May 28, 2015

You! Write Me A Story!

Said my muse in a tone that left no ambiguity on how she really felt.

For those of you who may remember my lovely and talented muse, she has been in a bit of a stew over the fact that I have not produced any solid writing for a woman of her many disciplines and personalities in quite some time.

So, being the spineless jellyfish when it come to dealing with my muse, "Contrary to your mistaken tone, I am writing you a story."

"Excuse me? Don't you dare use that tone with me!"

"What tone? I was simply correcting your incorrect perception of what I'm doing for you. Look, sometime ago you asked me to write you a story because you were bored with being on vacation with nothing to do except surf, swim and suntan. So off I went in search of a good story in which you could use your plethora of disciplines and personalities. Believe you me, it wasn't easy as it sounds. I searched high and low for a suitable story. I tried thinking of an original story, but had no luck. So then I tried thinking about a story to which I could continue working on, and immediately torpedoed that once I realized that the story in question was the story which shall not be named.

"So then I thought about a story that I could rewrite. A story that was mediocre at worst, average at best. So off I went looking for a suitable story that would work for you. A few..."

"Get to the point you. You're putting me and your loyal readers to sleep. As Graham Chapman would say, 'Get on with it!'"

"Spoil sport. Here. This is the story that I found to re-write for little ol' you."

The 411 is here.
She spat out her drink and said incredulously, "That?! My very first book?!"

"Yuppers. I found the original version buried seriously deep in a locked box stashed in a van down by the river where only the local gov'ment spook* had a copy of the key. I dusted off the remnants of another anti-guv'ment spook* from the manuscript and set about reinventing it in the genre that I love the most: paranormal/fantasy. Using the original as only the skimpiest of outlines, I got busy working on it in my free time (although I will admit the last time I worked on this was June 30, 2013). Over the past Memorial Day weekend, I wrote out..."

"Excuse me, wrote out? Like pen and paper wrote out?"

"Yes, my mercurial bodacious one. Pen and paper. And Mother Nature for inspiration, relaxation, contemplation, rationalization, education and exasperation. Like I previously stated, I last worked on it two years ago, and two years ago I wrote in the paranormal/fantasy genre, which my stories feature hybrid animal/humans, strange humans (gnarly looking dwarf who acts as security), normal humans, a touch of magic/occult, foreign languages and strange animals (piranha dog anyone?). All for fulfilling your need of being needed."

"Done?"

"Hardly. This past weekend, I managed to finish another chapter that I started earlier in May. Six handwritten pages which boiled down to two and half pages when transcribed totaling 1600+ words. So, does this start to fulfill your insatiable need to be needed?"

My mercurial muse hemmed and hawed for a minute or so, then turned on her heel, slapped my face with both her tail and her knee length hair and walked out of the room and to the mini-briefcase, where I have the first couple of pages to chapter three written out. She unzipped the mini-briefcase, squeezed all five foot eleven inches plus an equal amount of hair and her tail inside, then briefly stuck out her finger and wiggled it. Sighing, I walked over to the mini-briefcase and leaned in. She poked me in the throat and instantly the following words were BBQd into my brain.

"Failure to communicate, is not in my vocabulary. If you communicate, we will never have failure."

Then she withdrew her finger, zipped up, and left me to contemplate the eternal question of writing: What do I do next?

*I am a moderate Republican and those two yahoos make all good Republicans cringe.

(c) 2015 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.

May 25, 2015

Patience? Virtue? Me?

Before we get into the juicy, meaty (and for those of you who don't eat meat), tofu goodness of today's post, I would be seriously remiss if I didn't touch on a few upcoming events in the life of me.

1) This past weekend marks the 8 year anniversary of my blogging life. I first started blogging on May 24th, 2008 and happily, have never been the same since. Normally I would be going goo-goo/ga-ga over this fact, but for the past few years, blogging has taken a rumble seat to everything else. So this acknowledgment is the best I can do.

2} On Wednesday, I is turning 50, which in of itself is a milestone. In years gone by, this too would be a weeklong celebration on my blog. However, just like in the previous talking point, this too has taken a rumble seat to everything else. So except for the mention in the post of the previous Thursday, this is about all I will say about that.

And now, for something completely different, a glimpse into yet another personal quirk in the life of G.B. Miller.

Last Sunday (5/17) I went to run my usual errands, which was to have lunch and then shop at Ocean State Job Lot (great discount store if you live in New England). Simple, yes?

For those of you who do not know me like the back of your hand (i.e., have to deal with me in the real world on an hourly/daily basis), I am woefully short on patience. Nay, pathetically short on patience. Like the equivalent of 1/8 of a millimeter on a ruler short. Nowhere is this shortage more prevalent than when I'm out patronizing businesses during the course of my day.

As a rule, I do not tolerate mediocre or stupid service. I don't believe in bad service, simply because I have such a wickedly high threshold that you would almost have to phone it in and flip me the bird to get me to call what you did, "bad". Stupid is self explanatory.

May 21, 2015

Still Yet Another Tale Of Non-Smartness

This tale of non-smartness is brought to you through the generosity of my co-workers, without whom I wouldn't be searching for a pair of zircon-encrusted tweezers in which to pluck my growing mop of hair (yes, I do have hair. someday I may even take a picture of me with it).

