Emilio Amaro's Blog
September 8, 2016
How In The Fuck Do You Get People To Read Your Shit?
This year I have started typing my first drafts on an IBM Wheelwriter 1000 and then re-typing the second draft onto my laptop.
I made the decision to do this because it feels more like work what I’m doing and I like the sound of the keys when I’m typing away. On a subconscious level I assume I’ve made this choice because I’m a white male in my early 20s and can’t help being such a fucking stereotypical hipster.
I just checked out God Is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens from the library today. I might as well move to Brooklyn and frown upon people who don’t drink microbrews.
So I’m trying to type up this story onto my laptop about a guy who is spending Christmas Eve inside of a strip club and I keep slowing down imagining how nobody will give a single fuck about this god damn story.
When I release it on Amazon through Kindle Direct Publishing and do a free download deal for five days I’ll probably get like…….maybe nine people who are going to discover this and give a fuck enough to download it. MAYBE one of those nine people will be reading it.
I’ve been self-publishing my stories through Amazon for almost two years now and I think it’s safe to say that I’m really getting nowhere.
For self-published authors I have discovered that for the most part Amazon is a place only for erotic authors.
Over the summer I wrote erotic stories under multiple pen names and humorous porn reviews under my own name and these are the only things I’ve written that receive any attention.
It’s pretty great even if it’s erotica that someone is not only taking the time to notice what the fuck you’re doing and even PURCHASING THE STORIES, but it’s a fucking bummer that the only people who take a chance on self-published authors seem to be horny housewives.
I just don’t get how any porn story I write can get a hundred free downloads over the course of a few days and even a couple of my stories are receiving daily purchases while my other stuff is failing to find any sliver of an audience.
So is there any place as a fiction writer to be noticed and possibly have someone come across what you’re doing whether it be for free or pay? Or is writing outside of erotica just an abandoned wasteland where you’re within the one percent if a single person comes across you and reads whatever you wrote?
I made the decision to do this because it feels more like work what I’m doing and I like the sound of the keys when I’m typing away. On a subconscious level I assume I’ve made this choice because I’m a white male in my early 20s and can’t help being such a fucking stereotypical hipster.
I just checked out God Is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens from the library today. I might as well move to Brooklyn and frown upon people who don’t drink microbrews.
So I’m trying to type up this story onto my laptop about a guy who is spending Christmas Eve inside of a strip club and I keep slowing down imagining how nobody will give a single fuck about this god damn story.
When I release it on Amazon through Kindle Direct Publishing and do a free download deal for five days I’ll probably get like…….maybe nine people who are going to discover this and give a fuck enough to download it. MAYBE one of those nine people will be reading it.
I’ve been self-publishing my stories through Amazon for almost two years now and I think it’s safe to say that I’m really getting nowhere.
For self-published authors I have discovered that for the most part Amazon is a place only for erotic authors.
Over the summer I wrote erotic stories under multiple pen names and humorous porn reviews under my own name and these are the only things I’ve written that receive any attention.
It’s pretty great even if it’s erotica that someone is not only taking the time to notice what the fuck you’re doing and even PURCHASING THE STORIES, but it’s a fucking bummer that the only people who take a chance on self-published authors seem to be horny housewives.
I just don’t get how any porn story I write can get a hundred free downloads over the course of a few days and even a couple of my stories are receiving daily purchases while my other stuff is failing to find any sliver of an audience.
So is there any place as a fiction writer to be noticed and possibly have someone come across what you’re doing whether it be for free or pay? Or is writing outside of erotica just an abandoned wasteland where you’re within the one percent if a single person comes across you and reads whatever you wrote?
January 17, 2016
The Current State of Horror
Boy, horror films are fucking terrible today.
This realization hit me when I was sitting on YouTube one day and was bombarded left and right with a trailer for The Boy. After seeing this trailer over and over again, I found it to be a shame that we don’t let James Holmes out on special occasions for films such as this. If he were to open up gunfire on whatever audience is paying to see this crap, the human species would be strengthened and Donald Trump’s poll numbers would finally decrease.
This trailer I might add would have also shortened the time span of the Iraq War if it were used to torture the Taliban.
It’s fucking ridiculous how horror movies have become nothing but jump scares that comprise of a film score so loud it’ll tear your eardrums into strips of beef jerky and images of someone’s face violently shaking to the left and right really fast, usually with their mouth as wide open as it can possibly stretch.
When did the rough draft of a late 90s Nine Inch Nails album become something that could make it into cinemas all across the country?
In a world filled with overly politically correct pussies and whiny babies on college campuses who demand trigger warnings in the work of Shakespeare yet can look at unfiltered images of Caitlyn Jenner without vomiting at this modern day take on Rocky Dennis with tits, I feel like this is the only thing that film studios will allow.
I suppose I can’t really blame them since I can still hear the echo of overly sensitive crowds crying about Eli Roth, Saw and “torture porn”. Ugh, it’s like Tipper Gore fucked Ronald Reagan and spit out a legion of these fucking pussies.
When it comes to The Boy, the best thing you could do is pocket your money and hunt down a copy of the film Magic. It’s a film that involves a dummy that was probably made when your parents were barely cum, but it’s actually horror, a film that will get under your skin.
But, if we’re going by comparison, there is more fear and an unsettling feeling to be found in the original artwork of the cover for the Goosebumps book Night of the Living Dummy than there is in the entirety of The Boy.
The current state of horror is just another look into the sad realization of how my generation is the first generation to look back at our parents as the cooler group.
This realization hit me when I was sitting on YouTube one day and was bombarded left and right with a trailer for The Boy. After seeing this trailer over and over again, I found it to be a shame that we don’t let James Holmes out on special occasions for films such as this. If he were to open up gunfire on whatever audience is paying to see this crap, the human species would be strengthened and Donald Trump’s poll numbers would finally decrease.
This trailer I might add would have also shortened the time span of the Iraq War if it were used to torture the Taliban.
It’s fucking ridiculous how horror movies have become nothing but jump scares that comprise of a film score so loud it’ll tear your eardrums into strips of beef jerky and images of someone’s face violently shaking to the left and right really fast, usually with their mouth as wide open as it can possibly stretch.
When did the rough draft of a late 90s Nine Inch Nails album become something that could make it into cinemas all across the country?
In a world filled with overly politically correct pussies and whiny babies on college campuses who demand trigger warnings in the work of Shakespeare yet can look at unfiltered images of Caitlyn Jenner without vomiting at this modern day take on Rocky Dennis with tits, I feel like this is the only thing that film studios will allow.
I suppose I can’t really blame them since I can still hear the echo of overly sensitive crowds crying about Eli Roth, Saw and “torture porn”. Ugh, it’s like Tipper Gore fucked Ronald Reagan and spit out a legion of these fucking pussies.
When it comes to The Boy, the best thing you could do is pocket your money and hunt down a copy of the film Magic. It’s a film that involves a dummy that was probably made when your parents were barely cum, but it’s actually horror, a film that will get under your skin.
But, if we’re going by comparison, there is more fear and an unsettling feeling to be found in the original artwork of the cover for the Goosebumps book Night of the Living Dummy than there is in the entirety of The Boy.
The current state of horror is just another look into the sad realization of how my generation is the first generation to look back at our parents as the cooler group.
