christian who has been instrumental in bringing all the parties together (and is also, coincidentally a bee keeper – get it, buzzing? ;-) ), is hosting a Serial Publisher Round Table on October 2 from 1:30pm-2:30pm EST.
The round table will feature the following participants from the publishing community (more complete bios will be available soon):

Claudia Christian – Prolific serial fiction writer and publisher at Cook Street Publishing.
Kate from the publisher Candlemark & Gleam.
Jason Ashlock, president of “Movable Type Management” literary agency.
Yael Goldstein Love, co-founder and editorial director at Plympton, a new publisher of serial fiction.
Angie Capozello, serial fiction writer and publisher at The Penny Dreadful.
Jerry Fan who publishes serial fiction at Juke Pop Serials.
The round table will be moderated by Tuesday Serial’s own Tony Noland. P.J. Kaiser and Larry Kollar will be attending the hangout and monitoring the Twitter feed (#serialchat).
How can you be a part of the round table?
  • You can send us any questions you have in advance of the round table  (either via Twitter @ or DM @tuesdayserial, via a Twitter post to hashtag #serialchat or via a comment on this post).
  • You can watch the round table via Google + hangouts “on air” streaming as it’s happening in the embedded box at the bottom of this post or on the event page.
  • You can use the Twitter hashtag #serialchat to join in the conversation. Ask questions during the chat (questions during the chat will only be taken if there is time at the end of the chat) or give us feedback or your thoughts on the conversation.
  • After the chat, the video recording of the chat will be posted.
So, tune in below at 1:30pm Tuesday, October 2:

{{ Watch this space for the live feed when it’s available }}

/////

Nip on over to the Tuesday Serial page to watch the video live, tomorrow at 1:30 EDT.

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Insulted by a prosthetic nose

Problem: Joseph Gordon-Levitt doesn't look much like a young Bruce Willis.

Solution: Give Joseph Gordon-Levitt a prosthetic nose to make him kinda, sorta, in-certain-ways be plausibly reminiscent of what a young Bruce Willis might have looked like.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Bruce Willis and a latex nose

A better solution: Respect the audience's ability to suspend disbelief and have the actors use their voices, mannerisms, postures, emotions, etc. to sell it, i.e. let the actors do their jobs. The worst thing you'd have to do is add another line of dialogue in the diner:

Joseph Gordon-Levitt (speculatively at Bruce Willis' nose): So... what happened to my nose?
Bruce Willis (rubs the bridge of his nose): It got broke.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt: Did it hurt?
Bruce Willis (shrugs): Not as much as getting shot.

... and you're done! Nobody needs to refer to the physical resemblance factor ever again. No prosthetic makeup, no sitting in a chair for three hours before shooting every day, no goofy pictures on the Internet, no smart-ass bloggers telling you how you should have made your movie.

In short, the prosthetic nose is a case of overselling it. It's a mistake. Don't do that.

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What I struggle against

Advice from around the Internets...

"Don't spend a long time on your book. Speed is the key to success. Plan on taking a couple of months to write it, edit it, format it and put it out there as an e.book."

"Nobody's first novel gets published because everybody's first novel sucks."

"Any book priced higher than $2.99 is a ripoff."

"Traditional publishing is for suckers."

"How to tell if your book is destined for failure: it features a) vampires; b) zombies; c) superheroes; or d) obscure jokes that 90% of people won't get."

"If you don't have AT LEAST 10,000 friends on Facebook, your promotions won't result in any sales."

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Today is a Milestone

Today is a milestone in the timeline of the novel formerly known as "Goodbye Grammarian". Yesterday, I exported the project from yWriter5 into a single RTF document. All the notes on plots and scenes, the character sketches, the chapter descriptions, the "To Do" lists, the revisions... all the scaffolding and detritus that goes into writing a novel was left behind. The new RTF file contains only the 113,188 words of text that the reader will see. It went into a brand new folder in Dropbox.

But yesterday wasn't the milestone.

Today is the milestone because, when I needed to go into the book to fix some typos, I didn't open up yWriter5, my preferred software for writing. I opened MS Word to edit the RTF directly. Also, I ran a full spelling and grammar check on the text, made sure the whole thing is formatted consistently with 12 pt Times New Roman, and gave it page numbers and line numbers. Not only that, I formatted the first page to submission-standard, including typing out the new title.

Today is a milestone because today is the day that I stop writing and editing this book. Today is the day that I begin formatting this book for submission and querying.

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#FridayFlash: Three Days

"I can't make it that night, sorry."

"I'd love to, but I've got a deadline coming up."

"Can we reschedule it for next week? Thursday is really bad for me. No, the weekend's going to be crazy, too. How does next Tuesday work for you?"



* * *

The lies came so smoothly to his lips. Hiding behind his prevarications and easy dissemblances, he let them all think he was just as human as they. Where was the vein of normalcy that ran through his own soul? Could it yet be traced amid the heavy overburden of dross and slag? Buried so deeply beneath the constructed falsehoods of his life... was it even still there? After all this time, after so many years living the way he did, how much true humanity was left to him?

