Bryce Beattie's Blog, page 16

How to Self Publish a Book

Off and on for the past several years, I’ve been writing a free book to help authors to self publish a book. I’ve had a version up on a separate blog for a while, but I’ve been finishing it and editing and reformatting and such, and now I’m posting the book on this site. It is probably the nerdiest way to prep your files for self publishing, but it is totally slick and once you get it up and running, it is super easy.

How to Self Publish a Book

If you have any comments, questions, suggestions, or corrections for the book, please post them here.

The final (for now) covers.

Here’s what I’ve ended up with for the two new short story covers. I think I’m happy enough with them now, and I can publish more in the same style so they will look like they kind of belong together. Links go to the stories at Amazon.

Then you can’t vote for her, either.

Politics. If you don’t like them, don’t read this post. I am going to rant for a minute. And let me get one thing out of the way- I am not planning on voting for Trump. I disagree with many of his stated policies. I find his personality grating. Do not mistake what I am about to say as support for him.

With all that out of the way, just let me say:

If you cannot vote for Trump, then you doubly cannot vote for Clinton. She embodies that which her supporters hate about Trump. If you do support Hillary, you then must either be willfully ignorant of her actions or a hypocrite.

Here are a few examples to illustrate what I mean.

The Devil you Know

I have heard from several people some variation on the following statement, “Yes, I know Hillary is corrupt, but who knows how Trump would act? I’ll choose the devil I know over the one I don’t.” To me this is like saying, “That guy over there looks creepy to me, but I need a ride, so I’m going to hop in the car with Ted Bundy instead.”

To admit your candidate is a devil from the get-go doesn’t seem like a reason to vote for her. If you can’t vote for someone because you see him as a possible “devil,” then how can you possibly morally justify voting for another person you have already admitted is a “devil?”

Why is he Hiding Stuff?

Anti-Trumpeters say “He’s hiding his tax returns. He’s hiding everything!” Well, Clinton hasn’t published hers (edit: okay, apparently now she has, thanks to my blistering rant, but the Clinton Foundation stuff is still very shady…), nor has she opened up the books to the Clinton Foundation. She’s hiding her finances every bit as much as Trump. So if that’s why you can’t vote for him, you certainly can’t vote for her.

What else is she hiding? She deleted a whole bunch of possibly damning emails. She didn’t even have a single press conference for over over 240 days! And when she did, it was with 7 hand-picked journalists who lobbed softballs. And even then her answers were evasive and rambling. There’s only two rational reasons she would hide like that: 1) She knows what questions are likely to be asked, and she can’t come up with a good answer. 2) She is not fast thinking enough to deal with the chaos ans pressure of that environment.

So if “hiding things” disqualifies Trump for you, it should even more disqualify Clinton.

Flip-Flops

There’s plenty of example of both people flip flopping on serious issues, depending on their audience. Hillary has flopped on same sex marriage, and when asked about it she said “Well, actually, I have been very consistent. Over the course of my entire life, I have always fought for the same values and principles, but, like most human beings — including those of us who run for office — I do absorb new information. I do look at what’s happening in the world.” Which is basically saying “I absolutely never change except of course I change all the time.”

Change is fine, but don’t pretend to always stand for the same values if you do.

She’s flip-flopped on the Trans-Pacific Partnership.

She’s flip-flopped on NAFTA

She’s flip-flopped on The Cuba Embargo

So if you can’t vote for the Donald because he has flip-flopped on some issues, then you shouldn’t vote for Hillary, either.

Trump Lies

Well, so does Hillary. If you can’t vote for Trump because of his lying, then you shouldn’t vote for Hillary because of hers.

And as an aside, why would we accept this behavior from any elected official? Are there literally no honest people left in the world?

Violent Temper

“I don’t want his tiny hand on the big red button.” Says many a Hillary supporter, suggesting that Trump’s temper would lead to nuclear war.

Well, if having a temper should stop someone from being president, then you can’t vote for Hillary either. And yes, much of the evidence of her temper is claims made by people who have worked close to her, so they could be biased. Consider the fact that you can’t find such claims about Trump at all.

