Have you escaped reality today?

The following should be considered a Public Service Announcement because reading the following novels will help the public be happier, more in tune with the universe, and gain insight into problems that will manifest themselves in the future. 

This announcement is also intended to serve as holiday shopping advice to ease efforts to please the discerning readers in your family.

The Dream Land Trilogy

An eloquently efficient epic of interdimensional intrigue and world domination by a pair of high school sweethearts, filled with twisted humor (think double-helix), some steampunk pathos, a patina of psychological thriller (imagine a police procedural gone bad), passionate romance (tears will be shed!), graphic violence (de rigueur in battles scenes with a cast of millions), and the inevitability of quirky conundrums of time and space.

How far would you go to save the love of your life? Through a doorway to another world?

The Dream Land I "Long Distance Voyager"

Sebastian, that quiet tax examiner at the corner desk in the IRS service center, carries a dark secret: once upon a time he and his high school sweetheart Gina found a rip in the universe and stepped through it to a strange world of magical beauty. 

Far from being a Disney-esque playground, the world of Ghoupallesz bursts with cosmopolitan elegance, alien perversions, and political strife. Gina, the adventurous one, falls in love with the adventurous possibilities. Not Sebastian; always practical, he insists they return to Earth. Gina refuses so he goes back alone, vowing never to return. Yet he finds himself drawn back repeatedly--he calls it “research”--and often crosses paths with Gina. Sometimes he saves her, sometimes she saves him, forever soul mates. 

Now years later, life on Earth hasn’t gone well for Sebastian. Then the headaches revisit him, with flashes of memories from Ghoupallesz. Gina is in trouble again, he senses, and he must, as always, save her. Meanwhile, a pair of too-curious IRS co-workers have accidently overdosed on the Elixir of Love he brought back on his last trip and the antidote exists only on Ghoupallesz. With these co-workers in tow, Sebastian returns through the interdimensional portal, fearing it may be his final adventure. He must gather his old comrades from the war, cross the towering Zet mountains, and free Gina from the Zetin warlord’s castle before her execution. Perhaps then she will stay with him.

But are his adventures to the other side real? Or are they just the dreams of a psychotic killer? That’s what the police want to know when Sebastian returns without his co-workers.

Kindle- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AH1V78Q
Paper- http://www.amazon.com/dp/1939296226

UK: 
Kindle- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00AH1V78Q
Paperback- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1939296226

Australia:
Kindle- http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00AH1V78Q

Canada: 
Kindle- http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00AH1V78Q

No Kindle? Get "Kindle for PC" and read on your computer or tablet!

The Dream Land II "Dreams of Future's Past"

After his adventures in Book I, Sebastian Talbot (a.k.a. Set-d’Elous, legendary warrior and Sekuatean cavalry captain) has exiled himself to a desolate island, content to laze away the days writing his memoir. Until the emissary from Queen Tammy arrives with a mission he cannot refuse. Tammy, the IRS clerk he took to Ghoupallesz along with Michael in Book I, wants him to go fetch her son who she left on Earth. How could she return for him? She married the King of Aivana.

That mission raises desperate questions for Sebastian: If he can go back and forth through these interdimensional doorways and arrive in different time periods, perhaps he can do something to prevent the big war he fought through, the war that destroyed his family and millions of others. So he returns to his Ghoupalle wife, Zaura. While on patrol duty, he comes upon a young poetess he knows will become the rebel leader who helps overthrow the monarchy and causes the wars. 

Meanwhile, back on Earth in another timeline, Sebastian awakens from a coma and is helped in his recovery by Dr. Toni Franck. An affair develops—just as his opportunity for escape comes along. Later, as Sebastian/Set escorts teams of mercenaries back and forth to conduct their history-changing business, he tries to meet up with Toni again only to realize the police are still in pursuing him. Desperate to see her, he arranges a meeting only to have a SWAT team show up, cornering him. Can he escape through an interdimensional doorway this time?

Kindle- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D94Y06O

Paper- http://www.amazon.com/dp/1939296269

UK: 
Kindle- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00D94Y06O
Paperback- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1939296269

Australia:
Kindle- http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00D94Y06O

Canada:
Kindle- http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00D94Y06O

No Kindle? Get "Kindle for PC" and read on your computer or tablet!

The Dream Land III "Diaspora"

Set-d’Elous (a.k.a. Sebastian Talbot) finds himself paralyzed and mute, tormented daily by the mocking spirit of the evil Empress—his wife. His only hope is to be rescued, but all his fellow Voyagers have been blown to other places, some back to Earth. They awaken to a world they had left and now cannot comprehend. Tammy’s son, Chucker, awakens in the jungle, however, and in his years there realizes what went wrong in his team’s assassination attempt on the Emperor of Sekuate: they shot the wrong guy. 

Feeling guilty, Chucker tracks Set-d’Elous to Earth, where he is locked up in a prison hospital, let out once a month for a day with Dr. Toni Franck, his former psychiatrist now wife. With the aid of a retired cop, Chucker must rescue Sebastian in order to counter the rise of a violent prophet’s cult back on Ghoupallesz. Only a final battle will decide the truth—a truth that permeates the next few centuries.... 

Legend tells of a comet that will cleanse the world, and governments realize it is near. Fortunately, Jinetta-d’Elous (a.k.a. Gina Parton, Interdimensional Voyager), a struggling mother of two, comes forward to offer assistance. Leading the aerospace commission, she tries to drive forward Ghoupallean technology from airships to interstellar spacecraft in the time remaining. However, success has its price and as the clock counts down, Gina must rescue her daughter from the evil Overlord and secure seats aboard the last spacecraft departing before the comet strikes.

Kindle- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GVJGP9E
Paper- http://www.amazon.com/dp/1939296277

UK: 
Kindle- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00GVJGP9E
Paperback- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1939296277

Australia:
Kindle- http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00GVJGP9E

Canada:
Kindle- http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00GVJGP9E

No Kindle? Get "Kindle for PC" and read on your computer or tablet!

