Showing posts with label Inner City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inner City. Show all posts

Saturday, 9 September 2017

Inner City - Free Ebook

I'm really trying to push my first book, Inner City. It's featured at the moment on Many Books - Manybooks.net




I'm trying various promotional sites. Many Books cost me $29 to list it to their mailing list for a week. On the first day, September 9, I had 20 downloads. It doesn't sound like a lot, but getting anyone to download a book these days is hard work. I also like my Author listing on their site - I hate photos of myself, but a cute puppy on your lap always helps.


Books Butterfly was my previous promotion and they charged $80 for a guaranteed 1000 downloads. During their promotion and now some weeks later, I had 2 downloads, although one I am pretty sure came before their promotional period.

The people at Books Butterfly were very nice and responded to emails promptly, they said many free books have a long lag when recording books and claimed KOBO was notoriously bad in reporting their downloads of free e-books. I can imagine updating free book downloads isn't high on their priorities, but it feels like an excuse.

Inner City has downloaded 4200 times since I listed it - although this latest draft is a year's work to improve and proof the manuscript as best as I can.

The other really clear issue is the book is listed and published at Smashwords and not Kindle. Almost all the promotional sites work with Kindle and it's hard to find those who list Smashwords links. Inner City is listed at Kindle, but at the price of 89 cents - in Australia $1.03 - I think. This is because Kindle doesn't seem to allow a free book. It allows you to promote a book for free across a promotional period - and this only if you are enrolled in the KDP select program that makes it Kindle exclusive.

I am still debating whether to do this or not, as both Smashwords and Kindle are easy to use and publish, but there are reports of the exclusivity of Kindle drastically reducing any author percentage and once you sign, you sign to be exclusive, so I want to exhaust my experiment with Smashwords first.

The plan is to keep Inner City free until October 31st. The Kindle or Smashwords conundrum will be answered by how many downloads it gets once it's at a price.

Of course, you can also download the book at:
Barnes & Noble Nooks Books 
Kobo
iTunes Books

Here are the links to reviews so far:
Goodreads
Barnes and Noble
Amazon

Monday, 20 May 2013

Young Adult Book - Free

I've just updated the original blog site that lists the first ten chapters of Inner City for free....

Have a read if you like... it comes with pictures! If you like what you read then follow the links and read the full book at Smashwords.

Read the blog - here


And if you like the book please let others know.... this starving writer will thank you!

