Gaming the System

As I write this, the number one movie in the country is Gravity. I haven't seen it yet, but it's on my list. The number one TV show is The Voice - never watched it, don't intend to. The number one album is Bangerz by Miley Cyrus. Sorry, but I've seen enough twerking to last me the rest of my life. But, more importantly for the overall scope of this blog, the number one book, as ranked by Amazon, is The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus, Book 4) by Rick Riordan. It's a fantasy epic. Not my cup of tea, but obviously very popular. J.K. Rowling helped to increase the popularity of the genre with the Harry Potter books, and as they say, a rising tide lifts all boats.

As much as I wish it to be true, my books are unlikely to be found at the top of Amazon's list, or The New York Times bestsellers. Being two and three years old, my books - like most things that are ranked - peaked during the first few months following their release. That should give me some incentive to finish my third book as soon as possible and generate some excitement for all of them.

Independent authors like me, no matter how good our books are, have a difficult time getting noticed amidst a sea of an estimated 6,500 titles published weekly, in the US alone. This is according to Bowker, a leader in publishing industry information.

There are always exceptions, of course. John Locke and Amanda Hocking are just two independent authors who have managed to break away from the pack. Quality and a superior marketing effort go a long way in pulling a title up the charts.

That and fudging the numbers. I don't mean somehow buying 1,000 or so of your own books just to see it at the top of the list (although I've heard that it's been done). The trick is in how Amazon categorizes books. The aforementioned House of Hades is number one overall; it has sold more books in the period of time being considered than all titles currently sold by Amazon. (I can't say exactly how it's figured because Amazon's rankings are calculated hourly, and the algorithm that is used is more difficult to decode than NSA secrets.) Amazon, however, provides subcategories which narrow down the type of book and gives a ranking within the subcategories. This then allows the author to say that he or she is a number one Amazon best selling author.

For example (and I'm not going to be too specific here - don't want any maniacal authors coming after me) an author can claim to be number one because his book is number one in Books>Fiction>Mysteries>Detective>1940s>Nebraska>Corn Theft>Hog Rustling
That narrows it down pretty well. The author may have only sold one book, but it's number one in the category. It's probably the only book in the category. But he'll call himself a Number One Amazon Author.

I've got to rethink my own marketing strategy. I'm sure I could be a Number One Amazon author, too. All I have to do is convince Amazon to add a few subcategories. Protecting the Cittern would undoubtedly be number one in Books>Fiction>Literary>Families>Dysfunctional>Italian>Instruments>Citterns and The Ibex Trophy would take the top spot in  Books>Fiction>Historical>World War II>Italy>Corsican Occupation>Trophies

No problem. I'll have to change my Facebook bio to reflect my number one status!

Inviting Trouble

Well, it's time for me to get on my linguistic soapbox for yet another round of "Things That Irk Me." Something must have happened while I wasn't paying attention, but exactly when did the word "invite" become a noun? I know it's definitely a verb, as in "I would like to invite you to visit me in the mental hospital when these things finally push me over the edge."

But, "invite" as a noun? Over the past few years I've been hearing things like "Did you get the invite to Guido's bachelor party?" First of all, never ask me that in front of my wife because I'm not allowed to go to bachelor parties, and she never much liked Guido, but more importantly, it's an invitation, not an invite! You invite someone to a party by giving them an invitation. Got it?

There are plenty of other examples of verbs being used as nouns or vice versa. Some of this is due to the way many of us communicate now, using social media, smart phones, and other things that encourage brevity. For example, "friend" now has a dual role as a noun and a verb. Thank you, Facebook. Guido is my friend, much to my wife's dismay, and I also friended him on Facebook (the wife doesn't know - don't say anything). 

If you use Twitter, you know you're limited to 140 characters for any messages. When I get out of bed every morning, my groans use up more than 140 characters. What kind of coherent message can you write? And, of course "tweet" has become a verb meaning what you do when you use Twitter. So, I guess, any twit can tweet on Twitter.

Everyone uses their phones to send messages and because of this, the word "text" has become a verb, when it was doing perfectly fine as a noun. Because of data usage costs, and I guess to save maybe ten seconds of time, everything is abbreviated. I received a text message from Guido the other day that said "R U going 2 my bchlr prty? U'll luv it. Strippers!" Why he had to spell out "strippers" is a mystery to me, but I think we're seeing the decline of language. People are losing the ability to spell or use words correctly.

The last example I'll use, although believe me, there are plenty more, is using the word "fail" as a noun when it's a verb. Specifically, when something has gone extremely wrong, it is now called an "epic fail." No it isn't - it's a failure, Whether it's epic or not is a matter of interpretation. But "fail" is a verb.

I realize language evolves. Words fall in and out of favor, spelling changes, and so does usage. Evolution of the species takes place over millions of years, so you can't see it. But this is going on before my very eyes - and ears.  I know it's happening and feel like there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I received a text just now. "Cops here. Guido and strippers arrested." Whew! Glad I didn't respond to the invite. The party was an epic fail.

Handing Over The Reins

I decided to take a break for this post and turn it over to my Vice-President at the Treasure Coast Writers Guild - Peter Haase. Peter is a prolific author who has written books about his experiences growing up in Nazi Germany, his love of sailing and the eleven years he spent living on his boat, and several thought-provoking novels. You can find his books here.

Peter has written a clever piece on clichés, which fits in nicely with the main theme of this blog - language. As authors, we are advised to rarely, if ever, use them, because it displays an inability to come up with a better and more original way to express something. Rebel that he is, Peter has used most of them here. Enjoy!

At the crack of dawn, I counted the eggs before they hatched, put them all in one basket, and then fought my way up the creek without a paddle. For no rhyme or reason, I threw caution to the wind, abandoned ship, and took to my heels. Cool as a cucumber, without a care in the world, I went to town like nothing could stop me. Sure, it would have been easy to cross one of the bridges when I came to them; however, I had already burned them all because my left hand did not know what the right was doing. 

In hindsight, I should have poured the baby down the drain with the bathwater, but 20/20 vision isn’t always as clear as daylight. At the fork in the road, the baby began to cry, so I put the candy I had taken from it back in its mouth. As sure as two plus two adds up to something, I chose the road less traveled. It was so crowded, I got lost like the needle in a haystack. Only my sore thumb stuck out and someone thought I gave him the finger. He cursed like a drunken sailor, then bent over backwards to apologize.

In the nick of time, I reached the point of no return and asked myself, Self, I asked, where the hell am I? Why is there no light at the end of the tunnel? I was scared out of my wits. The answer came to me in a flash of lightning, but lightning wasn’t supposed to strike twice, and so I was left in the dark and stormy night, stumbling over stones that were better left unturned. I had either dodged the bullet, or I would have to bite it; one way or the other, it was an uphill battle.

