Monthly Archives: April 2008

BookSurge – Who Owns "PACIFIC AVENUE" all the way to "BOARDWALK"?

Free Writing, , , ,

By Sandra Jones Cropsey
More years ago than I care
to consider, I wrote to Celestine Sibley, a long-time columnist for
The Atlanta Journal & Constitution, “There must be an easier
way to persecute one’s self in life than by writing.” I even went
so far as to suggest the need for the formation of “Writer’s Anonymous”
for those of us afflicted with this often most frustrating of addictions.
Ms. Sibley posted my comments in her column, which only further inflamed
my addiction I might add.

Writers are definitely a special
breed. Writers, like artists, can take a person to another place at
very little cost and won’t lose your luggage in the process.
And writers, like artists, struggle. Many of them struggle with whatever
ghosts or demons drive them to write. Some fall so in love with words
that they never recover. Each day as they sit down at their computer,
typewriter, or paper and pencil, writers struggle with words—searching
for just that right one. And again, like artists, writers struggle financially.
Oh, but do they struggle financially! Through the years, I have come
to know a lot of writers, and only a couple in that group can claim
to support themselves solely by freelance writing. Most have a day job
that takes more of their life and energy than they desire, but they somehow
still manage to get a collection of choice words on paper and eventually
publish—more often, these days, with a small or print-on-demand (POD)
publisher.

Now it would appear that Amazon
wants to add to that struggle by forcing small independent and POD publishers
to use the printing services of their affiliate, BookSurge. The additional
financial burden would no doubt increase the cost of printing to such
a degree that many writers like me will not be able to afford the cost
of publishing.

Much has been written about
this issue; much will continue to be written. None of it is pretty.
It has been reported that when approached by representatives of Amazon/BookSurge,
many of the owners of independent presses were told to sign with BookSurge
or see the “Buy” button on their listings with Amazon disappear.
We pray this is wrong, as nobody likes to be bullied, and nobody really
likes a bully either, but we do business with bullies everyday. A large
majority of corporate America enjoys success because of being a bully.
But we don’t always have to do business with bullies.
Across the pond, Edward Smith,
manager of YouWriteOn.com, “the UK’s most popular Arts Council funded
site for budding writers” is calling for a boycott of Amazon. “YouWriteOn.com
in response is inviting all POD authors everywhere to list their books
on our site with a free ‘book-buy’ link to any bookseller other than
Amazon. Effectively we are calling for a proactive boycott of Amazon
and are encouraging all writers and readers and other writers’ sites
to join in this by doing the same in their writers communities, which
drive the POD industry, and to also email their discontent to Amazon.”
The Author’s Guild is reported
to be checking into the legality of this situation as it suggests “monopoly”
and a violation of anti-trust laws. “We suspect this maneuver by Amazon
is far more about profit margin than it is about customer service or
fossil fuels. The potential big losers (other than Ingram) if Amazon
does impose greater discounts on the industry, are authors—since many
are paid for on-demand sales based on the publisher’s gross revenues—and
publishers. . . We’re reviewing the antitrust and other legal implications
of Amazon’s bold move. If you have any information on this matter that
you think could be helpful to us, please call us at (212) 563-5904 and
ask for the legal services department, or send an e-mail to staff@authorsguild.org.”

WritersWeekly.com has a special
page on their web site to address this situation http://www.writersweekly.com/amazon.php, and
Angela and Richard Hoy
are doing a great job of keeping us all informed. Two petitions
have been established to collect signatures:

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/protectPOD/?e and http://www.amazontroopsurge.com/2008/04/write-government-about-amazons-illegal.html.

Russell Wild, President of
the American Society of Journalists and Authors, stated in a press release,
“We applauded when Jeff Bezos and Amazon gave small publishers
and even writers who self-published a way to get their books before
the public. . . With these grabby, strong-arm tactics, Amazon negates
all that—and the years of goodwill it has built up with writers, who
ultimately will bear the brunt of any price increases in the printing
of independently published books.”

Being a bully is wrong,
whether on the playground or in the marketplace.
If you cannot win fairly, you do not deserve to win. Thus would
just the right words be “Writers Anonymous” or “Anonymous Writers?”
Sandra Jones Cropsey is
the author

of
Tinker’s Christmas and Who’s There?

www.tinkerschristmas.com

www.outskirtspress.com/whosthere

Self-Genesis

Poetry

Spontaneous, deliberate

Expression of the Source-Essence

Concurrently manifesting

In all beings – all dimensions;

Eternally evolving and

Transforming in an absolute

Exploration of Omni-One.

