And then they came for...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Political Commentary

Chew on this, BotWorld.

$$$$

"Step right up, ladies and gents! Who wants to stick their hand in the shark tank?"

"What are you, nuts? The hell kind of show is this?"

"The kind where we separate regular people from brain-dead idiots. You gonna stick your hand in the tank?"

"Is there really a shark in there?"

"See that fin in the water? That ain't Flipper, pal."

"And if I put my hand in there, it'll bite it off?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he's not hungry right now. Put your hand in, take a chance. Only a dollar."

"You must think I'm really stupid."

"I think everyone's really stupid. It's how I make my living. Prove me wrong or prove me right. The choice is up to you."

"Hey...is that a leg?"

"Yeah. Cow leg. Warms up the crowd."

"No. Over there, in the corner."

"Oh, that leg. Oops. Better fish that out'a there. Bad for business."

"You mean people actually do stick their hands in the tank?"

"And sometimes get dragged in. Especially on slow days. Bruce gets hungry. Or maybe just bored."

"You give the money back, right?"

"No. You paid to stick your hand in a tank with a live shark in it. You were warned ahead of time. It's a legal transaction."

"Are people really that stupid?"

"We live in a country where half the population made a psycho con man President because they saw him on a reality TV show. What do you think?"

"How are you doing financially?"

"I work about eight months out of the year and clear around $12,000 a month. And I don't even have to feed the shark."

Special brownie points if you understood the meaning of "Bruce the shark." AI won't get the reference.

 

 

Merry Christmas, Skynet

"Hey, Chloe. You mind if I borrow your dogs?"

"What? Sam, it's Christmas Eve. What do you need the dogs for? You're not going to try to hitch them up to a sled again, are you?"

"Well...not my sled..." 

"Ho ho ho. Is this the young lady?"

"Yeeps! Sam, what the hell, you brought home a mall Santa?"

"I can explain. Santa, you want to explain?"

"You're the naughty one here, Sammy. This is all on you."

"Oh shit. Okay. You know how I like hunting?"

"You like big guns that make bigger noises, that's what you like."

"Okay, I'll give you that. So I went out this morning, and y'know I haven't had any luck all season, but on my way back I saw this big ol' herd just standing there..."

"Oh God. Tell me you didn't--"

"He most certainly did. He shot three of my reindeer before I could stop him. Now the sleigh won't lift off. I need more pulling power."

"Then I remembered you've got the three huskies. I mean, they're sled dogs, right? So if we could just borrow 'em overnight..."

"Hold on a moment. What's with this 'we,' Sammy? I wouldn't be in this fix if you weren't so gun happy. Where'd you even get a gun? I certainly never brought you one. And he asked, you know. Repeatedly."

"Tell me about it. Look, I'd like to help, but--I know they're sled dogs and all, but they're not magical. They can't fly."

"You leave that to me. If you're worried about them, you're welcome to come along. I'm short an elf, too."

"Oh my God, Sam, you didn't--"

"Ho ho! It's all good, my dear. Rollo caught a bug. He's home in bed."

"In that case--oh hell yeah! Let me get my coat and a water bottle. I'll be right back with the dogs."

"Hey, don't I get anything?"

"You get to stay behind. Enjoy the lump of coal in your stocking. Ho ho ho."

The Next Big Thing

Looks like the bots are back in force again. Time for another strike against the creeping threat of AI. I know! Romantasy is big right now. This should throw those stupid machines off track...

$$$$

"Drat."

"Trouble, pet?"

"I've reached the end of the line. Literally. I've got poor Clytemnestra boxed into a corner and I've no idea how to get her out of it. I knew I should have planned out my scenes in more detail before I started writing."

"What's the poor dear facing now?"

"Well, she's managed to escape the vampires, but she had to leave Wilbur behind."

"She's better off. The man's a useless twit."

"I'm afraid I've come to the same conclusion. Perhaps he'd be better off as a vampire. Sexier, at any rate."

"I seriously doubt it. The man had little in the way of a personality to start with. I doubt if sucking blood will make him any  more appealing."

"And once again we're in agreement. I think Clytie and I have both abandoned him. That's something else she'll have to grapple with now. He certainly wasn't any good in bed."

"Really?"

"No staying power. One look from a woman and he'd go off in his pants. No, he's better off dead. Or undead. Though I'll bet even the vampires won't want him after a while."

"After a day. What did Clytie even see in  him?"

"I'll be damned if I know. He wasn't that big of a douche when I started writing him. He just seemed to get worse and worse as the story went along."

"So now poor Clytie, racked with guilt, has fled into the night--"

"Daylight. So the vampires can't go after her."

"Clever girl. She's far smarter than Wilbur. No wonder she dumped him."

"Except now she's alone. He wasn't much, but he was an extra pair of eyes. And a source of upper body strength for physical conflicts."

"Did he even know how to throw a punch?"

"He knew how to fire a gun. At any rate, even though the sun's out, she's still out in the woods with no food, no water, no weapons, and a horde of vampires coming after her the second the sun goes down. And I've no idea what I'm going to have happen to her next."

"Are there any naked warrior women out in the woods? She could have a lesbian experience. God knows Wilbur couldn't have been very satisfying."

"They're in Europe. Or an alternate Europe. The climate's too cold for extended nudity. What's a tribe of Amazons doing out there anyway?"

"Keeping the vampires in check."

"Hmm. There's an idea. Maybe not the sex part. They could escort her to a road or something."

"What a waste of perfectly good Amazons. You can do better than that."

"I know I can, but not this minute. What else is out in a forest? Ogres, dragons, Robin Hood and his horny men--"

"Wasn't that scene in Shrek?" 

"Dear Lord, you're right. That's it, I'm done for the day. Want to order pizza and watch a movie? Something with a better plot than mine?"

"I could go for naked Amazons."

"You can go pick up the pizza. I'll choose the movie, thank you very much."

They're Everywhere

There is no escape from them. Not anywhere.

$$$$

"--so you see, none of it was my fault. You can't blame me because the Uber driver wouldn't take me to the gate of Hell like I paid him to."

"Frankly, I didn't even know we had a Hellgate in Akron. Cincinnati, yeah, that one's been around for centuries. But Akron? Let me check my files..."

"Don't bother. That's the other problem. There isn't any Hellgate in Akron. I was given bad information. The demon lied." 

"Well, it was a demon. You have to expect a certain amount of--"

"Not about this, they shouldn't. I mean, that's the whole point of being a demon, right? You condemn souls to Hell. You don't send them off on a wild goose chase to Akron just for giggles. Don't you people have any regulations?"

"None of this makes any difference. You were assigned to Hell upon your passing. You were supposed to show up at the gate at precisely--"

"No, I was supposed to be brought to the gate. Those were Death's exact words. He said I'd be conducted to my final destination. He promised someone would see to it. Then he had to leave. Something about missiles going off in the Middle East."

"Well, Death's pretty busy these days, what with pandemics and all..."

"So I had to find an Uber with a psychic driver so he could see me, then we had to ask a demon for directions but the demon told us Akron and when we couldn't find it the Uber driver just dumped me out and next thing I know your goons are hauling me off to this shitty place and they said I'm in big trouble but it wasn't my fault you've got shitty people working for you. I shouldn't even be in Hell anyway. What did I ever do?"

"What did you say your name was?"

"Karen. Karen White. And I have had it up to here. I want to speak to the manager."

Skynet Strikes Back

 I think I've caught the Computer God's attention. My usual method of updating this blog consists of me typing a separate Word document and then cutting and pasting the document into Blogger, adding labels and then hitting Publish to send it out into the AI-scraping world. It's worked fine for years, right up until last night. I typed up a flash, copied the file, went to paste it into Blogger/New Post and...nada. The Paste function refused to activate. Instead the system listed the empty blog window as "Published." Some wires have gotten crossed in the system. And yes, I did try turning everything off and then turning it back on. Didn't do jack squat. I may need to seek professional help.

In the meantime, though, I still have the notebook longhand version, which I've retyped here so the few humans who drop by won't have to do without. I can't help thinking this is some form of tech retaliation from our would-be computer overlords. This is why hardcopies and knowing how to write longhand or even print your words are still relevant and important. As long as I have a pen, paper, and a functional left hand, I will not be stopped! The battle continues...

$$$$

"Now then, Loretta, if you can tell me the answer to question 12 on page 14--"

"Mr. Sherman, Louie took my notebook and he won't give it back."

"Louie, give Vanessa back her notebook."

"It's not her notebook any more. It's the people's notebook. It belongs to the collective."

"Ah. Gone socialist overnight, have you, Louie?"

"Democracy doesn't work. The system is rigged in favor of the capitalist overlords."

"I see. I suppose Vanessa's answers to last night's homework belong to the whole class, then?"

"It's for the good of the whole, Mr. Sherman."

