He tried to consider the possibility of a future, but before he could he had to face one inescapable truth. He couldn’t be with Pax. He knew Pax loved him, and he…How could he return those feelings? As he had told Isley, that sort of love doesn’t exist except between a man and a woman. And how could he be around Pax—who knew his every thought and that the feeling wasn’t mutual.
Ellis watched the sparrows all take flight, flying south as one flock.
Ellis walked down the lonely lane between the wooden fences.
November in Detroit had to be the definition for dreary. Once, long ago, it had conjured visions of gray slush, cars splattered with the chalk of salt, naked trees, yellow grass, and unforgiving skies. That day the snow was delayed, there were no more cars or roads to salt, but the grass had still yellowed and the skies remained just as vindictive. A handful of grocery-bag-colored leaves clung stubbornly to trees, their families and friends lost, blowing across the fields. Ellis was cold and shivered.
Pax found him there, alone on the road.
“My hero,” Pax said.
“Don’t say that. I—” Ellis’s voice choked. He couldn’t see and closed his eyes, forcing the tears out. “Pax…I can’t…I can’t love you.”
Ellis felt a thumb on his cheek, wiping the tears. “But you do love me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Of course you do, Ellis Rogers. I can feel what you feel. You do love me—you just don’t know what love is.”
Hands cupped his face, lifting it gently. “All your life, you never learned, because no one showed you. Not your mother, who didn’t know how to express affection. Not your wife, who blamed you for the death of your son. Certainly not Warren. Not even your son, who didn’t trust that you would come around. None of you understood what love really is. It’s not lust, or dependence, or infatuation, or familiarity. Love isn’t a fondness or butterflies in your stomach.”
“Then what is it?” Ellis managed to ask.
“Love is the degree to which you are willing to sacrifice your own interests for those of another. It doesn’t matter what sex you are. It doesn’t matter who you are, or were. It only matters that you care more for someone else than you do for yourself. It’s when you eat minlatta with tarragon oil even when you hate pasta because someone with you enjoys it. It’s when you value being alone more than anything but agree to move in with someone because they need you. And believe this, Ellis Rogers, for I am quite certain that love is most certainly when you push away the one person in all the world you want to be with because you think your thoughts would cause them pain.”
Ellis couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
“Give it some time. You’ve had a rough month.”
Ellis nodded. “I died right after you left, after I told you I was going to stay on the farm, did you know that?”
Pax nodded. “I sort of died then too. I hope you aren’t planning on killing me again.”
Ellis struggled to look at Pax—at that sympathetic face with those perfect eyes, stormy eyes, loving eyes. Ellis’s nose was running, and he wished he had a tissue—a good old-fashioned Kleenex or even a paper towel. Pax handed him the decorative handkerchief from a coat pocket. He blew, wiped.
“Does Alva still have that pattern for hot chocolate?”
SIXTEEN
TIME WELL SPENT
“Welcome back!” Ellis heard Alva exclaim the moment he and Pax returned. “Will you be staying? Is the temperature in here too cold? Too hot? Can I brew you some tea, Pax? Some coffee, Ellis Rogers?”
“We’re fine, Alva,” Pax replied.
“Soup then?”
“We don’t need anything. Really.”
“Okay—I’ll make soup.”
They walked to the balcony. Ellis wished he still had a pair of the geomancer glasses. Someone was waving to him from across the park, and he couldn’t tell who it was. He consoled himself with the realization that even with the glasses, he wouldn’t know. He was back in Hollow World, and no one wore name tags.
And everyone knew him.
He’d already achieved pop-icon status before the story about the Cult of Ren had spread. When news circulated that Ellis had helped save the world, he finally had become the modern Charles Lindbergh as Pax had predicted, only with a good dash of Marilyn Monroe thrown in. Three different producers had asked him to consult on holo productions of the events. Five others asked to do his biography, in full interactive immersion, and another—a scholar with the University of Wegener—wanted him to consult on a series of historical holograms where users could explore twenty-first century America. They would build it; all he had to do was walk around and tell them what was inaccurate. Ellis was actually considering that last one.
