Some Explanation Seems In Order
Okay, I’ve gotten several emails about yesterday’s news, and I want to set some things straight and explain some other things.
First, I’m not quitting writing. Not at all. At most, I’m taking a bit of a break at the moment. I know I quit at least once a month; this isn’t one of those times. February’s almost here, so you won’t have to wait long 
Second, I know that giving Like Glass away for free pretty much reduces the odds of it ever getting picked up by a publisher to roughly nil. That’s something I discovered the hard way – even just self publishing it and charging people to read it pretty much shot down most possibilities of it getting picked up. Yes, there’s still a chance a publisher or an agent would take it on, but there’s a better chance I’d win the lottery tonight – even without buying a ticket.
Now, I want to explain a couple of things, not the least of which is why I’m so pessimistic about getting a publisher or an agent. It’s really simple: I’m not a salesman. I’ve never been a salesman, and I don’t want to be a salesman. That’s a part of the writing industry you can keep; I want absolutely no part of it, and if it means I’m stuck writing software the rest of my life, well, so be it.
That’s part of the reason I’m releasing Like Glass for free as well – I can’t sell it to save my life, so I’m not going to sell it. If you want to buy a copy, it’s still available on Amazon. I’m not going to ask for your money though.
Having self-published the novel to begin with, I made an already Herculean task nigh on impossible. It’d take someone capable of selling igloos to Eskimos to get an agent or publisher interested in the novel, and I’m not that person. Again, I don’t want to be that person. Sales and marketing suit some people perfectly, but those are two things I refuse to do any more (other than spamming my status on Twitter and Facebook).
What does this mean for Shattered? I don’t know, in all honesty. I may self-pub it as I’d been planning on doing. Maybe some publisher or agent will come across Like Glass and find enough interest to take Shattered on (not likely). Maybe I’ll just release it for free too, get it out of the way so I can focus on something else. I’ll have to sleep on it, and see what kind of interest Like Glass stirs up.
If anyone else has anymore questions, please feel free to ask. I’ll respond as quickly as possible. Thanks!
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Like Glass: Now Available For Free
Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve been fighting with this book for over a year now, trying to get people to read it. I self-published it thinking that would make it easier to get an agent or a publisher, when it only made things more difficult in an industry that’s already near impossible to get into. I’ve tried spreading the word via various social networks, tried interviews, the book’s gotten great reviews, and still nothing.
I’m tired of it. I’m not any kind of marketing specialist — I absolutely abhor trying to sell anything. It goes against my nature. I hate asking people for money, even in exchange for something. That’s just not who I am, and I’m sorry for all the damned spamming I’ve done over the past few months on Facebook and Twitter. I wish I could justify it in any way, but all I can say is that I get impatient watching the visit counts stay flat on this stupid site.
So, without further bullshitting, I hereby give anyone who’s willing to read it a free copy of Like Glass. You can download it here; I’m going to try and put up a side-bar item for future downloading as well. I hope you enjoy; drop me a line if you finish it and let me know what you thought.
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Like Glass: Chapter 3
If you’re just barely joining us, catch up with Chapter 1 here and Chapter 2 here. Remember: there’ll be a random drawing on Sunday, February 1st for a free digital copy of the novel, so make sure to leave a comment!
Between thoughts of Janet’s hair dancing in the streetlights (entirely imagined; he’d paid rather little attention to her hair once they’d started walking) and his incessant self-cursing for not even asking for her phone number, it was quite some time before Rob’s mind had let him rest that night. He woke the next morning around noon, and went straight to the TV, flipping through the handful of channels he actually received on the cheap television’s built-in antenna. He turned it off after hour, worked up the nerve to open his political science book, closed it, and turned the TV back on. He repeated this process several times before giving up.
It just wasn’t any use; he had a hard enough time focusing on the books as it was, let alone with his new distraction dancing gracefully in the back of his mind. Not that he had any idea how Janet danced, but he didn’t let that stop his imagination. Knowing that sitting in front of the television with his books in front of him was pointless, he changed into some mostly-clean jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed some of the music Dr. Bishop had assigned him, and headed to the practice rooms on campus.
Regardless of his lack of study habits in other academic areas, he practiced regularly, almost religiously. Although much of the time he hardly considered it “practice”—he just liked to play—his near constant desire to “hit the rooms” had placed him head and shoulders above much of the fellow pianists at the school.
He considered himself fairly lucky, living only a half mile from the college, saving him worries about parking (as well as much of the necessity for a car). He walked under the warm spring sky, mostly overcast but bright and unthreatening, humming softly to himself and letting his mind wander.
It was a walk he took often, so he was able to make the short journey in the mindless motions of habit, his feet tracing the same steps they’d made countless times. Oblivious to the world around him, his mind bounced back and forth between trying to decide what he’d work on in practice, the tests he was supposed to be studying for, and Janet, never staying on one subject or the other for too long.
Without realizing he’d finished the short walk, he opened the door to the large, single story faux-adobe building that housed most of the fine arts departments and traced the familiar path through the maze of offices and lecture rooms to the handful of small, soundproof nooks that housed the pianos. Finding all of them unoccupied—entirely normal for a Saturday, as most of the other students were tending to their own weekend business—he chose one with a fairly well-kept baby grand and shut the door behind him. After an obligatory flourish of scales and arpeggios for a pretense of warming up, he played.
As he played, his mind let go of Janet and studying. With the echoes of the piano strings bouncing off the acoustic tiling and his arms and fingers racing like mad up and down the keys, his head cleared and nothing existed but the music. He paused only long enough in between pieces to decide the next one to play, sometimes from the music he’d brought, sometimes from memory, sometimes entirely improvised.
When he finished, he smiled at the keys and gently pulled the cover shut. He knew he’d probably never make a dime as a pianist—a fact his mother constantly reminded him of—but he didn’t care. Part of him even looked forward to living the starving-artist lifestyle, the romanced version shown in movies where the artist is always penniless but somehow able to buy food and pay rent.
