At the turn of the century, when the quest for a “flying machine” was running like the first dot-com revolution, he was the person most favored to develop the airplane. He had boatloads of money from the US government, had a seat at Harvard and worked at the Smithsonian, hired the best people money could find, and everyone was rooting for him.

But, in the end, he lost to Orville and Wilbur Wright. Two guys with no college education, who funded their dream from the proceeds from their bicycle shop.

The TED talk above makes the case that this is because the Wright brothers were pursuing a central idea, a why, where Langley was pursuing, well, the cash.

It’s well-worth watching the TED talk, even if business isn’t your thing, and even if the Apple example at the fore might not be your cup of tea. This is about finding your why, and includes examples that include Martin Luther King.

So, what’s my why? Well, there are a ton of micro-whys. Why do I write? Why do I run my current business? Why do I launch new ones? These are important, but is there an overall why?

I think there is. And I think it’s why I’ve been called everything from a pro-business anarcho-capitalist to a raving socialist and everything in-between. I don’t wear my politics on my sleeve–and, indeed, much of the time politics seems like two children squabbling over equally wrong answers. I don’t address the crisis du jour, because, well, it’s du jour. It will be different in the future.

But I’ll take a shot at an overall why: Because we are each capable of grand things, despite the obstacles. Because imagination moves us forward, while second-guessing holds us back. Because we have never advanced by putting limits on our advancement.

Because we should dream grand dreams, and act to make them real.

What’s your why?

I shouldn’t have worried. Tyler not only kept his cool, but asked great questions, and, over the course of an evening, the two gained much mutual respect. I can imagine them going on to be fast friends.

One of the things Tyler said was, “I always challenge my assumptions. I come away with stronger belief in my ideas, or discover new, better ideas. Either way, I win.”

And what was truly amazing is this: he was willing to change, rather than rabidly defend. He was willing to look calmly at the other side of an argument, rather than simply go on the attack.

Are you ready to challenge your assumptions?

If so, pick up The Rational Optimist, by Matt Ridley. This is a book full of challenge, no matter your political or ideological stripe. This is a book that upends the “doom is just around the corner” crowd. This is a book that explains why we (as a whole) are so negative, when the reality is that things are getting better. This is a book that takes a serious look at the past and what has fueled human advancement, identifies the forces that have held us back, pulls the rug out from under people who say that there has been no progress, stares the crises du jour in the face and makes a strong case that they will soon be non-problems, just as many other doomsday scenarios that have never come to pass. This is a book that not only gives reasons to be optimistic, it outlines why we should be optimistic.

Is it a perfect argument? No, but The Rational Optimist makes a very strong case that we can and will have an amazing 21st Century, where things get better all around the world.

Do I agree with everything Matt Ridley has to say? No, of course not. But his position is strong enough that I’ll have to examine the points on which I disagree–which will lead to me either changing my mind, or strengthening my current positions.

So . . . are you up for a challenge? Have you been living in a monoculture of bad news and pessimism for too long? Are you old enough to remember those days when we all knew we’d end up being wiped out in a nuclear war? Or knew we’d live in warrens eating Soylent Green? Or knew we’d hit peak coal in 1865?

If so, as Tyler would say: Challenge your assumptions.

But first, disclaimers: This isn’t about bashing the text SF outlets. And it’s not about elevating the mainstream sites. I’m thrilled with the fiction at Futurismic, Strange Horizons, Tor, and other online venues. I’m happy to see that Tor is creating a community and marketing to it. I’m just hoping we can make the community bigger.

Investigating the Audience
Let’s start by understanding what drives sites like i09, BoingBoing, NewScientist, Popular Science, PhysOrg, Wired, Slashdot, and Gizmodo.

“Wait a minute!” you’re saying. “This is a lot bigger list of sites than you mentioned before.”

Yes. It is. But it started with a single site: io9. I chose i09 as a baseline because it is most closely related, content-wise, to text SF venues. In addition to movie reviews, superhero polls, game trailers, they also have book reviews (and a book club) and frequently point to items like Locus’ recommended reading list–just take a look at #books or #bookreview on their site.

From io9, I used Quantcast to find other sites with high affinity to i09 (see sidebar capture), then drilled into those sites to find other affinities. The list above isn’t all-inclusive, but it gives us a pretty good picture of the person we’re looking for: interested in film and game SF and cutting-edge technology with a hint of the bizarre and offbeat.

Let’s compare that to the site affinities for Tor.com: Gutenberg.org and The Internet Archive. There’s no correlation between Tor’s affinities and i09’s. Which means we have an opportunity to understand what the “popular metascience” audience is looking for–and introduce them to text SF.

Understanding the Content

Take a look at the articles on i09 and its affinity sites, and you’ll quickly see connections to text SF–even in surprising spaces.

At this moment, Gizmodo has an article on the front page about time travel–a photo from the 40s which appears to show a man in modern dress, carrying a modern camera. i09 has an article about alternate history with links to multiple sources from literature (and from comics), an SF book review, and a post from their Weekend Short Story club.

New Scientist and PhysOrg are full of headlines to prompt the next wave of near-future SF speculation: brain recording, black hole effects in nanotubes, the connection between robots and cloud computing, and using viruses to split water for hydrogen.

So, how do we help these millions of readers make the connection to text SF? By joining the conversation in a relevant way, by helping them to create content, by sharing–and, in some cases, through advertising and sponsorship.

I’ll tackle the free ways to participate first.

Free Ways to Participate

Commenting. As you scan the headlines, you’ll quickly find an SF topic or three you know something about. You may even know more about it than the author. Or you may not agree with them. In either case, don’t fume silently–comment.

If that “breakthrough” movie was actually covered 20 years ago in print SF, let the readers know and provide a link (politely.) If you’ve written the definitive text on the subject, let them know (again, nicely.) If you’ve just published a story or a book that shows where their shiny new technology might lead them, tell them about it. Tie in to what they’re talking about. Make it constructive and relevant. And suddenly, people get the connection to what’s happening right now and what’s happening in text SF.

I’ve found that many tech-focused people really enjoy talking to science fiction writers–as long as you’re not coming in with a haughty “well, I know way more about this than you” perspective. Join the conversation. You’ll meet some amazing people. And increase your profile.

Creating. Where do these giant sites get their content? Everywhere they can. Use their tips form or contact information to let them know about the book you just published that explores the ramifications of the brain implants they just talked about. Send them a copy of your near-future anthology for review. You won’t always get mentioned–but that’s how PR works.

Better yet, if you can write an article for them, do it. If you think you have a great idea for an article, send a quick query to the editor and see if there’s an opportunity. In either case, you’re contributing to the community, raising your profile, and–maybe more importantly–seeing how their audience reacts to your ideas.

Sharing. I’ll preface this one by saying that I’m not an editor at a major or minor publishing house, nor have I ever been, and I’m not privy to all the wheeling and dealing that’s going on in the publishing world. So, I may seem monumentally naive when I ask, “Why isn’t the publishing industry providing their freely-available stories to sites like i09 or BB?” Exposure on Tor.com is great. Exposure on i09 or BB would be even better. Yes, i09 links out to stories and novels, but readers won’t necessarily leave the site. It’s better if the content could appear in situ.

What would be even better is a properly tagged feed of all freely available stories (and novels for sale.) Imagine reading an article about the latest Mars rover–and having stories about Mars exploration instantly available. Or reading about the next blockbuster movie–and having fiction that inspired it available to read or buy.

Of course, now we’re venturing out of “free.” Capabilities like this aren’t exactly something a large site will give away. But what if it was set up as a revenue sharing opportunity? Would it be worth it?

Maybe. And maybe not. But hey, I can dream.

Next up in Part 3: paid ways to participate–some surprisingly cheap.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” you say. “That’s offensive! I’m certainly not a geek, even though I do love my Android phone, spend hours playing Halo and watching SF movies on the home theater PC I built myself, and recently renewed my subscription to Make magazine. And you certainly can’t call me a geek, you parasitic marketing wonk!”

Congrats. You are a geek.

And yes, I can call you a geek, with great affection. Because I’m one too. I love gadgets. I’ve been known to spend time in Second Life. I enjoy SF movies. In my spare time, I design audio devices, and will soon be selling them. I hang out with people who love futuristic tech, develop futuristic tech, market futuristic tech, and are excited about where it’s taking us.

And these are the people who should be natural SF fans. But they aren’t. Or at least not of the text-based variety.

How do I know? Let’s crunch some numbers. I do this every year or so, comparing what I call “popular metafiction” and print science fiction. And every year, the numbers show a gigantic chasm between the popular, forward-looking, geek-centric side of things and, well, the stuff we write.

Check out this comparison between BoingBoing.net and Tor.com:

No, wait. Look at that again. Tor isn’t the middle line. That’s BoingBoing’s US audience. See the line near the bottom? That’s Tor.

BoingBoing.net: 3,000,000 global visitors per month
Tor.com: 133,000 global visitors per month

io9.com posts numbers similar to BoingBoing: 2,100,000 global visitors per month. And the numbers get bigger as we venture out into the pure geekosphere. Gizmodo has a whopping 7,900,000 global visitors per month.

Compare this to Strange Horizons, at about 20,000 visitors per month—and it’s the most-trafficked of all the major text SF outlets beyond tor.com, including Analog, Asimovs, F&SF, TTAPress, Clarkesworld, and Futurismic.

So why aren’t any of the text SF venues benefiting from the millions of geeks in the world?

And, more importantly, what can text SF do to cross the chasm — to become at least as popular, say, as a steampunk blog (steampunkworkshop.com, at 50,000 per month), or, going wild, to equal the numbers of a magazine aimed at people who like to build their own robots and other microprocessor-controlled gadgets (MakeZine, 1,000,000 visitors per month.)

I’d argue that the first step is simple: acknowledging there is a chasm. And when the biggest text SF outlet runs 20X smaller than the popular metascience outlets, there’s a chasm. A huge one.

And I’d argue that this chasm is one that we should be able to bridge.

Now, what can we do about it? That’s a subject for another post. A series of three of them, in fact. Look forward to them here in the coming weeks.

