What Does the “New” Reader Want?

Bob Mayer posted a very thought-provoking blog post today and I have to say I agree with many of his conclusions on the changed state of this business of book writing/selling. One of the observations he made was that readers today want shorter works – works they can finish in one sitting – but that being part of a series is now the way to build a following. Many successful authors are publishing short works that are part of a series and they publish often – every couple months!

When I first started out as an independent publisher I published a collection of short stories in one volume (My Last Romance and other passions), and two novels (The Old Mermaid's Tale and Each Angel Burns). They did okay but it wasn't until I published a couple shorts that I saw a big upswing in sales. The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic was published in July 2011 and by December 2011, it sold 15,000 copies. I was flabbergasted. That increased to close to 40k over the next year and it still sells hundreds of copies every month. I followed it with Ghosts of a BeachTown in Winter, another short, and that one did amazingly well, too.

The funny thing was I got a LOT of reviews complaining about the length of both books (too short.) Both of them sell for .99 and both of them list the exact word count in the Product Description but there was still a fair number of reviews complaining they were too short. But they sold like hotcakes. I learned my lesson.

When I decided to write The WhiskeyBottle in the Wall, I decided to experiment with the idea of making the stories a series. I released the 11 stories in three volumes and I got a LOT of positive feedback on that. Currently those stories are available in the three individual volume, as a boxed set (at a substantial savings), and in paperback. What has happened? Volume 1 still sells as much as all the others combined. It has received very good reviews so this tells me that people like the idea of being able to “test the waters”, so to speak, before committing themselves to the entire set. And that is fine.

Next week I'll be publishing the sequel to The Crazy Old Lady and I've started work on a third book in the series. The Crazy Old Lady's Revenge is 39,000 words – over 2 1/2 times as long as the original. It remains to be seen how it will be received.

In his post, Bob Mayer also says there is no such thing as “self-publishing” any more – at least there shouldn't be. Successful indie authors are most often part of a team. And this is another thing I agree on. I am a good cover designer. I was designing book covers for 20 years before I ever published a thing. Therefore I barter my design services for editing, proof-reading, content editing, etc. And have been lucky to align myself with some outstanding writers, several of them with impressive backgrounds. They read my manuscripts and I design covers and promotional material for them. I've learned so much from a couple of these writers that it has made me a better writer in the process.

I suppose will always want to write longer novels with complex characters and worlds of my own creation, but I also love these smaller, quicker works with characters and settings that I look forward to revisiting. I don't know if I'll ever go back to selling books at the rate I was a year ago but I do know one thing, I'm going to keep writing.

Thanks for reading.

Juney Wickett & Friends Can Dance!

You can't make this stuff up, folks. Ever since my book, The Whiskey Bottle in the Wall, has been out people keep asking me where did you get these characters from??? I tell them, these are the people I grew up among. This past week was the Ridgway Rendezvous, an annual gathering of chainsaw carvers. In the eighth story of my book, The Legend of Father Cuneo's Grave, there is a chainsaw carver named Juney Wickett who is quite a character. He would fit right in with this group - in fact, I think I saw him putting on some pretty slick moves in this video:


Our good buddy Ray Beimel attended and photographed part of the event and he is working on a story about it but, in the meantime, enjoy Juney and friends dancing with their chainsaws!

Thanks for reading.

#SampleSunday: Clair Gets Even from "The Old Mermaid's Tale"

One of my favorite scenes from my novel, The Old Mermaid's Tale....
In this excerpt from The Old Mermaid's Tale: It is 1963. Clair, Gia, and Karen are waitresses in a waterfront diner and Gia is about to elope with her lover Willy. Clair is in love with a musician who was crippled while working as a deckhand on a merchant ship, and Karen, who has been around for quite awhile, resents their romances.

A group of sailors pushed through the door and crowded into a booth in my station. I sighed and picked up a pitcher of ice water.

“So what’s Mama think about you being a fallen woman?” Karen smirked at Gia.

“I don’t have to talk to you,” Gia said untying her apron.

“No, you sure don’t and I’ll bet you’re not talking much to Mama these days either. How you planning to explain your red eyes when loverboy here pulls out of town? Or do you have a replacement lined up?” She had her hands on her hips and blood dripping from her fangs.

“Shut up, Karen.” I repeated as I passed her. “Leave them alone.”

“Why should I?” she snapped. “You two think you’re such perfect little virgins—always talking like I’m the slut. Seems to me like you’re not one bit different.” Two truck drivers finishing up their meals at the counter nudged each other and snickered.

