Mapping the Future
When I go shopping with Kathilynn it’s usually so we can spend time talking alone about the story and what we want to do next as a family when it comes to Wanted Hero. It’s amusing to watch some of the looks the housewives give me when I get animated in the isles of grocery stores, waving my arms around and talking about the various races or how certain families were brutally murdered and that I felt the villain who did it shouldn’t get caught (I once looked at a lady, shrugged my shoulders and whispered…“At LEAST not until book four…don’t you agree?”). People think I’m nuts and Kathi just laughs.
The publishing industry is changing so fast I’m having a hard time staying in the flow. In fact, if it wasn’t for David Farlands Daily Kick I’d miss a lot of what’s going on. My habit is to keep my head buried in my projects and work hard and fast until I run out of energy or pass out. I don’t pay a lot of attention to what others are doing…and it’s getting to me. So I brought the subject up to Kathi today while shopping:
Can we create a system that will help us as a family to build Wanted Hero into a successful story and support our family financially?
I know full well (as did Kathi), that our one book (Prelude) sitting there on Amazon.com isn’t going to do us much good. People like it and we’re growing interest…but we also sell it for $.99 specifically because people just don’t know who I am as a writer yet. I had a fan base with the comics–but I don’t DO the comics anymore and that group (for some reason) has not transferred over to the book…and that’s perfectly ok. It’s the way writing goes, but our goal now is to change that if we can–to create a series of books that readers not only enjoy, they go crazy over them.
Kathi has a difficult time with how big the Wanted Hero universe is. All the notes, backgrounds, intertwining lives, events, prophecies and side stories that tie into Wendell and his life. It’s literally 20 years of ideas and though not all of them are great ideas…they all end up becoming springboards TO great ideas…which in turn dramatically increases the size of the story. We simply don’t have years to come out with 2-3 books. The story needs to grow faster!
So how do we get the story out faster to the readers, so;
- readers have entertainment and don’t lose interest in the story;
- readers actually gain interest in the story and recommend it to those they know;
- the story itself is not compromised, and;
- the story is produced in rapid succession to feed readers and feed my family.
I had a few ideas that I shared with my wife, which I’d like to share. The most important thought was to create a basic system of how we literally produce the books. Not a rigid box we conform to, but guidelines, such as 40,000+ words in a few months, rather than 200,000+ words a year. Maybe 10 chapters averaging 4,000 words each. Then there could be follow up books, like Hobins field guides which aren’t required for the series…but they certainly enhance the enjoyment of them.
Then there are background stories of characters in the books, histories and obscure knowledge about the vast world that people might enjoy. All created and illustrated to enhance the readers experience.
What this came down to was having to make the decision to produce as best we can, as fast as we can, so people can enjoy as much as they can. My desire is to not only bring you a great story, but to create a universe rarely seen. I can see it in my mind and I’ve dreamed of it for decades…the real test now is to bring it to you.
Read MoreHungry Minds Must Be Fed…
Just finished ordering the review copies of Prelude to a Hero in print, due Monday morning (hope that extra $20 for shipping is actually worth it). Then Kathilynn and I can sit down, separately, and mark up the copy–make sure it’s all pretty for you and printable. Looking forward to seeing the final, physical copy!
Also had some challenges when it came to Smashwords. NOTE: make sure to follow their guide, no matter how much you’re convinced of your own cleverness…or you’ll have to do it all over. Resubmitted work, epub checked it (successfully) and now we wait once again. It’s all very annoying, but I’m glad this process is in place: making sure you get the best book possible.
So what now? Other than taking a small breath and perhaps trying to get some exercise?
It’s time to write again. The plotting, the outlining, the expansion of histories and even some game creation with Evan. He’s got an incredible idea for a card game that I’m excited about.
The focus is now upon the Chronicles of a Hero series. The first novel due this fall (2011). Kathi thinks I’m crazy, the kids think it’s cool and the readers need to have their hungry minds fed as soon as possible when it comes to the adventures of Wendell. So I’m working with speed and diligence.
Having gone through this process [writing with Kathi] was a great learning experience, and now I feel like running at full speed–following the carefully outlined course set for this story, and I hope…truly hope, that you’ll be an intimate part of that adventure.
