Author Archives: Blaze

I’m a bundle bunny!!!!!

https://bundlerabbit.com/the-middlings-sampler

I did warn you this was coming. And you get to listen to me a little bit, because I’m in an awesome bundle with some amazing people (and one writer I totally squeeeeee over, but you folks knew that.)

Here’s the fun part: www.Kobo.com has decided to sponsor us on this one, partly to help build the model, and partly because Mark is an awesome guy. Kobo is a competitor to Amazon for books, primarily in Canada and Japan, so if you get the whole bundle, Mark has thrown in coupon for a free book from Kobo, your choice. Whatever. READ!!!  🙂

I’m also going to do a BOGO at some point, since I have some new titles coming up but also some random Kobo giveaways, because I want to support competition in the ecosystem. In addition to the BOGO that Fabulous Publisher Babe(tm) is going to do for me, if you send me a note about the bundle, I’ll send you something to read.  What that is depends on what you have or haven’t read yet. (I’ve got SF, fantasy, poetry, pulp, and other stuff, so pick something or tell me to get silly.) If you’ve read everything I have up in the bakery, let me know that too and I’ll delve into the archives. (What, you thought I had published EVERYTHING? Silly human. I have things I wouldn’t have gotten around to for years.)

There will more news as we go.  For those of you who are on my mailing list, I’m sending a new newsletter out a little early this time, since it’s normally out May 1, but the bundle will be done before that.

If you have any questions, comments, ideas, or dirty jokes, please do NOT hesitate to share them.

And thanks for being fans, friends, and supporters.  It means a lot.

bd

An interesting kind of weekend…

I drove to Portland, OR yesterday. A friend was celebrating her birthday. First, we had lunch with the Portland Writers Consortium, and introduced them to a new friend. And talked a lot of business and gossip about the magical, fading land of Traditional Publishing.

It kind of felt like the sort of gossip one would expect as the asteroid had just hit, and the dinosaurs were looking up at the spreading mushroom cloud with the first hints of concern.

For those of you who haven’t been following the (largely hidden) news, several of the big New York (Traditional) publishing houses have been having a blood-letting recently. As in, one of the major owners (the bean counters) has recently laid off something like four thousand people at one shop. To put that in context, one editorial group my lunch mates were familiar with had eight people in it, this time last year. They have two now. And those are the youngest two, in terms of experience (and salary) in the industry.

One gentleman was talking about how had had kept the same contract language, rolled over, since 1996. But the woman who kept giving it to him no longer was employed there. So he has just finished one contract, and will finish his other one shortly, and then will become an orphan.

To give you more context, they fired Nora Roberts’ editor. So she walked out the door and went somewhere else.

The problem is that not all of these people will find jobs elsewhere in the industry. What we are seeing (IMHO) is the consolidation of what used to be hundreds of medium and large publishing companies down into the Big Twelve, and then the Big Eight, and more recently Big Five. New York will probably be down to a Big Three shortly.

Economics of scale theories suggest that everyone else will bail out and sell themselves to one of the others, until you reach the hard kernel that will survive. And this will happen in the next 12-18 months, I suspect.

It doesn’t impact on my life much. I made the decision a long time ago not to even waste my time pursuing the concept of an Agent and a book deal. I can write what I want, and publish it how and when I like. And (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your take on these things), I’m likely to make more money than many of the authors out there. I certainly did last year, even if that amounted to barely more than walking around money.

Most traditionally published writers make under $10,000/year. Yes, you read that correctly. Less than one quarter of what the US considers median income.

The big names, those people you recognize and read, make good money. They aren’t getting the million dollar advances any more, but they aren’t starving. One person I respect greatly, who has his fingers on the pulse of publishing, put it this way. “Now I have to string together $50,000 and $100,000 advances instead.”

He won’t starve. And you’ve probably read his books before this, and will probably read more of them in the future.

But most writers never see that kind of cash.

They write a novel and try to find an Agent. Maybe they get lucky and find one that will take them on and try to get a deal. There just aren’t great deals anymore. At lunch yesterday, the gentleman with the big name talked about $3,000 advances. He earns well on the residuals when the advance is covered, and has a lot of books out there that sell well.

But he is a known quantity.

Newbies, like me, don’t even get offered contracts.

Every once in a great while, a newbie might get a great contract because the editor believes they might be the next JK Rowling, or Suzanne Collins. They get bidding wars fought over their debut novels.

This happens less and less, however. Only a couple such deals were reported last year. None have been reported for this year to date. (Whereas even as few as five years ago, there were close to a dozen.)

But the sad truth for most mid-list writers is much different.

IF (big if) you get a novel deal, it has to explode in terms of sales or you get dropped. (A critical success—meaning a book much beloved by critics—will still be dropped if the sales aren’t great.) Fifty years ago, in the age of smaller and medium-sized publishers, you might be able to write three or five novels, working with a good editor to hone your craft and build your audience. You could make a comfortable living. Not rich, but making enough to live on and maybe raise a family.

Today, it is one and done. You bottle lightning, or you get dropped.

And that’s for the thousands of young writers who try each year. One or two of them might succeed.

I could spend a lot of time trying. I might even succeed.

Why?

I am statistically more likely to be hit by a bus than I am to get that million dollar publishing deal. And I would read the damned contract they offered me, red-line it, and send it back with their stupid clauses crossed out. Their lawyers would never allow them to sign a deal that didn’t screw me out of my rights every way they could.

That’s what book contracts for newbies look like. Established writers, big names, tend to get better deals, because they are willing to walk, or sue.

So I’m back to watching the mushroom light spread across the sky. The wind is picking up. The folks at the table are concerned that maybe the weather is changing.

And I’m watching the sky burn as the world ends.

Their world.

I have four novels available. Number five will be out this summer. I’m about to drop a novella that takes place in the Jessica Keller series. I’m about to publish a new Doyle Iwakuma story. I’m midway through the fourth Jessica novel. I’m planning to edit and participate in two anthologies later this year. I just bought several research books for the next novel. I have a whole bakery of things for people to read.

My world won’t end.

Old school authors are starting to get the rights to their old books back, partly because the big publishers don’t want to spend the money converting them to ebooks, when they won’t see enough return to justify that level of investment.

