Stuart R. West's Blog, page 66
August 19, 2013
Reluctant Readers Unite With Kai Strand!
Well, author Kai Strand's ready to start a revolution and I'm right behind her burning bras and killing the pigs. Wait...
That's not quite right. But I agree whole-heartedly with her excellent post. Time for me to shut up and let Kai tell it. And her new book sounds thirty shades of awesome!
Reluctant Readers Unite!
Anymore, kids are raised to think if they don’t read a minimum of twenty minutes a day they will end up as an adult begging on a street corner somewhere. That there is no success for an adult who didn’t embrace Catcher and the Rye or Animal Farm in their high school years.
But here’s the thing: it’s the adults in our lives pushing the reading. Elementary school teachers dutifully check our weekly reading logs and give us that disdainful look when we hand them an empty graph. Middle school teachers test our comprehension so often we no longer understand what we were supposed to understand in the first place. And analyzing the dreaded required reading in high school is enough to turn even the most passionate reader off of books for the next twenty years. It becomes a chore, like laundry or taking out the trash that we no longer look forward to.
Why don’t they just let us choose our own books and review them?
This is what I read. This is basically what it was about. This is what I liked about it. My favorite character was _____ because ____. I didn’t like _____ because ____. If I could improve one thing in the story it would be _____.
Reading can and should be fun. You should be able to choose the type of book you like to read and you should be able to tell someone why you like it. Do you enjoy war stories that depict what trudging through the jungle of Vietnam or hiding in emptied buildings in small town France during Word War II was like? Do you like graphic novels because you’d rather not read that the character has a lazy left eye and wears a studded collar when you can simply see it and get straight to the dialogue? Do you like fantasy because of the requirement of suspension of disbelief or the possibility of magic? Do you prefer a short book because you don’t have a lot of time to read and by the time you get to the end of a long book, you’ve forgotten the reason the character started their journey in the first place?
If you are a reluctant reader, I encourage you to try different types of stories and in different formats. Listen to a book you download from the library to your iPod. Read an electronic book on a Kindle or your phone. Talk to other readers about why they liked (or didn’t like) a particular book. Often their passion for a story will help you better decipher the book as you read it.
I can’t make your homework go away or change it to be more fun. For that I’m truly sorry. However, if your enjoyment of reading has been hampered by years of the wrong sort of reading, I encourage you to try something different. There is no better way to broaden your world than to lose yourself between the covers of a book. Then write a review on Amazon or Goodreads to say how you felt about it. Chances are if you do this often enough even your boring homework will become easier.
Kai’s most recent book, King of Bad, is a young adult fantasy and perfect for reluctant readers:
Jeff Mean would rather set fires than follow rules or observe curfew. He wears his bad boy image like a favorite old hoodie; that is until he learns he has superpowers and is recruited by Super Villain Academy – where you learn to be good at being bad. In a school where one kid can evaporate all the water from your body and the girl you hang around with can perform psychic sex in your head, bad takes on a whole new meaning. Jeff wonders if he’s bad enough for SVA.
He may never find out. Classmates vilify him when he develops good manners. Then he’s kidnapped by those closest to him and left to wonder who is good and who is bad. His rescue is the climactic episode that balances good and evil in the super world. The catalyst – the girl he’s crushing on. A girlfriend and balancing the Supers is good, right? Or is it…bad?
Buy it: Publisher, Amazon, Barnes and Noble Add it to Goodreads
About the author:
When the electricity winked out, Kai Strand gathered her family around the fire and they told stories, one sentence at a time. Her boys were rather fond of the ending, “And then everybody died, the end.” Now an award winning children’s author, Kai crafts fiction for kids and teens to provide an escape hatch from their reality. With a selection of novels for young adult and middle grade readers and short stories for younger children Kai entertains children of all ages, and their adults. Visit Kai’s website, www.kaistrand.com, to download companion materials for her books or to find how to contact her.
That's not quite right. But I agree whole-heartedly with her excellent post. Time for me to shut up and let Kai tell it. And her new book sounds thirty shades of awesome!
Reluctant Readers Unite!
Anymore, kids are raised to think if they don’t read a minimum of twenty minutes a day they will end up as an adult begging on a street corner somewhere. That there is no success for an adult who didn’t embrace Catcher and the Rye or Animal Farm in their high school years.But here’s the thing: it’s the adults in our lives pushing the reading. Elementary school teachers dutifully check our weekly reading logs and give us that disdainful look when we hand them an empty graph. Middle school teachers test our comprehension so often we no longer understand what we were supposed to understand in the first place. And analyzing the dreaded required reading in high school is enough to turn even the most passionate reader off of books for the next twenty years. It becomes a chore, like laundry or taking out the trash that we no longer look forward to.
Why don’t they just let us choose our own books and review them?
This is what I read. This is basically what it was about. This is what I liked about it. My favorite character was _____ because ____. I didn’t like _____ because ____. If I could improve one thing in the story it would be _____.