I’m looking forward to answering questions, creating side stories to expand on your interests, creating merchandise you’d actually love to have–instead of creating ‘stuff’ and throwing it at you.
I want to have fun…with you and everyone you know.
Read MoreOn Turning 42
I woke up and found I had turned 42…for the second year in a row.
All last year Kathi and I were telling people I was 42 when in fact I was 41. Huh.
I’m sitting here typing as my 1 year old Wynnie is dancing to ‘Adult Education’ by Hall & Oats. She smiles at me in that special way she does–telling me that daddy is loved so much.
I’m grateful this morning, if for nothing else, than because my heart is still beating and I get to be with my family for at least one more day. Reflecting on my life, I found my blessings have outweighed my troubles, making me once again…grateful.
I’m married to my dream girl.
Read MoreSneak Peek: Chapter One of Prelude to a Hero
Only days from the release of the first book and the launch of this series. I am beside myself with excitement and Kathi is sitting net to me, putting final polishing on the chapters, giddy as well.
This has been a long road of incredible challenges, with our family welfare hanging on the hope that I won’t suck as a writer! Woot! And to think: it’s only the beginning. So here we are, about to release and I still don’t have a clue how we are going to tell people about the book.
Well, here’s a gift–CHAPTER ONE of Prelude to a Hero. Hopefully it will motivate someone out there to tell a friend and if you happen to be a book blogger, I will have eBook copies available in every format for the asking, just shoot me an email.
Remember, stop by www.wantedhero.com on May 6th and buy yourself a copy of the novel for only $.99. It will also be available through Amazon.com.
Who are you?
I am the storyteller.
I’m the friend, the neighbor, the stranger on the street.
I’m the one who watches, contemplates and shares.
But, who are you?
***
Soon, he remembered. Soon we will see the face of the Hero! His stomach leaped. How many times had Shea heard his father speak those words? Hundreds? Thousands?
He had walked this scorched stone path with his arms tied over his chest, enduring the parched winds, while staring at the back of his father’s robe since he was nine. That is when his father had discovered his gift for discerning truth. Then Shea’s father, as the High Elder, began instructing, requiring him to follow and observe.
Having grown, his eyes were now fixed upon his father’s hooded head. Just as the High Elder predicted, the people and Council had spoken and his only son took the life pledge of service in the Iskari High Council. Being only sixteen, Shea was honored to be the youngest elder in their history. Days later, Shea privately exulted as he received the crucial calling as the one who would confirm the royal bloodline. The Ithari would then be bestowed upon its rightful heir. The Hero. How many generations of High Elders had walked this path of sagging steps, each hoping they might be the one to see Him face to face?
Habitually ignoring the growing din, Shea allowed himself to be lulled by the rhythmic scratching of his father as he scuffled along, the childhood memories he enjoyed of Dark Lord Mahan and the Hero tumbled from one to another. “Naughty children are sent to Unrest and given to Mahan,” the gentle threatenings tugged at the corner of his lips. All mothers had warned their children of such things. But his mind eagerly dwelt on his father. He cherished the long evenings spent wrapped in thick arms, on his father’s lap, in front of a popping fire, while the scratchy fibers of his father’s robe made his cheek itch. Shea brought his hand to his face while the encompassing adoration filled his chest again and he embraced echoes of whispered tales about the heroes past and the one hero yet to come. He knew now, as he always had. This time Mahan will fall.
The childhood traditions had created an unfaltering bond between father and son. But Shea and his father spent much time in silence these days, the inexplicable desire to find acceptance burdened Shea’s every thought. It was time for the Hero to be retrieved and his father dared suggest they should act against tradition and reason! Often Council meetings were adjourned following raised voices, conflicting views, without resolution.
After all these years and the stories of his purpose, Shea felt cheated. Indignation threatened to suffocate him, he clenched his teeth. He thinks I’m still a child. He was being robbed of his greatest privilege and purpose by his own father. He doesn’t trust me.
