William Amerman's Blog, page 3
May 23, 2015
Drought and the world is ending
So I get the little card in the mail. WARNING we will control your water use. You WILL comply. We can't WAIT to fine you. Jerry Brown all in a tizzy because he couldn't charge tiered water rates based on use, and because he couldn't impose martial law and send in legions of national guard with stopwatches to monitor shower length and immediately arrest everyone who didn't lug buckets into the shower to catch soapy water.
Look, I'm no global warming denier. I don't need to get into temperature and data arguments. It seems like a pretty good idea to regulate the amount of crap we pump into the air and water. No problem with that. But droughts come at regular intervals. This drought is a normal drought--see the gov website below. We should expect them. We should PREPARE for them.
So we have rolling electricity blackouts in the summer and now I'm not supposed to wash my car or water my lawn.
I do my part, Jerry. I work every day, either big company work or writing work, and pay my taxes so you can employ a massive amount of people who help you promote your socialist/communist policies (look up the quote: "...extracted disproportionately from the national wealth" . . . Lenin would have blushed).
How about you do your part? We haven't built waterworks since the 1960s? Build some freaking reservoirs and dams. I'd like 11% more water to get us through the dry seasons. We don't need your $100+Billion bullshit train. We need water. We need power. Do your job and I'll do mine.
http://www.water.ca.gov/storage/north...
Look, I'm no global warming denier. I don't need to get into temperature and data arguments. It seems like a pretty good idea to regulate the amount of crap we pump into the air and water. No problem with that. But droughts come at regular intervals. This drought is a normal drought--see the gov website below. We should expect them. We should PREPARE for them.
So we have rolling electricity blackouts in the summer and now I'm not supposed to wash my car or water my lawn.
I do my part, Jerry. I work every day, either big company work or writing work, and pay my taxes so you can employ a massive amount of people who help you promote your socialist/communist policies (look up the quote: "...extracted disproportionately from the national wealth" . . . Lenin would have blushed).
How about you do your part? We haven't built waterworks since the 1960s? Build some freaking reservoirs and dams. I'd like 11% more water to get us through the dry seasons. We don't need your $100+Billion bullshit train. We need water. We need power. Do your job and I'll do mine.
http://www.water.ca.gov/storage/north...
March 31, 2015
Bookbub
I haven't had any luck with Bookbub submissions for Sky1. I've been told it's both a matter of quality of the book as well as persistence in resubmitting every four weeks.
Given that RedAdept edited it and I recently had the cover re-done (Streetlight Graphics and I highly recommend both RA and SG) and both of these seem to be the highest quality (and expense!) around, I think I have the quality part nailed. Although, I must confess that it's quite a hoot to go back to read some of Sky1, now that I'm four books into the series. The book still works. But after so much writing and learning since I wrote the first one, it's painful to see all the missed opportunities with regards to pacing, tension, and a variety of other things that go into making a very good book. Oh well. I can live with every book in the series being better than the previous one.
Now that I'm certain of achieving a baseline of quality, I'm just working on persistence. Which means resubmitting every four weeks or so.
One nice interaction I had with Bookbub today was that their book search function was down. I emailed their support and they responded within an hour. I was very impressed. Fingers crossed on the latest submission. If you have any tips on Bookbub, I'd love to read them in the comments, below.
Given that RedAdept edited it and I recently had the cover re-done (Streetlight Graphics and I highly recommend both RA and SG) and both of these seem to be the highest quality (and expense!) around, I think I have the quality part nailed. Although, I must confess that it's quite a hoot to go back to read some of Sky1, now that I'm four books into the series. The book still works. But after so much writing and learning since I wrote the first one, it's painful to see all the missed opportunities with regards to pacing, tension, and a variety of other things that go into making a very good book. Oh well. I can live with every book in the series being better than the previous one.
Now that I'm certain of achieving a baseline of quality, I'm just working on persistence. Which means resubmitting every four weeks or so.
