Let's create another character

We have already created Victoria, now we need to build another of the six. Who should we move on to? We could stick with the female characters. But that would be boring. Let's move on to one of the male characters, shall we? Good, I'm glad you agree. Moving on. Let's go with Ray-zr-Edge. Our buddy Ray is 27 years old. He lives alone a very small apartment in large city. We can assume that Mr. Edge is, or at least he thinks he is, a lady's man. A real man's man. He's a thrill seeker, an adrenaline junkie. In fact, he is so addicted that he has traveled the globe in search of the rush. Free climbing, sky diving - with a snow board, helicopter snow-boarding. His iPod is his constant companion. In spite of all his activities, he is very depressed. We're not sure if he is depressed because he uses up his seratonin or if it is for another reason. You know the answer though don't you? This guy is the loneliest person on the planet. From a very earlier age, he had difficulty relating to others. Being isolated his entire life has shunted his ability to handle social situations. The only exception is that he can lay down a rap when his is talking to women. The primary reason for his success with women is that he is in it for the hunt. Once he has conquered the challenge, he is unable to relate to the woman in any meaningful way. He just fades back to his small, dark apartment and starts blogging. One of his blogs is filled with his original drawings and short verse. Both convey his loneliness, but only have a hint of the true darkness he feels. Even in a creative forum he is unable to acknowledge the emptiness inside. The other blog is a very braggadocios display of photographs and descriptions of his thrill seeking adventures. Whoa, is that a little heavy? Maybe, but that's the way I see the guy. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

So I decided to email HDNet

Here is the email I sent to HDNet: Dear Ms. McCalmont, I have come up with a very new idea for a TV/Internet show. The working title of the show is called "Bloggers". It would be a weekly, half-hour or hour-long television show. The main character will be this 42 year-old guy that starts blogging and he joins a blog site that has an interactive area. By blogging daily, he meets 5 other characters that have nothing in common except that they are daily visitors to the blogging site. Every week, the stories are about what the characters do in their real lives contrasted with what they blog. The characters vary in accuracy of blogging what is reality and what is online persona. Is that an interesting show? I think so, but anyone can come up with that idea. Here is the BIG part of the BIG idea. The show producers - ideally this would be me - create the blog site for real. And the characters from the show actually blog all week, according to the show's script for the week. Here's the big hook - anyone that wants to can join the blog. Create their own blogs on the site, interact with the characters. As additional incentive for the viewers to participate, the show would incorporate one of the public bloggers into the script for the show. Why would this be commercially viable you ask? Well, first the show would be good. HDNet could pick up all the traditional sponsors. Then you charge $5 or $10 bucks a month for the public to join the blog. Then you sell advertising space on all the blogs. See! This is a great idea. Interactive TV, combining television and the internet, this idea has it all. It really would work. I have ideas for the first six characters. I know what the web site should look like and what features should go on there. Now all I need is to get help in producing the show. I think this would be a very good candidate for your network, given the forward thinking of the executives at HDNet. Also, it would seem like a logical fit for the "billionaire blogger". Regards, Paul Gavin Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Son-of-a-b*%&$

Look what this kid did. http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060228/ap_on_en_mo/myspace_the_movie Over six million people have viewed his little movie. Now he's getting a deal from MTV. I guess I should craft an email about My BIG Idea to MTV. This idea is a happening thing. It's huge. Mark my words, when it hits the airwaves, my My BIG Idea is going to be as big as "Survivor" was it's first year. Exactly how can I get someone to take notice? It's not like I have a bunch of spare time to actually create the pilot. Plus, it is very different to be running around with your camera with your friends when you are 17 or 18. It's cool, it's exploration. But when you are 42-years-old, it's just kinda sad. Oh, the humanity!!!! I am half-tempted to break my promise and send another email. Nah, I won't do it. I just hope someone in Plano reads this and decides it's an idea worth exploring. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Updating Technorati Tags

Today has been the busiest day on my set of blogs since we started. I have had almost 100 visitors today. Why would I possibly have this much traffic today? Well, I decided to update the way I display my Technorati tags. That means I went through all my posts since I started updated the tags, then I republished them. Although I had a great deal of visitors, most of them were click throughs. However, a couple of people stuck around an read a few pages. That's cool. Here's the somewhat humorous part, I am really not sure what Technorati tags are for? All I know is that the some of my posts with Technorati tags show up pretty high in Google searches. I plan on doing some more research into it. Of course, I'll let you know what I turn up. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Here's Chapter 17

This is by far the most difficult Chapter I have written. It was really hard to get into Ass' state of mind. I tried to do my best. I'd like to know what you think of it. Is it believable? Is it true to the situation? Are Pete's remarks funny? Additionally, it is the first Chapter that I wrote completely from scratch. I am going to try to keep up with the two chapter a week pace. But as the weather gets nicer, I have a feeling I'll be spending more time outdoors. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin, The Break Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 17

Chapter 17 The bus was completely silent. The four men stood completely still, utterly dumbfounded. No one knew what to say or do. They began to fidget uncomfortably. No one wanted to be the first to speak. It was almost getting comical. “So you two packing the fudge or what?” Pete asked as he looked at Ass and then at Ben. Involuntarily, everyone burst out laughing. True to form, Pete dropped the bomb that cut through the tension. “Ah, dude” Ronnie said shaking his head. “Immediately nuclear?” “Well shit, dude.” Pete started to defend himself. “It’s cool.” Ass said. “I know how weird that sounded.” Once again, the silent tension was palatable. “Quick, some one say something before I drop the second bomb.” Pete said. They all laughed again. “So…uh…how long…I mean…are you guys…” Ronnie tried. But nothing would come out. It was perhaps the most awkward moment of his life. Then he blurted it out. “Packing the fudge or what?” There was an instant of shocked disbelief followed by uncontrollable roars of laugher. It was one of those moments when laughter was the only solution. The complete shock of the situation had stunned everyone. They had needed something to get them past the uncomfortable situation. On some level, they expected Pete to come up with a wisecrack. But the unexpected repetition of Pete’s crude remark from Ronnie was so unexpected that it completely snapped everyone back to life. “Sorry, dudes.” Ronnie said apologetically when he regained composure. “I just really don’t know what to do in a situation like this.” “It’s cool.” Ass said comfortingly. “I guess I didn’t either. Just kinda threw it out there.” “So you wanna talk about it?” Ronnie asked. “Not really.” Ass said. “But I think we need to.” Suddenly chilled, Ass became aware of the wet clothes clinging to his body. “Actually, I should probably get out of these clothes first.” He said. Then he turned to Ben and looked into his eyes. “Did you grab my stuff out of the room?” He asked. “Yeah.” Ben replied. “Thanks, dude.” Ass said in a very warm tone. Both of them knew that the thank you was for far more than Ben looking after his stuff. The thank you was for forcing the issue and making Ass think about it. “Do you mind a bumpy shower?” Schnieder asked. “We need to get on the road or we’ll e late for tonight’s gig.” “I’m cool with that.” Ass said and quickly disappeared to the back of the bus. Schnieder got up and descended the steps. Quickly, he went to work packing all the bands gear into the bus. Ronnie turned his attention to Ben. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t spoken, he rarely ever did. But this was different. Ronnie could tell that he had been just as shocked as the others when Ass said they were in love. At first Ronnie only thought he saw it. But as he continued to look at Ben, he knew he was right. Ben was smiling. It was a barely detectable Ben smile, but it was definitely a smile. Ronnie walked over to him and threw his arm over his shoulder. “You all right?” He asked. “You okay talking about this.” “Yeah, I’m cool.” Ben replied. Schnieder packed up the bus and returned to the driver seat. “Tell Ass to hold on, we’re moving out.” He called back to no one in particular. Closing the door, he pressed down on the clutch and shifted the bus into gear. Soon they were on the highway headed west. The three band mates were seated in the couches installed just behind the driver seat. No one said anything. It seemed too important than to talk about anything other than the huge issue in front of them. Not even Pete could think of anything to say. After a few uncomfortable miles, Ass rejoined the group. He sat down next to Ben and put his arm around his shoulder. “So, where do you wanna start?” Ass started. “Uh, I don’t know.” Pete said. “Maybe you could start with … I … dunno … What the fuck is going on with you two? – maybe.” “Well, Pete.” Ass started. “We’re not to sure ourselves. Well…I guess that we all knew how Ben felt. But I had no idea how I felt.” Ass paused with a very thoughtful expression. “That’s not exactly true.” He continued. “I’ve probably known for a while but I would not allow myself to acknowledge my feelings. You know…it’s a little…uh…sorry Ben.” He said as he looked at his friend. “But it’s kinda weird to admit that you actually love another man.” “Tell me about, Ass.” Ben said with a smirk. “Try doing it when you are thirteen.” “Never thought of that.” Ass said. They took a moment to exchange a knowing look. “Hey, don’t mean to break up the moment.” Pete said. “But can we get back to what the hell is going on?” “Yeah, sure.” Ass continued. “So this morning. Ben and I wake up like any other morning. Only today he makes fun of the master.” “Ah the master.” Pete and Ronnie said simultaneously. The tone of their voices made Ass wince noticeably. Then he exhaled. After all, it was that exact statement from Ben that led them to this point. “Right, that’s pretty much what Ben said.” Ass responded as he held up his hand to preempt their apologies. “Anyway, I said something like ‘You know how I feel about the master” “Hang a sec, dude.” Pete said. “I need a beer. Anyone else?” Everyone responded in the affirmative, even Schnieder. “Fuck off, Schnieder.” Pete responded. “You’re driving.” “So?” Schnieder questioned only half-joking. “You can have one of Ronnie’s.” Pete responded. “Fuck that beer-flavored water, bullshit.” Schnieder protested Pete stood up and negotiated his way the the refrigerator. He retrieved three beers and a O’Douls. As he was distributing them, Ass continued. “So, Ben says ‘That’s why I love you’. And I’m like – ‘dude.’.” he said as he opened his can of beer. “Usually, Ben lets it drop. But not this morning.” “Really?” Ronnie asked astonished. “Yeah, he’s like. ‘Ass, at least I’m honest and I admit I love you’. I’m all ‘What?’ He says, ‘You love me’. I start denying it. Then he just rocked my world. He said ‘Ass when was the last time you went on a date with a woman.” “Damn, Ben.” Pete started. “Never knew you had it in ya.” Ben simply smiled. It’s all he could do. The last half hour of Ben’s life was the best he had ever had. He was doing all he could to enjoy the moment. “That’s when I went running.” Ass started to summarize. “It took me almost the whole time to come to terms with the fact that I love a man. I mean …” Turning to Ben, Ass looked him right in the eye and said. “I love you, Ben. And not like in the buddy kinda way – actual love.” “Holy fuck.” Pete said to Ass as he nodded towards Ben. “Go ahead give him a smooch.” “For Christ sake.” Ronnie started but again Ass stopped him. “That brings us to our problem.” Ass explained. “I have no problem acknowledging my love for Ben, but I really don’t know if I can get past the sex thing. I mean…I kinda assumed I would make love with the person I love, but now I realize I love another guy.” “That’s messed.” Pete said. “How the…what is…” Pete just let his words drop off. No one knew what to say. “I seen it happen in ‘Nam.” Schnieder said. “Guys would be buddies and really they acted like couples. Some of ‘em fucked around and some of ‘em didn’t. But I always thought it was the sharing a foxhole thing. Never knew it could happen to anyone. “Yeah, me neither.” Ass started. “Well, that’s where were at. Don’t know how things are going to go.” Ass removed his arm from around Ben’s shoulder and place his hand on his thigh. “I guess you and I need to talk this through, huh?” Ass asked. “Yeah.” Ben replied as he slid his hand on to Ass’ and gave it a squeeze. ------------------------------------------------------------------ The two detectives were completely dumbfounded. They had been interrogating the guy for eight hours and they didn’t even have his name. Taking a moment away from the questioning, they sat at their desks sipping coffee. “You believe him, Bill?” Roger asked breaking the silence. “Huh.” Bill replied. “Do you? Guy kills two people on the street in broad daylight with his bare hands. He can’t remember anything not even his name. The only thing we’ve been able to get out of him is that he was in Saigon last night.” The two men just looked at each other. “Wonder when the shrink is going to get here?” Roger said as he took a quick glance over his shoulder. “Speaking of the Devil.” “Right on cue.” Dr. Monroe Peters said as he strode confidently into the room. “Hear you boys have an interesting case for me.” “Yeah, got a nut job that killed a cop and a bystander for no apparent reason.” Roger reported. “Says he can’t remember his name and that he was in Saigon yesterday. Seems a little far- fetched.” “Hmmm…sounds like this could be a case of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.” Dr. Peters said. “Post stress syn….” Bill started. “What?” “We have been seeing a lot of this with the guys coming back from Vietnam.” Dr. Peters explained. “We use to refer to it as ‘shell shock’. But it is even more than that. These guys saw so much and they just couldn’t handle it.” “So they turn violent?” Roger asked inquisitively “Well, sometimes.” Dr. Peters continued. “Symptoms can range from sleeplessness to night terrors to flashbacks to extreme violence.” “That’s bullshit.” Bill interjected. “Rog and I both slugged it out over there. I don’t mean none of that Saigon Charlie bull. We were in the shit and we didn’t come back half-crazed killers.” Dr. Peters paused and considered Bills outburst. He had heard it frequently and not just from “regular” people, but from his colleagues as well. It was going to be an uphill battle, but he knew deep down that he and the others that recognized the problem would eventually convince people that this was real and these boys would get the help they needed. “Look, Bill.” Dr. Peters said soothingly. “We all deal with stress and trauma in different ways. Some of us have better coping skills.” “Horse shit.” Bill started. “Bill, easy man.” Roger interjected. “The doc’s here to talk to the nut job … uh … the suspect. Let’s let him do his job. All right?” “All right, but don’t expect me to go along with the touchy, feely bullshit.” Bill stated emphatically. “The guy is a cold-blooded killer and a cop killer at that.” The doctor decided to ignore Bill’s matter-of-fact statement. He knew it was going to take time to convince people and this was neither the time or place to start. Right now, his job was to get inside this guys head and see what was happening in there. “Can I see the suspect?” Dr. Peters asked. “Sure.” Roger replied. “This way.” Without looking back at Bill, Dr. Peters fell in step behind Roger. “He’s nothing but a lousy cop killer.” Bill shouted after them. “Sorry, Doc. I know you have a job to do.” Roger apologized. “Bill gets a little wound up, especially when we have a dead cop on our hands.” “I understand, really.” Dr. Peters replied. Dr. Peters interviewed the man for over three hours that. The only thing he could get from the man was that he was sure that he was still in Vietnam and that the “evil” was out there waiting for him. After a week of interviews, Dr. Peters had not made any progress. He wanted to help the man, but unfortunately his illness was too profound. The was only one alternative. “This man is going to spend the rest of his life in a psychiatric facility.” He told the police. “I will start the paperwork.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

