Our family trip to Florida is just about 6 weeks away. Which means bathing suits are only six weeks away. Bikinis. One pieces. Tankinis. Whatever version… they are little more than glorified underwear made out of spandex. A glorious invention for the 6-ft buxom blonde, like Barbie. A cruel and unusual joke for most other women, myself included.

So my sister and I did what most other women do when faced with this challenge. We decided we needed to tone up. Work out. Firm the flabby parts. Or as my sister calls it… get rid of the baby junk. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a baby in the past year so my baby junk is more like… what? Burrito junk? Risotto junk? Chocolate chip cookie dough Steak N Shake milkshake junk? Um… yes?

Whatever you want to call it, it needs to go. Fast.

So we researched the nearby options. Buy a membership to a fitness club? No, too expensive. Take a community ed class? Drat, we missed the enrollment date (And not on purpose!). Workout on our own? Yeah, not gonna happen. Take free pilates classes from instructors in training? Hmmm…

There’s just one problem.

Cats don’t do pilates.

At least this Cat doesn’t.

Or didn’t.

Until Saturday.

At 9am.

In a little studio overlooking 7^th street in Holland.

In case anyone wants to check it out for themselves. Or write them a piece of hate mail.

Just kidding… I think.

Before we could get started, we had to sign waivers releasing the studio and its instructors of any psychological or physiological damages.

Did they just say psychological?

I understand the physiological—changes in blood pressure and blood glucose levels (as if I know what those are)—that much makes sense. But what are they going to do to my head?

Two minutes later, the forms signed and submitted, I turned the corner and found out.

It was a torture device. That’s the only way to describe it. My sister thought so, too. And the instructor-in-training even acknowledged it.

Let the mind games begin.

For me, the hour was spent on a machine across the room (something called a reformer… but not the John Calvin variety), being instructed to push, straddle, mount, and engage. The details are too gory and personal to share, so I’ll spare you. But through it all, the torture chair loomed. And my poor sister was strapped to it at one point. If I could have seen her eyes, I’m sure I would have seen sheer terror.

Somehow we survived. And were invited back. What’s that? Part of the mind gaming? Pretend to be inviting? Fool us to think we WANT to be tortured?

Oddly enough, my sister wants to go back. Which leads me to just one conclusion: they got to her.

My poor sister.

My poor, innocent sister.

Let it be known: from here on out, whatever I do will be done to rescue my sister from further psychological effects. I hereby take no responsibility for what counter-psychology may be employed. If asked, I will deny my continuing presence at a little studio, every Saturday, at 9am. I will do what I must, but I will not have fun.

And if I do…

I blame my sister.

I want to marry a French man, preferably a good one with a thick accent. Someone with a romantic name who has strong convictions, solid morals… and a goatee. Someone who repays his debts and seeks to help those who have helped him. Someone who doesn’t seek revenge, but toils with the idea of it. A good guy who could be bad but has chosen otherwise.

Yeah, I like the sound of that.

Unfortunately, that man is not Edmond Dantès. I just spent the last thirty days immersed in the mystery and intrigue of The Count of Monte Cristo and the idea of a noble French man got to me, but not because I was reading about one. I wasn’t. After a few months of romances, spoiled lovers, and proper society, I was ready for a little adventure. Oddly enough, all of the above made their appearance, but so did anger, revenge, and a lifetime of bitterness. It was ugly. And oh so fun.

Say what now?

It’s true. It was fun. I don’t normally enjoy watching characters self-destruct, but there was something about digging into this man’s psyche, his inner mind, his emotions that was… to be frank… fascinating.

If you know the story by Alexandre Dumas, then you know Dantès WAS innocent at one point. (Weren’t we all?) He had those strong convictions and solid morals. He was good. But that was stolen from him when he was falsely accused and imprisoned without trial. The ugliness infected him there, eating away at the man he was until he didn’t know who he was at all. Not that he would show or admit that. The person (or rather persons) he became after his inventive escape portrayed the exact opposite. His payback was contingent on the confident, compassionate, rich, and strong personalities of Abbé Busoni, Lord Wilmore, and finally Monte Cristo. The paradoxes are nothing if not delicious.