He opened the basement door and went down the stairs.

No time to ask such questions... there was never time. In the immediate aftermath of his transformations, his mind recoiled, his soul rebelled at confronting the truth. Even as he dealt with the fruits of his savagery, spending days setting a'right the chaos he'd wrought, he denied the truth about who and what he was.

By the time he came to the middle weeks, he could live entirely within that denial. He could pretend to live fully in the light, pretend to be a man of business, pretend to laugh with friends, pretend to lose himself in the arms of his lovers. He could pretend to be as human as everyone around him.

But when the last week of the month came, when the moon hung fat in the sky... there was no pretense that could save him, no illusion that could deny the essential truth he carried within himself.

The burning light of the moon penetrated through pathetic wishes and dreams just as easily as it did through steel and stone.

In the back wall, set into the soundproofed concrete, the heavy steel door swung smoothly on wrist-thick hinges. He stepped inside the vault and pulled the door closed behind him. The gearing turned, the twelve bolts slid home into their sockets and the time lock clicked.

The room was clean and pleasant. Light shone from recessed panels high above, the darkness kept at bay by day-spectrum fluorescent lights in shatter-proof covers. From small, titanium-reinforced grills in the ceiling, whispered breezes were scented alternately with flowers, baby powder and freshly baked bread. The steel walls were painted on all sides with a trompe l'oeil landscape scene, an illusion that made the room feel much larger than it was.

Only the deep gouges spoiled the effect. Long, thin strips of the underlying gray steel were exposed where the paint had been torn away.

He sat down to wait. In three days the door would open again. In three days he could return to the mockery of a life that he'd constructed for himself. In three days he would again run from the truth and wrap himself in happy, comfortable, sweet lies.

It was less than an hour after the door locked him in that he felt the first burning touch of the full moon's light.

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Fat people in space

In the midst of fevered half-sleep yesterday, as I fought off a cold (compounded by stress and fatigue), my mind wandered o'er many a strange and wondrous landscape. One of these was an intricate disquisition on fat people in space. (Stay with me, OK?)

The challenges of plantetary spaceflight are many and varied. One of the most pressing, however, is that of the food and water supply for the astronauts. Setting aside all other concerns of vitamins, minerals, bone density, fiber adequacy with respect to blood sugar, etc., etc., any calculation of total food requirements for the trip goes like this:

(X people)(Y days in space) = Z calories needed

This is a calculation that's unchanged since Odysseus, Eric the Red or Columbus set sail, or since Lewis and Clark took off across the plains. You have to either start off with enough food for the tip, or plan on getting food along the way and/or when you arrive. Hunting, fishing, or trading with the locals can extend your food supply, as can eating the sled dogs and cannibalism. Close rationing, starvation, etc., calories consumed per day can be reduced, further extending the food supply. In the end, though, people gotta eat.

This is where the fat comes in. Most of the disadvantages of being enormously obese are obviated in the zero gravity of space. Bone stresses, blood pressure, diaphragm compression, sleep apnea, impairment of mobility ... this aren't issues anymore.

Here's the plan: in the year leading up to the deep space mission, the astronauts gain 300 pounds each. Each pound of fat represents 3500 calories. On earth, an adult weighing 500 pounds burns about 3000 calories a day; in space, this would be closer to 2000. If in a drug-induced artificial hibernation (for a space colonist), it would be closer to 500 calories per day.

An in-body store of 300 pounds of fat would equal 1,050,000 calories. That's 525 days for an active, alert astronaut, or 2100 days for a cold-sleeping colonist, with no extra calories consumed at all. It gets better than that, actually, since as the individual dropped from 500 pounds to 400, 300, 200 and finally at 130 pounds, their daily calorie requirement would drop as well, further extending the calorie-value of their fat stores.

Also, if you amputate their legs before takeoff, calorie needs drop by almost 20%. Who needs legs in space?

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How to read a pubishing contract

Since this is one of the hot issues in the discussion of my previous post about the Harper Voyager open submission window, I thought I'd give a link to this post at the Stroppy Author's Guide to Publishing, entitled How to Read a Publishing Contract.
Don't assume your contract is non-negotiable. And don't be so pathetically grateful the want to publish your book that you accept any outrageous terms they offer you. Publishing is a business and no matter how friendly and reassuring your editor, they want to make as much money out of the deal as they can. Don't take any notice of arguments like 'we never use that clause'. If they don't use it, it doesn't need to be there. If 'it's just the standard contract' you say that's fine as a starting point but now you are going to make it suitable to you and your book. If they say 'no one has ever objected before' that means either they're lying or no one has read the contract properly and taken a professional approach. So  - put your angry eyes in and let's look at that contract!

Lots of great links in this clearinghouse post. Go check it out!

p.s. I'm neither a lawyer nor an agent. If there's any serious money on the line, don't rely on your own amateur judgement, no matter how many webpages you've read.

