Earshot: An Indie Author's First Foray into Audiobooks

Recently, I announced on my Facebook page that I was working on getting my first novel, No Easy Hope, on audiobook format.

Like most things in my life, the path that led me to pursue this endeavor was not a straight one. It started with a private message on Facebook from a publishing house that I have exchanged messages with in the past. I will not state their name here, because I don't want my experience with them to color anyone's opinion. They are, for the most part, a reputable organization. But my dealings with them have not been altogether positive.

They contacted me a while back to buy the rights to the Surviving the Dead series. Long story short, I turned them down. They couldn't do anything for me that I wasn't already doing for myself, and with the royalty stucture they were offering, I would have had to take a pay cut. No thank you.

Later, they contacted me again to purchase the audiobook rights. This came as a surprise; audiobooks were not even on my radar at the time. Their rather hefty price tags have always been a turnoff for me, and I didn't think there were enough people buying them to make them worth my time.

I could not have been more wrong.

I contacted a friend of mine--a fellow zombie author with whom you're no doubt familiar--and asked him for his opinion. His response was (and I quote):

"Audiobooks are fuckin' huge. My first novel has been out for three years now, and it has, like, three-hundred reviews on Amazon. The same book has only been on audio for about ten months, and the audio version has over a freakin' thousand reviews. I'm  telling you, audiobooks are fuckin' huge."

Maybe it was the sincerity in his tone that got me, or the thick New England accent, but I believed him. So I entertained the publishing house's offer. I even agreed on the advance and royalty.

Then they sent me the contract.

Now, there are a lot of authors out there who jump at the chance to sign on with a publisher. I have never been one of them. I am a paranoid person, I don't trust anyone or anything, and I always assume that anyone who comes to me with an offer for anything, no matter what it is, is trying to screw me. This attitude has saved me from a lot of grief.

So, being the pedantic, untrusting soul that I am, I forked over a few hundred dollars to have a reputable attorney review the contract for me. A few days later, I got his response via email.

Oh. My. God.

I won't bore you with the grim details, but suffice it to say, what they were asking for was not NEARLY worth what they would have been paying me. As you can imagine, I wound up turning them down.

Now I had a dilemma. I knew that I would be leaving money on the table by not putting my books on audio, but I didn't have the cash it would take to pay for production. Making a well-engineered, professional audiobook can be an expensive proposition.

Enter: ACX.

Amazon's Audiobook Creation Exchange platform. It is, in a word, awesome.

There are three parties, generally speaking, involved in creating an audiobook. The rights-holder (me), the producer (most of the time, but not always), and a narrator. Some narrators do their own production, but many work with private studios or production companies. In the past, it was difficult--nigh impossible, in fact--to bring these three entities together without involving a major publishing house.

If there is one thing Amazon it good at, it is spotting opportunities.

They created an online, B2B marketplace where all of these separate parties can come together and make audiobooks. Here's how it works:

As a rights-holder (author), what I did was create a profile for my book (which is essentially a sales pitch) and posted it for auditions. When you create a profile, ACX gives you two options for paying for the production: You can either name a budget in terms of how much you are willing to pay per finished hour of audio, or you can offer a royalty share agreement.

With royalty share, the deal is simple: The author pays nothing up front, the producer or narrator records the audiobook on their own dime, and then the two parties split the royalties fifty-fifty. This is a great deal for indie authors; you don't have to come up with thousands of dollars up front, and all of the risk essentially falls on the producer. If the book doesn't earn out, it's no skin off the author's back. For me, it's all profit no matter what happens. My up front cost is ZERO.
 
Shortly after posting the profile, the auditions started rolling in. Some were kind of crappy, but most of them were actually really good. In fact, I was kind of taken aback at how talented some of the voice actors were.

Right about the same time, I got another message on Facebook. This time it was from Gregg Savage, the proprietor of Sunny Day Audio. He has done some quality work in the past, and has been in the audiobook business nearly his entire life. I called him, heard what he had to say, and hedged my bets by asking him to submit an audition.

Gregg went above and beyond by actually submitting two auditions from two different narrators on his payroll. Both were good, but I wound up going with Guy Williams. He has quite a bit of work available on the various audiobook platforms, and I think he is genuinely talented.

I have to hand it to Gregg, he brought his A-game. The narration was good, the engineering was crisp and clear, and the overall production was thorough and professional. He impressed me, and that is not an easy thing to do.

The production is now finished, ACX has the final product, and hopefully in the next week or two, it will be available for purchase. For any authors out there who read this blog, and haven't considered the possibility of getting your books on audio, my advice is this: ACX is your huckleberry.

Look into it.

Audiobooks are fuckin' huge.

Interview with author Brian P. Easton

I've mentioned before on both this blog and my facebook page that I'm a big fan of Brian P. Easton's werewolf hunter series comprised of two novels titled, in order, Autobiography of a Werewolf Hunter, and Heart of Scars. (Click the link if you'd like to purchase a copy through Amazon.)If you haven't checked them out yet, both novels get my highest recommendation for horror fans. Be warned, however: These novels are honest-to-God, no-holds-barred horror, and they are NOT for the faint of heart.

For clarification, the main character's name in both novels is Sylvester Logan James. So if you see SLJ, that's what we're talking about.

Now, as Arnold said in Conan the Destroyer, ENOUGH TALK!

J: Where did you get the idea for the SLJ series?

