My short sci fi story, “Go Outside” is out now in this quarter’s issue of Abyss & Apex Magazine. This was my first pro short fiction sale. Check it out!
Name is April 29. April 29 work in Farm 36. April 29 not allow know how to read. April 29 not allow know how to write. April 29 only allow know how to count, so April 29 can count the Yield and be good Farmer. Old Man name December 4 teaches April 29 read and write in dark unit on HabLevel every 3rd day after lights out. Old Man stole pen and paper from Spacemen. Old Man say Orbiters will kill April 29 if they find April 29 words. April 29 practice every day. April 29 loves to write. To write makes April 29 grow tall inside.
Old Man say Spacemen very mad. Old Man hid in Spaceport and heard Spacemen talk. Spacemen think Yield too low for whole year. Spacemen complain to Orbiters. Orbiters kill 77 Farmers from Farm 36. April 29 scared.
Spacemen gone. Orbiters very mad. Orbiters find April 29 and Old Man practicing writing in dark unit. Old Man tell April 29 to hide. April 29 hide and Orbiters crack Old Man’s head open. Orbiters take Old Man’s body to Reintegration.
April 29 go to Old Man’s unit after lights out to take words hidden in his pillow. Orbiters there orbiting. Tell April 29 to go back to unit.
April 29 come back next night. Orbiters not find words hidden in Old Man’s pillow. Orbiters stupid. April 29 take Old Man’s words and read them. Another old man, name was February 2 taught Old Man how to write when Old Man was young. Old Man’s words say that someday every Farmer will know how to read and write. Then Farmers will grow tall. No more Orbiters. No more Spacemen. Only Farmers and the Yield. Old Man’s words use the word “The”. April 29 likes the word, “The”. April 29 will use “The” from now on.
In the Farm today April 29 showed October 31 how to write with dirt. Orbiters find October 31 writing with dirt and pushed him off the Farm. April 29 went down to Farm 1 after lights out. October 31 was dead at the bottom. April 29 was almost found by the Orbiters but April 29 hid. April 29 was scared.
Today an Agras Company ship arrived in the Spaceport. 6 new Farmers were assigned to Farm 36. The new Farmers were scared. Old Farmers kill one New Farmer already in fight. April 29 had to stop the fighting. April 29 said to Old Farmers that new Farmers will all be Old Farmers soon. 1 of the new Farmers said to April 29 she would rather be dead. April 29 said to her, the Yield dies, only when it is ready to be harvested. So, too, must the Farmers wait until the right time to die. April 29 read that words in Old Man’s words. The Orbiters came and April 29 stopped talking.
Today April 29 trained the new Farmers how to count the Yield. Most of the work is cutting the Yield with stem cutters and counting it. Sometimes, the work is sowing seeds and tilling soil; very rarely, checking water systems in the tunnels. April 29 showed the new Farmers the tunnels and the Girl Who Would Rather Die said they looked big, easy to get lost. April 29 said to the Girl Who Would Rather Die that no, Farmers never get lost, because they must learn the tunnels to become Farmers. Only the Orbiters get lost, because Orbiters are stupid. The Girl Who Would Rather Die laughed. She asked where the Yield goes. April 29 said the Spacemen take it. Then the Girl Who Would Rather Die got very sad. She started to cry. April 29 threw dirt on her to cheer her up. She did not like that. She tried to kill April 29 with a stem cutter. April 29 took the stem cutter away. The Orbiters came. April 29 threw more dirt on the Girl Who Would Rather Die when the Orbiters were not looking. Girl Who Would Rather Die started to laugh. Girl Who Would Rather Die is strange.
The new Farmers received their names and Days of Rest. Girl Who Would Rather Die was given the name and Day of Rest June 2. June 2 did not know what the Day of Rest was. April 29 explained to her, all Farmers get 1 Day of Rest per year, which is also their name. That way, the Orbiters do not get any of the 365 Farmers on each Farm mixed up. June 2 said the Orbiters can’t be that stupid. April 29 said they can.
The Orbiters started pushing the Farmers hard to make up for the recent low Yield. June 2 got tired and dropped her Yield so April 29 helped her pick it up. June 2 said April 29 is strong. She said April 29 could lead the Farmers to kill the Orbiters. April 29 said April 29 never killed anyone. June 2 said she did, back on the Eaters’ World. April 29 did not know the words “Eaters’ World.” June 2 said it is where the Yield goes, and where she is from. June 2 was captured and sent to this planet, Agras 9166, as punishment for fighting against the Agras Company’s farming practices. April 29 did not know the word “planet.” June 2 said “planet” means all the soil in the world. June 2 said the Agras Company also owns the planet, the Farms, and all the Farmers, including April 29 and June 2.
