New Years: The Stupidest Holiday

 

New Years is a stupid celebration 

Even as a child I never saw the point of staying up to midnight to see some dumb disco ball drop and then watch drunken revelers shouting “Happy New Year!” I’m mean, seriously. What’s the big deal? It isn’t even a candy holiday like Halloween, Christmas or Easter. Those were, at least, associated with special once-a-year treats. New Years had bupkis except if you lived in the South and were supposed to eat Hopping John which has absolutely no candy in it. Or drugs, which the name implies.

If you insist on being a reveler on New Years Eve, here are several oddball hangover cures to try on New Years Day. I’m not a drinker, so can’t confirm they work, but they’ll give the sober ones among us a belly laugh at your misery.

Drink pickle juice

It’s supposed to have lots of electrolytes or some junk like that to make the pounding headache go away. Yeah, right.

Rub slices of lemon under your armpits

A Puerto Rican cure, it’s touted to relieve dehydration, but honestly when was the last time you drank anything through your armpits?

Chug a Bull’s-eye

A Bull’s-eye is a concoction made from a raw egg broken into a glass of orange juice. Yum. After a night of heavy drinking I can imagine what your stomach will say to that one. It isn’t pretty. Speaking of not pretty, try a Prairie Oyster.

Prairie Oyster

If you’ve ever lived out West you’ll know a Prairie Oyster isn’t an oyster. Let’s just say, it’s the part of the bull that, well, makes it clear you ain’t gonna be milking this one. This Prairie Oyster is a cocktail and contains one raw egg (What is it with raw eggs?), Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and Tabasco. You probably won’t be sober after drinking this. You’ll probably just wish you were dead.

Activated Charcoal

It’s recommended you take it in pill form or you could stick your head in the fireplace and lick up the ashes. After the night you had, no one will try to stop you.

 

The Naughty List Free on Amazon November 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

 

The Naughty List

Free on Amazon: November 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

This isn't a typical Yuletide tale.

Murder, mystical artifacts, an invisible demon with anger management issues, and an overbearing cupid—not what Rosalie Thatcher wished for on her Christmas list.

The holidays had always been a magical time for Rosalie, but not this year. Her new manager at Penrose’s is determined to make this season the most profitable in the department store’s history, even if it sucks the life from every employee. Enforcing arbitrary rules and forcing Rosalie into the stupid elf hat was the worst until she meets a real E.L.F. (Elemental Life Form) named David and gets lassoed into a desperate hunt for the stolen Naughty and Nice List.  Now Rosalie and David must dodge a murderous invisible demon and recover the missing artifact before hellhounds track them down. The couple race against time for without the guidance of the Naughty and Nice List the world will tumble into chaos.

EXCERPT

A knock sounded at the door. Rosalie groaned. She was not in the mood for company. Maybe if she stayed quiet, the person would go away. Someone knocked again.

“Rosalie?” A man cleared his throat. “May I have a word, please?”

She wrinkled her brow, not recognizing the voice. Sliding the chain across, she cracked open the door.

“Hi. I’m David. I’m not a stalker—”

She slammed the door in his face. How dare he show up at her home! Rosalie’s fingers clenched.

“Please,” he begged. “I really need to talk to you.” She glanced around for her purse.

David rapped again. “Rosalie, give me five minutes…one minute?”

She reached inside and pulled out an aerosol can and her phone. He would so regret this.

“You don’t understand.” David pounded on the door. “You’re in danger.”

The door whipped open. Rosalie stood tight-jawed with a small aerosol can in one hand and her cell phone in the other. “Either cops or pepper spray. You have five seconds.”

“Rosalie, please—”

“Four.”

 “If you just—”

“Three.”

“Please, listen—”

“Two.”

 “Um…I know Santa.”

“One.”

David vanished. An instant later two hands behind her yanked both the can and cell phone away. She spun around and stared dumfounded as he threw the pepper spray on the floor and put the cell phone in his pocket. How did he move so fast?

“Rosalie, if you only—ow!”

 She kicked him in the shin.

“Quit it! I won’t hurt you. I only want to talk.” He motioned to the bag on the floor. “I brought dinner.”

“I don’t care if you brought your own personal chef!” she yelled. “Get the hell out of my apartment. You…you…snitch.”

 He looked completely perplexed. “I think we have a misunderstanding—”

 “That’s it—I’m making some noise.” Rosalie took a deep breath as if to scream. David’s hand shot out and grabbed her. The apartment dissolved into nothingness.

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Fortunetelling with Food

 

 

rodintsow.presets@gmail.com

Fortune Telling with Food

I hate surprises. I want to know exactly what’s going to happen, with whom, and how can I keep the cops from finding out? While I don’t have a crystal ball, my kitchen happens to have a few food items traditionally used to predict the future.

