Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 79
December 15, 2015
Moving Copies of Sometimes Moving Books
Apparently this is the last couple of days you can order something and still be sure to get it before Christmas, which includes my books if you don’t buy them locally. I know … usually I try to hide my sales pitches behind humor, but honestly I’m exhausted.
A few days ago Noble Art Gallery asked for more copies of Images of America: Albion and Noble County, and I’m told Albion Village Foods has sent off for additional copies three times now. I don’t know how sales are going at Doc’s Hardware, Black Pine Animal Sanctuary, or the Old Jail Museum (which isn’t open this time of year), but as soon as I get medical clearance I’m going to do my happy dance.
Meanwhile I just finished another polishing of my newest book, now with the working title of Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving at All. Emily has it for a fresh-eye review, and if we don’t get a bite from a publisher, we’ll probably self-publish in mid-Spring.
Also meanwhile, look for a free Christmas themed short story soon, as a present from us to you.
As always, check us out at www.markrhunter.com, because sometimes you just need a little book … or a big book. But most of mine skew shorter.
A few days ago Noble Art Gallery asked for more copies of Images of America: Albion and Noble County, and I’m told Albion Village Foods has sent off for additional copies three times now. I don’t know how sales are going at Doc’s Hardware, Black Pine Animal Sanctuary, or the Old Jail Museum (which isn’t open this time of year), but as soon as I get medical clearance I’m going to do my happy dance.
Meanwhile I just finished another polishing of my newest book, now with the working title of Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving at All. Emily has it for a fresh-eye review, and if we don’t get a bite from a publisher, we’ll probably self-publish in mid-Spring.
Also meanwhile, look for a free Christmas themed short story soon, as a present from us to you.
As always, check us out at www.markrhunter.com, because sometimes you just need a little book … or a big book. But most of mine skew shorter.
December 14, 2015
You Can't Curse At Antarctic Dogs in England, and other strange laws
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
You probably think the US Congress, our nation’s legislative body, comes up with some really crazy laws and makes insane, or at least dumb, decisions.
You’d be right.
However, they’re not the only ones. Across the world, there are laws, rules, and regulations that are just a bit … strange. That doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t make sense, but they’re definitely attention grabbing. As we hit once again the dog-days of election season (November-October) let’s take a look at some.
Speaking of dogs, there was a time when dogsleds were the only way to get around in Antarctica, a place perpetually frozen. I know what you’re thinking: Couldn’t we relocate America’s Capitol to there, and let all that hot air thaw it out? Well, no. First, it wouldn’t be such a good idea to thaw Antarctica. Haven’t you ever seen The Thing?
Second, Antarctica doesn’t belong to the people of the USA. Of course, these days neither does our Capitol.
Sorry for my dogged political jokes. My point is it’s a good thing powered equipment came along, because it’s no longer legal to have dogs in Antarctica, something the dogs are no doubt happy about. Why? Because it’s illegal to have any non-indigenous species in Antarctica. After all, look at the bad things that happen when non-native species are introduced to an area. Hordes of dogs could destroy the entire continent’s ecosystem.
If hordes of dogs would survive down there.
Just the same, I support this, for the sake of penguins and … um … fish.
Speaking of politicians, there’s one thing that will keep you out of political office in the great state of Tennessee. Well, two things – you have to actually live in Tennessee if you run for election. I doubt they’d take to carpetbaggers, either … you hear that, Hillary Clinton?
But back to the point: It’s illegal in Tennessee to hold elected office if you don’t believe in God. Discrimination, you say? Maybe, but it’s also illegal to seek public office if you’re a member of the clergy. Or if you’ve ever had anything to do with dueling, such as setting up a gun fight between a preacher and an atheist. And yet, for all that, they don’t have trouble finding people to run for office.
What do we take from this? If you’re an atheist in Tennessee, you don’t have a prayer.
Yeah, I went there.