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Sex, violence and advancing the plot

Today over at Write Anything, I discuss sex scenes: why we write them, why they work, why they don't and how they fit within the context of the book. Also, I tell you how my mother reacted to the sex scenes I put in my first novel.

Go check it out.

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A rush to submission

Change of plans: I'm not going to take a slow and steady approach to editing my Grammarian novel, like I said I would. I'm going to get it done ASAP, and even went so far as to lean a bit more on my astonishingly supportive and forgiving beta readers.

Why take this risky approach? Because Harper Voyager has an open submission window from October 1 - 14:
The manuscripts will then be read and those most suited to the global Harper Voyager list will be selected jointly by editors in the USA, UK and Australia.  Accepted submissions will benefit from the full publishing process: accepted manuscripts will be edited; and the finished titles will receive online marketing and sales support in World English markets.
Voyager will be seeking an array of adult and young adult speculative fiction for digital publication, but particularly novels written in the epic fantasy, science fiction, urban fantasy, horror, dystopia and supernatural genres.

This book is almost ready to leave the nest; I'm confident that I can make it good enough to submit before this window closes. (Note: I didn't say I could make it PERFECT. See this blog post for my thoughts on perfect writing.)

The submission guidelines include a couple of important nuggets:
  • The desired book length is 80,000 - 120,000 words.
  • Consideration window is three months. If you haven't heard back by then, you can assume you didn't make the cut.
  • Accepted titles will come out digitally, with a maybe-perhaps-possibly option for a print run.
  • The titles from these "new exciting voices"will be published at a rate of one title per month, after the editing and production period is complete.
My book is 113,000 words, I can wait out three months, I'm cool with e.books and I'm new and exciting. A perfect fit!

Seriously, though, I know that winging my Grammarian novel into a slush tsunami is not a high-probability endeavor, but this kind of externally imposed deadline helps me to get things done. If nothing comes of it, I still have a finished manuscript to carry forward to the next step. Also, I can still be querying agents during these three months. Furthermore, if lightning does strike, it's easier to get an agent if you already have an offer from a publisher.

Plan for success, people. Nobody ever got anywhere aspiring to mediocrity.

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Editing and reading aloud

I'm in the process of using comments from my beta readers to edit my Grammarian novel WIP. So far, my betas have agreed on many of the typos, have agreed that my consistent use of the AP stylebook standard for serial commas is inappropriate for a novel, and have agreed that the plot is pretty good.

My betas have disagreed about one subplot ("disliked it", "thought it was great"), a leading female character ("terrific", "annoying"), a supporting male character ("awesome", "flat... not much there"), some of the dialogue ("don't summarize... go into more detail", "goes on too long... too much detail"), and some other odds and ends.

I'm still waiting on more beta comments. Those will no doubt prompt more revisions. After that, I'll take a hard look at the final length and see how much I need to cut in order to get it back down to ~100K. Since my baby is at ~114K now, that's going to mean some slicing. Naturally, since every paragraph is a gem and every scene is a treasure, this will be a painful episode of cutting.

After that, I will read the book aloud. A normal talking pace is ~100 wpm, but a reading performance pace will vary from that for any given scene, depending on what's going on. I figure 100K will take about ~18 hours of steady reading. If I can devote an hour a day to the reading aloud, that's almost three weeks.

Note that the time estimate is JUST for the reading, not the subsequent editing. I'm planning on reading from a print copy, circling clumsy spots as I go. They'll just get a bright red TKTK so I can go back into the word processor later.  If I were to stop to fix things as I go, just the reading would take forever.

After that, it'll be decision time. I'll either have to start pitching it to agents or format it for self-publishing.

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#FridayFlash: The Old Man in the Corner

For the fourth time, or maybe the fifth, the young man at the bar looked at the old man sleeping in the corner booth. His first quick glances had given way to longer, more inquisitive looks. Now he was openly staring. He had that mixed expression young people get when they look at old people - a mixture of amusement, condescension and curiosity.

The old man wasn't rumpled and scuzzy looking. On the contrary, he was clean shaven, his thin gray hair was clean and trimmed, and he was dressed in a normal, plaid flannel shirt. He just happened to be leaning against the wall, snoring lightly as he slept away the quiet afternoon in the corner booth of McGurk's.

Grinning, the young man turned to address the bartender in a low voice.

"I guess some guys start early, huh?"

The bartender glanced over at the old man, then returned his gaze to the young man. There was a moment, then a moment more before the bartender shrugged and went back to washing glasses.

"I just meant it's a little early in the day to be that far gone, you know?" The young man's voice betrayed him, even if his still-grinning face did not. Under the friendly invitation to share the joke, there was a trace of confusion, and perhaps also of embarrassment. He nodded in the old man's direction. "Is he a regular?"

The sound of running water filled in the pause before the bartender answered.

"You don't know who that is?"

"No. Should I?"