Newer books, those already available in ebook format, will never go out of print, so that young writer who did get a deal won’t get the rights back for decades. (There is a law that says thirty-five years. Not before. But only if the writer pays attention and is smart about it.) So the new writer gets doubly-screwed.

Fabulous Publisher Babe™ is actually going to see some business from the transition going on. She knows everyone. And she offers a really good deal, either to help them self-publish, or to do it for them. She gets business from other pros who would rather just pay her to do that stuff for them so they don’t have to climb that learning curve and can keep on doing the thing they love most, writing.

Everyone wins in this new economy, except the folks who wanted to work for Traditional Publishing in New York. They got screwed pretty badly in March.

And the light from the mushroom cloud is climbing over the rest of the world’s horizon…

 

 

The Ages of Man (An Alexandria Station Timeline)

Depending on how you want to count them, several different dates in the Twentieth Century Christian Era (CE) can become our zero point for counting the future.

The first might be Einstein’s Annus Mirabilis (the year of Miracles) in CE 1905, when he first published the papers that would revolutionize science, including E=MC^2.

A useful second touch point is Chicago Pile 1, the first man-made nuclear reactor to sustain fission, under the stadium in Chicago in CE 1942, under the direction of Enrico Fermi. This is the beginning of an advanced understanding of how the universe itself works, finally translated into practical terms.

Another would be Sir Arthur C. Clarke’s publication of a theoretical description of using near-earth-orbit to establish a network of communication satellites in CE 1945.

I have chosen a more interesting date.

In CE 1961, Vostok 1 (Orient or East) carried the first human into space and orbit, Yuri Gagarin. At that moment, humanity began to take to the stars. It would be a long painful task, but it began there. We were no longer limited to the ground. Other milestones followed, as human and robotic explorers pushed the boundaries of space and knowledge.

But instead of talking about the first century of spaceflight, I wanted to blog today about the history of the future I had to put together when I realized that Suvi was going to try to live forever.

Her birthday was just the other day. I have it in my phone, along with a variety of others, to remind me. For her, it was a rainy Sunday in March. The day was March 18, CE 7426. (The app I use, Easy Birthday Reminders for Android, is smart enough to show her age as -5410.)

In the fifty-four centuries between then and now, lots of things will happen in the futures I’ve imagined. I’ve alluded to them from time to time. Today I felt like listing them out, so people have a feel for the when behind the Alexandria Station stories.

(I have them all organized on a spreadsheet that I currently have open. There are over one hundred entries right now.)

The Gas Sailors stories will take place around CE 2344. They involve colonies on the four big outer planets: Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, and Uranus. (Assuming the newly-described theoretical Planet IX does not get located soon. The man who killed Pluto thinks there really is a ninth planet out there, the definition of planet being a body large enough to sweep its orbital path clear, which Pluto does not do.) There will be adventures on the scores of moons, plus Kuiper objects and comets. Think very, very hard science, the kind that might bog you down on getting the orbital physics right. (I tend to write popcorn science fiction where the technology is kind of hand-waved off, because I don’t want to write technobabble about technologies that don’t even follow our current models of physics.)

According to my notes, the first starflight takes place in CE 2903 and opens up the first era of practical interstellar exploration. It is during this period that humans discover nobody is home, and begin the process of terraforming worlds by dropping customized modification packages on them.

The era of mass colonization begins in CE 3215, after enough worlds have gotten close enough to Earth that humans can walk safely on the surface of some of them.

For those of you who have read The Mind Field, you might have a feel for some of the to-her-recent-history periods Wilhelmina Teague knows.

The Resource Wars begin around CE 4334.

The Corporate Wars are going to be fought starting in CE 5838.

Finally, the Pocket Empires Era takes off in CE 6516.

Rama Treadwell was born in CE 6848 and disappears from human history in CE 6896, with the Unification Wars collectively starting in CE 6903.

Imperial Balustrade is proclaimed in CE 6930, and the planet A’Nacia is destroyed on standard August 15, CE 6964, leading to the Union of Worlds in CE 6965.

Wilhelmina Teague will be born in CE 7029, but she never me told her birthday and I didn’t ask. I do know she was trapped in the minefield in CE 7059, and rescued in CE 7548.

The Concord is founded in CE 7118 at the time when the Union of Worlds and Balustrade are beginning to ebb. By CE 7382, Neu Berne was a major player and started a long series of low and medium-impact wars that eventually escalated into the Great Wars that fundamentally crippled Neu Berne, The Union, and Balustrade, leaving The Concord as the default Hegemon for most of the (Earth-centered) inhabited galaxy by CE 7472.

Javier Aritza was born in CE 7510. Zakhar Sokolov was fourteen years old at that point. Djamila Sykora will be born three years later. They all meet for the first time in CE 7547.

Time passes and we have a major gap known collectively as The (Middle and Late) Concord Eras.

In CE 10389, the Liberty Front is founded as a political party dedicated to ending the dominance of Earth in galactic affairs. Five years later, they transformed themselves into a formal military outfit and declared open war. This involved mass production of AI-piloted warships that did not have human crews and were not programmed with the preservation of human life as one of their prime tenets.

This would have impressively negative consequences when one of these fleets, commanded by a Sentience and without any human intervention, decided that the most efficient way to end the threat of Earth was to destroy it. The mixed human and AI fleet defending Earth was defeated by suicide tactics of the Sentience, after which a number of damaged warships were deliberately piloted into the lower atmosphere of the planet to explode, wreaking unbelievable devastation.

When that was insufficient to complete the job, the robots began wholesale bombardment of the Earth and destruction of all orbital platforms and off-planet bases. This eventually took the form of attaching big enough engines to large enough rocks to slam miles-wide meteors into the planet repeatedly.

When they were done, the gravity of semi-molten Earth had increased nearly five percent and all life on the planet, land or sea-based, was over.

In retribution, Earth-based forces did the same to the planets of The Liberty Front.

In ten years, almost all advanced manufacturing, galaxy-wide, came to an end, there being no automated factories of any significant size left. In a generation, most of humanity collapsed, and significant portions of it died off. Those worlds that survived generally fell back to extremely primitive technology levels, from which a few would survive, thrive, and re-establish modern culture.