Let’s go back a ways – say, to 1403. About that time some people in Wales rebelled against the King of England, Henry IV, who was just half the man Henry VIII would be. Being a king, Henry naturally enacted a law allowing his subjects to, well, hang any Welshman they found within the rebellion-hotbed city of Chester, in northwest England.
Furthermore, Henry added, he wanted to keep his subjects both entertained and skilled at fighting. So, he allowed them to shoot at any Welshman within arrow distance of the town.
It wasn’t nice; it’s just the way things were done back then. What makes this law remarkable is that … wait for it …
It’s still a law.
So if you live in Chester, and you own a crossbow – go for it, dude! You’re all good.
Maybe the Welsh should do what Sao Paulo, Brazil, does. Over 41 million people live there, making it one of the largest provinces in the world. Why so many people?
Maybe because, by city ordinance, no one living in the city of Biritiba-Mirim within the province is allowed to … stop living.
It’s a tough rule to enforce. I mean, how do you punish people who break it? The death penalty?
Turns out the rule was made to protest to a national law, something we Americans can understand. The country as a whole prohibits new cemeteries in environmentally sensitive areas, and Biritba-Mirin sits on a major water source. The city has run out of cemetery space, a grave situation, although … do you really want to feel like you’re drinking your ancestors?
For now, if people break the rule in Biritba-Mirin and pass away, they end up sharing a crypt with another body – or they end up buried under local sidewalks. So either you’re on a party line to the afterlife, or you feel like someone’s walking on your grave.
Back in England, there’s also one place where it’s illegal to die: the House of Parliament. Why? Because anyone who kicks the bucket there is automatically entitled to a state funeral. Imagine some loud American tourist standing there in his Hawaiian shirt, who suddenly chokes on a ham sandwich and – as they say – bites the big one. Yeah, they gotta give him a state funeral.
It’s also illegal to wear a suit of armor inside Parliament, but I’m picturing them repealing that rule and sticking the dead tourist in one, so he doesn’t look out of place during the festivities.
But at least you can chew gum. In Singapore, they’ll cane you for that. The place is a little … uptight.
Finally, here’s my favorite somewhat odd law of them all, not because of its oddity but because I can relate:
In New Orleans, it’s illegal to curse at firefighters.
The idea is that while a firefighter is, say, running into a burning building, or doing CPR on a heart attack victim, or extricating people from a wrecked car, he’s probably stressed enough. He doesn’t need, “Hey! You’re a lousy firefighter, you @%#&!”
So be nice to firefighters. For all you know, they may have just adopted some poor unemployed Antarctic dog.
You probably think the US Congress, our nation’s legislative body, comes up with some really crazy laws and makes insane, or at least dumb, decisions.
You’d be right.
However, they’re not the only ones. Across the world, there are laws, rules, and regulations that are just a bit … strange. That doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t make sense, but they’re definitely attention grabbing. As we hit once again the dog-days of election season (November-October) let’s take a look at some.
Speaking of dogs, there was a time when dogsleds were the only way to get around in Antarctica, a place perpetually frozen. I know what you’re thinking: Couldn’t we relocate America’s Capitol to there, and let all that hot air thaw it out? Well, no. First, it wouldn’t be such a good idea to thaw Antarctica. Haven’t you ever seen The Thing?
Second, Antarctica doesn’t belong to the people of the USA. Of course, these days neither does our Capitol.
Sorry for my dogged political jokes. My point is it’s a good thing powered equipment came along, because it’s no longer legal to have dogs in Antarctica, something the dogs are no doubt happy about. Why? Because it’s illegal to have any non-indigenous species in Antarctica. After all, look at the bad things that happen when non-native species are introduced to an area. Hordes of dogs could destroy the entire continent’s ecosystem.
If hordes of dogs would survive down there.
Just the same, I support this, for the sake of penguins and … um … fish.