© 2008

“Nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed.”

~ Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier

L o n e s o m e

Poetry

L o n e s o m e

is
the click of the lock
on a door as it closes
in your face
then the chain slides home
is
the sliver of light
silence swallows
laughter leaving you out
all night whispers
is
dark torturing dusk
before moving in for the kill
raising gooseflesh
as it follows you to work
and back not seeing not
feeling not
but for shadows that stalk
as your feet grope a walk
all crumpled dirt mixed with
rock

not that one remembers
one remembers all right

once silk sheets warmed
out of love
no more

l o n e s o m e
is
no coat and your shoes have holes
and you are thinking of hanging
a black wreath
to stave off questions and collectors
is
new wheels and no one to pick up
new do and no one to look twice
new outfit new club
even you don’t look
is
the long, low, moan
of a train going nowhere
and taking forever
under a pail handle moon
packed waiting room
jetway station so called home
stranger wearing love’s necklace
ambulance like wail could be
fire truck
same old backyard barbeque
jokes voices bar chatroom meet
in the basement of some church
is
a shriek from a child
torn into with a belt
or bloodied by a bullet
just happened to stray

l o n e s o m e
is
the only one on the bus
driver yawning at the end
of the line it is two in the morning
and the houses and streets decay
out of fashion cemetery offers
tombstones losing to
vandals and weeds
bulbs flick dim yellow light
often no light at all

l o n e s o m e is

Therapy Session …

Free Writing

“John, you look really angry today; what’s on
your mind?”

“Oh Doctor … I feel so maligned. People make
fun of me behind my back. They don’t understand
me … they don’t understand how I suffer. I feel so
alone in this world.”

“I see … has this been going on long?

“About two years now.”

“Do you remember the circumstances in your
life when this began; where you were and what
you were doing?”

“No Doctor I don’t; my memory is not good.
All I know is that now I feel alone, I feel so alone.
I have an ache inside from loneliness that never goes
away. I feel ugly, I feel worthless; no one understands
me. I feel like such a loser! Am I loosing my mind?”

“It’s doubtful. Perhaps, though, your feelings are
deceiving you.”

“What!? How can my feelings be deceiving me?
It’s the way I feel; like nobody gives a crap!”

“Have you ever tried getting out of yourself … you
know; giving of your resources and talents to help others?
Perhaps doing this occasionally would be salutary and
allow you to see yourself from other perspectives. You’ve
heard the old saying that it’s ‘better to give than to receive’?”

“Now why would I want to do that!? No one respects
me, no one helps me, why should I give them anything?”

“Helping others, and giving to others, changes your
focus. And in so doing you empower a loving spirit to
affect what you are doing and those you are doing it for.
It also affects how you feel about yourself.”

“Well … I’ll tell you; I feel like crap about myself!
Nobody gives me anything – so why should I ever
consider offering something to them?”

“Someone has to have the courage to start the
process. And it’s a known fact that after doing
so it gains momentum by itself. Anyone can be
critical of others and alienated. Remember; there
is no defense against love, or a kind and wise
hand extended.”

“I don’t get it … why the hell should it be my
duty to give somebody else something they’re not
giving me?”

“Perhaps because you’re the one complaining.
You have a burden that something is wrong and
you’re the one looking for answers; this is a good
thing. You’ve had a revelation of sorts. Suffering
changes our perspective! When you see someone
who needs help just offer it to them; you’ll feel better!”

“Oh yah right! I’m the one that’s hurting, and instead
of getting what I need, you want me to help everyone
around me that’s hurting? All people want is their egos
stroked. Nobody suffers the way I do!”

“I can understand! I would say, though, that the ones
who really don’t care would never have the guts to initiate
changes as you seem to be trying to do here. Still though;
you can always forsake your God given gifts and crawl
into an emotional tomb and live there for the rest of your
life; it is an option you know, and a lot of the world does
just that.”

“Are you trying to tell me that it’s somehow Gods will
for humans to be subjected to emotional and physical
tribulation and affliction?”

“I cannot elucidate on God’s plan for this world, or its
inhabitants. Let me ask you this though; in your lifetime
have you ever known one person to have escaped it?”

“Escaped what?”

“Struggles and suffering!”

