Smashwords' Tasty Upper Crust?

Recently, Smashwords.com's founder, Mark Coker, wrote and posted two releases to the Smashwords blog that target the library-lending markets (see "New Library Direct Enables Libraries to Acquire Large Opening Collections of Smashwords Ebooks" and "Smashwords Pricing Manager Tool Enables Custom Library Pricing." Smashwords' Library Direct offering allows libraries and library organizations to purchase a large quantity of ebooks from Smashwords. The second innovation gives authors the ability to set pricing for libraries differently, if desired, than retail pricing.

These innovations expose a departure from Smashwords' precedent-setting platform. When Smashwords came online and alive in 2008, it provided a neutral, level playing field where indie authors and publishers could publish all types of ebooks. Authors, retailers, and readers could coexist within the Smashwords environment. The ingenuity of Smashwords' Meatgrinder and relationships with retail partners crushed the gate-keeping practices of traditional publishing within 2 years of Smashwords going online. In 4 years, Smashwords has become the dominating force in indie publishing.

There is a shift underfoot as Smashwords matures. Today, libraries, and the buying power of their organizations and aggregators have become the bedfellows in the quest for incremental revenue. Realizing the future potential from gaining access to libraries and their patrons, startups like Bilbary and Jellybooks aspire to capture market share, but Smashwords clearly demonstrates the strongest position in the marketplace.

Within the gooey center of the Smashwords pie, 45,000 authors elbow and jostle each other as they vie for very few reader dollars. This heart of Smashwords has already become generic and rather plain-tasting as over 100,000 titles crowd the ebook shelves. The once-vital heart wallows between bland layers of muck and mediocre marketing. Instead of focusing on improving the quality of their ebooks, many authors practice screwing over each other by price slashing. Every once in a while, an author's bubble of creativity quietly rises to the top, raising the ire of the rest of the authors struggling within the tar pit.

There is a crust forming atop Smashwords' pie. Tasty, light, and flaky, this addition sounds absolutely scrumptious, but is it?

Those authors that bubble to the top are getting to participate in Smashwords' Library Direct program. My impression is that, although slow out the gate, Library Direct will entice libraries and library organizations to place large initial purchases, and do so by cherry-picking from among the most popular ebook titles and authors at Smashwords. Popularity is defined in terms of sales dollars, not reader-reviews and rankings. Although professional reviews may play a role, Mark Coker has remained quiet regarding how the selection criteria are defined.

Where Smashwords' design delivers all approved titles to retail partners, its new Library Direct model, which represents a departure from status-quo neutrality, segregates and rewards high-performing authors with access to library patrons. These additional exposures help these preferred authors build their platforms and increase income. The majority of Smashwords' 45,000 anemically-performing authors, of which I am one, are not, by design, invited to participate in Library Direct, and thus, are denied access to library patrons. Library Direct replicates the traditional library-supplier model that plagues authors today.

As I see it, a light and flaky upper crust is forming at Smashwords. To make the high-performers titles even tastier to libraries and library aggregators, Smashwords created a pricing tool that permits authors to price their ebook titles differently (probably lower) for libraries than what a retail customer will pay for an ebook. This offering benefits only the high-performing author. The strategy is that if a strong author wants to get her/his entire backlist of ebooks into libraries, then s/he should drop the price significantly for each title offered to libraries.

Since the vast majority of Smashwords' authors can't make it past the first hurdle of being a top performer, the library-pricing tool, then, becomes pointless. Having said this, its existence, however, allows promising authors the ability to change their library price on the fly so that libraries will snatch up their rising titles at bargain prices.

Back in March of this year, a blog post I wrote, entitled, "Legacy Publishers Poised to Fight Back: Do Silos Spell the End to Self-Publishing?" generated a lively discussion about the past, present, and future of ebook publishing, including a couple of possible outcomes of Smashwords' success. Smashwords' Library Direct program and its library-pricing tool dovetail nicely with the shared thoughts about Smashwords' evolution.

Quite a few folks commented on the Smashwords' blog regarding Mark Coker's announcements about Library Direct and the library-pricing tool. What I wrote in today's post is my take-away from that thread (to which I posted two comments). Admittedly, I was frustrated that Mark Coker avoided answering my questions; specifically those where I requested information about the detailed criteria for inclusion in the Library Direct program, and the intent behind the design of the library-pricing tool.

What's on the horizon?

Smashwords is following the traditional business lifecycle. Beyond innovation and implementation, it's moving into the maturity phase, where decisions are made to differentiate its products and services from its competitors. My prediction is that Smashwords will soon offer better-than-normal royalty rates (and even possibly tiered rates based upon incremental volume sales) to celebrity and high-profile authors to jump ship from competitors and/or to retain profitable authors and publishers on the Smashwords platform.