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

Inner City - New Draft


Excerpt from Inner City - Full copy Now available at Smashwords

Chapter 1.
Callen sat on a plastic bench in the empty corridor of the Family Administration Agency. His feet swung back and forth, his eyes riveted on the large doors in front of him, his mind desperate to know what was going on behind them.
The seven year old looked out of place as he sat alone, orphaned in the cold open space. His parents, Leona and Jonathan Carrus were behind the imposing doors fighting for their lives. The City’s authorities had charged them with being financially unfit to raise a child and they were struggling to convince the Judge they could reverse their business fortunes.
 “I don’t understand why I’m looking at all this technical data,” the holographic image of the Judge said, his frustration towards the speed of the trial starting to show.
All City officials were holographs. Officials of every kind within the City worked in plush, secure buildings well away from those they had to pass judgment or enforce rules upon. Their holographs were the new government public relation conduits, projected out amongst the population and supported on the ground by minimum wage employees and automated systems that enacted their decisions.
 The holograms were projected onto a clear, reactive, computer encoded silicon substance that linked and mirrored every move the corresponding official made. In this way the three dimensional form and image of all officials, including Leona and Jonathan’s Lawyer, oversaw their duties.  
“We are demonstrating, Your Honour,” their lawyer argued, “the potential for a breakthrough. Every person in this city carries a crystal containing their personal scan, every person. That’s almost ninety million potential clients.”
The Judge was losing patience. 
“We are dealing with a very simple question of wealth. The defendants are no longer earning enough or hold enough assets to meet the requirements of parenthood and their son is not yet nine years old, so he’s eligible for reassignment. Is there anything else I should be considering?”
The Judge’s duty was a grave one, but his decision was delivered for the good of the community. Within this City the average life expectancy was one hundred and forty years and the longer lives led to overcrowding. New lives were at a premium. Each child had to be carefully assigned to those best suited to provide and raise a new citizen of the City to the standards demanded. Millions of couples were working towards a child of their own and their businesses were flourishing, not going backwards. 
While the Judge knew the pain his decision would cause in the short term, he remained convinced he was doing the right thing by all those who lived within this city’s walls.
 “Callen Carrus is to be taken from his parents and reassigned immediately to a new eligible couple who meet the financial requirements to raise a child.” The hammer fell. The decision was final.
Leona wept uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face. Jonathan sat beside her. For the first time in his life he did nothing to comfort his wife when she needed comfort. They had lost their son. When they were granted the right to have Callen their business was going from success to success and their luck held out through the citizen’s genetic program. They were both young and proved genetically appropriate to be given permission, through the invitro process, to donate egg and sperm as the biological parents of their own child. In this modern world it was akin to winning the lottery and both Leona and Jonathan felt truly blessed.
How had it all gone so horribly wrong so quickly? Here they were, less than a decade later, listening to a judge destroy their lives and take away their child. They had lost their family. 
A guard came and stood behind Leona and Jonathan as the Judge looked to them.
“Your son is to be escorted from this building. You are to have no further contact with him and no record of his existence with you is to remain. If you try to contact the boy in any way, you will be charged and face a sentence of fifteen years incarcerated public service. Do you understand?”
Leona sobbed and nodded. Jonathan hardly moved. 
“Yes”, he said without ever taking his eyes off the Judge. They had no choice but to accept that Callen was no longer their son. 
Chapter 2.
A neat woman with a painted smile entered the far end of the corridor. She walked directly towards Callen. Her conservative skirt and button down blouse sung of her position within the government and try as Callen might to ignore her approach, he couldn’t.
“Callen”, she said from about half way down the hall. “Come with me, please”.
“I’m waiting for my parents. They’re in there”, he said pointing to the doors in front of him. 
“No, they’re not sweet-heart. Come now, I’ll explain everything”. 
Callen looked to the women. She was trying to look like a friend. She offered a hand, her delicate fingers extended. Callen jumped from his seat and ran at the large doors guarding the courtroom. He pulled hard on the handles but hardly managed to cause any movement. Callen cried out. 
“Mummy! Daddy!” 
In the courtroom Leona and Jonathan tensed to the sound of Callen’s cries. They reached for each other’s hands and squeezed tight. Legally their son was now someone else’s concern.
Callen was led down the long corridor. He struggled hard, but a dissenting seven year old proved little problem to the experienced escort.
At the end of the corridor a door swung shut behind them. The ensuing silence made a mockery of the life changing drama that had played out along the hard polished plastic floor moments before.
Callen sat in an empty room. It was the third room he’d been in since being taken from the floor housing the court rooms. Every now and then someone would come and talk him through legal protocol, but Callen’s head was swimming with information and he’d taken to pretending he understood simply to cut the complicated explanations short.
