Friday, April 18, 2014

The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue. Pt. 6.

Solace of another kind.









Here are the previous episodes of The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5


The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue. Pt. 6.



Someone coughed fifty feet to his left, oddly muted by the small lungs and ill health of a familiar type. It had to be a wino, someone living outdoors almost, by the sounds of it.

Scott wondered if he was spending the night there, but shuffling footsteps indicated he was heading in the opposite direction. If that was a woman, she was in rough shape. A noisy group of people were somewhere nearby, a sports bar, he thought. A grille, with a barbecue and big-screen TVs all over the place. They were out on the patio.

The damp of the grass came in around the edges of his shoes, above the rubber soles. He must tread carefully.

Crickets muted momentarily and then rose in song again after his passing. The cool breeze stirred the branches and he ducked his head in reflex. Raising the stick, he found nothing there.

He straightened up. The branches might be twenty feet up. The wind was very strong, and the trees were rattling and groaning where they rubbed up against one another.

He was afraid to speak, to give her away. She must be able to see him just fine. In which case her silence was suggestive. It was a warning. The whole set-up was hoary—or hairy.

There were others out there, nearby, for he heard their cheerful, youthful voices. And yet he knew enough to be afraid. Fifty yards off the street, and it was a whole ‘nother world.

It was a big city, its infernal hum all around, and the little patches of jungle splotched here and there, oases of sanity by day and a kind of insanity by night.

That was a fine way of saying it was just kids, mostly…getting out of stuffy apartments and away from soul-crushing, barren existences if only for a brief moment of play and hooliganism.

He stumbled over a small cut in the ground, and then there was soft dirt underfoot. The tip of his stick brushed something higher and thicker and stronger than grass…flowers, he surmised.

He decided to go left, possibly around it. The smell of lilies arose all around him, thick and sweet. There was another smell there too, the smell of the earth. He wondered if there were cedars around here somewhere…he hoped so. He always liked the smell when he was under cedars.

He waited for a moment.

The whistle came again, from sort of ahead of him but off to the right, as if shaped and distorted by intervening landscape features. She was farther away now, it seemed. She was like a siren, a siren of the night.

Scott decided to pee right where he was. He could always plead insanity. If it was her, she’d wait, and if not…not.

He coughed twice, carefully, and then carefully put the stick under his arm, and proceeded to thoroughly relieve himself. The pungent steam was both a reminder of boiled cabbage and the fact that all men were animals.

***

In familiar surroundings, vertigo normally wasn’t a problem, but with the uneven ground and the stumbling around in the blackness and the dew, Scott was grateful for an overhead lamp up ahead.

Its fuzzy globe of prismatic colour told him which way was up and how far he could safely wobble without falling over.

The moment passed.

“…Betty…?” Scott hissed in the darkness, ears straining for the hint of a footfall.

“It’s okay, here I am, Lover.”

Scott caught himself with a start.

He stood there, trembling, sagging in relief. There was the briefest of sounds and then she was there.

“Betty.”

“Scott.”

She held him and wetness filled his eyes as he clung to her. It was all too brief.

“We’d better go.”

His heart raced and the blood rang in his ears. It was relief and the terror of what came next.

“Yes. It’s just that I didn’t expect it to be so late.” Scott didn’t bother to dry his tears, and he felt a little better now. “Oh, Jesus. I was scared shitless, Honey.”

He let it all out in one big exhalation.

“Oh, God. Thank God.”

She took him by the hand.

“Okay, Scott. Forward twenty steps, and then there’s a small stairs…a bit to the right, and we’re going up.”

With a grin as big as all outdoors on his homely mug, Scott plodded along, checking still, off to the right with his stick and trying to take regular-sized steps.

“Okay, slow down…one or two more…good.”

Scott paused.

First one.

He lifted a foot and located the step with the tip of his cane.

“Upsy-daisy.”

He found the next level and then tapping his way up. The steps must be pretty wide. He negotiated the stairs with a silent Betty holding his hand for reassurance more than anything. Scott had gone up and down stairs a million times on his own. He just needed to know how high and how many. He’d gone up more than one set of stairs on all fours. It was better than dying.

“Three more, Scott.”

“Yes.” His questing cane had already found the flat and level.

If only they had time to talk and the privacy; but other hushed voices nearby ruled that out. They were on the run and interactions should be avoided as much as possible. All kinds of people in the park at night, Scott thought. Betty had to avoid her fellow robots if at all possible, with their total recall and constant recording and feedback links.