“I thought that was you,” a woman said from behind him, startling him. Caught up in the music, he hadn’t heard Dr. Bishop open the door. He turned to see her smiling in the doorway.
“Hi professor. I didn’t think you’d be here today.”
“Ah, how easily they forget,” she said in mock exasperation. He said nothing, just looked at her curiously. “The concert? Tomorrow night? I figured you’d forgotten, since you weren’t playing your ballade. Either that or you were trying to forget.”
“No, I’d forgotten about it. Had some…other things on my mind.”
“I see. Well, now you can remember. The Rachmaninoff is sounding good, by the way. You’re still running your triplets together a little, but it’s better than it was last month.” He blushed slightly at her praise. “How is the ballade going, anyways? Are you still having problems with the end?”
“A little.”
“Well, I’m not supposed to do this ‘after hours’, but I need a break—I’m getting tired of going over the scholarship applications. Run through it once and let me see how it’s going.”
He played the ballade for her once, his arms already tired from his earlier practice but able to keep it going until the last notes bounced dully off the acoustic paneling. When he finished, she smiled and nodded at him.
“Robert, that was excellent. You’ll do fine.”
“The ending?”
“You hit one bad note; that’s it. It’s one of Chopin’s most challenging pieces—I know concert pianists who wouldn’t have gotten it quite that well. You’re going to do great tomorrow. In fact…no, I better not tell you.” She gave him a sly smile. He looked at her, puzzled.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, especially when you were already worried about the piece, but…” She sighed, resigning herself to say what she’d apparently thought better to hold in. “You remember meeting Roger Smolenska, from the symphony?”
Rob nodded cautiously; Smolenska was the music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra. Dr. Bishop had introduced the two of them in September, before the orchestra had started its season and was visiting the music department to offer lessons and advice.
“Well, Mr. Smolenska is going to be there tomorrow night, looking for bright young musicians—pianists in this case—for an internship next year. I’d specifically suggested he come tomorrow night, instead of sending Blankenship—their keyboard chair—to watch you.” She laughed as his eyes grew large. “No pressure Robert, you’ll do great.”
“Yeah, no pressure at all.”
After a few moments of trying to be responsible and ignoring whoever might be trying to sell him new phone service or refinance his house, he grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you sorry son of a bitch.”
“Hi Bill.” Rob struggled to remember why he’d once thought it a good idea to give his brother his phone number. He knew there must’ve been a good reason at some time, but he was at a loss.
“Hey, sorry about your date last night.”
“Yeah, what happened?”
“She got tied up. You wouldn’t have liked her anyways; she’s terrible in the sack.”
“Well, why’d you bother?”
“I didn’t know until last night. Anyways, where were you? I tried to call you after she left, about nine.”
He started to answer and stopped himself. For some reason, it didn’t seem like a good idea to tell his brother about his new friend.
“Out.”
“Who was she?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Like glass. The only reason you won’t tell me what’s up is if it involves a girl. So what happened? You bang her?”
“No, I didn’t. Just a girl I met at the coffee shop while I was being stood up by what’s her name.”
“Christy. Why didn’t you bang her?” That was Bill, the hopeless romantic.
“Man, I just met her last night.”
“So? Is she a dyke or something?”
“No, just…”
“Relax, I’m just busting your sack man. Anyways, what do you got going on tonight?” Rob looked around at his room, his eyes catching the poorly stacked pile of textbooks on his desk.
“I need to study; I’ve got four tests this week. Big ones.”
“Whatever bitch. C’mon, let’s go out. Get drunk, get some chicks, pass out. Maybe even in that order this time.”
“Sorry Bill, I can’t.”
“Whatever man. I’ll be over there in an hour.”
“Not tonight, I really can’t. We’ll hang out some other time. I really need to study tonight.”
“Alright, whatever. I’ll call you later.” Bill hung up before he had a chance to mention the concert.
He did need to study, but, as earlier, was having a hard time concentrating. His mind kept drifting past the books and the impending concert to a certain girl behind the coffee shop counter. He eyed his text books.
This is the stupidest excuse in the world. You know that, right? And he did know that. He kept that thought planted firmly in his mind as he dressed, grabbed his books, and started out the door.
By the time he arrived at the coffee shop it was still early enough in the evening for a fair amount of daylight, though the spring air was starting to chill. Before much longer, he knew this time of day would be miserably hot, but for now it was pleasant as he sat on the patio outside.
He’d ordered his coffee, passing behind Janet as she helped a customer at one of the tables. The man at the counter—probably a nice and interesting guy but nowhere near as pretty as Janet—gave him his coffee and took his money before Rob walked back out to sit down and enjoy a cigarette in the light April breeze. Because that’s all he was there for: just a smoke and some coffee while he studied. Like any other customer. Of course.
He gazed intently at his political science book, going back and forth from one meaningless column of text to another as he sat, sipping his coffee and smoking. After half an hour of carrying on this charade, a familiar laugh came from behind him like an old friend.
“This is quite interesting. Fancy seeing you around these parts again, stranger. Refill?” Janet stood over him suddenly, a knowing smile on her face and a pot of coffee in her hand.
“Sure, I think I’d like that. On the coffee too, if you don’t mind.” As soon as he spoke, he thought there was little else he could’ve said that would have been quite so stupid, but she laughed coyly at him.
“Well, we’ll work on the coffee for now. Find your way home okay last night?”
“Yeah, I managed.”
“I’ll bet.” She filled his coffee cup again and he thanked her.
“Listen, uh, Janet, I was wondering…” She stopped and looked at him expectantly, still smiling. “Um, do you have any plans tonight?”
“Well, I don’t know…I guess it depends on why you’re asking.”
“I…uh…I wanted to see if you wanted to do something, maybe catch a movie or something like that.”
“Hmmmm… I don’t know. I have that dinner with the governor, and I am about to go on tour to promote my new CD and fashion line, but I think I can fit you in somewhere.” He laughed softly.
“When could I pick you up?”
“I get off in fifteen minutes—Raoul’s closing up tonight. I think City of Angels is playing down the street, if you want to see it.”
