Pilot X comes from a race of time travelers called the Alendans. Can he prevent the destruction of the universe?
I still can’t believe it. I’m trying and failing to process the fact that I won the Space Opera contest. Incredible.
First and foremost, I want to acknowledge all of the other wonderful entries. I’m not going to be as bold as others have been to name favorites, but I want to summarize it all very simply:
EVERY BOOK IN THE CONTEST IS AMAZING. Take the time to peruse the entries. if there’s nothing that strikes your fancy, then you are entirely too picky and weird to be here...GO HOME!
Seriously...there are some incredible ideas out there, and I hope everyone puts all of their effort and love into taking them as far as they can. I know I have. I’ve had a few people email me directly to ask about the "secret to my success," and my answer is simply this:
Do you know anyone who doesn’t know you’re a writer? Do you know anyone who doesn’t know you have a book that could be published unless it doesn’t reach a certain number of pre-orders?
If your answer is "no" to either question, then you aren’t doing enough. This is your life, your story, your career as an author. Nearly all of my neighbors and every single one of my wonderful friends on Facebook and Twitter bought a copy of my book. Why? Because I asked them very nicely and directly, and I am a good person and a good writer. I believe in myself, and I told everyone I possibly could that I do. Have you done that yet? If you haven’t, you should.
That is all for now, as far as advice goes. I hope I didn’t come off as cocky; I only want the best for all of our stories, and that is seriously what has worked for me thus far.
Otherwise, my week has been exceptionally amazing in that I have also been invited to be a writer for Renderosity Magazine! Renderosity is a site that mostly focuses on computer-generated animation and art, but the magazine branches out and includes many subjects, including an article featuring yours truly. I will be starting an arts forum on their website, so look out for that...
Also worth noting is another amazing happenstance of this week in receiving a shipment of other Inkshares published books:
If you haven’t, then please go and get these works:
"An Unattractive Vampire" by Jim McDoniel
"The Life Engineered" by J.F. Dubeau
"Abomination" by Gary Whitta
"Asteroid Made Of Dragons" by G. Derek Adams
These books represent our future, and if they aren’t well received, then what should you expect? Get as many Inkshares published books as you can, and then please review them on Amazon and wherever they appear. Why? Because Inkshares is a label, and the more sales and the better reputation Inkshares gets, the better off everyone who gets published by them is!!! Do it! Got extra credits? Buy a book you’ll get in your own hands in a few days!
Hold On, I’m Getting At Something
The backer copies of Asteroid Made of Dragons have all shipped and the wave is crashing down on the East Coast. By tonight – tomorrow maybe – they will have all arrived. My Facebook profile is awash with pictures – pictures of my friends with their copy, the copy they bought a year ago because I asked them to. Some have one, some have three, or five, or more. A gesture of love, of confidence, of faith and it wrecks me.
Writing is lonely. Being a human is lonely.
I don’t do well with moments of connection. Socially, sure. Joking, sure. But a real moment? Something important and true? Not my scene. We’re so unstable, the most unsuitable of symbols. How can I know the things I say are being received in the moment, in the blur of memory and sense and thinking of the next thing to say while half-hearing what you are saying now while also feeling the echoes of other versions of this conversation from before and beyond on TV, in dreams, from splinter-blinks of fragmented now? I mean, how? Maybe it’s just me.
Being lonely is writing. A human is.
Hold On, I’m Getting At Something. This should be my coat of arms. I’ve written three books now (THREE!), and thousands of other words off in the Grand Margins. And all in the service of this dimly perceived quest of discovery of meaning – of this THING I’m trying to say, but cannot express. Only glimpse the edges of as I travel forward and back in time. It’s hard to connect with humans – but with words, you have a puncher’s chance. This word connects to that, shapes form. Things stay where you put them. Mostly. Rime is Rime and Jonas is Jonas and Xenon loves graham crackers and Linus snores just a little bit. Now, on my desk is a red ball, the color of summer sunset and it is red, red, red. And it will stay red as long as I believe that it is red.
A lonely human is writing. Being.
So now – I see these pictures, I see these signs of love and faith. And all I can say is – do you see the ball on my desk? Is it red? Is it summer sunset or is it more of a cranberry? Why are you listening? Why are you picking up the signal? Why are you dreaming with me of the three moons that have no name and the Lost and the stupid, stupid power of friendship that keeps the dark at bay?
Being human is writing lonely.
Ah, the simple words. I’ve already said them – but they don’t land right. Thank you. Thank you. You thank, you are thanks. Thanks You. A tic, a nod, a thing we say to strangers and waiters and cats when they heed. An empty thing, not enough, a hollow gourd. A blob of ink at the end of emails and yammering sales pitches. Useless, sere, not enough. I pick up the pieces and slam them together, that’s all that I am, all that I do – all that I can do. With whatever art I have I try to say the Thing.
Lonely is being. Human is writing.
Thank you. You thank. You are thanks. Thanks are you.
Lonely human thanks you. You are writing.
Writing is you.
You are thank.
The ball is red and it is not so lonely. Thank you for coming so far with me.
