WEREWOLVES.

The countdown to publication is rumbling on. What am I hoping to publish next? This...

   Though not in that form. I will plug the updated cover nearer the day. Right now I am typing this on my internet-connected computer. Ah, luxury. I write on a computer that has no links to the world-wide drain on authorly time.
   So expect to see a slightly more Japanese version of the above cover.
   Meanwhile, counting down to publication, I am plugging my published works. Here you go...

FICTION FACTORY. Welcome to my mini-self-publishing imprint for short stories running around 30,000 words. These stories are not collected or bundled with other tales. If you buy WITCHES, you won’t suffer disappointment in later life by finding WITCHES reheated for a collection called TALES TO IMPRESS PALAEONTOLOGISTS. Be thankful for that small mercy.

WEREWOLVES.

Two men died. The third man faded. SHE spoke to the police. The police looked into that connection. Nothing connected. Trailing over old ground, cold ground, SHE thinks SHE’s on the right track. The trouble with following tracks? Sometimes you meet trains coming the other way.

SHE has little to go on but instinct and a curiosity that’s already killed the cat. On this mad little adventure into the unknown, it’s the dog SHE should worry about. No full moon. Little sign of silver bullets. Maria Ouspenskaya checked out of that hotel a long time ago.

Follow in the footsteps of two, or three, dead men. Take a walk into the alleys just off Maldine Square. Ignore the café chatter. Find your way to that place, where the brass dragon shakes two silver bells as you tumble through the door. Take a look around. See what you can find. Be wary of anything that finds you.

39,000 words, plus notes.

 

 

KEEPING THE INTERNET OUT OF A WRITER'S OFFICE.

My office is my office once more. For too long after the loss of two computers, I was camped out in my library typing on an emergency laptop.
   Newsflash.
   ALL laptops are EMERGENCY laptops.
   No more messing about.
   I chewed the bullet, and ordered a new computer. Getting used to that device took time. Seconds. It worked straight out of the box, which is a standard feature of computers now. I remember the height of sophistication in those sepia-toned days – watching a man with a red flag break his wrist on the starting handle. Oh, I miss all that.
   Just as I'd miss Ebola.
   Office equipment counts against tax.
   What else is new? The separation of Church from State. Very important feature of a writer's life. As a Kindle author, it was ludicrous not having the internet at home. But as an author, it's ludicrous having the internet on tap.
   I set up my Vast Publishing Empire™ without direct access to the internet. Instead, I used the public library – with its cheery band of characters. (Drug-addicts/dealers.)
   They'd stand in out of the rain, before hitting the tiny pharmacy for their methadone appointments. Doesn't do, to crowd regular punters from the tiny pharmacy. Cheers for that.
   Do I judge? Only the level of noise in the town library.
   What did the local library do for me?
   For a start, there was a walk to the place – so I gained in terms of exercise alone. I was also granted internet access. Now and again. If the machines worked. And if special interest groups didn't descend like locusts to pre-book the computers.
   Access was free.
   My right of complaint is nostalgic. Looking back on the disadvantages, I'd still have used the place. Even though I sat next to another patron who was a thin body-hair away from arrest. He was the poster-boy for before and after overt drug-use in the library toilet.
   When the library grew useless on technical grounds, I turned to friends. And when further technical difficulties arose, I resorted to my phone. I published at least once from my phone. Mind-boggling. To jump back in time and tell my past self that…
   My past self would be amazed. Not at the time travel – I've dabbled in other centuries. Hey, you are going to publish on your phone one day.
   I must stress that publishing from my phone was a tedious operation. Blogging from my phone, even more so.
   What did the town library internet access do for me?
   It forced me to plan my operation. Secret rendezvous with data. This is what I must find out. I can't be guaranteed more than half an hour on a computer if the place is booked up or extra-busy…worse, both. So I have to get in, do what I must, and come away with results. Every. Single. Time.
   I wanted to do more. In came the new computer. Then I added the internet. The two went wonderfully together. What had I done? I'd merged Church with State. The word was written, and the word was not good. If the internet wrote books for me, I'd be on the internet. The internet doesn't write books for me.
   So here I am, back in my office. The laptop has all sorts of USB goodies plugged into it, and that renders the machine fit for human habitation – should I choose to live inside the works.
   Over in my library, lurks the internet computer.
   If I want to blog, I write and then transfer data using a USB stick. Instead of going to the town library, I take a few steps to my library. Though I now have ready access to the internet, I must keep that access as contained as it was in the Olden Times…
   For one thing, a writing computer should have near-zero-risk attached to it. It's very hard to introduce a virus to a machine that just sits there generating data instead of generating and receiving.
   Mainly, though, the internet is a distraction. I was lucky to have the internet for an hour at a time. Do I become luckier with constant access? No. Church and State are separate again.
   Advantages? I checked all my products on Amazon and revamped them this week. Fixed a glitch or two. Published all nine items. Then I revamped the blurb, based on tips I picked up from the internet. Sitting at home, trawling the internet for clues, I gained information and put it to use…
   So then I published all nine products again. The changes were small. What did I gain? Instant internet access when I really needed it – not when I wanted it. A writer's office shouldn't have a place for the internet. The internet is a vast electronic library housed in my paper library.
   That's where the creature stays. For those of you reading this on the go – people who write on the go – go without the internet. I did, for years. And I learned loads about writing – the hard way. This new temptation of the constant distraction is no temptation for me. I'm trying my best to use the internet, rather than letting the internet use me.
   It's strange, in that familiar way, to be writing in the office again. I'm back, though I was never really away. Anything else? Hell, yes. I can blog this any old time. In quiet surrounds. There are no noisemakers competing for attention.