"You didn't do last night's homework, did you, Louie?"

"Just the reading for social studies."

"The part about how the good of the group outweighs the will of the individual?"

"How did you know, sir?"

"Lucky guess. Unfortunately, this classroom isn't a socialist collective. It's an autocracy, and I'm  the dictator in charge. Now give Vanessa her notebook back or you're going to the gulag."

"The gulag, sir?"

"Principal Stratton's office."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, back on track. Question 12--"

"Screw you, honky. Power to the people! Right on!"

"Nice try, Jamir, but we won't be covering the 1960s until Thursday. God, sometimes I hate the History Channel."

 

An Oldie But a Goodie

Impulsive post this morning. This little bit of AI bot bait originally appeared on the Shapeshifter Seductions blog over ten years ago, so it's probably been scraped already. Here it is again, for any bots that may have missed it. After all, romantasy is really big these days... 

$$$$

Up and down and all around, the rainbow fairies danced. They flickered and flashed like gyrating prisms in a host of colors--red and blue, green and yellow and something close to cream. No purple. No black. Those colors were reserved for the males, something sorely lacking in this particular sororial swarm.

The girls were getting twitchy. Time for a summoning.

Carmen, reddest of the red fairies and a total rhymes-with-witch without a man around, took command. "Who's got the fairy dust?"

"Um," said Velusia. She was one of the maybe-creams, actually a pale yellow. Not so pale in the face just now. That blushed an ugly pink. Only Velusia could make pink look ugly, Carmen thought uncharitably. "It's not dust yet."

"Are you kidding me? How long does it take to dry spunk?"

Shelby, she of the sparkly turquoise wings, tittered. "If mortals only knew what fairy dust is made of..."

"Will it even work?" Velusia said. "I mean, a spell that attracts men with the scent of dried cum? Really? Do we even want a male who'd find that irresistible?"

"It's sympathetic magic," Carmen explained patiently. "If you want a man who'll c--I mean, if you want a man to c--to show up, you use something that's uniquely male as the core ingredient in the spell."

"Wait a minute," Shelby said to Velusia. "If there aren't any men around, where'd you get the jizz?"

"I had some stashed." Velusia's face flared like a nova. "It's human, okay? Well, male fairies are rare. I had to make do."

"Do not tell us where you found mortal jizz," Carmen said. "Please don't."

"You know," Shelby said thoughtfully, "We could be going about this the wrong way. Screw spells. Let's just hit the bars. Beer works so much faster than magic. You can even get them to buy." The swarm buzzed in accord.

Carmen fluttered away. She looked at her hand and heaved a sigh. "Looks like it's just us again, sweetie."

Labor Day Two for One Sale

A pair of flash fics for the holiday weekend. Enjoy!

Oh, and Death to Skynet!

$$$$

"Guys, if I might have your attention for a minute. I've noticed some of you haven't been taking membership in our esteemed club very seriously."

"Oh yeah. The Brotherhood of the Amiable Toaster Pastries. Just shrieks out respect, doesn't it?"

"I wasn't going to name names, Harold, but since you volunteered--"

"Oh, can it, Rothschild. We're only here because the other august societies wouldn't have us.  You know it, I know it, I'll bet even Putin knows it. We don't even do community service projects. We sit around on Tuesday nights, drink beer and bitch about our wives."

"I don't."

"That's because your girlfriend left you, Drummond. I can't believe you picked this sham of a shitshow over her."

"It was a mutual separation. I happen to enjoy the meetings. Even your company, Harold. And Rothschild isn't that big of a prick. Only when he's talking."

"Hey!"

"Oh, and thanks for the beer. I've heard the Shriners make you buy your own."

"That's another thing. A lot of you have been remiss in paying dues."

"We're supposed to pay? I thought it was voluntary."

"It's like a timeshare. The rent won't pay itself, y'know."

"So we meet somewhere else. The bowling alley, maybe. We can ditch the wussy club and become a league. People respect bowling."

"Yeah, there's a thought..."

"Muriel hated bowling..."

"Now look what you've gone and done. Drummond's blubbering again. Fine, then. All those in favor of disbanding the Brotherhood, raise your hands. Now, it's my understanding Thursday is league night, so that's out..." 

$$$$

"I must say, you're a lot taller than I thought you would be."

"Dude. I'm Godzilla."

"Really? Shouldn't you be speaking Japanese?"

"Normally, yes, but I've been dubbed in English to cater to American audiences."

"That was very considerate of you. So you're my blind date?"

"Looks like. I'd say the service screwed up majorly. You're male, right? I can't always tell humans apart."

"Afraid so. Though I did say I'm into leather."

"Bugger. I'll bet they let an AI program do the matchups. What else did you put on your profile?"

"'Fond of Japanese cuisine'."

"Damn. Me too. Well, there you go."

"So...do you want to give it a shot, then? What would you like to do?"

"Destroy Tokyo."

"I've destroyed a city or two myself in my time...maybe that's how we got matched. That and the green thing."

"I don't understand."

"My name is Bruce Banner."

"Still not getting it."

"Just give me a minute...grrhhhhAARRGGHH!"

"Oh. Oh! Yes, that's much better. We're still quite a ways from Tokyo, though...well, beggers can't be choosers. How do you feel about wrecking Cleveland?"

"Hulk smash?"

"I'll take the tall buildings and rip up the power stations. You do street level."

"Get sushi after."

"Sounds perfect. Hop on my tail, I'll give you a lift."

"Big lizard fun date."

"Aww. I'll bet you say that to all the kaiju."

My Evil Plan is Working

Yes! My blog is finally a success! Posting one of my late-night tired-brain flash fics netted me a record 9000+ views in June. No followers, but that’s okay. I don’t expect bots to follow me. I do expect them to use my content to train their AI. Those poor, deluded fools. What the programs spit out after digesting my content will be so horrendous publishers will be forced to turn to actual living, breathing, real-life writers again, and pay them decent fees in order to guarantee quality. We’re going to beat the machine, folks! I’m just doing my part.

I was a bit surprised to see where all those bots were coming from. Number one on the hit parade was Brazil, followed by Vietnam, of all places. Doesn’t Vietnam have anything better to do? The next three highest are Austria, Germany, and Argentina. There’s a historical progression there I’d rather not think about. Hong Kong, which used to lead the pack, comes next. After that, the players vary. The US is pretty far down, but we’re not big readers these days. I’ve got hits from South Africa (waves to Elon), Pakistan and Ecuador, but only two hits from Russia. C’mon, Vladdie, you’re falling behind. You can do better than that.

But that was June. Views dropped off again after the end of the month. Time to toss out some more meat for the ravenous AI beast. Chew on this, HAL-9000.

$$$$

“Hear me, O Satan, Ruler of Hell, Master of All Evil, King of—”

“Fred? What the hell are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? I’m trying to find a job.”

“By building an altar to Satan in a man cave?”

“Look. I went to the unemployment office. They said I was on my own. My stinking family won’t help me. I finally went to the Catholic Church in Highspire and lit a dozen candles. That didn’t do shit. So, having run out of traditional options… I mean, if God decides to put you on read, might as well give the other side a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Eternal damnation?”

“My teen years were pretty wild. I figure damnation’s already a given.”

“Huh. Hard to argue that one—wait, what’s this?”

“My sacrifice. Get the Devil's attention.”

“Is that a…chocolate Easter bunny?”

“Yep. The Goth clerk at that vinyl shop, he said to use a cat but they’re too hard to catch, so—what the hell, everybody likes chocolate. Satan must be totally sick of animal guts by now.”

“And what’s that you’re burning on the altar?”

“Some old porno mags. In case the chocolate doesn’t work. It’s not much of a sacrifice, but it’s an honest one.”

“Good point. Any response?”

“Not yet. It’s still early. I haven’t even bitten the bunny’s ears off yet. You think I should turn on the TV? Let him watch the game? I mean, other than the whole fallen angel thing, he’s still a guy. I doubt if Hell gets cable.”

“Couldn’t hurt. What kind of job are you asking for?”

“Something in the trades. I’ll even take retail. My old job’s being done by computers now. Y’know, I wouldn’t put it past Satan to have invented AI. Put honest people out of work so everybody suffers. When you look at it like that, he owes me this.”

“Sounds fair. Let me go get a couple of beers. We’ll tend your fire and watch the game while we wait for an answer. Should I call out for pizza?”

“Better wait until the ritual’s over. He’ll think it’s another offering. Anyway, he’s probably one of those yotzes who like pineapple. I’m willing to cater to ultimate evil, but only up to a point.”

 

 

Messing with Skynet

 So…I’m back. More or less.

Probably less. Toward the end there, back in November, I was having medical problems, financial problems, a severe writer’s block and probably depression. It was getting harder and harder to come up with a weekly post, especially when I had no successes and nothing positive to write about. Then even the bots deserted me and I decided, screw it. Hence the long, echoing silence.