I predict that within the next five years, one of the Big 6 or another type of competitor will buy out Mark Coker's controlling share of Smashwords. That's the retirement scenario. Another possibility is that as the ebook market matures, Smashwords will come to a point where it has to decide if it wants to remain the big fish in a diminishing pond, or grow larger to satisfy the needs of the new marketplace. Without deep pockets of its own, Smashwords' management team may decide to take Smashwords public to generate investment capital or to fend off a buy-out threat. All it takes, then, is for an investor to purchase a majority share of Smashwords' stock and the entire landscape changes.

All I know for today is that Smashwords is maturing. I believe that its Library Direct offering and the library-pricing tool represent Smashwords' next salvo in its efforts to establish itself as the new legacy publishing model. In ten-or-so years, who will be the young visionary who leads the revolution that knocks Smashwords from its conceivable gatekeeper and patriarchal roles? The business cycle dictates this will be the outcome.

Nervy times we live in, but I'm sure enjoying being in the thick of the publishing revolution!

Take care,

LC

Bilbary Updates: Author Contract and Random House Deal

Bilbary signed a deal with Random House. Michael Kozlowski summarized the scope and outlook while adding some very interesting comments about Bilbary's position in the marketplace.
 http://goodereader.com/blog/e-book-news/bilbary-now-carrying-random-house-ebook-titles/

Some of the issues I have with Bilbary's supplier (author) contract have been addressed within its July update to the contract. However, remaining to be resolved is a problem within section 5, specific to the "Taxes" section. Within it, Bilbary expressly states it owns all submitted titles.

I pursued the issue with Bilbary management and have been assured that senior management and lawyers will act to define more clearly this section so that copyright and content owners, publishers, and/or representative agents won't have to fight this one out with Bilbary in the courts or through arbitration. I was told that this "Taxes" section is governed by the contents of the entire contract, where ownership is clearly defined within a different section. However, it would be difficult for authors to defend their ownership rights when s/he signed a contract that states Bilbary owns all titles.

As such, I requested that Bilbary modify the "Taxes" section to state something like, "For tax-reporting purposes only, Bilbary is legally required to state that it owns the titles. Because the scope of this definition applies to tax-reporting only. It does not constitute a legally-binding transfer of content and copyright and/or other intellectual-property rights from content owners, their distributors and/or representation to Bilbary."

I'll share their reply as soon as I get one.

Take care,
LC

There Was a Knock at the Door

There Was a Knock at the Door

by

LC Cooper

Copyright LC Cooper 2011

Published by LC Cooper at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This free ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

Also by  LC Cooper, published at Smashwords and other fine retailers:

Christmess

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Legacy

Man Cave

Simmering Consequences

The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

"Barefoot Homecoming"

"Dan's Accidental Convertible"

"Halloween's Perfect Storm"

"Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls"

"One Lousy Wish"

* * * *

There was a knock at the door. Before she could yell out, I clamped my hand over my daughter's mouth. She struggled to get away, but the gravity of recent events overwhelmed her desire to call out a cheery, blissful greeting. I looked across the table at my wife. Quiet, fearful, and grief-stricken sobbing replaced her beaming smile.

Several more knocks followed. Each series was more forceful and agitated than the last. Two days had passed without incident. I thought we were in the free and clear. Prior to these last few moments, we shared not only dinner, but also a healing conversation. My wife believed, and I prayed, that our family would survive this nightmare. The fear of who was knocking reminded us, however, of the tenuous bond that held our family together. They were in control and we knew it. The knowledge that their power was unrestricted burned in my skull.

Still, no matter the terror, we refused to answer the door. More than nervous, the three of us were scared motionless. Silent glances at the front door replaced our desire to scream, "Leave us alone!" My grip on my wife and daughter's hands grew tighter.

Admittedly, it was difficult for me to hold my daughter's, but we were a family and I was determined to drive that point home. My heart was pounding and the adrenaline coursed through my body. Attempts to show stoic determination were undermined by my inability to control my trembling hands. With a caring squeeze, I let go of my wife and daughter's clinging grasps. I had to show my family that I could get myself together. It was important to recover what was left of my dignity.

Acting unfazed by the incessant knocking, I pretended to eat, but the spoon slid out of my shaking fingers and disappeared beneath the dark broth of the vegetable soup. My wife's forgiving and caring glance told me she understood. I was so glad to have her on my side.

They, again, pounded on the door, but refused to announce themselves or say anything to us. We knew it was them, and they knew we were inside. How could they not know? Prior to that first knock, we had been laughing and carrying on so loudly that our upstairs neighbor came down to ask us to be quiet. Playful, loud giddiness clearly announced our presence. We were alive and together, which was all that mattered. Even our daughter appeared relieved and sweet again.

