I knew that marketing calls for different skills than creating fiction. However, I did not “get” marketing. So, the drafting has continued. After seven months of pondering how to improve my marketing copy, Book Description 2.0 is going live. 

Here is the original description, the one being replaced:

So, everything is different, finally, but everything seems broken. You — twenty-first century you — who still have much to learn, must come to the aid of your polarized, fractured country as it tries to re-find its way during a presidential election. In a near-future world (where water systems breed diseases, corrupt public servants abuse the marginalized, military managers dabble in politics, and many in the street struggle to see beyond their noses) wisdom is seldom encouraged. Eighteen-year-old homeschooled microbiologist, Chik Cantera, was told national secrets too sensitive to write down by retired aerospace engineer Meeko Gallantos. Chik falls for Hasti Ferdowsi, the twenty-three-year-old, Iranian-American intelligence sub-contractor shadowing him. FBI agent Fran Osgood watches them both (plus the mystery disease “Psycheimers” and eco-terrorists organizing on the Darknet) for her uncle, Secretary of Defense Dennis Stoppard, who requires Gallantos’ secrets to keep international peace. This contemporary, literate thriller shows a new way for authentic Americans to stand up for the planet and its people.

I was packing in loads of information about the plot. But was I giving potential readers reasons to make the click? Before writing my updated description, I familiarized myself with book descriptions found on the internet and the jackets of books on my shelves.

I doubt that this will be my last attempt to describe this book. But for now, this is what I am going with:

In near-future California, during a presidential election year, things are falling apart as never before. To escape inevitable drowning, innocent, isolated eighteen-year-old, homeschooled biologist Chik Cantera needs a lot of help fast. Environmental warming, a mysterious brain-rotting disease, terrorism, rabid right-wing politicians, and confused military intelligence agencies around the world put Chik Cantera at the center of a global security crisis.

To survive, he must discover his convictions, resist ego gratification, and appreciate hidden depths in everything and everybody. Several capable, grounded older women, including his mother, and girlfriend Hasti Ferdowsi, guide Chik’s journey to the surface. Egos Eclipsed is a post-modern coming of age with overtones of magical realism, some post-polarized political brainstorming on reinvigorating democracy, and a parable promoting non-dual psychological and metaphysical insights. Resist the rough beast now.

Please leave a comment if you see how this might be improved.

The post Revising My Book’s Description appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

The post DIY Branding (video) appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

My debut novel, Egos Eclipsed, shines a search beacon into the later 2020s. To succeed would require equal parts tunnel vision, intuition, and self-discovery. What I thought it was about morphed as it grew, which caused problems and opportunities. 

The energy high of writing creatively ebbed with time. I am no longer overcome with the urge to blurt out, “Look at me! I made this.” Instead, I suggest, “Look at this story and see if it helps you untangle your relationship with the world as it hosts the emergence of endless, unprecedented “inflection points.”

What would Dad think?

As I wrote Egos Eclipsed, I didn’t think about my father any more or less than usual. He died over five years before I started thinking about it. None of the characters have any obvious resemblance to him. But, with the book published, I wondered what he would have made of the MAGA debacle and my attempts to satirize it. I don’t remember my mother or father ever revealing how they had voted. A couple of times, Mom said, “Our votes probably canceled each other out.” Did she know how he had voted?  Dad would have certainly hated Trump’s racial bigotry and unscrupulous business practices. However, he might have figured that Trump would know how to manage the domestic economy and keep us out of unnecessary foreign wars. 

 Dad was a lifelong Republican, a World War II vet, and a real estate broker. As a young man, he repeatedly put his life on the line for democracy from the inside of bomb-laden B-29s. His generation upheld their end of the bargain — at personal cost. He earned the right to keep his thoughts private. 

I was born nine weeks before a B-29 flown out of Tinian dropped Little Boy on Hiroshima. Strictly speaking, I fall into the Silent Generation. Still, my guilt by association gets worse and worse. That the Boomers let the Greatest Generation down is now a cliche. Did American society rot overnight? Was it rotten all along? Or, does society provide more individuals than ever opportunities to be themselves? Answers may vary. 