“Is Vin here?” Ellis asked.
“No, Vin has moved back home. I don’t suspect I’ll need Vin watching over me anymore.”
Ellis felt depressed. He didn’t know why. The feeling wasn’t anything solid, nothing he could get a grasp on. He just didn’t understand it. Everything had concluded for the best, he supposed. But looking out at the beautiful view, standing beside Pax in that wonderful home, he had an overwhelming sense of…guilt. Survivor’s guilt perhaps. Everyone he had known was dead and gone—Warren too. Even though he hadn’t meant to, and even though Warren had to be stopped, he could not get past the fact that he had killed his best friend. And for that, he was being called a hero.
Pax took his hand and squeezed. “Give it time,” Pax assured him.
Ellis nodded.
Pax looked over the balcony. “They’re playing again.”
“Mezos versus the Meerkats,” Alva said.
“Who’s winning?”
“Mezos are up by one.”
“Ah.” Pax smiled. “That’s good. I hope they win this time.”
A wonderful, multicolored bird fluttered up and landed on the railing, where it sat, watching both of them with a cocked head. Fall was coming to Detroit, but on the balcony in Hollow World it looked like spring.
“Pax,” Alva said.
“Yes?”
“This might not be important to you right now, but you did insist that I tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Quad seven grass—it’s about to start.”
A smile grew across Pax’s lips. “Thanks, Alva.”
Pax released Ellis’s hand and took out the portal device.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re going to the grass, to my favorite place in the world—Quad seven.”
“What’s in Quad seven?”
With a single touch, Pax called up the portal, proving the location was preset.
“Pax? What’s in Quad seven?”
Pax continued to smile. “Follow me.”
The two walked through the portal into an open field of lush, knee-high grass and beautiful purple flowers. Soaring high above, and to either side, were dramatic cliffs—sheer faces of chiseled granite thrusting up out of a tranquil meadow. Slender white lines of waterfalls plummeted to a valley floor that was ringed in tall pines. The place was oddly familiar. He had looked at this scene nearly every day, but this was the first time he’d ever seen it in color.
Ansel Adams was a great photographer, but the photo that had hung in Ellis’s garage for years didn’t begin to do the scene justice. Standing in the meadow, he felt small and grand at the same time. To experience something of such majesty took his breath away more than the fibrosis ever had. But that wasn’t all. Overhead, the vast sky was a cauldron of clouds. Giant thunderheads rolled and billowed, dark and voluminous. The birch trees, whose trunks were stark white lines against the charcoal, green, and purple clouds, swayed in a strong gusting wind.
A flash of lightning arced, and Ellis realized there was something ancient about thunderstorms, some primordial connection to the human spirit. Awe-inspiring by sheer size and power, this had always been at least one face of God.
Thunder cracked, and Ellis felt the bass pas
s through him, felt it shudder the earth. The effect was amazing, and he couldn’t help being thrilled, couldn’t help smiling.
“A lot of people think trees are sentient,” Pax said, watching the birches sway. “I, on the other hand, know they are. And they’re incredible. I love being here with them at times like this. Watching them in the wind, feeling what they feel. It’s like they’re dancing. Showing us what to do—what we should be doing.”
“Dancing?”
“Try it.” Pax took hold of his hands and began to sway.
Ellis felt foolish. Pax clearly didn’t.
Arms outstretched, face raised to the sky, Pax began to twirl as the first raindrops hit them. “You see, Ellis Rogers, I don’t just hear thoughts of people. I feel everything—all of it. Every living cell out here. Every blade of grass, every leaf, every flower, ladybug, deer, rabbit, and mouse. I know the joy of every parched root rejoicing with nature’s gift.” Pax pulled off the bowler hat and shouted to the sky, “I just love rain days!”