The bartender gave another shrug, a complex movement that extended from his fingertips to his elbows and shoulders and that went right up to his eyebrows and the inclination of his head. It was clearly an eloquent encapsulation of some complex expression, an entire set of emotions and life-perspectives conveyed in a moment, but whatever the bartender intended by it, the young man apparently failed to understand.

"Not really. I just thought you might recognize him."

The young man turned and stared at the old man for almost a minute.

"OK, I give up. Who is he?"

"That's Tony Noland."

"Tony who?"

"Tony Noland. With his first book, the New York Times called him the greatest writer of his generation. Later on the critics said he was right up there with Ernest Hemingway, Anthony Trollope and Edith Wharton."

"No kidding?" The young man stared again, his curiosity mixed with new respect. "What did he write?"

"Tony Noland wrote a grand total of seven novels: 'Sunlight Through the Elms', 'The Seas of Tomorrow', 'Where Darkness Grows', 'The Missionary's Position', 'Currents of the Solar Wind', 'The Nation of Love' and 'The Temptation of St. Helen'. Every one of them made the critics weep."

"Wow. So that's Tony Noland, huh?"

"Yep. You ever read any of his books?"

The young man shook his head. "No, not exactly. My English teacher made us read part of 'The Temptation of St. Helen' in sophomore year of high school. I couldn't really get into it. I don't recognize any of the other titles."

Wiping the wet glasses with a rag towel, the bartender gave another shrug.

In the quiet bar, the sounds of light snoring still came from the corner.

"So... he just comes in here and sleeps?"

"He says this is where he wrote all those books. That was thirty years ago, long before I bought the place, but he says this is a good place to get ideas. He still comes here to write. See that notebook computer on the seat beside him? He has a beer or two, takes a little nap then wakes up and starts typing."

"What do you mean, he still writes? I thought Tony Noland must be dead by now. That St. Helen book came out a long time ago. My English teacher said that was his best one, and that he hadn't written anything since."

The bartender didn't respond. All the glasses were washed, dried and put away, ready for the happy hour crowd, still some hours away. He crossed his arms and looked at the young man.

"Have you ever read any of those Buzz Killzip books?"

The young man sat up in surprise. "Buzz Killzip, the robot detective? Sure, I've read 'em all. They're hilarious."

"Did you see the Buzz Killzip movies?"

"Sure, didn't everybody? The first two movies were terrific, but personally, I thought the third one was a little lame. It didn't really capture the spirit of the books, you know?"

"Ever read anything else by Val Janneke?"

"Of course. I've read the Laser Lamonte series, the Antimatter Squad books, and even the Mystic Empire fantasy trilogy. I don't usually go in for swords-and-sorcery, but I liked the way Val Janneke wrote them. I hear they signed Peter Jackson to do the Mystic Empire movies. Why?"

The bartender nodded at the old man in the corner.

"That's Val Janneke, too."

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When is it finished?

Over at Write Anything, I tackle the question of "When is it finished?". How do you know when your book/poem/story/etc. is done? My answer, not surprisingly, is that the question itself is flawed. I offer a better question - with a better answer - that makes for much better writing advice.

Pop on over and take a look.

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Icy Sedgwick on Promotional Opportunities