“Sounds great.” She could’ve suggested they spend the evening slowly removing layers of his skin and rinsing him in battery acid; it still would’ve sounded great at the moment.
“Are we walking? It’s not a problem if we are,” she added quickly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm as a brief flush came over his face. “I just want to know so I know whether to put on heels or flats.”
“Yeah, I think we’ll probably be walking tonight.”
“Great. So, give me about an hour, maybe? So I can change. Just meet me at my house.”
“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.” She smiled at him, a warm, deep smile that seemed to come straight from the heart.
“Great. I need to get back to work.” As if to enforce this point, Raoul (or at least who Rob assumed was Raoul) started yelling at her from inside. She rolled her eyes, gave him another quick flash of that deep smile, and rushed back inside.
Rob left his half-finished coffee steaming on the table and hurried home. He showered quickly, changed back into his slacks from the night before, and found a different slightly-wrinkled shirt.
He searched wildly for enough cash to make the night at least somewhat decent, and finally found a total of twenty-three dollars and seventy-two cents. They wouldn’t be making a big night of it—probably have to get the cheap limo and only two bottles of Dom Perignon. But they’d at least get into the show and have enough cash for some snacks and a soda. With just enough time to make it to her house as she finished getting ready, he started out the door.
The movie had been decent, what little of it Rob remembered. He’d spent most of the night in an embarrassing school-boy daze, wondering if he should grab her hand or put his arm around her. In the end, he had merely spent the movie sitting there thinking.
Walking home with her was more comfortable by far than sitting next to her in the theater. He was quite thankful he’d paid some attention to the movie, as Janet had thought it quite worth talking about. While he wasn’t giving a review worthy of Siskel and Ebert, he managed to hold up his end as they walked under the few stars and the streetlights of the city. Before long though, the moment he’d dreaded had come, and they found themselves in front of her house again.
“Seems shorter from the movies.”
She smiled; he was starting to love that smile. “Yeah, well, I figured I couldn’t pull that one on you two nights in a row.”
“You should have. It was nice.”
She looked up at him, the gravity in her eyes contrasting with the friendly smile below. “Yes, it was.” They stared at each other for a moment, neither wishing to speak, both wanting to say something.
Finally, Rob broke the silence with the only thing that came to mind. “It’s getting late, I should be going.”
“Well, wait. Would you like to come in? Maybe for some coffee or something?”
“I think I’ve had a bit too much coffee for a couple of days now.” She laughed. He was starting to love that laugh too.
“Well, maybe not coffee, but just come in, hang out?”
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
“Me too.” She took his hand and led him inside.
The inside of chez Edwards was far from spotless, but it still made his humble abode seem like the work of an abstract sculptor working in laundry and used pizza boxes. Rob found it to be quite comfortable; a few plates left on the coffee table, some pots piled up in the kitchen sink, a few jackets scattered on the floor. For some reason he’d been sure the place would be fresh from a Home and Garden photo shoot, and a bit of clutter relaxed him.
At least, as relaxed as he could have been after an attractive young woman invited him into her home after their first date. If she saw through him now, saw that his mind was racing with many potential (and very adolescent) scenarios of what would happen next, he’d be explaining the red, hand-shaped mark on his face for months to come.
If she saw through him, though, she gave no sign. Neither did she seem very nervous about having a strange young man in her house and apparently alone with her. She also didn’t jump on him and start ripping off his clothes either, which was somewhat unfortunate—his adolescent fantasies would have to wait a little longer.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink? I can make some coffee; I think we have tea, or soda.” She stood just outside the kitchen, the overhead light behind her turning her into a graceful silhouette. He didn’t realize he was speechless until he heard her speak again, the smile evident in her voice, with a slight touch of concern coloring it.
“Rob? You okay?”
“Yeah, uh, tea will be fine.”
“Okay. Go ahead and have a seat.” Her silhouetted hand motioned behind him, and he turned and sat down on the couch. Moments later she returned with two glasses of iced tea, turned on the lamp, and sat at the opposite end of the couch, her knees up to her chest and her feet towards him. “Could you hand me the remote?” She pointed towards the coffee table, near where he was sitting. After a moment’s searching, he found it right in front of him and handed it to her. She turned on the television.
“Never anything good on,” she said after flipping through the channels for a few moments. Rob sipped nervously at his tea—it was good, not the best he’d ever had, but still good. Not that he’d complain anyways.
His mind struggled for something to say and drew a blank. Finally she found a halfway decent comedy and set the remote down. He soon found himself laughing with her, feeling more at home in less than a half hour at her house than he had in the months since he’d moved into his own place.
After a few moments, he noticed something wrong, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then it dawned on him: Janet wasn’t laughing anymore. He glanced over at her, meeting a somewhat shocked stare.
As he realized he’d been rubbing her feet and stopped, he also realized that her surprised expression wasn’t one of disgust, but that of one who just found a letter in the mail from a nearly forgotten but well loved friend.
“No, no, don’t stop! My feet were killing me.” He blushed slightly, but smiled and resumed his work.
“My mom used to be a waitress for a while,” he said in a feeble attempt at playing it off. “I know it’s a little tough on the feet.”
“Well, you do a great job. If you can do windows, you’re hired. If you can do the dishes and you look good in a Speedo while you’re doing them, we might even let you have some table scraps every once in a while.” He squeezed her foot harder and she let out a squealing laugh he found almost as beautiful as her normal laughter. “Okay, table scraps every night.” He squeezed again, and she squealed louder. “No Speedo, either! Okay? No Speedo!”
“Deal,” he agreed, both of them laughing now. Once they calmed down, he asked one of the questions that had been burning in the back of his mind since she invited him inside.
“So, where’s…?” He couldn’t think of the name, but Janet finished for him.
