Books

Books
Books written by Ray Sullivan

Tuesday 22 May 2012

Createspace Titles Printed in UK and EU

I know I said I wouldn't blog until after the summer, and to be honest it's been pleasant getting back to just writing my fiction.  But boy, it's been a tough week to not blog what with the Facebook IPO (I didn't buy any shares, BTW, but if you've followed my blogs over the last few months you shouldn't be surprised) and then the  revelation that Waterstones, a premier UK bookseller, is swinging behind the Kindle.  Now that's a story that caught me out!

I nearly cracked when I read about Waterstones. It's been rumoured for a while now that they would swing behind the Barnes & Noble Nook eReaders, but now it seems that B & N's alliance with Microsoft has changed both the playing field and Waterstones' opinion as very recently they were highly critical of Amazon's apparent world dominance of all things book related.  Perhaps the $300 million Microsoft invested in B&N changed their strategy, or maybe Waterstones just had a change of heart?

However, it was the email from Createspace I opened an hour ago that finally tipped me out of summer retirement.  Because now Createspace books can be printed in the United Kingdom and Europe.  This has been a critical gap in the Createspace model for some time - they print your books to a fine standard, you have great control over the process but you have to pay international shipping charges and find yourself a hostage to the various postal services between the US and the UK, with Germany's DHL somehow finding itself literally if not geographically in the middle!

So, how hard is it to enable?  Well, not hard at all.  You need to provide Createspace with some banking information that you should be able to get from your bank.  My bank, HSBC, provides the information on their paper statements so I was able to provide it to Createspace in minutes, however I'm not convinced all banks provide the same information so readily.

The information you will need, assuming you already publish with Createspace in the US, is the International Bank Account Number (IBAN) which you will recognise as your normal account number combined with the bank sort code along with some code letters that identify the bank itself.  You will also need your Branch Identifier Code which I guess is the unique code that identifies your bank branch.  I'm not sure how that works for many banks in this virtual banking world we live in, but luckily for me I've retained at least one real branch, even if it is on the opposite side of the country.

Once you have provided that information you have to edit the channels for each of your books - there doesn't appear to be a one-stop shop for multiple books, but don't worry, despite being a tad repetitive, the process doesn't take long.  It's also a good opportunity to review your book pricing.  Initially each book is shown with the US price you set previously with the UK and Euro equivalent prices based on it.  You also get to see how much of the price will be paid in royalties for each region.

You can decouple your UK and EU prices from the US price, which is probably the right thing to do.  It's actually a facility I'd like to see Amazon (and Smashwords, Apple, etc) adopt for eBooks as pegging to the US prices is a bit artificial.

I've opted to price all of my books to end in 99 (cents or pence) in line with normal bookselling protocols.  For example, I've set Digital Life Form at $7.99, £5.99 and 6.99 Euros.  Now all I have to do is wait for them to appear in the various UK and EU Amazon bookstores.


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I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan
or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $7.99
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $5.99

The Journeymen is available for $8.99

Skin is available for $9.99

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books.

To View My books In....

Sunday 13 May 2012

Project: Evil - The Christmas Party part 3

 ‘I’m off to shoot the runner up on the Elimination Karaoke, shoot the DJ once he’s finished playing all my requests, shoot the tribute band once they’ve finished their set and shoot the airship captain once he’s finished his drinking.
‘That’s unreasonable,’ said Daw, checking the company position on shooting contractors, but finding that it was actually considered reasonable, even mandatory.  ‘By all accounts he’ll have dropped us off and be halfway home before he stops drinking.’  O’Feld shrugged, at least it freed up his diary a little.

A distraught looking engineer joined them, his shirt open at the neck, his tie trailing low on his shirt, a pencil lodged firmly behind his ear.

‘They’ve added a four by two metre stainless steel table inside the rocket,’ he said. Brian shrugged as best he could in a bullet proof tuxedo.