B: That’s a question that doesn’t have just one answer because the idea itself and the character both evolved from a youthful fascination with classic horror. A host of influences helped shape the story into what it is today. My inspirations ranged from my Dad and our mutually admired border-hero Lewis Wetzel, to an obscure scene on an episode of Laverne and Shirley, circa 1977.

As a kid I saw lots of vampire killers in movies and comic-books, but there was a conspicuous absence of werewolf-hunters. I decided to remedy this apparent oversight by creating one of my own, but Sylvester Logan James would be barely recognizable in his earliest incarnation. The character who would become SLJ first starred in my home-made comics as the Werewolf Stalker, and then graduated to a career in typewritten short stories. I started taking the character seriously around 1998 when I gave him a literary makeover in When the Autumn Moon is Bright, which would become Autobiography of a Werewolf Hunter. To this day I have six unpublished, SLJ based manuscripts that bear little resemblance to the AWH storyline.

J: What has your experience working with Permuted Press been like?

B: I couldn’t have asked for better people than Permuted Press; they’re an exceptionally author-friendly, forward-thinking outfit. I have nothing but good things to say about Jacob, who has the best interests of his authors at heart. I’m fortunate to be associated with him and such a talented stable of writers.

J: How has becoming an author changed your life?

B: I was self-published for a number of years and I can tell you at this point it’s mostly bragging rights. Naturally, if you’re a writer being published is a big deal; just ask one who isn’t. I mean tell someone at a party you’re a writer and they’ll probably tell you about poems they’ve written or the idea they had for a novel back in high school. On the other hand, if you say you’re a published author you might get a, “Oh, really?”

In the life-changing department I’d like to say being an author has made me independently wealthy and won me national acclaim, but I can’t so you might want to ask me again when I’m a NYT bestseller.

J: How do your family and friends feel about your choice of genre?

B: My friends love it, but of course you can pick your friends can’t you? Family is a much harder sell, because they’ve probably put up with our ramblings since adolescence and won’t see us for the polished wordsmiths we’ve become. My family isn’t much in the way of horror and I don’t think they understand its appeal, so for the most part I get an occasional “atta-boy” but that’s about all. Truthfully, that’s enough because while they might not fully appreciate what I write, they’ve always been supportive. In fact, each of my parents played key roles in my decision to be a story-teller. When I was only 10 my mother gave me her old typewriter on which I wrote my very first stories, and thus instilled in me a love for writing. My father’s attitude towards the concept of werewolves is the very foundation of SLJ, and defined my interpretation of “The Beast” once and for all.

J: What do you do when you’re not writing?

B: Basically, I chase a toddler all over hell’s creation. I’m also teaching him to hunt werewolves and cast silver bullets in between periods of wiping the snot off his cheeks. Other than that I’m a bit of a firearm and motorcycle aficionado, though the seldom get a chance to indulge both interests at once. I also dabble in graphic design and have created a line of horror/sci-fi themed labels which I put on antique bottles and sell on Ebay around Halloween.

J: What can your fans expect in 2013? Any new releases coming up?

B: This year with a bit of luck I’ll be able to finish The Lineage, which is the third and probably last installment in the AWH series. I’ve been working on this thing for what feels like way too long, but when you add a 20-month old to a pre-existing penchant for working slowly I guess that’s bound to happen.

My buddy Miles Boothe has edited a nice anthology series for Pill Hill Press called Legends of the Monster Hunter, to which I’ve contributed a Foreword and other supplemental material. The first two books, Leather, Denim and Silver and The Trigger Reflex are available right now and the third installment Use Enough Gun should be out sometime this year. There are some real gems in these books that are worth the purchase price all by themselves.

J: Would you ever consider writing a zombie novel?

B: I don’t think so, it’s not my niche and I have no vision for it. I’d have to have a real epiphany of an idea to even consider it. You know, something that’s never been done in a field where almost everything’s been done? No, I believe I’d write another kind of monster novel first, maybe an Aztec mummy or something.

J: Who do you think could play SLJ in a movie? Any other cast picks for characters from your novels?

B: My dream cast is pretty well established for a movie treatment: Gillian Anderson as Tanya Clemons, Gabriel Byrne as Daniel Rogier, Christopher Walken as Diego etc., but SLJ has always been harder to cast. It’d have to be someone with a talent for portraying anger and grief with equal enthusiasm; someone who is masculine without being loutish and visually striking without being pretty. When I think about movie characters who with these traits I settle on Bill the Butcher (Gangs of New York) and Nathaniel Bumppo, aka Hawkeye (Last of the Mohicans), both as played by Daniel Day Lewis. Sam Eliot would also be my first choice to play Foster, SLJ’s father.

J: Do you have any book or movie recommendations for your fans?

B: You know, tastes vary so wildly from person to person that I’m always hesitant to suggest books and films to others. However, there is one book I would recommend to anyone interested in tales of violent redemption and that’s Cormac McCarthy’s masterpiece, Blood Meridian. To say the least it’s not for the faint of heart or the easily befuddled, but for me it’s become the gold standard.

In these days when horror seems to have been watered down or glitzed to the nines, I think it behooves those of us with an abiding interest in the genre to re-visit its roots and the classic authors who pretty much defined it. I think reading the old grandfathers like Jacobs, Derleth and Blackwood could give us some perspective and re-calibrate our palate for what bumps in the night.