The wheels of administration were suffocating him in procedural red tape and his seven years of experience didn’t help him understand the mechanics of what was happening, no matter how well explained. All he knew for certain was that his parents were not with him and would never be with him again.
 His mind protested the fact. He remembered the lessons about families at school. The icy cold fear of every modern child surrounded him. He wasn’t going to let this happen; not to him. He wouldn’t accept reassignment. He didn’t care who his new parents were or what the law demanded, he’d never give up the parents he loved.
 Towards the end of the day, Callen was collected by a young man who took him to a dormitory. He was assigned to a bed within a plastic molded room. It was explained he’d stay for the night and then his new parents would arrive to take him to his new home. Callen said nothing. He didn’t want anyone knowing the thoughts he was having. When the reassignment was finalised he’d go with the strangers and play at being a dutiful son, but at the first opportunity he’d be away to find his old home and his real parents.
 Callen took a long time to fall asleep. As he lay in darkness his mind drifted to a memory of a holiday taken beyond the City walls, to a sister city by the beach. He’d been given a window seat on the plane and as they began their descent, Callen stared in fascination at the barren, inhospitable land they were passing over. Then he saw movement. It was a band of savage ‘Outlocked’ moving across a sandy clearing. Callen had always suspected the terrifying stories of these people were made, or at very least exaggerated to scare and entertain, but here they were, in the flesh and real, Outlocked savages.
He shrieked with fear and excitement and others went to look out their windows. Callen’s parents had to calm him. Then they answered a barrage of questions. They recited the well known facts about the Outlocked people: how they lived a poor excuse for a life in the exiled wastelands. How they’d been shut out hundreds of years before for causing dissent and threatening the economic survival of the prosperous, hard working citizens within the modern cities.
Callen was amazed to have actually seen them. When he returned to school he’d gain celebrity status over that fact. He’d seen the savages from so many popular horror movies.  
 The thought of those Outlocked creatures, so close to the walls of the resort they were travelling to frightened him so much he couldn’t sleep. He lay in darkness in his hotel bed and every time he closed his eyes the terror of the savages gripped him. His parents came each time he cried out, but they struggled to ease his fears or answer his many questions: What if they were cut off on holiday? What if they were overrun by Outlocked? What if the horror movies came true?
His parents reassured him the modern automated security systems would never let that happen. As long as he stayed inside the walls of their cities he’d stay perfectly safe; every City citizen knew this one rule by heart. Callen’s parents held him tight in their arms and it was this that helped him finally drift asleep. Now, on the first night of his reassignment, that memory of being nursed and reassured by his parents gave Callen the peace he needed to fall asleep again.
In the morning Callen woke and was taken to a shower where he was rudely scrubbed by a woman wearing rubber gloves and an apron. The task left him humiliated, but more was to follow. He was taken, still naked into a doctor’s surgery where he was strapped down on a full length chair. The chair whirred to life and stretched him out until he was lying flat out. He tried to turn his head to see all the instruments, but straps around his forehead and chin held his head firmly in place.
There was no colour in the room. There had been no colour in any of the rooms. Not the room he slept in, not the shower room, not this new room. A doctor's hologram flickered to life beside him. Even the projected image of the doctor was wearing white. Callen lay, strapped down, fully exposed, embarrassed and vulnerable. The doctor was a young woman and her holographic image mimicked her movements as she manipulated controls on a panel that caused robotic machines around Callen to buzz and whir to life. Instruments on long metal arms began to examine his body on her command.
Measurements and checks were made without any explanation. Finally the doctor spoke as she typed her notes.
“You’re a very fit young boy. You’re going to make some lucky parents a wonderful son.”  The doctor powered off and her image disappeared. 
The restraints around Callen's body snapped open. He jumped from the chair. The door to the room was open and Callen hid behind it peering out. Had everyone forgotten he was naked?
The woman who had scrubbed him down re-entered and took him by the hand. Callen couldn’t take being treated as less than human any longer.
“Can I have some clothes?” He whined. The woman looked at him in astonishment.
“You’re about to get a whole new wardrobe if you’d just be a little patient.”  Callen gave in and walked with the woman as she navigated the hallway. There was no-one else to see him, something he was extremely grateful for.
Another room waited; another white room. He sat on a cold plastic bench molded into the wall. His hands stayed fast to his lap. The woman in white left him for a moment, then re-entered, wheeling a large plastic cage. Callen stared at it. All he could think was the cage was for him; they were going to wheel him around on parade. The woman swung open a door and revealed clothes. The large mobile box was a wardrobe now displaying, shoes, socks, underpants, pants, shirts and jumpers. 
“These are all yours, paid for by the Helfners.” 
Callen had never heard of the organization and he gave a mystified look.
