Tag Archives: jeff strand

Guest Post: Marina Bridges’ Love Affair With Kindle

Jaye asked me to write some kind of Top Ten List for her blog as the year winds down.  So I sat down to work and realized that I’m not trendy enough to write a Top Ten List.  I don’t even know what happened in the Bottom Ten this year.  I can’t write a Top Ten Shits My Dogs Took List or a Top Ten Times I Watched Hoarders And Laughed List.  Well, I can, but Jaye will snicker at those lists and then make me do another one.  So I’m hoping that she’ll let me squeak by with a Top Six Things I Like Best About Having A Kindle List.

I got my Kindle this April and a lot of other people will be getting Kindles for Christmas.  I’ve gotten some shit for having a Kindle, believe it or not.  I’ve had people sniff at me and say that they prefer REAL books.  I take that to mean that they have an extreme letch for paper mills.  Books are about words, not about the delivery system.

Ereaders free us to read what we want to read, when we want to read it.  They free us to participate in the world of literature on a deeper level than ever before.  My list is all about freedom.

The Top Six Things I Like Best About Having A Kindle

  1. Pornography: Let’s just get this one out of the way right off the bat.  You can buy dirty books from the comfort of your own home.  Nobody has to know what kind of perv you are.  It rocks.
  2. Free Samples: You have to watch out for sample reading on your Kindle.  It’s great to get a nice chunk of a book for free.  It’s great to be able to leisurely sample a book rather than flipping through a few pages in a store.  But I reached a point where I realized that I hadn’t read an entire book in months.
  3. Spare Change and Kindle: I had a lot of spare change sitting around, daring me to roll it and take it to the bank.  I never did, of course.  I couldn’t take it to a Coinstar machine because THERE IS A FEE FOR USING THE MACHINE…unless you get a gift certificate.  There is no fee if you get your change turned into a gift certificate.  I took my change to a Coinstar machine, I got an Amazon gift certificate in exchange for my change, and it feels like I’m reading for free.
  4. Facebook: If you think Facebook has nothing to do with Kindle, you are dead wrong.  Look up your favorite authors.  Get special deals on their ebooks and see what they have in the works.  Some of them will even chat with you!
  5. Books I Probably Wouldn’t Have Found In A Book Store:  These are mainly horror books that I enjoyed.  I’m sure other types of books are out there, but I currently don’t care about other types of books.  Most of these, I never, ever, ever would have found in a book store.  As a matter of fact, it’s a little hard to find a book store these days.  They are going the way of the dinosaurs, offering readers little selection and billions of “gifts” that nobody wants to give to anyone and not much else.  I’ll miss book stores for sure, but most of them just aren’t any damned good, anymore.
  • Flesh Eaters:  I like Joe McKinney.  He does zombies the old fashioned way.
  • Double Dead (Tomes of the Dead):  Chuck Wendig did the one thing I didn’t think anyone could do.  He wrote a vampire vs. zombies book that I actually liked a lot.
  • Zombie, Ohio: A Tale of the Undead: Scott Kenemore does some fun things with a zombie that can think.   Not perfect, but Scott made me laugh more than once.  On purpose.
  • Fistful of Feet: Jordan Krall wrote one of the weirdest westerns ever. Not for everyone.  Kind of not for me, but I wanted to mention it because I do admire Jordan for writing such weird shit.
  • Seed:  Ania Ahlborn makes little girls scarier than Toddlers and Tiaras.
  • Wolf Hunt: Jeff Strand sends two bumbling thugs to pick up a werewolf.
  • Clan:  Harry Shannon’s werewolves bite history in the ass.
  • Blood Is Red:  Scott Sigler is an inventive, fun person and his short stories kick ass.

6.  Self Publishing: Thanks to Jaye Manus, I’m an author.  I can read my own book, Pickers & Pickled Punks, on my Kindle!

See?  It’s all about freedom!

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Thank you, Marina. There are a few of those I don’t have. Oh well, at least I don’t have to dust my virtual TBR stack. Hey! That’s one more thing to love about the Kindle!

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Laughing At Pain: Jeff Strand

Sometimes I need a good laugh. Thank God for the internet because a good laugh is rarely more than a click away. “Good” is entirely subjective and I understand that and I also understand that not everybody gets my humor. Cool. Different strokes and all that. So I’m just talking to those people who enjoy sick humor. The kind that has you snorting milk through your nose, then you feel a twinge of embarrassment over laughing because that is some nasty stuff. It’s not nice to laugh about other peoples pain. Right?

Fine. I’m not nice.

So if you’re a nice person who likes your humor clean, go watch this: Cute Kittens Video.

The rest of you sick twists, let me tell you about Jeff Strand.

Strand has written a series about a fellow aptly named Andrew Mayhem.

