Hey 3.5 readers.
BQB here.
I’m in the home stretch of BQB’s 101 Writing Prompts book.
In the book, I invite readers to write stories based on the prompts and publish them on their blogs and Tweet me the links.
If anyone is interested, I’d love it if anyone wants to choose a prompt and blog their response. Maybe the first week the book is out I could put your prompt based writings right here on this fine blog.
Anyone who wants to partake of my prompts, let me know.
Well, 3.5 readers. It finally happened.
I got a draft of a book finished that I felt was worthy enough to print out:
I know. Very exciting. But this is big. I believe it will get done and sooner rather than later.
BQB’s EDITORIAL NOTE: 3.5 readers, I heard a rumor you guys are struggling with your self-publishing ventures lately, so I invited a special guest speaker to come in and motivate you. Please welcome a young Alec Baldwin in his prime.
Blake:
Let me have your attention for a moment! So you’re talking about what? You’re talking about…(puts out his cigarette)…bitching about that book launch you shot, some son of a bitch reader that doesn’t want to read your book, somebody that doesn’t want to read what you’re writing, some broad you’re trying to screw but she won’t screw you because writers never get laid and so forth. Let’s talk about something important. Are they all here?
Williamson:
All but one.
Blake:
Well, I’m going anyway. Let’s talk about something important. (To Levene) Put that coffee down! Coffee’s for self-publishers only. (Levene scoffs). Do you think I’m fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. I’m here from downtown. I’m here from a primo e-book sales site. I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Levene?
Levene:
Yeah.
Blake:
You call yourself a self-publisher, you son of a bitch?
Moss:
I don’t have to listen to this shit.
Blake:
You certainly don’t, pal. ‘Cause the good news is you’re fired from my platform. The bad news is you’ve got, all you got, just one week to regain your jobs as self-publishers, starting tonight. Starting with tonight’s word count session. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. ‘Cause we’re adding a little something to this month’s self-publishing contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a box of steak knives. (Holds up box of knives).
Third prize is you’re fired. You get the picture. You laughing now? You’ve got words. That fuck who wrote the dictionary went to a lot of trouble to get you those words. Think about the right word combinations and write them!
You can’t finish writing a book with the words you’ve been given then you can’t write for shit. You ARE shit, so hit the bricks pal and beat it because you are going out!
Levene:
The words are weak.
Blake:
‘The words are weak.’ The fucking words are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in the self-publishing business for fifteen years. That’s right. I went back in time and told myself to start self-publishing before any of this shit was even invented.
Moss:
What’s your name?
Blake:
Fuck you! That’s my name. You know why, Mister? Because you wrote your novel tonight on a bargain basement, second hand Dell and I wrote my novel on a state of the art, top of the line Mac Book Pro. That’s my name!
(To Levene) – And your name is “you’re wanting to self-publish but you’re too chicken shit to get off your ass and do it.” You can’t play in a man’s game. You can’t close out a book.
(To Everyone) – Because only one thing counts in this life! Get readers to read your books! Do you hear me, you fucking losers?
(Blake points to a blackboard. Two sets of letters are written on it: “ABS” and “ADIY.”)
Blake:
A-B-C. A-always, B-be, S-self-publishing. Always be self-publishing! Always be self-publishing.
A-D-I-Y. Always Do It Yourself. Stop waiting for those traditional publishing pricks to give you the keys to the golden kingdom because it’s never going to happen. Are you going to do it yourself? I know you are because it’s fuck or walk. You self-publish or you hit the bricks!
Do it yourself! Who else are you going to do it for? Christ? Take action. Get out there!
You’ve got the readers coming in. You think they came in to get out of the rain? The guy doesn’t come to your online book sales page unless he wants to read. He is sitting out there waiting to give you his money!
Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it? (to Moss) What’s the problem pal? You! Moss!
Moss:
You’re such a hero. You’re so rich. Why are you coming down here just to waste your time on a bunch of bums?
(Blake takes off his gold watch and shows it to Moss).
Blake:
You see this watch? You see this watch?
Moss:
Yeah.
Blake:
This watch costs more than your car. I made $970,000 on self-publishing last year, mostly on one book that had a really descriptive scene about a giant pair of titties. How much did you make? You see, pal, that’s who I am. And you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you. Go home and play with your kids.
(To everyone) – You want to self-publish here? Finish writing a book! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksuckers? You can’t take this, how are you going to take it when your book gets a one star review?
You don’t like it? Leave. I can go out there tonight with the words you’ve got and write myself fifteen thousand books. Tonight! In two hours! Can you? Can you? Go and do likewise!
A-D-I-Y! Get mad! Get mad, you sons of bitches! You know what it takes to sell books?
