Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 100

"The No-Campfire Girls" now available for Kindle!

While the “official” announcement won’t come until next week, it seems once we got the technical glitches worked out Amazon was quick to put The No-Campfire Girls up as an e-book:


http://www.amazon.com/No-Campfire-Gir...


In fact, we got our first sale before I knew it was available! The print version should be for sale there before the end of the weekend, if it’s not already, and we’ll have the website at www.markrhunter.com ready soon to show the various ways to buy the book.


Don’t forget, 30% of The No-Campfire Girls proceeds go toward Friends of Camp Latonka, to help with costs for the camp in southeast Missouri, which Emily attended and worked at. You can see the book’s description and dedication, and read chapter one, on Amazon.com.

cover reveal for "The No-Campfire Girls"

Here’s Emily’s cover for The No-Campfire Girls:

http://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2014/...

“I liked the idea of an earthy, summer camp type cover, with the little campfire logo that hints at the book’s main content, although I’m disturbed that Emily set my name on fire.”

Still a few publishing glitches, but we found the alleged problem and should have it up for Kindle tomorrow, and hopefully the print version on Amazon, too. Anyone who’s interested in joining up on a blog tour, let me know.

Sympathy For The Elbow

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK


I’ve been seen recently with my arm in a sling, and whenever asked I just explained it was for sympathy. My wife put a stop to that when she realized some people thought I was serious. Worse, the people who thought I was really hurt didn’t give me much sympathy, anyway.

It is true that I didn’t have to use the sling: I’m trying to heal up my tendonitis, otherwise known as lateral epicondylitis. That’s the term I usually use, because it makes people feel bad for me, until they look it up. I got the condition by throwing bricks off to one side, which sounds manly until you realize I was only throwing them a few feet.

The irony’s not lost on me that demolishing a chimney by hand only got me injured after it was all on the ground.

The thing is, if I don’t move my arm it’s not all that painful, usually. But I’m right handed, and it’s my right elbow. You don’t realize how much you use an elbow until you’re not supposed to, so I put the sling on as a way to remind me not to use it.

That only works some, because I cheat. The cheating makes it hurt, then I get angry because I can’t blame anyone else.

So when I went to the doctor, I asked him how soon this would go away. He replied: “You might die with it.”

Which is bad enough by itself, but my mind interpreted his words as “You might die from it”, which cause exactly the reaction you can imagine it caused.

It turns out one of the things that can worsen tendonitis is keyboarding, which in the olden days was called typing, which I do a lot. Now, at work there are three keyboards and three mouses … mice? … um, hand control devices around my work station, and two of my six computer screens are touch screens. There are no duties that don’t involve keyboarding or reaching.

Then there’s my part time job, which is … well, you’re reading it. I could try handwriting my newspaper stuff, but considering I can’t write with my left hand, that’s kind of pointless.

Can you imagine the editor trying to transcribe my left hand cursive? “I think he wrote ‘All mimsy were ye borogoves’ … stealing from Lewis Carroll is very odd in a column about home maintenance. Did he get another concussion?”

I could cut down on my fiction writing, which at the moment is bringing in just enough money to pay for the tea I drink while writing fiction. Have I cut down? Well, I’ve got one book coming out in about a month and another in October, I’m well into the rough draft of a new novel, and I just started working on a collection based on my early columns. That last will probably be called: “They Amputated My Elbow, And Other Tales From A Guy Who Doesn’t Know When To Quit”.

Or maybe something shorter.

It’s go through some pain or don’t write at all, and I’d rather give up on chocolate and Mountain Dew than not write, although it would be a close call. So I learned, as people do when a body part hurts, that I use it for a whole lot more than I thought I did. For instance:

Opening a bottle of Mountain Dew, which takes two hands. I miss that more than anything.

Tearing open a plastic bag of anything. Yes, I’m thinking chocolate, although it also hurts to open less important things, like food and first aid supplies. I actually have to track down scissors, although my wife would rather I have her do it because, hey – scissors.

Basically, grasping for anything or reaching for anything hurts, which isn’t a big deal if it’s something small enough to get with my left hand. But I don’t use my left hand, because I haven’t led with my left since my brother beat me up in fourth grade, and that hurt too. Thus the sling, which is there simply to remind me to lead with the left again. I’ve also had some success with anchoring my right hand in a jacket or sweatshirt pocket.

But that doesn’t get me as much sympathy.