“Your parents,” the woman answered off his look. Callen stared motionless. In one day his entire life had been turned upside down and shaken. The woman left the room and Callen swiftly went to the cage to dress. He searched for his favourite labels. When he'd finished he looked like a mannequin in a department store, displaying the unmistakable creases that new clothes hold.
The door was still open and once Callen was happy with his appearance he walked from the room to be met again by the woman in white.
“Good, you’re finished,” she said. “We’ll get all the other clothes sent around to your home some time later today. Your Mum and Dad are waiting for you. I think they’re a little excited.”
Callen had been doing his best to remain brave, but having two strangers referred to as his ‘mum and dad’ was too much for him and he broke down in tears. Within seconds Callen was a sniffling, snorting, hyperventilating mess. The woman in white showed compassion; the tears of a seven year old had managed to reach past her hard, professional veneer. She hugged him close until his tears stopped.
“You have to be brave about this. The Helfners are going to love you very much. You’re a lucky young man.”
“I don’t want new parents. I want the ones I’ve got; they want me too, I know they do,” Callen whimpered. The woman was thrown by the statement. She didn’t know how to react.
“But you’re seven years old,” she said, as if this explained everything. Callen stared at her, searching for meaning.
“Surely you’ve been taught about families at school? You must know how people have children?” She asked.  Callen chilled. He did know. He’d been remembering the lessons since this nightmare began. He could virtually recite every word he’d ever been told about family reassignments, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.
After a moment he reluctantly nodded that he understood. The woman showed relief. Had he not known, for whatever reason, she could have been facing a delicate situation. She moved quickly, brushing a few stray fibres from Callen’s new clothes as she encouraged his recovery.
“See if you can’t cheer yourself up. Your new parents don’t want their first sight of you to be in tears.” 
Callen ran the back of his hand across his eyes.
“Good, boy,” the woman said. “Now let’s put on a smile and go and meet your new mummy and daddy.” 
Callen was led through a door into a room of colour, a room of synthetic seats and viewer screens, a room of sound and activity and milling, expectant mothers and fathers. Raegher and Annie Helfner sprang to their feet as their number was called by the digital voice. They raced across the short space, threw their arms around and hugged Callen as if he was a long lost son, which, in a way, he was. Callen suffered the smothering without a word. There was little else he could do.
The trip home was uneventful. The route was entered in the transporter’s computer, it locked onto the magnetic tracks and both Raegher and Annie were left to tell Callen all their plans for the rest of his life. They could have been talking about revolution for all he knew. He kept nodding and changing his focus from one to the other, all the time watching the passing streets. He was frantically trying to map the direction of his old neighbourhood. The Helfner’s unit was almost two hours drive from the administration buildings. By the time they arrived Callen’s head was spinning with landmarks and turns taken and all the while the incessant chatter continued. 
On their arrival at the Helfner’s home Callen was shown straight to his new room. The walls were bright yellow. A bright blue bed with bright red cupboards set them off. A mobile of the solar system hung from the light and as the planets rotated, so did the colours they gave off. Callen was overcome with the vibrant room. He sat on the bed and the Helfners retreated to prepare for their first dinner together. Callen began planning when and how to leave this new and unfamiliar family. 
Dinner was a feast. Everything a seven year old could want; largely synthetic, but far more nourishing than anything natural. The ham and vegetable simulates were a forerunner to the sweets, a simulate ice cream pie with a crust of chocolate biscuit all covered in fudge so thick it stopped running as it cooled. Callen’s appetite had not suffered over the past twenty four hours and he happily had a third helping of dessert to the delight of his new parents. 
In bed, he was visited and kissed on the forehead no less than three times before Annie and Raegher finally turned in for the night. Callen waited a good hour, desperately trying to keep his focus, his eyelids grew heavy and he’d throw them open in a torturous battle against sleep. When he thought the time was right, he got up from his bed and silently inched along the hall to check on his new parents. They were sound asleep. He headed back to his room and rummaged quietly in his wardrobe. He located a back pack perfect for what he had in mind. He loaded the bag with anything he thought might come in useful and he left the room.  
Quietly he navigated the stairs, stopping only at the kitchen to add food. He looked at the chocolate sauce now sitting left over in a container, useful or not, he’d have that too. He closed his bag and then walked to the front door and silently opened it and left. He rode the lift to the ground floor and for the first time in days, relaxed. He was beginning his journey to find the parents he loved and refused to give up without a fight. Everything he’d planned was working out perfectly. He’d have the whole night to search before anyone ever knew he was gone. He opened the building’s door to walk out into the night. 
The building’s alarm wailed to life. A flashing light above the door lit the surrounding space with its intermittent piercing blue light. Callen couldn’t believe he’d forgotten something so obvious. Every building in every modern city had an alarm. He turned and ran. His plan would remain the same. The only thing changed was his head start.  

