(Note: This is to be my last blog post for the year 2018.)
Many years ago, Santa Claus was having a bad Christmas. I mean, he was having a really bad Christmas.
It had started out early in the season with Mrs. Claus complaining her head off that if Santa didn't start meeting her personal Christmas needs more, she would look into filing for a divorce. After that, barely after all the toys got made—several of which were defective—the elves happened to Unionize, and they went on strike en masse. Then, just as the flight on Christmas Eve got going, Rudolph happened to suffer a massive allergy attack, and his nose would hardly glow. Santa and the reindeer lost their way around the world several times as a result. In any case, Santa found out the hard way that he'd gained so much weight that year that he couldn't fit down many of the chimneys, and on top of that, a couple of times en route around the globe, NATO defense systems mistook Santa and his sleigh on their radar for hostile world powers' ICBMs, and he had to dodge anti-missile lasers. Actually, one of the laser beams scored a direct hit, and so when Santa crash-landed in Mongolia, even though he and the reindeer survived through their magic, you could tell how he felt by now.
At about this time, an enchanted Christmas angel swooped down from Heaven, and in her arms she held a Christmas tree. She said to Santa in her glowing voice, "Lo, Kris Kringle, I bring you a gift: a simple tree for the Yuletide. You need only tell me what I do with it."
And THAT, boys and girls, is why to this day, there's a Christmas angel stuck at the top of every tree.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all.
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Praise for a classic 80s metal album.
Def Leppard's "Hysteria," their 1987 semi-comeback LP, is one hell of an entertaining rock album all around. Overflowing with hit singles like "Pour Some Sugar On Me," "Rocket," "Love Bites," and the title track, it truly made its mark in 80s rock-'n'-roll awesomeness. And not really just because of the timing.
It was a long wait since '83's "Pyromania" for Def Leppard to get around to another release, on account of a virtual purgatory of hassles and obstacles, misfortunes and setbacks for the band to slog through. Hardly the least palpable of these was the severing of drummer Rick Allen's left arm in a traffic accident on New Year's Eve of 1984. But as it all proved, "Hysteria" was well worth the wait, and then some.
They even took advantage of making Rick's one-armed drumming a unique trademark. And the moodiness of their ongoing misfortune is reflected in some of the most entertaining tracks on Leppard's "Hysteria." "Love Bites" is one of these. Definitely another is "Gods of War," a desperate call in itself for pacifism around the latter days of the Twentieth Century, which could also apply to the anti-Terror warfare practiced in Iraq and Afghanistan during the previous decade.
"Pour Some Sugar On Me," on the other hand, is one of the wildly sexy tracks, and became a video hit on MTV, documenting (mostly in speeded-up camera shots) the process of Def Leppard's concert engagements to promote the album. The song itself has lyrics any born lover can dig: "Looking like a tramp/like a video vamp/demolition woman/can I be your man?"
Even a few of the non-hit tracks are memorable, like "Women" and "Run Riot." It was 1987 already, but listen, be amazed, and hail the great Def Leppard. After four years, they were truly back. Yeah.
It was a long wait since '83's "Pyromania" for Def Leppard to get around to another release, on account of a virtual purgatory of hassles and obstacles, misfortunes and setbacks for the band to slog through. Hardly the least palpable of these was the severing of drummer Rick Allen's left arm in a traffic accident on New Year's Eve of 1984. But as it all proved, "Hysteria" was well worth the wait, and then some.
They even took advantage of making Rick's one-armed drumming a unique trademark. And the moodiness of their ongoing misfortune is reflected in some of the most entertaining tracks on Leppard's "Hysteria." "Love Bites" is one of these. Definitely another is "Gods of War," a desperate call in itself for pacifism around the latter days of the Twentieth Century, which could also apply to the anti-Terror warfare practiced in Iraq and Afghanistan during the previous decade.
"Pour Some Sugar On Me," on the other hand, is one of the wildly sexy tracks, and became a video hit on MTV, documenting (mostly in speeded-up camera shots) the process of Def Leppard's concert engagements to promote the album. The song itself has lyrics any born lover can dig: "Looking like a tramp/like a video vamp/demolition woman/can I be your man?"
Even a few of the non-hit tracks are memorable, like "Women" and "Run Riot." It was 1987 already, but listen, be amazed, and hail the great Def Leppard. After four years, they were truly back. Yeah.
Saturday, December 1, 2018
Telling the truth on the late George H. W. Bush.
I just heard that the first President George Bush died. Sure, it's sad. Especially hearing that his final words were to his son, the more recent Bush President: "I love you, too."
But as with the late John McCain, let's try and look a little bit at the painfully honest side of the entire picture.
Although the original Bush wasn't too bad a President compared to some, I'll admit—especially, many would say, his offspring—he was all talk, and not much good at all for America. We can never forget his quips and sayings, assuming he was the one who thought those up, and there were plenty of those. "I see a thousand points of light," "This is a kinder, gentler nation," "Read my lips—no new taxes."
Especially that last one. Ho.
As history proved, Bush turned fully around and gave us new taxes anyway. Was it the corruption of circumstance? Or was it total and utter inadequacy, more likely, in the man? He may have gotten us through the first Persian Gulf War in 1991 successfully in no time at all—I emphasize, he may have; it could have been others—but there was a reason he lost to Clinton the very following year. Or a host of reasons.
We loved calling him a wimp, but that was superficial. Bush's insufficiency ran deeper than that. As Vice-President to Reagan in the 80s, he mainly just stood by and waited in the Gipper's shadow for others to accomplish things; this was reflected in his actual Presidency. As I say, Bush was all talk.
All right, I suppose I should have a tad more respect for the dead. We are, lord knows. There is the usual mourning, the observances, the look back on the senior Bush's legacy. But have you noticed that there actually is a "legacy" all of a sudden?
America seems to be in pain for its loss. But every time this sort of thing happens, we put up the charade of saying goodbye to someone actually great. Let me ask you, America, in Bush's case: who's pretending to "see a thousand points of light" now?
But as with the late John McCain, let's try and look a little bit at the painfully honest side of the entire picture.
Although the original Bush wasn't too bad a President compared to some, I'll admit—especially, many would say, his offspring—he was all talk, and not much good at all for America. We can never forget his quips and sayings, assuming he was the one who thought those up, and there were plenty of those. "I see a thousand points of light," "This is a kinder, gentler nation," "Read my lips—no new taxes."
Especially that last one. Ho.
