Lady Scarlet eBook is LIVE on Smashwords

Thank you for all the support and kind words so far. The enthusiasm over this project has been overwhelming. I greatly appreciate all the kind words and encouragement you all have shown so far. I am grateful for the advice and help you have given me.
I am pleased to announce that the full-length novel, Lady Scarlet, is now live at Smashwords.com.

By the time Vivian realized something was strange about her necklace, she’d stolen £2,000 and boarded an international airship flight. She’s hearing thoughts and voices that aren’t hers. She’s also seeing younger versions of herself, each with a different escape plan.
Agent Jack Durnham knew something was wrong as soon as his partner and the professor they were guarding went missing. Professor Kayhill escaped protective custody and boarded that same airship. When Kayhill turns up dead, the newspapers tie Vivian to the killing and theft of a secret weapon, dubbing her “Lady Scarlet.” Her splintered mind adopts the persona of master spy.
With Lady Scarlet’s help, Vivian outfoxes a crime lord’s thug and Agent Durnham. One wants to kill her to get the weapon she doesn’t have. The second wants to arrest her and use her to catch the thug. When her childhood friend turns up working against her, Vivian doesn’t know whether he’s been duped or if he’s part of the plot. The voices are telling Vivian one thing and each of her younger selves is saying another. Agent Durnham says he wants to help, but Lady Scarlet trusts no one. The magic in the necklace might help, if she knew how to use it. 

Lady Scarlet by T.N. Leonard

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Brave New eWorld

Over the last three months or so I have been doing a lot of soul searching. I’ve been wondering how best to publish my book, Lady Scarlet. Should I go the traditional way or become an independent using the ebook format?
If you’re like me, the choice should be obvious. The only legitimate way to go is traditional publishing. You write a book, find an agent, the agent finds a publisher, you sign a contract, they print the book, ship it to stores, and the store sells it to an audience. This is the way it’s been done for more than a hundred years.
Anything else is vanity printing or just flooding the market with junk that didn’t cut it in the real world.
But is that true?
There is a stigma about indie publishing. We wonder why the writer didn’t follow the existing traditional path to publication. Readers want to know why they should slap down money for a book if a publisher wouldn’t take a chance on it.
Is the writer too lazy to follow through with the process and see the project through to the end? If so, what does that say about the book? Is the book poorly written and that’s why it couldn’t get published by a big name printer? Is the story just a cliché-filled schlock-fest with flat stock characters, wooden dialogue, and stale situations that come together in a predictable ending readers have seen a hundred times?
Maybe.
But there are reasons to consider indie publishing, most of which have nothing to do with the quality of the story in question.
First, by skipping the traditional process, a story can reach the readers much more quickly. Publishers will shuffle books around in a release schedule to maximize their profits. This means a first-time writer’s book can get swept into an unfavorable slot to fill a gap or delayed when someone’s new tell-all biography gets shuffled forward. Anything can delay the release of that “little” novel from the death of a celebrity to a major political scandal. It may also happen that the book will get released on time in the wake of a big world shakeup and will be lost in the mix. Ebooks can be quickly formatted once the writer has finished it and released over the internet almost immediately.
Second is creative control. Maybe one publisher doesn’t want one character to do a particular thing or they ask that a character be added or removed. Maybe the story shouldn’t be set in Denver, but rather Vancouver. Sure, the writer can resist making changes and run the risk of being known as difficult or uncooperative. Personally, I say stick to your guns, but after several months of editorial interference it’s going to be tempting to make some minor changes to “make a better product for the reader.” Editors want these changes so the book will appeal to a larger audience. The trouble is it’s probably not the right audience for the book.
Third is marketing. Without some sort of an ad campaign, a book simply pops into being on the bookstore shelves. If someone sees it on display AND is snagged by the cover AND is intrigued by the title AND picks it up to thumb through some pages, that person MIGHT buy the book. Publishers don’t spend much money promoting books with major advertising. Mostly what happens is they pay the stores to put new titles on special tables right up front by the doors or the register. Sometimes they pay a little more to have the books stacked cover out rather than spine out.
We’ve already seen that other forces of bad timing can overshadow an unknown author’s first release. If the displays near the store entrance are flooded with books about a newly-departed celebrity or an established author’s newest book, there is no place for that rookie writer’s work.
Some writers are tempted to pay an outside company to promote their book since the publisher won’t. Sometimes this can work, but it’s expensive and there are scammers out there ready and willing to take your money in exchange for running cheap ads or doing nothing at all. Also remember that no marketing plan is ever going to be as effective as one reader telling another that this is a great book. This will only happen when someone actually reads it.
Now comes the most horrifying fact of all.
A book has somewhere between two and six weeks to live or die.
That’s right. If the copies don’t start moving quickly, they never will.
Bookstores sell books on a consignment plan, not a purchase plan. Even though one store has a hundred copies of a writer’s masterwork on the shelves, it’s possible not a single copy of the book has been sold. The stores are in business to sell books. They are not in business to sell your book.
Books that don’t sell get sent back to the publisher for a refund. When this happens, there are no more print runs. The book goes out of print and falls into obscurity. Barring a miracle where the writer turns out a bestseller and people want to go back and read the earlier works, the book is not coming back.
Going independent gives the writer more control over the book. Even more than creative control and a reasonable release schedule, the writer can promote the book the way it needs to be done. With electronic listings, the writer is free to market a book under each category that fits. Just because the last book was sci-fi, the second book (a straight thriller) doesn’t have to sit misplaced on the shelf just to be next to the other book by that author.
It also means that the writer can list the book with multiple distributors and keep the book listed despite slow sales. When and if the writer releases another book, there is no push to get copies of earlier works to market in case sales spike. The book has been sitting on the server for months. No one has to worry about selling out if it gains momentum.
With ebooks the writer can run multiple promotions on any of the books. If there are interview blogs, trade shows, or anything else that might garner attention, the writer can adjust the price of the book to support sales and sell more copies from a single dashboard.
With all this available to a new writer, it’s hard to see why anyone would take the traditional route when so much can be done with new technology. Even established writers are opting to have their new works released exclusively on ebooks, through independent distributors rather than big name houses. It’s an amazing way to get a book out there for readers to see.
And it’s not just a steppingstone to attract a traditional publisher. If anything, I see going from ebook to printed as a step backwards. There is something to be said for holding a copy of your very own book in your hand, but with what you give up to do it...I wonder about the cost.
Maybe traditional publishing is the vanity.