Cabbage

Halloween is associated with pumpkins but it used to be the perfect time to kick off a grand old cabbage theft to see if love was in your future. A blindfolded participant enters the cabbage patch at midnight when the barrier between the world of the living and dead thins, yanks up a cabbage, and then analyze the roots for clues. Are the roots thick? A big beefy person was in your future. Weedy or withered? Look out for a pasty-faced wimp. Why anyone would settle for a love interest that resembles cabbage roots is beyond me.

Eggs

Forget scrambled, boiled, fired or an ultrasound. If pregnant, grab an egg like the ancient Roman Empress Livia Drusilla and incubate it between your breasts. The chick’s sex predict the baby’s. In the Ozarks, girls hollowed out a hard-boiled egg, filled it with salt, and ate it. That night, she’d either die of high blood pressure or dream of her true love bringing her a pail of water to drink. People in Colonial times used a Venus glass, egg whites suspended in warm water. The shape of the egg white predicted the occupation of the future spouse. For instance, if the whites kind of looked like a cow, you’re true love would be a farmer (or a cow.) No telling what would show up at the door if the squiggly egg whites only looked like squiggle egg whites.

Nuts

This pretty much describes those who rely on fortune telling. One popular method was to take two chestnuts and roast them side-by-side in the fire; if they stayed in place without rolling away, it was a good omen for a happy marriage. Alternatively, you could take a hazelnut, representing your lover, and throw it into the fire. If it burst into flame, it was a sign of trouble to come.

Apples

Peel in one single peel. Throw over the shoulder and the initial it formed was future husband/wife. Sometimes the apples would be labeled or marked by young men and women before they were put in a tub of water: the person who caught your apple could be your mate. In another version of snap apple, a hoop is suspended from the ceiling, and different treats and tricks, including cake, candies, bread, apples, and peppers, are stationed along its rim. The one a player caught with their teeth would foretell the nature of their love—would it be sweet, spicy, too hot? Would it nourish or burn them?

Onions

Not all food items reflect affairs of the heart. Germans had an onion calendar called a zwiebelkalender. Set out twelve pieces of onion, one for each month. Sprinkle them with salt and the amount of moisture that appears indicates the amount of rainfall in its corresponding month. Unless you selected particularly sweaty onions.

Cheese

Young women in the European countryside would predict future husbands by writing the names of suitors on pieces of cheese. The first to mold was believed to be the ideal mate. Frankly, I think the last man to get moldy is the best of the bunch.

The Rules for Lying is Free on Amazon

The Rules for Lying

Free on Amazon September 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

Magic isn't for sissies.

WARNING: No good comes from a book with magic, mayhem, theft, murder, sass talk, demons, animals committing felonies, gleeful revenge, and bad things happening to good people for no particular reason. This story won’t encourage good habits and probably fine tune bad ones. The only lesson learned is don’t lie until you know the rules.

Life in New Jersey is tough in the Great Depression, but teenager Peter Whistler has an exceptional ability to lie. He hones his talent, convinced it’s the ticket to easy fortune. He certainly doesn’t foresee the arrival of a murderous conjuror with mysterious designs on a little blind girl named Esther. Drawn into a nefarious plot to unleash a demon, Peter leads Esther and an enchanted terrier on a desperate escape to New Orleans and meets Amelie Marchand. Like all well-bred Louisiana gals she’s trained in deadly martial arts, but with a murderous stepmother, Amelie has troubles of her own. Peter and Amelie’s one chance for survival is to head deep into the bayou and seek help from a mad shaman known as the Frog King.

Welcome to an alternate 1930s where both jazz and magic fill New Orleans’ air. Can a little luck, mystical lies, and a dash of Cajun crazy help Peter harness the power to kill an immortal demon? If not, the Depression will be a picnic by comparison when Hell arrives on Earth.

99 Cent Sale: Shadow of the Eclipse

 

 Shadow of the Eclipse

99 Cents until October 4

The past is written, but the future is an open door.

Excitement brews in Crossroads for everyone but lawyer, Callum MacGregor. This year, the town harvest festival coincides with a total eclipse. With a recent breakup, Cal has no desire to attend until a visit from his old law partner, Isaac Bingham, drops a bombshell. Twenty years before Cal’s birth, his grandfather, Phillip Bingham, extracted a promise. Isaac must get Cal to the harvest festival or the world would face unparalleled disaster.

            Cal is stunned. How could a long dead man know Cal would be born and live in Crossroads? Why this nonsensical warning? The mystery deepens when Isaac tells him he’s not the only one to receive a mysterious summons.