Reading can and should be fun. You should be able to choose the type of book you like to read and you should be able to tell someone why you like it. Do you enjoy war stories that depict what trudging through the jungle of Vietnam or hiding in emptied buildings in small town France during Word War II was like? Do you like graphic novels because you’d rather not read that the character has a lazy left eye and wears a studded collar when you can simply see it and get straight to the dialogue? Do you like fantasy because of the requirement of suspension of disbelief or the possibility of magic? Do you prefer a short book because you don’t have a lot of time to read and by the time you get to the end of a long book, you’ve forgotten the reason the character started their journey in the first place?
If you are a reluctant reader, I encourage you to try different types of stories and in different formats. Listen to a book you download from the library to your iPod. Read an electronic book on a Kindle or your phone. Talk to other readers about why they liked (or didn’t like) a particular book. Often their passion for a story will help you better decipher the book as you read it.
I can’t make your homework go away or change it to be more fun. For that I’m truly sorry. However, if your enjoyment of reading has been hampered by years of the wrong sort of reading, I encourage you to try something different. There is no better way to broaden your world than to lose yourself between the covers of a book. Then write a review on Amazon or Goodreads to say how you felt about it. Chances are if you do this often enough even your boring homework will become easier.
Kai’s most recent book, King of Bad, is a young adult fantasy and perfect for reluctant readers:
Jeff Mean would rather set fires than follow rules or observe curfew. He wears his bad boy image like a favorite old hoodie; that is until he learns he has superpowers and is recruited by Super Villain Academy – where you learn to be good at being bad. In a school where one kid can evaporate all the water from your body and the girl you hang around with can perform psychic sex in your head, bad takes on a whole new meaning. Jeff wonders if he’s bad enough for SVA.
He may never find out. Classmates vilify him when he develops good manners. Then he’s kidnapped by those closest to him and left to wonder who is good and who is bad. His rescue is the climactic episode that balances good and evil in the super world. The catalyst – the girl he’s crushing on. A girlfriend and balancing the Supers is good, right? Or is it…bad?
Buy it: Publisher, Amazon, Barnes and Noble Add it to Goodreads
About the author:
When the electricity winked out, Kai Strand gathered her family around the fire and they told stories, one sentence at a time. Her boys were rather fond of the ending, “And then everybody died, the end.” Now an award winning children’s author, Kai crafts fiction for kids and teens to provide an escape hatch from their reality. With a selection of novels for young adult and middle grade readers and short stories for younger children Kai entertains children of all ages, and their adults. Visit Kai’s website, www.kaistrand.com, to download companion materials for her books or to find how to contact her.
August 16, 2013
Who Would Win In A Fight? Doctors Or Ice Cream Truck Drivers?
Several posts ago, I told y'all about the odd little bump in my palm.
Things progressed from my blissed state of ignorance to "Oh, my God, I'm turning into the Elephant Man!" My body was mutating faster than the lead character in "The Fly." My wedding ring finger bloated, ached, looked like Popeye's forearm. The finger felt like it was broken. I managed to wrench my wedding ring off. The ring had magically transformed from a perfect circle into an odd oval.
I hitched up my big boy britches, finally went to the doctor.
She took a look at my palm, basically shrugged her doctorly shoulders, and proclaimed it as "Trigger Finger." Sounds like an Old West gunfighter's ailment. Fastest bump in the West. But it's a growth on a tendon that causes finger pain.
Her advice? Nothing you can do about it. Just live with it. It won't go away.
Wasn't really the diagnosis I was hoping for.
Years ago, I went to a doctor for chronic headaches. He asked me if I saw "funny little men" at times. I said, "What?" Next thing I know, I'm dropping trou and letting him probe my back-side. Now it's true I'd just turned forty and he said it was time to check the prostate. But it wasn't what I signed on for. Don't think he found any "funny little men." And I'm pretty sure this was the origin of the myth about aliens giving anal probes. Didn't cure my headaches, though.
I used to have blind faith in doctor's diagnoses. But I've since come to accept that a doctor's diagnosis is nothing more than an educated guess. Silly of me to have thought otherwise. Just like in any field, there're doctors who don't have a clue. Sorta' like when you were a kid and there were great ice cream truck drivers and bad ones. The good ones used to invite you into the back of the truck and let you check out the secret operations. Back then we simply didn't care if they were serial killers. Never crossed our minds. They were COOL.
Chalk it up to the innocent ignorance of youth. Or just ignorance.
But I think a standard of professionalism should be upheld for both doctors and ice cream truck drivers. All fields, really.
Things progressed from my blissed state of ignorance to "Oh, my God, I'm turning into the Elephant Man!" My body was mutating faster than the lead character in "The Fly." My wedding ring finger bloated, ached, looked like Popeye's forearm. The finger felt like it was broken. I managed to wrench my wedding ring off. The ring had magically transformed from a perfect circle into an odd oval.
I hitched up my big boy britches, finally went to the doctor.
She took a look at my palm, basically shrugged her doctorly shoulders, and proclaimed it as "Trigger Finger." Sounds like an Old West gunfighter's ailment. Fastest bump in the West. But it's a growth on a tendon that causes finger pain.
Her advice? Nothing you can do about it. Just live with it. It won't go away.
Wasn't really the diagnosis I was hoping for.
