Free Extreme Fiction

Bye

    So, here we are at last.
    This installment of FREE EXTREME FICTION is the fruition of a project initiated the year Bill Clinton ran against Bob Dole for President of the United States. The idea, even then, was to, first, write the novel, then run everything for free online except for the last chapter, even though I didn't know what any of that even meant. (Still don't, really.) Problem: No self-publishing outfit, Amazon or Smashwords or whatever, will publish partial novels. 2017 will be spent retyping the entire novel, some quarter of a  million words, so that I can e-publish it. Then everyone will at last be able to find out how this whole saga turns out. It's got a humdinger of an ending, I'll tell you that. 
    I'm with Kevin Costner. If you build it, they will come. My problem: I can't get the damned thing built
    I'm going to crow a little now, and I'll start with this acknowledgment: I've known a lot of artists in my day, although very few successful ones in any monetary sense, and I've heard and read interviews with hundreds more, and I can't think of a single instance offhand where the artists weren't their own best fans. (The flip side of that particular coin is that the artists are also more acutely aware of their own failings and shortcomings than any critic could ever be.) I'm not talking about mere self-promotion here but something much deeper in the blood. In one of his memoirs, I remember Larry King claim that he'd never once interviewed an author who didn't believe that their own prose would be read long after their demise. Shakespeare. Dickens. Them. That's what they all believed. Self-delusion is inherent in the game.
    This is my own personal take: After about twenty years of learning how to write and getting that knowledge and experience into my bones, I found that it was possible for me to reproduce on paper anything I could conjure up in an imagination stuffed with, yes, sexual and power and revenge fantasies, personal fantasies, but, also, fiction fantasies, bits and pieces of sagas and novels and scenes and characters in various stages of being born. I spend a lot of time in my inner universe, and I create my fiction out of what I consider to be the coolest and most intensely alive of my imaginings.
    Therefore, if anyone ever asked me what my opinion of my own stuff was, and I hasten to add that no one ever has, my from-the-heart answer would be, "I believe that it's cool and intensely alive."
    Actually, I'd give a simpler answer: "It's great. My stuff is great."
    Years ago, I saw Stephen Ambrose, the author of Band of Brothers, on deep-cable TV, get asked by a member of the audience about how someone broke into the business.
    Mr. Ambrose's reply: "First write a great book."
    I've always loved that. Not write-a-professionally-tailored-to-today's-market book (or whatever). Write a great book.
    That was my goal with Cold-Blooded World. I used every erg of creative power I could muster to make C.B.W. the very best novel that I possibly could. With all my heart, I believe that it is a great book. 
    I mean, come on. It's a mystery. It's speculative fiction. It certainly goes where few novels that I've ever read have gone, and I've read hundreds. The year it gets published in book form by a professional publisher, (which, of course, will never actually happen), it should win the Hugo, the Nebula, the Edgar, the Pulitzer and the Nobel prize, and I don't mean the Nobel Prize for Literature, although it should win that award as well. No, I mean the Nobel Peace Prize because C.B.W.  is so great the entire population of Earth will come together to appreciate it as one. They'll lock arms and sway back and forth and sing and...
    Have you gotten the impression that I'm kind of proud of  Cold-Blooded World yet?
    So, 2017. Retype the entire novel. I'll update monthly as I go along. To get a look at those updates, only need only hit...HERE.
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