Zanzibar recovered stellar technology first, in CE 12206. They made first contact with Ballard in CE 12243 and established trade relations. Vanessa, the daughter of the first Zanzibar Ambassador to Ballard,  married a local (aquatic) sailor named Thorson. Their fourth child is Doyle Iwakuma, the famous explorer, born standard CE September 17, 12263.

Ngoma Mwisho, The Last Waltz, first flew in CE 12295, and Doyle rescued Suvi from the darkness in CE 12300. Alexandria Station was completed in Ballard orbit in CE 12305 and would be Suvi’s home until CE 13441.

Henri Baudin was born in CE 13059, and famously walked The Story Road in CE 13083.

Emmerich Wachturm, Imperial Admiral of the Red, was born in CE  13391.

Jessica Keller was born in CE 13405, and takes command of CVS Auberon in 13439.

Suvi will make the acquaintance of Jean-Pierre Orfèvre in CE 15006.

 

And the rest, as they say, is history.

W.I.B.B.O.W….And Worldbuilding

WIBBOW = Would I Be Better Off Writing?

Short answer: Yes.

Long answer: more yes.

Been down with a nasty cold all week, sleeping, coughing, hacking, and yuck. The worst part was that I just wasn’t able to think. Sitting in the middle of a novel (okay, right at the end of Act I, but still…) and there were no words. None. Emptiness.

Ended up surfing the interwebs, walking all the way through FB, grinding pinterest, catching up on reading. The artist side of my head worked fine. I even sat down and designed a new character for some future Pathfinder campaign (hero or NPC encounter TBD), because that was about the limit of my brain.

It was late yesterday before I had words again. Today before I could commit them.

It’s a hard feeling, not being able to write. Once I made the decision to be a writer, that was what filled up all my spare time. Thinking about writing. Thinking about how to be a better storyteller. How to be a better writer (different thing). How to reach a wider fan base so that I can inch closer to my dream of being able to support myself purely on my words.

Fabulous Publisher Babe(tm) has her various income streams. She has Knotted Road Press (I’m just an employee and talent). She also is a member of Book View Cafe. She does publishing work for other folks, as well as covers and interiors. She had other businesses she runs, unrelated to her writing. She has a supportive spouse.

(Don’t mind me, I’m feeling down on myself a little, but it’s nothing serious.)

I am slowly building my bakery. Publishing short stories, novellas, and novels. Participating in anthologies like the CampCon stuff. Editing anthologies. Doing bundles.

I had a story come out in an anthology this week. I’ll have a novella in the Jessica Keller stories come out as part of a bundlerabbit bundle in two weeks. I’ve got a whole new novel getting ready to come out sometime soon. I’ve just sent off a new Doyle Iwakuma novella to first readers. I’m actually getting things done.

But the brain just has not been there. And it frustrates me to not be farther along than I am. But I’m getting there. (Thank you for listening to me rant. I always wonder if anyone but my mother actually reads my blog.)

But I’m feeling better. Got 1800 words done this morning, for the first words in four days. The future looks bright again.


The other topic I want to talk about today is world-building.

Unlike most writers, I didn’t come at genre-fiction through any of the normal channels. I wrote poetry for a while (you can see some of it here and even buy some of it as well). I’ve been into role-playing games for how long? Wow. Yeah. Longer than some of you have been alive.  I even did plays and screenplays for a while. (You know where I can get $5M to make a movie with? Heh.)

One of the reasons I don’t do short fiction is that I tend to create whole worlds before I start writing. History, philosophy, technology, culture. Depth and detail.

That takes a while to do. And I end up with way more stuff than is appropriate for 4,000 words and then never come back again. I get invested.

As a result, I write lots of little stories in the same worlds, with the same characters, following them over time, rather than wrapping it all up in one big novel. Not that I don’t do novels, but I really do enjoy writing the novella better. I can concentrate on one event, one task, one turning point in someone’s life, rather than wander through the shire and then to Mordor and back again in order to have some meaning.

This is on my mind because soon I’ll be publishing a whole new novel, book one in a new trilogy that is straight up super-hero/spandex. I already have Two and Three plotted out, and will get around to them as time permits. More Jessica Keller first.

With superheroes on my mind, I wanted to put together a whole other superhero story, but set it in a different time and place. Different characters. Different problems.

But because I had already had all the rules and physics for “how and why superpowers?” worked out, I could just pick up Kai Di Peng’s world and create other heroes and villains, put them in a different era and on a different coast, and go forward.

(That was the pain in the ass about being sick all week. I have heroes and villains largely worked out, and wanted to start exploring story ideas. You have to be able to brain to do that.)

Kris always says to throw out the first four ideas you have when it comes time to write. Partly, your first instincts will end up being low-hanging fruit, or writing on rails, and not turn out to be memorable or distinct. There are only a few stories out there. What makes your better than everyone else’s? (Trick question, luck and voice.)

So you take the first ideas and write them down, and then let yourself edit them, adding notes, ripping chunks out, adding new ideas, ripping those out. Eventually, you (hopefully) end up with something novel and cool for folks. You have to be able to brain to do this.

So I’ve been world-building in my spare time. Superheroes. Supervillains. Super problems. Strange implications. Dirty secrets. Believable resolutions. Happily-ever-afters. (And let me tell you how much it sucks to be standing on the back porch, in the rain metaphorically, watching your ideas sit down to dinner while you can’t brain.)

Even thinking about blogging was hard. Nearly skipped the whole concept all together, except I use this time to organize my thoughts. To think about how I think about things. To make myself a better writer by working out concepts here, and getting feedback from interested folks (Thank you, those folks who respond. I read them all, delete the trolls and bots, and post them up in a day or so. And I’m happy to have offline conversations. I learn from folks when that happens. Serendipity).

So, for those of you who have made it this far without hurting yourself rolling your eyes, how do you feel about superhero stories? I don’t mean comic books, because I can’t draw better than stick figures, and you would have to deal with something like XKCD or OOTS. I mean superhero stories as (genre) fiction. Real characters, with real problems, overlain with physics-defying crap happening in the background? (J.D., I already know your answer.)

Most of you are here because I write SF. (Nobody reads the fantasy stuff, from what I can tell.) Would you read a story about a young woman whose best friend is killed, where she swears vengeance and sets out to achieve it? What if the killer was a superhero, so she had to make herself into a supervillain to do it? That is book one of Modern Gods: The White Crane. Kai Di Peng. Villainess.

