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 Giveaway!
Okay everyone, here’s the scoop. As you know, each week I’m going to be releasing a chapter of Like Glass on this site. Along with that, I’m also going to be giving away one free digital copy to go along with each chapter released. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on that week’s chapter. The winner will be announced the following week, and they’ll receive their copy via email.
If this goes well, I may give away one or two paper backs when the full novel has been posted, so make sure to tell all your friends about it to get them comments rolling in!
Go ahead and read the first chapter here, then post your comment to get this ball rolling!
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
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