Tag Archives: writing

Get My Book for FREE!

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

All this weekend, my book, The Last Driver – Episode 1 is free, totally free!

It’s set in a dystopian future where the government controls all, and in a world where all cars are self-driving, the last man who remembers what to do behind a wheel will be called on to save the day…or will he destroy it all?

Get it today, 3.5 readers.  Did I mention it is free?  I would appreciate it if you’d get a free copy and if it isn’t too much trouble, leave a review.

Thank you.

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Get My Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts FREE Through Sunday

It’s free, 3.5 readers.

That means all you have to do is go and get it…FOR FREE!

Click.  Download.  Get a free book.  Leave a review if you like though I know that’s asking a lot.  But anyway, it’s free, 3.5 readers.  You can’t go wrong.

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A Rap About the $1.42 I Made Selling My Books on Amazon

rappa

BQB:

Aw yeah.  What you gonna do?

Aw yeah.  What you gonna do?

What you gonna do with your dolla forty-two?

Woke up in the morning, pulled my laptop out da sleeve.

Logged on to my bank account. Whoa! Do my eyes deceive?

Out of my throat, my heart did try to leave,

At the sight of some figures, so shiny and new

And wouldn’t you know it?  They added up to a dolla forty two.

CHORUS:

A dolla forty two.  A dolla forty two.

A man has got to hustle to grip that dollar forty-two.

BQB:

If you got a dollar and a half, some buster’s gonna want it.

So keep it in your pocket and you’d better well not flaunt it.

And sure you could feed the homeless and bring some happiness to the poor.

But I think I’d rather drive a new Bugatti through my garage door.

Cuz we all know some bitches love a man with a buck and some change.

So I’m gonna cruise the strip, on the hunt for some strange.

Ladies get excited, don’t know what they gonna do.

When they see a man got a wallet and inside there’s a dolla forty two.

CHORUS:

Dolla forty-two y’all.  Dolla forty-two.

BQB:

2019.  The year I clocked some green.  Peace.  I’m out.

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Writing Regrets

I’m old.

This will probably be hard to explain due to a lack of exact dates and keeping things anonymous but I’ll try.

When I was young I really wanted to be a writer.  I got internships in that both summers and then in my last semester I had a really big internship where I spent a semester in a big city working as an intern for a big organization.  Honestly, I was basically a coffee fetcher, but it was fun and I fetched coffee for some big names.

After college, I returend to Podunk and got a small writing job locally.  There was a part of me that wanted to go back to the back city and pursue a life there as a writer.  It didn’t seem far fetched.  As a young person in my early 20s, I’d already gotten a lot of experience.  The rents wanted me to pursue something more practical and while I don’t want to throw them under the bus for doing what parents do and I realize it was up to me follow through with what I wanted, I ultimately chose the practical.

Do I blame them?  A bit.  Do I blame myself the most?  Of course.  There comes a time in adult life where you have to realize your parents don’t know everything and you will have to defy and disappoint them.  Don’t worry though because either way it will work out great for them.  If you defy them and do what you want and it fails, they can say I told you so forever.  If you defy them and do what you want and it succeeds, they’ll say they were behind you all along and it was their idea.  Also, fun fact, if you obey them and do what they want and it fails, they’ll say well you should have been your own man and what do they know.

Anyway, I blame myself entirely.  It is a week man who blames others for their failings.

I told myself I’d do the practical for a while and then after I’ve made some money I’ll do what I actually want.  (Kids, FYI this doesn’t happen.  Don’t buy that shit if someone tells you it does.)

Long story short, the practical thing didn’t work out.  At that point I thought maybe I should go back to my true love of writing.

But I was a wuss.  So I did another practical thing.  This practical thing actually worked out.

I do feel like I cheated myself though.  The writing world had accepted me early and I ended up worrying that I’d end up 30 and failed because I wasn’t being paid much at 20.  Now I realize that yeah, that just happens.  You have to pay your dues but good for you, your foot is in the door.  Your feet are on the first rung of the ladder, so keep climbing.

At this point now, I’m 40.  I’m self sufficient.  I suffered a lot though and to be honest, a lack of stability made relationships difficult.  I had to come to grips this year with the fact that it’s too late to have children.  Technically, I can have them forever but all the women in my age bracket are closed down for baby business.

Could I adopt a little Chinese kid?  Sure.  Do I fear they’ll send me a faulty one on purpose and refuse to take it back?  All the big ticket purchases I’ve made in recent years where I open the box only to find that the item is missing a part such that someone at the factory was asleep at the switch tells me yes.  (Was this meant as a joke?  Partially.)