Hopefully, you’ll come along for the ride. I have a LOT of world built. It would be a shame not to share.

shade and sweet water,

bd

West Of The Mountains, WA

 

The Coast Anthology Workshop

 

Every year, the folks behind the Fiction River Anthologies (Kristine Katherine Rusch, Dean Wesley Smith, Kerrie L Hughes, Rebecca Moesta, Mark Leslie Lefebvre, John Helfers, and Kevin J Anderson, editing) do a workshop down on the coast to provide the guts of the thing. It goes like this:

Once a week, in the dead of Sunday night (mid-day for Dean) participants get an email with this week’s theme, editor, and rules. From that moment, the writers have until midnight the following Sunday night/Monday morning to deliver your story: on topic, in theme, within length requirements.

If you’re late, you aren’t in.

Now, repeat that for six week.

This year, the topics were: Fear, Justice, Taverns, Wishes, Aliens, and Pulse Pounders. So: horror, crime, travelers, YA, SF, and adrenaline.

Forty something authors participated. Big names, newbies doing their first Coast Workshop, everything in between, and one camp cook (me). Fabulous Publisher Babe™ does these as a participant, but I just sit in awe and watch.

Actually, that’s not true. I go down for one very specific reason over and above taking a week off to be a writer. Some of you already have heard that I’m going to be editing a pair of anthologies this year, targeted for publication in 2017. This is where I learn my own craft.

So you have 40+ writers that have done stories, and most of these people do all six. And they are all damned good. These are the kinds of people who support their families on their writing alone.

Each day of the workshop is dedicated to one anthology. All (five or seven) of the editors will be at the front of the room, a Greek Oracle of accumulated wisdom.

For each story, Dean reads the title. John reads his summary of the story (which can be quite silly), and then each of the editors takes a turn discussing the story.  For each of them, they are telling the writer if they would buy the story for that particular anthology, or not, and why. The authors each sit quietly and listen and (hopefully) learn.

For the writer, this is invaluable information about why the story worked or didn’t work, from some of the best names in the field, including the only person to ever win a Hugo award as both a writer and an editor (Kris). The others are all professional editors with decades of experience in the field and dozens of novels. Freaking amazing insight.

(One of the rules is that though all the authors have the opportunity to read all the stories, the authors are FORBIDDEN to discuss the stories with each other. The only ones allowed to express an opinion are the editors. This is not a peer workshop. This is led by seasoned pros.)

So each editor reviews the story. They have different tastes, different impressions, different back-stories. You will see a broad swath of opinions.

What’s fun is that only one person matters.

The last editor to speak is the one who is actually buying for her anthology. You might have six people who hated the story, and one who loved it and is buying it. You might have six who loved it and rated it a strong buy, and get down to the last person saying “I didn’t get it.”

Editing like this normally happens in a blank room. The author only gets an acceptance letter, or a rejection, with no exposure to the actual sausage-making.

What this workshop does, is it teaches writers how to understand the editorial process, hands on. It really drives home that given a professional level of storytelling (and these folks are pros), it all comes down to a matter of taste.

For me, I go to the evening sessions, after all of the stories have been reviewed. That’s when the fun part happens.

Having picked 4 strong buys and 20 maybes, the editor now has to “build” their anthology.

This is the secret sauce. This is the reason I take a week off work and bribe my way in the door with fresh brownies.

Last year, many of the stories were at the top end of the length category, so around 6,000 words. When it came time to buy, the editors all had around 70,000 words to work with, so roughly 10 stories, plus anchor authors (big names invited to send in a story). Several very good stories didn’t make it last year because the editor simply ran out of space.

People took that to heart. Stories came in around 3-4,000 this year, and some editors ended up with 15 stories.

Lesson: in addition to on topic and theme, shorter stories have a better chance of being bought.

Also, the editors talk to themselves out loud while working, so you see them rate every story into genre and sub-genre, and then talk about only having one of this genre and seven of that. As a result, the one gets in, and only two or three of the seven do.

Lesson: understand what other contributors are likely to do, and try to find corners where you are all alone.

If you hit everything else—theme and genre and word count—but nobody else will have done something like this, you create a slot in the editor’s mind that needs filling. And guess what? You have just written piece to fill it.

Lesson: swing for the fences when it comes to weirdness. Don’t go for low-hanging fruit or obvious stories.

This year, forty-some writers turned in 250-some stories. Roughly 1,100,000 words. One point one million.

The quality of work, after several years of these workshops, was such that last year, they did an extra, seventh anthology just from the left-overs. And it was filled with really good stuff. This year, they just said up front that there would be a seventh. And that editor had to cut their story selection for the final anthology down from the twenty-five stories he originally wanted, AFTER the other six had taken what they wanted.

I’m a pretty good writer. I don’t do short fiction, like this stuff. (Technically, what I do it serial fiction. The soon-to-be-fourth Brak story coming out this week is an example.) I could probably spend a year honing my writing chops to be able to fit into the middle of this group in terms of skill or craft, if I wanted to take the workshop next year.

But to reach that level, I would have to take an entire year of working on short fiction, and doing nothing else. Seriously, these people are that good. And worse, they’re going to spend this next year working on their own craft, so I would maybe, barely, hold my own with them, year over year.

If I was committed to short fiction, I probably would make that choice. I would have, two years ago.

Instead, Fabulous Publisher Babe™ suggested I go longer, and write more novellas and novels, so I can sell my stuff Indie. There are already bookstores and places on the West Coast where you can buy my novels off the shelf (squeeeeeeeeeeeeee). I need to keep turning out longer material to keep my fans happy, and to keep growing the pool of folks looking forward to buying my next title.

But I learned a LOT from being there. The two anthologies I’m planning to edit will be different from these, but Fabulous Publisher Babe™ and I spent the five hours driving each direction discussing editing. Every morning, a long walk on the beach and around to Taft, talking craft. How to organize, what order to put things in so as to evoke the emotional response I want from the reader. Even how to stack stories in order to have strong and weak ones complement each other as the reader encounters them.

That being said, if you want an amazing selection of writers to read and discover, I highly recommend that you go wander through the back catalog of Fiction River and get yourself some issues. All around a theme, so you will be exposed to a variety of genre exploring such a thing, from Romance to Science Fiction, Mystery to Fantasy. (And these authors are being nominated for major awards, sometimes for stories in the Fiction River anthology. Let that sink in for a moment.)