Years ago, I went to a doctor for chronic headaches. He asked me if I saw "funny little men" at times. I said, "What?" Next thing I know, I'm dropping trou and letting him probe my back-side. Now it's true I'd just turned forty and he said it was time to check the prostate. But it wasn't what I signed on for. Don't think he found any "funny little men." And I'm pretty sure this was the origin of the myth about aliens giving anal probes. Didn't cure my headaches, though.
I used to have blind faith in doctor's diagnoses. But I've since come to accept that a doctor's diagnosis is nothing more than an educated guess. Silly of me to have thought otherwise. Just like in any field, there're doctors who don't have a clue. Sorta' like when you were a kid and there were great ice cream truck drivers and bad ones. The good ones used to invite you into the back of the truck and let you check out the secret operations. Back then we simply didn't care if they were serial killers. Never crossed our minds. They were COOL.
Chalk it up to the innocent ignorance of youth. Or just ignorance.
But I think a standard of professionalism should be upheld for both doctors and ice cream truck drivers. All fields, really.
August 10, 2013
Hanging out with and Meradeth Houston
Let me introduce you to Meradeth Houston, my friend and author of Colors Like Memories, a very good YA fantasy romance. The book and she are both pretty dang cool. Let's hear that applause!
Thanks so much for hosting me, Stuart! It’s been awesome getting to know you and your books.
*You're very welcome! SO clue in the uninitiated. What's a "Sary?"
A Sary is a child who died before they were born, or took their first breath. They’re offered the choice of staying a spirit on the other side, or to gain a body and serve as cosmic counselors against suicide.
*I really think it's kick-ass you made up an entirely new supernatural entity.
LOL! I get people going “but google didn’t know what I was talking about” all the time! Or people asking me if I write about sari—the Indian dresses. Personally, I like making things up from scratch, so I can make all the rules (ahem, my OCD side coming through there a little!).
*OCD creates awesome writers, Meradeth! I'm not much for tear-jerkers, but your book is. Dang you! Apologies? Explanations? Don't make me act unmanly!
I’m not trying to go for tear-jerker, promise! I guess I just tend to do that. I’ve had other people tell me they can’t read my books because they don’t do sad. And to be honest, I’ve avoided books I know will require a box of Kleenex (The Fault Is In Our Stars anyone?). Still, I’m just not really a funny person, so I guess by default the emotion I get is sad. (Insert sad trombone sound here…)
*So. Two different angles of romance going on in your book. Tragic romance. New romance. Preference?
Book #4 tells all. But I do have a soft spot for happy endings, if that’s enough of a spoiler for everyone.
*I was totally caught up in Julia's watch over her "project. Couldn't wait to see how it turned out. It brought real suspense to your excellent tale. (Not really a question, Meradeth, but elaborate!).
Marcy was really fascinating for me to write about. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how her story would play out until the end, myself. I got to the scene at the end (I don’t want to spoil it, eep!) and wasn’t sure how it would go. So, yeah, she’s quite the train wreck, but also such a sweet person I was glad Julia could be there for her. (Can you tell that I kind of get hung up on my characters being “real” in my head? Does that make me crazy? I always wonder….)
*Meradeth, "Crazy" is the new cool! Hasn't anyone told you that yet? Okay, I'm picturing the male lead, Edison, as a sorta' male model, kinda' Robert Pattison guy. Please tell me I'm wrong!
Hahaha! Oh, wow, yeah, Edison would fall over laughing at that. He’s decent looking, but pretty normal, really. The Sary as a whole really go for the blending-in thing, so while they’re all “pretty” they’re definitely not model-like. Edison’s a cool guy, and his French is a little swoon-worthy, but mostly he could walk by on the street pretty much like anyone else.
The topic of teen suicide is very powerful. One of your characters struggles with it. Uncomfortable, but important time. Truth?
Whoa. Throw this one in here between Pattinson and kittens? LOL! Actually, suicide plays a role in all my books, because it’s a part of who the Sary are. And, it does have some pretty deep resonance for me. I don’t talk about it much (or at all, really) but I came from an abusive household and moved out of my dad’s house at 14. To say I never thought about suicide would be a lie, but I never got anywhere near as close as Marcy or some of my other characters. I was lucky to have my writing as a way to cope, and maybe in some ways that’s why the Sary have the role they do.
*You have only two choices. Who are your favorite James Bond actors? Make the right decisions. Kittens hold in the balance.
Ack! Two? Hmm, okay, I’ll admit I really like Daniel Craig. Something about him is alluring and gives the character a lot more depth. Also, I’m kind of partial to Pierce Brosnan, not so much for his portrayal of Bond, but just because he’s hot. I’ll admit it. (Hopefully you won’t hold that against the kittens?)
(Sorry, Meradeth. You got one of the answers right. The other choice is horribly misguided. One kitten is at serious risk).
*The flying scenes when the Sarys take wing and soar through the sky. To me, those scenes were written with a poet's eye. Almost sensual, in fact. Were they meant to be sexy? Subliminal hot dreams? Do I need to get out more?
Is it bad that I’m both laughing and blushing? J Hah! In some of the scenes, yeah, there’s definitely meant to be a bit more going on than just flying, but mostly I just spend an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about flying away, or at least just enjoying a sunset from 10k feet! Sooo, I guess my answer is sorta, hehe!