AFTERWORD
Hollow World is a story I never meant to write. At any given time I have seven or eight novels sitting in a queue waiting their turn, and Hollow World wasn’t one of them. It started out because of an anthology called The End—Visions of Apocalypse edited by N. E. White. Nila runs writing contests on sffworld and wanted to put out an anthology to showcase some new writers. She asked me and a few other established authors to act as anchors in the hopes of a wider readership. I wrote a short story called “Greener Grass”. It told the tale of an embittered, angry man who goes forward in time to find an utopia, but since the world he finds is so different than the values he believes in (God and country) to him it’s the worst possible future. I won’t spoil what happens to him (in case you want to read the short story) but when I had finished it, I realized it really didn’t fit the concept of The End Anthology. I went on to write another short story for that anthology, “Burning Alexandria” and now I had this short story left over.
I showed “Greener Grass” to my wife and a few writer friends, and they all loved it. They wanted more…and I had more to say. Many of the concepts from Hollow World were thoughts that had been floating in my head for decades and just didn’t have the right place to come out. As I worked on other projects, ideas for Hollow World kept coming to me. I’d jot them down in my notebook and try to keep focused on the book I was writing at the time.
The next book on my queue was Rhune. This is the first novel in a three-book series: The First Empire, a new fantasy series based in the distant past of the world or Elan (setting for my Riyria Revelations and Riyria Chronicles). My thought was that those books should sell well, as they have an established readership who has already expressed an interest in that plot line. Writing Rhune was the smart thing to do. But I’m pretty much known for not doing what is smart when it comes to my writing career.
Hollow World was a huge risk. It was in a different genre, and one whose readership had been dwindling over the years. A quick look at the publishing landscape made it clear that the only science fiction books that were selling well were those of an established franchise like Star Wars or Halo, space opera, and military science fiction. This book was none of those. Not to mention it touched on subjects that people argue over constantly: liberal versus conservative, gay rights, religion, and God. There are plenty of ideologies in this book that people will feel strongly about, and I’m sure many people will hate the book, and possibly me, for some of the things expressed within its covers. But none of that could diminish my desire to write this story.
While we are on the subject of ideologies, I’m sure several people will infer what they believe are my opinions on any number of topics. They’re probably almost certainly wrong. As a writer, I spend a great deal of time imagining myself in others people shoes and I’ve been known to argue one side of an argument over a few beers, and once I’ve convinced my drinking buddy to agree with my position, I turn around and argue the opposite side and bring him right back to where they started. It’s an annoying habit, but it can be fun.
In my book Rise of Empire Royce Melborn is arguing with Hadrian Blackwater about the notion of absolutes. They are discussing how an object (in this case a dagger) appears differently when viewed from different perspectives. Hadrian concludes that neither perception is correct, but Royce has a different take: that both are right. He goes on to say, “One truth doesn’t refute another. Truth doesn’t lie in the object, but in how we see it.” In other words, two people can have completely different opinions and yet they can both be “right.” The problem, as I see it, is that most believe that if they are “right” then the other opinion must be “wrong.” I believe in dualities.
But getting back to the writing of Hollow World, from a logical point of view, I shouldn’t have written it. I knew it would be a tough sell to publishers, and it may never find an audience. But I don’t care. I love the way the book came out and if the only people who ever love it are my wife and myself, well then that’s enough for me.
After reading the book my agent told me she loved it (okay so that’s three, but in some respects she is paid to love my work), and then she said what I already knew, which is it will be a hard sell. If she could get an offer, it wouldn’t be for much. No new news there. She sent the book to Orbit. My editor echoed Teri’s opinion…“Great book. No market. We’ll have to pass…and oh, by the way, why isn’t Michael working on the next fantasy series?”