As far as movies go I’ll just drop a couple titles that I think are underrated. Ravenous (1999), starring Guy Pearce and Robert Carlyle combines my two favorite genres (horror and western) into a bloody, funny and downright cool-as-hell romp through the American wilderness with a genuine Windigo. Also, if you’ve never seen Angel Heart (1987) with Mickey Rourke you’re really missing something as far as I’m concerned.

J: What would you tell anyone who hasn’t read your books yet to get them to give it a shot?

B: All I can promise is that my monsters don’t sparkle and my protagonist doesn’t gratuitously take off his shirt. My werewolves aren’t romanticized, bare-chested love-puppies and my hero only looks like the “good guy” because of the company he keeps. I paint a hard-boiled, sometimes noir world of teeth on the floor and hair on the wall and make no apologies for it. I strive to make the existence of werewolves as realistic as possible, and since I see them as demonic creatures I’m going to take you to places that are pretty messed up.

I’d also add that these stories have a larger tale to tell than just a vengeance-seeking anti-hero at odds with supernatural monsters. The heart of the series is a running commentary on the effects of hatred on the human soul, but you don’t necessarily have to appreciate that to enjoy the story.

Magnum Annum

Disclaimer: I am not making this post to brag. I generally try not to do that, unless it’s about my son. The purpose of this post is two-fold: 

1: My friends and family often ask me how many books I have sold. The purpose of this is to answer that question for everybody at once, instead of just waiting until I see them severally and individually.  

2: To reinforce a point I often make on my blog, that the advent of ereaders has changed the face of publishing forever. Not since the invention of the printing press has the world of literature been so radically altered.  

Now to my first point. On November 8^th, 2011, I published my first novel, No Easy Hope. It has been one year exactly since I first put my work up for sale. During that time, on July 15^th of this year, I published a second novel: This Shattered Land. In the space of that year, the total number of books that I sold is this:  

31,930.  

To some authors, this is no big deal. Stephen King probably does that in a month, but hey, I’m not Stephen King, nor am I trying to be. I’m a guy from rural North Carolina who has always loved literature, and spent thirty years wondering if he had what it takes to write a book that people would actually want to read.  

To me, the number of books I have sold is huge. I never thought I would sell a hundred books, much less over thirty thousand. Considering the fact that I am self-published, I don’t work with an editor, I do all my own marketing (such as it is), and the only distribution networks I have access to are Amazon, B&N, and other small-market ebook websites, 31,930 is a fairly impressive number. Furthermore, I did almost all of it by myself, with the exception of my cover art. Huge thanks to Keary Taylor, talented author and graphic designer extraordinaire, for that.  

Which brings me to my second point. To a major publishing house, 31,930 is chicken feed. If I had tried to get published through one of the Big Six (Simon and Schuster, Penguin, Random House, etc.), it never would have happened. My first novel would probably be sitting in a shoebox in my garage. But with the advent of ereaders, and all the various direct publishing programs, it is now possible for anyone to publish, and quite a few people have. Unfortunately, however, most of them don’t do very well.  

Quite often, I get messages on Facebook from other writers just starting out who have read my work and liked it, or are struggling to drum up any sales for their own books, and wondered what I did to get where I am (not that I’ve gone all that far, really). My answer is always the same:  

I have no freaking clue.  

All I did was write a book, put it up online, and wait. Amazon’s marketing engines did the rest. Maybe it was timing, or eye-catching cover art, or maybe it was just dumb luck. I don’t know. What I do know is that I am grateful, and that the best part of being a writer is when someone leaves a nice review, or goes on Facebook and tells me how much they enjoyed my work.  

And that is what it’s all about. The money is nice, but money isn’t everything. I get to earn a living doing what I love, and there are thousands of people out there who read my work and genuinely like it. On top of that, I have a beautiful wife, a son that I love more than anything in the world, and a kind, supportive family.  

A man can’t ask for much more than that. Thanks everybody, for all your love and support. Having all of you believe in me, helps me believe in myself. And equally as important, massive thanks to all of my readers. Without you guys, I’m just a dork pecking away at a keyboard.  

Here’s hoping that this year is as good as, if not better, than the last. There are plenty more books to come.  

I hope you enjoy them all, and thanks for coming along for the ride.  

Teaser Trailer

Many of you, my dear readers, have heard me allude to an urban fantasy series that I've been working on. For your viewing pleasure, I'd like to present an excerpt from chapter one of the first volume of the Jeremiah Cain series. Enjoy.

 

Chapter One

 

 

I was angry with my friend,

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe,

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

 

-William Blake, Poison Tree.

 

A cold wind blew swirls of dust over the empty blacktop as I stood by the side of the road leaning against the van I picked up in Albuquerque. The engine was still hot through the fabric of my duster, warming me in the chill night air. I checked the horizon again, making doubly sure that the sun had fully retreated from the sky. It wouldn’t be long now. After nearly a month of tracking, the possibility of my quarry being so close had me itching for a fight. My hands wanted to stray toward the twin kukris at my back, but I forced them deeper into my pockets. The blades would have to remain sheathed for now. It wasn’t time to cut loose, not yet. For the moment, I needed to concentrate.

The bar across the street stood out garish and loud in the barren New Mexico night. Blue and red neon splashed like bloodstains on the ranks of chrome-lined motorcycles clustered in the tiny gravel parking lot. I shut my eyes to block it out.