I thought I'd give Howard a try

Here is the email I sent to Howard Stern. I guarantee this will get me on his show. Hey Howard, My personal opinion is that you really should check out the Rebeleyeball. I'm smart, funny and I have a pretty nice rack, but I won't let you throw baloney at my ass. Seriously, my reader wants to hear me on your show. She thinks I'm great. I tell ya, I am at least as interesting as any baseball player you have ever had on your show. Let me on, you'll probably reget it. But what the hell, you think people are going to stop listening to you cause you have on one crappy guest? Let me be that guest - I have to sell some books, man. Thanks, Paul Gavin Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Second email to David Lettermen

Just had to try emailing Dave one more time. I think this situation is a little different from the emails I sent to Mark Cuban, because I don't have David Lettermen's direct email address. I watched enough Dave to realize that there is probably an intern reading the email - now that sounds like a fun job. I really think I'm a natural for Howard Stern, but I have no idea how to get ahold of him. Doing all this work is difficult. I need a publicist. For some reason, I think it would be more difficult for me to find a good publicist that would work for free than it would be to get on a show on my own. Maybe I should try Wheel of Fortune. Anyway, here is the email: Yo Dave, Paul Gavin again - you know the Rebeleyeball. I thought we had an agreement. You were going to have a co-ex-Hoosier on the show to talk about my writing and my fan would watch your show. We can rap about anything you want or you can follow my script. I'll keep checking my email every hour, awaiting the scheduling info. Thanks, Paul Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Chapter 16 is ready

I wrote Chapter 16 tonight while I was cooking dinner. This is definitely going in the direction I want it to. You may be interested to know that I figured out what to do with Annie. As far as Anita goes, I'll get back to her soon. I am at a point where I have so many ideas that I am having a little difficulty focusing. It's not like I can stop myself from thinking about the other story lines when I am writing one. Things just pop in my head and I start molding them. It takes a great deal of energy to keep things organized. There are so many story lines and unfortunatly, I can only type so fast. This is the time that I absolutely love writing the most. Okay, so maybe my writing doen't knock you of your feet but you have admit I tell a pretty intriguing, complex story. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 16

Chapter 16 Suddenly, Schnieder was on the bus with Pete and Ronnie. His eyes darting quickly from side to side, he quickly surveyed the bus. “What time is it?” He asked brusquely. “Damn, dude.” Pete responded. “Good Morning to you, too. “I said, ‘what time is it’” Schiender said in a voice that told Pete he was in one of his moods. “It’s noon.” Pete responded trying to determine whether he wanted to say anything else. Between Schnieder’s freakiness and Ronnie’s surly morning attitude, it was not shaping up to be a great bus trip. “Where the fuck are the other two?” Schnieder asked impatiently. Pete looked over to see if Ronnie was going to take part. Seeing him sitting and staring out the window, he knew he was on his own to deal with Schnieder. “Not sure.” Pete responded trying to keep his part of the conversation to the absolute minimum. “Why the fuck not?” Schnieder continued to harshly question. “What? I … uh …” Pete started. “You dumbass. Do you know anything?” Continued Schnieder. “Back of Pete, Schnieder.” Ronnie interjected without turn his head. “It’s your job to make sure the bus leaves on time, not his. That’s why we pay you.” “Look, you little piece of …” Schnieder began. That moment, Ronnie turned and stared directly into Schneider’s eyes. Unflinching, he stared at Schnieder as if he could channel enough energy to bore a hole through him. “Finish that sentence,” Ronnie said evenly. “And you can walk your ass back to Colorado.” Taking a moment to survey the situation, Schnieder saw the look in Ronnie’s eyes. Knowing the kid half his age was absolutely serious, Schnieder began to soften. As he did, he realized that he was being a jerk. “Damn, Ronnie.” Schnieder said. “It’s cool.” “All right, Schnieder.” Ronnie responded in a civil tone. “Let’s just give them a few minutes. I think I saw Ben in the lobby.” “Yeah, and if Ben’s there.” Pete said jovially. “You know Ass has to be pretty close.” This comment drew a glare from Ronnie, but Pete just shrugged it off. That’s just the way he was. Ronnie was intense and moody, Ben was quiet and introverted and Ass was disciplined and reliable. Pete was the one that kept things lose. All the boys had a great sense of humor, that’s one of the things that kept them close. But it was Pete that delivered most of the punch lines, even in the worst situations. “No doubt, eh?” Schnieder said with a hint of a smile. Seeing that Schnieder’s mood was improving, Pete turned an eye back to Ronnie. “You gonna snap out of it, bitch?” Pete asked. “Or you gonna ride the whole way to Missoula with you tight little panties in a bunch?” Schnieder burst out laughing and Ronnie even managed a smile. It wasn’t what Pete said necessarily, it was how he said it. The smile and the infectious laugh were Pete’s trademark. And usually, his timing was dead on. “Hey, here comes Ben.” Ronnie said. The other two hunched over to get a view of Ben walking out of the front door of the hotel. Expecting to see Ass, they all kept watching the front door. Until they heard Ben’s footsteps on the steps of the bus. “Ass have to take a shit?” Pete asked. “What do you mean?” Ben asked as he quickly looked around the bus. “You mean he’s not here?” The three others exchanged a bewildered look. Simultaneously, they turned back to look at Ben. They saw the worried look on his face. After a palatable pause, Ronnie was about to break the silence when they heard the sound of footsteps on the bus steps. Ass ascended the top of the stairs and turned to see the four others staring at him. Taken aback, he wasn’t sure what to say. No one else knew what to say either. “What are you looking at?” Ass finally broke the silence. “You.” Ben replied looking at him with a concerned look. “Where have you been?” Ass turned his eyes away from Ben and addressed his response to the others. “I went for a run.” Ass responded and with a shrug he continued. “Guess I went a little farther than I planned.” “Dude, what the fuck?” Pete asked. Ass was drenched in sweat. His white University of Colorado t-shirt was actually dripping and there were two circles of red one his chest. “I dunno.” Ass replied. It was as if he was trying to understand his appearance. He took a closer look at himself. His shoes were covered I mud. As were, his socks and calves. Like his shirt, his shorts had reached their capacity to hold the sweat that had drained from his body. He pulled the neck of his shirt open and look down. “Holy shit.” He exclaimed. “My nipples are bleeding. That’s never happened before. I guess they got a little chaffed while I was running.” “How far did you run?” Pete continued since he seemed to be the only one that cold talk. “After I turned back around I ran past a sign that said Billings – 9 miles.” Ass responded. “I think I must have run like twenty or twenty-one miles.” “You what?” Ben asked finally finding his voice. “Are you that …” “We’ll talk about it later, Ben.” Ass said cutting him off. Seeing the look Ass had given him, Ben decided not to push it. If Ass said they would talk later, then they would talk later. Looking around, he realized that he didn’t really want to have the conversation in front of everyone either. “I just needed to do some thinking.” Ben heard Ass continuing. It was as if Ben was outside his body. He floated around the group, studying the look on each face. Then he felt it. All the concern for Ass, all the focus all the attention all the concerned conversation buzzing back and forth made it perfectly clear to him. Before he really knew he was talking he heard his voice. “Let’s talk about it now.” “What?” Ass responded. “Really? In front of everyone?” “Why not.” Ben said gaining courage. “They are our best friends, our family really.” Ass hesitated. Looking deeply into Ben’s eyes, he saw it. He saw the love. Just as they were while they were playing, they were in synch. “What’s going on with you two?” Pete asked. “Ben and I are in love.” Ass said matter-of-factly. Ben was more shocked than any of the other three. They group exchanged bewildered looks. No one had any idea how to respond. “Problem is.” Ass continued. “I’m not gay. Any of you guys have any ideas how what we can do about that?” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- He cleared his throat and stepped slowly up to the microphone. “We the Thunder Ridge High graduating class 1971,” Frankie began. “Are faced with a world of uncertainty. The war effort in Vietnam continues. We have problems with labor unions, inflation, recession, race riots. Our challenge is to set forth from here and take the lead in making America great. We need to become involved. Join the Peace Corp, work to pass the 27th amendment. I myself have joined the Marine Corps. I leave tomorrow for Paris Island and then hopefully I will be sent to Vietnam to protect the freedom of the Vietnamese people.” Frankie pause to let the crowd absorb his statement. He had not told anyone that he was now a Marine. “I know that all the protesters out there are saying this is an unjust war. That America is ruining Vietnam. That we are killing innocents. I say not. What better cause than the cause of freedom? What better war than the war against communism? It is our time to keep America great and to preserve freedom for all people!” He stepped back for the podium and scanned the crowd. Waiting for the cheers to erupt. Much to his dismay, it was not cheers he heard but jeers. “BABY KILLER!” One classmate screamed. “Make love, not war man.” Another added. Several other remarks could be heard mixed in with the very loud boos. “What the hell?” Frankie thought. “Is everyone here high on pot?” He stepped back up to the microphone. “What is wrong with you people? Don’t you want to make the world a better place?” Then she invaded his thoughts. Totally occupying everything. He had to push it aside to deal with the issues of the here and now. “Look, America use to stand for something.” He said as he brushed aside every thought of her. “It used to be the land of the free and the home of the brave. We said it and we meant it. Now that a few of those hippie protesters start saying “Turn on and tune out” all of you are ready to pack it in and be satisfied with things as they are. We need … “Fuck off, Mr. Establishment.” “Booooo….” Frankie was drowned out he could not be heard above the din. That was it. He couldn’t take anymore. He just turned and walked away from the podium. He could not believe how his speech was received. He had played it over again and again in his head and every time it ended in a chorus of cheers. He had been wrong, totally wrong. Much like he had been with everything he had done in the past month. Right after prom he broke up with her. He didn’t want her to worry while he was gone. Now he knew it had been the biggest mistake he had ever made. He had to get out of here now. “No, really I got to get the fuck out of here. Amid the continuing chorus of boos, he quickly turned and jumped over the rail and onto the football field. As soon as he hit he was running full stride to her house. He made it to Elmcrest Road. He ran to her front door and began pounding. “Debbie, Debbie.” He yelled in agony. “Please come to the door.” He pounded and pounded. There was no answer. He continued pounding. “Debbie please…” After what seemed to be an eternity, Debbie came to the door. “What do you want?” She asked. “I thought you said it was over.” Totally relived that she finally answered the door, Frankie simply said, “I was wrong.” “What?” Debbie asked. His head sunk as he looked at the floor of the wooden porch. “I was wrong.” He said almost silently. “What are you saying?” Debbie asked. “I am saying that you mean more to me than I can possible say.” “Then why did you break it off?” She asked in a very bitter tone. “Why?” She said searchingly. “I…I…I…” he started. “You what?” She asked. “You took me out and flat out told me that nothing would happen between us. You said that.” She said. Then more emphatically she said, “YOU SAID THAT!” Stunned and humbled Frankie couldn’t think of how to reply. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he said, “I know, I know.” He started. “But since then I have spent a lot of time thinking and I was wrong.” Slowly he moved toward her. He looked directly into her eyes and said, “I was wrong. What else can I say? Can I tell you that every waking moment you are in my thoughts? That you invade my dreams every night. That you are all I ever think about. All I care about. You are my everything. My world. You fill a need that I have had for a very long time.” “Are you serious?” Debbie asked when he took a moment to breath. “You came and told me that we had bad timing. That everything you had said in the past was wrong and now you’re trying to tell me that you didn’t mean it?” Frankie considered what Debbie was saying to him. He could understand her confusion but he couldn’t understand why she didn’t believe him. “Well…uh…well…yeah.” He said. “I already said I was wrong and I meant it.” “You think you can walk over here and just tell me that you were wrong and sorry and I would just open my arms and accept you back?” Frankie took a moment to consider what Debbie was saying. “Well…uh…I mean…well… yeah...I mean…you know…” “No, I don’t know. I just don’t get it.” “What do you mean?” “I mean you told me. You told me that it was over between us. That it had all been a mistake. That you just couldn’t continue.” Frankie look down and kicked at an invisible dirt speck on the porch. “I know, but I didn’t mean it. I just…I…” “You just what?” “What I said…well I…well I was wrong.” Frankie said. “Since then I have done a lot of thinking…” “You’ve done some thinking?” She asked viciously. Stunned, Frankie was totally taken aback. This was Debbie. Debbie the object of his affection. The most beautiful woman he had ever met. The woman he was going to … “Well?” She asked again. “Well this. I made mistakes but one thing I can tell you is that I want you, I need you. We have to be together. I mean it.” “You want me, you need me?” She asked even more viciously than before. “I’ve moved on.” “What?” Frankie asked. “I’ve moved on.” She said flatly. Frankie thought for a moment. He didn’t know quite how to react. He thought and thought for what seemed an eternity. This wasn’t the way he expected the conversation to go. He had expected her to be as excited as he was. “You’ve moved on?” Frankie asked, he voice crackling with emotion. “What about me?” “What about you?” She asked. “You told me you weren’t interested in me any more.” “I…well…I was…it’s…I just wanted to let you down easy.” He replied weakly. “Let me down easy?” She asked incredulously. “Yeah, I didn’t want to make you wait …” “Make me wait?” She asked indignantly. “Yeah, make you wait until …” His voice trailed off. “Until what?” She asked as her eyes look at his face, searching. “That’s not important.” He said quickly not wanting to change the conversation. The most important thing is that I need you. I have to have you. I must … I … well …I want …” “What are you saying?” She asked after the stammering became intolerable. “I’m saying that the things I thought should keep us apart don’t matter any more.” He paused trying to get his lips to form the correct words. “I mean…it’s…well we should be together – even if it is for a short time. I just …” “You just what?” She asked harshly. “I just have to have you. I mean it.” He said quietly. “I will do anything, anything for you. I will …” “You’ll what?” She continued questioning. Frankie was so focused on trying to communicate his desires, he complete missed Debbie’s hostile body language. Arms folded tightly across her chest, she glared directly at his face as he spoke. “I’ll do anything you ask, just to be with you.” He pled without looking to see if his words were having the desired effect. “I mean it, anything. Just ask me. I will do it. Please, you just have to ask.” “Are you telling me you love me?” She prompted. “Maybe….uh…maybe…well…I’m not sure, but I would like to find out.” Frankie managed to say. “Really, I would like to explore things with you.” “Explore?” “Yes, I mean it. I want to try. It’s worth it. I mean it. I want this to happen. Please, please let it happen. Let’s try.” “Screw you.” Debbie said. “What?” “I said screw you coming here and messing with my mind. Coming here telling me you will do anything and you want to explore.” Debbie said angrily. “Screw you.” “No…please…” “Please what?” “Please, it can work. We can be …” “We can be what?” “We can be together – even for a short time. Please, please give me the chance. You know you want me as much as I want you.” “What?” “I know it. You want it as bad as I do. You want us to be together. I could tell when you touch me. I know. I know….” He tailed off voicelessly. “You don’t know shit.” “Yes, I do. I know what I want now. It’s you. And I know you want me. I know it. You just need to admit it.” “Screw you.” Debbie said as she slammed the door in his face. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Bummer