Update. Naturally, I must return to the internet to post this blog. What do I find when I arrive? A digital newspaper featured my blog post on using HTML code. The online editor of the non-paper paper is Sean Woodward. That's @seanwoodward on the Twitter.

   Here's a link to his website. http://www.seanwoodward.com/loa/
   And here's a link to his newspaper. THE LONDON-PARIS-CYDONIA CHRONICLE.
   Now I'll post this blog, and give him a mention on the Twitter. Minimal time spent on the internet for some indefinable level of effort. Hm. I can see the T-shirt now.

USING HTML CODE ON YOUR AMAZON PRODUCT DESCRIPTION.

The thing I hated about creating book blurb for Amazon? I'd use a combination of an excerpt from the book and a commentary about the story. Fine. Except that the slice of fiction lost italics.
   How to fix that problem?
   Encode the book description with HTML.
   Hugely Tiresome Muddling Laborious code.
   I've just been experimenting with the code, altering my Amazon Kindle blurb.
   Here's a link to the official Amazon page. OFFICIAL. That page shows the HTML code acceptable in a book's content, but there's a sub-heading for code you can use in the blurb. BLURB.
   There's not a lot of code available. When I say that, I'm talking about official code. Supported code. Code the Amazon publishing factory will permit you to use.
   Even the Amazon publishing factory doesn't like the code that is supported. I'll return to that.
   So how do I use the HTML code to change the look of my Amazon blurb?
   I want to make the title VAMPIRES. appear in bold italic type. And it looks that way in the Word document. Cut and paste that text into Amazon's publishing factory, and the effects are stripped away.
   Those effects must be reintroduced using HTML code. Find the code for the effect you wish to use. Type it where you want that effect to start.
   There is an off-switch for that code - add a slash to the code when you are finished. Example...
   VAMPIRES.
   The code for bold text is <b> and the off-switch is </b>, so I'd set this up...
   <b>VAMPIRES.</b>
   That's it. Once you've arranged this fiddly piece of work, Amazon will raise an objection. Here's an example...

