ARETHA FRANKLIN & TOM JONES - SEE SAW - TV SHOW - 1971

Book publishing is like a seesaw. Your book goes up, down, and all around.
Your love is like a seesaw, baby. I said your book is like a seesaw, baby....

Seesaw



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To Free or Not to Free...That is the question

A character in one of my novels, said she was taking the "free" sign off of a certain place of her body. I'm inclined to agree with her. Bye bye free.

The Self Publishing Casino

Writing has become much like gambling these days. Who are the gamblers? Those individuals slogging in the world of self publishing. In the days before Kindles and Nooks, publishers were the gamblers and risk takers. An author spent their time, but very little  money doing what they loved. When the manuscript was completed, he shopped it around until it found someone who loved it. Those were the good ol' days. The casino was small and a very private affair that included Agents, a few handful of Publishers, and of course perhaps a thousand big name authors. Oh yeah, and Bookstores.

Now self publishing has invited everyone into the casino. We're all authors now and potential marks for the system that the eReader has spawned. Thousands go into the casino, lured by the news that Joe Block self-published their book at 99 cents and became a millionaire. What lures folks to Vegas or the many copycat versions of Vegas? The pictures lining the walls in Casinos of folks holding those million dollar checks. Wow that could be me.

Now whether planned or not, the beginning of Kindle was the beginning of the huge publishing gambling empire. All were invited in. The more who came through the door, the more devices got sold. Of course the big time operators of the publishing casino don't charge you to play. No casino does that. But you and thousands of you are  invited to bring your books and leave them on the counter. At the very least, you're going to buy one and of course your dear old mom too. If you have a decent sized social circle, you can convince five of them to buy also. In the meantime, while they're checking out your book, they're seeing many more by authors whose names they know. So basically, you're good advertising.

Author sitting at the kitchen table, also heard through the grapevine that Cindy Sue got mega rich by giving some books away. So you scream for the same privilege. Now big time Casino doesn't even have to pay you if you "win" with all of those thousands of downloads. And they've got more content they can attach advertisement to. And folks are going to pay for those books "also bought" below your book priced at "$0.00". 

So far all you've spent is time chasing your dream. But then you realize the formula isn't working for you. What could be wrong? Someone hears your plea and writes a how-to book. Thousands buy seeking to crack the code. Well the answer is ... more how-to books, more book cover/graphic artists types, more "editorial" services, more formatting and proofreading services, and more folks selling advice. Oh yeah, twitter, and facebook get a lot more traffic. So they scheme to limit your reach, but will charge you for reaching all of those people whom you've convinced on your own to follow you. Money money money.

So now the advice is to gamble more--well write more. Just like that slot machine, if you run a thousand dollars through it, it's bound to pay back a million some day. It just has to. Well let's keep trying and see. I like to play slots and I love to write. It's all the same to me. But I'm not going to pay for the privilege to do either.

Lust in the Mosque

Secrets, lies, and lust. Sister Gloria's mind was everywhere and on everything, but the message.

Little brown Sister Gloria trembled and rocked, awed by the virile velocity of Minister Q as he sprayed his words like machine gun fire over the assembly. Minister Q, the "Apostle" of the "New Nation," a spin-off from the old Nation of Islam, had a "Message for America" this morning. His epistles burst from the bulging veins in his neck and shot from his tongue like bullets of venom. His congregation craned their necks forward to catch every drop. But no one was more thirsty than Sister Gloria.

Sister Gloria absorbed every drop of sweat that trickled from Minster Q's forehead, every drop soaking his white shirt and exposing the dark muscles of his chest. Sister Gloria watched the sweat soak the waistline of Minister Q's black trousers. She imagined the oily dew making his buttocks shine like onyx. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the musk of his dangling sex. She parted her lips...

Sister Gloria's eyes popped open and she jammed her fists into her lap. She was a pure and saved sister now. However, she couldn’t drive away the funkiness of her past life--the funk of men's unwashed bodies, dollars that reeked of cigarette smoke and sweat, and stale gin on thick lips. These odors lingered in Sister Gloria's nostrils like the stench of unwashed panties. And here the young minister was ranting against the very thing poisoning Sister Gloria's thoughts this morning: Lust and filth! Sister Gloria closed her eyes. Minister Q stood in front of her naked, erect, black and shiny. She started to weep. A Sister seated next to her offered a tissue. The congregation assumed Sister Gloria was overcome by the message instead of the messenger.

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The Butterfly Killer

Elliot Cross is a foul mouth Serial Killer who claims to be doing what God commands him to do. His God is a very jealous creation who doesn't like people putting themselves and and their dreams before him. Exodus: "Thou Shall have no other Gods before me." Sgt. Daniels has been given the assignment to track and arrest him. However the Sergeant has his dark side. Catching Elliot might expose him also.


The Butterfly Killer. Order on Amazon, Smashwords, iBookstore, and Nook Bookstore.

The Road to Astroworld - A Novel

From a dream to a nightmare...The Road to Astroworld Available on Your Favorite Reading Device. Right Now Enjoy it on Your Kindle or Kindle Reading App. Kindle Owners Click Here. Also on iBooks. Click Here!

Excerpt

The sinner’s chair, it ain’t no laughing matter. I was reading in the paper one day that Texas was getting rid of their newest electric chair. Actually they had stopped using both of them a long time ago when they started giving folks the needle. But they kept the old one “Old Sparky” to go into the prison museum. It had executed the most men. They didn’t want the newer one. The governor at that time wanted to sell a bunch of stuff to help the state budget. That chair was thrown in the mix along with five hundred thousand jars of government peanut butter and a truckload of canned peaches. I had closed the paper up after reading about that electric chair and went to sleep. But the lord woke me up a few minutes later and told me to buy that chair. I said, “What Lord? Buy the electric chair?” He said yes for me to buy it and put it in the center of my church. Well the next day, I borrowed my husband’s truck while he was sleep and drove over to Huntsville Texas where they was selling the chair. It was sitting in a warehouse surrounded by cases labeled Peaches and stacks of peanut butter. Plus there was a lot of odds and ends which only a man might know the meaning of. Folks looked at me strange when I said I wanted to buy the electric chair instead of some peaches. I guess they had assumed I was in the pie business. But I told them I was in the preaching business and the Lord told me to buy that chair. Well they loaded it up in the back of my truck, hogtied it real good, and I paid them one-hundred nineteen dollars and forty-seven cents in cash. They threw in two cases of peaches anyway.

Odd Voices in Love

An Excerpt from the Collection of stories, Odd Voices...in Love

When I stepped back into the bedroom, Barbara was lying across the bed.  She had stopped sobbing.  She looked at me with curious kitten eyes.  I turned the radio off, got down on the floor, and did a few pushups.  I grunted loud and made sex motions as I raised my body off the floor.  I stood in the mirror and flexed my muscles.  My chest glistened with Brut and sweat.  The towel dropped around my ankles.

“Axel, I love you,” Barbara said as she raised herself off the bed.

“Shut up!” I snapped.

“Axel, please.”  Barbara came toward me.

I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Thelma baby, what’s shaking?  Yeah it’s your ‘Axe’ talking to you.  You a

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