Accountant Meg Adler’s day started badly when her boss fired her for refusing to cook the books, but then a letter arrives from a man named Bingham with a lucrative job offer—details to follow. All she has to do is attend the Crossroads Harvest Festival on opening day and meet his representative to discuss details. Meg is leery, but it’s not the end of the world if this doesn’t pan out. Right?

Ancient evil prowls the shadow of the eclipse, but the key to saving the present can only be found in the past. In a time-traveling adventure, Cal and Meg enter a mystic maze and journey to Babylon, the Dark Ages, and 1906 San Francisco hot on the trail of two magic artifacts lost in the recesses of time. Can they dodge demonic forces, fulfill a dead man’s mission, and discover a new future with each other?

Excerpt

  “So, Cal,” Meg said. “Why meet here? What does this festival have to do with a job?” She flashed a cheeky grin. “I should warn you I don’t work the carny circuit.”

A job? An uneasy sensation settled in his gut. “I’ve no idea. I thought you knew why we were here.”

“Me?” Meg pulled back her hand and color rose to her cheeks. “What is this? Some kind of sick joke? Who does this Phillip Bingham think he is, anyway?”

Cal gaped at her. “Phillip Bingham contacted you? Not Isaac?”

“I got a letter from him with a vague employment offer from the Lux Foundation along with an invitation to attend the Crossroads Harvest Festival.” She wrinkled her brow. “It was a funny kind of letter on really old paper. The room at the inn was paid for by a man named Isaac Bingham, and I needed a job, so I figured what the hell. The instructions said a person would find me here to discuss the details. I assume that is you.” Her voice tightened in anger. “Is Phillip Bingham the town lunatic?”

“No, but I’m sorry to tell you he’s very much dead.” Cal gave her a recap of his meeting with Isaac.

As Meg listened, her eyes widened in astonishment. “Phillip Bingham died decades ago? How could he know I’d lose my job this week and be desperate enough to jump at this crazy offer?”

Cal ran a hand through his hair. “How did he know either of us would even be born?”

Meg took a wary step back. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“I’m not sure I believe it myself. Listen, do you want to go somewhere and talk? Try to figure this out? I’ll call Isaac, tell him we found each other, and demand an explanation.”

Meg cocked her head toward the entrance of the corn maze. “Do you hear that? Someone called for help.”

“Probably lost in the maze. George made it extra challenging this year.”

“No, it’s different.” She sucked in a breath. “M-my name—I swear I heard my name.”

A gust of wind rippled the stalks. They bent toward the entrance, fluttery hands beckoning them inside. Cal strained to hear past the whispery rustle of the leaves.

Almost as if they were voices…

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “Maybe someone fell and got hurt. Wait here—”

“Not a chance.” Meg bolted into the maze, and Cal ran after her. They came to the first intersection, and she skidded to a halt. “Which way?”

“Left,” Cal said without hesitation.

They dashed deeper into the field, now left, now right, now straight ahead. With each step, Cal’s path became surer as if something pulled him with an invisible cord.

Meg puffed beside him. “How do you know which way to go?”

“I-I can’t explain it.” With every breath, the air around Cal became hotter and more oppressive, pressing on his shoulders like a stifling blanket. Humidity dropped to nothing. Beads of sweat on his brow evaporated. Cal licked his dry, cracked lips and grimaced at the gritty feel of sand on his tongue.

Sand in a corn maze?

They turned a corner and stumbled into a clearing. In the center was an arbor that arched over a circle of flagstones on the ground. A glowing flame hovered above the stones, suspended in midair. Meg and Cal exchanged dumbfounded looks and stepped forward. The clarion note of a distant horn sounded a soldier’s call to action. A surge of adrenaline flooded Cal’s veins. He hadn’t felt like this since his days on patrol with the Army. Unconsciously, Cal’s hand went to his hip, reaching for the sword. He stared at his empty hand. Sword?

The flame grew larger and brighter, shooting through the arbor into the heavens.

“Cal!” Meg’s voice sounded very far away.

“I’m here!” Cal reached for her, but the flame blinded him, blotting out the maze, blotting out the sun, blotting out the world.

Nothing remained but the roar of the cheering crowd.

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      ITUNES

A New Release: One Enchanted Evening

  

One Enchanted Evening

 

Enchanted clothing has a mind of its own.

 

Charlotte Becker had a restless spirit. Unable to settle down, she moved from place to place searching for an elusive something. A sudden invitation from her sister sends her across country to Sentinel Landing, North Carolina. Anchors abound by the sea, but surely nothing would keep her rooted in place in a pokey resort town during the off-season.

