viruses and guerillas

You ever wonder why the two types of marketing out there with some sort of mystique are called viral marketing and guerilla marketing? I do.
So here's the deal. With the compacting of the publishing industry into (temporarily) one of a more direct, from author to audience, type of model, there will be an increase in viral and guerilla marketing that is going to be taking place in the interweb. Soon you'll have more and more authors and publishers creating and maintaining online communities and places where they can get creative with wholesome marketing.
What is wholesome marketing you ask?
I'll tell you.
Wholesome marketing is a term that was invented about 3 minutes ago when I sat down to type up this blog. It is a term that is concerned with the execution and implementation of some sort of worthwhile goal and product. While I am only focusing on books, others could use wholesome marketing ideas to promote community acupuncture, raw chocolates, environmental law services, whatever. It basically is concerned with the marketing and selling of some sort of product that doesn't hurt or harm anyone. Period. I'm sure there is some way to say that one or more of those products do some sort of damaging thing, for all intents and purposes, they don't.
Anywho, this brand new virtual marketplace and collapsed business model is directly concerned with making a conceptual place where the work in question is something worth owning. And that's good for everyone, right?
It's not good for the mega conglomerates that are vomiting money. Border's is probably done at the end of the year.. So we're left with some creative options. Look here for some good things that are being done in the publishing world and you'll see that all is not lost.
It's up to the guerillas and the viruses now.

-Thomas Dale

how to tell the future

The first thing that you need is an obsession. Prophecies only work on one aspect of the world, typically. Take videogames. Now you just need to obsess over them for a while. Let it simmer in your brain for a few days, letting all the information out there wash over you like an ocean.
Next, you need to find a spot to lie down. You want to make sure that you are lying down with your head facing north, properly aligning your chi with the ley lines around the world.
Breathe. Follow the breath. Let your muscles relax with every breath, sinking you into the floor, the ground, whatever.
As you get good at this, eventually, you'll come to realize that all of reality seeps into you during these moments of quiet, calm reflection. All of reality is already inside of you, and vice versa, it's just that most of the time we're so busy talking with our mouths that we don't talk with our souls.
Practice this for weeks, months, whatever. Eventually, you'll feel your insides resonate with the natural electric fields all around us.
Now you are starting to access that area of reality that has all the answers. Ask God or god or Buddha or Mohammed or some crazy Jinn (whichever one you believe in at any specific stage of evolutionary development that you are in at that given moment) to show you the way.
He or she or you will.
Now you know the future of whatever it was that you wanted to know about.
However, you will probably start to see the blurring of time in every other aspect of the world. That's just a byproduct.
Have fun!


-Thomas Dale

the problem with prophecy...

Sometimes, when channeling the spirits, we can interpret what we see through the lens of the current reality. I just hope this thing comes out soon, it looks so sleek and sexy. Look at the girl's face, too. She's just as surprised as you are.

-Thomas Dale

prophecy #1

I awoke in my dream to find the snow falling.   And I mean falling.

            The storefronts were slowly covering with icy sludge, the sidewalk becoming more dangerous by the minute.  I was riding in a rusty GTO, my ears ringing with the engine purring way too loud. 

            My wife, my boss, and an unnamed frail friend were the crew, and as we saw this apocalypse unfold around us, we drove on, furiously speeding away from the impending storm.  

            The flakes piled upon the window, the wipers trying to shield the clarity from the icy cover.  And on we drove as the storm followed us, desperately trying to grip the car forever. 

            Gunshots.

            Behind us, a truck with overgrown tires and gun-toting rednecks in the back, pulled into the parking lot of a 7-11.  They jumped out, springing for the door with evil in their hearts.  I could feel it from here.  We had to get away.  And fast.

            Out of the city, we started to make some distance between us and the storm.  But it wouldn’t last forever.  Soon it would overtake us for good.  We had to find shelter. 

            Through the overgrown trees forming a canopy over the road, we saw our new sanctuary.  An old library on the shores of a small pond waited to take us in.  As we pulled in, the gas guage moved to empty and we coasted into one of the many vacant spots. 

            The door was open, so we made ourselves at home.  Over the next few hours, more people walked through those doors, inexorably drawn to the culture contained in those books and stacks.  There ended up being about 30 of us, all peaceful people happy to hole up during the storm. 

            Fights inevitably broke out, but they were easily quelled once we realized that only together we could reach the end of this apocalyptic journey.  And soon, the snow stopped.  After a week of icy dryness, the sun poked through the clouds and embraced the earth again.  Little patches of green began to poke their heads out, and life, it seemed, would return to normalcy. 

            We decided I should man an expedition to the outside and see what had happened over the last month.  So on we walked.  Boarded up houses met our eyes, each one with a price tag on the door.  Twenty dollars here, fifteen there, they seemed to be overly cheap to say the least, but I guessed the market had been hit pretty hard with the storm.

            As we walked back to the library, distant engines could be heard slowly inching their way closer to our home. 

            I let everyone through the door, and was about to enter myself as I saw a truck pull into the library’s parking lot.  Two men jumped out, each one carrying a rifle.  I yelled back into the library for some of the men to come out here and greet our unwanted guests. 

            I remember them saying, “mornin’” as two more trucks pulled into the station, each with their own decorative gun-toters.  I tensed up.  And I could feel the weight of the others on me as I walked forward.

            “Good morning to you.  What can we do for you?” I talked to the little one in the front because he held a smaller gun.

            “Well, we saw your place here and wanted to buy it.”  Simple and to the point, he looked like a poor car salesman trying to bluff his way into a deal.

            I laughed.  “It’s not for sale, but thanks anyway.” I nodded to show him that he could leave, but he just smiled and looked back at the large man behind him. 

            “I wasn’t asking.”  He cocked his small shotgun to illustrate precisely what he meant. 

            I knew I should’ve been afraid, but I wasn’t.  I had spent the last bit of time building a community here.  I felt for the lives of everyone in the library.  I knew what we had sought when we found this edenic place.  And I knew that we would fight for it.  I turned around to see what my friends, my family, had brought to the confrontation.  Blank stares and looks of hopelessness were all that greeted me.  We had no guns.

            “That’s what I thought.”  He pulled up the gun, aimed it at my head, and with the shot ringing out, I found myself back in this room, covered in that so familiar cold sweat of prophecy. 

            This wasn’t the first vision, it wouldn’t be my last, but it still haunts me.

 

-Thomas Dale