‘Sorry about that, the workshop manager fitted it to facilitate site meetings before NoDangerStyleUK fitted the windows. Then he found he couldn’t get it out, something about the windows having an anti-jumping restraint on the hinges,’ he said. The engineer turned purple and started waving sheaves of paper showing complicated calculations on it.

‘This is a four stage rocket with motors designed for three, carrying four henchpersons and fifty thousand armadillo droppings instead of a box of experimental mice. And now you introduce an additional stainless steel table four hours before we ship to the South Seas. Have you any idea what this does to my calculations?’ he asked. Brian scanned the calculations carefully.

‘So, you need to get another pot of beige paint?’ he said, handing the engineer the paper bundle back.
‘What do you think?  We can't let an unpainted stainless steel table blast off into space.  To cap it all, B & Q are shut until the morning,’ ranted the engineer, storming back to the party.

‘Will engineer blood do as a substitute?’ asked O’Feld.
Two hours later found the senior team sat amid a pile of slaughtered henchmen. Not drunk, just slaughtered.  Daw sighed, he had less than an hour to recruit, train and deploy fifty replacements, it was past midnight and he was pissed; but it was the raffle prize to thank for that.  It was O’Feld’s raffle prize to thank for the slaughtered henchmen, actually, as well.  As Christmas parties went, it was a pretty good result.  O’Feld blew the smoke emanating from the barrel of the machine gun he’d won in the raffle, looking really pleased.
‘Right,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘what’s the order of play?’  Brian looked at the list he’d prepared, then at the machine gun.  He hoped O’Feld still had some bullets left, he’d rather hoped that O’Feld would have waited for the Secret Santa, which of course was why he’d arranged for it to be first prize. He looked around the group.  Froshdu was still there, not because of the Secret Santa – he’d only be interested in that if the fat fella in the red suit was being spit roasted and served in pitta bread.  He was still there because he’d found the stash of food Brian had hidden, the food the Head of Catering had supplied.  The Head of Catering was also there, eying the parcel in front of him cautiously, and reasonably given that he’d found out that Brian had supplied it.  O’Feld was there, of course, impatiently fiddling with the paper wrapping provided by the EVIL Officer and Daw sat next to him, nervously.  Daw was always nervous when he was sat next to O’Feld and O’Feld was opening a parcel – if it didn’t explode, then usually O’Feld did.  Finally, his face a picture of enthusiasm, sat the EVIL Officer.  Daw decided to open his parcel first.
‘Oh, it’s a dice,’ he said, holding the cube up.
‘Strictly, a die,’ corrected O’Feld. ‘I thought that was appropriate,’ he gloated.  Daw examined the die, read the six faces in turn.
‘Kill, Maim, Kill, Maim, Kill, Maim and Kill,’ he read.  ‘I really could have done with this last week when recruiting for the Charity Liaison Officer post, bloody do-gooders,’ he said, slipping the die into his pocket.  Froshdu picked his parcel up and ate it without removing the wrapping.  Daw’s jaw dropped; when he’d bought the leather shoes he really thought Froshdu would like them.  On his feet, not in his stomach.
‘A bit chewy,’ grumbled Froshdu, burping, ‘but very tasty.  Loafers?’ he asked.  Daw nodded, it had seemed an appropriate name for a present for Froshdu.  The EVIL Officer opened his parcel gingerly, trying to work out who had bought it for him.  So was Brian.
‘A kilo of raw beef?’ he said as he held the dripping meat in front of him.  ‘I don’t eat raw meat,’ he said, looking suddenly at the Head of Catering.  Before he could react, Froshdu grabbed the meat and tucked in.
‘That’s what I was hoping,’ he said, biting off a sizable chunk.  Brian did a quick head count and realised that he and the Head of Catering had bought each other presents.  Both men set their parcels aside, both hoping theirs wasn’t on a time switch.
‘Can I open mine now?’ asked an excited O’Feld.
‘Sure,’ answered Brian, adding, ‘would you like me to hold your machine gun for you?’  O’Feld pulled at the wrapping paper excitedly while Brian ensured there was a fresh round in the breach.  He’d taken the liberty of writing the EVIL Officer’s name on the bullet.  He really hoped the prat had taken his advice, and when O’Feld held the book up, he knew he had.
‘The wisdom of Doktor Negatif?’ asked O’Feld, turning the book around and reaching for the machine gun.  The EVIL Officer obviously hadn’t picked up on O’Feld’s anger as he nodded enthusiastically.
‘Look inside,’ he said, reaching over.  O’Feld glowered as the man pulled the book open, revealing two hundred and twenty blank pages save for the first page, which had a signature in it.
‘No wisdom, and I even got him to sign it,’ said the EVIL Officer, leaning back.  O’Feld roared at the joke.
‘Brian, put that in the library in the secret island lair,’ he said, passing the book to Brian.
‘Library?  What library?’ he asked, only to be greeted with the look he’d expected the EVIL Officer to have received.  There was only one room that he could convert at short notice to a library.  It looked like he was joining the other managers in podworld.

