His fists were ensnared in thick grey hair. His elbows rested uncomfortably on the table. It was a battle…fists pulling, elbows pushing…his eyes were closed so tightly that they hurt. The inside of his mind sounded like this:
What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so weak? Why are you unhappy? How do other people do it? They seem happy. Why are you always hiding?
With a loud bang, the fists met the table, small clumps of grey hair like little bouquets. He poured a tall drink. This was how he did it. And sleep. Sleep was the ultimate escape. Which made it all the more ironic that he hadn’t slept in days.
Continue reading “Jack”
I have officially taken Joe Café out of the madness that is Kindle Select. I went in with reservations, and I came out with my reservations cancelled…or with legal gambling casinos on them. Or something. A lot of electrons or whatever got moved around. No doubt about that.
The deal with Kindle Select is that you give the digital rights for your book to Amazon and they ‘promote’ your book while it is in the program. You get five free promotion days for every ninety (free for everybody). Prime members can borrow for free at any time. Yadda. Yadda.
I don’t like being told what I can and can’t do. I also don’t like not selling very many books, so I took my laptop to the crossroads and the rest is history.
Continue reading “Goodbye For Now, Kindle Select”
[JD Mader is taking a break today to enjoy some time with the his family. Enjoy this Encore Presentation until his return next week. – The Editors]
Writing is a lot like fishing, both of which I enjoy very much. Both are hard work. And a lot of times you get skunked. But if you keep trying, eventually you catch something. I have always been drawn to activities that require far more effort than they offer reward. I don’t know why this is. Masochism? Low self esteem? Perhaps I’m a bit of a simpleton.
Writers psych themselves out a LOT. Like baseball players, but less fit. I’ve said before that I don’t believe in writer’s block, but there are other psych-outs. A certain time of day. A certain place. A certain beverage. A certain amount or kind of noise. A certain…whatever. And it is a fact that it is all bullshit. Here’s how I know.
I get ideas and weird inspirations in the shower, while I’m driving, in the middle of the night, mid-conversation…
Now, it stands to reason that if inspiration can strike at any time, then I can write anytime as long as I allow myself to. Meaning, no superstitions. You don’t have to tap your cleats
and spit north to write well.
Continue reading “Psych Out”