This morning, my friend Dax pointed out that Touched is #7 on Amazon’s horror best seller list. WOOT! “Feel pride” was not first on my To Do list today … “be an irksome twat” was. I feel so unprepared. After I regained consciousness, I couldn’t help but wonder what my main characters would say to their author about this climb.

Marnie: Apparently, people love dingbats, dick jokes and general assholery. Who knew?

Batten:  My faith in humanity just took a major ass-reaming.

Marnie: We earned a cookie, right? Huck it over thisaway.

Harry: How preposterous, my philomel. I daresay your doggerybaw is enough to drive one perfectly mad.

Chapel: Excellent work, Allison, but let’s focus on the case at hand. *taps folder* You wrote three missing people, and it’s unsolved, so when you’re ready to stop crowing and get back to work ….

Marnie: Don’t jizz a brick, dude, Al’s busy feeling rad.

Batten: You never shut up.

Wes: Don’t let the ray of sunlight and epic angel trumpeting distract you from your fucking work, eh? Jesus.

Danika: DIE, you corpse-fluffing bitch, DIEEEEEEE!

I’ve joined the big ole Amazon KDP thingy; if you’re an indie author, you know what I mean, and if you’re not, probably you don’t give a squat. For the sake of transparency, I’m going to update this blog with naked pictures of my nipples (no, I’m not). Even more horrifyingly, I’ll update the blog with my sales numbers. The free promo started late Thursday night. So far, 1120 free copies of Touched have been downloaded. I’m not sure how many of those will be read, but I’m hopeful. The free promo ends Saturday night at midnight PST, and Touched will return to it’s regular selling price on Amazon. To be continued …

(So, in the end, 1399 copies of Touched were dowloaded for free. In the ten days following, I have sold more copies on Amazon than in the entire months of February and January combined. Conclusion: success! I am quite pleased.)

Technically, I was on the best seller list before, but hovering around #326,890 doesn’t inspire much pride. Now that I’m in the Top Ten, I’d love to say it’s about to get classy up in this joint, but we all know that’s a pile of asspatties. Let’s pretend I’m pouring my muse right back into writing and working hard on Death Rejoices like a good little writerghoulie. Truth be told, I’ll probably dump half a gallon of cherry brandy in my herbal tea and play video games for the rest of the day, and blame the snow, a “headache”, or bone-tickling bliss for my lack of wordcount. Either that, or I’ll spend six hours on Cafe Press making myself a t-shirt that says “I’m #SEVEN, BITCHES!” that only I’ll understand, and then not actually order one, because I’m still a brokeass Sentence Strangler.

Hmmm. Sentence Strangler. Maybe I’ll put that on the t-shirt I have no intention of buying.

(editor’s note: Fair warning:AJ “Avalanche of Awesomesauce” Aalto is going to be (even more) impossible to live with (than she usually is) if Touched climbs the list any further.  Don’t worry, this won’t alarm the Viking Sasquatch she lives with. Nothing does. He’s clinically unsurprisable, ever since that time he caught me folding a brownie around another brownie and trying  to force my mouth around it…)

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I love everyone and everything–but only cuz I’m kinda manic. Tomorrow, I may very well hate ALL THE THINGS *rawr* That’s the joy of being bipolar: life is never boring. While some things never leave my OMGIlovethat list, I’m finding that new ones have been cropping up, post-launch. In case anyone is still V-Day shopping for me (I’m looking at you, in the t-shirt) here’s some things I want more of:

1. My readers: Come on, who’s da cutest widdle reader? Who’s my schnoogly-woogly cuddleumpkins? YOU are. Yes, YOU ARE! *smile fades* You are because I SAY you are, and do not seek to circumvent my will, you  uppity little–oh, whoops. Heh heh. I mean… Happy V-Day, readers!