Note: all data is from Quantcast.com, an open platform for visitor metrics. Both BoingBoing and Tor are directly measured, which means their numbers are quite accurate.

In one reviewer’s words: “…arguably the anthology’s standout story – Jason Stoddard’s “Overhead” follows a colony on the Moon through a series of potential disasters and exemplifies some of humankind’s finest traits: perseverance, ingenuity, and hope.” Read the full review here.

Or, in another reviewer’s eyes: “Jason Stoddard’s “Overhead” is better as summary (idealists go to the moon) than as story. In it, a good idea is damaged by characters who speak their ideologies as if quoting from an instruction manual.” Read the whole review here.

Oh, and by the way, I’m also soon to be interviewed by Charles Tan, another early Shine reviewer. You can read what he has to say here.

Or SF Revu’s assessment here. Yes, please, let’s make Overhead into a movie!

I’m not gonna comment on which reviewer is right or wrong, except to encourage you to make your own decision. Buy your copy of Shine and let me know what you think. Because, regardless of whether my story is a standout or sucks butt, consider what the reviewers are saying about Shine itself:

“To round off this very long review I’m happy to report that Shine was a truly fascinating and enjoyable read. I’m not the biggest SF fan in the world, but I’ll happily promote this to others who, like me, feel the same way. Here are authors with stories and characters I could relate to. But then, I suspect hardened SF readers out there will devour this with gusto. Jetse de Vries has done a truly remarkable job putting Shine together and I’d like to be signed up to read any follow-up anthology because this one has genuinely broken down some preconceived ideas I’ve had about the genre.”

Or:

“That’s why Shine is such a significant – dare I say, historic – anthology. And with a rich diversity of settings and thematic speculation, this is a collection most science fiction fans will undoubtedly embrace.”

Really. Skip one Burger King Double-Whopper meal combo and spend eight bucks on Shine.

HOLY MOLY. Stop the presses, and hope this ain’t an April-Fools joke. Damien G. Walter, in his article on positive science fiction in The Guardian Online, says: “Jason Stoddard, whose extraordinary ability to extrapolate today’s emerging technology into tomorrow’s everyday reality, provides perhaps the book’s crown jewel with Overhead, a story of an emerging post-scarcity society.” Read the whole article here.

It’s easy to say, “I’m a workaholic,” and leave it at that. But if I was only a workaholic, I wouldn’t care what I was working on. I could lock myself in my business office, do 14-hour days, and never look back. And I was only interested in making money, I would put more time into my business—or find an entirely different line of work.

More importantly, can other writers benefit from knowing how I juggle two time-intensive careers? Maybe. And that’s what this post is about—trying to distill what I do into truly useful thoughts for working writers. Hopefully without reducing it to meaningless Just-Do-It-esque slogans, glib Tony Robbins posturing, or facile Gary V go-get-em-Joe stuff.

But first, a clarification. “Running a business,” isn’t the same as an 8 to 5 job. Nor is it the same as a I’m-A-Highly-Stressed-Exec-working-9-t0-9-and-Saturday-too. Running a small business is intensely time-consuming, and there’s nobody to fall back on if you screw up. On a good day, a very good day, I’ll wake up around 6AM, write for a couple of hours, and be in the office at 9, for about 6 hours of solid, pen-to-screen work. Then back home around 6, and then maybe 2-4 hours of additional writing. On a bad day, I’ll get up at 6AM, spend two hours doing a crash-out project that came in the night before, run into the office by 8:30, have 12 hours of real work that includes pen-on-screen, meetings, proposal writing, dealing with the surprise tax LA City stuffed us with, a short presentation, a run out to see how the photo shoot is going, discovering the coffee machine has died, overseeing the creative team, brainstorming with tech on new projects, talking to bizdev about ideas to pitch to clients, and doing another last-second project for a client who forgot the deadline was that day, then home exhausted at 9PM, and wondering why I should even bother writing at all. The bad days outnumber the good—and, as an added bonus, you never know when they’re going to come.

I’m currently coming off about 6 weeks of bad days. During which I wrote a script, and 20K words of a novel.

So, how do I keep writing, even on the bad days?

First and foremost: keep a list. Yes. I know. You’re screaming now. “How the hell does a list help me? I thought you said ‘no easy answers!’” But it works. When something is in front of you, in black and white, with a number in front of it, on a pad you carry around all the time, it’s totally different than a vague thought in the back of your head. It’s there staring at you. Daring you to look at it. To remember, amongst all the other stuff you gotta do, you also have to write. And write specifically: 2000 words on new novel. 1000 words on the current story. This is Jay Lake’s story-a-week technique (which I have also used), increased in specificity and put in concrete form. So. Make a list. One list. Carry it around with you. Include the writing you need to do. Cross it off when you do it. And then add a new writing item to the list.

Second: write right now. You’re not going to write better with a four-dollar coffee beverage sitting in front of you, listening to hypercaffeinated moms argue with their overentitled kids about who got the bigger croissant. Or at least I don’t. But even if you’re a writer who thrives on writing in the middle of coffeehouse buzz, consider this: How much writing could you get done if you weren’t heading out to the cafe? How many times have you been stiffed out of a seat once you got there, or found no open plugs? So. Sit down now. Right where you are. Get something on the page. Add some more words after that. Soon, you may find that you’re comfortably deep in the glow of writing. Then, later, if you need coffee (or hand-picked oolong tea, or whatever), reward yourself with a cup.

Third: perform ruthless elimination. Write this equation down. WWt = D – Ct – Ee. Or, in words, a Working Writer’s Time equals the Day, minus Career Time, minus Everything Else. Your job is to minimize the Everything Else. Spend two hours per night watching television? Call the service and cancel it. Seriously. Your life isn’t going to become any less rich for missing a few banal sitcoms. Spend hours per day playing Farmville or Mafia Wars on Facebook, or commenting on friends’ statuses? Delete your Facebook profile. If you can’t resist the call of social media, it’s better not to participate at all. Have a long commute where you can’t write? Strongly consider moving closer to work, or finding another job. Commutes can easily eat 2-3 hours per day, every day. That can be over a thousand hours a year. If you write a thousand words an hour, that’s a million words lost.

Fourth: build strength through stress. “But you don’t understand,” you say. “I’m so stressed at the end of the day, there’s no possible way I could write.” Ah. Yes. And I’ve been there, too—ready to eat charcoal briquettes and crap diamonds. Which is the perfect state to write your confrontation scene. Your battle scene. Or the scene with the interminable meeting. And, you know what? Once you’ve written that scene, you’re frequently calmed down to the point where you can do some, uh, more balanced writing for your work.

Fifth: do it anyway. “But I tried keeping a list, and it doesn’t work, and I can’t eliminate any of my time-wasters, and I’m just never in a state to write anything at all.” Cool. Sit down and do it anyway. It’s so amazingly easy to talk yourself out of writing, so amazingly easy to find distractions that keep you away from it, so amazingly easy to say, “Well hell, there ain’t no use in doing this.” And yeah. You could throw it all away. And become like hundreds of millions of other folks, mindlessly consuming creative from a screen, stuck in a job you hate with no chance of escape, complaining about your life but never changing it. Or you could be creating new ideas and casting them out into the world. So, make a list, sit down, eliminate distractions, use your pain, and do it anyway.

Hope this helps! But, as they say, YMMV.

And all that is cool. But it’s only the start.

Check out this nifty little device: a self-contained solar-powered microprocessor, only 9 cubic millimeters in size. No, it’s not Vinge’s smart dust, or the self-replicating nanochip network that Arcadia runs on in my Strange Horizons stories.

But it’s a start. As the researchers say:

Its processor, solar cells, and battery are all self-contained, and . . . it would be be able to operate “nearly perpetually.” . . . the system could also be adapted to be powered by movement or heat.”

Consider this little device with a shortrange wireless transmitter, busily talking to all of its neighbors. Maybe with a small lens and CCD. Maybe, just maybe, with the ability to bond to a grain of sand and slowly “grow” its replacements.

Am I dreaming? Of course.

But so were the researchers who asked, “Hey, I wonder if we can make this tiny little thing work?”

Here’s to the future.

Almost none of which I would have actually expected to do, if I was looking forward from January 1, 2000.

I went through the change of millennium with no real agenda or to-do list. I didn’t plan the past decade. And I won’t plan the next. I suspect we’re going to be staring at massive changes that they’ll make primitive augmented reality technologies like Google Goggles look pale. So I’m going to stay open to new things, new opportunities, and new points of view.

But here’s what I can see for 2010 and beyond:

My first books, and other writing. Yes. In case you missed it, Prime Books picked up both Winning Mars and Eternal Franchise for publication this year. You can pre-order Winning Mars on Amazon right now. I’ll also have a new story, Overhead, out in the Shine anthology, which you can pre-order here. Beyond that, I’ll have an announcement about a new story shortly. I’d love to make writing the day job, but I’m going to be realistically skeptical about that. However, there are some other things, well . . . cooking. More on that later. Fingers crossed.

A smaller, more focused marketing business. In 1994, I abandoned my engineering job to start a marketing company. Yes, I know. And yes, I starved for two years and worked hundred-hour weeks for twice that. Now, we’re scaling back from the Warner Brothers and Princess Cruises of the world. They’re simply, too, well . . . mass-consumer. We’re a lot more comfortable marketing things like atomic force microscopy and molecular beam epitaxy. So, a shill: if your marketing, advertising, or design company rolls their eyes at your technology and wishes they were working on Pepsi, talk to us.

A new venture. Abandoning engineering completely has always grated on me. That’s why I’ve decided to start a new venture making audio equipment, specifically zero-feedback, fully discrete, single-ended, class-A headphone amplifiers. Made in the USA. At Chinese prices. It may go nowhere. It may go somewhere. Who knows? With any luck, we’ll be selling by spring.

Beyond that, I’m open. Though if there’s a free seat on SpaceShip2 (or on the not-yet-existent orbital hotel, or on a one-way mission to Mars), may I be first in line? Or an interesting start-up working on real or virtual technology. Or the opportunity to go somewhere really bizarre, like Antarctica.