For additional information, check the Dream-o-pedia page, an index page of links to everything you want to know about the Dream Land.

in association with

*On a personal note, I really enjoy writing stories, especially those where I have free rein to plunge into fantastic worlds, as with the Dream Land trilogy. Since overcoming some medical issues, the desire to share this story was reawakened. Before that moment, Book I sat finished and Book II was started--then left on a dusty shelf deep inside my computer for almost ten years as I lived my life. With an encouraging kickoff via the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, I was able to climb into the saddle again (metaphors and all) and finished Book II. Then in 2013 I was able to ride the Muses through a hard six-week writing marathon that became the bulk of Book III. So I'm excited to have this trilogy complete, and I offer it now to those who enjoy quirky, weird, otherworldly, science-fiction, epic steampunkish stories of normal people doing things they probably shouldn't and regretting their actions, forced to fight both the environment around them as well as within them. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing these books. Thanks!


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Stuff yer own bird! (free recipe included)

'Tis the time to tickle the titillating turkey! 

This week many will be slouching and slumping and snoring or snorting, content in the afterglow of their gluttonous indulgences and warm family camaraderie the put off for almost 365 days each year. That is our holiday tradition in the north of America, no matter how the origins and historical developments and political corrections have affected it. I, for one, do not indulge much on these days called holidays; however, I always enjoy a day off from the usual.

I recommend this source of information about Thanksgiving because practically all of it is wrong, or considered wrong to someone somewhere. Or the official source, Plymouth Plantation, if you care to surround yourself with facts and speculations. They may yet be debated, if you have time after dinner and between the games.

A bit of personal connection: I visited the Plymouth site in Massachusetts as a child, gazed down upon the 1621-stamped big rock called Plymouth, yet did not travel there in a Plymouth automobile. The irony!

Nevertheless, holiday traditions die hard (though the turkeys are fairly easy). From time immemorial I and all my relations would gather at the grandparents' residence with food in hand and have a grand feast. I recall dinners with a giant turkey and a giant ham and a hundred side dishes and a thousand desserts. I recall not having much leftovers, either. Now, however, I can barely finish a turkey sandwich and a side of sweet potato. Then my cousins grew up (and I suppose I did, too) and we all had our own families. By then, the grandparents passed on and Thanksgiving dinners became separate and self-contained. At some point it became pointless to go to the trouble of it, even at the risk of having no leftovers.

I remember the best of the worst:

• 2003. Stuck in my doctoral program in the snowy hills of western Pennsylvania, it did not make sense to travel back to Kansas for three days. Especially so when I had final papers to prepare. So I just made burritos at home and kept typing my papers.

• 2010. Nobody was interested in going to the trouble of cooking a big dinner, so I went out to the grocery and bought a portion of smoked turkey and side dishes from the deli in the store. Ended up I ate it all myself.

• 1988 and 1989. I was living in Japan so it wasn't even a holiday. And turkey was an unfamiliar bird. I cannot recall exactly what I ate on those days yet it was likely something with teriyaki sauce on it.

• 2007. I had the turkey dinner, which was fine. On the drive back to Pennsylvania, however, I had a flat tire on a rainy Sunday night passing through the bad part of Columbus, Ohio, and had to stay over to get the tire fixed the next morning. I ate at the Waffle House, but no turkey.

• Another year in my youth I agreed to attend a "starve-in" at a local church. Young people would empathize with the starving masses of the world by not eating Thanksgiving dinner. At all. To help us endure our hunger we played games and had other entertainments. When it was done, I went home and dove into the leftovers my parents had. I only went to that event to impress a girl. What a turkey I was!

• Not sure of the year but it was while I was living at my parents' house, so I must have been young. We had a goose, at my request. Richer taste, oily meat, less meat for leftovers, a free portion of pate de fois gras (liver), and a bad case of indigestion which was later identified as ptomaine poisoning. Cook your bird thoroughly!

Or, as the early founding chefs had the menu, stick with venison and lobster! Or, in the alternative, try soybean pudding, sometimes called "tofu." Perhaps a turkey substitute could be created from various local vegetables and exotic fruits. Use your imagination. And don't forget the turkey chili . . . for the next two weeks!

No matter what happens this year, indulge in moderation and may your moderation be indulgent. See you on the other side!


Yes, this post is mostly borrowed from a previous year's celebratory posting. So, for this year, I've sweetened the deal with my own stuffing recipe!

Stephen's Stuffing 

[please, no weird puns, ok?]

Ingredients: a loaf of cheap bread, stick of real butter, medium summer sausage, bag of dried apricots, bunch of celery, little jar of sage, a bottle of orange juice, salt & pepper to your tastes. (You could substitute cooked/dried cranberries for the apricots, if you wish; in that case, skip the OJ and use cranberry juice.)

Spread butter over several slices of bread. Tear up the bread into little pieces, putting the pieces into a large bowl.

Cut up the sausage; slice then dice. Put that it the large bowl with the bread pieces. Cut the apricots and celery into little pieces and put the pieces into the large bowl. Shake in a good amount of sage, salt, and pepper. Mix up everything in the large bowl.

Take the mixture from the bowl and put it into a small pan, something like 8x8 inches will do--or 9x9, 10x10, 12x12, whatever fits the size of your appetite. (I do not recommend stuffing the turkey itself because it is rather gross when you think about it and you don't know for sure what is still inside the turkey.) Then sprinkle some sage on top. Pour some orange juice into the pan; not a lot, but get everything wet. The OJ will make it slightly tart; you can skip the OJ if you want to and it will still be good.

Put the pan with the stuffing in it into the oven and bake until it starts to smell good, perhaps 30 to 40 minutes at 350*F. I'm going on memory now, so be careful. Putting foil over the top may help it along. It seems to me that we always put it in with the foil-wrapped potatoes for the same time and temp, so try that.

Or, you could layer each ingredient in the pan: bread pieces first, then the pieces of sausage, celery, apricot, sage, and repeat. Pour the orange juice over the top, let it soak down into the mixture, then bake.

NOTE: I am not, nor have I ever been, a cook, chef, or baker. However, this recipe is a hybrid of recipes I assisted with in my youth, standing alongside one or the other grandmother, so it checks out. You will not get sick from eating it. Enjoy!


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Are you better at wasting time than me?

Forgive me, for I have not blogged for a couple of weeks. I did not intend to worry anyone. I assumed that you would assume that I was busy. And we both would be half-right.