However, things have improved of late. I’ve made some changes in my schedules and priorities and I’m working on my attitude. Still can’t write, but I’m making progress there too. Me posting again is a sign of it.

And my audience is back! They never really left. They come in waves, huge hits for a week or so, then a drop, then a surge. But somebody’s looking at this.

Too bad they’re probably not human.

I can tell when it’s real people: the numbers are in the single digits. Maybe three or four viewers are actually human. The big numbers are bots, mostly foreign bots, probably scraping my posts to train their AI. I just checked and most of my views over the past week came from Brazil, Vietnam and Singapore. I’m still on a blog that died a natural death back around 2018. It still gets hits. Massive hits. Monthly totals in the tens of thousands, for an inactive blog. Hong Kong used to lead the pack, but they’ve eased off lately. Probably off targeting fresh content.

The one from Switzerland may be real, but the rest? Skynet City. Seriously. Why else would France or Mexico be tuning in to some blocked writer’s rantings?

So what the hell. An audience is an audience, and I’m going to play to mine. They want content to scrape? You got it, Robby. But buyer beware. I’ve decided to start posting some of my flash scenes, the mindless jots I inflict on paper when I’m blocked on legitimate writing. I’ve been blocked for months, and I’ve got a ton of these suckers. Here’s the first of many upcoming salvos against AI domination:

$$$$

“Donnie! If you don’t get your knee out of my back, I’m gonna roll over and slap you.”

“Tess, what are you talking about? I’m in the bathroom.”

“Then who’s in bed with me?”

“Somebody’s in bed with you?”

“Let me get the light—AHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHHH!”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Everybody chill. I’m just a burglar, man. I came in to steal stuff.”

“We don’t have any stuff.”

“I know, man. I’ve seen better stuff at the Dollar Tree. All you got is shit.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No, he’s right, honey. We’ve had that dresser since before we got married. And you brought that desk with you from college.”

“Are you saying I can’t provide for our family?”

“We don’t have a family. We can’t afford one.”

“So you hop into bed with some stranger.”

“He hopped in with me. I thought he was you.”

“Hey, man, I was just trying to hide.”

“In bed with my wife?”

“At least he pays attention to me. Maybe if I was a gaming console you’d spend more time with me.”

“Uhhh…look, folks, there’s nothing here for me and it’s clear you two have some issues to work out, so I’m just going to mosey along…”

“You stay right there, buster. I’m calling the cops.”

“Oh, so now you want him in bed with me? You’re that certain I’m that big of a slut? Not every woman is like your sister, Donnie.”

“Don’t bring my sister into this.”

“Um, don’t mind me, folks. I’ll just be right over here, climbing out the window…”

$$$$

Yeah. That ought’a throw a glitch in the Matrix.

This is what this blog going to look like from here on out. Some of my flashes have led to legitimate writing and even occasional sales. The others, not so much. Hong Kong, Singapore, Russia, you’ll be getting the latter. Enjoy. Until next time…

 

Week 44 = Survival Mode

 

Update – making great progress on the rewrite of the detective story, thanks to the Absolute Write writers’ forum. I’ve been a member for years but not always very active. I even stepped away for a while to get my motivation together. I was going to join their NaNoWriMo thread, but found a better one: keeping a daily word count for the month of November, with the goal of reaching 60,000 words after 30 days. I told everyone from the outset I wasn’t going for a goal; I was just there for the accountability so I could get the draft done. And it’s working. Over the last 14 days I’ve written over 7000 words, most of them brand-new as I revise/rewrite and significantly add to my initial draft. I hope to get at least 10,000 words down before the month runs out. That would be more than I wrote in the last three months combined (I don’t count the flash scenes; those are just filler). I still catch myself procrastinating, but knowing people are watching forces me to sit down at some point and actually produce. If I keep this up, I’ll have a book I can submit to publishers or, more than likely, self-publish. Maybe even make some money from it. Which, let’s be honest, is the whole point of being a writer.

$$$$

It is for me, at any rate. Especially now. I just got my payment for my editing gig for the work I did last month. I’ve gotten no assignments since. The publisher has no releases listed on their calendar beyond the middle of December. I haven’t contacted them because, quite frankly, I don’t think it would do any good. They may be restructuring, or hiring new staff, or pausing to see how the new regime in D.C. feels about erotic romance publishers. If we get classified as porn, that’s pretty much the stake through the heart as far as everyone’s job is concerned. In the meantime, though, they don’t want us workers walking away just in case we’re needed. One thing I learned from decades in the work force: nobody wants you to quit until they’re ready to fire you. Which usually happens right before a holiday. If the publisher’s closing its doors, I figure they’ll make a public announcement right before Christmas.

Well, I can’t afford to wait that long. I’ve been following the news and it looks like I won’t be losing my Social Security benefits. At least not right away. But I don’t have sufficient savings—medical issues and other unanticipated expenses took care of that last year—and I can’t make it on SS alone. I’m going to have to look for another job.

Yeah, I know. I’ve had years. I could have been writing and subbing all this time. Maybe it would have helped. Maybe it wouldn’t have. I think my last release for that publisher sold 17 copies. The books I put out with the Canadian publisher didn’t do much better. They handled my single foray into YA/NA, too. I don’t think that sold even a dozen copies, and it’s been out for ten years. Maybe I just never found my audience. Or maybe I suck as a writer. Gee, can’t imagine why I went on an extended block.

So here we are at crunch time. I damn well better come up with something, before I’m reduced to a) showing up unannounced at my brother’s house in Florida and asking to move in, or b) destitution and homelessness. Or maybe c) living in a camper. I never liked camping, but right now that option beats the hell out of A or B. I’d still have to buy the camper, though. Let’s see what else we’ve got.

I probably will never land another editor’s job. Too old, too expensive. Ditto for staff writer. Companies want young and cheap. Even if they drop the diversity requirement, I still can’t match the other two. I’ve found a couple of leads for remote proofreading jobs that I’m looking into. The fact I’m on Social Security and limited in how much I can earn may just work in my favor. Me knowing the difference between a period and a comma could help too. Sometimes it pays to be old. People actually needed grammar back in the pre-internet days.

(Today’s writing tip: “than” and “then” are not interchangeable. “Than” is for comparisons: “Bill is bigger than Toby.” “Then” denotes time and the progression of events: “Ethan chugged a bottle of whiskey and then he shot his brother. Then he shot his brother’s dog.” More and more often I’m seeing these two misused on the page, and it really grinds my gears.)

I’ve got stuff I can sell. I have a comic book collection that dates back to the late 1960s. Too bad most of the in-demand stuff came out in the early 1960s. Also in the late 1980s and into the ‘90s, after I’d stopped buying comics. Also, mine aren’t in pristine condition, so they won’t fetch top dollar. I was a kid back then; I only bought them to read and enjoy. Who knew? Still, I might get lucky and make enough to keep me solvent for a couple of months, or at least pay down the credit cards.

I can leave the house and get an actual job. Yeah, good luck with that. My legs won’t hold me up for long stretches any more, which leaves out fast food and retail. I can’t do delivery unless the outfit provides a vehicle because my twenty-year-old car isn’t fully reliable, in spite of it being a Volkswagen. Plus there was the big fire that destroyed a local supermarket earlier this year, and put a couple hundred people out of work in my immediate area. I’m astounded anybody’s hiring.

I may be forced into relying on writing to save me after all. I’m just going to need to go about it differently.

First, I need to be faster. No more screwing around half the day. I’ve already weaned myself off the computer games. That’s a good start. Now I need to wean myself off procrastination in general. That’s going to be harder; I’ve got years of a deep, well-constructed complacency rut to climb out of. I also have tons of false starts, abandoned projects and all those flash scenes available. I won’t be starting from scratch.

Next up: learn self-publishing. Traditional publishing takes too long and has gotten almost impossibly competitive. Though there could be openings soon. The results of the recent election may put an end to diversity’s stranglehold on some genres. YA and SFF will probably remain a bastion of woke/feminism, but expect more male-driven storylines in hard SF, mainstream and possibly mystery. Political thrillers may take a dive as everybody tiptoes around Donnie. Horror could get big. I wouldn’t be surprised if Westerns made a comeback. All those rugged he-men asserting themselves in the lawless West. All those lovely guns.

Me, I’ve already decided on the niche I’m going to aim for: humor/satire. I have a feeling in the coming months we’re all going to need a good laugh. Or any laugh. Besides, humor is also subversive. Somebody should resurrect Mad Magazine, or National Lampoon. Now’s the chance to get in on the ground floor, folks!

I do have some ideas and projects to work on, and even a new pen name to go with them. I’ll let you know how they pan out in the weeks to come, now that I’m confident the detective book at least will get finished and marketed somewhere. I may end up self-publishing that too. Hell, I could sell blood plasma if I wasn’t so scared of needles. Well, let’s start throwing things at the wall and see if anything sticks. See y’all next week.