“No, I have not! As a matter of fact, I don’t know anyone
who doesn’t struggle in their lives. But so what; my struggles
are different. If people could just understand that little fact
they would see how special I am and give me the respect and
attention that I deserve.”

“I understand your thought but everyone is special, and
all have unique abilities. Even grains of sand and snowflakes
are different from one another. The ones who struggle and
suffer physically – a thorn in the flesh if you will – do so for
humilities sake. This keeps them aware, and humble, and
hopefully pointed in the right direction.”

“Whataya mean the right direction?”

“If we never struggled with challenges beyond our ability
to solve, we would never grow, we would never seek God,
and we would easily wander off the paths that we’ve been
given to walk.”

“I don’t believe in God!”

“You don’t!? What do you believe in?”

“I believe in me. I believe in my inherent goodness.
If people could just see that, life would be so different
For me. If only people could understand how terrific
I am. Besides … God doesn’t care about me. No one
knows my unique circumstances. I have physical and
emotional problems Doctor; I am not whole. I have aches
and pains that never go away. I can’t seem to find anybody
to love; someone that will love me, and who accepts me
for what I am, and is satisfied with that. Seems everyone
looks for something wrong in me, and they always seem
to find it. Then they dump on me or bad mouth me, or
gossip behind my back. I have trouble with finances; I never
seem to have enough. Like today – I don’t know how I’m
going to pay you for this session; I’m broke. I have lost my
faith in human beings. Most of the time they say one thing
and mean another; I hate them. Please help me Doctor,
what can I do?”

“Well … thank-you for your honesty, but let’s discuss this
another time ok; seems your time is up. Talk to my secretary;
she’ll give you a pamphlet that might help. Let me know when
you get some work; have a great and productive week OK?
Take care! Sheila, would you send in my next appointment!”

The Phantom Dog and Horse

Sci-Fi, , , , , ,

Below is a short story that does not appear in my book Hidden Secrets of “Many, But One”( A true book of ghosts, haunting, paranormal contacts and encoded messages of 9-11 written and copyrighted before 9-11) . It is true and one of the truly milder paranormal events that took place in my childhood. Please see more of the book at www.drryles.com

The Phantom Dog and Horse

By

Donald Ryles PhD, CH

Growing up in the South U.S. 30+ years ago I, like most all kids of that time and place, had a swing in the yard. The one I had was not a metal swingset, but was a true old rope swing hung from a tree branch.
I spent a lot of time playing on that old swing and in the field behind our house which had once been a horse pasture many years before we had moved there.
When I was about 11 years old I had just discovered my love for music and since it was Summer and I didn’t have to get up for school I was allowed to stay out until well after dark, as long as I stayed close to the house. Many nights I would be on that swing until well into the night listening to my small transistor radio, as long as I kept it low. It was just me, the music, and a soft light from a distant streetlight.
One night about 10 PM I suddenly had the strange feeling that something was behind me looking at me. Staring at me. I stopped swinging and looked back to see a beautiful large white dog with big dark eyes. He just stood motionless, no barking, no growling, no tail wagging, just strangely motionless. Not having a dog at that time but always having a love for dogs I wanted to pet him. I turned around for only a second to get up and when I looked back he had vanished . I didn’t hear him leave, but I thought he must have ran away. I didn’t think much about it and went back to swinging.
The very next night, at about 10 PM, he appeared again. This time though it sounded like he had ran up behind me quickly. I looked back and once again saw him just as before motionless looking at me with his big dark eyes. This time for some reason I had a slightly different feeling than before. I still wanted to pet him but for some reason at the same time felt slightly uncomfortable. Like for some unknown reason something wasn’t quite right. I slowly got up to walk to him and he ran behind my fathers car and into the field behind our house. I was only a few feet away from him but when I got behind the car once again it was as if he just vanished.
The third and last time he appeared was about a day or 2 later. He appeared just as before , but this time with a chilling difference. Once again it sounded like he had ran up behind me and once again I turned to see him looking at me . This time though I could see smoke coming out of his mouth and nose. The kind you see when it is a very cold Winters day and you breath outside. It was Summer though and by far too hot for that. His big dark eyes locked with mine as he stared directly at me and raggedly breathed the smoke for 10-15 seconds, like he had been running hard.Suddenly he turned and ran into the field. I did not try to follow him this night into the darkness . It was as if something told me not to. I quickly got up and went into the house for the night.
I never saw him again after that night and never saw him in the neighborhood, which I knew quite well. Especially which neighbors had dogs. I was a little scared and puzzled, but being a kid quickly forgot about it.
I didn’t think of it again until what happened with my father a few years later.
It was a Summer evening just before Sunset when my father looked out his bedroom window and came running through the house yelling to me to come and help him. I asked what was wrong and he said there was a horse in the field behind our house and he needed me to help him catch it or make it leave before it destroyed his garden. We both ran outside and into the field to see nothing wrong. No horse and everything was normal. I asked him exactly what he had seen and he said he had seen a huge white horse running through the field as fast as he could, like he was scared. He said the horse had ran through his garden 2-3 times and he was sure it had been completely trampled .
We looked at the small garden, which was in the corner of the field ,beside the old pasture fence . Tomatoes, cucumbers, Bell peppers, etc. about a 15 by 15 foot area. Nothing was out of place. I asked him once again if he was sure the horse had ran through the garden and he assured me that he had. He had ” Ran through it 2 or 3 times in a panic” he repeated to me again . We both looked even closer around the pasture and at the dirt in the garden, which was still soft from being watered only a few hours before, and couldn’t even see a single hoof print or any sign that anything had been in the pasture at all.
As we stood there, both puzzled, I remembered about the big white dog I had seen a few years before that had ran into the same field and I told my father the story of what I had seen and felt myself a few Summers before.