As history proved, Bush turned fully around and gave us new taxes anyway. Was it the corruption of circumstance? Or was it total and utter inadequacy, more likely, in the man? He may have gotten us through the first Persian Gulf War in 1991 successfully in no time at all—I emphasize, he may have; it could have been others—but there was a reason he lost to Clinton the very following year. Or a host of reasons.
We loved calling him a wimp, but that was superficial. Bush's insufficiency ran deeper than that. As Vice-President to Reagan in the 80s, he mainly just stood by and waited in the Gipper's shadow for others to accomplish things; this was reflected in his actual Presidency. As I say, Bush was all talk.
All right, I suppose I should have a tad more respect for the dead. We are, lord knows. There is the usual mourning, the observances, the look back on the senior Bush's legacy. But have you noticed that there actually is a "legacy" all of a sudden?
America seems to be in pain for its loss. But every time this sort of thing happens, we put up the charade of saying goodbye to someone actually great. Let me ask you, America, in Bush's case: who's pretending to "see a thousand points of light" now?
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Some philosophies about Thanksgiving.
Let's look a little bit into what Thanksgiving means as a holiday.
When it started out, Thanksgiving was more or less established as a holiday by English pilgrims to the new world (mainly Quakers) seeking to plant a free state of their Protestant religious denomination the way they couldn't in the old country, and they started a festival of eating good food, in communion with the American Indians with whom they established a healthy rapport, as a way of expressing gratitude toward God for all that they had been granted.
Such a way of expressing gratitude should be remembered in Thanksgiving today. The name of the holiday implies it; we may deny it, at least most of us, but we have a lot we can use by which to live today for which we should be thankful. Look at all the modern technology we can employ to further our cause if we just put our minds to learning how to use it. And look at the concept of democracy so many people, sadly, are choosing en masse to ignore in America. We should not only be thankful for that, we should be reaching out collectively and taking a firm grip on it. We can't just let our power-mad leaders run everything.
In my own case, I'm thankful—and people cannot convince me otherwise—for the loved ones I have that see me through life. I'm also thankful my original status of publication as a fiction writer occurred, even though it may not have lasted. And I'm thankful I at least have some friends, even if people are so foul and so dishonest that they will not allow me to say that they are real friends. What I say is, get a clue. This is not high school anymore. These friends are on the same level as me.
Don't get me wrong. I can't let my troubles get to me. I'm thankful also for the blessings I have, and there are many that I recognize. A home, financial security, people who know and trust me, lots of material possessions that I can use. Many people don't have any of these things.
I'll close out by looking at the culinary aspects of Thanksgiving, just to lighten the tone a little: eating the aforementioned good food is an irrevocable staple of it, and I know an awful lot of us look forward to pumpkin pie as the universal dessert. Sure, I dig that. And for the turkey, I'm personally more inclined toward the dark meat. The bird is the word.
Happy Thanksgiving, yawl.
When it started out, Thanksgiving was more or less established as a holiday by English pilgrims to the new world (mainly Quakers) seeking to plant a free state of their Protestant religious denomination the way they couldn't in the old country, and they started a festival of eating good food, in communion with the American Indians with whom they established a healthy rapport, as a way of expressing gratitude toward God for all that they had been granted.
Such a way of expressing gratitude should be remembered in Thanksgiving today. The name of the holiday implies it; we may deny it, at least most of us, but we have a lot we can use by which to live today for which we should be thankful. Look at all the modern technology we can employ to further our cause if we just put our minds to learning how to use it. And look at the concept of democracy so many people, sadly, are choosing en masse to ignore in America. We should not only be thankful for that, we should be reaching out collectively and taking a firm grip on it. We can't just let our power-mad leaders run everything.
In my own case, I'm thankful—and people cannot convince me otherwise—for the loved ones I have that see me through life. I'm also thankful my original status of publication as a fiction writer occurred, even though it may not have lasted. And I'm thankful I at least have some friends, even if people are so foul and so dishonest that they will not allow me to say that they are real friends. What I say is, get a clue. This is not high school anymore. These friends are on the same level as me.
Don't get me wrong. I can't let my troubles get to me. I'm thankful also for the blessings I have, and there are many that I recognize. A home, financial security, people who know and trust me, lots of material possessions that I can use. Many people don't have any of these things.
I'll close out by looking at the culinary aspects of Thanksgiving, just to lighten the tone a little: eating the aforementioned good food is an irrevocable staple of it, and I know an awful lot of us look forward to pumpkin pie as the universal dessert. Sure, I dig that. And for the turkey, I'm personally more inclined toward the dark meat. The bird is the word.
Happy Thanksgiving, yawl.
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
On a Monty Python favorite.
One of my all-time favorite Monty Python bits, from their "Flying Circus" TV show on the BBC, is the "Awful Visitors" sketch.
It starts out touching, granted. Victor and Iris are well into a quiet, romantic evening of drinks at Victor's home. After so many months working together in the soft-toy department, they're at last building a relationship that could turn into something very special. The lights are low, the music is gentle and moving.
But then the loud-talking Arthur Name shows up ("Name by name but not by nature"), who insists Victor and he met at the pub recently. Victor doesn't know why this man would invite himself over at a time like this; he hardly even knows him. Arthur Name turns up the lights, replaces the moving music with "The Stars And Stripes Forever," and reacquaints himself with Victor (so he hopes) with a little joke he heard down at the pub:
"What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung! Ha ha, good one, eh?"
Before either Victor or Iris know it, Arthur has invited over as well a big gaggle of dysfunctional humps and creeps. The next to rear their...um...interesting heads are big, overstuffed Mr. Equator and his homely wife.
"The name's Equator, Brian Equator. Like round the middle of the earth, only with an 'L.' Bwa, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...This is my wife Audrey, she smells a bit but she has a heart of gold. Bwa, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..."
Then the doorbell sounds again. "Who the hell's that?!" yells Victor. He's sorry he asked; it's Mr. Freight, in underpants, cape, eye makeup, gloves, boots and cigarette holder, all sparkly purple and silver. "Oh my, what a simply gawstly place." Mr. Equator reacquaints himself: "Arthur, cremm de men-thee for my friend. How are you, you great poof."
(Remember that this was from a time when certain lifestyles were still largely mocked in Europe. Bear with me, please.)
"I found this simply chawming little man outside the Odeon," says Freight. He's the next guest: a shabby, retching little sicko who says he's brought over a goat. "He's been feeling a bit sick. I only hope he don't go on the carpet."
