Originally posted on Indomoto.com:
Sebenarnya bukan rahasia lagi kalau oknum polisi sering menarik upeti di jalan tol, dengan korban ulahnya adalah truk-truk yang meintas. Bagi yang sering menggunakan jalan tol pasti sudah paham. Tapi kalau tertangkap kamera dengan sangat jelas, mungkin akan lain ceritanya.
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Originally posted on Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog:
Author Kevin Morris (who is sight Impaired) needs YOUR help to select a cover for one of his books.
He wants to replace the existing standard Amazon cover with one that can be used for both eBook and Paperback versions.
Please use the Poll to vote on the following three options (your reasons in the comments boxes would also assist him if you’d like to leave any):
Thank You :D
Original Amazon eBook Only Cover
Originally posted on MysteryPeople:
Noir is a genre usually identified with the city. Concrete and steel cut off our anti-hero, throwing an endless shadow over him or her. At the same time, however, authors were also looking at the darkness, isolation, and evil in small towns or farms. When we weren’t looking, the sub-sub-genre of rural noir took over like kudzu.
The roots of rural noir come from the Southern Gothic authors. One could argue that William Faulkner was an early practitioner. As I Lay Dying uses many noir tropes with a stylized point of view, family secrets, dark humor, and a bleak look at class. Flannery O’Connor is another author whose influence shows itself in the works of current rural noir authors. Her use of religion and perspective of evil can be seen in the work of Jake Hinkson in such modern classics as Hell On Church Street.
“Noir is a genre usually…
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You and me both, Harsh
Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:
1. I’ve never been Freshly Pressed.
2. I use a free template that is ugly as sin.
3. I like to write lists. Apparently that is bad blogging.
4. I don’t write for free for Huffington Post.
5. I am Asian and therefore have an awful sense of humor.
6. I am not a feminist.
7. I don’t steal google images to make my blog posts really “wow” you.
8. My blog requires you to read. I know how fucking lame right?
9. It is “an” opinionated man idiot.
10. It is a blog… all blogs are amateur bullshit right?
Originally posted on Courage to Fly:
Feminist, that’s the notorious “f” word. That word can strike up fear, stereotypes, and division among women. I know from personal experience I was hesitant to claim myself as a feminist. Once I finally claimed it as part of my identity, I found myself having to explain that I wasn’t a man-hating lesbian who doesn’t shave or wear a bra. I found it even more difficult to explain that feminism doesn’t go against the word of God. Christ created man and woman as equals, so treating each other is such is the will of God.
There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus,
Being a Christian and a feminist is not oxymoronic. After all, Jesus was a feminist. Yep, you read that right; the Son of God/the Messiah/the King of Kings was…
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Originally posted on Quartz:
Teagan Widmer graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University in 2012 with a master’s degree in theatre pedagogy. Having struggled to find work with only a bachelor’s in English literature from Pacific Union College, she had hoped that her graduate degree might finally land her steady employment. It didn’t.
After graduation, Widmer moved back home to northern California. “I was working for a community benefit district in the downtown area of San Francisco,” Widmer tells Quartz. “I made $14.50 an hour. Most of that went to rent.”
“Learning to code literally saved my life.”
But it was in the tech-heavy Bay Area that Widmer discovered a skill that would change her life—she learned how to code, mainly through online tutorials. “Overall the process took one year,” Widmer says. “I did it pretty intensively; I didn’t do a lot else besides work and practice programming.”
The hard work paid off quickly.
With her newly procured coding skills…
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Originally posted on Audiobook Creation Exchange Blog (ACX):
In addition to connecting authors and publishers with voice talent and studio pros, ACX offers those with completed audiobooks a pathway to distribution through the top audiobook retailers, Audible, Amazon, and iTunes. This “DIY” workflow is a popular choice for authors who want to voice and even produce their own work. Author Joanna Penn recently completed the process herself, and she joins us today to share her experience recording Business for Authors: How to be an Author Entrepreneur (out today) for ACX.
How to Record Your Own Audiobooks For ACX
Audiobooks are a fantastic growth market for authors, narrators, and producers alike, and I’ve been working with fabulous narrators for my fiction since ACX opened up in the UK in 2014. But as a listener, I prefer non-fiction audio in the voice of the author themselves, so I decided…
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Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:
This reminds me of the time when someone deleted one of my websites many years ago. It was back when I played an online game called Utopia at swirve.com. Nerd that I am, I ran an alliance which had close to 3,000 online gamers in it at one point. I gave admin rights to someone I had spoken to online for years. I considered them a friend. Then one day I attempted to go to our website and I got a giant “Website not found” screen. That was the day I learned that the virtual dagger in the back is every bit as painful as the real one. In some cases it is worse because there is no limit to how many times that fictitious knife can be turned.