Alternative political parties

While I know little about politics, I have a fair idea of what life was like in Seattle, Washington, when Dwight Eisenhower was our 34th President. Polarization was not a thing. Contemporary political polarization might not abate until one side destroys the other. Alternatives intervening from the middle seem more like a prayer than a prediction. But, collaborative forces could finally prevail. A revitalized two-or-three-party system could honor the Constitution. These future parties would be better at listening to people in general. They would be more transparent and quicker to deal with internal corruption. They would explain how they raise money and what they do with it. They won’t allow big tech to run roughshod over everybody’s privacy rights with hardly a peep. As a minimum, they will banish big money from politics. Since the Supreme Court is also part of the problem, future legislation should provide additional guardrails. 

The tricky part will be limiting hyper-big businesses without stifling innovation and focusing regulations on abuses so that companies are improved rather than destroyed. We might always need two strong political parties. But that doesn’t mean we need the kind we have now. They are good at collecting donations. They lack intellectual honesty and coherent, effective policies. 

Saving democracy

Some people enjoy incessantly debating who contributed the most to our polarization. Such a path offers no opportunities for reconciliation. Getting beyond polarization will require much of all parties. The biggest question is whether it will be sufficient for the Grand Old Party to self-destruct, or will the Democrats have to blow up their equally problematic coalition as well? 

Will supporters of democracy unite and defeat the autocrats? It happens in movies. In the real world, democracy requires prerequisites. It is an open question whether or not we citizens still have what it takes to fulfill the minimum conditions. This is too important to be left to the activists or lobbyists. Everybody with a stake in the game needs to ante up.

I can juggle four hats. I am prepared to dig deeper. I am building my brand as authentically as I know how. It is continually stress-tested. I still want to become all I can be.

The post Authentic DIY Branding: appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

The post I read about a thousand words from the first chapter to introduce the main characters. appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

Following double cataract surgery.

(first published 22 June 23)

The post A long overdue question appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

My second shock was that there were still issues to be found. So I read the third draft straight through for the first time. It was like reading somebody else’s book. I had been dictating into my phone on a non-linear, half-pantsing, half-outlined basis for several years. Events had been reorganized. Sub-plots had been dropped. What it became was different than how it started. This is all to be expected. But I can’t help but wonder what it would be if I had not thrown so much material away.

The third wave of realization came after I started producing an audiobook version on Google Play — listening to the auto narration read it aloud. To be sure, minor issues are still to be found. But mainly, my writer’s relationship has morphed into a publisher’s relationship. Now, publishing is all-consuming, but in a very different way. Launch is just a few weeks off.

(first published on 15 June 23)

The post Transition time appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

A section of the graphic in the center of the cover.

(first published on 23 May 23)

The post Graphic of microorganisms in water appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

Early in the summer, DIS awarded a no-bid contract to Simon Percy Sterling and Associates, a little-known ,rm in Palo Alto that did things for government and political entities which they could not do for themselves. Simon Percy Sterling’s management assigned the task of engaging the targets and earning their trust to Hasti Ferdowsi, a hard-to-rattle, twenty- three-year-old attorney. Despite being an SPS rookie, Ferdowsi’s track record was impeccable. To prepare for this challenging assignment, she reviewed background investigations and toured the Space Systems Command Center at Los Angeles Air Force Base.

DAY 1: CAMP CORINTH ON BASSWOOD LAKE
Camp Corinth on Basswood Lake was a 244-acre lakefront property deep in the Stanislaus National Forest southeast of Sacramento. In central California, Camp Corinth had a reputation as a place where kids from all economic backgrounds could mingle as equals for a week. Corinthians often had revelations that stuck with them for life. As a teenager, Hasti Ferdowsi attended three times. Simon Percy Sterling arranged for her to be a Corinthian Journey Guide and for Chik Cantera to be awarded a Camp Corinth scholarship for outstanding home-schooled biologists.
On a toasty mid-August Sunday in mid-California, around mid-day, Hasti Ferdowsi parked her electric BMW in the Camp Corinth staff lot. She jogged to the nearby Director’s Residence to meet Oliver. He assigned Chik, Hasti, and a seasoned Journey Guide, Gloria, to Sentinel House, on the camp’s southern edge. Then, Oliver took Hasti to the Cantina, a Gold Rush-style log cabin, where mail and snacks were dispersed. Outside, the red, white, and blue hung like a sweaty Fourth of July polo shirt on the camp’s fifty-foot flagpole. The charter bus from the Bay Area honked as it entered the parking lot.