Drawn into a consignment shop named One Enchanted Evening, Charlotte is confronted by a mysterious article of clothing requesting her help to stop a man in a wolf mask from killing women. To protect the citizens of Sentinel Landing, she must find the hunter before an innocent is slain.

Luke Maddox’s hunting days are over. Wounded in action, he left the Marines to return to Sentinel Landing and start a quiet life. Then he meets a singular young woman wearing an unusual cloak. She tells an incredible story of a wolf that walks on two legs.

 And the hunt begins…

Excerpt

Annabel stopped short and stared at a weathered bungalow set back from the path and surrounded by vegetation. A hand-lettered sign in bright colors over the front door read One Enchanted Evening.

“That’s strange,” she said. “I don’t remember this here before. It’s not the best location. The front doors of other shops face Periwinkle, but this faces the path. The owner needs to do heavy landscaping. Why, a potential customer can barely see the building thru the trees and shrubbery. With foot traffic nearly nonexistent, tourists will only discover it accidentally, and that’s where places like this make most of their money.”

“If it’s new, maybe the owner hasn’t gotten around to clearing the brush yet,” said Charlotte.

Annabel’s eyes lit up with the same feral gleam of a lion stalking a clueless antelope grazing on the savannah. “It might be an antiques store. Let’s go inside and check it out.”

Charlotte regarded the drawn curtains in the windows with doubt. “I don’t think it’s open yet.”

“I see a sign on the door,” said Annabel. “Maybe it posts the hours.”

Charlotte followed her to the porch. “By appointment only,” she read aloud. Without hesitation, Annabel lifted her hand to knock.

“You’re awfully nervy for a pregnant woman,” sputtered Charlotte. “Need I say, neither one of us has an appointment.”

“Oh, zip it. I’ll simply ask for one when they open the door. Meanwhile you and I will sneak a peek inside. I’m always searching for new places with unusual stuff to keep me one jump ahead of the competition.” She jabbed her in the shoulder. “Where’s that baby sister of mine who used to have the monopoly on gumption in the family?”

“Sorry,” said Charlotte with a tinge of regret. “I’m fresh out.”

Annabel knocked. From inside came a faint shuffling sound and then the click of a key turning in a lock. The door swung open. Charlotte gaped at the elderly woman on the threshold. Small and plump with a wizened face, she wore a brightly printed muslin skirt and peasant blouse. Her wrinkled face resembled the old-timey dried apple dolls found at craft fairs. The purple bandana on her head was rimmed with burnished gold coins that jingled when she moved. The only light inside appeared to come from the open door. Behind her, barely visible in the dim interior, were several large armoires and bureaus. Annabel squinted. Charlotte practically heard the whirling gears in her sister’s mind calculating the wholesale price of each piece.

Annabel dug into her purse and offered a business card. “Hello. I’m Annabel Fisher of Fisher Designs. Welcome to Sentinel Landing. My husband, Sean, and I run a local interior design and renovation company and I’m always in the market for new items.” She peered over the woman’s shoulder at a piece of furniture standing by the door and gasped. “Is that a rosewood armoire? I swear it’s 1880s French, but I’ve never seen one in such exceptional condition.”

“I’m very sorry,” said the woman pleasantly, ignoring the card. “This store deals in used clothing by appointment only. The furniture is for storage.”

“I’ll offer a very good price.”

“No, thank you.”

The woman’s gaze raked across Charlotte. Sharp brown eyes, bright as a ferret’s, caught her in an unblinking stare.

“Um, hi,” said Charlotte, suddenly feeling as if she had walked out of her apartment without pants. Unconsciously, she ran her hand down her sides, relieved to touch denim.

“Oh? A consignment shop?” chirped Annabel. “May we poke around? My sister and I love vintage wear,” she added with her winning smile.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. Annabel never gave up easily. She’d have that woman arm-wrestling over a price for that armoire before she spit out, “interior designer discount.”

“Your life is complete, Mrs. Fisher,” said the shop owner pleasantly. “Nothing in here will fit.”

Amused, Charlotte noted for once Annabel was at a complete loss for words. The coins on the woman’s scarf jangled as her head swung toward her. Charlotte swallowed hard as the pants-less feeling crept up her legs again.

“You, however, have definite possibilities,” the woman said. “The path traveled can be diverted. Come back when you’re ready to accept the consequences. I warn you, though; the steps to fulfilling one’s destiny can be unexpected and dangerous. Good day.” She shut the door in their faces.

Annabel stared in disbelief. “Heck of a way to run a business. She’s not going to last long in Sentinel Landing with that attitude.” She took Charlotte’s arm. “Come on, I know a fabulous little boutique around the corner that sells dynamite shoes. It’s right on the way.”