And you will help support these authors. For many of them, short stories in an anthology like this are advertising for their novels. They are a way for you, the reader, to be exposed to a new voice that you might like, in the hopes that you will go walk their catalog and be excited enough to tell other people about it.

Because that is a significant view of the future of Indie publishing, right there.

 

shade and sweet water

bd

West of the Mountains, WA

Bundling, or, welcome to the brave new future…

The concept of book bundles has been on my mind recently. Partly, as to the timing of my spring, partly as a series of conversations with Fabulous Publisher Babe(tm) about the many possible futures of indie publishing.

In about three weeks, Knotted Road Press will be publishing one of my stories in the second CampCon anthology, Horseshoes, Handgrenades, and Magic.

An anthology is (loosely) defined as a collection of short stories by different authors, assembled into one package for purposes of sales and marketing. In the old days, the only way to read short stories by an author you liked was to find them in a magazine such as F&SF, or Asimov, or Alfred Hitchcock Presents; or to pick them up as part of an anthology, either grouped under a theme, or in a Year’s Best kind of collection. If you were lucky, the publisher might roll up a set of short stories from a single well-known author and publish a collection, but those were rarer and harder to find.

Today, with the internet and the rise of the electronic bookstore, any author can publish just about any story they think will sell, and, assuming they price it correctly, make money at it. I was listening last night to an author I know talk about how surprised he was that his short fiction had become such a significant portion of his overall income stream, sold individually.

It is a lovely place we live in today.

However, the problem you run into then is discoverability. You might be writing fantastically entertaining stuff, but so are thousands of other folks, so readers have a hard time locating your words to discover that they have to buy them ALL.

One of the ways around that for a writer is to be in an anthology. That way, you advertise yourself to all of your fans, and they (hopefully) buy it and read it. In the process, they will likely read all the other writers and find things they like.

[As a side note, I am putting together an anthology this year with some folks I know, for publication next year, EXPRESSLY for the purpose of exposing each of our fans to the rest of everyone’s fans. And so I can learn all the weird, little technical crap that goes on behind the scenes of making an anthology, with folks I can trust to be professionals about those sorts of things.]

As I writer, I get access to all the fans of the other writers, when when one of they fans buy it to read the person they fan-girl over. I know I can tell a good story. (It might not be to your tastes, but that’s a different story.) If I can reach them, and they life me, then I have a chance at generating a good halo. That’s where someone reads my story in the anthology and decides to go see what else I have, and end up buying some books. Hopefully, all of them.

So I am going to be in an anthology in March.

Every time I publish something, I have a chance to hit it big, and I have potential exposure. More readers means the possibility of more fans. That’s what the CampCon anthologies are all about.

At the same time, I am also going to be in a book bundle in April. A book bundle follows the same general rules as an anthology, but works with stand-alone works. Usually, these are novels, again under a particular theme, where you pay one flat, low fee for part of the bundle, or a larger amount for the whole bundle. Frequently, you can get the whole set of novels for $20. Compare that with $25 you spent for a single hard cover recently, or $12-15 for the ebook version of your latest best-seller.

Our target is not the casual reader, who consumes 3-5 books per year, but the voracious reader who goes through 10 books per month, every month. Bundles are a good deal for them, because it feeds their otherwise expensive habit.

For the writer, just as with the anthology, you can get exposure, because people will be attracted to the bundle for “their” author, but will also find you and hopefully like you well enough to read your book, and then bounce out to look at the rest of your catalog with their credit card in hand.


 

I’m going to be in a bundle in April. And I’m excited.

The bundle is called “Middlings,” because these are shorter works, running 10,000 – 30,000 words instead of the usual 60-100,000. For most authors, they can only indie publish things that are this length, because magazines want stories under 6,000 words, and traditional publishers want them over 60,000.

What falls in between is a wasteland. The Island of Misbegotten Stories.

I have had success in what we call novellas. All three (so far) of the Science Officer books are this middle length, as is The Story Road.

What’s coming in April is the initial publication of The Siren. This is another novella set in the Alexandria Station universe. The main character is Vo Arlo, the Security Marine off of RAN Auberon, who has a small part in Queen of the Pirates, and a larger role in Last of the Immortals.

After the events of Last of the Immortals, a significant amount of time is going to pass (spoilers not explained, you have to read the novel to understand) and I’m planning for Vo to have a fairly significant role in the fourth Jessica Keller book, Goddess of War.

For me, the best way to flesh him out as a character then is to write a story about him, for him. It is an old technique, but it has a new lease on life these days, because I can take something around 18,000 words and put it out on the market. Readers can enjoy it and support me. The universe gets richer and deeper. Everyone wins. Once upon a time, I would either have to throw it into a trunk (we usedto call this sort of thing a “trunk story” for that reason), or rework all those details into some other novel, because I couldn’t publish an 18,000 word story by itself.

BTW: I’ll have links to everything soon.

The key realization today, your takeaway, is that walking into the bookstore to find the next big thing you want to read limits you to only those books that have been traditionally published. (Technically, you can walk into most bookstores and place an order for most of my works in print. They would call the warehouse. Someone would download the file, print the book, and ship it to the store. When you buy a print book version of mine off of one of the big retail websites, that is exactly what happens. You have to be in Portland, OR to be able to just walk in to Powell’s in Beaverton and pick it up right there on the shelf. Thanks, Peter.)

Instead, you can go look for bundles and deals on Kobo, Amazon, and iTunes, or go out and search for book bundle websites like Story Bundle, Humble Bundle. Finally, you can sign up for Book Bub, or The Fussy Librarian and they will send you curated daily links for book deals you might like.

What I’m trying to say is that there are now LOTS of different ways for you the author to find more readers, and a tsunami of ways for you the reader to find you.

More and more, the future of books is discoverability. For many of us, one potential avenue is bundling. Hopefully, it makes us all happy.

shade and sweet water

bd

West of the Mountains, WA

SF and sexuality

The Revolution of Politics

One of the most interesting facets of modern science fiction, at least for me, is the culmination of various threads of cultural pressures that have coalesced to shatter the socio-political underpinnings of the genre.

In English, things have changed. And it is good.