There were plenty of other hazards.

You couldn’t rule it out, anything from muggers to dog-walkers and joggers and teenagers drinking.

If they could just get out of the city undetected, they might have a chance. If nothing else, they might get a two or three-day head start while they figured out what to do next.

There was an abrupt burst of laughter, raucous and mean.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“Say! Dewey! Would you look at that!”

“Ooh-ee.”

***

The tone said it all, and Scott’s neck prickled in sudden fear. Punks, and he caught the faint whiff of alcohol. Betty’s sudden stop and the long silence implied much.

“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it, little lady?” Someone spat. “Oh, such a little sweetie-pie.”

The accents and emphasis were lewd and carefully offensive.

“Yes, it’s very pleasant.” Betty gave Scott’s bicep a quick squeeze and then let go.

Scott’s imagination ran wild. He could only try to visualize. There were at least three of them.

Shoe scuffs, breathing, giggles off to the right…someone in front and one off to the left as well.

“So, Baby, what do you say you ditch the loser. You can come along and party with us.”

“Yeah!”

“That guy’s nowhere, Baby.” That one had a real scumbag giggle on him. "Why, he can't even really 'preciate ya, can he?"

“We’ll show you a good time!”

More laughs. Someone sloshed a bottle of something. That was the guy to Scott’s immediate right front…

“I’m sorry. We have someplace we need to be.” She was two feet away, a little in front and to Scott’s left.

“We wasn’t asking, lady.”

“Leave her alone.”

“Shut up, Mister Blind-Melon.”

Scott turned angrily. He was about to open his mouth when a hard hand shoved him back. The guy was right there, and he caught himself, teetering on the brink of the eight concrete steps they had just come up.

He stood there unsteadily, knees bent. His feet were apart and he knew where at least one of them was…hard breathing was right there. The guy was drunk and not in that good a shape by the sounds of things, but then Scott wasn’t either. The stick was sort of trailing behind him now.

Come on, Pally…say something.

The guy sniffled and then a hyper-aware Scott had him dead to rights.

Thank you very much, sir.

Make the first one count.

Thanks, Dad.

“What made me do this?” His voice was clear and strong.

Scott imagined the puzzled faces all swinging to him.

“Huh? What?”

“This.”

The cane hummed through the air.

“I wasn’t always blind, you know.”

You fucking bastard.

Scott’s wicked, up, over and around-hand swipe with the cane must have caught the punk smack-dab in the chops. He went right down, although Scott heard him getting up again, too. There were unmistakable sounds.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“Fuckin’ son of a bitch!” There was blood in that mouth, if Scott wasn’t mistaken.

Scott stepped forwards, following the squeals of rage. He was swinging straight down from high overhead, two-handed, giving the man a good caning or at least giving all he had in the attempt.

If nothing else, put on a show—they’d think twice before coming at him again.

He connected with something fleshy more than once and was hoping pure blind luck would give him another face shot on the guy.

The fellow bolted as grunts and gasps came from the other two. Betty didn’t seem to make much noise. 

Whatever she was doing over there sure sounded appropriate. Thuds and soft whumps pretty much said it all. Scott’s breath was ragged and his emotions were all over the place when he turned to help her. There didn’t seem to be much he could do.

He didn’t think he could do much damage to her. Feebly poking away was only going to do so much.

One man said fuck, and then repeated it several times. Someone was groaning and gasping now.

He heard a kind of a crack sound…

If only he could get a clue from the sounds of the scuffle. One of them was cussing, on the ground a few feet away…just a bit to his left.

As for the other one, he might be made of sterner stuff.

There was a snap, a crackle and a pop. There was a scream and then a thud, like when someone drops a bag of cement onto a wheelbarrow…whoever that was, that boy hit metal when he landed.

It was very quiet now. Someone warm and soft in the grip took his hand and led him rather quickly away.

Walk, don’t run, right?

“Betty?”

“It’s okay, Scott.”

He sucked in air. He smelled her, and then she paused. She was taking him in her arms.

She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Are you okay?”

He cracked a wry grin.

“Yeah. You should see the other guy.” Now that he thought about it, there was a stinging sensation on the left side of his neck.

He put his hand up there but couldn’t find anything wet.

The other guy, or somebody, had managed to connect after all, and Scott dimly recalled feeling something like that in his berserker rage. Something had definitely brushed up against him.

Her soft fingertips touched the wound.