Perhaps the most obvious paradox is that of poverty vs. riches. These pages are rife with various themes, but it’s easy to see the age-old idea that money can buy happiness. Dantès becomes Monte Cristo after finding the hidden treasure a fellow prisoner described and after he uses that treasure to buy the influence of a Count. It’s that money, in fact, that wins him the social prestige he needs to exact his revenge.

Revenge comes slowly at first as Monte Cristo first destroys Mondego/Morcef’s reputation (he eventually commits suicide), then unearths murderous acts that Villefort is guilty of (he eventually goes insane), and finally strips Danglers of his stature by robbing him little by little (he eventually is left bankrupt of money—and pride).

Dantès-turned-Count has brought about one man’s suicide, another man’s insanity, and a third man’s bankruptcy. He has orchestrated his own version of justice (after justice let him down). But is he happy?

What do you think? Has everything he’s plotted, all that he has purchased, actually made him happy? My answer would be a clear “no.” How could he be? He might have gotten his revenge, but how could he live with it? I would argue that no human being is immune to guilt and I can’t imagine the Count wouldn’t have it after all the destruction he composed.

But others disagree with me. Google the title of the book and you’ll find many different opinions. True, the book ends with the Count finding love with Haydée, a person who you could argue was shown the same injustice that Dantès was at the very beginning. And that may represent a return to his good self. But at what cost? A whole lotta hatred. I believe love is powerful, but I don’t believe human love can absolve such atrocities. And while reading about it all was entertaining, it’s not something I want to experience.

And that’s why I want a GOOD French man. One who could be bad but chooses not to be. One who loves more than he hates.

And, oh yeah, one with a goatee.

I smile and chuckle before answering. No I don’t. And yes it is (at least in my opinion). Reading backward isn’t about skipping content or finding a quicker way to the conclusion, I explain. It’s the exact opposite, actually. It’s about reading every piece of content and understanding how each piece plays a role in the whole of the book.

And that’s when I get blank stares. And sometimes crazy looks. And more frowns. In general, I usually see a complete state of confusion.

Perhaps I should explain…

It’s true that a book or magazine’s most exciting content is often found at/near the end (book reviews in Publishers Weekly, for example, are behind all the industry news and commercials). But I never make such a detour. I like to journey through books and experience all the character nuances and plot twists because that experience makes the ending more satisfying. I like to read the information at the beginning of a periodical because what is reported there may influence the opinions I read in the editorials later. Reading backward is NOT jumping to the end.

So what is it?

Reading backward is a proofreading technique—maybe one that you already know. One of my first employers in the publishing industry taught me this technique and I’ve used it with every composition, every project since. She showed me how to proof sentence-by-sentence, starting with the last sentence of the document. She believed that starting at the beginning of the text made it too easy to get caught up in the flow of the language or the movement of the paragraph. But when you read one sentence at a time, starting with the last sentence in the paragraph, you have to understand that sentence apart from the sentences that surround it. Reading backward helps you study sentences more carefully so you can find—and fix—grammar and punctuation errors more efficiently.

It’s a helpful technique (one of many I’m sure) but I like it because it applies to more than just writing. From my job inside a publishing house, I don’t write as much as all of you—perhaps the occasional article and (what should be more than occasional) blog post. But I also read backward when I’m designing an ad, brainstorming a book title, drafting a marketing plan, or even composing an email. It’s all about perspective… learning to see things in different light, learning to anticipate how different people will experience your work in different ways.

Every eye looks at the same thing differently. I’m looking at an Amish fiction novel on my desk right now. The first thing I see is the turned head of the main character, which makes me think she’s looking for something… or someone. But you might see the dark storm clouds in the background or the pensive look of her eyes, either of which could suggest danger or brewing trouble. Your perspective—your interpretation—will give you a different experience. The same is true of the people who read your books… or see the ads that promote your books… or watch your video trailers… or….

So here are a few questions to consider: do you think about different perspectives when you write? When you promote your writing? How do find the balance that lets you communicate your message but also allows your readers to experience your work in different ways?

It is a true joy to hear from others how something you created has affected their lives in ways you never imagined. Writing different perspectives can only increase the appeal of your book and nurture those different experiences. Reading backward is my trick. What’s yours?

