October 31st, 2012

Rango 2

"Dead hearts are everywhere."

So either God intervened, which is a lazy explanation, or we just don't know why. Which is no explanation. ~ Gregory House, M.D.


No, we didn't blow away. Or drown. Here I sit, as though the storm never came. But coastal Rhode Island is in pretty bad shape. Narragansett, Matunuck, Westerly, and so forth. Pretty much the entire coastline from Point Judith to Watch Hill. The granite jetty at Harbor of Refuge, created in response to the monstrous hurricane of 1938, was busted up pretty badly, which is...wow. And then there's New York City. I have a doctor's appointment this evening, or we'd probably try to go south today. It's not like I'm getting much work done.


Yesterday, I wrote 819 words on "Whilst the Night Rejoices Profound and Still." Which should have been finished day before yesterday. 819 words, and then reality fell on me. Hard to write about Mars while suffocating under ten tons of reality. But maybe that's just me.


Those who remember the past are doomed to remember it. ~ Me


Truth be told, I am in the sort of mood that disposes me to look upon authors having to relentlessly, tiresomely pimp their books as...grotesque. That word falls short of exactly what I mean, but it's the best I can do just now. And yet, as I have said again and again, most of us – almost all of us – learn to beg, if we are to have any chance at all. Publishers, they're in the job of publishing books, but only sometimes are they in the business of promoting books they publish. It actually makes sense, when you think about it. Allocation of available and limited resources to those ventures that seem most likely to deliver sufficient revenue on the initial investment (the "advance") to keep the board and the bean counters happy and everyone out off the red. I get that. Always have. Doesn't mean I know how to sell books or anything else. Doesn't mean I have an obligation to go quietly into any of this good mess.

Which is to say, as of yesterday, only about one thousand copies of Alabaster: Wolves has been preordered. A minimum of ~2,500 copies need to be preordered. I know I've harped on this to the point that it makes me ill to harp on this. I know the people who read this blog, you've either ordered the book or you won't be preordering. And that's okay. Readers are free agents. But if you are a fan of the series, I need some help here. We need ~1,500 additional preorders over the next two weeks. I'd very much like the option of continuing the comic, as would Steve, Rachelle, Greg, Jemiah, and my editor, Rachel. But we can't, unless it sells. All those astounding reviews, from the likes of MTVGeek and Comic Book Review, they don't mean shit without good sales figures. I hate the fuck out of Amazon, too. But if you follow the links and preorder there, you save $7.23 (36%) off the cover price.

Yes, kittens. This is how it works. It absolutely isn't about what qualifies for the ever subjective "good." It's (almost) only what sells. And no one on earth can predict what will sell. Ever. Oh, except for drug dealers. And oil companies.

To those who have preordered, I thank you and apologize. I'll be pushing this book like crazy for the next two weeks. I recently stopped because...a) I didn't have the stomach to keep it up and b) I figured we might be close to the goal. I was wrong. Please spread the word.

I need caffeine....

Oh. Happy Hallowe'en. I almost forgot.

Overtaxed (in more ways than one),
Aunt Beast