There you have it, gang. Go read her dang book, already!
MuseItUp Printing: http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/museitup/paranormal/colors-like-memories-detail
Companion Sary Tale: http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/new-releases/series/the-chemistry-of-fate-detail
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Colors-Like-Memories-ebook/dp/B0083ODXSG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1337230541&sr=1-1
Website: http://www.meradethhouston.com/
Thanks so much for hosting me, Stuart! It’s been awesome getting to know you and your books.
*You're very welcome! SO clue in the uninitiated. What's a "Sary?"
A Sary is a child who died before they were born, or took their first breath. They’re offered the choice of staying a spirit on the other side, or to gain a body and serve as cosmic counselors against suicide.
*I really think it's kick-ass you made up an entirely new supernatural entity.
LOL! I get people going “but google didn’t know what I was talking about” all the time! Or people asking me if I write about sari—the Indian dresses. Personally, I like making things up from scratch, so I can make all the rules (ahem, my OCD side coming through there a little!).
*OCD creates awesome writers, Meradeth! I'm not much for tear-jerkers, but your book is. Dang you! Apologies? Explanations? Don't make me act unmanly!
I’m not trying to go for tear-jerker, promise! I guess I just tend to do that. I’ve had other people tell me they can’t read my books because they don’t do sad. And to be honest, I’ve avoided books I know will require a box of Kleenex (The Fault Is In Our Stars anyone?). Still, I’m just not really a funny person, so I guess by default the emotion I get is sad. (Insert sad trombone sound here…)
*So. Two different angles of romance going on in your book. Tragic romance. New romance. Preference?
Book #4 tells all. But I do have a soft spot for happy endings, if that’s enough of a spoiler for everyone.
*I was totally caught up in Julia's watch over her "project. Couldn't wait to see how it turned out. It brought real suspense to your excellent tale. (Not really a question, Meradeth, but elaborate!).
Marcy was really fascinating for me to write about. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how her story would play out until the end, myself. I got to the scene at the end (I don’t want to spoil it, eep!) and wasn’t sure how it would go. So, yeah, she’s quite the train wreck, but also such a sweet person I was glad Julia could be there for her. (Can you tell that I kind of get hung up on my characters being “real” in my head? Does that make me crazy? I always wonder….)
*Meradeth, "Crazy" is the new cool! Hasn't anyone told you that yet? Okay, I'm picturing the male lead, Edison, as a sorta' male model, kinda' Robert Pattison guy. Please tell me I'm wrong!
Hahaha! Oh, wow, yeah, Edison would fall over laughing at that. He’s decent looking, but pretty normal, really. The Sary as a whole really go for the blending-in thing, so while they’re all “pretty” they’re definitely not model-like. Edison’s a cool guy, and his French is a little swoon-worthy, but mostly he could walk by on the street pretty much like anyone else.
The topic of teen suicide is very powerful. One of your characters struggles with it. Uncomfortable, but important time. Truth?
Whoa. Throw this one in here between Pattinson and kittens? LOL! Actually, suicide plays a role in all my books, because it’s a part of who the Sary are. And, it does have some pretty deep resonance for me. I don’t talk about it much (or at all, really) but I came from an abusive household and moved out of my dad’s house at 14. To say I never thought about suicide would be a lie, but I never got anywhere near as close as Marcy or some of my other characters. I was lucky to have my writing as a way to cope, and maybe in some ways that’s why the Sary have the role they do.
*You have only two choices. Who are your favorite James Bond actors? Make the right decisions. Kittens hold in the balance.
Ack! Two? Hmm, okay, I’ll admit I really like Daniel Craig. Something about him is alluring and gives the character a lot more depth. Also, I’m kind of partial to Pierce Brosnan, not so much for his portrayal of Bond, but just because he’s hot. I’ll admit it. (Hopefully you won’t hold that against the kittens?)
(Sorry, Meradeth. You got one of the answers right. The other choice is horribly misguided. One kitten is at serious risk).
*The flying scenes when the Sarys take wing and soar through the sky. To me, those scenes were written with a poet's eye. Almost sensual, in fact. Were they meant to be sexy? Subliminal hot dreams? Do I need to get out more?
Is it bad that I’m both laughing and blushing? J Hah! In some of the scenes, yeah, there’s definitely meant to be a bit more going on than just flying, but mostly I just spend an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about flying away, or at least just enjoying a sunset from 10k feet! Sooo, I guess my answer is sorta, hehe!
There you have it, gang. Go read her dang book, already!
MuseItUp Printing: http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/museitup/paranormal/colors-like-memories-detail
Companion Sary Tale: http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/new-releases/series/the-chemistry-of-fate-detail
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Colors-Like-Memories-ebook/dp/B0083ODXSG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1337230541&sr=1-1
Website: http://www.meradethhouston.com/
August 2, 2013
Spoiler Alert! Hitler Didn't Win World War II!
Sorry. Sorry, sorry if I spoiled it for you.
