Steffan Piper's Blog, page 9

Keanu Reeves will not be Televised ...

Here's a poem I wrote in ode to Keanu back in 1999, following the Columbine shooting. It's timely now that he's bringing out his own book of poetic fare, for $55 too! What a bargain.



Keanu Reeves Will Not Be Televised ...


I'm standing in this welfare line . . .
And Keanu Reeves is on the screen.
Actors are out on strike just down the block . . .
And Keanu Grease is on the screen.
I can't seem to get a break . . .
And No-Clue Reeves is on the screen.


The landlord gave me a three-day note . . .
And Keanu Reeves is on the screen.
I'm begging like a maggot at the five and dime . . .
And Keanu Reeves is on the screen.
I haven't changed my shorts in over a week . . .
And Keanu Bleeds is on the screen.


People are getting shot in Colorado . . .
And Keanu Grieves is on the screen.
They're giving out awards on MTV . . .
And Keanu Reeves is on the screen.
Some bastard is having an excellent adventure . . .
And Keanu Cheese is on the screen.


A million dollars in adverts just got spent . . .
And Keanu Plebe is on the screen.
Girls in Japan have creamed in their cotton drawers . . .
And Keanu Breeds is on the screen.
If this world is just a 'simulation' then tell me. . .
Why is Keanu Reeves on the screen?


I can't sustain this love affair . . .
But Keanu Reeves is on the screen.


(A thought that crossed my mind, driving down Highland Blvd)

[from my book of poetry 'Electronic Butterflies, published by Past Life Press. On Amazon.]

A few words on J.B. Dickey ...

Earlier today, it seems a dust-up occurred with a Seattle-area Mystery Boookstore and Amazon Publishing. The bookstore openly refused to do business with Amazon Publishing, allow their authors to give signings or even sell their books.


As an Amazon author, I understand the man's sentiment, even though it's misplaced. I, too, also ran a bookstore years ago in Los Angeles and I fully understand the nature of the business. Independent bookstores though do not break or thrive based upon Amazon, their imprints or their authors. Amazon is also NOT the piano wire of modern publishing as the gentleman would like to assert.

The traditional publishing houses, the big 6 as they've collectively been titled, have done more damage to the industry over the last several decades than Amazon has in the 17 years they've been in business and emerging as the largest and strongest competitor. Reinventing something is never looked at with a smile. It's also interesting that they're the most "author-friendly" in the business, even while others would like the public to believe otherwise.

When I recently attended BEA in NY, I heard some incredibly egregious and off-coloured remarks about Amazon and all of them were either sad, bitter and wrong or just dead wrong. A few people actually publicly made fools of themselves in front of large groups of people at the convention trying to assert that kind of ad hominem rhetoric. Mr. Dickey is just expressing publicly what certain people have been saying behind closed doors for some time, and there's really no mystery in that at all.

I think most of us have known that this issue was going to become more heated in time. If that's sooner rather than later, I would just advise folks to be thoughtful and not assume that everything people are yelling with the tone of terror, is necessarily accurate.

On the survival of brick and mortar bookstores ...

A few words on the subject from someone who once owned and operated a bookstore in Los Angeles.


Yes ... there are some rules bookstores should follow if they wish to survive, especially chain stores:
1. Sell Coffee and other refreshments. Obviously.
2. Offer a place for your patrons to sit and read. Obviously.
3. Hold writing workshops for struggling authors.
4. Hold publishing workshops for struggling authors.
5. Hold editing workshops for struggling authors.
6. Bookstores need to STOP selling back large quantities of merchandise to the publishers. Hold larger book sales with worthwhile events and be more mindful when ordering copies. Carry less stock of the same item. No one needs 1000 copies of 'The Girl that Did Such and Such.'
7. Do everything they can to support writers instead of just cashing in on them. Stop raping the patrons over price as well. No one is paying $27.00 for a hardback anymore, excepts possibly friends and family of the authors themselves. Even avid readers buy them on sale. Publisher's need to accept the fact that certain price points are too high and bordering on robbery. Basing pricing on old, outdated myths has clearly been an iceberg.
8. Stop giving exclusivity to specific publishers and blocking others. It becomes obvious that a backroom deal was made for the shelfspace, when all the titles on the 'magic tables' are all by three publishers. Excluding independent publishers from the best locations in the store is a sin. Denying that such a partnership exists is also doubling down on said sin.
9. Be more community oriented. This is the sole reason why independent bookstores are beloved by patrons. If the chain stores took this approach, they wouldn't be suffering as bad.
10. Stop requiring a mountain of paperwork that would rival an SBA Loan just to ask to have a book signing or book reading event at the store. Requiring authors put forward a marketing plan, sales data, fill out a lengthy application and then having to wait six months for an answer is egregious and bad business. Barnes & Noble thrives on subjecting authors to this and often will only deal with Authors through Publishing Houses that they have deals with as mentioned in point 8.
Sad and true.

