Prolog

It is best to start 'just before' the beginning.

On the west coast of the United States of America, there was a period of technological innovation.

Innovation led to products. Products led to sales. Some people made fortunes.

Fortunes that could be directed into new ventures.

One auspicious businessman had been quite lucky over the decades. He was not a public figure, but supported newer technologies with seed money.

Wearable tracking technology.

Computational Parallelism.

Driverless transportation analytics.

They created a very little known corporation, 'Trembling Heartbeats International'. It was a corporation that sought to bring together fans of love stories. It had a lofty goal to let online writers put their stories into a world-wide forum.

The front page of the website still has the standard layout.

At the top, it includes a story paragraph from the Book 'Hauntingly Beautiful Girls'.

"I always knew my heart burned several steps closer to warm.

I would coo at kittens and puppies whenever I saw them.

I would blush lightly when seeing a couple holding hands.

I knew early on that I was different.

I was a warm burner. The kind that spreads if let me get close and show you the world I saw.

A warm burner that makes surprising hot coco. To have a sample of my words, it falls down your throat and makes you warm too.

But the world is filled with many of colder natures. No longer happy to sit at small, close tables and exchange words. Sipping very warm drinks in delicate cups.

The world goes to a cool place and twists the top off. Taking a quick gulp of intensity that sustains, but does not nurture.

I know they are out there. The ones like me. I do so want to hear the stories you have to tell me."

The corporation 'Trembling Heartbeats International' could not acquire patents and brands. There were too many successful brands in 'beating heartbeats' literature.

The corporation funded four decades of website operation to support forums.

The official forum notices asked the loyal participants to continue with these kinds of stories. To continue with attempts to make local clubs and keep the forums filled with stories.

At the bottom of the main website a notice was posted. You might still find it there today.

[ Trembling Heartbeats International is going focus on a new effort. An experiment in the benefits of traditional publishing and electronic publishing. It will be a contest or challenge style format. ]

It was that small simple notice that was the first public introduction.

Writer Publishing Tour contests that sent participants worldwide.

This first contest was hardly noticed at all, and not the thing of widely popular reality television. It was a simple small seed.

In the United States of America, the end of the calendar year is a predictably unstable time.

With many company and government holidays in the last two months, it defers much business until the next year.

People take vacations and trips.

The one business area that booms in this time is party planning and party support services. A wealthy businessman would know this. An experienced businessman knows to arrange this type of staff in advance.

The planning for the 'reveal' meeting of the writers was complete before they had contacted anyone.

They sent the very first messages to hundreds of people with stories ranking highly in the lists.

"We would like to discuss your book. It is only a thing that we will with people that have already pursued education and career training. An opportunity might be made available. We are only considering people that are twenty-six or older.

Please reply with an answer about your age and please reply in a vow of honesty."

There were some posts made to discussion boards about these. It was very suspicious, but apparently harmless.

The writers that replied to affirm they were twenty-six or older got follow-up messages.

"Would you be available early next year to receive compensation and travel at our expense? If you say yes, we will send you some forms and non-disclosure agreements. Please be aware that false statements past this point could result in civil penalties."

This message was too much for many of the writers. They sent another series of first messages to a wider selection of writers with ranking stories.

Eventually, the sixty three writers provided mailing addresses (and some PO Box addresses) so forms could be mailed.

Thirty seven replies with valid signatures were returned. These people said nothing on message boards. The non-disclosure paperwork was clear on that.

By the middle of the December, airplane tickets and hotel reservations and spending cards had been mailed to twelve. They were flying to and staying in hotels near Tigard Oregon.

They would meet on January 3. The place would be disclosed when they arrived in town.

Day Zero: the [Historical Fiction Author] arrives.

Early in January, a limousine arrived at the mansion in Tigard Oregon. It is very close to the Tualatin Oregon city border. A satellite map would show it as the biggest residence for miles. The entire gated and fenced compound is landscaped.

The passenger has grey hair and has it keep a uniform color. Yellow and dark gray sends an unwanted message, 'unkempt'.

She was never unkempt and always kept things proper. Like today. She most certainly would be ferried by a black limousine. That is just how things are done.

They accommodated her request because they were close in price with regular taxis on Sunday mornings.

She walks in to the gated driveway and can tell at once. This place was built twenty years ago and is exactly as the architect designed it to be. There are signs of cleaning, but nothing new.

This is a fact she will keep in mind. It means the owner is single. A wife, girlfriend or boyfriend would have pushed for redecoration changes by now. She will remember this information for coffee and gossip when she gets back.

She passes by horrid modern hybrid cars with signs on the windshields.

Walking into the mansion, it horrifies her. The room is beautiful. Curving stairs at four corners and a balcony level to see the entrance.

Sadly, a room cluttered with a caterers table on the left, some type of servants on the right, and just chaos in the middle. The whole room is filled with tables on wheels.

Tables that contain boxes of paperback books.

The owner greets her and she realizes something important. He has been very sick, she can tell.

He shows her the table that has her books and she thanks him properly. Her white gloves do not touch the books. It would be impolite to inspect them here in public.

Then she casts her eyes to the chairs. Where the other authors will be seated.

This is the start. This is the game. She may not win, but most certainly will have fun in beating the others. She always plays to win. She does not always win, but she will always be remembered by the other contestants.

Day Zero: the [Chick-Lit Author] arrives and declines

She comes into the mansion quickly. Wearing smart office clothes that she uses for interviews.

A white-haired thin older man greets her shows her the books. He knows her situation well enough. Initially elated to take part, she recently sent advance warning.

She would fulfill the promise to arrive, but would do nothing more. A back-out clause all the authors could use today.

It was hard; looking at the five thousand copies of her book printed as paperbacks. She picked one up and looked it over. She found some pages and found her words on those pages.

The man was nearby "I am sorry. I will not allow you to take any if you do not agree to the contest."

She shakily puts the book down and focuses on the ground.

He regrets the tone he used (too much like the executive he was) and signals an assistant and whispers. The assistant brings a paperback.

The white-haired man swaps the book she looked at with the new one. Giving her the one she handled. I will destroy these. I printed an extra five hundred copies to account for printing problems, so I could be confident each person would have five thousand copies.

She smiles and speaks in a broken voice that was unintelligible.

She moves very quickly out to the taxi she told to wait.

Hours in the airport and on a plane back to Scottsdale Arizona, she leaves the book in her purse wrapped in a soft hanky.

A taxi ride home and checks in with the resident health aide.

She finds her mother in bed. No chemotherapy drips or dialysis machines are running right now.

She shows the book to her mother and hears a common accusation. They tried to get money from you didn't they. These cons are very common in the publishing industry.

She shows the book and says it is not like her mother suspected.

The mother inspects the book and sniffs it. The ink is not stable. The glue is cheap. They may have paid for quality printing, but no would actually get quality printing this time of year. All the good paper and good ink and good glue is devoted to corporate business reports this time of year.

The mother asks when she will travel.

"No. I declined. I decided on 'that better thing'."

The mother smiles and holds the hand of her daughter. That phrase had been used by her for many years by the mother.

Her daughter is choosing to stay with the mother during her last days. She had worried about the daughter.

With that one phrase, she thinks her daughter will be just fine.

They have a happy night. The daughter reading her story from the paperback.

The mother had read the story online, but there was a joy in having your daughter read a story to you.