I'm pleased to have a guest blog today by the talented UK writer Icy Sedgwick. She's been working like crazy lately, finishing up a new book and revisiting the book she had published last year by Pulp Press. For this blog, Icy tackles one of the subjects that makes even experienced writers queasy: how to promote the book after it's out.

~~~~~

A lot of writers like to discuss their writing processes, which often involve how many times they talk to their muse per day, how much coffee they consume, or what software they use. It's all very interesting and I love reading about how the writing experience changes from person to person, but what many writers rarely cover is their promotional processes. How do they get their books out there in front of people?

If my Twitter feed is anything to go by, then some writers feel that a link to the Amazon page posted every hour is good promo. Others try automated direct messages. Other writers try strategies that are more likely to work, such as giveaways, blog tours, promotional events and good old-fashioned word-of-mouth. So what exactly do I do?

My pulp novella, The Guns of Retribution, came out for the Kindle on 10 September 2011. Looking back, I really don't think I did as much promotion as I could have done. I tweeted a few links, posted links on Facebook, and answered questions on my blog. Not really very impressive. As its first anniversary rolled around, I figured I'd do something more. After all, the paperback came out two weeks after the e-book, so I decided to hold a two week celebration of the book, and its genre, on my blog and I can pretty much pin down what I did to five things.

1) Guest posts.
This is my fifth guest post for the period. So far, I've discussed pulp as a genre, the challenges of writing a Western, why the genre appealed to me as a UK writer, and how the character of my protagonist, Grey O'Donnell, evolved throughout the whole writing process. I haven't wanted to just sit there saying "This is my book, buy it" so I've tried to make the posts into discussions about topics, and hopefully discussions that other writers can take something from. Even if you don't buy my book, but you're inspired to try writing a Western story, then that's still something positive. I suppose I’m not just advertising The Guns of Retribution but also the Western as a viable genre.

2) Free stories.
If someone has never read your book, posting a free story to introduce them to the character can be a good way to whet their appetite. Grey appeared in a Christmas Friday flash last year but I decided to use the two Fridays within my two week period to feature stories about him. The Bounty, posted on Friday, told the tale of how he got into bounty hunting in the first place. Mahko, to be posted this Friday, tells the tale of how Grey first encountered his Apache sidekick.

3) Bonus material.
Sometime last year I wrote three interconnecting stories based around the fabled Dead Man's Hand, the hand of cards that Wild Bill Hickok allegedly held when he was shot in the back in a Deadwood saloon. The first story tells the story of Edmund Rothers, an English gambler murdered by Blackjack Bud Hudson. Hudson is the man that Grey is hunting in The Guns of Retribution, and I thought making the stories available would be a good way to give some backstory for those who've read the book. I also included the first chapter of Guns as a sample for those who haven't. I wanted Dead Man’s Hand to be a free download but Amazon wouldn't let me make it free for any longer than five days, so the book can be downloaded as a Kindle file, an epub or a PDF from my website until Monday.

4) Pinterest.
I spent some time selecting quotes from The Guns of Retribution, and then I created 'quotes pages' with them, giving them an Old West feel and illustrating them with Western imagery. They're easy to repin, they're quick to view, and hopefully they'll spark some interest. So far I only have four on my board but I'm planning to create more. Some writing blogs question the wisdom of posting quotes out of context, but I decided to turn them into slices of visual design, so hopefully it'll work.

5) Branding.
For each of the posts on my blog during this period, I've been adding my own graphic. I'm not just branding the book, which has already been done, I'm actually branding the posts as belonging to the book. It's a way of signposting the blog but also highlighting that the post is about The Guns of Retribution and its first anniversary. You need to really own your little section of cyber space and by branding your posts, you create a narrative for your blog, and for your book. In advertising they'd call this brand awareness, and it's not really any different if you're a writer.

Obviously these are what I’m trying out and I won’t know for a few weeks whether or not they’ve been successful, but feel free to try them out yourself. But what other tools or techniques do you use within a promotional context?


Bio – Icy Sedgwick was born in the North East of England, and is based in Newcastle upon Tyne. She has had several stories included in anthologies, including Short Stack and Eighty-Nine. She teaches graphic design and spends her non-writing time working on a PhD in Film Studies. Icy had her first book, a Western named The Guns of Retribution, published through Pulp Press in September 2011.

Find me on Twitter @icypop
Buy The Guns of Retributionhttp://www.amazon.com/dp/1908544007/

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The "No Idea" Blog Post, Part 2: Editing

I'm working on meeting deadlines at the moment, so I'll make this quick: "Why Editing Matters"



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The Acknowledgements Section

One of the things I've tried to do during the writing of this
Grammarian novel is be mindful of who helped me along the way. Now
that I'm writing in the post-beta edits, I'm also working on an
acknowledgments section, so I can thank them all.

Beta readers are front and center, as are the editors at Write
Anything. I'm giving shout-outs to NaNoWriMo and to specific
individuals who have given encouragement along the way. Supportive
family and friends, of course, and professional colleagues will get
laurels as well.

Who else? Who do you list in your acknowledgement section?

--
Sent from my mobile device

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flash fiction and poetry anthologies, now available.
Buy your copy today!


_______________________________
Buy my books: http://amazon.com/author/tonynoland<http://amazon.com/author/tonynoland%20>
Read my blog: http://www.TonyNoland.com/
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/TonyNoland
