Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 17
October 6, 2022
Pumpkins and Puppies In the Newsletter
I sent the newsletter out last week, and just now realized it was about ... pumpkins and puppies. That wasn't intentional, but what the heck! Not much new to report in the writing world, so I opted for cuteness. Can you really blame me?
https://mailchi.mp/8aadc24d2fd8/what-...
Remember, every time you don't buy a book, Jack goes looking for a new body. Don't lose your head over that.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
https://mailchi.mp/8aadc24d2fd8/what-...
Remember, every time you don't buy a book, Jack goes looking for a new body. Don't lose your head over that.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
October 1, 2022
Pancakes, and Eggs, and Sausage ... Oh, My
(While this event isn't until November, it'll get here faster than you think. After all, it already feels like November. So spread the word, and if you're going to be nearby, mark your calendar!)
-------------------------------
I'm still not all that good at promoting my books or anything else, but I keep working at it. I have learned that when you send out a media release you need to include certain things, such as what the media release is for.
If you're trying to promote a fund raising breakfast, you shouldn't tell everyone it's a 5K run to benefit left-handed redheads. (Just as an example.) People will show up expecting something entirely different, although in that case it would be a pleasant surprise. "Oh, food instead of exercise! But where are the redheads?"
It's probably a good idea to tell people where it will be, not to mention when it will be. This isn't the lottery, after all: "Just show up! Maybe you'll get lucky!" My fire department's fund raising breakfast lasts two hours; your odds of hitting it accidentally are worse than the odds of finding a Congressman who retires with less money than he started with.
So I came up with what you see below. I may be able to later substitute "new book" for "pancake, eggs, and sausage", but we'll see how it works out.
MEDIA RELEASE
PANCAKE, EGGS, AND SAUSAGE FUND RAISER
Albion Volunteer Fire Department
210 Fire Station Drive
Albion IN 46701
DATE: November 19, 2022
TIME 7am-11am
COST Freewill donation
The Albion Volunteer Fire Department welcomes everyone to a pancake, eggs, and sausage breakfast at the fire station, on Saturday, November 19, 2022. Breakfast will be served from 7-11 a.m. at the firehouse, at 210 Fire Station Drive on the east side of Albion. There will be a freewill donation, with proceeds going toward AFD training and equipment.
The Facebook page for the event is here:
https://www.facebook.com/events/62143...
Find all our books, including, of course, our history of the Albion Fire Department, here:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
-------------------------------
I'm still not all that good at promoting my books or anything else, but I keep working at it. I have learned that when you send out a media release you need to include certain things, such as what the media release is for.
If you're trying to promote a fund raising breakfast, you shouldn't tell everyone it's a 5K run to benefit left-handed redheads. (Just as an example.) People will show up expecting something entirely different, although in that case it would be a pleasant surprise. "Oh, food instead of exercise! But where are the redheads?"
It's probably a good idea to tell people where it will be, not to mention when it will be. This isn't the lottery, after all: "Just show up! Maybe you'll get lucky!" My fire department's fund raising breakfast lasts two hours; your odds of hitting it accidentally are worse than the odds of finding a Congressman who retires with less money than he started with.
So I came up with what you see below. I may be able to later substitute "new book" for "pancake, eggs, and sausage", but we'll see how it works out.
MEDIA RELEASE
PANCAKE, EGGS, AND SAUSAGE FUND RAISER
Albion Volunteer Fire Department
210 Fire Station Drive
Albion IN 46701
DATE: November 19, 2022
TIME 7am-11am
COST Freewill donation
The Albion Volunteer Fire Department welcomes everyone to a pancake, eggs, and sausage breakfast at the fire station, on Saturday, November 19, 2022. Breakfast will be served from 7-11 a.m. at the firehouse, at 210 Fire Station Drive on the east side of Albion. There will be a freewill donation, with proceeds going toward AFD training and equipment.
The Facebook page for the event is here:
https://www.facebook.com/events/62143...