In the process, among other things, Mr. Equator sits on the cat, sexually harasses Iris twice, and when he sits down so hard in a chair that it collapses, Mrs. Equator is set laughing and laughing, until: "Ooh. I wet 'em."
At about that time, Mr. Freight's shabby lover announces: "The goat's just done a bundle."
Finally, when a huge bunch of Welsh miners are allowed in, Victor can't take anymore: "Look, get out, all of you, get out!! Go on, get out!"
Mr. Equator: "I beg your pardon?"
Victor: "I'm turning you all out. I'm not having my house filled with filthy perverts, now look, I'm going to give you all just half a minute, and then I'm going to call the police. So get out, all of you!!!"
Mr. Equator's response is simple. "I don't much like the tone of your voice." And he draws a gun and shoots Victor. It all ends with the whole bunch (minus Victor, of course, and Iris) singing "Ding-Dong Merrily On High."
I love that sketch.
It starts out touching, granted. Victor and Iris are well into a quiet, romantic evening of drinks at Victor's home. After so many months working together in the soft-toy department, they're at last building a relationship that could turn into something very special. The lights are low, the music is gentle and moving.
But then the loud-talking Arthur Name shows up ("Name by name but not by nature"), who insists Victor and he met at the pub recently. Victor doesn't know why this man would invite himself over at a time like this; he hardly even knows him. Arthur Name turns up the lights, replaces the moving music with "The Stars And Stripes Forever," and reacquaints himself with Victor (so he hopes) with a little joke he heard down at the pub:
"What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung! Ha ha, good one, eh?"
Before either Victor or Iris know it, Arthur has invited over as well a big gaggle of dysfunctional humps and creeps. The next to rear their...um...interesting heads are big, overstuffed Mr. Equator and his homely wife.
"The name's Equator, Brian Equator. Like round the middle of the earth, only with an 'L.' Bwa, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...This is my wife Audrey, she smells a bit but she has a heart of gold. Bwa, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..."
Then the doorbell sounds again. "Who the hell's that?!" yells Victor. He's sorry he asked; it's Mr. Freight, in underpants, cape, eye makeup, gloves, boots and cigarette holder, all sparkly purple and silver. "Oh my, what a simply gawstly place." Mr. Equator reacquaints himself: "Arthur, cremm de men-thee for my friend. How are you, you great poof."
(Remember that this was from a time when certain lifestyles were still largely mocked in Europe. Bear with me, please.)
"I found this simply chawming little man outside the Odeon," says Freight. He's the next guest: a shabby, retching little sicko who says he's brought over a goat. "He's been feeling a bit sick. I only hope he don't go on the carpet."
In the process, among other things, Mr. Equator sits on the cat, sexually harasses Iris twice, and when he sits down so hard in a chair that it collapses, Mrs. Equator is set laughing and laughing, until: "Ooh. I wet 'em."
At about that time, Mr. Freight's shabby lover announces: "The goat's just done a bundle."
Finally, when a huge bunch of Welsh miners are allowed in, Victor can't take anymore: "Look, get out, all of you, get out!! Go on, get out!"
Mr. Equator: "I beg your pardon?"
Victor: "I'm turning you all out. I'm not having my house filled with filthy perverts, now look, I'm going to give you all just half a minute, and then I'm going to call the police. So get out, all of you!!!"
Mr. Equator's response is simple. "I don't much like the tone of your voice." And he draws a gun and shoots Victor. It all ends with the whole bunch (minus Victor, of course, and Iris) singing "Ding-Dong Merrily On High."
I love that sketch.
Thursday, November 8, 2018
Loved "Bohemian Rhapsody."
I just saw "Bohemian Rhapsody," that new movie about the band Queen, and loved it. Really stylishly done. It even gave me a few laughs. It ought to be up for Best Picture next spring.
"Bohemian Rhapsody" starts out with a guy (We can already tell it's Freddie Mercury in his later years) getting geared up for this big concert. Then we flash back to when the band was just starting out, and Freddie (then with his original surname) joins them; likewise, they have a different name themselves. From there, they rise to stardom, and it's all well done, and very rockin' in many places. Plus, we get the gist of how the full three weeks (yes, that's right!) it took Queen to record the song of the movie's namesake may or may not have paid off among rock critics, but it still proved a classic.
The performances are remarkable; I didn't exactly catch the lead actor's name, but he's like Freddie reincarnated, almost. The music of Queen lines the film like properly chosen wall-to-wall carpeting, sometimes even poignantly so, as when "Who Wants To Live Forever" is played when Freddie first has to come to grips with being HIV-positive.
It was directed by Bryan Singer, now a master filmmaker since "The Usual Suspects" and many of his "X-Men" adventures in cinema. He does it all fantastically, even chronicling Freddie Mercury's relationship (and fleeting marriage) to this young lady to whom we get the idea he's sadly dishonest, in particular concerning his true lifestyle. Then there's one or two men in Freddie's life that help him along with love that way, but...ah, why give it all away? Just see it for yourselves. Even with all I've so far said, it's worth it just for the musical experience. It's almost like a time-warp concert, that way. They Will Rock You. And still, They Are The Champions.
"Bohemian Rhapsody" starts out with a guy (We can already tell it's Freddie Mercury in his later years) getting geared up for this big concert. Then we flash back to when the band was just starting out, and Freddie (then with his original surname) joins them; likewise, they have a different name themselves. From there, they rise to stardom, and it's all well done, and very rockin' in many places. Plus, we get the gist of how the full three weeks (yes, that's right!) it took Queen to record the song of the movie's namesake may or may not have paid off among rock critics, but it still proved a classic.
The performances are remarkable; I didn't exactly catch the lead actor's name, but he's like Freddie reincarnated, almost. The music of Queen lines the film like properly chosen wall-to-wall carpeting, sometimes even poignantly so, as when "Who Wants To Live Forever" is played when Freddie first has to come to grips with being HIV-positive.
It was directed by Bryan Singer, now a master filmmaker since "The Usual Suspects" and many of his "X-Men" adventures in cinema. He does it all fantastically, even chronicling Freddie Mercury's relationship (and fleeting marriage) to this young lady to whom we get the idea he's sadly dishonest, in particular concerning his true lifestyle. Then there's one or two men in Freddie's life that help him along with love that way, but...ah, why give it all away? Just see it for yourselves. Even with all I've so far said, it's worth it just for the musical experience. It's almost like a time-warp concert, that way. They Will Rock You. And still, They Are The Champions.