My graphic artist didn't finish the new cover for Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain. Anyone have any thoughts of the new name? "Web Site". Since the artist didn't finish, I still have time to come up with a new name. I am open to suggestions. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

A little more on Vickie

Last night, we created a character named Victoria aka Vickie. We have a good base understanding. She is a 37 year-old divorced woman that happens to be an ex-Goth that had a brief episode of cutting herself when she was a teenager. She is intelligent, strong and generally happy although she is teetering on the edge of becoming a bitter person. So what else do we need to know about Victoria? We still need to research the music, but what about books? Who would her favorite author be - James Mitchner? Nah, how about Jack Kerouac? She likes "On the Road", but the really genius is in "Big Sur" and "The Subterraneans". What does she do in her spare time. Actually, she is more physical than we would guess. She bikes, runs, skis and goes to yoga - all in moderation. Additionally, she loves to play board games with her friends. Bit what she really digs is writing poetry - that is what her blog is about. Next time, we are going to talk about the 45+ man. Right now, I am thinking that he is a man ready to retire and fulfill his dream of being ... next time. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Who wants to be on TV

Here I am, a fiction writer wannabe who thinks he has this incredible idea, but I can't get the right people to listen. I am tired of wringing my hands about this. Let's just do it. Yesterday, I started by telling you the age groups of the six characters of the show. Tonight, I want to introduce one of the characters. Come on, we'll do it together. Let's start by creating a blogger type profile. Who should we create first? What's that you say? The 35 to 44 year old female character? Exactly what I was thinking. First thing we need is a name. Well, not the first thing. You can't just reach out a grab a name. No, the name has to be the person. There is absolutely nothing worse than not having the name match the character, unless you are going to purposely play on the mismatch in the story. But we don't want to do that with her, do we? No, you say. My thoughts exactly. So, this 35 to ... no lets just pick a year she was born let's go with 1968. Why 1968 you ask? When you look back through history, there are certain years that stick out as particularly meaningful. Right, you have your 1066, your 1448, of course 1492, then there's 1557, 1620 notwithstanding, everyone's favorite 1776, 1789 a year we should all be considering at this time, 1812 not so much in this bunch, but we'll include it here anyway, 1815, 1860, 1865, 1899, 1914, 1917, 1929, 1933, 1940, 1941, and . Now, I understand that this site is available globally and I know I left out some important dates, please forgive me. Christ, I am American (just a little dig at the other 60 or so countries that co-exist with the US on the two American continents)it's not like were known for our global awareness or our sense of history. By the way, if the dates I listed don't mean anything to you - you may want to do a little studying. Anyway, I have always refered to 1968 as a crack in time - at least since I saw a documentary titled "1968: A Crack in Time" in my History 450 class in college. Wow, that was a long route to say she's 37. She'll turn 38 on October 4, 2006. See now we know we are dealing with a 37 year old woman and we know her birthday. Now, we need to make her interesting. First of all, when she was younger she was into the Goth scene - heavily. Not the whole vampire scene, but definitely wearing black with red lipstick and pasty white skin. Going to the clubs, listening to the music and doing all the other Goth stuff. Why a Goth you ask. There is something about woman that feel the need to express themselves in this fashion. Not that I have ever had much experience with Goth woman, but for some reason I get it. The few times I have had the pleasure of having a conversation with a person that lives this type of lifestyle, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. For some reason, I get it. That being said, I have never really been associate with the Goth lifestyle. We will have to do some research here i.e. get some band names, some clubs that are well known circa 1995 to 2000. Might help if we had a hometown to research the clubs. Who up for Chicago - absolutely not. Too big a city, I'm thinking Des Moines Iowa. Where are we? Oh yeah, 37 year old white ex-Goth from Des Moines, IO. Now I think we have enough to get her name. Wait one other tidbit, when she was earlier in her early teens, she was a bit of a cutter. But she couldn't stand the pain so it only lasted about 3-6 months. However, the fact that she did it at all is very difficult for her to take. So, do have a name? Ashley? No. Jennifer? Just not right. Any other thoughts? Well to me, this adds up to a Vickie or Victoria as she goes by ever since she decided to leave the Goth lifestyle, be "normal" find a man and settle down. She ended up with Steve, who happened to be the most controlling abusive bastard in Iowa. But because Victoria is a very intelligent woman and she possesses an inner strength, she was able to summon up the courage to walk out a year ago. It was her new beginning, but she is still burdened by the depression. That equals a screen name like darkgodess ... uh ... no. Way too obvious and there is already darkgodess1 through darkgoddess16. No, she is BriteEyes. You think Vickie is a wreck? Don't misunderstand, Vickie is not a basket case. She is a very intelligent, very strong woman. However, she was not brought up to assert herself. Nor has she ever had anyone that has recognized these qualities or given her the support to achieve her potential. So here is the character we built together, Vickie a very intelligent, strong 37 year old, ex-Goth that experienced a bad marriage. She has a generally positive outlook on life, but she is teetering on the edge of becoming one of the bitter post-divorce man-haters. One more bad experience and she might fall over into the abyss. Over time, we will flesh out all of these idiosyncrasies and fobiles. We will also probably find a few more. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Some pretty good news

This is pretty exciting for me. The blog just reached it's 1000th page load from 526 unique visitors. There were four reasons I started blogging. First, I was interested in finding out what blogging was all about out natural curiosity. Second, I wanted to see how all this online marketing stuff worked. Third, I wanted to get exposure to my work. And lastly, I wanted to sell some of my books. How have I done in five weeks? Well, I think I understand all the buzz about blogging. I love doing it. Rarely do I sit an watch TV any more. My laptop is always, well, on my lap. Overall, I would say I have a pretty good idea how online advertising works. In the last five weeks, I learned more about advertising and marketing than I learned in my previous 20+ years in the business world. As far as getting exposure check out the numbers and you can see that there has been a significant traffic increase.                         Jan 18 to Feb 8 (21 days)   Feb 9 to Feb 23 (14 days)     Total Page loads:               354                                    647                                  1001 Unique Visitors:       149                                    377                                    526 First Time Visitors:  135                                   345                                     480 Return Visitors:         14                                     32                                       46 In 14 days, there was almost twice the page loads and more than twice the repeat visitor traffic of the previous 21 days. The one area I where I haven't made any progress is: I haven't sold any books. But I have had 25 new visitors to Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain. That may not sound like many, but in the last 2 1/2 years I only had 80. So, that is a big jump. I think I have two problems with Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain. First, the title is too long. So, I am going to change the name to "Web Site". Second, although personally I like the cover, it does not have a professional look. It looks like a self-published work. They say you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover, but I really think that is happening. Therefore, I have engaged a very talented graphic artist to create a new cover for me. I should have the final proofs back tomorrow. This weekend I will publish "Web Site" on lulu.com. All of you that have already purchased a copy Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain will have quite a collectors item when "Web Site" hits it big. You'll be able to tell everyone, I read it when it was Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain. In summary, it's pretty encouraging news. Hopefully, you are all enjoying my attempt to entertain you and you feel like a part of the experience. All y'all come back and bring your friends - the more the merrier! Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Technical Difficulties

I have no idea why the sidebar is not behaving properly. I am working on it and will resolve the issue as soon as possible. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Let's consider the written word

Living in twenty-first century United States, it is easy to take things for granted. Such as, the written word. It's very simple. Everyone reading this blog is at least marginally literate. We all know what words are, how the are spelled, how to read them. Do you ever consider that most of the world does not have a concept of reading and writing? It's true. Most of the world communicates only with the spoken word. Think about that for a minute. If you only communicate by the spoken word, it means that it is very difficult to communicate over distances. You can only speak to someone who is in your presence. What about the telephone? Well, it is estimated that over sixty percent of the world's population has never seen a telephone. If that estimate is correct, then that means that well over half of the world's population lives within the same social structure that the European-based society had prior to 1448, when Gutenberg refined the printing process to allow for mass produced documents. Prior to that, literacy was confined to the elite and the clerics. Those that slavishly copied, re-copied, re-re-copied books, charts and documents by hand. Thus society was formed in small geographically-based tribal units. Communication was limited to those that you could speak to in a relative close proximity. Since a conversation gets a little stale after a week, it was hard to keep close connection with people that lived farther than a one week walk or horse ride from you. I have no idea who was the first to capture an alphabet and string together symbols into meaningfully groupings, not sure that anyone does. Just think about the genius of it though. Think of the shear magnitude of effort it would take to do this. How could you get a group, abet a small group, but still more than a few people, to agree what shape symbol meant "a". Additionally, what sound is attributed to that symbolic representation? Obviously, it's not easy on that last part - that's how we end up with "accents". Again, a regional geographic separation hindered the adherence to a strict standard. Why does any of this matter? Mainly, it tells a great deal about how we have grown as a society. Additionally, it should point out that when we look at the rest of the world we cannot begin to understand what it is like to live where the main form of communication is verbal. Verbal communication is transient and therefore unreliable. The written word is permanent for the life of the media on which it is captured. It can be argued that it is reliable in that it can be examined, re-examined even argued about the meaning without losing sight of what was originally captured. Whereas, verbal communication becomes the victim of people's memory over a very short time frame. Yes, the written word is what made us who we are. It is what keeps our society together. It is what allows us to appreciate our rich, storied history as individuals, as families, as nations, and as a world. It is what allows me to accurately capture what I am thinking at this moment and transfer it to a media that I can refer to later and possibly recapture part of what I felt at the exact moment. It is what allows us to speculate what the future may hold. Unlike a memory, the written word can also transfer these thoughts to you over space and time without ever having met you. That is power. That is the written word. That is what I love about writing. That is why I will continue to write. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

And you laughed at my BIG Idea

This post is to inform you that My BIG Idea is the most visited page on all of the rebeleyeball blogs. Yes, now it is just a matter of time before someone blatantly rips off my idea and finds the capital to launch it. All I ask is that when you do rip me off, throw me a bone. It's the most you could do - give me credit for the idea and a small stipend. I'm not greedy, just want to get a little ... you know ... consideration. Do the right thing. Is that too much to ask? Don't we live in a civilized society? Can't you just give credit where credit is due? I wonder who they will get to play me. Let's see, Chris Farley is no longer with us, Chris Rock is too skinny, Christina Brinkley is a little too blonde ... hmm ... I guess it might have to be - Fred Flintstone. Ask anyone who knows me - I do have his toes. Maybe I should just produce it myself. I could do it. Sure, what's stopping me? Just have to figure out how to cast the characters without give up too much info. The cast should be made up of 3 men and 3 women. There should be a man and a women in each of the age groups - 25-34, 35-44 and 45+. I want them to be geographically separated. The blogs would start first, that will give my time to write an actual script for the show. All that's left after that would be to schedule a timeslot on television - anyone know anything about Leased Access? Just a little FYI: If you have to ask what Leased Access is, then you don't know anything about it. If you are interested, please apply via comment. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Amazing Poetry Link

Wow! This site blew me away. I highly recommend you check this out. http://sleightmind.blogspot.com/ . Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

My writing process

This may come as no surprise to anyone. But when I write, I don't sit down to outline exactly what I am going to write. I tend to allow my fingers to just go. Everything I have written in these blogs and as part of the break have been stream-of-consciousness. I rarely re-read what I type and I rely too heavily on the spell checker. I know these are limitations. My writing could probably be significantly better if I took the time to chart out what I am going to say. Then flesh out the outline, re-read and look for more appropriate words for each situation I am writing. However, I wouldn't enjoy that at all. Let me tell you a little about me. My job is to be a manager. Not only that, but I am a development manager. This means I spend most of my time planning and executing to plan. I am writing as a form of relaxation. One thing I do not want to do is come home at night and follow the same process I follow at work. To me, it is much more exciting to just sit down and see what my characters have been up to. Don't get me wrong, I know these people. I live with my characters twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I know where they were born, where they grew up, who they dated in high school, what they like to eat, how they like to spend their time. I also know all the crap they have in their heads, the things they don't want anyone to know about, what makes them happy, what makes them sad. In less words, they are very real to me. I think about them at various times throughout the day as if I was thinking about a friend I haven't spoken to in a long time. Other times, like when I am writing, they consume my thoughts. There have been times that I have felt that I was channeling their emotions - wait - did I just say that? Uh...do I want to let you in...oh, that's right, full disclosure. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

New blog layout

Since I have been updated the blogs regularly and the list only maintains ten links, I created a page of links to all the posts. Additionally, it is very hard to read a book backwards. Therefore, in the top left of the blog title there is a list called "Suggested Starting Points". Click on the area you want to go to and it will take you to the list of links for that blog. I hope this makes it easier on everyone to find any post you are looking for. Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 15

