This is my penultimate Kickstarter update! It begins with one bit of housekeeping. Most of you have gotten your books by now, but:

1. There are still a few backers who haven't entered their address. It's still not too late to do so if you'd like your book(s). At this point, you should probably email it to me directly: robinsloan at robinsloan dot com.

2. There are a few people who did enter their address, but who haven't received their book(s). If that's you, and you haven't sent me an email about it yet, please do so! Except for the most far-flung locales, all books should have arrived by now, so if you haven't gotten yours, I'll send another one.

Okay, now the fun stuff.

The annual meeting of the Committee to Find and Rescue Annabel Scheme (a.k.a. the book's launch party) happened here in San Francisco just before Christmas. It looked like this:

When you arrived at the party, you were presented with a piece of evidence from Scheme’s collection. They were all dated and tagged in ziploc bags; they were all very strange. Your mission: come up with the story behind the evidence! There was a Narrative Evidence Research Database collection station set up, off to one side of the party, to capture these stories. Here’s just a taste of what people recorded.

In concert with all this, I released the digital version of the book for all to read. Please, share this with friends who you think might be interested! And if you're a patron-level backer or higher, tell 'em to look for your name in the acknowledgements. There's a version for reading on the screen and a version that's good for printing on 8.5" × 11" paper, too.

Here's the important part!

This week I launched the Remix Fund for Annabel Scheme—the Creative Commons catalyst idea that we talked about back in October. My deepest hope is that one of you will have a remix idea that we can fund; please, don't be shy about pitching one. Or if you have a friend who you can enlist, that's wonderful, too.

The next update is going to the last one, at least for a long while. (Obviously if Annabel Scheme gets made into a movie, I'll let you know.) It will include directions on how to vote for the remix project of your choice, info on what I'm working on next, and some final reflections.

Most of you reading this have the book in your hands, and many of you have read it, too. I hope you enjoy it. It's just remarkable that we went from vague idea to printed book (and beyond) in about 90 days.

Happy New Year!

Some big, fun news in this update!
Mark your calendars if you live in the Bay Area: I'm throwing a book release party on Saturday, December 19. It's going to be at the amazing Gray Area Foundation for the Arts—easily one of the most Annabel Scheme places in San Francisco—from 7-10pm or so. If you're a backer who lives in the Bay Area, you'll get a follow-up email from me with more details next week; I just wanted to tell you now so you can save the date. And, a question to everyone else: If we set up a live video feed from the party, would you want to take a peek?

A bit more operationally:
Many books have shipped. Domestic U.S. Super Occult Value Packs shipped yesterday. International SOVPs shipped today. I prioritized these because I know some people are planning on giving their bonus copies as gifts. (That's so cool!) Single copies, both domestic and international, will ship next week on Tuesday and Wednesday.
There are some people who still haven't submitted shipping info. If you're out there, it's not too late! It should say "Submit Info" in blue at the top of the page right now. Click that!
Now, the fun stuff:
The remix catalyst. The party on December 19 isn't just going to be to celebrate the book; it's also going to serve as a kick-off for the Creative Commons remix catalyst. I've decided on the format for this, and there will be more details later, but here are the basics, so you can start noodling it immediately:
It's not a contest. Instead, it's all about collective commissions.
When it launches, I'm going to ask you to pitch in an idea for a remix project along with the name of a person who actually could do that project. That person could be you! But it could also be some writer, musician, or artist on the internet whose work you dig. I'm a big fan of Jillian Tamaki, for instance, so maybe I'll suggest a winsome portrait of Annabel Scheme drawn by Jillian. Each pitch will also have a budget attached; maybe I'd peg the portrait at $500. (I'm probably low-balling her rate. But I'll get to that in a second.)

After the pitches are in, we'll all vote, and then I'll rank them in order according to those votes. Then, I'll start at the top with $1,000 and go down the list, subtracting each project's budget until there's no money left. So maybe it will just be one big $1K project that everybody loves. Maybe it will be a few $300 projects. Maybe it will be a whole lot of sub-$100 projects.