That was before the knocking began. I carefully stroked her hair as she rested her forehead on the table. Her forearms covered her ears. My wife's shocked expression told me she was feeling the same unnerving sensation. She opened her mouth to scream, but stopped when I put my finger to her lips. Those sweet, soft lips should never have endured this torture.

Faith drained from my body as the knocks reverberated, unopposed, throughout our home. It felt as if the knocks were sentinels, sent ahead to locate our exact position. Once discovered, these invaders amassed in our dining room, hacking at the remnants of our already-strained bonds.

Expecting the front door's frame to shatter from the deafening blows, the last few knocks were surprisingly soft and oddly timid. Had these monsters grown tired of their game?

Emboldened, I rationalized the weakening knocks had to be because they didn't have a warrant. Without such a means of gaining entry into our home, they realized they were unsuccessful at wearing us down. I remembered my lawyer said that without a warrant, they were only allowed in if we opened the door to them. Expecting, though dreading the knocks, we finally understood that we had the upper hand by not answering the door. As small and insignificant that revelation was, it was still a victory for us. God knows we needed this win. After all, it had only been two days since I was arrested.

From jail, during a phone call with my attorney, she explained that because of the country's economic collapse and because this was an election year, every state and federal agency was fighting to survive.

In order to justify their existence, the director of Child Protective Services (CPS) invested a huge chunk of their budget on a gamble. They created a set of television ads aimed at generating fear and suspicion. The rationalization was that if CPS could get enough people to call in reports of child abuse, the startling increase in numbers would justify the need to retain CPS.

CPS' television ads featured a girl acting afraid of her parent. The girl shook and trembled as she cowered. She held her arms over her head to protect it from further trauma. My daughter saw this series of ads. My wife and I explained their intent, but, as it turned out, our daughter chose to hear a different message.

A week later, we (my daughter, wife, and I) went grocery shopping. My wife led the way. Our daughter begrudgingly pushed the cart while I brought up the rear. Our daughter was irritable and edgy that morning, having lost computer privileges for hitting the neighbor's dog with a stick.

Stuck behind my daughter and the cart, I watched in shock as my daughter rammed the shopping cart into my wife's legs. The attack was so violent and deliberate that it dropped my wife to the floor. Blood streaked out from where the cart hit a few inches above her ankles.

After caring for my wife and helping her to her feet, I turned to deal with our daughter. I grabbed her coat collar and bent down to lecture her. As if on cue, she threw her hands up over her face and shook them – all the while scanning the aisle for sympathetic onlookers.

A group of gathering women, who ran over to us when they heard my wife scream as she fell, whipped out their mobile phones. Some recorded me grabbing my daughter's coat collar as well as her staged reaction. Two called the police.

Armed with such incriminating evidence, I was handcuffed and brusquely shoved into the back of a police cruiser. I stared out the window at my daughter and yelled, "Why?" Her satisfied grin told me all I needed to know. In her own childish and selfish way, she was punishing me for taking away her computer privilege.

I watched out the cruiser's back window as my wife screamed and cried, begging the officers to release me. "It'll be up to a judge to decide, ma'am," was all the cops said. They hopped into their front seats and began to drive away. I, handcuffed, pressed my face against the side window when my wife pushed the palm of her hand against it. We were desperate to make a connection, no matter how feeble.

Later that afternoon, the cops completed their initial investigation and allowed our daughter to stay with my wife in our home as long as both of my in-laws were present. CPS agents, posing as caring social workers, violated our home twice to inspect and ensure their controls were strictly adhered to.

I was jailed overnight, booked on charges of child abuse. The jailer took my wallet and other personal effects and put them in a bag. I reluctantly slid the wedding ring off my finger and kissed it. I never saw it again. Once released and given back my things, I wasn't surprised when the jailer claimed I never put my wedding ring in the bag.

CPS didn't bother to interview me. They had all the evidence they felt they needed. Being an upper-middle-class family, our good name was smeared across the airwaves and newspapers as a result of CPS' bloodthirsty press release. Each story's tag line mentioned the need for more CPS staff to help assume some of the added burden from bloated caseloads. To make themselves look like heroes of the people, CPS' spokesperson blamed the terrible economy for frustrations that go too far. The bastards spun the situation to appear that America is one big family and that we all need to encourage helping each other by reporting possibly abusive situations.

After being released from jail, under the pretense of giving me a ride home, my lawyer briefed me  on what to expect from CPS and the court system. Nothing she said prepared me for what awaited me when I arrived home.

Minutes of shared silence passed as my wife and I sat pressed against each other on the study's sofa, our fingers woven tightly together. Sighing, she lifted her head, and then locked her sad, drenched eyes on mine. She whispered that my boss had called before lunch. My stomach tightened, and I grasped her hand even tighter, dreading the words I knew were coming.

