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This Monday has been busy. Blog post coming soon.

Juliana Sliema: On eBooks

Unfortunately, unlike the ‘It must be 5 o’clock somewhere’ doesn’t work as ‘It must be Monday somewhere.’

Today, rather than write anything steamy, I’d like to borrow a page from Nietzsche and modernize it. Actually, to be quite honest I’m not even sure it Nietzsche specifically wrote anything “On Books”, but at least I’m stealing his format.

Hate them or love them, eBooks are a revolution. Like the dot.com revolution, the vast amount of aspiring authors have caused the market to mushroom and implode, popping the eBook bubble for authors. Companies like Amazon still make great business out of self publishing authors, based on what I would like to coin, the office principle; stealing, er, I mean earning, a few cents from the millions of self-published authors. Even if you sell only one book to your mother (hopefully my mother hasn’t read my books!), if every self-published author manages this, Amazon or whatever service you’re using still comes out with a decent profit. (Although they may disagree. 🙂 )

But a digress. My English teacher would have failed me for terrible essay writing structure, but she’s probably my biggest fan without her knowing it. That’s right, you know I’m talking to you.

Back to the point I was going to make which is despite all their flaws and limitations eBooks give us authors an incredible opportunity to experiment. Basically, when cutting out the publishing costs there is no risk for us. We can write our generation’s Animal Farm without having to go from publisher to publisher and getting rejections for political reasons. Although of course it is “impossible to sell animal stories in the U.S.A.”

We as authors can bypass that bullshit now.

Content isn’t the only way we can experiment. We have complete creative freedom to do what we like with the book. Adding pictures, graphs (the little known art of erotic statistics – “show me another chart, baby” is a common phrase in many academic circles), hyperlinks, there is much more flexibility than just paper.

Now, I don’t pretend to be an expert in anything. There’s even probably a sex trick or two you could teach me, I’m talking to you English teacher. But… I don’t think this potential is fully being tapped into by authors. Especially established authors. You have the audience already, make an experiment see how it goes.

I’ve got something in mind and will let you know when it’s up. It’s just slightly more work than an ordinary story and I need the time.

The comments are open if you want to throw ideas at me, or each other. Just don’t complain when an idea hits you smack in the face.

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Aerogramme Writers' Studio

These rules were originally tweeted by Emma Coats, Pixar’s Story Artist. Number 9 on the list – When you’re stuck, make a list of what wouldn’t happen next – is a great one and can apply to writers in all genres.

1. You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.

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I knew she was trouble from the moment she walked through my door. Her kind of woman always meant trouble. Long blond hair flowed over her bare shoulders. Endless legs extended by expensive stilettos and a designer dress that cost more than a year of my rent. Back in the days I could afford rent, since I was sleeping in the office these days. She stared down disapproving of my feet on the desk. It probably wasn’t ladylike enough for her taste.

“Can I help you?” I asked pulling out two whiskey tumblers and a bottle of Scotch. Cheap shit, barely aged past three years, but it was all I could afford at the moment. Something told me my fortunes were about to change.

“I’m looking for T. Kane, P.I.” she said.

“How can I help you?” I poured her a glass of whiskey before pouring one for myself. “Take a load off.”

“You’re Kane?” she asked with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

“Tina Kane, at your service. Sorry if I don’t meet your standard, but not all of us can marry rich,” I downed my whiskey.

“Marry rich?” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t have to come here if I married rich.”

She gave the chair an apprehensive look clearly debating whether she should sit down.

“I cleaned that chair about a year ago after Fat Joe sweat all over it. It’s probably the cleanest thing in the office now,” I said.

She sat on the edge of the seat, careful not to let her skin touch any part of it.

“I actually came to you, because my husband is cheating,” she wrung her hands. I poured myself another glass and waited in silence for her to continue. “I didn’t marry rich, but he did. If I divorce him without legitimate grounds for divorce I’ll lose half my estate.”

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I need you to follow him and get proof. My whole estate’s on the line, so you can expect to be well rewarded,” she said.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” I drained my glass again.

“He’s out playing golf now, so I brought his day planner. This way you can have an idea of his schedule,” she pulled a leather bound agenda from her purse.

I flipped through the pages to today’s date. Her husband’s messy handwriting covered the page.

“I see you’re meeting him for lunch tomorrow,” I pointed at the entry.

“No, not that I know of,” she peered at the entry.

“Meeting with wife, it says,” I insisted.

“I’m not meeting him tomorrow,” she said looking genuinely confused.

“Well, then I guess I’ll go and find out what he’ll be doing at Sand Hotel,” I said leaning back in my chair.

“You’re the expert,” she said her voice riddled with doubt. “I’d better head back and put his planner where I found it before he gets back from his game. Here’s my card, let me know if you need anything.”

She gave me her card and put the agenda back in her purse before leaving. I watched her hips sway through the sheer fabric of her white dress. The fabric was snug around her tight rear and I was sure she wasn’t wearing any panties. Absently, I imagined how she would look under her designer dress. She was probably soft and smooth, covered in all kinds of creams to make her even softer and smoother. I’ve always wanted to sleep with a rich woman and make their snooty face contort into ugly expressions of uncontrolled desire. I shook my head, pushing the images of her naked body out of my mind.

She had left her glass of whiskey untouched, so I downed it. No use letting it go to waste, even if it was the cheap shit.

Snap a couple of pictures of the cheating bastard and then cash in. If only life was always this easy.

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