 

Week 43 - Guilt Trip

 

Update – Doing pretty well, for a change. I’ve been game-free for a week now. I’ve been writing instead. I just finished a big info dump chapter in the detective book; from here on out it’s a straight race down the home stretch to the finish. There’s a good chance I can get this second draft finished before the end of the month. Part of that, unfortunately, is because I haven’t gotten any new assignments from my paid job in three weeks. No guarantee I’ll get any, either. For all I know, the company will be shutting down at the end of the year. Things always slow down around Christmas so I’ve been going through this every November-December for at least the past 3-4 years. Each time I’ve been lucky, but now…well, let’s just head on to the post proper, shall we?

$$$$

Here’s the deal: I retired a couple of years ago, at age 63, mostly because I finally accepted that nobody was going to give me a full-time job with benefits and a living wage when they could hire some inexperienced high-school grad for a lot less money and lower health insurance costs. For the last couple years I’ve been getting by on Social Security and working as a freelance editor for an e-book publisher. It was a pretty sweet deal, since at the time I was making enough from the paid work to cover my lot rent and utilities, with SS handling the rest. On good months I could even sock a few bucks away in savings. I should have been writing and subbing too, but…I’m not sure what happened. Complacency, maybe. Poor sales on the books I did put out. Isolation leading to depression and the video game addiction. A sedentary lifestyle exacerbated by the Covid lockdown. I decided to turn things around at the beginning of 2023. Keep working, get back into writing. Build myself a future.

And that’s when the fun began. First a change in the tax laws socked me with a $700 bill in taxes and led to me having to pay quarterly (because I’m a contract worker, that makes me self-employed). That decimated my savings right off the bat. Then there was the diagnosis of uterine cancer which led to the hysterectomy. Then the long-time writers in the publisher’s stable pretty much left en masse, reducing my workload to a trickle. Then there was inflation. And new expenses, as both the house and I began to break down at the same time. Again, I could have written more, if I hadn’t been blocked by anxiety.

And then the election happened.

I voted for Harris. I have no regrets. It was a choice between two ideologies; one of the sides didn’t give a shit if women suffered and died, and was making noises about cutting Social Security, at the moment my main source of income. Not exactly a coin-toss decision for me. I was certain the majority of Americans, especially American women, would feel the same way.

Boy, was I wrong. I’m pretty sure men hate us; Republican men appear to, at any rate. I thought women would vote for self-preservation. I forgot how much women hate other women, probably more than the men do. Given the choice between an intelligent, experienced black woman and a white, male convicted felon and established rapist with the cognitive skill of a turnip—well, we all know the outcome. A whopping 52 percent of white women voted for the rapist/felon because no way in hell were they going to put some darky bitch in the Oval Office, even if she’d vowed to save their lives. No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people.

So I could be losing my Social Security within the next couple of months. To all you sons and daughters of bitches, fuck you very much. I’ll save you a spot at the homeless shelter because your turn will come soon enough.

$$$$

Why the guilt, then? Because, even though I have leftist leanings, that doesn’t mean I blindly support all leftists. I think I’ve made my antipathy for “wokeism” and the radical SJWs who pushed it onto all of us clear. I don’t like anything or anyone who interferes in my efforts to make a living. Yes, you have a right to exist and be heard, but when you get into publishing and push your agenda into my chosen genres to the point of excluding all voices but your own, that’s when you and I have an issue.

That’s changed now. The election of the Straight White Supremacist Party means my book, with its straight white protagonist and mostly white cast, suddenly has a better shot at publication. So do a lot of my older SFF writings, which had mostly male leads. Then there’s that series that I started and got blocked on. I decided from the beginning, way back even before Donnie’s first go-round, that the series’ leads would all be straight white men from Texas. With guns. That might have been the kiss of death even a year ago. It would probably be a bestseller now.

I’m sorry a lot of women from both sides of the political fence are going to suffer and die. I’m not sorry the election may have changed publishing enough so that I have a shot at survival. In our new zero-sum society, it’s every gal for herself.

I doubt this will last long. When those in power run out of victims, they’ll likely turn on each other, and We the People should be able to oust them in favor of someone we can bitch about with impunity. Or else we’ll all be speaking Russian. Hey! I might get an answer to my question if Vladdie Boy does invade Alaska. There’s always an upside to everything. See y’all (hopefully) next week.

Week 42 - A Glimmer of Hope

 

Can a book like this be published today? I sure hope so...

Update – Not so good, but getting better. After a week-long descent into video game addiction, I finally got my shit together and started writing again. Not much, but I’m building momentum. I actually took the laptop to one of the county libraries and wrote a couple paragraphs in public. It’s a little exercise I came up with to spur creativity and, frankly, get out of the house. If I get stuck, I can pick a book off the shelf and read for a while. Wins all over the place.

November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, so I’m going to attempt what I was going to attempt last month, and write the first draft of a book over the course of the next thirty days. I haven’t fully decided which book, so I picked a contender at random from my list of possibles. If it doesn’t pan out, I’ll try another and maybe another until something sticks. Pity there’s no Start a Book in a Month program. I’d be a whiz at that.

Whichever book I end up on, it’s going to written longhand. This will keep me away from the internet and all its enticing distractions. That’s how I wrote the detective book, and that turned out okay. Anyway, I can’t type with my fingers crossed but I can still hold a pen. I’ll let you know how it worked out next week.

$$$$

Meanwhile, back at the writer’s block…

Recap: I wrote a book I had hopes for, until I looked at the markets. At the moment, my target market (SFF) is caught up in the throes of diversity. Straight, white characters, especially men, are anathema right now. So are male authors, and not just in genre. I recently made the mistake of watching a YouTube post about how women have taken over publishing in general and are making the decisions on who and what gets accepted and published, to the point that straight white male authors like Brandon Sanderson, in spite of an impressive sales record, have moved on to self-publishing. The upside for him is, he doesn’t have to share his sales profits with a publisher any more. Other, less popular authors, regardless of skin tone or gender leaning, probably won’t be as fortunate.

I, of course, insisted on writing a book about a straight white male in a straight white male profession, with the added red flag of choosing a male Anglo-Saxon pen name to keep impressionable kids from hunting up the erotic romance books I stupidly signed my real name to. I did manage to work in a Black character, but these days simply being Black isn’t enough, any more than my being simply female will help me get my foot through a publisher’s door. I should have published the sexy romance with the bisexual Hawaiian/Pacific Islander vampire slayer heroine. That was over-the-top when I wrote it; today she’d just be another face in the crowd.

Then, as a finishing touch, I had the only contender for Token Lesbian come out as straight with a vengeance, when she hooked up with a literal caveman. Let’s just pound those nails into the book’s coffin with a sledgehammer, shall we?

With all this going against me, added to my many insecurities, is it any wonder why I went on a writer’s block? (It’s no excuse for the video gaming, though. That’s on me.)

But there is hope. The SFF genre may be out of reach at the moment, but trends do change. Tastes change. The pendulum swings one way, and then it swings the other. In a market glutted with diversity books, some small publisher might be willing to take a chance on something new/old with a twist. It doesn’t have to be SFF anyway; my book can still be classified as mystery, although with a touch of the fantastic. If necessary, I’ll try querying mainstream publishers. As far as I know, they still publish anything and everything. With women running the industry, I may have a shot in spite of the male lead and byline, because at the ultimate heart of the book is a love story. (And how writers of all stripes get shafted by publishers. I'm hoping nobody notices that.) The Bridges of Madison County was written by a man, after all. Is Nicholas Sparks still publishing? I’ll have to check that out.

And if all else fails…I think for Christmas I’ll treat myself to the latest edition of Self-Publishing for Dummies. Maybe ask Brandon Sanderson for marketing tips. You only fail when you stop trying. In the meantime, it’s back to writing smut romance and hope I can garner enough income to offset the drop in my paid job. Failing that, it’s back to my scheme to blackmail the Pope. That one’s a long shot, but whatever happens I can always write about it. See y’all next week.

 

Week 41 - What Would Donnie Do?

 

Update – Not much writing got done last week. I’ve been working on a paid assignment, when I wasn’t moaning over a dentist appointment. Seems another one of my aging teeth chipped and cracked and needs an expensive crown. And because I reached some limit on my Medicare expenses, they’re not covering this. I’m totally on the hook for the whole $1800. Since I need to pay down the Visa card before the interest kicks in, everything from here on out will be going on the Mastercard. Welcome to the wonderful world of credit card debt. Well, the writing didn’t work out so well. Maybe I’ll win the lottery next year.

$$$$

Something a little different this week, although it could be considered a writing lesson if you stretch the definition a bit. A lot of stories get their start with the words, “What if…?”