Find all our books, including, of course, our history of the Albion Fire Department, here:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
September 26, 2022
Crunching Letters to Synopsis Satisfaction
I'm continually surprised that editors and agents in the publishing industry expect novelists to write short stuff, like query letters, outlines, and synopsis ... synopsis's ... synopsi? Just a sec.
(Huh. It's synopses. Who knew?)
Asking a novelist to write short is like asking a politician to spend less money; asking the Wicked Witch to be less cackle, um, cackle-y; asking me to skip dessert. My novel manuscripts tend to be short, but that doesn't make me freak out any less when I have to reduce it to a 1,000 word synopsis. My latest manuscript is 82,000 words: It's like taking a full size pickup truck and reducing it to Matchbox size with your bare hands.
Hey, I have this one! Wouldn't want to build the real thing from scratch.
Now imagine someone trying to write a synopsis for one of George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire books, which are so big they're registered as lethal weapons. Seriously, even putting it on your Kindle adds two pounds. When I tried to read the newest one on the couch, I broke my hip. And the couch. Of course, no one would ask him to write a synopsis. In fact, he probably has an assistant that does nothing but write synopses ... seses ....
In theory the best way to write a synopsis is to write one paragraph for each chapter, then trim where necessary, as if it isn't going to be necessary. I tried other tactics. For instance, removing every "the"; putting into the synopsis only the third and fifteenth word of every page; and hiring George R.R. Martin's synopsis writer. None worked. (You wouldn't believe what that guy charges.)
So I looked the manuscript over again. While Martin's books are high fantasy, my newest story is apparently low fantasy, and yes, I'm aware of the possible jokes. That means it's set in our real world, but magical elements intrude into it; the best known example would probably by the Harry Potter series.
My story, The Source Emerald, is about a young FBI agent on her first assignment, who tries to track down possible gem smugglers in upstate New York. Magic ... intrudes.
All I had to do is boil down her personality, the plot, the stakes, and the major supporting characters into 800-1000 words, or less than two pages. Or shorter, depending on who you ask. Oh, and in your own unique voice ... with plot twists ... and the ending ... I'm going to go lay down, now.
Okay, I'm back. Almost all authors hate writing a synopsis, and those who like it almost always turn out to be heavily addicted to something and/or certifiably insane. I don't have the exact statistics on that. All I know is that on my first whack at it, I spent half a page describing why my main character, Lilly, absolutely doesn't believe the little girl she encounters is Dorothy Gale, made famous in the Oz books. I had to reduce that to, like, four words.
In the final version the whole thing boiled down to: "Lilly doubts Dorothy's story."
It took me three days to come up with that sentence.
In reality I got the whole synopsis done in "just" a few days, not counting my nightmares of being chased by an editor with a sharp red pen. My first version was about 3,500 words, which really wasn't too shabby. My second was around 1,500--I was slashing words like a horror movie villain.
And then--finally--920 beautiful, short, on-point words. That's it. If you want a shorter synopsis from me, I'll just cut from the bottom and you'll never know the ending, pal! (Or lady, since most of the agents and editors I've queried have been female.)
But I did it. I'm relieved, and proud, and surprised, but mostly relieved.
Now I have to write a query letter.
Hm ... or maybe I should tackle a short story. What do you think?
Find all our books here:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
(Huh. It's synopses. Who knew?)
Asking a novelist to write short is like asking a politician to spend less money; asking the Wicked Witch to be less cackle, um, cackle-y; asking me to skip dessert. My novel manuscripts tend to be short, but that doesn't make me freak out any less when I have to reduce it to a 1,000 word synopsis. My latest manuscript is 82,000 words: It's like taking a full size pickup truck and reducing it to Matchbox size with your bare hands.
Hey, I have this one! Wouldn't want to build the real thing from scratch.
Now imagine someone trying to write a synopsis for one of George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire books, which are so big they're registered as lethal weapons. Seriously, even putting it on your Kindle adds two pounds. When I tried to read the newest one on the couch, I broke my hip. And the couch. Of course, no one would ask him to write a synopsis. In fact, he probably has an assistant that does nothing but write synopses ... seses ....