Have you ever stabbed anyone in the back? Did you have a good reason? Have you ever crumpled up someone’s hard…
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Originally posted on Riley Amos Westbook:
I was disappointed with this book. This book was not what I had hoped for. It had a great cover and pulled me in with the blurb on the book. But I was hoping for much more. This book had every potential; an interesting mythology, characters and power dynamics. But it couldn’t put all the pieces together. The pacing was all wrong and boring. Nothing happened for the majority of the book. Everything important was crammed right at the end. 3/5
Originally posted on Ronald Thomas West:
Thomas Hobbes registers off the scale of the ‘smirk-o-meter’ .. where his greatest contribution to Western philosophy is a typical self-imploding set of contradictions. In an era where Gutenberg had made it possible for anyone who could read to become a blogger (not difficult, ‘mass’ circulation in those days excluded the illiterate masses) Hobbes, finding himself at loose ends, decided he would become a Western philosopher or ‘confidence man’ (the better description.) The recipe is simple; fill a 900 liter bag with verbiage-verbosity (like Bernard-Henry Lévy), as to so incredibly complicate a subject (like James Joyce), leading to subsequent generations of those less endowed with gifts of BS spending endless semesters wrestling a ‘Leviathan‘, whilst attempting sense of nonsense.
Distilled from Hobbes’ inordinately complex, attempted order of things, his points may be summed up so: In our natural state or in raw…
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Taking Down Bigots With Their Own Weapons Is Sweet, Satisfying — And Very, Very Wrong
Actually, it’s about ethics in doxxing.
By Ijeoma Oluo
Doxxing for good — as in sharing someone’s personal information online in the name of social justice — has started to happen more and more recently. Bloggers are bragging about the creative ways that they are exposing racists, misogynists and homophobes; Ordinary people on Twitter are calling for the doxxing of those harassing them; Whole sites are dedicated to showcasing the mean, idiotic, and bigoted messages people post online just so us weary travelers can share some cathartic laughter at their expense. Just last week a university baseball player was kicked off his team when his offensive tweet about 14-year-old pitching phenomenon Mo’Ne Davis was blasted online.
Originally posted on FärgaregårdsAnna:
…follow your blogs?
Yes, I do. Mostly when your posts appear in my reader.
…read your posts?
Yes, I do. But not always the long ones, when I’ve lack of time.
…like your posts?
Yes, I do, very often. But that doesn’t mean I always press the like button.
…like a post when I press the like button?
Yes, I do. But it can mean I like a picture even though I didn’t read the whole text. The like can mean I like a text, but didn’t wait for a image to upload in my sometimes slow reader (bad connection). The like can also mean I really like the whole post.
…comment a post ever?
Yes I do. But sometimes when I read other comments I think people already said what I was going to say, then I pass or like those comments.
…like the comments where I press like…
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Originally posted on Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog:
Hello, and thank you for the opportunity to introduce myself. I am Michelle Eastman, author of The Legend of Dust Bunnies, a Fairy’s Tale. I love kids’ books, especially children’s picture books. I enjoy getting lost in the magic of the words as they flow into the illustrations.
I published my first book in November 2014. My son is the inspiration behind the main character, Artie, who collects and cherishes items most of us would see as junk. Here’s a bit more about the story:
Artie has a hard time finding his place among the other Dust Fairies. He wants to be accepted, but he isn’t willing to change who he is to do that. Artie’s loneliness, and odd habit of collecting discarded debris, leads him to create something legendary. His legendary creation helps him find his own special place among the Dust Fairies.
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Originally posted on The Gad About Town:
Objects do not often speak for themselves. It takes the right artist or poet to find the voice the object demands.
I wish I still possessed a copy of my one published academic paper. I remember its subject but not its point. The late Thomas M. Greene was rumored to have liked it; he may have told someone who told another who eventually (a year later) mentioned to me that he considered my work “unique.” (In academia, “unique” is not always not a back-handed compliment, and if he had been my professor he might have asked me to make it a bit less unique.) Professor Greene was an invited guest to a symposium my graduate studies department was holding; I was one of about ten speakers. My work, unique or not, was not invited to Yale, which Professor Greene called home. I was working on George Herbert and Arcimboldo, who…
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Fittingly, on April Fools Day, my second book, “Day of the Dragonking: Book 1 of the Last American Wizard” will go on sale at Amazon Kindle and everywhere else (hopefully).