Steffan Goes to New York ... BEA ... part 1 ...

Last Monday, I returned from a one week trip to New York and I've been wanting to blog about it ever since, the delay in posting came from mulling over the whole experience as so much went down. Also, an intense period of rest was required, as anyone who goes to New York knows how emotionally and physically draining the place can be, that city definitely keeps you on high alert the whole time.
I need to first just say thank you to my publisher, AmazonEncore for sending me on that trip in the first place as I hadn't been to New York since pre-Guiliani and the difference a decade and a regime makes is mind-blowing. A thousand thank you's, indeed. It was motivating on every level and eye-opening to say the least. Being able to safely cruise around Times Square at 3 am and eat pizza without being accosted by all the pimps and hookers d'jour, makes a world of difference.  Thus, it wasn't the place I last visited so long ago.
Phase 1: The Journey ….

I left out of Palm Springs on Monday morning 6:15am (May 22nd), thinking to myself that traveling on the same day when I'm supposed to be somewhere is a very bad idea. Clearly, this obvious idea wasn't readily apparent as I don't travel very often and so I 'just went with it,' to use the parlance of our times.
Things should've been clear to me that events would quickly become disastrous when the plane lifted off and was immediately blown around by the wind, and then the tail end of the plane dropped during take-off and a whole gaggle of people screamed and several people, myself included, white-knuckled our arm-rests. When we finally got past all the turbulence, the Stewardess asked me if I was alright and brought me a cup of coffee. I wasn't one of the folks who screamed, but because I sitting next to her in the back of the plane, she must've seen me turn several shades of pale that likely qualified as disturbing. I can turn from tan to sheet-white in a heartbeat. My eyes go black and my hair takes on this Einstein quality and the overall picture is like something from the sketch books of Tim Burton.
Anyway, sitting next to me was a nice enough gentleman who very easily could've passed as Burt Reynolds son … and I'm not kidding when I say this because he really did look like his offspring. We hit it off and told stories the whole flight. We mostly talked about hiking the Appalachian Trail, (which I did in winter 2006) and I recounted my experience in a small town in Georgia (Hiawassee) where they had filmed Deliverance, where the trail passes by, and yes, we even discussed ol' Burt. He, unsurprisingly, had a lot to say about that movie as well and so there was a lot laughing. The flight was quick (or so I would think) but incredibly turbulent. Around 10:30, the pilot came on and told us that Dallas Ft. Worth was engulfed in a huge thunderhead / storm and that we were going to land anyway. We began to descend and the mechanical sound of the wheels came down outside. Then, without warning, the plane lifted back up and rolled away to the left in a sharp turn. Again, I don't travel much, so to me – it was bloody frightening.
"Ladies and Gentleman, just to let you know, Dallas / Ft. Worth has just been closed down due to the storm and the flight has been diverted to Wichita Falls."
Now, most of you might know, it's apparently illegal for the airlines to keep you on a plane for more than three hours at a time, or something along those lines. However, we sat on that abandoned runway, in the middle of no-where, known also as 'Wichita Falls, Texas' for six hours. Yes, six hours. This is after being on the plane for two hours already. So that makes eight hours total. The pilot came on when we stopped there and said this:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we'll be parked here for the time being while we wait for the airport to re-open and then be given instruction. I've opened the back of the airplane for anyone that wants to de-board and make their own way. Just be advised that there are no facilities at this landing strip. No car rental, no phones, no restaurant or any other amenities close by. If you choose to leave, you will be doing so on your own recognizance and you will be responsible for yourself and all your luggage which you will take with you. I advise against anyone deboarding at this time as we just don't know how long it will take to get clearance. Currently there are 147 planes ahead of us. I'll update you again … blah blah blah ..."
After hearing that there were 147 flights ahead of us everyone gasped in horror. No one would be making any connection or getting to their destinations on time, myself included. Also no one got off the plane. Walking around with luggage in the middle of Hell Hole, Texas just wasn't appealing.
After the plane got back in the air and we landed at DFW … we sat on the runway for another two hours before they let us de-board. The Stewardess kept getting on the phone line with the pilot and wanted to serve refreshments, but the pilot obviously kept saying no, because nothing came, not even water. It was the most maddening thing ever. When I finally got into the terminal at 6:03 Dallas time, I realized that I had been on the plane since 6:00am Palm Springs time. Far too long for any two hour domestic flight. Someone in front of me, while de-boarding and passing the Captains cabin, yelled "jerk" just loud enough. No it wasn't me. I'd never misbehave in an airport. I know better, trust me.
So, every flight that day into DFW was cancelled. 100%. The airport was full of people and the hotels quickly sold out. I had no desire to spend two hundred bucks for a room there, it just didn't seem appealing, and there would be no flights leaving until the next day. Apparently, golf-ball sized hail stones had fallen on the shiny chrome fleet of American Airlines planes, supposedly "denting several of them which required and intense amount of inspection by qualified personnel," or so I was told by my friend in the seat beside me from Palm Springs.
I also got the sneaking suspicion that my new friend, offspring of Burt Reynolds, was the Air Marshall. He never said so, but after ten hours of conversation, it wasn't hard to deduce as the story he told me about who he was seemed unlikely, which I will leave out for the sake of privacy. He was also the only person on the flight that looked alert enough or capable enough to deal with anyone who wanted to test the system, had it occurred. I also got an interesting peek into his wallet when he opened it for a different reason. And for the record, an Air Marshall on a commuter flight over West Texas made a lot of sense in the totality of things. Gracefully, he did offer to let me come over and crash on his couch and meet his wife and kids, knowing that I'd be trapped in DFW all night. I thanked him and abstained as I didn't want to be a burden and I also didn't want to get comfortable. He was good person and I was thankful that he sat next to me rather than someone else, as it could've gone much different.