Speaking of politicians, there’s one thing that will keep you out of political office in the great state of Tennessee. Well, two things – you have to actually live in Tennessee if you run for election. I doubt they’d take to carpetbaggers, either … you hear that, Hillary Clinton?
But back to the point: It’s illegal in Tennessee to hold elected office if you don’t believe in God. Discrimination, you say? Maybe, but it’s also illegal to seek public office if you’re a member of the clergy. Or if you’ve ever had anything to do with dueling, such as setting up a gun fight between a preacher and an atheist. And yet, for all that, they don’t have trouble finding people to run for office.
What do we take from this? If you’re an atheist in Tennessee, you don’t have a prayer.
Yeah, I went there.
Let’s go back a ways – say, to 1403. About that time some people in Wales rebelled against the King of England, Henry IV, who was just half the man Henry VIII would be. Being a king, Henry naturally enacted a law allowing his subjects to, well, hang any Welshman they found within the rebellion-hotbed city of Chester, in northwest England.
Furthermore, Henry added, he wanted to keep his subjects both entertained and skilled at fighting. So, he allowed them to shoot at any Welshman within arrow distance of the town.
It wasn’t nice; it’s just the way things were done back then. What makes this law remarkable is that … wait for it …
It’s still a law.
So if you live in Chester, and you own a crossbow – go for it, dude! You’re all good.
Maybe the Welsh should do what Sao Paulo, Brazil, does. Over 41 million people live there, making it one of the largest provinces in the world. Why so many people?
Maybe because, by city ordinance, no one living in the city of Biritiba-Mirim within the province is allowed to … stop living.
It’s a tough rule to enforce. I mean, how do you punish people who break it? The death penalty?
Turns out the rule was made to protest to a national law, something we Americans can understand. The country as a whole prohibits new cemeteries in environmentally sensitive areas, and Biritba-Mirin sits on a major water source. The city has run out of cemetery space, a grave situation, although … do you really want to feel like you’re drinking your ancestors?
For now, if people break the rule in Biritba-Mirin and pass away, they end up sharing a crypt with another body – or they end up buried under local sidewalks. So either you’re on a party line to the afterlife, or you feel like someone’s walking on your grave.
Back in England, there’s also one place where it’s illegal to die: the House of Parliament. Why? Because anyone who kicks the bucket there is automatically entitled to a state funeral. Imagine some loud American tourist standing there in his Hawaiian shirt, who suddenly chokes on a ham sandwich and – as they say – bites the big one. Yeah, they gotta give him a state funeral.
It’s also illegal to wear a suit of armor inside Parliament, but I’m picturing them repealing that rule and sticking the dead tourist in one, so he doesn’t look out of place during the festivities.
But at least you can chew gum. In Singapore, they’ll cane you for that. The place is a little … uptight.
Finally, here’s my favorite somewhat odd law of them all, not because of its oddity but because I can relate:
In New Orleans, it’s illegal to curse at firefighters.
The idea is that while a firefighter is, say, running into a burning building, or doing CPR on a heart attack victim, or extricating people from a wrecked car, he’s probably stressed enough. He doesn’t need, “Hey! You’re a lousy firefighter, you @%#&!”
So be nice to firefighters. For all you know, they may have just adopted some poor unemployed Antarctic dog.
December 10, 2015
The Dogged Determination of a Recovering Novelist
The day after my sinus surgery, I woke up to find a dog lying on my chest. “Are you worried about me?” I rasped out.
“Not exactly,” Bae replied.
I hadn’t actually expected a reply.
“Dude, we need to talk about finances. Will paying for this surgery take money from the kibble line item on the family budget?”
“Not to worry. The insurance covers most of it, and we can make payments on the rest.” I was hurting and bleeding, but I felt it necessary to pet the dog because his nose was about six inches from mine, and he was lying on my spleen.
“The rest? You know, I have wheat allergies; I need special food.”
“Welcome to the allergy family.”
“This is Christmas shopping season, dude—you should be promoting your book sales, not laying there with your face all swollen up.”