It’s a political/paranormal/thriller/satire featuring an attack by Black Magicians on Washington Dc that spreads Magic all over the place–turning Republicans into solid, rock-ribbed values types with a penchant for hard currency and Democrats in nurturing Water types who make things grow but can often be hard to pin down.
The only man who can fight these mystical terrorists is a broken-down hack of a reporter who doesn’t believe in much of anything and certainly doesn’t believe in Magic. He is, however, drafted by the oldest program at the NSA to battle the bad guys accompanied by the ghost of a Chinese factory worker in his cell phone, Ace Morningstar, the only woman to serve as a Navy SEAL, a former prima palabra for the MS-13 drug gang who has mutated into a cadejo (the four-hoofed dog of the Salvadorean Volcanoes) and , oh, there are all sorts of other people–human and inhuman.
It’s fun. It’s exciting. And it’s very strange.
Kirkus Reviews said it was a “A clever, humorous fantasy” and that “Irving (Courier, 2014, etc.), a producer of Emmy Award–winning news television and a journalist well-acquainted with the Beltway, makes good use of clichéd Washington stereotypes by mashing them together with fantasy tropes, breathing new life into political satire.” And most of the remainder of the review they spend trashing me for sending them a copy that wasn’t sufficiently proofed.
Well, that’s been fixed!
On the same day, I’m sending my third book, “Warrior” the sequel to “Courier” off to Kirkus to be smashed into tiny bits of literary rubble. They take about 2 months which should mean Warrior comes out in May or June.
So click on bit.ly/lastwiz and buy a copy. If you don’t see it in your local story, please pitch a bloody fit. I’d appreciate it.
What China gets right about relationships
When Westerners come to Shanghai, their first impression is often that Chinese people are assholes. Passengers crowd around the subway doors to board first. Cars speed through crosswalks on red lights. Public urination is common.
There are many theories for this rudeness. Shanghai natives blame migrant laborers from the countryside, while Westerners blame “Chinese culture” — although the “Chinese” in Taiwan and Hong Kong are more polite. But there’s a deeper psychological reason: in-group / out-group effects are stronger in China. If you are my friend, I will empty my bank account for you; if you are a stranger, I will cut you in line. Rudeness to strangers is the flipside of deep bonds with loved ones.
Of course, none of what I say can describe 1.4 billion unique human beings, whom we crudely label “China.” My conclusions come from a few friends I met in Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Boston. But whether they’re a representative sample or not, I’ve learned a lot from them. So what can a Westerner, especially a Northeastern American like me, learn from the Chinese about relationships?
A book from the Ronin Robot Press.
Here’s an excerpt:
“Hey Thorn, ain’t you left yet?” Buck Chambers hollered across the café. Buck Chambers was a local who made a living bounty hunting, hiring out as an extra hand on trail drives, and, if you believed the stories some told, rustling cattle and stealing from travelers. Of course, since he was still walking around, those last two occupations had never been proven.
There was no doubt, however, that he was a mean and vindictive man who had it in for John Thorn. In the ten years that John Thorn and his family had lived in Tender Bush, Chambers had, at every opportunity, tried to stir up trouble. The gossip amongst most townsfolk was that their feud was over an incident during the Civil War—or as some called it, the War of Northern Aggression.
John Thorn had been a cavalry officer on the Union side in the Civil War and in fact had served under Brigadier General Judson Kilpatrick in the Battle of Waynesboro that broke open the way for General Sherman’s infantry to break through to Savannah and complete his famous “march to the sea.” Chambers, on the other hand, had served in Quantrill’s Raiders—a force of guerrilla fighters that, after they slaughtered 183 men and boys in Lawrenceville Kansas, were considered by most to be no better than outlaws and bushwhackers.
No one was sure that Chambers had been involved in the Lawrenceville Massacre but there was no doubt that he was a heavily-muscled lout and a loudmouthed bully who preferred to fight only when the odds were in his favor. Women, smaller men, and young boys learned to stay out of his way—particularly if he’d been in the saloon.
