Eff Ewe, Amazon!



Above is the cover of my self-published novel. All my hard work and its result.

Well, guess what? Amazon and/or just some asshole seem to be exploiting all my hard work and its result!

Here’s what’s happening. I suggest to anyone who has self-published with Amazon or Kindle Direct Publishing more specifically to go to  your product page and check for shysters and/or hangers-on!

Some asshole decided that (even though he hasn’t bought my book) he’d resell “his copy” of my book. He even has five different reviews (obviously fraudulent) of my novel. Oh, they’re good reviews, but WTF?! He doesn’t OWN A COPY! How could Amazon, a reputable company do this or allow this to happen and go on, on their website? Do they not police their own site??? I suppose they do not.

Below is the link to Amazon’s site with my book BY Amazon itself and two other fraud sellers.


Please, reblog, link on Facebook and other social media, and tell everyone you can that Amazon and its affiliates are greedy shysters. Thanks, take care, and until my next post, walk in light!

UPDATE: Amazon’s apparently decided to see things my way and have decided to take my book down, finally, after repeated attempts to get them to acknowledge me. The book is no longer available.

V Day, V Day, You and Me Day

Hello, y’all. Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your sweet honey sugar pie boo-boo kins! I mean that in the most heart-felt and sarcastically sweet way I know how. For real, if you have a true love, hold them tight and let them know how much they are loved. It’s really all we have, all we are, all that’s important, all that matters.

Not only is it Valentine’s Day, it is V Day. No, not the Victory Day when the Allies won WWII. But that’s a good thing, no less. No, I mean, V Day – a global movement to end violence against women.

Also, in six days, my birthday will crop up like a choking weed in a field of sunflowers! Yes, I will be __-seven years old and I’m not really looking forward to it. Although, they say men are like fine wine and get better with age. No matter how true that may be, we also get achier with age! Just so you know. When your partner wakes up and walks through the house cussing, they’re probably not cussing you. Chances are, they’re cussing their knees or back or shoulders from the morning aches!

A lot of men, I’m afraid, just don’t understand women. On a day like today, many men miss the mark almost completely, I think. So, for all men, I will tell you the secret to women. What do they want? What is it women really want? They want security. I know this for a fact. When I was in the mall the other day, I approached a lovely young woman and she immediately began to yell, “Security! Security!” Okay, that may a bad example.

At any rate, for my birthday, I request that the only present I want is that you give your time, money, or thought and prayers to a good charity like this one I’ve linked or to Breast Cancer Awareness.

I’m happy to report that my mother had her mammogram done last Monday and is now a full year cancer-free!

On that note, take care, y’all and walk in the light of Love and Kindness.



Not Often!

I don’t usually do this if at all. But I’m raising money and have a link to a Go Fund Me account. If by chance you can reblog this for me, I would be eternally grateful!

My mom had breast cancer in February and she beat it. She hasn’t beat the bills from it, though. Yet.


Click my Go Fund Me here!

Thank you so much in advance for you reblog and/or contribution!

Lions and Tigers and Adverbs, Oh My!

So, I’ve been scrutinizing my novella. The word count dwindles but clarity presides. My problem is the Stephen King and his Adverb Rule. Like other authors, I didn’t realize I had dandelions until they’d populated my novella with their hideous fluff.

“I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops. To put it another way, they’re like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day… fifty the day after that… and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but by then it’s—GASP!!—too late.”

Stephen King
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft


And I can only say that that is one ancient desktop computer on Stephen’s desk!

At any rate, an example of two fishing friends and the needless adverb worm:

They decided to spend the afternoon at the lake. Delmar cast his line and inadvertently hooked Joab in the earlobe.

We see the problem. Not only is Delmar a bad friend and fisherman but also he’s hooked his friend, giving him a prominent ear-piercing and case of the blues. Moreover, he inadvertently did this to his friend. Redundancy? We know it’s a mistake to hook your friend in the earlobe so inadvertently isn’t needed.

Two ways to rectify this. We can say it differently and use the adverb as an adjective if we want to salvage the full meaning, like:

With an inadvertent cast, Delmar hooked Joab in the earlobe.

But that’s still a bit wordy. So, you can trim it further by just dropping that adjective altogether.

With a cast, Delmar hooked Joab in the earlobe.

Poor Joab. Always problems! If not dandelion adverbs, then he gets an inadvertent ear-piercing.

Also, not only is my novella shrinking but also I’ve been debating about it. Do I write the second and third novellas and transition all three into one three-part novel? Because this is my current effort. This is what I’ve decided upon.

