one more draft…

the days have grown dark in self-publishing land.

starting nearly two weeks ago, my book became unavailable to bookstores trying to order it through the normal Ingram process. this was thankfully brought to my attention by a co-worker who was told by a bookstore attendant that the store was waiting for me to replenish their supplies. now, a primary reason i went with iUniverse to publish my book was their use of the industry standard ordering process, so the book would be available to all businesses, like any other traditionally published book. so, when i discovered that my local Borders, the largest bookstore in the area, was unable to order my book, i assumed it was a simple mis-communication.

not so.

i confirmed immediately with the store inventory manager, who was very patient and explained that Ingram was showing the title as entirely out of stock, zeroes in all the warehouses, so it was impossible for him to order more. he even was kind enough to fax me a copy of the printout from the database, which showed, just as he said, no availability.

i ran into a different, but related issue with my local Waldenbooks back in April, and in that process learned a number of things, particularly:

1. Ingram has four main warehouses to ship all books from, one for each quadrant of the country, roughly. most stores default to their ‘local’ warehouse when searching availability, so an item might be out of stock at that warehouse, but available at another. this was the case, in that Waldenbooks situation, as iUniverse was listing in one warehouse, but not all.
2. iUniverse, as a POD service, doesn’t actually have any books in the Ingram warehouses, but shows a ‘fake’ count of 100 to allow stores to make orders.

with this knowledge, and the faxed document from the Borders inventory manager showing zeroes, i contacted iUniverse. to squeeze the next two weeks together, i’ve made repeated calls and emails to various members of the iUniverse/Authorhouse businesses (recently merged, but still not quite unified, administratively), but have received ZERO tangible response. the first-level contacts at iUniverse have been consistently positive, and validated, each time i call, that my book shows as active in the iUniverse system, and ready to print in the LightningSource system (the company that does the actual printing of the books), as well as showing zeroes in the Ingram database. this mixture of facts has surprised each of them, and they have given me further names/emails to contact. having done this, however, i have not had a single response from any of these further attempts of mine.

aside from the simple, and still amazing, frustration of being ignored, particularly as a contracted client, i’m daily losing opportunities to sell or promote my book in any brick and mortar stores. it’s hard enough getting a bookstore, squeezed as they are with overhead and cuts from the internet* and so on, to take a chance on a local, unproven author of a book that can’t be returned**; try standing in front of a potential bookstore manager, having them be interested, and then have them check the system and find out that there aren’t any available to order. talk about embarrassing.

this has been particularly in evidence with my (lame duck) interactions with the Borders inventory manager, who is actively trying to support me and be helpful, but if he can’t make orders, he can’t stock the book, and he has to tell potential customers he cannot help them.

as a final squirt of lemon on this cut, i’ve also learned that direct orders from iUniverse, even bulk orders, have been given a discount that is less than the discount of my contract. this absolutely boggles my mind. by going direct to the publisher, a bookstore looking to order bulk was being told it had to pay more per book than if it ordered each book individually.

say what?

this is killing me. i’ve recently made some headway with local buzz, but this is cutting the head right off it.

as of this writing, i still have several voice mail and email messages out without a single response. i’ll be trying again today, and pressing my way as far upward as i can get before they cut me off, so i can get an answer, but this has deeply soured my feelings toward iUniverse, which have been largely positive to this point.

wish me luck.

* important note: during this exact same timeframe, my amazon.com availability was also showing ‘Ships in 1-3 weeks’, and i was afraid that this was impacting my online sales, too. however, last week the title was again showing as ‘in stock’, and available for overnight shipping, etc., so amazon seems capable of ordering them for their own warehouses. so what’s the problem?