So that’s my explanation for now, although I’m working on a story that involves something a bit more interesting. Maybe I hurt it rescuing a kitten from a tree, climbing Mount Everest (which is silly, because it’s cold up there), or fighting off whatever female celebrity is popular right now. Whatever else I have to do to get healed up, I’m not going to give up the writing.

Although if I have to go left handed for my next book signing, I might rethink that.

The Weather Changes. Again.

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK


“Tragedy in Churubusco when three residents went on a walk to show off their spring clothes during the warm up this morning, and were later found frozen to death. Their bodies were originally scheduled to be cremated, but couldn’t be thawed fast enough.”

This is why writers should live in Indiana; that kind of stuff just writes itself.

Oh, I know, I’ve talked a lot about the weather this year. It’s only April—whatever will my columns be about in July? Heat, I’m guessing. But we came close this spring to actually having that snow tornado I used to joke about, so if you’re interested in weather at all, it’s been an interesting year.

“Mental health officials are seeing a sudden spike in emotional breakdowns after people went out last week to mow their lawns, only to find two inches of snow on the ground.”

You don’t even have to make it up: That actually happened to me last week, except that I went to the door to bring the dog in. His frostbite/heat exhaustion is healing nicely, by the way.

It’s one of the few times I actually dropped the F-bomb in public. I opened the door that morning and stood there for a moment, honestly puzzled about why everything outside had a strange white coloring to it. Then the dog came storming in as if a snow tornado was chasing him, and he was covered in white. He shook himself, and a winter storm developed in my kitchen.

Then I looked outside and said, “What the fudge?!?!”

Only, to quote writer Jean Shepherd, I didn’t say fudge.

The neighbors have teenagers, but since it was early morning I’m hopeful they didn’t hear me. If they did, they probably thought something like, “Hey, they had that word when he was a kid!” Then I’d yell “Get off my lawn!” and it would be downhill from there.

Anyway, this is Indiana. Worse, this is northern Indiana, within the range of lake effect snow while too far away to actually play in the waves, assuming the waves haven’t frozen themselves into some Salvador Dali shape.

(Yes, I’m a small town Midwestern boy who actually knows who Salvador Dali is. Okay, I looked him up. What’s with the melting clocks? Is it August?)

Sorry if this column seems a little disjointed: There have been so many barometric pressure changes this month that my sinuses exploded, and I’ve been off balance ever since. Which brings me back to my point: We’re used to big weather extremes, to such an extent that many people actually say “I wish it would just stay cold, instead of going up and down like this.” That’s a concept we pay for in January, when the missing Polar ice cap often lingers in the fields just outside of Huntertown.

By the way, Huntertown wasn’t named after my family. It actually stems from the Indian world “Hunyukcoldon”, which means “The snow’s melting, grab your sandbags”.

Anyway …

What brought all this up was last week, when it hit the mid 70’s here in Albion. Then thunderstorms came through. Then the next day I walked out on the front porch and not only was everything covered in snow, but it felt and even smelled like winter. The next night we reached a record cold temperature. The day after that it hit 60.

The day after that I boarded up all my doors and windows, and set fire to my boots.

Is it any wonder everyone’s talking about the weather? I mean, except the Weather Channel. I had it on at work for eight hours the other night, and every time I glanced up I saw … no weather. Only a scroll across the bottom of the screen explaining that the weather for the next hour would be delayed by a very special episode of “Extreme Ice Road Air Rescue Fishing With The Stars”.

In their defense, thanks to The Weather Channel, I now know a great deal about tow truck drivers, steel construction workers, the Coast Guard, and Mars. Still, I can’t help thinking a name change is in order.

But who can blame them? Reality programming gives them a chance to sit back, take a breath, and try to figure out what the fudge is going on in Indiana.

Local Author Donates Book Proceeds To Albion Fire Department

My attempt at a press release, so people would know where the Smoky Days book sale money is going. I can’t help noticing that press releases involve a lot of bragging:


Albion Fire Chief Steve Bushong accepts a check from local author and volunteer firefighter Mark R Hunter for recent sales of his history book about the AFD.

Smoky Days And Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With The Albion Fire Department is being sold as a fund raiser for the Albion Fire Department, and first came out at the AFD’s 125th Anniversary celebration in July, 2013. The check, for $200, is in addition to sales made last summer, with all proceeds going to the AFD.

Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights chronicles the fire disasters that struck Albion’s early history, efforts to form a fire department, and the first century of the AFD. The fully illustrated book, which was written by Hunter and designed and edited by his wife, Emily, sells for $9.95, and is available as e-book or in print on their website, www.markrhunter.com, or directly from Amazon.com.