Chik was the last bus rider to enter the Cantina. He looked lost. A large army surplus pack filled absolutely to the bursting point dwarfed his five-foot-six, 130-pound frame. Motioning him over to her spot at the table, Hasti showed him a neutral smile and said, “Hi, I am Hasti Ferdowsi. Let’s get you registered. Name?”

“Chik Cantera,” he responded with a nod, but no hand. “Good to meet you.”

Hasti scanned the registration sheet, found his name, and explained, “OK, Chik, you will be in Sentinel House, where Gloria and I are Guides. It’s at the far southern end of the property. Let’s get you a name tag. Keep it on for the rest of the day. With me so far?”

“With you all the way.”

“Why don’t you look around for fifteen minutes until I finish my shift?” Hasti suggested with a bright smile on her full, severe lips. “Then we can pack our gear over to Sentinel together.”

Outside the Cantina, Chik took off his pack, sat on the ground, and leaned back against his gear. He watched a co-ed group playing frisbee golf on Assembly Field. Groggy after the long, hot bus ride, he dozed off for a few minutes. When Hasti came out, she stood in front of Chik. Even though she was an inch taller and ten pounds heavier, she debated whether to offer him help. Then she put both hands where they could not be ignored and braced her legs. Chik took her hands at the wrist and popped up off the grass like a cat.

Hasti helped him sling his pack onto his back and said, “Follow me to my car so that I can get my stuff. Then I will show you the most highly scenic route to our cabin, OK? I presume you appreciate the highly scenic?”

“Very much,” Chik agreed, looking directly at her for longer than before. The black plastic frames of his glasses disappeared into the thick brown hair over his ears. “Lead the way.”

Hasti hoisted her pack out of her car’s trunk with ease. It was lighter than Chik’s. She was an experienced packer. She led him west through an area of contemporary structures used as a conference center in the off-season. At a campfire meeting ring on the lakeshore, they turned south along a wide, well-worn trail through ancient cedars and firs behind the rustic cabins fronting Basswood Lake.

To get him talking, Hasti asked, “What do you want to get out of this week?”

“I don’t know,” Chik said while shaking his head side-to-side. “I’ve never been to a summer camp. I got a scholarship. I don’t know why. Everybody here looks very preppy. I won’t fit in here at all.”

Hasti assured him, “Everybody at Corinth is equal before Christ.”

“Nobody here will have the slightest interest in me.”

“Most kids who come here get a big takeaway even when they don’t expect to.”

“If you say so.”

Arching a broad, well-plucked eyebrow and pursing her lips as if to speak, Hasti remained silent.

Everybody assigned to Sentinel Cabin stood in a circle at 16:00 hours and introduced themselves. Hasti and Gloria gave brief remarks. Everybody got a copy of the ground rules.

“Hey, what do you think so far?” Hasti asked Chik after the others were gone.

“I didn’t expect so many women.”

Tilting her head and throwing a heavy braid of her dark brown hair back over her shoulder, Hasti said, “When I was here as a camper, it was not co-ed.”

“Oh. How’s the internet service?”

“Non-existent. If you want anybody to know about something, you’d better write them a postcard. Corinth spins it as a plus since it supposedly helps us get serious about our business here.”

“Oh-oh, it never occurred to me that they’d put a camp in a dead zone.”

“When this camp was founded, the country was nothing but dead zones. And yet, the people have prospered.”

“Have they?”

Scrunching up his nose drew attention to the tiny blue stone in his right nostril. From there up to the bridge of his horn rims, his nose was broad and robust compared to the narrowness of his cheeks. Chik brushed back the hair on his forehead and took a deep breath. They left the cabin at an eager pace. Along the most direct route to Mona Lodge, Corinth’s dining and meeting hall, Hasti pointed out additional indisputably pleasant features of the property. For the next four days, Chik and Hasti walked together between Sentinel House and Mona Lodge twice a day.

After lunch on Wednesday, Hasti pulled him to a stop with his shirt tails, wiped the sweat off her nose, and asked, “Don’t you ever worry that you are too much of an outsider to be of much use to society?”

It was so quiet she thought she heard Chik’s heart speed up.

“I am on the spectrum,” Chik said shrugging. He resumed walking. “Why can’t I be an insider and an outsider?”

Hasti was at a loss for words: the background briefing had said nothing about autism but he did not seem to be joking.

(first published on 19 May 23)

The post Opening scene appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

The post Cover expanded and improved appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.

The post Free advanced review copy? appeared first on Writing Life 3.0.