(Blake pulls a set of brass balls out of his brief case and dangles it in front of his crotch).
Blake:
It takes a set of brass balls to sell books.
Go and do likewise, gents. The money’s out there. You pick it up? It’s yours. You don’t? I have no sympathy for you. You wanna go out on those word count sessions tonight and rack up big counts then those words are yours. If not, you’re going to be shining my shoes.
Bunch of losers sitting around in a bar. (Speaks in a sad tone). “Oh yeah, I used to be a self-publisher. It’s a tough racket.”
(Blake takes a stack of index cards out of his briefcase).
These are the new words. These are the Glengarry words. And to you, they’re gold. And you don’t get them. Why? Because to give these words to you would be to just throw them away.
These words are for self-publishers. I’d wish you good luck but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it.
(To Moss) – And to answer your question, pal. Why am I here? I came here because the book sales site asked me to. They asked me for a favor. I said, ‘The real favor? Follow my advice and fire your fucking ass because a loser is a loser.’
(Blake heads into interior office).
Behold, 3.5 readers, the book cover for Zom Fu in all of its brain yanking glory.
Now I just need to finish writing the book.
What say you, 3.5 readers?
Ugh. Publishing elitism.
Laurie Gough recently wrote in the Huffington Post:
“To get a book published in the traditional way, and for people to actually respect it and want to read it — you have to go through the gatekeepers of agents, publishers, editors, national and international reviewers. These gatekeepers are assessing whether or not your work is any good. Readers expect books to have passed through all the gates, to be vetted by professionals. This system doesn’t always work out perfectly, but it’s the best system we have.”
-Laurie Gough, “Self-Publishing: An Insult To the Written Word.” The Huffington Post. December 29, 2016
I’ll let you read the article yourself but to sum it up, after claiming that she would rather “share a cabin on a Disney cruise with Donald Trump than self-publish” she goes on to explain that good writing takes years of rejection, that it is a self-imposed apprenticeship, that only by going through the gatekeepers is good writing achieved.
Ugh. OK, on one hand she is correct. Writing, like any other skill, takes time to develop. The more you work on it, the better you’ll get.
However, let’s not pretend that “the gatekeepers” are really doing anything to actually help you get better at writing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, when you submit a manuscript to an agent or a publisher, you’ll get a form letter stating something to the effect of, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
You won’t get a marked up manuscript showing all the mistakes you made so you can improve.
You won’t get a nice letter saying, “You got moxie, kid. Just do this and this and that and you’re going places!”
You won’t get anyone offering to sit down with you and go over what you need to do to improve.
You’ll get a form rejection letter and that’s only if your submission doesn’t get lost in the zillions of other submissions the agents and publishers receive on a daily basis.
She’s not without a point. If you do get into the traditional publishing system, there will editors, agents and pros that will help you improve yourself.
But that’s if you get into it. And as I’ve always said, giving up on self-publishing in the hopes that a lucrative self-publishing contract is on the horizon is a lot like giving up a kiss from a woman that likes you because maybe, just maybe one day Scarlett Johansson might want to kiss you.
She’s correct about how good writing requires a lot of time and hard work. And if traditional publishing is something you desire, then you should give it a try.
However, who has ten years to wait? And let’s not pretend that they are a bevy of “gatekeepers” waiting in the wings to guide you.
The writing world sucks. If you get into it at a young age, there are a handful of success stories where people hit it big early but for the rest, it’s a long, hard slog uphill where you make crap pay and work crap hours in the hopes that maybe, just maybe one of those gatekeepers will hook you up.
Self-publishing lets you make things happen on your own.
Yes, many people are lousy writers who have no filter or ability to comprehend they are crap writers. They hit the publish button on a pile of crap and then drag down the whole self-publishing industry.
You can’t just whip something out in an afternoon, draw a cover with crayon, then slap it up there and expect to get anywhere.
It just seems like many critics of self-publishing, this author is painting all self-publishers with a broad brush.
And finally, can we just be honest and say that regardless of your personal politics, it would be fun to share a cabin with Donald Trump on a Disney cruise? The man would probably buy you drinks and cigars and shit. He’d fill the cabin with hot chicks. It’d be a party every night. Order whatever you want and the bill is on him. He’d bring the family and Melania would wear a different supermodel outfit everyday and Ivanka would give you free fashion advice. He’d write wacky tweets about Mickey Mouse. You would surely walk away from the experience with some interesting stories to tell.
What say you, 3.5 readers?
Dear Mighty Potentate,
It’s been roughly two years since you have me to look after Bookshelf Q. Battler, the human author you believe possesses so much talent that he will one day write a novel so perfect that it inspires the masses to abandon reality television.