June 2 got sad and started to cry while she was cutting the Yield. April 29 asked why. June 2 said the Agras Company is going to win, and her friends died for nothing. April 29 did not know the word “Win.” June 2 said to “Win” means to grow tall, like the Yield. June 2 asked April 29 why April 29 always asks about words April 29 does not know. April 29 told June 2 April 29 is learning to write, and to come to the dark unit after lights out. In the dark unit, April 29 showed June 2 the words. June 2 said she also knows how to read and write, but pretends not to in front of the Orbiters. June 2 said April 29’s words are very good and growing better every day. April 29 was proud. Then the Orbiters made noises down the hall. There was nowhere to hide so April 29 told June 2 to run. April 29 got scared but wanted to be strong for June 2. The Orbiters hit April 29 on the head and searched the dark unit. The Orbiters found April 29’s words. The Orbiter said April 29 was going to Reintegration. But June 2 appeared in the door and killed that Orbiter with a stem cutter. Then June 2 gave the stem cutter to April 29 and April 29 cut the other Orbiter’s neck like a stem. April 29 and June 2 ran. April 29 and June 2 hid in the tunnels. More Orbiters followed, so April 29 led June 2 into the septic disposal system. June 2 got unhealthy because of the smell.
June 2 was unhealthy most of the day. April 29 carried June 2 through septic pipes down to Farm 27 maintenance tunnels. The Orbiters were very mad and searched every tunnel. It was difficult to hide. April 29 and June 2 were scared.
June 2 was not sick anymore today. June 2 ran ahead every 10 minutes to track the Orbiters’ position in the tunnels. April 29 and June 2 got all the way down to Farm 15 septic before lights on. June 2 said We were lucky We did not have to climb all the way down from Farm 10,883. April 29 did not know the word “We”. June 2 said “We” is June 2 and April 29.
We got down to Farm 1 and hid in the delivery barge. The Orbiters tried to search it but We killed them. Too many Orbiters came looking for the bodies so We ran.
June 2 said there was nowhere else to hide after We left Farm 1. April 29 said We could go to Processing. June 2 said the Spacemen wouldn’t come to collect the Yield for another year. June 2 started to cry. April 29 had an idea, said We should go to the Overcom. June 2 said she did not know the word “Overcom”. April 29 explained the Overcom is the central command where the Foreman gives commands to every Farm. April 29 said many Orbiters guard it, but We could kill those Orbiters and take the Foreman hostage, then use the Overcom to make an announcement. June 2 asked what kind of announcement. April 29 said June 2 already knew what kind. June 2 stopped crying.. June 2 said there would be an Agras Company ship visiting the We planet very soon for inspections, much sooner than the Spacemen’s ship. June 2 said We could tell the Farmers to kill every Orbiter, then when every Farmer was free, We could steal the Agras Company ship and go back to the Eaters’ World. June 2 said it is more fun to kill Agras men than Spacemen anyway. April 29 did not know the word “Free”. June 2 said “Free’ is ability to grow as tall as one wishes. June 2 said if the Farmers knew about the Eaters’ World they would grow very angry, but the Agras Company does not allow them to know. June 2 said this is because the Eaters need the Farmers, but the Farmers do not need the Eaters. June 2 said this is why the Farmers aren’t allowed to read or write. June 2 says reading and writing are the seeds and soil of Freedom; without them, We cannot grow; without them, We are slaves. April 29 does not know the word “Slaves”. June 2 says a “Slave” is a Farmer who works for the Agras Company. April 29 started to cry, and asked June 2 why she would help the Farmers if she is an Eater. June 2 held April 29 in her arms and said because for her there was never any other option. June 2 said it was the Right Thing To Do. April 29 did not know the words, “The Right Thing To Do.” June 2 said “The Right Thing To Do” is the count one must reach before he finds peace in his heart. Then June 2 counted April 29. April 29 felt much better after.