** though iUniverse has recently added this ability to their titles (making it even more attractive to bookstores to take on the book, since they can send it back for a refund), i can’t bring myself to give over the additional $500 fee, particularly when i can’t even guarantee that the book will be available to stores to order in the first place!

or learn from it, at least.

so, as was inevitable, i arrived home yesterday evening after my final day at the office (from which i was given an extremely touching and unexpected sendoff, complete with an oversized posterboard with my book cover in the center and signed notes and support and encouragement from the whole team filling all the border space - thank you all!), my first moments of unemployed life and the beginning of this whole ‘writer’s life’ i’ve been looking forward to for so long, to the arrival of another rejection letter in the post.

now, this makes three or four this week, and it’s no different than any other week (except last week, of course), but if, like me, you look for omens without wanting to, it could have been that slap of reality (like doing my finances the other morning and concretely identifying my last paycheck).

however, perhaps i was too emotionally drained from the impact of the last day at work and all the things i tried to get done (and those i certainly forgot), or the fact that my car battery was dead in the parking lot when i finally did get out because i’d left the lights on again, or the fact that it was 7 o’clock and already late for dancing class when i walked in the door, but all that really hit me was the secondary message conveyed so often in these formal rejections: to paraphrase, ‘we’re sure it’s great work and don’t take it too hard and you’re bound to find someone with whom this will fit just right and this isn’t a comment on your work but on our limited resources and specific needs’.

puh-lease. are we writers such fragile creatures that we need so much coddling to take the simply professional reality of a “No, thank you?”

And yet, as I type this, I find myself flip-flopping. I don’t condone the clipped, minimalist approach of sending my own query back to me with a tiny square of paper saying ‘Thanks for sending this, but it doesn’t meet our present needs.’ These have the feeling of coldness, with no warm fuzzies for trying to send back to the sending agencies for future works.

I suppose, after further reflection on the various rejections I’ve received, i would have to say there’s a tone, and some turns of phrase that seem to just turn me off, the most prominent of these being, essentially, ‘we recognize the merits of this project…’ or ‘while your proposal is not without merit…’

i mean, really, what’s the point of this, particularly in a form letter? if this is the same response sent to the writer submitting a grammatically challenged, plot-absent work (note my obvious and selfish elitism in this hyper generalization), it loses all validity, and only serves to annoy.

on the other side, a clear statement about the subjectivity of this entire process feels much more honest, even though, as i say, a form letter, by its nature, is devoid of true consideration, connection, or morality. it simply is; a device used to provide a necessary, if often difficult, service.

and there’s the truth and lesson of it, i suppose, for me.

form rejection letters are not to be read into. in persepective, do i get this worked up over the effusive excitement and encouragement in every piece of direct mail advertising, ‘personalised’ with my name, gender, and buying habits from the Big Giant Marketing Database? of course not. i toss most without looking at them, and the few i do read, i skim for the relevant points, then, if interested, i cut out coupon/send response/fill out form, or dump, as i see fit. a service. that’s all.

and the lesson is to identify which responses seem thoughtfully crafted, because, honestly, it only need be done once, so taking the time or not taking the time to create something effective is, itself, a reflection on the agents/agencies who send them. obviously, as a struggling writer seeking representation, i don’t want to burn any bridges, but, ultimately, i’ve committed to putting my everything into my work. do i want to work with someone who cuts corners?

and why would an agent want to work with someone who just complains?

time to start writing.

this is the cardinal rule of becoming a writer, according to just about everything i’ve heard, seen, or read. i once read a fabulous article of the financial realities and difficulties of writing, particularly genre fiction writing, but i’ve since lost track of the link and can’t seem to find it. no matter, though, really, as there are countless articles expounding the hard truth of not giving up the ‘regular’ job, the one that comes with a paycheck and, if you’re lucky, benefits; the one that keeps you in contact with people, because those interactions are life, they are the seed of the worlds we end up creating; the one that can provide a level of sanity in this often insane world of creativity.

i really wish i could find that article. well-known author, highly published, reliable figure, with a simple, clear, effective reality check for those of us crazy fools who think we can just pick up and leave the day job for the Elysian Fields of self-employed authorship. if anyone finds it, please let me know. brilliant piece.