What do y’all think of the three-part full novel idea? Good, bad, or indifferent? Drop a comment and let me know.

Until next post, write, write, and write some more, right?

Take care, y’all.

#coolprompts – The Gift

I do love a good literary challenge. And of course, my good buddy Ray doesn’t ever disappoint.

Post photo-association with words ‘the unexpected gift’. It can be absolutely anything…on the road, at home, on the trip.
If you are going to write the text, use the words in your story.

To participate: tag your post – #coolprompts, or pingback to Ray’s post (or any last post on RayNotBradbury’s Blog), if you want me to come over, read and comment. Any genre/style is welcome! No boundaries at all! It’s OKAY to bend the rules. Have fun!

I used a painting I did a long time ago, around 2003 I think, as the gift. It’s of a cafe a friend used to own in real life. For about five months, she gave owning a cafe a go. I’d like to say the cafe made it, but . . . It’s just one of those things, I suppose.

“Coffeehouse” by Robert Gregory

The story follows titled Coffeehouse Gift:

“Let it rain,” Nick said.

The rain drenched the beach and people left from the sand. Nick brought in the unexpected gift for his hostess.

“I picked this up town while I was at a gift shop,” Nick said.

“Let’s see,” Erica said. She unwrapped the gift and opened the box. The painting stirred a feeling of oddity in Erica. Its bright colors. Its subject matter. The painting made her feel claustrophobic. The work held a stifling effect about it.

“I like it, but I can’t breathe looking at this. It’s a nice work but something about it is odd,” Erica admitted.

The canvas lit up illuminated by bright orange, lustrous peach, and brilliant blue and green. The coffeehouse in the painting burst vibrant colors but boasted a harmony that left one wondering if the painter had painted the work on one leg.

The work was unique. But Nick found himself leaning while looking. He watched the man drink coffee at the bar. He stood before the bartender and looked at her asking the man a question. The two in the back ground relaxed with their beverages. But still something was amiss.

Nick said, “Maybe the artist was doing a rain dance while he painted.”

That’s the very short, somewhat event-less story. Hope you enjoyed it. Until next time . . .


Challenge – The Kitty Kind!

I do love a good challenge. And my buddy Ray, even when on vacation, never disappoints.

The idea is to take the photo and describe how the cat sees the world. So, challenge accepted.


My story titled The Psychotic Bipolar Cat.

Oh, it’s all so lonely. No one could possibly understand me or what I go through in a day. I mean, I’m orange for God’s sake! I’m the red-headed step child of the cat world. I can only bring home so many birds before the human gets mad. She just doesn’t understand my sense of humor.

Oh, what’s a cat to do? What? I’ll tell you. Eat and nap. Those are my options. They’re not even good options.

Ah, WWMD! What Would Morris Do? I’ll tell you. He would eat and nap. That would be his options. But I feel he might actually enjoy it. Maybe that bird I talked to before I killed it was right. Maybe I am manic-depressive. I mean, I get all amped up about bird feathers then slovenly depressed when I’ve done the deed of death to the poor thing. I can’t win. I do like the song Manic Depression by Jimi Hendrix. Is that a sign?

No, cat. That’s not a sign. Now, when you grab an Uzi and mow down a McDonald’s, well, then we need to talk. At any rate, that’s the cat tale, so to speak. Hope you enjoyed it. Look for my next post possibly soon and possibly on the subject of Sunday Photo Fiction. Until next time . . .

Putin and America

Hello, everyone. I haven’t talked politics in a long while and I’m not sure why I’m posting about politics now, but, I just wonder . . . does Donald Trump call Vladimir Putin “Vladdy Daddy” when they’re in bed together or has their relationship reached the terms-of-endearment stage yet?

Socialism isn’t the enemy of democracy. Scandalous, lying-ass presidents who are in bed with Putin are! Trump intends to fleece our economy into his bank account under any means necessary and leave our country even more broken than it was before he took office. Anyone who can’t see this is as blind as Trump loves them to be.

The End.

World Map Challenge – A Jamaican Daydream


Now, I do love a good literary challenge. And this one was unique. The World Map Challenge suggests that I write a story based on a literary hero or author and a place I would like to eventually visit. My place is Negril, Jamaica, and my author is James Thurber. Although, I probably won’t attempt what my protagonist James Thurber attempted.

If you’d like to participate:


  1. Choose your dream spot destination (never been before!).
  2. Explain shortly – why would you like to visit the place? (you can add the photo)
  3. Pick any literary hero or author and create a story, flash or poem about visiting that dream-destination.
  4. The style and the genre of the writing – any. Link to the blog that nominated you. Bend the rules if you have to…
  5. Spread the challenge: nominate 3-5 blogs.