I was fired from my career of twenty-seven years. In my line of work, an arrest meant instant job-termination. Justified or not, a criminal blemish was considered a high-risk security threat for my employer. I was their Vice President of Human Resources. I had fired a number of people over the years for smaller infractions than this. I knew forgiveness was not an option.

I broke down, sobbing, "How could our daughter do this to me … to us?"

Then, once I pulled myself together, I told her that after I walked out of the police station, I was accosted by two CPS thugs. Although they begrudgingly admitted that our daughter had come clean, since I had been reported to CPS, they had three days to complete and close their investigation. This meant we could expect frequent visits from other CPS "social workers," and we had to call in our every movement during this timeframe.

It's been almost a year since then, but we're ruined. Financially, we haven't been able to recover from CPS' raping. I was never able to get my record expunged because I was labeled as a potential threat to society. So, I follow behind a truck every Monday and Thursday, emptying trashcans into it. Other days, I'm a dishwasher at a couple of restaurants. My wife, who never had to work a day in her life, is a substitute teacher and gives piano lessons on the weekends.

Ashamed and overwhelmed, our daughter never tried that trick again, but the damage was done. All her pretty things were sold at auction, along with our foreclosed home and our dearest heirlooms. She also lost her friends as their parents wanted nothing to do with any of us. My wife and I refuse to let CPS violate us again, so we  live in our car, appreciating its flexibility, but acknowledging that the real reason is that we can't afford to rent a home. With time on my hands, I often sit on a dock, letting my feet dangle above the water, staring at my empty ring finger, and dreaming of what could have been.

Whenever we see a cop car, we melt into the scenery. Sure, we're paranoid. We've been violated by the Gestapo of the United States of America. Once the hunter, I can't help but feel we've become the hunted.

Nothing became of CPS' final report about my case. However, the press that CPS received as a result of my arrest was the crowning jewel in their presentation to Congress, which granted CPS a significantly larger budget. Their gamble paid off handsomely, but at what price to American families?

"When governments fear the people, there is liberty. When the people fear the government, there is tyranny."

-- Thomas Jefferson

###

Author's Note:

I wrote "There Was a Knock at the Door" in response to a challenge to write a short story that began with the line, "There was a knock at the door." This is not a personal story, but a work of fiction derived from a collection of news stories I saw on TV. The driving force was, of course, those vile ads created by CPS (and their ilk) which clogged the airwaves for a couple of years.

While writing this story, I imagined the shocked and panicked look on parents' faces as they watched those ads. I also imagined the faces of a number of children who eagerly jumped at the chance to apply the techniques and methods they learned from these same ads.

 I realized that related headline-grabbing stories always positioned CPS as a hero, but time after time, I saw a devastated family reeling from a tragedy, only to be finished off by the callous hounds of CPS. The profile of my story's protagonist was based on a simultaneous pair of investigative stories. In one, a minority pre-teen was set ablaze when he got too close to his careless uncle's unattended backyard barbecue grill. The uncle had left to grab a beer. CPS' spokesperson said there wouldn't be an investigation. During the same newscast, however, a very well-known couple was arrested because their toddler was found dead, drowned in their community's pond. The interviewed CPS agent was nearly frothing at the mouth, wild-eyed and eager to put this feather in her cap. Then, along came a story of a different CPS agent found murdered – her death came at the hands of a family that she pushed over the brink. They were willing to go to jail in order to eliminate this woman's further poisoning.

Thank you for your interest and your time. Not meaning to come across as pretentious, but I truly hope you didn’t enjoy reading this story. Instead, I pray you take Thomas Jefferson's words to heart and pressure our state and federal governments to ban CPS/DCS/DHS' terrorist tactics. These departments are supposed to protect, not destroy, American families.

I would appreciate it if you would visit my author's page within Smashwords.com. There, you can learn more about me and discover my novels and short stories. There, you will find a romcom, some action/adventure stories, and a few comedies.

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LCCooper

Also by  LC Cooper, published at Smashwords and other fine retailers:

Christmess

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Legacy

Man Cave

Simmering Consequences

The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

"Barefoot Homecoming"

"Dan's Accidental Convertible"

"Halloween's Perfect Storm"

"Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls"

"One Lousy Wish"

RAM Partners LLC: Bend Over and Take It?

RAM Partners LLC bullied their way into my life two weeks ago, and I hope they are soon fired. From my experiences, I believe they are a poor excuse for a property-management company. Here are my specific complaints:

·        Rude: While the ink was still drying on their contract with our property's owners, RAM Partners LLC's staff should have gone out of their way to introduce themselves to all of us – their ultimate customers – after all, we, the tenants, pay their salaries. Instead, during the "transition to RAM Partners LLC," I was snubbed and eyed suspiciously whenever I approached the office staff. Not once did they lower themselves to be courteous or introduce themselves.