“What are you laughing at?” she turned on them. “They think just because those bums hold their coats for them and buy them dinner they give a rat’s ass. Ha! Make me laugh!”

“Willy loves me!” Gia said, startled. “He wants to marry me.”

Karen snorted. “Oh right! He’s going to go back to whatever God forsaken cow town he came from and write you love letters and find a little love nest for you. Why, maybe he’ll even invite you home to meet his mama. In a pig’s eye!”

“Willy,” Gia went around and placed her hands on his shoulders, “tell her.”

Willy would have stood up if she hadn’t been leaning on him. He looked up at her and said, “You know how I feel. Who cares what she thinks. I just want to be with you.” He slid his arm around her waist.

“See,” Gia said looking directly at Karen “He’s taking me with him when he leaves. I’m going to stay with his family and we’re going to be happy together.”

Karen stared open-mouthed for a full minute. She poked her pencil back in her curls. “Oh now I’ve heard everything,” she sputtered at last. “Well, I won’t try to stop you making a fool of yourself.” She turned and the obnoxious smirk returned as she eyed me. “You might be making an ass of yourself but you’re still not as stupid as smart-ass college girl here.”

Giovanna’s jaw dropped.

“Ignore her,” I said putting down the pitcher of water and leaning over the counter to give Gia a hug. “Just go. You won’t be sorry.”

But it was me Gia chose to ignore. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, you cow?”

Sal choked on his coffee and stared at her open-mouthed.

Karen looked back and forth between us with that smirk. “Well,” she drawled, “at least your bum has two legs.”

No one is ever prepared for such moments. We prefer to believe we would behave with dignity, at least I always did. But the mad, instinctual violence that had been lurking under my surface ever since I met Karen was way ahead of me. I meant to walk away but somehow—in the same moment—I was turning and the satisfying crunch of her jaw crumpling under my fist was reverberating up my arm. She flew backward in a graceless, but appropriate, spread-legged posture and landed across the end of the counter sending salt shakers, ketchup bottles, and sugar shakers flying. A loud hiss sounded when the brown mountain of curls flew off the top of her head and hit the coffee machine burners where they simmered like a scorched tarantula. I heard a mixture of gasps, laughter, and a brief smattering of applause.

“Goddamn.” Sal put his coffee cup down.

Minka came rocketing around the corner—her skirt in a wad around her waist as she fished in the far-reaches of her pink flowered girdle for her Smith and Wesson.

“Clair!” Gia covered her face with her hands. “My God, Clair! Did you hurt yourself?”

My arm was going numb and, though I could see blood welling up on my split knuckles, I couldn’t move. The truck drivers bent over Karen’s limp form splashing ice water on her face. Carl came running out of the storeroom the side of his face still white from the flour sack he had been sleeping against.

“Who got shot?” he shrieked.

“Way to go, slugger.” Willy chucked me on the arm. I stared at him, then closed my eyes and fainted dead away.

 

“The Crazy Old Lady's Revenge” is Coming in March, and....

Because my novelette, The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic, has become so popular (over 40,000 copies have been sold) it seemed like a good idea to write its sequel – even though I didn't think there was one. For nearly a year I tried to imagine how that story could be continued. The story was originally intended to be a short story to be entered in Level Best Books annual anthology of crime stories by New England writers. But, as I wrote, the story grew to 15,000 words – too long for Level Best – so, finally, I decided to publish it as an Amazon Short. It has done very well. With 121 reviews on Amazon, it has 47 5-star reviews which makes me really happy.

Then, as I was finishing The Whiskey Bottle in the Wall, I got an idea for continuing the story. Actually, it was a comment by a reviewer that sparked my imagination – she said she would have liked to have known what happened to the body discovered at the end of the story. I hadn't thought of that and, slowly, my imagination took over and the result is a 39k word story (almost a full-length novel, since novels begin at 40k) making it more than 2 1/2 times as long as the original.

This story is told from the point of view of a woman named Vivienne Lang, Mattie's best friend from childhood. As little girls they played in GrammyLou's fabulous townhouse and, like Mattie, Vivienne loved GrammyLou's jokes about “the crazy old lady in the attic.” She told her own grandmother that she wanted a crazy old lady for their attic.

But Viv's happy life was upset when her young, flighty, and irresponsible mother, dragged her off to California, and into a life that she hated. When she returns to Boston, she is a changed woman, lonely, insecure, vulnerable. She deals with her sense of powerlessness by studying martial arts and fighter training but, other than her elderly grandfather, she spends her time alone or picking up sailors in waterfront bars. When she sees the article in the newspaper about the body being exhumed from the garden of the townhouse in which she and Mattie once played, Viv looks up Trent Doyle, who helps her reconnect with Mattie.