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Halloween costumes.
I'd like to share a few memories of Halloween costumes I wore as a kid...and as a little older.
My first trick-or-treating costume, at age six in 1985, was as a simple ghost with the face cut out of the sheet (no Peanuts stuff there). From there, things got a little fancier over the years. The following year I wore a makeshift Superman rain poncho, going practical since in my hometown of Winona, Minnesota it rained practically every Halloween; in '87 was the Go-Bot Cop-Tur (an obscure character which would foreshadow my several costumes of Marvel villains during young adulthood); in '88, after we moved to Santa Cruz, California, I had a pretty good Frankenstein getup.
1989 saw almost no Halloween at age ten, because the Loma Prieta earthquake all but crippled Santa Cruz and all but scarred my psyche forever. Still, I wore a black cape and sparkly gold top hat as a sort of magician. Then as the 90s came on, my costumes really started to delve into popular culture.
'90 gave me a very token Bart Simpson disguise, back when I still watched the show (let's not get into my explicit television attitudes), and I started concentrating on movie-themed costumes from there. I was a Ninja Turtle in 1991 according to their movie sequel of that spring, and next the Terminator at thirteen (maybe a year late, as that was in '92). 1993 inspired me to try a makeshift look of Jack Skellington, who is now a classic character, although my disguise as him looked a lot more like Beetlejuice, if anybody.
I wore one of my proudest costumes to date in high school in '94: The Shadow. Though all black, hardly much above foolish for trick-or-treating, I enjoyed having that one on. 1995 tried a look of "Batman Forever's" Riddler, but it almost didn't work out. My first non-trick-or-treating costume, the next year, was The Phantom (as interpreted on the big screen by Billy Zane), and '97 hit a proverbial gap in the movie costumes, as that year I decided on an anniversary look instead, and commemorated The King's passing with dressing up as Elvis.
I wore a really rag-tag costume that I tried to put together as "Archer" from "Small Soldiers" in 1998, and was a Jedi knight in '99 for the latest "Star Wars." One problem I had in 2000 with a costume as the X-Men's nemesis Magneto was that the paint I put on the helmet myself kept flaking off; otherwise it worked. I almost chose General Thade from version 2.0 of "Planet of the Apes" in '01, but instead decided on a more rad costume that impressed more people: Jack the Ripper, as in the film version of "From Hell." Complete with fake blood across my face.
In '02: the Tooth Fairy killer ("Red Dragon"); in '03, when I visited San Francisco for the parade, Leatherface ("Texas Chainsaw Massacre" v. 2.0); in '04, a zombie (movies featuring those were very popular that year); in '05, Doctor Doom ("Fantastic Four" movie); in '06, the Juggernaut ("X-Men: The Last Stand"); in '07, Michael Meyers ("Halloween" v. 2.0); in '08, Iron Man; in '09, Sabertooth ("X-Men Origins: Wolverine); in '10, my first repeat costume as Iron Man again (as per the sequel); in '11, Thor; in '12, Bane ("The Dark Night Rises"); and my final costume ever consisted of mainly a cardboard machine gun, as Roadblock ("G.I.Joe: Retaliation").
I hope you all have a very happy Halloween.
My first trick-or-treating costume, at age six in 1985, was as a simple ghost with the face cut out of the sheet (no Peanuts stuff there). From there, things got a little fancier over the years. The following year I wore a makeshift Superman rain poncho, going practical since in my hometown of Winona, Minnesota it rained practically every Halloween; in '87 was the Go-Bot Cop-Tur (an obscure character which would foreshadow my several costumes of Marvel villains during young adulthood); in '88, after we moved to Santa Cruz, California, I had a pretty good Frankenstein getup.
1989 saw almost no Halloween at age ten, because the Loma Prieta earthquake all but crippled Santa Cruz and all but scarred my psyche forever. Still, I wore a black cape and sparkly gold top hat as a sort of magician. Then as the 90s came on, my costumes really started to delve into popular culture.
'90 gave me a very token Bart Simpson disguise, back when I still watched the show (let's not get into my explicit television attitudes), and I started concentrating on movie-themed costumes from there. I was a Ninja Turtle in 1991 according to their movie sequel of that spring, and next the Terminator at thirteen (maybe a year late, as that was in '92). 1993 inspired me to try a makeshift look of Jack Skellington, who is now a classic character, although my disguise as him looked a lot more like Beetlejuice, if anybody.
I wore one of my proudest costumes to date in high school in '94: The Shadow. Though all black, hardly much above foolish for trick-or-treating, I enjoyed having that one on. 1995 tried a look of "Batman Forever's" Riddler, but it almost didn't work out. My first non-trick-or-treating costume, the next year, was The Phantom (as interpreted on the big screen by Billy Zane), and '97 hit a proverbial gap in the movie costumes, as that year I decided on an anniversary look instead, and commemorated The King's passing with dressing up as Elvis.
I wore a really rag-tag costume that I tried to put together as "Archer" from "Small Soldiers" in 1998, and was a Jedi knight in '99 for the latest "Star Wars." One problem I had in 2000 with a costume as the X-Men's nemesis Magneto was that the paint I put on the helmet myself kept flaking off; otherwise it worked. I almost chose General Thade from version 2.0 of "Planet of the Apes" in '01, but instead decided on a more rad costume that impressed more people: Jack the Ripper, as in the film version of "From Hell." Complete with fake blood across my face.
In '02: the Tooth Fairy killer ("Red Dragon"); in '03, when I visited San Francisco for the parade, Leatherface ("Texas Chainsaw Massacre" v. 2.0); in '04, a zombie (movies featuring those were very popular that year); in '05, Doctor Doom ("Fantastic Four" movie); in '06, the Juggernaut ("X-Men: The Last Stand"); in '07, Michael Meyers ("Halloween" v. 2.0); in '08, Iron Man; in '09, Sabertooth ("X-Men Origins: Wolverine); in '10, my first repeat costume as Iron Man again (as per the sequel); in '11, Thor; in '12, Bane ("The Dark Night Rises"); and my final costume ever consisted of mainly a cardboard machine gun, as Roadblock ("G.I.Joe: Retaliation").
I hope you all have a very happy Halloween.
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
On one of my favorite horror movies.
In honor of Halloween, I'd like to discuss one of my favorite horror movies.