So, yes, for the next twelve hours I was trapped in DFW. I ate baby-back ribs at TGI Fridays, had a few beers, talked to a couple of Marines on leave, had McDonalds coffee, charged my phone for free and then crawled away to a quiet spot in the main terminal and slept on the carpeted blue floor. I could've rode the internal subway all night for kicks, but it just didn't have any appeal. Mini, thankfully, got me a ticket out of there at 6am on a different airline and in the morning I promptly escaped. 


US Air took me from Dallas to Philadelphia on another incredibly bumpy flight and I 'd be remiss if I didn't also note that – AGAIN – I firmly believe I was next to the Air Marshall. It really was the most interesting aspect of my journey because I have no reason why I would need to be babysat while flying. I'm not one to jump to conclusions, nor see things that just aren't there, but having Military training and being an alert person, certain folks have a tendency to stand out. I also had an interesting conversation with that guy, too, but he was far from the quality of my last friend and so we sat mostly 'at ease' during the flight into Philadelphia. Take it as you may … all I can say is 'just trust me.' Anyone that knows me, already knows that I have a penchant for gentle interrogation, or rather 'sifting,' so to speak. Sorry, old habits dies hard. The real concern may come later when I want to travel internationally. It's gonna suck to find out later that I'm on some stupid-ass watch list because I write cutesy-poetry or make ridiculous Facebook jokes or have too many friends that are 'out to pasture.'
My last flight from Philly to LaGuardia was quick. I sat next to a girl who was a Yoga instructor, and was relocating to Los Angeles from New York and stopping back to see family. We were both a bit terrified to be on that flight as it was a rinky-dink prop plane and the emergency door had a half-inch gap / crack / space which clearly showed day light. I kept thinking that someone had opened the door on the flight before us and the tech's had failed to shut the damn thing properly. For the next forty-five minutes, the two of us cracked jokes about the plane being an impromptu 7-11 as a doorbell chime kept going off every five minutes; it was like someone was coming aboard to buy coffee, cigarettes or lotto tickets. It was absurb, maddening and funny all at the same time. I was too frazzled to even care about dying anymore, which I thought was going to happen on several occasions and finally had to just let it all go.
When we touched down at LaGuardia in New York, we disembarked directly onto the tarmac. I bent down, kissed my hand and then touched the damn ground and crossed myself, thankful to be alive and be in New York. A whole day late, greasy and exhausted I'd come to discover a few hours later that American Airlines had "lost" my luggage and already sent the claim form in the mail to my house.
I also later learned that DFW had been closed again, shortly after I got out of there due to the storm, which was part of the same system that had hit Joplin, Missouri a few days previous. Had it not been for the quick-thinking to buy another ticket, I would've been trapped in DFW for a total of three days as I would later discover from watching the news.
But I'll update you tomorrow in part two of this three part series, which is just too much to fathom in one sitting.