As Charlotte allowed herself to be led down the street, she glanced over her shoulder at One Enchanted Evening. The curtains remain closed. It appeared as vacant as before. But an eerie suspicion crept through Charlotte that on the other side of those obscured windows a mysterious old woman in a jangly kerchief peered intently in her direction.

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Rimrider is Free on Amazon July 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

 

Rimrider

Free on Amazon July 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

 A real space pirate fights like a girl.

Teenager Jane Benedict is wakened by her father and ordered to memorize a mysterious code. Within hours Mathias Benedict is dead and Jane and her brother, Will, are wards of United Earth Corporation (UEC). To escape the company’s clutches and uncover the meaning of her father’s last message, Jane leads her brother on a desperate flight from Earth to the galactic rim.

Aboard the Freetrader smuggler ship, Solar Vortex, Jane and Will become tangled in the crew’s fight for liberty, and drawn to their cause, swear allegiance to the crew. During a contraband run, Jane saves the life of young smuggler Mac Sawyer and learns her father’s code identifies a UEC cargo shipment. On route to a deep space station, the Solar Vortex answers a desperate SOS from a Freetrader ship under attack. Jane, Mac, and Will survive an ambush on the damaged vessel and unearth a deadly threat to the Freetraders and a clue to the location of the shipment. The trail leads to Rimrock and the massive prison complex of Golgotha. Undercover as a spy, Jane stumbles into a conspiracy that can spell doom for the entire Freetrader cause and the extinction of an alien race. Can she escape the prison confines and deliver a warning before it’s too late?

Piracy, intrigue, romance, space battles, and a daring rebellion from Earth wait on the galactic rim. Will Jane answer the call to adventure or is death for high treason her fate?

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AI: Are You Ready for Ebooks by the Borg Queen?

photo by cottonbro studio

 

Recently, I did a blog on AI narrated audiobooks, but that’s not the only place AI is showing up. ChatGPT is one of the big producers where content is created by AI. What kind of content? Any old thing you can think of; essays, blogs, book blurbs, fiction. In February of this year, ChatGPT announced over 200 self-published ebooks in Amazon with ChatGPT as, at least, one of the authors. It’s suspected countless others were published under a human’s name. How did Amazon react to the news? It didn’t. Unless it’s self-reported, Amazon has no method to detect if a book is written by an AI. Nor does Amazon have any rules in place to prevent or encourage AI publications. In effect, it closes its algorithmic eyes and hopes the problem resolves itself. Unfortunately, the more accomplished AI becomes, the more difficult it will be to detect their content or enforce any rules, if and when they become available. To put it simply. Nobody knows if this will be a problem and nobody is willing to do anything about it or even be sure that they should.

Another issue is only a small number of companies have the smarts to deal with the exponential increase in processing power. Google, Meta, OpenAI, and Microsoft, among a few others exercise near-total control of AI technology. It’s an exclusive club that few understand. Even those who write the code, have admitted they don’t have a perfect understanding of certain AI functions. Who will write the rules to protect the rest of us? What happens if AI’s goals don’t align with our own? If you don’t have a clue, watch or read more science fiction. It never ends well.

It isn’t just wild-eyes authors like myself expressing concern. Important people in the field are jumping on the bandwagon. Until recently, Dr. Geoffrey Hinton was the AI expert at Google. He quit his job to speak freely about his concerns, specifically AI can already disperse misinformation. When the internet is flooded with false photos, videos and text how will anyone be able to detect the truth anymore? There is also the fear of AI’s effect on the job market. Better AI interface means it can eventually replace paralegals, personal assistants, and translators among others. As Dr. Hinton says, “I don’t think they should scale this up more until they have understood whether they can control it.” The more sophisticated AI-authors become, the more difficult it also becomes to pinpoint content written by programs like ChatGPT – which ultimately means that any limitations set by Amazon might already be unenforceable.

Will AI take over the self-publishing biz? Should authors be worried?

Maybe yes. Maybe no.

First, you need to understand how AI content is created. Information must be given to a system such as ChatGPT. For instance, say you needed a book blurb. One way to start is by feeding ChatGPT a synopsis. Then the AI grabs content from the internet finding examples and scouring similarities. The more detail in the synopsis, the more accurate and understandable the blurb will be. The problem is there is no way to know where it pulled its data. The internet is open and ChatGPT can “create” a synopsis using language from another similar one. It can even “create” a book by pulling content from anywhere. It doesn’t look for permission. It doesn’t accredit. The worst case scenario is a chunk of content taken from other works and there’s no way to know. The idea of my book plots stolen by others doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzies.

It's a scary thought, but we’re not there yet.