“Lisa? She’s at a party. So to answer the question I know you’ll ask next and the one I know you won’t: yes, we’re alone, and no, you’re not getting any.” He blushed fiercely at this, although he hadn’t thought he had planned to ask either of those. She laughed again; from anyone else he would have found that laugh at that time to be mocking, but from her it was still beautiful. “Relax tiger; I know you’re a guy and the thought has probably crossed your mind quite a bit since we came in.”
Rob said nothing, but smiled a thin, sheepish smile.
“I wanted to say something earlier and get it out of the way, but there wasn’t a chance without sounding like a bitch. So, now that’s out in the open, do you think we can relax a little?”
He found that they could.
Don’t forget to leave a comment to be entered in the drawing for a free digital copy of the full novel! And, if you’re impatient and want to purchase the full novel in paperback for only $9.95, go to https://www.createspace.com/3332699.
The winner for this chapter will be picked at 4:00 PM Mountain time, Sunday February 1st. The fourth chapter should go up pretty close to then
Free Copies of Like Glass – Here’s How
Okay, everyone likes free stuff, right? Here’s some ways you can get a free digital copy of the full version of Like Glass:
- Add a comment in the chapters I post. When I post the next chapter, I’ll select a person at random from the list of comments, and they’ll get a free copy of the novel in their email.
- Follow me! I host giveaways at random, and I’ll notify people who are my friends/followers/fans on the following networks:
- Twitter: http://twitter.com/mcory
- My Facebook Group: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=53155808133
- My Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Matthew-Cory/30259472895
- And of course, regular Facebook Friends: http://www.facebook.com/people/Matthew-Cory/1072762115
Note: Join me on all of those! I may give away copies one week to Twitter followers, for example, but if you miss it, I may give away copies to FB fans the next week, etc.
- Talk about Like Glass in your blog/website. Include a link to this post, so that other people can come back here and find out how to get a free copy themselves. Just drop me a line, either via a comment here at the site or using the information in the contact page, so I know you did it and can send you your free copy. (Note that I will send you your copy, even if it takes me a little while to get back to you – I’ll try and respond ASAP, but if you don’t hear from me in a day or two, drop me another line in case I missed your first one.)
Simple as that … well, as those I guess.
So, what are you waiting for? You know how to get your copy; get on it
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Update on Like Glass Giveaway Details
Well, the first giveaway is finished, and we’re moving on to the second chapter. This time, though, we’re going to do it slightly differently.
It seems as though waiting a week in between chapters is way too long. Starting with the current chapter, I’m going to be posting them twice a week, once on Sundays and once on Wednesdays. The drawings will be held in the evenings each time I post a new chapter – this coming Wednesday, it’ll be 4:00 PM (Mountain time).
I also want to mention a couple of things. First off, your comments won’t appear immediately – I moderate everything that’s posted to make sure someone doesn’t come and post porn links or something.
Second, I won’t be commenting very much – in fact, I’ll try not to comment at all. The main reason is because I want to try and keep it as fair as possible, and I don’t want it to look like I’m playing favorites or anything. For example, if Bob comes a long and posts a comment “Hey, that was a great chapter!” and I respond, “Thanks Bob!” Then, if Bob wins, it looks shady. Now granted, even if I didn’t post the comment and Bob still wins, it’ll look kinda weird, but I don’t want to do anything that’ll make it look like anything but a completely random process. In fact, any coders out there want to know how I’m picking the winners, I’ll send you the source code to the little app I wrote to pick them.
Okay, enough of that. Get reading! You can find chapter 1 here (just keep in mind that the contest is closed on that chapter) and chapter 2 here.
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Like Glass: Chapter 2
If you’re just barely joining us, catch up with Chapter 1 here. Remember: there’ll be a random drawing on Wednesday, January 28th for a free digital copy of the novel, so make sure to leave a comment!
Rarely was Bill one to try and set Rob up with a date. Occasionally he’d find a girl that might be interested in his younger brother, or that he thought Rob would like, but it invariably became another conquest of his own. Knowing that made this blind date seem all the more interesting as Rob walked in the late April evening to a coffee shop on Los Valles Avenue, tucked away in one of the lower-rent areas of town and only a few blocks from his apartment.
He knew the coffee shop somewhat well; he’d spent a handful of evenings there on the patio outside, sipping the cheapest special they had at the time and smoking while other students came and went. Sometimes he’d sit there with a book or two studying for a test when he got tired of staring at the walls of his apartment; sometimes it was just somewhere to go.
Had it not been for Bill’s insistence that this girl was Absolutely Perfect for Rob he wouldn’t have gone; blind dates were not exactly his idea of how to best spend a Friday night. However, knowing that Bill was hardly one to exaggerate when it came to issues of the fairer sex, Rob set aside his books for the night. He put on the single pair of dress pants he owned and a shirt that was only slightly wrinkled, and made his way in a mixture of curiosity, anticipation, and the God-I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this self consciousness that stems from blind dates.
While he walked, he tried picturing the “devilishly hot” girl that would be waiting. It was difficult, as “devilishly hot” had been all that Bill had given him to work with. He tried for a moment to think of past girls that Bill had so designated, and knew it was pointless at the size of the list he made with only a moment’s thought: one-hundred pound brunette waifs, athletic blondes, and even a redhead that had been at least twice Rob’s size had all fit that description from his brother at one time or another. He gave up trying and left Ms. Absolutely Perfect to the fates.
He opened the door to the coffee shop, the aroma of cappuccinos and lattes filling the air, suddenly aware that he couldn’t remember the girl’s name—Missy, Trixie, Kristy, something like that. He wasn’t terribly worried though; he knew he could play it off by looking around stupidly and making it obvious that he didn’t know who he was looking for. She’d come up to him and say “Rob? Hi, I’m…” and fill in the blank for him.
The interior of the shop was deserted, save for one rather large guy about Rob’s own age, staring intently at a text book as though it held the secret to the universe. If the guy in the corner was Bill’s idea of an Absolutely Perfect girl, this would most likely be a fairly short-lived blind date.