2. Dorky love songs. No, for so-seriousness! Sometimes, I have a heart. *considers this* OK, to be fair, it might only show itself for a few minutes every year, like winter-peeping rodents on Groundhog Day, but when it does, it’s totally dorky and huge, and it demands coddling. This is the point where everyone close to me, so accustomed to my prickly side, either back away in terror, or pounce and take full advantage of the rarely-seen-in-the-wild Al-snuggles. The gentle giant I married does both, one after another. *chuckle*

3. Smelly stuff. In particular, Shalimar perfume, lilacs, vanilla candles, Penhaligon’s Blenheim Bouquet, peonies, fresh ripe peaches, leather, grilling steak, wood smoke, the smell of cigarettes on a man’s lips, tea brewing, dryer sheets, gasoline, a heavy-cedar forest, fresh-turned dirt. For V-Day,  a box of fresh-turned dirt with a dryer sheet stuffed on top might not go over too well with other gals, but with me …

4. Fan mail: Definitely the newest favourite thing on my OMGIlovethat list, especially when they come with “fan service pics” like this! Whaaaaaat? Yes, that’s —->

a reader/friend who did Special Agent Mark Batten’s kill-notch tattoo hash marks on his freaking chest!  Dude! HOW HOT? Fan mail is gleefully received at aj@ajaalto.com . (Pic used with special permission…thanks again, dude!)

5. Yummy stuff: steak, spinach, squash, dark chocolate, Earl Grey tea, blueberries, and my Black Orchid martinis, the recipe for which I will now provide. You’ll wanna write this down…y’know, so you can make me one.

Black Orchid Martini: Blue Curacao, spiced rum, grenadine, 7up, splash of cranberry juice.

6. Law, order, crime, forensics, and abnormal psychology: That will never change. In fact, it may increase after I interview my new friend, whom  I will refer to as Hot Cop until I have permission to name him properly. Looking forward to harvesting all the scary, weird and amazing stuff that surely must be rattling around Hot Cop’s brain.

What are your new/old favourite things? Does Valentine’s Day make you think of treats and special treatment,of luxury and spoiling yourself or someone else rotten? Or are you one of those “This Stinkin’ Hallmark Holiday Is Bullshit Grrrrr” folks?

(editor’s note: For you, dear readers, AJ Aalto will taste test all the drinky-drunky things…because she wuvs you, and alcohol is her wing man.)

Tonight, an Evil Author Interview of a different sort … while I host Mark Everett Stone, author of “Things to Do in Denver When You’re Undead” and “What Happens in Vegas Dies in Vegas”, I don’t actually interview him. Actually, I don’t interview anyone. My main character, ex-forensic psychic and pro-derfwad Marnie Baranuik, interviews his main character, seriously badass monster hunter Kalevi Hakala, from Kal’s point of view. Buckle up!

I watched the pretty little bit of a thing burst through my office door under a full head of steam. She should be splattered all over the front lobby thanks to a couple of silver deer slugs wielded by our more than capable Receptionist, but she was in my grille instead, mouth running faster than Jesse Owens.

“Whoa right there, short stack,” I growled, hand on my Lahti 9mm, ready to draw. “You made it past Sandy, who should have stopped you with extreme prejudice, which means you know what we do here.” My Interdiction spell kept me from being specific.

The blonde said, “I told her I was here to knock some sense into you, and she said it was about time someone did. And don’t call me short stack, cockwaffle.”

“Knock some sense into me? It’s been tried and the only way I get sensible is if I get sensibly dead. You say you have questions, fine. Spit them out, then we can talk about jail time. Spill, I have a Fatburger with my name on it waiting for me.” My stomach growled, eyeing my liver for lunch.

“My name’s Marnie Baranuik. My author said YOUR author suggested that YOU and ME work a case together, but  YOU and my Harry can’t be around one another, and I’m here to make sure–”

“Whoa, Tex, I understand your confusion. Our authors couldn’t untie their shoes without us. Makes us valuable, but I don’t know any Harry, or hairy, or hare-y. I just work here. Now, if this Harry is a ‘who’ instead of a ‘what’, then if he keeps his nose clean, I won’t have to turn him into sushi.” There I go with the food metaphors again. I really was hungry.

“Sushi!” The little blonde’s nose wrinkled. “He’s not bloody Cthulhu. So, I don’t have to, like, kick your ass or anything?”

How can I ignore such a straight line? “Well, I have some other suggestions regarding my ass….”

Her response was a quicksilver smirk. “Don’t give me any ideas, hot shot. Here.” She gave me a box of Lucky Charms. “I brought this in case I had to bribe you.”

I took the leprechaun-decorated box reverently, flashing the tasty tidbit standing there looking all shamefaced one of my patented 1000 watt smiles. There are few things in life that can give such pleasure and a tasty cereal is one of them. Marnie sat oppposite, propping her red Keds up on my desk, and said,

Marnie: Can I ask you about your author, Mark Stone? Is he like, mentally unstable like my author is?

Kal: Mentally unstable? Kid, the man is three kinds of crazy and four kinds of fool for not getting professional help!