The Curious Case of Faul McCartney ...

Wow. After having just watched this in its entirety, I'm not just left speechless, but also a tad giggly. The problem with this documentary style, independent movie, is that the main premise that it tries very hard to sell is just poorly preformed and just wickedly untrue.

The premise is that some random, non-essential production company (with a fake CG Logo on their building, ahem) in Los Angeles (of all places) receives an anonymous package in the mail containing a mini-cassette player and some tapes made by now-deceased Beatle, George Harrison (gasp!), and supposedly recorded while he was in hospital after being stabbed by the much publicized intruder in 1999. These tapes, made approximately a year before his death (of lung cancer which had spread throughout his body and brain) reveal a vigourous, non-laboured sounding Harrison recounting his life in a 'documentary styled' and much rehearsed manner. His tonality in this made him a shoe-in replacement for Art Bell or any other late-night talk-show radio host. Who knew he had it in him, lol?

The real problem is that, having grown up in England myself, and have been living in America for some time, I've heard ever manner of fake British / Irish / Welsh / Scottish accent under the sun and many imitations through the years of every Beatle band member. While this person narrating tries hard, it's just far too obvious based upon inflection, word pronunciation, a lack of consistency with several different words that you just find yourself asking how someone could take themselves so serious and believe for even a minute that this would be passable. The voice-over is also remastered in stereo, just in case you were wondering.

If George Harrison would've decided to sit down and narrate some devious plot regarding the Beatles, it likely would've sounded much different as the story he weaves is sophomoric on its face and not the most cogent. A nefarious plot revolving around some unnamed MI5 agent code-named 'Maxwell' (Allo, silva hamma, then darlings?) weaves through the entire story and even leaves a shadowy hand on the death of John Lennon. Gasp! Sigh.

In too many places, this movie tries way too hard when it really doesn't have to. The reports that were made and the facts regarding the Fake Paul or Faul, as he's constantly referenced in the movie, should just be covered as-is. Yes, there was REAL hysteria about Paul McCartney's supposed 'untimely death' that started in the late 60's. Okay, so just sell us that.

Even though the Fake Paul / Faul is unmasked in this as the Scottish William Campbell, who won a look-a-like contest, the so-called George Harrison doesn't really give much detail about Faul past "John thought it would be a good idea to have a stand-in for awhile." Add in a bit about plastic surgery and ... boom ... moving on. Really? Oh, yeah ... MI5!

So, after an automobile accident one dark and stormy night / early morning, November 9th 1966, Paul leaves the recording studio angry after having an argument with John (in earlier newspaper reports through the years however, he had this so-called argument with Ringo; just sayin') and then crashes his white Austin Healey after picking up a girl named Rita who was walking in the rain. Yep. "Took her home, nearly made it." Oh yes, prepare yourself for lyric analysis to which you haven't seen the depths of before, photographic evidence, historical record and endless back-masking. The whole detailed plot of slow-leaking led by Lennon himself.