There’s ex secret service guys like Gary Byrne, Dan Bongino, and Lloyd Bulman who have since reported that Hillary is rude and blows up all the time, often becoming physical. (She threw a lamp at Bill, gave him a black eye, hit a secret service guy with a Bible, etc) Ed Klein’s book cites many people close to the Clintons who have reported the same type of behavior. In Ronald Kessler’s book about the Secret Service, he reports many more times that Hillary has been verbally abusive to agents who have had the audacity to say “good morning” to her. And there are several campaign aides now that report the same.

Again, these are all unproven he-said, she-said type accusations, but there sure seem to be a lot of them for them all to be fake.

So if his temper prevents you from voting for Trump, then Hillary’s temper should prevent you from voting for her.

Death Threats

“Trump threatened to kill Hillary! Or at least incite her murder! It’s in the public record! He’s a violent maniac!”

First off, no he didn’t. He made a joke in poor taste. Nobody goes around murdering light-haired people because they heard the one about “how to drown a blonde.”

But still, if even if you think his comments might possibly lead to violence, then you should consider the actual deaths that have occurred due to Hillary’s actions. And I’m not talking the quacky “Clinton Death List” that has been going around forever. I’m talking verifiable actions as Secretary of State.

Her bungling of Benghazi, which led to the deaths of Americans. Immediately afterward, she tried to sweep it under the rug and lied about what caused the attack to happen. Only after a lot of pressure did she accept any responsibility. Still, it’s hard to blame her for the actions of a terrorist. Let’s move on to worse stuff. That’s not exactly brave, strong leadership.
When she was Secretary of Sate, she accepted many “donations” to her charity from foreign nations. This alone was against the ethics rules of the job. Worse yet, once she got the donations, she approved the sale of warplanes and firearms to those nations. And these are not happy, friendly nations. These are places where she knew the weapons would be used to murder political dissidents and oppress women. If I sold a gun to a guy who I knew was planning on using it to murder, would I be in the wrong? You bet. She has apologetically been an accomplice to murder for her own personal gain.
Her meddling in Syria has helped lead to the death of over 250,000 people, and the displacement of something like 10,000,000 more. And Hillary talks about it like that’s some sort of great victory as apposed to a gut-wrenching human tragedy. 250,000 deaths. These are actual people. People, just like your neighbors, your sons, your friends. We’re talking women, children, and men. Its hard to even comprehend how many human lives that really is.

So if you’re afraid that Trump’s rhetoric might promote violence, consider that Hillary’s actions have already promoted catastrophic violence and war. If promoting violence crosses Trump off your list, then you have to cross Hillary off, too.

In the pocket of the 1%

“Trump’s a rich guy, so he’s going to give his buddies a sweet deal.” I would then invite you to take a look at some of the sweet deals Hillary has already actually given people as Secretary of State. So if you can’t vote for Trump because you think he would grant political favors, then you also can’t vote for Hillary, as she has granted them before and sure is taking a lot of corporate money as donations now.

So if not Trump, and definitely not Clinton, then who?

Hopefully you can see what I mean. If you can’t vote for Trump, then you doubly can’t vote for Hillary.

The are plenty of third party candidates to look at. Or write in this guy. Or don’t vote at all.

May all of us have the strength and wisdom to not just follow a crowd, but think for ourselves and search and find a candidate we can actually support.

 

Still Fiddling with Covers

Here’s some newer versions of one the covers I’m occasionally working on. I’m not really sure which way to go. In this round I changed the author name to be a little more in line with the whole pulp aesthetic I’ve been playing with. I swear, I’ve probably looked at a thousand pulp covers looking for inspiration. And my goal here is not to really sell more of the short stories that I have already released, but to establish more of a consistent style as I release newer stuff.

Quick Question for Authors

Out of curiosity, do you have royalties/etc paid to you directly, or do you have a separate legal entity, like an LLC?

If you get a book contract, do you make it with the LLC or with you personally?

IAmA MIB AMA

Yay for fiction! In this short piece, a man has a frightening encounter with a pair of bizarre government agents.