Very few AI books are on the marketplace and they aren’t well-written. AI’s can’t feel human emotions and their writing is flat and not emotionally engaging. However, every author knows, the bottom line for success is the almighty dollar. For an AI book to pose a real threat to authors, they have to be marketed to become a best-seller. No artificial intelligence tool can do that (at least not yet.) However, it’s a sad fact the marketplace only cares about success. If even one AI-written ebook makes the best-seller lists, it’s down the toilet for the rest of us, and all hail the Borg Queen.

Nothing to Fear Day

 

photo by Pixabay

Nothing

to Fear

Day

Today is Nothing to Fear Day. Start that novel. Finish that novel. Do that laundry that’s been sitting in the basket for a month with the stain you can’t identify. It’s not going to smell any better. If you don’t have a specific fear, perhaps you’d like to adopt one of those below:

Arachibutyrophobia: Fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth

Who hasn’t had this at least once and lunged for the chocolate milk? I won’t tell anyone you drank right from the carton, if you don’t rat on me. It’s a rare phobia that can stem from a greater phobia of sticky or from a traumatic incident with peanut butter. (Use your imagination.)

Nomophobia: Fear of being without your mobile phone

Cell phone addiction is fairly common. People with nomophobia also experience excessive anxiety with a low battery or phone out of service. They obsessively check their phones throughout the day and worry they will miss a call. I admit I get a little armpit sweat with a battery below 50%.  

Xanthophobia: Fear of the color yellow

Do bananas send you screaming from the room? People with this rare phobia are usually afraid of any yellow object, and you may find them running in the opposite direction of a school bus.

Octophobia: Fear of the number eight

Numbers seem to cause untold distress. Octophobia is a fear of the number eight. Why eight has such a bad rap I don’t know. These people are easy to spot as they goggle in terror at the packs of hot dogs and bun at picnics.

Optophobia: Fear of opening one’s eyes

I get it. There are days I have no good reason to stay in bed, but wanna anyway.

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia: Fear of long words

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia is one of the longest words in the dictionary. How ironic.

Amathophobia: Fear of dust

Amathophobiacs should not look under my couch

Chaetophobia: Fear of hair

Chaetophobiacs have a fear of one’s own hair, other people’s hair, animal hair, or a hairball on the ground. Again, they should avoid looking under my couch. Don’t judge me. I don’t sweep there often.

Ergophobia: Fear of work

Okay, fine. I don’t sweep under the couch. I also avoid other housework involved with floors such as mopping and vacuuming. I used ergophobia as an excuse with my family. Sue me.

Eisoptrophobia: Fear of mirrors

Only after eating a big meal or trying to squeeze into last year’s dress that I swear still fits.

Now, get off that couch, swallow your fear, and do something constructive. Don’t let decidophobia (the fear of making decisions) keep you from having fun today. And be careful with that peanut butter.

 

 

What is the Public Domain?

 

What is the Public Domain?

January 1^st was Public Domain Day. Did you bake a cake and celebrate? Why not? Probably because you weren’t sure what public domain means and how it applies to writers.

What is the public domain? (Note this only applies to U.S. law)

Creative works that are in the public domain may be used freely, without obtaining permission from or compensating the copyright owner. This year, orchestras can perform Puttin’ on the Ritz by Irving Berlin for free. If you’ve been singing Ice Scream, You Scream we all Scream for Ice Scream all these years without compensating Howard Johnson, Billy Moll, and Robert A. King, shame on you. It only entered the public domain this year. Nor do you need permission from Arthur Conan Doyle’s descendants to quote swaths verbatim of The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes. It’s now in the public domain.

Public domain works can be used with abandon. Content that isn't protected by copyright law, may not be protected for a variety of reasons, including the following:

1. The duration of copyright in the work has expired. In the U.S., a book’s copyright expires 70 years after the death of the author.

2. Works produced by the federal government don't have copyright protection. However, a work produced by a government consultant may have protection or the original copyright may have been transferred to the government.

3. A work not fixed in a tangible form, such as a speech, lecture or improvisational comedy act that hasn't been previously written or recorded in any manner isn’t protected. Sorry, stand-up comedians. If you don’t have an HBO special or a recording on social media your jokes are up for grabs.

4. Prior to March 1, 1989, a copyright notice was necessary on published works or they went into the public domain. After that date, it wasn’t necessary. Note: if you are a self-published author, you don’t need the © with a date on a front piece. You’re already protected by copyright law.

Some things are always in the public domain.

1. Titles of books or movies, short phrases and slogans, lettering or coloring. (Yes, navy blue I’m looking at you.)

2. News, history, facts, or ideas, but a description of an idea in text or images may be protected by copyright. You don’t need to cite anyone if you describe December 7, 1942 as a date that will live in infamy.