   You'll see I've used codes for bold, italic, and a line separating sections of text. I don't recall adding a slash inside the <hr> code for a line. But there it is.
   The red text is a warning you can ignore, provided you are using basic things like commands for bold.
   Note the number of characters left. Usually, I'd write a short blurb for Amazon products. Occasionally, I'd go into more detail.  HTML coding counts against the number of characters.
   Remedy? Make it fit. Edit the text. You are in the writing game, after all.
   If you go surfing the web on a spider's surfboard, and pick up other HTML coding that's not supported by Amazon, you'll risk receiving the second red warning.
   The first one is okay. Ignore it. Save your publication page. The second warning kills your work off - and Amazon refuses to save changes made.
   If that happens, resort to trial and error message. Keep chipping away at the nasty code until Amazon accepts the saved changes.
   Then publish. Wait for the product to cycle through Amazon's system. The updated blurb will appear long before Amazon e-mails you to say the book is ready.
   Get it wrong? Wait for the book to become available on your publishing bookshelf, and make changes. That's the most annoying thing - the cycle-time if you have to fix errors.
   I had nine products available on Amazon when I decided to upgrade my book descriptions. The first one was HTML-encoded the night before, so I could sleep on it and see the effects come morning. Then I switched to production.
   Here's the before/after look to the blurb for WEREWOLVES. I didn't go over the top with dancing figures and spotlights. At that reduced size, you can still see the differences. Which is my point...

 

    In publishing for Amazon, we often live in a thumbnail world. View everything at reduced size, to see if you can see differences.
   Click on the cover below to see the updated blurb for WEREWOLVES.

WITCHES.

Another week spent plugging my own stuff. Why? Pulled a pin. The grenade is fizzing away. I’m plugging one published work a week, until I run out of items. By which time I should be published again. That’s the plan. 

FICTION FACTORY. Welcome to my mini-self-publishing imprint for short stories running around 30,000 words. These stories are not collected or bundled with other tales. If you buy WITCHES, you won’t suffer disappointment in later life by finding WITCHES reheated for a collection called TALES TO IMPRESS PALAEONTOLOGISTS. Be thankful for that small mercy.

WITCHES.

Selena Salem spins tales o’ witchcraft, and worse. Mystified strangers are invited to her kitchen table to hear uncanny stories. Fanning the blood-spattered cards, Selena casts her storytelling spell into the rainy Scottish night.

   Tonight’s tale is one of war between greedy clans. The clan o’ the Hand hires the man in the scarlet cap to do the clan’s bidding. His task? Destroy the clan o’ the Eye and the clan o’ the Tongue. No easy feat for mortal man. A difficult job for a warlock.
   Enter Rory: bandit-killer and lover of married women. The Laird o’ Tongue sends Rory to redress the balance of power by hiring witches. Rory stands on the brink of destruction at the cottage of Selena – prentice witch. Selena’s uncle may be too tired for the fight to come. All the while, the clan o’ the Eye keeps watch. Who will triumph, in this devilish tale of magic gone awry in the service of mortal men?

35,000 words, plus notes.

THE MADONNA GAMBIT.

While the blog undergoes behind-the scenes changes, I’m plugging my books. Today, we’re veering into the FICTION FACTORY side of things. Stories around 30,000 words...

FICTION FACTORY. Welcome to my mini-self-publishing imprint for short stories running around 30,000 words. These stories are not collected or bundled with other tales. If you buy WITCHES, you won’t suffer disappointment in later life by finding WITCHES reheated for a collection called TALES TO IMPRESS PALAEONTOLOGISTS. Be thankful for that small mercy.
 

THE MADONNA GAMBIT.

 

Harvey lingered, in case the rain concealed someone tailing from the weather’s depths.

Come on. Is that likely? A tactic you’ve used, true. If they are sharp enough to keep an eye on you, they’ll do so from here. Not on the exposed walkway by the shore. Leapfrog ahead in that red car, and hang around the streets. Around the spare wheels. No one knows about the contingency except her. Your link to the outside world. If she’s suspect, throw yourself in the lake now.

Placing the spare car here was a thin point generating weakness. Getting the keys to him constituted another thin spot. Forget this crisis of non-confidence. The only way to compromise the alternative exit is by going there to check on things. You are a tourist, remember. Lurching from puddle to puddle. Doing touristy things on a rainy day.

They are watching me.

Snap the hell out of it.

Harvey Yale is a hired killer. He wonders why the Madonna Gambit isn’t going according to plan. Is revenge really reaching from beyond the grave to spoil Harvey’s appetite, this job, and the rest of his day? Perhaps there’s more to his paranoia than his paranoia.

Someone marked him. Coincidence. He was offered a gun he wasn’t sure about using. Uncertainty meant nothing. This wasn’t a high-profile job. He could walk away from the pittance they’d offered him, claiming the set-up looked bad.

