A. Adams's Blog, page 8

The Price of Fame: Sometimes…Your Life

I’m not going to pretend that I knew of singer Christina Grimmie. The only time I venture to YouTube is when I’m “in my feelings” and need “Tender Love,” “Out on a Limb,” and “Yellow Flicker Beat” to center me. And the only time I have ever watched the “Voice” is that end scene in “Pitch Perfect 2.”

So, I didn’t expect that unwelcomed feeling of deja vu while scrolling through Facebook’s story trends only to see a blurb about a 22-year-old singer being slained outside of her concert, signing autographs no less.

I was immediately catapulted back to a time of another young artist, another talented beauty on the cusp of stardom: Rebecca Schaeffer.

If you remember “My Sister Sam” and are willing to admit that yeah, you’re that old, and yeah, you like cheesy odd-couple-esque shows–sans the penises–then you know that “damn, I can’t believe that happened” feeling that permeated your bones when you found out that a woman was gunned down simply because she opened her door…and was being “too nice” to a stranger.

Grimmie was only showing love to strangers who said they love her–through ticket buys, follows and likes on social media, and standing in a line for hours just to get her Jane Hancock on some Grimmie-related knicknack. And now she’s dead.

And she was only 22.

Schaeffer was months away from her 22nd birthday.

When I was 22, my biggest worry was how I was going to convince my mother that grad school–and not finding a real job soon after graduation–was going to be a bigger pay off…in the end. I was right, but it took a lot of years for my family and I to reap the benefits of that risk.

Risk.

It’s a necessity…if you want to MAKE IT.

And damn it, I want to make it! I want my name on TMZ–in a good way, I want in on Oprah’s book club (Mark Zuckerberg’s book club if he’s still doing it), I want little kids sleeping outside bookstores the day before my book drops, or pre-ordering my shit on Amazon months in advance, I want to sign autographs until my arms ache (they have the appearance of doubt-jointedness so that’s not too much of a stretch), smile until my cheeks hurt, go hoarse from saying “hi, what’s your name?” a million times, I want movie deals, tv deals, my own Mattel line….

I want it all…but I don’t want to die for it.

I mean, I say a lot of crazy shit in my books and on the daily (my Twitter page is a gem). I’m a supreme pisser-offer. People show you their true colors when you press them–“pressure busts pipes” (one of my students used to say this every time one of his classmates dropped out of school or didn’t follow through on a job opportunity, and he respected my love of Harry Potter in spite of the male-dominated, hardened discipline we operated in, so this is my shout out to him).

Still, I don’t want someone to come along and Tupac me because he–sorry, it’s usually a “he”–wants to shut me up or gain fame vicariously through me by committing a reprehensible act of violence. And I don’t want to walk around with armed security, metal detectors, and constantly looking over my shoulder because some crazy motherfucker want to steal my shine.

Look at what happened in that Orlando nightclub. Grimmie’s death, which also occurred in Orlando (Florida, you got to do better, but what can you expect from a place that allowed Trayvon Martin to die in vain, Ted Bundy to take out an entire sorority house, and Casey Anthony off the hook for murdering her baby girl…didn’t I say I say a lot of shit?), is now overshadowed by an even bigger tragedy…her shine dimmed by another crazy motherfucker seeking fame and validity at the cost of others.

As a writer, I do have the cloak of invisibility. Who can say they know what every author they have ever read looks like? Thank God for the Internet, because if your fave author didn’t put a pic on their books or do frequent interviews, you imagined them just as you did their characters.

For years, I remembered Anne Rice as Asian (may have been the association with “rice”; yeah, I know, I know…sue me) due to an interview I read in a magazine when “Interview With A Vampire”–the movie–was the “bees knees.” And I definitely didn’t know what James Patterson looked like until he started doing those weird ass commercials for his children’s books. Stephen King always made socially awkward cameos in films made on his books. I recently saw Jude Devereaux on C-Span…no one watches C-Span unless you fall asleep while flipping through the channels–that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Growing up, I never thought Michael Jackson and Prince would be dead before 60. Whitney dead before 50. Aaliyah wouldn’t make it to 25. There would only be one Corey left of the two Coreys. Good music could only be found on a mediocre primetime drama. And the Golden State Warriors would be a GOAT contender. It’s the Golden State Warriors! Someone wake me up from this nightmare!

I want the money. I want the power. I just don’t want to die for it. No one does.

This post is dedicated to those we have lost. Share. Like. Love. Stop the hate.

Follow me @The_A_Train_AD and Author A Adams on Facebook

 

 

 

 

 

 

“All I Do is Write”–Authors’ Delight

“All I Do is Write” by A. Adams

All I do is write, write, write no matter what.

I got all kinds of characters on my mind…I can never get enough.

And every time my fingers hit the keyboard, my word count goes UP…

AND IT STAY THERE, AND IT STAY THERE. AND IT STAY THERE–UP DOWN, UP DOWN, UP DOWN.