If a project was pitched by the same person who intends to do it, it's good to go. We'll pay that person half of their budget to start and half on completion. However, if a project is connected to someone who, er, doesn't know about any of this yet—as in my Jillian Tamaki example—then I'll reach out to them, explain what's up, and offer them the remix gig. (I think that's so cool: "Hi, you don't know us, but we voted, and you're our favorite.") My hope is that they'll find this as fun and exciting as we do. If they don't, or if they can't do it with the budget we're offering, then we'll just move to the next project on the list. No problem.

So does that make sense? It's a little bit more complicated than a contest, but it seems a lot more interesting to me. I really like the idea of actually paying for new work. And I also like the idea of bringing some of your favorite artists into the mix.

So start thinking about what you might pitch—either for yourself or for someone else. I think that plugged-in web creators are going to be a better bet for this than, say, Coldplay. But then again, maybe there's somebody in your world who's not all up in the blog scene—maybe they've never heard of Creative Commons—but they'd be perfect. A writer, an illustrator, a photographer, somebody who builds things. Bring them to us!

Finally, some miscellany:
The misstep. Just wanted to share a little blooper. I had this idea for the cover art that involved custom stamps and gold ink. Well, it totally didn't work. Looked like crap. (Part of the problem was that I'm not a very good stamper; a bigger part was that the organic look of stamping just didn't feel very Annabel Scheme. Stamps are rough and grungy; Scheme is sleek and stylish.) But at least I got some cool bling out of the experiment:

I share this as a reminder: in any creative project, there's so much you never see. So many ideas get tried and abandoned behind the scenes. (Also, uh, let me know if you need anything... stamped... with the words "Annabel Scheme"?)
The snack. Here's a very short story, just released, to hold you over 'til the books arrive. It's called The Dance Party on Jefferson Avenue and it was inspired by a pair of pants.

(And remember: start brainstorming remix pitches!)

This is a VERY brief note; I'm sending it because it's such a funny 21st-century moment.

Usually, these updates have been a matter of me taking my experiences working on the book and making them virtual, right? Finding a way to share them with you through the screen. Recording videos, snapping photos, explaining things.

But here's a case in which you can experience a moment in exactly the same way that I am. No translation needed. I was just sitting here at "The Medalist" bar and grill at JFK (P.S. not recommended), idly scrolling through Twitter, and what do I see but this tweet:

The link leads to a photo here. Look at those boxes!

So, there you go. You've seen exactly as much as I have, through exactly the same window that I have. That's kinda cool. I'll be back in San Francisco next Tuesday, and I'll go pick the books up and start getting them ready to ship.

Well—I guess it's not true that you've seen exactly as much as I have. After all: I know what the cover looks like ;-)

Hey everyone! The project is over, it's a success, and now we are into production mode. A quick note on the schedule, and then some long-promised reflection on writing.
But before any of that: Be sure to fill out your shipping information if you haven't yet. I sent an info request email; it should be in your inbox somewhere.
First, the schedule.
The design is done! Here's a peek at the first page in Adobe InDesign:

I got my proof copy in the mail literally moments ago. It looks great! Though of course there are a few things I want to tweak—so I'm going to tweak away and then place the final order tomorrow. And shipments of other materials are also en route. It should all converge in San Francisco in about a week and a half...

...just in time for me to head off to France for an event called the Forum d'Avignon. So I'll press pause on book production for about five days. Then, just after Thanksgiving, there will be a "production party" here in SF (details to come for those of you who are local) to put the pieces together.

All of that means that the books will head your way in early December. I'll send an update when they ship so you can keep an eye out.

There will also be a little book release party here in San Francisco in mid-December, which will also serve as the launch of the Creative Commons remix contest. (Okay, full disclosure: it's also my birthday.) I don't want to post the CC-licensed digital version of the book until you've had a chance to hold the real thing in your hands, so this timing seems right to me. By around December 15, you'll all have your books, and we can start to have some fun with the words and the world.
Now, a few notes on writing.
This is long; don't feel obligated to read all (or any) of it. I just know I enjoy it when writers take the time to think about this stuff out loud—so I thought I'd do the same.
LONG IS NOT A BIGGER VERSION OF SHORT. I thought that the challenges of writing something of this length were going to be mostly the same as the challenges of writing something shorter... just scaled up. So if a short story poses challenges X, Y, and Z, then Annabel Scheme would pose challenges 10X, 10Y, and 10Z, right? Nope. Instead it posed challenges X, Y, and Z... and A, B, and C... and Q6, K(ii), and so on. Totally new challenges. Problems I'd never faced before. How do you keep something interesting for this long? How do you set up ideas early on, and then pay them off a hundred pages later? How do you balance brevity with depth? (If you've read my short stories, you know I tend to write in short, simple strokes. I think that's a good thing generally, but with Annabel Scheme, I did many scenes a disservice the first time through by not spending enough time with them.)
WRITING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR. There's a great piece in the WSJ about writers' habits. You know, awesome stuff like:

Most days, Nicholson Baker rises at 4 a.m. to write at his home in South Berwick, Maine. Leaving the lights off, he sets his laptop screen to black and the text to gray, so that the darkness is uninterrupted. After a couple of hours of writing in what he calls a dreamlike state, he goes back to bed, then rises at 8:30 to edit his work.

I totally aspire to wacky writerly habits; I do not have any yet. One reason is that Annabel Scheme was a finite, urgent project, not a new lifestyle yawning out into infinity. So rather than put on a suit, go down to the basement, take off the suit, and write in my underwear every morning—John Cheever's famous routine—I just... wrote a lot. Mostly in my apartment, at a perfectly-proportioned white table that might be my most prized possession. Often at Cafe La Flore down the street (where I'm typing this) over a mug of coffee. Occasionally at the library.

(More on the WSJ piece over here, if you're interested.)

I did discover that I don't know when to quit. There are diminishing returns to any stretch of writing, at least for me, and I'd find myself, six hours in, just sort of dinking around—re-reading grafs, fiddling with words—when it would have been much smarter to close the file, work on something else, and come back to it the next day. I'm getting better at that.
THE RISKY REWRITE. I've mentioned it several times before, but it's worth repeating: doing this project, I felt so thankful for the good habits I learned at Poynter. I have absolutely no problem getting words on the screen; show me a blank document and I will fill it. I'd much rather have words to work with—any words—than the glowing white rectangle of doom.

However, I will cop to feeling more cagey and conservative as the project went on. As you write more and more—and especially when you're facing a sharp deadline—it feels riskier and riskier to change things. You've got words on the screen that you're happy with; that feels like money in the bank.

This seems logical enough. And indeed, you can't go back and rewrite everything at the last moment. But I did learn a lesson during the Annabel Scheme endgame, during that last week of editing and writing: You can change a lot more than you think you can.

I was feeling really cautious about digging too deep. "Argh, it's a house of cards! It will all come tumbling down!" But then, one afternoon, as an experiment, I just made a fresh copy of the whole project and started hacking. Whole sections, gone. Whole new sections, in. The ending, transformed. And you know what? It was fine. You can always rewrite. Words come quickly; the real question is always: what's behind them? If you have a new idea and you're excited about it, you can do a lot quickly. There's no reason to fear the rewrite.

And that's why I like writing better than, say, moviemaking. Even in the endgame, the story stays flexible. Words are cheap! If I want to get rid of that giant robot blimp and replace it with an armada of squid-ships, it takes five minutes. Let's see ILM do that.

I'm saying this very matter-of-factly, but again, it was a lesson I learned—a fear I conquered. (At least for now.)
THE SECRET BALANCE. One last thing. I'm glad that so many people felt like they had a fun view of the process, because I actually felt like I was concealing so much. There's a balance, I discovered, between sharing the fun of the process and preserving the fun of the finished product. Especially when the finished product is a narrative with twists and turns and surprises.

This is a puzzle, because there are many sections of the story where I could have benefited from your brainpower. But to even pose the question—"Should it be a giant robot blimp or an armada of squid-ships?"—gives it away. How do you ask for input without revealing too much? Should there be an option for some people to opt in? They'd basically say: "I know this is going to spoil the story a little, but I'm more interested in helping with the process." Or should I find really convoluted ways to frame the questions? "Sooo... if I had this hypothetical friend... who... was a detective..."

The point is: I want to get better at this. Just as there are concrete techniques that can make the process of writing better (see again: Poynter) I think there have got to be concrete techniques that can allow you to follow along even more closely—without sacrificing the pleasure of sitting down with the finished story for the first time. This is something I'm thinking a lot about, and something I'll keep experimenting with.

