How to succeed a little while trying very hard

It's funny looking back on a month ago when I published my first book. I felt such a sense of relief and accomplishment seeing my work on Amazon.com for all the world to see. Little did I know that was when the real work began. I established a facebook author page, a twitter account, and this blog. I honestly didn't think that I was going to be an overnight success. I am nowhere near that naive. I did, however, think that the word of mouth would spread a little faster than it did. I am not bemoaning the small amount of success that I have had so far. I am just trying to point out that I was naive enough to not think at all about the publicity end of the whole deal.

It has been very interesting writing this blog and posting on facebook and twitter. I am not normally a person who enjoys the limelight. I don't like receiving any kind of recognition in front of crowd. I would much rather just do what I do and have as few people notice as possible. This has definitely thrust me into an entirely new realm. I tweet, which at some point I probably swore I'd never do, and I get my name and the title of my work out by any means I can find.

I have heard many "authors" on the various writing sites and forums, complaining about their lack of sales or that they have tried everything and just can't get the word out. It's not rocket science and no one is going to do it for you. I don't believe there is any such thing as an overnight success. With the ease of self-publishing now and the number of people trying to make it big as authors I don't think it's going to get any easier. So, if you're an aspiring writer or an aspiring anything else for that matter, use your brain and do the work. Or go ahead and give up. One less name out there just gives the rest of us a slightly better chance. 

You too can turn a golf game into a trip to the ER. Ask me how!

It was a seemingly normal day on the golf course, if a little bit colder than usual. My son and I had to go hit balls at the driving range until it warmed up enough for them to open the course. Once it opened though, we were on fire! I hit the first four greens in regulation and my son was doing great too. He was sinking putts like a madman! Then we came to the infamous seventh hole on the red course. Ok, honestly maybe I'm the only one who thought they were infamous up to this point, but once you hear this tale lookout! The seventh hole on the red course will be a place people tell horror stories and sing noble ballads of heroic battles about. Parents will warn their children, "Be good or the seventh hole on the red course will get you." It will become a place of legend.

I climbed onto the tee box and stabbed the flesh of the firm earth beneath my feet with a sharpened piece of wood. Some call it a tee, but I like to think of it as a stake of truth. And on this stake of truth I place the gentle white sphere of innocence. It rests there, admiring all it can see of the world from it's slight perch just above the ground, with no knowledge of the violence that awaits it.

I stepped into position, feet planted firmly, club gripped firmly in my hands. I quietly sneak the head of the club into position behind the unsuspecting ball. Silently, I begin moving my hands into the backswing, followed by my hips. At the apex or the movement I look down and see the ball resting there, still with no idea what's about to happen to it. The muscles in my legs tense, firing the ones in my hips, beginning my bodies rotation back toward the target. My arms have no choice to follow and they drag the club along with them. The head of the club makes a vicious swishing sound as it rips through the air before slamming into the back of the ball. I swear I can hear that thing screaming as it is hurled through the airspace over the fairway. It looks like for me it's going to be another good shot, but I don't know how the ball's going to make out and I don't really care.

I admire the graceful flight of the ball and wonder at the view it must have now of the world layed out before it. Then, horrified, I realize that the ball is making a sharp right turn towards the forest. It continues it's devious arc, obviously determined to pay me back for the pain I had caused it so recently. I don't know if it is trying to escape or commit suicide as a last desperate measure to defy my will. Either way, I can't allow it. I hear the sharp crack of the ball striking the immovable majesty of a great tree. I chuckle under my breath, knowing that the ball is already paying for it's actions and that I will find it unconscious at the very least.

I climb into my chariot, feeling the wind rush past my face while the hum of the electric motor speeds me toward the woods where the ball lays in wait. I jerk my chariot to a stop, contrary to it's desire to run free and leap from it toward the forest. I approach the edge cautiously, scouting for the easiest way to penetrate into it's darkest recesses. I finally find the route I will take and rush forward like a classic norse berserker, flying into battle with no regard for his own safety. I plunge through the dense foliage and make my way deeper into the woods. There, I see the target of my wrath, half buried in some mud. I will return him to the course and show him the error of his ways by striking him every chance I get for this and the last two holes. Lifting the ball from his resting place to mine eye I realize that this is not the nemesis I seek.