While "Hellraiser," written and directed by Clive Barker, may have always been cinematically under-appreciated by most, I consider it a work of genius. "Hellraiser," released in 1987 from New World Pictures and now hailed as a cult classic, is a horror picture I have loved for years. It's the kind of existentialist fright-film that has been done the right way by Barker.
I say "existentialist" because the story is all about the borderline between pure pleasure and pure pain blurring, on an inter-dimensional scale. It has to do with Larry and Julia moving into the house once resided in by Larry's brother Frank, who—little do they know—has gone out in a horrific way, thanks to an ominous puzzle box he sacrificed perhaps his soul, but definitely his flesh, to. Later, courtesy of Larry losing blood in a moving accident, Frank is partially resurrected...and that's when things really start getting weird, and slick. Especially when you consider Julia and Frank had been romantically partial to one another...and then there's Larry's young-adult daughter, Kirsty, and...of course...the CENOBITES.
While its sequels have mainly gotten a bum rap, the original "Hellraiser" is truly awesome. It's a positive mark of Clive Barker's admirably demonic intellect, and frames well how his mind works, pondering carnal desires and how they relate to the human spirit, and to the concepts of afterlife too, and how that makes for a mind-blowing fright story. The main Cenobite in the movie has become legendary as well, with the frame of pins embedded in his head and his horrifically rasping voice ("The box. You opened it. We came"). As horror goes, "Hellraiser" definitely one-ups in intelligence all the old slasher venues of the 1980s, taking fright-cinema in a new and imaginative direction for its time. There wasn't anything like it from Barker until 1990's "Nightbreed," based on his novel Cabal. I'd recommend "Hellraiser" to any modern horror connoisseurs, not least for the pin-faced main Cenobite's most memorable line in the whole picture, as a warning against disobedience of his kind: "WE'LL TEAR YOUR SOUL APART!"
While "Hellraiser," written and directed by Clive Barker, may have always been cinematically under-appreciated by most, I consider it a work of genius. "Hellraiser," released in 1987 from New World Pictures and now hailed as a cult classic, is a horror picture I have loved for years. It's the kind of existentialist fright-film that has been done the right way by Barker.
I say "existentialist" because the story is all about the borderline between pure pleasure and pure pain blurring, on an inter-dimensional scale. It has to do with Larry and Julia moving into the house once resided in by Larry's brother Frank, who—little do they know—has gone out in a horrific way, thanks to an ominous puzzle box he sacrificed perhaps his soul, but definitely his flesh, to. Later, courtesy of Larry losing blood in a moving accident, Frank is partially resurrected...and that's when things really start getting weird, and slick. Especially when you consider Julia and Frank had been romantically partial to one another...and then there's Larry's young-adult daughter, Kirsty, and...of course...the CENOBITES.
While its sequels have mainly gotten a bum rap, the original "Hellraiser" is truly awesome. It's a positive mark of Clive Barker's admirably demonic intellect, and frames well how his mind works, pondering carnal desires and how they relate to the human spirit, and to the concepts of afterlife too, and how that makes for a mind-blowing fright story. The main Cenobite in the movie has become legendary as well, with the frame of pins embedded in his head and his horrifically rasping voice ("The box. You opened it. We came"). As horror goes, "Hellraiser" definitely one-ups in intelligence all the old slasher venues of the 1980s, taking fright-cinema in a new and imaginative direction for its time. There wasn't anything like it from Barker until 1990's "Nightbreed," based on his novel Cabal. I'd recommend "Hellraiser" to any modern horror connoisseurs, not least for the pin-faced main Cenobite's most memorable line in the whole picture, as a warning against disobedience of his kind: "WE'LL TEAR YOUR SOUL APART!"
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
A bit on Slash.
Guns 'N' Roses' own Saul "Slash" Hudson, years hence, has become a veritable living legend, as one of the most talented and accomplished rock guitarists of modern times.
A lot of rock fans, myself included, have thrilled to the licks Slash has put down on several hit GNR songs; there's the sentimental and yet grooving opening bars of "Sweet Child O' Mine," and equally sweetly moody—and also rocking—solo in "November Rain." Slash can also play hard and nasty on tracks like "Welcome to the Jungle" and "You Could Be Mine." He balances out Axl's singing in the all-time great way for the band.
Individually, Slash has had his rises and falls. He broke away from the band a couple of times, performing in other groups; "Slash and the Snake Pit" was one, sometime in the Nineties, with the lead singer of Jellyfish. We can't remember how successful that was, but more recently, he's done solo concerts, playing both original songs and GNR covers.
And he has at times become another victim of the indulgent rock 'n' roll grind; I heard once that Slash—this is a direct quote—"once urinated on his road manager, who was carrying him at the time." Well, at least on the rock scene, one could more or less come away from that all right, unlike in, say, politics.
But as for the man's guitarist talent, it is unique; we watch Slash pulling away with liberality at the guitar, that trademark hair in his eyes, and are amazed at the skill with which he makes quality rock music emerge. The hard-driven licks come with ease for one as successful in the ability as he is; few are comparable to Slash on the guitar, even really Eddie Van Halen (though they both have done background music on Michael Jackson songs). As an axe man, Slash can genuinely be remembered.
A lot of rock fans, myself included, have thrilled to the licks Slash has put down on several hit GNR songs; there's the sentimental and yet grooving opening bars of "Sweet Child O' Mine," and equally sweetly moody—and also rocking—solo in "November Rain." Slash can also play hard and nasty on tracks like "Welcome to the Jungle" and "You Could Be Mine." He balances out Axl's singing in the all-time great way for the band.
Individually, Slash has had his rises and falls. He broke away from the band a couple of times, performing in other groups; "Slash and the Snake Pit" was one, sometime in the Nineties, with the lead singer of Jellyfish. We can't remember how successful that was, but more recently, he's done solo concerts, playing both original songs and GNR covers.
And he has at times become another victim of the indulgent rock 'n' roll grind; I heard once that Slash—this is a direct quote—"once urinated on his road manager, who was carrying him at the time." Well, at least on the rock scene, one could more or less come away from that all right, unlike in, say, politics.
But as for the man's guitarist talent, it is unique; we watch Slash pulling away with liberality at the guitar, that trademark hair in his eyes, and are amazed at the skill with which he makes quality rock music emerge. The hard-driven licks come with ease for one as successful in the ability as he is; few are comparable to Slash on the guitar, even really Eddie Van Halen (though they both have done background music on Michael Jackson songs). As an axe man, Slash can genuinely be remembered.
Thursday, October 11, 2018
Bad news on the email front.