‘Cause all I do is WRITE, WRITE, WRITE!

And if you’re an author “going in”, put your paperbacks in the air…and make ’em stay there!

(*inspired by “All I Do is Win”–DJ Khaled et al., 2010)

YA Means Just That So Let the “Young Adults” Read What You’re Reading…Mom (Dad)

Of course, I attached my shameless plug for my book below in my YA Book Club promotion… still, it does not mean that this is not an AWESOME IDEA!

We had tea parties, slumber parties, get white-boy-wasted-behind-our-parents’-back parties, sneak-people-we-know-we-should-never-have-in-our-car-let-alone-our-house parties, treehouse parties, just-me-and-my-stuffed-animals parties, etc. in our youth, so why not sanction a productive, educational event for the young people in our lives by starting weekly, biweekly, or monthly book club meeting for them and their friends (or relatives)?

The reason I love books and writing– sometimes more than food–is because I started at a young age (thanks, Mom!). That’s why I have never met the “perfect” man…he exists only in black text on binded white paper. S***, real life men have a lot to live up to based on my imagination standards.

I also learned about who not to give my goodies to and how to “wait” for the person who emphatically believed, and acted accordingly, that YOU were WORTH waiting for.

Thus, I can count my exes on one hand, they still love me through today and yesterday, and we’re friends for life–all because of the lessons I learned between the pages.

Help these 21st century cubs grow up in the way they should grow and go…and it begins with a paperback (f*** a Kindle; aren’t we all almost halfway blind from staring at phone screens, computer screens, tablet screens, iPad screens, etc. all f****** day?).

See the promotion below, and, as always, Read and be Prosperous!

START A BOOK CLUB FOR YOUNGSTERS

We all started reading by someone passing a book of interest to them off to us, or we raided our parents’ or grandparents’ bookshelves for those books they said we were “too young” to read.

We, in turn, passed them along to our friends, having secret phone conversations about what Rex did to Storm, and how we wished he would do the same to us (or vice versa)! So why not allow the young people in our lives to do the same fantasizing/romanticizing we enjoyed and still enjoy?

Start a book club today! Amazon offers free shipping on all book orders $25 or more, so if you buy five (5) books for little Bobby/Bobbie and his/her closest friends and relatives (or get their parents in on the deal) for each club meeting, you’ll save hundreds of dollars on shipping.

I RECOMMEND BUYING PAPERBACKS BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS THEIR FAVORITE KINDLE DESTROYED BY A YOUNG OVERZEALOUS READER WHO DOESN’T QUITE LIKE HOW THE STORY ENDS.

You can throw a paperback…we’ve all done it…a Kindle? Not so much…unless you want to end up in the emergency room or civil court.

Feel free to read the book before approving it for your children’s clubs. If you have adult-age children, spread the word to them as well. Do inter-age book recommendations…read their books and let them read some of yours.

With a Young Adult book club, kids will feel mature, sophisticated, and intelligent…just like Mom and Dad (or whatever the parental situation is in your home). Let’s get started here and now…spread the word, and, of course, make P for Possession by A. Adams one of your first book choices! Available on Amazon, and if you dislike Amazon’s commercial site, go to

CreateSpace eStore: https://www.createspace.com/6248162

Thanks for the support!

Don’t You Hate it When People Lie…On You?

I now know why people say they don’t care what others think of them, because if they did…a ratty T-shirt, sweat pants, knee socks (yes, even with sweat pants), an oversized sweater, matted hair, etc. would be their daily uniform; and a bed would be their permanent office space.

It’s days like this that I miss the Boondocks, channeling my inner-Granddad, snapping my fingers, and saying, “Huey, say something inspirational.” And he would… (*in the Huey voice; Regina King, you are awesome!) “If you care enough, you’ll find a way; if you don’t, you’ll find an excuse”–slightly misquoted from a quote I saw on Facebook this morning, so if it’s yours, all attribution to you.

And what I am extremely tired of, even immensely jaded by, is the excuses and the blaming of individuals’ inadequacies on others, to the point where people will disregard their sense of morality (ha, I am erroneously assuming that they have it), and BOLDFACE LIE on you…and this is where I get pissed (mind you, I stay away from “strong” language though I don’t have to in my day-to-day; it’s a respect thing for my wide-ranging audience, but you all will have to excuse me–I beg your pardon in advance–it’s ONE OF THOSE DAYS).

Unfortunately, reviews by people who don’t have the knowledge, tact, candor, professionalism, experience, competency, mindset, skill set, social awareness–not even Monica Breedlove (if you’ve seen the Bad Seed, you get the reference; if not, watch it…Patty McCormack still gives me the creeps) amateur analytics–are a part of my “professional” currency/worth, which is fine…well, it would be if passive aggressive, self-indulgent, “give me, give me” because I don’t know the meaning of the word “earn,” immature (supposed to be “adults” but are really children masquerading as adults), lazy, neurotic, substance-abusing, cheating, curmudgeonly ___________(if you know of similar individuals, you can fill in the blank with whatever noun you think is appropriate) were not a part of the package.