No, the truth is much more glamorous than that: I have been un-busy. Slothsome, in fact. Sure, I've held up my end of the bargain at Ye Ole Day Job, so that may count as some form of recreation. I go through my paces, saying the right words, smiling at the right moments, interacting as though I live and breathe. But it may be construed by any astute observer to be a very good act, perhaps worthy of an Oscar. (That Acting 101 class finally pays off!) I confess to using more and more of my office time to see what great things are happening in the world of social media...and find myself more often than not rather disappointed in humanity.

And I've been dutiful in my duties at home, i.e., the book business. Things are progressing nicely, but I shan't explain more lest certain somebodies be tempted to rant that I am promoting again. That nasty P-word! I'm not after huge sums of cash; I only wish to share a good story or two--or three. Welcome to my [invented] world, and all that! Enjoy the ride. (You can click on links to the top-right of my page if you wish to escape reality.)

It is simply the time of year that it happens to be now. The mirth of Halloween is done, the upswing to the Thanksgiving shopping season is about to begin, and that leaves us (well, me, anyway) with not much to do. Last blog post, I waxed on waxed off about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), lamenting how I could not participate because of my full schedule--then that full schedule never quite materialized. I look like a liar now.

So I made excuses. Sure, I've written 50,000 words in a month. No big deal. Sure, I've got papers to grade (well, those that have been turned in). Sure, I've got life issues to slap around--and, in turn, dodge the ripostes. Sure, the weather has been up and down, hot and cold, winter parkas and shirtsleeves. Sure, I avoid saying 'surely' so as not to link with that Airplane movie's tag line ("And don't call me Shirley!"). Still, they add up to no excuse, which is just a poor excuse.

However, I have been successful in one endeavor: wasting time. Of course, time is finite, and if you waste it, you don't get it back. It's a zero-sum game and you don't know the rules. Father Time is a cheater, too. (Truth be told, that time machine thing I mentioned a while back? Well, it's fictitious. I know you're shocked.) Clocks are evil, alarms like a musty foot out of hell. Calendars steal your soul. In a perfect universe time would be unmeasurable, one eternity as slick as one moment. Thus, what you waste is truly waste. And what a waste that is!

So one day last week, I found myself standing in the middle of my kitchen wondering what to do: at that moment, lost between one particular second and another particular second, wondering why it's called a 'second' when certainly there is a 'first' and a 'third' that will tick by just as blithely as the second second. Coffee, cocoa, or tea? Bagel, muffin, or oatmeal? See a movie, browse for books, or shop for groceries? Too many choices. And then it hit me: the insight I'd been waiting for:

When you turn the last page of a calendar, you're done. No more. The end.

Well, that probably was not as dramatic as it could have been, but it fulfills the goal of cranking out a crank blog post before my first sip of coffee. Notice I pasted an hour glass instead of a calendar? That's got to mean something. In the end I chose the muffin and the bookstore. I watched people come and go. Some of them stopped for a while, cracked book covers. Creepy! Others seemed as lost as me, wondering what to do between our lives, the here and now versus the whatever comes next. Some call it the weekend. End? Did someone just type 'w-e-e-k-e-n-d'?

Perhaps, I should have waited to write this until the first cup was finished. Then I would not need spellcheck. Then I could have been more verbose, more sanguine, more...whatever. I really should not blog on an empty stomach. Thanks for your patience. As always.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Navigating the Ne'ery Month of November

November 1 is a day for anniversaries and deadlines. The end of hurricane season and the end of summer (in the south). Halloween festivities are done and Christmas decorations are being set up. Turkeys are milling warily about the barnyard, and students have decided once and for all whether the semester is salvageable--or not. Trees lose their leaves and the leaves are pressed between the pages of books....

It is also the start of National Novel Writing Month for those whose nervous fingers cannot avoid the lusty keys. I have never been able to participate because of its unfortunate scheduling. November is the fattiest meat of the fall semester; it's when I have the most day-job work to do. Sure, I could write a draft of a novel in a month--if I had no day job to tend to, if I had no other disruptions, and if I had the idea in advance. I would like to give it a go one of these years.

I sorta, kinda did that last spring (i.e., 2013). Actually it started in mid-April and went on every night and some afternoons and the occasional morning all the way into June. The day job was an interference only in April and the first half of May. More importantly, I had the idea in advance and it was compelling enough to drive me through the story in dramatic fashion.

I'm referring to the final volume of THE DREAM LAND Trilogy, subtitled "Diaspora"--which suggests the evacuation of a planet's population in advance of a fatal comet's arrival. Whoops! Was that a spoiler? Not really. The story is what the people do and how they do what they do in dealing with that news. And perhaps the best part is that my heroine from Book I (and who appears a few places in Book II) comes back in full glory to lead their industry from airships to interstellar spacecraft--all the while managing a rebellious daughter and countering the evil Overlord. It's a page-turner!

The goal for NaNoWriMo is a 50,000 word book, by definition the minimum length for a "novel". It's not easy to calculate and compare accurately, but when I leaped into DL3 Diaspora, I skipped over the 10,000 words I'd previously written back during the afterglow of completing DL2 Dreams of Future's Past, the first chapter plus some ideas for other chapters, and I went straight to what interested me at that point in time: the final years of the planet featured in the trilogy. I researched everything I could find about astrophysics and advanced propulsion systems, striving to bring authenticity to the story--like all good sci-fi authors do. By the time I let the comet hit, I'd written 72,000 words. Comparing the time factor, that writing effort approximated the 50,000 words in one month that is NaNoWriMo writers' goal. Now just shift that calender.

But we cannot usually just sit down at a given moment and type out a story. I, for one, am a slave to my muses. I cannot work unless they approve of the project. Once started, however, I can run on fumes until it's finished. Then, when it's finished, I fall into a useless funk, dreading I'll never write anything ever again. Months later I get another idea and run it by my muses to see if it passes muster. Then I wonder why I ever had doubts about writing again. It is what I do, after all. No matter what month it is. When I retire and have my Novembers free, I will be there. I have a few ideas sitting on the shelves, don't worry, waiting to be filled out as novels.

This blog post is sponsored by The Dream Land Trilogy:

THE DREAM LAND Book II "Dreams of Future's Past" has been available as an ebook and now is also available in paperback: Here's the ebook page on Amazon; click the paperback button when it shows up.

THE DREAM LAND Book III "Diaspora" will be available as both ebook and paperback simultaneously in December 2013.

AND don't forget where it all begins:

THE DREAM LAND Book I "Long Distance Voyager" is currently available as both ebook and paperback.