I'm going to have to change email servers with Comcast this Saturday.
It turns out my current email server, which I won't name for legal reasons, has become totally unreliable, in particular in the area of loading my email so I can read it. I've first had cutoffs, and then freeze-ups, the latter of which has forced me to restart my entire computer. That was an intense experience, thinking I would lose some things on it. Thank heavens, I lost nothing. But probably I could have.
I only hope Comcast and Xfinity, with whom I have Internet service, will help me in easily switching to a more reliable server for email. There's a good chance they will. In any eventuality, they had better, because I haven't had the courage to check my email since Sunday. They're backing up. Wish me good luck. I don't know if I'll need it, but I can't keep putting this off. Not even with all the things I have to do this week that are also important, like errands for the family.
It turns out my current email server, which I won't name for legal reasons, has become totally unreliable, in particular in the area of loading my email so I can read it. I've first had cutoffs, and then freeze-ups, the latter of which has forced me to restart my entire computer. That was an intense experience, thinking I would lose some things on it. Thank heavens, I lost nothing. But probably I could have.
I only hope Comcast and Xfinity, with whom I have Internet service, will help me in easily switching to a more reliable server for email. There's a good chance they will. In any eventuality, they had better, because I haven't had the courage to check my email since Sunday. They're backing up. Wish me good luck. I don't know if I'll need it, but I can't keep putting this off. Not even with all the things I have to do this week that are also important, like errands for the family.
Friday, October 5, 2018
Vacation hopes for '19.
What I was hoping to do in the spring of 2019, was take a certain kind of vacation: a Mississippi river boat cruise.
I was wondering if that sort of vacation is available. I wonder if it would only last a few days, since with promoting (and composing) my books, I don't think I have much purchase to take long trips these days. I also wonder if it's necessary to set up an appointment to speak to an agent at my local AAA office. Probably I could just go in and talk to someone.
In case Mississippi river boat cruises aren't available per se, I could just set up a reasonable alternative. Actually, I don't rightly know if it would have to necessarily be one in which I'd have to fly somewhere. Air travel has gotten inconvenient over the years. One trip on my own that I enjoyed was taking a train to Reno, I believe it was in 2014. I didn't have to fly anywhere for that.
Still, a Mississippi river boat cruise would be a great idea. I'll talk to someone at AAA next week.
I was wondering if that sort of vacation is available. I wonder if it would only last a few days, since with promoting (and composing) my books, I don't think I have much purchase to take long trips these days. I also wonder if it's necessary to set up an appointment to speak to an agent at my local AAA office. Probably I could just go in and talk to someone.
In case Mississippi river boat cruises aren't available per se, I could just set up a reasonable alternative. Actually, I don't rightly know if it would have to necessarily be one in which I'd have to fly somewhere. Air travel has gotten inconvenient over the years. One trip on my own that I enjoyed was taking a train to Reno, I believe it was in 2014. I didn't have to fly anywhere for that.
Still, a Mississippi river boat cruise would be a great idea. I'll talk to someone at AAA next week.
Thursday, September 27, 2018
A treatise on Thelma & Louise.
I'd like to give some rough musings on what folks consider one of the actual classic films of the 1990s (maybe a little too late, maybe not), even though I've only seen it once, years ago, and don't remember all that much about it.
Thelma and Louise, originally, were basically just a pair of browbeaten, no-hope Texas housewives who had gotten just plain fed up with all the poo-butt luck each of their lives had thus far handed them. Most especially, they had gotten it through a profoundly corrupt (and masculine-oriented, to crazy excess) society, which would beat them into the dirt whenever they aimed not only for any accomplishment, but even ambition, of their own. This was in no small part from their freeloading dirtbags of husbands, each of whom never believed in either Thelma or Louise as people, leading each of these ladies to wonder why they had married men like them in the first place.
Needless to say, after a certain length of time, those two women just couldn't take any more such luck.
So they proverbially broke out, going on a multiple-county crime spree, just to stave off their pent-up frustrations, and screw whatever society thought, or especially their old men. Thelma and Louise became wanted fugitives, for armed robbery and reckless endangerment, and even murder. They really let the system know in the process of it all where it could take its opinion of such "ordinary little ladies" as them and shove it up; in fact, when the law had them cornered, and those two decided—in fact, happily—to drive off the edge of the Grand Canyon, you could tell that for them, it was well worth it all. We've all heard of the Angry White Male genre that was so popular around the early Reagan years. "Thelma & Louise" is the one and only example we might ever need of the Two Angry White Chicks genre.
Thelma and Louise, originally, were basically just a pair of browbeaten, no-hope Texas housewives who had gotten just plain fed up with all the poo-butt luck each of their lives had thus far handed them. Most especially, they had gotten it through a profoundly corrupt (and masculine-oriented, to crazy excess) society, which would beat them into the dirt whenever they aimed not only for any accomplishment, but even ambition, of their own. This was in no small part from their freeloading dirtbags of husbands, each of whom never believed in either Thelma or Louise as people, leading each of these ladies to wonder why they had married men like them in the first place.
Needless to say, after a certain length of time, those two women just couldn't take any more such luck.
So they proverbially broke out, going on a multiple-county crime spree, just to stave off their pent-up frustrations, and screw whatever society thought, or especially their old men. Thelma and Louise became wanted fugitives, for armed robbery and reckless endangerment, and even murder. They really let the system know in the process of it all where it could take its opinion of such "ordinary little ladies" as them and shove it up; in fact, when the law had them cornered, and those two decided—in fact, happily—to drive off the edge of the Grand Canyon, you could tell that for them, it was well worth it all. We've all heard of the Angry White Male genre that was so popular around the early Reagan years. "Thelma & Louise" is the one and only example we might ever need of the Two Angry White Chicks genre.
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Vanity-published novel (hopefully) turned into screenplay.
I promised I wouldn't talk about writing issues for a while, and it's only been a month, but then, this is the blog of Samuel Ridings, Author. I guess I would've either made a great politician or a really sucky one, depending on your wing.
One major mistake I made just before my breakout as Ross S. Simon (maybe by a couple of years) was fall hook, line and sinker for a vanity-publishing scam in which I paid a three-and-a-half-thousand dollar "editing fee" to have see print this novel I wrote which needed heavy restructuring, anyway. It was an episodic piece about late-1960s generational strife entitled "A Peace of the American Pie." I tell no lie.