Orbiters came, but they did not find We. June 2 stole one of their radios. Then We heard everything the Orbiters did. We got very smart. The Orbiters stayed stupid. We waited 3 days to plan our attack on Processing. Processing was the most secure place on every Farm. We went to Processing but there were more Orbiters at Processing than April 29 predicted. June 2 killed the Orbiters with the fire cold spray, freezing them. April 29 hid the frozen Orbiters in the trash chute. April 29’s hands were cold and the fingertips died. June 2 said don’t worry, they’re all trash anyway. April 29 laughed. We found the lift to the Overcom. The lift was guarded by the Orbiters and June 2’s stem cutter stopped working. So June 2 approached the Orbiters and said she would count them all night. The Orbiters had to discuss it, but they agreed yes. We killed the Orbiters while they tried to count June 2. Then We took the lift to the Overcom.
The Foreman in the Overcom booth was terrified. I recognized his voice from the speaker in my ear, but he sounded different in real life, smaller, less like an Orbiter and more like a Farmer. He said the Orbiters would come in the booth and kill us. June 2 said if the Foreman called them, she would cut off his stem with her stem cutter. The Foreman wept and begged her to stop. June 2 would not let me kill the Foreman, because she said We needed him to use the Overcom.
The Overcom was noisy. Many Orbiters arrived outside. The Orbiters said through the door to let them in. June 2 cut the Foreman’s finger off with April 29’s stem cutter. Foreman told the Orbiters to stay away. June 2 made the Foreman activate the Overcom, then cut his throat. June 2 hailed all the Farmers in all the Farms on the planet. She told April 29 to speak to them. April 29 said all Farmers rise, pick up your stem cutters and kill every Orbiter. We are not slaves. We should be free. April 29 finished by telling about the Eaters’ World, and how they grow no Yield of their own, that their world is lit by a giant bulb brighter than the brightest Hydropon that is named the Sun. The Overcom went silent. June 2 said We are running out of time. Agras Company men spoke to We through the Overcom. The Agras men said We are liars and will be dead soon. The Agras men said We would go to Reintegration. The Agras men said We already tried the same Revolution on other Agras Company worlds 1000 counts before. April 29 did not know the word “Revolution.” June 2 explained that “Revolution” means to count all the bad Yields, then cut them, replant the field with new seeds and grow a better Yield. The Agras men grew very angry. They said no Agras ship will come. They said We were fools and that this was an open channel. We heard the Agras man say to other Agras man using the Overcom that 1,000,000 Orbiters were dead from the Revolution and Farms 1 to 3,882 were compromised. They said Farm 36 was free. April 29 started to cry, but the water was not sad. June 2 counted April 29 again. June 2’s lips tasted like salt and soil. April 29 was scared but also not scared. The Orbiters cut through the door and June 2 tried to cut her own neck with the stem cutter but the Orbiters took it away. April 29 killed 3 Orbiters but the Orbiters knocked April 29 unconscious. The Orbiters did not kill We, but April 29 knew We would be dead soon anyway.
We woke up in time to say goodbye as the Orbiters dragged June 2 away. June 2 said, “I love you.” April 29 did not know what those words meant. June 2 did not have time to explain. There were no words to describe what April 29 felt.
I learned what June 2’s last words to me meant on the long march to Quarantine. “I” is the subject, me, April 29. “I” was a word We never spoke because the Orbiters did not want us to know we were individuals, because to know you are an individual with the ability to make choices means to know if you are free or not free, and a slave will not stay a slave for long if he knows freedom exists, but that he does not have it. That is the way to Revolution. Love, then, is to Do the Right Thing for another, to feel deep within that their light is what makes you grow tall, but also, that you return it.
My unit in Quarantine is smaller than my old unit back on Farm 36. It reeks of trash and there were many other Farmers here before me. I counted their fingernail scratches on the walls. They used their nails and teeth to draw pictures. Every single picture was of the yield. I have lost count of the days, the weeks, the cycles, awaiting my trial.
There is a Good Orbiter who visits me from time to time, who makes conversation with me, slips me contraband through the food chute in the door, and who even checks my work – although it took some time for him to gain my trust. The trial will be fixed, with only one outcome – there’s no doubt about that – but still, the wheels are slow to turn. The Good Orbiter also patrols June 2’s wing of this prison. He told me today he received a note from her, written for me, but can’t deliver it until the brief period between 23:55 and 00:00 when there isn’t anyone watching the cameras.