and yet…i’m doing it, anyway.

today is my last day at my current employment. i’m taking the leap. period. does this mean i have a contract? no. a publisher? no. an agent? no. a firm hold on my sanity? no. (duh.)

what it means is i’m doing the illogical, non-financially sound, and absolutely correct thing for me. i worked on Witness for longer than I’ve been at my current job. it’s starting to get some positive feedback and i’m hoping beyond hope that an agent will pick it up soon, but what i’ve found i most have to do, is, not surprisingly, write.

nothing against my current job, but i simply haven’t written anything worth writing since i started in this position. now, to be fair, i’m as much to blame on this point. i haven’t been as good at separating myself from my work when i’m not there as i should have been. i was afforded an excellent opportunity in this position, and am very thankful for it and have been able to learn a number of things, not just about the work but about myself. i have grown and begun to develop new skills which i wasn’t sure i could do.

however, when i finally realized that i was letting my writing slide, it terrified me. i had put all this effort into Witness and had such plans for the future, but here i was, going off course. my genuine passion is writing, and it’s truly my lifelong dream (since that fateful first year of algebra, anyway).

i have an incredibly supportive wife (who has a full time job and benefits!) and family and friends, and there will never be a better time for me to do this. i need to prove to myself that i tried this, succeed or fail, that i went through with it. obviously, i hope for the former, but even the latter is not terrible, if i give it my best, which is what this is all about.

so, that’s the short version (ha ha ha). most of all, to all of you who have so far supported me in this crazy endeavor, i give my most sincere thanks. (and please stop by and drop a line to say hi!)

-bill

p.s. - now, in cleaning out my office, i came across this book i was given as a way of stepping into management. i never cracked it open, which is my own loss, but i think the cover is all i really needed…

it has nothing to do with anything, but i just fixed a layout problem* with the blog for IE6. the right side items were showing way down at the bottom of the page, so i did a little tweaking to get them pulled back to the top. i also fixed a problem with the first paragraph of each post running off the side and disappearing for the last 4-5 words of each line.

okay, so most folks never noticed an issue to begin with, i’m sure, but i was just made aware of the problem and this is the mini-geek side coming out.

ah, the joys of pre-dawn life…

*and unfortunately ran into a minor problem with the header in IE7 not constraining to the center column, but going to the full screen width, if great than 1024×768. however, it’s visible, it works, and it’s better than not being able to see the content.

i arrived home this evening to another of my SASE’s. Unlike the previous two responses to my snail mail query letters, however, this one contained a request for a full.

!

seriously! a full. i sent just a query letter and the agent has asked straight for a full.

!

now, i’m trying not to let it all go to my head, but this has been one doozy of a week. all that angst and time spent on the query letter’s most recent incarnation seems to have done the trick. or not. perhaps i’ve just finally narrowed it to the proper agents? some of both? anyway, partials and a full in the same week? crazy.

as i’ve noted before, my blog-scouring and research has shown that partials and fulls are not entirely uncommon, and more often than not result in a no, albeit a more personalized and informative one, apparently. and that’s after the reading delay (usually between 2-3 months).

so, it’s now a matter of keeping my brain in place. i feel very fortunate for these attentions, but i can’t depend on them, or wait for them to bear fruit. i’m expecting to hear tomorrow about a book signing at the local Borders, i’m planning a trip to Boston to hit the bookstores in the metro area, and i have a few more places to send it out for review. there is still much to be done.

most critical, though, i need to dive back into book 2 and run with it. (ah, the joy of mixed metaphors…)

i came home recently, hit the computer, checked the email accounts, and triumphantly told my wife, ‘hey! no rejections, today!’

to which she sadly, and somewhat hesitantly, replied, ‘ah, there’s a couple in the mail there for you.’

dude.

