After purchasing some lunch meat from my local supermarket, and then making a sandwich using its contents, slopping on the appropriate condiments, I paused just before placing it in my mouth and biting down. Thinking, Well, here goes.
It’s taken a while but I have my two books up and running as Kindle eboooks, via Amazon, of course.
You can find the “link to Self-Portrait of Someone Else” here.
You can find the link “How to Find Yourself (or a reasonable facsimile)” here.
Pricing is $2.99 from Amazon.com.
(Should insert “What a deal!” and other exclamation marks here.)
Purchasing these outside the USA will be higher than my stated price, as Amazon adds some suspect transfer fees, and as we know, it’s oh so much more expensive to download files in the USA compared to, say, Canada or Belgium. There’s little I can do about it currently, because at this point, it’s Amazon’s way or the highway. It will no doubt remain this way until Amazon, slowly but surely, gets its act together as Kindle distribution centers are established in the rest of world. *see below
Note: my base price stays of $2.99 is the same, no matter what you are charged.
Anyway, if you have a Kindle, you can get my books and have a happier summer, a more expansive life and all in all general all-purpose beatific experiences….
Thanks for reading.
* (Update Aug.6, 2010) I believe I was wrong when I first posted this. I just ran into this:
“…in most EU countries, taxes on e-books are double the taxes on p-books, thanks to a rather bizarre ruling of the European Commission, which decided that the supply of a “book on any physical support comes under supply of goods, whereas the downloading of an e-book is defined as a supply of services. Therefore different VAT rates apply.” This quite clearly means that according to EU bureaucrats, taxation on books should be lower, because they are printed on paper or stored on a DVD, and not because the book is a repository of culture and knowledge. Or to go one step further in this line of reasoning, for European bureaucrats the novels read on paper are culture, but the ones read on Kindle are not. I’m sure Marshall McLuhan would love this way of reasoning as it shows that European bureaucrats are true believers of his dictum that “the medium is the message”. However, in the context of the e-book trade, this puts European e-booksellers in a more difficult position than their American counterparts as they are burdened with higher taxes. “
Link to this article.
Writers are always rejected, or their manuscripts are. This comes under the heading of, Things As They Are. The rejection does not stop, and oddly apologies rarely follow.
Way back when my first novel, “Self-Portrait of Someone Else”, was published by Viking-Penguin, New York, my literary agent at that time, Peter Lampack Literary Agency, set out to sell this self-same manuscript to a number of publishers based in the United Kingdom. It was the next step in my conquering the world.
As the refusals full of praise and regret came in, copies of the letters were kindly forwarded to me. To give equal measures of hope and despair, as these letters contained some of the best reviews/comments this novel ever received.
Now, with the novel re-issued under my own imprint, hidden people limited, I thought, in the interests of writerly retro-masochism and in a spirit of fun, I could construct some short videos around five of the rejection letters.
This first one I’m releasing was from Grafton Books. This editor thought I had a heck of future ahead of me. Well, twenty years later, my future came and went and I gave it a friendly wave at it as it passed by. Today my publishing future is pinging about on a different level of hustle and gumption.
If you want to read the actual letter, I put it into a pdf file and it is right here: Grafton Book Rejection Letter
Here’s THE VIDEO LINK! Enjoy. Leave comments on this site just below, or on the YouTube channel.
Thanks for reading.
Oh, and if you never saw my original launch video for this book, CLICK HERE TO VIEW, or the video where I read some real newspaper reviews this novel received, including from the New York Sunday Review of Books, CLICK HERE to view.
Thanks for reading and seeing and coming ’round. VE
P.S. Oh, if, in case, who knows, if you’re not the proud owner of your very own copy, CLICK HERE TO HAVE A CLOSER LOOK, read excerpts, hear audio excerpts, and links to Amazon where the book is available as print and via Kindle….
Here’s something I rarely do, but it’s the summer, and the heat has gotten to me, or something has gotten to me, & so you get this..
BIG BANG BIG BOOM – the new wall-painted animation by BLU. Extraordinary, fascinating animation. Boggles the mind how much effort and preparation this must have taken. The creativity speaks utterly for its own astonishing self.
CLICK HERE TO VIEW.
BEING AN AUTHOR, BEING A SCREENWRITER – Nick Harkaway, who has worked in films and published a novel, pretty much gets it spot on with both careers and how one is treated by those in the industries. Most amusing, most accurate.
CLICK HERE TO VIEW.
A LIVE SHOW IS A LIVING THING – Ryan Miller is a storyteller I know and here he pretty much gets it spot concerning the process of creating a story-monologue-performance for an audience, and how it evolves. Ryan’s headed to to the Edinburgh Festival in a few weeks.
CLICK HERE TO VIEW.
“WHO’S ON FIRST” – A classic. From Abbott and Costello. You may need to know a bit about American baseball. And the colorful nicknames they used to give players. While it’s high-standard comedy, it’s also about wordplay and the use of language at a rather sophisticated level. V. funny, and Costello is so spot on with his timing.