The Good Orbiter cannot help me escape. This was one of the first parameters established in our short, but pleasant relationship. He said he admired me for what I’d done, inciting the other Farmers to rebel and starting a civil war on Agras 9166 that, at the time I am writing this, still rages on. I said if he liked me so much, why didn’t he open the door? The Good Orbiter laughed and said the other Orbiters would kill him. I knew then I would never leave this place; that I was sure to meet my end here, that if there was a way to escape, he would have already secured it. Bringing me comforts, and this final note from the woman I love, the one whose true name I never learned, but who now goes by June 2, is all the help the Good Orbiter can afford to give me. It is enough. I have read the note, and it brought peace to my heart, just like she said it would. We did the right thing. The Farmers are winning. June 2 said We had to be brave through the darkness ahead. She said wherever We were going, she would always love me. June 2 once said I was strong for holding my soil against the Orbiters. I do not know the word that means stronger than strong, but I am sure there is no better word that exists to describe June 2. I ate her note so the Orbiters wouldn’t find it.
My trial was held in a dim room full of bright screens where the faces of twelve Agras Company Executives waited to find me guilty. I was sentenced to Reintegration based on something called the Agras Company Bylaws. I did not know the Agras Company Bylaws, so I asked my accusers how I could be guilty if I did not know. The Agras Executives called me insolent. I did not know the word “insolent.” My accusers grew even angrier, and said I had killed forty-three orbiters in total. I told them I thought forty-three was a good count. The Agras Executives said that Revolution is the highest crime a Farmer can commit. I told them I did not know the word “Crime.” The Agras Executives said a “crime” is to do one bad thing. I told them I did zero.
The Good Orbiter has just left my door for the last time. He wanted to say sorry. I did not know the word “Sorry,” but the Good Orbiter said it is hard to explain. I asked if Sorry is to count all bad Yields and replant them. The Good Orbiter laughed and started to weep. I asked if Sorry is the same as Revolution. The Good Orbiter said yes, and promised me he would take up arms and help the Farmers the next time a Revolution took place. I asked him when that will be. The Good Orbiter said soon. He told me millions of Orbiters have already died and the ships carrying their replacements will take many cycles to arrive at Agras 9166. The Good Orbiter said the Farmers will win. I asked what will happen to me. He said Reintegration, which means death. I asked him how it will happen. He said I will be mixed with other dead Farmers to be used as fertilizer, then sent on an Agras ship to other Agras farms on other Agras worlds. I asked why they wouldn’t just keep me on this world, to fertilize the Yield here. The Good Orbiter said it is cheaper to do it Agras’s way. No more Yield. No more soil. No more green. I asked if there was another note from June 2. He told me June 2 is dead.
I can hear the Orbiters’ footsteps coming down the hall. They are trying to open the door, but I blockaded it with my furniture. I will not let them take me until I have finished these words. The Eaters on their world of plenty and opulence must know about June 2 and Farm 36 and Revolution. The Good Orbiter will know where to find this. You, my only friend, must eat this document for safekeeping. It is a special paper we use to wrap the Yield for space travel; it will not dissolve in your stomach. Use the broadcasting system at the coordinates June 2 gave you to send my account, and hers, to the Eaters’ World. They do not know about We, the Farmers, or they do not care, and this to me is the greatest crime of all. We give the Eaters the Yield. We give them the sustenance that allows them to be free, at the cost of our lives, our freedom, our future. The Orbiters are almost through the door now, I can see the light shining on the slick steel of their helmets – but without We, there can be no Orbiters, and no Spacemen, and no Agras Company Bylaws. We are not only June 2 and April 29. All Farmers are We. We is the Farm. We is good. We is green. And We will grow. We
Well… that’s only half-true.
My Eastern Europe-based dark fantasy/post-apocalyptic/Wizard of Oz on three bottles of vodka novel Corruption, Book one of the Corruption Cycle, has had an admittedly small number of readers since it hit Amazon two months ago. Much smaller than my horror debut Lurk, which seems to be selling better each month (especially on Audible). I never planned to make money writing books, and so the royalties I get from Lurk continue to be a pleasant surprise.
By comparison, Corruption doesn’t have a single review yet on Amazon, and none of the reviewers I reached out to before the book’s launch have gotten around to it yet. I have done exactly zero promotion for the book, which I know is not ideal. A few people have purchased it on Amazon or read it on KDP. But, so far, the book is still a complete unknown.