Roll and Duck: A Lady Scarlet Short

     I pressed my back against a wooden crate. My pistol was in my hand, held upward.

     Agent Conrad Morgan was to my right, also standing against a shipping crate. He was on the other side of a narrow walk path between stacks of containers. His Webley was out and ready.

     Conrad showed me his left palm and I nodded.

     He turned his head and peeked around the crate into the heart of the warehouse, toward the loading doors that led to the docks on the Thames River. After an agonizing two seconds he pulled back and stood flat against the crate again.

     He held up three fingers then reduced it to two before tapping them against his gun.

     Three men, two with guns.

     I nodded and held my hand out at a little above waist height.

     Conrad tossed his head in my direction, held up one finger, and tapped it to his gun.

     The gunman standing on the right had the little girl.    

     My fingers twitched on the grip of the gun. I shifted my feet, signaling him I was ready when he was.

     Three days ago, Ginny Hargrove, the six-year-old daughter of a London businessman, was kidnapped from her home. Three masked men had kicked down the front door, fired several shots in the air, and dragged her from the family table while they ate. The Metropolitan Police had no leads and had turned the investigation over to the International Police Commission.

     Conrad and I had been assigned to find her. We’d checked on several business associates and rivals of Daniel Hargrove. Our investigation had eliminated all but one in his immediate circle.

     His brother-in-law, Lucas Jenson, was up to his lapel in debt. He needed money to pay his creditors or he was facing ruin. That the ransom was just enough to cover Jenson’s shortfall wasn’t enough for the Met to swarm his London warehouse.

     It was more than enough for a pair of Commission agents.

     Conrad’s eyes went cold. He took in a deep breath. Slowly and silently he let it out.

     I took the time to clear my own mind. For a brief moment I saw nothing but the darkness of the warehouse. The world became silent, except for the sound of my own heart beating.

