This Little Author Went to Market

There’s this amazing new method for helping the public learn about your product. It’s called “Marketing.” Perhaps you’ve heard of it.

We’ve talked a little before about how much we don’t like marketing, and how we therefore don’t really do much of it. But here’s the thing. If you want to sell books, it helps if people know they exist. And we want people to buy our books! We really enjoy writing them, and think that a lot of folks will enjoy the hell out of reading them. We know they’re not for everyone, but that’s what makes them perfect for an elite few (including you!).

In order to learn about this new “marketing” thing all the cool kids are into, we attended this year’s Independent Authors Conference. Careful readers of this blog will recall that we attended last year, too, but the difference is that this year we’ve actually made a plan to implement what we learned. Gasp!

(We have a great excuse for why last year was a bit of a bust. We returned from a big trip to the Adriatic four days before the conference started, and our heads were still mostly in Croatia.)

So we spent this past weekend in Philadelphia, attending sessions, meeting other authors and industry pros, eating a seven course Moroccan meal without silverware (so. delicious.), and watching a goofy video of Kaiju Ben Franklin battling a giant cheesesteak.

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I Loomed Over The Panda

  • by Kentthe ferociousness of his kisses
  • sexy brunette in tight jeans
  • This is about your reputation?
  • But my best friend tried to kill me
  • a grimace and maybe some dried vomit

Tune in next time part 334      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I loomed over the panda, imagining the face behind that stubborn mask. A maniacal face, I was sure, a face wearing a grimace and maybe some dried vomit. On the other hand, maybe I had misread the situation. Maybe the panda and the armadillo hadn’t been in cahoots at all. Maybe the face would be familiar, even the face of my best friend.

But my best friend tried to kill me. He’d chained weights to my legs and trapped me in the tidal zone, and then he chased me with a harpoon. And it occurred to me that donning this ridiculous blue costume and attempting to kidnap an infant Contrarian royal was just the sort of thing he might do.

“I bet it really is you,” I muttered, shaking my head. “That’s why you made sure the mask won’t come off, and why you won’t speak. But what’s your angle? You’re trying to impress some syndicate boss? Or the ninjas? This is about your reputation? I bet that’s it, and my daughter is just a pawn in your pathetic, petty, game.” I leaned down and poked the panda’s belly. “John!”

The occupant of the mascot suit made a “hmph!” noise and sat up. The suit’s arms dangled limp, its wearer’s arms having been withdrawn into the bulbous torso. Soon there was a mechanical growling sound which it took me several seconds to identify as a heavy-duty zipper. The head tipped backwards and the neck seam finally opened up, unzipped from the inside. And I saw the face.

It was not John.

He stood up and stepped out of the costume, and I saw the effect he had on both Fleur and Isolde. Their eyes were glued to the sexy brunette in tight jeans, their mouths agape and eager to gauge the ferociousness of his kisses.

With hardly a glance at anyone else, he jutted his cleft chin at me.

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The Blue Panda Rolled Onto His Back

  • by jenlike pickets in a fence
  • shimmered like a pigeon’s neck
  • I have always been fond of animals
  • neatly riveted and soldered
  • Dream scientists already know

Tune in next time part 333      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The blue panda rolled onto his back and stared up at me with enormous googly eyes. The teeth in his grin, once white and straight like pickets in a fence, were scuffed and dented from the gondola’s floor. A smudge of oil on his cheek shimmered like a pigeon’s neck. I have always been fond of animals, but not animal mascots, and certainly not mascots that have the heads neatly riveted and soldered into place to prevent their removal.

Dream scientists already know how this encounter in the zeppelin played out, because they can often see the future through the eyes of their slumbering subjects. I, though, was still in the dark.

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Mystery Science Road Trip 3000

A little while ago Kent had a birthday, and Jen gave him the best present ever: VIP tickets to a Mystery Science Theater 3000 Live show. The date of the show finally rolled around, so we jumped in the Skelleymobile and headed off on a road trip.

Faithful blog readers will know that we like to use car trips as brainstorming time. Our open projects are dwindling in number as we complete novels and launch them into the world. In fact, out of our first three trilogies, we currently have only one book that’s unwritten, and it’s most of the way outlined already. The part of it that’s not nailed down yet involves a lot of moving parts that all need to mesh together just so, and “in a moving car while Kent pays attention to traffic” didn’t seem like the best environment for tackling it. Enter: the Ghost Novels!