CLICK HERE TO VIEW.
Thanks for dropping by.
A while back, the cherry tree in my backyard did it blossoms. I did a short video of it: SEE IT HERE.
And now, deeper into the summer, this is what those blossoms foretold: many baskets of cherries, and this is just one of them:
This qucikie, short post is part of my summer “whatever comes up” holiday blog…
Hi there, whoever you are reading this.
I’ve noted that some blog writing people take breaks over the summer, reducing frequency or simply quit posting material on their blogs. Not me. Oh no. “Buck the trend Eaton”, as I’m known in freaky cults better not mentioned here.
However, I am adjusting for a “summer blog schedule”.
What I’ve been doing—for those not paying close, obedient attention—was releasing audio clips on Mondays, videos on Wednesdays, and short-short stories on Fridays.
My summer schedule is going to be this (until a better idea pops up or I just plain Change My Mind):
One last summer video will be posted this next Wednesday, thereafter random actual written blog posts on what’s up and what’s going on. I’ve had some things on my mind and some on my plate, and what better time to put it out there but during the summer when few are paying attention?
To repeat: look forward to my tossing some thoughts and visions, expectations and plans, onto this blog over July-August, because a guy’s a guy, a writer’s a writer, and a storyteller has stories to tell.
I kill slugs. At night, in the beginning, I placed little bowls of beer embedded in the earth to tempt them to come, like wary animals arriving to sip in the savannah during the depths of darkness. But like unreconstructed AA members, they could not resist as they came to sip, and then sip some more, then more still, until they waded right in, and literally drown in their beer. Next morning, the little pools of beer held a number of floating and semi-sunk oblong corpses.
Snails, too, a couple of them were in there. Not a one of them could hold their liquor.
Still every morning I see my salad gets munched, holes appearing in the leaves. So another plan is formed, more sinister, more immediate. I waited until midnight approached to go hunting. I got my flashlight out but found it held dead batteries, damn, went around the house unloading batteries from remotes and cameras and suchlike discovering I had a house full of half-dead or utterly dead batteries. The flashlight kept its single eye closed. So I got a candle, lit it, not enough power, then a second candle, lit them both, and went into the night.
When I held the candles up to view the immediate territory, weird bendy shadows were cast over the land. But they were there. A transient city of snails and slugs, poking along slimeily, seeking their midnight snacks. I had filled a can deep with water and put it down near my feet. With carefully gloved hand I picked them from the ground, plucked them from the plants, one by one, and plopped them into my bucket to drown, and kept culling, and they kept acoming.
After a bit of capturing and tossing them into my mini-well, I had a look to see how many I had taken care of. Six or eight or an army of them were crawling up back to the rim, wanting life, or more free food. I pulled back three inches, as though under a surprise mini-attack. Naively, had I thought they’d just drown if there was enough water. I lowered a single finger into this world and pushed each one back down and each one was no match for my finger and fell with a tiny splash and a bob but still, still they still came up, crawling back with a zombie’s determination. This midnight raid was turning into something like night the living fucking dead.
So I put a second thought into the matter and and dumped in a dash of chlorine, swished it around in the water, then again poked those slime-balls back in. Again they went plop into the water but this time they curled and met their maker. Each released a little bit of distressed foam.
Pick ‘n’ plop was the main movement and sound thereafter out there in the garden when reasonable men were asleep. I tried pouring some salt on a couple of them and saw their innards sort of catch fire as some different but more raging sort of foam came bubbling up from under their bodies, their inner fluids flushing out.
I killed many during the next three midnights, decimating the local population. Then the following four nights there were no attacks on my small vegetable patch. The lettuce leafs thrived. No nibbles. One never foolishly declares victory in such matters, but the lettuce began to believe in themselves again. Courgette plants spread their leafy wings. Rhubarb went rhubbarbing.
But for those three nights running, with candles and evil intent, I sought and killed slugs and snails which dared assail with mucus mouths my struggling salads. Those nights were like my own little intense slasher-horror film out there in the dead of night. The foam and the bubbling. The single sound of a snail plopping into chlorinated water, that midnight plop a full one-note sound, masking the terminal.
…Here’s this popular short-short story, comes in three different forms:
My short-short fiction piece, “Big Toe Walkabout” has proven to be popular story.
So after the story appeared, I made it into a Podcast/Audio clip.
Yet, maybe some out there would like to watch this big toe illustration while listening, so now I have made it as a one shot video story.
Yep, stories come in all sorts of packaging around here.
Enjoy, and endure. Thanks for reading, seeing, listening. And leave a comment below! Or in the YouTube comment box–I’ll get it.
I wrote and posted a short-short story (read HERE–click it!) about a toe detaching itself from my foot to go live its life. It proved popular. So I recorded it.
Listen (and/or download) here: Big Toe Walkabout read by the author.
It’s less than 3 1/2 minutes.
Enjoy and thanks for dropping by. Don’t forget to leave a comment below! Vincent….