Focus.

Running my tongue along the crease between my cheek and gums, I worked loose a small plastic pill, no bigger than a peppercorn. There were three others to use, my emergency reserve, but one was good enough for now. Just a little kick, I didn’t want to use a full dose only to have this place turn out to be a dead end. The taste of copper hit my tongue as I bit down and swallowed, letting the heat flow through me.

Heat turned to fire. Fire turned liquid and roared through my veins, soothing the raw crawling feeling that had been plaguing me all day. I took a deep breath and let the blood run its course. Let it strengthen me and expand my senses, my mind uncoiling from its mortal confines with practiced ease. My eyes snapped open, glittering and pale in the cold desert night.

The neon signs that barely cast a dim glaze over the parking lot a moment ago now stood out like an inferno, bright and blinding. My eyes quickly adjusted, dialing the ambience down to a muted glow. A phosphorescent grey replaced the chill darkness of the empty night, revealing every crack and pit in the endless hardpan. Scalding bright heat signatures of bugs and rodents scurried through the brush, while undulating wisps of the Earth’s magnetic field soared high overhead, bending and flowing beneath the light of unnaturally brilliant stars. The dusty odor of the desert gave way to a raging kaleidoscope of scents; oil and rubber on the highway, hot metal and gasoline from the motorcycles in the parking lot, and underneath it all, the sickening sweetness of death. Remnants from the bones of things long dead.

With no rain to cleanse the dust, that’s what it always smelled like out here in the desert. Centuries of dead things lying all around, layer over layer until you couldn’t tell where the sand started and the stench ended. It made me wonder how the bloodsuckers put up with it.

Then again, any vampire desperate enough to flee to the American Southwest probably had bigger things to worry about than how the place smelled.

I shook my head; I was letting my mind wander again. Background noise, nothing more. I took a deep breath and focused on the singing, roaring heat blasting through my veins.

A century ago, the bloodrush was novel, an intriguing departure from the mundane, but now all the mystery and allure had faded, leaving behind only the grim practicality of the hunt. I ignored the rush and reached deeper, past the ordinary mortal senses, past the prosaic smells and sights and sounds. Beyond the taste of the air and the crackle of cold against my skin. I reached for something darker, a cold void of emptiness in the deepest pit of my being, a place that exists in all of us, but where few can bear to look. I grasped at what dwelt there, black tendrils of anger roiling beneath the thin veneer of sanity, razor spines and talons threatening to tear their way out.

The Beast.

It was awake, and it was hungry.

As it always did, the Beast fought against its bindings. Like the mustangs that used to roam freely on the western plains, it had to be ridden into submission, bucking and thrashing, until I had proven that my will was the stronger. In the beginning, this had been difficult. Quite a few times, if not for the other hunters guiding me, I would have lost it completely. But that was a long time, and a tall hill of corpses ago. The long, weary miles of my life’s path had forged my will from raw iron into sharpest steel. I would not falter here. I would not fail. Not with my prey so close.

It was over in a second. The Beast was a part of me, after all. A visceral extension of my subconscious with a quasi-sentient urge to kill. Now connected to my waking mind, it knew that the struggle was hopeless. I was no green apprentice. I was a full-fledged hunter, and I didn’t have time to put up with any nonsense from what was, for all intents and purposes, my imaginary friend created by a conscious effort of will.

Hungry. It sent.

The Beast didn’t really speak, as such. More like spikes of impressions that evoked singular emotions.

Patient. I sent back. Soon.

The Beast replied something between contentment and anticipation, and receded back to wait. I had a vague impression of deep red eyes glittering in the darkness, the black leviathan of its body settling down into a coil. Its eyes were wide, and they did not blink.

This is you. Collin’s words drifted back to me from across the years, this is your sleeping mind given form and shape. It will strengthen you, but all strength comes with a price, lad.

I repressed a shudder at the memory and turned my mind back to the task at hand—killing a vampire and stealing his blood. I was down to my last flask, and without it, without the bleeding, and the sigil, and the incantation, I was just another mundane. Another mortal waiting to die a nameless death.

This I would not allow. Not while so many still walked that deserved to burn. Creatures like Damon and his sick, depraved familiars. They all had earned death, and I had come to render payment.

Over three weeks it had taken me to find this place, to puzzle out Damon’s hiding spot among all the abandoned husks left to crumble under the desert sun. The last thing I expected was to find him hiding in plain sight, the proprietor of a legitimate establishment catering to a bunch of mundanes. And bikers, no less. Fairly clever on Damon’s part, especially considering how young he was. I would have to be careful when I went in to take him down, assuming he really was here.

 He had to be here. Had to be.

Or he might be underground, or he might be a hundred miles away. Vamps are fast, after all.

Focus.

The withdrawal was getting to me. Time to do something about it.

I started across the street, boots crunching against asphalt, and kept my eyes down. It would be easier for the leather-clad mountain watching the door to forget me if we didn’t make eye contact, which meant that if things went south I would have less reason to kill him. I try to avoid slaughtering normal humans whenever possible; it’s bad for business, and it has a tendency to bring down the law. With my last hunt in Texas still making headlines in Dallas and Austin, I needed to be careful. This had to go smoothly.

“Where’s your hog?” The bouncer grunted when I handed him my ID. It was a fake, but a good one.