I wanted to call it a day, but decided to make a break for it. No more beating around the bush. I’ll find the elusive creek behind the next bend in the road. Should be easy as pie, but things are usually in the last place you look and a shiver went down my spine, when it hit me: I’d be damned if I did, or if I didn’t. As far as the eye could reach, all over the map, I found myself between a rock and a hard place. Game over, I thought, the end of the rope. The baby cried, hungry as a bear cub in winter. I reached for the cookie in my pocket, but it had crumbled.

Now, I wasn’t born yesterday and perhaps not the sharpest crayon in the box, but if you thought I didn’t have an ace up my sleeve, you’d better think again. In a last ditch effort, I caught my second wind and fought tooth and nail, as if on fire, to coin a phrase, and I made headway, steady as I went. And all was not lost. There was the creek and my raft! Reason for a drink from my bottomless flask. Drunk as a skunk, I let myself be caught off guard and, like a bull in a china shop, stepped all over the egg shells. Searching far and wide for hours on end, I had to face the music: the chicks had flown the coop. Don’t cry over spilled milk, the baby’s toothless smile seemed to say. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, dust yourself off, and turn the page. You can’t win ‘em all. I swallowed the salty tears of defeat and I threw in the towel.

Then once again I had a wake-up call. No pain - no gain, it repeated ad nausea and once again I threw everything but the kitchen sink into my quest, sure that that and a quarter would get me over the hump. All’s well that ends well, it is said, but I saw no shining star, no silver lining from here to the gates of Heaven or Hell. Perhaps right around the corner? Curiosity killed the cat, said a voice in my head, but I stuck my neck out, for action speaks louder than words. I was determined to go to the bitter end, now or never, even if it took me two steps forward, and one back. I took a look at the bright side and, better late than never, I realized that it was all water under the bridge. You do or you don’t, it’s all six or half a dozen and I couldn’t care less. You can never have your cake and eat it too.

There are one hundred twenty clichés, give or take one or two, in these 775 words. It just goes to show you … Oops, there’s a couple more.

Bringing Jimmy Back

It's been almost a year since I introduced you all to Jimmy. The post titled Staying Away From Jimmy has received more hits than any other of my blogs. I closed the original by saying, "To be continued," yet I didn't. You may want to read it to refresh yourself.

Now, let me bring you up to date on what has happened to our good friend.

Jimmy went from the Juvenile Rehabilitation Center straight to prison, because he hadn't sufficiently rehabilitated. When he was finally released from prison he was missing a few teeth, caused by several run-ins with a former English professor, Mortimer, who also happened to be 250 pounds of solid muscle. Over the years, Mortimer decided to bulk up because he found that being intimidating was the only way to get his students to pronounce words correctly. When he heard an offending word, like someone pronouncing "height" like it had an "h" at the end, saying "heighth," he would slug them. This was frowned upon by the principal, superintendent, and law enforcement, so he ended up in the slammer.

Jimmy had the misfortune of being Mortimer's cellmate. Jimmy continued his pronoun abuse, and Mortimer found a good reason to use him as a punching bag. Jimmy also had problems with a few words, like "height," so Mortimer had several reasons to pound Jimmy into the ground.

It started like this. They were in their cell when Jimmy turned to Mortimer and said, "Can I axe you a question?"

Mortimer said, "Excuse me?"

"I need to axe you a question."

The fist came out of nowhere. "It's 'ASK' you moron."

"OK, OK. I just wanted to know if you had any idea why that guard, Bruno, was being so mischievous lately?" Unfortunately, he pronounced it "mis-chee-vee-us."

"What?"

Again,  he pronounced it incorrectly. Mortimer's fist flew through the air.

"It's 'mis-chi-vous', idiot. Where did you learn to speak?"

"In school. The one acrossed from the high-tension wires."

"Acrossed? You mean 'across' don't you?" POW!!

"Stop hitting me! You make me want to excape."

"Escape!!" Mortimer screamed, landing another blow. "There's no x in escape, and while we're at it, there's no x in espresso either!"

"Owww!! I'm bleeding. I need to get a bandage in my draw."

"IT'S DRAWER!!!"

And that was just one day's English lessons.

Blocking the Net

I'm way past due in my blog posting activities, but I do have a semblance of an excuse since I was traveling for the past four weeks. My wife, Evelyn, and I spent that time touring Southeast Asia, Japan, and China, and had a thoroughly enjoyable time.  We saw many wonderful things, not the least of which were the Great Wall of China ("Great" is an understatement) and the Terra Cotta Warriors in Xi'an, China.

The Great Wall of China

Terra Cotta Warriors

Along the way, I posted one or two photos from each stop to my Facebook page, mostly so my friends would know I wasn't lying about my trip. I tried to make sure I was in most of the photos as proof, although security had some problems when I tried to climb down into the pit with the warriors. Those guards in China are way too serious.

During the time we spent in China I learned something, even though I knew it subconsciously. It wasn't until I experienced it myself did it come to the front of my mind - China blocks a lot of stuff on the Internet, including Facebook. The first day in China, when I tried to log on to Facebook to upload a photo, the page never came up, and I realized what was happening. I tried Twitter and had the same experience. Then I had an eerie feeling that my activities were being monitored.

I usually read two newspapers on my iPad, either through their websites or apps: The New York Times and my local paper, The St. Lucie News Tribune. I went to the Times' website - nothing. I tried the app but it wouldn't update. Then I tried the St. Lucie paper. I usually only read it for local news, like to see if anyone I know was arrested, but it does carry articles from the Times, AP, and other sources. Lo and behold the authorities in China are not yet aware of the St. Lucie News Tribune! I read the paper with reckless abandon. I devoured all the high school sports articles, letters to the editor, and the community calendar ( I saw that I missed an "Oxbow and the Natives" seminar on the spotted skunk at the Eco-Center while I was away - hopefully they'll repeat it). But I also read the world and national news. Democracy is safe!

Of course, as I prepare to post this, it occurs to me that my blog may now be in the crosshairs of China's Internet police. There's a possibility that I, too, may be blocked and I will lose 1.3 billion readers. Which is a shame for the Chinese people because next month I am planning to post my recipe for General Tso's Chicken.

Participating in "The Next Big Thing"

This is a bit of a departure from my usual blog content.  My friend, the author and blogger Christa Polkinhorn, invited me to be a part of a "blog chain" called "The Next Big Thing". The purpose is to give a preview of our current works-in-progress by answering some pre-set questions and to invite other authors to do it also. In doing so I'll provide links to Christa's blog and those I've invited so you can get an idea of their books and how they answer the same questions. Here are my answers:

What is the working title of your next book?

