Yes! Book For You!

Continuing on a theme, which is a blog is a personal tool to use to enlighten and entertain, but most importantly, to selectively pimp (pimp is such an ugly word, isn't it?), to become a unique version of Johnny Promo (out here, back in the day when personalities were an integral part of radio, there used to be a jock called Johnny Promo) for either your latest completed project or a plethora of completed projects.

As of Saturday (6/27), currently available from CreateSpace (and within a week or so, Amazon), my novella, A Taste Of Pain.

CreateSpace

For the low price of $6.99 + sales tax and S&H, this bad boy can be yours. For a better deal, though, you can order it directly from me, (initially as a pre-order) for wickedly low price of $5.75 + sales tax. Clicking on the Purchase link will give you all the information you need to purchase this bad boy, either by money order or c/c.

And now, for something completely different, since this is a Monday and the last thing we want to do is to make this post the length of a typical post from my weekly blog, a blast from the archives of Cedar's Mountain. On March 3, 2013, I wrote this observational post about the personalities of blogs. Hope you like.

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

No Book For You! But We Do Have This Nice Consolation Prize Instead

That's right kids, no book for you! Why? Because we say so, that's why! Because we are the all knowing, all seeing, all encompassing, know it all, and what I say goes! Unless of course, it's opposite of what my wife says, then we ask for her permission to become our alter ego, then it's...

NO BOOK FOR YOU!!

In all seriousness though, we had minor hiccup on the road to publication this week. The cover needed to be ever so lightly tweaked as CreateSpace deemed it slightly unacceptable in its present form. With the cover being tweaked and the file being resubmitted, it ultimately passed with flying colors, much like my 3rd attempt at getting my driver's license*.

Once I get the sample copy (as per custom, the S&H cost more than the book) and give it the once over, I will unleash this bad boy to the world, most likely on Monday, for the wickedly low price of $6.99. However, next week, I will start accepting pre-orders for the low Books by G.B. Miller price of $6.12 ($5.75 + 6.35% sales tax). More details to follow on Monday.

Nikia, a demonic spirit escapee from Purgatory now residing peacefully above ground, is being blackmailed by Kevin to turn Keisha, the girl of his obsession, into the hottest toy of any male or female's wanton desires, so that he can ride to her rescue and make her beholden to him. A distress call sent out by Nikia's eldest prompts two archangels, Michael and Raphael, to answer the call. But can they arrive in time to save Nikia and Keisha from Kevin's lustful machinations? More importantly though, can a supreme demonic hellion from the bowels of Purgatory really turn her live around and do the right thing?

Questioning?

Continuing on a theme....What theme? Why, the theme of one word titles with punctuation, 'cause you know, originality is usually not with us on a Moanday.

Sometimes we question the validity of what we do and who we are, or is it who we are and what we do?

I often question what I do for work and what I do for writing on a tri-weekly basis. Fortunately, most of the time I keep these questions to myself, which usually makes a pretty good conversation. Why? Because I have the knack of mentally multi-tasking what I do while at work. Work has become the be all to end all mind-numbing repetitive drudgery that a chimpanzee can do in their sleep. More often than not, I can phone it in with none being the wiser. I'm the best auto-pilot that money can buy.

Note to readers: this is not a woe-is-me blog post. This is simply an observational post. Nothing more and nothing less.

Anyways, I often do this kind of deep philosophical thinking at work for the aforementioned reasons. My brain is empty while I'm doing this, so I do have to find ways of keeping occupied. The validation I used to crave from work no longer matters. Office politics being what they are, I'm now resigned to the fact that all I really care about at work is putting in my 8 to 9 hours, collecting my paycheck and try to keep the vapid complaints down to less than 6 per week (agency has a ingrained culture of not accepting the word "no" and sense of entitlement stronger than a politician's desire to spend your money on frivolous things).

As for writing, I do question what I write from time to time, simply because what I write has been effectively neutered by the powers that be at work. In other words, trying to promote what I write is almost impossible (see this post from 2013 as to why) to do at work. So the best I can do is simply put up a small display of business cards and a small sign that shows (sans price) what I have out and where it can be found.

And trying to find the time to do any kind of promoting (either in the physical sense or the virtual sense) beyond what I do on the blog and social media is exceptionally hard. Again, a lot of it boils down to what I write. I'm very proud of what I write and if I had to do it all over again, I would do it the exact same way.

There lies the rub. I do my job, therefore I am exceptionally valued team member that nobody, save a few of my fellow co-workers, appreciates. However, I write and therefore, I'm a pariah at work. So to reconcile the two me's at work is usually somewhat difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. While I'm doing that, I go back and contemplate the original question in this post: I question the validity of what I write and I how I write it.