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The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

If you've enjoyed this chapter of Project: Evil then check out the blog every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday as the story unfolds and, if you haven't done so already, why not follow the blog.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com for details)
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $6.

The Journeymen is available for $9


For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books


Saturday 12 May 2012

The Last Post - For Now

Over a year ago I started blogging - it was a voyage of discovery as I hadn't really looked at blogs myself up until that point and I freely admitted that I didn't understand the attraction.  Look back on my blog list to 'The Inaugural Blog' if you need reminding.  My rationale was that all the advice to self publishers at that time was that you needed to maintain a public presence using blogs and social media to let people know about your books. BTW, I didn't understand the social media bit either.

So I created this blog and initially posted intermittently.  Then, over a meal in the Lake District while on holiday with my wife last September, while regaling gags I'd made in the 'Da Dan Brown Code' that I'd been playing with for a few years, on and off, I decided I'd publish it on the blog over a period of months.  This was probably a brave (for that, read foolish) idea as I hadn't actually completed the story at that time.  However I started posting 'Da Dan Brown Code' twice a week initially and for some, unexplained reason I haven't worked out to date, I determined to blog daily seven days a week.  I guess it seemed a good idea at the time.

Anyhow, I finished 'Da Dan Brown Code', now published and available for free through Smashwords, Apple, Kobo, WH Smith and other good eBook storees (but $0.99 on Amazon for technical reasons that provide you with  a way to recompense me, should you ever feel the need, and embarked on serialising another comedic book I'd started some time ago, Project: Evil.  Now that book is twice the length it was when I started blogging it and it is almost finished.  Which strictly means it isn't finished.

I've also noticed that the daily blogging is putting a strain on my writing.  Project: Evil isn't finished and although I know the way forward, I have other pressures on my time (I hate to mention that I have a day job as the handful of eBooks sold so far do not allow me to live off my writing).  For one, I want to finish the sequel to The Journeymen.  Apart from a sense of completion, I'd love to know how the story ends up - that's how I write stories of the sort that I enjoy reading, I write them without knowing the ending until, well, the end.  In addition I have another book, currently titled 'Assassin' that looks at a future UK following the worst terrorist atrocity to hit the UK mainland.  It's been in production for five years and is so dark that I can only write a thousand words at a time before putting it aside.

So I'm taking a break from the blog, which won't affect the millions of blog readers assiduously avoiding it, however it may affect the small but dedicated number of readers who have tuned in on a regular basis (thanks for your patronage).  If I stumble across an eBook related story that needs pushing out further, then I may write an occasional blog, but otherwise I don't intend posting again until after the summer, perhaps the autumn.  I will post the end of Project: Evil on the blog before publishing the story on Amazon, Smashwords etc.  Promise.  Just not promising when.  Most of the remainder is already written, including a very funny part where Bund attacks the secret facility, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait for that.  I could post what is written already, but as I'm in the final stages of the story, it will make more sense to post it as a final set of posts.

So, for my regular readers, au revoir.  For anyone else stumbling across this blog - welcome, see you in the fall.