“I always kind of hoped they’d sell themselves.”
“What? Are you on drugs?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Bae sniffed my face. “Yeah, I smell them, now. Vicodin, and some kind of anti-nausea medication. Look, you gotta get out there, man … there aren’t enough mice in the house to keep me fed, and that rabbit always stays just outside the reach of my line. I tried to do some promotional posts for you, but these paws aren’t made for typing.”
“Ah, that explains the delivery of eighteen pizzas, and the lady from Romania who finds my profile intriguing.”
“Sorry about that. But you need help: You keep publishing in different genres, so how are you going to build author branding?”
“But that’s the beauty of it: If people want to buy books for themselves or for Christmas presents, they can get it all on www.markrhunter.com: humor, romantic comedy, short stories, non-fiction, young adult, history—it’s all there. I’m your one stop shop for book buying.”
“Well, they’d better buy more, or I might start eating grass in the back yard … and you know what that means.”
“One sicko in the house is enough. Look, word of mouth words great, here: Why don’t you tell your friends about me during your midnight barking?”
“Dude, my friends can’t read.”
“Story of my life.”
“You’re dreaming this whole thing, anyway. I blame the drugs.”
And that’s when I woke up.
But I woke up with the dog on my chest. “Were you just speaking to me?” I asked.
Bae didn’t say anything. But he looked hungry.
“Not exactly,” Bae replied.
I hadn’t actually expected a reply.
“Dude, we need to talk about finances. Will paying for this surgery take money from the kibble line item on the family budget?”
“Not to worry. The insurance covers most of it, and we can make payments on the rest.” I was hurting and bleeding, but I felt it necessary to pet the dog because his nose was about six inches from mine, and he was lying on my spleen.
“The rest? You know, I have wheat allergies; I need special food.”
“Welcome to the allergy family.”
“This is Christmas shopping season, dude—you should be promoting your book sales, not laying there with your face all swollen up.”
“I always kind of hoped they’d sell themselves.”
“What? Are you on drugs?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Bae sniffed my face. “Yeah, I smell them, now. Vicodin, and some kind of anti-nausea medication. Look, you gotta get out there, man … there aren’t enough mice in the house to keep me fed, and that rabbit always stays just outside the reach of my line. I tried to do some promotional posts for you, but these paws aren’t made for typing.”
“Ah, that explains the delivery of eighteen pizzas, and the lady from Romania who finds my profile intriguing.”
“Sorry about that. But you need help: You keep publishing in different genres, so how are you going to build author branding?”
“But that’s the beauty of it: If people want to buy books for themselves or for Christmas presents, they can get it all on www.markrhunter.com: humor, romantic comedy, short stories, non-fiction, young adult, history—it’s all there. I’m your one stop shop for book buying.”
“Well, they’d better buy more, or I might start eating grass in the back yard … and you know what that means.”
“One sicko in the house is enough. Look, word of mouth words great, here: Why don’t you tell your friends about me during your midnight barking?”
“Dude, my friends can’t read.”
“Story of my life.”
“You’re dreaming this whole thing, anyway. I blame the drugs.”
And that’s when I woke up.
But I woke up with the dog on my chest. “Were you just speaking to me?” I asked.
Bae didn’t say anything. But he looked hungry.
December 8, 2015
Through the nose
At my post-op checkup today, the surgeon debrided my sinuses. Those of you who are familiar with the term “debridement” just winced; those of you who are not, you don’t want to know.
It was very unpleasant.
Still, while I feel terrible, I’m also progressing. They gave me the very best pain drugs that I hope to not be taking much longer. Best case scenario: In a year my voice will be so smooth people will think I’m the illicit offspring of James Earl Jones and Morgan Freeman … if you can picture that in your head.
It was very unpleasant.
Still, while I feel terrible, I’m also progressing. They gave me the very best pain drugs that I hope to not be taking much longer. Best case scenario: In a year my voice will be so smooth people will think I’m the illicit offspring of James Earl Jones and Morgan Freeman … if you can picture that in your head.