I spend the next ten minutes traversing back and forth throughout forest and in spite of finding a plethora of balls, I am unable to locate the one I seek. I do not like abandoning my quest, but my pockets can hold no more of his brethren. Turning back toward the gentle grasslands of the field of battle, I realize that I will have to douse the fire of my anger by striking the ball's many brothers and sisters I had so recently found. My suspicion is aroused as I notice that the woods I so recently traveled with ease have closed in around me in an effort to thwart my quest.

I refuse to give up and charge forward, fighting against the barbs and brambles that sting my skin while the branches lash my flesh like a thousand flogs. Suddenly, my legs are ensnared by the devious undergrowth and I stumble. I fight with every fiber of my being not to fall, but just when I think I am victorious, nature proves me wrong. My body pitches forward and I watch the ground rushing toward my face. I get my hands out just in time to stop my fall, but little did I know, the woods had more surprises in store for me.

I am not ashamed to admit that I cried out in pain as I felt the wooden spear, planted firmly in the ground, strike the soft tissue of my eye. I immediately lept to my feet before the forest could do any more damage. The pain in my right eye was severe and I was incapable of sight. I raised my hand to my eye, hoping that the liquid I felt issuing forth from it did not prove to be my own blood. I felt a wave of relief wash over me when I looked and saw that my fingertips were not colored with claret.
Unable to fight anymore this day and with a sharp pain in my head and only one good eye, I slowly made my way out of the woods.  Mounting my chariot, I rode to where my son waited in the fairway. He provided me aid and his assurances that my eye was not impaled allayed my fears greatly. With that minor skirmish under our belts the two of us ventured forth to punish more golf balls and slay more dragons.

Yeah, so anyway, that's why I'm here in the Emergency Room. I was in the woods looking for my golf ball, I tripped and fell, and a stick poked me in the eye. I thought I'd poked it clean out at first, but I think I just scratched my cornea. We'll see what the Doc says. Oh, they're calling my name know.   

The beginning of ?

Since publishing my first book, "Spilled", I have read over and over again that an author needs to blog in order to get the word about their work out. So, I am going to attempt to start blogging. I think there are a few things in my nature that are against the very idea of blogging. First of all, I'm male and we're not real big on sharing our feelings as it were. Secondly, I'm from the Great State of Maine. The people in Maine will give you the shirt off their back if you need it; they'll talk your ear off about the weathe or whatever medical ailments they have. What they won't do is share their feelings with you 'cause frankly it's none of your damn business. In spite of having those things running against me in this realm I'm going to give it my best shot.

I think it is only appropriate, considering that I am from ther northeast and don't want to share my feelings that my first substantial blog talk about on of my favorite movies, "The Boondock Saints". If you have not seen the movie and you don't have a problem with violence then you should watch this movie at your earliest convenience. In a nutshell it is about two good old Irish boys from Boston who decide to take the law into their own hands. They prove to be very effective deterrents against crime. It's a great movie.

Moving on, let's talk about two of my favorite bands, Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys. Both of these bands fall into the genre that is commonly known as Irish Punk. If you like rock 'n' roll and Irish music you'll enjoy them. Think my favorit song is "What's Left of the Flag" by Flogging Molly.

Now, on to other things. I guess that for now I will use this blog to promote my writing and if nothing is going on in that area, maybe I'll just try to post something wise, wonderful, and enlightening as frequently as I can.

New link to a great site that helps new authors get promoted!

Check this site out if you get a chance kiddies!  http://askdavid.com/

New Author

I just published my first book, "Spilled", available on amazon.com and smashmouth.com. Please take the time to preview it.