Seeing no other patrons and no specials marked on the black board above the counter, he ordered a regular coffee from the barista, and briefly considered between the fancy glass ashtrays with the coffee shop’s logo on it and the plain, disposable tinfoil ashtrays. Knowing he’d do best to keep his risks for embarrassment to a minimum, he chose one of the disposable ones. If he did happen to drop it when she arrived (as of course he would, always the lady killer), he figured the tinfoil was less apt to shatter on the concrete than the glass ones. With his smoking paraphernalia decided on, he took a seat outside to begin what he hoped was a short wait.
After about an hour, as twilight inched onward to full night, he started to realize that Absolutely Perfect was standing him up. He’d already sipped his way through two coffees and was halfway through his third as this thought started to announce its presence more frequently and with a little more insistence. By the time the barista had come out to bring him a fourth one, he’d accepted the fact that this Friday night was better suited to just enjoying his coffee and cigarettes out in the cool April air.
Of course, this acceptance served the fates well, as it gave them an excuse to make him realize he’d only brought half a pack of cigarettes, of which he’d smoked the last one. The barista saw him shaking his pack hopelessly as she sat down his fourth cup.
“Here,” she said, tossing a couple of 100’s-length cigarettes on the table. She grabbed the disposable ashtray and replaced it with one of the glass ones. He didn’t argue; with the chances of his date showing up growing slimmer by the moment, he was no longer worried about it shattering at the most inopportune time.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“Not a problem.”
He looked up at her; she was far from unattractive. The runways of Paris wouldn’t see her any time soon, but she would likewise never be left wanting for a date. Her hair was almost shoulder-length, dark brown or black—the streetlamps didn’t provide enough light to allow him to distinguish—and with a slight wave. She was thin, but not anorexic. He doubted she’d beat him in arm wrestling, but she looked like she could probably take him in a foot race (even ignoring the effects five years of smoking assuredly had wrought on his potential for a spot on the Olympics).
The lighting in the coffee shop did her no justice at all, with the stark fluorescent white stealing all trace of life from her face. While the street lights did little better, they at least gave more shadows, gently highlighting the soft curves and angles of her face.
“So, has it sunk in yet?” she asked, breaking his reverie as she cleaned the table next to his.
“What do you mean?”
She smiled at him, playfully, and not unkindly. “You’re obviously waiting for someone who hasn’t shown up yet. I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I don’t think she’s coming.”
“Yeah, it was starting to. Blind date.” He lit one of the cigarettes she’d given him. Much too light for his taste, but he hadn’t even had to ask her for one.
“Ahh…I always hated those.”
“Me too.” She laughed.
“Obviously. Why else would you be here?” He chuckled a little; she somehow put him at ease, regardless of the comments at his expense.
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but I think your wait’s going to have to end pretty quickly here. We’re about to close up for the night.”
“That’s fine. I was going to leave after this one anyways,” he said, indicating his coffee with the cigarette. “You guys are closing up awfully early for a Friday though, aren’t you?” It was only a little after nine; he’d never been here this late on a Friday before, but it seemed strange to him. She shrugged.
“That’s just when we close. Here,” she tossed a couple more cigarettes on the table for him. “For kicking you out early.” She walked off before he could refuse or thank her. He sipped his coffee as quickly as its temperature would allow, placed the last couple of dollar bills he’d set aside for the night’s entertainment on the table as a tip, and walked out.
Rob had only gotten so far as the next block when he heard a female voice call after him.
“Hey! Stranger! Wait up!” He turned around, curious but cautious—he knew this wasn’t the greatest area of town, although he doubted a woman would be calling at him to take a couple of shots at him.
Instead of a semi-automatic pistol though, the woman calling after him had nothing more powerful than her purse. While it could serve as a handy blunt instrument in the right hands, he doubted she was calling after him to bludgeon him with it for leaving a lousy tip. He waited patiently for a few seconds as she caught up to him, jogging slightly.
“Hey,” she said again as she neared him, panting slightly from the short run. “This’ll sound stupid as I stand here trying to catch my breath, but you know those smokes I gave you?” He nodded, though she continued before she could’ve noticed. “Those were my last ones. Can I get one of them back from you? I hate to ask, but it’s a decent walk home and I could really go for a cigarette on the way.”
“Sure,” he said as he fished his pack from his pocket. The cigarettes hadn’t fit very well, being longer than his normal brand, and so the box had crumpled them slightly when he’d forced it in his pocket. She laughed at the slightly curved cigarette he held out to her, but took it anyways.
“Cute.” She lit it and took a deep drag, then sighed as she exhaled. “Nothing like a good smoke after a long day at work.”
“Very true.” She started walking, and he hesitated.
“Mind walking a girl home through a bad neighborhood? You can think of it as earning the cigarettes if you’d like.” He considered the piles of clothes in his apartment that he needed to carry to the laundromat, the dishes in the sink, the four tests he had next week that he hadn’t even started to study for, and countless other things he should be doing with his newly-opened Friday night. This consideration took all of half a second.
“Sure, I’d be glad to.”
“Do you have a name? Or should I just call you ‘hey you’?”
“Rob. Robert. Or Rob.”
“Okay, Rob-Robert-Or-Rob. I’m Janet.” She put her cigarette in her left hand and stuck her right hand out. He took it and shook it gently.
“Nice to meet you Janet. How about we leave it at ‘Rob’?”
“Works for me.” He lit a cigarette of his own and they started walking. “So, Rob, what do you do when you aren’t waiting patiently for a girl who doesn’t show up?”
“School. Music. You? I mean, other than the coffee shop.”
“School. History major. Why music?”
“Just seemed like the thing to do at the time.” She laughed.
“Sounds like a nice philosophy to base your future on.”
“Well, I’ve played piano for a long time. Never really thought about doing much else. What about you? Why history?”
“The stories. Wars, politics, murder, incest, adultery. Hollywood has nothing on real life.” He laughed again.
They walked in amicable silence for a short while, and he found it both natural and strange that the silence wasn’t awkward. It was a contented silence, the silence of old friends who had long since found the spot where they could be comfortable not saying anything.