In theory the best way to write a synopsis is to write one paragraph for each chapter, then trim where necessary, as if it isn't going to be necessary. I tried other tactics. For instance, removing every "the"; putting into the synopsis only the third and fifteenth word of every page; and hiring George R.R. Martin's synopsis writer. None worked. (You wouldn't believe what that guy charges.)
So I looked the manuscript over again. While Martin's books are high fantasy, my newest story is apparently low fantasy, and yes, I'm aware of the possible jokes. That means it's set in our real world, but magical elements intrude into it; the best known example would probably by the Harry Potter series.
My story, The Source Emerald, is about a young FBI agent on her first assignment, who tries to track down possible gem smugglers in upstate New York. Magic ... intrudes.
All I had to do is boil down her personality, the plot, the stakes, and the major supporting characters into 800-1000 words, or less than two pages. Or shorter, depending on who you ask. Oh, and in your own unique voice ... with plot twists ... and the ending ... I'm going to go lay down, now.
Okay, I'm back. Almost all authors hate writing a synopsis, and those who like it almost always turn out to be heavily addicted to something and/or certifiably insane. I don't have the exact statistics on that. All I know is that on my first whack at it, I spent half a page describing why my main character, Lilly, absolutely doesn't believe the little girl she encounters is Dorothy Gale, made famous in the Oz books. I had to reduce that to, like, four words.
In the final version the whole thing boiled down to: "Lilly doubts Dorothy's story."
It took me three days to come up with that sentence.
In reality I got the whole synopsis done in "just" a few days, not counting my nightmares of being chased by an editor with a sharp red pen. My first version was about 3,500 words, which really wasn't too shabby. My second was around 1,500--I was slashing words like a horror movie villain.
And then--finally--920 beautiful, short, on-point words. That's it. If you want a shorter synopsis from me, I'll just cut from the bottom and you'll never know the ending, pal! (Or lady, since most of the agents and editors I've queried have been female.)
But I did it. I'm relieved, and proud, and surprised, but mostly relieved.
Now I have to write a query letter.
Hm ... or maybe I should tackle a short story. What do you think?
Find all our books here:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
September 16, 2022
The Great Hamster Escape
When hamsters came into my house years ago they had little plastic balls, so they could run merrily all over. (Humans now have those, too. You’d think we could just walk.) We did have to close the door to the basement while they were out. I thought it would be kind of funny to hear the “thump-thump” of a rodent taking a ride, but the kids thought the hamster wouldn’t appreciate an E-ticket at Disneyland.
One day I found one of the balls in the kitchen, sans hamster. The lid had popped off. This triggered a panicked search, which was about as successful as panicked searches usually are. The hamster – Ranger, named after a slippery, hard to track character from a Stephanie Plum novel – was gone.
My daughters were very upset. I looked at it as a challenge … but before you congratulate me for my attitude, I should point out that I hate challenges.
After a time – a long time, during which I could have been doing more important things, like nothing – I found a little white puff ball behind the oven, as far back into the corner as he could possibly get. I could have done a few different things, but I didn’t have a gun on me, and in my experience napalm is dangerously unreliable. So instead, I tried to entice the furball out with a handful of his favorite snack, which looks suspiciously like shreds of colored paper.
Ranger instantly disappeared into the wall.
He’d discovered what I, in ten years, had not – the hole mice use to get into my house every fall. (They stopped coming after we got the pet snake, but that’s another story.) It led behind the cupboard and from there to – who knows? A rodent superhighway, perhaps, or a mouseport, or a hamsterteria.
The next morning, I found a very old mouse carcass on the floor outside the hole. I’m talking mummified. Ranger had not only made himself at home in the former mouse house, he’d even dug up the cemetery.
Now what? Offering amnesty wasn’t likely to help. There is a homemade trap you can build, making steps out of books that lead to a trash can. Water and food goes into the can, and once inside, the sides are too steep for the hamster to get out again. The problem is, Ranger is afraid of heights. Seriously. It took him a week to climb down out of the upstairs apartment in the hamster house.
I considered leaving him in that hole, until the squeaking started.