Friday 11 May 2012

Project: Evil - The Christmas Party part 2

 ‘Thank God for that.  He may be critical to the success of this project, but he’s one greedy bastard,’ he said.  ‘How is he suddenly a secret weapon?  Do I roll him over the opposing teams?’  Brian shook his head.
‘He’s a walking talking encyclopedia for music questions.  He knows every piece of trivia about the music industry that exists,’ he said.  O’Feld looked confused, held up the sheets of paper Brian had passed him.
‘Why should that matter?  I’ve got the answers,’ he said.  Brian shrugged.
‘I’m contractually obliged to provide you with the information you need to run your business,’ Brian said, quoting an article he’d read in the Telegraph.  Admittedly it was part of a strip cartoon, but, hey, it was the Telegraph.  O’Feld raised his bushy eyebrows, so Brian had to continue. ‘And you never read instructions, even when the success of a project depend on it.  Believe me, you need Froshdu at your side in the quiz.’  O’Feld seemed satisfied with this explanation, so he decided to look for a project update.  ‘When do we leave for the South Seas?’ he asked.  Brian looked at his watch.
‘Straight after the party, the airship’s moored outside ready to roll.  Pilot’s getting smashed on the two-fers and his crew are unfit to stand already.’
Is that wise?’ asked Daw.  ‘Those airship crew can drink one hell of a lot and the bar tab has been calculated on our normal consumption.
‘Good point, Daw,’ said O’Feld, nodding to Brian, ‘we’d better double the tab, there’s no way I’m flying in an airship crewed by drunken pilots with emerging hangovers.  Best we keep them sloshed,’ he added.  Brian nodded as he scribbled a note in his pad.
‘Is he good, the captain?’ asked Daw, aware that he hadn’t been involved in the recruitment.
‘The best, used to work cruise liners off the coast of Italy.  It seems he’s struggled to get regular work lately, so this was a peach of a job for him,’ said Brian, tapping his nose.  Daw looked satisfied, so Brian returned to fussing over the buffet, picking up a handful of sandwiches and placing them to one side.  He fished a laminated sign from his pocket and placed it in front of the food provided by the Head of Catering.
‘Gluten Free?’ asked O’Feld, puzzled.  ‘I thought the whole buffet was free,’ he explained.  Brian didn’t look up, just tidied up the arrangement.
‘It’s a health thing, the second but one bullshit to replace hyperactivity,’ he explained.  ‘Nearly overtook assumed dyslexia as an explanation for thick kids, the one generally used by the thick parents providing the genetic seeds,’ he continued.  O’Feld was more confused; most of his henchmen were thick and proud, and lying about anything was a company requirement.
‘So, this gluten thing, is it common?’ he asked as Brian placed an extremely attractive chocolate cake in the gluten free area, one Brian had found with his name on, in the Head of Catering’s handwriting.
‘Nope, we only have one person who has insisted on a gluten free buffet,’ he said, looking pleased with his efforts.
‘The EVIL Officer?’ asked Daw.
‘I thought we’d had him killed?’ asked O’Feld, irritated that his instruction had been ignored.  Brian shuffled nervously.
‘He pulled your name in the Secret Santa, nobody else wanted that gig,’ blurted Brian.  O’Feld’s eyes lit up.
‘I’d forgotten about that, when is it?’ he asked.
‘Just before we cast off,’ replied Brian, biting into a sausage roll.  O’Feld looked at Daw, who was grinning maniacally.
‘Which evil bastard arranged it so that he got my Secret Santa?’ he asked, impressed that someone in the organization could see how a difficult situation could be avoided while obeying an instruction, even if a little late.  At least he would have the opportunity to pull the trigger himself.
‘It was his last request, to be allowed to draw a name for the Secret Santa,’ answered Daw, looking at his fingernails, knowing what the next question would be – O’Feld never read policies.
‘We grant last requests?’ he said, incredulous.  Daw shook his head.
‘No, policy says we have to give them the opportunity to make the last request, the same policy insists we ignore it.  It’s just a bit of fun,’ he answered.
‘But?’ asked O’Feld.
‘But when he drew your name out, I felt it only reasonable that we allow it.’  O’Feld looked satisfied.  As far as he was concerned policies were rules and O’Feld Industries’ rule number one was that rules were for breaking.  Except rule number one, of course.
‘So, what’s he got me?’ asked O’Feld, absently slipping a dum-dum round into the chamber of the gun he’d found slipped into his hand, wondering who it had come from.
‘What does it matter?’ asked Brian, wiping gun oil down the front of his tux, ‘it’s unlikely to be suitable,’ he said.
‘You provided him with guidance, didn’t you?’ asked Daw, impressed.  Members of staff who provided untrue and erroneous information to work colleagues was not only despicable, it was an essential trait in Human Resources departments; when this project was over, he could have a senior role for Brian.  O’Feld had had enough of the chit-chat; more importantly, he’d filled his pockets with buffet.