     Conrad bobbed his head once, twice, and a third time.

     I waited just the slightest fraction of a split second and followed him as he sprang from around the crate. His gun swung to cover the left quadrant in front of us. I had everything on the right.

     Conrad’s voice echoed around the inside of the cavernous space. “Guns down. Let her go. On your knees. Hands behind your heads!”

     I leveled my pistol on the man holding the little girl. He had his arm around her shoulder, but pulled her close by the neck as Conrad and I stepped closer. He waved the gun at me.

     Ginny’s eyes were huge as she saw my weapon. I couldn’t let myself look at her, not even to reassure her that everything was going to be alright. In the moment it would take to give her a smile this could all be over.

     “I said guns down,” Conrad repeated.

     The man hoisted Ginny up by her neck to cover his chest. He held the gun out as far as it would go. I couldn’t hit his chest without hitting her and I was fully exposed.

     “What are you waiting for?” someone said. “Shoot them!”

     Ginny began to kick as the man’s arm cut off her air. He squeezed her even tighter.

     I let my eye wander ever-so-slightly to the right to where it caught hers. She was frightened. Who could blame her? She had no idea we were the good guys. For all she knew, she was being kidnapped again.

     I gave her a quick wink. “Let her go. Get on your knees. Hands behind your head.”

     “Or what?” the man asked.

     “I’ll put you on the ground.”

     He laughed.

     I aimed my weapon low and fired.

     The man fell as his knee shattered. He pulled the trigger, but he was off balance while falling. His shots went wild, hitting the far wall and filling the room with countless echoes.

     I lunged forward, zagging first right to avoid his shots then zigging straight in. I scooped Ginny from his arm. Before the man hit the ground, I grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket, twisted his collar, and used him to shield Ginny and myself. Five more shots went off while I dropped the man and rolled for cover behind another stack of crates.

     I set Ginny down and touched her on the cheek. “Are you hurt?”

     “I want to go home.”

     “That’s where we’re going, Love.” I pointed my finger at the floor. “Stay right here.”

     As I stepped out from behind the crates, I heard the thunder of footsteps and more gunfire. From the sound of things, there were at least a dozen men running in from the office area to where we were.

     Conrad pounded one of the men across the skull with the butt of his pistol. The other was already down, clutching his side and moaning. When Conrad turned, we made eye contact. This hadn’t been part of the plan. We hadn’t known we’d be facing an army.

     I took Ginny by the hand and held her with my left arm as I sprinted back to the crates were Conrad and I had formulated our attack plan. Conrad beat me there. The only exit from there was the door we’d used to come in. When Conrad tried it, the door was locked.

     He jiggled the knob and pulled several times. “Agent Durnham said we’d have backup. We should have waited until they got here.”

     “Jack will come through. He always does.”

     The horde was getting closer.

     I set Ginny down and used my left hand to brush the hair out of my eyes. When I did, I noticed the gold and gray swirl pattern on the envelope of an airship moving past the windows on the far wall. My heart skipped a beat when I realized the backup had arrived.

     I grabbed Conrad and spun him around to face the loading doors that faced the docks. “We’ve got to get to the other side.”

     His eyes sank back into his head and his jaw dropped open. “That would have been easier from over there.”

     He pointed to the scene of our gun battle.

     There was a wheeled cart against the outside wall. Two crates were stacked on top of it, but that made it better. That gave us cover we could use.

     I grabbed a crowbar and pried the side off the lower crate. It was full of powder sacks. I let a few fall out then grabbed several more and threw them aside.

     “Ginny, come on. Get in.” I patted the open space I’d made and began to push.

     Conrad fired his gun at the hallway as the first wave of warehouse thugs came through. “I’ll push. Get behind the crate.”

     I handed him my gun and gently pushed him away as he tried to take position behind the cart. “Open the door.”

     He looked up, nodded, and like a Western cowboy, laid down covering fire as I wheeled us faster and faster toward the far wall.

     Splinters flew as bullets landed all around us.

     Ginny screamed.

     “It’s alright, Love. Cover your ears.”

     She screamed again.

     Conrad slid the last several feet to the door. His body slammed against the outer wall, but he grabbed the lever and pulled. The door began to open as the chain and counterweight began to move.