Locally it’s available at the Albion New Era newspaper office on South Orange Street, the Brick Ark Inn on North Orange Street, and at the Albion Fire Station on the east side of town. The Hunters can also be contacted for a copy at (260) 636-3468 or at markrichardhunter@gmail.com.

Mark R. Hunter has two works of fiction set in northeast Indiana, published by Whiskey Creek Press: The romantic comedy Storm Chaser, and a follow-up short story collection Storm Chaser Shorts. He has two more books coming out in 2014.

A New List Of Old Words

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK


It wouldn’t be another year if we didn’t come across lists of new words, something I discussed when the year was new. But what about old words? Now I’ve also found a list of words that at least one expert (insert air quotes here) believes should be retired. Next week, maybe I’ll find a list of annoying writing habits (such as the overuse of parenthesis).

One that made the list is the word “huge”, not because of the word itself but because of the way it’s been used. This is maybe nit-picking, a term that was banned in 1994, but huge does not mean very important or very interesting. Sometimes it’s used both ways in the same sentence:

“Astronomers have made the huge discovery of a huge planet way out where it shouldn’t be, in a huge orbit far from its huge sun.”

“We’re having a huge sale on king size mattresses! They’re huge!”

More accurate would be: “Oprah’s huge this year! No, I don’t mean her ratings; she must have gone off her diet.”

Or, “Is Rush Limbaugh still huge? Let me wave away that cigar smoke … yep. Dude, even talk show hosts exercise.”

Here’s another one: “The ___ cliff”. One commentator said he was happy we averted the fiscal cliff last year, but that it’s a horrible metaphor.

I don’t know if I’d use the term “averted” … that makes it sound as if the problem went away, instead of being kicked down the road, which is another overused but descriptive term. Still, maybe he had a point. Maybe we’re headed toward a fiscal concrete wall, or perhaps more accurately, a fiscal train wreck. This will be comforting for those of you who are afraid of heights.

Here’s one I agree with wholeheartedly: YOLO. The new generation can’t be bothered to spell things out, but for those of you over forty that means “You only live once”. Unless you’re James Bond, who only lived twice on Her Majesty’s Secret Service while sipping Thunderballs with Dr. No and Goldfinger.

In theory, YOLO is a great concept. You only live once, so work hard for that college education! Keep a good attitude! Pursue your chosen career! Make good karmic points, just in case you’re wrong and get reincarnated!

Unfortunately, in practice YOLO is used as an excuse for stupidity. “Dude – I’ll only live once, so I’m going to get so wasted and jump my skateboard over the shed and onto a moving pickup truck. YOLO!”

If you only live once, shouldn’t you want to stick around for a while?

Sequester means setting something apart, separating it. Well, it’s supposed to. Now it’s synonymous with that overused term, kicking the can down the road. Sequester, in today’s terms, signifies a group of elected officials who can’t be bothered to follow their actual job description, and so put off working on budget issues because they know they’ll probably get reelected even if they go on camera and call their constituents blind idiots. We should retire sequester and replace it with “bureaucratic dictator for life”.

Bubble. I used to like bubbles. They floated around, reflected the light, delighted kids and dogs. Now they burst and cause economic crisis, so off with them!

We had a tech bubble and a housing bubble and a stock-market bubble, and now apparently we have a bitcoin bubble. The longer a bubble lasts, the worse things go when it bursts. So here’s an idea for you to chew on: The federal government spending bubble has been expanding for a long, long time. Because we keep kicking it down the road.

The New Normal. It means things have changed. Well, things always change, people. I’ve been through a half dozen new normals in my lifetime. Forty, if you count clothing styles.

Bromance. Kirk and Spock, Han and Chewie, Starsky and Hutch, Goose and Maverick, Ernie and Bert … I could go on all day about guys who love each other like brothers, including Sam and Dean from Supernatural, who not only love each other like brothers but actually are brothers.

It’s living proof that two guys can be incredible close without being close in that way, not that there’s anything wrong with that way. But these guys spend all their time together without getting together – except in the infamous slash fanfictions that suggest Kirk would go for a guy who only gets in the mood once every seven years.

Then we have Man___. Man what, you say? Mancave, manplaining, mancation … manopause. I think I’m going through that last one right now.

Mancaves often end up being in the garage … to show you how out of touch I am, my mancave has a desk, computer, and stacks upon stacks of books. It’s my literary Hoosier Heaven.