I grew up reading the founders. I have (I think literally) everything Doc Smith ever published, from Lensman to Skylark to his detective stuff. Doc was a fun read. His heroes were grand. His villains embodied evil. His damsels were hard-headed, for all their distress.

But one thing was always constant.

They were invariably white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestants derived from northwest European cultural and genetic stock.

A century ago, that was not just expected. It was required. These were the days when (white) women had just been granted the right to vote in the United States, something that any southern blacks would not achieve for another HALF CENTURY. Brown vs. The Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas was still decades away from being fought. The Japanese were legally prohibited from immigrating to this country. Those that were here were frequently prohibited from voting or owning land in many cities. Chinese immigrants were kept in ghettoes that European Jews would have recognized.

What this meant was that the target audience of science fiction in those days was narrow. WASP. Middle-America. White bread. Boring.

There were limits to what you as a science fiction author could write about, if you wanted it to sell. Lantern-jawed male heroes with strong moral and ethical codes (read: Boy Scouts, back when that connotation had positive aspects).

You might have an exotic alien princess to rescue, but exotic invariably meant dusky in the Italian sense, and no farther. (Loving vs. Virginia was a half century away, as well.) It wasn’t until Jim Kirk that you could seduce strange green chicks in your science fiction and be taken seriously, because Gene Roddenberry was all about pushing the envelope in good ways.

So where are we today?

I only do indie-press publishing. That means I write it. Fabulous Publisher Babe™ and a few others do the First Reader thing (not critique. There is a difference.) I fix the things they identify. We publish it.

I don’t bother trying to get an agent and a publishing deal. Partly, I’ve done the economics. Even those folks to do get a deal don’t get a good one. Every year, a single person hits the zeitgeist, and achieves literary godhead, but that’s one in however many millions of us are trying.

Not worth playing those odds.

Plus, I’d have to submit to editorial ideology. Every year, the major publishing houses identify the particular areas they want to push. The themes, if you will. Those of you paying attention at home will note that we are coming to the end of a major cycle dealing with teenagers in strange, post-apocalyptic blood sport games. (A YA Dystopian sub-genre, if you will.) I suspect the next surge will be near-Earth Hard Science, Space Exploration, playing on the fantastic success of Andy Weir (who got all the science right, and is happily moving us away from pseudo-magical hand-waving. Thanks, Andy.)

For the writer, that means that your book must fit within a VERY narrow slice of a sub-genre, if you want to get the big houses to pick it up. And they will demand that you hammer your round peg into the square hole they believe will sell.

Yawn.

Instead, I want to talk about another hot-button topic.

Last week, we touched on race and gender in science fiction. (Because, as some [dumb-ass] people will tell you, women and minorities can’t write SF. Right.)

This week, I want to grab the third rail: Human sexuality.

Once upon a time, (the only way to publish was that) your heroic main character was a man who was absolutely committed to one of two ideologies. First, proper heterosexual conjugations within the confines of marital bliss. (Read: almost all of them.) Alternatively: proper males heterosexually seducing buxom females into short-term flings with no emotional weight, generally just before the villain killed her, or she gets written off in the epilogue as having to stay behind to protect her people while the hero rides off into the sunset. (Read: Ian Fleming, as the master, everyone else as bad knock-offs.)

Research over the last few generations has offered very strong evidence that binary, monogamous heterosexuality (one boy + one girl) only describes a majority proportion of the population, but not all of it. If you throw in Kinsey numbers, things get even more dicey.

Put simply, we don’t always fall into nice, binary boxes.

Why should our characters?

Science Fiction is all about producing stories set in alternate realities, as a means of exploring “What if…?” We are not in the present tense. We are going someplace where the world is not a mirror or analog of our day-to-day lives.

Our readers have already committed to suspending some level of their disbelief when they picked up a book on the SF/F shelf and flipped it over to read the back. This is your opportunity to tell them a cracking good story that pulls them in, entertains them, and, best of all, makes them THINK. Makes them wonder. Starts to break down some of the ideological constraints in their heads.

I understand the basics of biology. A culture, a people, a society only survive when you continue to produce future generations of progeny to sustain it. Whoopteedo. There are way more ways to do that. Aldous Huxley explored cloning to an interesting degree. Others have done the same.

Since the early 70’s, organic chemistry has helped to separate the act of procreation from the consequences. (Please spare me the religious diatribes. We’re talking science today, not cultural relativism.)

So what should science fiction be like for those people who don’t get stimulated by the concept of binary, heterosexual monogamy? How are those characters going to be different from the classic hero? (Hint: probably not one damned bit. You already know a whole bunch of people for whom such frameworks don’t fit. Your public acceptance of such things frequently determines if they include you in such conversations. You may not realize you know so many people that are “not normal.” heh)

Me? I have known a number of interesting people. Creatives tend to be far less rigid in their adherence to such ideologies. One of my good friends at the day job is a very out gay man, whom you would not identify if he didn’t say something specific. (I have other friends and co-workers who broadcast such things. Seriously gaydar-pinging level broadcasting. We don’t any of us care.)

I had a good friend, ages ago, who used me as her beard, because she worked for a couple who were far less understanding of such things. they would have probably fired her immediately if they ever realized she was a lesbian, them being hard-core fundamentalists in the early 90’s. Suffice it to say she and I had the same taste in women, else we might have ended up married at some point. But much of polite society was not ready to accept, let alone embrace, such things.

Today, laws based on such very narrow set of relativistic cultural norms that criminalize this kind of human behavior are being cast into the dustbin of history, alongside most of the rest of the Twentieth Century’s other ideological –isms.

As writers of science fiction, it is our duty to consider how the future will work, especially in such a place. I’ve had to, recently, because I’ve run into some characters with relatively high Kinsey numbers. There’s not a right or wrong, just an understanding that how they look at things might be different. And how your other heroes and villains will react to such knowledge and such behavior is a topic that needs to be explored.

Indie-press means you get to throw a pot of spaghetti at the wall, and see what sticks. What entertains. What sells. Some of it will resonate with readers. Especially if you have done it right. And I don’t mean old-fashioned caricatures, unless used satirically, or (rarely) dead accurately.

