Writing with Bees

Fellow Indies writers, and snobbish literati who give away your work to the paper-pushers for a measly ten percent, I’ve stumbled across a tremendous writing aid that I feel obliged to share with you.

If you’re like me, married with children, your biggest problem is finding time to write: kids yelling about their most recent light saber injury, the wife testing your fatherhood/manhood by asking you to pave the driveway with a rolling pin, etc., etc… You know the deal. To solve this problem I usually write from three to five in the morning, a time when children only wakeup to throw up, or scream about the family of Zombies living under their beds.

Well, I’m pleased to report; I recently stumbled upon a cure for this problem.

Bees! Yes. Bees.

I write in my basement, in a big office, in a big house, not paid for with my ebook royalties 🙂 This fall, about forty-five days ago, my office became infested with bees. Being an Irish bullshitter (See my previous post.) this means about ten to twenty bees. I’m sort of easy going about most things, including bees. So, I let the bees swirl about me. Two times bees got into my pants, but I smushed them before they reached my testicles. And, I got bit once, on the arm. No big deal.

It was all worth it, for the cohabitants of my dwelling, a.k.a. my family, are deathly afraid of bees. Accordingly, they did not come within thirty feet of my office. In short, they left me alone. I could write for a whole hour without interruption. It was a dream come true.

Sadly, last night, the temperature went down to forty in Western Massachusetts. So, as I am writing this blog, my bees are stationary at my feet. I considered attempting CPR, but I think my mouth is too big. Alas, it appears my bee gig is up. So, I think I need to move on… time to begin writing with snakes!

W4$

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Kiss Me! I’m…

I was working on my new web site (It’s going to be optimized for indie publishing – stay tuned…) when I noticed I had made a tremendous mistake. I had forgotten to include my nationality in my current bio. I write offensive comic fiction, in the hope of attracting hate mail, yet I had failed to provide the basic info required to inspire race-based hatred, which we all know is the force that keeps the world on its axis. My apologies. This blog corrects this terrible oversight.

Since I, Wright Forbucks, am the “bon” in bon vivant, I’m sure most of you have assumed I am a Frenchie or perhaps of Northern Italian descent. Worse, I’m certain others of you have assumed I was Eastern European, figuring my warped brain was the byproduct of a half a century of internment in a Soviet Gulag. Further, I’m certain the ten people that read EVEN STEVEN, my sci-sigh comic fiction masterpiece, assume that I am a Jew due to my Einstein-like understanding of particle physics. These are all good guesses, but the truth is I am Irishman. And, I am not the the average American-Irishman that’s twenty-five percent Irish, plus some of dis, and some of dat. I be a purebred, proof being a recent MRI which revealed my head was solid bone.

Since it tis what it tis, for those of you unfamiliar with a real Irishman, I offer the following characteristics and welcome you to use them as fodder against me should my fiction inspire a rant.

First of all, a real Irishman is a bullshitter. So, you’ll never be able to tell when we are telling you the truth. In fact, the only statement you should believe when talking to a real Irishman is “I got sh**faced last night.”

And speaking of drink… it’s advisable to never go drinking with a real irishman unless your health insurance is up to date, for even the frailest Irishman can drink his body weight in beer without fear of a hangover. In fact, we rather enjoy listening to our non-Irish “drinking buddies” heave about while we enjoy a traditional Irish breakfast, a can of corned beef hash and a warm Budweiser.

And speaking of health… a real Irishman never goes to the doctor unless we have a tumor that weighs more than a Volkswagen, or we have been shot more than three times. Doctors say bad things. Who needs them?

And speaking of death… a real Irishman is relentlessly fatalistic. In fact, when we answer the phone we do not say, “Hello.” We say, “Who died?”

Also, speaking of death again, it being our favorite topic… It’s the hope of any real Irishman to die of Irish Alzheimer’s Disease. This illness is characterized by a decade of sitting in a Lazy Boy Recliner (where you are occasionally spoon-fed boiled dinner by one of your thirty grandchildren). Symptoms of this disease also include the inability to remember the names of your spouse or children, but total recall of all grudges.

Also, most tragically, due to ancestors that include Joyce, Shaw, Wilde, Stoker, and similar riff raff… any real Irishman believes he can write. But, the truth is, when it comes to writing, most of us are hacks that have more ego than brains who think we are witty due to the cumulative effect the above mentioned attributes…

Hmmm, you might want to use that one against me…

W4$

Free Ain’t What It Used to Be – Ebooks versus Snack Food

This blurb is a continuation of my prior post about free ebooks…

As far as I can tell, free isn’t getting any better. To complete my Amazon/KDP free “promotion” of my still unreviewed comic fiction masterpiece, THE GENRAL STORE, I ran two final days of free. I did a few tweets to promote the offering, nothing else, and got twenty downloads. This was about 10X-100X lower than the past with the same level of promotion.

I like to think these results did not happen because my amazingly hysterical ebook totally sucks. Instead, it seems to me that many readers now feel free ebooks are worth less than the fraction of a fraction of a penny it takes to store them on their Kindle’s hard drive. I think this is happening because the free ebook market is max’d out.

Ultimately, my just completed ebook freebie-thon reminded of a recent child-rearing experience…

I have three boys. Two are teenagers. They eat a lot. So, the other day I went to BJ’s and bought massive quantities of snack food, a box of that contained three hundred little bags of Cheez-Its, a crate that contained five hundred sleeves of good old-fashioned Oreos (not the shitty blond ones), and a thirty-eight gallon bag filled with smaller bags of chips and cheesy-crunchy things that looked like mini colons. I then went to Home Depot and bought some plastic shelving. After a few hours of sweat, I put the snacks on the supposedly “easy to assemble” shelf and told da boys to “load up!” They’re skinny as hell, but can out-eat an NFL lineman, so I was expecting them to empty the shelves in a couple days. Instead, an amazing thing happened. And, I’m not making this up. They barely touched the snacks. The same items they would have wiped out in a few minutes if I bought a smaller quantity were totally ignored.

They knew a large supply of snacks were available. So, they were in no rush to eat them.

W4$