I’m not sure, but I suspect the term was invented to give men a sense of ownership, now that they’re becoming more and more aware that they never were really in charge.

Here’s another term some people think should go away: online waiting room.

Apparently that’s where you’re expected to wait while Healthcare.gov spins around and decides whether to tell you how much higher your premiums and deductible are going to be. I’ve got news for you on that one:

It’s not going away soon, even if we kick it down the road and over a cliff.

My Writing Process Blog Tour

I was invited along on a blog tour ride by my writer friend Mari Collier, who was raised in Iowa and yet isn’t dull at all. Thanks for the extra work, Mari – sheesh. But anyone who writes SF, historical fiction, and humor is worth the effort. She now lives in California, yet isn’t strange at all.

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...


Unfortunately, due to finalizing the details on The No-Campfire Girls and life in general, I haven’t had the time to get this out, and today I realized I hadn’t recruited anyone to follow it. Instead, I picked a few blogs from among writer friends and highlighted them at the end of this, but I didn’t find anyone to answer the questions themselves, and I hope some of you will take up the reins and continue this on.



1. What Am I Working On?


A sandwich, at the moment. Oh, you mean writing? We’re finishing the setup for my second self-published effort, The No-Campfire Girls, a YA humor/adventure set in a girl’s summer camp. Why self-published? Because a portion of the proceeds from the book’s sale will go toward Camp Latonka, the Girl’s Scout camp my wife attended and then worked at.

I’m waiting to see the cover art of The Notorious Ian Grant, which Whiskey Creek Press is publishing in October. Meanwhile, I’m plugging away at a book of my columns and Beowulf: In Harm’s Way, a SF story that pokes a little fun at the space opera genre. I have a million ideas in a dozen genres, all in varying degrees of development, and just need more time.



2. How Does My Work Differ From Others of Its Genre?


Which genre? Well, I tend to inject more humor into my works—the world needs more humor—but not in a mocking or parody way. I take my situations lightly, and my characters seriously. It’s as if Isaac Asimov and Douglas Adams had a baby, and … who knows? I never pried into their personal lives.



3. Why Do I Write What I Do?


Why not? But basically I write what I like to read, which is how it should be with all writers. I love science fiction, and I like a good romance that’s infused with humor, and I’m always up for some intelligent action, if you can picture that.



4. How Does My Writing Process Work?


I start by thinking, which is far too lacking in today’s society. What if? What then? Routine chores are a perfect time for that: Mowing the lawn, showering, home maintenance, first aid after home maintenance … that’s where I work out the ideas in my head.

Then I do an outline; I have a whole box full of unfinished manuscripts to show I’ll never be a successful pantser. By the way, when I was a kid “pantser” meant a whole different thing. My outlines are devoid of Roman numerals, and full of side notes, parenthesis (I’m famous for my parenthesis), and the occasional exclamation point as an idea hits me. It’s just a scribbled narrative, really, and subject to change at any time—I just need a road map with a destination, and nothing keeps me from exploring a side road as long as the destination is in mind.

Beside that are detailed character outlines, and often other research material. I know what my characters want, need, what they’re afraid of, what they like for lunch, their hobbies, political outlooks or lack thereof—and although many of those details never make it to the story, they makes the characters real for me. Which is why they often go running off onto those side roads I mentioned, surprising me as much as the reader.

Then I write. That’s the fun part. Give me a place to sit and enough room to break out my laptop, and there’s my office. Except the bathtub—there are logistical problems to writing in the bathtub.

And, although I go back and read through the previous day’s work at every writing session, my stories are always in for five or six polishings before anyone else sees them, because that’s how I roll. And if you’ve ever tried to roll while revising, you know it’s a challenge.


Here are a few other blogs from friends of mine, more or less at random but chosen from Blogspot because I’m lazy:


http://williamkendallbooks.blogspot.com/
William Kendall has that rare ability to make you laugh even if you’re a fan of what he’s making fun of. He likes winter and hates musicals, but nobody’s perfect.


http://kellyhashway.blogspot.com/
Kelly Hashway writes speculative fiction, or so I speculate, and has already done the tour—no guilt trip here for her.


http://rosannedingli.blogspot.com/
Rosanne Dingli is a writer of rich writing who also writes about writing, right?
Say it three times fast … take a chance.


Yes, I cheated on this assignment to a degree, but I just finished proofreading my new book proof and now I’m sending off for another proof to prove I’m ready to publish. As you can probably tell by the last couple of paragraphs, I’m also very tired.

proof of The No-Campfire Girls

The first proof copy of The No-Campfire Girls is in!