There’s nothing I can do about it now, but the regret is palpable.  I had my foot in the door in what I wanted at an early age.  Then I talked myself out of it.  Then when that failed I was free to go back to what I wanted but I chickened out again.  Ergo, had I just stuck like ten straight years in what I wanted, I probably would have gotten to be where I wanted.

Although sometimes now I think maybe it worked out because I guess I’ll never know for sure writing would have worked out.

I guess we never know how things work until we do them.  When they don’t work, we are certain the opposite course would have been a success.

Question – How do I cope with this regret?

My answer – Keep writing self published books and hope  one of them hits.

Feel free to offer your answers in the comments.

 

 

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The Rotten Side of Self-Publishing

Hey 3.5 readers.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here.

Check out this article in the Guardian by Alison Flood.  

I suppose we all get wrapped up into the good of self-publishing i.e. all the great success stories big (the self-published millionaires) and small (the person who finally got to see their name in print even if it doesn’t make a dime) and in-between (the person who makes a fairly decent living but has yet to become wealthy)…but it’s worth noting there are some shenanigans going on as this article points out – plagiarism, unscrupulous characters ripping off authors, stealing their content and packaging it as their own, violating the rules and so on.

Has anyone ever experienced any self-published hi-jinx?

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Disco Werewolf – Prologue

DISCO_WEREWOLF_1

New York City – 1979

“Are we going to do this or what?”

In a dark, dank alley behind Sweet Johnny Sugarshine’s Electrostatic Groove Lounge, Private First-Class Steven W. Sykes, honorably discharged, felt the cold gritty pavement press into his knees as he looked up at the sizable bulge taking up space in the crotch of a pair of jeans that belonged to his longtime friend and army buddy, Rick Danfield.

“Yeah,” Sykes said as he took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled.  “Here we go.”

The moonlight glistened off of the gooey product that Danfield had applied ever so liberally to his curly hair.  “Come on, man.  This thing ain’t gonna suck itself.”

Sykes pushed his sunglasses up, leaving them perched on his forehead, sitting atop an American flag bandana he used to keep his long, brown hair out of his eyes.  “No…you got me there.  It certainly isn’t going to do that. Nope.  No siree Bob.”

Try as he might, Sykes just was not able to move his hand, mouth, or any other body party anywhere near his pal’s member.

“Jesus Christ, Sy-ko,” Danfield said.

“Don’t call me that!” Sykes barked.

“Whatever, man,” Danfield replied.

“I never deserved that nickname,” Sykes said.  “I served my country with honor and distinction in the war.  I was in complete control of my mental faculties the entire time.”

“Who cares?” Danfield asked.  “It was ‘Nam, brother.  Everyone did some crazy shit.  You mean to tell me you were able to walk around the jungle with an ear necklace  for four years but slurping the old salamander is where you draw the line?”

Sykes pointed a finger up at Danfield.  “I did not cut those ears off!”

“Whatever,” Danfield said.

“I found those ears!” Sykes said.  “I was holding them until I could return them to their rightful owners!”

“I’m not judging, man,” Danfield said.

“There’s nothing to judge,” Sykes said.  “Uncle Sam asked me to give Charlie hell and that’s what I did.”

“Fine,” Danfield said.  “But the fact remains that I’ve yet to find a steady chick, and you’ve yet to find a steady chick, so we might as well help each other out until our chick ships come in, ya dig?”

“It’s ridiculous that we’re both still single!”  Sykes said.  “Our fathers sailed to Normandy and cock punched Hitler and when they came home, they were swimming in poon, but we get forced to fight a war over the economy of a faraway Asian country where everyone is trading rocks for chickens and all the cooze says, ‘Oh no!  No hot snapper for you, baby killer!’”

“I ain’t kill no baby,” Danfield said.

“I didn’t kill any babies either!”  Sykes said.

“Check it out, man,” Danfield said.  “The country’s startin’ to pull its shit together.  Jimmy Carter done went and pardoned all the draft dodgers.”

“And those cowardly sons of bitches are pulling down more trim than we are!”  Sykes said.

“Everyone’s startin’ to heal,” Danfield said.  “Startin’ to forgive.  Only a matter of time before the public starts looking at us with the respect we deserve.”

“I’m not asking for much,” Sykes asked.  “I’m just tired of being treated like a criminal for doing what my country told me to do.”

“Aren’t we all?” Danfield asked.  “But hey man, can I give you some free advice?”