Could it be that waning motivation is the result of unrealistic expectations? At the beginning of the year, I make goals, plans of action, and timelines that are all—in some way—based on what I expect my year, my job, my church, my family, my responsibilities to require of me. If that expectation is set at a level I probably can’t reach, the most likely outcome is disappointment or exhaustion. Those emotions are all too common, aren’t they? And they make talking about expectations rather difficult… so difficult that many people have ruled out expectations all together, believing that nothing good can come from them.

Setting unrealistic expectations is a bad habit. But here’s the thing: expectations are still good. And good expectations can make your efforts to promote your book much more effective. Here are a few reasons why:

1. Managing expectations will help you avoid potential conflict.

I sit behind the marketing desk at a small publishing house. But I’ve also done my time at a larger house. Several of you have also worked with more than one publisher, so you know the differences—in marketing and sales strategies—that can exist between houses. Understanding what your current publisher expects is a large part of managing your own expectations. Because if your expectations don’t align with theirs, there could be conflict.

For example, imagine you have published a novel with one house and are now working on a devotional with another. The fiction house could have set a first year forecast of 10-20,000. If you assume those same sales would apply to the devotional, imagine what would happen if your publisher is forecasting 8-10,000. You would be disappointed that your book didn’t sell “better” (even if it sold right on target). And the conversation where you and your publisher hatch this out would probably be tense.

It works in the reverse as well. If you only expect 5,000 sales but your publisher is hoping for 10,000, they may need more promotion involvement from you than you are expecting. If you aren’t prepared to be that involved, there could be conflict between you and your publisher and between you and anyone else who needs some of your time. Managing expectations will help you avoid conflict.

2. Setting appropriate expectations will keep you on track.

Let’s go back to the example of your publisher requesting more involvement from you. If you don’t set appropriate expectations with your time, your calendar can get so full and your pace so hectic that you could fall behind on some tasks while trying to keep up on others. If you have to decline an interview or appearance, someone—your publicist or the media outlet—will be disappointed. Even if you work so fast and hard that you never have to say no, you will be exhausted by the end of the year. Setting appropriate expectations will keep you on track with all your responsibilities.

3. Understanding expectations will result in satisfaction, not disappointment.

While I love this time of year because I can start fresh, there’s another season I love more: the week a long-term project finally comes to fruition, the day I get to look back and evaluate my work, the minute I  cross an important task off my to do list. I would much rather do that and think “Job well done” than think “I could/should have done more.”

If you understand your expectations, set them realistically, and manage them appropriately, you will be satisfied at the end of the year, not disappointed. And what an awesome feeling that is!

So let’s do it, shall we?

Look at your list of planned promotions.

Come up with some realistic expectations.

Set some “checkpoints” to keep you on track.

And then celebrate a job well done.

Happy New Year, Friends!

I love the Christmas season. I’m a bit of a sap when it comes to decorating the tree and listening to Christmas music (both of which I find excuses for doing as early in November as possible . But I also know how easy it is to get lost in the hustle and bustle, to be weighed down by the rambling to-do list, and to lose sight of what we are really celebrating this season.

Before I left the office last night, I wrote out my to-do list for the last week before the holiday. And lemme tell you… that was a great way to get lost, feel weighed down, and lose focus. Just a few minutes into the exercise, my frustration and patience were severely challenged. So as I looked back over the list, I decided I was going to make time for more important matters. I crossed off several tasks that could wait until the new year and replaced them with ideas of how I can encourage my authors this Christmas.

And that gave me an idea for this blog post, my last of the year. What can authors do to encourage their readers at Christmas? If you think about it, we ask a lot of our readers. Aside from the obvious (buy our books), we ask them to write reviews with online retailers; we ask them to recommend our work to their friends and family; we ask them to comment on our blogs, Tweets, and Facebook pages; we ask them to be influencers (er… endorfluencers); we ask them to be advocates, promotion partners, and friends.

Don’t get me wrong: readers—for the most part—love to do these things. They love to get involved. They want (crave) interaction and relationship. But when was the last time you offered to do something for them? For your community? How are you going to use your platform as a Christian author to share Christ this Christmas?

It can be as simple as collecting and praying through reader prayer requests. Maybe you can arrange a post-Christmas book signing or a reading with a local library or bookstore and offer a percentage of the proceeds to a local ministry. One of my authors is collecting money for a charity she supports. A month or so ago, I helped another author create the “Authors4Education” team through www.MochaClub.org (it’s similar to a child sponsorship program, but instead of supporting a specific child, your monthly donation goes toward the purchase of educational supplies for schools in Africa). The options are endless, especially if you tap the creativity I know all CANners posses .