First book, Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary) we meet Andrew, a bumbling goof who can’t quite get the hang of gainful employment, though he has good intentions leaking from his pores. Long-suffering wife, Helen, is losing her patience, and Andrew’s children are at that impressionable stage where they are making up their minds whether or not Dad is a good role model. (a terrifying prospect for any parent)

When Andrew is offered a job– dig up a grave and retrieve a key from the corpse– he, unlike a normal human being who’d say, “No way! I’m no ghoul!” actually weighs the pros and cons.

No, no, what was I thinking? This was graverobbing! This was ghoulish behavior! This was sick, sick, sick! This could put me in jail or in an asylum. The best thing–no, the only thing–to do was tell Jennifer we were flattered she’d thought of us to fulfill her disinterment needs, but that we had to pass.

“Twenty thousand cash?” I asked.

What follows is live burial, decapitations, snuff films, betrayals, twists, power tools, explosions, Rube Goldberg murder machines and the difficulties of finding a last minute babysitter. Not that any of that is funny. What’s funny is Andrew.

“Look, I assure you that your whole intimidation thing has been a rousing success! I’m scared! I’ll play along with your little game to keep you from slamming that knife through my neck! But you’ve got to give me some kind of proof that Roger is still alive.”

I let out a grunt of pain as my captor punched me in the face.

“That wasn’t proof,” I explained.

Which leads to book #2 in the series, Single White Psychopath Seeks Same. You will know you have a sick sense of humor if you can’t resist the opening paragraph:

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and you just know it’s going to be the kind of day where you end up tied to a chair in a filthy garage while a pair of tooth-deprived lunatics torment you with a chainsaw. So as I struggled against the ropes, I can’t say I was all that surprised.

How Andrew manages to escape the ropes, lunatics and chainsaw you’ll have to read for yourself. If you think that’s bad, it gets worse. Much worse. Andrew impersonates a psychotic serial killer and ends up trapped in a madhouse in Alaska with a whole bunch of psychotic serial killers and a dungeon full of potential victims. And yes, there are decapitations, power tools, torture, live burial, Rube Goldberg murder machines, rotting corpses, and clowns. Icky, scary clowns. Snakes, too, in case you’re worried your particular phobia isn’t covered. In the midst of all that, poor Andrew has to deal with someone who’s an even bigger bumbler than he is.

I haven’t yet read the third book in the series, Casket For Sale (Only Used Once), but it’s on my Kindle. I’m saving it for when I need a boost of sick humor.

 

It Takes So Little To Make Me Happy

I read the first book in Jeff Strand’s Andrew Mayhem series this weekend. Laugh, cringe, laugh, cringe, laugh some more, cringe some more. In other words, lots of fun. As soon as I finished, I wanted more, so I popped over to Amazon to buy #2 and #3 in the series. And as soon as Download Complete appeared on my Kindle, I’m like, What is the hell is wrong with you? Just how many ebooks do you need in the queue? Have you no self-control whatsoever?

Shees.

So then, this morning I got an email from Lawrence Block informing me that all his Open Road ebooks are on sale for today only. One day? Oh crap. So of course I had to pop right over to Amazon. Three minutes later, seven titles are off my wish list and loaded on my Kindle.

I am such a slut.

Greedy Gus.

Book whore.

But wait just a minute. For less than the cost of dinner and a movie, I have nine new books to read. Unlike dinner and a movie which will be over and done with in about four hours and mostly forgotten within a day or two (Unless the movies were either Seven or Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace, both of which I bitched about for weeks and can still get riled up about years later for offending me so greatly with such stupid plots).

Here’s the thing about books, especially genre fiction. The vast majority are temporary entertainment. I can enjoy a few hours lost in somebody else’s world and maybe learn a thing or two along the way. There are a few that stick. A few that matter for whatever reason. I have some books, now tattered and soft, the spines a mass of crinkles and broken paper, because I’ve read them over and over. Those books offer more than pleasure or information. They speak to me. They feel like old friends and we have a connection.

Since I was old enough to speak, I’ve been a story addict. I’ve had lots of interests in my life and a few passions and one or two obsessions (or to hear the old man tell it, “Your OCD acting up again?”) Those come and go. Except for stories. My passion, even my obsession for stories has never died.

Give me a book and a few hours of quiet and I am happy. Tell me a story and I am happy. I’m convinced that if a tornado roared through the neighborhood and flattened my house and swept away all I own, the only possessions I would truly miss would be my books. Even then I wouldn’t be too depressed because even if the books are gone, the stories remain and I can find them again.

They say money can’t buy happiness. Oh yeah? Well $25 just added another page and a half to my Kindle home page. That makes me very happy.

 

 

Thank You, Kindle: Short Stories Rule!