Their reunion is exciting for both of them but is promptly marred by two mysterious deaths. First, the body of the realtor, who is handling the sale of GrammyLou's townhouse, is found at the bottom of the servant's staircase with a broken neck. Then the body of Nell, GrammyLou's old housekeeper, is discovered floating in Marblehead Harbor. As Viv and Mattie deal with these strange deaths, Viv meets a gorgeous, sexy ex-cop named Joe Quinn who takes an interest in her – more than she is used to. Strange events multiply. Two more deaths strike too close to home and Viv suspects someone is stalking Mattie – and she's not sure who she can trust.

So the story is with 3 beta-readers now and, as soon as they give me their opinions, I'll get the changes made and hope it is all set to go.

All of this has gotten me thinking about something else. The climax of The Crazy Old Lady's Revenge is pretty intense and I'm thinking there might even be more to this story...

What if GrammyLou's house has sheltered so much horror that it is now unlivable? What if Mattie cannot find a buyer for the house because every time someone wants to buy it, the house itself scares them away? What if, in desperation, Mattie seeks out a “ghost-hunter” to clear the house from The Return of the Crazy Old Lady? What if....?

Bounty: You Can't Say No to Mother Nature

On Valentine's Day I received a large box delivered by the post office. In it was twenty pounds of ruby red grapefruit and navel oranges from Texas, a gift from an old friend – what bounty!!! For the next few weeks I will be feasting on the most succulent of citrus fruit and, believe me when I say, I will enjoy every bite.

There is something wildly luscious and satisfying about unexpected bounty. A few weeks ago I was reading an email from a friend who went south for the winter. She and her husband just decided to escape Cape Ann for a the winter months by renting a cottage in Florida. When they got to their retreat she discovered a star fruit tree in their yard, loaded down with fruit. She called their landlady who said, “just ignore it.” Of course she couldn't. She was serving star fruit at every meal and asked me what I would do with a mother-lode of this delicate fruit. I wrote back with my recipe for lemon curd and suggested she try it with star fruit instead of lemon. I'm dying to know how it turned out.

Her situation made me think of other times in my life when I was on the receiving end of such bounty. One time, when I was in college, my dad called me one Thursday evening with the news that a farmer friend had called in a panic. It was late September and he had a field full of corn – and a heavy frost was predicted for that night. He told everyone he knew they could have all the corn they could pick as long as they got it before the frost came. I cut my Friday classes and drove home. Dad and a couple brothers had just arrived with a truck bed full of corn and we worked through the night par-boiling, cutting, packing and canning. By the time the corn was all “put by” I had so much corn starch in my hair it stood out at 90 degree angles.

When the earth gives you bounty you can't say no.

Some years later I was living in Texas and a few girlfriends and I rented a cottage on Matagorda Island. We got there to discover that in back of our cottage was a small grove of fig trees loaded to the ground with plump, succulent figs. A call to the owners of the cottage provided the information, let the birds have them. There was no way my mother's daughter could stand for that. We drove to the nearest shopping center and stocked up on sugar, a few lemons, and jars. My girlfriends, who had been planning on spending the weekend tanning their fannies, were not thrilled about this but we left that cottage with 40 jars (10 apiece) of succulent fig preserves. I cherished every single jar and I hope my friends did too.

To me there is something irresistible when it comes to unexpected bounty. I've always felt it was tantamount to a sin to ignore it. One summer I was living in Maine with a friend and we discovered that there was a slope leading down to a golf course in back of the house that was covered in red raspberry bushes. Every morning I would get up and go out and pick raspberries for as long as I could. I made raspberry jam and froze bags of raspberries. That autumn, when I was moving to Massachusetts, the only thing we argued over was the raspberries. I figured, since I picked them and put them by, that made them mine. My friend thought I was being mean – so we split those that were left.

A similar thing happened in the Dominican Republic. I was staying with a friend and had obtained permission to swim in a neighbor's pool. While I was swimming there were soft plop-plops in the water which turned out to be grapefruits from a tree hanging over the pool. Every morning I gathered up the grapefruit in the pool to take home with me but I always wound up giving half away before I got there.

Recently I read about a woman who was recovering from a bad breakup and had retreated to a house in the country to lick her wounds. While there she went walking early in the morning and discovered a huge tree covered with yellow plums. She tried to find out who it belonged to because the plums were getting very, very ripe but no one knew. So she got a basket and every day she walked out to the tree and filled the basket with fruit then took the fruit to a food pantry in the nearby town. She said that picking the sun-warmed fruit, and taking it to people who were thrilled to get such a great treat, was the most healing thing she could have done for herself.

