The Artist Unleashed: WHY WORRY ABOUT DIALECT? by Jim Murdoch

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Do You Agree, or Disagree? (#7) Topic: Goodreads needs a major makeover.

Note: Sorry this post is a bit longer than I had intended, but it's a sensitive topic and a decent explanation is in order to avoid any misunderstandings.

I like Goodreads. I like that I can run giveaways for my books without any hassle. I like the exposure I get from running giveaways, too. But that is pretty much the only thing I do like about Goodreads.

For authors, Goodreads can be a scary place. It's like stepping into the playground at recess knowing you're going to be beaten up for simply being that kid.

I have been ignoring the bullying. There is not much I can do about it. The only way to keep my sanity is to ignore. And I am a strong advocate of free speech. If a person dislikes a book, I don't think they should have to censor their opinions. I may not agree with the way certain reviewers express their opinions, but I certainly agree that they have the RIGHT to.

But this post is about more than that.

This post is about something I choose not to ignore.

Yesterday, I noticed that there are a few reviewers who have multiple accounts in different names. And I've noticed, on one of my books, that the same negative review is posted more than once. They are identical to each other.

Let me reiterate. The review itself is fine. It's not nice. But I don't (and shouldn't expect to) have a say in what is said. What is completely unacceptable is the fact that the reviewer is clearly trying to get the rating of my book down by posting it more than once under different names. That is not nice. And I do expect to have a say in THAT.

But what are my choices? A flag button. Goodreads staff may or may not respond to my flag. Something may or may not be done about this. Flagging doesn't mean anything until a staff member acts on it. Most of the time, they don't.

So, I am going to say it loud and clear:

I DO NOT AGREE WITH HOW GOODREADS IS RUN.

Do you? If Goodreads were to get a major makeover, how would you improve it without enforcing censorship?

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The Artist Unleashed: SUPERMAN OR DEMIGOD? YOU DECIDE, by Luca Marchiori

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DO YOU AGREE OR DISAGREE? (#6) Topic: Comma rules are ridiculous.

Please don't get me wrong, I am not naive. I have been an editor of English Language Teaching materials for ten years. I know my grammar and punctuation.

But I HATE the comma. DESPISE the comma.

The comma causes so many p,r,o,b,l,e,m,s. <<<< [link = Sex Pistols song]

Because there are too many "rules".

Before I tell you how I think the comma should be used, I would like you to see a brief list of comma rules according to The Chicago Manual of Style:

• Commas with “not” phrases
• Comma following main clause
• Comma in index entries
• Comma between digits
• Comma with city plus state
• Comma preceding a quotation
• Comma preceding main clause
• Commas relative to parentheses and brackets
• Commas with question marks or exclamation points
• Commas with quotations
• Commas with introductory adverbial phrases
• Commas with questions
• Commas with addresses and place-names in text
• Commas with “that is,” “namely,” “for example ...
• Commas with “etc.” and “et al.”
• Commas to indicate elision
• Commas in pairs
• Commas with “oh” and “ah”
• Commas with independent clauses joined by conjunctions
• Commas with compound predicates
• Commas with dates
• Commas with “not . . . but,” “not only . . . but ...
• Commas between homonyms
• Commas with “the more,” “the less,” and so on

Um ... there are probably more, but I'm tired ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

So what say you? New universal rule for commas?

"When a pause (or clause separation) is necessary, insert a comma."

Viola. P,r,o,b,l,e,m,s solved.

What do you think?

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The Artist Unleashed: A MAD MAN TRIED TO KILL ME, by Jeremiah Walton

Note from Jessica: Today's guest is very special. You will notice from Jeremiah's bio at the end of the post, that he just graduated high school, but look at everything he is involved in! Please do me a big favour today, and show Jeremiah your support by reading, commenting, and sharing this post through other social media platforms. It is also his birthday today. Happy birthday, Jeremiah!

[disclaimer: coarse language and sexual content]

The lamppost I was leaning against to read was uncomfortable. On The Road was stale. The Walmart lot was empty of shoppers, composed of travelers sleeping, and employees rattling carts.

“I can’t sleep. Want to go for a walk?” she said, pulling her van’s keys round her neck.  

I looked up to Captain getting out of her van. Drew was sleeping, sprawled out. He had claimed my usual nesting place for the night, and I was to sleep with Screw, his cat. (Screw the Cat was his full name.)

“I’m down.” I stood up.  

We set off with no particular destination, talking. Just talking. It is these nights, these moments of conversational labyrinths we all get lost in from time to time. Those moments where calamity is at bay by forces of what? Forces of Self intermingling with others in a beatific fashion, beautiful moments where we feel God, an artist lost in painting, a poet lost in his mad scribble, a serial killer pleasuring himself to remnants, a scientist and discovery, the God-moments are what I live for.

This was a God-moment. This walk.

Miles underway, 2 or 3 a.m., I don’t know, Captain stopped in her tracks, stopping me, no cars were coming either way. “Shh.” I shh-ed. Silence. No, not silence, the gurgling choke of the Earth underwater. We were near a river we couldn’t see. Captain hopped the guard railing, and I followed suit, jumping-half-jogging down a slope littered with trees and prickles and bushes manufactured for catching shoes.

The river swung underneath a bridge, a graffiti-less bridge that was itching to be bombed.

“Goddamn, I’d love to put a spray can to this place. This is a completely blank slate.”

We used my iPod to illuminate the dark, walked our way out the other side of the bridge.