If I was Paul McCartney -- and not Faul McCartney, or any one of his many children, I'd likely be upset about all this and want to have a conversation about those so-called tapes. But if it's fraudulent, then why would he even bother? Who knows? Remember when Neil Armstrong punched that reporter in the face for suggesting the Moon landing was a fake? Yeah, it would likely go like that. Better to avoid that lawsuit, haha.

I gave this movie 4 stars because, honestly, if you're a Beatle fan and you're curious, then you should watch this as it is good entertainment and even while it's a bit contrived and less convincing than previous efforts (and there have been others) this is something to see and have a good chuckle at. So many other movies ask us to suspend our belief from tap-dancing, talking penguins to some surfer guy caught in the Matrix. Let's not be so serious, shall we? 

... 

When I Knew Lincoln ...

What's interesting about digging up photos of your ancient ancestors sometimes, is how much they tend to look like you, or rather, you like them. The Man standing against the tree in the center with the beard is one of them, and we do bear a resemblance that is interesting. His family settled in Pennsylvania, but emigrated a generation or two earlier from Downpatrick, Ireland. Hmm ... Piper's from Downpatrick. Someone famous, who was a Piper and a Saint to boot is buried there. Definitely thought-provoking.

Still, that guy looks a lot tougher than me, even on my best day and I wouldn't want to cross him. Hate to think of all the poor bastards that found themselves down range from him. I don't own a gun, but I've slapped many a man without hesitation.

Meanwhile over at the Goodread's place ...

Earlier today, while browsing some of the wonderful feedback that reader's had posted about my book Greyhound , from one star to five star, I was confronted by the Notice about 'Commenting on Negative Reviews', which, to me at least, is a new thing. I periodically read the posted reviews and cogitate on them much as is evinced from just perusing the activity feed on Goodreads.

I guess I need to ask the obvious question, and forgive me for being direct, flip or just irascible about it, but who in the hell is commenting on negative reviews or engaging the readers in that manner? Seriously? Aren't emerging authors, or even well-established authors counseled about their behaviour regarding customers reviews from places like Amazon, Goodreads, Librarything, Blogs, etc., and a litany of other places? I would think it would be difficult to escape the media of a long-line of well-documented cases where writers have tried to engage the readers in this negative manner and have failed epically with the public everytime. From  Anne Rice all the way to every other less-than-stellar egomaniac in the writing world. I will give some room for understanding to some of these authors regarding the content of the reviews, but engaging people for flowers & bombast is just a bad practice over all.

If you're a reader, who has posted a negative review on my book, please just let me say thank you for buying it or borrowing it, reading it, spending the time to think about it after the fact, either one way or another, and then posting a review. I wholly appreciate it. I may have my own feelings about it, but I also know that you have the right to have yours. So, don't feel bad if you don't like it. Not all things are suitable for all people. You may get caught up in certain aspects of the story like voice, believability, structure, mechanics or what-have-you, but that's your thing. Again, I may not agree with you in the context of the big picture or life in general, but to each their own.

I'm forever perplexed about human behaviour and how people's opinions differ about 'how to behave on the internet.' It seems to range from  "it just doesn't matter because it's online and who's reading that anyway?" all the way up to "I don't think it's wise to post anything online past a star rating." Being an Amazon Vine Member, I've both heard and seen it all when it comes to reviews, authors behaving badly, internet bullying and anonymous profiles used to smear people who are not anonymous.

If Goodreads has seen fit to now have this red-box banner as a reminder for authors, obviously enough people were being abusive and reacting inappropriately.

You may bury my body ... down by the highway sign ...

2010 ... We All Need The Clowns ... To Make Us Smile ...