“Back of the van.” I said, affecting a thick Texas drawl and jerking a thumb across the street. “Blew a fucking gasket. Had to call my brother in law to come get me.”

He peered where I had pointed, eyes squinting in the darkness, then back at me. I could smell the whiskey he’d drank before his shift started, and the mouthwash he’d gargled to cover it up. He stank of a bad liver, too much greasy food, and the remnants of an impressive array of narcotics working their way out of his system. His body odor was a physical thing that threatened to knock me over.

“Where’s your brother in law?”

I shrugged. “Probably at home gettin’ drunk and beatin’ on his wife. That’s what he usually does most nights.”

“So what are you here for?” He pressed, his eyes narrowing.

I twisted my mouth into a lecherous grin. “The hell do you think? Beer, pussy and blow, like every other asshole in there. The fuck else is there to do around here?”  

He stared at me for a moment longer, and I risked looking him in the eye. My vision narrowed down into the tiny mirror image reflected on his iris, seeing the same man he saw. Tall, but not as tall as him, lean, scalp a few weeks out from its last shave, and a thick goatee surrounded by a shorter, more recent growth of beard. He couldn’t see any of my sigil tatoo’s, but then I wasn’t showing much exposed skin under my long jacket. Between the leather and the scars on my face, I could have been any random ex-con between Juarez and the Black Hills.

After a moment, the bouncer grunted, handed me my ID, and went back to looking bored. I guess I had done a good enough job of looking the part. Now it was time to get to work.

As soon as I pushed through the door, Molly Hatchet blasted my hyper-sensitive ears from the speakers of a run-down old jukebox. Spider web cracks dotted the cover over the album titles, and no one had bothered sweeping up the cubes of glass on the floor beneath for at least a couple of years.

 The usual collection of neon beer logos dotted the walls, along with broken mirrors, mounted animal heads, and gaudy, flea market Native American art. Burly, bearded bikers hung out in drunken packs around pool tables while scantily clad women lounged nearby vying for their attention. Some of them were even moderately attractive in an ‘I just started using meth a few weeks ago’ kind of way, while the rest of them were a haggard reminder to the younger ones of what came from hanging around these unsavory types for too long. More than a few sported black eyes and track marks, which was only a quarter step up from the increasingly common meth-mouth. Classy.

I made my way over to the bar as quietly as possible and took a seat. A few eyes followed me over, and the look in them was not friendly. Strangers were an uncommon occurrence in a place like this. The patrons here were not accountants and marketing VP’s out for a weekend ride. These hombres were hard-core, had rap sheets a mile long, and if you rolled into this place wearing the wrong colors, you were apt to get seriously fucked up. By the strong scent of blood on the filthy concrete floor, there were probably more than a few unmarked graves in the nearby desert directly attributable to this place. All the more reason to be careful.

As I sat down, a bartender with pale, hostile eyes, a braided beard, and a frame that looked like beef jerky stretched over a skeleton approached and wiped a greasy rag over the bar in front of me.

“Whad’ya have?”

“Whiskey.” I replied.

Honestly, I didn’t want anything from this place, but it would look strange if I didn’t order a drink. The bartender stared for a moment, then grabbed a bottle from under the bar and poured me a shot. By its scent, it was much better suited for degreasing engines than for drinking.

“You must be new in town.” He said.

I shrugged. “Something like that.”

The bartender leaned forward to slide me my shot, his hand passing less than a foot underneath my face. A hot, tingling sensation burned in my nose for the barest of moments, and then the hand withdrew. It was only by an effort of will that I didn’t reach out to grab it. At least now I knew I was in the right place.

I downed the shot and did my best not to grimace at the foul taste. Traces of copper, lead, and a rancid menagerie of fungus ridden grains sizzled on my tongue like a wash of acid. God in heaven, where did he make this stuff, a Tijuana pay-toilet?

“Have another?” The bartender said, pulling a pack of menthols from the pocket of his leather vest and lighting one.

“I’d love one, but how about something that didn’t come out of a can with fucking ‘turpentine’ on the label?”

He grinned, showing his missing teeth. “What, you don’t like the homebrew?”

“I think if you poured that shit in the reservoir, half the pregnant women in town would have a miscarriage.” I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a small plastic vial, and held it up for the bartender to see. “How about something I can mix my little friend here with.”

He nodded and grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort off the rack behind him.

“Not that I particularly give a shit,” he said, “but if your lookin’ for ass, you don’t need to go wasting money on roofies. Most of these cunts in here’ll fuck you for a ten-spot and a hit of dope.”

 Again, he slid the shot across the bar, and again, I caught the scent mark. Deep in the back of my mind, I heard the Beast begin to growl, its coils slowly unfurling.

“You don’t seem particularly concerned. You’re not worried about the cops?”

The bartender coughed out a wheezing laugh. “Son, the pigs don’t fuck with this place. They know better.”

He emphasized his point by stubbing out his cigarette, pulling a joint out of the same pack, and lighting it. The acrid scent of marijuana smoke billowed across the bar. The shit smelled bad enough without heightened senses; with them, it was like tear-gas at a riot.

Good. I thought. Less cops, less attention.

“Want a hit?” He said, holding the joint out to me.

“No thanks.” I said, twisting the top off my little vial. “Got everything I need right here.”

The bartender leaned closer, looking down his broken nose at the dark liquid as I poured it into the whiskey.