The only time they made noise was when they started fighting each other. Every now and then they’d get into a quarrel over who gets the best piece of trail mix, or who controls the remote. Then they’d squeak like crazy until they were all squeaked out, and ten minutes later they’d be happily sitting together again. And yes, it reminded me of my daughters.
The conclusion was inescapable: Ranger wasn’t alone down there. Hopefully we weren’t hearing loud rodent sex.
A few days later we found the little white furball, huddled behind a bookcase that turned out to be an excellent place to trap him. I was never so happy to be a book packrat. Or is that a bookrat? Ranger was none too happy, and who can blame him? He’d had free run of the house, so it was like moving out of the Taj Mahal and into a one room trailer. He was in a foul mood, and proved it with a couple of knock down – drag outs with his old roommate.
I never found out whether his mouse friend kicked him out, but later that day I saw the mouse trying to fit an entire soda cracker through its doorway. Eating for two? How friendly they were, I don’t know – can hamsters and mice cross breed? Was I in danger of being overrun by white mice, bent on freeing their dad? I’ve had a few disturbing nightmares.
All I know is, after his brief escape Ranger was awfully squirrely– if you’ll pardon my rodent-themed pun. I feel like I’ve separated Rangero and Julie-rat.
One day I found one of the balls in the kitchen, sans hamster. The lid had popped off. This triggered a panicked search, which was about as successful as panicked searches usually are. The hamster – Ranger, named after a slippery, hard to track character from a Stephanie Plum novel – was gone.
My daughters were very upset. I looked at it as a challenge … but before you congratulate me for my attitude, I should point out that I hate challenges.
After a time – a long time, during which I could have been doing more important things, like nothing – I found a little white puff ball behind the oven, as far back into the corner as he could possibly get. I could have done a few different things, but I didn’t have a gun on me, and in my experience napalm is dangerously unreliable. So instead, I tried to entice the furball out with a handful of his favorite snack, which looks suspiciously like shreds of colored paper.
Ranger instantly disappeared into the wall.
He’d discovered what I, in ten years, had not – the hole mice use to get into my house every fall. (They stopped coming after we got the pet snake, but that’s another story.) It led behind the cupboard and from there to – who knows? A rodent superhighway, perhaps, or a mouseport, or a hamsterteria.
The next morning, I found a very old mouse carcass on the floor outside the hole. I’m talking mummified. Ranger had not only made himself at home in the former mouse house, he’d even dug up the cemetery.
Now what? Offering amnesty wasn’t likely to help. There is a homemade trap you can build, making steps out of books that lead to a trash can. Water and food goes into the can, and once inside, the sides are too steep for the hamster to get out again. The problem is, Ranger is afraid of heights. Seriously. It took him a week to climb down out of the upstairs apartment in the hamster house.
I considered leaving him in that hole, until the squeaking started.
The only time they made noise was when they started fighting each other. Every now and then they’d get into a quarrel over who gets the best piece of trail mix, or who controls the remote. Then they’d squeak like crazy until they were all squeaked out, and ten minutes later they’d be happily sitting together again. And yes, it reminded me of my daughters.
The conclusion was inescapable: Ranger wasn’t alone down there. Hopefully we weren’t hearing loud rodent sex.
A few days later we found the little white furball, huddled behind a bookcase that turned out to be an excellent place to trap him. I was never so happy to be a book packrat. Or is that a bookrat? Ranger was none too happy, and who can blame him? He’d had free run of the house, so it was like moving out of the Taj Mahal and into a one room trailer. He was in a foul mood, and proved it with a couple of knock down – drag outs with his old roommate.
I never found out whether his mouse friend kicked him out, but later that day I saw the mouse trying to fit an entire soda cracker through its doorway. Eating for two? How friendly they were, I don’t know – can hamsters and mice cross breed? Was I in danger of being overrun by white mice, bent on freeing their dad? I’ve had a few disturbing nightmares.
All I know is, after his brief escape Ranger was awfully squirrely– if you’ll pardon my rodent-themed pun. I feel like I’ve separated Rangero and Julie-rat.
September 11, 2022
I Wish You Knew What It's Like ....