This was a part of town he was only vaguely familiar with, and he could understand why she probably wasn’t crazy about walking home alone if she had to. The houses were all low-income rentals, maybe “handy-man specials” to a real estate agent spinning them for a sale. As if reading his thoughts, she spoke again.
“I hate walking through here. It’s just…I don’t know…it’s just ugly.”
“You think so?” She looked at him, surprised, as if he’d just announced his undying affection for all things unholy.
“Well, yeah. Just look at it.”
“Ah, but there’s a beauty to be found in every darkness.” He said this more suavely than he’d ever thought possible, as though he were quoting an old classic movie or book.
“Is that Shakespeare?”
“Maybe; I thought I made it up. I think this is beautiful though,” he said, indicating the worn out houses. Again, she looked at him as though discovering a resident insanity he’d hidden quite well until that moment. He smiled at her. “Well, look at it. That yard over there? It’s freshly cut, even though most of the grass is dead and most of the yard is dirt. There’s some toys laying there—they’ve got kids. The house is falling apart, but you can see where they’re trying to piece it back together, even paint it a little. I’ll bet that car in the driveway wouldn’t make it even just to Riverside, but it’s clean, looks like they might even have waxed it. They probably take better care of it than most people with a car straight off the lot.”
“Okay, and how is that beautiful?”
“Well, in this whole neighborhood, no one gives a damn. No one cares about their house, their cars, nothing. You can tell by the way everything looks. But that house,” he indicated his earlier example again, “they care. They’re trying. While the rest of the neighborhood is a wasteland, they’re trying to pull themselves up, trying to bring a little life to a desert. It’s beautiful.” They walked silently for a few minutes, and Rob started to think it was stupid of him to get preachy, or philosophical, or whatever he’d just done.
“You’re right,” she said finally, confusing him by using the one phrase he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it would’ve been closer to “Okay, I need to turn here and you’re freaking me out so bye-bye” than “You’re right.”
“What?”
“I said you’re right. It is beautiful. In a weird, non-beautiful kind of way.” She added the last almost hurriedly. In later years, amid the countless times he relived that night, he would realize that it was her way of trying to maintain a front he’d somehow sneaked through. Of course he didn’t realize it at the time, and took it as an attempt at another joke. He laughed quietly.
They turned another corner, and right as Rob was thanking God for letting Janet live so far away as to ensure this night would never end, she stopped.
“Well, this is it. Chez Edwards.” He looked up at the small house and almost laughed again; it was in only slightly better shape than those she had found so disturbing only moments ago. He noticed a slight anxiety in her that hadn’t been there before, and realized she might be thinking the exact same thing.
“It’s nice, just you?”
“And Lisa, my sister. You going to be alright walking home?”
“Yeah, just a couple of blocks away,” he lied.
“Liar. You have no clue where you are, do you?” He laughed; she seemed more at ease now at least.
“No, I don’t, but I’ll manage.”
“Well, thank you for walking a girl home,” Janet said demurely, then stepped over and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth. He stared blankly at her for a moment and she laughed. “Okay, this is when you say ‘you’re welcome.’” He smiled.
“You’re welcome.” She started up the walk to her house, and he called after her. “Hey, wait, how do I get home?” She turned to him.
“Los Valles is only a block that way,” she pointed behind him. “Can’t miss it.” He waved sheepishly at her back as she stepped inside, then turned around and started walking.
As he reached the corner where the street he was on intersected Los Valles, he found that their half-hour walk through the neighborhood had ended less than five minutes away from the coffee shop.
Don’t forget to leave a comment to be entered in the drawing for a free digital copy of the full novel! And, if you’re impatient and want to purchase the full novel in paperback for only $9.95, go to https://www.createspace.com/3332699.
The winner for this chapter will be picked at 4:00 PM Mountain time, Wednesday January 28th. The third chapter should go up pretty close to then
An Open Invitation
If I’ve learned nothing else from trying to publish my own books, I’ve learned just how damned tough it is. I mean, seriously, when I finished Like Glass, I thought it’d be simple: draw up a pretty cover, do a little formatting, submit it to the POD publisher and then kick back and watch people flock to my new work.
No, unfortunately I wasn’t on any mind-altering chemicals at the time, except my constant companions nicotine and caffeine.
So, here I sit, two years later with another book finished (Shattered, if you’ve never read any of the posts here), and this time I’m a little wiser. I’m wanting to do it “right”, and though I’m not 100% sure as to what exactly the “right” way is, I know it means I can’t do it on my own.
Side note: I was speaking with someone on Twitter last night, and they pointed out in a bit more detail something I already knew: agents and publishers don’t like self-published materials. Mainly because they don’t want something they aren’t getting first dibs on. That said, I’m still planning on spending my time and efforts in trying to self-publish Shattered. Why? Simple: my past experience has shown me that the odds of getting published are slim to none. So, the question is: do I spend several weeks in a vain search, or do I spend those several weeks prepping Shattered for publication on my own? The sooner I can get it ready, the sooner you can read it. Simple as that. And you – the person sitting there taking the time to read a random post on my blog – is the reason I’m writing in the first place, not to put money in some publisher’s pocket (maybe to put a little in mine, but let’s be honest: you and I both know this ain’t gonna break any records…)
Anyways, as the post title says, this is an open invitation. I’m looking for people to help out – we can discuss the financial aspects of it, though bear in mind I’m on a damned tight budget (otherwise I’d just go to any of the countless services on the web for this). There’s two main things I’m looking for: an editor and a cover designer. Someone to help with publicity would be nice as well, but I can take care of that to some degree.
The current plan is mainly to prep Shattered for publication, and possibly to re-release Like Glass as a hard-cover. I’m going to move from CreateSpace to Lulu. Lulu offers cover design and editorial analysis as a package for $300, so if all else fails I may just go with that. But if there’s someone out there who wants to build up a portfolio and get credit in the novel(s), I’d rather help someone out.
So, if you happen to know anyone looking for something to kill some time with, feel free to introduce me
Of course, at the same time, if you happen to know an agent or publisher you could introduce me to, trust me: I’ll go for it. I’m just not up to wasting my time searching any more.
