My Craigslist Adventure

As a self-published author, my life consists of reading, writing, and begging people for reviews on Amazon. Before I started publishing on Amazon, I never realized how vital it was to have multiple reviews next to a title. The big publishers have no problem with this “star pursuit” because they have designated reviewers. The small guys have to scrape and sweat for whatever they can get. Amazon makes this almost impossible because even if someone buys your book, they cannot review it unless they have made several purchases in the past. Besides Amazon’s consumerist barriers, there are the barriers to people’s motivation. I have asked dozens of people to write me a review after reading my book – maybe 1% actually follow through.

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This dismal response rate is due to several factors: people are busy, people don’t care about my self-published book, people don’t like to write, and people don’t understand the importance of the almighty star. I currently have three books on Amazon. One has 16 reviews, and the other two have 1-2 reviews. Guess which book I sell multiple copies of each month? The one with those glorious stars! The other two books are just as good – if not better – but receive no lip service! If you need any more proof of this phenomenon, just be conscious of your own Amazon buying behavior; you will look at the number of reviews and the overall rating – if a product has no reviews it is not even considered. In an attempt to ameliorate my star situation, I went to Craigslist. 

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Craigslist and I have been friends for some time; in the past, I found countless deals, affordable apartments, and cool roommates from the eclectic site. I posted in the Community section that I was a “Local Author looking for people to read my book and write an honest review.” I got a few responses right away from people who requested my book and a meetup. My first email conversation went something like this…

“Hi I would like to read your book, I love reading.”

“Great I will send you the PDF.”

“Would you like to meet up and discuss it? I’m a 47-year-old blonde who likes long walks…” 

At that point, I thought I either found a true fan of my writing or someone who wanted me to be her divorce rebound; after showing my wife the email, I figured it was the latter. My second contact was with another local author who wanted to meet up to exchange books. We went back and forth on the time to meet and settled on Sunday at 3:00 pm. This was fine until my Fantasy Football draft got rescheduled to 3:00 pm. I frantically emailed him back several times that we would have to reschedule. There was no response until 4:00 pm…

“I waited here an hour for you!”

I felt like crap about this mix-up but who waits for someone pass the 30-minute mark? What person thinks…

“It’s 40 minutes past our meeting time…I’ll give them another 20”

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My star search had two strikes. The last message I got was from a foreign guy with poor English. He wanted to meet to discuss the book and practice English. I sent him the PDF and asked for the review before meeting up with him in a week. The day came and I drove to a very rural Mcdonald’s. One would think that a middle-of-nowhere Mcdonald’s would have mostly white people. This Mcdonald’s was like a United Nations and I spent the first 15 minutes asking people if they were the person I was looking for. Finally, I found my target in the corner. He was from Saudi Arabia and very friendly. The only problem was that he didn’t read my book or write me a review. For the next two hours, we talked about Saudi Arabian culture. During that time I was confronted by a Michigander who asked us if we were Christians – he subsequently preached to us for 15 minutes. I was also stared at by a family when our conversation turned to ISIS and me taking a trip to Mecca. This scenario was made worse by my ungainly beard and my obscure knowledge of Middle-Eastern history.  In the end, I never got my stars but I might be on the FBI watch list. Please if you are reading this, check out my books below and write me a quick review – it will save me some Craigslist adventures in the future.

Tackle the Library – Plato

We’re all the Chihuahuas 

We’re All Chihuahuas – Chapter 1 and 2

For those wanting to get straight to Chapter 2 – scroll down. For all those new, please read on.

I am excited to announce the release of two books over the next month. The first book, which is free to download from Amazon starting Friday until Sunday (Click any hyperlink in this blog to reach the download), is titled We’re All Chihuahuas: A Shaky Dog on a Human Journey by yours truly. Below you can read the description.

“This is the story of Max the Chihuahua. It is the harrowing adventure of pleasure and pain – a journey that mirrors the winding road of our own life. It is a tale of interchange between the brain of a shaky 6-pound beast and the soul of an unsuspecting human. An epic with a most peculiar cast of characters and a most peculiar climax – which will leave you thinking – ‘We’re all Chihuahuas.'”

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Max the Chihuahua

The second book is Tackle the Library: Plato which is the second installment in the series. As a special perk to all my loyal readers, I am going to post the first three chapters of each book on this blog over the weekend (this weekend will be We’re all Chihuahuas with Plato coming in a couple of weeks). It would mean a great deal to me if you would download the book for free at this link and leave me a review. Writing is only worth doing if it helps others – I hope this book brings you insight, smiles, and happiness.