Friend me on Facebook: http://on.fb.me/aSvNy1

#FridayFlash: DADT Is Alive And Well

The Commandant had read three reports like this since taking over the Academy twenty-two years ago. By design, they buried and obfuscated the important information. Reporters were like those burrowing scarab beetles in Iraq - as happy to bite their way into living flesh as they were to strip the meat from a corpse. However cold and self-serving, though, reporters weren't stupid; any public figure who made the mistake of thinking they could be outwitted ended up being consumed by them.

Still, there was no need to make their job any easier. His goal was to slow them down long enough for another, fresher scandal to present itself and draw them off.

The report itself was one hundred eighty-one pages long, including the appendices with the forensics, the photographs, and the interview transcripts from witnesses, commanders, squad mates and others who knew the two dead cadets. The conclusion section took another eleven pages to restate the facts and restate the conclusions drawn from them. The media packet was six pages. The executive summary was a single page, presenting in nine bullet points the brief military careers and untimely deaths of Senior Cadet Liam Brendan O'Shaunnasy (Little Neck, Long Island, NY) and Cadet Caleb Joshua Marshfield (Corbetville, MO).

He looked again at the top page.

Two fine young men, noted scholars and leaders among their peers, the prides of their respective hometowns. Both from military families - a long line of officers for O'Shaunnasy, a long line of proud grunts and jarheads for Marshfield. Bright futures tragically cut short by an accident in a nighttime training exercise on the ropes course. They fell together from the top platform, fifty feet above the ground, each working to save the lives of the rest of the squad as the platform collapsed. Their actions showed the sterling qualities of heroism and self-sacrifice that made them each a model cadet. Their loss was the nation's loss. Although their families can take but little comfort, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

Officially, the platform collapsed because the steel pins used in a critical support plate were corroded. In a separate assessment, strictly verbal and not included in the report, the base engineer concluded that the pins had been hacksawed through. Not enough to make the platform fall, but enough to make it lurch under the weight of an entire squad. The squad was never in any real danger.

The Commandant picked up the envelope that had been slipped under his door. It contained a single slip of paper, barely bigger than a return address label, with a single sentence anonymously laser printed in 12 pt Times New Roman.

"DADT - suicide pact"

He looked out at the night through his darkened windows. The phone would eventually stop ringing, the reporters would find a new bone to chew on, the FOI requests would go away, the lawsuits would be settled. Life at the Academy would go on.

But not for Senior Cadet O'Shaunnasy and Cadet Marshfield. Not for Liam and Caleb.

There were lessons in courage that he and the Academy could impart to his charges... how to face the enemy, how to kill, how to lead, how to find the best within yourself. How is it that he had never thought to teach his students how to face up to their own families? How to tell the truth about who they are, and who they might love? That "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" was all about lies and concealment, not truth and honor?

He couldn't immediately revise the curriculum to start teaching that character message. Those two young men had arranged their own lover's deaths rather than admit who they were to their families. He was not going to ruin that by being hasty and giving someone the chance to connect the dots.

With a firm hand, the Commandant balled up the slip of paper, chewed it thoroughly and swallowed it.

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Ask Me Anything

Since today is my birthday, you can ask me anything.

Leave a comment with your question and I'll respond to them over the weekend.

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Superhero book, superheroes on my mind

Since I'm writing a superhero book, superheroes have (naturally) been on my mind of late.

Like this:



Well... maybe not EXACTLY like that.

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Wednesday #limerick: hinge, lethal, need

Each Wednesday, I compose a limerick based on the prompt from Three Word Wednesday. Today's words are: hinge, lethal, need  (it's more fun if you read it aloud - try it!):


  Does clean writing hinge on clean living?
Then my mental dinge needs forgiving.
With a mind full of muck,
I'll need a dump truck.
So lethal, wants more than mere sieving.

    ~~~~~ * * * ~~~~~

I think we can all look back on all those times we tortured helpless animals and set innocent people on fire, can't we? Those are the universal experiences of adolescence that we all share, aren't they?



Um... aren't they?

My book of limericks inspired by Three Word Wednesday is FREE to borrow from Amazon:



"They made me laugh, they made me sad, they made me think and squirm and reflect. ... Tony Noland has a way with words that is nothing short of astonishing" - Jeff Posey, Amazon review

That's right, FREE. Of course, if you're not in Amazon Prime, it still only costs $0.99. That's less than a coffee. And I'm not talking Starbuck's, I'm talking about the burnt mud they sell at the convenience store. It's worth the buck - you'll love it!

Don't have a Kindle? NO PROBLEM! Get one of the free Kindle apps for PC, Mac, iPhone, Android and a host of other devices. You can read "Poetry on the Fly" (or any of my other great writing) anywhere you like!



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The next book will be...

I've been using this beta hiatus from "Goodbye Grammarian" to consider what's next. I needed a break from novel writing, to recharge my long-form batteries and to think about which new novel I should start writing. There are any number of half-finished projects I could take up again, but there is also a new concept that would be fun to work on.

Projects that I've previously abandoned are inherently risky. They carry with them the baggage of the writer I was two years ago (or five years ago). I'm a better writer now than I was then, with a Authorial Voice that is truer, stronger and more authentic. I know my Authorial Voice is truer, stronger and more authentic because, even if I still don't know what the hell my Authorial Voice is, I know that I don't worry about it nearly as much as I used to - I just write. Less deliberate phoniness = authenticity.