3. Plots, characters and themes from works of fiction. (Well, thank God for that or the seven bajillion versions of Emma, Romeo and Juliet, or Cinderella would be illegal.)

Here’s sampling from the 2023 list of items now in the public domain.

Books

Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

Arthur Conan Doyle, The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes

Willa Cather, Death Comes for the Archbishop

A. A. Milne, Now We Are Six

Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey

Ernest Hemingway, Men Without Women

William Faulkner, Mosquitoes

Agatha Christie, The Big Four

Edith Wharton, Twilight Sleep

Franklin W. Dixon (pseudonym), The Tower Treasure (the first Hardy Boys book)

Hermann Hesse, Der Steppenwolf (in the original German)

Movies

Metropolis (directed by Fritz Lang)

The Jazz Singer (the first feature-length film)

Wings (winner of the first Academy Award for outstanding picture)

The Kid Brother (starring Harold Lloyd; directed by Ted Wilde)

The Battle of the Century (starring Laurel and Hardy)

Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (animated shorts; Ub Iwerks, Walt Disney)

Music

The Best Things in Life Are Free (George Gard De Sylva, Lew Brown, Ray Henderson)

I Scream You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream (H. Johnson, B. Moll, R. A. King)

Puttin’ on the Ritz (Irving Berlin)

Funny Face and ’S Wonderful (Ira and George Gershwin)

Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man and Ol’ Man River (Oscar Hammerstein II, Jerome Kern)

Back Water Blues, Preaching the Blues, Foolish Man Blues (Bessie Smith)

Black and Tan Fantasy and East St. Louis Toodle-O (Bub Miley, Duke Ellington)

My Blue Heaven (George Whiting, Walter Donaldson)

Amazon 99 Cent Sale: Shadow of the Eclipse

 

Shadow of the Eclipse

by L. A. Kelley

99 Cent Amazon Sale

Ends March 31

Excitement brews in Crossroads for everyone but lawyer, Callum MacGregor. The harvest festival coincides with an eclipse, but a recent breakup leaves him no desire to attend until a visit from his old law partner, Isaac Bingham, drops a bombshell. Twenty years before Cal’s birth, his grandfather, Phillip, extracted a promise. Isaac must get Cal to the festival or the world faces unparalleled disaster. The mystery deepens when Cal learns another person received the same mysterious summons.

        After being fired for refusing to cook the books, accountant Meg Adler gets a letter with a job offer from a man named Bingham. She must attend the Crossroads Harvest Festival and meet his representative to discuss details. Meg is leery, but it’s not the end of the world if this doesn’t pan out. Right?

        Ancient evil prowls the shadow of the eclipse, and the key to saving the present is in the past. Cal and Meg enter a mystic maze and journey to Babylon, the Dark Ages, and 1906 San Francisco on the trail of magic artifacts lost in the recesses of time. Can they dodge demonic forces, fulfill a dead man’s mission, and discover a new future with each other?

Excerpt

“So, Cal,” Meg said. “Why meet here? What does this festival have to do with a job?” She flashed a cheeky grin. “I should warn you I don’t work the carny circuit.”

A job? An uneasy sensation settled in his gut. “I’ve no idea. I thought you knew why we were here.”

“Me?” Meg pulled back her hand and color rose to her cheeks. “What is this? Some kind of sick joke? Who does this Phillip Bingham think he is, anyway?”

Cal gaped at her. “Phillip Bingham contacted you? Not Isaac?”

“I got a letter from him with a vague employment offer from the Lux Foundation along with an invitation to attend the Crossroads Harvest Festival.” She wrinkled her brow. “It was a funny kind of letter on really old paper. The room at the inn was paid for by a man named Isaac Bingham, and I needed a job, so I figured what the hell. The instructions said a person would find me here to discuss the details. I assume that is you.” Her voice tightened in anger. “Is Phillip Bingham the town lunatic?”

“No, but I’m sorry to tell you he’s very much dead.” Cal gave her a recap of his meeting with Isaac.

As Meg listened, her eyes widened in astonishment. “Phillip Bingham died decades ago? How could he know I’d lose my job this week and be desperate enough to jump at this crazy offer?”

Cal ran a hand through his hair. “How did he know either of us would even be born?”

Meg took a wary step back. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“I’m not sure I believe it myself. Listen, do you want to go somewhere and talk? Try to figure this out? I’ll call Isaac, tell him we found each other, and demand an explanation.”

Meg cocked her head toward the entrance of the corn maze. “Do you hear that? Someone called for help.”

“Probably lost in the maze. George made it extra challenging this year.”

“No, it’s different.” She sucked in a breath. “M-my name—I swear I heard my name.”