I wish I'd written this but, sadly, I don't know the author. What I do know is that the author must be an emergency responder. (I first found it in 2006, so if some parts seem a little outdated, that's why.)
I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning bedroom for
trapped children at 3 AM, flames rolling above your head, your palms and
knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the
kitchen below you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to try to save his life.
I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of
soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout
gear, the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see
absolutely nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too
familiar with.
I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire "Is
this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What
hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to call, "What is wrong with the
patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress or
is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"
I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead
The beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past 25 minutes. Who will never go on her first date or say the words, "I love you Mommy" again.
I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the
engine, squad, or my personal vehicle, the driver with his foot pressing down
hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as
you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you
need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took
you forever to get here!"
I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of
teenage years from the remains of her automobile. "What if this was my
daughter, sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents
reaction going to be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?"
I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet
my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly
did not come back from the last call.
I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters
and EMT's out and when we call for them our heart drops because no
one answers back, or to here a bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife
needing assistance.
I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes
physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their
attitudes of "It will never happen to me."
I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain or
missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to
all the tragedy my eyes have seen.
I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of
helping save a life or preserving someone's property, or being able to be there
in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy
tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not even being able to
look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or
to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having CPR
done on him as they take him away in the Medic Unit. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly
understand or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means
to us...I wish you could though.
Appreciate and support the local EMS workers, 911 dispatchers, firefighters, and law enforcement officers in your area.
One day that might save your property or your life. When you see them coming with lights flashing, move out of the way quickly, then pray for them.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning bedroom for
trapped children at 3 AM, flames rolling above your head, your palms and
knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the
kitchen below you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to try to save his life.
I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of
soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout
gear, the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see
absolutely nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too
familiar with.
I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire "Is
this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What
hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to call, "What is wrong with the
patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress or
is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"
I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead
The beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past 25 minutes. Who will never go on her first date or say the words, "I love you Mommy" again.
I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the
engine, squad, or my personal vehicle, the driver with his foot pressing down
hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as
you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you
need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took
you forever to get here!"
I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of
teenage years from the remains of her automobile. "What if this was my
daughter, sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents
reaction going to be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?"
I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet
my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly
did not come back from the last call.
I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters
and EMT's out and when we call for them our heart drops because no
one answers back, or to here a bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife
needing assistance.
I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes
physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their
attitudes of "It will never happen to me."
I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain or
missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to
all the tragedy my eyes have seen.
I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of
helping save a life or preserving someone's property, or being able to be there
in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy
tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not even being able to
look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or
to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having CPR
done on him as they take him away in the Medic Unit. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly
understand or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means
to us...I wish you could though.
Appreciate and support the local EMS workers, 911 dispatchers, firefighters, and law enforcement officers in your area.
One day that might save your property or your life. When you see them coming with lights flashing, move out of the way quickly, then pray for them.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
September 4, 2022
Epic link fail
Okay, so, I'm on several social media sites, and I've been cross-posting by copying my original blog on Blogger, then pasting that onto places such as LiveJournal and others. I've just found out that when I do that, all the links to our books, the newsletter, our website, everything, changed into links that went right back to the blog.
For who knows how long. Which means either no one has been clicking on the links, or no one thought to tell me they were wrong. Either possibility makes me sad.
I might not have time or energy to see how far back this goes, but rest assured I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen again. Meanwhile links on Blogger work fine, such as on this one about the Michigan magazine's profile of me:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2022...
But when I pasted that link onto, say, LiveJournal, all the links go back to the Blogger post, instead of where they say they go. I might be able to copy from LJ TO Blogger, instead of the other way around.
It's going to take some time and Tylenol to figure it all out, but rest assured, I'm going to be more careful in the future. Also, these are the CORRECT links to our website, Barnes and Noble author's page, and Amazon author's page:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
And to the newsletters are all here:
https://us10.campaign-archive.com/hom...
https://i1.wp.com/www.cloudave.com/wp...
For who knows how long. Which means either no one has been clicking on the links, or no one thought to tell me they were wrong. Either possibility makes me sad.