Thursday, 9 May 2013

Inner City - Scott Norton



I recently began redrafting Inner City - my first novel, published online about two years ago. The book was listed free to try and gain a fan base as a writer and has so far downloaded close to 6000 times on both Smashwords and another site where it is available to be downloaded and read for free.

The book has had many reviews from wonderful readers who took the time to have their say on both the Goodreads and Nook Book sites. I really can't thank these people enough, strangers to me and only connected through my writing - if you are one of them, you will never know how important you are to me.

My stories evolve over time. They start like a fog and slowly clear. I don't know why and I wish they delivered themselves more fully formed - but beggars can't be choosers.

The reason for the redraft is I adapted Inner City into a screenplay and it has had some interest. That means nothing of course until finance is raised and production begins - and having been down the road before with other projects, even optioned projects, even development funding, even attached actors and directors, nothing is guarantee until the movie goes into production - and even then, cross your fingers it gets finished and released.

It also made a decent level in the Page Awards, before I withdrew, not having realised that money earned for writing TV scripts ruled a writer out of entering a screenplay. This still seems unfair to me as writing television serial drama and writing a screenplay are worlds apart - but I had definitely written more than the $25000 earned cap, so I did the right thing - embarrassed to not have read the rules properly before entering, I might add.

But, adapting the story for the screen and making it fit the 105 - 115 page model meant I had to make some very tough choices. Not all worked, but a couple ended up being so much better in story structure terms that I have been compelled to change the original to meet the story of the screenplay in those few areas. It makes the story far more suspenseful, it creates better rendered secondary characters and it will hopefully give me a chance to attract a publisher. It suddenly occurred to me, since I posted the book online two years ago, I haven't sent it to anyone.

The reason for this is that as a writer you go through peaks and troughs and somewhere around 2009/2010 I came very close to throwing in the towel. I had lots of work as a free script doctor, was involved in many volunteer production projects, writing and directing shows for the Melbourne International comedy festival etc, but unless I went back to working on television shows in production and giving up the dream of finding a way to tell my stories my way and getting them to an audience, it seemed I'd hit a brick wall.

That's when I published online. I published under my middle name of Norton to make sure friends and family didn't review or download - I wanted an unbiased view of whether or not my stories were worth telling.

So thanks to everyone who downloaded and a special thanks to those who reviewed - especially those who gave me the good with the bad. This sounds far too dramatic than it needs to be - but those people, for good or bad, have kept me writing. They are why I decided to try and tell the story as a film, my first choice in storytelling and the one I'm most experienced in, and they are also why I'm redrafting. My view is, nothing I write will ever be as good as I would like it to be - but with the help of those who have taken an interest and commented, Inner City is certainly headed in the right direction.

Will Inner City ever be offered for free again? Of course - to those who ask. If you read some of my blog posts, you will know I advocate free content in the belief that, if something is good enough, the free samples will generate paying customers down the track. Maybe by word of mouth or maybe through the next item produced... so feel free to ask for a copy... like some have already done. Ask and you shall receive.

As soon as the story is redrafted I will make sure those who asked get a free copy. And it's my pleasure to do so. Enjoy reading!

Sunday, 15 July 2012

What's in a Nom de Plume?

Sometime ago, after I'd had a novel, countless television concepts and even a couple of screenplays rejected many, many, many...(content cut for space) times, I discovered and investigated E-Publishing. I'd often thought about self publishing. I remember having lunch with my first agent who told me he'd been asked to rep a young writer discovered by a large publisher. The young author had self published and the publisher had read his book.

In interviews since the author claims he thinks the publishing company may have made an offer because they thought his book was published by an established company due to the way he set it out and blurbed the cover.


That authors name is Mathew Riley - now one of Australia's most successful and least critically heralded writers. The reason his books are so well read is because - they're popular. The reason his books are so often beaten up by the critics - I really don't want to say because they're popular, but there seems to be a  certain literary disconnect between what the masses like and what the critics believe they ought to like and why. 

Dare I say there is a bit of snobbery about what a writer should be, rather than what they are. I am first to admit I wish I could write like Annie Prouix and others. Beside them I feel like a grade school student with a crayon. But I often feel there is an attitude that the only writers worth considering need to write to that level and that this belief is commonly held amongst those who make the decisions in the industry. Perhaps they have a point.


But it's probably also valid to argue this attitude is a form of intellectual censorship. "We will only allow work to be published that we, those inside the building, feel is worthy to be read." Of course if the bean counters wrenched control from the literary snobs it would be far worse and ONLY populist books with tits on the cover would be published and that too would be a travesty.  