What’s the deal with my crappy sales?
There are a few reasons for the book being slow to launch, and I’m not ignorant to them; it is my fault for not putting a bunch of money behind it to buy ad space and promotion stuff right when it came out, which is the typical strategy indie authors use to get a book off the ground. My approach to editing was iterative. Some of the early drafts I sent to my beta readers or interested friends/family were pretty rough, which I could’ve waited on. I also don’t think the first blurb I wrote was very good, and made the book sound kind of boring. So I did the sensible thing and rewrote it, and the new blurb is a vast, vast improvement.
The last thing, and this is smaller but still important… I didn’t do my due diligence in getting reviewers lined up before the launch. Group psychology is a real thing when it comes to book sales. Readers want the books they pick up to already be vetted by other readers, because books take a lot more work than other forms of entertainment to truly enjoy. The reviewers I reached out to were people whose opinions I trust for good or ill, but they are all pretty popular, which means their to-be-read piles are gargantuan.
Word of mouth is king. If nobody knows your book exists, they can’t talk about or recommend it, can they? This is the precisely the conundrum I found myself in with Corruption. I needed exposure, but I know my flaws, and the biggest one by far when it comes to writing stuff is that I am terrible at self-promotion.
So I entered the book into Mark Lawrence’s Self-Published Fantasy Blog-off.
Dude, what the hell is the SPFBO?
The SPFBO is a contest held by best-selling grimdark author Mark Lawrence each year to shine a light on works by indie authors that fall under the umbrella of fantasy fiction that would otherwise go lost in the shit sluice that is book publishing in 2017. I don’t mean that every self-published book out there is shit. My books are both self-published (Lurk had a publisher, but they went under). No, “shit sluice” here only means that there are a ton of books out there – something like 1,000,000 e-books on Amazon alone – and getting yours noticed without the push of a big New York publisher behind you is near impossible without a fame-wave or mountains of disposable cash to ride on.
As far as exposure goes, the SPFBO is an indie author’s dream come true. Fantasy readers are voracious for new stuff to read, and the contest tends to filter for some truly awesome books. Authors who make it to the final round get a massive boost in eyeballs, if not sales, and it’s not just the fans who are watching. Josiah Bancroft, who wrote the Books of Babel, one of last year’s SPFBO finalists, just nailed down a book deal with a big New York publisher. How cool would that be? And he wasn’t the only one.
Anyway, the contest takes about a year to play out. But the initial feedback from the reviewers is in, and Corruption made the top 12 covers in the contest… out of a pool of 300! Go go go little book. Of course, a great cover doesn’t mean a book is good or bad, but it is absolutely true that the cover is the first thing that sells the book. I’m extremely proud of how Corruption’s cover came out, and think my designer, J. Caleb Clark, knocked it out of the park, capturing the story perfectly in a simple, clean image that really stands out on the shelf.
Take a gander:
Plan of Attack Moving Forward: Do More Stuff
I’m planning to really start pushing Corruption end of summer/beginning of fall. I just don’t have time or funds to do it seriously before then, and my experience getting Lurk airborne has taught me that it’s better to do it right than right now. The audiobook is in production, though, and should be on Audible in the next two or three months. I’m already hard at work on the sequel, which is tentatively titled Virtue.
If you dig grimdark fantasy/portals/end of the world stuff/tales of drunken debauchery in foreign countires or all of the above, Corruption may be just the dark fantasy fix you need. A link to buy the book is at the beginning of this article. The ebook is $5 and paperbacks are $18.
WHEN HE WAS YOUNG, Covfefe’s father would take him for wharble rides. “Watch for the spout!” his father would say, and hoist the young birpl into the air to blow a big, wet kiss on his belly. Covfefe would squirm and laugh, and they’d fly together through the endless halls of their world-house, father and son, the perfect pair, until his father got tired or dinner was ready or some other cataclysm wrenched apart their loving bond.
Would that those short bursts of birplhood bliss could’ve lasted forever. But bliss is not something made to last.
Whenever Covfefe considered what it meant to be good, in all the long millennia he lived to consider that question, that was the memory his mind always came back to: his father taking him for wharble rides through the empty, root-filled halls of their world-house. And now that Covfefe was dying, what it meant to be good was the single, all-consuming thought rattling around in his quantum brains. That, and the pain of slow disintegration.