Over the years, John Thorn had generally ignored Chambers but townsfolk still talked about the time that the big man had just finished a particularly unlucky game of poker and stumbled into the street almost under the hoofs of the horses pulling Mrs. Thorn’s buckboard. No one was quite sure what Chambers had said but a day later, John Thorn came into town, called him out of the rooming house and nearly beat the man to death right there in the street.
For a long time, even though Chambers claimed he was drunk at the time and had simply passed out, people noticed that he tended to cross the street if he saw Thorn coming. Sadly, all good things must come to an end and a year or so ago, the big man regained his courage and had gone back to his old ways.
“Yo, Thorn!” Chambers said loudly. “You going to burn this town down before you move on like you did Atlanta? Or are you just planning on raping the women and stealing the crops like your people did in the Carolinas? What’d that crazy bastard, Cump Sherman, call it? Oh yeah, ‘scorched earth.’”
There were two rough-looking men at Chambers’ table—one skinny with a long scar on his face and the other a lot shorter but heavy-set with a look of hired muscle–and they were laughing at everything he said as he continued. “Pretty fancy name for just marching through and stealing stuff.”
This was typical of Chambers. He’d keep on goading his opponent, hoping that he could fan the flames of anger into rage so that, when a fight broke out, his opponent wouldn’t notice that the odds were stacked against him. Except for that one time with John Thorn, Chambers had never gone into a scrap without a couple of friends or a hideout pistol.
It was a strategy that had worked many times on many men—all of whom regretted it–but Thorn appeared to take pleasure in frustrating Chambers. Every time he wouldn’t take the bait, he knew that anyone watching remembered how Thorn had already beat the tar out of him once. Chambers knew it as well and it simply infuriated him.
Lately, Chambers had been trying even harder with the clear expectation of a fight with a very different outcome—preferably one that included a bullet-hole in Thorn’s gut.
But John Thorn just tucked into his biscuits and went right on talking to his neighbor as if Chambers hadn’t spoken at all. To everyone watching it was clear Thorn’s calm attitude had made Chambers almost blind with fury, but he held his seat and just glared at Thorn for a moment or two before starting his breakfast.
When Thorn had wiped up every smidgen of gravy with the last biscuit, he shook hands with Harry, and said he’d write about the land in California. Then he took his leave of one or two other fellow ranchers who had also come in to eat at the rooming house.
On his way out, Thorn stopped at the front desk to pay for his breakfast. Chambers never took his eyes off the rancher and suddenly, got up to pay, leaving his breakfast only half-eaten.
Chambers reached the front desk as the clerk was making change for Thorn’s order. There were a couple of people in front of him but Chambers had never been a patient man. He said loudly that, “the damn sheep in front of me better move out of the way,” and jostled an old man who didn’t move quick enough sprawling onto the floor. Then he plowed right into Thorn, shoving him to the side and into a stack of chairs.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” Chambers snarled.
John took his time stabilizing the stack of chairs and then walked over to old man get back on his feet. As he dusted off the man’s coat, he said over his shoulder, “Mr. Chambers. Do you really wish for me to continue your education in the manners of a civilized society?”
“Hell, Thorn, I got no idea what you’re talking about.” Chambers yelled. “ But I do know you’re as yellow as a cob of ripe corn. Now, turn around and face me, you coward. I ain’t drunk and half-dead like I was the last time.”
Thorn continued to help the old man out of the rooming house without paying the slightest attention to Chambers.
The big man’s face began to turn a deepening shade of red and veins pulsed in his temples. His voice rose to a roar that would have done credit to a prize bull. “You think I’m going to let you leave town without settling the score between us?”
Chambers squared his shoulders and faced Thorn, daring him to attack. Meanwhile, the front room of the rooming house had gone empty, the clerk was on the floor behind the counter, and the cook and his boy were down behind the old iron stove in case a bullet came right through the wall.
“I have a meeting right now and simply haven’t the time free to finish your schooling right at this moment.” Thorn walked right up to Chambers and then passed him to stop at the counter. He looked over at the desk clerk on the floor, pointed at a coin that would have paid for a dozen breakfasts, and snapped it down on the counter. As he did this, he continued to speak to Chambers, now right behind him. “However, Mr. Chambers, if you want to renew your training after I’ve completed my meeting, I’d be glad to oblige you.”
He turned around and looked directly into Chambers’ eyes. Thorn’s gaze would have made a rattlesnake look friendly. “I have no interest in wasting a moment of my short time left on this earth dealing with you in any way—even if putting you down like the mangy yellow dog you truly are would be a public service to the good people of Harshaw. The fact is, Buck or whatever your name was before they put it on a Wanted poster, you’re just not worth the time nor the effort. As little as they both would be.”