     But it was never going to open before we got there.

     A shot passed within inches of my left shoulder. It hit the crate in front of me. I ducked and closed my eyes just in time. I felt the wood fragments hit my face, but nothing stuck.

     When I opened my eyes there was a cloud of white flour dust.

     Conrad moved back to stand between me and the storming goons. I pulled the cart hard, trying to stop it. My boots didn’t have the traction I needed and the upper crate crashed into the door. I dashed around the right side of the lower crate and grabbed Ginny from her hidey-hole.

     The two of us ducked under the partially open door and sprinted down the dock. Conrad fired his last shot and rolled after us. A moment later the upper crate fell, creating a cloud of white smoke in our wake.

     I took Ginny by the arm and pulled her close. “Hold me tight.”

     She wrapped her arms around my waist as we dashed toward the end of the dock and what should have been the ugliest amphibious airship ever conceived by man. She was skimming the river as she passed the warehouse, engines at idle, with the portside hatch open. We had to duck under the wing to get there. With my right arm cradling Ginny and my left swinging forward to get every last bit of swing I could muster, I leapt from the end of the dock.

     We crashed through the hatch on onto the deck. I was under Ginny and had to kick myself clear of the opening for Conrad before I could stand. When I did, I held her by the shoulders and checked her over.

     “Are you still alright?”

     She said nothing, but nodded.

     I stroked her hair and set her in one of the seats. “Let’s get you strapped in. Have you ever flown before?”

     She shook her head while I fastened the belt around her lap.

     “Well, you’re about to.”

     Despite everything, her face brightened and she turned toward the window.

     There was a huge splash behind me. When I turned I saw Conrad in the water, struggling to reach the hatch. I bent down and reached out for him just as a bullet hit the side of the cabin.

     “Come on, Conrad! You can do it!”

     He flailed an arm at me and I caught the tips of two of his fingers. With a quick jerk of my arm I pulled him up and in. He crawled away from the hatch as two more shots ricocheted off the hull.

     Once the hatch was closed, the airship began to pick up speed.

     “Strap yourself in,” I shouted at Conrad as I moved forward to the cockpit.

     I tossed myself into the second seat, beside a thin blond man in his mid-thirties. There was an unlit but well-chewed cigar in his mouth, under his shaven lip. His name was Izzy Cunningham and we’d worked together before.

     Another bullet struck the ship as I strapped myself in.

     Izzy looked over and bounced his eyebrows. He pushed the throttle to the stops and pulled back on the flight yoke. “Welcome aboard, Miss Prudence.”

     As the ship nosed skyward something broke loose in the back and tumbled the entire length of the cabin before hitting the back wall.

     I turned to look and saw Conrad, upside down, wedged behind the rearmost seat.

     “Strap in. It might get bumpy.”

     He pulled himself up. “Might it? Well. Let me just-”

     Izzy turned sharply again to avoid the suspension cables on the Tower Bridge.

     Conrad fell over again and bounced between the side wall and the floor.

     I turned to the pilot. “Be nice, Izzy.”

     “Friend of yours, Miss Prudence?”

     “Yes. And a colleague to boot.” My skin crawled. “And I’m sorry. I told a bit of a lie when we first met. My name isn’t Prudence. It’s Vivian. Vivian Hawthorn.”

     He leveled the ship out and turned toward me. His eyes were blank and his jaw hung open. “What?”

     “I’m sorry, Izzy. There was a price on my head and I had to lie.”

     His lips curled up in a wicked, twisted smile. “I didn’t fall off the turnip truck last night.”

     His eyes rolled to the side and a poster tacked to the half-wall that separated the cockpit from the passenger cabin. It was a wanted poster with my picture on it – or rather “Lady Scarlet’s” picture.

     “All’s forgiven if you’ll sign it.”

     I couldn’t contain my grin. “It’s a deal.”

     “And be sure to put a bunch of big fat X’s and a few O’s in there.”

     “Anything you say, Izzy.”

     He looked back forward as he banked the plane toward the center of London. “Everyone good back there?”

     “Yes!” Ginny squealed.

     Conrad groaned.