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Halloween! (A Warning to the Unserious!)

'Tis the end of Octember and the spooks are about, so it seems the thing to do is to wax poetic on the Halloween and Samhain themes.

For the quick studies among us, I offer these "cheat sheets":

Some Halloween history   and    Some Samhain history

On the personal side, I haven't cared much for the day. Love the season, but not the rituals. I've never been a ritual kind of guy. But I have history on my side...my backside, thankfully.

First Halloween I remember (didn't know about Samhain then) was in a distant realm where costumes were crafted by hand. I perfected the robot by combining several boxes, a larger one for the body, a smaller one for the head, still others for feet. Arms and legs remained sheathed in cloth. In the second grade I won a prize for having the best costume. What was special about the robot costume was that the non-steam-powered device was also an early form of the personal computer. If someone were to write out a question and introduce the slip of paper through the designated slot in the body of the robot, the robot would [eventually] produce a verbal answer to the question. The robot proved to be 90% accurate, which pre-Windows, was a remarkable feat.


Then came other costumes full of commercial interests: characters from TV shows, classical monsters, space aliens (the fierce and loathsome kind, not ET), and finally the minimalist kind of costume. Minimalist? You know the type: you put on a clean shirt and glasses and say you are dressed as a "nerd". Later, as an adult, I graced one-maybe-two adult Halloween parties where others went full out as sexy witches and vampire studs. I was still dressed as a nerd--still long before nerds were cool.

I often went trick or treating with my cousin, but our chief goal was less about collecting candy than harassing his sisters. Gradually, we forgot the costumes and ran wild through the night, sending rolls of toilet paper up into the trees of houses where girls who did not like him lived. We could, by then, buy our own candy--and we did. Then the reverse happened.  We became candy givers! Definitely less fun. Ah, I have not given out candy for many years now. You see, congruent with my emerging adulthood came the cultural shift away from children ringing doorbells and begging for treats. Too dangerous now--pins in candy, creepy pedophiles, whatever.

Well, it was never really about the candy or the costumes, anyway, I soon learned while hanging out with people who called themselves witches.  Real witches. Though they dressed like "ordinary" people, they had many of the same beliefs I held at that time. None of us threatened people nor begged for snacks. A few preferred to dress in black year-round, and all wore the pentacle around their necks or emblazoned on their black t-shirts. All in all a friendly, charming bunch of social rebels whose chief activity was "raising awareness" of their existence, then complaining that everyone disrespected them.

Other cultures celebrate death and welcome back the dead at this time of the year. That's fine with me. I've had it both ways--err, well, perhaps not both ways in the way you might be thinking. Someday I will, of course. No, what I meant was the fun side and the serious side of the day. Now, however, it seems like just another commercial venture: Halloween "memorabilia" is presented in stores hours after Labor Day has ended. I can deal with fake cobwebs and spiders and bats, even a few talking skulls or laughing zombie heads, but let's be real.

Death ain't so great. That's what I was told by a rather decayed ancestor of mine who happened to pop up in the middle of the night beside my bed--a day early, no less--just to warn me that one of these Halloween nights I might not be around to celebrate much of anything. I said, in my sleepy voice, "Fair enough."

The laughter that followed my ancestor out through the cracks in the walls was unnerving enough to get me up out of bed. I had to splash cold water on my face and awaken fully, just to be sure I was still alive. Shaking my head in front of the mirror with all the lights on, I knew it had not been a dream.

So, carefully, I made my way back to bed yet lay awake for hours, unable to close my eyes, afraid of the next snap, crack, squeak, creak, breath, or sigh--most of them, thankfully, coming from my neighbors arriving home late when the bars finally closed.

And the dawn sprite told me to go to sleep; my time has not come.

Censorship and a confusion of sexy words!

Once upon a time happens every half-year or so, it seems, when book retailers suddenly act insane and throw out a lot of books and their authors for no sensible reason. Panic attack!

Once again someone complaining about a self-published book of erotica caused a panic in the industry. The result? Of course the book in question was burned. Then other books of erotica were tossed. Then any book that was self-published was given the heave-ho. The "reasoning" seemed to be that because erotica is generally self-published that by association all self-published books are suspect. After all, there are no purveyors of "good taste" to filter the good erotica from the back alley variety.

• You can read about the scandal here.   
• And here (Telegraph.UK).   
• And on a lovely blog post.

Naturally, there was an uproar by self-published authors of all genre, not only erotica. Unfair, they claimed, that all self-published books were taken down from online retailers Kobo and W.H. Smith in the U.K. Sales are hard enough to come by without such negative publicity and removal from the sales venue, even if, as the retail entities were quick to explain, the books would eventually be made available again "as soon as possible." We know how that goes.

Sure, this could be seen as "par for the course"; we've been through this kind of mass censorship before. A few of my colleagues declare this is not censorship because retailers can sell whatever they wish to sell, and no one is forced to sell someone else's book, erotica or any other genre. That's true; they are in business, after all. And yet, "censorship" comes not in some political definition but as more common sense jargon. Those retailers chose to make products unavailable for sale based on a hot, rushed decision made from scantily clad evidence related to a particular slutty book. (So the story goes....)

They have that right, yet I would still call it censorship because their actions were because of the content of those books, hence touching upon freedom of speech--which, of course, has never really existed except in some limited, brief conditions. They determined that others should not have access to that content. Someone deciding that someone else cannot have something made by a further someone is censorship, regardless whether a government entity is responsible for it or a business. Said another way:

Joe won't let Mary read the book Terry wrote because Joe thinks the book is not suitable for Mary. Joe does not allow Mary, therefore, to judge Terry's book for herself. Thus, Mary does not get the experience of reading the book and Terry does not get the benefit of compensation for writing the book. Joe, however, gets the satisfaction of affecting control over both Mary's pleasure and Terry's livelihood. In the end, only Joe gets off cleanly...though in a dirty way.

Well, I was not personally inconvenienced by this latest incident. And it did not seem to raise as much of a storm as the previous episode did. Perhaps we self- and indie-published authors take it as the cost of doing business. The rush to judgment, casting the widest possible net to catch any and all who may have slipped in a clever double entendre or an innocent first kiss or the simple delight of a bodice-ripped heroines pining for manly men in Romance novels is the offending act. I noted in subsequent discussions online that erotica written by better known authors (e.g., E. L. James) and published by traditional publishers (the popular Fifty Shades series) was not thrown out.

