F.E. Feeley Jr.'s Blog, page 13

From a veteran: Grow up, America

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Mark Jefferson Paraan

I have seen two posts over as many days saying ‘we don’t care about the kneeling’ or ‘you’re a rich NFL player and kneeling is disrespectful to those who served and fought yada yada yada”

What’s happened here in America with the rise of racism and would be fascist dictatorships and authoritarianism, is happening all over the Western World.

Germany’s Chancellor Angela Murkel was just reelected for her fourth term. That’s great!

The bad news, the far right party, which is equivalent to the Nazi party got 13 percent headway into the new government.

The U.K has Nigel Farage and Theresa May, etc.

First off, if you don’t live in this country and you comment about what’s going on in this country – watch your lane. You need to check your own.

Secondly, the reason the whole kneeling thing is happening by the NFL, WNBA, NBA, MLB etc. is due to dead people in our streets murdered without due process of law. The majority of them being black.

So black athletes – starting with Colin Kaepernick starting making this issue visible using their platform.

See we like black people when we’re bumpin their music, when we’re watching their movies, when they go out and win championship titles, and trophies, and boxing matches, and super-bowl rings.

Black Athletes have brought home the gold in Olympic sports representing this country. They’ve fought and died for this country’s freedom.  (By the way, how did service members and the military get white washed?)

We like our black folks, then.

But when they kneel and we know what it is they’re kneeling over it makes us uncomfortable.

So to deal with that uncomfortablness of your country not being all sunshine and roses, instead of dealing with it – you want to put that off on the flag, or over the anthem, or best of all on veterans and current service members.

Stop putting your bullshit off on us. Because quite frankly, the majority of the responses from vets to the black community and those who are kneeling has been supportive.

Why? Because like major sports, the United States Military integrated successfully. They make it work, everyday.

See, the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights is the Beatrice to our Dante. Do you understand?

Of course you don’t.

See, when you sign up to serve, you need something grandiose to hang on to. A reason. A deep abiding faith in more than just looking good in a uniform. Because once you sign over that blank check you know you could die and dammit you have to have a reason to die and an even better reason to live.

That reason is that one day the words of our forebears would be actualized and not just conceptualized.

That oath we swear to uphold and defend, regardless of selective incorporation, regardless of federalism, regardless of SCOTUS decisions – we stand for life, liberty, and all of what it entails.

We stand for the right of the Klans member to march and for fuck sake – we stand for the black man (universally speaking) who was brutally discriminated against for 300 years – to make a statement about his freedom.

Because at the end of the day – our money is not on those who can’t take three minutes of a wake up call. Our money is on someone who’s suffered and died for over three hundred years and still —AND STILL —- remains.

Slavery didn’t wipe them out

The Civil War didn’t wipe them out

Jim Crow never wiped them out

Organized and racist religions didn’t wipe them out

The Rise of the religious right didn’t wipe them out

The war on drugs didn’t wipe them out

These killer cops aren’t going to do it either.

They have 300 years of this, you have three minutes.

I don’t see black people as the problem. I see you as the problem. You’re lazy. Intellectually slothful, hanging on to something your grandpappy put in your head, hanging on to the war of northern aggression, hanging on to dead ideas and death culture, because you’re whiteness somehow equates rightness.

I can’t speak for the rest of my brothers and sisters in arms but quite frankly all of this is the reason why we really don’t like civilians.

You’re children. Spoiled rotten ass children. This country has kept you this way. Your faiths have kept you this way. You’ve refused to leave your colloquialism behind. You refuse to travel the world and see and experience other people. Hell, most of you won’t leave your neighborhoods.

It is 17 years into the 21st century.

It is well passed time for you to grow up.

My adventure in self publishing

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Patrick Fore

I just come off of publishing a full length novel, When Heaven Strikes, and there’s so much that goes into self publication I feel like I need to take a moment and address it for those who are considering writing their first book or who may want to break away from traditional publishing.

First, and probably the most expensive part of the whole process is editing. I have run into costs that range from .004 cents per word to .05 cents per word.

If you take a base novel (which is 60,000 words) it looks like this.

.004 * 60,000 = 240 and that’s the lowest I’ve ever seen

.05 * 60,000 = 3,000 and that’s the highest I’ve seen

and that’s per sweep

The more reputable or the more well known the editor is, the higher the cost but the trade off is, the least well known they are they may be cheaper but they may not be as good and that requires additional sweeps.