In many ways the rejection was a relief. I had been wanting to do some self-publishing for a while. This isn’t to say I’m turning my back on traditional publishing…remember I’m a believer in dualities. And while much of the publishing landscape is waging a religious war between traditional and self-publishing, I probably understand better than most (because I’ve done both) that there are pros and cons to each. Truth be told, I had every intention on self-publishing The Riyria Chronicles but Orbit’s offer was more than I thought I could make through self-publishing, so I signed a contract for it.
So anyway, I had gotten it into my head that I would self-publish Hollow World, but there was a miscommunication and my agent had submitted the book to another publisher after Orbit passed it over. They loved it (that’s what, four now?), and made a nice five-figure offer. Robin ran the numbers, and determined that I could still earn more with Hollow World through self-publishing so I turned it down.
For those that don’t know, I originally self-published the first five books of The Riyria Revelations and then later the series was sold to Orbit. While our self-published books were quality products, they were also produced on a shoestring budget. I did all the covers, Robin was the main editor, and we paid a few hundred dollars to freelance copy editors. We’ve always had the philosophy that if you are going to self-publish a book, you need to have a product equal to what New York is releasing.
Having published The Riyria Revelations and The Riyria Chronicles traditionally, we had experienced the “New York” process. We wanted to use the same professionals that had worked on those projects (see the acknowledgements for full details), and so we discarded the shoestring approach to have Hollow World produced just as if it had come out of New York. We estimated needing about $6,000 for cover art and editing. Having seen several authors successfully use Kickstarter, it seemed like a good way to raise cash to fund the startup costs.
We made launched the Kickstarter with a goal of $3,000. The thought being that we would contribute half the money and the readership the other half. Plus I thought $3,000 was a reachable goal but $6,000 would be a stretch. If the funding failed, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, we could always get a small business loan or take the money out of our nest egg, but I didn’t want to have the failure around my neck like an albatross. It turns out that my fear wasn’t warranted as the generous Kickstarter supporters gave $30,857. I can’t say enough good things about the people who funded the project—more about them in the acknowledgements.
So Hollow World w
as going to be released, but there were still a few problems. I have had great success in the audio book world and I wanted my fans who “listen” to the book to be able to get Hollow World as well. Usually audio books are sold by the publisher as a subsidiary right (keeping 50% in the process…ouch!) but I had no publisher. Luckily my audio book publisher read and loved Hollow World (what’s that, five now?) and were willing to sign it even without a big-publisher attached. What’s more they gave me four times the money as for The Riyria Revelations and I get 100% of the royalty earned rather than splitting with a traditional publisher. Double win!
Signing the audio book rights got my wife to thinking. Our problem with traditional publishers were that they brought no added value to ebooks and took three times the money. But when it comes to print, they actually have tremendous value. They get the books in to bookstores and libraries, and their share of profits is much more reasonable than the standard division with ebooks. Plus, the rights revert much more cleanly when dealing with just print. Once all the books are sold, you are indeed “out of print” and the rights revert. What we really needed was a print-only deal.
If you’ve ever been to an online forum where self-published writers talk to one another you hear this a lot: “I’ll never sell my ebook book rights, but if a publisher wants the print rights, I’d sell those.” This is great line to throw out, but unless you are REALLY ingrained in publishing you don’t realize just how ludicrous a statement this is. Publishers don’t work this way. They know that the biggest share is going to come from ebooks and they aren’t willing to settle for just half that pie. They want it all and that means all the contracts are for combined print, ebook, and usually audio as well.
There have only been a few print-only deals, and all of them from authors with a huge number of sales. The first was Bella Andre in October 2012 (just a year ago) when Harlequin paid her seven figures. In December 2012 Hugh Howey got one from Simon & Schuster. Then in January 2013 Colleen Hoover (another huge-selling romance author) got a print-only deal from Atria (imprint of Simon & Schuster). The only other print-only deals I know about were done by Brandon Sanderson who kept the ebook rights to two novellas: The Emperor’s Soul and Legion.
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