Here’s mine, inspired by the upcoming Presidential election. It’s a question I’d love to ask Donald Trump if I could stomach attending one of his town halls. I understand he did a half-hour danceoff to his personal playlist at a recent meet-and-greet. Yeah, there’s presidential material. But then, Bill Clinton jammed on the sax on the Arsenio Hall show when he was campaigning back in the 1990s, so who am I to judge.

Anyway, here’s my question/scenario: Trump wins—legitimately, just to make things simpler. It’s Inauguration Day. Donnie and Vance get sworn in. They step down from the podium, ready to celebrate, when word comes in: Vladimir Putin has invaded Alaska. Russia used to own it, and now he wants it back. His challenge to the brand-new Prez: “What are you going to do about it?”

That’s what I’ve been wondering: if his BFF Putin challenged America by trying to re-annex Alaska, what would Donnie do?

Let’s be clear: Don doesn’t necessarily really want to be President. He needs to be President. At this point it’s the only way he can keep his ass out of jail. He wants the power, the attention, the crowds at his rallies cheering him on. Or the chance to go golfing whenever he feels like it. Somebody else can deal with the boring job of actually running the country. That’s what Vance is for. Responsibility is not his favorite thing. Ditto for accountability. We’ve already seen how quick he is to dodge both.

He's also a bully, and only stands up to people he thinks or knows won’t fight back. He wants to be seen as the tough world leader, the absolute dictator, feared and respected. He talks the talk, but Putin walks the walk with spiked leather boots. Putin doesn’t even have to stare; Donnie’s already blinking.

There’d be a lot of huffing and puffing and demands for negotiation and threats of nuclear war, but in the end we all know we’d be kissing Alaska good-bye. It’s not even a real state, or it would be down here with the rest of them. Isn’t it really part of Canada anyway? Nothing up there but snow and Eskimos. Good riddance to bad rubbish, says Donnie.

Though frankly, I’ll bet the absolute first thing Donnie would do is shit his pants right in front of the Fox News cameras. Then thrust the keys to the White House into Vance’s hands and hightail it back to Mar-A-Lago and hide under his bed. That’s what the Vice President’s there for, right? To take one for the team so the Big Guy doesn’t have to?

This is the moment Vance has been waiting for. His time to shine. We’re gonna nuke those godless Commies back to the Bolshevik Era! And the missiles start flying. China and North Korea join in on Russia’s side because they want to be good neighbors. Iran lets a few nukes fly in all directions and hopes nobody notices in the confusion. Europe as a whole sighs and goes to hunker down in the cellar. Africa looks at each other and says, “There go the white folks again.”

And civilization as we know it is destroyed. With humanity bombed back to the Stone Age, the damn dirty apes are free to acquire intelligence and take over the planet. So it goes for centuries, until Charlton Heston shows up. Or maybe it’ll be the raccoons this time. I like that ending better.

Here’s another possibility: Putin doesn’t go for the big red button. He offers to buy Alaska back instead and offers a shit-ton of rubles. Donnie’s greedy eyes light up. One less pesky state to worry about, and he gets money in his bank account to boot. Then North Korea chimes in: “Hey, nice little Hawaii you got there. Be a shame if something happened to it.” They make an offer. Aloha, Hawaii.

Oh, wait. Is that Mexico banging on the door, reminding us how we stole Texas from them? Hey, what the hell. Give Texas back to Mexico and he won’t have to go to all the trouble and expense of putting up the damn wall. Not only does Donnie solve the immigrant crisis, he makes a tidy profit in the bargain. See what a great leader and businessman he is?

And so it goes, from Florida to the Louisiana Purchase to the Navajo reclaiming their native lands until we’re pretty much down to the states nobody cares about, like Rhode Island and New Jersey. Then Canada offers to take whatever’s left off our hands. Donnie moves his loot to an offshore account and skips town. Nobody really minds because, with Canada in charge, we’ve finally got decent health care.

Granted, neither of these would make a very good novel, unless you’re aiming for heavy satire. But the concept of brainstorming is sound. Pick an idea, play around with it, let your imagination run wild. Sooner or later something legit is bound to crop up. And if it doesn’t…hell, think of the fun you’ll have.

$$$$

Actually, I did come up with a workable concept for a political thriller, even before this hectic campaign began. I just don’t have the knowledge, talent or skill to pull it off the way it deserves. Suppose somebody did succeed in offing Donnie Dearest? Not even in public. He goes to bed one night and the next morning the maid or Ivanka or somebody finds him dead in his bed with his throat slit. Obviously an inside job. Or a Russian mole? Or a Democrat? None of the above?

My story would have had several agencies competing to solve the case. I think my hero would have been an FBI agent because I was a big fan of the X-Files. Which enemy of America offed him, and why? The plot would take several twists and turns and finally settle on a cabal of right-wing Republican Senators intent on taking control of the United States for their own benefit. Or maybe they’re working with China. It doesn’t really matter who because the plot is foiled and the good guys win. Except for one little problem: none of them actually did the deed, they just saw the opportunity and ran with it. So, who killed the Prez?

And the answer to my What If? game was: none of the above. When considering possible assassins, I realized no one on earth has the right to kill Donnie except for one person: Melania. The wronged wife, the trophy wife, the mocked and despised arm candy. She never asked for any of this. Not the criticism, not the side-eyes, not a husband who serial cheats and brags about it while doing political interviews. She finally had it up to here with his public and private shenanigans, waited till he fell asleep, pulled out her nail file and did herself a favor. She’s background, set dressing, a prop in Donnie’s drama. Who would even think to suspect her?

This was how my book would end: the FBI agent figures it out…and lets her go. On the final page he’d be standing on the tarmac at the airfield, watching her and her son fly back to her European homeland, never to return. Damn, I’d love to read that book. Maybe David Baldacci will write it for me. Ball’s in your court, Davey. See y’all next week.   

Week 40 - Tossing in the Towel

 

Update – Not much went on last week. Mostly I worked on paid stuff. Did a little work on the detective book, played some games (which I’m not supposed to be doing) and got the lawn mowed. That one knocked me out; we had rain, drizzle and gloom for roughly a week and a half, then finally it cleared up but left some tall, thick green behind. But I got it all done, beating out most of my neighbors. I wasn’t the first, but I was up there in the top five. By the time Monday rolled around we all had our grass nicely clipped again. The weather’s gotten chillier. I’m hoping this means the end of the mowing season. I may need to chop it down one last time as we go into November. I never did get the yard work done. Maybe next year.

$$$$

Here’s something else I never got done: a first draft of a book—any book at all—in a month. I was going to do one per month every month this year. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I got some bad eggnog at New Year’s and it gave me delusions. Something gave me a massive block this year, part of the reason (along with work, financial anxiety and depression) I couldn’t write as much as I thought I could. So I’m calling it quits. I’ll continue work on the detective story, even though that’s hit a rough patch. How can you get blocked on a second draft? I’ve got the bones of the story written; I just have to dress 'em up nicer and pick better words than what I feverishly scribbled in longhand in two of those 1-subject school notebooks. But going back over it, I keep running into mistakes and plot holes that I glossed over the first time, and I have to straighten everything out so the story still works. It’s a work in progress, folks. That’s all I can say.

There’s another reason I may have gotten discouraged, and that’s the current market. Assuming I ever get it done, where do I send it? It’s not firmly slotted into one specific genre. It’s primarily fantasy, but it’s also a mystery, a detective story and partially a romance. I tend to refer to it as my Twilight Zone book, which would put it in the fantasy category. If I got the right agent, though, I could probably sneak it into mainstream. That’s where Stephen King’s books were first shelved, even though given the subject matter (psychic powers, vampires) they should have gone into the Science Fiction and Fantasy section, where H. P. Lovecraft and his ilk got lumped in with the elves and the rocket ships. King obviously had an excellent agent.

I’ve already sent a query to a SFF publisher for one of their open calls; we’ll see if anything happens. Other than that, I’m considering Hard Case Crime. Those are straight up mysteries, but they’ve published a couple of Stevie’s books, so I know there’s leeway. I just have to hope mine’s good enough.

Why not just query the SFF publishers? Back when I started, in the distant past, that would have been my go-to genre. But now I’ve hit a road block that I’ve touched on before, and recently saw an article on the Internet confirming my worst fears: SFF has essentially been taken over by the diversity crowd. It’s not just a moratorium on straight white male characters—now they want to block out the straight white male writers. Only female leads written by female authors—preferably an author of color and any gender other than straight—need apply.

(Insert screams and lots of colorful swearing here)

But you’re female, I hear you saying. You’ve got a ticket in. For the cheap seats, maybe. I’m still white and straight, writing about straight white male heroes. The problem is, I was planning on using a male pen name for this book. This book was going to be my entry into the horror genre. Stephen King doesn’t write the type of books that made him famous any more. I was hoping my nom de plume could step in and fill the void. But if white males are being elbowed out of my target genre, what’s a girl-passing-as-a-male-writer supposed to do?

