Managing the Mayhem – October

The Illusion of Organization

October didn’t just arrive... it materialized like a smug stage magician in a velvet coat, twirling a wand and whispering, “Behold… the illusion of organization.” And honestly? It’s right. With a house of more than eighty authors scattered across the country and around the world, “orderly” is not the order of the day. It never has been. It never will be. At this point, I’m convinced the universe hands out chaos like party favors.

I started the month with a plan. A tidy, structured, beautifully color-coded plan that made me feel like I had my life together. October took one look at it, patted me gently on the head, and said, “Sweetheart… no,” before sawing my agenda in half like a magician performing a trick for an audience that already knows the rabbit escaped.

Because nothing — absolutely nothing — ever goes quite how it’s supposed to around here. And yet, somehow, everything still gets done. Books move forward. Authors get answers. Projects find their footing. The mayhem is wrangled, redirected, bribed with snacks, and occasionally threatened with exile. It’s not organized, but it’s effective. Mostly. Usually. Enough.

And then there are the scammers…

Somewhere along the line, slapping down scam artists became a near full-time job. They’ve been circling my authors like vultures with Wi-Fi, preying on hopes, dreams, and anyone who looks like they might be holding a manuscript. Every week brings a new “publisher,” “agent,” “archivist,” “movie producer,” or “literary scout” who is absolutely not any of those things. I’ve become a one-woman fraud department — breaking the news that the opportunity is fake, forwarding the scam to the actual company being impersonated, and muttering darkly at my screen like a gremlin who’s seen too much.

It’s funny, in a grim way. It’s serious, in a necessary way. And it’s constant. But if protecting my authors means wielding a digital flyswatter against the forces of nonsense, then so be it. IUPH may run on chaos, but we do not run on scams.

Meanwhile, real work continues.

We’re gearing up for the Small Bites Short Story Contest, kicking off November 1st. This year’s theme — Things Unsaid — is already stirring up whispers, ideas, and the kind of emotional shrapnel writers love to fling at readers. The calendar is filling up with book releases for next year… and somehow even into 2028, which feels illegal but here we are. The end-of-year sprint is officially underway, complete with holiday shoppers searching for the perfect gift and us quietly hoping they choose one of our books to bring a smile to someone special.

And of course, it’s October… the season of pumpkins, costumes, and the annual migration of horror fans. We’re spotlighting Horror | Supernatural titles all month long, and last month we even built a brand-new dedicated page for the genre on the website. It’s spooky. It’s stylish. It’s full of books that may or may not haunt your dreams. Perfect for the season.

In between all that, the usual mayhem continued: inboxes multiplying, schedules attempting jailbreaks, tech gremlins staging dramatic revivals, authors arriving with updates, surprises, and “quick questions” that are never quick. Projects that were done suddenly weren’t done. New ideas sprouted out of nowhere. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I tried to remember what my original plan even was.

I had a plan. Briefly. I swear I put it around here somewhere...

But that’s the illusion, isn’t it? Organization is the warm-up act. Chaos is the headliner. And somehow, despite everything, the show goes on.

Looking Ahead to November

October may have shredded my plan, but November is already peeking around the corner with a suspiciously cheerful grin and a stack of surprises. I’m sure it has ideas. I’m sure those ideas don’t involve my ideas. But I’ll make another plan anyway.

It will last slightly longer than the last one. Maybe. Probably. We’ll see.

Until then, keep managing your mayhem or at least pretending you are.

Pretending still counts.

Always.

By Lisa M. Orban