Raw Umber

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Matt Corcoran, committed to a psychiatric hospital following a suicide attempt, is advised to write a journal to help him get to the root of his problems, and his journey of self-discovery leads him to unexpected places.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

The Bee Gees. No really, see the next question! Obviously this idea has been with me a very long time.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

Believe it or not, the idea of a person digging into his memory to answer how and why he ended up in a psychiatric hospital came from an old Bee Gees song from 1968 called World . It was pre-disco Bee Gees, when they sounded more like the Beatles than K.C. and the Sunshine Band. In other words, good (sorry disco fans). The lyrics "If I remember all of the things I have done / I'd remember all of the times I've gone wrong / Why do they keep me here" always made me picture the situation of someone who is institutionalized who wants to forget his past but is forced to remember it.

What genre does your book fall under?

Literary Fiction - it seems to be the type of book I'm most comfortable writing, since that's what most of my reading over the years has consisted of.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Johnny Depp or Joseph Gordon-Levitt would make a great Matt Corcoran. Sally Field as his mother; Christopher Mintz-Plasse (the guy who played McLovin in Superbad) would be great as Matt's obsessive-compulsive roommate, Larry. Tracy Jordan could be Jimmy Carter (you'll have to read the book), and maybe John Goodman as Dr. Frank Friedman.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I'm still undecided. There are pros and cons for both although I may try to get an agent with the hopes of getting wider distribution with a bigger publisher. But I'd also lose a lot of the control I currently enjoy as an Indie author, not to mention the time it would take to find an agent, then a publisher, and then get the book out. 

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

I'm still working on the first draft; hope to have it completed within the next six months. Too many distractions and other responsibilities (excuses, excuses) make it difficult for me to be a "write every day" author, although I know I should be, and wish I could.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is the obvious answer. It combines humor and pathos in the setting of a psychiatric hospital.

What else about the book might pique the reader's interest
The fact that it's written as Matt's journal, in his cynical yet humorous voice, makes Matt a sympathetic figure, and the ending will surprise everyone.   

These are the authors who will be posting for The Next Big Thing on March 30. Check out their blogs and get to know their work.

John J. Tuite

Serena Schreiber

Stephanie Erickson

Mike Long

Believing Anything

There's never a shortage of people who are willing to believe almost anything, no matter how nonsensical, if it supports a previously held worldview or sometimes because it tugs at the heartstrings. Without getting into petty politics, this is seen from extremists at both ends of the political spectrum, from the "birthers" on the far right to the "9/11 truthers" mostly on the far left. It doesn't matter that there is no shred of real evidence to support either of these beliefs. They see conspiracy where none exists and no one can change their minds.

If there are people willing to believe those extreme theories, it's no surprise that there are more mundane examples of this phenomenon that have been in wide circulation at one time or another in the recent past. Thanks to email, Facebook, and other Internet sites, these rumors and scams get spread quickly and exponentially, with the click of a mouse, and no one sharing these items ever thinks to verify them.

There is a Facebook phenomena of various types showing a person holding a white board containing a message pleading for X number of "likes" in order to attract attention for their disease / financial difficulties /  soldier who needs a job, etc. In reality, a photograph is taken of a person with a blank whiteboard. The message is then changed electronically, depending on the plight du jour. But it's so tempting to like a photo of a cute little kid who will go to Disney World if he gets a million likes.

People continue to believe that if they forward a particular email to X number of people, or "like" or leave a comment on some Facebook posts, something hysterically funny is going to appear on their computer screen. It never does. Yet the same people keep following the instructions waiting for that elusive punch line.

What the original posters of both the examples above want is for Facebook to see a high level of activity on their post. Facebook gives greater exposure to pages with high activity, and this can result in revenues for the poster. Even worse, some lead you to apps that can give your computer a virus. A good explanation can be found in this article.

If you use Facebook even casually you've no doubt seen a post saying that a certain month will have five Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays and it's the first time that has happened in 800 years, or something to that effect. Nonsense. Any 31-day month will have three consecutive days five times, beginning with the day of the week the 1st of the month falls. Seven months have 31 days ("30 days hath September ..." - do you remember that little memory device?) So it happens seven times a year. It's not a miracle - it's the Gregorian Calendar. We've been using it since 1582!

Bill Gates is not going to give you $5,000 for forwarding an email, and you're not getting free merchandise from anyone. Yet I keep getting emails or see Facebook posts from people with a message saying, "You never know. It's worth a shot!" No it isn't. Stop wasting your time, and more importantly my time, with this nonsense. Not to mention you're clogging up the bandwidth and slowing down my download of Hot Hits From the 60s.

All anyone needs to do is check www.snopes.com to verify if something is true. The problem is the people who are already inclined to believe something is true, especially if it plays into their already rigidly held beliefs, never doubt its veracity to begin with, and just pass it along. We'll probably be seeing this type of thing continue indefinitely because no matter how cynical we can be at times, we still are hopeful enough that the big payoff is just around the corner.

And by the way, if you send the link to this blog to ten people, the most amazing thing you will ever see will appear on your computer screen. And Warren Buffet will put you in his will.  Trust me. Would I lie?

Talking Business

First, I'd like to congratulate the winner of the contest from my last blog post. Ruth Berge answered all three questions correctly and won an autographed copy of the award-winning Protecting the Cittern.  The questions and answers are:

1) How many grandchildren do I have? Two

2) How many cups of tea did I (allegedly) drink? 17 - I really didn't drink that much tea, but that's what I wrote!

3) What college did my daughter go to? Richard Stockton College

After having survived thirty-plus years in the corporate world, one of the things that struck me during that time is how companies use words and phrases as euphemisms to make their employees' situations seem better than they are, or for their functions to seem more important, with the goal of getting as much work out of them for as little pay as possible. Many of these words and phrases have become annoying cliches, which writers are taught to avoid as much as possible.

For example, I used the word "employees" in the paragraph above. In actuality, they are now almost universally called "associates", as if they really have a stake in the fortunes of the company they work for, or that they are all equals. In reality there's a vast difference between the associate in the corner office and the associate in the mail room.

Associates are always urged to "think outside the box". Apparently it's too dark inside the box to come up with any new ideas. With some of the news in the recent past of management decisions in the field of banking, oil exploration, and elsewhere, management should be advised, very simply, to just think.

These associates are all told, usually during their performance reviews, that they need to "give 110%", sometimes even 1,000%, over the next period in order to justify their 1.5% raise. Obviously management needs a crash course in math. If 100% doesn't "cut the mustard", unless they have a cloning lab in the back office, good luck getting the rest.