·        Eliminated Mosquito Spraying: Immediately after grabbing power at our apartment complex, RAM Partners LLC stopped the weekly spraying of the property's grounds for mosquitoes, even though a number of local suburbs tested positive for West Nile virus, which is spread by mosquitoes. For two weeks, they didn't spray and didn't bother to tell us or ask our opinion, as we are those most affected and exposed – the tenants - customers. I only found out today when I called and asked. I got a sheepish, "oh, well!"

·        Reduced Customer Access: A selling feature of this property is a small garden area that has been accessible 24/7. RAM Partners LLC locked all gate access to this garden area under the guise of controlling pool access. It is my belief that RAM Partners LLC is all about controlling and suppressing customers. In this case, the courtesy officer could certainly be called if the pool was being used after hours. Instead, RAM cut off access to the entire area. Now, anyone wanting to get to the workout room or business office between 10:00 p.m. and 8:00 a.m. must enter through an ugly side entrance and not via the now-locked and gated garden entrance.

·        Now Difficult to Pay Rent: We can no longer pay rent using a credit/debit card in the office. We must either pay via check (who uses checks anymore?) or via RAM Partners LLC's idiotic website that doesn't even work!

·        Charging Kids for Popsicles: As summer approached, the previous managers provided free popsicles to resident children. For a measly $3.00, they gave 100 children a smile on a hot day. However, RAM Partners LLC stopped the practice for a week, and only reinstated it after announcing it was charging 25 cents for each popsicle taken. Since a popsicle only costs 3 cents each, then RAM Partners LLC ;ockets 22 cents in profit off of each smiling face. How's that for making an impression?

·        Stopped the Pool Party: Previous management scheduled a pool party that, once in power, RAM Partners LLC canceled. Rescheduled or canceled outright? Only RAM Partners LLC knows.

Many of us in this community chose this particular property for its amenities and friendliness of the staff, when it was under prior management. I am convinced RAM Partners LLC has brought nothing positive to the relationship between customer-tenants and the property owners. RAM Partners LLC's stance appears to be adversarial – like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Thank you for taking the time to read my experiences. Please share what you've had to put up with from RAM Partners LLC.

JellyBooks - A New eBook Platform

In prior posts, I described Bilbary's offering and potential pitfalls for authors. I just learned about Jellybooks - another new beta distribution/marketing model for ebooks. As of today, its publishing partners are:

Profile Books

The Economist Books

Serpent’s Tail

The Clerkenwell Press

Overview:
Jellybooks offers readers the ability to sample 10% of an ebook and then forward the sample to her/his friends via email, Twitter, and other networking services. Registration is not required, but is encouraged through discounts to purchase ebooks at third-party retailers (including Amazon KDP Shop and Apple Tunes store). Membership is free. Jellybooks claims it won't allow onsite advertising.

Benefits to Registering (from Jellybooks' Help pages):

A personal cloud library called “My Books”

One-click (instead of two-click) download for samples

Cloud-based access to your personal samples from any device

Customized book recommendations

Sweet deals

Jellybooks states it's only interested in publishing partners that list 50 or more titles (http://www.linkedin.com/company/jellybooks).

Check out Don Bodie's overview of both Jellybooks and Bilbary:
http://www.killerstartups.com/startup-spotlight/jellybooks-and-bilbary-startups-are-hot-off-the-press/

Nicolas Cage a Vampire? Check out Mara Wilson

Not so long ago, Nicolas Cage playfully batted away rumors that he's a vampire. Although the likeness was remarkable, he claimed the photo, taken in the mid-1800s, couldn't have been him (Nicolas) because he shows up in film. Yeah, well, so did the soldier in that Civil-War-period photo. So much for your argument, Nicolas, or should I say, "Vlad."

Further exploding the myth that vampires cannot appear in photos or film is the case of Mara Wilson. "What," you might ask, "the heck does Mara Wilson have to do with vampires?"

Well, it was rumored that she turned down lead roles in "Twilight" and "Buffy ..." because they hit too close to home. Instead, she selected roles that were so smarmy that audiences would be fooled by her charm (a la "Miracle on 34th Street" and "Matilda"). Well, her's is a thin disguise, for Mara Wilson, it is rumored, might be no other than "Little Sure Shot" - the infamous Annie Oakley.

If this rumor is true, she's at least 152 years old (and, my oh my, she looks great for 152). Must be some amazing kinda age-defying lotion she's using ... or she's a vampire!