“The hell is that?” He asked.

I held up the glass, swirled it around a couple of times, and threw it back. The effect was immediate. The burning in my veins increased exponentially, the sigils on my skin tingled with power, and the Beast came gliding forward, riding on crimson waves of raw energy.

“Borgras, Vorastus.” I muttered, triggering the sigils on both my wrists. The flames in my blood dampened, like dialing down the heat on a gas stove. The fuel was still there, I just didn’t need it yet. If I tried to use it now, it would quite literally burn me up. What I needed was a conduit, a safety valve, a way to control the flow of energy until it was time to wield it. That was where the Beast came in.

Its usual whisper voice grew in volume, hammering in my head like a gunshot, Hungry. Feed. Urgent.

I sent it an impression of a harness and reins emblazoned with the same sigils that were drawn into my skin. It growled and narrowed its eyes, but did as I asked.

All this happened at the speed of thought, and when I opened my eyes, my waking mind and my sleeping mind were linked, functioning as one. I could feel the power singing through me, begging to be unleashed. The Beast was under my control, and the sigils on my skin were fully charged and ready to trigger. I allowed a little power to creep into Vorastus, the Fist of Iron, and into Atas and Rozas, two of the sigils drawn in a circle on my chest. Iron, air, and force. Three words of power, and more than enough to deal with the bartender when he went for the gun at his back. Now that I was at full strength, I could smell the gun oil, and hear the pounding of his heart.

“Damn son.” The bartender chuckled. “You look like you just blew one in your shorts. Mind if I have a hit o’ that?”

I smiled, and pointed at a tattoo of an anchor on his arm.

“You serve in the Navy?” I asked.

He glanced down. “Yeah, long time ago. Why you ask?”

“Learn anything about sonar while you were in?”

He furrowed his brow and frowned. “Not really.”

“There are two kinds of sonar,” I explained, a smile creeping across my face, “Active and passive. Passive sonar is basically just listening and recording sound waves. Based on the wavelength, amplitude, shit like that, there are computers that can tell you what’s out there under the water. Problem is, if something doesn’t make any noise, you won’t know where it is.”

The bartender had noticed the strange way the neon reflected from my eyes, the afterglow of a wolf in the headlights, and was beginning to register alarm. “I don’t know what the fuck you just took, but if you go all batshit on me, I’ll crack your fucking skull and toss you out on your ass, you hear me?”

“Then you have active sonar.” I went on, ignoring him. “You send out a ping. A loud noise that bounces off of everything in a wide radius. It tells you who’s out there, and exactly where to find them. The risk you take with this is that the other guy can hear the ping too, and now he knows exactly where you are.”

A couple of bouncers who had been lounging in corners got to their feet at a signal from the bartender.

“Son,” he said, edging away “it’s time for you to go. Head first or feet first, your choice.”

The other two closed in, looming close behind me. The scents of sweat, grease, and cocaine oozed off them in billowing swells, elevated heartbeats hammering in my ears. Underneath it all, they bore the same scent mark as the bartender. Good. Three birds with one stone.

“If you send a ping,” I said, my grin widening, “you better have set up a damn good trap for the other guy, ‘cause shit’s about to get real messy, real quick.”

The next part, for anyone with the ability to transmute vampire blood, was easy. Day one stuff. I didn’t even need to trigger a sigil, I could do it by pure force of will. I drew in a small pocket of power, envisioning it at the core of my being, and compressed it. Smaller, smaller, smaller, and then…

“Kestas.” Release.

A pale blue detonation of energy pushed out of me, staggering the three familiars closest to me and radiating outward through the ground and into the night. Faster than the speed of sound, I felt what I was looking for—a psychic hit. A very specific one. An impression left in the dying mind of a young girl in Texas that had started me on Damon’s trail.

The energy came back to me, and in my mind’s eye, I saw a handsome young man lying on a pallet in the basement beneath me. The power registered with him, waking him from his slumber.

His eyes snapped open, wide with alarm, and an instant later, the floor behind me exploded.

 

Author and Swashbuckling Hero, Josh Guess

Continuing with my series of author interviews, I'm happy to share a conversation with fellow urban fantasy and zombie author Josh Guess.

I've been following Josh's Living With the Dead blog for a couple of years now, and I've recommended his novel Beautiful to everyone I know. You can check out Josh's work here.


James: Okay, first interview question (coming at you from sunny San Diego): Living with the Dead has been going strong for over two years now. How large do you estimate your audience to be, and how do you keep coming up with new ideas to keep the story engaging?

Josh: The question of audience size is hard to answer. If you're asking about daily readers and people that subscribe to the feed, it varies from 150-500 on any given day. I'm never quite sure if my analysis of the numbers is accurate. As far as readers of the collections go, I've sold or given away more than I can recall offhand.

As far as keeping the series interesting goes, I just write the things that interest me. I come up with a lot of ideas I love, then research the hell out of them to figure out how to make them work. As far as content goes, I have a nearly infinite supply to draw from. I think the truly engaging and unique aspect of the series is the characters and how deeply the reader gets into their lives. I mean, how else can I make a series that contains little action and no dialog work over a long period of time?

James: Who would you say are your most important literary influences?