“Am I bleeding?”

“It’s not bad. Just a scratch. A scuff, really. But we’d better go.”

She picked up the pace. They walked for five or six minutes. She was taking him to a dark and very narrow trail leading down into a ravine. She briefed him in a cautious voice. All he had to do was to wait.

“I’ll just go and get our suitcases. I’ll only be a minute or two—they’re right there, okay, Scott? I promise. And I really am sorry about before— ” She would explain later.

“Yeah.” He listened intently.

The wind in the trees covered a multitude of sins, and that was a good thing sometimes. He was getting his breath back now. The adrenalin would subside, or so he hoped. He was a bit trembly in the knees even now, perhaps more so. It was best to think about something else.

It was a good idea to pay attention.

He had the impression there was no one about, at least for fifty, or seventy-five yards or so. Their would-be assailants had been easily tracked, with his not particularly exceptional hearing, back out to the street-lights and some other solace. First-aid of one kind or another would be in order, at least for one or two of them, but the yelps and heartfelt curses indicated that the body count was low enough.

“What did you do to them?”

There was a dog out there.

He heard an adult woman calling a dog, and more barks as if in answer from somewhere behind him. She was off in front somewhere. The highway must be nearby. There was the constant thrum from the north-west, or so he thought.

He heard a creek or rivulet down below, directly in front of him.

He could always turn and pretend to stare off in another direction.

It was like getting on an elevator and facing the back.

What difference did it make?

Betty had slipped off and wherever she was, she wasn’t answering. He had the impression there was a fog rising. Whether or not it was starry, or moonlit, what difference would it make?

A bit of fog would be good cover.

Scott stood there, with the end of the cane firmly planted as an anchor against an uncertain Fate. he listened to the sounds of the night, both up close and personal, and far off. There was something funny going on. He lifted the end of this constant companion and felt it. It seemed like a couple of inches was shredded, and maybe a bit of it was even missing.

Hopefully someone had that embedded in them…it complicated matters. He relied on that thing, at least when out of doors. Now the length would be all wrong.

That was the thing with robots, no heavy breathing.

“Scott.”

When she spoke, a short, sharp burst of adrenalin went through him. His heartbeat subsided, and then she was talking him along a path through a city park. They were still in a patch of forest and brush of some kind. 

He had to listen hard, as she had both hands full with the luggage. She was quiet enough, just sort of muttering encouragement as they went.

He walked along at her right side.

He’d never been in that particular park before and it was all very well.

It was better than sitting at home listening to the boob-tube.

Scott would have given his left nut to see the look on that guy’s face.


END



Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Publishing System Revamp; Tooth-to-Tail Ratio.

The old front matter.









Louis Shalako



“Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it. Do not count on them. Leave them alone.” > Ayn Rand.

***

Here at Shalako Publishing and Long Cool One Books we’re sixteen days into a massive revamp of our publishing system.

While many of the changes are behind the scenes or otherwise invisible to readers, (metadata or changes in formatting for example), there are a number of new cover images and we have refreshed or otherwise breathed new life into half a dozen older ones. We’ve punched up the blurbs a bit and just tried to think things through with the clarity of twenty-twenty hindsight.

Not always a pleasant experience, but sometimes a good thing to do.

Setting aside an entire month might have seemed excessive to begin with, but that might turn out to be simple wisdom.

<A brief report ensues.>


We found two or three missing titles on Amazon, we found half a dozen missing titles on OmniLit, and probably the same number on Google Books. We even found one or two that had never been published on Smashwords.

Simply by trying to get the maximum number of titles up on (or in) the maximum number of stores, we’ve probably added a few horsepower to our publishing machine.

Thinking in terms of passive discoverability, the more titles in more places means, theoretically at least, more sales.

This whole rebuild is geared to passive discoverability.

It’s massive-passive, a phrase I just coined.

New front matter with internal navigation.
We have upgraded and enhanced the front matter in all titles. It’s nicer-looking, it’s easier to read. It’s a better product. We have upgraded virtually all cover images, although there are one or two that I for one would like to find a better image for.

Until that happens, we’re stuck with the one we got.

In terms of front matter, I was frankly shocked when looking at something I had personally formatted back in 2010 when the world was still young and I was just setting out.

The new layout is much better.

The strange thing was, the book probably made it into the Smashwords Premium Distribution Catalogue and consequently, that would be why I never thought about it again.

But it’s a good idea to schedule another rebuild, or at least another quality control audit, for sometime in the future.