Copyright 2005 Donald Ryles PhD, Ch

Breathless …

Poetry

BREATHLESS

In that moment between heartbeats,
When life hesitates, and hoping becomes
An illusion of fulfillment, you appeared as
A lucent mist smiling with extended hands.
Lamenting though, as I was, an epigonic misfit,
Confused, striving, briefly, in so many words,
To shift the eminence of illusory judgment
Across eons of possibilities – you took the time
To transilluminate those things hidden in me,
Those things capricious.

In supple fleeting moments I found myself dancing
With sunbeams and wind, as intangible escorts sought
To illuminate and extrapolate those treasures, for
Decades hidden, and reiterate them as curios on shelves.
Groaning opaquely, you slathered innovative ideas, as thick dew,
Across neuronal voids, impassively sighing, as tender synapses
Began firing in organized fashion. Chortling, you pointed again
Mulishly at my old thinking and debilitating habits, and sought
Out discrepancies and anomalies to further exacerbate my desire
To remain rebellious, as if it was nothing more for you than
Equus Caballus swatting flies with the tail.

With the smoothness of hot honey, and the groaning
Of tectonic plates, your ideas melted my staid thinking
As those glaciers in boxes that once bound me in shadowy fetters.
In that moment between heartbeats, where life is suspended
Between universes and the restless mind equates
Dogma with verity, you disseminated those areas in me
Once thought sacred, with the verdant dew of innovation.

Embracing me as an equal, we drifted across the stria
Of new thought. Together, with the melodious and contrapuntal
Strains of new resonance; I discovered, between heartbeats,
That the occurrence had rendered me quite breathless.

Richard Lloyd Cederberg

Reviews – THE SHORES OF WISDOM, The Story of the Ancient Library of Alexandria

Non-fiction

In “The Shores of Wisdom”, Derek Adie Flower gives a delightful story of the rise and fall of the Ancient Library of Alexandria – the world’s power of knowledge and culture twenty-three centuries ago. Flower tells the story with a unique style, giving us glimpses of the forces which made the place prosper with great philosophers and scientists (Euclid, Archimedes, Eratosthenes…) and the causes of decline when politics and religion became in conflict with rationality… The book is indeed an enjoyable piece to read.

Prof. Ahmed H. Zewail 1998 Nobel Prize for Chemistry. Egypt

 

                   

There is tantalisingly little known about the great library of Alexandria. The writers, philosophers and historians who used it, and whose works filled its shelves, were the founding fathers of Western civilisation…..Derek Flower was moved to write this book by the romantic project of recreating the library of Alexandria…. He tells the tale in rollicking style, with many entertaining anecdotes.….

Michael Borrie –  Literary Review. UK

 

 

…. Much of Flower’s book consists of brief biographies of the brilliant men attracted to Alexandria by the library, a roll call of those who laid the foundation of our civilisation: Euclid, Archimedes, Eratosthenes, Strabo and Galen and, in due course, the philosophers who shaped the dogma of the Christian religion….

 

Russell Chamberlin’s.  Monacle UK