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The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

If you've enjoyed this chapter of Project: Evil then check out the blog every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday as the story unfolds and, if you haven't done so already, why not follow the blog.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com for details)
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $6.

The Journeymen is available for $9


For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books


Wednesday 9 May 2012

Project: Evil - The Christmas Party part 1

Brian fussed around the tables, carefully removing anything the Head of Catering had provided and replacing it with food provided by Dodgy and Flakey.  He looked up as Daw approached.
‘How are the arrangements?’ asked Daw, eying the food carefully.
‘Tribute band warming up, disco ready to roll, armour plated glass fitted to all the photo-copiers,’ replied Brian.  It was all pretty standard Christmas party preparations.  Daw looked at the photocopiers lined up against the wall.
‘The docket said the glass was one inch thick instead of the normal half inch?’ he said, questioning Brian.
‘Froshdu,’ answered Brian, not looking up.  Daw nodded; he’d forgotten about him.  Which reminded him to scoop some food up before the greedy bastard turned up.
‘How come they have handles on the upper surface?’ he asked, hoping his lack of engineering knowledge didn’t make him look more stupid than senior management usually did.  Brian looked at the row of photocopiers, their lids raised off one side by the gold effect plastic handles.
‘NoDangerStyleUK supplied the glass, a very good price but apparently they don’t know how to make glass panels without handles.  Our gain and some poor sod in Chippenham’s loss, apparently,’ he answered, returning to filtering out the food provided by the Head of Catering.
‘I saw an ambulance leaving as I arrived,’ Daw said, pushing sausages on a stick into his jacket pocket. Brian continued fussing over the table while he answered.
‘A henchman set off a party popper in a room full of other henchmen,’ he said.
‘And he’s still alive?’ asked Daw, shaking his head.  He really had to get a grip on the induction training if henchmen were still making that mistake.
‘Nah, but the Ambulance Service haven’t had a pay rise in over three years – as a Christmas gesture we let them take the body away to weigh it in for the lead content,’ answered Brian.
‘What’s the order of play then?’ asked Daw fiddling with his bow tie and pulling his bullet proof vest down neatly.  Brian looked up.
‘The Elimination Karaoke is underway right now, in fact the first two losers were added to the ambulance, and then we have the Christmas quiz and buffet, followed by the raffle…’
‘Raffle?’ asked Daw, searching his memory for a policy that allowed staff to receive rewards independent of ability, virtue or rank, not that there was any policy that allowed them to receive rewards based on ability, virtue or rank either.  Brian understood the look.
‘It’s fixed, of course.  You get the bottle of single malt and O’Feld gets first prize,’ Brian said, to Daw’s approval.
‘Make sure it isn’t primed, otherwise we’ll all be blown to smithereens before the end of the party,’ he cautioned.  Suddenly they both became aware that the door had opened and O’Feld had entered, stirring his arms in opposite directions.
‘Techno, techno techno prisoners,’ he sang as he approached the two men, a drink in both hands.  ‘Brian, great Christmas party’, he said, slurping from one drink, then the other.  Brian just assumed the second one was the antidote.  ‘I’ve only one negative observation; timing.  It’s late January,’ he pointed out.  Brian shrugged: projects, it’s just the way they go, he guessed.
‘It’s been run on PRINCE2 lines,’ he explained.
‘According to the Head of Finance you’re on budget,’ accused Daw.  Brian felt a little uncomfortable; he’d tried to overspend, but Dodgy and Flakey were so damned reasonable, plus they had some poison left over from a corporate gig.
‘OK, so I’ve missed one of the three critical points, but it is late and I’m sure it won’t deliver to specification,’ he blustered.  And I’ve included a project office in the main building, according to PRINCE2, lavishly furnished project offices are both unnecessary and divisive.  If that doesn’t screw the budget and alienate the workforce, nothing will,’ he said.  Brian had been looking forward to occupying his office, lording it up over the other managers in his air conditioned space while they sweltered in their pod world outside.  O’Feld seemed satisfied with the answer and turned to leave, halting briefly.
‘The Christmas quiz?’ he asked, holding his monocle up to the light.
‘Ready when you are,’ answered Brian, fumbling inside his bullet-proof tuxedo, pulling the sheet of questions and answers out.
‘Is that my copy?’ asked O’Feld, sweat beading on his brow, concern that he’d have to shoot his project manager on the eve of travelling to the South Seas.  Luckily for Brian, he didn’t try to mess O’Feld around.
‘Sure,’ he said, handing the sheets over. O’Feld scanned the pages quickly before slipping them inside his tux, ‘it has all the answers on and don’t forget your secret weapon.’  O’Feld looked up suddenly.
‘Secret weapon?  That sounds like my kind of quiz,’ he said, wondering how many bullets it would hold.
‘Doctor Froshdu,’ clarified Brian.  O’Feld’s eyes showed panic, causing Brian to explain the rest of his strategy.  ‘I’ve told him to arrive at eight, food’s being served at seven thirty,’ he said, watching O’Feld’s face relax.