Chapter 15 Since he had been lying in the hospital bed, he did not have many visitors. In fact, the only people allowed past the heavily armed guards were cops and lawyers. Right now, Ron was glad that there were neither present right now. He was heavily involved in reviewing his life. Trying the best he could to remember the entire path that led to the explosion. For some reason, he kept thinking about one day in particular. It seemed to define his life, up until the time that the doctor first told him he had cancer. That was the day his life changed. That was the moment that he realized that Ronnie was the most important part of his life. That was the day he pushed Ronnie to explore his talent. That, of course, was what had led to this terrible situation. Prior to the life altering diagnosis, he had one and only one goal in life and that was to make as much money as he possibly could. It was about the only goal he had ever had any luck in meeting. His first goal was to be a pro ball-player. When that didn’t work out, he wanted to have a son that was a pro ball-player. He got stuck with that lame ass excuse for a son, Little Ronnie. All he ever wanted to do was smoke dope and play the guitar. “My luck, he’s probably a fag, too.” He remembered thinking. At the time, he had no idea how much his life would change. How much more he would understand about people. No back then, he had been very self-involved. “Was I really like that?” He thought. “Really was it like I remember? Could I have been that shallow?” Ron deftly weaved his Hummer through traffic, much as he moved his own bulk effortlessly through crowds. The Hummer was a natural fit for Big Ron - big, tough and expensive and yet deceptively agile. It was the only vehicle for a man like Big Ron. "Can't believe that kid of mine." He thought to himself. "Why couldn't he have been a ball player?" “Fuckin’ A.” He said aloud as he brushed several beads of sweat that formed on his forehead despite the fact that he was behind the wheel of an air-conditioned vehicle. He felt a slight grin begin to form on his face as he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the rhythm of the road. Almost instantly, his mood changed. “Oh well,” Big Ron thought to himself. “Guess I’ll just have to suffer through life being the rich, handsome man that I am.” The musings about the Hummer did not last long. They were quickly replaced by business. For the last six months, Big Ron had been working a huge development deal. It was the most perfect deal he had ever put together. All he had to do was match the money to the landowner and he would walk away with five million dollars. “Five million for six months work,” he thought as the grin exploded into a full-fledged smile. “Not bad - not bad at all.” As usual, Ron pulled into his personalized parking space. Seemingly in one motion, he put the Hummer in park, opened the door and exited the behemoth. Nonchantly, he tossed his keys on the front seat before closing the door. They would need them when they came to wash the Hummer. The Hummer was detailed every day. If there was one thing Big Ron believed in, it was appearances. “You always – always - have to look as if you don’t need money.” He said frequently. As he fetched his jacket that was neatly hung in the back seat, he picked off a couple of pieces of lint that had become attached to it during the long commute. Now, his suit was impeccable. That went well with his perfectly manicured fingers, close cropped hair and his chiseled torso. The latter had been slipping a bit lately. This deal had cut into his workout regimen. The result was some extra cushioning around the middle. It was even starting to show in his suit. The pants were tight and the jacket was starting to bunch up a bit. That definitely was unacceptable. Most women didn’t mind a little extra padding. That is, they didn’t mind until you got naked. Ron had seen the look a few times lately. As soon as the papers were signed, he would take care of that. Always the hunter, Big Ron looked in every woman’s eyes. When he saw the right sparkle, he closed in immediately. There was rarely a day in Big Ron’s life that he didn’t get a little extra action. Ron had always felt like a man – a real man. This feeling was fed by his incredible skill for satisfying women. “If there was one thing I can do, its fuck.” He would brag to his friends. “Who am I to hold back? All babes deserve a little satisfaction in their lives. I’m happy to be of service.” Upon hearing his rhetoric, most men wrote it off as false bravado. However, Big Ron actually understated his talent for physically stimulating women. Unfortunately for his wife, he was not able to provide much else for a woman. Ron knew that Sheila didn’t like his charitable contributions to woman-kind, but he really didn’t care. If she was willing to give it to him several times a day, he wouldn’t go chasing. Actually, that wasn’t true. Big Ron wanted – no he actually needed strange. He just couldn’t control it. This behavior cost him dearly in his first marriage. It was even more costly in his first divorce. But that wasn’t going to happen again. He had Sheila sign a pre-nuptial agreement that was very much in his favor. He still felt it was the shrewdest deal he ever closed. There was no doubt that Sheila was attractive. He wouldn’t have married her if she wasn’t a world class beauty. They used to be amazing together. But it got boring. That’s all it was. It was like they used up their quota and it just wasn’t fun any more. He still performed his duty occasionally, but it wasn’t a big deal. Instead, he opted to spend his energy on anonymous sex. Big Ron strode towards the elevator. This morning he had something on his mind. That something was a hot little number that always arrived around the same time in the lobby by the bank. He had caught her eye briefly once last week and then again two days ago. Ron knew one thing – she wanted it. And she was going to get it. “That’s right, today is the day little missy gets what’s coming to her. “ He thought. As the door opened, he saw her. It was perfect. The hard part was over, all he had to do now was close the deal and Big Ron was a closer, just ask anyone. He quickly strode towards her. He tried to get her attention, but she wouldn’t look up. Ron slowed his pace so that he wouldn’t walk past her. He veered slightly to the left and as she looked up, he turned back to the left so that he was facing her. Their eyes met and Ron gave her a big smile. She immediately returned the smile and gazed deeply into his eyes. She stared at him for a full fifteen seconds. Now Ron knew he had her. She was interested. All he had to do was strike up a conversation and he would be pumping her within the hour. “Hi, there.” Ron said with a giant smile. “Hello.” She responded as she turned her eyes downward. “Bad sign.” Ron thought. The thought quickly shot out of Ron’s mind as she looked up and made eye contact again. This time she wore a knowing smile. “That’s more like it.” He thought. “So, where are you heading?” “Just going to work?” She replied. “That’s too bad.” Ron said. “I was heading for a cup of coffee and I didn’t want to go alone.” Ron watched closely for her reaction. If she hesitated for a moment, she would go with him. After ten seconds, she had not responded. Finally she said, “Well, I was on my way to Starbucks.” She said coyly. “Oh, really? Do you mind if I join you?” Ron said knowing the battle had been won. “Well sure, that would be nice.” She said. They never actually made it to the coffee shop. Big Ron didn’t have time. Today was the day he going to close the deal. No doubt about it. All the work over the past six months was about to pay off. Somehow in the three blocks, Ron had made enough progress, that he simply walked into the office building that housed the coffee shop and walked into the stairwell without even looking back. He knew she would follow him. Within thirty seconds, he was inside her. He lifted her arms above her head and pinned her against the wall. Slowly, he penetrated her deeply, forcefully. Then he would slide out equally as slowly and then repeat the steady inward thrust. Relentlessly he kept the same rhythm filling her completely then slowly sliding out. She asked him to move faster, then she begged. Big Ron was too disciplined. Experience told him that this method was the best way to ensure she enjoyed herself to the fullest. “You just have to wait for it.” He whispered into her ear as he continued driving into her. After what seemed to be an eternity, she began to lose control. Ron felt it. He knew she was close. As she began the low guttural moan, he slammed deeply into her and pushed hard with his legs. His giant frame almost crushing her into the wall as he pressed farther and throbbed. Within seconds, he felt the explosive release. After he withdrew, he quickly zipped up his pants, turned and walked out of the stairwell without say a word. He didn’t have time. It had taken longer than he expected with that girl. Now, he only had four minutes before the meeting. “No big deal, you got it cold.” He told himself as he quickly exited the building without pausing or glancing over his shoulder. Of course Big Ron was right. This had been the easiest deal he had ever worked. He had found a seller that wanted to sell and a buyer that really wanted to buy. All he did was put them in the same room. The two absolutely loved each other. As a matter of fact, Ron thought they were currently engaging it extra circular activities. It was great. She was a young widow that wanted to liquidate all of her poor dead husband’s estate. He was a trust-funder looking to get into the land development arena to prove he could do more than spend his inheritance. “What a dickhead.” Ron thought. “He never had to work a day in his life.” Ron was jealous, but very happy that the kid was so naive. Ron was charging him a full five points more than his standard rate. “My commission is eleven percent.” Ron had said. “Sounds fair to me.” The kid said without batting an eye. Needless to say, Big Ron was going to make five million on this deal. He really was in a good mood this morning. The elevator opened at the 33rd floor. Big Ron stepped out and walked towards the glass doors embossed with the words “Harrison and Associates”. It always made Ron smile when he saw that. Just because there never were nor would there ever be, any Associates. Big Ron was this company. “Morning Jenny.” Big Ron said cheerfully to his receptionist. “How’s my favorite employee?” He gave her a big smile and a quick wink. “Fine, Ron.” Jenny responded in her typically beaming tone. “How was you weekend?” “Perfect and it just kept going this morning.” He replied feeling very satisfied. “How about you? You and that boyfriend of yours do anything exciting?” “Yeah, but I’ll have to tell you about it later. Your nine o’clock is here.” “What?” Ron said taken aback. “Well, half your nine o’clock is here.” She said. Then more snidely she said. “It’s the witch.” “Keep it down, Jenny. We don’t want to spoil this deal.” He cautioned. “What is she doing here, she’s always late.” “Well, what ever it is, she’s pissed. She couldn’t believe you weren’t here yet.” “Where is she?” Ron asked. “In the conference room.” “Okay, get me some coffee and bring it in, would you?” He asked as he worked to pull his thoughts together. “It’s already in there with the breakfast tray.” “Of course it is. How could I ever doubt you?” Ron quickly walked to the conference room. “Something must really be wrong.” He thought. “She usually keeps us waiting for at least a half hour.” The door swung open and Vicki was seated at the mahogany conference table talking on her cell phone. “…I don’t care.” She said into the phone as she waved Ron into the room. “I want it that way.” She said as she inhaled deeply on her cigarette. “Who does this bitch think she is?” Ron thought. “Oh yeah, the client.” He told himself as he swallowed the words that wanted to come out. “Look, just do it.” She said after a short pause and then she hung up. “Arrgggh, why can’t people just do as their told?” Ash flick. “Where have you been?” “Traffic.” Ron managed to say without betraying his anger. Ron never let anything get in the way of business. This was a big deal and he wasn’t about to blow it by reacting badly. He was just going to suck it up and deal with this bitch. “Whatever,” she said as she searched for an ashtray. “Don’t you have any ashtrays? “Uh … this in a non-smoking building.” Ron replied. “Like every other building in Denver, you stupid bitch.” He thought as he grabbed a plate off of the breakfast tray. “Here use this.” She frowned, took one more drag from her cigarette and reluctantly snuffed it out on the plate Ron offered. “Well, what are you going to do about this environmental group that is trying to prevent development in the Vail Valley?” “What?” Ron responded testily. “You haven’t heard? Isn’t this your business? Aren’t you the expert?” “Yes, but this is the first…” “The first you heard?” She interrupted. “What the hell am I paying you for? I am telling you this?” “First off, I know my job. Secondly, what’s the big deal?” “The big deal? Are you serious?” She asked angrily. “This deal has to go through. I’ve been doing everything I can to seal this deal, including fucking that douche bag. I don’t want it to sour now.” She shrieked. “Look, calm down. First, keep your mouth shut. You know the moron doesn’t watch the news or read the paper, so he doesn’t know anything. Thank God I was busy this weekend and I don’t know anything. If I don’t know anything, I don’t have to tell my client anything. All we have to do is sign the papers and everything is set. So, if you just shut up for the next half hour everything will be fine. You think you can do that?” “Well, what about the …” “I said shut up and I meant it. If you tell me any more, I’ll have to inform my client and that will sour the deal – got it.” “But …” “Vicki, shut the fuck up!” Ron said as he slapped the table for emphasis. That got her attention. Stung by the sharp noise, it took her a moment to react. She opened her mouth to speak, but decided not to when she looked into Ron’s eyes and saw the fury burning. It turned out to be a very wise decision as the door opened ten seconds later and Mr. Trust-Fund walked in the door. “Morning all, you ready to sell some Real Estate?” “Course we are.” Ron said as he turned to Vicki and smiled. Vicki met his smile and nodded her head. Then she looked at Mr. Trust-Fund and gave him a very sultry smile and said, “Of course, honey.” She cooed. “You just sit right down next to me.” “Jesus Christ.” Ron thought as her witnessed her instant transformation. “She’s Frightening, but she is going to make me a bunch of money.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Trouble with Chapter 15

Unfortunately, Chapter 15 is not going to write itself. Last night, I gave it specific instructions to do so and it just did not listen. It is almost done and I should be able to post it tomorrow night. One thing I have been tossing around. Do I really need the Annie character? I had planned to work a relationship between Annie and Ronnie, but I am not sure if I need that in the whole scheme of things. The drawback to writing her out is that I would have to go back and rewrite all the chapters where she appears. I will have to mull on that for awhile. I want the restaurant scenes to stick around and I have a few more of them. A couple of other things about the story so far. I really think you are going to like where I am going with the wholes Anita Sanchez thing. If you ever read Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain, you may be able to draw some parallel characteristics between Anita and one of my favorites in that book. Also, I like Ronnie and I want to get into his head, but I don't want this to be too introspective. I trust you'll let me know if I do. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

New look

So, what do you think of the new look? I wasn't happy with the other template. This one seems to fit the material a little better. Additionally, I changed the google format. It is a new Adsense format and I moved the search box. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

A bit on reading blogs

Following my own advice, I have been out reading blogs. The variety of blogs is truly impressive. A few things I have noticed: *From what I have seen, about 50/50 split of English vs non-English language blogs *Most blogs are from North American, Asia and Australia. Not many European or South American. I have only seen one African blog. *Pictures of Che Guevera. *Openly racists blogs. *Blogs of very Christian people. *Very artistic blogs. *Other writer's blogs. *Diaries. *Very sad people. *People bragging about getting loaded. It is pretty entertaining. I leave comments when I think it's appropriate, especially if I like the blog. It's a cool community, I like being part of it. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The zone

