<iframe src=”http://www.indiegogo.com/project/222611/widget/621318″ width=”224px” height=”486px” frameborder=”0″ scrolling=”no”></iframe>
… because as we sat at dinner I decided to change them back into the two vain egg-heads so I could try and make more sense of what they were trying to school me in (one is an aspiring actor, the other is– yep, you guessed it. An aspiring actress). Here’s the scoop in a love letter to whoever wants to read it….
Well, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the 2 trolls (husband and wife team) who I’ll politely refer to as Romeo & Jewels (Barbie & Ken for the more contemporary Hollywood folks) who, before offering up their strong opinion, made me a strong pitch to author their own frictional, true love story (no, frictional is not a type o– because that was exactly the atmosphere as I was pretending to enjoy my soup).
Yea, I know, Gag me with a roach’s egg (hold the mayonnaise please).
Yep. So that’s what this high end restaurant is all about– always a catch!
Their opinion was that I should price my soon to be released e-book, LUKE 11:24, at more than .99 cents. I mean, they are going to price their e-book edition at $15.99 because they have 2 IMDb- ( Z movies mind you) credits, Yippie ky yi yaaa…so what!!).
I mean and they clearly have my best interest in mind when they tell me I am going to DE-VALUE the work of other authors and ISOLATE myself from the MAJOR PUBLISHERS. Umm… well, looks like the MAJOR PUBLISHERS have already done a good enough job of doing just that for themselves (thus, SELF PUBLISHING– AKA people power on display).
Hmmm– OK. Well, I say if I really wanted to get in on the ground floor and catch this popping isolate train they’re whispering about, I would stand in front of the Amazon Headquarters in a clown’s suit, break dance, and then hold up a sign which reads… “BUY MY .99 CENT E-BOOK FOR A HUNDRED DOLLARS!!”
Now that is what I would call isolating.
And so once upon a time ends with happily ever after, as the author (me) chose good intentions over the greedy and fruitless advice of the evil Barbie & Ken (who he changed back to trolls mind you) by pledging to offer good books at cheap prices in the hopes of one day gathering a magical horde of loyal fans.
And thus, .99 cents it shall be for the time being, 13.95 for a paperback, and $22.00 for a the character fingerprint signature edition, much of that is being donated to charity anyway– plus I’ve searched and searched and I still couldn’t find that darned clown suit anywhere… jeeesshh!!!
A sincere thank you to the king and queen of the .99 cent novel, Amanda Hocking and John Locke….see dreams are possible…
America was built on one…
The other marshal stood in the middle of the kitchen looking around. There were not many places to hide. He opened the refrigerator, knowing that it would have been suicide for someone to lock themselves in there. Nothing. Because the marshal was bored, he opened up all of the cabinets. Again, nothing. Not even food. He walked over to the stove. There was a math paper on it with problems and solutions that he couldn’t understand. He studied it for a moment. The boy had been here.
Antonio drew back to sneeze, just as the marshal placed his hand around the handle of the stove. He would check it; there was nowhere else to look, so he pulled it open…
“Charlie! Let’s go!” the senior marshal yelled from the living room. It startled him, and he looked away from the opened oven and missed Antonio’s face staring up at him. The marshal let go, and the door came up and crashed hard against Antonio’s face, just as he sneezed. The noise covered him. Antonio thanked God.
“Thank you, Mrs. Florentino,” the senior marshal nodded. Diane handed him back his pen and clipboard. She was angry, but at least they left without her son. Diane wondered why they had not arrested her. They would be back.
Antonio opened the bathroom door, and there was his strong mother lying in the bathtub crying like a baby. He told her that he would never let them take him away from her. He promised. Diane looked up at him. She was beginning to feel the mirth of defeat. It was as though the Devil himself was whispering sinister dooms into her empty ears. Tears burst from her eyes. “What have I done to deserve this?” she screamed in anger and covered her face. “What? What? Why, Antonio? Why is this happening to us?”