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The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

If you've enjoyed this chapter of Project: Evil then check out the blog every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday as the story unfolds and, if you haven't done so already, why not follow the blog.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com for details)
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $6.

The Journeymen is available for $9


For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books


Sunday 6 May 2012

Project: Evil - Another Flaming Friday Brunch part 2

 ‘So, what’s your proposal?’O’Feld asked, leaning back in his seat.
‘An employee incentives scheme,’ replied Daw, checking his notes.  A dark cloud passed over O’Feld’s face.
‘What’s wrong with the current incentives scheme, the one where we promise not to kill anyone who still has some use?’
‘It’s fallen out of popularity since you had the scheme manager shot.’  O’Feld shrugged.
‘I just said that I wanted him to nominate a bunch of henchpersons for slaying, and he said “over my dead body”. So I just fulfilled his wish; that’s what a caring boss does for his managers,’ said O’Feld, running a thumb absently along a conveniently accessible cutlass, drawing blood.  Unfortunately Daw’s.
‘Well, we think a real incentive scheme, one that provides employees with hope, is a good idea,’ said Daw, sucking his thumb.
‘We?’ asked O’Feld suspiciously.
‘Brian and me,’ replied Daw looking intently at his thumb, adding, ‘or just me if you think it’s a really good idea,’ he said, enjoying the taste.  I don’t suppose you could...’ he asked, holding his other thumb out.  O’Feld shook his head; it was against his principles to please his employees.
‘So, what’s this idea?’ he asked, looking directly at Brian.
‘Well, it’s to do with the upcoming Christmas party,’ said Brian, watching O’Feld’s eyes light up.
‘Go on,’ said O’Feld, excitement in his eyes.
‘Well, I thought,’ said Brian, interrupted by a cough from Daw, ‘We thought...’
‘As long as you like the idea,’ interjected Daw, adding, ‘because if you don’t, it’s his idea.’  Brian continued.
‘...that we could offer premium places in the buffet queue to the top performing employees,’ continued Brian, trying to read O’Feld’s face.  For a moment he thought he could read “obituary”, which was a bit of a concern.
‘Why would that be an incentive?  I might be a mad, bad, mean bastard, but I always make sure there’s enough food for everyone at the Christmas do,’ he said, looking to the Head of Catering for support.
‘Strictly, enough for the survivors,’ the catering lead clarified, adding, ‘don’t forget we always hold the Elimination Karaoke first.’  O’Feld’s eyes watered as he relished the only singing contest that saw the losers shot – it was so good an idea that Simon Cowell had bought the rights not realising that the idea had been stolen from him initially.
‘OK, but given that we always provide more than enough food for the survivors, why would employees be driven to work harder just to get first crack at his buffet?’ he asked, nodding at the Head of Catering.  Brian ignored the evil steely stare from the Head of Catering as he replied.
‘Because Doctor Froshdu is on the senior management quiz team, and we always get first crack at the food,’ he said, watching O’Feld’s eyes turn to fear.