That certainly smells like a double standard. Is traditionally published erotica more (or less) sexy than self-published erotica? Which is more dangerous? Are the fantasies of midnight novelists somehow less wholesome than those of 24/7 erotica authors who are promoted onto bestseller lists by big company marketing departments? And in the final analysis, isn't all erotica the same? Aren't there only a few basic moves and all the rest mere variations on what seems, practiced over millennia, to work best? Granted, there are "how-to" books which may offer some tricks and gimmicks to dress up the behavior of the undressed. Even so, one aroused person's trick is another aroused person's fetish. Right?

I've even dabbled in some nasty bits, but I tend to "keep it real"--plausible, that is. Nothing that is physically challenging for the more idealistic acrobats of the bedroom--or, as the case might be, in a janitor's closet in a foodcourt restroom in a shopping mall...or whatever.* I tried using metaphors in my romantic adventure novel, AFTER ILIUM, but nobody figured out what was going on. Not good erotica, I suppose. Here's a sample from the big sex scene:

He continued collecting souvenirs as she directed him southward, showing him a lush garden of delicious, juicy fruit to sample, even daring him to taste the puckered kumquat. The festive banquet of Eden spread before him! Drowning in the sea of pleasure, she sighed, like the wind in the sails, and encouraged him to gather all the treasures that he could. He responded by lapping furiously at the fountain of youth, growing not younger but older, gaining maturity. And when he feared he might finally be satiated, she called for him to return to port, to push hard into the harbor until his vessel was fully docked and his wares completely unloaded. (p. 41)

It's all sailing terminology! What is so objectionable about that? Docking...harbor...unloading ware...?

So, in the end, everything remains the same: business as usual: you get what you pay for. Unless someone decides it's not worth your money. Granted, there are subjects, especially in erotica, which make me uncomfortable or disgusts me. I have a threshold. So I don't read them. I don't buy them. But I'm not about to set up a wall to keep people out. Their business is none of my business. Unless...?

On the other hand, I trust people--I want to trust that people are reasonable, that they don't like certain "filth" (rape, incest, abuse, etc., as alleged by the complaint) because of a desire to act out what they read, that they are not likely to be as bad as characters in fiction might be. Faith in humanity. Yes, we've been fooled before by people committing heinous crimes, but we must hold fast to the basic belief in the rightness of the majority of our neighbors. Or we stop being human. End of lecture.

Now, everyone please turn to Porn #69 in your hymnals....

*Did not really happen!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Art of Observation: Denouement

Remember a short time ago when I was hanging out at the mall and observing people? (It was here.) Yes, strange habit. Most mall-goers ignored me and pretended I did not exist. That was fine, as I also did not engage them in any sort of meaningful activities. However, I dared return to that mall recently and--shades of "OMG"--there was that same couple I saw previously: the ones shopping for a ring at the jewelry store. What're the odds?

They appeared rather different now. Cordial; friendly enough though not exactly loving. No longer holding hands, no longer smiling, they seemed to be undertaking a task that was required of them yet neither wished to do. Returning a ring? Perhaps. Selecting something more modest? Good chance of that. Or simply indulging in the nostalgia of the moment--an awkward return to a moment already lived yet kept on the periphery of consciousness. Who can say for sure?

It's possible, I guessed, that they had had difficulties since my last observation, and I could imagine serious discussions about the nature of society and society's expectations of them, as a couple and as individuals--and reasons society should care which path they took.

But life is that way, sometimes: we do what we do, not knowing if it is the right thing or the best thing to do. Then, only after doing it, when we can turn and look back over our shoulder and measure the path we have strode upon as straight or ragged, curvaceous or zigzagging in such lovely, looping trajectories, or as unyielding as a ruler can we determine whether we have moved forward, forward in some moral sense. Or not.

So they stood against the counter once more, sales person smiling and bowing and waiting for his commission, while they were making up their minds. As though minds could ever be arranged or rearranged into something that made sense. People do what they do, naturally, and most acts are inexplicable, easily condemned to categories and classification or piles of judgment and social media's 'liking' quirks. Nothing real is but an illusion except to those who live it.

In the end they seemed pleased with the result. A balance had been achieved, it seemed. Each could take a fresh breath and go on without baggage or burden, stepping lively once more. Not, however, in lockstep. I could only wish them well and imagine in my ultra-romantic and idealistic way that they would remain friends. At least that. Because friendship in any hue is tough to find and even harder to make last.

(Not the couple I observed. These two seem happy.)

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Got Author Bling?

I've been noticing--because I am a professional observer of life, though semi-retired--that being the author of literary fiction or science fiction is not the best way to be noticed. That is, if one wishes to be noticed, of course. I always had the idea that by merely arranging words on a sheet of paper, the world would beat a path to my door, demanding more. That was my childhood dream--after deciding against being a magician. After football player and Classical music composer....

No, it seems if I want the world's attention, I'm going about it all wrong. I need to stop writing silly stories and get on the reality bandwagon. Plenty of Reality shows out there, of course, when when the first one, Survivor, appeared I really believed the poor participants would be savaged and left rotting in the jungle. But no, it was just a "crummy" game show--to borrow the phraseology of Ralphie in A Christmas Story.

Now we have the ol' song 'n' dance shows, where if you were an alien visitor from planet Xanax you might presume that those kind of talents were most valued of all. Or, in the pejorative sense, the ol' song 'n' dance was meant to distract the audience from the deception going on. Hmm, perhaps there may be something to the reality show phenomena. But I digress...which is also a song 'n' dance simulation.

What I would like to propose is a reality show--game show, if you must--based on the fine art of writing. Instead of a new act to perform each week, contestants would prepare a new story (or poem) to present to an audience of literary aficionados. The audience would vote on the best story. I realize this would be difficult to judge, writing being such a subjective thing. But they have Country and Hip-Hop and Rock competing against each other, so why not Romance versus Paranormal versus Crime Thriller? Judge them on plot, characterization, twists, and spelling.

That way, authors could once again stand tall and be somebody. Authors would be praised and become role models! Kids would want to grow up to write. Authors would be on TV and strut down the streets with their entourages and fight with paparazzi. They could show off their swag and jiggling their bling, and be part of the glitterati. Remember when an author could be pulled aside at a cocktail party for a good quote or some juicy gossip about characters in a sequel? For that matter, remember cocktail parties?