The Human Resources department - at least they tacitly acknowledge that the employee / associate is human - gives lip service to making sure said employee / associate strikes the proper "work / life" balance. Which I guess means to give 110% to the office and −10% to your life. Unless you're really committed to your job and go for the 1,000% you'd have to give −900% to your home life. I see a divorce in the future, or at best a nervous breakdown. Anyone who strikes a 50/50 work / life balance will soon have no job to go to.

Occasionally, some slacker will be found to be giving only 90% of their time to work, letting down his co-workers who have set up cots in the break room. This person is obviously not a "team player". Management arranges for "team building exercises" in an idyllic setting in the country, on the weekend so no work time is lost. So instead of being home mowing the lawn or cleaning the gutters, people spend the weekend falling backwards into the waiting arms of their co-workers, making a contraption out of random materials that will catch an egg dropped from two stories up without breaking, having a group hug, telling each other a personal secret no one knows, and other exciting activities. The only people getting anything out of all this are the people who run these team building retreats and collect a large fee. The associates go back to work Monday ashamed that now everyone knows they wet the bed until they were seventeen.

After all this, the company still is not making enough money. Not only can they not afford to give the associate a 1.5% raise, they need to cut back, or "right-size" the company. Some associates are now doomed to be ex-associates and will have much more time in the "life" side of the balance than the "work' side. The "lucky" associates who will remain employed must now pick up the slack for the former associates, and as a result give approximately one million percent. Because of the right-sizing, the team building exercises were in vain. There is no one left on the team to work with.

Decking the Halls

With the Christmas season upon us, I thought it would be a good idea to post something suitable for the holiday. In addition, since you have honored me by putting me over the 100 follower threshold that I promised would result in a book giveaway, one of you will receive an autographed copy of the book of your choice. I'll ask three questions at the end of this post and whoever is the first to answer all three correctly will win. The only caveat is you must be a registered follower, either through Google or Networked Blogs. So make sure you sign up if you haven't yet.

Christmas carols help to bring out the joy of the season. Religious and secular songs celebrating the birth of Christ or Rudolph's pre-GPS abilities can be heard on television and the radio as soon as the last scraps of Thanksgiving dinner are ground up in the garbage disposal. I haven't seen it in years, but when I was younger, groups of people would go door to door to give a mini concert to their neighbors. Hearing various people of different ages sing these songs over the years has shown me that, as I've pointed out in previous posts, they sometimes have no idea what they're actually singing.

Some of the songs end up being populated by people whom I have never associated with Christmas. Olive, Barney, and Jeff come to mind. I'm sure there are others, but this trio has always stuck with me. "Who are they?" you ask. Let me enlighten you.

We all know the song about the aforementioned Rudolph, and how he was treated before he came to the rescue. Well, of course, "Olive, the other reindeer, used to laugh and call him names."

The beautiful carol, "The First Noel", provided some revisionist biblical history when I heard someone sing, "Barney's the King of Israel".

And I couldn't help but feel sorry for poor Jeff, and cringe when I heard about his plight in "The Christmas Song" - "Jeff's nuts roasting on an open fire". Ouch!

In "Jingle Bells", many years ago, a very young singer thought the lyrics were "Oh what fun it is to ride with one horse, soap, and sleigh". I can only assume the soap was used to bathe the horse.

And lastly, one intrepid singer was heard to belt out, "Get dressed ye merry gentlemen". Which is a good idea since gentlemen should not be running around naked on Christmas day. Especially merry ones.

Time for the contest. The registered follower who is the first to answer all three questions correctly will receive an autographed copy of his or her choice of the award-winning books Protecting the Cittern or The Ibex Trophy. If the winner has an infinite amount of patience Raw Umber should be available before the millennium is out. The answers to all three questions can be found in one of the blog posts. Search and ye shall find.

1) How many grandchildren do I have?

2) How many cups of tea did I (allegedly) drink?

3) What college did my daughter go to?

Very easy. Good luck!

I want to wish you all a very happy holiday season and a healthy and prosperous 2013. Thanks for following my blog, and I'm looking forward to being in touch with all of you next year.

Remembering the Jersey Shore

I grew up in New Jersey. I lived there until 2007 when I moved to Florida and reinvented myself as a writer. This past week has brought out emotions in me about my home state that I didn't even realize were there. Hurricane Sandy, which had only a slight impact on Florida with tropical storm conditions from its outer bands, slammed into New Jersey with unprecedented force, causing monumental damage to its famed beaches. Lives were lost. People were left homeless, their houses turned into a pile of rubble. The damage extended far beyond New Jersey's shoreline. Flooding and heavy winds impacted many states in Sandy's path. New York was also hit hard, particularly Manhattan, Breezy Point, and Staten Island.

Seeing the photographs of Sandy's aftermath, and watching the benefit concert on Friday night, November 2, with storm footage shown between performances, I couldn't help but think about the time I spent "down the shore", and realize many of the things I most enjoyed about it were washed away. When I was a child, every Wednesday during the summer meant a day trip to Asbury Park. My father was a barber, and since his shop was open on Saturdays, he closed it on Wednesdays. We lived in Paterson in northern New Jersey, and Asbury Park was about a ninety-minute ride down the Garden State Parkway. It seemed like forever. You've probably heard of Asbury Park, even if you're not familiar with New Jersey. It's where Bruce Springsteen got his start, playing in the local clubs, particularly The Stone Pony.

I loved going on the rides that were on the boardwalk. It was a major achievement when I graduated from the kiddie rides to the "big kid" rides. Asbury Park's Convention Hall is also on the boardwalk. I remember walking into it with my sister, probably in 1965 - I would have been 13 and Silvana almost 15. We wandered into a free concert by The Temptations. At least I think it was free, nobody stopped us. Music was always a part of any trip down the shore. I would bring my transistor radio, prop it up against one of my sneakers that was holding down a corner of my beach blanket, and listen to WABC, the best radio station at the time. The first time I heard Light My Fire and A Whiter Shade of Pale was lying on that blanket, through that crappy speaker. Over the years the family trips expanded to include Sandy Hook and Beach Haven, the latter on beautiful Long Beach Island (LBI to the locals), with the Barnegat Lighthouse at its northern tip. I spent a lot of time in the ocean, swimming and body surfing back to shore on the waves.

When my friends and I finally got our driver's licenses we were able to go on our own. Seaside Heights was the place to go for us in the early '70s. Sometimes a few guys would go for a weekend, get a room at some fleabag motel and cram six of us in it. When we were able to untie our tongues and speak to a female, we'd actually have a date for the day. I have some fond memories of the few girls I dated during those years. We'd walk along the boardwalk, Grand Funk Railroad blaring from the arcades, and I would inevitably fail to win them prizes at those rigged games. But one of those girls became my wife, so fortunately my arcade skills weren't a factor.