The uncaring wind whipped around him wailing in vain as it snapped the hood from Shea’s naked skull. Blinking his watering eyes, he lowered his chaffed head and pushed on up the long callous path to the edge of the Pinnacle.
Mimicking his father, Shea stood erect on the ridge that thirstily lunged out over the boundless chasm. Just beyond his outstretched fingertips the chittering grains of sand whizzed and whirled and echoed from every direction, like swarms of angry hornets, yet only the scathing wind assaulted him. The violent ballet beckoned as he peered over the ridge to watch where millions of worlds dwelt together within the raging storm. It was here that, those who had the eyes to see could look upon the inhabitants of distant lands.
Shea stood back as the High Elder drew in a deep breath through wide nostrils, closing his wrinkled eyes. The sand before them pulsed, gathering in trails, as if magnets attracting sand were dancing in the chaos. Pouring in from the storm, the sand quickly organized itself into many conversing figures.
Once, he had questioned his father about why they came. He answered, “There is one in the sand with a rosy aura. This is the life and movements of a young man who has been placed upon a strange world, Earth, to hide him. He is the one I observe. It is my calling to protect him.” Years of bedtime tales and dreams suddenly took root and sprang to life in his young soul. Shea leaned forward squinting in vain to peer deeper into the magic, hoping to see the boy’s face–to look in his eyes.
Generations of High Elders had been watching over the young hero since he was a helpless baby, placed in the arms of adoring parents who would never know where he really came from; waiting for the day when the Hero would awaken Ithari, the Gem of the Gods. It was time. The young man was needed now, to come home, reclaim his birthright and save his people.
Even now, for the hundredth time, Shea’s shoulders sagged, disappointed. He did not have this gift and could not even see the coloring his father spoke of.
Soon, Shea sighed.
While the High Elder was engrossed, something peculiar caught Shea’s eye. Stray grains of sand were tumbling up the path across his feet, unaffected by the wind. A piercing apprehension seized Shea’s gut. An evil spirit? Here? How…..?
Perplexed, he watched the slithering strands accumulate into a churning mound behind his father. Should I…? His mind went blank. It was seeping into a dark, blood-red mud, then molding itself into the form of an asp with a flickering tongue to taste the wind.
Only when it slithered around his father, rising to meet the sands of Earth did Shea find his voice. “Father!” he warned, screaming above the din.
Startled, the High Elder’s narrowed eyes darted to his son and back to the sand. Calmly, he stretched out a hand, quickly waving through the scene to sever the link to Earth. The figures collapsed into swirling streams, launching themselves back into the chasm once more.
Except for the asp. Unaffected, it twisted and turned, encircling the old man’s chest. Shea gagged at the metallic odor of blood and steaming sand smothering the air while the snake probed around his father’s face and brow. Shea waited, holding his breath as the High Elder concentrated with a lifetime of practiced skill to clear all thoughts from his consciousness. It lingered, waiting for some weakness to snatch that would betray the hero’s location to its dark master. The moments stretched past. And then minutes.
Exploding with repressed uncertainty, Shea impatiently commanded, “Ish-Krothi Umballa!” and briskly thrust his hands through the sleeves of his robe. His fingers gripped an invisible sphere that he stretched and forcefully hurled at his father.
The asp sparked, bursting into flames and fell tinkling to the unyielding stone.
“No!” cried the High Elder, eyes narrowing and face flushing red. “Now the Dark Lord will know we hide something from him!” He looked at the small shards of glass around his feet, the red residue slowly fading from the shiny surfaces. The creases in his forehead deepened, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
Instantly Shea realized, too late, the consequences of his actions. As a boy he had waited long hours for his father to return from council meetings specifically designated to protecting the hero. As a member of the Council he learned the challenges of weaving intricate deceptions of ignorance or complacency to keep prying eyes of shadow at bay. Now in one hasty breath the methodically orchestrated plans had been compromised.
A deep frown on his face, the High Elder turned sharply, yanking the hood over his head he attacked the steep winding path. Knowing they could not converse on the matter until they were far from the sand and wind, Shea anxiously kept pace with the High Elder’s lengthy stride until they were just outside Sanctuary’s walls.
