And people wonder where Stephen King gets his ideas from.
Originally posted on She's a Maineiac:
Our culture doesn’t do so well with death. We don’t like to talk about it or even think about it.
Except for people who were born and raised in Maine. We’re more down-to-earth types who treat death like it’s a bad dentist appointment. Yeah it’s gonna happen to you one day so you might as well suck it up, deal with it, and move on.
My 80-year-old mother cheerfully sat down with me last week to go over her old family photo albums again because, “I might not be here tomorrow.” She has told me this every single day for about 15 years.
Anytime I try to plan something with her, she gives the same response.
“Hey, Mom! Want to drive up to Bar Harbor and see the ocean this August?”
“Sure! But I might be dead by then.”
“Hey Mom! Wanna go to L.L. Bean’s with me this weekend?”
“Sure! But I might be dead by then.”
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Saving this one more or less for me, but it is a fine read for foodies as well. Viva le fish sauce! :-)
Originally posted on Chris Galvin:
The Vietnamese alphabet has no letter F. But it does have the letter PH, as in phở, and also Phan Thiết and Phú Quốc, two places famous for fish sauce. The former is a southeastern coastal city. The latter is both Việt Nam’s biggest island and a district that includes this island and twenty-two smaller ones, tucked under the curve of Cambodia’s coast, in the Gulf of Thailand.
In his book Bút Khảo Về Ăn (Notes on Eating), Dr. Lê Văn Lân relates an old folk tale that he remembers his mother telling him. Here’s my rough translation:
A long time ago, a northern village held a feast-tasting challenge to open the spring celebrations. The banquet table groaned under a spread of the rarest foods of the mountains and seas. Whoever could correctly name the tastiest dish would win. According to tradition, the competitors entered one by one. A single drum…
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Another author chimes in. I’m on Mark Coker’s side of the fence on this one, and will not sign up for “Select”.
Mark’s post can be found here: http://blog.smashwords.com/2014/07/is-kindle-unlimited-bad-for-authors.html
Originally posted on TechCrunch:
Now that Amazon has uncorked their Kindle Unlimited service I, like many indie authors, was curious. What does this mean for us withered scribes, scribbling away in our garrets and bobbing on the waves of Amazon’s massive literary marketplace? Will I get paid if I join Kindle Unlimited? How do I add my book to the mix? Will I become fabulously rich?
Full disclosure: I’ve been mucking about with indie publishing for a year now with the Mytro Project and, with enough digging, you will find one or more of my books on Amazon.
With that said, let’s address our scrivenarial concerns.
￼Will I get paid if I join Kindle Unlimited? I have asked Amazon for more specifics on how royalties work in Kindle Unlimited but what appears to be happening is that they are treating Kindle Unlimited books as part of their Kindle Direct Publishing Select Program. KDP Select…
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So I got a call last night to pick up from an old town Arvada tavern. Picked up the young guy who had walked there to have the bar call the cab. (Their phone was dead.)
I took him back to the car that his girlfriend tried to park INSIDE a curb. (Bent the wheel badly..thus the need for the cab.)
The girlfriend who was waiting, immediately starts complaining and yelling at him and demanding to know where he was…even though he had TOLD her he was getting a cab for them. I took them all the way down to the south side of Denver to their place ($$$ fare)…and she spent the entire ride berating him for all of his issues. It would have been a real annoying ride…except everything she was yelling at him for…was her fault…and she started every diatribe with “I did blah blah blah”…or “they’re so mad at me, but it’s your fault because…”
It was entertaining as hell partly for the spin, and partly for how he “yes dear’d” her the entire way without losing his cool once. I was seriously impressed with his ability to control what HAD to be the urge to punch her lights out.
Got a message today from dispatch…SHE left the key to the car she wrecked…in the cab. I wonder how that’ll get spun. :-D
Tonight, while taking another of my regular patients home from the kidney center, I found out that one of my favorite dialysis patients, Margie, passed away recently. I’d been her driver fairly consistently for the last couple years.
I kinda’ thought as much, as I hadn’t seen her in a bit, and the last time I DID take her home, she said in a worn out voice, “I’m gettin’ pretty tired of all a this”.
She went in to the hospital on a Wednesday, and passed away the next morning a few weeks ago.
(Most of my customers on this treatment are worn after the process because the hemodialysis treatment is very stressful, done 3 times a week for 4-6 hours at a shot and the technology is right out of the 1950/60’s…literally.)
She was a teensy tiny little black woman originally from the Bronx, and could be a real fireball when she felt like something wasn’t right. She had a real weakness for sugar cookies, which she would bake and eat,”cuz the store stuff ain’t up ta’ snuff”…even knowing that she wasn’t supposed to because of her condition.
I always enjoyed taking her home from the kidney center, and I miss her and our conversations along the way.
You want proof that medicine is about revenue and not fixing things? Look no further than dialysis.
R.I.P Margie, Your Cabbie
The author pulls no punches. Good stuff.
Originally posted on David Gaughran:
Last Friday we were treated to a story from the Op-Ed pages of the New York Times, where Tony Horwitz claimed “I Was A Digital Bestseller” then complained about how little money this made him, and how he would now stick with traditional, print publishers as a result.
Then this Op-Ed was held up – in outlets like Gawker – as another example of how writers have it so tough in this scary new digital world which is going to lead us all into penury.
Just like the story I wrote in January – Fake Controversy Alert: Hitler’s Mein Kampf Was Not A Digital Bestseller – the key “fact” in Horwitz’s tale of woe doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.
Can you guess what it is?
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