Yes, I know. Too much. Too many things to do. Why do I make myself so busy?

To that, I say: the subjective rate of time doesn’t accelerate when you’re busy. Do more, and your time expands. You’ll be amazed at what you can do. And you’ll be amazed at how long a year can be. Do less, and your time contracts. Days slip away. Months fall by the wayside. And soon, you’re sitting on the couch in front of the TV, wondering what happened to your life.

To all, here’s to the next decade!

And Jason Sanford, in answering his own question, hits the nail on the head:

“So what is positive about the genre? That’s simple: SF’s outlook on humanity’s future. That humanity is able to always find a solution to the problems we create. That we as a species do not give into despair and give up. I would argue that this positive outlook is what is missing from SF these days, and also explains why the literary SF genre is in such trouble.”

Let’s look at this more closely. In the past, science fiction may not have had all the answers (though it frequently provided an amazing future full of shiny technologies, many of which were positive and aspirational.)

But what it did have was the attitude.  It had characters who felt that the world (or worlds) could be made better. Who did not give into despair. Who knew that they, themselves, could be part of the solution.

And it had the ability. These characters didn’t just passively exist in their world. They went out and did the right things for the right reasons. They acted. They worked to effect change. Sometimes even if it seemed as if all hope was lost.

And . . . without the attitude and the ability, there are no answers. There never will be any answers, because there’s no hope, and no engagement.

So where do you find the attitude and ability today? In big SF movies.

Which is why literary SF is now (frequently) the equivalent of an art-house film. Critically acclaimed by the highest arbiters of taste, nodded at solemnly by a self-selected intelligentsia . . . and doomed to run in a handful of theaters, to vanishingly small audiences.

No way you’re getting back on that thing, she thought. But if she stayed on the Saleschannel, she might have to convert.

I don’t know if I care, she thought.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Alan Rodriguez said. His worried expression had deepened into an almost caricature-like frown.

“What?”

“Another ship’s appeared outside the Holy Saleschannel, ma’am.”

“Must be Four Hands.”

“No. It appeared. Like you. Winfinity.”

“Go find Yin.”

“Honored Yin is already in the docking port.”

“Who is it?” Tiphani said. Feeling a chill. Knowing the answer.

“Honored Yin says it is the CEO,” Alan said.

Tiphani laughed. The sound was strangely muffled in the large, cloth-covered space. She sounded tiny and alone.

Alan licked his lips and darted his eyes back in the direction he’d come. “They’re going to be docking any minute, Chief Mirate.”

Oh yeah, Tiphani thought. I’m still a Chief, aren’t I? She made no move to get up.

“Chief Mirate!”

She looked up at Alan. And for a moment, considered telling him that she’d converted, and wanted to help them on their mission. But what if they said no, they didn’t need her?

And it was a chance to get to see Highest Chambers. See what he really was. For real. Even if they demoted her back to indentured, she’d be able to say she knew the truth. That was worth it.

She unbuckled and stood up.

Alan gave her Velcro straps for her shoes and led her back to the docking port. Honored Yin looked Tiphani up and down, her expression an indiscriminate mix of fear and awe.

Our CEO traveled here, she thought. By shortrange Spindle.

Or he was out of the system. That was possible, too. Maybe he hadn’t done something as reckless as she thought.

The outer airlock slid open, allowing glimpses of shadowy shapes through the thick glass of the inner doors. Tiphani fought to keep from craning her neck. She’d see him soon enough.

The inner doors slid open.

Flanked by two gray-clad Win-Sec agents was a boy of maybe twelve. His white-blonde hair fell over a high forehead sprinkled with freckles. Bright blue eyes looked out over a small, well-formed nose. He wore a brilliant suit of the Winfinity corporate red, immaculately tailored, with a matching yellow scarf. He floated out into the docking room and caught himself expertly on the carpet with velcro’d soles, pushing himself erect with his hands behind his back.

Honored Yin folded to her knees.

Tiphani remained standing a moment longer, thinking, No this can’t be him it can’t possibly be he’s young, really young. Then she pulled herself down to the carpet as well.

“Don’t be stupid,” the boy said. “Get up.”

“I’m sorry, Highest Chambers,” Honored Yin said, standing. Tiphani did the same.

Up close, the boy’s eyes held the brightness of youth, but also something more. Something that made them heavy and slow in their orbits, like the weight of wisdom. Age. Great age. The longer Tiphani looked at those young-old eyes, the colder she felt, and the more she wanted to look away.

“Where’s the Shrill?” Highest Chambers said, looking around behind Tiphani and Yin. There was something very wrong with the way he moved. Not mechanical, not like a waldo, but with maybe a little too much fluidity. Not enough control. “Maybe we can wrap this shit up.”

Honored Yin made a little whimpering noise.

“It’s not here, Highest Chambers,” Tiphani said.

“Then go and retrieve it!”

“We’ve already been to the ship.”

“Where is it?” the CEO said, his brows furrowing. “I don’t have time for games!”

“We’re sorry,” Honored Yin said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we didn’t make it here in time,” Tiphani said. “By the time we got here, another ship had spoofed the Holy Saleschannel and made off with the Shrill.”

The boy-CEO just looked at her, his mouth slightly open, an expression of honest confusion on his face. Then, in the space of an instant, his face went bright red and he yelled, “You’re telling me you lost the fucking Shrill? Again? I came out here to say hiya to the damn thing and it isn’t here? It’s gone? Is that what you’re saying?”

Honored Yin whimpered.

“I’m afraid it is, Highest,” Tiphani said.

“You fucking incompetents!” he stamped his foot and went flying off the carpet. The two Win-Sec agents caught him and placed him back onto it.

The CEO closed his eyes and clenched his fists, breathing through his mouth in great gusts. When he opened his eyes again, they were glassy with optilink data.

“Okay. Okay. I see. Not all your fault. Here too late. I get it. The Holy Saleschannel should have plucked the Shrill before you got here. Incompetence on their part.”

“Incompetence?” Alan said, standing straighter.

Highest Chambers scratched over to him and poked a finger into his chest. He looked almost eye-to-eye with the short, sturdy man. “Yes, incompetence. Ain’t no other way to describe it. Tart it up all you want, you and your saints and microwaves, but that’s what it is.”

“I . . . that’s an insult!”

“Yes it is. Shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. The best go to the corporates, the rest go to the consumeristians. You tried to play our game, and got burnt.”

Alan went red, but said nothing.

“You tried to play us. Now, you get nothing. No fleet. Not even a single Spindle ship. In fact, it might be interesting to leave you here and see how you do with the Disney ship, once it finishes repairs. Which shouldn’t be too long now.”

“Highest Chambers, I’m sorry.”

The boy turned away. “Oh, so now I’m highest again. How convenient. Don’t worry, lapdog, we’ll make sure you’re out of here.”

“Thank you, Highest Chambers.”

The CEO went to stand in front of Tiphani. “Who got them?”

“They billed themselves as a Four Hands splinter,” Tiphani said. “At least that’s what they told the consumeristians.”

“Which means they could be anyone.”

“They’re vectored on Mars,” Alan said.

“You know that?”

“Last known heading.”

“What kind of ship?”

“Fast courier,” Tiphani said.

Highest Chambers made a rude noise. “So they could be going anywhere.”

“I have Research correlating what we know with possible traffic matches,” Tiphani said.

The CEO laughed. “Research is a baby, covered in kerosene, playing with matches. What’s the project number? I’ll forward it on to the artie bank with my tag.”

Tiphani called up the project and rattled off the number to the CEO, who nodded.

“I’m sure we’ll find them,” Honored Yin said.

“I’m not,” Highest Chambers said.

“Just don’t make us go on the . . . Spindle again,” Honored Yin said.

“Please,” Highest Chambers said. “I don’t want to see a repeat of your performance before the shortrange Spindle.” He glanced over at Tiphani. “Nor do I want to see you taunting her as you did.”

“Do we have to . . . Spindle again?” Honored Yin said.

“Let’s find out where they’re going first. The arties are already guessing.”

Alan looked suddenly alert. He held up a hand. “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but another ship has just decelerated into position nearby.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s a Four Hands ship. Hailing.” A pause. “Han Fleming, requesting permission to dock.”

Highest Chamber’s face broke into a wide, boyish grin that had absolutely no innocence or joy in it. “Good old Han,” he said. “Where can we talk to him?”

“On the bridge, Highest Chambers.”

“Let’s go say hello,” the CEO said.

#

Han Fleming was momentarily upset when he saw the strange gold ship clinging to the flickering bulk of the Holy Saleschannel. Its unfamiliar ovoid shape was almost completely smooth, except for the protrusion of small maneuvering thrusters. With no bulky main drive, it had to be a Spindle ship, but he’d never seen one so small. In virtualspace, its control software was smooth and hard and black, rebounding every query he threw at it.

But I was supposed to be first!

He clamped down hard on a brief flare of anger.

But I.

Anger damps rational thought, he told himself. Suppress anger to see clear.

But I.

With a prize so large, there will be other players. The only guaranteed loser will be the one who doesn’t roll the dice.

But I.

“Dock already occupied,” the courier pilot said.

“Hail them anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

Good guys. CorpEx wasn’t to be completely trusted, but the Four Hands bribe had been large and generous. He could count on them. At least for now.

And Pluto was powering back up. Not operational yet, but soon he’d have another card to play.
If he had hours.

“Reply waiting,” the courier said.

“Put it on screen.”

The big nav display up front flickered and cleared. Han’s stomach did a fast twist-and-lurch when he recognized Yin and Mirate standing alongside a thickset man wearing the uniform of the consumeristian Minister of Conversion and a young boy wearing a loud red suit.

How did they get here? he thought. There were no faster couriers. He’d traveled damped, at almost 6G. There was no way they could be here.

Nevertheless, they are. Accept it.

But that would mean . . . that would mean Winfinity had a working shortrange Spindle. That would explain them, that would explain the strange gold ship, that would explain everything.

They’d probably already made a deal, he thought.

Bluff. A few hours and the Pluto would be back on-line.

But if they had shortrange Spindles, what else did they have?