I might not have time or energy to see how far back this goes, but rest assured I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen again. Meanwhile links on Blogger work fine, such as on this one about the Michigan magazine's profile of me:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2022...
But when I pasted that link onto, say, LiveJournal, all the links go back to the Blogger post, instead of where they say they go. I might be able to copy from LJ TO Blogger, instead of the other way around.
It's going to take some time and Tylenol to figure it all out, but rest assured, I'm going to be more careful in the future. Also, these are the CORRECT links to our website, Barnes and Noble author's page, and Amazon author's page:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
And to the newsletters are all here:
https://us10.campaign-archive.com/hom...
https://i1.wp.com/www.cloudave.com/wp...
September 2, 2022
Michigan Features: Me. Well, a Michigan Website Does
(You can read the original version of this--and see a cute picture of our dog--over at the newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/1de8decbbe08/ive-b....)
I was featured in VoyageMichigan!
No, seriously. I can prove it:
https://voyagemichigan.com/interview/...
I know what you're thinking: "But Mark, aren't you a Hoosier boy?" Well, yeah, but I can start driving right now and be in Michigan in half an hour, assuming the highway is open in Rome City. As I explain in the article, Michigan has been very good to me, and I've been to several of its most famous places: Hell; Albion; Detroit; and this place:
This is Lake Bellaire, where my ex-father-in-law owns a cottage that, thank goodness, we still get to visit now and then. It's also the setting for my novel Radio Red, which was researched, outlined, and partially written up there. The book is what got the attention of the VoyageMichigan crew, who were kind enough to do the aforementioned profile. So yes, Michigan is my second favorite state, although I must admit in all fairness that I've never been to Rhode Island.
Check out the article and the rest of the website! Then check out the book, which you can find on our website, or here:
https://www.amazon.com/Radio-Red-Mark...
Check it out: I guarantee you won't be disappointed.*
*Guarantees do not constitute a guarantee except within 500 feet of the Devil's Soup Bowl or in Hell (when frozen over).
Find all our books here:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
I was featured in VoyageMichigan!
No, seriously. I can prove it:
https://voyagemichigan.com/interview/...
I know what you're thinking: "But Mark, aren't you a Hoosier boy?" Well, yeah, but I can start driving right now and be in Michigan in half an hour, assuming the highway is open in Rome City. As I explain in the article, Michigan has been very good to me, and I've been to several of its most famous places: Hell; Albion; Detroit; and this place:
This is Lake Bellaire, where my ex-father-in-law owns a cottage that, thank goodness, we still get to visit now and then. It's also the setting for my novel Radio Red, which was researched, outlined, and partially written up there. The book is what got the attention of the VoyageMichigan crew, who were kind enough to do the aforementioned profile. So yes, Michigan is my second favorite state, although I must admit in all fairness that I've never been to Rhode Island.
Check out the article and the rest of the website! Then check out the book, which you can find on our website, or here:
https://www.amazon.com/Radio-Red-Mark...
Check it out: I guarantee you won't be disappointed.*
*Guarantees do not constitute a guarantee except within 500 feet of the Devil's Soup Bowl or in Hell (when frozen over).
Find all our books here:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
August 24, 2022
A Hairy Situation Added Color to Our Lives
My youngest daughter wanted to color her hair. Brown. Remember brown, it becomes important later. My oldest daughter volunteered to do the coloring. She’s good at that kind of thing. (At least she was then--this all happened years ago.) I couldn’t identify where that feeling of impending doom came from, so I kept my mouth shut.
Big mistake.
We picked up a box of coloring from a big honkin’ market, which I’ll call BHM (for Big Honkin’ Market). It had a beautiful woman on the front. (The coloring box, not the BHM.) Things were looking up.
That's Charis on the left and Jill on the right, at about the same time. No, I'm not pulling them apart--they really did get along, usually.
It didn’t start out badly. Nothing was thrown, no pinching, I didn’t have to guard the knife drawer. Charis did her job to perfection, her timing impeccable, and soon she freed her sister’s hair from the confines of plastic and foil –
And the room lit up, as if a natural gas explosion had engulfed the kitchen. Believe me, I know what those look like.
