The novel is complete. Finally. “Fresh Squeezed” is a Comedic Thriller that my coauthor, Bonnie Biafore, and I wrote about a former Mafia hitman who went into the Federal Witness Protection Program and built himself a new life in eastern Washington State, a place to which I have still never been. Notwithstanding the factual disadvantage this puts me at, I think we have crafted an entertaining tale of maliciousness, mishap, and mayhem that will provide our readers with hour of diversion and giggles.

But first.

There’s this little problem with the first couple of sentences; that all important segment of the narrative which, at once, has to set the tone of the book and absolutely, thoroughly, and completely convince the reader that 1) they should keep reading and 2) they didn’t waste the $2.99 (eBook) or $12.99 (paperback) once they get to the parts in the middle where we got lazy and just phoned it in. Because, right now, the first sentence sucks. (Not to worry because I just wrote yet another first sentence that was so compelling it had mewanting to read the book again and I’ve already read it five times.)

So that’s the challenge: How to take the reader standing by the clearance shelf in Barnes & Noble or trolling through bargains on Amazon, shake him or her by the lapels, and have them say “Yeah, I should buy this.” This is no mean feat. Over the (now) years that it’s taken us to write the book we have had no fewer than five opening chapters each of which had multiple first paragraphs in our quest to set the elusive and slippery hook in our potential readers. I imagine – not that I have any firsthand experience at it – the task would be similar to trying to meet people in a bar or going door-to-door trying to sell hemorrhoid cream. “Hi” is a given but what comes after could be the difference between a slap-on-the-face dismissal and closing the deal, if you know what I mean.

“Hi. If you were an apple I’d pick you first.” Might get you a response along the lines of: “Oh, isn’t that cute. NOT!” Whereas going for something along the lines of “Hi. Listen. My Lear is flying in from Barbados in about an hour but I have time for one drink. Can I buy you one?” would probably result in a more favorable response, even, and this is the funny part, even after you told your target audience that there really is no Lear. Sometimes, it’s not a matter of content; it’s a matter of style. Those two pick-up lines, regardless of content, are of wildly different styles and the amazing thing is that either of them would be successful.

Now, imagine for a minute what it would be like to take two people whose styles are as different as those two pick-up lines, and have them work on a creative project together. Something along the lines of putting Pablo Picasso and Andy Warhol together in a Renaissance chapel, handing them brushes, and telling them to get to work on the ceiling. That’s what it’s like to write a book with someone.

But, like Andy and Pablo would have, Bonnie and I have struggled through and are now down to one last sentence. In the end, we were able to turn the tensions and conflicts of collaboration into a complete work of a single style and packed with the things that people read books for. And, as soon as someone reads it, I’m sure we’ll find out what those things are.

After we complete our negotiations on the first sentence – there have been three rounds today with more expected tomorrow – it’ll be on to the next phase which is to actually get the book in front of you to read. This is known as “getting published” and, like many things these days, is something that is changing constantly.

The problem is these darn computers. It has become so easy to create things and distribute them widely that there are no longer any controls at all on quality, content, accuracy, fairness, wit, creativity, or talent. Despite this, the “artist” is still able to reach a global audience with “entertainment” that in the not-at-all-distant past would have been labeled “Fetid Tripe”.

It is, in short, a Golden Age for incompetent hacks such as myself. A fact in which I revel.

Unlike the producers of the one-point-five million “Funny Cat” videos on YouTube, I’d like to make a buck or two with my creative efforts. This puts some additional pressure on me because my fetid tripe also has to be sellable fetid tripe. That’s the tough part. It’s one thing to have actually written a novel but, as millions of aspiring authors the world over have discovered, quite another to actually sell it.

But that’s all changing now. As I have written about before, the publishing industry is currently in the midst of what could be described as either rebirth or death throes. Whatever comes out the far side will be as unlike traditional publishing as traditional publishing was to the legions of monks sitting around making brandy and hand copying illuminated scripts before Gutenberg had his “Ah Ha!” moment. The music industry is further along than publishing but I think that’s largely because CDs don’t have the musical equivalent of new book smell. The cause of these revolutions is the same as the reason for the surge in so-called creativity: the evil digital computer. Once you start using a computer to create something it’s just a short leap to using it to sell what you’ve created directly to people who will be using, i.e. listening to or reading, your creation on their own personal digital devices.

The people who used to be required for content distribution, agents, record companies, publishers, and local retailers are now needed about as much as a snake needs socks. And they are scared spitless. On the flip-side – you doremember what a flip-side is right? – of this are companies that have said “Jeez, look at all the money we can make.” These have jumped aboard the very bandwagon that is helping to undercut the foundation upon which they originally relied. Amazon would love to have you self-publish with them. They make it easy. If, instead of being a wannabe writer, I was a wannabe rock star, I could whip up a song this morning and have it available to billions of people worldwide by tomorrow afternoon. Isn’t iTunes great? Not if you’re a record company.

The reason that Amazon and iTunes and Barnes & Noble are embracing the new model is because they get to see the numbers. They realize that with about thirty million people walking around with Kindles, iPads, Nooks, Kobos, Galaxies, and the like that there is some serious coin to be made selling digital content even if it is fetid tripe. Because, with that kind of scale, even finding the small percentage who enjoy fetid tripe is like signing up another Lee Child or Dan Brown. And it doesn’t cost Amazon, iTunes, or B&N a dime.

That’s where we stand now. The decision we need to make is in front of us but, unfortunately, both Bonnie and I are overly analytical so I’m sure we’ll have a spreadsheet or two of pluses and minuses at some point. Losers! Exactly. In the end I think the choice will come down to whether we bet on what the future holds or decide to tie ourselves to the railing of the Titanic. When I put it that way it seems like a no-brainer until I think back to what the future was supposed to hold and suddenly, with images of flying cars leaping from the pages of Popular Science magazine, the Titanic doesn’t look so bad.

I’ll keep you posted.