Okay, that's it. Now I'm going to load up the design and make these tweaks!

It's done!
Whew—I can't even tell you how much better the story is today than it was a week ago. Almost every graf has been touched. Every chapter has been improved. Some sections have been completely rewritten.

And the ending! is! totally! different!

Now the clock is running down. It hits zero at midnight tomorrow (yes, Halloween, naturally) but there's not a ton of drama to it. Thanks to you—backers and patrons and ultimate ninjas alike—this project has been a huge, amazing success.

There's still a lot of work to do... work that involves, like, paper and paint and postage. But the essential core—the part where I, you know, write a book—is now complete.

There's a little video thank-you at the end of this update, but first, for your amusement, here are some snapshots of the feedback I got on the manuscript. If you are supremely spoiler-wary, then you should probably skip down to the video. But don't worry too much; these are glimpses, not giveaways.

So, this is definitely how you want to kick things off...

...but not, alas, how you want to end them:

"It's a cool idea... but it's v. unsatisfying." Ack! (I fixed that.) (I think.)

Sometimes you go a bit overboard and get compared to the "Saw" movies...

(How right was that note, by the way? Ditched the image.)

Conversely, sometimes you don't go far enough:

Sometimes you hit a little too close to home:

And sometimes—warning, this is sort of a mega-glimpse—you are encouraged to, er, reorganize... just... slightly:

(Those notes look like IKEA instructions.)

Finally, this might be my single favorite note. "IT CAN FEEL???"
Okay—now, a quick video. You're not going to hear from me again before the clock hits zero, so again: Thank you. There is great fun ahead.

P.S. "IT CAN FEEL???"

Hello! New backers: welcome! Folks who have been here from the start: Wow, can you believe this is update fifteen?

Exciting times, with five days to go! The agenda: First, a note on the new phase I'm unveiling this week. Second, a writing update.
SO, I JUST NOTICED SOMETHING. On the list of the most popular Kickstarter projects of all time—ranked by number of backers—this project is number two! The only crew bigger than ours is Designing Obama. That's... pretty amazing. (Again, that's in terms of number of backers, not number of dollars—but if you ask me, that's the metric to care about.)

Now listen. I don't know if it's possible to beat that project. We're talking about, on one hand, Barack Obama, the most famous person in the entire world; and on the other, Annabel Scheme, a fictional character that approximately no one has ever heard of.

And yet. We're not that far away, you know?

So here's what I'm going to do. The DIGITAL PACK is now obsolete, and the new pledge in town is the ULTIMATE NINJA ALLY PACK. It's getting a new price: $1.
My goal, for the next five days, is to get as many backers into the tent as I can, and if they're all ULTIMATE NINJA ALLIES, that's awesome. It's just a dollar to get a slick digital copy of a brand new book in your inbox—and, way more importantly, only a dollar to signal that you think this is a cool way to do things.

Only a dollar to... be bigger than... Obama?

(If you're an existing DIGITAL PACK backer, good news: you just got a free upgrade to PHYSICAL PACK. No reward dilution here.)

If you've ever considered blogging about this, posting a Facebook update about this, emailing a friend about this: now's the time, with just five days remaining. Besides the personal benefit of getting a book, digitally or physically—a significant benefit, I assure you—I think there's a collective benefit to all saying together: "There is a different way to do this. And it's the real deal, not a novelty. Just look at us here." It sets a precedent and creates a case-study for other writers, and other communities, who want to work this way.

On to business! Let's talk about writing and real-time feedback.
I FINISHED THE MANUSCRIPT ON FRIDAY. This doesn't mean it's 100% done. What it means is that, for the first time, I had a coherent draft, start to finish, with no gaps. I burned through an inkjet cartridge and delivered copies in gold envelopes to my friends (and trusted first readers) Aaron, Andrew, Kiyash, and Matt. It looked like this:

My favorite kind of feedback, especially for writing like this, is what I call "real-time feedback." At Poynter they say it like this: "Make me a movie of your reading." The idea is to pay close attention to your reaction in the moment: Are you getting bored? Or are you in the flow, words running together, almost disappearing on the page? Where are the speed bumps? Where do you smile or laugh out loud? Where does your suspension of disbelief come crashing down?