Marketing through relationships is still one of the most effective avenues of promotion in the book industry. It’s not a new or fresh idea, but it is one that we shouldn’t forget… especially at Christmas. But like all relationships, it’s a two-way street. You both need to participate in order for the relationship to grow. Your readers have given so much this year. How are you going to give back? Comment here to share some ideas—we’d all love to hear them!

Merry Christmas!

“What?! Why would I tell you that? Who IS this?” she shouted.

“What’s… your… name?” the voice said again.

“Why do you want to know my name?” she questioned.

“What’s… your… name?”

“My name? My name is…” she paused, unsure if she wanted to reveal this information. “My name is Danica.”

“Danica is a pretty name” said the voice.

She lost her patience. “I’m not playing this game any longer. I’m hanging up now.”

“Suit yourself. We’ll talk again.”

There was a click, followed by silence and soon the dial tone.

“What was THAT all about?” Danica asked out loud, knowing the walls would not respond.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she quickly assessed her next move. The phone call had pulled her attention away from the proposal she was supposed to be reviewing. And even if she didn’t want to admit it, the incident with the fuse box and the phone conversation gave her the creeps. She didn’t want to be by herself right now. And while she loved this old house, it offered little protection.

It was nearly 5am. She could be dressed and in the office in an hour. The early warehouse staff would be arriving around the same time and even though she rarely talked to them—and hardly knew their names—there was something comforting about knowing they were there. In earshot.

Safety in numbers…

Thirty minutes later, she was rifling through her jewelry looking for the right accessory to her outfit. Grabbing the half-finished proposal from her desk, Danica threw it and some miscellaneous folders and documents into her laptop bag. She grabbed her black stilettos—nothing fancy, certainly nothing expensive, but classic nonetheless—and bounded down the stairs.

In the kitchen, she headed to the pot of coffee she had prepared after her trip to the basement. Pouring the last of it into her travel mug, she secured the lid, threw on her winter coat, and headed to the back door that led to the garage.

“Drat. Cell phone!” Danica muttered just before reaching the back door. She turned, shuffled back to the foyer and retrieved her cell from its charger on the front table. Turning to go, her eyes crossed the front door.

Unlocked.

Both the door and the brass dead bolt were unlocked.

She never used the front door. Ever. She came and went through the garage every day. The front door was always locked. Except now.

Trying to control the twinge in her gut, she flipped the dead bolt and secured the door. Testing it, she made sure it was tight. It didn’t budge.

She adjusted her laptop bag that was slipping from her shoulder and walked down the hall to the back entrance, turning once to let her eyes survey the hallway and front entrance one more time.

Get going, Danica said to herself. The sooner you’re at the office, the sooner you can get to work. And put this entire morning behind you.

She pulled open the back door and flipped the light switch in the garage to illuminate the path to her rusted, green Jeep Wrangler. Locking the door behind her, she headed to the vehicle, cautiously glancing around it into the shadows, searching for something—or someone—that might be lurking in the corners of the chilly garage. Yanking the car door open, she deposited her bags into the front passenger seat.

Stepping up to take her place behind the steering wheel, the heel of her stiletto suddenly caught the runner board and she ungraciously collapsed into the car. Her keys and coffee mug clattered to the garage floor, the first skidding under the vehicle, the second spilling its contents on the cold concrete.

“Klutz,” she muttered. “Good thing no one was here to see that.” She ducked out of the vehicle to retrieve the dropped items. She resurrected the cup, then let her hand wander under the car. Her fingers felt their way across the ground, searching out the location of the lost keys.

Nothing.

Danica sighed with equal parts impatience and frustration. “Where did they go?”

Squatting to all fours with palms flat on the floor, she peered under the vehicle and let her eyes focus on… what? What as THAT?

She jumped back. No keys in sight. But there was something else.

A knife.

It had a wood handle and serrated edge good for carving. Glancing around, Danica finally saw what the knife had been used for. Her front tire had been slashed. On her feet, she quickly circled the car. All four tires had been slashed. Not just punctured. They all featured gaping rips that only a serrated knife could pull.

She wasn’t driving to work this morning. Not in this vehicle.

