Pubit! Finally Replaced by Nook Press

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screen shot of Nook PressBarnes and Noble has finally replaced their modest (I’m being kind) self-publishing platform with an all new and better titled one. Thus Nook Press enters the world about one year too late.

Congratulations, B&N. You have finally produced a practical and functional pubbing platform. Don’t pop the cork. I still like Kobo’s Writing Life and Amazon’s KDP better. But at least you’re in the same ballpark…finally.

I attempted to update a price on one of my titles today using Nook Press, and it actually seemed to work. That’s an improvement from the last couple of times I tried and failed with Pubit! (And now the name of your platform doesn’t sound like a frog vocalization!)

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The Hunger Games Go “Green”

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Just for Fun!
Just for Fun!

In a manner of speaking. Even more exciting, the DMB Files universe is expanding into young adult dystopian literature (similar to The Hunger Games) with my latest project, The Green Ones. For those of you who are new to the DMB Files, or have lost track (I’m shifty, I’ll admit), The Green Ones marks the third separate series of stories colluding within the same fictional universe (alongside the DMB Files and the Lost DMB Files).

While the Lost DMB Files sport a pulpy/punk flavor and range between 1912 and 1930, the DMB Files take on a sci-fi/fantasy thriller edge and push into the near future. Soon these two series will be joined by a dystopian crossover serial. The Green Ones will run concurrently with the DMB Files, but…with a twist. (Sorry, I’d hate to spoil the surprise for you. But if you’ve read De Novo Syndrome and Desert Gods, you know where this is going.) Here is a bit more as far as product description for The Green Ones:

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Expectations, Resolutions and Cowboys Circa 2013

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jonesjerryThis year, make a change that matters. To illustrate the importance of doing so, here is a moral tale based on the National Football League franchise, the Dallas Cowboys. (Don’t worry, NFL fandom is not required to learn this lesson.)

Once upon a time, there was an evil NFL franchise owner and CEO, Jones Jerry. Jones Jerry was neither faery nor orc. He was pure-D avarice from his wazoo to his cork. Stab him with a knife or blend him with a spoon, as owner, operator and general manager, he’d fork you in the end.

He lined his wooly pockets by milking talent and sparking drama. He drove his players to the point of slapping their own mama while he danced and jigged high up in his skybox.

“A pox!” his subjects did cry. “It’s rigged! We supply you with money in exchange for more than Romos and Wittens and Bryants. We want a championship, or we’ll switch our allegiance to the football Giants!” (Now with more iridium!)

At first Jones Jerry did fret to the point of regret for purchasing his multi-million dollar bionical-hip (and stadium). “Don’t be a dope,” he smirked a wicked smirk. “Those hicks, I’ll lend them hope.” A mad hatter with geriatric bladder, he passed haughty gas from his executive potty. “I’ll fire the coach, that torpid roach.”

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