Venturing into Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP)

 I have dipped my toes into the seething, bubbling ocean of digital publishing for the first time. 

I’m a bit lost guys and girls. 

 

My first babies to fly the nest are a couple of shorts I wrote for my masters degree at the university Nottingham – ‘Voodou and the Machine’ and ‘Lab Rats.’ I uploaded them both onto Amazon Kindle as a combined package for the minimum price I was allowed to – $2.99 (£1.80 GBP). I shared my venture on the ol’ Bookface, and one kindly soul agreed to bite and check it out. That’s £1.30 of royalties in the back for Jack. Strange how much that one sale means, you know, that someone actually shelled out some hard-earned cash for some stuff I made up in my head. Feels good, I tell ya. 

At the time of writing – stardate, the 11th May – it’s the only sale i have. That’s because I’ve only done half the work. Writing fiction and getting onto KDP is the first step, but then you’ve market the darn thing. This is where I find myself just treading water. In my professional life I’ve flogged a ton ‘o junk for other folks, but never something of my own creation. 

The ocean stretches far and wide, and all I have this rubber dinghy and a Fischer-Price telescope with which to navigate its choppy waters. It time to learn to ride the waves. 

If there is anybody out there, this is my S.O.S. Let’s ride those waves together. 

 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JDL4B8Y is the golden link. If you like Scifi, Steampunk and the like, with dark tendencies then I’d really appreciate you checking out the free preview to Voudou and the Machine. It’s an attempt at a strong female protagonist from the 1st person, something I don’t feel I’ve seen enough of in the genre. 

 

Have a nice day, WordPressers and let me hear your thoughts! 

 

 

 

 

 

Victory. A Trifecta Writing Challenge Piece. With Clockwork.

Trifecta Challenge

www.trifectawordchallenge.com

 

The prompt is:

 BLIND

a : having no regard to rational discrimination, guidance, or restriction <blind choice>

b : lacking a directing or controlling consciousness <blindchance>

c : drunk

 

 Victory

 Blind, but for the prayers of dreamers, shoots a cherished bronze dart from the heavens through billowing soft steam clouds.

Filigree fingers float on hope to rest on treasure heaps to be. A kingdom, perhaps, or a single heart.

An aviatrix on air-light wings. A clockwork dragonfly dream, awoken with the freshly fallen sweat of mortal toil.

Waiting to Live: My first ‘Inspiration Monday’ flashfic.

Kobra Kyle sat on the windy pierhead, drinking ale and ruminating on cold consequences. Chiquida, his copperplated palm-pilot, had climbed out of his coat pocket and wandered over to a couple of black crested gulls, who were fighting over half a bloatfish.

Daggerhand Dave finally turned up, folded himself into a sitting position beside Kobra and dangled his gimpy legs over the pier.

‘I’ve got fresh juice for you,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ said Kobra, taking the unspent silver hydropump and screwing it into his rusting wrist socket. The colour from his face melted from red to grey. He opened his eyes.

‘We found her,’ said Daggerhand. The wind whipped his coat into sudden schizoid shapes. Chiquida, the palm-pilot, atomized the fighting gulls with its Gauss magnet. The small red mist of their remains dissipated into the gale.

Kobra Kyle turned to his partner with wide, alert skyblue eyes. ‘How much uptime on a borrowed heart?’ he said. ‘How long?’ Chiquida came over to nuzzle his antenna against his master’s beard, making tinny ‘tweedle’ sounds.

Daggerhand Dave took the other Guardian’s hand in his, and, with a subtle shake of the head said, ‘Kobra, my brother, must you proceed down this path? It is a long afterlife, waiting to live.’

Thank you for reading. I have used all five Inspiration Monday prompts from BeKindRewrite, and it has forced me to write outside the box. Which is great. I hate being inside the box. It’s dark, I can’t stretch my legs, and it’s starting to smell.

If there’s anything you don’t like, please please let me know. Punish me.

The life of Osmium Mechspanner: Scientist. Misanthrope. Chef – Part 1.

Mechanical squid consignment no.66 sat shining in its grey steelglass box, ready to be shipped out to Lord Fortune. Their creator, Osmium Mechspanner, flipped open his wristmount. It made a soft ‘whom’ noise, waking up with a cool blue light.

‘Dave-Bot,’ he said into the device, ‘you are required.’

Osmium fired up a large vat of pink body-grow, and checked the manifest on his clipboard. The order contained an embryo bulk order of 6000, 8 sentry turrets, 8000 litres of surface world Bolognese , 68 cases of red wine, a sani-droid, and the completed mecha-squids.

Sector 6 was unique in that its chief scientist was also its head chef. At 28 years of age, Osmium was more than halfway through his natural life, after which the fun would truly begin. For now, he slaved away for 16 hours a day, creating delicious meals to feed the masses, cleaning robots, building death-dealing atrocities of steel and glass for local government, and bioengineering the occasional special order.

Mechanical squids were used primarily in war. The latest chromatophore enhancement made them effectively invisible when engaged for combat or Osmium’s private surveillance initiatives in the resi-quarters. The most recent batch was also pleasingly floppy, like proper squid. Osmium currently had one on the slab to be modified as a personal companion.

The gastro-physicist helped himself to a flagon of mead from the refreshment funnel he had built into his chemical cabinet. A klaxon went off in the lab, and red flashing lights exulted into life.

‘INTRUDER ALERT! HUMANOID PRESENCE DETECTED!’ announced the robotic vocal equivalent of a spring coiling and uncoiling. This was Osmium’s doorbell, which he had installed for the purpose of keeping himself alert, and spicing up his day. A quick tap on his wristmount, and the door shunked open to reveal his visitor. It was a young woman.