Antonio didn’t have an answer for her and knew it was better to just let her sulk in despair. He knew that a hug right now might destroy her, so he stepped back and listened hard to her pain and suffering. When the screaming became too much, he covered his ears and let the madness have its way. Antonio listened for an hour, until his mother was all cried out. Then Antonio removed his hands so the evil spirits could leave him. He tried to be strong, but somewhere in his heart, a tiny seed of hatred had been planted. It would either die, or it would forever live with him…
WELCOME TO MY WEEKLY BLOG BLOG
The real man who graces the cover of this book is my eternal best friend, Scott Warren Polkinghorne, who passed away on January 12, 2012. Scott, I promised you bro, that if you ever found a good enough photo of you, (Yeah, I know what you’re probably saying “All my photos look good,” right?) I would place you on the cover of my first novel for the entire world to see.
And although you never found one before you were called away, on November 10, 2011, at 0946hrs, on the Marine Corps Birthday, you sent me a text of the Marine Memorial from your phone. The text read LIVE FROM IWO. I still have it on my phone. And the world will see that, too. You placed your face in the video, and the last word I ever saw and heard you speak in this life was, “Oohrah!”
At 0947 hrs, as you were standing in front of the Memorial, Scott, you happened to snap a photo of yourself that I know will be viewed by millions of people all over the world. It was exactly what I was looking for. You came through, just like you said, thanks bro.
Scott, as you know, Jonathan Florentino is a fictional character, and he could not hold a candle to you in the real world – or in a fictional one.
You and I also know, that if it were possible to take a magical visit to Never Never Land, we’d have to catch that train, go down there, and kick his *&#!* and give Jonathan the true Hollywood beat down that he deserves.
As a fictional or as a real person, Jonathan Florentino is everything both you and I would despise in the real world. But he makes for good entertainment, and that’s what it’s all about, right? Entertainment.
When this book makes it to the big screen (and I believe it will, because I have already written the screenplay, LOL), the actor who plays Jonathan better look just as intimidating as you do on the cover. That’s you, bro; intimidating, but with a heart spun of gold.
Scott, you leave behind a wife: Joni Lynn-Carnevale Polkinghorne, who you loved very deeply and who has loved you, Scott, always and forever. Your oldest son, Kevin 18, who looks just like you when you were 18, and is on his way to fulfilling his dream of becoming a policeman. His younger brother, Tyler 16, who told me yesterday on the phone that even though Kevin is older, he is the better looking one, and has all the ladies, (what’s that saying about the apple and the tree, bro?) but he still has the bright, wryly, grinning smile of his mother, Carol Anne Polkinghorne, your first wife, the mother of your two sons and one of your close friends who has always been at your side in times of need.
I spoke with your father, Stephen, a couple of days ago. His exact words to me were, “I miss my boy,” (I had to break down a little bit on that tune, bro. Sorry).
Anyway, as you know, he and Bev miss you, and so does your mother, Delma; your brother Steve, your sisters: Michele, Robin, Sonya, and all of your extended family and friends who you have touched.
For 26 years, we called you Scotty Flawless because your boots were spit-shined so perfectly, it looked like you were actually walking in a black pair of glass. You made a lot of Marines green with envy. Remember how the body bearers hated us? We could outlift them, too, and we would make those funny, obnoxious sounds as we lifted, to get them to hate us more. We were 18 and I still smile when I think of it. And by the way (and so what), congratulations for finally outbenching me (even though it took you 21 years).
A final thought Scott. In 1986 you brought together a group of friends, best friends, all of us: Jimmy Gwaltney, Kris Hess, and Earl Gilpin. We have all been close, ever since, and no matter how far apart we may now live away from each other, no matter how much time has passed, no matter how much time shall pass; through you Scott we are joined as brothers. You just had had it like that, bro, magic. You will never be forgotten.
Oh, and you’re not getting off that easy. Like we talked about, whether it is in this life, or the next, the five of us are still going to take that deep sea fishing trip we planned. All the fish we can eat. And I have a feeling, that wherever that place is, you sure as hell won’t be allergic to shrimp. But knowing you, I’m sure you’re just waiting on us, and you probably have the spot already picked out.
Oh, and one last thing: That book you wanted to write about your life, don’t worry about it. Something tells me that one day I’m probably going to end up writing it for you.
Now that’s enough of that mushy stuff. Take off those wings, sit your ass back on that cloud, kick up them boots, and enjoy the story. It’s all about you, bro. It’s about Scotty Flawless…