Josh: Different people at different points in my life. I'm a huge Raymond E. Feist fan from way back, but since I've been writing I keep coming back to Neil Gaiman, Patrick Rothfuss, Brandon Sanderson, and Jim Butcher. I don't really feel as though my writing is specifically influenced by anyone (though that's hard for a writer to judge) but those four guys are everything I aspire to be in terms of skill and talent. Style-wise Jim Butcher has been the person I tend toward, and I've learned a lot from constantly rereading his books. Of course, Stephen King is huge for me as well. I like writing pop fiction, and he's the best. Not to mention having thirty million dollars. I'd like to manage that as well.

James: Beautiful was a great novel. I've recommended it to my friends, who have invariably liked it. It's got the potential to become a great urban fantasy series. So where the hell is the sequel?

Josh: I'm working on it. I feel bad that the sequel, called 'Monster', is taking so long but I'm also putting out two books of Living With the Dead each year, and writing a third book on top of that is really difficult. Add to the mix my full-time job, which is very demanding on me physically and mentally, and you begin to see why writing quality material takes time. Thanks for the kind words, by the way--that series is a true labor of love. It's near to my heart.

James: How did you first learn about self-publishing?

Josh: Like many authors in the self-publishing age: through J.A. Konrath's blog. I read him for a long time, looking at his efforts in self-publishing and studying his results, before I took the plunge. He's the biggest reason for that decision by a wide margin.

James: What are your thoughts on independent publishing versus traditional publishing, and what terms would you require before signing with a major publishing house, if at all?

Josh: I think both have their merits, depending on the author. Obviously, traditional publishing is great for people who already have name recognition, but with the advent of eBooks and a truly accessible platform traditional publishing is now a legacy system. I think that's a great thing, because you don't have a middleman deciding what you should read any more. I could write a book on this, really. I don't want to slam big publishers here, but there are good reasons why so many authors with deals are choosing to self-publish.

For me, self-pubbing was always the way to go. LWtD is a property that by its very format could never be published, as I give away the story for free every day. I've actually had an offer from a publisher to purchase the rights to the first two books, but I turned them down. They offered me no advance and I would have had to shut down the blog itself.

To even consider a traditional deal, I would have to be offered enough money that I wouldn't have to worry about work for a long, long time. I would require some say in the e-rights to my work, and retain the right to publish anything I want on my own.

Doesn't seem likely they'd agree to that.

James: How has writing changed your life?

Josh: In a lot of ways. I'm much busier than I once was, but that's part of the process. Once I got into the groove of writing and coming up with ideas for stories, I kind of couldn't stop. Now my problem is a lack of time to explore those ideas.

I tend to think of most things in terms of writing now. What would make a good plot element, how I would structure something out of real life in a story. Just going to the grocery store is an entirely different and fascinating process now.

The strangest change since becoming a writer has been having fans. That's weird. It's completely awesome, but not something life really prepared me for. I was never in sports or super popular. Having people like my various pages on Facebook and send me messages telling me that they like my work is unreal. The idea that I'm this guy who sits on his couch (soon to be relocated into an office because my wife wants her couch back) and writes, and that people actually buy the things I come up with? That's totally nuts to me. Even after a few years of it, I still don't quite believe it.

James: What reaction did you get from your family and friends when you first started self publishing, how did it make you feel, and how have things changed for you from then to now.

Josh: My family was very supportive, even when I told them that I would be keeping at it until I was full-time. No going back to school or anything to hedge my bets, because that was energy and time I would need to put into my writing.

It felt pretty awesome, to be honest. My family has backed me to the hilt, and I couldn't ask for better. They've been my cheering section and my reality check at every turn.

Not that much has changed. I've learned a lot of lessons in the last two+ years, and I've got a better idea of where my career is headed and how to get it where I want it. Luckily I have a boring, normal family. We're all friends and totally honest with each other. I guess it's good that I'm making progress toward being full-time, or their faith with my ability to do it might have gotten shaky by now.

James: What made you choose the Zombie Apocalypse genre as the kickoff for your writing career, and where do you see that going?

Josh: LWtD started out as daily writing practice. I decided on the story and format because it was the zombie story I wanted to read. I had no idea it was going to turn into something so popular, though I admit that part of why I wanted to write it as a free blog was to build a following as I went along. I just didn't expect to accomplish so much, so quickly.

James: Where do you see yourself, and the publishing industry, five years from now?

Josh:
I have hopes for myself, not expectations. I'd love to have huge name recognition and millions of dollars, but I'd settle for writing full time. That's the end goal for me, to be able to provide for my family doing the thing I love.

Either way, I'll still be writing. The publishing industry is going to be a whole different ball game. If the big publishers don't make some major structural changes, they're going to fall. Maybe not a complete collapse, but if they keep on the way they are--trying to take advantage of authors and treating the people that produce their product like indentured servants--then at the very least they're going to become irrelevant. At worst they're going to fold totally as the services they provide become more widely available by independent contractors. The industry now is based on the gatekeepers controlling the flow of product. Five years from now, they might be guarding the gates, but the walls will be knocked flat.

The Next Episode

I just posted the sequel to NEH to Amazon.

I can't tell you how exciting it is to publish another book. The first one was a bit nerve wracking, but the second time around has been a much more positive experience. Big thanks to all my followers on Facebook for all of your kindness and encouragement. You guys are the reason I do this. Without you, I'm just another guy pecking away at a keyboard.

Also a big thanks is in order for my family and friends, especially my beautiful wife. The lady has the patience of a saint.