Han’s stomach twisted into interesting new patterns as fear clamped its chill teeth into his gut.

“How’s it hanging, Han?” the boy in the red suit said. “I can’t believe Disney sent its Acting. Four Hands must be absolutely desperate to get this longevity thing.”

“Who . . .” Han said, but the words stopped in his throat. He knew that voice, that cadence.

“Chambers?” he said.

The boy smiled. “None other.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You seem a little surprised to see us.” Smiling. Smirking. The same way he always had, back when he was old. That same fucking smirk.

Han wanted to reach through the screen and wipe the smug look off the kid’s face.

“Han, you look like a kid who got clothes for Christmas.” Clearly enjoying it. Clearly.

“We . . . you . . . I don’t believe it.”

Chambers laughed.

“We have as much right to the Shrill’s secrets as you do!”

“You come in, kill our Original Sam, threaten war. Yes, you have the right to extort secrets from us, when we’ve been monumentally stupid about our network security. But I think you’ll find it a bit tighter now.”

Bluff. “Oh, really.”

“Come on,” Chambers said, crooking a finger. “Do something. I dare you.”

Han felt his hands curl into fists. If he could only get them on that scrawny neck! It was just like the time, back two hundred years ago, when they were opening the stellar frontier. Back when Chambers worked for him. Flying fast ahead of the Winfinity ships. Always a step ahead. Locking up worlds with their own proprietary networks. Claiming it was in Winfinity’s best interest. Somehow always spinning it to the board. Enough that Han looked like the timid child, frightened to grab what lay there unguarded. When Han was ousted, Chambers had even had the gall to offer him a job as a Director. Only a grade down, he said. As if he would ever take it.

“Where is the Shrill?” Han said.

“You haven’t done anything. Come on, Han, waltz through our network. I dare you.”

Han reached through his tiny datachannel and queried his artie partners, but they shook their heads sadly. Other than a minor connection to the remains of Black2, they had nothing. Pluto’s connection to the Winfinity net was better, but still not deep enough to use. It would take weeks for it to burrow to the levels they once controlled. The approaching fleet was still too far off, too disconnected from the Sol datawebs.

The doors were closed. The only thing he could do was see if enough of Black2 could communicate with the Shrill. That would give them a start, if nothing else.

But Black2’s tags were laggy and faraway. Han had the vector traced, and it pointed at a trajectory that suggested Mars. A quick scope of the Pluto’s records showed another ship, accelerating away from the disabled Westinghouse consumer craft.

But that meant the Shrill wasn’t there!

Someone else had the Shrill.

Winfinity was bluffing.

“Where’s the Shrill?” Han said. Smiling, this time.

“That doesn’t matter,” Chambers said, frowning.

“You don’t have it.”

“Of course we do.”

“Show it to me.”

A frown from Chambers, nothing more.

“That’s what I thought,” Han said.

“Cut transmission,” Han said to the courier. The other man nodded and the screen went blank.

“Transferring new course,” Han said. “Boost us out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Han settled back into his gelbed as the drive lit up. Chemicals dragged him down into suspension as the Gs pushed him deep into the mattress.

Han wondered what the powerful suspension drugs were doing to his rejuvenated body. Would he end up as desperate as Chambers, trying a whole-body transplant when the old body refused to rejuve anymore?

And decided he didn’t care.

#

“Blow that fucking ship out of the sky!” Highest Chambers said, watching as the display switched to show the courier’s drive lighting off.

“We, um, have no long-range weapons left,” Alan Rodriguez said.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Of course! How could it be any other way? Han fucking slips off again.”

“I’m sorry, Highest Chambers.”

“Sorry doesn’t make amends,” Chambers said, pacing the bridge. He took several deep breaths, visibly calming himself. “But it might be for the best. A Four Hands fleet is coming. And I might not want to explain that I’d just blasted their chairman into space.”

“Chairman?” Tiphani said. “He said he was a General Manager–“

“Pretty Tiphani. If you were me, would you waltz into a Disney meeting saying you were Highest?”

Tiphani shook her head.

“Of course not.” Highest Chambers offered a thin smile. “Call it the hand of the Holy Franchise.”

Alan sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Holy Franchise,” he said softly.

“Excuse me again, Highest Chambers,” Tiphani said. “But he seemed to know we didn’t have the Shrill.”

“And he was fucking surprised by it, too.”

“Yes. But, I mean, maybe he took off because he knew where it’s been taken.”

A lopsided grin spread on the CEO’s face. It was an ancient expression, making the boy’s face terrible and old. “Ironic, that. The arties just finished their investigation. While we were talking. They know who has the Shrill. And where they’re going. Ain’t no mystery, now.”

“Who?” Tiphani asked.

The grin twisted into even more terrible shapes. “Your fling. Jimson. And that fucking contractor. Dian Winning. The Martian.”

“But . . . how . . .”

Highest Chambers turned Honored Yin and Alan and the two Win-Sec agents and held out his hands, unsteadily, as if playing to an audience. “An excellent question,” he said. “And the irony is that it took the arties so long to do the analysis just because it was so stupid, so obvious, so impossible to comprehend the ultimate incompetence that they never bothered to integrate the possibility until they’d exhausted everything else. Up to and including the benighted Independents and contact with an unknown alien race, probably. Can you guess what it is?”

Tiphani felt ill. “What, Highest Chambers?”

“Because you fucking gave your access codes to the little fucker!” Highest Chambers screamed. “Chief codes to a Manager. A grasping little asshole, too. The magnitude of your stupidity is unbelievable.”

Tiphani saw her future with Winfinity shatter into a thousand shards. They would demote her down to Indentured, leave her on the Holy Saleschannel. That was it, that was the end. She looked at the CEO, open-mouthed, not knowing what to say.

“But everyone will see the mercy of Winfinity,” Highest Chambers said. “Even to someone as monumentally stupid as pretty Tiphani. Because what she did gave us tags on exactly where they’re going. And if we leave Jimson’s channel open, we can feed him whatever data we want to. Win-Sec will be waiting for them when they land, to give them a proper welcome.”

Tiphani blew out a big sigh of relief.

Highest Chambers turned to gesture to Tiphani, as if showing off a fist-sized diamond on a stand. “Say hello, everyone, to the luckiest motherfucker in the Web of Worlds.”

“What now?” Tiphani said. Almost a whisper.

Highest Chambers fixed his young-old eyes on hers. “I’m tempted to send you onto Mars via shortrange Spindle and have you oversee the capture.”

Tiphani held her breath.

“But I’m thinking you only get luck of your magnitude once. No. You go there, and somehow it’ll become a shit sandwich.”

“What then?”

“We meet Win-Sec there. They’ll have the Shrill. You can say hello to Jimson. And if we finish the negotiations without much delay, and if I get what I want, and if the scientists can get it working in time for me to fix this oh-so-beautiful-but-still-dying body, you may still have a career.”

Jimson watched as the fast courier ship maneuvered to put the little Westinghouse craft between it and the great shimmering white bulk of the Holy Saleschannel. Hiding. As much as it could. All the maneuvering done by careful prods of its gyro, rather than anything that would be noticed on thermal scan.

Much of the Holy Saleschannel’s tent flickered uncertainly between deep gray and blue-and-white stripes, but it still looked threatening if for no reason other than size. Farther off, the deep gray of the Pluto was visible only as an outline against occluded stars.

In the side viewing-window, where an ancient license plate reading “1QWKDOG” decorated the bulkhead, Jimson saw the datatags for both the Shrill and Lazrus Turnbull hovering over the wreck of the 04-011. Pointers showed the datastreams to be heavily intertwined through a laggy route that piggybacked both the Holy Saleschannel’s connectivity and a low-bandwidth route through the Pluto.

Adrenaline shot through his body, clearing away some of the fog. “They’re still inside,” he said.

“Good,” Raj said, peering back from his gelbed. “Let’s hurry get them.”

“Should we be worried that Pluto’s still flowing data?”

Raj frowned. “That’s bad.”

“How bad?”

“Don’t know. Appears to be down. But talk brings friends. We don’t want to meet friends.”

“I can agree to that,” Jimson said.

“Hurry too. Consumeristians see us eventually. Cheap consumer ship not large enough to cover bulk.”

“They’re hulled,” Dian said, hanging casually down from the netting of her acceleration couch. She pointed at a neat hole through the aft end of the ship.

“Yeah. Ship killed,” Raj said.

“Won’t that hurt the Shrill?”

“They’re made – or evolved – or whatever – to live in space,” Jimson said. “It won’t hurt them.”

“Goodness,” Raj said. “No worries about companion human.”

Jimson frowned, looking at the data tags for both the Shrill and Lazrus Turnbull. Both still very active. “Uh, the human’s still alive.”

“No suits in a consumer ship,” Raj said.

“He’s still consuming data.”

“Hmm,” Raj said, and went back to the front of the ship to strap on a datover. “It’s deeped. And chillin. But data’s not random.”

“A persona-model, maybe, still running?” Jimson said.

“Doubtful,” Raj said.

Jimson shook his head. They needed to get out there and collect them. Echoing data didn’t matter. Even if he was alive, it was only one man.

Who might be a Winfinity deep-sec spook, he thought. With who knows what technology.

“Wait a minute,” Jimson said. With Tiphani’s level of access, he should be able to surf their datastreams. See who it was. Before they ever left the ship.

“What you doing?” Raj said.

“Surfing,” Jimson said. He reached out to the tags, requested a waiver, got it, broke into the channels. Most of it appeared to be subtextuals or encrypted images, because it didn’t fall into place. He tried to pull text from it, came up with garble.

Then, a voice, loud and close in his auditory nerves:

You are previous contact (keeper), the voice said, sexless and anonymous.

ARE YOU THE SHRILL? Jimson eyetyped, with a slow jittering gaze. It shouldn’t know he was surfing. That was the point of surfing. It was anonymous.

I am Shrill ambassador, the voice said.

I COME TO RESCUE YOU.

You no longer part (component) of ones-overseeing? Have disintegrated reintegrated become separate (unthinkable)?

I AM WORKING FOR MYSELF NOW, Jimson typed.

And new friends, a new voice said.