My head is electric with ideas. Ideas for story lines, ideas for characters, ideas for presentation formats. This is what writing is all about for me. Yes, I have entered my zone where nothing else matters. I have vivid images racing through my brain so quickly that I cannot type fast enough to capture everything. Yeah, I am in the zone, the writing zone. It is a complete, all encompassing adrenaline rush that makes me want to keep writing to the exclusion of other things in my life. But it is a hobby and I like to think I am good at it. But it is more than that. It is almost a game, where I try to engage others to read the thoughts that I have and see if I can get my readers to react. All reactions are welcome, except one. The one thing I fear more than anything. Actually, the only thing I actually fear. The fear is almost palatable. I feel it every time I press the "Publish Post" button in this editor. It is, of course, no reaction at all. Being hit with the "ho-hum, why should I read this anyway" reaction. I really have no idea why I write. It is more than some thing to do to kill the time. But I do know exactly why I publish. It is because I want people to feel. I want people to think. All the material I create is intended to get my readers to think beyond themselves. To really look at other people and try to instill some empathy for my characters in the reader. If I succeed in communicating my message, fantastic. If I don't, well I can't stop writing. Therefore, I can't stop publishing. Maybe I'll get to one of you. Maybe it will be ten. Who knows? Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 The phone rang again. It was the eleventh time this morning and it wasn’t even 9:30. Anita did not want to talk to anyone right now. She was so angry that she actually had a bitter taste in her mouth. Since she lost her job two months ago, she had not left her apartment. In fact, she had barely gotten out of bed. Her fashionable Lodo loft looked more like a flop house than an upscale residence. There were takeout containers strewn across the kitchen and dining room. A few cartons from Chinese take out even made it into the bedroom. She felt awful. After over sixty days of junk food and excessive sleep, he body felt bloated and weak. Her typical day had been lying I bed occasionally punctuated by eating food delivered from a randomly selected restaurant. The first time she walked in after Cord had fired her, she expected to have some sympathetic messages on her answer machine. But no lights were blink. She assumed that some of her friends would come by to lift her spirits and tell her things would be okay. No one had stopped by for a visit. In fact, nothing happened at all. It was like she had dropped off the face of the earth. She thought about calling her mother or one of her three sisters, but she just couldn’t force herself to do it. It had been so ugly when she left New Mexico for her anchor position in Denver. They were jealous of course. She may have been a little full of herself, but she vowed that she would never speak to any of them again until they apologized for their unforgivable behavior. After its six-week hiatus, the phone began ringing. At this point, Anita was so bruised from the complete isolation she had fallen into that she was unable to answer the phone even if she had wanted to. It rang twenty or thirty times a day, but by the third day, Anita didn’t even notice. The darkness that encompassed her was almost complete. It was so prevalent that Anita had no idea what day of the week it was let alone what date it was. To her, it seemed as if she had only been in the apartment for a week or so. Suddenly, two thoughts ran through Anita’s mind. First, the phone was very annoying. Second, she was angry. It was something new. Something else was different as well. There was light in the room and she heard movement in the kitchen. Tentatively, she crept out of bed and walk to the door. Peeking through the door, she saw a familiar shape quickly picking up containers and placing them in a large trash bag. “Mom?” Anita asked as she rubbed her eyes as if it would rub away the apparition standing in front of her. “Close.” Said the woman as she turned to face Anita. “Elena?” Anita managed completely shocked to see her older sister standing in her kitchen. “What … how …? “Shush, Nitti.” Elena started in a matronly tone. “I came to Denver to help my Jorge’s sister have her baby. I watched your news program and when I didn’t see you, I called the station. They told me you don’t work there any more.” As she explained, Elena continued picking up the refuse that littered the kitchen. Her mouth curled up in disgust, but her eyes betrayed her concern for her younger sister. “I called a couple of times.” Elena continued. “When you didn’t return my call after three days, I decide to come over.” Elena picked up a towel, sniffed at it, briefly considered it and then threw it in the trash. “Looks like a good thing I did.” She said firmly. “Uh…what…” Anita started. “I mean, how long have you been here?” “Long enough to know that you need me.” Elena said tenderly. “I was still a little angry with you for ignoring the family. I thought you were just blowing me off. But when I came in and saw … this.” She waved her arm around to illustrate that she was talking about the whole apartment. “All I could think was my poor Nitti, what has happened to you.” Elena said as tears welled in her eyes.” Seeing the tears form in her sister’s eyes was too much for Anita. She simply ran to her sister and fell into her open arms. The hug lasted for what seemed to be an eternity. The five years of familiar isolation melted in the warmth of the loving hug that can only be transferred by individuals that share common parentage. Anita became aware that the almost animalistic sound which was assaulting her ears was actually the sound of her sobbing. For the first time in months, she let go. All of it. All of the days of pain, isolation, self-loathing and self-doubt poured out in a torrent of tears and snot. As she became aware of the sound, she felt herself calming. The sobs that moments ago wracked her body had subsided to gulps of air. Soon, she caught her breath and backed away from her sister. “I am so glad you are here, Elena.” Anita said. “I’ve just been so …” “I know, honey.” Elena interrupted. “Can you sit? Tell me?” “Yes, I think I can.” Anita said. They turned, walked into the living room and sat down on the luxurious, leather, Restoration Hardware supplied couch. Anita told her sister everything about the night of the explosion, the unprofessional performance of her co-worker, the ugly scene with Jim and finally, Cord firing her for some obscure reason. “He probably felt threatened by a strong woman.” Anita said with finality as if the words would end the subject. “Nitti, you know I don’t know anything about your … this … profession.” Elena spat the final word out as if it were poisonous. “But it doesn’t sound like that’s everything.” “I swear Lena, that’s what happened.” Anita said solemnly. “I wish I’d of seen it.” Elena said. Pausing for a moment, Anita thought. “Hey, they gave me a tape when I left.” Anita said. “Cord said something like ‘In case you ever have any doubt why I made this decision.’ Whatever that means.” “Let’s look at it.” Elena suggested. Anita got up, searched through the mess and found the tape. She walked directly to the entertainment center. Opening the cabinet, she flicked on the power switch for the TV and VCR. Quickly, she put in the tap, pressed play and rejoined her sister on the couch. “Oh my god, Nitti are you …” Elena said as the conversation with Bobbie played out in front of them. “Smiling? Smiling like a ghoul.” She asked dejectedly. “Yes, I am. I am …” Her voice trailed off. She sat mute for the rest of the tape. ----------------------------------------------------------------- For the first time in an eternity Frankie felt something. It was a strange feeling, one that he couldn’t quite place. It had been buried for so long. As he struggled to identify the feeling, it came to him – he felt ALIVE. There he was, sitting in a bar in Saigon, freshly showered, one day and a wake up from heading back to the world. “I fuckin’-A made it.” He said out loud to no one in particular. “Bedda knock on wood, mutha-fucker.” An anonymous voice replied. “Shit, was that out loud.” Frankie thought. “Can’t believe I thought that, let alone said it out loud.” Frankie had spent the better part of the last three hundred sixty three days slogging through the shit, keeping himself alive. He knew better than to jinx himself like that – way better. “Fuck me.” He thought as he laid down a nervous staccato rap on the wooden table in front of him.” “Shit man, I’s just fuckin’ witcha, man.” Continued the voice. “Don’t be lisnin to ole Skeebug about nuttin.” Turning his face to the voice, Frankie saw the face of a battle hardened veteran. They were easy to spot. “Second tour?” Frankie asked. “Fourth.” Skeebug replied flatly as he slid effortlessly into the empty chair at Frankie’s table. “Guess I’s jus one gung ho mutha fucker, man.” “That’s not it.” Frankie said knowingly. Skeebug looked away and firmly rubbed his shaved head with his left hand. “Ever been back ta the worl’, man?” Skeebug asked after an awkward pause. “Nah, man.” Frankie replied. “But I just have one and a wake up.” “I feel for ya, man.” Skeebug said as though he was talking to a relative of the deceased. “Wha…” Frankie tried to say, but he was to taken aback to finish the word. “Why would you feel bad for me? I’m … I … am going home.” “The worl’ ain’t the same no more, man.” Skeebug continued. “Why you think I’s here? Couldn’t handle it back there, man. I ain’t never goin’ back - never. “Let me buy you a drink.” Frankie offered. “Sure, coo’.” Skeebug replied. The two continued talking and drinking for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. After the initial conversation, neither man brought it up again. They talked about music, politics and finally girls. “Yo, you gots a woman back in the worl’, man?” Skeebug asked. “No.” Frankie replied flatly. Skeebug noticed the crestfallen look on Frankie’s face. He waited a moment for it to really sink in. ‘She-it, man. Das coo.” He continued. “Look, I knows this ho dat like the bang-bang. I mean, she fuckee-suckee long time. She good. Bes’of all, she clean.” “Uh … I don’t know …” Frankie started. “Shit, man.” Skeebug badgered. “You done said yosef that you ain’t gots no woman. And this honey is fine. I mean it.” “Ah, all right man.” Frankie replied. “Guess I haven’t gotten laid in awhile.” “Das ma boy.” Skeebug said cheerfully. “Fina up dat drink and les go, man. My balls feel like melons, man.” The new friends got up and left the bar. Skeebug slung his arm over Frankie’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Almost as soon as they were on the street, Frankie began to feel odd. It felt as if all the energy was draining from his appendages. At the same time, Skeebug’s grasp tighten on his shoulder as if to steady him. The street lights seemed to blur in and out. “Is coo, Frankie.” Skeebug’s words reverberated in Frankie’s head as if he had been sucked into a storm drain. “Keep walking. Skeebug will take care of everything.” It occurred to Frankie that Skeebug’s words were spoken crisply, minus the country bumpkin accent. “I said, keep walking soldier.” Skeebug’s voice commanded. “Do NOT fall behind.” “Something very strange is going on…” Frankie slurred. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

My BIG idea

Since I am fairly confident that I am not going to be the one that gets this produced, I am going to share with you my BIG Idea. At least this way, I can claim I can up with this idea first and have written proof that I did. By the way, I claim copyrights on this idea and by posting it I am not waiving any of my rights. No one may use this idea without my express consent. The idea is to have a weekly, hour-long television show called "Bloggers". The main character will be based on me, of course. So, the plot line is that this 42 year-old guy starts blogging and he joins a blog site that has an interactive area. By blogging daily, he meets 5 other characters that have nothing in common except that they are daily visitors to the blogging site. Every week, the stories are about what the characters do in their real lives contrasted with what they blog. The characters vary in accuracy of blogging what is reality and what is online persona. Is that an interesting show? I think so, bit anyone can come up with that idea. Here is the BIG part of the BIG idea. The show producers - ideally this would be me - create the blog site for real. And the characters from the show actually blog all week, according to the show's script for the week. Here's the big hook - anyone that wants to can join the blog. Create their own blogs on the site, interact with the characters - here's the big one - every week the show incorporates one of the public bloggers into the script for the show. Why would this be commercially viable you ask? Well, first the show would be good. Get it on a network and you pick up all the traditional sponsors. Then you charge $5 or $10 bucks a month for the public to join the blog. Then you sell advertising space on all the blogs. See! This is a great idea. Interactive TV, combining television and the internet, this idea has it all. It really would work. I have ideas for the first six characters. I know what the web site should look like and what features should go on there. Now all I need is to figure out how to get someone at HDNet, CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, UPN, or the WB to listen to the whole pitch. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Blog, blog, blog

Being the immediate results person I am, I have been analyzing the traffic to my site to see if I can see any trends. Really, I am looking for good news. Are people reading the blog? It seems like I am getting traffic, but I have no idea how good it is. I am pulling between 20 and 30 unique visitors including 3-4 return visitors a day to the site. Since I have only been online for a for month today, I have no idea what that means. Yes, I realize I already had a post called One Month Summary, but I actually started blogging on January 18, 2006. My question is: Is that decent traffic for one month? Should I be getting more? What is the typical ramp up time? What is considered "good" traffic. My hypothesis is that I am getting fairly typical traffic and only on very rare occasions do you build a regular readership. Of course, I have no empirical data to back up this assumption. But I think if blogs were analyzed it would turn out that 10% of the blogs account for 95% of the traffic. I would be happy to run such a study - anyone want to fund it? To continue with my theory, I think it grew up out of bulletin boards and newsgroups. People could have a venue to voice their opinion to a potentially large audience, but still remain anonymous. Even if everything you say on a blog is absolutely true, who cares. What are the odds that anyone you know will accidentally happen upon your blog? And if they do, you can always tell them you are working on your "creative writing". Then, in stepped the marketers. They saw an opportunity to capitalize on a very desirable demographic and they pounced on it. Think about all the products that I talked about in previous blogs. All of them are geared to us, the bloggers, to sell to other bloggers. We all put Adsense in our blogs so we can make money. Ninety percent of the blogs I visit have the obligatory list of icons for the blog directories. Hit counters, RSS readers, content fillers, games, dictionaries, Adwords, survey widgets, cartoons and a myriad of other "tools" are plentiful, easy to use and found by the advertisements in our blogs or by using the search window most of us seemed to have incorporated to our blogs. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love blogging. It is a great hobby, you can do it without spending a ton of money, really without spending much money at all. There are a significant number of people that see blogging or as an outlet for their creative talents. Some of us are doing it for that reason, but also in the hopes of being recognized for our talents. A select few of us are even going to make a living doing this. Even fewer will strike it rich or get famous and get to appear on the Today show. Some extremely talented few will be recognized without even trying. But for those of us trying to make it more than just a hobby, I think it is much like the lottery, you have to participate, some people will win and the rest of us will keep buying tickets and dreaming our dreams about what happens to us if we happen to be the one. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

We live in a weird time

Today is a much better day than the past two days. Mainly because I had a startling revelation. How can I possible expect to sell fiction in a world as weird as ours. Seriously, I can make stuff up that is better than what is in the news lately. Here are a few examples: *A police lieutenant in Spokane, WA was demoted 2 pay grades to detective. This punishment will cost him about $20k per year and reduce his pension. His offense? He got caught speeding twice in less than a week. The second time he got caught, he was going over 100 mph, because he was late - get ready for it - to teach a driver's safety course. *The Vice President of the United States shot a man in the face in a hunting accident. The main witness said it was the shootee's fault even though she was over 100 yards away and thought all the commotion was because VP had a problem with his ailing heart. *The US government asked for $50 million in aid money to the Palestinians to be returned because they don't want it to go to Hamas. What did Hamas do? Uh...they got elected. Isn't that what we told them to do? "Don't blow people up, take part in the political process. Oh, you won - hmmmm. Nope, not good enough, we still won't deal with you." Does that make sense? C'mon does it? *We cannot deal with effectively with Iran's pursuing nuclear weapons, because we are still dealing with Iraq that had WMD. It's a slam dunk. Um...except they didn't really. *A man of the cloth, Pat Robertson, called for the US government to assassinate the democratic elected President, Hugo Chavez, in Venezuela. In public - on television Why? Mainly because he won't listen to the US. *The voice of the liberal left is Al Franken! Yes, Stuart Smalley is leading the charge for the opposition!! He is the Voice of America - Al Franken. *An Austrian ex-body-builder, ex-action hero is the GOVERNOR of the largest state in the county! He won by using lines from his movies! *The Rolling Stones played the Super Bowl halftime. *Bill O'Reilly is still on TV. Seriously, if I wrote this stuff you would never believe it. I wouldn't hear the end of it. Think of what you would say, "The Story has to be at least plausible" or "Now that's a stretch" or "Like that would ever happen, dude." Given that, I feel much better. I'll keep writing fiction, but I will not feel bad stretching "believability" ever again. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Title change?