This Shattered Land really was a labor of love, and I am tremendously happy with it. Is it perfect? No. But no book ever is. Is it good? I think so. I really do feel that my writing has improved. I'll have to leave that up to the readers. Like anything else, I imagine some people will love it, and some people will hate it. My goal is simply to entertain, and I sincerely hope that anyone who buys it enjoys it.

I'm going to take a break from writing for a couple of weeks, and then I'll get to work on the Jeremiah Cain series. For Surviving the Dead fans, never fear. I'll be working on volume three at the same time. Both novels should be released within a couple of months of each other.

Happy reading!

DJ Molles: The Remaining

I am very happy to have the opportunity post this interview with DJ Molles, author of the highly successful post-apocalyptic series: The Remaining. This is the first of several interviews I'll be posting with self-published authors that I believe show significant talent and deserve recognition.

Needless to say, if you haven't checked out DJ's work yet, do it now. NOW!! DO NOT WAIT!!

Seriously, I've read it, it's awesome. Here's the interview.

1: When did you first start writing, and what inspired you to do so?

I've been writing stories of some kind since I was old enough to type. When I was very young, my father read Tolkein and CS Lewis aloud in the evenings. I think hearing those amazing stories from Middle Earth and Narnia really got me thinking.

2: What other work have you done that your current readers may not be aware of?

I have about a dozen short stories, and a few books that sit languishing in the digital dungeon of my computer, most likely never to see the light of day. There are a few of them that I think I might be able to polish up so that people might enjoy them. I enjoy the current genre I'm writing in, but it's definitely not the only thing I write.

3: Where did you get the idea for The Remaining? How did the story come to fruition?

I'm very interested in the TEOTWAWKI genre, and the "prepping" movement. I also love "zombie" stories. So I wanted to see if I could combine these two loves of mine in an interesting and realistic way. I decided to write The Remaining simply because I wanted to write something that I enjoyed writing, and really had no intention of letting anyone read it. Then, when I was finished, I thought, "well, this is actually half decent...maybe someone else will like it."

4: Who are some of your influences/authors you admire? Favorite books?

Aside from the mountains of Star Wars fan fiction I devoured when I was a kid, the first adult novel I purchased was The Taking by Dean Koontz, and I've enjoyed his writing ever since. Jack Ketchum is another amazing author, that really took me by surprise because he's never made it big. I will say that I have to be cautious with my writing after reading a Cormac McCarthy novel, because his voice is so strong it tends to influence me a bit.

5: What plans do you have for stories outside of The Remaining universe?

I have one book that I wrote several years ago. It needs some work, but I still really like the story, so I would like to fix it and get it out there. I'll also admit that between The Remaining: Aftermath, and the third book that I'm writing now, I pounded out a good portion of another story I had rolling around inside my head. I'm actually really looking forward to finishing that story.

6: What are your thoughts on self-publishing vs. traditional publishing?

I hate to say it, but I think traditional publishing is a failing industry. And this is not based on any prejudice of mine, but simply on the overpowering digital age. I think if traditional publishing can get its act together and start selling their digital books at reasonable prices, they might eventually survive, and actually come out on top.

Self-publishing also has its flaws. It is to books what YouTube is to videos: most will be unseen, some will see mild success, and a select few will become huge. Because there are so many, it makes it difficult for the consumer to find the good ones. In a perfect world, traditional publishers would use things like Amazon's Kindle Store as a way to make their jobs easier. You can see how popular a product is without spending a dime on it. Unfortunately, they're very stuck in their ways.

7: Would you accept a book deal from a major publishing house if the terms were favorable?

At this point in time I have complete and total control over my story, without interference from other outside sources trying to make me fit a mold. I'm able to write what I want, and not what someone else thinks the public wants. That being said, I wouldn't be opposed to a traditional publisher, but the terms would have to be VERY favorable.

8: What advice would you offer to a first time writer?

Write because you love to write. If you enjoy writing the story, people will enjoy reading it.

9: Who would you like to give special acknowledgment for helping you achieve success as an author?

My dad has been a very encouraging force in my life. I feel bad for all the crap I made him read when I was a kid, because I thought I had written some amazing tale at 10 years old. He was always encouraging, but honest. If he didn't like something, he would tell me why. I think that helped a lot.

10: Who does your (awesome) cover art?

My wonderful wife is responsible for my cover art. She is a professional photographer (www.taramollesphotography.com) and she does amazing work.

11: How did you feel when you published your first book, and what kind of reaction did you get from friends, family, or co-workers when they found about it?

I'll be honest, I kept it very quiet. I was almost a little embarrassed by it. Only my family and close friends knew, and they were very supportive. Then it started to do really well, and people started coming up to me and saying, "Hey! I didn't know you wrote a book!" It still kind of surprises and humbles me when that happens.

12: How did you feel when you broke the 10K copy sold mark.

I set out with extremely low expectations, because I hate to be disappointed. So for me it was the 500 copy mark. Up until that point I had kept telling myself that it was only my wife's facebook friends being nice and buying my book. Then I looked at 500 and thought, "Not even my WIFE has that many facebook friends. Holy crap, people are actually reading this!" I think that was the first time it hit me that complete strangers were actually reading and enjoying my writing.

I hope you enjoyed this, and in the next few days I'll announce who the next author interviewed will be. Stay tuned!