Someone wanted her to stay home.  

And that sobering thought gave her a chill that resonated to her very core.

Note to readers: it’s YOUR turn. Take the poll and tell me what happens next. I have to write what you decide. So be nice… please.

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Don’t like these options? Comment here and suggest your own. And be sure to check back soon to see if your votes determined the next plot twist!

The phone—an almost-antique Western Electric 202 radial dial phone—rang again. But she only stared. Wondered who it could be.

Her mom? Mom was an anxious insomniac and this wouldn’t be the first early morning call.

Her cranky elderly neighbor? Maybe Mrs. Cratchet’s electricity also went off. Maybe she needed help.

Someone else? Someone who knew she was awake? Someone who was watching her?

Stop scaring yourself, she whispered, shaking those thoughts from her mind.

Another ring. She snatched the receiver from its clutch cradle.

“Hello?”   

Nothing.

“Mom?”

Nothing.

“Is someone there?”

Nothing. Wait… Something. A faint noise in the background. Not a voice; only a sound. What was it?

“Who is this?!” she said sternly.

Oh forget it. It was probably just a prank. She placed the receiver back in its cradle and turned back to the proposal. The picture. The clown.

She flipped the page, ignoring the odd twinge she felt in her gut. Diving back into the story, she found Cheri talking to a fellow cheerleader, complaining about how stupid boys can be. She read as the two blondes marched away from the haunted barn, leaving Tommy behind to his childish games.  A couple rides later, the two decided to call it a night and headed for the parking lot, which was nothing more than a field of tall grasses, overgrown in some areas, hastily cut in others to make it drivable. As the darkness crept in, Cheri clung to her friend.  

Cheerleader. Blonde. Scared. Vulnerable… pretty stereotypical, she thought, as her eyes took hold of the next paragraph. They had made it to the car (a VW bug no less) and Cheri was waiting as her friend dug through her purse looking for her car keys… waiting as her friend resurrected the culprit from the mass of gum wrappers, loose coins, hand lotion, hair ties, lip gloss and other miscellaneous things that had found a home in the bag… waiting as her friend fumbled to fit the key into the car door. The ferris wheel music suddenly surged at the same time someone grabbed Cheri’s shoulder, evicting a scream from deep in her lungs.

The second shrill of the phone jolted her back to the present. Her chest heaved. The story wasn’t written well, but it was setting a mood, one that made her scared by the phone’s interruption. She grabbed the receiver. “Who IS this?”

The faint noise in the background was a little more audible. It had a distinct rhythm. But what was it?

“Listen I’m not going to play this game. You’re not scaring me.” (She lied). “Identify yourself or I’m going to call the police.”

She listened again, awaiting a response. Still nothing. Focusing on the background noise, she tried to ascertain the rhythm. Three quick, staccato plinks. Then three slow. Three quick… again. It almost sounded like water hitting a hard surface, like water hitting porcelain. Dripping water, she thought. A dripping faucet!

The rhythm repeated itself. Three quick. Three slow. Three quick.

That’s it! She jumped to her feet, still clutching the receiver.

Dot dot dot. Dash dash dash. Dot dot dot.

Her years of scouring through poorly written mysteries in search of something worth publishing had taught her well. She knew that rhythm.

S.O.S.

Someone was sending an S.O.S.

“Listen, if you’re in trouble, you’ve got to tell me where you are.”

Nothing.

She laid the receiver on the desk and headed for the cordless phone in the hall. Maybe she could hear better on the newer model.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me where you are,” she said into the cordless as she made her way to her bathroom. Grabbing her robe, she charged into her bathroom, motivated by the thought of someone needing her help. “I’ll come, as soon as I can, but you have to tell me where…”

She stopped midsentence as her wide eyes rested on her sink.

Her sink. Her dripping faucet. No… couldn’t be…

“Who… who’s there?” she said again, this time with a small tremble in her voice. “Do you need help?”

“It’s YOU who needs help,” a creepy voice whispered.

“What?! What did you say?! Who is this? Tell me who you are!”

“What’s… your… name?” The voice asked in drawn out slurs.

“What?! Why would I tell you that? Who IS this?” she shouted.

“What’s… your… name?” the voice said again.

“Why do you want to know my name?” she questioned.

“What’s… your… name?”