One nice interaction I had with Bookbub today was that their book search function was down. I emailed their support and they responded within an hour. I was very impressed. Fingers crossed on the latest submission. If you have any tips on Bookbub, I'd love to read them in the comments, below.
March 21, 2015
Trample the weak, hurdle the dead
How wonderful that by a quick google search for a couple of pop culture spring break references, our language gives up such a splendid phrase as Trample the weak, hurdle the dead. Thank you, uncle Google, for such serendipity.
Dude on the youtube vids, you're just silly.
Dude on the youtube vids, you're just silly.
March 18, 2015
Holy shit I almost died
I was having a team dinner last night at a Brazilian steakhouse in Santana Row, San Jose. A very nice place. They bring meats to your table and slice you off whatever you want out of the twenty or so meat selection. If you like meat, this is the place to go.
All was going well. Among the twelve of us, conversation and wine were flowing. I was almost done with all the meat on my plate, when a piece of lamb slid the wrong way down my throat. I tried to work it down, but my throat started getting tighter and tighter. I realized I hadn't taken a breath in a while so I tentatively tried to breathe. Right about this time, the table behind us started a rousing performance of Happy Birthday for one of their table-mates.
My throat felt as tight as a rod, no air coming through, no movement at all. Which was right about the time I realized, I've actually got to do something about this, closely followed by the thought of, holy shit, this is going to be embarrassing in front of my employees. Which was then closely followed by some bizarre thought of self-congratulation for being so proactive and taking action right then, instead of mucking around with the throat of an iron bar.
I jumped to my feet, knocking my chair back, and grabbed the arm of Paul, sitting next to me. Paul's wife just had a baby last week and this was his first night out. Additionally, the poor guy was suffering from sleep deprivation, so his reaction was a slow, sleepy look of "huh?"
The eyes of everyone at my table were on me now, mostly with a semi-amused expectant expression as if I were about to perform some spontaneous, wine-fueled dance. Paul looked at me with confusion as I pantomimed arms around my belly, pulling in the Heimlich maneuver. Luckily, Tom, sitting one seat over, yelled out "he's choking . . . do the Heimlich on him."
Paul, a strapping 275 pound or so man built like a lumbering, powerful ox, got up, moved behind me, circled his arms around me and began squeezing. All that happened, though, was I spewed some sort of liquid, maybe wine, all over the table. This action seemed to rouse the other ten people at our table. As they recoiled from my stream, I had another thought. Hmmm, if this works, I'm likely to blow out a huge hunk of meat right out onto one of my employees sitting on the other side of the table. As the boss, that seemed a breach of etiquette. I needed a napkin.
As the table behind us continued with their energetic Happy Birthday singing, Paul circled me with his massive arms, alternately lifting my feet off the floor, then slamming me back down. On one of the down cycles, I plucked a napkin from the table and held it over my mouth. However, it wasn't working. I still couldn't breathe. For the first time, I began to feel panic.
Tom yelled at Paul to move his grip higher. Paul adjusted while I felt the aching, despairing and futile instinct to suck air. Paul began slamming again. This time, results were immediate. With each of his thundering clenches, things began to loosen up. At first, it was just more liquid. Then I began grunting at each clench, still not breathing, but even air going out of my throat felt like such a relief. Then, in a feeling I'll probably remember for the rest of my life, Paul gave another mighty pull and the stuck meat blew out of my throat and neatly into the napkin. I took a shallow breath, not eager to suck anything that might still be in my mouth back into my throat.
I tapped Paul's arms to get him to stop and he lowered me down. I wheezed grateful air into my lungs and grabbed his shoulder, thanking him profusely. As I sat back in my chair, the table behind us finished their Happy Birthday song and I assured all my folks that I was ok, thanking Paul again just about every five seconds. That was how my team dinner went at the Brazilian steakhouse last night.
I haven't eaten anything solid since.