Factor in cover art which can range from 50 bucks up to 300

Then you have to pay for someone to format the book for you for both the ebook and paperback

Once all of that is complete – then you have promotional stuff like creating a book trailer which can run you 100 bucks or more and a tour service which can run anywhere from 25 bucks to 100 dollars depending on what package or service you use.

You could end up, to produce one book, spending a great deal of your own cash.

And all of this takes time to do. So while you may have down time between purchases, you’re burning hours going through everything.

Now, if you go with a traditional publisher – they absorb that initial cost and all you’re responsible for is working through what the editors send you.

However, especially if you take an advance, you may not see royalties on your book for awhile. When you do, depending on the contract you signed, your royalties will usually be less than half (usually around 35 to 40 percent) of the money earned.

And none of it says that mistakes still won’t be present. You try to minimize that, of course, but shit happens. Stuff slips through and if that’s the case you can have someone go back through it at cost.

The best advice I can give is to establish a budget and while I know its difficult to do that – especially for people who are just starting out or people who don’t have a lot of money – if you have to make a change jar to throw your quarters, nickels, and dimes in – do it. You’re now in business for yourself and if you’re in the self publishing world – you are responsible for everything.

The reader doesn’t get to see any of that. They get the finished product and it’s really strange when I see comments about how they won’t spend more than x amount of money for a book. And especially the whole KU thing where people associate that with Netflix or Prime.

It’s not the same. Actors don’t get paid from that, they get all their money up front before the film is made. So should a movie flop, or should it break box office records, their pay is the same. The set people, the director, the producer, etc. all their money is taken care of by the unions. It’s the studios that make royalties off ticket sales, residuals, netflix, prime, dvd sales, yada yada.

So when I see authors selling their book for less than five bucks on the market it really upsets me. Not just because they’re making it harder to compete with them, but because they’re short changing themselves and everyone else around them.

It becomes that much harder and that much more competitive to produce a book – and the idea of making a living off of being a writer or becoming popular as a writer is becoming more and more difficult. You have to hustle your work every single day and that’s just as difficult. Most of all because it pulls you away from your next project.

All of that sucks. I think the average person would be astounded if they were to actually sit down and do it themselves.

But I think there is a flip side to it, a silver lining, despite genre fiction, ‘the rules’, the lack of a publisher pushing you in one direction, the market forces, goodreads, the critics, all of that liberates the author to write what they want. All of that gets muted. They can cultivate an audience from the very bottom and slowly over time build a readership that is loyal despite what the author writes and is more open to what they have to say. They’re more open to the way the author’s style comes across and becomes familiar with that voice. It allows the author to move around and not get bogged down in having to appeal or wanting to appeal to a certain kind of reader.

And it allows the author, I think, to say things that need to be said in their work, it allows for authenticity, without their work being diluted by the aforementioned.

I think literature right now is going through a golden age and Amazon is on it. They publish something like 3,000 books per day and KU is taking a huge chunk out of author’s profits. And while technology is king, and not content, it won’t stay this way forever. I think if authors sort of banded together, and I think they will eventually, the pendulum will swing back in the other direction. Meanwhile, I think those who love the craft, who absolutely must write, who have a passion for it, will stay and get better at what they do slowly but surely.

 

Autumn solemnity (poem)

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Mikhail Elfimov

My body knows fall is coming

my eyes can see the difference in the sunlight

and my soul longs for the smell of burning leaves

and long nights sitting on a porch

with an Irish Coffee

Blue jeans, sweatshirts, and book in my hand

the porch light on casting illumination on my comfort

the air is cool but the hot liquor warms me

as melancholy music whispers in my head

the coffee isn’t the only Irish thing about me

It’s a time for magic, and spirits

as my eyes dart from the page and into the yard

and long lengths of deep shadows

was that a ghost? Maybe so. Probably so.

and somehow i am okay with that

as I return to the words on the page

of a book written by Fessenden

It’s silent, save for the occasional car

and the wind passing through the trees over head

the pages in my hand as sacred as rosary beads

and my prayer to God is for the night to slow

for time to be suspended as a spider descends

on a single silk thread just to the right of me

all is equal on nights like this

no revulsion, no spite, or fear

only a mutual understanding

as the creature makes it’s way across the porch

and down into the darkness on the otherside

we are simply two beasts enjoying the starry starry night

preparing ourselves for the inevitable onset of winter

 

