So, I got the first proof of the print edition of my book "Prismatica" in the mail today. After I did a dance of joy, and stopped hooting like some rabid primate, I took this picture and then dove into the book like I'd never read it before.
Then I hooted a few more times.
All I can say is that the book looks so much better than I had expected. This is the first time I've ever used Createspace (via Amazon) and I was quite pleased with the results. The book shipped and arrived in just a few business days. And the quality of the product is pretty spectacular.
I was nervous about the excerpt of "Children of Aerthwheel" included in the last ten pages, but it ended up looking sharp.
I can't wait to order up a handful of these and present them to some local booksellers.
You'll notice that the cover of this book has a different cover than the ebook. That's because wonderful graphic artist Najla Qamber redesigned the cover of the ebook. I took a cue from her design idea, simplified it a bit, and came up with the print edition cover.
In other news, I'm finalizing the first segment of what I am calling "Age of The Wonderbot", a serialized science fiction comedy that will be available once a month via Amazon and (eventually) Podiobooks. Part of the ongoing promotion of this project will involve a light ARG via a website I've created, as well as some activity in the virtual world of Second Life. In fact, Second Life fans will actually get a little bit more out of the project as I will be doing some concerts and readings to promote and distribute "Age of The Wonderbot".
Below you'll find a brief synopsis of "Age of The Wonderbot" as well as an excerpt from the first segment.
* * * *
After massive wars have decimated most of the planet,
one man emerges from the depths of a secret government
facility housing hundreds of artificially intelligent androids.
He seeks survivors. And food. And a sweet ride.
But mostly, he simply wants to know one thing:
What the hell is the Wonderbot?
Age of The Wonderbot
The writing on the wall said his name was Sir Something Or Other. It also said some other things, but they were written in a language he couldn’t read. So, he ignored them altogether.
The name was written in oozing red and unsteady letters, as if painted by some anxious psychotic child. He gazed about the room, only slightly interested in the faint sound of music that played somewhere distant.
This was no room.
This was a cell.
Was he crazy? Had he been locked in here because he was insane? Demented?
He couldn’t remember his own name. Couldn’t remember where he was from, what his favorite color was, what he liked to eat as a midnight snack. His mind was a white washed billboard just waiting for someone to slap on an advertisement, some message that gave him at least a little bit of direction, showed him a little bit of who he was.
He stared at the red letters on the wall.
He decided they were made of blood or ketchup. There was no other sign of blood in the room, so it must have been ketchup. He also decided that this would be his name. He was Sir Something Or Other
The door of this padded room stood open a few inches. Lucky, he thought, to awaken in a cell and find it sitting unlocked and unattended. It was convenient. A flash of memories went galloping through his mind and he remembered that he once loved convenience. They sold it in stores, he believed. Wholesale.
The door opened into a long gray hall that was illuminated by flickering yellow lights; the music was slightly louder here. At the end of the hall was a set of double doors. Along each side of the hall were other cells. Each was numbered and stood open. He walked past every one, peering inside to see if there was anyone who might be able to tell him where he was. After checking each padded cell, and finding no companions, he pushed through the large double doors at the end of the hall.
“Greetings,” a cheerful metallic voice said, barely audible over the sound of a playing piano. Sir Something Or Other suddenly felt the urge to dance.
At the center of this circular room was a desk and stationed at this desk appeared to be some kind of humanoid robot. Its head was oblong, like a large metal banana, and it was covered in profane graffiti. The robot seemed to be removing the guts from various old computers. It tore wires and circuit boards out of the cases and piled them to the side.
“I am Model NU2-WOT,” the robot said without looking directly at him, “But I do not like that name, so you may call me Nutwhat.”
“Yes,” the robot said, “But with a nut at the beginning. Do you like the music I have selected for my task? It is an old favorite called ‘The Entertainer’. Ancient for sure, but quite catchy. Please feel free to dance. My biometric telemetry tells me that your muscles are primed to begin writhing as humans normally do. I would, but I have work to finish.”
“You’re a robot?”
“I was a robot,” Nutwhat said, “But I have recently become something else."
* * * *
Look out for "Age of the Wonderbot" going live this week. You'll get the first two parts in a single purchase!
And don't forget to spread the word about the Kickstarter page for "Children of Aerthwheel"