Remember, they were using brown coloring. The problem was, Jillian’s hair was now orange. Bright orange. Florescent orange. State highway worker vest orange. People from two blocks away called 911 to say my house was on fire. People two miles away reported UFO sightings. On the other side of the country, the psychic who inspired the TV show “Medium” woke up screaming.
Charis sucked in her breath so hard her face actually disappeared into the back of her head.
Jill headed for the bathroom to look in the mirror, then stumbled out again, temporarily blinded. She saw spots in front of her eyes for two days.
After several minutes of wailing and gnashing of teeth, we took stock of the situation and did the only logical thing: called their mother, who used to be a professional hairstylist. She lived twelve miles away, but already knew – she’d seen the reflection of my daughter’s hair in low hanging clouds. She informed us that we needed to bring a stripper home.
A stripper? All right! Things were really looking up.
But she meant a product that strips color out of hair, which made a heck of a lot more sense. We would strip the orange out, possibly with the use of a nuclear accelerator, then put a different color in.
So back we went to BHM, for more coloring. There Charis discovered a box of the same stuff we’d used had been opened on the shelf. She looked into the box, and discovered contents that were not the same as what we got before. In other words, the reason the brown coloring hadn’t worked is that we didn’t have brown coloring. Just the box the brown coloring was supposed to be in.
Someone had been opening boxes and trading the contents back and forth, no doubt thinking it was quite funny to imagine, say, someone dying their hair red and ending up with blonde. Ha. Ha.
We spoke to the people at the service desk. They were shocked – shocked, I say -- to discover someone had done such a thing, and promised quick retaliation in the form of automatic weapons and surface to air missiles, and a refund.
Having picked a new box with the seal firmly in place, Charis applied the stripper and the new, really brown this time, hair coloring. Soon, in geological terms, she finished her work, and presented me with her sister’s new look.
Jillian makes a fine redhead. Problem is, her hair was supposed to be – say it together – brown.
Apparently only so much can be done to repair hair that once glowed with the same intensity as a red giant star. Still, I thought things worked out okay, even if the one hour job stretched out over a weekend. In the end her hair looked okay, and eventually she turned up with a different color. Besides, no one died.
Several days later I went to my regular stylist for a haircut, and related this story to her. She explained that BHM had been fighting this problem for some time. So much for the people at the service desk being shocked, huh?
Somewhere, some poor soul who wanted orange hair was very upset. And brown.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Big mistake.
We picked up a box of coloring from a big honkin’ market, which I’ll call BHM (for Big Honkin’ Market). It had a beautiful woman on the front. (The coloring box, not the BHM.) Things were looking up.
That's Charis on the left and Jill on the right, at about the same time. No, I'm not pulling them apart--they really did get along, usually.
It didn’t start out badly. Nothing was thrown, no pinching, I didn’t have to guard the knife drawer. Charis did her job to perfection, her timing impeccable, and soon she freed her sister’s hair from the confines of plastic and foil –
And the room lit up, as if a natural gas explosion had engulfed the kitchen. Believe me, I know what those look like.
Remember, they were using brown coloring. The problem was, Jillian’s hair was now orange. Bright orange. Florescent orange. State highway worker vest orange. People from two blocks away called 911 to say my house was on fire. People two miles away reported UFO sightings. On the other side of the country, the psychic who inspired the TV show “Medium” woke up screaming.
Charis sucked in her breath so hard her face actually disappeared into the back of her head.
Jill headed for the bathroom to look in the mirror, then stumbled out again, temporarily blinded. She saw spots in front of her eyes for two days.
After several minutes of wailing and gnashing of teeth, we took stock of the situation and did the only logical thing: called their mother, who used to be a professional hairstylist. She lived twelve miles away, but already knew – she’d seen the reflection of my daughter’s hair in low hanging clouds. She informed us that we needed to bring a stripper home.
A stripper? All right! Things were really looking up.
But she meant a product that strips color out of hair, which made a heck of a lot more sense. We would strip the orange out, possibly with the use of a nuclear accelerator, then put a different color in.