I resisted ebooks for a long time. I’ve been using a computer for writing since the 1980s, but that doesn’t mean I like reading on the things. I spend enough hours in front of a lighted screen to turn my eyeballs into quivering jelly. And they expect me to read for pleasure on a computer? Besides, I love printed books. I love everything about them from the way they look to the way they smell. Reduce a book to bits and bytes? No way.

But then I got interested in indie publishing and I had to see what the fuss was about. So I bought a Kindle. I will not say it was love at first sight. It wasn’t. It’s not the same thing as reading a printed book. I had to learn how to maneuver it to use it properly (and at my age, there is a measure of resentment anytime I have to learn to do something I’ve been doing just fine for decades). I did get used to it. I know I’m entrenched now because just last week I was reading a rather weighty tome while lying in bed and my hand cramped because of the awkward way I had to hold the book. I thought, “Shees, this wouldn’t have happened with my Kindle.” I’ve also discovered that the Kindle is much better for reading while I cook (Cooking bores me, so while things are simmering or steaming or whatever else that involves just standing around watching pots, I read a book. The Kindle, bless its sturdy plastic casing, takes splashes, spatters, greasy fingers and cake batter in stride. Additional bonus, my cats don’t chew on the Kindle and while they do like to lie on it, they’ve yet to figure out how to do it harm.)

The very best thing I’ve discovered, thanks to my Kindle, is the resurgence of short stories. I’ve always loved short stories. It seemed like every magazine I read as a kid had at least one piece of fiction in every issue. There were zillions of monthly and bi-monthly magazines devoted to genre fiction. The very best writers, the mega-writers, wrote short stories for the top magazines. Writers could make nice livings just writing short stories. That changed. Magazines realized they could make more money with advertisements than they could with fiction. Genre digest after digest folded or merged and eventually became sad little shadows of their former selves. Rates for writers dropped. Publishers decided novels were the money-makers and yeah, some writers were able to publish collections, but usually only after they’d become bestsellers with novels. Short stories faced the fate of poetry. Something only artists did, in their spare time, when they weren’t working a “real” job and nobody was expected to make a living at it. If a genre writer was bursting with short stories to tell, his options for publication were limited. He could write novels and hope his publisher took him seriously enough to invest in a collection. He could hope to be invited to contribute to an anthology. While short stories are still being written and published, they aren’t the ubiquitous purveyors of ideas they once were.

From a writer’s perspective, short stories are pure delight. Other than the requirement that they be, you know, short, there are no hard and fast rules. Short stories can be tightly plotted or dispense with plot altogether. They can be snippets, character studies, an exploration of a single, “What if?” or a slice of life. Short stories are a great way to play with a style or just have fun with language. Short stories are about ideas. Big, small, important, trivial, dark, light and everything in between. Hell, Ernest Hemingway supposedly a short story in only six words:

“For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.”

Unfortunately for writers, as the markets dried up, writing short stories fell into almost hobby status. Forget finding a market that paid good money, try finding one that paid at all.

Then came the rise of indie publishing and ebooks. Writers have discovered a whole new market by publishing short stories direct to readers. Writer after writer is indie publishing collections and stand-alones, all for a very low price. Because they can make money at it, they have incentive to keep doing it, which means the variety and selection will continue to improve and everybody is happy.

This reader thanks them and Kindle and Amazon and every other outlet that makes it possible for me to find short stories. In the few months I’ve had my Kindle, I’ve purchased a ton of singles and collections. A few of the stories were freebies. Gifts by writers to their readers. I haven’t paid more than five bucks for any of them (and no, I don’t need to hear from you jokers asking how many novels that has led me to purchase, so how much money am I actually saving, hmn? Just shut it.)

The .99 cent short story is pure heaven. Because the cost is so low, I’m comfortable trying out new-to-me writers. I can explore genres that have been neglected by publishers. I no longer have to buy a hardcover at twenty bucks for an anthology in which I’ll probably only find one story worth reading. I really like that a lot of my favorite novelists are taking advantage of ebooks to put out short stories.

Here are a few I’ve really enjoyed:

Weird Fantasy: Irregular Creatures, collection by Chuck Wendig.

Horror: Blood is Red, collection by Scott Sigler

Horror: Specimen 313, by Jeff Strand (FREE!)

Zombies!: The Undead: Zombie Anthology, by David Wellington and many more.

Psycho Horror: Head Cases, anthology by Scott Nicholson and many more.

Horror: Pickers and Pickled Punks, collection by Marina Bridges (I’m biased here since I edited this collection, but they are really good stories or I wouldn’t have edited them)

Literary: House of Skin, collection by Kiana Davenport

Mystery: The Burglar Who Dropped in On Elvis, by Lawrence Block

Women’s: Is It Spicy?, by Julia Barrett

Mystery: The Night and The Music, collection by Lawrence Block

Not every short story or collection I’ve found has been a winner. But I have unearthed enough real treasures to turn me into a short story fiend all over again. Thank you, Kindle.

 

 

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