Accepting bounty is its own reward.

Thanks for reading.

50 Years Later: JFK's "Let The Word Go Forth"

This is such an incredibly beautiful video, I wanted to share it with everyone. He had such a vision for us! This is who we should be.

The Mystery of the Bearded Lady

This post was originally made on August 18, 2010. One of the Comments below says that the commenter would not be surprised if the Beaded Lady showed up in one of my stories. Well, she did, even though I forgot all about this post. The sixth story in The Whiskey Bottle in the Wall: Secrets of Marienstadt is "Of Beautiful Strangers, Woodchucks, and Bearded Ladies." Enjoy: 

DOUBLE UPDATE:
I posted this to my blog over 2 years ago and one of the people in the Comments section said, "I wouldn't be surprised to see them as characters in your next book." She was right. They are in Story 6 of The Whiskey Bottle in the Wall!

UPDATE! (see below)
I was doing some research on the internet about my hometown, St. Marys, Pennsylvania, when I came across an online collection of historic photos, postcards and memorabilia by a St. Marys antiques dealer. There was lots of good stuff there including this photograph:

It is labeled “The Bearded Lady of Elk County: Mrs. Myers or Meyers”. I was immediately fascinated by it and posted it to my Facebook page where it prompted a pretty lively discussion.

Because we live in the era of Prop 8, my mind went wild and I started imagining a scenario in which two men in 1880s central Pennsylvania who were in love decided to try living as man and wife. They accomplished this deed by one of them posing as a woman but, as the years went by, they wanted to flaunt their deception by allowing the lady of the house to grow quite an impressive beard. Can you imagine the times in which they lived? Since, at the time, St. Marys was not exactly the hub of the world they might have thought they were safe away from the eyes of people who might be less gullible.

Naturally this was all in my imagination and, since I am a fiction writer, the story got increasingly colorful and intricate.

At the same time I emailed a copy to my friend Ray in PA who is a professional photographer and also a historian. He is currently involved in a huge project to archive the local historical society's massive photography collection. Ray emailed back and said this was the first he knew of such a “bearded lady”. He said the photograph looked like what was known as a “cart de vista” and, in his opinion, it was a fake. I'm inclined to agree with him though who is responsible for the deception can only imagined.

I took the photo in to Photoshop and enlarged the head of the woman (below) and, as Ray pointed out, her head is disproportionately large and her neck is disproportionately long. You can see long, carefully groomed curls tumbling over her shoulders and a funny little crown or tiara in her head. My guess is somebody superimposed the face, beard and hair of a bearded man over that of the original lady in the picture. Her hands are also quite masculine but, of course, in those days women worked hard and it is not difficult to imagine a woman having tough, rugged looking hands.

So, I suppose we'll never know who thought this trick up. The photo as posted on Mark Wendel's web site might give us a clue. If you click on it and check the Properties it is titled “beerded lady.jpg” --- BEERded, not bearded. St. Marys is also the home of Straub's Beer and I'm wondering if some of that stuff might not have been involved. Maybe someone indulged in a bit of Straub's and thought it a giggle to create a “beerded” lady. 

You never know.
____________________________________________________________________________
Photographer Alexander Thompson just sent me this:

Bearded Woman
carte de visite, 4 x 2.5 inches, circa 1880
photographer’s logo stamped on reverse and signed in pencil "Mrs. A. … Elk County PA, Age 24" (Note: St. Marys is in Elk County, PA)
photographer: I.W. Taber & Co., Yosemite Art Gallery, 26 Montgomery Street, San Francisco, California
I am not entirely certain of this lady’s identity. It may be Annie Jones, who was twice married, or it may be the performer known as ‘Mrs. Meyers’. The penciled surname on the back is difficult to decipher – it could be "Myers" or something like "Ingram".

Another likely possibility is that this is Jane Devere, a native of Kentucky who worked for Sells Brothers and several other shows. In 1884, Madame Devere's beard was measured at an alleged 14 inches, which is purportedly the record length for a woman's beard. (Link:  http://missioncreep.com/mundie/gallery/gallery2.htm)
_________________________________________________________________________
This is a steampunk-style necklace someone posted on Flikr:

______________________________________________________________________________

This is from Dennis McGeehan's book on St. Marys. I went to high school with Dennis and own a copy of his book. I never noticed this before:

Thanks for reading.   

Attention Authors: Have You Received A Call Like This?