“If it will delay me getting a mouth full of man meat, sure.”

“Look at yourself, brother,” Danfield said.  “You got your fatigues on.  You got that bandana.  Everybody’s trying to forget ‘Nam and you’re a walking reminder of it.”

“I’m proud of my service, Rick.”

“You should be.  I’m proud of mine.  But you’re more than a soldier, Steve.  And a’int no lady gonna give you the time of day if you keep walkin’ around, lookin’ like a billboard for the least popular war in American history.”

“Fair point,” Steve said.  “But wait, why should I listen to you?  What do you know about scoring with babes?  You’re out here trying to get your sausage gargled by a man.”

“So?”

“So, that’s pretty gay.”

“What’s gay about it?”

Sykes shot his buddy a look as if to silently say, “Really?”

              “I’m all about the pussy,” Danfield said.  “But I’ve been thinking, what if all the gay dudes are onto something?  Would it be so bad to try it and then if I like it, I’ll go all in and if I don’t, no harm done.”

“No harm done?” Sykes asked.  “But then you’d be gay!”

“What?” Danfield asked.  “A fella gets his pickle smooched one time and that automatically makes him gay?”

“Of course, it does!” Sykes said.

“If a man writes one sentence, is he a professional writer?” Danfield inquired.

“Well,” Sykes answered.  “No, I suppose not.”

“If a man bangs a drum, does that get him a spot in an orchestra?”

“No.”

“If a man runs a single mile, does he take home a gold medal from the Olympics?”

“OK,” Sykes said.  “I see what you’re saying.  We’re young.  We’re in our prime.  We should be trying new things.  Sampling the smorgasbord of life, as it were.”

“Exactly,” Danfield said.  “Now, enough talk, man.  Get to work already.”

“You got it,” Sykes said as he smacked his lips together.  “I’m…uh…going in.  Going in for the big suck-a-roo.  Here I come and…hey, wait!”

“What now?”

“What if you don’t like it?”  Sykes asked.

“Then I will have learned I don’t like it and I’ll never do gay shit ever again,”  Danfield said.

Sykes nodded.  “OK.  That makes sense.  I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m just nervous, you know?”

Danfield patted his friend on the head.  “It’s cool.  Just let it happen.”

“Alright,” Sykes said.  “This…this’ll be fine, right?”

“Totally fine.”

“It’s not going to traumatize me at all,” Sykes said.

“I don’t see why it would,” Danfield said.

“OK,” Sykes said.  “Here I come…no big deal.”

“Just like chewing on a hot dog.”

“Right,” Sykes said.  “I love hot dogs.”

“Who doesn’t love hot dogs?” Danfield asked.

“Not this guy,” Sykes said, pointing to himself.  Ever so timidly, he moved his face closer to the bulge before abruptly backing away.  “Wait!”

Danfield rolled his eyes.  “Man!  If you don’t wanna do it, then just say so!”

“It’s not that!”  Sykes said.  “It’s just…we promised we’d do this for each other.”

“Yeah.”

“But what if me sucking your dick teaches you that you’re not gay, then am I still going to get my dick sucked?”  Sykes asked.

Danfield blew a contemptuous raspberry.  “Pbbbht!  Hell no.  You can’t ask a straight man to suck your dick.”

Sykes stood up and threw up his hands.  “I’m sorry bud.  I wanted to do this for you but I was promised a certain level of reciprocity and if there’s no guarantee that I’m going to get it, then…”

“Shit, Steve,” Danfield said.  “Do you want me to go first?”

Sykes thought about the question, then shook his head in the negative.  “No, because then if it turns out I’m not gay, I’m going to feel bad when I realize I’m too straight to suck your dick, you hear me?”

“I get it,” Danfield said.  “Maybe this experiment was ill-advised.”

“Nah, buddy,” Sykes said as he wrapped an arm around his friend.  “I just think we need to find some bonafide, legit gay guyswho would just like to slurp our poles for the joy of doing so, with no preconceived promises of reciprocity and…”

Grrrrr.

              “Rick?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that you?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

The pair headed for the street when the sound came again.  Grrr.

              “You hungry?”  Sykes asked.

“No.”

“Then, what in the…”

Grrr.

              From out of the darkness, two yellow eyes appeared.  They glowed.  It was sheer chaos.  The soldiers had no clue what was going on.  One claw grabbed Sykes.  The other grabbed Danfield.  Their heads were knocked together, causing them to lose consciousness.