And without further adieu…

We’re All Chihuahuas

Chapter 1 – The Reciprocity of the pound

The concrete floor was chilly and damp. Almost like walking barefoot on a sidewalk after the first frost of the season. The coldness of the ground was, however, warmer than the barks heard echoing throughout the chambers. Howls that sounded ethereal and forced – the noise of desperation. It wasn’t a place one would want to be or for that matter smell. Smell is such a personal experience that it is almost impossible to translate the horrible odor that saturated every surface of this lost place. The effervescence was a mixture of wet hair garnished with fermented feces and pooling urine. Ammonia was the main ingredient permeating the air – a continual assault on the molecular bays of the noise.

If one could surmise, they may guess that this place was a men’s bathroom at a Cub’s game after a bad batch of $1 chili cheese dogs; or maybe a more macabre setting like a gas chamber after a quick cleaning. No, it was neither of these humanoid places. It was a place further down the evolutionary ladder. A place where man and beast come to stare at each other in a manner not akin to preservation like a zoo – but rather a sight similar to used merchandise – like a decaying thrift store. It was the dog pound. More specifically the Flint, Michigan dog pound built in 1949 on the very same day the Russian’s tested their first nuke – perhaps a sign that there would be many hardships to come. The founding of the “pound” – as we will call it – is not our primary focus. Our focus is its inhabitants, with one inhabitant in particular. This is the story of Max the Chihuahua; a story not about saving dogs from pounds or even canine adoption. It is a story of how one small Chihuahua changed forever in that scary place. It is the story of all of us. It is the story of interchange between the brain of a shaky 6-pound beast and the soul of an unsuspecting human.

Chapter 2 – Old School Swat

The infant years of Max are not entirely known. He was born somewhere in the hillbilly outskirts of Flint where poor whites make their nests in the hope that their 1 mile move no longer categorizes them as living in the ghetto. It almost goes without saying that Max was born in the white Juggalo region of Flint because no sane black Flintoid would want a 6-pound rat-dog to protect their home. In this district of America, there are two choices of a pet – guard dog or toy dog. The former is the choice of those who need to compensate for some Freudian love of the father and the latter is the choice of those who can’t decide on the taxonomy of their pet – should it be of the canine or ferret genus? We must assume that Max was born in a 1920’s cut-out GM working-class home which now has Craigslist furniture, a 500 lb plasma TV, and a kitchen pantry stocked with every variety of Hamburger Helper (not store brand of course). This little puppy begins his life in the heart of America and Americana – Faygo pop and failed dreams.

Little Max was loved with the utmost care and affection. His Flintbilly owners had little money to spare, but they nevertheless showered him with toys, food, and name brand Chihuahua accessories: a bone-shaped bed, Superman t-shirt, and elf costume for Christmas to name a few. He was spoiled like an only child – the beezneez of all the dogs in the neighborhood. As with all cute babies, however, there was a slight problem with his trachea. Max was a barker. His bark brought about a mild pain in the ear and was more infuriating than a toddler singing a catchy tune on the radio. Max barked because he was excited about the world and all that it had to offer. He wanted to explore. He wanted to learn. He wanted to play. Everything that Max saw he barked at because his brain thought it was a fellow friend. Someone is at the door – let me celebrate! Someone is walking around the room – let me celebrate! Someone is giving me food – let me celebrate! Max’s brain computed everything as a proverbial birthday party – a never-ending waterfall of stimulus that mimicked a baby’s first taste of chocolate cake. BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! All day and all night long.

As one could guess, Max’s barking got old real fast. His owners could never focus on reading the instructions on the box of Hamburger Helper or watch YouTube videos about Game of Thrones conspiracy theories. They were invariably trying to correct little Max’s birthday party brain. Max would actually think the yelling was a good thing as if his frustrated owners were exploding verbal streamers. Slowly but surely, Max’s owners lost patience and began to threaten him with punishments of all sorts. They would put Max in his cage; this led to more barks of excitement because it was a game of hide-and-seek. They would spray water at him every time he made a peep; this led to more yelps of excitement because it was a water park experience! They would call Max a “bad boy” and shake their finger at him; this led to more barks of excitement because his owners seemed to be dancing the Charlie Chaplin. Finally, all came to a head one day when Grandma visited. Grandma was old school and believed in corporeal punishment – the likes not seen since the firing squads of the Wild West. Granny quickly took a rolled up newspaper and swatted little Max on his skinny flank.