My wife, Evelyn, and I have one daughter, Jennifer. The shore cycle began again, as we took her on the kiddie rides at Seaside Heights and watched her graduate to the big kid rides. Surprisingly, she also grew up and preferred going down the shore with her friends, rather than with me and my wife. She also ended up going to college in the area, Richard Stockton College to be exact, in Pomona near Atlantic City. Atlantic City's boardwalk was destroyed although the casinos got through the storm relatively unscathed. I'm not a gambler and only went to an Atlantic City casino once, when we were there for my daughter's graduation. One thing I learned - experienced gamblers do not like to play blackjack with an amateur.

As empty-nesters, Evelyn and I changed our beach-going routine and in the last ten or so years of living in New Jersey preferred Cape May, on the southern tip of the state. It was quieter, had cleaner beaches, a nice pedestrian mall with shops and restaurants, and I always managed to get a big bag of almonds at the Nut House.

A lot of great memories, many more than I want to bore you with, but you get the idea of how much the area meant to me, and to so many other people. It will take time - a lot of time - but I'm sure New Jersey will rebuild the areas into even better destinations. If your impression of the Jersey Shore is Snooki and her brain-dead friends, please don't believe it. The people there are wonderful. They are going through a difficult time, but they're resilient and will overcome this tragedy. You can't keep New Jerseyans down!

Naming Names

I was flipping through the channels a few days ago when I came across a station that shows real crime stories. They were showing a program about a drug dealer in California who kidnapped and murdered a former friend and "business associate" because of a $1,200 debt. The murderer's name was Jesse James Hollywood.

Now, some people are born with silver spoons in their mouths, and others with two strikes against them (sorry for the cliches to my writing friends). But why the heck would any parent with half a functioning brain start their kid off in life by hanging a name like that on him? He was born in 1980, so the parents obviously knew the original Jesse James's reputation. What kind of future did they hope their son was going to have? Accountant? CEO of Apple? His fate and career path were pretty much sealed when his name was put on his birth certificate. I can only imagine the look on the clerk's face at the Vital Statistics office when he was filling out the forms. They may as well have named him Adolf Hitler Hollywood!

Oh, wait. Some morons in New Jersey did exactly that. The self-proclaimed Nazis made headlines in January 2009 when a store refused to decorate a birthday cake for their then three-year-old son, Adolf Hitler Campbell. During the court battle stories of abuse emerged and young Adolf, along with his siblings JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell, were taken into state custody.

It's bad enough when people on the fringes of society display a total lack of sense when naming their kids, but they're not alone. The unfortunately named Ima Hogg was the daughter of James Hogg, who was an Attorney General and a Governor of Texas in the 1880s and 1890s. The family became wealthy as a result of oil found on their property and Ima was a philanthropist the rest of her life. Unsurprisingly, to me at least, Ima never married. I can only imagine the introductions at society balls in Austin.

A gentleman approaches.
"Hello, miss. I'm Reginald Throckmorton III." He bows slightly.
"Hello, sir." She extends her hand. "Ima Hogg."
End of conversation.

I wonder how many times that happened. It could have been worse. Just think if blues musician John Lee Hooker decided to give his daughter the same name!

Don't forget the book giveaway when I reach 100 followers. It's very close, so if you're not already following this blog through Google or Networked Blogs, now is the time. You will need to be a follower to participate and win. I'll ask three simple questions whose answers can be found in the blog entries. The first follower to give the correct answers will receive their choice of autographed book.

Staying Away From Jimmy

As you may recall from two of my previous posts about language and word use, Writing Wrongs and Caring Less, I get annoyed very easily when I hear or see the English language being abused. I'm not talking about slipping into some regionalisms on occasion, or using slang when it makes sense. I'm talking about when people have absolutely no idea of how the language works. Ironically, many of the people I hear abusing English the worst are often the ones screaming loudest about making America an English-only country. They should take some remedial lessons before they open their mouths on the subject.

My focus today will be on pronouns. You know, those words that substitute for nouns, like I, me, she, they, and so on. Some of these words are subjective pronouns; they are doing the action in a sentence, like "I wish this stuff didn't annoy me so much" or "She should learn to speak properly before she says another annoying thing." Then there are the objective pronouns, that have the action done to them, like "Give the remedial English lesson book to her" or "I'm going to smack him in the head if he uses the wrong pronoun again". These are sentences I have said more than once.

I think the most common error is using I when me is called for. It seems like people were scared away from ever using the word me when they were kids and being constantly corrected for saying things like "Me and Jimmy are going to the liquor store" or "Me and Jimmy will be in the garage smoking a joint". First of all, stop worrying about the pronouns and get your kid away from Jimmy!

Now that Jimmy's in a Juvenile Rehabilitation Center, you can tell your child that me is the wrong word and that I is the correct subjective pronoun to use.  But since this is probably the most common incorrect use of me, and it gets drummed in constantly to use I instead, me has become a four-letter word. I can count, you know what I mean. So the result is people use I as both a subjective and an objective pronoun, because they are either afraid to say me, or because they sometimes feel using I sounds more sophisticated.

The mistake usually occurs when there are more than one objects in a sentence, so you'll hear something like "Give the money to Jimmy and I" (apparently said after a drug deal - Jimmy was released too early) instead of  "... Jimmy and me". The best way to get it right is to assume Jimmy isn't there (which he wouldn't be if the court system were any better). You wouldn't say "Give the money to I" so why would you use I just because Jimmy is involved? You know every time Jimmy's around something's going to go wrong!

Also, people use a phrase like "Jimmy and I" as if they were inseparable words and place them anywhere, as the subject, as the object, or in the absolutely worst usage I have ever heard, as a possessive. I have heard numerous people say something like "That is Jimmy and I's haul from the bank job". Again, how would you say it individually? "Jimmy's haul" and "my haul" so combined it would be "That is Jimmy's and my haul". Easy, right?

And for crying out loud, could someone please do something about Jimmy?

To be continued....

Don't forget, follow this blog through either Google or Networked Blogs and be eligible for a free autographed book when I reach 100 followers. Details are here.

Turning Sixty

Before I tackle the monumental subject of aging—my aging in particular—I have a few announcements. First, you may have noticed that I surpassed the fifty followers I needed to award the prize of an autographed copy of one of my books. The winner is Christa Polkinhorn, who has chosen the award-winning Protecting the Cittern. Congratulations, Christa, your book is on its way.