Alright, in the meantime, need to get back to pretending to edit and create a cover on my own 
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
UPDATE 1/25/09: Thanks to this post, I was able to find an editor (thanks again Ashley!). I’m still looking for a graphics editor though, so if you happen to know someone looking to fill their portfolio, let me know. Thanks!
–Matt
Might Be A Little Quiet Around Here
This post ought to be interesting, a nice little cross-pollination between my psychological crap and all my book promo stuff. It’s probably something that’s better left for a diary entry, kept private and all that, but I’ve never been able to see the point in writing something that no one was going to read, and I need to write this out.
I’m in a bit of a tough place right now. I’m on a bit of a leave from work for about a month or so, and I’m torn. I have Shattered sitting on my desk taunting me, wanting me to finish editing it and prep it for publication, but it’s driving me crazy. I mean that almost literally, too.
Like Glass didn’t seem like this big of a deal; I don’t know what the problem is with Shattered. For some reason though, I just can’t bring myself to finish it off. I just get so damned overwhelmed when I look at it that I wig out and can’t hardly see straight. Then I think of all the other work that’s got to go into it once it’s edited – designing the book cover, submitting it for proofs, the whole publicity run, yadda yadda yadda. Aarrgh!
I promised myself I’d take this time off and just relax. Play video games and maybe write a program or two. I can’t bring myself to do it though. I’ll start, then after a few minutes, I’ll go and check my email. Then Twitter, then Facebook. Then the hits on my website. Those are always too low, so I’ll tweet something about my latest post and watch the hits. Then I’ll pick up my red pen, because by this time I’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be relaxing, and I want to get the book finished so I can say “I have two books available, here’s the link”. Stare at the page for about two minutes, then decide to go smoke. Rinse and repeat.
Now, there’s always the possibility of hiring someone to take care of all this, but that’s something I pretty much have to discount out of hand – too many bills and not enough paychecks. Simple as that.
Of course, there’s the other alternative: get a publisher. They’re supposed to take care of the whole shebang with your book, everything that I don’t want to do. So I’ll spend time looking for a publisher, thinking “Damn, this is a waste of time (and it always is) that I could be spending working on the book myself instead of trying to be lazy and find someone else to do everything for me.” After going through that thought process a few times, I drop the web browser and pick the red pen up again. Maybe I’ll get through a whole chapter this time, before I start thinking “Damn, there’s just soooo much crap to do,” and go back out to smoke. Then it’s back to Twitter and Facebook for a few minutes.
So, the short version of all that is that I’m probably making it much harder on myself than it really is, but I don’t know how to break the cycle. I want it to be finished, but I don’t want to put the energy into getting it finished.
Maybe I really need to force myself to take a break. Maybe getting away from it for a little while will put it all back into perspective and make it all a little more palatable. I dunno.
I’m not saying I’m going to; my brain’s just a little fried right now, and I’ll probably think differently about it all in the morning. Who knows. But in case things slow down around here over the next couple of days, now you know why
Okay, rant done (for now).
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Some Book Promo Tips
I’m still new to the whole book marketing thing, so I’m in no way any kind of marketing guru. That said, I’m trying some stuff out and I figure it wouldn’t be a bad idea to share it. Feel free to give these a shot, or comment on them if you have better suggestions.
Social Networking
This is the big buzz word that’s on everyone’s lips these days, and odds are better than even money that, if you’re reading this, you found out about it on something like Facebook or Twitter. That right there should be proof enough to you that they work Here’s my first recommendation: go to http://ping.fm/ and sign up for an account. Add all of the social networks that you’re a part of, and join those that you’re not part of. You don’t have to spend a ton of time getting them set up and making new friends, but give each one an honest effort. The more “friends” (or equivalent) you have on each site, the better, because when you use Ping.FM to update your status, each person on each site is one more potential reader who may try and find out more about you. Then, when you make a new blog post, use Ping.FM to post a link and you’ll have just broadcast your new post to lots of people who hopefully are interested in it.
I probably should explain Ping.FM real quick here. It’s really simple: instead of going to Twitter, making a post, then going to Facebook and updating your status, and going to MySpace and updating your status, etc. ad nauseum, you just make one post at Ping.FM and it’ll take care of all the networks you have registered on it. Pretty cool.
One thing to keep in mind though, there’s people on the other end of the networks. They aren’t just robots ready to click any link you post. Take time every once in a while to actually talk to them – if nothing else, because it can actually help out in the long run. For example, on Twitter the other day, a person was asking a question about using the drums on Guitar Hero World Tour. I actually knew the answer to this, so I responded; she thanked me and I went on about my business. Later in the day, I was fishing for people to grant an interview, and she offered to do one. Now, she isn’t exactly CNN or anything, but it’s still one more spot on the web where I’ll get a mention. And I never would’ve made her acquaintance if I hadn’t paid a little bit of extra attention.
I want to single Facebook out right now because it’s a pretty useful site. Aside from the friends/status posts mentioned above, it also has different things you can do, like set up groups and pages. If you know how to use these right (and I don’t claim that I do), these can be killer marketing utilities. Personally, I’m not terribly big on pages, so I can’t really say much about them. I have one, but I’ve never been able to get anything accomplished with it. Groups, on the other hand, are great.
With groups, there’s two primary purposes it can serve. First, and most obvious, is that it can serve as a discussion forum. People can post questions or comments, and you (or other group members) can respond. If you’re good at sparking discussion, this is wonderful.
The second benefit to groups is that they serve as a kind of mailing list. It’s possible to send a message to all group members, and they can opt out much easier than if you were trying to manage your own list server. Just don’t over do it – maybe a weekly newsletter, or an occasional “Hey, here’s a special event; come check it out!” message. But eventually you’ll start losing members left and right – trust me, I speak from experience on that.