Another variation could be poetry. Much like comedy improv, a contestant would be given a topic and a poetic form and be required to produce a poem on the spot, or with some brief time to prepare. Take the limerick, for instance. Of course, the natural evolution of the poetry contest would be something akin to a slam poetry reading. Or, taken further, we find ourselves in a rap-off, two rappers competing against each other for the best rap lines. And there would be singing and then dancing and then bling....

Well, it seemed a good idea while I thought of it. But given that I thought of it, it was doomed from the start. Therefore, I need not worry about becoming a Renaissance rapper. I don't know where to shop for bling, anyway. And I only have swag when I swagger down the dock on Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day.

Bling for Writers

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Noodles. There; I said it.

I wasn't planning to blog today, it being the last day of September. I thought I'd save my post for October but, hey, I've got time. I just don't have anything worth blogging about. That might be perfect, however.

It has been one of those strange weeks and weekends where nothing really bad has happened yet there is a sensation of malaise surrounding me, as though the world has ended and I do not know it yet. Last to know; everyone points at me and laughs. Oh, well.

So let's both take a break today and simply wish each other well and pray that my twisted mind does not explode too soon, at least not in crowded spaces or during lunch time. The rest is just noodles.

See you on the other side of tomorrow, whenever that shall be!


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Art of Observation

I'm a writer. That's not just a fanciful moniker of wannabe-ness. I write. I'm not an "aspiring" writer. I've got the manuscripts to prove it. I do, however, take a humble stand now and then by saying I fancy myself a writer. But I do qualify: I'm closing in on 800,000 words (novels, novellas, and short stories). Or I could call myself an "author"; that just takes having what you write published. Today, anybody can do that, of course. Even so, they must be written before they can be published. Quality, value, worth are other blog posts, however.

A large part of what I do with writing is not writing. It's observation, consideration, reflection, and analysis. Why do people do what they do? So I do not mind waiting in waiting rooms. I can occupy my time and my mind by inventing scenarios for the people I see. Malls are also great for this sordid activity. I'm not saying that's where I get my story ideas, just that it's a good place to develop this useful skill. And I've been developing it over the course of my life. To some, that makes me creepy. To others, I'm a harmless dreamer. I prefer 'Observer of Life.' I was recently promoted to First-Class, by the way.

So suppose there's this guy who is a little bit like me. That is, he is older, lives alone, has a decent job but is not really satisfied, likes to indulge himself with writing stories, and is starting to calculate that there may not be too much time left to start his life over again--as he has done before. Then he meets somebody quite by accident, someone who is so completely wrong for him--or more accurately, perhaps, he is so completely wrong for her. Nevertheless there is a click, a connection. It's all online so far, so there are only the words passing back and forth.

At first, it's quite innocent. Lots of humor. Facebook. Twitter. Emails. Texting jokes. Kidding around. It's fun; something to break the monotony of the week. The next step is to meet--in a public place because you know what the odds are that this is going to involve a creepy person. Coffee in a bookstore. You know, the latte experience. Laughter ensues. It's even more fun in person. No risk, no pressure, it's just for laughs. It's good to crack that weekend open.

Let's say the two of them feel that looks do not matter, that age difference isn't an issue, that no future needs to concern them. It's just for now. If it's good, why ruin it by pushing for more? However, little by little, it happens. There are dates. Dinners, movies, walks, talks. He makes dinner for her. She makes her specialty dishes for him. The evenings run late, slip into sleepovers. Nothing inappropriate. Just friends hanging out, getting sleeping, and the couch is right there. And then a mysterious thing happens: affection.

The sense of humor is now accompanied by a hand on the shoulder, in the small of the back. A one-armed hug. A friendship hug of full arms. The peck of a cheek. Peck of a cheek and a full hug. A quick lips on lips kiss. Longer kisses. There's a sudden realization that it's no longer just having fun for now. Enjoyment for now becomes a desire to continue the enjoyment. What's the harm in making plans? thinking of a future together? If they like all of it, why panic and fear it will go away? Tie it down, make it fixed.

The weekend trip, simply a sightseeing adventure, becomes an open door. A shared room becomes a shared bed, and a relationship is born. Not the exchanging of texts. Not the occasional invitation to attend church together, grab a lunch, or hang out with a couple of DVDs. Now something is serious. Soon a routine develops, brief loving moments mixed between job duties and other obligations. Why worry about the future? Because someone wants to be sure everything will continue as it is. They might as well make it official, as much time as they spend together, as much contact as they engage in, as much affection as they share. It's all good.

That's always the next step, isn't it? First, simply like a message: I like what he says, writes. Second, like the person: I get along with him. Third, let that person into your life: We get along just fine. Four, time together increases: I really like being with him. Five, affection increases: We've started kissing and other things. Six, something more than like but less than love ties them together: I like having him always there for me. Then come obligations--meetings, connections, each other's friends, the families, the jobs, the keys to each other's places although more and more time is spent together at one or the other residence. Then the big, special weekend: a preview of life together. Intimacy. The serious talks--no longer jokes via text message--but the push for more, and the making permanent of the more.

And a stroll through the mall pauses at the jewelry shop and just having fun for now becomes are you serious? Playing along, pretending, wishful thinking, dreaming. You know the type. There's reality for the realist. There's a virtual reality for those who play around the edges of reality. And then there is pure fantasy: things that will not ever happen yet we like to imagine what if they did? Is it a game or is it a dream? So they play the game, believing in the dream. There is, indeed, one ring to rule them all. And that is magic in the first degree. Nothing can take back that moment, that feeling, when the future coalesces from the mist and becomes concrete.

But concrete is hard and inflexible and it's scary. Too many thoughts of falling and cracking a head open against the stone. Fear unfolds. Doubt forms. Everything adds up, overwhelms, disturbs day and night, and finally erupts in the classic medium of text: "Sorry. I just can't do it. Goodbye." And winter arrives early, blows cold, freezes reality into some kind of hoarfrost statue of Defeat personified. It's not just fun for now any more. It's now, but without the fun.