But it's the way of the world these days. With the advent of the intronets, it's becoming increasingly impossible to avoid spoilers. Some folks regard spoilers as something to be savored, even though it's a somewhat contradictory term. I mean, no one relishes spoiled food, right? Except for maybe "stinky tofu." Less said about that, the better.
I think it's an art form to avoid spoilers. Especially how I like to "binge-watch" TV shows. My wife and I just finished season #3 of Game Of Thrones. Miraculously, I avoided finding out what happened at the "Red Wedding." And it was a true OMG moment. I knew something was coming, just had no idea how devastating it would be. And it was all the better for it.
That was a rare incident. For God's sake, I suffered through two seasons of The Killing, only to have it spoiled before the killer's unveiling.
Spoilers are funny. Seems to me the definition of a spoiler is becoming more subjective.
Recently I was on a movie-buff forum. Someone lobbed out the negatively loaded question, "Hey, what popular movie can you not stand?" Immediately, I fired back, "Titanic. I couldn't wait for that damn ship to go down (too many 'King Of The World' proclamations and all that)."
One guy's response? "Post a spoiler alert! Not everyone knows how 'Titanic' ends."
Huh. I was stymied. Really? So...a fact of life (not the show with Tootie and the gang, but, you know, real life) is now considered a "spoiler?"
I'm reminded of several years ago when I was in the evil corporate world. An artist I was managing--sweet, young, eager, college-educated--couldn't understand why I thought it was an important historical moment when President Obama was elected.
"Because he's the first black president in the history of the United States."
With a blank look, she said, "But what about that Martin Luther guy?"
Suppose I should have prefaced it all with a "spoiler alert."
But it's the way of the world these days. With the advent of the intronets, it's becoming increasingly impossible to avoid spoilers. Some folks regard spoilers as something to be savored, even though it's a somewhat contradictory term. I mean, no one relishes spoiled food, right? Except for maybe "stinky tofu." Less said about that, the better.
I think it's an art form to avoid spoilers. Especially how I like to "binge-watch" TV shows. My wife and I just finished season #3 of Game Of Thrones. Miraculously, I avoided finding out what happened at the "Red Wedding." And it was a true OMG moment. I knew something was coming, just had no idea how devastating it would be. And it was all the better for it.
That was a rare incident. For God's sake, I suffered through two seasons of The Killing, only to have it spoiled before the killer's unveiling.
Spoilers are funny. Seems to me the definition of a spoiler is becoming more subjective.
Recently I was on a movie-buff forum. Someone lobbed out the negatively loaded question, "Hey, what popular movie can you not stand?" Immediately, I fired back, "Titanic. I couldn't wait for that damn ship to go down (too many 'King Of The World' proclamations and all that)."
One guy's response? "Post a spoiler alert! Not everyone knows how 'Titanic' ends."
Huh. I was stymied. Really? So...a fact of life (not the show with Tootie and the gang, but, you know, real life) is now considered a "spoiler?"
I'm reminded of several years ago when I was in the evil corporate world. An artist I was managing--sweet, young, eager, college-educated--couldn't understand why I thought it was an important historical moment when President Obama was elected.
"Because he's the first black president in the history of the United States."
With a blank look, she said, "But what about that Martin Luther guy?"
Suppose I should have prefaced it all with a "spoiler alert."
July 22, 2013
Tex And The Gangs Of Suburbia
My second book, Tex And The Gangs Of Suburbia, is out today!
Okay. I'm in a generous mood and being somewhat of a sadist (you should see what I do to my characters!), I'm putting forth a contest.
Here's the cover of the book:
See that girl? She's my favorite character, introduced in this tale. But she's shrouded in mystery. Who--or what (being Tex's universe as it is)--is she?
Whoever writes the most terrible poem about this character wins copies of the two books in the Tex thriller series. Your choice of format.
The rules? The poem should only be four lines long. Rhyming's a bonus. And it MUST be absolutely HORRIBLE. I'm talking Honey-Boo-Boo levels of horrible. Make it awful. I wanna' see such bad poetry, my eyes bleed. I'll give it a week. You have 'til next Monday, the 29th.
In case you're a good poet, well tough luck. You can buy the first two books in the series at the MuseItUp website for the price of one for a limited time: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=759&category_id=311&manufacturer_id=277&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1
(The book will be available at Amazon and other locales after Friday.)
Such a bargain! And the books are both true stories! Well...sorta'. Disregarding the ghosts, witches, and stuff.
Okay. I'm in a generous mood and being somewhat of a sadist (you should see what I do to my characters!), I'm putting forth a contest.
Here's the cover of the book:
See that girl? She's my favorite character, introduced in this tale. But she's shrouded in mystery. Who--or what (being Tex's universe as it is)--is she?
Whoever writes the most terrible poem about this character wins copies of the two books in the Tex thriller series. Your choice of format.
The rules? The poem should only be four lines long. Rhyming's a bonus. And it MUST be absolutely HORRIBLE. I'm talking Honey-Boo-Boo levels of horrible. Make it awful. I wanna' see such bad poetry, my eyes bleed. I'll give it a week. You have 'til next Monday, the 29th.