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Disco Werewolf Begins

I’ve been in a funk all year, 3.5 readers.  I’m hoping for a day when I can really sit and concentrate, put in all my hours on crafting books.

In the meantime, I need stories that have that special ability to flow out of my brain, through my fingers and onto the keyboard.

I’ve been starting new books and getting stuck all year until recently, for some reason, the next story that has apparently chosen to use me as its vessel appears to be:

DISCO_WEREWOLF_1

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Top Ten Quotes from King Solomon’s Mines by H. Rider Haggard

#1 – “Wealth is good, and if it comes our way we will take it; but a gentleman does not sell himself for wealth.”

#2 – “Listen! What is life? It is a feather, it is the seed of the grass, blown hither and thither, sometimes multiplying itself and dying in the act, sometimes carried away into the heavens. But if that seed be good and heavy it may perchance travel a little way on the road it wills. It is well to try and journey one’s road and to fight with the air. Man must die. At the worst he can but die a little sooner.”

#3 – “It is a curious thing that at my age — fifty-five last birthday — I should find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder what sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I come to the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life, which seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young, perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting, fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it — I don’t yet know how big — but I do not think I would go through the last fifteen or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should come out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the “Ingoldsby Legends.” Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if I have any.”

#4 – “The Garden of Eden, no doubt, looked fair before man was, but I always think that it must have been fairer when Eve adorned it.”

#5 – “The moon grows black before your eyes; soon there will be darkness—ay, darkness in the hour of the full moon. Ye have asked for a sign; it is given to you. Grow dark, O Moon! withdraw thy light, thou pure and holy One; bring the proud heart of usurping murderers to the dust, and eat up the world with shadows.”

#6 – “On, on we went, till at last the east began to blush like the cheek of a girl. Then there came faint rays of primrose light, that changed presently to golden bars, through which the dawn glided out across the desert. The stars grew pale and paler still, till at last they vanished; the golden moon waxed wan, and her mountain ridges stood out against her sickly face like the bones on the cheek of a dying man. Then came spear upon spear of light flashing far away across the boundless wilderness, piercing and firing the veils of mist, till the desert was draped in a tremulous golden glow, and it was day.”

#7 – “Ignosi bound the diadem upon his brows. Then advancing, he placed his foot upon the broad chest of his headless foe and broke out into a chant, or rather a pæan of triumph, so beautiful, and yet so utterly savage, that I despair of being able to give an adequate version of his words. Once I heard a scholar with a fine voice read aloud from the Greek poet Homer, and I remember that the sound of the rolling lines seemed to make my blood stand still. Ignosi’s chant, uttered as it was in a language as beautiful and sonorous as the old Greek, produced exactly the same effect on me, although I was exhausted with toil and many emotions.”

#8 – “Presently Good came up to Sir Henry and myself.   “Good-bye, you fellows,” he said; “I am off with the right wing according to orders; and so I have come to shake hands, in case we should not meet again, you know,” he added significantly.   We shook hands in silence, and not without the exhibition of as much emotion as Anglo-Saxons are wont to show.”

#9 – “Out of the vast main aisle there opened here and there smaller caves, exactly, Sir Henry said, as chapels open out of great cathedrals. Some were large, but one or two—and this is a wonderful instance of how nature carries out her handiwork by the same unvarying laws, utterly irrespective of size—were tiny. One little nook, for instance, was no larger than an unusually big doll’s house, and yet it might have been a model for the whole place, for the water dropped, tiny icicles hung, and spar columns were forming in just the same way.”

#10 – “Then I saw that the birds were a flock of pauw or bustards, and that they would pass within fifty yards of my head. Taking one of the repeating Winchesters, I waited till they were nearly over us, and then jumped to my feet. On seeing me the pauw bunched up together, as I expected that they would, and I fired two shots straight into the thick of them, and, as luck would have it, brought one down, a fine fellow, that weighed about twenty pounds. In half an hour we had a fire made of dry melon stalks, and he was toasting over it, and we made such a feed as we had not tasted for a week. We ate that pauw; nothing was left of him but his leg-bones and his beak, and we felt not a little the better afterwards.”

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Buy My Book!

The Last Driver, Episode 1, 3.5 readers.  It’s on sale now on Amazon.

Globalists and Nationalists are fighting for power in the  future.  (Wait.  Doesn’t that sound like the present?)

Elderly ex-bank robbery getaway driver Frank Wylder is, in a world filled with self-driving cars, the last man who remembers how to drive one.  To the dystopian world government, that makes him an enemy.

Get your copy today:

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