Before this trip we had a few wisps of ideas for the way we want the supernatural to work in our newest story world. Now, after a couple of hours of discussion, we have a much clearer picture of the way our ghosts will work, and even the ghost of a plot (see what we did there?). At this point it’s more like two or three plotlings, some of which might work together and some of which contradict each other. A lot more conversation will be needed before we’re ready to start writing. But it felt good to explore a whole new universe, especially this one at Halloween time. We’re surrounded by spooky stories and it’s exciting to start to work on our own.

You know what else is exciting? Getting to have a conversation with Joel Hodgson (who is very nice! — he told Kent he asked a great question!), having our pictures taken on the Satellite of Love with Joel, Jonah, the Bots, and Pearl Forrester’s clone Synthia, and then watching a live riffing of a truly terrible movie.

Most exciting of all? Having a writing partner who shares your sense of humor.

The Blue Panda And I Stared At Each Other

  • by Kentglue a rug to a hardwood floor
  • you mean an orgasm
  • like most parents
  • I know that it’s you
  • I bounded with my old agility

Tune in next time part 332      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The blue panda and I stared at each other in silent stillness. Slowly, it raised its right paw, then executed a perfect royal parade wave: elbow, elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist. The unexpected gesture stunned me, and the fuzzy mascot tried to use my momentary confusion to escape.

Of course, there was nowhere to hide in the zeppelin’s gondola. With a single belated leap I overtook and tackled the azure beast.

“Ah-ha!” I crowed, tugging on the panda’s head. But it wouldn’t come off. Anyone who’d permanently attach a costume’s head would probably glue a rug to a hardwood floor. Straddling my prone quarry, I pulled harder on the head. Muffled noises came from the costume’s occupant.

“That sounds like someone in the throes of passion,” Fleur drawled.

“Oh, you mean an orgasm,” Isolde chirped.

“Sister, please!” Fleur scolded. “Language!”

Like most parents, Fleur wanted to protect her offspring’s tender ears. I was more concerned with exposing more direct threats. If the armadillo had really been Viscount Arlo, then this creature was certain to be his accomplice.

“Your disguises were clever,” I grunted, “but go ahead and reveal yourself. I know that it’s you!”

I was bluffing, of course. I had no idea who might be working with Arlo. As I continued my struggle to remove the panda’s head, I couldn’t get the image of its waving paw out of my mind. Over and over it repeated: elbow, elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist. It felt like a code, but it wasn’t one of the Academy ciphers. Unless–

With a gasp, I bounded with my old agility off the panda’s back. “Oh!” I cried. “It is you!”

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Arlo Put His Unhinged Laughter Aside

  • by jenmaritime follies
  • asked to see the treasure map
  • his engine had an anti-siphon valve
  • “Quick!” said the boy.
  • his chair with his bare feet

Tune in next time part 331      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Arlo put his unhinged laughter aside and peered down at the flaming submarine and foundering aircraft carrier. “We aren’t going to let these trifling maritime follies come between us, are we Fleur my dear?” he asked in his most unctuous voice. “After all it wasn’t so long ago that you asked to see the treasure map tattooed upon my abdomen. We could toss this so-called husband of yours out of the zeppelin and continue the game of Candyland we were playing upon it.”

I’d had enough of this Svenborgian dick. I deftly tucked my infant daughter inside my morning suit’s jacket and buttoned it to hold her in place, then yanked the gondola door’s handle. The door swung outward and I shoved the viscount after it.

As he fell, a flap opened in the back of the armadillo costume, exposing a jetpack. It roared to life and Arlo flew away, flipping us off.

“What the hell!” I said.

“He mentioned his jetpack often in bed,” Fleur said. “But I assumed it was a euphemism. He liked to brag about how his engine had an anti-siphon valve.”

Isolde rushed forward and closed the gondola’s door.

I checked on the children to see if they were okay. My son was still strapped to the blue panda, and seemed to have the hiccups. “Quick!” said the boy. “Quick!” I wished he had a name. But more important than that right now was making sure that whoever was inside the panda costume was not another enemy.

“Isolde,” I said. “Why don’t you play with your nephew?”

“That will be good practice for motherhood!” she enthused. She scooped the boy out of his carrier while he continued to hiccup. She sat and made her lap his chair with his bare feet sticking out where she could tickle them.

I eyed up the blue panda.

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Achievement Unlocked: Editing Pass

Science Novel passed another milestone this week, when we completed an editing pass through the whole manuscript. Yay, Team Skelley!