You take note of this right there on the manuscript itself, as you're reading; it's easier to do it with pen and paper than on a computer. It's like the flight data recorder in the cockpit; it shows the inspector (me) where there was turbulence, where you went off course, where you (gulp) crashed.

These real-time reactions—the fruits of first encounter—are impossible to recreate or simulate after a story has become familiar. And I think they're the most important reactions. It's one thing if you finish my story and think to yourself, "hmm, the structure of the middle part was a little wonky" or "that character was kinda flat." It's another if you don't finish my story at all. I put real priority on the real-time experience of reading. Everything else is a bonus level.

So, my first readers have already started to deliver some of this feedback, and I have to say: Wow. I've never doubted the value of other eyes and other minds, but this is a stronger reaffirmation than I expected. Their notes are like a drug—no exaggeration. My brain feels suddenly capable of new things. I don't think that's an illusion.

So the next five days of editing and reengineering are going to be, if possible, even more insane than the many days of writing and raw imagining so far. There is a lot I want to do—a lot to improve. And I'm meeting with Andrew and Kiyash tonight, so I'm bracing myself for another dose of this drug, this real-time feedback crack.
One more quick meta note: I do plan to talk a lot more about the writing process—about things I didn't expect, things I learned, especially re: writing something of this length—but I'm going to save that for after October 31. It will take time and words to do it right, and all of my time and words are allocated, at this moment, to Annabel Scheme.
Next update: a peek at the manuscript; a dramatic reading (really this time); more news on the CC remix catalyst; argh too much to write about!

So yesterday afternoon I set out to make a book trailer, but it sort of turned into something else—an animated book cover? The big sell is that it reveals my detective's name—which (I love this) some of you have already uncovered with a bit of Google sleuthing—but it also delivers a dose of atmosphere. Check it out:
And when you watch it, imagine some future e-book with that animation literally built into the cover, writhing on your bookshelf. Ooh.

Three other quick things:
The pentagigatweet. Listen, if this isn't digital and occult, I don't know what is: I posted message number five billion on Twitter. Don't worry, guys, I promise to use this power only for good, never for evil.
The catalyst. The response to my last update was amazing: enthusiastic, creative, and just the right kind of challenging. So it's decided: I'm going to run some sort of CC remix contest as soon as the book goes out. Still noodling the specific structure (and the specific incentives) so please do chime in if you have thoughts.
The routine. Over in the comments, Amy said: "I'm interested in hearing more about how this project is affecting your life. Would you consider an update addressing that aspect? Things like... how many hours per day do you spend writing? Do you keep a schedule or just write all the time?" So, while on one hand it feels totally self-indulgent to go into that kind of gruesome detail, on the other hand I know how much I enjoy and appreciate it when others engage in that kind of reflection. (See: Daily Routines.) So, I promise to write something along those lines.
And taking Amy's cue: Let me know if there's anything else you'd like to hear about in more detail? Certain parts of the process, specific meta-thoughts, easy breakfast recipes? (I could use some of those.)

This is the home stretch. I still have a lot of work to do, but I'm really excited to be so close to actually sharing this story with you! Okay, back to writing.
Next update: another dramatic reading.

After a long, spectral flight back from New York on Tuesday night, it feels like I have returned not to the San Francisco I left, but to the off-kilter San Francisco of my story. The weather is so odd; wet and warm, humid. (It's never humid.) The sky looks strange, inhabited by species of clouds that don't usually roam here.

We're the project of the week on Kickstarter's home page! Pretty cool—and if you joined up because you spotted us there: welcome!
There are three things I want to mention in this update. The third is the most important, so skip to that if you're short on time.
WRITING
I left part of the book in New York.

The Moving Monks are gone. You never got to know them—and you won't now, either, because I'm squirreling them away for some future story. Suffice it to say, the sign on the side of their truck says...

...but, in contradiction to their mantra, the Moving Monks did not actually fit in this story. I was (and am) just so enthusiastic about the idea that I totally forced it. I think that's a special danger with your first big project—you try to squeeze everything in. Sorry, brothers; this isn't your book.
PACKAGING
The shape of the final package—the thing you'll get in the mail—has crystallized in my mind, and I've placed my first orders for materials.