After working at this for a solid month, I reckon it will be time to move on.

We went over the blogs and the websites to ensure that all images are current. Moreover, we took another look at the buy links. If a platform isn’t a big seller, love or loyalty should not be enough to induce us to link to them all the time.

In terms of passive discoverability, it makes more sense to lead readers to an iTunes as opposed to someplace where I might have sold three books in the last twelve months. Let’s say I’m only selling three books a month on iTunes. A good point, but why not try to make it four a month, as opposed to four a year?

Bear in mind that you’re sending the exact same amount of traffic to either store…why not make it a more effective store?

All of this is cumulative over time. It builds on itself, (or at least it’s supposed to, and it seems like it is sometimes) but all of that was being hampered by unprofessional presentation.

What the hell, eh? There is a learning curve to everything, and I did not come from any sort of literary or publishing background. It was all learned the hard way, from the ground up.

Looking back, I guess that kind of shows, especially in the early works.

I have no real regrets about that, ladies and gentlemen.

I just wanted to see how it worked or something. But if it really is a machine, then there is nothing that I can’t learn about it or understand about it.

It doesn’t work by magic after all.

I guess that’s one good reason to take it all apart.

When I put it all back together, it will run better and be a little more efficient.

***

A customer that follows a link to your book on any given store is more likely to be presented with one of your books in the future. The customer is more likely to have an account, and to buy books, on the bigger and more famous platforms.

Those bigger platforms have more browsing customers who might see the ‘the last customer who looked at this book also looked at this book’ and (insert your name here) comes up as a suggestion. I even found a link on my website leading to the now-defunct Sony Ereader store.

That’s simply unnecessary, and useless to a prospective reader.

The point is that iTunes has a zillion times the traffic compared to some other outlets.

The even bigger point is that one or two of my books had never sold a copy, for example on Amazon. When I looked at them this time around in the previewer, the font size in them was like thirty-six point. It should be twelve, and they had the old front matter as well. It probably looked fine on Smashwords when I downloaded epub and Kindle versions, and so I just loaded it up on Amazon. But there would be a reason why that book never sold. Any customer who previewed it would just move on.

Passive discoverability doesn’t work for a badly-formatted book, or one with a bad cover. Giving away large numbers of bad books doesn’t help much either.

Also, there were issues with the tags, and the categories, in fact one book had no tags at all entered on Amazon.

One title had the last letter left off the author’s name…the list goes on. Some were listed with the author as publisher, some said Shalako Publishing and others said Long Cool One Books…

The list goes on.

If it takes another fifteen days to finish all this, that is an investment of time and effort that might have a surprisingly long tooth-to-tail ratio.

There's something to be said for peace of mind as well.

We can only speculate as to tooth-to-tail ratio.
Because I got to be honest about one thing, all of the little screw-ups undoubtedly had a long tooth-to-tail ratio in the negative sense..I mean, really long.

Also on the list for this revamp would be getting fourteen or so titles on Createspace into the last free distribution channel and out into the big catalogues. There’s some time involved there.

Also, wouldn’t it be nice to clean up some of these folders on the old PC. I could get rid of a bajillion duplicate files and make things easier to find. Also, when you do make a correction or revision, it would sure be nice to be able to quickly pick the most recent one to work on…rather than something from four years ago. I know I’ve made that blunder somewhere along the way.

Other than that, writing a quick little blog post sure was a nice break from what could be sheer misery if one was in the wrong frame of mind about it.

So far we’re doing fair to middlin’ with the mental challenges.

Yup. As it is, I have ‘thorough’ inked with a ball-point on the back of my left hand, and ‘patience’ on the back of my right.

What’s kind of interesting is that I started off as just some guy who wanted to learn how to write.

All of this other stuff is the result of setting off down that trail over thirty years ago, if you can believe it.

***

So what does all this have to do with Ayn Rand?

Not much, I guess.

Sorry about that.

***

I suppose that’s almost too much information, and that will have to do for now anyways, ladies and gentlemen.

End


P.S.:

Here is my Author Spotlight on Lulu, where clearly Redemption needs a new cover and my original Case of the Curious Killers 4 x 7" POD is looking tired as well. I can't publish Heaven Is Too Far Away because it's 966 pages and the limit for a 4 x 7" POD on Lulu is 740 as I recall.

That involved resizing 5 x 8" POD files and using a resized .jpg. Simple enough, but finding the files took some time.