What to do with a ring that's been officially sized for one particular finger in the universe? Save it for a rainy day? Go Prince Charming-like in search of another finger to fit the ring, another Cinderella fairy tale? Or get on that phone and beg, beg, beg? No, that's not actually, umm, dignified, so don't. Wait. Could do that. Life goes up and down, everyone knows. This is down. Next comes up. The Earth still spins, the sun shines, the night comes and goes. But it's not fun at all, even just for now.

"If you wanna meet at church I can buy you lunch after" reads the text message early one Sunday morning after a sleepless night full of ogres and goblins speaking in iambic pentameter. Lightning is not so quick, comets too slow, sunshine a mere flicker as the future suddenly explodes. There is nothing quite like sitting on a hard pew next to the lady bearing the naked ring finger, listening to the words of instruction from one who has been there, chiding one to keep it fun, that life is not meant to be a drudge, not intended to be hard, though drudgery and hardship do come, will always come, to those who fear having fun for now.

She's in a flowery dress as fresh as springtime; he's in a suit, serious for once, as they walk around the lake. Warm sun, cool breeze, and somewhere along the shore, where the trees offer shade, there is a pause for explanation. If not now, when? If not just for fun, then what else? If not you and me, him and her, them, if not us then who? who else? who else is there for you and me, him and her, them? Hand in hand, an examination of fingers, perfect for bearing symbols of significance--symbols that mean more than what anyone can say, and less. There is no symbol required to just have fun for now, they seem to understand. Let "for now" go on forever. Let "having fun" be whatever touches them, ties them together, ensures their continued enjoyment. Or, as sometimes is done, let the enjoyment be simply joy.

Usually at this point, I'll get up and go on my way. We all have errands to do, places to be. A writer is no different. We always wonder how things got to be that way, who these people are, and what happens next. You can answer that yourself. Grab some paper, power up your word processor, or flick on a digital voice recorder, and let everything go....



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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Having Dreams about the Reality of Dreams

Some bloggers blog about life in their lives. Amazing lives they lead, where everything goes right or everything is a maze of frustration and confusion. Blogs about the writing life, the editing life, the life of the well-published author-about-town, the hell of grammar and the pit of typo sins. Blogs about dogs, cats, rabbits, zombies, vampires, and tacos. Blogs advertising pet projects, pets, or projects related to advertising. Or blogs doing double-duty as typing exercises. And then there are blogs which purport to offer wisdom, trendy trends for trendsetters, or fashionable fashion advice. Or blogs in which the blogger attempts with all sincerity to demonstrate just how utterly clever he/she can be with wordplay, rhetoric, and the dance of fingers lightly across a keyboard. The possibilities are endless.

An artist's [mis]conception of an interdimensional doorway.
Actual tangential doorways are not generally visible.

And then there is the Dream Land, a topic for which many have confessed confusion, consternation, or constipation. It is perhaps my fault. I have walked the fence between keeping it mysterious and letting it all hang out. Well, I don't like being kept in the dark past dawn, either. So allow me to answer your questions and alleviate any fears you may have by attempting to incorporate all current blog themes into a single post. (By the way, the Earth is not scheduled for destruction any time soon, so you have plenty of days and weeks to read all of your favorite books!)

Is the Dream Land a story of people who dream?

Kinda, in a way, it is. People do dream and they often remember them when re-entering a conscious state. Sometimes people are driven to act or refrain from acting based on what occurred in that dream. Thus, the aspect of dreams and dreaming referenced in The Dream Land  is no greater than that of real life. Said another way, "In space, no one can hear you dreaming!"

Is the Dream Land a science fiction novel?

Because humans function better when items are classified, I have been compelled to likewise assign a category to this book. Therefore, a long list of characteristics have been compiled from its pages and then cross-referenced with the ten most typical texts of the genre. A positive correlation of 72% was found. Thus, most people most of the time would consider The Dream Land to be a science fiction novel.

Is the Dream Land an epic fantasy tale?

There are some readers, well versed in the fantasy literature, and others who are well-versed in the science fiction literature who have doubts about its classification. The degree of science embodied in its pages is less than many other works labeled as science fiction. For that reason, the Dream Land could be labeled as epic fantasy. Given the scope of two worlds and the universe between them, given the range of years covered, and given the size of the refrigerator used by the cast and crew, it certainly could be called 'epic' and 'fantasy'.

Is the Dream Land an example of Steampunk culture?

As the adventures occur in settings of a global society prior to modern science, much of the cityscapes and transportation devices are typical of those in Steampunk literature. There are airships, for example; yet designs for jet aircraft exist but are deemed too harmful to the environment to be allowed into production. The architecture reflects a more decadent world view. The citizens are equally conscientious of fashions which, to the eyes of many readers, resemble those of Steampunk culture.

Is the Dream Land a scientific manual on interdimensional travel?

In some ways it is. There are descriptions of entrance and exit, a listing of symptoms of "voyager" disorder, and certain specifications on quantum physics. However, these items were recorded by lay people and so do not hold up to the rigor of scientific inquiry. In fact, the principle recorder, while an avid voyager himself and trained in physics, prefers to focus on the human effects of interdimensional travel rather than the causes and connections.

Is the Dream Land a memoir of a select few interdimensional voyagers?

It certainly could be considered that way. The volume includes descriptions of many encounters a few voyagers experienced during their careers as interdimensional voyagers. However, no attempt has been made to be all-inclusive or to present the information in any organized manner other than to mention the highlights of major trips. The details are left to the reader's imagination and scientific record in local archives.

Is the Dream Land something scribbled on a legal pad in the dark upon awakening from a nocturnal drama?

Critics have made the claim that the Dream Land is something less than literary. The most critical of these reviewers accuse the authors and other contributors of engineering a hoax whereby readers may believe they too can travel interdimensionally via "tangential" transfer points. The science supports the possibility but also the rarity of such locations. Those interested in interdimensional travel are urged to contact one of the participants via the Tangential Books link in the book. In addition, plans are underway to produce a stage play enabling an audience to experience the interdimensional travel tangentially through song and dance.

Is the Dream Land real?

Even the ephemeral is real. In as much as a thought is a biological activity where electrical pulses leap from neuron to neuron, a place based on a dream state may be presumed to be un-real. Yet in its state of un-reality it is itself a real entity. In other words, the abstraction of the dream is marked as a noun, a thing of invisible existence rather than mere rhetorical hyperbole. The idea of a dream is real; hence the dream itself is real. Reality is based not solely upon the physical tangibility of a thing. Furthermore, one person's dream may yet be another person's reality, and vice-versa.