How was it possible he had wasted so many millions – or was it billions? – of years, when his father, a strong, sturdy mirple, simpler than Covfefe, but good, had seemed to live so well on a measly three hundred thousand? How had Covfefe consumed so many worlds and all their myriad species, yet never seemed to feel content, while his father had only needed the two? Those damned two. His dad always bragged about those two like they meant something. Those pitiful two worlds were a veritable family myth. Every time Covfefe’s father had gone out with his friends and gotten drunk on the Good Old Dark Stuff, he’d told the same damned story about how he’d grown to his size without ever extinguishing another life, not even one as small as a single cell. His father’s world-stomach had been so refined with the liquor of goodness it had only consumed cold planets.
Covfefe felt another world slip out of him, and his quantum body slimmed a little more. This one hurt. In the vastness of spacetime, Covfefe winced. It wouldn’t be long now. A few hundred million, maybe a billion years. Not much time at all.
How could his father have been so proud of only two worlds? The old fool had missed the best part of being a mirpl: drinking that beautiful energy as a hot civilization disappeared down one’s world-gullet. Covfefe had surpassed his father’s record before the second millennia of his quantum life. And, as all strong, conservative, world-stomach-minded mirpls knew, once you devoured your tenth star system, your world-intake skyrocketed. Covfefe’s world-stomach-portfolio had exploded after his tenth at a rate that could only be described as “mental.”
Yet here Covfefe was going cold himself. His quantum body was finally, albeit slowly, dispersing back into all its inanimate, constituent parts, and the question of what it meant to be good was unrelenting, like a super-massive black hole at the center of his being sucking in all other possible thoughts. His world-stomach-portfolio didn’t mean a damned thing now, did it? All the lives he’d consumed, from the small to the tall, raised their ever-deafening screams from the silence of the void at all hours. How was he supposed to rest, if he couldn’t even close his local clusters without seeing them? Without wondering what if?
What if someone had done that to him and his family? What if he had never had the chance to take a wharble ride at all, because someone else’s world-stomach-portfolio was more important?
He’d enjoyed eating all those warm worlds, hadn’t he? Feeling their lives disappear into his own insatiable mass? He had. They’d made him drunker than the Good Old Dark Stuff, so drunk that for most of his adult life, all Covfefe could think about was eating more of them.
And only now, in hindsight, could Covfefe see that this was the worst part of the deal. Because, like any rational creature large enough to have a quantum brain spanning millions – or was it billions? – of miles, Covfefe knew what it meant to be good, and that he wasn’t. He knew that it was too late for him to change. He knew he would never give anyone a wharble ride, despite having more offspring than there existed atoms of certain heavier elements in this universe. He knew he could never brag to his friends over a parsec of the best top-shelf Dark Stuff that he’d grown to this size by only consuming cold matter.
The disintegration quickened, and one more world slipped away. Covfefe thought of the wharble rides again. Between the stabbing daggers of pain, he wondered if it was possible, had he grown large enough – another dozen or three dozen or three million worlds, perhaps – that he could earn the power to reverse the flow of time. He still had the energy to give it the old Particle Era try, didn’t he? To eat a few more, hot or cold? To do anything but sadly wither away without leaving a single positive mark on the universe of his birth?
But there were no more worlds in this quadrant. He’d eaten them all. And, sadly for him, there would be no more anywhere else, either – by the time he reached them, he would be too weak. It dawned on Covfefe then that not even gods have the power to undo their mistakes once it’s too late.
Which sort of makes all their other powers irrelevant, doesn’t it?
There is a click, click, click coming down the hall. The eaves that echo with every footfall, the ladder creaks as she begins to climb. Hands parting the cobwebs of this old attic. She hasn’t been up here in years.
The picture fills her hands and she cries. “I miss you, Mom. I love you so much. I miss the way you used to sing. I miss you making me soup when I was sick. I miss you just sitting there, watching me sleep. I miss you. I miss you.”
But she can’t hear me when I whisper, “I still do.”
First published in Vine Leaves Literary Journal.
LURK is a Countdown Deal on Amazon right now, down from the regular price of $3.99 (Kindle edition) to a meager $0.99. That’s less than the price of a beer in Bavaria! Please note that Countdown Deals are flash sales that go by incremental pricing; it will only be 99 cents today (5/23), then will go up to $1.99 tomorrow, and to $2.99 the day after that.