In case you're a good poet, well tough luck. You can buy the first two books in the series at the MuseItUp website for the price of one for a limited time: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=759&category_id=311&manufacturer_id=277&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1
(The book will be available at Amazon and other locales after Friday.)
Such a bargain! And the books are both true stories! Well...sorta'. Disregarding the ghosts, witches, and stuff.
July 20, 2013
The Ignorant Bucket
So, okay, I have a very odd bump in my palm. My palm's pregnant. Lil' devil's been there for months. Should've worn gloves, I guess, while hand-shaking. Doesn't really hurt, kinda' growing used to it, ready to nick-name it. My lil' bump buddy.
"Stark-Raving Terror," I think, is more appropriate, though.
My smarter than hell wife says I need to go have it looked at. Her dumber than crap husband says, "Yeah, I'm thinking about it, but I'd rather worry, fret, and contemplate the possible horrors ahead. Envision the worst possible scenario. But..."
There's always a "but." Here's why...I'd MUCH rather not know the truth if I'm dying. 'Cause, face it, if you're dying and you know it, you're gonna' start doing stupid stuff like jumping off bridges on a bunji cord and yelling crazy things in airports and eating at Taco Bell all the time and flipping off policemen and harassing Sean Penn and ....well, I could go on. I guess that's why "Bucket List" has become ingrained in the popular lexicon now. People start doing dumb things 'cause they know they're dying.
I prefer the "ignorant bucket." It's a bucket you can continually dig into, has a bottomless pit, and you can wallow in it, convincing yourself you're not dying. It's comfy in here, gang. Come join me, just don't leave, and bring your sand shovels.
Is it better to experience insane life experiences, knowing you're gonna' die? Or is it better to play the ignorant fool, not heeding bodily warnings?
I prefer to play the ignoramus. I don't know, but in my bucket-tunneled-vision eyes, it seems like a MUCH better choice than rushing life experiences onto a list. There's always tomorrow. Right? RIGHT? COME ON, RIGHT?
Then again, could just be, I dunno, a weird harmless growth.
Discuss and debate.
"Stark-Raving Terror," I think, is more appropriate, though.
My smarter than hell wife says I need to go have it looked at. Her dumber than crap husband says, "Yeah, I'm thinking about it, but I'd rather worry, fret, and contemplate the possible horrors ahead. Envision the worst possible scenario. But..."
There's always a "but." Here's why...I'd MUCH rather not know the truth if I'm dying. 'Cause, face it, if you're dying and you know it, you're gonna' start doing stupid stuff like jumping off bridges on a bunji cord and yelling crazy things in airports and eating at Taco Bell all the time and flipping off policemen and harassing Sean Penn and ....well, I could go on. I guess that's why "Bucket List" has become ingrained in the popular lexicon now. People start doing dumb things 'cause they know they're dying.
I prefer the "ignorant bucket." It's a bucket you can continually dig into, has a bottomless pit, and you can wallow in it, convincing yourself you're not dying. It's comfy in here, gang. Come join me, just don't leave, and bring your sand shovels.
Is it better to experience insane life experiences, knowing you're gonna' die? Or is it better to play the ignorant fool, not heeding bodily warnings?
I prefer to play the ignoramus. I don't know, but in my bucket-tunneled-vision eyes, it seems like a MUCH better choice than rushing life experiences onto a list. There's always tomorrow. Right? RIGHT? COME ON, RIGHT?
Then again, could just be, I dunno, a weird harmless growth.
Discuss and debate.
June 30, 2013
Christian Werewolf Erotica! Yeah!
It was bound to happen, just a matter of time before I sold out. I'm selling out so bad it makes my cavities hurt. What's the best-selling fiction out there? Religious novels. Sex, natch. Werewolves, gotta' love those werewolves. So, I thought, "Hey, Stuart, why not make a gazillion bucks and put 'em all together?" I answered, "Cool idea! Now get out of my head!"
So, you are all witness to my opening salvos into erotic, Christian, werewolf fiction. Put the kiddies to bed and draw the lampshades! Things are about to get holy, steamy and wolfy.
"My thighs quivered like it was the Rapture. The leather-clad werewolf on top of me nipped my ear and whispered, "have you found Jesus?" I moaned, welcoming his wolfy Christian appendage into my holier than thou folds. His tongue bit deep like a devil (but not really 'cause he's Christian). Licking me like so many lashes from the chosen ones who beat Jesus. My hands stretched across the bed, splayed like I'd been crucified, until I moaned, "You're sexier than Pat Robertson!"
There you have it. Whaddaya' think?
(Pretty sure I've offended tons of folks. Yay!)
So, you are all witness to my opening salvos into erotic, Christian, werewolf fiction. Put the kiddies to bed and draw the lampshades! Things are about to get holy, steamy and wolfy.
"My thighs quivered like it was the Rapture. The leather-clad werewolf on top of me nipped my ear and whispered, "have you found Jesus?" I moaned, welcoming his wolfy Christian appendage into my holier than thou folds. His tongue bit deep like a devil (but not really 'cause he's Christian). Licking me like so many lashes from the chosen ones who beat Jesus. My hands stretched across the bed, splayed like I'd been crucified, until I moaned, "You're sexier than Pat Robertson!"