I believed my "publishers'" promises right to the end, even paying an additional fee for 25 copies in hardback of the edited novel for myself. While I still give those away as gifts here and there, I can't believe I would have had my head stuck so far into the clouds of optimism, even around about ten years ago, as to expect the best from the swindlers I was dealing with. You'd think the sound of that "editing fee" would have set me running.
Well, I would like to think it's not too late. I'm trying if I can to turn "A Peace of the American Pie" into a screenplay that I could one day direct myself as a movie. While this may seem too ambitious, I'm just doing it tentatively, in case there's no real hope, but I would like to think I can legally find my way around anything that the scam artists think they've ruined the novel for me regarding, since I never learned too much about what happened to it with them. Did they really take my money and run? I wonder if they'd try to sue if I tried to make the film.
Wish me luck. I want to know that for "A Peace of the American Pie," it's not too late.
One major mistake I made just before my breakout as Ross S. Simon (maybe by a couple of years) was fall hook, line and sinker for a vanity-publishing scam in which I paid a three-and-a-half-thousand dollar "editing fee" to have see print this novel I wrote which needed heavy restructuring, anyway. It was an episodic piece about late-1960s generational strife entitled "A Peace of the American Pie." I tell no lie.
I believed my "publishers'" promises right to the end, even paying an additional fee for 25 copies in hardback of the edited novel for myself. While I still give those away as gifts here and there, I can't believe I would have had my head stuck so far into the clouds of optimism, even around about ten years ago, as to expect the best from the swindlers I was dealing with. You'd think the sound of that "editing fee" would have set me running.
Well, I would like to think it's not too late. I'm trying if I can to turn "A Peace of the American Pie" into a screenplay that I could one day direct myself as a movie. While this may seem too ambitious, I'm just doing it tentatively, in case there's no real hope, but I would like to think I can legally find my way around anything that the scam artists think they've ruined the novel for me regarding, since I never learned too much about what happened to it with them. Did they really take my money and run? I wonder if they'd try to sue if I tried to make the film.
Wish me luck. I want to know that for "A Peace of the American Pie," it's not too late.
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
A biting commentary on The Anniversary.
Well, the Big Anniversary...the Bad One...has rolled around again. We can never forget what happened on that day, seventeen years ago, can we folks? In New York, in what used to be a big couple of towers, nearly three thousand people, civilian and otherwise, found out—against their foreknowledge—that they had been invited to the biggest—and most unorthodox—barbecue in human history.
But, putting aside all snotty comic innuendo, I should instead delve into the philosophical aspects of the dreadful event. The apocalyptic attacks at least taught us all sorts of healthy things about ourselves—things that we only forgot later on. That Day taught us to respect our freedom—which we later forgot. It taught us to guard the valuable aspects of our land—which we later forgot. It taught us to better understand each other as Americans, to listen more responsibly to what our leaders have to say, and to not take anything for granted that we still had to our nation's name—WHICH, SURE ENOUGH, WE ALL LATER FORGOT. What's wrong with us?
I'm sorry. I've been angry at people for the longest time, just for who they are. I've been convinced that people are never going to understand me, and that it's something I can never learn to accept. I've never been a people person; in fact, exactly the opposite. I just got the idea, from America's attitude a little bit under seventeen years ago, that I could make friends better. If it turned out I was wrong, and I think it did, I do not want to believe I could be blamed. I'm one of those who would just like us all to get along.
But, putting aside all snotty comic innuendo, I should instead delve into the philosophical aspects of the dreadful event. The apocalyptic attacks at least taught us all sorts of healthy things about ourselves—things that we only forgot later on. That Day taught us to respect our freedom—which we later forgot. It taught us to guard the valuable aspects of our land—which we later forgot. It taught us to better understand each other as Americans, to listen more responsibly to what our leaders have to say, and to not take anything for granted that we still had to our nation's name—WHICH, SURE ENOUGH, WE ALL LATER FORGOT. What's wrong with us?
I'm sorry. I've been angry at people for the longest time, just for who they are. I've been convinced that people are never going to understand me, and that it's something I can never learn to accept. I've never been a people person; in fact, exactly the opposite. I just got the idea, from America's attitude a little bit under seventeen years ago, that I could make friends better. If it turned out I was wrong, and I think it did, I do not want to believe I could be blamed. I'm one of those who would just like us all to get along.
Monday, September 3, 2018
An honest look back upon John McCain.
I'd like to discuss, just a little bit, how I remember Senator John McCain. Don't get me wrong, it's understandable how we're mourning his passing last week, but I believe it's only fair that I explain the truth as I recall it, without trying to be too harsh.
McCain did run for President a decade ago. However, he was one of those billionaires with too many GOP political connections, and—so it seemed, and perhaps it was all too true—nobody who had any intelligence or ethics—most especially after eight years of Bush—wanted any chance in hell of him in the White House, in particular compared to Barack Obama.
Still, McCain had his ambitions. And there were a lot of people, for some reason or another, who were kicking themselves for not voting for him, some time into Obama's Presidency, probably mainly because Obama himself seemed the "perfect" scapegoat for our economic horrors of the early 2010s. Well, I believe John McCain did at least want to contribute something to America. He would've had the first woman VP, Sarah Palin, who seemed mighty popular on the ticket in '08 for a while, anyway. And Palin—and The Donald on top now, needless to say—are Tweeting their sorrow over McCain's loss. I know he was an honorable American in certain ways. Even little kids on top financially still have the need for dreams of growing up to be President.
So I can just say, rest in peace, honorable John McCain. You at least tried. That's what counts.
McCain did run for President a decade ago. However, he was one of those billionaires with too many GOP political connections, and—so it seemed, and perhaps it was all too true—nobody who had any intelligence or ethics—most especially after eight years of Bush—wanted any chance in hell of him in the White House, in particular compared to Barack Obama.
Still, McCain had his ambitions. And there were a lot of people, for some reason or another, who were kicking themselves for not voting for him, some time into Obama's Presidency, probably mainly because Obama himself seemed the "perfect" scapegoat for our economic horrors of the early 2010s. Well, I believe John McCain did at least want to contribute something to America. He would've had the first woman VP, Sarah Palin, who seemed mighty popular on the ticket in '08 for a while, anyway. And Palin—and The Donald on top now, needless to say—are Tweeting their sorrow over McCain's loss. I know he was an honorable American in certain ways. Even little kids on top financially still have the need for dreams of growing up to be President.
So I can just say, rest in peace, honorable John McCain. You at least tried. That's what counts.