Go ahead and see for yourself - the likeness is uncanny.
Mara Wilson:
http://press.comedycentral.co.uk/daily-fix/where-are-they-now/mara-wilson-from-miracle-on-34th-street

Annie Oakley:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annie_Oakley

I'm guessing Annie grew tired of the limelight and the same old thing, so she faked her death, took off for a few dozen years so folks would forget, and reinvented herself as Mara Wilson.

No doubt Annie retained her cutie-pie image and knowledge of acting to springboard into modern film in the 1990s, at a time when music and film were sucking wind and in desperate need of a breath of fresh air. In struts li'l old Annie Oakley as Mara Wilson.

While I was perusing the 'net today, I ran across a page of information about Mara Wilson. One might think it was innocent and coincidental, but tucked away in a corner of the page was an ad for a Nicolas Cage movie. See for yourself: http://articles.chicagotribune.com/keyword/mara-wilson/featured/4

Since Mara and Nicolas are helping each other out with co-op advertising, I'm guessing their from the same vampire clan.

Apparently, not only viruses can mutate, but so can vampires! They have evolved to be able to appear in film, and if you look at all the photos taken of Annie Oakley as far back as the late 1880s, vampires have been able to perform this feat for at least 150 years!

I'm mulling over a theory that this invisible-in-film thing was fabricated by vampires in order to remain hidden within the public-at-large. I wonder what other supposed "facts" about vampires were myths created by vampires to protect themselves.

Please don't take this seriously, folks. I'm just poking fun - twisting around the Nicolas Cage story to point out how similar Mara Wilson looks like Annie Oakley.

Barefoot Homecoming

Barefoot Homecoming

by

LC Cooper

Copyright LC Cooper June 1, 2012

Published by LC Cooper at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This free ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

Also by  LC Cooper, published at Smashwords and other fine retailers:

Christmess

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Legacy

Man Cave

Simmering Consequences

The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

"Dan's Accidental Convertible"

"Halloween's Perfect Storm"

"Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls"

"One Lousy Wish"

* * * *

The rarified stench, blistered with acid-drenched vapor, corkscrewed through my nostrils. Whatever air that remained fueled the inferno raking the insides of my gasping chest. Distracted by shock, my brain took the time to reason the source was burnt plastic and molten metals. A hellish burst of searing heat combined with a roiling fireball was consuming everything flammable. Hopeless wailings and primal screams, both similar in frustration and agony, were equally snuffed, and done so without regard for rank, stature, or pleas for mercy.

Scared and sad, I reached for, and thankfully found, my husband and children. Although crying and in pain, we were together, having beaten the odds that separated and consumed the others. My distraction became a smile, but only for a moment. My bittersweet euphoria was jarred by a thunderous crack and a blinding flash.

Happily, yet groggily, I shook off the lethargy that had kept me impaled on this nightmare's claw. Sweet jasmine threaded and weaved passages through the charred embers of the fading memory. I gasped and my chest heaved as my subconscious desperately purged all traces of the horror. I exhaled, gagging. Instinctively, I turned my head and retched, but nothing came up. The sensations, however severe, disappeared and I was again able to breathe normally.

Trembling from the aftermath and praying for reality, I crushed my eyelids closed as another round of blinding light flashed across my face. As I lie on my back, I flailed to the left and right of me in hopes of finding my husband in bed next to me. He wasn't there. Instead, a dark shadow moved across my clenched-tight eyelids. I feared the approach of another wave of terror.

"Time to get up, Sleepyhead," my husband quietly, but firmly, said as he reached down to take my hand into his.

Feeling the warmth of his touch brought a much-relieved smile to my face. I now didn't want to open my eyes as I was enjoying the astonishment and peaceful sensation of having survived such a terrifying ordeal. A glow began in my body and transferred to my husband's via our held hands.

"Why are you shivering?" he asked. "Everything's okay."

Panicked, I replied with, "Where are the girls? Is everyone here?" After asking, I immediately thought they should be at school, but remembered we were together for this move. "Are they here?" I meekly repeated.

"Look around you, Baby. we're all here and doing fine." He glanced up, still holding my hand, took a deep breath, gazed down into my eyes, and said,  Tell you what, take a minute to gather your thoughts and then join us for the walk. They're waiting for us."

Again, I smiled. A walk with my family, on such a bright and peaceful day, seemed a perfect transition out of the funk of the fear, dread, and shock I had just endured. "Sounds great," I replied. "Give me a moment to get myself together."

My husband nodded, smiled, and moved out of view. He was within earshot, which helped keep my raw nerves calm. I focused my thoughts on the future and gladly let go of the cruelness and misery that brought us to this point.

The first thing I noticed as we walked was how spongy and comfortable the soil felt beneath my feet and between my toes. The sensation made me giggle. With each step, I felt a mixture of warm, dry peat and soothing, cool sand. Our procession stopped as I bent down slightly to stare at my toes as they wriggled in the satisfying concoction.