I have recieved feedback the Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain is far too long for a book title. The feedback is that I should find a shorter title for the book and interest would pick up. The best short title I can think of is "Web Site". Any thoughts? Would I then have to market it as "Web Site" formerly known as Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain? Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Down in the dumps

Well, I managed to get Chapter 13 out, but I am not happy. I don't think the writing is very good. And I think they don't like me on blogger.com. I click on the "next blog" button all the time, but I never run into any of my pages even though I update them regularly. Ever since I posted that I have been around long enough that I get 10 hits right after I post, I haven't been getting any. What's up with that? I am also having a fight with Google adwords. They say that 7 people clicked on my ad today and I only had 4 visitors. I know I have a measely $1.50 budget, but by the time I get to work in the morning, I have used up all my clicks. The frustrating point is that I don't even see them. And when I do, the visits are always less than 1 sec. I asked Google to show me a report of the clicks from their records, but they keep avoiding the question. Plus, the response is terrible. I sent them an email and it took like 20 hours for them to respond. The follow up took like 14 hours for a response. I am thinking about dropping Google and going with Yahoo! I'll give them one more chance to answer my question. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 13

Chapter 13 Ronnie and Pete were already in the record company supplied bus. Ronnie was in one of his morning moods. He was not a morning person, especially the day after a show. It was as if the intensity of the show completely drained him. “Where the hell are those dudes?” Ronnie asked in a irritated tone. “They’ll be here in a minute.” Pete responded. “Ass is probably still working out. You know how he gets.” “Yeah, he is amazing, isn’t he?” Ronnie said admiringly. “Blows my mind that he gets Ben to workout with him.” “Well …” Pete started. “C’mon, dude. Don’t even start that shit.” Ronnie warned. “It’s none of our business.” “I know.” Pete said as he got up and stretched his arms above his head. “I’m all about live and let live, but it does weird me out some times.” “Can we talk about something else?” Ronnie stated flatly. “Damn, guess it weirds you out a bit, too.” Pete said. The look made Pete stop. It was a patented Ronnie look. Ronnie was not physically intimidating. But when he gave the look, people took notice. “So, dude.” Pete said after an awkward silence. “I never mentioned it but, I think your Dad’s pretty cool. Hookin’ us up and all.” “Yeah, whatever.” Ronnie said suddenly morose. Sensing that he accidentally stepped on a landmine, Pete tried to back off. But it was too late. “Dude, I mean … he … well …” Pete made an attempt to placate him. “What the hell do you know about him?” Ronnie asked harshly. “Dude, it’s cool.” Pete said. “Forget it.” “Forget it? Forget it?” Ronnie asked with surprising venom. “I’ll never forget. Did I ever tell you about how he wanted me to be a football player?” “Uh … no …” Pete started. “Well, when I was in seventh grade …” It was the first year for tackle football. Big Ron volunteered to help coach Ronnie’s team. He was going to make Ronnie a football player. Big Ron was happy with how tall Ronnie was, but he needed to fill out. Surely he would fill out by high school. Again, Big Ron would see to that. He had him lifting weights for the last two years. It started with the one on one blocking drills. Ronnie didn’t like the one on one’s. There wasn’t much about football that he actually did like. But he was willing to try. The idea of the one-on-ones was to pit two boys against each other to determine who was tougher. The boys lined up facing each other with an imaginary line of scrimmage between them. Each would assume either a three or a four-point stance. On the whistle, each boy would launch their bodies at each other and collide. Then they attempted to push the other back over a designated line. It was Ronnie’s turn to participate in the Sumo-like ritual. He lined up against a classmate that was quite a bit shorter than him, but he had a reputation as being one of the tougher kids in school. “All right, you two ready.” Big Ron asked. Both boys nodded. “On two. Down, set, hut, hut.” The other boy launched out with a fury rarely seen in a twelve-year-old. With a giant smack, his helmeted head hit Ronnie squarely on the right shoulder and extended his arms fully, pushing Ronnie flat onto his back. “Nice hit, Berger!” Coach Big Ron screamed. “Atta, boy. Harrison, what the hell is wrong with you. You let this guy flatten you. Get you head in the game boy. Let’s go. Same two again. “Uh…Dad…” Ronnie started. Quickly he paused to correct himself when he saw Big Ron’s reaction to the familiar term. “Um…coach…well…I mean…my arm hurts coach. I don’t think I can do it again.” “What did you say, Harrison. You don’t think you can do it again? Give me a break. Are you a pussy, Harrison? Get in there and hit. All right on one this time. Down, set, hut. Again the other boy slammed into the same shoulder with ever greater force. This time Ronnie was thrown directly back and flat on his back before the other boy extended his arms. Ronnie hit the ground with a thud, which instantly removed all the air from his lung. Only a voiceless scream protested the pain in his shoulder. Ronnie couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t move and couldn’t tell if he was going to live. “Whoa, Berger!” Coach Big Ron eclaimed. “That’s a big-time hit – big-time!” “Harrison, you pussy! Get your ass up! Same two again.” “But something popped…” Ronnie managed to start. “Are you questioning me again Harrison? You don’t wanna play.” Big Ron screamed at his son. The coach threw his arms up in exasperation and walked around in a short circle. He made two full circles before he stopped facing the boys. He crossed his arms and shook his head in disgust. “Do you sit down to pee?” “What?” Ronnie said puzzled. “Are you a little girl? Do you need to sit down to pee?” “Uh…well…uh…no.” “Then get up and get ready.” Ron paused for a moment as Ronnie scrambled to a standing position. “Down…” Without another compliant, Ronnie squared off against Berger in his stance. Berger saw the pain in Ronnie’s eyes. Ronnie saw Berger’s eye soften. He could take it this time. “Set, hut!’ Ronnie and Berger shot into each other barely. There was no viciousness in the hit. “Berger, what the fuck was that?” “C’mon coach.” Berger pled. “Are you going to go easy on some one in a game?” Big Ron asked angrily. He hand shot up and grabbed Berger’s facemask. “If I tell you to hit somebody, you hit’em – got it!” “Yes coach.” He replied obediently. “Good! Now same two – line it up.” Big Ron continued. “Down…” Once again the boys faced each other and stared into each other’s eyes. “Sorry man.” Berger said. “Set …” “It hurts.” Ronnie said as tears began running down his cheek. It was plain to see Ronnie was really hurt. Quickly he made a decision. He stood straight up and put his hands on his hips. “Coach, he’s hurt. Really.” Berger said tentatively. “I’ll tell you if he’s hurt. Now back in there.” “No, coach.” Berger said steeling himself. “I can’t do it.” “What? Did you tell me no? You’ll get in there or run 4 laps.” “I’ll take the laps.” He said truly relieved. To him, running was nothing. “Hit the road.” Big Ron said as he jerked his thumb towards the track. Berger set off running. “Chavez, get in there with Harrison.” Ronnie just turned and began walking very slowly, painfully towards the school locker room. “Harrison. Harrison! HARRISON!” Big Ron exclaimed. Ronnie didn’t pause or look back. He just continued walking. Big Ron just shook his head. “All right then, Chavez and Martin. Let’s go.” Berger saw that Ronnie was walking in to the school building. He picked up his pace. It would take him just a little over 6 minutes to run the mile. Even in pads, the kid could run. As he finished his last lap, he noticed that Ronnie just made it in to the building. He ran past the blocking drill area. “Did the four, coach.” Berger shouted as he continued running towards the locker room. “Berger. Berger! BERGER!” He screamed. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on today? Are any of you going to listen to me?” Big Ron took off his cap and wiped off his forehead with his sleeve. He put his cap back on, inhaled deeply and exhaled the words, “All right Jones, Grey. Let’s go” He turned to the new set of boys and said dispassionately. “Down…set…hut.” The two boys slammed into each other. Neither had an advantage. They wrestled for several moments. Finally, Jones made a push and managed to move Grey past the designated line. Practice continued as usual until an ambulance pulled up to the back of the school and came to a stop in front of the locker room doors. The paramedics got out of the ambulance, pulled the stretcher out and hustled into the locker room. All the boys ran to see what was happen. Big Ron wasn’t far behind. He made it to the double doors just in time to see the paramedics rolling Ronnie out on the stretcher. “What the hell is going on?” Ronnie voice betrayed the fear. “Looks like a broken collar bone.” One of the paramedics said. “It’s pretty bad, too. It’s a clean break in two places.” Big Ron was stunned. He really had thought that Ronnie was faking it. But he was really hurt. Not wanting to show weakness, Ron simply leaned over and said, “It’ll be all right, boy.” Even though he wanted to comfort his son, he couldn’t force himself to look into his son eyes. Quickly he turned and walked toward the locker room. “Dad …” Ronnie said tearfully. But Big Ron didn’t slow down or even look backward. “I’ll see you at the hospital.” He said briskly. Before the door fully shut, tears had already begun to form in his eyes. By the time he entered his office his was crying profusely. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Link to me

Doing some research, I read that the main thing the search engines are looking for are the number of sites that link to your site. So if you have a web page, why not link to me? Just put my url in one of your posts of better yet, add a link to your template. If you leave a comment, I’ll visit your site and I’ll put a link to you on my blog. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Discouragement

Sometimes it is very hard to keep focused on writing. I know that I have only been doing this for a month, but it sure seems like not much is happening. Is this not interesting? What am I doing wrong? I have been looking up all the information on SEO, I have added Google adwords, spread out my blogs, I have sent emails announcing my efforts to everyone I know and I have attempted to gain attention from people that can help. What have I gotten in return? I have built a readership of several people, almost 800 page loads from 400 visitors and only 20 additional clicks and not one additional sale on my lulu.com web site. Should I just give up? Is this even worth it? How long should I keep writing on this blog? If not now, when? How will I know if I've hung around too long? What do I do? Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Some more meandering on writing

When I tell people that I wrote and self-published a novel, they usually ask me what the novel is about. I do my best to describe the complex plot lines in Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain. If they still talk to me after hearing about it, they eventually get around to asking me where I get my ideas. I usually joke around, point to my head and say something like “You definitely don’t want to get in here.” But that’s just because I haven’t ever really thought about it that much until I started this project. During this blogging experience, I am really trying to think about what I am doing and how I approach writing. Brace yourself for a big surprise: I have never taken a creative writing class or had any other training in writing. Maybe that is obvious to you. Actually, I have not had much of my work critiqued by an expert. One time, I went on the writer’s forum on Craig’s List and asked people to review “Some Things Just Happen”. One person responded. Although he seemed to know what he was talking about, I didn’t find much value in the critique. Mainly, because all he did was complain about my dialog tags. Also, he pointed out several places where I deviated from “traditional” writing conventions. Here are my thoughts on the topic. I don’t really care if I violate established writing conventions. Nor to I care much about spelling, grammar and punctuation. Is it that obvious? I am trying to tell a story and I do my best to pay attention to the things I consider important. Do I have a good story? Are the characters interesting? Are the events that occur, if not believable, at least reasonably likely to have occurred at one time in the history of the universe? Is there continuity throughout the story? And my little piece of personal weirdness - Did I use there/their/they’re correctly? I can blow passed missed periods, misused commas, incorrect tense usage, incorrect word usage (a instead of an) and the whole plethora of other mistakes you see in my work. But if I use one of those three incorrectly, I am absolutely mortified. That being said, where do I get my ideas? Mainly, I take things that have either happened to me or I have observed directly and I juxtapose them over completely ridiculous circumstances. At least what I consider to be. Frequently, I find myself laughing out loud about things I think about – definitely uncomfortable when sitting in a business meeting with clients or, worse perspective clients. Guess it’s a good thing I am no longer a consultant looking to whore myself and as many of my associates out for the most money I can milk from the mark … uh … I mean client. Hopefully, you find some of what I come up with moderately interesting. Mazeltov! Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Small Problem with Chapter 12

Just admiring my own work when I noticed that I have a pretty significant "continuity" error in Ass' thoughts as he ran. Seems he was thinking a little for Ben - doesn't make much sense. Anyway, I have updated so now Ass thinks for Ass. Later, Ben will do some of his own thinking. Hey, that's part of reading a work-in-progress. Especially, one of my wips. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 12

