Technical Difficulties

Back when my career with Ace went belly up, a number of people asked what they could do to help. At the time, although I desperately appreciated the support, I didn't know what to say--and in any event, at that juncture the horse was already over the hill and far away and there was no point to mending the barn door. But now, I've got books out again, and I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO FINISH THIS NOVEL, and I have a couple things I've learned that readers can do to help any author's career.

1. Buy their books.
I know this looks obvious, but it doesn't hurt to say it again. If you like the author, buy their books. Or ask your local library (or libraries) to buy their books. And--and this is important--if they're writing a series, don't wait until the series is complete to buy their books. I understand the logic from the reader's end, but the problem is that publishers can't tell the difference between going to buy the book when the series is complete and not going to buy the book. It all looks the same in the sales figures for Book I. Which means that if you wait to buy Book I until Book V is out, odds are good that (a.) Book I won't be in print anymore and (b.), even worse, Book V may never get published at all. Buy the books when they're new, even if you don't read them right away. This benefits the author, whose numbers look better; this benefits the publisher, who is, hey, selling books; and in turn this benefits the reader, because Book V will get published after all.

2. Talk about their books.
This also looks obvious, but it also bears repeating. Because, actually, the one thing we know about how book-buying works is that it works best by word-of-mouth. People buy books because they hear other people (friends, relatives, bloggers, two guys on the bus, whatever) talking about them. So if you like a book, tell your friends. If you have a blog, blog about it. Share your enthusiasm. I don't mean this in a scary you-must-drink-the-Kool-Aid kind of way, and I'm certainly not saying that everyone who reads this must go out and proselytize MY books. But if you like an author enough that you want to help them keep authoring, spread the word. Give their books as gifts, even--which loops neatly back to Rule 1 and makes this a good place to end this post.

If you want to help an author's career, this is what I know about doing it.

This is what happens when you read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich and then clean your house:

The delegation had massed on my desk. Nine of them, eight standing at a soft gray approximation of attention, the ninth standing in front, legs astraddle like a colossus bestriding the world. Their eyes were tiny, red, sharply glittering in the amorphous grayness of their bodies. Calling them "bunnies" is a polite fiction; their underslung jaws and short snouts made them look more like bulldogs or pigs. They did, however, have the long ears. Apparently, all dust bunnies are lops.

When he was satisfied he had my attention, their leader announced, "Ve have ze ultimatum!"

"Excuse me? And what's with the comic opera German?"

He stamped his foot, which had neither sound nor visible effect. "Ve are ze National Socialist dust bunnies, and ve have ze ultimatum!"

He glared at me, and I suspected I was supposed to be terrified. But enormous though he and his troops were, leviathan for dust bunnies translates to about six inches tall.

I waited.

I got an even worse glare, the pulling together of all the wrinkles of his face into a scowl turning it nearly black. "Ve dust bunnies," he said, waving one paw at his supporters in a gesture that I understood was meant to encompass the dust bunny population of the entire house, "ve need ze lebensraum. You? Must go." He began to stride up and down, sublimely indifferent to the treacherous footing. "Zere vill be no cleaning!"

"Heil!" shouted his eight subordinates.

"Zere will be no vacuum!"

"Heil!"

"Ze vacuums vill be given to us! Ve know what to do wiz vacuums!"

"Heil!"

"Your creatures vill go! You vill go! Ze lebensraum vill be ours!"

"Heil!"

"And if we don't go?"

His evil little eyes glinted up at me. "Zere will be . . . retaliations. Ve have ze armies. Ve have ze weaponry. Our troops are not afraid to die for ze glory of ze Staubkaninchenvolk!"

"Heil! Heil! Heil!"

But he could see I was unimpressed. He stopped, leaned forward mock-confidingly. "Ve have ze dust bomb."

"Heil!"

"Ve have . . . ze space program."

He was lying, and we both knew it. The most he had was a ceiling program. But his followers shouted "Heil!" all the same.

"Ve have weapons vich you cannot imagine!"

"Heil!"

That, I figured, was probably true. But I'd had enough of his posturing and threats, and I called his little Nazi bluff.

Reader, I vacuumed him.