Just as I muttered, "this is amazing," a burst of clean spring air wafted past my face and swirled around us. The blend of cool, fresh winter and arid summer carried the strong perfume of gardenias and orange blossoms. Both heady and pungent, in this incarnation, their mix was complementary. The kids squealed with delight.

"I can't remember the last time I felt so alive, so relaxed," I reluctantly mumbled.

"We've been gone too long," my husband added. "In some ways, though, it seems like we never left."

"How so? It's been a pretty rough trip until now. I can't remember anything this comfortable since … well, since we were last here."

"All of this," he said with a sweep of his arm, "never left me. This place is exactly as I remember it."

"Wow, your memory is much better than mine," I enviously grumbled. "There I always stayed so distracted; I guess I forgot." I took a nostalgic pause to reflect on the echo of flavors, smells, and occasional image that had consumed so many years. I shook my head and wistfully  sighed, "I honestly don't recall much. Life's been such a blur until today."

"Our girls probably remember being here because they're so young. Their heads aren't dulled and full of cynical mush, negative energy, and anxieties. I'd be willing to bet they retained most details of our last visit better than we did." My husband grinned as he lightly squeezed my left hand and the right of our oldest daughter.

"I never imagined we'd have to give away everything to come back here," I said as a wave of melancholy punched me in the gut, desperate to cling to the past.

As the rising sun burned off the morning mist, we all gasped as comfortable familiarity surged into the present, blending with images ahead. The outlines of stone walls and iron gates were the first signs we were home.

Decorated with vines, but not burdened with overgrowth, the gleaming-white stucco-on-brick structures were pleasant and inviting. This entrance, a departure from most, was devoid of the blasé oppressive and twisted wrought-iron fencing and snarling crowning gargoyles. We were not to be scared off. I puffed out my chest with pride. We were invited.

"Is that Gabriella?" I gasped, incredulous that someone resembling my old best friend was coming into view. "It can't be, of course," I mumbled with astonishment. "She's been dead for at least a dozen years."

"I saw her, too," my husband whispered in agreement. "If it's not her, the resemblance is uncanny. Oh, look, honey, whoever it is must know us – she's smiling and waving."

I replied with a polite, but quick, wave. "I'd like to find her later to see how much she does look like Gabriella. Might be worth a photo or two." I instinctively reached for the camera that was always slung over my shoulder, but it was gone. Disappointed to have left it behind, I shrugged my shoulders and said, "There will be plenty of time to get acquainted and take pictures. We're home, after all. It's not like we'll be moving again anytime soon."

"Mom!" exclaimed our youngest, "Grandma's here! Grandma's here!" She tugged at my sleeve, awkwardly pulling me forward, and I reflexively yanked my husband's hand; an action that caused my husband to stumble as one would when tripping over a small stone. Recovering, he smirked and asked, "What's your hurry? Relax and take it all in. Grandma's been expecting us. Like old times, I'm certain she'll have cookies and hot cocoa ready for the two of you."

"I know! That's why I want you guys to hurry up!"

My husband and I exchanged awkward glances – the kind that confess a degree of nervousness and resigned reluctance. We smiled at each other and simultaneously breathed out - letting go.

I playfully chided our adolescent daughter. "Like Daddy said, let's enjoy our walk. We have plenty of time to get caught up with everyone." It felt like I was more concerned with convincing myself than tempering my child's exuberance.

"Take your time," our eldest softly echoed. Strangely, she kept looking back over her shoulder. I wondered was she afraid or was she longing for something.

My husband lightly tugged on her hand and said, "It's okay. We're together and everything's going to be fine. We're almost there. Please, let's enjoy the rest of the walk."

And so we did. As we strode through the open gateway, I playfully flicked at a scrap of cracked and peeling stucco, which fluttered to the ground. The exposed brown and red brick shined with the newness of having been awakened from a long, peaceful slumber. A gust carried away an adjacent and much larger stucco patch, and I felt guilty for it, as if my carelessness was responsible for the erosion of the beautiful garden wall. Was this a metaphor that my presence was similarly cancerous? Why did my unintended action result in the premature deterioration of something so majestic? I frowned – once again unsure I belonged.

My husband whispered, "You and the wall are okay. Come along, Angela." Remorseful and timid, I scurried to catch up.

It seemed odd that we passed through the open gate without yet encountering a soul. After shrugging our shoulders, we peered down each of the alleys, deciding to continue straight toward where we believed the town's center stood.