WHO ARE YOU?

You know me as Lazarus Turnbull.

YOU SHOULD BE DEAD. And you shouldn’t be able to tell we’re surfing, either.

Should accept offer from non-dominant component? the Shrill said.

We may not have much choice, Lazrus said.

What is new (component) wanting? the Shrill said.

TO RESCUE YOU.

Something like a laugh. What do you really want? Lazarus said.

Jimson sighed. THE SAME AS EVERYONE ELSE.

Silence for a moment. Tell us why we should accept, Lazrus said.

WE’LL TAKE YOU TO MARS. FAST. HIDE WITH FREEMARS THERE.

Silence. Jimson caught more of the subtextual/image data, and frowned. Was it possible Lazarus was communicating with the Shrill directly, on its own datachannel? No, that didn’t make sense.
Jimson felt a chill work its way up his spine. He shivered, even though it was warm in the little craft.

“What’s taking long?” Raj said.

Jimson held up a hand. Wait, he mouthed.

Come get us, Lazrus said.

Yes complete tour (mission), said the Shrill.

Jimson pulled himself back to reality. The mutterings of the Shrill and Lazarus died away. “I got some cross-connect,” he said. “Started talking with them. I think I just got them to agree to come peacefully.”

Raj’s frown deepened. “You talked to them? Without protocols?”

“Yes. They seemed to sense I was surfing.”

Raj muttered to himself and shot off towards the front of the cabin. When he came back, he held two cheap flexsuits and two guns. He held out one of each to Jimson and Dian. “You go,” he said. “This smells bad.”

“But they said they’d come with us,” Jimson said.

“Take them.”

“We can’t, uh, dock?”

Raj shook his head. “Not luxury liner.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“You take gamble we not noticed by consumeristians, or what talks on Pluto, or if really is peaceful surrender. I take chance on no subsequent treachery.”

“You sure think positive, don’t you?” Jimson said.

Raj shrugged. “I’m a courier.”

“But if we get the Shrill’s secret, we all win.”

Raj shrugged. “Some invest more than others.”

Dian reached out and took the suit and gun. “Come on,” she said to Jimson. “Let’s get this done.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Jimson said.

“About Lazrus? No.”

“Who is he?” Jimson said.

Dian just frowned and started slithering into her suit.

“You were with him. Do you know what we’re walking into?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Dian shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she said no more.

#

Tiphani sat in the form-fitting seat to the right and front of their tiny pilot. She couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that he was staring at her ass. The murmur of Honored Yin’s prayers came from behind her and to the left. In the echoing darkness of the shortrange Spindle ship, the sound was almost comforting. Tiphani almost regretted baiting Yin earlier. And not just for the fact that she was sure the comments had already been added to her file, to be scrutinized and analyzed at a later date to weigh on her overall record.

If we survive, that is, she thought.

The pilot whispered something, just below Tiphani’s threshold of hearing. She had a moment to wonder what he was saying.

Then he said, loud enough for both of them to hear: “Hang on, girls.”

Honored Yin gave a little yelp, and Tiphani felt that familiar sense of dislocation that came when a ship Spindled up.

Oh shit this is . . .

The dislocation stretched, pulled. Tiphani felt as if she had been wrapped around the inside wall of the little ship. She imagined looking at herself in the chair. Her terrified expression. Her thin white knuckles, gripping tight to the arms.

. . . it.

Bang. Back into her. Just her. Nothing more.

Tiphani’s guts did a slow roll.

Honored Yin sobbed louder. Tiphani looked down at herself, expecting to see arms and legs a jumble, expecting to see blood.

Just her. Nothing else.

She held up her hands, looked at them.

Honored Yin, still crying.

“Knock it off,” the pilot said. “We’re there.”

A loud metallic rapping outside the ship made Tiphani jump.

“What the fuck?” the pilot said. She looked back to see him studying the scroll of data in his datover.

“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. “Fucking showoff cocksuckers.”

The banging came, louder, from the direction of the door.

“Worthless little shits! Betting on my ass! Wait till I get back, you fucking fuckheads, I’ll show you some funnies.”

“What’s the matter?” Tiphani said.

Honored Yin stopped sniffling.

The pilot looked at Tiphani, set his jaw, seemed to consider a reply, then just thumbed a manual control on his screen and gestured towards the door.

“This,” he said.

The hatch slid open.

Revealing the hard wood acceleration pews of a tent revival ship, where several dozen parishioners were strapped down, looking up at the hatch with expressions of religious awe. Farther away, near the nave, choirboys peeked from behind the hand-rubbed mahogany and made the fingers-spread sign of the Holy Franchise. An enterprising youth floated into the steel frame of the hatch, still gripping the aluminum staff he had presumably used to knock on the side of the ship. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.

“Holy shit,” Honored Yin said.

Tiphani broke into loud laughter.

The pilot unstrapped and launched himself out of his seat towards the hatch. “Fucking assholes testing their goddamned algorithms on me,” he said. He pushed past the boy with the staff and disappeared from view.

Tiphani unbelted herself and pushed off through the hatch. She sailed out into the heights of the Holy Saleschannel’s tent, thankful for the zero-G maneuvering classes she’d taken a couple of decades ago. She twisted in mid-air and caught the back of a pew, bringing herself down to a rather ungracious landing.

Inertia still works, she thought.

Tiphani brought herself up to look back at the shortrange Spindle ship. It hung, almost motionless, about ten feet above the pews, a scuffed stainless-steel marble that reflected the still-confused faces of the parishioners below.

As she watched, Honored Yin poked her head out of the hatch, gripping the edges as if she might fall.

“Push down towards the ground,” Tiphani said. “Be ready to stop your rebound.”

“I don’t like this,” Honored Yin said.

The scratching of Velcro soles on the fleur-de-lis carpet made Tiphani turn. A short, thickset, dark-complexioned man bowed low before her.

“Holy Franchise, thank you for delivering us this miracle,” he said.

“Who are you?” Tiphani said.

The man looked up at her. “Alan Rodriguez. Minister of Conversion. Welcome, angels of commerce.”

Tiphani tried to keep a straight face, imagining what a shock it must be to have a ship appear out of thin air in a consumeristian ship.

“We’re not angels,” she said. “This is a shortrange Spindle ship . . .”

Honored Yin let out a yelp and leapt down, badly misjudging her speed and bowling Alan to the ground. When they got untangled, Alan had to hold Yin down to keep her from flying off into the heights of the tent.

“Honored one . . .” Alan began.

Honored Yin kissed Alan full and long on the lips. Alan’s expression morphed from pleasant surprise to horror. He pushed her away.

“I’m alive!” Honored Yin said. “Alive! I’m alive!”

“Thank the Holy Franchise,” Alan said.

“Yes, thank the Holy Franchise for all the fruits of commerce and sublime revenue multiplication. Thank Madonna for guiding this uncertain traveler. Thank Marilyn for protecting her!”

The parishioners’ terrified expressions melted away in the face of a familiar display. “Thank the Holy Franchise, Madonna, and Marilyn,” several of them said.

“Are we first?” Honored Yin said. “Have you made a deal? Tell me we’re first. Or that you haven’t made a deal with the Four Hands nonbelievers.”

“You’re the first,” Alan said, resetting his velcroed feet on the carpet and helping Yin reconnect with the floor.

“You hear that, Tiphani?” Honored Yin said. “We’re the first! And we’re alive! Thank the Holy Franchise!”

“Hurrah,” their pilot said, gripping a pew not far away. Yin shot him a furrowed-brow glare, and he shrugged.

“There was one other ship, but it didn’t make it,” Alan said. “We thought it was Four Hands, but the Pluto fired on it.”

Honored Yin’s expression went from one of disgust to full-fledged anger in the space of a moment. “Another ship? The Pluto?” she spat.

“The Pluto destroyed it.”

“The Pluto’s supposed to be disabled!” Honored Yin screamed.

“It appeared to be, uh, Honored Yin.”

“And it hasn’t fired on you?” Tiphani asked.

“No,” Alan said.

“Oh, shit,” Tiphani said.

“Yes, shit,” Honored Yin said. “Don’t you ever think? When did this ship get destroyed? Supposedly?”

“It was destroyed, Honored Yin.”

“Did you see it with your own eyes?”

“No. Just instruments.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago.”

Honored Yin looked at Tiphani, her eyes bright and cold. She turned back to Alan. “Get us out there. Now.”

“Where?”

“To the Shrill ship. Now!”

“But we haven’t even negotiated,” Alan said, his voice rising in a whine. “We have other ships coming to negotiate in good faith. And you haven’t even spoken to Preacher Dave.”

Honored Yin reached out and grabbed Alan by the lapels, twisting the fabric and threatening to rip him off the carpet. “If the Shrill is still there, we’ll give you whatever you want. An entire fleet of ships to go and convert the Independents with. A world of your own on the edge. True Perpetual status. Whatever Winfinity won’t give, my family will. If the Shrill is still there.”

“Why wouldn’t it be there?” Alan asked.

“The other ship was a fast courier, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but I . . .”

“You didn’t think! Not at all. Of course it disappeared. That’s what it’s supposed to do.”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Honored Yin.”

“Get us out there right now.”

“Yes, honored Yin.” Alan pulled himself away from her and virtually ran down the aisle.

“You think it’ll still be there?” Honored Yin asked Tiphani.

“I doubt it.”

Honored Yin sighed. “Of course not.”

Minutes later, Alan came back, trailing a stretcher that carried Preacher Dave. Preacher Dave’s head bore a bloodstained bandage. Tiphani didn’t think she’d ever seen a worse job of fake injuries, but she said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Alan said.

“So sorry,” Preacher Dave said.

“What?” Honored Yin said.

“A drive flare. From beside the Westinghouse ship. They’re accelerating along our vector to Mars.”

“Follow them!” Honored Yin said.

“We don’t have the acceleration of a fast courier. Plus, we have that,” Alan said, pointing at the shiny ball of the Spindle ship.

Tiphani pictured the untethered ship tearing through the fabric of the Holy Saleschannel, trailing glittering shards of frozen air.