December 6, 2015
"Blarg" pretty much covers it
Well, on Thursday morning I had sinus surgery, and very early Friday Emily and Charis hauled me to the ER when my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. So, that happened.
However, it turned out the post-op situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed, and I’m at the expected misery level for this point in the recovery period. (About a 6. On a scale of 8.) I had hoped, by this point, to be doing something constructive like working on a manuscript, or at least catching up on my TV watching. Silly me. What you’re reading now is about what I’ll get accomplished today. I’m really not sure if the week and a half I took off work was enough.
But I am in recovery. Things will get better, instead of worse, and Emily is an excellent nurse, and Bae has also been keeping a careful eye on me. (Lucius the snake doesn’t care.) I have good insurance, and according to my calculations, in order to pay for the operation and the ER visit I’ll have to sell no more than 5,000 books.
Guess I’d better get busy.
Tomorrow.
However, it turned out the post-op situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed, and I’m at the expected misery level for this point in the recovery period. (About a 6. On a scale of 8.) I had hoped, by this point, to be doing something constructive like working on a manuscript, or at least catching up on my TV watching. Silly me. What you’re reading now is about what I’ll get accomplished today. I’m really not sure if the week and a half I took off work was enough.
But I am in recovery. Things will get better, instead of worse, and Emily is an excellent nurse, and Bae has also been keeping a careful eye on me. (Lucius the snake doesn’t care.) I have good insurance, and according to my calculations, in order to pay for the operation and the ER visit I’ll have to sell no more than 5,000 books.
Guess I’d better get busy.
Tomorrow.
December 2, 2015
Minimally Invasive, They Say
When the specialist told me he wanted to do a sinusotomy I thought he said sinusodomy. “You call that minimally invasive? It’s great that you don’t have to cut through the skin, but you didn’t tell me you were going that direction.”
Only when that confusion was straightened up did I consider the idea.
So, this week, I’m going in to have a minor procedure done on my sinuses. “Minor procedure” is what people say when they don’t want to scare you with the word “operation”. But it really is a fairly minor outpatient procedure. Unlike when my father had it done years ago, it’s an endoscopic surgery, and doesn’t require cutting from the outside to reach the inside. It’s more like going into the nose with one of those electric sewer Roto-Rooters snake machines.
Well, there’s a comforting thought. “Okay, power it up and let’s shove that snake in!”
I’ve had sinus problems all my life, but they’ve gotten progressively worse the last few years. No doubt living in the Midwest, land of “Boy, it was hot and humid yesterday—hey, it’s snowing!” doesn’t help, but it’s too late now for me to move to New Mexico. The last three winters I’ve had more sinus infections than most people get their whole lives, with the exception of those who live in northern Minnesota and are also heavy cocaine users. Still, having heard horror stories about people who have the surgery and then live in terrible misery, I sought out every possible treatment.
Then I realized: I was already living in terrible misery.
The ear, nose, and throat guy examined my ear, nose, and throat, and quickly realized some things that I should have found out about a lot earlier. It was the same situation I ran into when I was diagnosed with multiple allergies about five years ago: I’d spent my whole life with no idea I had more allergies than Ben and Jerry’s has flavors. As a kid, I’d just assumed everyone coughed, sneezed, and blew their nose constantly. As a teen, maybe I’d have gotten more dates (or any) if I didn’t look like patient zero in a flu epidemic.
Anyway, the ENT discovered I had a deviated septum. A septum is a thing in the back of your nose that’s apparently supposed to be straight. Later he described it as “severely” deviated, and suggested I’d broken my nose sometime when I was a kid. Although you’d think I’d remember something like that, my brother and I did have something of a rough and tumble childhood; we were always one bicycle jump over a homemade ramp away from a broken bone.