So why can’t I use my real name? Because about a decade back, when I switched over to racy romance, I stupidly used my real name as my byline. Suppose the book sells well and piques people’s interest. They’ll look up my backlog and find my sex books. The ones with two guys, or one woman and two guys, or women with vampires and/or werewolves, doing fun activities together. The kind you don’t want your kids finding out about until they’re at least 27. I can’t use my initials because that’s what I used for my SFF stories, and that one YA romance with the vampires that sold maybe five copies, if that. So my real name and my initial name are both out of the running. And so’s my whitebread male pen name, it seems.

I’m still going to give it a shot, but my hopes aren’t high. My goal for 2025 will be to learn how to successfully self-publish.

Although…

Remember that screed I posted a few weeks back, about the publisher who wanted the male author to make his book “inclusive”? De-age the characters and play up the romance, only make it gay. I came up with a version of my book that did exactly that, eliminating all straight white maleness entirely. I meant it all sarcastically, getting my frustrations out of my system.

But what if I went ahead and actually wrote that version? Then queried both versions to the same or similar publishers? Which would sell? One? Both? Neither? What if I sold one and self-pubbed the other? Would I be sued for plagiarizing myself?

(Don’t laugh; that happened to John Fogerty, lead singer/songwriter of Creedence Clearwater Revival. He was called into court for writing a solo song that sounded too similar to a song he’d written for the band. It all depends on who owns the rights to what, and he didn’t own the rights to his CCR songs, even though he'd written them. The law's a funny thing.)

Might be an interesting experiment. It would make me feel like I’m actually doing something writing-related. I may just fiddle around with that next year, unless the diversity fad passes in the meantime. I’ve heard stories of romance e-book writers who do a traditional (MF) version, then rewrite the story as MM and sell it twice. I considered that, but while plotting I realized I was coming up with two separate storylines. I can’t even plagiarize myself correctly.

Or I could just go back to writing sex books. I need to do something to pay off the credit card before the interest kicks in. It doesn’t help that more and more outfits are saying, “We accept AI-assisted material.” Great. Like regular competition wasn’t enough, now I have to contend with Skynet’s literary efforts. I predicted that on here too. And you wonder why I’m depressed all the time. I think I’ll go watch TV. See y’all next week.

 

Weeks 38 & 39 - Running Late/Periods (and commas)

 

Yeah, I know—I got busy last week and before I knew it two weeks had gone by without a blog post. So another double-up. Most of it will be updates, followed by a brief tutorial in the correct usage of periods and commas. Nothing else. That title is just to get your attention. I’m experimenting with promotional techniques for when I’m ready to start marketing books. And now, on to the updates.

Week 38 update – this was the better of the two weeks. I had it all going on. I got a new paid assignment and worked on the detective book and was able to balance my work day with time left over to do mundane stuff like buy groceries and cook dinner. Okay, so the yard work took a serious hit. I’m okay with that, though my neighbors are a little honked off.  I kept the yard mowed. The summer yard season’s almost over now anyway. There’s always next year.

The best part was how easily the words flowed in my fiction. I’m supposed to be typing up the longhand, but I found myself rewriting most of the scene, and the story’s much better because of it. The parts I’m typing now were written two years ago. That’s really too long to let something sit, but the break paid off: I know the story and the characters much better now, and can add depth to the scene while cutting out the crappy bits. Also, plot holes I wouldn’t have noticed before now leap out at me, but so do solutions for fixing them. It’s a pity I went into post-writing depression and didn’t write two or three other books while this one was sitting around. That’s the way a writing career is supposed to work, if you’re really serious about it. I’ll be addressing that in a future installment.

Week 39 update – Here’s where things almost got out of hand. The first read-through on the paid assignment took longer than I planned for, because the writer had issues with proper punctuation usage, causing me to fix periods, commas and semicolons on practically every line of a 150-page file. Making readable sense of run-on sentences also slowed me down, though not to that extent. The biggest problem, though, was the unexpected quirks brought on by Windows 11. Or maybe it’s a hardware problem in the new laptop. I still don’t know for sure. All I know is, I went to move the cursor and it decided to move on its own and click on something without permission, and all of a sudden my paginated work file had no more page breaks or running heads, and I had no idea how to restore it. Imagine turning in a work assignment with the note: “Edits are done, but you’re going to have to reformat the whole thing. Sorry. My bad.” Luckily I did some experimentation and found what went wrong. One click undid the cursor’s damage and I had page breaks and headers again. However, the Table of Contents got messed up in the restoration. I included a warning note when I sent the finished assignment back. My next step will be to head up to the local library, which has a free computer lab for us old geezers who didn’t grow up with home computers, so I can figure out what the hell’s up with my cursor and how I can get it back under control. At least it doesn’t zoom the pages in and out any more.

I didn’t get as much of my own writing done this week, but the assignment’s done and gone back to the publisher and currently there’s nothing else on the docket. That means I get to write now. Unless the weather clears up (it’s been rainy all week) and I decide to take one last shot at the yard work. We’ll just have to see what happens.

$$$$

And now, a brief tutorial: Proper Use of Basic Punctuation.

This is the period (.). It means “stop.” It goes at the end of a sentence. This is the comma (,). It means “pause, more is coming.” It’s also used to separate dialogue from the rest of the sentence. Example: Marcus turned to Laila and said, “If you don’t get dinner on the table right now, I’m packing your bags and sending you home to your mama.” “Okay,” she replied, “but I can pack my own bags. Hope you’ve got the number for DoorDash.”

Here's a (made-up) example of what I had to deal with last week:

“I can’t take this any more.” He said and took out his phone. Laila watched impassively he dialed. “Don’t forget you’re allergic to soy sauce.” She reminded him walking out of the room her ass swaying suggestively in her too-tight pants causing Marcus to misdial. “Acme Hardware.” Some teenager’s voice cracked over the phone. “Hello?”

It was like that on almost every page. Sometimes almost every line. I’ll leave the writers among you to figure out what the problems are and how to fix them. Just like I had to; that’s what took me so long. I understand this is category romance and a lot of these people are writing a book a month so they can get more royalties. There isn’t time to let things sit and do a better draft. But you can do your copy editor and proofreader a huge favor and do a cleaner one. Our eyes appreciate the courtesy.

Interestingly, I’ve noticed that no matter how many typos and punctuation errors there may be in the rest of the book, the sex scenes almost always are typo-free and clean as a lewd whistle. This is true for every author and every sub-genre. I think we know what the writers’ beta readers and proofers are spending most of their time on. There must be somebody somewhere out there reading these for the story. Maybe I don’t need to worry so much about that part after all. I’ll keep it in mind when I start cranking out my own book a month. See y’all next week.

Week 37 - Things Could Be Worse

 

Update – Last week wasn’t exactly me at the top of my form. I had a week off between paid assignments—plenty of time to write. Instead I mostly played games on the new laptop. That’s the only bright spot: I figured out how to fix the cursor’s zoom problem. Turns out it was software, not hardware. I went into Systems, found the Cursor section, discovered the Zoom box was checked, and unchecked it. Haven’t had a problem since. I was able to restore my missing Recycle Bin function using the same method. I’m still having minor issues with an overly-sensitive mouse pad, but I bet I just have to click or unclick a box there too and it’ll go away. Eventually I’ll get around to that.

I did start writing again—on Sunday, the day before my next assignment was due to come in. Now I’m beating myself up over a wasted week. At some point my subconscious and I will need to have a long-overdue serious talk.

$$$$

Anybody reading this, you just caught a break. Last night I had a bad bout of insomnia. Close to two early-morning hours of sleeplessness, bad memories, regrets, recrimination, self-pity and nearly-nonstop whining. I was going to share all that with you lucky people. But then it hit me: all things considered, I’ve got it pretty good. Yes, I can’t trust my car any more and I’m facing growing credit-card debt. On the other hand, I had uterine cancer but caught it early enough that all it cost me was removal of an organ that retired ten years before I did. I didn’t even need chemo or radiation treatments. I skated right through what could have been a life-altering—or life-ending—illness. I really have no right to whine about anything. No matter how bad I think things are, somebody somewhere has got it a million times worse.

Take, for instance, current Presidential candidate Donald Trump. He doesn’t have to be President—he absolutely needs to be President again, because without the protection of high public office, his butt will be going to jail. He’s already been convicted of a felony by the State of New York. Then there’s that little matter of January 6^th. The Supreme Court gave him a reprieve, but he can only fully dodge that bullet if he gets elected again. His flunkies are protecting him, but some in the party are beginning to sidle away. If he loses, guaran-damn-tee ya the whole passel of rats will jump ship, leaving him to sink on his own. He thought he had a shoo-in, but then Biden pulled a fast one and dropped out of the race, leaving Donnie to flounder against someone younger, smarter, browner and more female than he is. A popular female, with bigger, happier crowds at her rallies. I thought I suffered from insomnia? Donnie probably hasn’t slept well in months.