Like most writers, I long for that big break, that get-noticed moment when some teeny bit of magic happens and one of my books gets mentioned by a major media outlet or is seen being read by Anjelina Jolie in a movie. One of the challenges of being an indie author is marketing and most of us stink at it. So, consequently, we are highly susceptible to marketing opportunities that turn out to be opportunities to spend a whole lot of money we don't have for nothing-much in return.

On the author sites I frequent we talk about these – sites that offer reviews for a fee, marketing campaigns that cost big bucks and don't amount to much more than we could do for ourselves, etc. Today, I encountered a new one and, boy, oh boy, was it an experience. I was sitting at my desk working on a manuscript when the phone rang. The Caller ID read, “631-421-6074 Unknown Caller.” Now, normally I will not answer an Unknown Caller call but I wasn't thinking and I did. This lead to nearly twenty minutes of interesting conversation with a man who said his name was Anthony Holt. He assured me he is a life-long professional in the entertainment industry and that my name had been given to him to pre-interview for a huge opportunity. I should have ended the call right then and there but, alas, hope springs eternal.

Mr. Holt proceeded to tell me how I had been identified as one of a very few authors who produced work of exceptional quality and I was being presented with an uprecedented opportunity. He had me go to a web site – http://www.closeuptvnews.com – and said that I was one of three finalists to be featured throughout the month of March on their various interview programs with a man named Doug Llewelyn. Now, let me hasten to say I have no idea who Doug Llewelyn is and whether he knows Mr. Holt is using his name*. I have no idea what Close-Up Talk Radio is and whether or not they endorse Mr. Holt sending people to their web site**. I'm just reporting the facts.

For the next twenty minutes Mr. Holt told me of all the amazing things this opportunity would offer me. I would be flying all over the country to do book signings. I would be doing talk show appearances (he mentioned Oprah and Ricky Lake). He kept saying, “I want to make sure you are ready for this level of success.” By this time I was 99% certain this was a sales-job but I was kind of interested in his technique. Man, I'll tell you, this guy did NOT give up! He repeated his spiel several times. He had me look at videos on the Close-Up TV web site. He talked about all the money I was going to make. He promised me help with re-designing my web site (I like my web site) and how I would be coached for interviews. He started talking speaker fees - $20k, $30k and more. He mentioned they were located at 30 Rock and were a part of NBC. He yanked out every “hook” he thought might catch me.

He also kept asking, “Why aren't you more successful by now? Why aren't you a household name?” (Since today is Valentine's Day, I sort of think I am but I didn't mention that.) Finally, the truth is, I had to go to the bathroom so I said, “So, let's cut to the chase. What do you need from me?” He replied, “We pay $40,000 for air time and in order to prove that you are serious we ask that you contribute toward that. Just a small percentage of $5,000.” I said, “Not gonna happen, thanks for calling, bye.”

He sounded disappointed. 

So, what have we learned from this?  I don't know... sure there is a part of me that sort of wishes there would have been a big break at the end of that phone call but the truth is, I don't want to go on TV talk shows and fly all over the country promoting my books. I want to write. I know that the Cult of Celebrity is massive and a lot of publishers want “marketable” authors – I ain't one of those. I'm a reserved, moody, grouchy recluse who writes books that some people like. That's about as much as I ask.

So all I'm saying is, if you are an author and a call comes from “631-421-6074 Unknown Caller” and Anthony Holt starts telling you how you're among the finalists for a spot on Doug Llewellyn's show on Close-Up Talk Radio, you are in for an entertaining conversation. Or you can just not answer the phone.

Thanks for reading.

UPDATE: Because I was not sure whether Close-Up Talk Radio knew of the calls this man was making, I emailed them through their web site and sent them a link to this blog. A few minutes later I received an email from Louis Ceparano <lou@closeuptvnews.com> saying: We have forwarded your blog to our legal department. You have now involved yourself in a legal matter you will be contacted shortly by our legal team

* Shortly after I posted the above Update I received a phone call from Mr. Holt who was quite upset with me for posting this blog. He said he felt it made it look like he was not legitimate. I assured him my only purpose in doing this was to let my fellow authors know about the offer he was making and to make sure Close-Up TV knew that their name was being used.

** Mr. Holt has informed me that the offer he made ($5000, or $1250 per episode) is a program that is posted on their web site. This appears to contradict his original information that my name was selected after research on authors and I was one of just three possible selections, only one of whom would be picked.

“Kill Your Darlings” - The Muse Giveth & The Muse Taketh Away

Every writer has been through it. You get an idea for a great scene and you write and you write and you write, totally convinced that you've had a stroke of genius. When you finish and you read back over the new section you realize something awful: You've created a wonderful scene that has NOTHING to do with your story. Damn. Now what?