And that, my friends, is how we spend our days at work: there in body, but definitely not there in spirit.

And to end this on a happier note, I'm now waiting for CreateSpace to give me the final okay on the book so that I can order a proof copy. I should have some solidity by the next blog post. As much as I would love to show you the back cover, because it really is very cool, it's a PDF file and I cannot covert it to a JPEG.

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

Moi?

Having just turned 50 a couple of weeks ago has brought a whole new strange perspective on life as I see it. Somehow, crossing that magic (no, I'm not getting all YA on everyone) bridge that connects the 40's with the perpetual mid-life crisis has tweaked my personality just a tad. I went from being seriously annoyed at the people I work for to simply not giving a Morton Downey Jr. about those same incompetent people.

In the real world, we've become a little less cynical (if that's possible) and a lot more of "and your point is?" And of course, dealing with the immediate family has its slight drawbacks as well. None more painfully obvious than how old our children are becoming.

For instance, my son will be turning 23(!) this coming September and he'll be graduating from Porter & Chester with a degree in auto mechanics. To put this into proper perspective, I'm doing payroll for staff members who are about my son's age and who are making almost twice my salary. So yes, it does make me feel really old. Add to that inflammable mixture that two of my co-workers are at least two decades younger than I, and you can get a good picture on how sometimes I can feel my age just a little.

Another way that I can feel my age is that my youngest went from this:

To looking like this:

Yes, my daughter, Jenelle, turned 14 (14!) this past February, and will be a freshman (Freshman?!) in high school this coming September, class of 2019. So as you can see, I'm really feeling my age in this one.

However, contrary to popular opinion, even though dear old dad still has ye olden fashioned flip-phone (because he still believes, however quaintly, a phone was made for talking to people), he's still someone hip for the times. For example, wife needed a new phone, so instead of getting a smartphone for himself as a b'day present, he got one for the wife.

Another example would be having a selfie taken. Now, even though I don't have a smartphone, I was able to have one taken because said daughter has one and as a gesture to her dear old dad, took a selfie of them together prior to her 8th grade graduation dance. For those of you who might know what I look like based on this picture, here is an update picture of myself, with my lovely and talented daughter, Jenelle (yes, I actually do have hair. I started growing it back in January of this year and the gray is only on the chin and nowhere else.).

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

Question Mark?

Yuppers, it's another one of those far out posts that have no rhyme, no reason, no plug, and no nickel to speak of.

To put it mildly, or succinctly, or bluntly, or milquetoasty, or whatever favorite adjective that you like to turn into an adverb (NO VERB FOR YOU!) to describe the state of being, or state of mind, or state of state, or.....or.....or....shoot.

Truth be told, my brain is somewhat fried. Not from overwork (a guv'ment employee overworked?) but from enjoying the sunshiny, the skin turning red, the this-is-you-brain-on-tranquility-stuck-in-a-hot-frying-pan summer weather here in Connecticut. I did get some writing done (finally) but for the most part, I spent the weekend lost in thought, lost in translation and simply lost.

Did have some very strange naps though while I was outside. During a few writing breaks, I decide to take a catnap and let both the sun and the mountain lull me to sleep. Which was pretty good, until I managed to find that thin line between R.E.M. and resting. Somehow, or someway, my brain threw some kind of tantrum (twice) and I woke with a serious start. Like disoriented to the point of not knowing where I was for several seconds.

Let me tell you, each time it happened, it was a scary moment for me. So scary in fact, that it took me a couple of minutes to both calm down and find my bearings, as well as my sense of self. Eventually, I was able to get back on the crooked and jagged, and continued with my writing.

And before you ask, no story ideas were born/hatched/created. Or rather, any that actually stuck around after I had woken up. Sure, I had a few that I was thinking about while I was relaxing. You know, creating my own mini-movie, with me being the multi-talented actor/director/producer/writer of that shindig.

Very strange indeed.

However, I did finish reading a couple of books this week, although only one stuck out. Kim Gordon, formerly of Sonic Youth, came out with a cool memoir called "Girl In A Band". You know, it's a sad commentary on one's reading habits when you can't remember what you read from week to week.

I should close out this Seinfeld-style post by actually writing about something tangible, so I will. I recently approved the PDF for the print version of my latest, A Taste Of Pain, this past weekend, so I should be uploading it some time this week. Once I get that done, and a sample copy ordered, I should have a release date of the first week in July, if all goes well.

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

Library?

almost forgot to write this post as I got momentarily lost on YouTube

The public library has been very, very, very, very good to me for the past 40+ years. I wholeheartedly indulge my various reading whims, which due to the fact that I was somewhat smarter than the average bear just about completely bypassed reading books in the children's section and zipped into the adult section.