Lately, there are days in which sometimes I feel like this:


Bonus points if you can guess which character I feel like right about now.

Anywho, we'uns counting down the days/hours/minutes/seconds to when we turn the big:
 50

in six days.  And to put it mildly, it's got me a little worried, Not so much that I'm becoming middle aged, but that I'm not expriencing some juvenile mid-life crisis of ginormous proportions.

Oh yeah, SURE , it's marvy to act like a juvenile deliquent, get myself a serious toupee, buy a $50K car, get me the blondest bimbo that God has ever put on this earth and act like a jackass.

But yanno, all actually wanted to get for myself this year for my 50th, was one of two things: ink or a smartphone. My friends, if you saw the kind of phone I got now, you would be pointing and during your bast imitation of Johnny Mac.

But, alas, being the Johnny-on-the-spot all-around-good-egg that wife always expects me to be, I let her get the smartphone instead. And just like a kid who spent five hours in a candy store inhaling enough sugar to build a four lane highway, my wife is now in her happy place with this phone.

Which leaves me in a not-so-happy place, in that there is only one option left for me: ink.

Now you might think I'm delirious, with the fact that I would want to do a little something to myself. But I've given this a lot of thought, and even talked to my doctor about this (being a diabetic ya know, there all kinds of things I have to worry about). However, there is one person left that I still have to talk to/convince of my desire to get a little ink.

The wife.

The wife is very much against this (actually, I think she's against the idea of tats in general), so I have my work cut out for me. While it took me quite a while to convince her that I wanted to shave my head (yes, I wanted to get my wife's blessing on that), I've been working on this issue for even a longer period of time.

But, this, as they say, is how I want to deal with turning a Grant greenback this year. I want to get something that not only celebrates me, but my family as well. The design I want to get is really simple & unique: The letter "J" with the number "3" in superscript, followed by the years my family was born ('62, '92, '01). The letter "J' is symbolic that the rest of my family has first names that start with that particular letter.

And that my friends, is my tale of non-smartness. Or smartness, depending on your point of view.

(c) 2015 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.

May 18, 2015

A Tale Of Non-Smartness

I had a post that I partially wrote earlier this week and the intention was to complete for today. Alas, poor Yorrick I knew him Horatio, but other obligations were thrust upon me (mandatory overtime for work, doing beta reading for a fellow writer, summer weather, the great outdoors, WRITING) thus preventing poor Yorrick who knew Horatio not-so-well from completing said post.

But....have no fear, Underoos is here with a tale of how a local po-po department can make a good impression not.

Last Thursday afternoon, I was taking my mandatory siesta (aka break) out in the front courtyard at work (aka, sitting on a garden wall people watching/meditating), when a locally intoxicated numbnut staggered across the courtyard and came to a quivering stop some five feet from me.

Full of liquid courage and probably containing a blood alcohol high enough to light a match simply by breathing on it, said intoxicated numbnut began challenging me to a fight (aka, repeating the phrase "stand up" with the appropriate hand gestures). I attempted to speak to him in a language the he could comprehend (monosyllables), but after having my seriously short three letter word fall on deaf ears, I decided to go back inside. As a parting shot, said intoxicated numbnut complained that I was "disrespecting him" by walking away.

I talked to security, who immediately called the local constabulary (aka Hartford Po-Po) to say that a drunk was harassing an employee. The HPPD promptly said, "We'll send a squad car over". Said intoxicated numbnut staggered down the road to harass the local food truck, then staggered back to the package store to buy more booze, thus increasing his blood alcohol to a higher level of stupid.

Not once did the local po-po find the time to show up and arrest said numbnut. To say I was disappointed would not be a good choice of word. Nor would saying I was surprised would be a good choice of world either. A good choice of word would be: it figures.

Moral of this tale: Unless you're a employee of the local hospital and somehow get injured doing something stupid, in which case the po-po will bust a donut to get there, don't expect the po-po to show up in a timely manner, because in this city, quality of life crimes really don't matter. It's much better to be reactive than proactive.

One other tidbit I must mention: In Connecticut, it's actually a felony to threaten/harm a state employee.

(c) 2015 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.

May 14, 2015

It's Here!

Smashwords


On May 13th, my novella A Taste Of Pain, was unleashed to unsuspecting public to great acclaim, great sales and boffo reviews. My swelled head and huge ego wouldn't have it any other way.

AHEM.

On May 13th, my novella A Taste Of Pain, was published to the surprise of absolutely no-one. As everyone here now knows, this bad-boy has taken me roughly 5 1/2 years, from conception to successful fruition. I genuinely thank everyone from the bottom of my bottomless heart for putting up with my light OCD/ADHD as it applies to this novella. Now available in all the major formats at Smashwords.

I also have a very special bonus for all my regulars as well as all those who might stop by to say "Hi!".

Now until May 17th, you can save $1 (or 33%) of the cover price of my previous novel:

Smashwords

Just type in the code TX46A at checkout, and this bad boy will be yours for the same price as my novella: $1,99

As Steve Martin would so famously and eloquently state in his wonderful movie The Jerk: "The new phone book is here! The new phone book is here! I'm a somebody now!"


(c) 2015 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.