Chapter 12 Running at an unaccustomed pace, Ass pushed himself to the limit. It was almost as if he thought he could push the conversation from his mind. "Did Ben actually say that?" Ass asked himself. "Could he be right?" After the words had fallen from Ben's mouth, both men stood in the middle of the room staring at one another. Then, without a word, Ben turned, opened the door and left. No, he didn’t just leave. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life. About a mile down the road, his lungs felt as if they were burning like a western wildfire. He back off a bit, but not much. If he relaxed, he would think about it again. The words Ben had said. His own cowardice of running away from ... "From ... what ..." He exhaled out loud. "From ... what ..." he exhaled louder. He continued running. Actually he was punishing himself. Punishing himself for cowardice. Punishing himself for being afraid. Punishing himself for being afraid of words. "Of words." He thought. "The Master would not be pleased." Then, slowly, the thought crept into his head. He was punishing himself for what he knew he felt, but would not ... could not acknowledge. He had to make the thought go away. He had to think of something else. Something before his world was shattered. Something from when they were younger. He remembered the first time he ever met Ben, the new kid. The way Ben approached him had taken him by surprise at first. "Hi." Ben said as he walked quickly to catch up to boy. "My name is Ben. What's yours?" "Uh ... Ass." He replied tenatively. “At least that’s what everyone calls me.” “Ass?” Ben repeated. “That’s weird. Why do they call you that?” “Cause I’m so short.” He explained. “You know, I just come up to their ass.” Ben fell silent not knowing where to go with the conversation. He just knew that he wanted to keep talking to the boy called Ass. “Uh, I just moved here.” He said. “Yeah, you’re the new kid.”Ass responded. “I’ve seen you around a few times.” “I guess so since we just got out of band class.”Ben replied a little sarcastically. “Duh.” Ass responded with good natured smile. “You play trombone right?” “Yeah, but the bass is my real instrument.” “No shit, huh?” Ass said. “I dig listening to the bass, but I gotta pound it out, ya know. This cheeseball concert band playing the snare drum thing sucks. I need a set.” “You definitely got the rhythm.” Ben replied. The boys were approaching the school exit. “Thanks. Well, my dad is picking me up.” Ass said. “See you tomorrow in band.” “Yeah, sure.” Ben said his disappointment evident. As he walked towards his father’s car, Ass heard the tone in Ben’s voice. For some reason, he felt the connection between them. At that moment, he knew they were going to be friends. “Why not start now.” He thought. He stopped and swung around. “Hey, you ever jam?” Ass asked. “Huh...?” Ben responded. “You know, jam.” Ass repeated as he mimicked playing a guitar. “With your bass?” Slightly taken aback by the question, it took Ben an instant to respond. “Well ... I ... usually I don’t ... play ... uh ... with ...uh ... anyone ... uh else.”Ben managed. “I kinda ...” “Play with yourself.” Ass chuckled at his own joke. “Well ... yeah ... I mean ... well ...uh ... I don’t ... uh ... play with myself ...” Ben tried. “I mean ... I do ... crap ... I play ... uh ... alone. That’s it. That’s what ... uh ... I am trying to ... uh ... say... uh ... I play alone.” “Classic.” Ass snorted in amusement. “You always get like that?” “No.” Ben responded somewhat dejectedly. “Usually, it’s much worse. I have been known to shit myself.” Shocked by the admission, all Ass could do was to gawk at Ben. Then he saw it. There was slight twinkle in Ben’s eye and the left side of his mouth was turned up just slightly. Finally, Ass burst out laughing. “Someone worthy of my humor.” Ass thought as he caught his breath. Reaching out, he slapped Ben on the back. Ass looked directly into his eyes and saw knowing comfort mirrored in his new friends eyes. In that moment, they both knew that they were linked. Neither had any idea how things would progress, but in that fleeting look, they agreed it was worth it. “So, we playing?” Ass asked. “Yup.” Ben replied not needing to say another word. “Yup.” Ass nodded. When he turned to walk towards his father’s car, Ass didn’t have to look to see if Ben was behind him. He knew he was there. Somehow he also knew that Ben would be there with him for a very long time. As they approached his father’s car, Ass made a motion for his Dad to roll down the window. “Hey Dad.” He started. “This is Ben, he is going to come over and hang, k” “That’s fine.” His father responded. Then both boys got into the back seat. “Pearl Jam?” Ass asked finally. “Yeah.” Ben responded. “Nirvana?” He continued. “Oh yeah.” Ben said as he vigorously nodded his head. “Soundgarden?” Ass asked quickly. “Sure.” Ben replied a little less enthusiastically. “Stone Temple Pilots?” Ass continued. “You know.” Ben responded in a somewhat non-committal tone. “Yeah, good enough.” Ass agreed. Basically he had thrown STP in as a little test. They were good enough that he wouldn’t change the station, but they didn’t belong with the others. Trying to decide if he should even ask, Ass turned and looked out the window for a moment. Seemed like no one even heard of them. But he had a feeling, Ben liked them. At least he hoped he did. “Butthole Surfers?” Ass asked tentatively. “Oooooo.” Ben allowed the enthusiastic sound to flow from the back of his mouth as he struck a pose and fingered an imaginary bass. “Aw, hell yeah.” Ass said excitedly while he drummed the air and smashed a nonexistent cymbal. “Travis.” Ass’ father said sternly from the front seat. “Watch the language.” “Okay, Dad.” Ass said as he rolled his eyes at Ben. Ben felt a huge smile forming on his face. All the time he had spent in Texas and no one at his school appeared to know anything about the music that made him feel alive. One week in Colorado and a boy he wanted to get to know much better had just spouted out three of his favorite bands. Not only that, but Ass understood him and seemed to know that he absolutely hated talking. “Oldies?” Ben asked timidly. “What you mean like Neil or Zep?” Ass responded. “Check and mate, dude.” Ben said excitedly. “HOLY SH...”Ass caught himself. “You know the songs.” His dad turned his head slightly as if he was going to reprimand a second time. Briefly, he nodded as if to acknowledge that his son had learned the first time around. “All of ‘em.”Ben beamed. “No way, really.” Ass prodded skeptically. “Dude, Texas?” Ben retorted. “Ya got a point.” Ass said. “Well, I don’t know all of ‘em, but what I don’t know I can fake until I learn it.” “Cool.” Ben responded. Suddenly he remembered something vital. “Dude, my bass.” “Hmmmm. That could be problematic.” Ass agreed. After a moment, he threw a nod towards his father. Ben immediately understood. “Dad, can we slide by …” Ass started. “Just tell me where to go.” His father interrupted. Ass’ father had been listening to the boys’ conversation. He didn’t understand a word of it, but he had never seen his son communicate so freely with anyone before. “It’s like he found someone that talks his language.” His father thought to himself. Not only would he do this one favor, but Ass’ father made a decision to do all he could to foster the relationship. His son had been a loner and now it seemed he found a friend. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All he felt was cold. Fruitlessly, he tried to open his eyes. Next, he tried to open his mouth but like his eyes it seemed to be sealed shut. Suddenly, he realized that he couldn’t hear anything. Laying there lacking at least three of his five senses, he began to become more aware - more aware of cold, more aware of pain, more aware of fear. He tried to move – nothing. “What the fuck?” He thought. “Am I dead?” The thought that he had thoughts was comforting. As his thoughts came back, he realized he was lying on his right side on a very cold, hard, rough surface. Slowing, he began moving individual parts of his body. Starting with fingers, then toes, then wrists and ankles. Finally, he managed to blink his eyes open. What he saw made absolutely no sense. There was a constant bustle of shoes. Brown shoes, black shoes, boots of all kinds. In fact, these feet were moving up and down not inches from his face. If he stayed like this surely he would be crushed. With a Herculean effort he forced himself into a seated position. Correctly, he guessed that there was a wall next to him and he leaned against it. He still could not believe his eyes. All of the people connected to all those feet were white, dressed in western style clothing. As he regained his hearing, he could tell that they were all speaking English. “What...how...what...” He actually heard his own voice say out loud. As he began to feel stronger, he put his hand on the wall to steady himself. Unevenly, he regained or gained, he wasn’t sure which, his feet. The thing he noticed was how the passersby were looking, or not looking, at him. Those that bothered to look at him all had wrinkled noses as though they had just confirmed that the expired meat in the refrigerator had gone bad. But most people only allowed a quick look and then diverted their eyes as though they were fearful of losing their sight. “Excuse me, sir.” He said to one man. But the man just kept walking. “Excuse me, sir.” He said to the next man that looked at him. Again, the result was the same. Puzzled by the reaction he was receiving, he slumped against the wall dejectedly. “I have to find out what is going on.” He thought. “I must.” “Excuse me, sir.” He repeated politely for the third time. This time, however, he addressed a younger man with very long hair.” “What’s up, man? Looking for a miracle?” The man replied. “Uh...huh...I mean...uh ...I...I’m not sure.” He replied. “Where are we?” “Wow, man. What a total mind blower.” The man replied with a chuckle. “What kinda trip you on, man. Got any more?” “Seriously, where are we?” He repeated. “You’re in Frisco, man.” “San Francisco? That can’t be. I was in Saigon last night.” “Whoa man … Saigon?” The man asked incredulously. “What were you doing there? Didn’t think any Americans went there after we stopped that war, man. Like a long time ago.” “What?” “Yeah, you know. The Vietnam War.” He continued proudly trying to make a connection. “Hell, no we won’t go. Remember?” “But, I was just ....” He started, but he was unable to continue. “What’s your name, buddy?” The friendly man asked after a moment. “Uh...my ... name?” He repeated. “I...I...I don’t think I have a name. I used to. Yeah, I had a name once.” “Man, you are seriously fucked.” The man voiced in a very concerned manner. “Like, you need a place to crash or something? You know, just till you come down off this bummer trip that you’re on?” As the man made his kind offer, he turned and caught a glimpse of himself in a store window. His hair was longer than the man he was talking to. The scraggly beard hadn’t been trimmed for years it seemed. He was wearing a tattered, old field jacket and a stained pair of utility pants. “I...don’t ... know. I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW.” He began screaming over and over. “Whoa man, be cool. Be cool.” The hippie repeated soothingly. “You’re getting the attention of the man.” With this statement, the hippie subtly nodded his head to the right. Allowing his eyes to wander in the direction of the motion, he saw police officer. “Got it?” Asked the Hippie. “Gotta be cool, man. I’m holdin’ and I can’t help you if I like split. Comprendo?” “What are talking about?” He asked bewildered. “The man? Holding - holding what?” “The pig over there, man.” The hippie said venomously. Suddenly, he felt anger boiling up inside. He felt his hands tremble and the rush of blood to his face. Unexpectedly, he lunged at the hippie. “You one of those anti-war protesters, mother fucker.” He screamed as he began pummeling the hippie. The police officer took notice and immediately descended on the man. “Ok, break it up.” The officer shouted. “I ain’t doing nothing.” The hippie protested as he took his opportunity to break free from the other man. “That dude is seriously mind fucked.” Without warning, it happened. The man struck out with lightning speed. Before either knew what had happened, the police officer and the hippie lay on the sidewalk, dead. “Oh, my god! What did I just do?”He wailed. “What happened? Why?” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

It's official - no more emails to Mark Cuban

After much thought and a little bit of inside information, I have decided that I don’t need to email Mark Cuban any more. Am I chicken? You ask. Or maybe a bit stupid? Yes, I realize that I did manage to get acknowledgement from some one with significant influence in an industry that I am, some might say desperately, attempting to break into. But if you read what I said, or more accurately, what I wrote. It was along the lines of “I don’t need to email” him any more. I fully intend to continue communicating with him. What spurred this change of tactics? Was I able to get his cell phone number from one of my many friends in the telecom industry that know a great deal about obtaining call detail records from the switch? Am I planning on moving to Dallas with a big thermos, a pair of binoculars and months supply of Depends? Of course not, I can get the phone records from the internet and I’ve already had the pleasure of living in the Metroplex. From our fully-furnished corporate apartment, we had a lovely view of the North Dallas tollway and the George H. W. Bush tollway. By the way, what is up with all the taxes in Texas? They have an 8% sales tax, a State Income Tax and toll roads? No wonder Bush and Cheney want to make the Federal Tax Cuts permanent. I could go on and on, but I already have. I am just going to continue blogging. He’s reading this. He’s has to be, just like you. It may not be something you think you want to do. But now that you started reading, you just can’t stop. What can I say, this stuff is addicting. It’s a gift, well a curse really. Now I am a prisoner of entertaining the mass (soon to be masses). In anticipation of my humble self being thrust into the over-crowded arena of pseudo-celebrity, I already purchased a pair ultra-sheek titanium sport Maui Jim's and planned my escape routes to avoid the throng of paparazzi that are lying in wait to catch a snap of me at a very inopportune moment. I know they are, since I saw a "shout out" to me as an up-and-comer in my latest edition of Celebrity Stalking Monthly. My friend Keren (yes I meant to spell that with an “e” not an “a”) hooked me up with that one. Okay, so that was a personalized joke for some one that will probably never read this – but if you knew the context, you’d be laughing your bondo off right now. If you don’t know what a bondo is, then you don’t know my son. Maybe I should move to California where they really know how to push through important legislation that concerns the overall public well being rather than serve a very, very, very small subset of very, very well-to-do individuals. There I go again, rambling. Did I make my point? Did I have a point? Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Next part of my plan

My work needs exposure. Time to get on the talk show circuit. Think I'll try getting on Letterman. Here's what I wrote to Dave. Hey Dave, I wrote and published a book and well over a dozen people have read it. Don't miss out Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain. I also have a blog happenin' at Misadventures of a 42-year old writer wannabe" My fans are demanding that you have me on the show to talk about it. Paul Gavin PS - I grew up in Elkhart, IN and my sisters went to Ball State. Cut a fellow hoosier a break. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I was thinking of trying Oprah, but I have claimed my work to be fiction and some of it is true. I can just see how that interview would go. Oprah "So, Paul did you actually write an email to Mark Cuban. Me "Well, yes I did." Oprah "Didn't you say that you work was fiction." Me "Yes, yes I did." Oprah "So, when you said that it was fiction, that was a lie - right?" Me "Uh ... I ... guess ... I mean ..." Oprah "I'm stunned. I feel cheated." You see where I going here? I just wouldn't want to open that can of worms. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Did I piss off "The Benefactor"

Last night, I was so excited that I received a response from Mark Cuban. How quickly things can change? Here is the most recent correspondence I received from Mr Cuban: From : Mark Cuban Sent : Sunday, February 12, 2006 8:14 AM To : "Paul Gavin" Subject : Re: [MAV Feedback] Other | | | Inbox no reason to come back to me. your audience will either buy your work, or not m What does this mean? Is he blowing me off? Did he read my stuff and not like it? Or is it possible he is just toying with me? Seeing if I really believe in my work? It seems that there was a communication breakdown between us. Yes, I did want him to read my work, but I was really trying to communicate that I have a great idea for a new entertainment format. Now I have to think hard on the next step I want to take. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Survey Widget?