The second that hard paper hit Max he felt what it was like to be a supernova in the throes of morphing into a black hole. Pain shot through his small body as if it were a drug injected by an addict itching for a fix. He squealed and bolted for the safety of his once “hide and seek” haven. His demeanor was timid for the first time. His composure was broken. His soul was shaken. This swat was no mere swat; it was a jolt that taught Max that the world is full of pain. The cosmos was no longer an endless river of sparkling stimulus born from the stars to flow directly into his heart. The world was, in reality, like a boulder which one attempts to climb – all the time risking cuts, bruises, and fatal falls. As these thoughts were going through Max’s head, his body began to convert the neural impulses of anxiety into psychosomatic tremors of fear. These earthquakes manifested themselves into a phenotype most common among small dogs – constant shaking. Max couldn’t control the shaking and with each new shiver, Max was reminded of the scary experience of the swat – an experience that set his life on a whole new trajectory.

Stay tuned for Chapter 3 tomorrow and don’t forget to download your free copy over the weekend. Thanks again for your support. 

We’re All Chihuahuas – Chapter 1

I am excited to announce the release of two books over the next month. The first book, which is free to download from Amazon starting Friday until Sunday, is titled We’re All Chihuahuas: A Shaky Dog on a Human Journey by yours truly. Below you can read the description.

“This is the story of Max the Chihuahua. It is the harrowing adventure of pleasure and pain – a journey that mirrors the winding road of our own life. It is a tale of interchange between the brain of a shaky 6-pound beast and the soul of an unsuspecting human. An epic with a most peculiar cast of characters and a most peculiar climax – which will leave you thinking – ‘We’re all Chihuahuas.'”

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Max the Chihuahua

The second book is Tackle the Library: Plato which is the second installment in the series. As a special perk to all my loyal readers, I am going to post the first three chapters of each book on this blog over the weekend (this weekend will be We’re all Chihuahuas with Plato coming in a couple of weeks). It would mean a great deal to me if you would download the book for free at this link and leave me a review. Writing is only worth doing if it helps others – I hope this book brings you insight, smiles, and happiness.

And without further adieu…

We’re All Chihuahuas

Chapter 1 – The Reciprocity of the pound

The concrete floor was chilly and damp. Almost like walking barefoot on a sidewalk after the first frost of the season. The coldness of the ground was, however, warmer than the barks heard echoing throughout the chambers. Howls that sounded ethereal and forced – the noise of desperation. It wasn’t a place one would want to be or for that matter smell. Smell is such a personal experience that it is almost impossible to translate the horrible odor that saturated every surface of this lost place. The effervescence was a mixture of wet hair garnished with fermented feces and pooling urine. Ammonia was the main ingredient permeating the air – a continual assault on the molecular bays of the noise.

If one could surmise, they may guess that this place was a men’s bathroom at a Cub’s game after a bad batch of $1 chili cheese dogs; or maybe a more macabre setting like a gas chamber after a quick cleaning. No, it was neither of these humanoid places. It was a place further down the evolutionary ladder. A place where man and beast come to stare at each other in a manner not akin to preservation like a zoo – but rather a sight similar to used merchandise – like a decaying thrift store. It was the dog pound. More specifically the Flint, Michigan dog pound built in 1949 on the very same day the Russian’s tested their first nuke – perhaps a sign that there would be many hardships to come. The founding of the “pound” – as we will call it – is not our primary focus. Our focus is its inhabitants, with one inhabitant in particular. This is the story of Max the Chihuahua; a story not about saving dogs from pounds or even canine adoption. It is a story of how one small Chihuahua changed forever in that scary place. It is the story of all of us. It is the story of interchange between the brain of a shaky 6-pound beast and the soul of an unsuspecting human.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2 tomorrow and don’t forget to download your free copy over the weekend. Thanks again for your support. 

Treasure Island

“A friend is a gift you give yourself.”
-Roberst Louis Stevenson

Growing up in the 90’s was the best time for Disney musicals. There was Aladin, Lion King, The Little Mermaid, Hercules, Mulan, Pocohantes, and Muppet Treasure Island. Muppet Treasure Island was one of my favorites because I loved all things, pirates. A particular memory stands out to me that exemplifies my fascination for the Jolly Roger. One summer, probably in the mid-90’s, my Mom forced me to go to day camp. This day camp had everything a fat boy dreaded: high humidity, tag, shirtless swimming, mediocre cold lunches, and overly energetic counselors.