For good or ill, this is how my writing really sounds. Therefore, to resume just where I left off is not really a tenable thing to do. I'd have to look at the underlying concepts and see if any one of them still appeals to me. Is it gripping enough to be worth a full re-write? Or is it better to keep those partially written novels where they are, cherish them for the lessons they taught me, and move on to bigger and better things?

Furthermore, assuming I work on a new idea, which one? I haven't really decided.

Regardless, reports and recommendations from my WIP beta readers are starting to come in. The beta hiatus is coming to an end, and the next round of editing will commence.

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The origin of the Grammarian

Fans of my Facebook author page just got a teaser excerpt from "Goodbye Grammarian", discussing his origins and how he got his powers.

You ARE a fan of my Facebook author page, right?

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Adult entertainment, 1987: Leisure Suit Larry

In my #FridayFlash this week, "The Grammarian vs. Laser Suit Larry", there is an obvious play on one of the old heroes of computer gaming, Leisure Suit Larry. It seems incredible to me that anyone might NOT know who Leisure Suit Larry is, but just in case:
Leisure Suit Larry is a series of adventure games written by Al Lowe and published by Sierra from 1987 to 2009. The main character, is Larry Laffer who, though still somewhat lovable, is a balding, dorky, double entendre-speaking, leisure suit-wearing "loser" in his 40s. The games follow him as he spends much of his life trying (usually unsuccessfully) to seduce attractive women.
The Leisure Suit Larry games were among the most groundbreaking of their time for Western audiences. They showed that computer games could be based around adult subjects like sex. While dating sims and hentai porn games were filling a market for Japanese gamers, in America, computer games were for kids and Peter Pans.

Even today, mainstream American games that have overt sexual themes are rare. In fact, I can't think of any. Now as then, when Leisure Suit Larry ruled the roost (or tried to, desperately), the game must be heavily leavened with humor to defang the sex.



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The Grammarian vs. Laser Suit Larry

Most of the security features of the First National Bank were the same as those found in every other bank in Lexicon City. Heavy steel doors, duralinium steel vaults, electronic locks, bulletproof glass and other physical controls were augmented by personnel controls: security guards on rotating shifts, extensive background checks, regular drug screenings and lie detector tests. However, the First National Bank also added an extensive electronic intrusion security system, meant to protect the banks of computer servers in a subbasement. The computers regulated the flow of currency in and out of the Lexicon City Stock Exchange, the second largest such exchange in the world. Almost a trillion dollars moved through the system every day; only London handled slightly more.

London was next on the list to be hit.

Getting past the physical security had been tricky for Laser Suit Larry, but with his ability to manipulate light in all its forms, the supervillain was a master at overcoming any obstacle that stood in his way. Impulse waves of coherent laser light deactivated cameras and sensors, extreme blue-shifting of the infra-red security sweeps made them ideal for sending electronic override signals through steel and concrete. Doors opened for him, bars swung away and alarms stayed silent as he moved through the dark halls. Reflexively, he bent the ambient light around himself, leaving only a faint outline for any would-be observer.

The hallway outside the server room was crisscrossed with green laser beams, glinting as dust motes moved in the air. It was the work of only a moment to refract the beams to create an unobstructed path to the final door. He stepped around the pressure pads in the floor and over the high-voltage tripwires to approach to iris scanning camera. With a simple projection from his gold chest medallion, he tricked the system into thinking he was the chief IT specialist. The door clicked open and Laser Suit Larry slipped into the chilly, noisy server room.

Standard IT security meant that the computers had already logged his entry. Part of the job would be to tell the computers to rewrite their own access logs, as well as the security logs for the rest of the building. By the time he was done, all trace of his actions tonight would be wiped away.

He took a fist-sized device from his pocket and looked for the best bundle of fiber optic cables to clip it to. The volume of data the First National Bank handled meant using fiber optics instead of regular copper cables; it made this a perfect target for someone with his unique skill set. It had taken him almost a year to build and test his little frequency-shifting quantum laser interferometer, but it was the most brilliant piece of technology he'd ever created. By taking an instantaneous fast-Fourier analysis of pingback decay rates from a twinned-muon quantum echo flux emission, his little box would be able to record every signal in the main data trunk, both coming and going, then remodulate them and send them on their way again.

Once he had his device in place, he'd be continuously sipping from the flow of sensitive electronic information. If he used it to draw off tiny bits of currency, even if he limited himself to pulling 0.0001% from 0.0001% of the transactions, he would be fabulously rich within days. However, the sensitive information on the trades and transactions was far more valuable, and much less risky to steal. There were people who would pay handsomely for such information, if they could get it before anyone else. Grinning, he removed the cover to a fiber optic junction box and fitted his super snooper among the tightly packed bundles. When it was activated, he sent the signal to have it rewrite the computer logs, then picked up the box cover to replace it.

He never made it. As he tried to fit it in place onto the junction box, he found that it wouldn't fit. No longer working smoothly together, the two parts were jarring and clunking against a mass of sentence fragments, their ragged ends preventing things from coming together properly.

"Give it up, Larry," said a voice behind him, "there's no way out of this."