“Father, I …”
Raising a hand, he neither slowed nor turned. “Control and unity, young man,” he cut in a cool tone. “This is always about unity and self control. That is how we will defeat the enemy. Not with a careless display of personal power and parlor tricks!”
“I’m sorry, Father,” Shea justified.
The High Elder slowed, the edgy tone causing his rigid pace to falter. He stopped to study Shea’s face with a piercing gaze. Moments passed, but he said nothing.
“Truly,” Shea insisted softly. “I sought only to keep the boy safe.”
The small wrinkles in the corner of his eyes offered a faint a smile as the High Elder slowly exhaled. Shea was young. Sixteen was too young, in his opinion, to carry such a burden. The High Elder’s role as a father was now secondary to the calling of an Elder. However, youth and inexperience were no excuse for irrational behavior and stepping outside one’s calling.
“Young Elder, you have forgotten your place, doubted my calling, and challenged my stewardship.”
At the formal address, Shea squared his shoulders, pain flickering in his eyes. “High Elder, I do not doubt your position NOR would I dare to challenge your stewardship,” he emphasized in lowered tones. “I have only opposed the decisions on retrieving the boy. There is too much risk involved. Thus, I believe this important task should only be entrusted to the Council as a whole. The bloodline will need protection. Our protection.”
It was the same argument.
“We are too arrogant in our own abilities, because we have knowledge and powers,” fortifying his point with volume. “Insanity!” Shea watched his father turn his head from side to side then raising his hands to the sky, anguishing, “Mahan has already enslaved half…HALF!…of this world!”
Pleading, eye to eye, “Elder, ….” sighing patiently, “Son. Do you not remember he lives because the last hero had compassion for his friend? Mahan is cunning and his influence grows in ways we can only measure by destruction and death.
“Have you and the others truly convinced yourselves that we are beyond destruction? Or even worse… corruption?”
Chin raised to the challenge, “And what of your plan, Father?” Spitting venomous condemnation into his words. “Will you really send a selfish, free-willed outcast to retrieve our last hope for all creation? One who shirks his responsibilities, subsisting in pubs to return so intoxicated that he often mistakes the pig pen for his cottage? He can’t even find the bathroom in the dark!”
The High Elder couldn’t help chuckling at his son’s accurate perception of one of Sanctuary’s longest residents. “No. Dax can find the bathroom in the dark…he simply finds it inconvenient when intoxicated and therefore, chooses not to.”
“That’s just…sick,” grimaced Shea.
“Nevertheless, it does not disqualify him for the task at hand. We all have a purpose. Remember how he suffers and what has been taken from him. It should soften your heart, if nothing else. He knows what’s expected and understands the gravity.”
Shea was unconvinced. “You misplace your trust in a fool, father.”
“No, son.” The High Elder smiled, placing a confident had on his son’s chest, “I trust a friend.”
Resigned, the young elder lowered his head and closed his eyes.
Patting his son’s shoulder, the High Elder grinned wide. “Have confidence. The Dark Lord will never suspect what is about to happen…..and we will do what has never been done before.”
Shea sighed, muttering under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Read MoreISBNs by the Thousands
So the purchase has been made and I have to say it was the best investment of the year. Signed into Bowker and purchased 1000 ISBN#’s for On The Fly Publications.
Read all the contracts and fine print ($1000 is a lot of money to goof up) and then clicked the purchase order. Enough to carry Wanted Hero to it’s final resting place of completion.
If you’re looking to self-publish or even start your own publishing business like my family did, I recommend you buy your own block of ISBN#’s and do it in the large quantities.
- They’re cheaper by bulk.
- You’ll need more #’s than you might think if you’re producing even a single book in various forms (print, eBook, audio, programming).
- The established systems/companies are fast changing the rules to their services…so that only authors who own the ISBN can utilize their full array of benefits.
- Bowker provides a huge gambit of benefit services to the ISBN holders, which include increasing the ability to find your book and even increasing the search-ability on engines like Google and Yahoo.
So take a moment to consider the ramifications of owning your own numbers and read up on ISBN’s. It’s your book, after all.
-Jaime Buckley
Read MoreMy Latest Book