(I have another friend. One of the original Studio 54 Queens. Go look that one up if you aren’t old enough. One night, a girl got him drunk, took advantage of him, and he got her pregnant. They’ve been married for more than 25 years at this point, but he’s still the most fabulous person I have ever met.)

So my challenge to you is this: What have you written about a character who goes beyond the two tropes above? (Lensman Kinnison and Captain Kirk?) Have you explored a culture where things aren’t WASP? (wasps, by the way, do it entirely different than WASPs, as a rule.) Have you explored the Uncanny Valley? Has your science fiction been traditional or exotic?

And what do you think human sexuality will be one hundred years from now? One thousand? Thursday After Next?

How big is your science fiction? How far has it pushed the envelope and made your audience really THINK while still telling a good, entertaining story? (One can always push things too far and end up grinding a political axe INSTEAD of telling a story. Have run into a few of those over the years, as well.)

Hopefully, you have had fun pushing the boundaries of everyday in your writing.

shade and sweet water,

bd

West of the Mountains, WA

Why Zanzibar?

Recently, Fabulous Publisher Babe™ had her annual Chocolate and Wine Party, where we invite her friends (mostly writers), my friends (mostly rednecks) and other folks we like. I got into a discussion with several other folks, some of whom were familiar with the various pieces that make up the Alexandria Station universe.

One of them was honestly confused (as opposed to playing devil’s advocate or just being an asshole, like other folks might have) about why Kiswahili would be one of the languages spoken in a distant, science fiction future. (Bulgarian also confuses people, but that’s a different story and a personal preference unrelated to broader sociological explorations.)

As we got to talking, I realized that for her, white privilege was something so ingrained as to be invisible. Her science fiction is always white, possibly with a few “ethnic” characters thrown in to be “progressive” but dominated by a White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant culture (what we call WASP in the states). And usually male.

HISTORY LESSON

Until the last quarter of the 20th Century, all prominent American culture tended towards the WASP. Catholics were given some shrift, but they were still strange, loud creatures from the southern frontier of the general European ancestry that make up middle-class culture here. Put simply, they were generally poorer and less well educated, and relegated to ethnic ghettos in large cities, from which their children or grandchildren might escape and normalize into the broader American (read: WASP but not losing their Catholicism) culture.

Similarly, Asian immigrants were third class citizens for the first two-thirds of the 1900’s, with strict regulations on Chinese and Japanese immigration and legal rights.

Part of the Civil Rights movement of the 60’s was to give blacks in this country the right to vote (1964 & 65), to move wherever they wanted (red-line laws and housing covenants), and to marry whoever they wanted (Loving v. Virginia, 1967).

But the movement also had much broader repercussions.

What this meant before that was that most of the prominent science fiction was written by white, male authors. It wasn’t that women and minorities of various flavors didn’t write really good science fiction, but there was a hard, glass ceiling above them keeping them from getting the sorts of accolades and recognition that white men could expect. (As someone explained to me recently, they published, and then they were disappeared.)

I might be a little bit of a Social Justice Warrior, but that’s mostly because I really don’t give a shit about someone’s color, or religion, or sexuality when I’m reading their work.

I care that they’ve written me an engaging, entertaining story, preferably either keeping the axes they want to grind to a minimum, or using the best parts of science fiction philosophy to explore the “What If?” aspect that makes me and others think about how we might perceive the world differently than it is today. To say: “here is a different way of seeing and thinking about the world than what you know.”

So (shaggy dog story cut short): Why Zanzibar (the planet in the Alexandria Station universe)?

It goes back to the fact that Zanzibar is an island off the south east coast of Africa, a little north of Madagascar. In the old days, the natives had a reputation as merchants, explorers, and traders, ranging all up and down the coast of Africa and all around the Indian Ocean. The Portuguese weren’t the first explorers to reach India and China by sea, just the first Europeans to do it.

Big difference.

In many ways, I see them culturally similar to the inhabitants of the British Isles, explorers happy to jump in a boat and go looking past horizons. What I’ve seen of history tends to bear this out.

Give the people of Zanzibar access to a star-drive, and I see the same damned thing happening.

They went out, found a world to terraform, warm with lots of water, so that it kind of reminded them of home, and set down such roots as these sorts of folks might.

Today, the United States has a population of around 325 million. The EU is similar, if a touch larger. India is a billion. China a bit larger, although both are facing serious collapse risks in the next three generations, due to demographic and cultural pressures too large to go into here.

But Africa is huge, both as a place and as a population. They would go to space just as readily and happily as all the white people that make up the science fiction television and books you normally encounter. (Seriously, who can’t envision Idris Elba commanding the bridge? He and Robbie Aeliaes do look remarkably alike, you know.)

In my expected vision of the distant future, the universe is more than just white people.

Some planets will be “ethnically homogenous” in the sense that the vast majority of the population will be of a single type (Finnish, Vietnamese, Nigerian, something) by nation of origin. But many worlds will be an interesting cross-section of humanity, like you tend to find in major urban centers on the West Coast (think LA, the Bay Area, or Seattle). Those folks are culturally all American after a generation or two, regardless of their ethnicity or the place where their great-grandparents might have been born.

So let’s talk about Zanzibar the planet, since I’ve only ever written a couple of stories around the time period of Doyle Iwakuma.

Zanzibar and Ballard are relative neighbors in space. They make up two of the four gems on The Story Road. Both places had never really fallen below steam technology when the AIs wiped out Earth and other planets and caused the Concord to collapse.

When the factories that make the parts are all wiped out simultaneously, you have to invent the machines to make the parts to make the machines to make the parts. Given years of lead time, you can do it. Given weeks, the factories grind to a halt. Throw in fleets of AI starships intent on killing anything they think of as the enemy, which is pretty much everything, and you have space dragons. Or sea monsters.

Zanzibar is a blue world. 85% ocean, with a number of large and small continents. When they lost star travel, space became less interesting, but they retained enough technology to handle steam and internal combustion. As a result, they did not fall into the sorts of barbarism that beset other planets when the regular shipments and freighters stopped bringing in crucial supplies.

Ballard was the same way.

At some point, Zanzibar reached a tech level that allowed them to repair/rebuild one of the ancient star-drives, in a rough and dangerous way.

Explorers took this fragile vessel and leapt into the darkness. Ballard was among the closest planets. So the Zanzibari went there first.