I’ve been trying to write something every night over the last little while. This idea just popped into my head a few nights ago as I lurked around reddit’s nosleep community. I’ll be cross-posting this there with a reddit account in the name of the fictional character, soren_latsky. It feels good to finish something, even something tiny like this.

If you’d prefer, you can download this story as an ebook. ePub version mobi version.

So, without further here is IAmA MIB AMA, ©2016 Bryce Beattie

Let me tell you why I don’t feel safe at home anymore, and why you shouldn’t, either.

I work as a freelance graphic designer, making mostly book covers for independent authors. Because I work alone, I get often bored and lonely. To help ease the monotony, I’ll often work at coffee shops and other public places.

About two weeks ago, I went to spend a couple of hours around lunchtime at a local food truck park. I love the mixture of warm, savory smells and enjoy the strange mixture of professionals, tourists, and families that always show up.

It was the height of the lunch rush. Despite the gray skies and unseasonably cool temperature, it was still pretty busy. I sat at one of the little wire tables eating a messy Philly steak and cheese sandwich. My laptop was put away in a bag for the moment. After I finished eating I could pull it out and not feel like such a table hog.

All at once I heard a commotion coming from around the pizza truck.

I craned my neck to see what was going on.

A haggard man bounced like a human pinball from the crowd and collided with my table. “Help me.” He gasped for air and flung something at me.

I raised my hands to protect my face.

The object bounced off my chest and fell to the ground.

And just like that, the crazy man sprung back into the crowd, pushing people and calling for help.

I sat frozen in place for a confused few seconds. Eventually, I took a deep breath and realized that I clung to sandwich with my left hand. I sat it down and looked into the crowd, trying to catch sight of the wild man.

When I turned back, I saw two well dressed men walking confidently through the crowd.

They moved fast, but didn’t run. Neither did they even have to push. The crowd just seemed to part in front of them. Both wore suits of black that kind of shimmered like they were made of silk or plastic or something.

They stopped directly in front of me. One of them looked down at my sandwich, then back up at my face. At least, I assume that’s where he was looking. He wore dark glasses. For reasons I cannot put down, he made me feel nervous.

“Did that man speak to you?” He said in the flattest, most mechanical voice I’ve ever heard.

“Uh, he said, ‘Help me.’ and then he took off that way.”

“We may need to ask you more questions.”

I didn’t even get a chance to respond. They pivoted and walked in the direction the man had bolted.

And just like that, they were gone, leaving behind only a whiff of unbearable authority.

I decided to wait around a bit. After all, I had a sandwich to finish and the man said they might need to ask me a few more questions.

About the time I swallowed the last bite, I remembered the wild man throwing something at me. A quick glance at the ground below and I spotted a black thumb drive.

I picked it up and rolled it around in my fingers.

Did he just drop it? Was it an accident? Or did he just want to give it to someone?

I was waiting around anyway, so I pulled out my laptop and plugged in the drive.

Yes, I knew I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I just couldn’t help it.

I instantly felt nervous. What would the men in black do to me if they caught me with the fugitive’s drive in my machine? Could I be arrested? Maybe this was a bad idea.

Yes, it was a bad idea. But I also couldn’t just not know. So I pulled out the flash drive I keep on my keyring and plugged it in, too. I clicked and clicked and told the computer to copy everything.

I nervously tapped the side of my laptop while the files copied. Any moment I was sure one of those agents would drag me from my seat and throw me in prison for theft of evidence or something.

File names blinked by in the process window. Many of them had “Project Kendrick” in there somewhere. Also the words “torture” and “experiment.”

It took like 3 years for all the files to copy. I probably looked like a paranoid groundhog looking around and back down at my screen.

When it finally finished, I tore the drives out and slammed the lid down on my computer. It took at least ten minutes for my heart to stop racing.

Another half hour passed by with trucks packing up and customers heading back to work or home or wherever. No men in black returned.

At last I decided to head home.

A few minutes later, I pulled up at the one-level apartment building where I live. The place looked pretty barren, but that was normal for mid afternoon on a weekday. After all, I think they all work 9 to 5 type jobs. My little car was the only one in the parking lot. I am sure of that.