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In an attempt to forgo the see-through white t-shirt, I decided to opt out of swimming. Instead of having fun with the hyperactive kids, I sat under a shade tree and read an enthralling book on pirates; it explained pirate culture, swashbuckling battles, and treasure hunts. I think this event in my life stands out to me because it was the first time I realized that I was an old man in a young body. Today, my Mom and I laugh about those times, and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief that I no longer have to carry around a tube of Preparation-H in the case of post-tag chafing. With this background and love of pirates in mind, I was excited to crack open my next classic, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.

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Treasure Island was published in 1883 and is actually a children’s story written by Stevenson for his stepson. This novel is responsible for most of modern culture’s pirate imagery: Billy Bones, a parrot on the shoulder, a peg leg, Long John Silver, X on a treasure map, pieces of eight, “Yo ho, yo ho, and a bottle of rum!” The main character is Jim Hawkins, a boy who stumbles upon a treasure map and then goes on an adventure to retrieve it – one in which goes completely awry after Long John Silver and his pirate crew attempt to take the treasure for themselves. It is a coming of age story for Hawkins and the reader witnesses his transition from a cowardly boy to a courageous man.

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Throughout the book, there are various father figures for Jim and Stevenson highlights how difficult it is to decipher a person’s real character. For example, Jim loves hanging out with Long John Silver because he is fun and personable; on the other hand, Jim feels disconnected from the stern captain of the ship and feels uncomfortable in his presence. Unfortunately, Long John Silver ends up being the anti-hero who leads Jim astray while the Captain remains a bedrock of sense who eventually leads Jim safely home. Stevenson highlights the difficulty that children face when trying to decide good vs. bad, friend vs. foe, and caretaker vs. conman. The people we spend time with significantly impact our character and our life choices. Think of all the bad habits in your life; how many of those habits are the result of your friends’ and past social activities? Be weary of the Long John Silver in your own life and realize that there may be treasures waiting just outside your echo chamber.

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Shenandoah: The Red-Headed-Step Child

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Two years ago on June 21st I married the love of my life. It was one of those days in which time both stood still and flew by-leaving a host of wonderful memories. Following our wedding day, we spent our honeymoon in Yosemite National Park. I thought it would be a excellent idea to camp the whole week-suffice it to say, do not camp on your honeymoon. After only two days, Christina was complaining about her back hurting and our sex life was in a state of drought worse than California. We ended up getting a hotel for the rest of the trip but still had a great time relaxing in nature. It is our goal to visit all 58 national parks in the United States so we decided to celebrate our two year anniversary with a vacation to Shenandoah National Park in Virginia.

Shenandoah is the red-headed-step child of the national parks system. Essentially, city goers in Washington D.C. wanted a national park in the east similar to those found in the west like Yellowstone. The Blue Ridge Mountains were chosen because of their proximity, natural beauty, and the preexisting tourist development known as Skyland Resort. Skyland was a bohemian complex that sat on top of the Blue Ridge Mountains and was owned by George Pollock. Pollock pushed for Skyland and the area around it to become a National Park so he could get more business. Old Georgy got his wish but the National Park Service ended up disbanding his business after the park’s opening in 1935. Shenandoah’s odd history does not stop there. Since the 1600’s, the Blue Ridge Mountains had been settled and owned by all sorts of individuals-generations of families who worked the land. This area was host to complete American towns with churches, schools, and cemeteries. To make a long story short…these people were compensated for their land and told to leave the park. Some were relocated, some did not leave (their houses were eventually burnt down), and some sued the State of Virginia (they lost).

With that history in mind let’s get back to the anniversary trip. Forgetting the nightmares of camping in Yosemite, I thought it would be an excellent idea to camp in Shenandoah. We got to our campsite and commenced a four-hour long operation to get our site completely set up: pitched the Taj Mahal tent, assembled the stove, stacked firewood, sprayed copious amounts of bug spray, searched for the bathrooms, etc. At about 7 pm we collapsed on our cots exhausted and were ready to go to sleep when the sky turned completely black. I knew this was bad and before the thought could register the wind blew so hard that the tent collapsed on our resting heads. Christina jumped up like a chicken and we soon began an hour ordeal in which we were bracing the tent-spread eagle style-while lightening, thunder, pouring rain, and wind threatened to destroy our dwelling. The rain tarp partly flew off and rain began to drench our sleeping bags, clothes, and books that were on the floor. At about 8 pm it was decided that our camping trip was over. The storm began to wane and we jumped ship with all our wet belongings to the nearest hotel-a very sketchy Budget Inn.