I've been informed that some followers weren't showing up on my view of the blog, because they set themselves up as a "private" rather than a "public" follower. If you did that, check your settings and make the change, because you'll want to be included in my next giveaway. That's right, I'm doing it again. This time my goal is 100 followers, and when I reach that lofty number, I will ask three questions whose answers can be found in my blog posts. Don't worry, they'll be easy. The first person to answer all three questions correctly will receive his or her choice of book. All you have to do to add yourself as a follower is click on "Join This Site" by Google Friend Connect, or click on "Follow This Blog" by Networked Blogs. Both sections are on the right. Then follow the instructions.

Now, on to some serious business. Recently, July 24 to be exact, I reached a personal milestone—my 60th birthday. I don't know how that happened. I should have been paying more attention, but I turned my back for what seemed like only a few minutes and BOOM, there it was. Last I remembered I was graduating from college, got a job, got married, my daughter was born, then she got married and had two kids, and here I am. As quickly as it took to read that sentence, my life flashed before my eyes, thumbed its nose and said, "Hope you enjoyed it!"

I never gave much thought to aging as I reached each new round number. Thirty, forty, and fifty came and went without me batting an eye. For some reason this one is making me reflect a bit more than usual. I've been kidding my friends and family that I finally reached middle age, but obviously I know better. The odds of me reaching 120 are pretty remote, although I'll do my best to get there. But I'm fairly sure the truth is I'm closer to the end of the book than the beginning. I just hope the book is War and Peace and not The Old Man and The Sea!

I also have started wondering if I'm acting my age. This was never a concern of mine before, either. For example, I still listen to rock music, mostly the artists who were popular when I was younger. Some who are no longer recording, The Beatles are a good example, and some who continue to put out new music, like Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen. Over the years I've added jazz and classical music to my listening rotation, but the music I loved as I was growing up will always be my favorite. Some artists have adjusted to their aging fans, some might say they sold out, but I wouldn't be so harsh. Rod Stewart has been doing fine with his last few albums of standards, but I'd rather hear him sing "Bad 'n' Ruin" with The Faces, or anything he did as a vocalist for Jeff Beck. I also still play a little air guitar during the introduction of "Layla" when no one is looking. Pretend you didn't read that!

Some countries have customs to honor people when they turn sixty, mostly Eastern cultures who revere their elders. Traditional Chinese calendars were organized in 60-year cycles, so on a person's sixtieth birthday the calendar turns over and they customarily celebrate their second birth. They receive symbolic presents, like long noodles to symbolize a long life. I received a card with "Over the Hill" in large type, and a box of adult diapers.

In Korea, guests at a 60th birthday party sit at a banquet table in order of age. Starting with the youngest, the children bow to their elders and pour them wine. Guests take part in activities to remind them of their youth, playing games and dressing up in silly clothing*. At my party we all played kick-the-can wearing tie-dyed t-shirts and bell-bottomed jeans.

Fortunately, there are two activities I participate in that I can continue for years to come. First, I play golf. Admittedly, I play golf badly, but I can play golf badly until I drop. And, of course, I write. That's my main source of activity and social contact. I'm inspired by writer friends I've come to know who are in their eighties and nineties and continue to write well and market their books, and participate in workshops to help novices. They helped me when I got started and I hope I am following their example. I think I can honestly say that because of them I now write much better than I play golf.

So for now, I just hope to be able to continue what I'm doing and derive as much pleasure as I can from it for as long as possible. And who knows? In another sixty years, if you sneak up on me, you may catch me playing air guitar while listening to Jimi Hendrix.

* Cultural information courtesy of eHow.com

Hiring Snigdha Nandipati

To follow up from my previous post, we're halfway to someone being the lucky winner of an autographed book from me. There are now 25 people who have proudly declared themselves followers of this blog. When there are 50, a winner will be randomly selected. Simply add yourself as a follower using either Google Friend Connect (click on "Join This Site"), or Networked Blogs (click on "Follow This Blog"). Both sections are on the right.

Keep in mind there's a good possibility that when I'm gone an autographed copy of one of my books could get as much as $20 on e-Bay, and that's a conservative guess - it might reach $22 in a bidding frenzy. And this morning I woke up with the sniffles - you never know where that might lead. So become a follower before it's too late.

Every year Scripps sponsors a spelling bee which attracts contestants from the 50 states, D.C., all the U.S. territories, and Department of Defense schools around the world. This year's competition had 278 entrants. It was held at the Gaylord National Resort and Convention Center in Oxon Hill, MD. The three-day event concluded on May 31, with 14-year-old Snigdha Nandipati of San Diego, California becoming the champion, spelling guetapens to outlast the other 277 competitors.

Guetapens??  This is a word? A word that a 14-year-old can spell? It looks to me like someone tossed a handful of Scrabble tiles in the air and this is what came up. If I had those letters in my Scrabble tray, I'd curse my bad luck at having no good letters, while it might be worth over 100 points if I could get a triple-word score. Apparently it's a French-derived word that means, trap, snare, or ambush. I know the few times I've needed to use one of the words, trap, snare, or ambush I've opted to use them, never realizing I had another option.

Young Ms. Nandipati's skills can be put to good use. There are countless examples of spelling errors in books, magazines, advertisements, and other places with high visibility that get past who knows how many proofreaders. Let's stick with our educational system for the purposes of this blog. In Maryland's Prince George's County - where the spelling bee was held - more than 8,000 graduates from 23 high schools received diplomas that read the grads had completed "an approved PROGAM of study". (Caps are mine for emphasis.) I'm sure Snigdha would have caught this error.

In 2011, the cover of Georgetown's commencement book, which was given to over 2,000 students, read "Commencement - 2011 - Georgetown UNIVERISTY" (Again, caps are mine.) Snighda, where were you when Georgetown needed you?

However, the most egregious example of an institution of higher learning needing some serious proofreading help from Ms. Nandipati comes from The University of Texas at Austin, whose graduates of one of the colleges were informed they had just received degrees from the Lyndon B. Johnson School of PUBIC Affairs.  See it here. What in heck are they studying there? And am I too old to matriculate? Get your mind out of the gutter, matriculate isn't what you think it is!

Anyway, there are so many more mistakes like this. Snighda, your future awaits.

Writing Wrongs

First, some blog business. To make this blog a bit more interactive I added the ability for you to subscribe to future posts and / or comments and to follow by email. Just enter your information in the areas to the right.

Also, I'm announcing a book giveaway. That's right, a free, autographed book from me to a lucky winner. There's one condition, though. You may notice that as of now there are only fourteen people who have proudly admitted they are following this blog. I know from the reports I get that there are millions, well, hundreds of people who read each post. There's nothing to be ashamed of! Become a follower. When I reach 50 followers I will have a drawing and someone will win his or her choice of a signed copy of either the award-winning Protecting the Cittern or The Ibex Trophy. If that person already has both books, and come to think of it, you all should have both books by now, then I will give my work in progress, Raw Umber, as soon as it is published. Unless hell freezes over by then.