Apparently the nasal passages are like an eight lane highway, and my septum was like a semi that jackknifed and blocked six lanes. Every time I breathed, there was a fifty car pileup.
To make matters worse, my nasal passages had narrowed to such an extent that absolutely nothing would pass, somewhat akin to budget hearings in Congress. The ENT informed me he’d be bringing a “balloon guy” to do his thing during the procedure. At first I thought that meant I’d get a cheerful get well soon helium-filled balloon, maybe in the shape of Snoopy. It turns out he meant balloon sinuplasty, in which one of those long, narrow balloons like the ones clowns use is inserted all the way up my nose, then blown up with a tire inflator, or maybe an air compressor. It’s just like angioplasty, which I almost had to get after learning about sinuplasty.
“I’m going to be asleep for this, right, doc?”
“Don’t worry, there’ll also be an anesthesiologist there.”
At that point I stopped worrying about the procedure, and started worrying about the bill.
This procedure is about ten years old now, so if the balloon popping in the middle of the procedure was ever a problem, I suppose it’s figured out by now. So, they’re going to straighten my septum and blow up my sinus passages, and if all goes well, I’ll be good as new in about a week or so.
If all doesn’t go well … well, then, I hope my last column was a funny one.
Kidding! I’m not really worried about that, so much as the possibilities of post-op problems of a more annoying variety. But the procedures have improved, and risks are low, and it would be a fine thing to get rid of these headaches that are sometimes debilitating, and always annoying. Maybe I can save enough money in not buying ibuprofen to pay for the thing … eventually. If not, I’ll give some big sob story to get people to buy my books, and after a few tens of thousands of sales the whole thing will be paid for. I’m cool with the sympathy pitch.
In any case, don’t expect to hear from me online for at least a few days, and possibly a week or more. I may or may not be able to catch up on my TV watching and book reading, but I doubt I’ll be up to looking at a computer screen for a while.
Only when that confusion was straightened up did I consider the idea.
So, this week, I’m going in to have a minor procedure done on my sinuses. “Minor procedure” is what people say when they don’t want to scare you with the word “operation”. But it really is a fairly minor outpatient procedure. Unlike when my father had it done years ago, it’s an endoscopic surgery, and doesn’t require cutting from the outside to reach the inside. It’s more like going into the nose with one of those electric sewer Roto-Rooters snake machines.
Well, there’s a comforting thought. “Okay, power it up and let’s shove that snake in!”
I’ve had sinus problems all my life, but they’ve gotten progressively worse the last few years. No doubt living in the Midwest, land of “Boy, it was hot and humid yesterday—hey, it’s snowing!” doesn’t help, but it’s too late now for me to move to New Mexico. The last three winters I’ve had more sinus infections than most people get their whole lives, with the exception of those who live in northern Minnesota and are also heavy cocaine users. Still, having heard horror stories about people who have the surgery and then live in terrible misery, I sought out every possible treatment.
Then I realized: I was already living in terrible misery.
The ear, nose, and throat guy examined my ear, nose, and throat, and quickly realized some things that I should have found out about a lot earlier. It was the same situation I ran into when I was diagnosed with multiple allergies about five years ago: I’d spent my whole life with no idea I had more allergies than Ben and Jerry’s has flavors. As a kid, I’d just assumed everyone coughed, sneezed, and blew their nose constantly. As a teen, maybe I’d have gotten more dates (or any) if I didn’t look like patient zero in a flu epidemic.
Anyway, the ENT discovered I had a deviated septum. A septum is a thing in the back of your nose that’s apparently supposed to be straight. Later he described it as “severely” deviated, and suggested I’d broken my nose sometime when I was a kid. Although you’d think I’d remember something like that, my brother and I did have something of a rough and tumble childhood; we were always one bicycle jump over a homemade ramp away from a broken bone.
Apparently the nasal passages are like an eight lane highway, and my septum was like a semi that jackknifed and blocked six lanes. Every time I breathed, there was a fifty car pileup.