Not gonna lie, I still don’t see that side of him but hey, you’re the Mighty Potentate.
At any rate, I do believe that his blog, despite being only read by 3.5 readers, has convinced humans that reality television must be rejected. After all, it’s not like America, the greatest of all Earth nations, has elected a reality television star as their ruler or something. I firmly stand by that statement and also, please don’t watch any Earth television.
Bookshelf Q. Battlers End of 2016 Stats are as follows:
WORDPRESS FOLLOWERS: 2,025
TOTAL 2016 VISITORS: 16,389 (I cannot confirm nor deny that most of these were BQB’s Aunt Gertie).
TOTAL 2016 LIKES: 7,502
TOTAL 2016 VIEWS: 27,524 (Most were people who came here looking for directions on how to get away from here).
TWITTER FOLLOWERS: 8,184 (Follow BQB @bookshelfbattle)
FACEBOOK FOLLOWERS: 287 (Though BQB is considering scraping up some cash to use as a bribe to Earth Techno-Lord Zuckerberg to allow him more Facebook friends. Like BQB on Facebook – @bookshelfqbattler)
Moreover, oh Potent One, BQB continues to seek new ways to bring traffic to his most pathetic blog. Search engine optimization appears to be BQB’s forte as he has brought in 11,576 visitors this year alone through search engine hits (though again, most were people who came here looking for directions on how to get away from here).
Based on these stats, Mightiest of Potentates, I recommend holding back your invasion of Earth for another year in order to allow BQB to continue working on his writing career. He’s building a platform, he continues to try, and though he has the attention span of amoeba, I believe 2017 will be the year when he publishes a novel.
As always, it has been a pleasure serving you, oh splendid Potent One, and though there have been rumors to the effect that I feel this job is far, far, far below my capabilities, I gladly accept any and all orders you have with a smile.
But seriously…please don’t vaporize me.
Your humble servent,
Alien Jones, the Esteemed Brainy One
Hey 3.5 readers.
Time for a State of the Bookshelf address.
First, check out the 3D cover of my upcoming book:
You know 3.5, I have to say it. This book cover is a small victory for me.
Maybe one day I’ll share my trials and tribulations but suffice to say, I’ve been through some shit. I’m ambitious. I try hard. I work hard. Yet inevitably, for as long as I can remember, I always end up landing flat on my face.
Life has always been like Lucy holding that football. There have been many times where I, in a Charlie Brown-like manner, would assume I was about to make it (i.e. kick that football) only to have life (or Lucy) take the football away leaving me (just like Charlie) flat on my ass.
I wonder if Charles Schultz ever realized how he captured a brilliant metaphor to explain how people can only try and fail so many times before they give up. Maybe that’s why Charlie is so lovable. He kept trying to kick that football even though defeat was certain.
I often wonder why I don’t give up, why I keep Charlie Brown-ing it. But lately, I think I’m Langston Hughes-ing it:
Dreams – Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Yeah, there are many more practical things I could be doing than blogging and writing, especially when my many attempts at kicking life’s football have left me shouting, “Uggh!” before rolling over and over again through the air then landing on my butt.
Yet, what’s the alternative? I’ve got to hold onto the dream because Langston is right. Without dreams, life is a field of barren snow.
So I must keep giving Lucy the chance to pull that football away to avoid a snowy life, if that makes any sense.
All this is a very longwinded way of saying that I don’t feel like the football was pulled away from me in this respect. I got off my butt, I did something, I set up a design contest, I talked to some designers and I got a pretty sweet cover.
I started out a pessimist. I thought it wouldn’t work out. But it did. Lucy let my toe briefly tap the ball and that’s a step in the right direction.
3.5 readers, I hate to set an arbitrary date but I really need you all to become 3.5 million readers by 2020. That’s more or less the last year where I could conceivably use my prospective book writing moolah to throw a wild, lavish party ala that party scene in the NWA biopic Straight Outta Compton.
Yeah. I know. That’s a lot of pressure to put on myself. I’m not sure people could get excited enough about books to support an NWA style party in the name of books. (You have to see the party scene in that movie to know what I’m talking about).
But at any rate, that’s my gauge for success. Malibu mansion to throw NWA style party in to celebrate my writing career by 2020. If it happens in 2021, that’ll be too late. The millions coming in 2022 or 2023 won’t matter. Give me millions in 2025 and I’ll just smile and nod and then donate it to charity or some shit because by then I will have lost my ability to care.
Malibu NWA style party to celebrate my book career by 2020 or bust! And you all 3.5 of you are invited.
Hey, by the way, before I go back to yeti captivity, you nerds have put me over 2000 followers.