Chambers’ face was a frozen mask and had gone from red to a deep crimson that no one who witnessed it could remember ever seeing on a man’s face before. His right hand was hovering over his gun—quivering as he fought not to be the man who drew first.
“You think you can ignore me, Thorn?”
“In fact, you worthless backstabbing waste of God’s gift of life, that is precisely what I intend to do.” With a final look of contempt, John Thorn walked right past Chambers and headed for the door.
Chambers turned slowly, the malice clear on his face. “This is the last time I will be ignored by you, Thorn. Turn around!” Chambers was shouting at the top of his voice in sheer frustration.
“Turn around and face me or I shoot you where you stand!”
Thorn was only a step from the door when he stopped and stood still. Carefully, he pulled his coat away from the shiny Colt .45 holstered at his side.
Suddenly Chambers felt cold steel at his temple. The calm voice of sheriff Bob “Dead Eye” Jones came from his right side. “Now, Buck. I really do think that it would be a terrible mistake for you to keep John Thorn from his meeting. I mean to say, you will regret it. Not for more than a second or two but you will definitely regret it. That old Walker of yours is so damn heavy, you’ll still be hauling it from leather when the first .45 from John’s gun hits you between the eyes.”
Chambers could heard the sound of the hammer on the sheriff’s Smith & Wesson Model 2 .32 going back and even the ratcheting as the chamber turned to ready a new cartridge. They were sounds that were particularly bloodcurdling when heard from only 6 inches away.
“Now, could you enlighten me as to just what the hell you think you’re doing, Buck Chambers?” The sheriff pushed the muzzle of his gun a little deeper into the temple just to be sure he had the man’s complete attention. “Didn’t I tell you just yesterday to stop making trouble in my town? And didn’t I say you’d spend a couple of nights in jail if you had dust in your ears and misunderstood what I was saying?”
“Chambers was trying to pick a fight.” Harry Toms shouted from the dining room. “Same as always.”
“Sheriff, this don’t concern you,” Chambers snapped. “It’d be best if you just went about your business. But you can send the undertaker down, I think Mr. Thorn will be ready for measuring shortly.”
The sheriff pressed his gun even harder into Chambers’ head. “Good Lord.” he thought, “What’s this man’s skull made of—solid granite?”
Shaking his head at the thought, the sheriff continued. “The only one going to the undertaker will be you, Chambers, if you don’t back off. Now, I think it’s time for you, John Thorn, to go on about your business and for you, Buck Chambers, to drop your money on the counter and get on about yours.”
The sheriff stepped back and took a firmer stance that would take the recoil of the big cartridge. “Honestly, Buck, Can’t you see that I just saved your life? Thorn would a killed you sure as I’m standing here.”
Chambers looked at the sheriff, and then over at his two “friends” who were still seated and being very careful to keep their hands in plain sight on top of the table and filled with knives and forks instead of six-shooters. Slowly, he realized that he didn’t hold any aces in this hand and the two he thought he had up his sleeve weren’t about to jump in.
After a couple of deep breaths, Chambers took a step back and twisted just enough to throw a small coin on the counter. “This ain’t over Thorn. I will have my satisfaction.” Chambers snarled menacingly as he turned quickly around and walked out the back door.
“You better get a move on to Victorville.” The sheriff called after Chambers. Then he stepped up to stand beside Thorn and gazed out at the street.
“John, you have to stop antagonizing him. You know he’s spoilin’ for a fight.”
Thorn just snorted and nodded his head.
Harry Toms came up on the other side. “Chambers is a hateful man, sheriff. Born with a chip on his shoulder and cactus spur in his ass, you ask me.”
“Be that as it may, I’d hate to have kept the peace all this time and end up with a ruckus that would spoil your last day in town, John.”
“Sheriff Jones, Chambers started it. He starts it every time and you know it. When are you gonna make good on all your promises and just run him out of town?” Harry said loudly.
The sheriff replied calmly. “He was just trying to push it a bit is all because he knows it’s his last chance. John’s way too smart for him and won’t take the bait. Besides if there is any shooting, Chambers is the one who is going to need the undertaker.”
“Going to need one damn big coffin.” John said so softly that only the sheriff heard him. Jones coughed with laughter and John gave him a raised eyebrow as he stepped through the door and onto the raised wooden walkway.