All was going well. Among the twelve of us, conversation and wine were flowing. I was almost done with all the meat on my plate, when a piece of lamb slid the wrong way down my throat. I tried to work it down, but my throat started getting tighter and tighter. I realized I hadn't taken a breath in a while so I tentatively tried to breathe. Right about this time, the table behind us started a rousing performance of Happy Birthday for one of their table-mates.
My throat felt as tight as a rod, no air coming through, no movement at all. Which was right about the time I realized, I've actually got to do something about this, closely followed by the thought of, holy shit, this is going to be embarrassing in front of my employees. Which was then closely followed by some bizarre thought of self-congratulation for being so proactive and taking action right then, instead of mucking around with the throat of an iron bar.
I jumped to my feet, knocking my chair back, and grabbed the arm of Paul, sitting next to me. Paul's wife just had a baby last week and this was his first night out. Additionally, the poor guy was suffering from sleep deprivation, so his reaction was a slow, sleepy look of "huh?"
The eyes of everyone at my table were on me now, mostly with a semi-amused expectant expression as if I were about to perform some spontaneous, wine-fueled dance. Paul looked at me with confusion as I pantomimed arms around my belly, pulling in the Heimlich maneuver. Luckily, Tom, sitting one seat over, yelled out "he's choking . . . do the Heimlich on him."
Paul, a strapping 275 pound or so man built like a lumbering, powerful ox, got up, moved behind me, circled his arms around me and began squeezing. All that happened, though, was I spewed some sort of liquid, maybe wine, all over the table. This action seemed to rouse the other ten people at our table. As they recoiled from my stream, I had another thought. Hmmm, if this works, I'm likely to blow out a huge hunk of meat right out onto one of my employees sitting on the other side of the table. As the boss, that seemed a breach of etiquette. I needed a napkin.
As the table behind us continued with their energetic Happy Birthday singing, Paul circled me with his massive arms, alternately lifting my feet off the floor, then slamming me back down. On one of the down cycles, I plucked a napkin from the table and held it over my mouth. However, it wasn't working. I still couldn't breathe. For the first time, I began to feel panic.
Tom yelled at Paul to move his grip higher. Paul adjusted while I felt the aching, despairing and futile instinct to suck air. Paul began slamming again. This time, results were immediate. With each of his thundering clenches, things began to loosen up. At first, it was just more liquid. Then I began grunting at each clench, still not breathing, but even air going out of my throat felt like such a relief. Then, in a feeling I'll probably remember for the rest of my life, Paul gave another mighty pull and the stuck meat blew out of my throat and neatly into the napkin. I took a shallow breath, not eager to suck anything that might still be in my mouth back into my throat.
I tapped Paul's arms to get him to stop and he lowered me down. I wheezed grateful air into my lungs and grabbed his shoulder, thanking him profusely. As I sat back in my chair, the table behind us finished their Happy Birthday song and I assured all my folks that I was ok, thanking Paul again just about every five seconds. That was how my team dinner went at the Brazilian steakhouse last night.
I haven't eaten anything solid since.
March 2, 2015
Songs of a childless man
A couple months back, I took the (admittedly very non-dangerous) plunge and signed up for Spotify, the music streaming service. And over these months, I've been regaling the boys (ages 14, 12 and 9) with music from my past. Everything from Judas Priest to Depeche Mode, The Cure, Led Zeppelin, etc.
So last night, I've got the portable Bose blasting tunes in the garage as I hit the weights. As I finish a set of flys, I remember a fun song back when I lived in Amsterdam. The Ballad of Chasey Laine, by the Bloodhound gang.
No problem to find it. Queue it up, nice tight rhythm like I remember. I'm liking my choice, remembering how life used to be back in Amsterdam before we had the boys. I get to the bench and start the next set of flys just as the first lyrics begin.