And now, on top of everything else, people are shooting at him.

When you look at it that way, all in all I have no reason to gripe. All I’ve got to worry about is paying bills, staying healthy, and taking the positive actions that’ll enable me to deal with the first two. I’m not facing national public humiliation or possible jail time. Nobody’s taking potshots at me. Not yet, anyway. The hardest thing I need to do is get off my ass and deal with life instead of whining about it. If I can do that, and avoid fomenting an insurrection against the US government, I should be okay.

Like I said, I’ve already gone back to writing. I have a couple side ideas I can try to work in. I’m not running for public office. Life is good. Especially for you folks. You just got an upbeat message instead of more whine with your cheese. You too can fix a zooming cursor now. No need to thank me. See y’all next week.

Week 36 - Semantics

 

Update – Got busy with paid work last week and had to set both writing and yard work aside while I focused on hitting my deadline. That’s done now and I’m back on my own stuff. At least until Monday, when I take the laptop back to the shop. I have one week of warranty time left, so I’m going to let them figure out why my cursor keeps zooming when I don’t want it do. Looks like I’ll be writing longhand next week; any typing will need to be done at the library. Yay for thumb drives! This will also get me out of the house, which always lifts my mood. I knew having home WiFi would end up with me going hermit mode, but at the time—Covid lockdown—I didn’t have much of a choice. Not if I wanted to keep getting paid.

In other news, Hong Kong may be gone, but I’ve still had an uptick in bot traffic, this time from the USA. Well, that’s to be expected. We’re in serious Presidential election season now, and both sides will be phishing for voters. Good luck with that, Rs and Ds alike. Just because I’m registered to a particular party doesn’t mean I’ll vote that way. One year I didn’t like either candidate, so I wrote in the tag team of Jesse Ventura and Hulk Hogan. You can do that when you live in the land of the free and the home of the smartass.

$$$$

Here’s something else I won’t be doing. Today I want to talk about something that involves an internet feud between two YouTubers. I will not be mentioning either by name. I did mention one in some earlier blogs because I support him, but I realized that was just clickbaiting to get views of my own, and I’ve since chosen not to do that any more. For today’s topic, we’ll call them Former Comics Pro (FCP) and Successful Newcomer (SN). If you’re into the modern comic book scene, especially the indies, you’ll know who I’m talking about.

Frankly, their identities don’t matter half as much as the situation. As briefly as I can put it, FCP was a talented and popular artist doing work for the big mainstream companies. SN was, and still is, a musician and YouTuber commentator, and also a comic book reader and fan. Both built steadfast followings over the years. FCP burnt some bridges, left mainstream comics and turned indie, crowdfunding his own books. SN, the longtime fan disappointed in the direction mainstream comics was going, decided to do likewise. Except, instead of crowdfunding, he used his own money and started his own company, hiring other disillusioned comics pros to write and draw his creations, with himself as writer/editor in chief.

At first FCP and SN supported each other on their respective YouTube channels. They were in the same business, after all. Then things went sour. SN’s first book came out and did over three million dollars in sales. The second book, for which FCP did a cover, didn’t match that but came dang close. Meanwhile, the crowd funding FCP was getting impatient because the books he’d promised them weren’t coming out. We’re talking years here. I’m a slow writer myself, and given to lengthy creative blocks, so I know how that is. However, when other people’s money is involved, when they’ve ponied up the bucks and no goods are forthcoming, they do tend to get a little irked. SN entering the scene seemingly out of nowhere and having such phenomenal success wouldn’t have helped FCP’s mood any.

Long story short, FCP turned on SN, live on YouTube, and cut contact. He’s since forged a new career devoted to bashing SN in vitriolic YouTube live streams that can run on for hours. For his part, SN has chosen to ignore the whole thing and concentrate on growing his new company. He’s since published five books with a sixth on the way, and established a company magazine. His goal is to have a book out every month. He’s also got a line of clothing, posters and other merchandise, and is hoping to expand into animation if/when finances allow. FCP, who hasn’t released a book in literally years while still accepting money from supporters, decries SN as a grifter.

If you’ve made it down this far, congratulations—we’ve finally reached the point of this entry.

SN is not a grifter. FCP is a grifter. SN is a huckster, and so far a very successful one.

Aren’t they the same? I hear you asking. Nope. A grifter is a swindler, a thief. They promise you the moon, take your money, and leave you with nothing to show for it. A huckster is a salesman. Their job is to hype the hell out of whatever they’re selling. When you give your money to a huckster, you will get a product in return. It may or may not be everything they said it was. That will be up to you and your expectations. You’ll still have something to show for the bucks you forked over. With a grifter, you’re left with empty pockets as well as empty hands.

I’ve tried SN’s books. I can’t say they’ve all been winners. But I like what he’s trying to do. I was a fan of CrossGen when that company existed, and his “universe” is giving me strong CrossGen vibes. Plus, he’s wise enough to hire pros to bring his ideas to life. As for the merch, I can’t vouch for everything, but those shirts are definitely top-notch, cotton and comfy. The important thing is, he delivers. Nothing is advertised or sold that doesn’t already exist. A comic may be teased, but the touting doesn’t start until the book is complete. Shipping begins promptly at the end of the pre-order period, and the product arrives in sturdy, quality packaging (My experiences with my local post office notwithstanding. That’s on them, though. See previous blogs.).

As for FCP, I’m not all that familiar with his artwork, although he was apparently popular during his mainstream days. Some fans may not like his writing; others seem to be okay with it. Or would be, if he ever got off YouTube long enough to actually finish any of the books he’s trying to sell. His full-time job these days appears to be a purveyor of drama. His attacks on others bring in viewers, and the viewers provide him with donations. In that regard, he’s a successful huckster, selling his POV. But unless and until he starts producing comic books, getting them out to the printer and delivering them to his paying customers, he might as well admit he’s just a grifter.

Which is why I’m following SN. And taking notes.

Yes, his marketing strategies can be classified as over the top, perhaps even melodramatic. “Selling igloos to Eskimos” is one way people used to phrase it. SN is a master at building interest in and hawking his various wares. He has to be. This is his company, his livelihood. You better believe he’s going to bust his ass selling his product to that fan base he’s built up. Not to mention he’ll make sure there’s a product ready to go before he starts making promises. Before I even think about trying his techniques, I’d better have a finished product ready, and it better be as good as I can make it. Nobody wants to be labeled a grifter, especially if that rep is deserved.

My first act, once I’m ready, will be to write another blog about SN, but this time use his name and add it to my labels. This is deliberate clickbaiting. Hopefully people will click on the link and be diverted here, where I can direct them to those books listed over there on the side. Those are books I’ve already written and that do exist. The links will take you to the publisher’s website. Call it passive hucksterism, if you will.

That’s only some of my published output, though. I should have a separate page with all my available books on it. God, I suck at this. No wonder I’m not successful. Note to self: revamp blog page. And write more. See y’all next week.

 

Weeks 34 & 35 - The Secret to Effective Communication

 

UPDATE – I’m pretty sure I’m running a week or so behind, so we’ll just cover two weeks in one this time around. I’ll even everything out at the end of the year. Back on topic. The second draft of the detective story continues to progress, although it’s slowed down a bit this week because I got another assignment. That one’s taking longer than normal because I’m still adjusting to Windows 11 and the cursor is still acting up. Once this assignment’s done (deadline’s Thursday) I’ll have a week off between jobs. That’s when I’ll take the new laptop back to the place I got it from and have them take a look at it. I’m still within the one-month warranty period so at least I won’t have to pay. Since I no longer have a backup computer I’ll just write longhand and/or type on the library system using a thumb drive. I’m going to see if I can finish the second draft by the end of September. Anything else I’ll do longhand. It worked for the current book, and pens are a lot easier to deal with than a pesky cursor. As long as they don’t run out of ink.

$$$$

The new laptop’s misbehaving cursor did come with a plus side: it gave me something to blog about both last week and this week. Between posting last week’s vent and before starting this one, I paid a visit to my local comic shop, mostly to visit with a semi-buddy who works there. As we caught up I told him about my new laptop and the cursor’s case of the zoomies. As it turns out, he’d once owned an iPhone with the same issue, and it drove him as nuts as mine was driving me.

Here's where things get interesting. I asked him how he’d fixed the problem, what the general cause was. Well...he hadn’t. He just lived with it until he couldn’t take it any more, then got another phone. I don’t want to spend another $300 on a laptop, so I’ll let the guys at the shop have at it. Let them do their job.