Stucco two-story homes lined the narrow, earthen-brick street. Gentle music fell from the open windows; flamingo and turquoise curtains swayed to the steady rhythms. Soothing aromas of simmering spiced beans and rice flowed out the doorways, past the heavy, dried pine doors, and into my nose, awakening my very hungry stomach. I was too excited and nervous to pay it any attention.

Our youngest stopped to stare at a petite waterfall, trickling from a wall and onto a lily-pad pond. The pool's crystal-lined bottom glistened as little fingers playfully disturbed the mid-morning sun's dance with the waterfall. Lit-up drops flew off our youngest's hands and shimmered as they created ripples on the clear surface.

"Strange," I began to think, but was interrupted by the playful banter of three kookaburras flittering overhead. "Ah, yes, that's better," I thought, grinning as I watched my favorite birds until they passed behind a hacienda's bell tower. I frowned, unsure if I'd ever see them again.

My husband interrupted my daydream with, "Look, Sweetheart! Everyone we know is expected to be here. This is a good thing."

A glimmer of sadness crept across my shoulders. My head drooped and I watched my shuffling feet as I struggled with what might have been. Like our eldest, I looked behind me for an escape route – a way to bolt. The pang rushed off, as a piece of notebook paper would during a strong breeze. So, doubt tried a different tactic – would I be accepted? After all, I had been away for so long, and my few meager accomplishments weren't much to be proud of. Again, I sighed, letting go of the worry.

I regained my composure when familiar voices blended with the pulse of the town. The natural opus sounded better to me than a choir of flocking angels.

Driven by excitement and remembering better than we did, our children took the lead, pulling and tugging us through the gently winding avenue. We turned right at a corner where an ancient shade tree stood to offer respite from the mid-day sun. I could swear this silent sentinel bowed slightly as we passed beneath its protective limbs.

Cheery voices grew louder and stronger as we approached the town's square. They became more familiar the closer we got. One after another, I ticked names of long-forgotten family and friends. Gratefully, their faces did not portray grudges. They were genuinely happy to see us. Of course, as we absorbed the enormity of what all we had endured to get to this point, they moved in closer; pats on the back and sincere hugs knocked tears of joy from my eyes.

Then, the crowd parted, and there he stood, calmly smiling, a twinkle in his eyes, and arms open, awaiting his hug.

"Welcome home," said Jesus.

###

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed reading "Barefoot Homecoming." Thank you for your interest and your time. Please visit my author's page within Smashwords.com. There, you can learn more about me and discover my novels and other stories as they are published:

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LCCooper

Also by  LC Cooper, published at Smashwords and other fine retailers:

Christmess

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Legacy

Man Cave

Simmering Consequences

The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

"Dan's Accidental Convertible"

"Halloween's Perfect Storm"

"Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls"

"One Lousy Wish"

Hemmingway's 6-word story - Did I do it with 5?

Hemmingway's well-known demonstration of short-sentence expertise resulted from a challenge to tell a complete story in only 6 words:

               "For sale: baby shoes, never used."

Did I accomplish the same feat using only the following 5 words?

               "Sorry, I represent your wife."

Internet Psyche and eBook Pricing

When you consider the consumers' expectations built into the design of the internet, should authors expect anything other than downward pressure on our ebook prices?

For example, my consumer-expectation as an author is that I will find free images to use on my covers. Is that a reasonable expectation? For me, the author, it is. I suspect that a photographer would hope to get paid for his/her image. Only recently, have I seen a coordinated effort on representative sites to force consumers to pay for pictures. These kind of sites are beginning to outnumber the free sites, it seems.

I don't see this concerted effort, where a common understanding exists among the suppliers (authors) and enforced by representative silos. As such, I believe ebook prices will drop to "free," as this is the consumer's expectation for treasure-hunting on the internet.

The internet is for bargain-hunters. I've never heard anyone say, "I think I'll go shop online today. I hope I can pay the full retail price, plus taxes, and shipping. And, I don't feel like searching the 'net for online discounts and coupons."

Heck, we, consumers, pat ourselves on the back whenever we find a way to avoid paying taxes and shipping, or save some money with an online coupon. How clever and crafty we are!

So, in closing, and building on my previous rants about the downward-spiral of book pricing, I say, "what do we, the authors, expect?" We used free tools, free publishing sites, and free images to peddle our wares, and then we whine when we can't get paid for capitalizing on the backbones of those before us.

We're publishing within a medium that demands competitive and aggressive discounting. If our focus is to generate the maximum amount of income, then do we turn our attention back to the traditional agent model? Unfortunetly, many agents or publishers won't work with a writer who's self-published. Hmmm .... What will be the model that benefits the author - a series of sites like those that photographers are posting within? I don't think it's working for most of us in the two existing business models.

Just a late night flip-flop. I'll go back to foaming at the mouth once again after I've warmed up with my morning coffee.

Good night and take care.
LC