A gust of wind rippled the stalks. They bent toward the entrance, fluttery hands beckoning them inside. Cal strained to hear past the whispery rustle of the leaves.

Almost as if they were voices…

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “Maybe someone fell and got hurt. Wait here—”

“Not a chance.” Meg bolted into the maze, and Cal ran after her. They came to the first intersection, and she skidded to a halt. “Which way?”

“Left,” Cal said without hesitation.

They dashed deeper into the field, now left, now right, now straight ahead. With each step, Cal’s path became surer as if something pulled him with an invisible cord.

Meg puffed beside him. “How do you know which way to go?”

“I-I can’t explain it.” With every breath, the air around Cal became hotter and more oppressive, pressing on his shoulders like a stifling blanket. Humidity dropped to nothing. Beads of sweat on his brow evaporated. Cal licked his dry, cracked lips and grimaced at the gritty feel of sand on his tongue.

Sand in a corn maze?

They turned a corner and stumbled into a clearing. In the center was an arbor that arched over a circle of flagstones on the ground. A glowing flame hovered above the stones, suspended in midair. Meg and Cal exchanged dumbfounded looks and stepped forward. The clarion note of a distant horn sounded a soldier’s call to action. A surge of adrenaline flooded Cal’s veins. He hadn’t felt like this since his days on patrol with the Army. Unconsciously, Cal’s hand went to his hip, reaching for the sword. He stared at his empty hand. Sword?

The flame grew larger and brighter, shooting through the arbor into the heavens.

“Cal!” Meg’s voice sounded very far away.

“I’m here!” Cal reached for her, but the flame blinded him, blotting out the maze, blotting out the sun, blotting out the world.

Nothing remained but the roar of the cheering crowd.

Amazon Link

           

Apple AI Audiobook Narrators

 

Audiobooks are nerve-wracking to produce by yourself. Sure, you can offer a shared royalty route with the narrator and hope to find a good one. But a narrator search can be difficult, frustrating, and time-consuming. Not to mention, the entire production process is  daunting and expensive. Where to begin?

According to Apple, not with a human. Apple started production of digital audiobooks using artificial intelligence, specifically two AI narrators named Madison, a female soprano, and Jackson, a baritone. The platform uses advanced speech synthesis technology combined with input from linguists, quality control specialists, and audio engineers. Currently Madison and Jackson are used for fiction and romance only. In the near future, Apple will have two additional digital voices, Helena and Mitchell, for nonfiction and self-development audiobooks.

 If you’d like to hear a sample of Madison click here.

 According to Apple, these are the benefits:

·        The audiobooks will be easy to produce and delivered via preferred partners. The original ebook must be created in either Draft2Digital or Ingram CoreSource.

·        Audiobooks have wholesale price limits. (The website isn’t clear on what they’ll be.)

·        Distribution will be solely via Apple Books and to public/academic libraries.

·        Publisher/author retains audiobook rights, and there are no restrictions on producing and distributing other versions of the audiobook.

How do you make an Apple audiobook?

The ebook must be created with either Draft2Digital or Ingram CoreSouce. Then the author selects the title. Apple has a review process and acceptance isn’t guaranteed. The general requirements are as follows:

·        Ebook must be available on Apple Books.

·        Author must own the audio production rights.

·        Primary category must be romance or fiction. The only subcategories currently accepted are literary, historical, or women’s fiction.

·        Book must be in English.

How good are AI narrators?

Frankly, Madison is fine. A lousy narrator can ruin a good audiobook and I stop listening when any set my teeth on edge. Madison has a pleasant voice with good tone, if a trifle unemotional. If you listen to her, you understand why Apple limits the AI to audiobooks without an exciting chase scene or hilarious denouement. An AI can’t make handle extreme ranges of emotion. Other things AIs can’t do:

·        A multitude of characters in the same book. Their voice is typical of a national newscaster; nothing to determine a regional accents. Nor can an AI handle a stutter, quirky word pronunciations, foreign words and phrases, or fictional words. (Sorry, Samuel Clemens, J. R. R. Tolkien, and me. Our work doesn't qualify.)

·        Difference in ages. All the characters sound roughly the same age.

·        Difference in genders. Male and female characters speak with a similar tone.

 So what’s the big problem with AI?

Even if an AI sounds okay, I have issues. A top-drawer narrator makes an audiobook memorable, and AI has a long way to go to reach that level. Audiobooks are also an art, and frankly, I’m not crazy about the idea of a soulless digital character taking a job from a human who spent years honing a craft. Not to mention, a human narrator adds emotional nuance to every page, something an AI can’t do. AI narrators are still few and far between and until I have no choice, I’ll opt for a human every time.