One other thing to keep in mind about Facebook over the other social networks. Facebook doesn’t move quite as fast as, say Twitter, so you might not want to attach it to Ping.FM. It’s a toss up. I was using Ping.FM to update everything, but I was mentally focused on Twitter – Twitter moves pretty fast (in my experiences with it, at least). Then, the other day, I got an email from someone saying that my profile looked like a sad, desperate attempt to get people interested in my novel – I had probably twenty status updates linking to different posts on my blog. In Twitter, it wouldn’t have been noticed quite as much, but in Facebook it looks pretty bad. Just keep that in mind.
Blogging
Alright, these days just about everyone has a blog. If you don’t, get one. They’re really easy to start up, and there’s tons of free services out there, like WordPress and BlogSpot (or is it Blogger.com?). Your blog is your primary marketing tool, no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. This is your gateway into people’s minds and hearts, and with a little bit of luck maybe even their wallet (hate to be so blunt about it, but that’s something that we can’t really deny now, is it?).
One of the most important things to do with your blog is to post regularly. You don’t have to post a 200-page treatise every day, but a few paragraphs here and there, maybe every couple of days. It’s definitely worth it. You aren’t going for the immediate sale here, so don’t get disappointed if you don’t see your numbers skyrocket in a week or two. You’re trying to build up a steady reader base, people who get familiar with you and your writing. In the long run, that translates to sales.
Freebies
Now, this is a touchy subject. No one likes to just give their hard work away. But you need to figure out where your goals are. If you’re just trying to make a quick buck, then giving anything more than a chapter or two away probably isn’t a good idea. On the other hand, if you’re in it for the long haul, and like me you don’t have a publisher and can’t afford a publicist, consider giving away copies – even digital copies – of your book. If you haven’t already gone through some of my previous posts about giving away Like Glass, here’s what I’m doing; maybe you can do something similar to it.
First off, I’m considering Like Glass a wash. It’s not going to sell, at least not at the moment. I’ve accepted that. But, I have a sequel that I’m editing right now, Shattered, that might be able to have a better future if I play my cards right. So here’s what I’m doing: each week, I’m releasing a chapter of Like Glass, for free on my blog. I’m asking people to post comments, and the following week, when I release the next chapter, I’m going to pick at random one of the people who commented and give them a free digital copy of the full novel. When I post the last chapter, I may have a “grand prize” drawing and give out a few hardcopies; I haven’t decided yet.
Now, at first it sounds like I’m just wasting my effort in giving the novel away. But, if everything goes well, then by the time I post the final chapter there’s going to be a lot of people wanting to know what happens next. The free digital copy draws them to the chapter, they read the chapter and (hopefully) get drawn in. Then they come back next week for the next chapter. When I’m ready to release Shattered, I already have a decent reader base.
That’s the plan, at least
Take a Break
Marketing a book is a damned tiring endeavor, and is definitely harder than writing it in the first place. You need to step away from the computer every once in a while, or else you’ll just drive yourself mad. Trust me on this one, I know from my own experience I try and take a smoke break at least once an hour to get away from the screen, and every couple of hours I’ll lay down on the couch and rest my eyes for about ten or twenty minutes. I’m not saying you need to do either of those (although I strongly recommend the resting-of-the-eyes), but get away from it, let your mind wander on to other topics for a little bit. Then you can get back in on it full-force.
Okay, hopefully those made sense to you. I’m sure I’m leaving out a ton of stuff, but this was supposed to just be a quick little list of some of the things I’m trying out. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to share them – I’m sure everyone would love to hear them.
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Quick Coding Tip: One Use for Extension Methods
Okay, I’m probably out of the loop on the whole coding thing, and this is probably something that’s been discussed many times, but I “discovered” this yesterday and felt I just had to share it with the programming community. As an FYI, this is dealing with C# 3.0 stuff — so you’ll need an appropriate compiler to work with it (i.e. VC# Express 2008).
First off, let me introduce the problem this is dealing with. Personally, I love working with interfaces. I probably overdo it, but it’s great to be able to write a unit test using interfaces (and mock objects), and know that your code will still work (in theory) regardless of how that interface is actually implemented. This concept works great if you break your UI up into controls, and have the controls implement your interfaces, but that’s a story for another time.
One of the main problems with this though, is that a lot of your really simple methods — copying data, equals methods, etc. — can’t be implemented in an interface, of course. Here’s how I used to get around this (and whether this is good design or not is definitely debateable):
First, a simple interface:
[codesyntax lang="csharp"]public interface INoteData {
string Title { get; set; }
string Text { get; set; }
}
[/codesyntax]
To implement a simple copy method, one that you know will work just on the interface and not on any particular implementation, you need to put that method in a different class:
[codesyntax lang="csharp"]public static class NoteManager {
public static void Copy(INoteData src, INoteData dest)
{
dest.Title = src.Title;
dest.Text = src.Text;
}
}
[/codesyntax]
And when you’re using your notes, and you want to copy it, you have to involve this extra class:
[codesyntax lang="csharp"]INoteData src = NoteFactory.CreateNote();
// do stuff with the src note
INoteData dest = NoteFactory.CreateNote();
NoteManager.Copy(src, dest);
[/codesyntax]
Wouldn’t it be cleaner to just do something like:
[codesyntax lang="csharp"]src.CopyTo(dest);[/codesyntax]
Of course, though, you can’t do that with interfaces. At least, not without forcing every different implementation to re-write the code for that particular method.
Here’s where extension methods can help. The code is really simple:
[codesyntax lang="csharp"]public static class NoteExtensions {
public static void CopyTo(this INoteData src, INoteData dest)
{
dest.Title = src.Title;
dest.Text = src.Text;
}
}
[/codesyntax]
Then, when you’re ready to use it, you just call it like above:
[codesyntax lang="csharp"]INoteData src = NoteFactory.CreateNote();
// do stuff with src.
INoteData dest = NoteFactory.CreateNote();
src.CopyTo(dest);
[/codesyntax]
And voila! Instant copy method, that applies across the board to all implementations of the INoteData interface.
Now, this example was assuredly contrived, but I’m sure you can find uses for the overall concept in your project.
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