I have to give a shout-out to Wilson Miner, a friend of mine here in San Francisco; he gave me great advice early on, encouraging me to focus on artifacts from this made-up world. So, for instance, illustrations should show you not the characters themselves, but rather what the characters see, what they hold in their hands. Artifacts turbo-charge your imagination instead of pre-empting it. And—this is my extrapolation—the book itself could feel like a refugee from this other world... an object that's escaped, somehow, into ours.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.
LICENSING
The book is going to be Creative Commons licensed. This was always likely, but not locked in; I made the decision this week.

Now, that's all very cool and 2.0, but I feel like too much CC-licensed work just sorta sits there. You CC-license something new and then triumphantly announce your contribution to the public sphere, as if people are desperate to remix it the way they're desperate to remix, say, Batman.

Generally, they are not.

So, in tandem with the CC license, I want to do something to actively encourage remixing right out of the gate. To compensate for not being Batman. Yet. Thus, I have two questions for you:
First, brainstorming. What's an interesting remix opportunity for the text and illustrations from a short book, in part or in whole? Not just redistribution—that's easy—but something transformative. Any examples you can think of? Any new ideas—things you'd like to see?
Second, permission. How would you feel if I used part of the book's budget as a remix incentive? I'm imagining some sort of mini-contest, launched just after the book goes out, with a $500-1000 prize. And perhaps we—me and the 422 of you—could all judge it together. I'm not 100% sure how that would work, but it feels doable—and (I'll be honest) really fun and exciting. What do you think?
Next update: her name.

So here's me, earlier today, somewhere over the eastern United States, just after finishing a new short story—thanks to you:

And right after I took that photo, I spun my MacBook to the left, snapped another shot, and used it as raw material for this, the story's "cover":

Semi-ridiculous, I know, but I feel like everything has to have a cover to count as a media object these days. And, I'll admit it, I was taken with the romance of photoshopping at 30,000 feet.

So here's the story—and a few meta notes:

• I wrote the entire thing during the flight.


• TextMate/MacBook. Thank you, Virgin America in-seat power outlets.


• I spent every minute of the flight writing and editing, minus 20-30 minutes for the cover. As we were approaching New York I was silently wishing for a bonus loop around Boston; I had to rush to finish the end.


• It was a 7 a.m. flight. Was this a good thing or a bad thing re: writing? Currently undecided. It felt like a bad thing when my eyes were drooping shut during take-off.


• I came aboard with a few idea-scraps. The Smithsonian thing; the name Prandtl-Glauert; a few little descriptive details that I won't reproduce here because they're mini-spoilers. I didn't know how these scraps would fit together; they were like a pocket full of random Legos.


• In retrospect, I wish I would have paid the $12.99 for in-flight wifi and live-tweeted my word count. Next time.

Anyway: that was really fun! Thanks for making it happen, and thanks for reading along. Let me know what you think of the story, either here or over at robinsloan.com.

Now, back to work.
Next update: New York dispatch.

So, I'm going to start with some meat-and-potatoes updates—but then there's a special pitch at the end.
I'm at 25,000 words, which means I'm right on schedule. (Whew.) There's only one section that is entirely undrafted—the very end. The rest has had the benefit of several coats of paint. The urgent and exciting next step is to share this rough draft with some first readers, which I'm doing this week.
Also this week: New York! I'm going to speak at a conference about the Google Books settlement. Why was I invited, you ask? On the basis of my legal scholarship? Er, no. Rather, on the basis of a familiar short story. (This might have had something to do with it, too.) How cool is that?

But the writing won't stop, can't stop, not with 26 days left, so look for a dispatch from a New York City coffee shop. (And let me know if you have any suggestions for good writing spots.)
Now, a nerd note.
At around the 8,000 word mark, I switched from Google Docs to a Mac app called Scrivener. I've historically been skeptical of these special-purpose book-writing apps; turns out that was just because I've historically not been writing a book. Scrivener is fantastic.

Here's how the story looks in Scrivener right now—a sneak peek at its structure, with just a few redactions:

(Now, that's just a working structure, not the final table of contents. Even so, there are clues to be gleaned by diligent digital/occult investigators...)