Because Zanzibar is a mostly aquatic world, they built their first ship like any other ship, landing it on water rather than land.

The first explorers to Ballard landed their ship in the bay at Ithome, the brightest set of lights visible on the dark side of the planet from orbit: proof of technological civilization.

Ballard is also a land of explorers, settled by a strange combination of Finnish and Japanese folks.

When the Zanzibari came, both sides found much in common, beyond their shared humanity. What they all have in common is a love of the sea.

But Zanzibar isn’t white. Ballard is kinda, but that was intentional on my part in order to have a strange and interesting crew.

The first Zanzibari Ambassador to Ballard was Vanick Nkya. He brought his thirteen-year-old daughter Vanessa with him. She met and later married Thorson Iwakuma, son of Artur (known a Papa Artur in the clan). Vanessa’s children are daughter Ajali, the oldest, and three sons: Jakaya, Thorson, and Doyle.

Sixty years ago, I couldn’t publish a story where a main character like Doyle Iwakuma was half-black African and half-white Finnish. Especially not as dark as his skin is and him being The Captain. Traditional publishing wouldn’t dare touch such a story, especially since race wasn’t that big a thing to this crew, to say nothing of Doyle’s niece Piper, oldest daughter of Ajali, being married do a big Finnish white guy named Bjorn.

Remember, it was illegal for blacks and whites to legally marry in many states (mostly the old traitors of the Confederacy), until the Supreme Court handed down Loving v. Virginia in 1967.

Let me repeat that, in case you missed it: IT WAS ILLEGAL.

Kirk kissing Uhura on national television, a white man and a black woman, was a scandal. A SCANDAL. Seriously, people.

Let that be your history lesson, next time you open a book written today. Shoulders of giants, and all that.

When I write science fiction, not only do I not presume that WASP males will be in control, but I actively look at my characters and ask if there is anything about them that requires them to be of a particular ethnicity, gender, or sexuality. If not, I won’t automatically make them white. I’ll go play.

Fabulous Publisher Babe™ tells me I have a tendency to write stories where someone is sticking it to the man. Sue me.

It isn’t necessary in this day and age to toe a line drawn by those in Traditional Publishing who don’t believe that women or minorities can write good science fiction. I’m not saying that all of Traditional Publishing felt that way, or that all readers did. But some did, possibly still do.

And if you don’t believe me, let me feed you to several of my female and minority science fiction writer friends and see how well your arguments hold up. M’kay?

Instead, I believe that the future will be a lovely rainbow of folks. All ethnicities. All religions. All colors. All sexualities. Everyone.

They will be human.

Ya know, maybe I don’t wanna fit in…

Fabulous Publisher Babe(tm) and I have this game we play called “The White Picket Fence.” Last week, she I and were talking to a new life insurance agent (I’ve been with the agency forever, but many of the people I’ve never met in the flesh before.)

Young man was extremely bright, very earnest, massively competent at the task of making dry, dull numbers mean something. (If you need life insurance, and you probably do, let me know and I’ll connect you. Wonderful people.)

However, he was hopelessly lost and confused as he tried to wrap his head about our lifestyle and estate arrangements. Because, let’s face it: She’s got the house in the city, in a lovely, walkable neighborhood with grocery stores, restaurants, and entertainment close by. I live in what we affectionately refer to as “banjo country.” To whit: most days, 2-3 bars of 3G coverage, no interwebs, and you can’t see most of my neighbors for the trees, even in winter. (Starbucks is still only 6 minutes away, outside the pocket.)

And we like it like that. There are weekends in the city, and weekends at the farm. There are nights I spend here with her, and nights I’m out there alone. We’re both adults. I’m far less of an introvert than she is, which is not the same thing as not an introvert. I’m just far more gregarious. I still need quiet time without vampires around.

So I’m trying to explain to this young man that we have just finished wills and post-nuptial documents about how the literary estates will work, because those have to remain separate. (Hers goes to six nieces and nephews, plus their families. Mine goes to the five step-daughters. But we needed life insurance, because you always need to be prepared.)

And we’re not going to consolidate into a single place. (Well, if I won the lottery, there is a plot of land not far from here where I would tear down the three houses on it and build a Roman-style place with an inward-facing arcade and a garden, but I’d probably still keep the farm, or sell it to some friends for $1 and build a tower keep on a headland overlooking the Sound. You would, too.)

And my friends aren’t artists, for the most part, so they don’t grok our lifestyle either. We don’t want the white picket fence thing. We’re too busy having adventures, like taking the train to Portland a few weeks ago to have lunch with some friends, and then coming right back two hours later.

I look at some of people and wonder at how miserable they are. I used to be like that, before I decided one day I didn’t want to be angry any more. Completely re-invented myself from scratch, to the point that even the before and after pictures surprise people. (Seriously, my employment badge is somebody else.)

And I continue to reinvent myself. Because I wanna be happy. Most of the people I know who are miserable either don’t know how to be happy, or can’t bring themselves to leap off that cliff. They’re afraid that the world might look at them like it looks at me.

And I feel sorry for those folks, because I have honestly not been this happy in something like 30 years. It’s a sad thing to say, but I was just too angry for too long, even when good things happened to me.

But I learned how to get over myself. And how to get out of my own way when it came to being happy. I never really gave a shit what other people thought about me (ask my Mom about when I was a kid. She’s got great stories. Some of them are even kinda true.)

But now, I aggressively don’t care. I’m having fun.

I also happen to be coloring outside the lines, but they aren’t my lines.

I live in a world where I can write something the way I like it, fix the things my first readers scratched their heads at (and there are usually lots of those), and then publish the damned thing. No editor. No editorial re-focusing this year. No wronged, damned length (I write in the 15-25k range naturally. No literary publication publishes those.) No wrong, damned topic. Nothing.

It’s liberating, not fitting in.

I don’t even submit things for TradPub publication (Caveat: Hive stories automatically get submitted to the New Yorker, because they have the BEST DAMNED REJECTION POLICY AROUND. I might also throw things at Playboy for rejection now, since they are trying to get back to being the kind of high-end literary magazine that once published Ray Bradbury.)

Past that? More Jessica. More Javier. More Hive. More Kai Di. More Henri. More Brak. More Kaleph. More Suren. More Doyle. More whatever.

Because I can.

Because I am free.

I am Spartacus.