Don't worry about security or privacy if you provide your email address or follow the blog. The information isn't used for anything but inflating my ego.

Now, back to the actual blog.

I went on a bit of a rant last time regarding improper use of certain phrases. Well, hide your children, because I'm not done yet. Here are a few, and believe me there are many more, spelling and / or usage errors that occur way too frequently by people who allegedly speak English as a main language, who don't think about what they're actually writing, and possibly don't own dictionaries or have Internet access.

First, I definitely know that definitely is not spelled definately. Who put that "a" in the middle? Don't people have spell check?

There is no such word as irregardless. Please, don't say it or write it. It's regardless. The "ir" implies the negative. For example something irrelevant is not relevant. Something irregular is not regular. Something irrational is not rational. Something ironic is not ... onic? Never mind, you get the point. And the "less" implies that something is missing. Hence, without regard to something. You don't need both.

During a thunderstorm, and we get some doozies here in Florida, I have no fear of ever being struck by lightening. Lightning, on the other hand, can do a lot of damage. Don't put that "e" in the middle. Unless you're talking about losing weight, thus lightening the load you carry around all day, or telling a joke during a tense situation, thus lightening the mood, leave out the "e". Maybe lightning never strikes twice in the same place, but lightening shows up way too often.

Sometimes what you hear sounds like what you write, but if you speak the language there's no excuse for these next two mistakes. Many people write things like "I was suppose to go to school today", or "I use to know that", omitting the "d" indicating past tense in supposed and used. Spoken, the "d" slurs with the "t" in "to" so it isn't heard, but the phrases appear correctly in enough places that you'd think people would figure it out.

In the same way, the contraction in phrases like "I should have done that" is "I should've done that", which sounds like "I should of done that". So they write what they hear, not what makes sense in the English language.

Don't even get me started on there, their, and they're!

Obviously I'm turning into a cranky curmudgeon. Time to go. I'm working outside and just saw a flash of lightening. Irregardless of the odds of me being hit, I definately should get inside. I should of gone they're earlier when I heard the thunder, but I was suppose to finish writing this blog.

Caring Less

My wife and I were having dinner in a restaurant a few weeks ago when I happened to overhear two couples at a nearby table speaking. One person said, in response to another's comment, "Well, I really could care less. Or is it I couldn't care less? I'm never sure." To which the first speaker replied, "Oh, it doesn't matter, they both mean the same thing."

Oh, really? One phrase says "could not" and the other says "could". The word "not" makes the two phrases completely opposite each other. In what world do they mean the same thing? I wanted to go over to that table and smack them all on the head, even the two people who weren't involved in that exchange just to make a point, but I remembered what happened the last time I smacked someone on the head in a restaurant. It wasn't pretty. So I refrained.

The problem is that many of us say things without actually analyzing what the words mean. If you say "I could care less", that means you care to some extent - maybe a little, maybe a lot, but you care -  so it's possible to tone down just how much you care and care less. What you want to say in a case like this, and the proper phrase is, "I couldn't care less", meaning you don't care at all for the subject at hand and it is impossible to care any less about it.

Of course, this made me think about other phrases that I've heard over the years from people who just say things without understanding what's coming out of their pie-holes. Take this as an example, "for all intensive purposes". What the heck does that mean? What they want to say is "for all intents and purposes", but again they don't bother to think about what they are actually saying.

"It's a doggy dog world", is another one I've heard more than once. It certainly sounds a lot friendlier than the correct phrase, "It's a dog-eat-dog world", which of course means people fighting each other to pursue their own goals and makes a lot more sense. It's kind of a shame that it's the correct phrase, though. It'd be nicer if we always patted each other on the back all the time, congratulating or consoling each other when it was appropriate.

Some people would say complaining about something I can't do anything about is a "mute point", but I'd have to smack them too, because it's a "moot point". Unless, of course, the point is unable to speak.

Another thing that annoys me every time I hear it, although it's not in the same category as these phrases, is when someone says the word "height" as if it ended with a "th". It ends with a hard "t" for crying out loud. Just because other words describing dimension, "length" and "width", are pronounced with the ending "th", "height" isn't.

Enough complaining for now. It doesn't impact me in any way if people speak without thinking. Come to think of it, I couldn't care less. Or could I?

I'd be interested to know of any phrase that you hear misspoken often. Add a comment below if you can think of any.  

Going Digital

Encyclopedia Britannica recently announced they were ceasing publication of their long-revered, multi-volumed, term paper plagiarizing aide. I know, because we had a set in my house when I was growing up, and, just by changing a few words, the guilt of copying disappeared. My wife and I bought a set when our daughter was starting to write school reports, and we even got the annual updates, which provided crucial revisions to existing articles, and new entries for important events from that year. It was sad to read about New Kids on the Block breaking up.

The Britannica will be available exclusively online, through their website, at a cost to subscribers of $70 per year. Apparently, management at this institution of education and knowledge hasn't heard of Wikipedia, the online, and free, encyclopedia. Some people scoff at Wikipedia because of its open source nature, allowing anybody to update articles, putting its credibility in question. However they do a very good job of policing any inaccuracies. A while ago, in order to test their vigilance, I added my name to the list of British Prime Ministers. Right there between Sir Robert Peel and Lord John Russell where I was confident it wouldn't be noticed. But sure enough, it was almost immediately deleted, and my account was frozen. I use my wife's computer to do research for my books now.

This got me to thinking about the digitalization of everything, specifically music and books. Over the years I have amassed fairly large collections of records and books - music and reading being two of my passions. When I was young I bought many 45s (for you younger readers, under 40, these are the small records with one song on each side. It had a big hole in the middle and spun on the turntable at 45 revolutions per minute). You would buy the record for the hit, and on the other side was some piece-of-crap music that you never listened to. Then, because of The Beatles, I started buying albums. The Beatles raised the bar and the throwaway songs rapidly became non-existent, at least with bands that were serious about their music.

The LPs, or long-playing records, were the main way people bought music for a long time. A few alternatives came along over the years. Cassette tapes made a little dent in LP sales. Then somebody had a musical brain fart and gave us the 8-track tape. I sincerely hope the person who developed this monstrosity of a music delivery system has been exiled somewhere and is forced to listen to a continuous loop of Pat Boone music, along with his evil spawn Debby Boone. The tapes never changed tracks properly and you would hear one track in one speaker and another track, playing backwards, in the other. Then they would cut a longer song somewhere in the middle to continue it on the next track, due to space limitations.