Street Preacher (poem)

 

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Alex Hockett

 

I am the street preacher

saint and sinner

dancing along that fine line

and eternal circle

of life and repentance 

When I dare speak in exclamation points

Loving the in between

like grass that grows in busted concrete

pushing upward to heaven

flat broke, I feel like a million bucks

when it rains upon my brow

There are no pamphlets

no special prayer to yank you out of the world

but there is a dirty hand

that points you to where the food is

where the hope is

where eternity is

Touched in the head

touched on the heart

I stumble around just as blind

as the rest of the self appointed saints

and maybe I am a fool for thinking so

but radical equality is the song i sing

Amazing Grace

has a history as sordid as those it saves

and church can be a canopy of stars

as I open my shirt to show you my scars

that make me bitter and afraid and hopeful

knowing you can’t be found unless you’re willing

to get real good and lost

Damnation is only reserved for empire

and cruelty, and hate

and for those who need to be punished

for crimes, for failings,

for the inability to forgive and be forgiven

those flames also familiar to me

But I wander and wonder

and stare at the magnolia tree

and the big fat bees that bumble along

flower to flower with impossibly large bodies

and no sense of urgency

With a shot of whiskey in my system

and a grin upon my face

a hurt in my heart

and a little room where I lay my head at night

with a penchant for storytelling

I wander

a preacher of the streets

professing a gospel of life

 

Amber Colored (poem)

 

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(Some Random picture I saw)

In looking for my rest

I found a bottle of amber colored joy

as I sipped – I let it burn my throat

as the fire cascaded down into my heart

upon a gut made of stone

There are a million miles

in the tattoos that I wear

and ten thousand memories with each

passing of the needle over my skin

as I proudly display each step I’ve taken in life

I hum dixie melodies

when I go looking for my soul

gospel songs and blues

when I’m lonesome and flesh upon flesh

doesn’t do what I desperately need it to

My church is a rusty and dusty bar

when I’m in the faith having way

Otis Redding the reverend

playing on a Wurlitzer Bubbler made in 1950

just one amber glass at a time

Banged up old car (Poem)

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Instagram.com/igorovsyannykov/

 

I’m banged to shit

the wrong kind of gay for you

but i’m still here

like a car that has a bald tire

busted tail lights and a broken air conditioner

still gets you from A to B

I still cruise the night with the radio blasting

sure I may be not as attractive as the benz

you’re riding in

but my backseat lays it down just the same

maybe even better

and my engine may not be as quiet

but I liked it loud and verbal when the peddle is put down

as rubber burns the asphalt

why I even growl “mooooooooore” as i disappear into the night

unlike you’re uber

you know when you’ve ridden with me

like an infection I get under your skin one way

or another

your fingers find the impressions I make

and despite your sensibilities

it always makes you smile

now, whether you like that you smile – well, that’s you’re business

I may require a trigger warning

I may cuss when I’m not happy and I may break down

and I’m sure guaranteed to offend

the BMWs and limousine riders

and my ride might not be as smooth

but I am not here for smooth

I’m here for those who like it rough

Sure, the valet is gonna raise a brow

at the ancient upholstery and smoke tinged glass

but he doesn’t know what you know

and he doesn’t know what I can’t explain

and he can’t articulate the miles on the odometer

but you can – you know – at least part of the story

Thoughts on the nature of Good vs Evil

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Oscar Keys

The nature of evil is not to be something shrouded in black smoke, having horns, fangs, or some sort of paranormal element to it.

That would be easy.

And evil is never ever easily recognized.

It’s not something slayable on a weekly television series no matter how sweet Jared and Jensen are.

Evil never shows up and sticks out its hand saying, “Hey there. My name is evil and I am here to be be the worst baddie that ever did bad.”

No evil overlord has ever taken the mantle of evil – they all stand for the most truth and for the best justice – and the evil shows up in the execution of their plans.

That is how its possible for politicians to be monsters, cops to be murderers, preachers to be con artists, and populaces to be deceived.

Anything that separates you from God by separating you from your humanity and mutes your ability to recognize the hand of on God in each other – is Grade A certifiable evil.

When it comes to racism, sexism, homophobia, Islamophobia, hatred of Jews – any adherence to radicalism, fundamentalism, extreme political ideology – is evil.

