Review of Airel by Reviews By Molly

Check out the latest review for Airel. This is one of the best reviews I've ever read for any book anywhere. Amazing. Thanks to Molly.

The Insidious Lie that is Hobby Lobby

I had heard vaguely of this new box store called Hobby Lobby. In my mind I had conjured up mystical greatnesses about it. I called to mind all the great times I used to have as a kid going to hobby stores looking at all the cool model cars, the ships with full rigging, the fighter jets, the radio controlled dune buggies, the flying model airplanes, the rockets. All of it. And one day recently I got my boys all jazzed up to head on over to Hobby Lobby to go get a heady dose of manly creativity.

So on one errand-running outing we decided to finish up our day with a stop at Hobby Lobby, to which I had never been in my whole life. Imagine my surprise.

I walked into the store to see aisle upon aisle of picture frames, baskets, fake flowers, and worst of all, endless shelves of nick-nacks. Or however you’re supposed to spell it. I don’t actually care; I could not in fact care any less. Frick.

I was ten feet inside the front doors, by the check-out registers. I stopped dead. And this is what I said:

“Well, this isn’t a hobby store. This…this is—this is just all chick hobbies!”

The ladies demurely manning the scanners, plus all the people waiting in line to buy their nick-nacks or whatever (100% females), all of them turned to look at me with haughty disdain. I swear to God, it’s getting so that there’s no place for a man to go and be safe in the world anymore. The truth of that old saw about whose world it is, is actually completely opposite: it’s not a man’s world. It’s a woman’s world. I wanted to run screaming from the building in horrified shock, arms waving over my head. But I didn’t, for the sake of the children.

We braved the picture frames and the fifteen thousand square feet of space dedicated to scrapbooking (“Dear God!” I hissed). We walked through millions of wreaths and fake floral arrangements; it was a horticulturist’s horror show; a nightmare. And then, there, like a beacon in blackest night, we beheld it: two lonely aisles, tucked away at the very back of the store, where masculinity was allowed to exist on a short leash.

There we found the rocket engines. There we found the ultra-cool model of Old Ironsides with all her rigging. There we found products with mythical names: Tamiya. Testors. Estes. And even some cheap-ass Lego knock-off. It was as oasis of testosterone; one could actually smell its potent power above the insidious menace of orange-raspberry potpourri. I stifled a shiver.

Well, when I say stifled…

Point is, we survived. We men are warriors. We will overcome. But this was like Hill 881 in Vietnam, 1967. It was the stuff of legend, where heroes were forged in the fires of Hell itself. We don’t talk about it anymore. But when we pass each other in the halls of our house, I nod knowingly to my sons, just a tick of the chin, and they nod back, eyes blazing with the momentary fire of comprehension for what we had endured together as males. The truth is, none of us can stifle a shiver, even now.

Guest Post: Is Writing a Privilege or Responsibility?

My first guest ever on my wee little blog is Evelyn LaFont. If you dig humor and vampires with a sprinkling of irreverence, you'll love her, as do I.

Writers have a pretty simple purpose in life—to entertain, educate and empower others. We can use words to create fiction or non-fiction in long or short form to accomplish these objectives. We can use tragedy, comedy and romance. We can use or disregard tropes and genres. We can experiment or play it safe. We can do whatever we want, as long as it entertains, educates or empowers.

But words are powerful things, and the ability to manipulate a reader’s intelligence or mood effectively while using them is an important one. Which makes me wonder—is writing a privilege, or a responsibility that should not be shirked?

In my freelance life, I educate consumers and I consider it a pretty important responsibility to do so. I don’t just do it because it helps me make my house payment every month (Hi HSBC!! It’s coming, I swear!) , I do it because consumers need access to educational resources that they can trust.

As a fiction writer, I’m all about the entertainment. Again, this is an area that I want to create an income from, but I think that showing the world some of your talent for free is a good idea and may help them decide to take a chance on your fiction.

That’s one of the reasons I created VampLure.com, an online fictional magazine that takes the point of view that vampires are real, datable and a little bit behind the times as far as women’s liberation is concerned. It’s a fun, humorous monthly e-zine that gives readers a glimpse into the world I created around my series and offers a form of free entertainment, something I love to provide.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter whether writers ‘owe’ it to readers to share their abilities or not, because chances are good you won’t be able to stop them from trying anyway. Which makes the ability to write a privilege that creates a compulsive need to share or, in short hand—a win/win situation.

Evelyn LaFont is an author and freelance writer with an addiction to Xanax and a predilection for snark. Her debut novella,The Vampire Relationship Guide, Volume 1: Meeting and Mating is a comedy about dating, sexing, and living with vampires and is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords. She has also developed a monthly e-zine to accompany the series, which can be found at VampLure.com. 

Inception and a Bit About Stories

I saw Inception in theatres last year. I recently re-watched it on Blu-Ray because it is one of the most powerful stories I can remember having ever enjoyed. Much like The Prestige, it’s a movie that bears multiple viewings on the merits of its story. And by the way, good stories aren’t just in books—that’s why my company isn’t called C.P. White Publishing. Stories today come in all kinds of media, and Inception is an incredible example. That story just rips me apart.

Maybe it’s because DiCaprio plays a distant father. It’s not by his character’s choice that he’s been removed from his family, not directly. But as we discover near the climax, he can be blamed for it pretty squarely. The flaws of fatherhood are something that speak to me deeply, because I am one—a flawed father, that is.

Or maybe it’s because the story is about dreams, and we all have them; we wonder at the mysterious universal. The idea of a dream within a dream within a dream begs the question of what’s actually real, much like The Matrix did when it broke onto the scene years ago.