Set-up. The phrase needled him. When in doubt, run with your gut before your gut is wrapped around the other guy’s cutlery. Is the mission compromised? Has paranoia won over instinct? Join Harvey on the treacherous slopes of the rock, to find out…

37,000 words, plus notes.

LYGHTNYNG STRYKES.

Of all the things he expected to find inside the woman’s cupboard, this was the one thing so far off Johnny’s list that he thought he’d wandered into another house by mistake. Obviously, the next turn of events had to be even stranger than the last turn of events. Unless the next strange turn of events was a return to normality. That made perfect sense to Johnny.

   The only thing stranger than another strange turn of events would be a normal turn of events so normal that it would have to be classed as strange. He knew one thing. The town was well-named. Turning in response to the sound of voices, Johnny wondered how he’d explain his naked intrusion of the bedroom. The cute teddy covering his nether regions was no help at all.
   By night, Dick and Marnie are investigators of super-secret occult-based extra-terrestrial governmental cover-ups and conspiracies. During daylight hours, Dick sells gerbils to people who feel the need for pets. No one actually knows what Marnie does for a living.
   After years of hovering on the edge of uncovering THE ULTIMATE CONSPIRACY, Dick discovers that THE ULTIMATE CONSPIRACY has come looking for him. The consequences are far from cosy, and will lead Dick and Marnie to the strange town of LYGHTNYNG STRYKES. A town that’s about to turn ten degrees stranger.
   Join Dick, Marnie, Stealth Writer, the Man in Black, other Men in Black not related to the first Man in Black, Plausible Daniel, and a peculiar bunch of swans, in the search for the secret secret behind the real secret that isn’t the real secret.

296,000 words. Contains adult themes and blushworthy elements designed to frighten the horses. On hearing that there was a prize for writing bad sex scenes in fiction, I thought how hard can it be to win that? Though deliberately setting out to write such material may automatically disqualify me from the process…

 

 

INCOMPLETE UNCOLLECTED SHORT WORKS.

Welcome to my short story collection. Here you’ll encounter an atomic-powered crustacean named Albert, a nutty private eye tale, and my version of how an actress won a golden statuette – amongst other things.

This collection also gathers my three blog series – the NEON, INCOMPLETE, and LYGHTNYNG REPORTS FROM A FUGITIVE. Chronicles of my entry into the world of self-publishing, with serialised fiction and an author interview thrown into the mix. The REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE blog won’t be around for eternity. (Shocking, I know.) So bundling the content with short stories allows my readers to tackle the material in a Kindle-friendly manner.

I’ve included excerpts from the fragmentary novels curled*skin and ten tales of old japan*or lies if you prefer, as well as future projects slim*thriller and not hamlet. Step into my incomplete uncollected world, and savour the atmosphere.

*

The City. Colan’s Place stayed open late that night, but only for old friends. The CLOSED sign held would-be customers and city-street-cold at bay. Way in back, in one of those booths, an incorruptible foursome sat around an imaginary campfire, and reminisced.

   In the tradition of the girls powdering their noses, the girls powdered their noses. The guys groaned at the amount of food they couldn’t believe they’d just packed in. They had absolutely no good reason to groan at the quality.
   Adrienne and Rosalind finished powdering their noses and caught up on gossip-snippets concerning, who else, Judy Cosmic. Meanwhile, Gene and Kirb raised their glasses, and, satisfied each could still see through ’em, popped said spectacles back where they did most good. They trotted out toasts and grew all nostalgic.
   “Old superheroes never die.”
   “Nor should they.”
   “Here’s to the fallen, and to those what tripped.”
   “Hear hear.”
   “What were Visible Lad’s powers anyhow?”
   “Well he was fairly visible, had to hand him that much.”

*

INCOMPLETE UNCOLLECTED SHORT WORKS. This isn’t where it all began, but the book will pass for as-near-as-damn-it. Contains quite a lot of juvenile humour, and some rude words you wouldn’t necessarily use around the kitchen. Unless you’d matched hand to hotplate.

116,000 words. Blog-related material released prior to publication constitutes 30,000 words.