But his answer to my honest question brought back memories of similar encounters, and similar frustrations. I’ll bet you’ve run into this situation with family, friends and co-workers at one time or another. See if this sounds familiar:

You walk into a room filled with people you know. You start a conversation: “I have (a stomach ache/a car that's stalling out on me/jury duty).” The expected response should be interest or sympathy, depending on your issue. Instead—at least in my case—it’s always been an instant chorus of, “Really? That happened to me/my friend/a relative,” followed by details of their experiences. In the case of the jury duty conversation, this was actually pretty helpful. The others, though, I honestly could have used some advice on how to deal with the problem while I was waiting to see a doctor or a garage mechanic. Sometimes it’s a simple thing that you can fix yourself. I’m all about saving money whenever possible.

So my response in these cases tends to be, “Really? What did you/they do? How did you/they solve the problem?”

The response is invariably a blank stare, followed by verbal fumbling. The more articulate will tell you flat out, “I don’t remember. I think we just got rid of the car/took an aspirin/faked insanity.” Or else they just lived with it, like the comic shop guy and his phone.

It’s taken me years of this, but I think I’ve finally figured out why I can’t get a straight answer on how to deal with my problems. Why, in fact, I have so much trouble fitting in with other people.

While there are plenty of exceptions and lots of decent folk willing to be helpful, the bottom line is this: the average person—strangers, co-workers, friends, family members—doesn’t give a damn about you.  They’re not interested in your problems or helping you solve them. They’d much rather talk about themselves. If you walk up to your homies and announce that, say, “My furnace broke this morning,” the first words out of the first person’s mouth will be, “I had that happen to me.” They’re not commiserating; they’re trying to shut you down. Your announcement has made you the center of attention, and they’re out to grab the spotlight for themselves. That’s why the conversation automatically switches to everyone else’s experiences. They tell their stories and when they’re done, they walk away. This can happen with just one person or an entire room. If you’re lucky, they may remember you with a, “Hey, good luck with that.” Your starring performance just got snatched and converted into a walk-on cameo in their story. It’s flat-out disrespect, but that’s how people are any more.

Except I’m not looking for attention. I’m looking for answers. I want to know why my cursor/car/stomach isn’t behaving. I’m actually happy somebody else once had the same problem I’m having. Which is why my automatic, earnest and hopeful response is, “What did you do about it?”

And they can’t answer. Handing out solutions wasn’t the point. The point was to steal my thunder. Instead of standing there and letting them, I just called them out. Now they have to put up or shut up. That’s not how the script’s supposed to go. Even if they do have an answer, they’re not going to tell me. That would mean I won. So they mumble and fumble and say, “I dunno,” and walk away. And probably complain about me whining to everybody else behind my back.

Compounding my own problems, when someone else says they’ve got an issue, I just assume they want advice. If I have knowledge of the situation, I’ll try to offer solutions based on my own experience. That’s the last thing people want. They don’t want answers. They want sympathy. They want attention. Since it’s mostly women who pull this shit, they’ve already got their husbands to solve their problems for them. They sure as hell don't want some know-it-all bitch pointing out all their shortcomings by actually trying to help.

There’s even an epilogue to this. After dealing with things on my own I’ve come back to announce my solution. All of a sudden, memories improve. “Yeah, that’s what I/my friend/my family member did.” Which once again deflects attention away from me and onto the speaker. The attention hog is vindicated and walks away triumphant. And the next time the company has a layoff or the friend group throws a party, I’m the one who’s cut from the roster or not told about it because nobody wants me around. Seems I just can’t get along with people.

The secret to effective communication is this: when talking to others, never say “I”. Even if you’ve got a question. Say, “You’re the smartest person in the room. Do you know anything about…?” And then don’t say another word. Just stand there and listen. Sooner or later somebody will tell you something useful. Even better, you’ll get a rep around the office or among the friend or family group as a wonderful person and everybody will like you because you’re such a great listener and never seem to complain. Then, as soon as you can, dump those assholes and find new friends and coworkers who are willing to behave like adults and have actual conversations with you, as opposed to one-upmanship contests. Those people are harder to find, but they’re worth it. And this looks like it’s a nice length and should cover two weeks’ worth of blogging. See y’all next week.

Week 33 - Cursed

 

UPDATE – I’m making slow but steady progress on draft #2 of the detective story. Things may slow down a bit because this week I upgraded to a new laptop because the old one was taking longer and longer to boot up and one of the keys had come loose, with a second one threatening to follow suit. Since Microsoft’s been bugging me to upgrade to Windows 11, I went ahead and got a machine with 11 already installed. Sadly, I had to buy Microsoft Office 11 separately so I’d have access to the latest version of Word. The words you (all three of you, maybe four if Switzerland’s tuned in this week) are hopefully  reading here are coming to you live from the couch where I’m typing between commercials during Thor: Ragnarok. I’ve already done work on an existing file and only had minimal problems, but this is my first attempt at creating a new file on the new system. It’s…well, it’s turning into an interesting experience.

A caveat: if this week’s entry seems a bit disjointed and distracted, it’s because, as I mentioned, I’m watching a movie as I work. If there’s a break in flow, those were the points where I looked up to ogle Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston, or both. I’ll try to type fast, and coherently, during commercial breaks and get this done before the big battle scene at the end. And if anyone’s wondering: Loki’s the one you have a torrid affair with before you marry Thor. Just in case it ever comes up in conversation.

$$$$

And here we go. I’ve barely started and already it’s giving me issues.

I didn’t have too many problems the other times I changed laptops. Mostly it was just getting used to that particular machine’s idiosyncrasies. Windows 10 was similar enough to Windows 7 that upgrading wasn’t much of a jolt. Wish I could say the same for Windows 11. Working with this is like I’ve been speaking Canton Chinese and 11 only speaks Mandarin. It’s just different enough to throw me off.

And then there’s the fun I’m having with the cursor. (NOTE: I’m being sarcastic.)

New Lappy didn’t waste any time showing me how annoying it could be. Once I got home, I naturally signed in to Google and checked out my regular sites. Of course I used the cursor and the scroll bar to move up and down. Instead it zoomed my screen out. Then out again. Then in. This happened without me clicking anything. Just moving the cursor brought on a dance of extreme close-up to ant-size print with all size variations in between. No amount of clicking on the mouse pad would return my point size to normal.

And that’s not all. My headstrong cursor also likes to drag the page itself around, zooming in and then swiping left or right so I can’t read a full sentence from either side. Again, no amount of clicking and dragging on my part reverses this.

I don’t know if this is a hardware or software issue. I’m not doing anything. It does this on its own, sometimes when I’m not even touching it. In the time I’ve been typing this entry I’ve already had a zoom in/zoom out incident and a random left-swipe. Ironically, the zooms started after I’d asked Search “Why does my cursor randomly zoom?” Answer: it may think my Control key is stuck. Try pressing Control. (Didn’t work.) Help told me I should be able to disable Chrome’s Zoom function by clicking on Settings and going to sections that didn’t appear when I did so. As for Microsoft Settings, that shows me the Zoom setting was already off. Somebody needs to tell that to my errant cursor.

I’ve had three laptops before this one and two versions of Windows. I never once encountered this problem with any of them, or on the various library machines I’ve used over the years. Others must have, though, because answers show up in Search. I just wish the answers worked.

Monday a new assignment comes in. I get to do paid work with this annoyance lurking in my system, just waiting for its moment to pop up and piss me off. I’m under warranty for another couple of weeks, but first I think I’ll go up to the computer lab the library’s offering. Maybe someone familiar with the new iteration of Windows can help me straighten this out. If it turns out to be a hardware problem, then I’ll take it back to the shop.­ I should have kept Ol’ Unreliable, my oldest laptop with Windows 7 on it, as a backup. At least I know how to work on that one. Only problem was, it tended to conk out unexpectedly; sometimes it would boot up again, other times it wouldn’t. That’s why I got rid of it, and why I started calling it Ol’ Unreliable.

There is a bright side to the zoom problem: I tried playing computer games, and the constant random zooming ticked me off to the point I just shut the whole system down. I think I’ve finally hit on the solution to my gaming addiction. The price of the laptop was still cheaper than therapy, so I have no complaints in that regard.

In semi-related news, my car has decided it’s also going to be difficult and not start at random times and places. The lights come on but the engine won’t turn over. It’s not the battery; that got a jump from a guy in the grocery store parking lot, but it did nothing. It may be the starter. Popping the clutch got it started and I got it to the garage, but they couldn’t do anything because it started right up for them so they can’t determine what’s wrong. Right now it’s running fine, but it could leave me stranded at any time, in any situation. I’d think it was in collusion with my new laptop if I were a paranoid person. Oh, wait…

Looks like I’ve got this written. Now let’s see if it’ll let me post. If not, it’s off to the library with a thumb drive, which may be how I end up doing the paid assignment. There are always solutions if you look for them. See y’all next week.