Holy hell, I thought, I forgot how profane this song was/is. But I'm in the middle of my set, so I'm not going to stop to switch the song. And there I toiled, for 45 seconds or so, powering through my chest exercises, calling out loudly "oh boy, oh boy" to try to mask the inappropriate parts (news flash - an ode to a 90s pornstar is going to have a LOT of inappropriate parts) so the boys wouldn't hear.
By the time we were done with the first chorus, my face was brilliant red and I rushed over to switch the song. Good times....
So last night, I've got the portable Bose blasting tunes in the garage as I hit the weights. As I finish a set of flys, I remember a fun song back when I lived in Amsterdam. The Ballad of Chasey Laine, by the Bloodhound gang.
No problem to find it. Queue it up, nice tight rhythm like I remember. I'm liking my choice, remembering how life used to be back in Amsterdam before we had the boys. I get to the bench and start the next set of flys just as the first lyrics begin.
Holy hell, I thought, I forgot how profane this song was/is. But I'm in the middle of my set, so I'm not going to stop to switch the song. And there I toiled, for 45 seconds or so, powering through my chest exercises, calling out loudly "oh boy, oh boy" to try to mask the inappropriate parts (news flash - an ode to a 90s pornstar is going to have a LOT of inappropriate parts) so the boys wouldn't hear.
By the time we were done with the first chorus, my face was brilliant red and I rushed over to switch the song. Good times....
March 1, 2015
Sale results as motivation?
World record (for me, anyplace I've lived in the world) writing quantity today - 3,723 words. Written across multiple chapters. Mostly sex scenes, funny enough, and the new book Sky4 would possible qualify for an NC17 rating if it were a movie. First time writing sex scenes from a woman's point of view, though. It was uncomfortable, at first. When I write in the 3rd person, I always adopt the mindset of the point of view character. Having this be a woman has never been a problem. Until the sex scenes. And then, well, it got harder and harder to write as the scenes progressed. Looking down (virtually) and seeing a man on the other side of my character's eyes was just, um, not working. There was no problem describing the female characters feelings, desires, and thoughts. It was just whenever she looked at him, trying to describe what turned her on about him, that the block set in. The trick turned out to be.....
No. Maybe some other time. I'm already dashing this off in a rush in order to watch at least a few holes of the Honda Classic and workout. No need to type even more words that could be read as offensive.
Oh, as the title alludes, perhaps it's the wonderful way the .99 promotion of Sky1 has taken off that's provided impetus behind the record word count? Validation can come oh so cheaply (but dearly appreciated).
No. Maybe some other time. I'm already dashing this off in a rush in order to watch at least a few holes of the Honda Classic and workout. No need to type even more words that could be read as offensive.
Oh, as the title alludes, perhaps it's the wonderful way the .99 promotion of Sky1 has taken off that's provided impetus behind the record word count? Validation can come oh so cheaply (but dearly appreciated).
February 27, 2015
Sky1 on sale for .99
As part of the new book, Sky3 - Emerald Mara, release, Sky1 - Foundation is on sale for .99 for a limited time. What else can you buy for .99? Think of it like taking a virtual trip to the dollar store and picking up a couple days cheap entertainment! Wow, that sounded entirely too over-caffeinated enthusiastic. Hmmm, how about "tell your friends, neighbors, co-workers, massage therapists and write your congress people?" No. Again.
Yes, as always, the marketing side of book writing and selling appeals to me as much as stepping on rusty nails while barefoot. I'm off to continue writing Sky4. At least I know I get better at that side of the business every time I do it.
Yes, as always, the marketing side of book writing and selling appeals to me as much as stepping on rusty nails while barefoot. I'm off to continue writing Sky4. At least I know I get better at that side of the business every time I do it.
February 7, 2015
Milestones on your finger
Writing used to be a journey of mystery, self-discipline, even greater self-importance and hubris, all covered by a skin so think you could see through it if you held me up between two branches of a tree in winter.
