Metrofloat New York
by William Quincy Belle
Genre: Science Fiction
A Post-apocalyptic Sci-Fi thriller.
Several hundred years in the future, Earth is a different planet. Antigravity has been invented and “flying” has given way to “floating”: giant platforms with cities remain above the growing surface temperatures as enclaves of the privileged. A global pandemic has wiped out 80% of those on the ground, and a virulent, flesh-eating disease, necrofasc, has left most with artificial body parts. Insects are the main food staple. A utopia for some, a dystopia for others.
Metrofloat New York, a futuristic city of thirty million, is run by an oligarchy of five rich and powerful people. An unknown assassin, working from within the system, attempts to seize control and declare himself dictator by methodically removing all rivals. Detective Matthew Heart of the Metropolitan Police must deal with his partner, a cyborg policewoman, his unofficial family, a transgender woman and her one-legged daughter, and a mysterious assailant bent on taking over the world by killing anyone who stands in his way.
William Quincy Belle is just a guy. Nobody famous; nobody rich; just some guy who likes to periodically add his two cents worth with the hope, accounting for inflation, that $0.02 is not over evaluating his contribution. He claims that at the heart of the writing process is some sort of (psychotic) urge to put it down on paper and likes to recite the following, which so far he hasn't been able to attribute to anyone: "A writer is an egomaniac with low self-esteem." You will find Mr. Belle's unbridled stream of consciousness floating around in cyberspace.
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Being an indie author is an uphill struggle.
According to Wikipedia, there are 2.2 million new books published each year, 300,000 in the U.S., 150,000 in the United Kingdom, 20,000 in Canada. The book review section of The Washington Post states they get 150 new titles each day. Each day! What are the chances of anyone getting noticed? Even if somebody has written the next classic, there’s the harsh reality of statistics. Having the public choose any particular book out of the annual American field of 300,000 strikes me as being the equivalent of winning the literary lottery. Congratulations, E. L. James: over 70 million copies of the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy sold.
By the way, the above is about new books published each year. According to Google, there are over 150 million books in existence! Literary lottery, indeed!
There's a lot of junk out there, which means the public is leery of investing their time in anything unknown. Who wants the literary equivalent of bad movie? "I want two hours of my life back." Cheers to the risk-takers who brought E. L. James to the forefront.
Thanks again for spreading the word.
All the best to you in your world. :-)
William Quincy Belle