Thanks for listening, 3.5. The state of the bookshelf is strong.
Come on 3.5 readers, your favorite nerd needs you.
Check out the designs proposed for my upcoming book on 99Designs.
You don’t need to vote over there if you don’t want to. I just need you to let me know what you think about the covers and which one you choose and why in the comments on my fine blog here.
I’m facing a real Sophie’s Choice here, 3.5 readers. I literally feel like how Sophie must have felt when the Nazis demanded that she choose between her children.
I mean, OK, maybe it isn’t that bad, but still.
I’ll give you a person, a place and a thing.
You write a story around it.
Here we go:
A teenager, a garage and his Dad’s wrecked car.
A British aristocrat, a rodeo and a jug of moonshine.
The Pope, New Orleans and a delicious Reuben sandwich with extra slaw.
Your mother-in-law, Barbados and a gallon of motion lotion.
Thomas Edison, Mars and a light bulb.
A lion tamer, a bathroom and a plunger.
The King of the Elven Warriors of Gooba Dooba, the top of a hill and a bag of pomegranates.
The Earl of Sandwich, a beach and a lobster roll.
Beethoven, Compton during the early 1990s and an invitation to tour a gangster rap recording studio.
An astronaut, Uranus and a gelatin mold in the shape of a giraffe.
Napoleon Bonaparte, a wacky frat party and a hacky sack.
Niles Batzengant, Professional Zombie Killer, Manhattan and a hickory stick.
An idiot, Thanksgiving dinner at your Grandma’s house and a bugle.
Cowboy Ron, a fast food joint drive-thru and an umbrella.
Phoebe the Wall Street investment banker, a used car dealership and a pack of playing cards.
Kenny the Depressed Vampire, a lonely hotel room and a wooden stake.
A supermarket cashier, Pismo Beach and a lucky rabbit’s foot.
Father Tom Connor, a confession booth and a box of crayons.
A train conductor, Grand Central station and a potato.
A horse riding instructor, the deck of a battle ship and a bag of stale Halloween candy.
Santa Claus, the back room of a lewd establishment and a bottle of the house’s most expensive champagne.
Stand-up comedian Stan Larue, the middle of a witch’s coven and a back scratcher.
Your high school gym teacher, a pirate ship and a loofah.
Ann Plattersburg, Renegade Garner, a tulip farm onboard the intergalactic space station and a bottle of hot sauce.
Jimmy the Stoner, the White House and a beer helmet.
Olaf the Viking Chieftain, tea time at a proper lady’s house and a tube of prescription strength anti-herpes medicinal ointment.
Robin Hood, a lending library and a whet stone.
Harrison Wellington, Novice Donkey Wrangler, the jungle and a cheese sandwich.
A robot repairman, a trash compactor and a box of cereal.
Famed actor Stu Winnebago, a psychiatrist’s leather couch and a pocket watch.
Professional hockey player Pete Sarbo, a ridiculously long ride at an amusement park and a toothbrush.
A dog walker, a haberdashery and a fedora.
Waldo the Passive Aggressive Clown, a children’s birthday party and a kazoo.
A lunatic, Chicago and a photograph of a turnip.
World famous checker player Xander Mazbett, a den of thieves and stolen cutlery.
A superhero, an ice cream parlor and an expired gift card.
A TV weatherman, the eye of a hurricane and a pair of sweet ass front row concert tickets.
A mad scientist, a cosplayer convention and an empty wallet.
An alligator wrestler, the Everglades and a dog whistle.
A pizza delivery boy, a Shaolin temple and a banana.
A samba dancer, a model train enthusiast convention and a broken pencil.
Frank the bartender, a beauty parlor and a bottle of cheap scotch.
Hey 3.5.
BQB here.
VGRF waved some smelling salts under my nose and I’m up and about again.
Still a little sad I had to open my wallet. I really do hate doing that. She wasn’t lying about ordering off the dollar menu and the grease traps and so on.
It’s only been a couple hours and someone has already submitted a pretty cool design. I mean, I want to wait until the end of the contest to see what the other designers have to offer but I’m just impressed with the power of the Internet.
Do you millennials have any idea how good you all frigging have it when it comes to becoming creative these days?
Damn it, when I was your age, I had to walk up a hill both ways in blizzard conditions just to get to a computer and when I did I still didn’t have a book cover because no one was selling book cover design services over the damn Internet.
Shit. The Internet back then made your computer make a noise like a screeching cat and you could only be on it for five minutes lest you tie up the phone line.
I look forward to sharing the results of all the designers when they come in and together we will make a good choice, 3.5 readers.
Bookshelf Battle 