Anything that seeks to remove you from the whole, from the main – is evil.

I do believe in angels and demons and spirits – but all I’ve ever seen in my life – all the evil I’ve come across in my time on earth – has been nothing short of human.

Evil is often not a thing but an absence of a thing. No hope.

Yet on the flip side of that – Good is rarely as loud as evil. Good is subversive. It shows up in the unwashed masses, it shows up in the actions of those who refuse to let man made divisions occupy their thoughts. It shows up in protests, it shows up in natural disasters, it shows up in making friends with the ‘other’ as they allow themselves to see a person and not a category. It’s sitting down and breaking bread, it’s working through problems, and it’s a prayer flung upward to heaven.In the midst of impossible, knowing it will probably fail, it still does the right thing. IT’s in the alcoholic struggling to maintain sobriety, it’s in the depressed person pushing on another day, it’s in the slipping of a homeless a couple of bucks knowing that they’re not going to buy food – because their addiction will kill them if no immediate help is made available and not judging them for it. Although the road to hell has been paved with good intentions the good is in the intent. Good exists in the radicalness of equality and the faith that even the most evil can somehow be redeemed. For good to flourish there must be hope – and hope is the thing that evil needs to destroy before it can assert itself.

 

Wisdom is knowing that human beings contain the propensity for both one hundred percent of the time.

The Lighthouse (poem)

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In the midst of tempest raging

When the wind and waves crash constant

And the night is filled with flashing lights and rolls of thunder

When the rain lashes a thousand needles agaisnt the skin

A proud lighthouse stands in the midst of it all

Even when the world trembles

From the celestial cannon fire sounding

And the periods between electric light are as dark and deep as the ocean

And the sailor has lost his way

A proud lighthouse stands in the midst of it all

With yellow lights beaming, round and round it’s promise goes

Warning sailors of imminent danger while at the same time guiding them home

Though the waves may hide jagged rocks jutting upward

Ready to take apart ship and limb and life

The steady knowledge of someone watching, always vigilant , always ready

Encouraged the sailor to keep on fighting till the wind gives up the ghost

That’s how I felt the day I found you and i knew to come and speak to you

When life’s cruel waves did force me from a life id always known

And as that cannon fire through the night did rumble

Blinded by the lightnings angry forked limitations

Though hot as the sun’s surface, was too brief to guide me home

But those days tempest tossed are far behind me

And even though the wind and waves grow higher

The fear of going under or dashing against the unyielding rocky shore

Isnt Much of a worry for me these days

For I’ve given up my ship, now Harbored just inside the bay

And now I bathe in the glow of the lighthouse which has now become my home

Book pricing and entitlement on both sides of the reader/author fence

A modest midway point in the argument of writer vs reader and sales

Jay Northcote

Recently there has been a lot of discussion about ebook prices in the circles I move in online. The gist of these discussions tends to be one of two things:

Readers complaining about ebooks being priced too high, and making statements like “I’d never spend X amount of dollars on a book that’s only Y pages!”
Authors complaining that nobody will buy their book that’s priced at X dollars anymore, because there are too many books priced at 99c and they can’t compete with that.

Readers complaining about how authors/publishers price their books come across as entitled, because nobody is forcing them to buy that book. If you don’t feel a certain book is good value for money, then you can give it a miss and buy something else.

Amazon isn’t a magic money tree, sadly…

I’d like to point out that publishers or self-published authors don’t just pull a…

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Lonely Boy (poem)

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The fan whirls above me

It’s fast rotating blade cools

The body rush

I taste chocolate

On my mouth

Cool cotton sheets underneath my body

My lovers deep slow inhale

Lower back twinges

Reminding me of my ageing

Enthusiasm

It’s thirty minutes after midnight

And the endorphins and the sex

Nor the chocolate and cool sheets

Succeed in piercing into this macrabe

Mind

I’m in a desert

And it’s late and the winds buffet

Relentlessly against me

I’m in a tower in Kuwait

Rest assured that all will be okay

Even as I sit alone

Twelve hours peering into

The deep dark nothing

Of my twenty first year

I was lonely then

Sure the sunrise would alleviate that

When I climbed into the five ton

But fourteen years later

After I said his name amidst the rustle

Of bed clothes and sound of metal springs

I’m none the more accompanied

For who but I can hear the thoughts

Between the ears of a boy so very very

Far from home