Is reality a dream or is dream a version of reality?

Yes.


Those who wish to know more are encouraged to study further and make inquiries of the main text via Amazon.com and other fine interdimensional nodes.

Disclaimer: The interdimensional travel you undertake is subject to your own intelligent choices; participants in The Dream Land project accept no responsibility or liability for what may occur by following what may on surface seem to be viable instructions for interdimensional travel yet which are actually limited to a traditional form of literary entertainment intended for the couch-bound or various electronic readership devices. If success should occur, handle with utmost caution.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

How much is your happiness worth?

Believe me, I understand. A blog post devoted to, shall we say, "advertising" is not the most attractive place to spend a few minutes while wasting some time at work or school. (Neither is writing such a blog.) However, it needed to be done. The book is out, available within some time zones and under the more favorable stars. I simply wish for my wonderful friends, followers, and [dare I say] fans to know of its existence. That's enough.

I love to write. [Let me start again:] I love to write what I choose to write. I don't mean professional documents (as I occasionally do now) nor academic essays and research papers (as I did not too long ago), or any other obligations of the literary sort. No, I mean fiction writing. The world of make-believe. I suppose that love comes from a long-standing disappointment with the status quo. Of course, it's not all utopia and unicorns in what I write, either, but at least the chaos, the misery, the betrayal and backstabbing are of my choosing.

And so I wile away my days (this past summer was a great pile of such days!--ooo, did I make a rhyme?) at the keyboard of life, type type typing the days into the molds I have created for them. And they (the days made of words which are symbols that represent the meanings of life) go on to form the walls and roofs and patios of Lego-like worlds in primary colors. That's how it is done. Waxing poetic on a Monday morning is winning, isn't it?

Long story short--if you've read this far--I love to write stories about people in odd situations and I love seeing how they get out of those situations. I'm the kind of writer who does not outline, does not plan ahead (not in any more detailed sense than a general story arc), and so as I write the story unfolds to me just as it will unfold to the reader. I like being surprised as much as readers are (I guess). Often I don't like what my characters have planned, what they try to do or get away with, and just as often they don't find my plans for them to be very appealing. Such is the conflicts between the real and the fictional.

Long story even shorter: I love to create these stories and more than anything else (anything but writing them) is my delight at readers experiencing these stories and enjoying them. That's my greatest thrill: to have a readers say (or post, comment, etc.) what they took from the story about, say, the human condition, or what he/she liked about these stories. I'll even take a "didn't like" comment with a half-grin. We can't get it all right all the time, eh?

So the bottom line is that I let people know when and where something is available so they may get as much enjoyment reading (indeed "experiencing"!) what I have created as I have gotten in creating it. I expect us both to be pleased.

And then there is the matter of money. Some people write to make money. I have not yet found a list of those people. Instead, I think most writers write for love of writing, as I do. But there is the need for food, printer ink, books for research, etc. that requires us to beg for some kind of compensation just to keep up the brain cells for the next round of creation. Starving artists do not actually create very good art; their minds are starved.

And as for paperback books, even set at the lowest possible price that, say, Amazon.com will allow, my take is only about one or two dollars per book, hardly a king's ransom. The ebooks for Kindle actually provide a slightly better percentage to the author. However, many readers prefer the touch, the feel, of woodchips in their hands. I do; call me old fashioned. Either way, it all begins with the quirky spark of gray matter inside an artist's brain, something which is truly priceless. How can one put a price sticker on an idea, even a fictional story about people who do not exist and therefore serve no purpose in life, contribute nothing to society, and ultimately are forgotten? Difficult to calculate. Even so....

I'd do it anyway (write), as I stated above, because I love to create new worlds and odd situations and see how it all plays out. If I share that entertainment with someone, isn't it fair I get something back in exchange? A "thank you" is a good start. An obsessive urge to possess the next creation of mine is also good. A meal ticket for the school cafeteria of your choice is often an acceptable donation. It's up to you. What is your happiness worth?

Mine is worth $1.29--give or take a few pennies.


And if you do not mind any little pluggettes, please allow me to mention some entertainments are available for you....

THE DREAM LAND Trilogy 

(Book I in paperback, or ebook; 

Book II as ebook , paperback coming soon; 

Book III coming soon as ebook then paperback)

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Dream Land Trilogy is Launched

Exciting things happening in the Dream Land this week!

Thanks to all of you and your support! I could not have made this dream of mine into some kind of extremely twisted reality were it not for the encouragement, criticism, more criticism, some words of affection, and the occasional box of cookies. Here, at long last, is the real deal: the paperback edition of THE DREAM LAND Book I: Long Distance Voyager (or simply "The Dream Land").

In other Dream Land news:

Finished the final edit of Book III Diaspora to my satisfaction. Started my own "fan fiction" about what happens next to a side character, Dale T. Wilson, a retired detective. That will be great fun to occupy my autumn writing sprints.

Republished (so to speak) Book II Dreams of Future's Past for Kindle. I just uploaded the newer cover. That's all. The text remains the same. Book II will get the paperback treatment next, say, by December.

Republished Book I Long Distance Voyager for Kindle. Changed to newest cover...which matches the paperback's cover. Uploaded the paperback version's text, also, which includes a few corrected typos found in proofreading the "proof" copy sent to me. I also added a blurb about Book II.

And last but certainly not the least in any way, shape, or form...

Publication of the paperback edition of THE DREAM LAND (Book I: Long Distance Voyager) through my good buddies at Myrddin Publishing (in association with my own house Tangential Books). It looks great and reads great. I've read through it about a hundred times across many years and many editions yet I still laugh at the same places I should and cry at the same places where I should. I get excited in the fight scenes and get funky during the love scenes.

THE DREAM LAND Book I Long Distance Voyager in paperback, available just about now....

Already available at Amazon in the UK!

Here's the Amazon USA link (looks like Ammy is discounting it a bit, being a new book)

Available at Amazon in Europe (France, Germany, Italy, Spain), India, and Japan, too. But in English, of course. Oh, and in Canada, too!


As a run-up to this paperback launch, I've been splattering the internet with Dream Land memes. Have you seen one yet? Here's one of my favorites:

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.