The rules say “Bend the rules . . .” so I’m bending them into a non-nomination type challenge. I won’t be nominating other blogs. Without further ado, here’s my tale titled Negril and Its Secrets.

Negril – Jamaican resort town on the western side of the island – saw Mr. Thurber as the mild-mannered no one that he felt himself to be. James had written several pieces that had been published but he still saw himself in his mind’s eye as a non-effectual person. He may write a hundred stories in his lifetime of Walter Mittys being heroes of action, but he’d still inevitably feel like a hero of the mundane. He nursed his drink at the bar while people chatted and socialized around him.

A man beside him chatted up a woman that he knew the man had just met. The man said he’d tackled a bear at one point of his life when he was on vacation in the Appalachian Mountains. Oh, well, it was a bear cub, and its mother wasn’t around. So, he bopped it in the nose as he wrestled with the clawed beast. The bear hightailed away from his campsite once it had gotten a whiff of the man’s prowess. James wondered how much of the man’s story was a Walter daydream. People have often a different recollection of past events after the fact. The past is often built on ego and luck and not much else.

Time to check out some other place had arrived, James felt. Some place where people were more real and less cartoonish. He’d seen Bugs Bunny and some of Bug’s prowess. The camping man and Bugs sounded a lot alike. He’d hate to think a camping man could pick up a gullible, drunk woman in a Negril bar on the premise of a cartoon. More lucky stars had fallen for less, James supposed.

“You finished, Mr. Thurber?” asked the bartender.

“Yes. Um, I was going to go to Mama Hertha’s Tea Room. Can you tell me where that is?” Thurber asked.

“Ah, Mama Hertha’s. The taxi driver will know. Just be careful. It’s an open-air bar type restaurant establishment. Some seedy people have been known to shake things up there.”

“Will do. Thank you, sir.”

James left the bar expecting Mama Hertha’s Tea Room to be close by. The taxi driver began driving off the beach side into the “backwoods” as they say. Off the main drag and into rural Negril. Mama Hertha’s was apparently nothing more than a shanty off the roadside. They had a special going on. The special on their special tea. James decided to give their special tea a good go. Why not?

No one told Mr. Thurber about the special taste of the tea. It tasted how a cow patty smells. Two drinks and he thought better of the idea. But, unknown to him, two drinks were all it would take. The effects didn’t immediately start. The process took about thirty minutes. Before James knew, the tea had begun to tickle his brain into hallucinations. He could’ve sworn he just saw a bear in the weeds. Was it dancing? There were no bears in Jamaica, he thought. He supposed he was wrong possibly. The bear danced to the rhythm of the song someone had put on the jukebox. Jerry Lee Lewis’s Great Balls of Fire had never sounded so good. What’s more, Mr. Thurber had never seen a bear dance to the song. Holy . . . ! What kind of tea was that?! James thought it best he left the restaurant. He had the restaurant call him a cab. The cab pulled up and James got in.

“To the Ferry Inn,” James said.

“Got ya, mon,” the cab driver said. “Hey, need the ganja, mon?”

“No. I definitely need no ganja,” James said to the driver’s reefer reference.

The moon was so bright over the ocean when the driver stopped at James’s hotel. People moved about on the beach even after dark. There was a gorgeous woman walking on the beach. James recognized her as the gullible, drunk woman the camping guy tried to pick up. She was alone. The guy had obviously either not succeeded or gotten done with her already. He felt a pang of hurt for the woman. He approached her as he tried to maintain his physical balance as well as his mental acuity.

“Hey there,” he spoke.

“Hi. I hope you aren’t trying to pick me up like that other guy was. I saw you beside us at the bar. Oh my lord, that guy was so full of crap. He wrestled a bear, for god’s sake,” she said. Apparently, she wasn’t as gullible as he thought at first.

James said, “Yes. I think I saw the same thing happen in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.” They both laughed. James suddenly felt his spirits pick up. She had a beautiful laugh. They talked until she decided to let James see the inside of her hotel room.

The next morning when he woke, she slept soundly beside him. But this could not be the same woman he’d met last night. Whoever this woman was, she’d grown hairs out of moles on her head and, at the same time, grown a new head. James stuttered to his feet and sneaked out of the room like a ninja who’d just assassinated a dancing bear.

James Thurber flew back home reading about the place he’d just left. Mama Hertha’s Tea Room, he read, was famous for its special tea – tea made from psychedelic mushrooms.

So, that’s the tale. Hope you liked it and feel free to leave a comment! Until next time . . .