‘Oh my god, that’s so evil,’ he said, trying to remember if protocol insisted that he had his portion before everyone else.  Then he remembered that recent tradition determined he didn’t, but he liked the way Brian was thinking.  ‘So I don’t have to order employees to act as food tasters for me this year, instead they’ll work their arses off for a chance to test the food for poison?  That is absolutely brilliant,’ he said, pulling a rubber stamp out of his jacket pocket.  ‘Here, pass me some more of those bogus expense claims,’ he insisted.  Daw turned to Brian as he slipped an expense claim for a fictitious journey under O’Feld’s nose.
‘I told you he’d love it,’ he said.  Brian shrugged; he’d survived, that was enough.
‘How did you know he’d go for it?’ he asked, pulling his expense claim for a bar of bullion and changing the quantity to two.
‘Two years ago a henchman, er henchperson,’ Daw said, looking nervously at the Diversity Lead, who was glaring at him, ‘pushed in front of him and promptly died from poisoning.  Same thing happened last year too,’ he said, picking up the expense form and slipping it in his pocket.  ‘Kind of set the tradition,’ he said.  The Head of Catering glowered.
‘It was a new recipe; we’ve learned to test them out in the canteen first now,’ he said defensively, a blush rising on his cheeks.  ‘Anybody can make a mistake,’ he added.
‘Two years running?’ asked Daw, shaking his head. ‘Strictly, company policy expects senior managers to achieve a much higher hit rate than that.’
‘What was the dish that poisoned both times?’ asked Brian, fishing through the remains of the Friday buffet, hooking out a salmon sandwich, taking a bite as he waited for the Head of Catering to reply.
‘The one you’re eating,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear as Brian reached for a bucket.  From within the confines of the steel cone he heard O’Feld continue with the meeting.
‘I understand you have a policy report to make, Daw,’ he said, ripping the agenda up, indicating that it was the last item to be considered.  Daw addressed the meeting.
‘We’ve been instructed by a Non Governmental Organisation to provide details of the induction safety training we provide to child labour uninhabitants at our overseas manufacturing facilities,’ he said, looking at an official looking sheet of paper. ‘It’s a minefield,’ he added.
‘What? Are you going all “moral hazard” on us, Daw?’ asked O’Feld, impatiently, crooking his fingers over “moral” and “hazard”, wondering who the hell voted for these NGOs anyway. Daw looked surprised.
‘No, that’s the induction safety training I was reading out,’ he explained, adding, ‘“It’s a minefield” is the standard instruction, as we don’t want the uninhabitant kids to play there,’ he said.
‘You don’t encircle the minefield with barbed wire?’ asked Brian incredulously, removing his head from the bucket.  Daw looked horrified.
‘How would they get back to their accommodation?’ he asked.  Brian nodded; he hadn’t thought of that.  O’Feld stood up, pushed his pens in his pocket, grabbed his rubber stamp and made to leave.
‘Never mind their accommodation, you cruel bastard,’ he said to Daw as he passed.  ‘They’re children, for God’s sake.  Don’t you know how dangerous barbed wire is to kids?’