“Shit,” Honored Yin said. “Shit shit shit!”

“What can we do to help?” Preacher Dave said.

“Get us out to the Westinghouse ship. We might be lucky.”

But they weren’t.

#

“Fucking asshole,” Dian muttered, as the fast courier’s acceleration stretched her back into the acceleration-hammock.

“I told you, I’m sorry,” Lazrus’ voice came from behind her.

Dian wriggled over to the edge of her gel mattress, slowly and painfully, even though they were only accelerating at 3Gs this time. She peeked over the edge at Lazrus. Lazrus’ skin layer had cracked and died in the cold of space, showing deep red channels through a gray crust. On his cheek was an open red wound where she’d struck him with the butt of her own gun. Right after he handed it back to her.  She could see shiny metal at the bottom of the channels in the thing’s flesh.

“You left me back there to die!” Dian said.

“Continue this later, praps?” Raz said.

“You said you were going to leave on Mars anyway,” Lazrus said.

“Thought AI had common sense not argue w’women,” Raz said.

“Shut up!” Dian and Lazrus said, in unison. Jimson, hanging below her, sighed and looked away.

“Sara was supposed to take care of you,” Lazrus said.

“She didn’t!” Dian said.

“She didn’t help you get to the jumpport?”

“No! Win-Sec got me! Right away! Like you told them.”

Lazrus frowned. “Sara says she is sorry,” he said. “She was preoccupied with, um, getting us to freedom, and had limited ability to influence events in Winfinity City . . .”

“Where is this Sara? She should apologize to me!”

“She could talk to you via datover.”

“Not at 3G!” There was no way she’d put that weight on her face in the crush of acceleration.
Lazrus shook his head. “Raz, can you display incoming packets from Winfinity network, 102.32.43.123.18.2?

“Surely,” Raz said.

“I’m sorry,” came a female voice from the front of the ship. “Dian, I should have helped you, but I underestimated my capability.”

Dian levered herself to look forward again. On the ship’s screen, there was the image of a pale girl with dirty blonde hair, wearing a loose-cut business suit in light gray.

“You’re Sara?”

“Yes. Please don’t blame Lazrus for this.”

That expression. That tight-lipped, I-don’t-want-to-be-doing-this expression. Like an apology, cajoled out of a seven-year-old. She knew Lazrus could be making this all up, creating Sara with the near-infinite power of his networked mind, but she doubted if he’d show it like this. If he was spoofing it, she would be contrite, groveling . . . and probably quite a bit less good-looking.

“You were jealous,” Dian said.

Sara’s expression went closed and tight. For several moments, she said nothing. Then, through tight lips: “Yes.”

“So you’d leave me down there with Winfinity as a perpetual indenture, or worse?”

More silence. “I didn’t intend you to be harmed.”

“Sara,” Lazrus said, his voice soft, betrayed.

“I’m sorry, Lazrus.”

Rage made Dian see everything in slow motion, through a scrim of red. For a moment she could have stood up on the gelbed, if only to rip the screen off the ship’s bulkhead.

“I don’t want your fucking machine!” Dian screamed. “He’s yours! Understand? All I want is to go back to Mars and forget all this! Fuck you goddamn arties, and fuck you goddamn Winfinity assholes, and fuck you all. I just want my life back!”

Sara nodded and disappeared from the screen.

“I’ll do everything I can to help,” Lazrus said.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear you,” Dian said.

“Where are we landing?” Jimson said.

“Rockport, where else?” Raz said.

“We’re not going deep into Free Mars?”

A laugh. “Not less we want shot down.”

“If we’re landing in Rockport, how are we going to get it past Win-Sec?” Jimson said.

“It?” Raz said.

“The artie.”

“My skin and clothes will grow back by then,” Lazrus said.

“It still looks fake,” Jimson said. “Best to dump it.”

Dian nodded. Jimson had taken an almost irrational dislike to Lazrus almost immediately. Probably the standard Winfinity conditioning against arties, she thought. Bt would almost be worth it to see Lazrus’ body tumble into space.

“Could,” Raz said. “Didn’t expect more company than Shrill. Would improve drive efficiency.”

“No,” the Shrill said. The powercart had been secured below the acceleration hammocks, and everyone struggled to look. It lay pinned and sluggish in the middle of its cage.

“No what?” Jimson said. “Clarify.”

“Human-created network intelligence not permitted (desired) leaving.”

“Why not? It abducted you. We rescued you.”

“Cognizant interests congruent understanding,” the Shrill said.

“What mean?” Raz said.

“Poor translation algorithms,” Jimson said. “We never got the upgrades, as far as I know.”

Raz snorted. “Typical corporate.”

“We shouldn’t argue amongst ourselves,” Jimson told Raz, nodding at the Shrill.

“The Shrill has already made its decisions about humanity,” Lazrus said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means talk all you want.”

“Does that mean it won’t give us the secret to eternal life?” Jimson asked.

“I’m sure it would. If there is one.”

“There isn’t?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t concern me,” Lazrus said.

From the front, Raj’s laughter drifted back.

“What do we do now?” Dian said.

“What else?” Jimson said. “We keep going.”

“Why?”

“What else can we do?”

From the front, more laughter.

Enough. On to the content.

I recently saw an interesting presentation from a Morgan Stanley analyst on the subject of advertising spend versus the amount of time people spend on different media, and the disparity between the spend and attention.

Or, to put it a little more understandably: if you add up all the time that you spend with all forms of media–newspapers, books, TV, internet, radio, mobile, etc–you can come up with statements like:

“On average, people spend 33% of their total “media time” with television; and because of this, you’d expect companies to spend 33% of their total media budget on TV.”

Makes sense. Especially when these are real numbers–people, on average, spend 33% of their time watching the tube, and companies spend about 33% of their marketing budgets on TV. There are instances, though, where the time and dollars are way out of whack:

People spend much more time online and on phones than advertisers are spending on advertising—300 to 3000% more, in fact.

On the other hand, people spend much less time on newspapers and radio than advertisers are spending on advertising—ad spending is 300-800% greater than time spent on these media. For an ad-supported industry, this is a big, big problem.

And yeah, you know about this. Everyone knows newspapers are hurting. Printing old news on dead trees is really a silly model when news is easily accessible via millions of sources online, instantaneously. And simply having the newspaper move online probably isn’t going to work; the economics of ad-supported models are much, much leaner online. And putting content behind paywalls typically won’t work, except in very specific and unique cases.

So, let’s look at the armageddon scenario: print newspapers die, the economics of online newspapers don’t work, and we lose the entire newspaper industry. Poof. Gone.

In this case, what do we lose, among the sea of free news outlets online, plus blogs, plus posts on Flickr and YouTube and up-to-the-second Twitter posts? Arguably, we lose only one thing: investigative journalism. There are few blogs which can afford to send journalists around the world in search of a story, or finance their digging in to discover some hidden truth.

And even that loss is arguable. Many of today’s big stories break online. Newspapers are frequently the also-rans.

So, are we left with a future of sifting through a million different news sources via our RSS readers? Of not knowing who’s reliable, and who isn’t?

For a while, probably yes. And then things will change.

Even today, it isn’t hard to create a community that sifts out the most reliable sources from the least reliable, or biased, ones. Things as simple as the DailyKos’ trusted user model, or even Amazon’s “This review was helpful to me” button helps us separate useful information from the noise. Apply this on a grander scale, and I think we’ll quickly see intelligent agents that can track and rate the quality of information from individuals and organizations. These intelligent agents will turn the current era of pervasive media generation into the era of useful information.

Add another layer of human digging on top of the most reliable sources and advertising-supported monetization, and we may even be looking at an era of pervasive journalism. Individuals don’t have the operational requirements of a large media conglomerate. They don’t have offices, printing presses, or advertising campaigns.

While ad-supported monetization may fail for big organizations, it might work very well for individuals. Well enough that they could go to the ends of the earth to pursue that next great story.

Okay, so it seems that the debate about positive SF has heated up. Starting with Damien Walters’ blogpost in the Guardian, continuing with Lou Anders and Jetse de Vries and Gareth Lyn Powell and Kathryn Cramer.

I feel slightly responsible for all of this. After all, following Jetse in January, I called for positive change in SF back in February, and followed it up with clarification after that original post was picked up on i09, Futurismic, WorldChanging, and Velcro City here.

And, despite lots of words about how positive science fiction can still be gritty, realistic, and encompass lots and lots of scary crap, people still don’t know what positive science fiction is. So, here’s a shot at a definition:

Positive science fiction starts with acknowledging that there are positive things happening, now. Whether we’re talking about real advances in science, or simply the fact that there are people out there trying to do good things, the world is not, and never will be, a monolithic entity seeking to destroy the ecosystem and enslave the population. Such a monoculture is impossible outside of scenarios that include complete mind control of everyone on the planet. And novels set in such a world would be very, very boring.

Positive science fiction is about the possibility of positive change. If the system is so big and the characters so small, there is no possibility for change. All we can do is watch as the mechanism of the world turns. All we can take away from this is that we can do nothing; we might as well roll around on the ground, crying, saying, “Woe is me! There is no hope!” There has to be a possibility of change. Even if that change isn’t fully realized. Even if that change isn’t what we expect. Even if that change is, in itself, frightening.

Positive science fiction has a protagonist or protagonists that can effect change. Small characters are perfectly fine—but if they can’t pick themselves up and rise above their origins, then why are we spending any time with them? Why can’t we include a full palette of characters who are captains of industry, or doods-next-door with a mission, or brilliant scientists, or girls who bootstapped themselves to fame, or even trust fund babies bent on doing good–or evil–or simply serving their own complex personalities? We need to remember that Elon Musk is not only an “Evil CEO,” but that he made his billions in the dot-boom ecommerce days–and is now head of such forward-looking companies as SpaceX and Tesla Motors. It seems to me that many authors would be well-served by continuing to spend time in business and industry (and not just at a copywriter level). The perspective is invaluable in creating real, believable characters on every level.