The next day we heard on the news that the storm registered 50 lightening strikes per minute. We survived and ended up having an awesome vacation with a ton of beautiful hiking. The tally of nature that we saw was quite impressive: 5 bears including two cubs, four falcons, a snake, deer, centipedes, a host of fish, and a partridge in a pear tree. The highlight of the trip was a 9 mile hike up to Old Rag Mountain which required precarious rock scrambling and copious amounts of trail mix. In the end, Christina and I really enjoyed the adventure with all its twists and turns. Was it right to kick the people out to make the park? It’s a hard question to answer because the park benefits so many people and wildlife now that it is protected land. I have to say that I am glad it exists and hope to go back in the future when the leaves are changing colors in the fall.

 

The Coldest Journey on Earth

This weekend I started to work on my newly purchased home in Flint, MI. My house is by no means move in ready and is in such disrepair that it has no furnace. Ironically, we needed to do this on a day with a record setting -30 degree windchill. Suffice to say, I was freezing my butt crack off; my hands lost feeling in the first few minutes of work and my feet were so numb that I kept tripping and stumbling over myself. This short experience of cold discomfort is nothing compared to the true story I recently read, In The Kingdom of Ice: The Grand and Terrible Polar Voyage of the USS Jeannette by Hampton Sides. This book details the unbelievable journey a group of men took to try to reach the North Pole. The year was 1879 and the popular belief at the time was that the North Pole actually was an open ocean with marine life, navigable waters, and lost civilizations. The theory was that an ice ring surrounded this open body of water and that a boat just had to get through this barrier to access the polar ocean and hence quickly navigate to the other end of the world. Scientists believed that their was an open ocean on the North Pole and not ice because of the constant seasonal sunlight, deep water salinity, magnetic prowess, etc. With this theory in mind, manifest destiny in full force, and the male desire to conquer, Lieutenant Commander George Washington DeLong lead a crew of 30 men aboard the USS Jeannette to the North Pole.

DeLong, through extensive research, thought that going past Alaska through the Bering Straight would be the easiest way to get to the North Pole ocean. All was going well with the voyage until it got stuck in the ice just north of Siberia (click here for map). The crew of 30 were stuck in that ice pack for 21 months!!! The ice pack was drifting to the northwest towards the North Pole but to the men it was a boring, miserable, extremely cold, and very dark period of time. Imagine how these men felt stuck in a small ship with minimal light (the arctic gets no light during the winter months) and extremely cold temperatures for over 638 days. Eventually, the ship broke free from the ice only to be recaptured by an ice pack that punctured its hull and caused it to sink. Now the men were left with minimal supplies and no easy way out of their cold predicament. The crew began to journey south towards Siberia in the hopes that they would find a native tribe that could take them in. The arduousness of this journey was so much that each day the men said that it was the hardest day’s labor they had ever experienced. Moving supplies over ragged ice meant that the process was slow, very cold, and very dangerous. The trek finally culminated with a last ditch effort to cross an open expanse of water with the Siberian coast in site. Three small boats set out in a gale force storm: one boat sank killing 6 men, the other two were separated and landed at different points on the coast. In the end, the boat with DeLong sent out two survivors to find help, they did, but the men who held back all died of starvation. The other boat that landed found a native tribe and were able to survive the indomitable conditions of Siberia (they did get back to America as soon as they could).

I highly recommend picking up this book and would say it is one of the top 5 books I have ever read. My short post is the tip of the iceberg in terms of explaining this truly remarkable journey. These men experienced so much pain and discomfort it makes me feel ridiculous when I complain about trivial things. Even though the crew didn’t reach the North Pole they did discover several islands and scientific information that would help future parties eventually reach the North Pole by land. Our desire to learn and discovery is one of the most defining traits of our sentience. In honor of these men, I implore you to seek out what our planet has to offer and rummage through all the corners of its being. If you bought a house you would know all of its nooks and crannies because of the innate desire of exploration. This earth, in its past and present self, is everyone’s house to explore. Let’s go!