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The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

If you've enjoyed this chapter of Project: Evil then check out the blog every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday as the story unfolds and, if you haven't done so already, why not follow the blog.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com for details)
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $6.

The Journeymen is available for $9

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books

Saturday 5 May 2012

Splitting the Indifference

Have you ever listened to natural conversations recorded without the people talking knowing about it?  It's the kind of jape kids used to do with their first cassette tape recorders, probably still do, but with an iPhone these days.  Apart from the incessant rustling of clothes, people coughing, chairs dragging on the kitchen tiles, the recordings are often full of ems, ahs, and thingymajigs.

The reality of it all is that natural speech is actually quite unnatural.  While a few of us (not, incidentally, including myself) are endowed with absolute clarity of thought transferred to pitch perfect delivery, most of us find ourselves wandering from one rambling thought to another from time to time.  While some of us say pacific when we mean specific, others mix up their iPod with someone else's iPad.  And then there are the sentences that just fade away, as if the speaker forgot what he was sayi.....  Where was I?

The reality is, though, that we are really quite good at filling in the gaps in natural speech.  Sure, we don't always get it right - British soap operas would lose fifty percent of their plot-lines if their characters didn't second guess words incorrectly!  But miss a flaming comma out of written speech, and you can expect to be hauled over the coals.  Pop one in where it isn't welcome and you can expect to be cast out into the cold.  Don't ask about the punishment for misplaced apostrophes - note, not apostrophe's!

OK, I may be a little touchy, I've just spent a lot of my free time lately proofing my five novels for the Createspace printing run and although the number of typos and grammatical errors have been relatively small in number, it was also a little disappointing.  To be fair, I've found that my writing style has changed over the last ten years and consequently, as I read through Parallel Lives, both the first book I wrote and the fifth I've proofed, I've realised that I punctuate differently these days. 

However, there is one writing trick I don't have to resort to these days, and that's the artificially split infinitive trick I developed while in the RAF.  My last role before I left the airforce was to write specifications to obtain project funding for sexy engineering equipment for use in aircraft engineering training, then to act as project liaison through to introduction to Service.  OK, sexy might be a tad subjective, but I did help secure funding for gear that has helped hundreds, possibly thousands, of technicians understand aircraft hydraulics (if you look carefully you will see a much younger me hiding behind a student in one photo) and flying control technology.  Some of the bids were in the million pound plus range and went through a robust vetting process, however at the other end of the scale there were pots of cash looking for an application to be spent on (remember, this was definitely pre credit crunch).  The trick was to have arguments written up and costed, waiting for the inevitable question - 'have you anything you need that will cost x pounds?'

For the strongest project bids, it was generally a painless process, however there was often a raft of project ideas that were harder to make a robust argument for.  The problem was, and probably still is, that the people holding the budgets often didn't have as strong a grasp on the technological merits, and could pass over a bid that didn't strike them as deserving.  Obviously, good writing coupled with strong arguments are key, but I had a secret weapon based on a weakness of the Officer training machine.

In the RAF, Officers are taught a lot of new skills, including how to read and write.  Sorry, I meant to include 'reports correctly' at the end of that  last sentence.  They are especially trained to check the written reports and project bids coming from the non-commissioned airmen.  They are also taught to check any report and keep on checking until they find a fault with it - it's a supremacy thing, I guess.  One part of their reading and writing training revolves around the split infinitive.  US readers can stop reading here as you dismissed the split infinitive to the garbage pile decades ago, correctly, I must say, however British military Officers and some academics still believe that it is more correct that Captain Kirk goes boldly rather than to boldly go. 

So, when compiling some of  my more dubious bids I would deliberately split an infinitive early on in my report.  Sure enough, I'd be summoned, have the offending split infinitive pointed out - circled in red usually - and once I'd resubmitted the amended report with the infinitive restored the bid would be signed off. 

If you're currently attempting to get a report past a British Officer, you might want to look at this article.



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I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan
or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com for details)
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $6.

The Journeymen is available for $9

Skin is available for $10

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books.

To View My books In....