Slush On

I bought no Christmas gifts for those everyone insists do not exist. There were no cookies and milk for Santa, though we all know that he truly exists. My mother passed on to a place in which all understand that Jesus exists. I have had the flue twice this season and a bit of the latest still persists.

And nothing ruins a perfectly good Winter like slush, right when snow of light white fluff should exist. At the time of year when the greatest of cold hold the records of which books consist.

It leaves me miserable and dumbfounded.

We bought a small, very safe and not too powerful, space heater. We have no ambitions of interstellar travel, but merely needed something to take the chill off; in the bath for my wife and at the writing desk for me (and maybe the bath too).

It makes a difference, both the heater and support from some of my cousins, in my drive to complete my works of fiction.

The slush, this time of year, it goes nowhere and you know it will refreeze into an ugly dangerous mess that will last the rest of the Winter. And Spring is still quite a ways off here.

We removed clutter in a New Year cleaning and have our goals and schedule set for 2018. No excerpts from my writing is planned until I succeed in publishing my next book. I hope to have news on that next month.

I have to remind myself that I have some notebooks in which I had written some poetry.

I wish you all a Happy New Year.

Thank you for reading.

Bah Humbug

I understand Ebenezer’s perspective on the holidays. How can anything productive, namely the advancement of my written works, be achieved with all the time spent shopping and merry making, the eating and drinking and giving, that surrounds the Christmas season?

Determined still to my adopted craft, I am then struck down with illness.

The passing of my mother two days before the New Year consumes my remaining strength. Even now the cold pierces home and flesh, stealing any healing energies the grace of God may provide.

Though the bank fold may thicken, a moments disaster could leave us in ruin.

In other words, my life goes on as usual.

Happy New Year. Sorry for my tardiness in posting.

I plan to work through a contract on one self published author’s platform I have investigated, finish out a hardcopy version of one of my works with my original self publishing platform, then decide how to advance from there. Shall I look for a full service publisher?

Publisher’s radio advertisements and associated websites are alluring.

When I first looked into publishing companies, nearly ten years ago, I read statements that ran something along these lines: “We throw away all unsolicited manuscripts and are not responsible if any of our books resemble in any way a manuscript you may have improperly submitted to decorate our trash bins.”

Now, companies are advertising that they will truly read your manuscript, …promise. Just give yourself a chance and sign up, call, for a free submittal package.

How does one break out of the self published pool of millions? How can one stand out?

Though people claim everything is different in this age of digital world wide access media, maybe it is not.

I would love some real honest face to face feedback on my work. If I can keep the nose to the grind stone I can produce five books this year.

Is Barnes and Noble the only book store left? You know where we found gifts appropriate for newborns, after long tedious searches through your traditional toy stores? That’s right; at Barnes and Noble.

Self publish success stories are simply the piecemeal assembly of a team, that traditionally a publishing company provided as a package. Though some authors may maintain a social media following, to promote their work, that does not replace book signings and getting into the book store.

I believe social media to be limiting. People are rebelling against the mindless screen stare culture. They seek to return to real human ties and face to face breathing the same air experiences, more and more.

And you wonder why the rich get richer and no one else? Because everyone throws up all their ideas on the Internet for the rich to steal and market. Because they can. They have all the money.

Bah Humbug!