Maybe, though, the story of Inception affects me simply because I like stories that pose hard questions and then lead the audience or reader in a certain direction only far enough to allow us to make the final connections on our own. Inception does this masterfully, and I plan to watch it again, studying it so that I can learn more about how to craft a proper story.

So much has been done already at this point in human history; it’s difficult to innovate. Mary Shelley arguably invented the horror genre in the mid 19^th century with Frankenstein, but it’s difficult indeed for any of us to produce such literary shockwaves today. To use another example, just tune into pop radio and listen for a bit and see if you can identify a single song that is truly unique. It’s a tough time in creative media; everything looks or sounds almost identical. It seems we’re resigned by necessity to produce works that are similar to what’s already been done yet just different enough to be able to be called “new.”

Inception is a story that will be talked about for a long time to come. It is different in a sea of sameness. This is the kind of story writers, or creative artists of any kind, ought to study. Sure, it has familiar elements…betrayal, deception, the ubiquitous thuggish baddies that could have starred on the A-Team. But God, it’s a good movie…and a fantastic story. 

How to Be a Good Writer, Part 5

Investment: Scary. I’m not only talking about money. I’m talking about you. Your time. Effort. Sacrifice. That kind of investment—which, yes, can involve money but mostly involves guts.

A couple of questions: How much investment is enough? And in what does one invest? Allow me to argue in favor of you: Invest in yourself.

I have a dear friend who tells me that most entrepreneurs tend to underinvest not in their idea, their passion for it, or in doing the numbers, the research—but in themselves. That’s why most of us fail, at least once: we’re afraid to lay down the money on, let’s face it, the venture about which we know the most. Instead we invest in shaky Wall Street hedge funds, which really amount to Las Vegas East, if you get my meaning. Why would we do that? Why would we favor some idiot account manager in New York City over ourselves? Why do we depend on huge multinational slush funds to properly manage our retirement? Why not invest in the one business idea that actually has merit?

Full disclosure: I don’t have a 401(k) and never have (now we see the bias inherent). But I’m highly motivated to be a retirement hawk, if you will, and manage what I do have aggressively.

All this to say that if your project needs a little jump start to get going, and you have a little something tucked away somewhere, by God, wager it on your own enterprise. You’d do better than sending it off to be confiscated by Lenny-the-Wall-Street-con and his Mob boss in dark places, Uncle Sam. But I digress.

I’ve blown through my word count pretty much already this week. So I’ll leave you with this: Don’t be afraid to invest in yourself. This is what separates the careerists from the hobbyists.

Also, I’ll just go ahead and debut my Tips for Writers motif by popping one off right here: Never use the phrase, “but I digress.” If you do, your piece is already running off the rails and can only be salvaged by self-deprecating humor. Such things are only pulled off adequately by the consummately skilled.

Now, I know I promised a little bit here on mechanics and other boring stuff last week. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I’ve run out of space. Aren’t you glad.

Review of Airel by Life in Review

Okay, this review takes the cake. Check it out here. And don't miss your chance to pick up Airel on Kindle this month for $4.99. It goes to print this fall. Book II in the Airel saga, Michael, is currently being dreamed up.

Smartphones: Do They Make the World a Dumber Place?

Let me lead off with an example. Recently I paid an exorbitant amount of money to go to OMSI, the Oregon Museum of Stuff and Madness. Therein I discovered many children. They were all running amok, as children are wont to do. Temper this post with the realization that I was in another one of my mooditudes; in other words not feeling gregarious in any way. But I noticed, while standing amongst the chidingly patronizing exhibits on evolution and how it’s a fact (actually—not so; it’s never ever been proven but you wouldn’t know that to talk to some of these sheeple), that the children were running amok because the parents were…how do I say this…the parents were mobbing around the space with their faces glued to their smartphones. Like, OMG, you guys look really dumb. And your children—do you even care? Cuz I can’t tell. At all. It reminded me of those teenagers who think strapping a used coffee can to the exhaust of their front wheel drive hatchback makes it faster, or somehow better or cooler. Nope. It makes you look like an idiot, my friend.

Now, before this turns into a rant, let me explain myself. I have an iPhone. I do. But I exercise a great many opportunities to walk away from it. I don’t like to be mastered by things. I like my liberties. I fight for them. And I have to ask the question, “before you got your smartphone, how, oh how did you ever manage?” Well? Do you really need to be glued to Facebook all day? Really. How about that stock ticker: you need that? Oh, okay. Can I interest you in this brochure published by Gamblers Anonymous? And how in God’s name did any of us ever make it through the day without playing Fruit Ninja for five hours? Man. Those were tough times a couple of years ago. I can remember way back when cellphone displays were monochromatic. That was like dining on cat exhaust.

Look, people. I love technology. I use it. I just don’t like it when it uses me. And I really don’t like it when it uses people around me, because that affects my environment. Honestly, I can equate the fervor over the constant stream of media that floods us daily, hourly, to a giant cow. Except this one is constantly growing teats. There’s more than enough for anyone who wants to shove their way in there and suckle. The only fights that ever break out are when 2G teats are replaced by 3G teats and 3GS teats, and the occasional teat-contract-early-termination dispute. You can imagine some of the conversations had around the milk bag:

“I don’t like my teat anymore; it’s too slow.”

“Yeah dude, I just upgraded to a 4G teat that makes yours look like a friggin cottage cheese factory.”

“Are you saying my teat is so slow that it curdles?”

“Curdles, bro. Before you can even enjoy it.”

“Damn.”

“I know, right?!”

That’s messed up. But it’s to illustrate a point. We look like, well, cattle as we drone around our world, held in a headlock by our 3.5 inch diagonal screens. Pull your head out, America. Get off the teat. And wipe that smartphone crust off your face; it’s really gross.