For the writers out there: This is, I'm convinced, the dream setup. Write in Scrivener with a doc saved to a Dropbox folder mirrored in a bunch of different places (including, of course, Dropbox's own servers). No stress.
Finally, the fun part.
As I'm writing this, I'm at $9,853—just a handful of backers away from $10,000.

So here's the pitch: If we get to $10K before midnight PST on Tuesday, I'll do the world's first digital/occult (super) short-story throw-down in the sky. Five hours, 2,500 miles—so let's make it 2,500 words. I'll write and edit the story entirely on the plane and post it as soon as I land.

So, if you are interested in a special in-flight snack to stave off hunger while we all wait for October 31 to arrive: tell a friend (or pitch in, if you're just discovering this project) and give me something to do up there.

It's gonna be me and the Lost Symbol on Kindle otherwise...
Update: It's on!

I'm not just writing the words for this book; I'm doing the illustrations, too. So I thought I'd give you a peek at my process—from idea to sketch to code (!) to finished image.

There are a lot of images involved (and a quick video, too) so I decided to post it all over at robinsloan.com. You can click the image above to get there... or click here!

Don't miss the mini-survey at the bottom of the post; I'm curious to know which version of the final illustration you prefer.

After I recorded this, I remembered that I hate listening to writers read their stuff. And in my case, I definitely write for the eyes, not for the, uh, mouth. But that's okay, because there's more to be gleaned from this video...

Watch carefully:

As I'm writing this, I have:
295 backers. 507 copies of the book spoken for. 46 days to finish the text.

Each one of those numbers is totally thrilling. (And okay, one is scary. Guess which one.)

A lot of you have joined in since the last update. So, first of all: welcome, and thanks for your support. Second: I want to remind you that you can choose not to get emails about these updates if they get to be too much for you. There's always an opt-out link in the email itself; one click and you're done.

But, to be honest, I hope you'll elect to keep them coming—because things are about to get good.
For the next 46 days, I am a full-time writer. Last week was my last at Current, the cable TV network and website that I've worked on for the past five years. It's what brought me out to San Francisco, actually. There would be no Mr. Penumbra without Current, and certainly—this is obvious, given the butterfly hurricane weirdness of life—no Kickstarter project.

Why go full-time? Because I'm not dumb. I know this is a special opportunity. I know this kind of support, for this kind of project, is exceptional, extraordinary, preternatural. (Frankly I blame both the digital and the occult.) So I'm going to take the hint and take a chance.

(Note to career-minded conservatives: the way I came to Current was no less weird than this, so really, following your heart has a great track record with me. Don't stress.)

This is big—I think I might not fully have absorbed how big yet. Here's what I mean: with so much more time, and so much more focus, my ambitions for the book can scale up a lot. I don't want to—I won't—lose sight of the central goal of a great story. But as I've said before, I'm really thinking about this in terms of engineering the whole experience. And suddenly I've got room for bigger blueprints.

Now, a word about "gold coins."

This idea has come up several times, in several different contexts, in the past week. It's a tip articulated by the writing coach Don Fry and passed on to me by Chip Scanlan and Roy Peter Clark at Poynter. Roy says it like this: "Place gold coins along the path. Don't load all your best stuff high in the story. Space special effects throughout the story, encouraging readers to find them and be delighted by them."

To get a sense of what this means, look at the Harry Potter books. I think J.K. Rowling is, like, the world's leading manufacturer of gold coins. Every one of her pages has some weird detail, some delightful aside about a fire-breathing candy bar or a painting that talks. They're not central to the narrative, but they provide pops and flashes of novelty that keep you reading. They're addictive, like potato chips. Or maybe addictive like a Twitter feed.

Anyway, I mention it because I spent this morning scattering gold coins—going through several sections of the story and adding or amplifying fun details. I'm a big believer in their power; I actually think they might do more to keep people reading than the narrative itself. At the very least, gold coins are an equal partner.

One of the things I've been wondering is: do gold coins all have to be words? Could some of them be images, photos, scraps from this fictional world? I think of the sketch of Mr. Tyndall in Mr. Penumbra; it seems like it worked really well. Maybe I should consider including more elements like that.

And finally, re: gold coins, that's what I'm trying to do with these updates, too. I want to drop gold coins as I make my way along this (dark, unmapped, slightly foreboding) path, in the hope that they'll entice you to follow along.
Next update: a dramatic reading.