To make matters worse, my nasal passages had narrowed to such an extent that absolutely nothing would pass, somewhat akin to budget hearings in Congress. The ENT informed me he’d be bringing a “balloon guy” to do his thing during the procedure. At first I thought that meant I’d get a cheerful get well soon helium-filled balloon, maybe in the shape of Snoopy. It turns out he meant balloon sinuplasty, in which one of those long, narrow balloons like the ones clowns use is inserted all the way up my nose, then blown up with a tire inflator, or maybe an air compressor. It’s just like angioplasty, which I almost had to get after learning about sinuplasty.
“I’m going to be asleep for this, right, doc?”
“Don’t worry, there’ll also be an anesthesiologist there.”
At that point I stopped worrying about the procedure, and started worrying about the bill.
This procedure is about ten years old now, so if the balloon popping in the middle of the procedure was ever a problem, I suppose it’s figured out by now. So, they’re going to straighten my septum and blow up my sinus passages, and if all goes well, I’ll be good as new in about a week or so.
If all doesn’t go well … well, then, I hope my last column was a funny one.
Kidding! I’m not really worried about that, so much as the possibilities of post-op problems of a more annoying variety. But the procedures have improved, and risks are low, and it would be a fine thing to get rid of these headaches that are sometimes debilitating, and always annoying. Maybe I can save enough money in not buying ibuprofen to pay for the thing … eventually. If not, I’ll give some big sob story to get people to buy my books, and after a few tens of thousands of sales the whole thing will be paid for. I’m cool with the sympathy pitch.
In any case, don’t expect to hear from me online for at least a few days, and possibly a week or more. I may or may not be able to catch up on my TV watching and book reading, but I doubt I’ll be up to looking at a computer screen for a while.
December 1, 2015
Scalpel ... Drill ... shop vac ...
I’m going to be away from the internet for a short time starting Thursday, due to a minor surgical procedure that’s probably going to make me not want to look at a screen for awhile. (It’s on my brain. Kidding, it’s near my brain, on my sinuses.) More about it in a blog post later, because if I can’t make fun of my own health, what can I make fun of?
I know what you’re thinking: “Is Mark going to take advantage of his health problems to sell more books?”
Yes. Yes, I am. I’ll have medical bills.
As soon as I can figure out a way I haven’t already tried. Oh: maybe “If you buy my books before the surgery and things go south, they may increase in value!”
I know what you’re thinking: “Is Mark going to take advantage of his health problems to sell more books?”
Yes. Yes, I am. I’ll have medical bills.
As soon as I can figure out a way I haven’t already tried. Oh: maybe “If you buy my books before the surgery and things go south, they may increase in value!”
November 29, 2015
7 Reasons Why Books Are the Best Christmas Gifts
I suppose this would be a good time to remind all of you that books are, by far, the best Christmas gifts. Yes, even for non-readers: In fact, books owned by people who don’t read are not only great re-gifts, but when not re-gifted they’re among the books in the best condition. No dog-ears, no food stains, no bent pages … pristine. Two hundred years from now, you can resell books in such good condition for enough money to make up for inflation, if you should happen to still be alive.
In addition to that, books:
Require no batteries.
Almost never rot your brains.
In hardcover editions can be used for self-defense.
Can be hollowed out to hide all sorts of contraband and/or listening devices.
Make bookcases much more useful.
Never go offline during power outages, assuming you have backup lighting. If you don’t have that in case of power outages, are you really smart enough to read?
Also, should you go into a place like, say Albion Village Foods, Noble Art Gallery, Doc’s Hardware, Black Pine Animal Sanctuary, or the Old Jail Museum, you’re shopping locally. You might even pick up things other than, say, books with my name on them, and that would support local businesses, and if you mention I sent you they might stock more of my books. This makes me happy, and don’t you want to see me happy? I thought so.