There you have it. Whaddaya' think?
(Pretty sure I've offended tons of folks. Yay!)
June 28, 2013
The Secrets of Men (soon to be a Lifetime network movie)
Gather 'round, ladies, I'm going to tell you some manly secrets that're sure to make you understand your significant other better. I might be breaking the "bro code" but since all of my male friends are illiterate and most of my blog followers are female, I think I can get away with it. For my very few male and gay female followers, shine it on and move onto the next post.
*"Whatever you like, dear." It's a common catchphrase you've probably heard time and again. When you ask a man, "what color shall we paint the walls? Almond White or Pearly Alabaster?" The answer's invariably gonna' be "whatever you like, dear." It's not because we're being cavalier. We just think there's one shade of white. Paint the room the color of the "Scooby-Doo" van, toss us a beer, and we're happy.
*Fights! Men love to watch a good fight on TV or down the block. But we don't particularly care to be in one. Especially with our significant other. When we fight, we want a good, clean end to the affair, no extra rounds. Everything should end on a pleasant note, put a ribbon on it, call it pretty. We just want the damn bell to ring and start a fresh round the next morning.
*Movies! If your guy sits down next to you and says, "hey, let's watch 'Sex And The City' tonight," warning bells should go off. Guys like movies full of explosions and cop "bromances" (the male equivalent to "chick flicks"). Sure, there's tons of homoerotic subtext going on, always a street-wise cop and a wild, young haywire. But you know what makes cop bromance movies muy macho? The bromantic cops always go home to Super Models after a hard day of explosions."
*Romance! We haven't a clue. Our idea of romance is equivalent to sex. Which leads me into...
*Cuddling! It makes us itchy and fidgety. Not that we don't love you. But there're lawns to be mowed and "bromances" to be watched. I know, right? It's ugly. But I'm not going to lie to you.
*Sunglasses! Men don't care about avoiding sun damage and the inevitable "crow's feet" at the corner of their eyes. We wear them to covertly eyeball the sexy jogger along the street without getting chastised about it (not that we'd ever act on it, mind you! We're just wired to look.). Now, if a guy wears them into Costco, that's taking it a little too far. He's looking at "sexy soccer mom." Plus, wearing sunglasses indoors is so...eighties. Uncouth!
*Dirt! We can't see it. When we clean house, it's finished. Um, not according to you ladies. I believe we grow accustomed to it, used to living in filth. It's comfy. And invisible. Don't even get me going on cleaning toilets.
*Love! Finally, the sexes unite! For all of our stupidity and caveman ways, if we say "I love you," well, hell, we mean it. It doesn't come easy for us. Love you Cydney!
*"Whatever you like, dear." It's a common catchphrase you've probably heard time and again. When you ask a man, "what color shall we paint the walls? Almond White or Pearly Alabaster?" The answer's invariably gonna' be "whatever you like, dear." It's not because we're being cavalier. We just think there's one shade of white. Paint the room the color of the "Scooby-Doo" van, toss us a beer, and we're happy.
*Fights! Men love to watch a good fight on TV or down the block. But we don't particularly care to be in one. Especially with our significant other. When we fight, we want a good, clean end to the affair, no extra rounds. Everything should end on a pleasant note, put a ribbon on it, call it pretty. We just want the damn bell to ring and start a fresh round the next morning.
*Movies! If your guy sits down next to you and says, "hey, let's watch 'Sex And The City' tonight," warning bells should go off. Guys like movies full of explosions and cop "bromances" (the male equivalent to "chick flicks"). Sure, there's tons of homoerotic subtext going on, always a street-wise cop and a wild, young haywire. But you know what makes cop bromance movies muy macho? The bromantic cops always go home to Super Models after a hard day of explosions."
*Romance! We haven't a clue. Our idea of romance is equivalent to sex. Which leads me into...
*Cuddling! It makes us itchy and fidgety. Not that we don't love you. But there're lawns to be mowed and "bromances" to be watched. I know, right? It's ugly. But I'm not going to lie to you.
*Sunglasses! Men don't care about avoiding sun damage and the inevitable "crow's feet" at the corner of their eyes. We wear them to covertly eyeball the sexy jogger along the street without getting chastised about it (not that we'd ever act on it, mind you! We're just wired to look.). Now, if a guy wears them into Costco, that's taking it a little too far. He's looking at "sexy soccer mom." Plus, wearing sunglasses indoors is so...eighties. Uncouth!
*Dirt! We can't see it. When we clean house, it's finished. Um, not according to you ladies. I believe we grow accustomed to it, used to living in filth. It's comfy. And invisible. Don't even get me going on cleaning toilets.
*Love! Finally, the sexes unite! For all of our stupidity and caveman ways, if we say "I love you," well, hell, we mean it. It doesn't come easy for us. Love you Cydney!
June 22, 2013
Am I An Old Guy?
Well, crap. It hit me the other day. Am I getting old?
Yesterday, I saw a kid on the sidewalk, hair hanging in his face. I was tempted to yell, "Get a haircut!" Gah! Pure instinct, I couldn't help it. I'm turning into that cranky old neighbor I used to make fun of.