(Yes, we finessed the title again, don’t judge me. In the previous working title, the comma wasn’t doing it.)

It looks really good, thanks to editor/designer/layout guru Emily. She’s making a few minor changes and ordering another proof version, then it’ll be readied as an e-book and off to the printer for … I don’t know how many copies. Guess I should figure out how many people will want a first run copy, huh?

The cover will be revealed soon!

Laughing At Cancer

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK


I can make fun of anything. It’s my job. For instance, last July, as we stood on a scenic overlook over the Mississippi River in Missouri (you can’t look at the Missouri River in Mississippi), I got a phone call to tell me my father had cancer.

Um …

Okay, I can’t make fun of everything.

My Dad had a long, six month fight that wasn’t much fun for anyone, especially since he’d been diagnosed with a type of cancer that has a poor prognosis. (As opposed to a poor proboscis, which wins this column’s unusual word prize by a nose.)

But Dad is one of those people who is always working, so he went to work, kicked cancer in the face, and messed up its proboscis so much that it now looks like proboscis and gravy. His latest checkup is due in a few days (Me? Nervous?), but as of now he’s been declared cancer free.

I won’t go into too much detail, but suffice it to say Dad’s particular cancer, and how advanced it was, makes his cure a miracle … a miracle assisted by modern medicine, just as my father was assisted by the American Cancer Society.

(Suffice, by the way, is the word proboscis beat by a nose. But enough parenthesizing.)

Now, I know what you’re thinking. (Scary, ain’t it? Oops—I parenthesized.) “Mark, you’re not going to use your father’s illness to shill for the Noble County Relay For Life, are you?”

Yes. Yes, I am. But isn’t it better than when I misuse my column to sell books? I mean, use my column to sell books?

(Editor’s note: We’ve only had one complaint about Mark self-promoting in his column. Still, we smack him when we have to. With one of his books.)

(Writer’s note: I’ve got a new book coming out this spring. Ow!)

I try to portray myself as rather self-centered and profiteering, because that way people don’t ask me to, say, help them move, or donate my time. Just the same, some years ago I was brought on board as promotions chair for Noble County’s Relay organization, because they told me I could wear a captain’s hat and put my name on a chair at the meetings. Captain’s hats are cool. We all need to give a little back to our community, and by giving I don’t mean littering in the park.

Finding out I may have prostate cancer made it a bit more personal to me, but after a couple of years of sitting on pins and needles (It’s the prostate. Think about it), Doctor Finger declared that it was probably more or less a false alarm, for now.

(Darn, parenthesis. Oops—darn!)

I have to say, I wasn’t all that thrilled with the caveats on Doctor Finger’s diagnosis. By the way, I had peas and caveats for dinner last night.

Then my step-father had a cancer scare. Then my father actually got cancer. And my father received support from the American Cancer Society, direct, concrete support that involved money, not concrete. Money that people donate through events like the thousands of Relays For Life (Relay For Lives?) that take place around the world.

So, how can I not help our local Relay? Especially after they gave me the cool captain’s hat? Sometimes, when I’m sitting in the living room in my captain’s chair, I pretend the TV is a view screen and order Sulu to go to warp speed. Unfortunately, the only available Sulu is my dog, and he hasn’t mastered the helm controls.

My point, and I had to get to it because all those parentheses have me running out of space, is that cancer is bad. The American Cancer Society is our largest voluntary health organization, unless you count Girl Scouts, who contribute to our emotional health with those cookies. They’re not perfect (The ACS, I mean, Girl Scouts are)—for instance, they didn’t get me a Captain Kirk shirt, which is okay because he didn’t actually wear a captain’s hat. I’d have looked pretty silly ordering the dog to go to warp speed “while … talking … likeCaptain … Kirk” in both a Starfleet uniform and a captain’s hat, wouldn’t I?

I wonder why my wife is laughing at me?

(Editor’s Note: It just occurred to us that Captain Kirk kind of talks in parenthesis. That explains a lot.)



For more information about the Noble County Relay For Life and how you can get involved, contact Mike White at (260) 302-2052 or mjw_2013@hotmail.com


            The Noble County Relay website is:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=...

 
            And the Facebook page is:
https://www.facebook.com/RFLofNobleCo...


And you can buy my books at www.markrhunter.com (Ow!)

writing process dog tour

Check out Mari Collier's Writer's Process Blog Tour -- mine's next after hers.

https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog...

Now I just need two or three writers to come after me ... if you're interested, let me know!