So this is my, and anyone else who is, or has been, in my shoes, opportunity to vent and tell YOU all about yourselves…and the best thing about it–I dish the NAKED TRUTH and NOT “COVERED UP” LIES (Matthews, 2016).

To all you know-it-alls, unless you work for yourself (trust me, if you have the work ethic I see on the daily, then your business won’t last for long), not being on time, missing work, not following directions, messing up even after being given ample opportunities to rectify your mistakes, telling people what “you didn’t know” and “you didn’t tell me that,” or “I don’t remember you telling me that” when there is proof that you were told what you said you weren’t, and still feel like you’re entitled to some reward after your million-dollar fuck-ups, I have four words for you: GROW. THE. FUCK. UP.

You’re going to find yourself jumping from job to job, industry to industry, and being overlooked for advancement in your company, because everything that goes wrong with you is always, always someone else’s fault and never yours.

I OWN who I am. I don’t have a perfectionism complex, but I do expect people’s best, especially when I’m doing more than what’s required of me to ensure that you achieve your best. I don’t think there is anything that’s “normal”–just things that we expect to happen because it generally, historically, has unfolded in that way. I don’t think one way or the other about people and their preferences–unless it’s harmful to them and others.

I operate in a genderless paradigm, sometimes colorless–if it can be helped (people just love telling you what they think you are)–which means I can see through sexist and racist rhetoric as clearly as Alice Through a Looking Glass.

“Sass” is not a term anyone would use for “red-blooded” male with a no-nonsense attitude, especially not an Anglo-Saxon one (of course, I am being intentionally stereotypical; too bad others–too many–actually believe the hype); yeah, people may talk shit about him, call him a dick, maybe, or an asshole, but they will respect him, shovel his shit, and eat it, but allow his “traditional gender” counter-part to do the same…oh, she’s Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest… wire hanger scene day in and day out.

*Shaking my head in disgust…

I will end with this…while men may be known to tell more lies, women have more lies told on them.

 

 

 

 

P FOR POSSESSION–BOOK ONE OF THE P-O-S-S-E-S-S-I-O-N CHRONICLES

Product Description

A typical day for MARINA DeSALVO-BROWNING…check the backseat of the car three times and the trunk at least once (even when you think you’ve checked enough, check one more time); only wear bland colors to school–that way you fade into the cinder blocks better and always–always–keep to the corners; use your hair as a shield; always sit in the middle of the classroom–you blend in better; always be the first one out of your seat when the bell rings–helps to avoid the hall crowds; at the end of the day, let the wave out of the building coast you to your car; check the backseat and trunk once more and peel out of the parking lot; get home, blaze through the front door, lock it, set the alarm, run up the stairs to your bedroom and only breathe when you’ve closed and locked the door behind you.

Congratulations! You’ve made it through another day…now go check under the bed, the closet, and behind the shower curtain…keep a firm grip on that baseball bat. Last tip: swing away. Now what could possibly be Marina’s problem?

Two words. DEVLIN WARRINGTON. Marina’s ex and a proud member of the breakup challenged (stalker); however, he’s from a family like Dallas’s Ewings—if they gave up the oil rigs for City Hall–and is intent upon making Marina’s life a living hell. Reconnecting with her old childhood pen pal, XANDER CAGE, leads Marina to the realization that there’s more to life—and love—than the control and fear she’s cultivated at the hands of Devlin.

And as time passes, Marina eventually commits the greatest sin of all–at least where Devlin is concerned–she falls in love. Falling in love with Xander, and thereby breaking the heart of a Warrington, is not only dangerous to Marina… but deadly. Soon, the bodies are piling up, and Marina comes to the realization that she is the real target of the killer. But is it Devlin? Traversing through a quicksand of sex, lies, and murder, the innocent Marina only has two choices: persevere or fall victim to temptation, becoming its ever-willing POSSESSION.

Go to Amazon.com and search “P for Possession” for the Kindle version and “P for Possession paperback” for the Paperback version.

Technology is Wonderfully Scary

If it weren’t for my Mac, I couldn’t tweet, post, or hack.

If it weren’t for my PC, how could my followers, friends, and trolls see me?

If it weren’t for my Droid and iPhone, how could I text the guys to say the wedding (insert whatever in its stead) had been postponed?

If it weren’t for memes, how could I share how hilarious captions across the heads of squirrels, cats, beavers, otters, dogs, muskrats, raccoons, snakes, wallabies…really seem?

Oh, this thing appropriately called Tech-no-logy…yes, no sense involved…but that’s just my philosophy.