For several years I've made some comments about the year previous, only because I realized that I had people actually reading this blog and checking it from time to time. That in itself has always been something that trips me out. I usually check the stats via the trackers and discover that hundreds of people read this -- and I'm not adding much in the way of updates, either. So, it's just something I needed to remark upon.
2010 was a pretty troubling year for me as some of you might know. Yeah, I had a book deal and Greyhound blasted out of the terminal and has been doing remarkably well and been doing consistent numbers, even eight months later. I'm thankful for all the support and the readership which has been a blessing. Sometime later this year, perhaps April or May, Greyhound should be going Worldwide and getting a much larger field of distribution. Also, sometime this summer, hoping that everything that is going on behind the curtain, goes according to plan, you should see my book hitting the shelves in Target. What more could you ask for other than a national award or a few interviews? I ain't complaining.
This year was a bit tough though, as I'm still in school trying to get all my prerequisites for Nursing School out of the way, and many of them are time consuming. The obvious question is: "Doesn't that cut into your writing time?" Well, the answer is 'yes', of course it does. But life is very long, I'm 39 and things need to be prioritized. I'm not making Stephen King coin, or anything close with my books so it's wise to have a day-to-day gig to keep me out of harms way. Some of the classes that I'm taking, are classes that I've already taken. I've gone all the way through Calculus before, but now I'm forced to retake all three sections of Algebra, and being honest here, as I've gotten older, the work has become much harder – even with ample amounts of coffee and a paid tutor. My heart also isn't as deep into it as I was ten years ago going to school. Not by a long shot. I just want to write, but I gotta provide.
Some of my Professors have been stumbling blocks, and probably have done so knowingly, while others have been incredibly inspiring. Getting through school is more about learning how to deal with a bureaucracy than it is about actual learning. That seems to be the repeating lesson these past three semesters. All teachers are not equal -- as it is in life -- and must be understood as such. Hopefully, I'll be done with all 60 units by summer and will submit my package for nursing School for next January. Yes, it requires that much time and planning --- just to get in.
2010 also began with me getting another serious bout of Pneumonia. I was told by my doctor at the time, as I've gotten Pneumonia almost every year since 2006, that one more serious bout with it, would likely be my last. Thus I spend a lot of time outside in the sun and exercising (which I loathe). I guess it's just one of those things you have to live with and it forces you to stay strong and be as healthy as possible. It does make me vigilant, but I'm only human and I'm often overwhelmed. I've been told by many that I try to do too much and I appreciate the remarks, but I gotta be me and I just believe I'll get through it. Chronic back pain and all – and yes, that's another ongoing story. Health wise, 2010 was the worst year for me, but I'm still here. This year, I'm determined to turn it around.
I also began this year by deleting both my Facebook and old Myspace accounts. Who uses Myspace anymore, anyways? For the record, I actually liked MySpace better, but too many people abused it with junking up their pages with flashing unicorns and having hundreds of friends who were all people like 'Edgar Allen Poe' or 'Steve Gutenberg', when in fact those people – weren't those people at all, but just someone else creating a profile in their likeness. Haha … anyway.
So far, nobody that I used to talk to on Facebook everyday has even sent me an email or likely noticed that I'm gone, and that's the real disturbing aspect of Facebook. It's a collosal waste of time and more centered on the self than it is the community, as it was supposedly intended. It's like crack with no high, or masturbation with no climax. Trust me, I know. We all got better things to do.
So, It's been four days and I haven't heard from anyone. I'm cool with it, but now I'm just trying to figure out what I'm going to do with all the extra free hours I have. It's hard to imagine how unproductive things like that truly are. I'm very accessible if anyone needs to contact me on the internet as I have a website and this blog. Sometimes you just gotta pull the plug. Mindlessly staring at the screen for hours is a drag anyway, and most of the conversations are either forgettable or just plain silly. I won't miss it, and very likely, it won't miss me.


But on a better note, 2011 should be a good year for my writing as I'm coming to the final stages of writing with several of my new books. I've covered 1991-1993 in one book, 1983-1987 in another and 1993-1995 in a third. I've also fleshed out most of 1995-1997 and 2002-2004 and also have thorough notes about my "expedition" back in 2006. I know that sounds weird reading it, but if you know me and you know what I write about, and how I write, you'll get it and likely be interested. I've also got a few movie projects this year which should be cool as one should go into filming this year and some overseas interest in my other book Yellow Fever to be adapted into a foreign film. Go figure.
If I've learned anything this year, at all, … it's not to give advice. So I won't. It's taken a long time to learn that as well. Subtlety is the real key in all things and most relationships. So instead of wisdom, I'll just wish you all the best and say 'thank you' one more time for reading the books and reaching out.
All the best …
Steffan


My sister, Beanie, digs the song. There's something 
about the reclusive nature of Steve Perry that just speaks volumes.

And it's you when I look in the mirror ...