Because it was so damned hard, completing a page was a milestone to be celebrated. Completing a chapter was cause to drink heavily and shout with fevered anticipation at the wonders in store for my dear readers. And finishing an entire book? I carried that warm nugget of self-congratulation deep in my belly for months.
Thankfully, whether it was through the patient tough love of my editors, or some greater plain of maturity I achieved, it is no longer most of those things. Or, perhaps the change is due to a deeper understanding of the mechanics of architecting and constructing a novel? Knowing where I need to hew to the tried and true methods of telling a story (I'm a shameless three act man, now), and where I can safely veer off the road to let my inner literary fireGod rampage through the ditches.
Yes. I've finished another book. Well, finished the mind-boggling editing journey that began in freaking June of last year. Hmmm, let me ponder that for a second. It's my own damned fault, actually. See, halfway through Sky2 my word count sat at about 80,000 and I felt only halfway through. Instead of putting out a 160,000 word book (sorry, Ayn), I made what I thought was a brilliant decision. "hey, if I cut this sucker in two, I'll have TWO books to put out." Holy shit what a bad idea. See, without understanding framework, these are the types of decisions I made.
However, Sky3 is back from the second proofreader and sits on my hard drive. Cover complete (soooo many revisions). All that's left is creating front-matter, converting to Amazon and Smashword friendly formats and publishing. And then the incredibly trite task of marketing. Which seems doubly painful because Sky4 is roaring along like a rocket sled through the russian forest. 3,000 words yesterday and yes, you've guessed it, the blog entries are back as a diversion from writing. Ha. Happy Saturday.
Because it was so damned hard, completing a page was a milestone to be celebrated. Completing a chapter was cause to drink heavily and shout with fevered anticipation at the wonders in store for my dear readers. And finishing an entire book? I carried that warm nugget of self-congratulation deep in my belly for months.
Thankfully, whether it was through the patient tough love of my editors, or some greater plain of maturity I achieved, it is no longer most of those things. Or, perhaps the change is due to a deeper understanding of the mechanics of architecting and constructing a novel? Knowing where I need to hew to the tried and true methods of telling a story (I'm a shameless three act man, now), and where I can safely veer off the road to let my inner literary fireGod rampage through the ditches.
Yes. I've finished another book. Well, finished the mind-boggling editing journey that began in freaking June of last year. Hmmm, let me ponder that for a second. It's my own damned fault, actually. See, halfway through Sky2 my word count sat at about 80,000 and I felt only halfway through. Instead of putting out a 160,000 word book (sorry, Ayn), I made what I thought was a brilliant decision. "hey, if I cut this sucker in two, I'll have TWO books to put out." Holy shit what a bad idea. See, without understanding framework, these are the types of decisions I made.
However, Sky3 is back from the second proofreader and sits on my hard drive. Cover complete (soooo many revisions). All that's left is creating front-matter, converting to Amazon and Smashword friendly formats and publishing. And then the incredibly trite task of marketing. Which seems doubly painful because Sky4 is roaring along like a rocket sled through the russian forest. 3,000 words yesterday and yes, you've guessed it, the blog entries are back as a diversion from writing. Ha. Happy Saturday.
November 1, 2014
Wanted to write . . . couldn't
Very much wanted to write a blog post today. Good progress on many fronts. But news from certain corners of this earth has made any sort of blog writing impossible. It doesn't bear explaining and there's no fixing it, so, well, silence reigns.
June 14, 2014
Hup Holland Hup!
Whew what a win yesterday for the men in orange, who actually were wearing blue. 5-1 win over Spain. Who could ask for more? The first goal from Van Persie was astonishing. Yes, we don't have much defense. And yes, Dutch football is usually more about possession and build-up rather than quick countering, but it's hard to argue with the result!
And yes, soccer heaven continues this week, next week, heck the whole month as the world cup is finally here. Hup Holland and go USA.
And yes, soccer heaven continues this week, next week, heck the whole month as the world cup is finally here. Hup Holland and go USA.