I unlocked the door, entered and hit the switch. The lights did not respond, and it felt a good deal colder than it usually did.

Something out of place caught my attention from the corner of my eye.

I spun and just about crapped my pants. The two strange agents dressed in black sat on my couch, hands on their knees. Their jackets were open in such a way as to display their holstered firearms.

My stomach dropped through the floor and I started to shake. How had I not noticed them when I first opened the door? How did they get in here? How did they know where I live?

I stood there like an idiot for at least thirty seconds.

My voice shook when I finally got up the courage to speak. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

The agent on the right turned his head slightly in my direction and spoke in monotone. “Hello Soren Latsky. We are investigating an incident that happened earlier today.”

“But in my… house? Don’t you need a-”

The agent on the right turned his head the rest of the way and said, “Investigating.”

In my heart, I knew what he really meant was, “Greetings, I am a Man in Black. Ask me nothing. I will do the asking.”

The agent on the left stared straight ahead again and said, “We have some questions for you.”

“Okay…”

“What happened at the food trucks?”

“With the guy, right?”

Silence. It felt like needles in my ears.

“Yeah, I, uh, was eating. And then this guy ran out of the crowd. He bumped into my table and said ‘help me’ and then ran away.”

“Did you help him?” Both agents spoke at once.

The metallic voices sounding together made my head feel fuzzy, like a punch to the back of the head.

“No, I just sat there. A second later, you showed up and then you took off after him.”

The left agent said, “Describe the man.”

“I just remember him looking messy and unshaven.”

The right agent said, “And that was your whole interaction?”

I felt the goosebumps spring up on my arm. “Yeah, I think so.”

Both agents made a “Hmmmm” sound and then their heads began moving side to side like one of those smooth gear sprinklers. It was a far more menacing movement than it had any right to be.

Were they scanning the room? Were they signaling “no,” like they didn’t believe me? I couldn’t tell.

Finally, their slow motion head shaking stopped, with one of them looking just to my right and the other at the wall to my far left.

The one on the right spoke again. “Can you get me a drink of water?”

“Um, sure.”

I went in the kitchen. As soon as I left the front room, it was much easier to breathe. I hadn’t even noticed how tight my chest had been. Just their presence had caused a pit of fear to well up in my gut.

When I returned to the front room, everything was the same, except the drawer of the lamp table had been removed and its contents emptied upon the floor. Even the agent’s heads were pointed in the same directions as they had been.

I looked at the mess on the floor and then back at the men in black suits. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why.

I mean, I’m a man. I know my rights. I’ve been in my fair share of fights. And yet I found no strength to resist.

You may laugh at me now, but you weren’t there. You didn’t hear their sinister robotic voices. You didn’t see their cold demeanor. You didn’t feel their menacing gaze piercing straight through their dark sunglasses.

Well I did, and it shook me to my core.

I sheepishly extended the water to the agent on the right. The one on the left reached out, then snatched it. His head didn’t turn to look at it, mind you. He just grabbed it then dumped it right on the carpet as if to say, “We can do anything. You are powerless.”

Once the glass was empty, he dropped it, as if to punctuate his power over me.

The one on the right spoke again. “And the man gave you nothing?”

“No. I mean- n, no.” I backed away, not bothering to pick up the glass. “I mean, I did find a thumb drive on the ground after…”

Both agent’s heads snapped to face me. The movement was faster than I could even track. Less than a blink of the eye.

Again they spoke together. “What did you do with it?”

Again with the fuzzy mind. “It it it it’s in my pocket.”

“Did you look at its contents?”

“No!” It came out a lot louder than I intended. “Sorry. I was going to do that when I got home.”

In one motion, both agents stood.

“Surrender the evidence.” The agent on the left extended his hand.

I fumbled in my pocket and tried to not even think about my keyring. My hand shook like a rattlesnake as I gave it over.

The other held out his hand, too. “And the laptop in your bag.”

“But that’s-”

“THE LAPTOP.” His tone didn’t change, but it was loud as if spoken through a bullhorn.

A fresh bolt of fear shot up my spine. Will they know I copied the files? I couldn’t even look at the agents as I unzipped and handed over the computer.