Sunday, August 26, 2018
On pop stars, pop stores and pop shirts.
Recently I was back in the mall's cutting-edge culture store, Hot Topic, for the first time in I think years. They didn't actually have anything that I wanted to buy that time, since it was mainly culture that I wasn't currently interested in, or perhaps didn't currently follow, more to the point. Maybe that's only part of getting older in years. It's understandable.
Actually, one item I considered buying the next time I visited Hot Topic (current culture of the day or not) was a t-shirt based on the album cover shot featuring Prince of his 1981 opus, "Controversy." I figured it would be another method on my part, having been a Prince fan in my younger years, of paying due, posthumous respect to His Purple Highness. It's also one of the more potent in impact, I think (I won't apply to it the cornball term "impactful") album covers ever, socially speaking. Flanked in the background by headlines in "The Controversy Daily" such as "President Signs Gun Control Act" and "Annie Christian Sentenced To Die!" ("Annie Christian" is one of the song titles on the album, and it is calculated itself to be controversial; hence), HPH is specifically striking a look of partly surprise, but mainly indignation. I've actually had that album on tape for many years, so I would know the social waves not only the cover, but the song content were intended to lash up.
I only hope that the next time I'm at Hot Topic, they still have that shirt in stock, and in my size.
Actually, one item I considered buying the next time I visited Hot Topic (current culture of the day or not) was a t-shirt based on the album cover shot featuring Prince of his 1981 opus, "Controversy." I figured it would be another method on my part, having been a Prince fan in my younger years, of paying due, posthumous respect to His Purple Highness. It's also one of the more potent in impact, I think (I won't apply to it the cornball term "impactful") album covers ever, socially speaking. Flanked in the background by headlines in "The Controversy Daily" such as "President Signs Gun Control Act" and "Annie Christian Sentenced To Die!" ("Annie Christian" is one of the song titles on the album, and it is calculated itself to be controversial; hence), HPH is specifically striking a look of partly surprise, but mainly indignation. I've actually had that album on tape for many years, so I would know the social waves not only the cover, but the song content were intended to lash up.
I only hope that the next time I'm at Hot Topic, they still have that shirt in stock, and in my size.
Thursday, August 23, 2018
Third post
This will be the last post in which I focus on my own writing for a while. I'd just like to mention that whereas before I have tried to hold up my horror writing career as Ross S. Simon, and I've stated this before, I've recently set out in a new direction.
Under my own name of Sam Ridings, I'm writing an epic series of adventure novels with cool titles, starring a main character who's also pretty cool herself. Yes, I said "herself." I won't say anything more about the main character, or the titles, since I don't want to give anything away, but I'll just say that I hope you'll wish me good luck getting these adventure stories published (and perhaps also finding an agent for them).
My future posts will concentrate on my personal opinions pertaining to cultural issues about the past and present.
Under my own name of Sam Ridings, I'm writing an epic series of adventure novels with cool titles, starring a main character who's also pretty cool herself. Yes, I said "herself." I won't say anything more about the main character, or the titles, since I don't want to give anything away, but I'll just say that I hope you'll wish me good luck getting these adventure stories published (and perhaps also finding an agent for them).
My future posts will concentrate on my personal opinions pertaining to cultural issues about the past and present.
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
For my second post, I thought I'd talk a little about how I feel my writing style to be.
It used to be pretty pretentious and melodramatically intense when I was only doing handwritten drafts of things (usually hack jobs and, unfortunately, fanfic pieces) during my adolescence. At least, most of the time. Now, I guess it's a little more straightforward. My style tries to follow cogent plot lines, but doesn't always, I don't really believe. On the other hand, I try to do that.
I've done away with much pretense over the years in my prose technique. I don't know if it's improved much, but I have noticed philosophical spots here and there in the stories I write. Even in the horror of Ross S. Simon, we see the villainous, murderous monsters frequently speaking to the heroes frankly and pragmatically of embracing despair, and even joining forces with those monsters, after they have already wrought chaos in those heroes' lives.
On the whole, I wouldn't place my writing style outside the area of a lot of others'. I only hope people can get to enjoy the novels I write.
It used to be pretty pretentious and melodramatically intense when I was only doing handwritten drafts of things (usually hack jobs and, unfortunately, fanfic pieces) during my adolescence. At least, most of the time. Now, I guess it's a little more straightforward. My style tries to follow cogent plot lines, but doesn't always, I don't really believe. On the other hand, I try to do that.
I've done away with much pretense over the years in my prose technique. I don't know if it's improved much, but I have noticed philosophical spots here and there in the stories I write. Even in the horror of Ross S. Simon, we see the villainous, murderous monsters frequently speaking to the heroes frankly and pragmatically of embracing despair, and even joining forces with those monsters, after they have already wrought chaos in those heroes' lives.
On the whole, I wouldn't place my writing style outside the area of a lot of others'. I only hope people can get to enjoy the novels I write.
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Hi all, I'm Sam Ridings, an amateur fiction writer. I write in a variety of genres, most of which I just delve into, really. One of them, in which I've actually been published in relatively recent years.
It's in the horror genre that I was published, under the pseudonym Ross S. Simon. Ross S. Simon's more successful books were "The Snow" in 2012, and "Red Dahlia" in 2013, by Eternal Press and Damnation Books, respectively. "His" third novel, I'm still trying to sell. It's called "Arthur O' The Bower." That one was released through Caliburn Press. They're not doing all that well for me.
If anyone is interested in these titles who visits this blog, I'll try and share the buy links for the ebooks for the first two, and the print copy (or maybe the ebook as well) for "Arthur." I'm actually flexible about sharing the links, and am pretty sure I can manage it though I don't have much experience posting links on blogs, lol.
I'll be sure to tell you a little more about myself as a writer in future posts.
It's in the horror genre that I was published, under the pseudonym Ross S. Simon. Ross S. Simon's more successful books were "The Snow" in 2012, and "Red Dahlia" in 2013, by Eternal Press and Damnation Books, respectively. "His" third novel, I'm still trying to sell. It's called "Arthur O' The Bower." That one was released through Caliburn Press. They're not doing all that well for me.
If anyone is interested in these titles who visits this blog, I'll try and share the buy links for the ebooks for the first two, and the print copy (or maybe the ebook as well) for "Arthur." I'm actually flexible about sharing the links, and am pretty sure I can manage it though I don't have much experience posting links on blogs, lol.
I'll be sure to tell you a little more about myself as a writer in future posts.
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