But memories from that time period are a-plenty and the things that I read and saw I didn't give a second thought to then, but strangely enough, I do now.

For instance, back then I wouldn't think twice about checking out five books at the same time, simply because I could read that many books in during the lending period (about three weeks or so). Now, we do one, maximum of two at any given time. Or sticking with one to three different genres (non-fiction, true crime and the occasional sci-fi fantasy), whereas now I'm willing to read almost anything.

Yup, I had some good memories back then. But today in the here and now, I look back on those days and now wonder to myself about the thought process that the librarians had when it came to properly cataloguing books. You know, determining not only what the genre was, but whether it was for an adult or a child.

Party?

Yes, a party. We were shooting for this:

But instead, we got this:

Last Sunday (6/7) I held a cookout to celebrate my 50th year on this here globe. I invited all kinds of people and did all kinds of things to make the cookout a "don't whiz on the electric fence" moment (if you can guess the show, then betcha by golly wow you really do know your pop culture). For the most part, while it wasn't quite the electric fence party, it was a solid get together. However, there were a few pros and cons I would be remiss in not pointing out, 'cause you know, the older we get, the more we have less tolerance for things that get under one's skin.

IWSG Post #10!

IWSG

squeaky, squeaky, squeaky, squeaky.

(rolls chair into position)

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

(taps on a ginormous microphone straight out the 40's)

LIVE FROM NEWINGTON, CONNECTICUT, IT'S THE INSECURE WRITER'S SUPPORT GROUP! YES INDEEDIE DOODIE! FIRST WEDNESDAY IS NOW HERE, WHERE THE BESTEST AND BRIGHTEST WRITERS IN THE LAND CONGREGATE TO COMMISERATE THEIR INSECURITIES AND THEIR TRIUMPHS! LET'S GIVE BIG ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR THOSE WHO ARE BRAVE ENOUGH AND SMART ENOUGH AND GOSH DARN IT HAVE PEOPLE WHO LIKE THEM TO STAND UP AND TELL THE WORLD HOW THEY TRULY FEEL!

Woah.

Can you picture yourself standing up in front of a large group of people doing an announcement like that? No? Well, it is something, if you're a writer, that you do every day that you have something out, or if you're writing something for future publication. You are exposing your naked self to the world for all to see and all to judge.

And let me tell you, sometimes it just ain't pretty. You'll be mocked, laughed at, raspberryed at, given harsh critique of your writing and of yourself...and that's just from your fellow writers in your tight circle of friends. The general public can be just as, if not worse, cruel to you as the people whose opinion you respect. Worst of all, they can do the one thing that we absolutely dread as a writer: they can ignore you.

Nobody wants to be ignored, so the only way to cure that ignorance is to get people to pay attention to you. But it has to be done in such a way so that you don't turn off the people you need the attention of the most. Get them involved with your writing project. Ask open ended questions when you come across a difficult spot and really need the advice of someone whose been there and done that (I did that a lot with my first novel). Hold a contest with the winner being inserted as a throwaway character in your latest.

The point is, you should try everything, within reason, in your repertoire of publicity/marketing items. Above all, don't let the naysayers plant that seed of doubt within you. Only you and you alone, can determine whether or not you can get the job done, and done to your satisfaction. Sure you can ask for help (in fact it's almost a requirement), but ultimately it's on you to take it to that next level.

Be true to yourself, because in the long run, you are the only person that you need to answer to.

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

Trees?

No, it's not another installment of this, it's just a simple observation on how things change the older you get.

When I was both my daughter and son's age (14-22), our yard, such as it was, was bursting at the seams with all kinds of trees. In the front yard, you had a fantastic healthy version of this:

In the side yard, you had a very nice birch tree and a small grove of pine trees along the side of the road. In the backyard you had a couple of crab apple trees, over a half dozen other trees (maple & oak I think) peppering the boundaries, and a medium sized grapevine (about twelve to fifteen feet in length) along the divide between our house and the next door neighbor.

For all intents and purposes, it was a very cool yard to play in (mammoth sized croquet game that started in the front yard and finished somewhere in the side yard); jarts (way before people started bitching about how dangerous they were); badminton and frisbee.

However, over the proceeding decades, that front, side and backyard underwent a radical transformation. While nothing was really touched in the front, save for a removal of some shrubs, the side yard took a major hit. The first to go was the birch. This went because the town decreed that if we wanted to store an extra vehicle (RV I believe), we had to widen our driveway (for those of you who have dealt with TPZ, you know what I'm talking about).