Sitting on the rocks, we talked, and kissed. She took her shirt off, pulled down my pants, kissed, hands around cock, kissed, there’s a black hole inside her that is eating at me so pleasantly, this wonderful woman beyond my sexual experiences.

I did not love her, no, not yet. We hadn’t made love. Fucking and making love are not the same. I did not love her, as a human being yet. Cared about? Yes, deeply, but loved?

No, not yet.

We finished up, clambering our way back up the slope, walking back towards the cars.

The walk there was about an hour, the walk back, maybe two. We had to dodge the sight of every car that drove by, dipping off into bushes or trees or diving to the ground, because if they saw us, we’d surely die, and lose the game.  

We arrive at the cars, and Captain realizes she has left her keys back under the bridge. The cold was chilling, and we opened the trunk (the lock does not operate) to retrieve warmer layers. Drew was still sleeping. We whispered quietly to avoid waking him.

I believe that was her first mistake, and maybe my fifth or six, in interactions with Drew this trip.

We walked back and retried the keys, they were next to the rock she was kneeling on. We began trudging back up the slope, my phone rang, it was Drew.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Walking back towards the cars right now.”

“Where are you?”

“Hand me the phone,” Captain said.

I handed it to her, leaning against a tree for support.  

“We’re walking out of the woods towards the highway that goes past the Wal-Mart. We went for a walk.”

He hung up.  

We got back on the road, and resumed walking back towards the cars. I should have picked up on the anger in his voice, or some sort of indicator that he was furious, because when he pulled up beside us, smashing on the brakes, stopping a couple feet away from us, exiting his car with full fury, his face hunched forward so it was level with mine, brawling towards me, “you think it’s okay to take my little sister for a walk at 4 in the fucking morning?” Captain stepped forward and he shoved her to the side, his body slamming towards me.

I turned and booked shit. 

“Drew! What the hell are you doing? STOP!” Captain screamed.

I darted across the road, Drew behind me, running into a field. I was thinking, shit no that’s stupid, don’t go away from the road, stay as public as possible, find help, find help. I darted left, running parallel to the road, Drew swooping after me, hell’s fury under his heavy boots, “shit shit shit”, autopilot, thoughts moving too fast.

“DREW STOP IT!” screamed Captain. I jumped into the road, Captain running after Drew chasing after me bulleting towards cars like mad.  

We weaved in and out of cars with sleepy drivers dragging eighty miles per hour behind them.

I heard a car door slam and turned my head, slowing my run. Drew was back in his car. I couldn’t hear what Captain and him were saying. I was breathing heavily.

Captain jumped on the hood of his car, started screaming.  

I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

She jumped off, began screaming into the window, I could see the swells of anger in her cheeks from her. She reached in and slapped Drew.  

He sped off, furious.
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Many people dream of hitting the road, and traveling cross country. In our dreams, we don't include the dangers of hunger, gangs, the cold, the long waits for a ride to pick you up in the rain when hitchhiking, the dangers of other humans. These dreams are still worth having, as any dream is. Have you ever thought about hitting the road? Where would you go?

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Connect with Jeremiah:

Nostrovia to Writing

Underground Books
Blog

Jeremiah Walton graduated high school the spring of 2013, and hit the road hitchhiking the following fall, hunting open mics and slams, aiming to broaden the poetic community and promote passionate living.  Jeremiah manages Nostrovia! Poetry, W.I.S.H. Publishing, The Traveling Poet, and works as an editor at UndergroundBooks. He blogs at Gatsby’s Abandoned Children, where most of his books are free to read.

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DO YOU AGREE, OR DISAGREE? (#5) TOPIC: Are reader-voted writing contests merely popularity contests?

Over the past year or so, I have noticed a trend in reader-voted writing contests online. In the past, I would have FLOCKED to enter such a thing. Nowadays, I hate to say, I totally ignore them.

Why?

Because with the amazingly supportive writer community we are all a part of, I don't think it's about the writing anymore. At all. It's all about how many friends you have. And all it takes is an email (or tweet, of Facebook post), saying, "DUDE! I'm in this contest! Can you please vote for me?" And of course, we go vote. I have done it. More times than I can count. Because I love and ADORE my writer buddies. I want them to have success. I want their contest entry to win. We all do. So we go vote. And we do so willingly.

There's nothing wrong with having lots of friends to help push us toward success. There is nothing wrong with it at all. But are reader-voted writing contests really about the writing anymore, or are they merely popularity contests?

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The Artist Unleashed: WRITING FOR CHILDREN—SHOULD WE HAVE A CONSCIENCE? by Isabel Burt

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DO YOU AGREE, OR DISAGREE? (#4) [Topic: Do Self-Published Book Awards = Bollocks?]

I'm going to ask you something today that might be a bit controversial. BUT. It's been on my mind lately, so here goes ... *bracing myself*

The way I see it, being an "award winning author," as an indie, just tells me that that particular author was able to afford to enter the award. I can't afford to enter any major book awards because they are just so darn expensive. I don't have any major book award credits to my name. Does that mean my work isn't worthy, or that I'm just financially unable to buy my worth?

So I guess my main question for you today is:
Does "award-winning" actually mean anything anymore?

Note: I am not dissing those who have received awards. I have received an award for my poetry, too, and I am quite proud of it. And so should you be. I am purposely being tantalizing for the purpose of this debate. But the question does remain. And personally, I am in two minds. What's your point of view?

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