Marnie: How often does Stone write you into a scene and then *whoopah!* erases the whole thing and acts like it never happened? Do you get a lot of rewrites?

Kal: Nah, he’ll stare at the computer for hours while I sit in limbo bored outta my tree waiting for him to be all creative and inspired. Actually, I think it ‘s the caffeine that really gets his juices flowing. In the form of several cups of coffee. I mean, really…the dude must have an intestinal tract made out of asbestos. As for re-writes, about three per book is all he can stand to second guess himself.

 

Marnie: Is this him? *turns a picture on Kal’s desk* I can’t keep AJ’s picture on my desk; she’s all about the meta, sure, but she’s fuckin’ shy–hey, holy shit, your author is HOT! I mean, omg, jeez … sorry, but … wow. He’s so … *gulp* Sorry. Uh, questions. Right. Think, Marnie, think!

I raised an eyebrow, almost touching my hairline. If she thought he was handsome, then maybe it was time for me to put on the charm.

Marnie: When Stone has you out there kicking major monster ass and performing feats of insanity, does he consider your safety AT ALL? How many special skills did he give you preemptively to make sure you can get the job done without getting your ass handed to you?

Kal: He gave me SEAL training, that’s about it besides the rage that dominates my life, my ace-in-the-hole. If I wanted safe, I’d be in an Iron Man outfit. Although, come to think of it, the little turkey manages to have my ass kicked from here to the moon on a regular basis.

Marnie: How often does Stone have to go back and seed the early chapters with new skills to make sure that later in the book when some baddy pops up, you’re ready for it?

New skills? What did she think I was, a Transformer?

 

Kal: I have all the skills he had given me in the beginning, nothing new really.

Marnie: Does he reward you with sex scenes? Cuz, I’m telling you, I ain’t gettin’ nearly enough rewards: espresso, sure, but she took away my cookies, she makes me live with a cold snotty dead guy, the hot dude I wanna screw won’t do me…it’s almost like AJ hates me. Does your author do nice things for you? If so, how can I get him to write my scenes?

If she only knew…well, hell, misery loves company.

Kal: He implies sex, but you’ll never see sex. Don’t get me wrong, I get plenty of action, thank God, but it’s not between the covers of the book. And boy, doesn’t that suck the big one. But at least he doesn’t give me all sorts of relationship angst where I constantly worry about ‘Does she love me? What’s going to happen next?’ Bleh!

 

Marnie: Do you ever get exhausted that Stone throws so many complications your way, or are you as badass as you seem? Frankly, I’m exhausted just being in the same room with you.

 

Kal: It’s my job to field the crapstorm my author slings my way. Period. End o’ story. But to be honest, I need a vacation. That and some vodka and hot and cold running redheads.

Marnie: Do you ever go off-script and surprise your author, totally blindside him with something?

I laughed long and loud. Screwing with Stone was what I lived for. After all, even fiction needs some entertainment.

Kal: All the time. The fun part is watching him twitch and sweat through the logic traps. Sometimes I just lay back with some hot buttered popcorn and make a night of watching him sweat.

Marnie: He’s got you chasing shit all over the place. First Denver, then Vegas–which took you to some ODD places … well, you tell it better than I do. Where has he sent you, and where is he sending you next?

Kal: Well, as you can tell by the titles, every adventure is city based. First Denver, then Vegas by way of another world, London and Nazi-occupied France. Next is San Francisco, after that Chicago, then Omaha. Yeah, I said Omaha…thrillsville.

Marnie: Picture this: mild-mannered and slightly quirky writer sitting innocently at his desk, pounding out his daily words, and then … If YOU could be the author for a day, and write some shit to stick into Mark Stone’s life for YOUR amusement and entertainment, what would you do to the poor guy?

Good question and I had the perfect answer.

 

Kal: I’d type him rich, that way he wouldn’t be so quick to pound out these action-adventure pieces putting me in the path of far too many bullets! Rich means he’ll get lazy and maybe retire me. Then I could finally relax…” Ah, perchance to dream!

(Editor’s note: AJ Aalto–SO not pictured on the left, honest–is sick in bed with the chickenpox, so her main character, Marnie Baranuik, stepped up to the plate. You can connect with Stone on Twitter @M3verettStone or check out his website. “Things to Do In Denver When You’re Undead”, the first book in his popular dark urban fantasy series (From the Files of the BSI), can be found here.)