This happened to me over the weekend. I've been struggling with the sequel to my novelette, The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic. This is called The Crazy Old Lady's Revenge and it is growing from a novelette, to a novella, and is now mighty close to a full-length novel. It's a good story but the plotting is really tight and the timeline is tense. The story takes up where the last one left off. It begins with an article in the newspaper about the discovery of a body buried in the back garden of a Beacon Hill townhouse and it takes off from there.

The story is told from the perspective of Vivienne Lang, a strange, moody, misfit of a woman who was the best friend of Mattie Thorndike, the heroine of The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic, when they were children. Like Mattie, Viv was a poor-little-rich-girl – lots of assets but absent parents, being raised by grandparents. From the time they were five Viv and Mattie spent hours in GrammyLou's elegant but mysterious Beacon Hill townhouse, playing together and talking about the ghost they believed lived in the ballroom. Then at the age of twelve, Viv's life took a different turn when her young, irresponsible mother turned up and yanked her away from her life in Boston to live with her in southern California.

Now Viv is back in Boston, caring for her elderly grandfather, studying martial arts, and trying to make sense of her messed up life. One day she encountrs Trent Doyle, the handyman both she and Mattie had crushes on as girls. Trent helps her re-connect with Mattie and strange things begin to happen.

So far so good. At the gym one day, Viv meets a handsome, sexy South Boston former-cop and begins falling in love but he is not entirely what he seems. So this is where I went off the rails. I got so involved with the character of Joe Quinn that I wrote and wrote and wrote and, a couple thousand words later, realized that this was all well and good, but it had NOTHING to do with the story.

Hemingway said, “Kill your darlings.” I didn't want to kill them. I kept thinking up excuses why I should keep all that stuff but my Inner Editor was not impressed. She kept scowling at me and saying, “Remember the story. That comes first.” But... but... but... I like this stuff. It's really good, I said. She frowned at me. “Do I have to swat you? It has nothing to do with your story. Kill it.” Finally, late Sunday afternoon, after pouting and feeling like I wasted the whole weekend, I did as I was told. I deleted it. Damn.

There is something that seems bitterly unfair when this happens. Why does the Muse give us all this good stuff only to find out it has no purpose? What's the point in that? The point is that creativity is endless and, all those ideas and beautiful words live inside of us and, while they might not be useful here, they are not going to be lost forever. They'll just incubate until there is a good place for them.

Last night, in the middle of the night, I woke up thinking about how the story was moving along and, suddenly, I had a very good idea – followed by another one. It was much too early but I didn't want to risk losing them. I got up, got dressed, and came in here to write. I captured both of them and, the more I re-read and refine them, the better I like them. They are just what I needed. I'm so happy and now I can't wait to get back at it and finish up this story. The Muse giveth and the Muse taketh away.

Thanks for reading.  

GHB & the Back Shore During the Wicked Stawm!

Desi Smith is nuts! He'd have to be to make this video. Desi works for the Gloucester Times and they posted this video of his to YouTube. I have driven up Nautilus Road and the back shore hundreds of imes and in some pretty bad weather but this is the wildest I have ever seen it.


The storm is over now and today it has rained all day. Our street is so piled with snow on both sides that there is still no place to park. Let's hope a few more days with temperatures above freezing will help melt some. This has been quite an adventure - we were lucky that we never lost power.

Saturday Morning & the Wicked Stawm

We had a wild and windy night but we never lost power and that is all I ask for. I don't know how much snow we got because the drifts are so deep. My back deck is clear. This is the cemetery this morning. 

We are still under snow ban here - no parking on the streets and the wind is howling but it is warm inside and I have writing to do. I just made a pot of coffee and I have everything I need to snuggle in for a few days until the outside quits being so crazy! Stay warm, everyone, and thanks for reading.

Updating the Wicked Stawm...

So far all is pretty quiet here in Gloucester but the worst is supposed to happen tonight. I went out on the back porch and took pictures of the cemetery today. The first one was at 10:30 am:

Then 12:30 pm:

Then 2:30 pm:

I wonder what it will be like tomorrow! Guess we'll just have to wait and see!!

Wicked Stawm Comin' - Be Safe

We are under a blizzard watch out here on the island. The Code Red Call just came in telling us to get our vehicles off the streets as of 8am tomorrow. So, this afternoon I went to the grocery store, swung by the Liquor Locker for snake-bite medicine (snakes are a BIG problem during Gloucester blizzards), then dropped my car off at a friend's house. Now I am charging devices, rounding up candles and matches, bottling water, and cooking. I have no idea if all these precautions will be necessary but we are New Englanders so we do this.