Positive science fiction isn’t afraid to look at challenging definitions of “positive.” What we consider “positive” is heavily colored by our politics, our scarcity-based economy, and the current state of the world. A positive mid-future or far-future world might be very, very different than we expect, especially if we start heading into post-scarcity based scenarios. I think of an iPod Touch full of rap videos and Torchwood torrents being transported back to Victorian England. Would they be in awe of our technology—or would they recoil from our mores?

Positive science fiction inspires people to act and influence positive change. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to live in a world of slackers who can do nothing more than complain about “the man” and “the system.” I want people to be inspired to get the education and do the work necessary to get us off the planet. To fix the environment. To figure out systems that don’t need to go through destructive boom and bust cycles. To extend our lifespans. To discover wholly new frontiers. To create new life. To develop true artificial intelligence. To make workable nanotechnology. To create space elevators. We will not do this by wallowing in sorrow; we will not do this by bemoaning our fate; we will not do this by laying about on the couch.

So, is this the do-all prescription for instant science fiction relevance and growth? No, of course not. Like I append many of my posts with: this is one doods opinion. This is a start. If you’d like to chime in, that’s great. If you’d like to take this piece in its entirety and remix it, change it, and make it your own, have at it. I have only a single agenda: I’d like to see science fiction succeed.

And, in the end, I agree with Jetse. Moving science fiction in a more positive direction isn’t an option, it’s a requirement. If we can’t help point the ways to the answers, then what use are we, really?

“Life Magazine says there are more than TWO MILLION science fiction fans in this country. From all corners of the nation comes the resounding proof that science fiction has established itself as an exciting and imaginative NEW FORM OF LITERATURE that is attracting literally tens of thousands of new readers every year!

Why? Because no other form of fiction can provide you with such thrilling and unprecedented advantures! No other form of fiction can take you on an eerie trip to Mars . . . amaze you with a journey to the year 3000AD . . . or sweep you into the fabulous realms of unexplored Space! Yes, it’s no wonder that this exciting new form of imaginative literature has captivate the largest group of fascinated new readers in the United States today!”

Leaving aside the hype (I now see where the global exclamation point shortage came from), the gist is clear: science fiction was vibrant and growing. It inspired. It pointed the way to a positive future.

And, as silly and sophomoric as that Golden Age SF seems today, the ability to promote positive change, to create hope, and to urge ourselves to move forward is something we need to return to. As Gareth Lyn Powell says, “Sometimes you have to inspire.” And, as Jetse de Vries says, Optimistic SF: An Idea Whose Time Has Come.

Because, for every financial meltdown, there is a 12-year-old kid pushing the boundaries of solar power. For every global warming crisis, there is a return to space. Or two. And for every genetically-modified, factory-farmed food item, there are the nearly unlimited opportunities for communication and commerce in a shared, decentralized, persistently connected electronic medium that is changing the world daily.

This has been your semi-monthly positive-ish message from StrangeAndHappy, Inc.

In this one, I’m advising a hypothetical Large Publisher on what to do with this information and these techniques to maximize their results. This isn’t such a reach. I’ve advised companies as large as these publishers on marketing strategy—and created campaigns for them—in my day job.

What I’ll be doing differently here is that I’ll be talking to this hypothetical Large Publisher as if we were old friends—friends who were comfortable enough together to be brutally honest. So, buckle up. There will be no punches pulled here.

So, here’s what I’d advise a Big Publisher to do, in today’s marketing ecosystem:

First, get out a tumbler of your favorite single-malt, sit down, and say this aloud: “My business model is based on the shipping-around of slabs of pulped wood fiber, in a world where the current leading edge of entertainment, business and news are all in a shared electronic medium—a world that’s maybe 2 years away from a mobile-centric, persistently-connected information economy, and maybe 5 years away from large-scale deployment of augmented reality.” Does this scare you? If not, lean forward and look down from your corner office at all the people carrying smartphones. Compare this to the number of people carrying books or Kindles. Amazon may talk about “hundreds of thousands” of Kindles, but Apple wants to move 15 million iPhones this year—and that’s only one brand.

Think “Business Process Innovation.” You have something people want. There’s one big problem: today, you cannot control the distribution of the content; you control only the distribution of the physical books. And, for everyone who says “I like to hold a book in my hand,” there’s another who says, “I like to hold my entire library in my smartphone.” (Or, you know, ten others.) In a world where copying and transmitting your content is trivial, you have two choices. One: You can try to sue them into sticking to your old business model—but we all know how well that is working out for the RIAA. Two: you can look at new business models that deliver what they want in a way that your customers (and potential customers) consider high-value and easy to use.

Test these new models. Yes, it takes time. Yes, it takes effort. And yes, Tor is already experimenting with some social features on its site. But I’m thinking bigger. What about an all-you-can-read subscription model? Or an all-you-can-read ad-supported model—after all, your demographic is upscale, it’s easy to target by interest, and you should be able to command premium CPMs for ads placed in your electronic editions. Or a sliding-scale, pay-for-content model, where everything is nearly free, until it gets popular (the price of each ebook increases as the ebook increases in popularity, rewarding early readers). There are many opportunities to step outside of the current business model, most of which can be tested online before large-scale deployment.

Fire your agencies. No. Seriously. Full-page ads in the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, but not a single keyword buy? You have to be kidding me! Blowout ads with results that cannot be measured accurately (let’s face it, even with a bigpublisher.com/respondhere url, measuring the results of offline impressions to sales is iffy at best) are a service only to the agency that doesn’t want to be measured. And, seriously, none of your interactive agencies ever introduced you to Ning or Pringo as social network platforms? Or talked to you about widgets having 67% reach of the worldwide internet (this is a ComScore number, too). Or spoke to you about the value of getting into the social spaces in a meaningful, relevant way now, rather than waiting for someone else to do it? You have personalities. They have followings. This is an opportunity.

Create a marketing plan based on the new media realities. Focus on bringing in new customers rather than coddling old ones, or else your marketing will soon have a singular message: Please buy a few more books before you die. Think Buick.

Think loyalty programs, insiders clubs, and special perks. All of the advice we gave to small publishers holds true here as well. Though you’re going to find it a lot harder to gain a perch in people’s hearts and minds, unless you fragment your programs into genre- or interest-specific categories. The more you can make the book a ticket to an insiders club (though a virtual world like Neopets, or through local author events, or through special edition books designed to treasure) the better off you’ll be.

Stay flexible. The pace of change continues to accelerate. What we’ll see over the next 10 years will look like the last 20. And where was your cellphone, your email address, and your internet browser in 1988?

Is this the be-all and end-all prescription to end all woes in the publishing industry? Of course not. It’s just advice from one person. But really, think about the music industry. You don’t want to be their less-evil, lower-markup, higher-intrinsic-value, less-marketing-focused little brother, do you?

Here’s the setup: By “small publisher,” we’re talking about one who doesn’t have a household name. They aren’t part of a megaconglomerate. They probably focus on a genre (or a couple) rather than mainstream fiction or self-help books. They don’t have infinite money to spend on big ad campaigns, but they can spend when it makes sense. They don’t have infinite staff to spend on social media endeavors, but, again, they can spend some time working this angle.

So, the question is: how do I use my resources most effectively, given the free information online and the wealth of modern marketing tools?

Let’s start with a different POV. One thing we frequently forget is this: in all industries, there are always small, passionate companies hiding under the skirts of the multinationals—and, in many cases, they’re charging premium prices, and making a damn nice living at it. For every GE, there is a Mag-Lite. For every Nike, there is a Birkenstock. For every Toyota, there is a Mini. These companies cater to small, engaged groups of customers. Ones that consider their choices part of their personality, and aren’t worried if they can get ten bux off at Wal-Mart. Things shouldn’t be any different in small publishing. You’re creating unique content for a small group of highly engaged people. Look at what the successful small organizations are doing in other industries—and take a lot of notes.

Then, start at the beginning. I’m talking brand and their key messages. And yes, I just said “brand.” I know there’s going to be a lot of howling about this, because “brand” is such a charged word right now. Too many irresponsible branding companies have convinced too many large companies with too much money that creating a brand is a “finger-snap” away. It isn’t. But if you build the foundation of your brand with a unique position and personality that resonates with the audience, and if you deliver on that position and personality, you’re going to be remembered. You’re going to stand out. And people will come back. So: what is your unique brand and messages? Are you all about near-future science fiction, with a price point under ten bux (yeah, I know, keep dreaming), or are you about creating masterpieces of bookbinding to hand down to your kids. Or are you about finding authors too edgy for the mainstream? Are you the sacred cow skewerer? There’s a reason you got into publishing—and it probably stems from the fiction you like. What are you bringing to your audience that nobody else can? Have that in your head? Good. Now express it visually, and apply it to everything you do.

Now, do everything you can to engage your current customers, before you go looking for new ones. The most successful small companies know their success is based on deeply engaging a small audience, rather than fishing in the everyman pool. What are you doing to make sure your customers are engaged? Do you have an enewsletter program to let them know about new releases? Are you giving them a reason to sign up for it (and to accept the newsletter?) If not, this is probably the most important thing you can do. We’ve worked with many small companies where their customers have joked, “Wow, I gotta get off of your enewsletter, because I’m buying too much stuff, but I can’t because I don’t get the best deals.” Once you have your enewsletter program in place, it’s time to consider a true loyalty program. Buy 8 books, get 1 free (or whatever works with your margins). Then, it’s time to look at a referral program. Refer 3 friends who buy books, and you get a free book (or earn points.)

“Wow, this sounds like . . . evil marketing stuff!” You might be saying.

And you’re half right. It is definitely marketing. But, you know what? If you don’t do it, someone else will. Consider that the Mini is not that much different than a Yaris with better styling and good marketing—and it sells for 2X what the Yaris costs.

Okay, we can now look for new customers—and keywords are your friends. Okay. This is ridiculous. Go to Google right now. Type in “science fiction,” and take a look at the AdWords ads that show up on the right hand side of the page. As of this writing, there is only one ad—and it is for a self-published book. Try it for other genres. Look for other words at Compete.com. And if you don’t think this is a gigantic opportunity standing in front of you, check out now. Fact is, you can get a BIG footprint in paid search for very little spend in many genre-related keywords. And AdWords can be broadcast out to many other sites–including some very big blogs that cover our genres. Go to Google, sign up, and create some ads that compel qualified people to click through and shop at your store. Track the results with Google Analytics. You can throttle the spend, control what times ads appear, try different ads and have the system optimize the response for you. With a good paid search program, it’s entirely possible to deliver profit at the first purchase.