Well, it’s been a year of blogs from yours truly, and what have we covered? What haven’t we covered?

We talked about how Hemingway’s ghost is almost certainly trying to plonk me with coconuts. We talked about the “joys” of artistic temperment (also known as an eight ball of insecurity, insanity & desperation), grey hairs, forehead wrinkles–I swear, some days I look old enough to be my own mother–battling the various seasons of distraction, stalking your characters, stalking yourself and occassionally others (ie. my eye doctor), kicking evil in the gonads, and being 100% disorganized for most of the writing process.

We discussed what happens when this little kookpie goes on vacation with her Beta Reader In Chief, whether or not vibrators made by the Dyson guy would be see-through with tornado action, whether or not Megatron porking Smurfette would result in tiny blue badass mutant offspring or huge blue badass mutant offspring (this *is* where my brain goes when it relaxes, sorry).

We also investigated the harvesting of the best “brains” at the All Nude Male Revue at Peppermints in Niagara Falls (hubba hubba), and wrangled several fantastic indie authors in my “Taking It To The Grave” series of Evil Author Interviews. Major bonus: some of those authors are still speaking to me after this ordeal! Must be my perfume. It sure isn’t my personality.

We talked about me spouting random Finnish phrases (kaamea ilma! kaamea ilma!) some of which I can no longer translate, but all of which I enjoy saying because the musical/demonic-sounding language of my ancestors makes me happy, even if I still can’t roll the R’s in the middle of seuraavissa liikennevaloissa … “Seurrrrrrr” *tongue fail* “Dammit! Seuuurrrrr” *pauses to wipe spittle off monitor*. We covered that I am  a bipolar biologist, bookseller-bookworm, stalker-eavesdropper, peeper/groper,  unrepentant pervert, amateur writer and professional doofus.

What we didn’t discuss was outlining … mostly because, I don’t know how to outline, and have been putting off learning by using the handy-dandy, nifty-swifty “that’s not how I roll” excuse. In all honesty, I suspect my life would be a lot simpler if I did learn to outline, but I am a World Class Procrastinator when it comes to things that might punch my brain in the face.

<I’d be procrastinating right now, if I had the stamina.>

This year *pauses to take a bracing sip of tea* I’m going to attempt it: I’m going to teach myself how to outline. I even typed that whole sentence without fainting, although I might have thrown up a little in my mouth.

I am sorta kinda first-draft “finished” with my second novel, Death Rejoices. (<— Note how I’m laying facedown on the fence, there … the trick is, put one boob on either side for balance. ) My method for organizing my thoughts throughout my first and second novel looked like this:

I don’t think this is outlining. If it is, GREAT, I already do it, and I’m done and don’t need to learn anything else. However, I suspect I could do a lot better, because I still run into the “uh, now what?” problem; if I were fully outlined, I must assume that wouldn’t happen. Maybe this is naive. Maybe I’m overestimating the power of an outline. Maybe I’m underestimating my “Pantser” techniques–after all, I’ve been writing for twenty-five years, and I’ve managed to produce … oh, right. One finished book. *scuffs toe in blogland sand* Ok, so, yeah, I do need to rethink my process. (Now’s probably a good time to mention that I don’t get around to filling out my plot cards until I’m about 3/4 through writing the novel, after I get stuck and go, “Wonka wha– What happened? How am I in a rendering plant in Wyoming? Who’s Greg? And what the hairy fuck is werelichen? Is this a joke? Am I high?”)

But for book three (tentatively renamed Last Impressions) I’m using the Snowflake Method. If this doesn’t help, I’ll be touring around checking out other methods, and this is where you come in. I invite you to share your outlining methods with me, tips you’ve learned over the years to make organizing your thoughts easier. Do you use a chalk board? A cork board? A grease board (I want one of those, how FBI-chic would that be?), a series of notebooks, a voice recorder? Or are you like me: shoving notecards in my idea box, never to be seen again, and cramming random scraps of paper in toppling piles, and repeating important plot points over and over, like “don’t forget he lost his tongue, don’t forget he lost his tongue” …boy, I get some weird looks in the grocery store.

(editor’s note: AJ Aalto would like to show you the hysterical new size of the Tim Hortons XLRG hot beverage cups. Granted, my hands are wee, and therefore not the best scale to use, but the Moleskine notebook on the right hand side should give you a fair indication of just how much caffeine is on my desk. *twitch*)