“My name? My name is…”

Note to readers: So what IS her name? You vote. You decide. Comment here with your suggestions. Or click here to take the online poll. It’s ALL up to you.

4. Talk to your audience. Some tours allow you to connect with bloggers before the tour starts. If the bloggers email you to register, reply with a quick note of thanks or an offer for an added incentive (maybe an interview or an additional copy of the book to give away). Even if you don’t meet the bloggers until the tour launches, you still have time to talk to them. Visit their site and comment on the post they’ve offered for your book. Thank them for participating, ask questions (e.g. so who was your favorite character?), briefly tell them the latest news about your book, or direct them to your website for more information. Bloggers not only appreciate the comment (builds traffic on their site) but will also get a kick out of “meeting” the author.

5. Don’t be afraid to follow-up. If you’re working with a blog tour group, the group coordinators are very willing to help with this if you ask. I did this just recently. I couldn’t find a post from a blogger who received the book, so I queried the coordinator. She knew exactly where it was and sent me a link within minutes. Know, too, that life happens. Sometimes a blogger will forget to post. Many times they will be willing to post as soon as life calms down, so be gracious and understanding. Everybody has their off days.

6. Share the love. Don’t be afraid to tell people that the tour is going on. Use your Facebook and Twitter platforms to link to reviews. Encourage the bloggers to do the same, using their own social media outlets. Ask them to post their review with online retailers (Christian Book Distributors, Amazon, etc) as well as on their own blog. If you have a website, post links there and ask your publisher to include it on their website too. Do what you can to send traffic back to the blogs participating in the tour—the bloggers will certainly appreciate you for it and you’ll help spread the word about your book in the process.

Blog tours can be fun and successful. Use these tips to make the most of yours!

Till next time,
Cat

Written by a first-time author, the email was only a few sentences in length. Short. To the point. I like that. She was asking for advice on how to get her book into the hands of people who could help promote it. Influencers, I thought. Impressive. Since we only just finalized the title of her book and haven’t even finished designing a cover, I was impressed that the author was already thinking about a post-release promotion. It was the last sentence, however, that really caught my attention:

“Would you be willing to give me your thoughts on my list of endorfluencers.”

Her what now?

Ok. She got my interest, I thought. I’ll postpone the blog update… just a few more minutes.

I opened the attachment with a bit of anticipation. And what I found was a long list (over 100 names!) of endorsers AND influencers. Though mixed together, I could fairly easily determine which were which. I saw the usual suspects (don’t get me wrong,I love Oprah… but I’m still waiting for her to use her influence for one of my books). And I saw a few not-so familiar ones (the pastor at the author’s church, the manager at her local food pantry, and a local news anchor, among others). Rather than take the time to separate them out, I hit “reply” and started writing an email explaining the difference between an endorser and an influencer.

I explained that endorsers were sent books before release and influencers received books after release. I explained that endorsers typically had recognizable names or positions, whereas influencers were anyone who could “influence the use or purchase of the book in his/her place of business or ministry.” Fame and recognition not required. And then I wrote that endorsers are people who agree to write a favorable comment about the book that we could use in our promotion efforts, but that influencers…

Wait a second…

Influencers do that, too.

An alarm went off in my head: Danger, Will Robinson. I was about to seriously confuse this author (and myself!) Both endorsers AND influencers are meant to do the same thing… talk about the book. Endorsements may be printed in/on the book, whereas influencements (err, influencer comments) appear mostly on blogs and retail websites like Amazon.com and ChristianBookDistributors.com. Despite where they appear, they are BOTH written comments. Endorsers influence a book just as much as influencers do. And influencers, in their own way, endorse a book.

So endorsers are influencers. And influencers can be endorsers.

I suddenly realized that the author had it right all along. She knew exactly what she was saying when she asked for help with her endorfluencers. She didn’t need me to explain the difference as much as she wanted to know when the people on her list would receive the book. I promptly erased my drafted email and started again, this time opening with a note of thanks for the fun marketing exercise she took me through (without knowing it!).

Later today, I will be emailing again, including messaging a couple more authors to ask for their lists of endorfluencers. What are you doing today? Do you have a few minutes to comment and offer your take on endorsers and influencers? Who is the best influencer you’ve found for your book?

I look forward to reading your comments.

See you soon,

Cat

www.cathoort.com