The agent yanked the laptop away with his left hand and slapped me with his right.

The force of it knocked me back against the wall. Adrenaline pumped into my system and shouted at me to run away. Somehow my legs refused to move.

The two walked, almost gliding, to the door. Before leaving, one of them said, “Thank you for the inconvenience.”

And the other, “Let this be the end.”

It sounded like a threat.

The door slammed shut and my lights came back on.

I watched them through the window. They climbed into a shiny black sedan, a car I swear had not been there when I arrived. It made only a minor whirring sound as it pulled away.

And like that, the two most terrifying people I have ever seen were gone.

I stared at the window for a long time. Those agents could do anything they wanted. My home wasn’t safe. Nowhere is safe.

I’ve now spent twelve sleepless nights now just waiting for them to return. To tell me they know I have a copy of those files. To haul me to some abandoned warehouse where they torture me for information I don’t have.

Yesterday I bought a new cheap-o laptop. I don’t plan on doing design work on it. I only plan on looking at my flash drive. If I’m going to lose my freedom, I might as well know why. In fact, I have to know. And maybe I have to tell others.

I’m writing this from a public library. I have packed the essentials and I’ve submitted notice to my landlord. I won’t be sleeping in that apartment ever again. I’ll post this online so my friends and family know what has happened to me. Once that’s done, I’m going to find a quiet, internet-free place and I’m going to tear into those files.

Wish me luck.

Finding Art for New Covers

I decided the covers on my short stories need to change. I’m also planning on self publishing a few more over the next little while.

Here are the two specifically that I’d like to replace:

What I’d like is a pulpier feel with more genre-appropriate art. Also some sort of attempt at same-ness author branding. So I’ve recently commissioned a bunch of art via fiverr and artists n clients. Here are some thoughts I’ve had as I’ve been doing this:

Deviant art also has many artists willing to do cover art, but it is a pain to contact them one by one. Still, that’s how I found the artist that did Oasis and The Journey of St. Laurent.
Make sure the artist knows what the art is for and will grant you a commercial license.
 Look for a link to the artist’s off-site portfolio, it’ll sometimes give you a better idea of what to expect.
 I think I might have been better off if I had saved my pennies and commissioned fewer, but more expensive (better?) artists.
If you use fiverr, use their “requests” feature. That way, artists with give you bids on exactly what you want.
Finding clothing/pose for the artists will yield a much better result.

I put the text on these covers, but here is some of the art I’ve gotten back.

 

Who knows what I’ll end up with, but it is kind of fun playing like a graphic designer. And of course, it keeps me from getting any real work done, so that’s a bonus.

Silly Request for Reviews

I’ve been ordering a bunch of art from fiverr to redo some of my short story covers (and get one for the upcoming release.) I’ll talk about that process very soon. Right now I want to tell a different story.

For whatever reason, fiverr decided to love me as a customer and it gave me a $5 credit. There’s not much I need from fiverr that only costs $5, so I browsed around for anything that could be useful to this site or me as a writer. I looked at some of the “shill” reviews that were being offered, but that just made me feel dirty. I checked out the music categories to see if $5 could score me some kind of theme for the blog. (Answer: not really) Finally what I ended up with was the following silly little plea for reviews.

Announcement: Learning (Game) Programming in Scratch

Over the past year and a half, I’ve been volunteering, teaching a programming class at a local elementary school. I’ve been using scratch to teach, as it’s easy to get something fun done fast for the kids.

I created a curriculum for the class that mostly consists of video tutorials the kids can follow along as they build one game after another, hopefully picking up some programming ideas as they do.

Here is the curriculum. Learning Game Programming in Scratch

If you have any thoughts, comments, questions or corrections on the curriculum page, please post them here.

It’s my birthday!

It’s my birthday and as such I suppose it might be acceptable for me to mooch for reviews. So if you have ever read something I’ve written, please consider leaving me a review.

My Amazon Author Page
My Goodreads Author Page
My Smashwords Page
Me on Barnes and Noble

Or maybe like my author page on facebook

There. Shameless plug over. New fiction coming soon. For realsies.