So back we went to BHM, for more coloring. There Charis discovered a box of the same stuff we’d used had been opened on the shelf. She looked into the box, and discovered contents that were not the same as what we got before. In other words, the reason the brown coloring hadn’t worked is that we didn’t have brown coloring. Just the box the brown coloring was supposed to be in.
Someone had been opening boxes and trading the contents back and forth, no doubt thinking it was quite funny to imagine, say, someone dying their hair red and ending up with blonde. Ha. Ha.
We spoke to the people at the service desk. They were shocked – shocked, I say -- to discover someone had done such a thing, and promised quick retaliation in the form of automatic weapons and surface to air missiles, and a refund.
Having picked a new box with the seal firmly in place, Charis applied the stripper and the new, really brown this time, hair coloring. Soon, in geological terms, she finished her work, and presented me with her sister’s new look.
Jillian makes a fine redhead. Problem is, her hair was supposed to be – say it together – brown.
Apparently only so much can be done to repair hair that once glowed with the same intensity as a red giant star. Still, I thought things worked out okay, even if the one hour job stretched out over a weekend. In the end her hair looked okay, and eventually she turned up with a different color. Besides, no one died.
Several days later I went to my regular stylist for a haircut, and related this story to her. She explained that BHM had been fighting this problem for some time. So much for the people at the service desk being shocked, huh?
Somewhere, some poor soul who wanted orange hair was very upset. And brown.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
August 6, 2022
Selling Soap ... I Mean, Fiction
I sometimes forget I need to sell the soap every now and then, so here's some soap. Not really--actually, there's a little sex in this novel, so it might be the opposite of soap.
https://www.amazon.com/Radio-Red-Mark...
When hitting a deer leaves her stranded in rural Michigan, Kirsten Veiss signs on as an air personality for the maddening, and sexy, Aaron Debolt. It might be love, eventually—unless Kirsten is the one sabotaging Aaron’s radio station.
https://www.amazon.com/Radio-Red-Mark...
When hitting a deer leaves her stranded in rural Michigan, Kirsten Veiss signs on as an air personality for the maddening, and sexy, Aaron Debolt. It might be love, eventually—unless Kirsten is the one sabotaging Aaron’s radio station.
Looking For Beta Readers!
Solve a mystery, fight space battles, talk to ghosts, or even journey to Oz!
Sounds a lot more exciting when I put it that way. Another way to put it is that I’m looking for beta readers who would be interested in reading one—or more—of my four so-far unpublished novels. Count ‘em—four.
All the details can be found either on the newsletter:
https://mailchi.mp/5be1e644a04a/beta-...
Or on the blog:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2022...
Honestly, I expected more of a response from the blog and newsletter postings. I’m no George R.R. Martin—I don’t have enough middle initials—but I figured more readers would be happy to read a novel completely for free, in exchange for their general opinion. (Now that I think of it, the opinion giving would cost a little time, so it’s not totally free.) But if one of these was a Game of Throne book, they’d have to fork over some dough and, if they got the print version, risk a hernia. I’m offering mine as a Word file, which only weighs me down when I get a rejection letter.
So look me up, and I’ll hook you up! As the kids say these days. I assume.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Sounds a lot more exciting when I put it that way. Another way to put it is that I’m looking for beta readers who would be interested in reading one—or more—of my four so-far unpublished novels. Count ‘em—four.
All the details can be found either on the newsletter:
https://mailchi.mp/5be1e644a04a/beta-...
Or on the blog:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2022...
Honestly, I expected more of a response from the blog and newsletter postings. I’m no George R.R. Martin—I don’t have enough middle initials—but I figured more readers would be happy to read a novel completely for free, in exchange for their general opinion. (Now that I think of it, the opinion giving would cost a little time, so it’s not totally free.) But if one of these was a Game of Throne book, they’d have to fork over some dough and, if they got the print version, risk a hernia. I’m offering mine as a Word file, which only weighs me down when I get a rejection letter.
So look me up, and I’ll hook you up! As the kids say these days. I assume.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