In the late '80s, the LP had met its match with the introduction of the CD. The music sounded great and in the early days, when an album was released in both formats, the CD offered bonus tracks that the LP didn't have. The beginning of the end of the LP had come. The only drawback of the CD, for me, was the information that came with it: lyrics, liner notes, and other inserts that were found in the album sleeves were now miniaturized to fit in the CD case. It had most of the same information, but I had to do a lot of squinting to read it.

Today, the CD is about to die. Music is all digitized and we are back to buying individual songs (singles) the way we did with the 45s. But there's nothing to hold. We can download them on our computers, iPods, iPhones, iPads, iEverythings, and have thousands of songs in the palm of our hands. I had an iPod Nano that I got about seven years ago which was recently recalled by Apple because of some potential problems with the battery. I sent it to them to get a free replacement. When I received my package in the mail from them I had to call Apple to say they had sent me a battery by mistake and not the iPod. I was corrected by the Apple rep who told me the new model was much smaller. Not only was it smaller, but it had twice the capacity of the old one. The thing is so small it's a potential choking hazard for children. But now, with everything digitized and downloaded, there are no accompanying lyric sheets or liner notes. I miss them.

Closer to home, the same thing is happening to books. E-books are rapidly replacing paperbacks and hard cover books. My wife and I both have Kindles and quickly got used to them. We can carry our entire library wherever we go. A while ago, Amazon announced they were selling more e-books for their Kindle than paperbacks and hard covers combined. As an author, I know my books, (Protecting the Cittern and The Ibex Trophy, in case you forgot), have to be available in all formats, and the reality is that I do sell more e-books than regular books on line. At book signings I always used to stress that a benefit of getting the book directly from me was that it would be signed by the author. As of last week that argument has been taken away from me because I now can sign a book on Kindle. Digitally. You can look it up in Encyclopedia Britannica or Wikipedia.

Getting High in Peru

My wife, Evelyn, and I recently returned from a wonderful trip to South America, which included five days touring Peru, followed by a cruise taking us from Chile to Brazil. We sailed around Cape Horn and made several exciting stops along the way.

I want to concentrate on our time in Peru for this post. Visiting Machu Picchu has long been a dream of mine. It was on my bucket list long before that expression became a cliche. Although I was aware that it was perched high in the Andes, I learned more precisely it was at an altitude of nearly 7,900 feet. Nearby Cusco, which we also visited, is even higher at 11,150 feet.

At those altitudes, because of the decrease in oxygen, some people experience symptoms that at times can resemble the flu, carbon monoxide poisoning, or a hangover. I've never had carbon monoxide poisoning, but I have had the flu, and I may have had a hangover once. Maybe twice. I forget. The point is I'd rather not experience any of them.

Peruvians combat this by chewing on coca leaves. That's coca, as in cocaine. I never got a good answer as to what coca does to alleviate the symptoms, but they chew on this stuff all the time. Now, mind you, it's not the kind that Tony Montana dove into in Scarface, but I would think if you chew it all day there's got to be some effect. Our tour guides, however, did not give us coca leaves to chew on. We were offered coca tea. I'm not normally a tea drinker, but I didn't want those symptoms, and besides, there was a bit of a living-on-the-edge rush knowing that I was ingesting something that could be turned into crack. So I had a cup. Then another. After seventeen cups I still didn't feel high. I didn't feel anything, although I really had to pee.

With a full bladder and a clear head I walked around various Incan ruins in the area and, most importantly, Machu Picchu. Besides the aforementioned altitude, the ruins themselves are constructed around multi-tiered terraces, intricately-carved boulders stacked on top of each other, and stairs. Lots of stairs. They reach high above the buildings. Did I mention I'm afraid of heights? It's called acrophobia. If I climb more than two rungs up a ladder I start shaking, which makes the ladder shake making it more dangerous causing me to shake even more. It's really pathetic. I have to climb down and have my wife change the ceiling light bulb.

The stairs around Machu Picchu are narrow rocks, and apparently the Incans didn't believe in handrails. Part of my height problem has to do with not having anything stable to hold onto, while climbing up to potentially treacherous heights, which would keep me from plummeting into the abyss and turning into a mangled, pulpy mess at the bottom. Sometimes I over think these things. But I was there, and I would most likely never come back. I wanted to climb to the top to see what is now the iconic, classic view of Machu Picchu. So I climbed. And I climbed. Holding onto any crevice in the rocks I could find. Leaning my weight forward so I wouldn't tumble backwards. You can overcome anything, even if only temporarily, if you have a strong enough motivation. I made it to the top, and here's the proof.

I know what you're thinking. "Nice hat." I don't care. The point is I made it. That's me, high in the Andes, high above Machu Picchu in spite of my fears, but not high on coca. We smuggled some of the tea leaves home. Maybe twenty cups will do the trick.

Plunging Into the Blogosphere

I've been avoiding writing a blog for a long time now. I'm a novelist, or so I keep telling myself. If I'm going to spend any time writing, I should be working on my book, Raw Umber, which will be my third if I ever get it finished. Writing a blog on a regular, or more likely semi-regular, mostly erratic basis, will only take time away from what I think I should be doing.

Many of my author friends have blogs. I've read them and they're all quite good. They tell me it's a great way to maintain name recognition and keep your fans engaged while they're waiting for the next magnum opus to spring forth from the inner depths of your soul. Fans? After my wife, mother, and I hope my daughter, I wasn't sure I had a fan base that was craving to read my musings on random subjects. Plus, my mother doesn't have a computer. I can just tell my wife and daughter what's on my mind and save us all a lot of time.

Then the obvious question, at least to me, is what am I going to write about that people will want to read? I decided I'd mostly limit it to things that I spend most of my time doing: writing, traveling, eating, and family, not necessarily in that order. But if something outside of those topics happens to get my attention and fill me with the need to spill my guts about it, you can count on seeing it here.

So, I set this blog up and the first thing I had to do was give it a name. John's Blog seemed a bit boring, and I thought it would give the impression that the content wouldn't be much better. The Amazing Ruminations of A Future Pulitzer Prize Winner was in the running for a while, but I felt it would put way too much pressure on me to write something important that might require a lot of research, and to make sure all the words were spelled correctly.

Then I came up with Thoughts From the Camel. I'm sure you're asking, "What does that mean?" If you're not, I'm going to tell you anyway. Camel was my nickname in high school and college. Many of my friends from those years still call me that. It's not because, as some people think, I had only had one hump during those years (although I did have a long dry spell). Obviously, it's short for my name, Cammalleri.

That's it for now. If you like this blog, please do the usual things: become a follower of it, tell your friends, send money, or better yet, buy my books, the award-winning Protecting the Cittern and The Ibex Trophy. I'll probably mention them occasionally, too.