BlogAds and other targeted networks are also your friends. Okay, let’s say AdWords are working for you, and you’ve branched out to Yahoo’s own paid search ads. Where do you go from here? Well, it may be time to look at BlogAds and other, targeted advertising networks like Federated Media or Gawker. BlogAds is a great way to get broad exposure for very little spend, and you can target sites that cover books, technology, and more. Federated Media and Gawker get you into BoingBoing and io9 respectively. Best of all, most of these work on the same self-service model as AdWords–choose your sites, choose how much you want to spend, then track and optimize the results. No agency necessary.

“Wow. That sounds like, well, evil advertising stuff.” And yes, it is. And yes, it works.

These are ads that are highly targeted—either at people searching for your stuff, or at people who are browsing sites that cover the same genres. This is how you find new, passionate customers who you can engage over the long term.

And, like everything else, there’s a lot more you can do. The above recommendations are simply the most likely to produce real, measurable results.

But if you have bandwidth for more, here you go:

Run a “friend to enter” sweepstakes. Want to build the number of friends you have on MySpace or fans on Facebook? Run a “become our friend to enter” sweepstakes with the grand prize being a complete library of your books. Or something even bigger, like a paid-up iPhone with eBook reading software. More friends on the social spaces means you have more people you can communicate to (through bulletins) or make public comments on. Both are great ways to get the word out about new books and events you’re putting on.

Look at big shows, not small. It’s great how many small publishers I see at small science fiction conventions. But, by doing this, they’re simply reconnecting with the same small group of buyers—something that can easily be accomplished through an enewsletter or through contact via the social spaces. If you’re looking at doing shows, I’d strongly consider ComiCon. Yes, it’s expensive. Yes, it’s only once a year. And yes, it’s 125,000 people—120,000 of which would never show up at a WorldCon. And ComiCon, despite the name, enbraces everyone. You’ll see comic book artists, yeah. And you’ll also see movies, books, games, and more. If you’re looking to get in front of a new audience, this is the ticket.

Create your own social network. Yeah, Tor did it. Finally. The irony is that you can do it too—and all it takes is a trip over to Ning, a few clicks, and zero dollars. Let’s repeat that: this is free. You can do it in an afternoon. No expensive agency necessary. The reason you may want to consider this is simple: you are catering to a small, passionate audience with similar interests. It’s entirely possible that they may want to get to know each other. It’s highly probable they’ll want to look at each others’ bookshelves, and hear what the others have to say about their books. Letting them connect deepens their engagement with each other—and it deepens their engagement with you, because you are the facilitator. It also gives you permissio to communicate with them. Remember: free.

Consider iPhone versions of your books. Not for free, for sale. Why? It gets you in front of 10MM leading-edge people who are frequently traveling. They’re frequently the tastemakers. And they are very, very passionate about things they believe in.

“So where’s the blog? The Twitter?” you ask. Hey, if you want to, I wouldn’t get in your way. But I also wouldn’t put it in front of outreach designed to create sales.

Next week: What’s a Big Publisher to Do? You’ll like this one.

Some visitors may remember my Alexa-based comparisons of what I call “Popular Metafiction” and traditional science fiction outlets. Well, Quantcast makes Alexa look about as sleek and modern as a Ford Model T. Quantcast is a professional competitive analytics and online ad-planning platform—for anyone to use, for free. The data is also (typically) more accurate than Alexa and Compete.com, since Quantcast makes an effort for sites to quantify their traffic. Does it mean it is perfect? No, especially for smaller sites. But it is a very good tool.

Yeah, I know, I know: so what the heck does this have to do with science fiction?

Quite a bit, actually—provided you are interested in discovering what the real differences are between sites that get 2-3 million visitors a month and sites that get 5-50 thousand visitors per month—and then using that intelligence to market your work.

Let’s take a look at a few examples. I’m providing the screen caps here to freeze this instant in time, but it’s much more interesting to click through the live links (below the gallery)

BoingBoing

io9

SciFi Channel

Strange Horizons

Futurismic

F&SF

Asimovs

Analog

“But wait!” some authors will cry. “Tor.com just launched its shiny new socialated website and Baen has been offering free stuff and forums and other argly-bargly internetish bits since, like, the earth cooled!”

That’s cool. Here you go:

Tor

Baen

Neither is exactly setting the world on fire—though, to be fair, it’s impossible to say what the Tor traffic will look like in a few months. If they do their job well, it should grow significantly.

But it’s the demographics, “audience also visits” and “audience also searches for” results that are most telling. And again, we get a very clean separation between the popular metascience sites, the entertainment sites, and the more traditional science fiction sites. Which means that the traditional sites are simply not reaching the audience that might be most interested in its content.

And that’s what we should be focusing on: how to effectively reach new audiences. What keywords are they using? What other sites are they visiting? What else are they interested in? Because even if they’re only interested in Battlestar Galactica and Doctor Who right now, who knows what they might get into next?

“Okay, okay,” long-time readers of this blog will say. “I get it. So what do we do?”

And that’s a great question. In the next three posts, I’ll put on my marketing hat and take a look at how I’d use this data, and the complete suite of modern marketing tools, to help:

1. An author with a book to promote.

2. A small publisher looking to expand their reach.

3. A big publisher looking towards the future.

Now, remember: this will be coming from the point of view of a marketing professional. This is my day job. Companies like Memorex, Princess Cruises, Warner Brothers, Epson, and Cotton, Inc. pay me and the company I founded to do this. I have some credibility in this space.

But if you think marketing is beneath you, and that the best authors and the best publishers always rise to the surface and win automatically, that’s fine. You can skip the next few posts.

But remember—your competition may be taking notes.

For years, we’ve focused on “drive traffic, drive traffic, gotta drive traffic.” In marketing, this means “doing search engine optimization, buying keywords, placing banners, doing contests, putting together strategic partnerships” or, more simply, “anything we can do to get people to our site.”

But times are changing. We just did a little promo for the new Batman Gotham Knight movie that brought in two million pageviews—without driving a single person to the site.

“Wait, what?” you might be saying. “Does this have anything to do with writing?”

Yes. It does. It has everything to do with writing. It’s something that science fiction writers—and publishers, especially publishers—should take to heart. It’s not about getting people to your site anymore. It’s about getting your content out to where the people are.

Where are the people? Increasingly, they’re on social networks like MySpace or Facebook. Or on social media like YouTube and Flickr. Or they’re reading some of the 100MM blogs out there. They’re interacting with friends, and with people they respect.They’re building their own profiles on the social networks. They’re writing their own blogs.

Is it any wonder they don’t react well when you pop in like a carnival shill, screaming, “Come to my site, come to my site NOWWWW?”

(Now, cue the people who will say, “But that social stuff, that there’s for kids, it ain’t for the mature and sophisticated audiences that loves that there science fiction stuff!”)

In short: you’re wrong.

37% of adult American internet users participated in social networks last year. This excludes teens, where the number was 70%. 6 of the top 10 global websites are social sites. This is not a flash in the pan. This is not a fad. This is a serious, long-term shift that every marketer (and that means you, science fiction writers and publishers) needs to look at.

We need to change our thinking from, “How do I get people to my site?” to “How do I get out to where the people are?”

Well, you’ve probably already started with a MySpace or Facebook presence. If not, shame on you. You’re turning your back on free outposts in places where, statistically, almost 4 out of 10 of your prospects are. But a presence isn’t enough. Think of your presence on the social networks as your home. You still need to invite people to your home. Which takes us back to the same old game of driving traffic, driving traffic. Which is really silly. Because, unless you have a really, really cool home, people would rather stay at their own.

No. The new goal is to bring your content into other people’s homes–their own social network profiles. Here’s how you do it.

Make friends. Without friends, you’re not going to be able to do much of anything. Search the social networks for people who are science fiction fans and reach out to them. But be respectful. Spamming thousands of people a day randomly doesn’t help anyone. Reaching out to people who have listed authors similar to yourself–and maybe offering them a free story as a token of friendship–is cool. Or, if you’re a publisher, how about a free ebook? But this is how you start: by making friends.

Be active. Everything you do is reflected in your friends’ feeds. Just sold a book? Let everyone know. Bringing out a new book? Ditto. Awards won, releases made, parties thrown–you get the picture. Every time you make an announcement, this is shown on your friends’ feeds for their friends to see. And the next time they are at the bookstore, they might think, “Oh yeah, that was the guy who . . .” or “I remember that small press . . .”

Give them your stuff. People like to customize their home–that is, their social network profile. They change colors, add backgrounds, restyle, put in music and photos, throw in YouTube videos. They’re very open to adding content that they like–and that includes yours. Do you have a widget that gives them access to excerpts from new releases, selected stories, or (better yet) complete ebooks? Do you have a widget that allows them to play audio podcasts of your work? Do you have a widget that can be updated on the fly with new information, new content, and kept perpetually fresh? If not, you should look into it, pronto. Widgets are small applications that people use to decorate their social network profiles. A widget is how we created all those extra views for Batman.

“Oh, you mean I have to make another thing–a widget–to promote my stuff?”

Well, no. I didn’t say you had to do anything. But you may want to pay attention to this big, big market, because there isn’t a lot of activity on the author or publishing side here yet. And it really isn’t that hard to get in the game. There are a lot of easy-to-use widget platforms out there, from Clearspring to YourMinis to WidgetBox. You can put together a simple RSS widget in a couple of minutes.

But you may want to think bigger. Widgets can be deleted as easily as they are installed. You want to provide good, compelling, ongoing content to earn your place on a friend’s page. And widgets can be very full-featured. The Batman widget we did included video, production stills, text, and an interactive feature that made the Batsignal brighter for the more widgets that were installed.

But, no matter how small you start, it’s time to start. The time of “get people to your site” is coming to a close. It’s time to move to where the people are.