What it mainly showed us is that this book is really close to ready to meet its adoring public. The changes were almost all word-picks, and there were surprisingly few of them. We knew that we’d done significant editing on this one already, but because we’d laid it aside for quite a while we expected to have more issues jump out at us when we picked it back up. The longer we let a book rest, the better we can see what needs tuning. So, this is a great sign.

There’s still tons of work to do in order to get it ready. One of the tasks will be yet another editing pass. Why bother? Because we want you to have nice things, of course. But also for symmetry. Jen went first on this most recent edit, so for the next one it’ll be Kent’s turn to run in front. We each tend to be tuned into different aspects of the prose, and we’ve geared our process to take advantage of that.

(It’s also an excuse to read the story again.)

I Was Sure That Fleur

  • by Kenthurts our brains
  • gladden the hearts
  • thinking that it really must be something else
  • another licking kiss
  • I got a history with cowboys

Tune in next time part 330      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was sure that Fleur would tell me to fling Viscount Arlo from the gondola so he might tumble into the flaming wreckage that had so recently been his hideous submarine. But both she and Isolde seemed too shocked to utter a sound.

“Shall I toss him out?” I asked, shoving Arlo toward the exit. He was still laughing, though, and the sisters’ faces were growing paler.

“His laughter hurts our brains,” Isolde muttered.

“Gonna take that as a yes,” I grunted, hustling Arlo up against the door, pinning him by pressing the heel of my hand into his sternum. We stood like that while I tried to figure out the best way of unlatching the door without letting my prisoner slip free, and without dropping my baby girl. I knew seeing him flail on the way down would gladden the hearts that beat in a warlord’s daughter’s breasts.

“You mustn’t,” Fleur pleaded. I puzzled over the obvious meaning of her words, thinking that it really must be something else. Because why wouldn’t she want to be rid of this dick?

Viscount Arlo ran out of air at last, so we got half a second of quiet before his long, rasping inhalation began. His one eye seized my gaze, and then he ducked his chin to swipe his oily tongue across the back of my hand. I flinched, and he gave my hand another licking kiss.

“Stop that,” I grumbled. “It won’t spur me to release you.”

Arlo laughed again, shrill and loud. He crowed, “Spurs? What fun! You should know I got a history with cowboys.”

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Fleur Stayed Riveted to the Battle

  • by jenone of the animal’s spongy feet
  • an explosive movement
  • noticed a strange mark
  • “No son of mine will be
  • watch your fat feet

Tune in next time part 329      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur stayed riveted to the battle outside the zeppelin’s windows, radioing instructions to her fighter jets and the aircraft carrier’s captain. Meanwhile Isolde crooned a lullaby to her stomach, and the babies’ mascots danced and fidgeted nervously. The rainbow armadillo lurched close to me and one of the animal’s spongy feet came down on the top of my fancy dress shoes.

“Ouch!” I complained, but the rest of my outcry was preempted by an explosive movement below us in the water. The viscount’s submarine floundered on the waves, spewing flames.

“Yes!” cried Fleur. “We’ve got him now!”

The armadillo clapped its big, plush hands, its head tipped back in hysterical laughter. The costume gapped between the oversized head and the squishy neon chest plate. Through the gap I could see the person’s neck and noticed a strange mark on the skin, a birthmark in the shape of a mushroom. My blood turned to ice.

Fleur directed her pilots to strafe the baby-shaped submarine. “No son of mine will be raised by a Svenborgian.” She spat the last word. “And no daughter, either.”

The armadillo was becoming more agitated by the second. It stomped on me again, edging toward Fleur’s seat.

“Why don’t you watch your fat feet, Viscount?” I said. With one hand I scooped my daughter out of the armadillo’s front carrier, while with the other I yanked the bobbly mascot head off, exposing Arlo’s bald head and eyepatch. With that mushroom birthmark it was no wonder he always wore turtlenecks.

Fleur and Isolde gasped to find the traitor aboard our zeppelin.

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1000 Down

Wednesday’s installment of the chain story was our 1,000th post on the Skelleyverse. 679 of those are writing prompts, and 601 of those are of the stichomancy flavor. The other 321 posts are status updates about our various projects, advice for how to write with a partner, and other glimpses into Rune Skelley’s Writing Cave.

A big thank-you to all our blog readers, and to everyone who checks us out on Twitter. We’d be just as silly no matter what, but you guys are the reason we do it in public.

And, our deepest, most heartfelt thanks to everybody who reads our novels. We don’t have anywhere near 1,000 of those to offer. Not yet, anyway.