Laser Suit Larry dropped the cover and spun around. In a dark corner, the Grammarian was shimmering into visibility as a thick layer of obfuscation evaporated away. His hands were outstretched, pointing directly at the supervillain.

"I told the bank president that I'd wait for you to actually install your device and turn it on," the hero said, "so that the D.A. could prosecute on actual data theft, rather than just on intent to commit electronic espionage."

"I'm NOT going back to prison, Grammarian!" With a snarl of frustration, the supervillain fired his pulsed ruby laser, powerful enough to melt steel. The room flashed red as the ruby-array laser discharged in a buzzing explosion of light.

With lighting-fast reflexes, the Grammarian countered with a cascade of blue language, a shockingly potent blast of profanity that stunned Laser Suit Larry even as it impacted his laser beam. The two streams met and mixed, red and blue energies cascading outward in a flood of purple prose. The entire room was filled with the immensely turgid and convoluted sentences; every subject within reach was wrapped around and enmeshed throughout with long subordinate clauses filled to o'erflowing with flowery metaphors, arcane allegories replete with classical allusion and quotations from dead French poets.

The impenetrable word-cloud tied up Laser Suit Larry completely. He staggered back under the heavy onslaught and fell to the floor, trapped under the many layers of leaden, nearly incomprehensible sentences. The Grammarian, however, knew exactly how to deal with purple prose. With a mental command, he activated his Short-Range Sentence Diagrammer. The looping, interwoven sentences parted in a flash of clarity, falling away into discrete subunits. In moments, he stood with hand on hips, surrounded by a ring of neatly organized prepositional phrases, adverbs, adjectives and subordinate clauses. He cleared a path through the literary thicket, all the while flooding it with a steady stream of memetic energy to keep Laser Suit Larry bound in place.

"You're so predictable, Larry. You use that red chest laser every time. When are you going to learn?"

Cursing, the villain struggled against his bonds, trying in vain to change the tangle of sentences into photons so he could escape.

The Grammarian smiled. "Forget it. If you knew anything about literature, you'd know there's no way to make light of purple prose."

//////

Look for the Grammarian's novel-length adventure, coming soon to a bookseller near you!

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Paid reviews and the ethics of push-up bras

Joe Konrath has a post up in which he's proposing a "Writer's Code of Ethics" which addresses the issue of paying for reviews, blurbs, etc. This is deeply sarcastic, since publishing has always been a fantasy land of paid promotions, quid pro quo reviews, artificially hyped materials, one-hit wonders and Astroturfing.

So let's talk about deceptive marketing, shall we? (WARNING: contains an extended metaphor relating "books and marketing" to "jiggly bits and fancy underwear". Duh.)

You know your book is great. Other people have told you your book is great. You may have made it great yourself, you may have hired other people to make it a great book. Maybe you paid the editor and cover artist a flat rate as work-for-hire, maybe they get a percentage of sales. Regardless, you KNOW readers would love to get their hands on your junk. Any warm-blooded reader would have a great time with your volumes, and would be sure to tell all his friends how incredible they are.

But how to attract those readers in the first place? There are so many great books out there, and there are only so many eyeballs to go around. You don't want to LIE about your book, you don't want to MISREPRESENT your book, but you don't want your book to go unnoticed, either. It would be unethical to say that your book is something other than what it is, but surely it's OK to use some creative emphasis for the things that ARE part of your book, right?

So, you decide to pay for a little bit of... packaging. You enlist some help to highlight the most enticing parts of your book and push them out where people can see them. Accentuate a few lines here, reveal a bit of plot summary there, make sure readers can see the outline of your book's attributes, and PRESTO, your great book is now a knock-em-dead sexy book.
"After all", you say to yourself, "once the reader gets her hands on my big, thick, long book - 115,000 words! - she won't even notice that it's not quite exactly the book that the reviews and blurbs led her to believe it would be. Even after the packaging is gone and my book stands up on its own merits, she'll still love it, and she'll tell all her friends about it. After that, my little bit of marketing won't be necessary anymore."

There's no padding in any of this marketing, no fabrications or deliberate untruths. You're only paying for a little... extra emphasis. That's what marketing is all about, right?

Right?
//////////////

Push-up bra image credit: "Liquid lift", by Fredrick's of Hollywood

Enhancement briefs image credit: "Shower assets", by Banglads

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How to flirt

Each Wednesday, I compose a limerick based on the prompt from Three Word Wednesday. Today's words are: banter, duty, element  (it's more fun if you read it aloud - try it!):


For flirting, the element prime
is banter, so have a good time!
It's not just a prelude
so you can go lay nude;
not duty, but delight sublime.

    ~~~~~ * * * ~~~~~

Guys, don't skimp on the foreplay. After all, it's called foreplay for a reason. It's FUN!

My book of limericks inspired by Three Word Wednesday is FREE to borrow from Amazon:


"They made me laugh, they made me sad, they made me think and squirm and reflect. ... Tony Noland has a way with words that is nothing short of astonishing" - Jeff Posey, Amazon review

That's right, FREE. Of course, if you're not in Amazon Prime, it still only costs $0.99. That's less than a coffee. And I'm not talking Starbuck's, I'm talking about the burnt mud they sell at the convenience store. It's worth the buck - you'll love it!

Don't have a Kindle? NO PROBLEM! Get one of the free Kindle apps for PC, Mac, iPhone, Android and a host of other devices. You can read "Poetry on the Fly" (or any of my other great writing) anywhere you like!
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A test of Storify: musings about popularity

"Mr. Data, prepared to embed Storify HTML."

"Aye, sir. HTML embedding couplings - standing by."

"Engage".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



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