The best part of "wicked stawms comin'" is neighbors. I am always so moved by the neighbors who call to ask if I need anything while they  are out. When Jane brought me home from parking my car she gave me a quart of her delicious, home-made pepper jelly, plus a big jar of sweet red pepper spread. With a box of Ritz crackers (which I have) and a carton of cream cheese (ditto) I am set.

So, everyone, stay home, read books, knit stuff, sew, cook, and remember that summer is coming. Be safe and thanks for reading.  

1st Amendment Rights vs. 2nd Amendment Rights: Why the Hypocrisy?

I grew up in a house full of guns. My dad and all 3 of my brothers were/are hunters. My dad had his own loading room where he loaded bullets and we helped him. Sometimes we loaded bullets with wax tips. Dad would set up a paper target over the coal bin (do people even have coal bins these days?) and we would target shoot there with the wax-tipped bullets. All of us learned gun safety from a very early age. Dad loved guns and loved tinkering with them. I remember helping him “blue” the steel parts of some of his hunting rifles to cut down on the glare while hunting. In college I shoot both rifles and pistols. I have no issue with guns when they are used responsibly.

Brothers Matt, Wayne and Jack in Jack's gun room,
 mugging for the camera.

Ever since the Newtown shootings, I, like a lot of other people, have come to the conclusion that something needs to be done about the gun violence in this country. I do not have an issue in the world with people owning and using the kinds of guns I learned to use but until deer start wearing kevlar, I cannot figure out why people need the so-called military-style assault weaponry. Those things exist for one purpose – to kill people. Owning one says, in my book, “I'm prepared to kill people.”

I've been listening with interest to all the ranting and raving about “taking away our 2^nd Amendment Rights.” What I want to know is, what makes 2^nd Amendment Rights so much more sacred than our 1^st Amendment Rights. I've thought a lot about the 1^st Amendment because, as a writer and a publisher, I am continually aware of how so-called “freedom of speech” is regulated and limited by law. Almost every writer I know has had some kind of a brush with curbing their 1^st Amendment right to free speech in order to keep themselves out of trouble. There are laws about plagarism and copyright infringement, libel and hate speech, pornography and “inciting.” I, personally, have been involved in a situation where I was threatened with a lawsuit if I continued to publish a book that was written by someone else (with my help) once the author died.

Now, let me say, for the most part I think regulation on the limitation of feedom of speech is a good thing. Though I am opposed to most forms of censorship, I think writers have a right to have their work protected. I think people in general have a right to be protected from libelous statements, from having their names and reputations impuned, from being the victims of hate speech and verbal abuse. So, even though the 1^st Amendments grants citizens freedom of speech, the laws of the land place limits on that freedom of speech, and require that the privilege of free speech be used responsibly. Why cannot these same standards apply to the 2^nd Amendment?

While I was thinking about this, I looked up the Bill of Rights, which I probably had not read since college, and I was struck by a few things I hadn't thought about before. For instance, the very FIRST statement of the very FIRST Amendment says: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; -- This struck me because many of the very same people who are ranting about their 2^nd Amendment Rights are also ranting that the United States is a “Christian country” which is directly contradictory to the FIRST statement of the First Amendment. The third statement (after the freedom of speech and the press part) is: or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. -- You know, like those “Occupy” people. The ones that were being beaten, arrested, pepper-sprayed, etc. last year. Where were all the folks all cranky about Constitutional rights when that was going on?

In fact, a thorough reading of the Bill of Rights makes you realize how flagrantly those rights are being violated on a regular basis. We are protected from “unreasonable search and seizure” and yet women are pulled over and strip searched on the side of highways in Texas. We are guaranteed speedy trials, yet many accused spend months in prison waiting for a trial date. We are protected from “excessive bail” and “cruel and unusual punishments” yet bails are set for millions of dollars and we still have the death penalty.

So, for some reason that no one can explain to me, the 2^nd Amendment is deemed to be “special” and immune from the regulation that most of the other amendments are subjected to. I'd really love to know why.

Thanks for reading.  

Guest Blog by Ia Uaro, author of "Sydney's Song"

Australian Ia Uaro is the author of Sydney's Song. This is the story of her journey:

My Pledge: What It’s Like To Have No Father

It broke my heart to see a dear little girl holding a poster, wishing for a dad figure to visit her. A girl or a boy, Valentine’s Day or not, there are times when a lonely little soul just longs to be with that father figure: somebody strong, somebody who will take away all pain and hurt, or simply to make the day complete.