i thought email was fast, but some of those snail mail queries got turned around and sent back so fast i think they told the postman to wait while they opened my envelope, pulled out the SASE, and a) scribbled my name on a mimeographed (seriously, that’s what it looked like; i could practically smell that old familiar tangy odor from the teacher’s lounge) rejection letter, or b) tucked my own query letter back into the SASE along with a business-card sized, pre-printed rejection notice.

but them’s the breaks, really. part of the whole suffer for the art, bit, right? at least that’s what i’m telling myself.

and then, almost like karma, i got a partial request! my first one! i know from my travels on the blogs and forums that partials are just one more step in the process and are dead ends far more often than not, but still! call me pathetic, but i got all giddy.

of course, i jumped right on it, and will be on pins and needles trying not to think about it.

perhaps equally ‘of course’, i received another partial request (woohoo!), which had me bouncing high again (all the more because it was from someone i had not ever expected to respond), until i read the bit about ‘don’t consider simultaneous submissions’, which deflated me in an instant. i was stuck, with the other one already out there. now i’ll be on pins and needles wondering what might have been.

timing is every-bloody-thing, right?

upside? at least another person was interested enough to ask!

not a bad week for query letter productivity. after what felt like a turning point in the query letter revision process last weekend, i sent 19 query letters out, 8 of which were snail mail, and 1 of which was a web form. within 24 hours i’d received 2 ‘thanks, but no’, 1 out of office, and the automated response from the web form. since then, i’ve received 1 additional ‘thanks, but no’. s’okay. it’s the way of things.

realizing the error of my ways by not directly pursuing the book signing at the store that just closed (still not funny), i stopped in at the local borders and re-contacted the inventory manager to get onto the store’s calendar for a signing. i should hear back by the end of this week about setting up a date, so stay tuned!

other than that, i’ve been trying to re-initiate my story-by-day work, though i haven’t been too religious about it (not nothing again today). this begs the question of just how committed i am to making a living by writing, but i’m going to pretend i didn’t ask myself, for the time being.

i will get there.

The jumble of shoes and legs and badges suddenly comes clear, just as Hampton releases Reynolds toward the open metal bookshelf at the back of the room. Flying backwards over Hampton’s squared hip, Reynolds slams into the framing with a crash that muffles its way into my head. Several code manuals, random papers, a few pictures and bunch of other crap I keep leaving on the shelves when I walk in instead of putting away properly comes down around him.

He’s not down for a moment before he scrambles right back up with cold anger in his eyes, this time directed at Hampton.

It’s Hampton who speaks first, though, pointing firmly at him. “Don’t talk. Don’t even open your mouth. Go downstairs and wait in the car. Now.”

Back on the screen, the heatmap, with no more color than a static satellite photograph of the moon, circa 1950, stands prominently atop the pile of monochromatic videofeeds. Lines of hard white cut perfect black shadows. Near the bottom, bodies of grey.

“They’re not dying,” Officer Gerent says in a small but even voice. “They’re already dead.”

“No!”

My chair bucks as if suddenly alive, jerking me up and to the side in an awkward spin. There’s more yelling, but my ears are ringing as I fall hard, in a tangle of chair, cushion, body, and floor. Pairs of shiny black shoes at the bottom of black pants stomp and shove and tangle with each other, barely a foot away.

Something hard hits me across the back, but not very hard, like something dropped, and then one pair of the shoes lifts free of the ground, as if flying. Stunned and confused, with one hand on my echoing ear and stinging forehead, I roll onto my back with bizarre slowness and watch the shoes rise.

“Reynolds!”

“He’s killing people!”

I fumble and cough my way back upright, turning slightly to see Reynolds almost on me again, but he’s facing away. Against the wall, the young Interpol officer clutches his cliptop like a shield in front of his chest.

In the doorway, Hampton jabs an angry finger at Reynolds and then away. “Stop! Step back right now!”

“But he-”

Hampton moves in quickly, pressing Reynolds away from me as much by his hand as by his command. I try to stand up, to apologize, but I’m still barely catching my breath.

Reynolds’ arm shoots out over Hampton’s own. “Look! They’re dying!”