Strange things are happening to my body. My scalp is follicularly-challenged, but the hair seems to be migrating toward other peculiar areas. Never have I seen such growth in my ears and my nostrils. Dang bushy, even. Get out the weed-whacker and call it not pretty.
Bumps, aches, creaks and cracks are making their presence known. I'm turning into a walking David Cronenberg biological horror film. The need for embarrassing over-the-counter medicine is upon me. Is it wrong of me (and too prideful) to pay off my daughter to go buy "Preparation H?"
Knees crack when I walk upstairs. My eyebrows are looking like Andy Rooney's backyard. I have wrinkles on my elbows, for God's sake, the least wrinkly of the wrinkliest place in the world! And I'm getting crabbier. Being crabby is the first sign of aging, I think. Bah. You kids get offa' my lawn!
Here's the problem, though. I'm still a juvenile twelve-year-old at heart. Body gas (no matter from what orifice) is still funny. I like alternative rock. Much to my daughter's embarrassment, I fist-bump her pals.
Not too long ago, I had a Hallelujah moment. Buying a six-pack of beer at Quik-Trip, I was carded. The clerk actually asked for my I.D. I grabbed her hand, shook it, smiled, damn near jumped over the counter and kissed her. Her response upon seeing my driver's license? She laughed. Not a laugh with me, mind you. A laugh AT me. Whatever. I had my brief, shining moment of youth, as brief as it was.
In my mind, I'm still twelve; a hard-living rock star. The body doesn't agree, but what does it know? Dang whipper-snapper.
Yesterday, I saw a kid on the sidewalk, hair hanging in his face. I was tempted to yell, "Get a haircut!" Gah! Pure instinct, I couldn't help it. I'm turning into that cranky old neighbor I used to make fun of.
Strange things are happening to my body. My scalp is follicularly-challenged, but the hair seems to be migrating toward other peculiar areas. Never have I seen such growth in my ears and my nostrils. Dang bushy, even. Get out the weed-whacker and call it not pretty.
Bumps, aches, creaks and cracks are making their presence known. I'm turning into a walking David Cronenberg biological horror film. The need for embarrassing over-the-counter medicine is upon me. Is it wrong of me (and too prideful) to pay off my daughter to go buy "Preparation H?"
Knees crack when I walk upstairs. My eyebrows are looking like Andy Rooney's backyard. I have wrinkles on my elbows, for God's sake, the least wrinkly of the wrinkliest place in the world! And I'm getting crabbier. Being crabby is the first sign of aging, I think. Bah. You kids get offa' my lawn!
Here's the problem, though. I'm still a juvenile twelve-year-old at heart. Body gas (no matter from what orifice) is still funny. I like alternative rock. Much to my daughter's embarrassment, I fist-bump her pals.
Not too long ago, I had a Hallelujah moment. Buying a six-pack of beer at Quik-Trip, I was carded. The clerk actually asked for my I.D. I grabbed her hand, shook it, smiled, damn near jumped over the counter and kissed her. Her response upon seeing my driver's license? She laughed. Not a laugh with me, mind you. A laugh AT me. Whatever. I had my brief, shining moment of youth, as brief as it was.
In my mind, I'm still twelve; a hard-living rock star. The body doesn't agree, but what does it know? Dang whipper-snapper.
June 18, 2013
My Sister's Reaper: Book Launch With Dorothy Dreyer
Today's the day when my good friend, Dorothy Dreyer's young adult paranormal thriller launches. Check it out!Here's what the book's about (and look at that beaut of a cover):
Sixteen-year-old Zadie’s first mistake was telling the boy she liked she could bring her dead sister back to life. Her second mistake was actually doing it.
When Zadie accidentally messes with the Reaper’s Rite that should have claimed her sister Mara, things go horribly wrong. Mara isn’t the same anymore—Zadie isn’t even sure she’s completely human, and to top it off, a Reaper is determined to collect Mara’s soul no matter what. Now Zadie must figure out how to defeat her sister’s Reaper, or let Mara die … this time for good.
Excerpt:
I opened my eyes to the darkness of my room. I wiped sweat from my brow and reached for my bedside light, but I froze before I could turn it on. In the darkness, Mara’s silhouette looked down on me. I swallowed back dryness as I stared into her face. I blinked, unable to tell if I was still dreaming or not. But when I focused, there she was, standing beside my bed in the dark. She stared at me with eyes that seemed to penetrate me, moonlight falling in white shards across her face.
“Mara?” I whispered.
She didn’t say a word. Why wasn’t she moving?
“Mara?” I slowly pushed down my covers. Mara only stared. Was she even breathing?
My heart pounded as I slid out of bed. Mara was only inches from the frame. God, Mara, why are you doing this? I maneuvered around her, afraid to make contact. I stood, keeping my eyes on her until we were face-to-face. Silence screamed in my ears.
Dorothy Dreyer has always believed in magic. She loves reading, writing, movies, chocolate, and spending time with her family and friends. Half-American and half-Filipino, Dorothy lives in Germany with her husband and two teens.LINKS
Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-sisters-reaper-dorothy-dreyer/1109686823?ean=9780985029494