And so I’m donating the sales of  Sydney’s Song until Valentine’s Day for a dad to visit this dear darling daughter. Come watch my trailer and at the bottom of this there is a link to a FREE chapter, which shows an example of how it is like to have no father. I hope you will enjoy this excerpt and contribute towards my fundraising. 

The Story

Olympic fever runs high in the Australian summer of 1999 and 17-year-old Sydney has caught it. Little does she know taking a holiday job in the beehive that is the Olympics' public-transport call centre will be life altering. Shaken by her parents’ divorce, the sheltered Aussie is further plagued by abusive callers, obnoxious government agencies, constrictive office rules, and liberated friends. She is trying to negotiate these challenges as her own personal Olympics when Pete finds her. Pete, Boston's former child prodigy whose soothing voice floats across her workstation, sees through Sydney's tough outer shell. Pete knows what it takes to present a dignified front when all you want to do is howl at the moon. Treating their friendship like an art, he invests time and creative effort to pull Sydney out of her despair. 

Tragedy strike when an accident leaves Pete with a major brain injury in a Boston hospital. Their families think Sydney is too young to cope with all the complications, but she doesn't agree. After all that he has done for her, Sydney refuses to leave Pete with people who view him only as an endless chore. Deferring her university studies, alone in a foreign land facing new trials, Sydney stays at his side—even when he doesn't recognise her.

Set in Sydney and Boston where heartbreaks are juxtaposed humour, SYDNEY'S SONG is a young girl's courageous journey to adulthood and a love story. A work of fiction based on real events, this novel with an Australian accent also shows the world that living with disabilities does not prevent a person from attaining happiness.

Why I felt compelled to write Sydney’s Song

My old fans from another language tracked me down, asking me to write again, so believe I have something entertaining to give to the world.

The first half is a socio-fiction, humorous and tragic, about the lives of my former co-workers. This part shows a group of Irish, British and American backpackers in Australia, and a serious case of modern slavery.

The second half is my husband's true condition. Again, tragically humorous. This part deals with brain injury and shows the world how, even when a person loses everything that he used to be, living with disabilities does not prevent a person from attaining happiness.

Readership

A drama, humorous fiction, socio fiction, romantic fiction, coming-of-age, this is a book that will entertain people in many countries, from the international youths who have made Australia their must-visit-before-you-die country to older readers who want something different in their bookshelves. This book has been praised for its dual settings of Australia and USA and its cast of international characters, complete with their accents.

As a socio-fiction Sydney's Song calls for dialogue and tolerance on difficult topics pertaining to today's society in Australia and western countries, but it's never heavy handed. Light and airy, Sydney's Song has won the admission of people who do not agree with Sydney's views, that the story is greatly enjoyable and the characters are thoroughly developed.

Thought-provoking and funny, Sydney's Song is a must read for senior students before leaving high school; and for lovers worldwide, who will sure pause and rethink their relationships.

Artfully illustrated, the paperback is a beautiful-looking delightful story, a heart-warming and heart-winning gift for every occasion.

Praise for Sydney’s Song

Following are some of what people have said about the book. The credentials of these reviewers are on http://sydneyssong.net/reviews.htm.

ANNA del C.DYE: “The best story of true love and eternal partners I've ever read.”

STEPHANIE DAGG: "Hugely entertaining. Nothing is predictable in the story."

IRINA DUNN: “SYDNEY'S SONG is intelligent, touching, interesting and funny."

MATT POSNER: "SYDNEY'S SONG demonstrates the way in which human beings can thrive under adversity using the power of their hearts and wills."

J. LENNI DORNER: "Wonderful and compelling."

UVI POZNANSKY: "I was too busy laughing and crying at every twist and turn of this story.”

ALLAN WILFORD HOWERTON: “I am delighted to recommend it to adult readers who may think that they are done with all that angst of the young. My bet is that you will be pleasantly surprised, as was I.”

ALICE DiNIZO:“Charming and totally realistic with first-rate characters. A believable portrait of true love.”

PHIL NORK: "Touched me in ways most books don’t."

REYNA HAWK: "It really made me feel as though I was right there in Australia! Oh and the ending—OMG wonderful! Applaud, applaud."

About me, Ia Uaro

I am a former teenaged writer, petroleum seismologist, and volunteer translator, now a mum who does several kinds of volunteer work, assesses manuscripts, reviews books and writes real-life socio fiction. Come visit my blog where I also review YA work, and say hello on my Guestbook.