But if you’ve heard horror stories about going out shopping this time of year, you could always go to our website at http://www.markrhunter.com/books.html. This gives you a choice of nine books in five or six different genres (because I just can’t seem to keep my mind on one thing), with prices ranging all the way down to free (for Strange Portals, anyway). It’s like Black Friday somehow turned into bright December.
So that’s my pitch, and if you spread the word I promise I’ll continue to be funny and entertaining. Okay, I’ll try.
In addition to that, books:
Require no batteries.
Almost never rot your brains.
In hardcover editions can be used for self-defense.
Can be hollowed out to hide all sorts of contraband and/or listening devices.
Make bookcases much more useful.
Never go offline during power outages, assuming you have backup lighting. If you don’t have that in case of power outages, are you really smart enough to read?
Also, should you go into a place like, say Albion Village Foods, Noble Art Gallery, Doc’s Hardware, Black Pine Animal Sanctuary, or the Old Jail Museum, you’re shopping locally. You might even pick up things other than, say, books with my name on them, and that would support local businesses, and if you mention I sent you they might stock more of my books. This makes me happy, and don’t you want to see me happy? I thought so.
But if you’ve heard horror stories about going out shopping this time of year, you could always go to our website at http://www.markrhunter.com/books.html. This gives you a choice of nine books in five or six different genres (because I just can’t seem to keep my mind on one thing), with prices ranging all the way down to free (for Strange Portals, anyway). It’s like Black Friday somehow turned into bright December.
So that’s my pitch, and if you spread the word I promise I’ll continue to be funny and entertaining. Okay, I’ll try.
November 27, 2015
Dinner With the Donners
I see there’s going to be a TV special about the Donner party … on Thanksgiving weekend. The irony …
Then again, I suppose their horrible experience was one of America’s first Black Fridays.
Let's watch with dinner!
Then again, I suppose their horrible experience was one of America’s first Black Fridays.
Let's watch with dinner!
November 26, 2015
Writing Thankfully
On this Thanksgiving (this is Thanksgiving weekend, by the way, but all the turkeys already know that), I’d like to say how thankful I am for my dislike of self-promotion.
I’ve spent a lot of time the last few years writing press releases, signing books, and basically bragging about how I’m such a good writer that you should spend your time and money on me. It’s not in my nature … but then, neither is working, and I have to do that, too.
But think of it this way: My first book came out in 2011, less than five years ago. Now I have seven out, with my name in two others.
The first time I queried a publisher for a book length project was when I was eighteen—35 years ago. Please don’t do the math. (And that would have been about five years after my first “finished” novel.) So it took me over thirty years to get a novel published, but in the five years since I’ve had four works of fiction and three of nonfiction released.
That’s something to be thankful for (among many other things), and I am thankful. I may be struggling to make more sales, but I’m published—and a lot of writers don't make it that far. To show how thankful I am … I’m going to work hard to get more published. Toward that end, I’ve caught up by sending out eight queries and manuscripts to publishers in the last three days. An unpublished book or short story should never rest on a writer’s desk (or hard drive) for long.
I’ve spent a lot of time the last few years writing press releases, signing books, and basically bragging about how I’m such a good writer that you should spend your time and money on me. It’s not in my nature … but then, neither is working, and I have to do that, too.
But think of it this way: My first book came out in 2011, less than five years ago. Now I have seven out, with my name in two others.
The first time I queried a publisher for a book length project was when I was eighteen—35 years ago. Please don’t do the math. (And that would have been about five years after my first “finished” novel.) So it took me over thirty years to get a novel published, but in the five years since I’ve had four works of fiction and three of nonfiction released.
That’s something to be thankful for (among many other things), and I am thankful. I may be struggling to make more sales, but I’m published—and a lot of writers don't make it that far. To show how thankful I am … I’m going to work hard to get more published. Toward that end, I’ve caught up by sending out eight queries and manuscripts to publishers in the last three days. An unpublished book or short story should never rest on a writer’s desk (or hard drive) for long.