But how do you find the balance?

In 2002 I set up a new TV show that was well and truly aimed at the masses and I had to take script notes every week from the network script executive. When she entered the room the sun ran for cover and storm clouds followed her with a growl or rolling thunder. Her greatest quote was when she begged me to help her, "Create scripts with words so beautiful they'll seem like honey dripping from heaven."
Instead, I gave her stories that pulsed sex and action over that first season. Surprisingly that script executive never really warmed to me, but the show was a hit and continues on air to this day - now in it's tenth season.

In my own time I always wrote my own stories, no matter how busy I was with my regular paid work. First I wrote TV concepts, screenplays and then novels. I got some nibbles with concepts and screenplays, one screenplay optioned, some development money for another. I had attached directors and producers and even got as far as signing a letter of intent for production funding. But always something derailed things and left me alone to build up the enthusiasm for the next swing towards breaking through.

While I did have some success with film and TV, my novels never garnered even the slightest glimmer of hope. They were always D.O.A. There was just no interest from anyone and I sent out copies to many publishing houses in two different continents. My agent at the time came closest to a sale with a rejection letter that began - "I enjoyed your manuscript, in fact I enjoyed it so much I took it to bed with me, so why am I not making you an offer..." From there it went down hill quickly.

I known I make a few gaffs in a grammatical sense or throw in a spelling clanger with a their, there or they're from time to time. It's embarrassing because it's not that I don't know what should be written, it's that I have some sort of disconnect between me as an editor and me as a writer. The writer misses so much. The editor lasts about 20 pages and then gets dragged back into the story and swaps to being the writer again. When I edit another person's work I'm razor sharp - I just can't distance myself from my own work. And people spot one of those clangers and assume I'm illiterate.

In the back of my head I felt this was why my novels never got anywhere. One clanger and they'd be thrown aside by a grammar Nazi who found punctuation errors so heinous they could read no further. I'm sure this isn't the case and I just had to wait until my writing and editing skills caught up to my story telling skills, because despite all the rejections I always felt the stories were strong.

So when E-Publishing become simple and cheap, I decided to publish online using my middle name and not my surname. I did this because I didn't want my friends and family pressed into reading my book if it truly was the waffle all the reject letters had hinted at. I was also pretty battered around by that stage and definitely tired of the insincere and awkward, 'It's good', responses I'd been getting from those I knew who clearly had only skimmed it if that. I wanted to know once and for all if anyone out there, with no connection or reason to read something I'd written, would read my book for the story.

That's why Scott Norton was born. In my head he looks like this...


And with the book now downloaded so many times it's a name I've decided to keep. My full name is Scott Norton Taylor, so it's not a non de plume designed to really throw anyone off. But my online book Inner City now has thousands of downloads and messages on boards scattered around the internet - and the audience it was aimed at, the young adult group, seem to really get it. At least enough to prove to me that what I'd been told so many times, was wrong. There is an audience for my stories, I just have to grow that audience or find someone with an established marketing network who is willing to take a punt and help grow it with me.

It also gives me a way to keep my scripted work separate from my prose. And that means there's less chance of having my novels judged on the strength of my contributions to TV shows I've worked on that I often had little if any control of regarding stories or quality. 

That's a long way of saying that Scott Norton and Scott Taylor are one in the same and today Scott Taylor has been listed in the quarter finals of the Page International Screenwriting Awards - TWICE! The first for my screenplay of Inner City. (After intense negotiations between messrs Norton and Taylor for the book rights) And secondly for a TV Sitcom Pilot entitled - "I Am Nothing Like My Mother" - that can be read at Talentville.com

So once again it's time for the reaction from me that this sort of news deserves.....



Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Inner City Reviews and Ratings


INNER CITY is truly being read and enjoyed by a lot of young people. On Amazon, and Good reads I found reviews and discussions about the book. Even Nook Books had a whole two pages and 39 reviews that give it to date 4.5 out of five stars. I'm chuffed and thank you everyone for reading it!

Although out of all the reviews I read this is my favourite:


Anonymous
Posted June 7, 2012
I quit this book after several pages because of innapropriate content 
and a bad word, would not recommend.

I really hope he/she doesn't read this blog!