Maybe you saw the survey widget that was on the blog for a few days. I put it on he page as another reason to make my site more "sticky". Yeah well, I got rid of it. They put up this really obnoxious text box that messed up the formatting of the page to tell me that the site exceeded the daily views of the free use of their little widget. If I want to have more views I would have to pay. Now don't get me wrong, as blatantly commercial as this site is, I don't want you to think that I expect to receive unlimited service for free. The thing that irritates me is that they choose to display their commercial in a way that disrupted the look of the site, which could possibly cost me readers. If you are going to offer a service for free and then post a message that the quota was exceeded, that's perfectly fine. But the error message should be in the same format as the widget. You won't be seeing that widget on the page again. I'll have to find another way to keep readers on the site. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin

Doink - He hit the post

My whole life, I have been a sports player. You name it, I played it. Still do, to a certain extent. In high school, I was a fairly decent hockey player. For all three years, I led my team in two statistical categories, assists and penalty minutes. One thing I couldn’t seem to do was score goals. I guess it’s a good thing I was a defensemen. On more than one occasion, I can vividly recall having the puck, skating in the open and seeing wide open net. Knowing I was going to score, I’d let loose with one of my wicked wrist shots. Only instead of watching the puck stretch the back of the net, I usually heard what can only be described as the most sickening sound in all of sport. If you haven’t heard it, it is the sound of a frozen chuck of vulcanized rubber careening off the metal post that supports the net. Doink! No other sound in sports compares. In soccer, the sound of the ball hitting the post is a dull thud. Although it is no less disappointing to see, the sound simply cannot match the sharp ting of the post hitting doink. Another sound that may seem as disappointing is a brick bouncing off the rim in basketball. But that just isn’t the same. Even the bit players in a basketball game get four or five opportunities in a game and they usually score four to ten points. Most memorable sounds in sports are positive, the sweet sound of a basketball that hits nothing but net; the low pitched do-ga-da of a golf ball falling in the cup; the crunch of shoulder pads; or the crack off the bat when a homerun is hit. Laying in bed this morning, I was struck by the fact that last night I hit the post. I received a response from Mark Cuban. When I wrote him back, I didn’t mention that I was happy to count him among my readers. But unlike when I played high school hockey, I will not get so caught up waiting to see if I score that I miss the rebound. I am going to continue to aggressively pursue the goal until I see the back of the net. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Response from Mark Cuban

Seriously, I did not think this would happen. Mark Cuban responded to email - Are the Mavs playing tonight? Although, it's not exactly the response I hoped for, at least it is a response. Additionally, I take this a word of encouragement to keep doing what I am doing. My approach now is to build the readership of my materials. If the numbers continue to grow as they have been, I can build credibility and we can see where it goes from there. Below is the email string (I x'd out our email addresses): Mr Cuban, Thank you for you timely response. I agree that there are no shortcuts. Maybe I should have phrased it differently. Such as: I am applying all the lessons I learned in my 20 years in the business world to condense my timeframes. I choose to take your response as words of encouragement. In order to build my credibility, I am going to focus my engergies on writing and building an audience. When I believe I have a sufficient number of readers, I will get back to you. Regards, Paul Gavin -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Mark Cuban" To: "MAV Feedback" Subject: Re: [MAV Feedback] Other Date: Sat, 11 Feb 2006 23:43:19 -0600 >there are no shortcuts. > >if your writing is any good, let your blog readers tell you so and refer >readers. if they dont. You have your answer > >good luck > >m > > >-----Original Message----- >From: "MAV Feedback" >To: xxxxxxxxxxx@dallasmavs.com >Date: Sat, 11 Feb 2006 20:49:35 -0500 >Subject: [MAV Feedback] Other > > > > > IP: 69.28.35.155 > > Name: Paul Gavin > > Email: xxxxxxxxxxxx@hotmail.com > > URL: http://rebeleyeball.blogspot.com > > Site: http://www.blogmaverick.com/ > > > > Dear Mr Cuban, > > > > It’s Paul Gavin again. You may or may not be aware that I have written > > to > > you on two other occasions suggesting that you visit my blog > > href=http://rebeleyeball.blogspot.com>Misadventures of a 42-year old > > writer > > wannabe. There are several reasons I continue to write to you. > > > > The first reason is purely self-interest. As the title of my blog > > indicates, I would like to be a professional writer. At my tender age, > > I > > do not have the time or the inclination to live the life of a starving > > artist. Therefore I have tried to find a way to skip a few steps and > > move > > right to shamelessly promoting my writing talent and original ideas for > > content development and delivery. > > > > The second reason is that I think that you are the thought leader in > > the > > area of content delivery. From all that I have read about you and from > > your blog, it is easy to see that you fully understand that the world > > of > > entertainment is in a transition period. > > > > The third reason is purely for entertainment. Through my blog I have > > managed to build a following of tens of readers. Most of their > > comments > > have been about the emails that I send you. In my opinion, they enjoy > > my > > Don Quixote approach to building my readership. > > > > Now the important part, I would like share a portion of one of my > > ideas. > > The basic premise is to create an interactive TV show about bloggers. > > The > > show would revolve around a set of characters that met and know each > > other > > only through the blog site they patronize. Portions of the show would > > be > > comedy, other parts drama and some documentary. There is nothing new > > about > > the TV format, the real innovative is the interactive portion. I will > > not > > describe that portion here. If you find this interesting, please feel > > free > > to contact me. > > > > Regards, > > > > Paul > > > > > Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Kiwi Comment

In case you missed it, I had a visitor from New Zealand that left me a very good comment. I thought the observation was excellent, so I thought I'd share it with you. Kelvin said... Kia Ora (Hello) from a krazy blogger down under in New Zealand. I was surfing the blog world, when your blog "popped" up, so I thought I'd say hello. I like writing too - so I'll be back to read your "first" chapter. Could you not have thought of a shorter title for your book ? It lost me after the second word. 10:34 PM My response: Thanks for stopping by. Thanks even more for leaving a comment. As far as the title goes, I know it is extremely long. In my defense, it is something I am trying to do with the whole book. I want the reader to gfeel the uncomfortable nature of my character's lives. It is the reason that the chapters are so short and choppy as well. Maybe it's a dumb idea. Since my blog is about the book "The Break" and about the blogging environment, I am going to use your comment in a post. Cool to have a visitor from the other side of the world. New Zealand is on my list! I'll get there "someday". Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

I just filed Chapter 11

No, I'm not broke. Just thought I might keep up with publishing chapters since that is what this blog is all about. Personally, this is one of my favorite chapters. To me, the back stories are what make this interesting. Hope you enjoy it. This blog needs an interactive portion. I plan on posting the next chapter on Wednesday. Let me know what story you want to hear more of by tomorrow night and I will work it in. As I told you, I really know where I am going with this and I will continue to write the story as I have planned. Unless, you my readers, want to steer the story in a different direction. It's all part of the experiment. I want to write about what you want to read, so talk to me. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 Ass sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for his mind to clear. He had just woken up and began his daily ritual of clearing the dreams from his mind. It was something the master had taught him. Being so small in stature, Ass had enrolled in Te Kwon Do at a very early age. In his first class, he had learned the basics. But soon he has outstripped the rest of the class, so his instructor referred him to the master. From that point on, Ass only really cared about two things. Learning from the master and playing the drums. Despite the fact that he had no interest, he did well in school. In fact, he did well in everything he tried. Mainly due to the teachings of the master, Ass understood discipline, duty, and control. Much like his drumming, he was steady and unyielding. He became aware that he was thinking conscious thoughts. That meant he was fully awake and ready to face the day. Quickly, he did his physical inventory. Today, he felt absolutely fantastic. His legs felt great, his arms felt strong, the twinge in his neck was gone. “Yeah.” He thought. “I feel great.” For the first time, he became aware that he was in a hotel room. The lump on the bed next to him was Ben. They had been on the road for quite awhile now. Every gig was bigger than the previous one. In addition to the new crowd in the new town, there seemed to be people following them from gig to gig. As Ass felt the gurgle in his stomach, he leaned to his left and peeled off a giant fart. “Ah, Jesus Christ, dude.” Ben said without moving a muscle. “Do I have to wake up to that every friggin’ morning?” “Uh…yeah.” Ass replied. “As long as we’re roomies that is.” Slowly, Ben slid the covers down and sat up. He squinted at the alarm clock as he scratched his head. “What time is it?” He asked in a groggy tone. “It’s 9:15.” Ass replied. “Just like yesterday.” “Ah, fuck me dude.” Ben lamented. “We played till two and drank till four and now you’re waking my ass up.” Ass gained his feet and began running through his stretches. “Yup, time to hit the road.” Ass stated cheerfully. “We’re doing four miles.” “Jesus fucking Christ.” Ben replied as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Discipline is the art of doing things you do not want to do.” Ass paraphrased the master. “Oh great, the fucking master.” Ben derided. “Any other pearls of wisdom from ‘the master’”?’ Ass frowned a bit. He knew he went a little far with the other guys, but he really did believe in what the master said. It hurt a bit when Ben referred to him as ‘the master’ in that derisive tone. “Many, actually.” Ass replied, a little too harshly. “But you lack the wisdom to understand.” “Jeez, dude.” Ben said apologetically. “I was just pitching you a little shit.” Instantly regretting the tone of his response, Ass softened. “Yeah, I know.” Ass said. “But you know how much respect I have for the master. And I get a little touchy.” “Yeah, I do know.” Ben replied. Without thinking, he added, “That’s one of the reasons I love you.” “Dude…” Ass tapered off. Ass turned quickly and strode into the bathroom. With one hand, he pulled his underwear down. He used his other hand as a guide while he relived himself. “Sorry.” Ben lowered his head and called after his roommate. “I didn’t mean…I mean…I …well…I guess it just slipped out. “S’okay. It’s cool.” Ass replied gently as he walked back into the room. “Let’s say we go run.” “Cool.” Ben replied as he tore his body from the warm, comfortable bed. Ben stumbled to his suitcase and began to rummage through his unfolded clothes with a frustrated vigor. Although he had apologized, he was not sorry about what he had said. After several minutes, he located a semi-clean white t-shirt, a pair of running shorts and one white footie. “Do you know where my other sock is?” Ben asked in a surly tone. “Next to your foot.” Ass replied. “Jeez what’s your issue.” As he bent over to tie his shoes, Ben bit his lower lip to try to keep the frustration form boiling over. “Is this the time?” He pondered. “I waited forever.” Ben stood up, took a deep breath and blew outward. “Actually,” Ben started. “It’s not cool.” “What’s not cool?” Ass asked incorrectly assuming Ben was starting a new conversation. “Us,” Ben managed. “We’re not cool.” “What’ that supposed to mean?” Ass asked. Being a person of few words, this was perhaps the most difficult conversation Ben had ever attempted. “It means I am the only honest one here.” Ben managed. “Huh?” Ass responded stunned. “At least I say that I love you.” Ben said accusingly. “You think I don’t know how you feel about me?” “Huh?” Ass replied as the unexpected words stung his ears. “C’mon Eddie.” Ben said using his real name. “You love me, too.” “What are you talking about?” Ass said. “How many times …” Ass began to pace uncomfortable around the small room. “Yeah, yeah.” Ben interrupted his friend. “But look at us. We sleep in the same bed even though there are two beds in the room. And when was the last time you went out with a chick?” “Well…” Ben quickly stood up and got in front of his pacing friend. Gently he reached out and grasped both of his shoulders. “Exactly.” He said as he looked lovingly into the eyes of the man he loved with all of his heart. “Okay, maybe we do have a special thing.” Ass said. “But I am not gay.” “I know.” Said Ben. “But…” “What?” “What if I was a … well …” Ben tried. “What if I was a woman?” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was completely dark and totally silent or at least he thought it was. Slowly he began to hear the commotion, but he still couldn’t see anything. The strong smell of sulfur burned his nostrils. “It blew.” He thought. “Holy shit, it actually blew.” The pain told him that he was hurt, hurt badly. His senses that were working told him that things were worse than he could have imagined. Slowly, light seeped in and soon images began to take shape. He could see the pandemonium as the injured and the scared ran frantically in every direction. Panic chasing them to somewhere, anywhere but here. “How am I not dead?” He thought as his sense began working. “I was right next to it when it blew.” Suddenly aware of the constant throbbing, he anxiously rubbed his head and lowered his left hand to examine it. As he feared, the hand was covered in blood. “Could be nothing.” He told himself. “Head wounds usually bleed pretty bad.” Struggling to sit up, he began to take a mental inventory. “My name is Ron Harrison.” Big Ron said out loud. “My address is … what the hell is my address?” Before he could answer his own questions, his attention was drawn to his right hand. For the first time, he realized that he was holding a 9 mm. “What the …?” He stammered. “I don’t own a gun. What the hell is going on?” Ron tried to think, but the throbbing in his head was becoming unbearable. He laid back down on the asphalt and closed his eyes against the pain. Having his head resting on the cool pavement felt much better. “I hope someone finds me soon.” He thought. Slowly, he began to piece together what had just happened. He was trying to defuse the bomb but the guy showed up and fired a shot. “Did it hit me?” He wondered. “Kinda irrelevant at this point.” Pushing the thought out of his mind, he returned trying to remember. There had been a struggle, that he knew for sure. “Guess that is how I got this.” He thought as he looked closely at the handgun. Blinking his eyes to clear the debris, he saw that there was no blood on the gun. At least there weren’t any obvious traces of blood. “Damn, what happened?” He said out loud to express his frustration. Within a few minutes, frustration conquered pain. Ron sat up and then attempted to gain his feet. Although there was no apparent injury, he legs did not respond to the commands of his brain. Suddenly, Ron saw him standing in front of him. He looked almost as dazed as Ron felt. Automatically, Ron raised the 9 mm and pointed it at the man’s chest. “You gotta die, you rotten piece of shit.” Ron said matter-of-factly. “I know.” The man replied flatly. Within three seconds, the entire contents of the clip were lodged in the man’s chest. The last one hit him as his knees finally gave way. His body crumpled in a heap – dead. “Have fun in hell you bastard.” Ron said out loud. Within thirty seconds, four cops closed in on Ron with their guns drawn. “Put down the weapon and put your hands over your head.” The first cop shouted as she arrived next to Ron. “I mean it. DROP THE WEAPON!” “Okay, Okay.” Big Ron said as he threw the gun to the ground. “What the fuck are you doing?” The second cop asked harshly. “That’s the guy the set the bomb.” Ron explained. “I was just making sure he didn’t get away with it. Both cops stared hard at Ron through the acrid air. Their brains as hazy as the smoke filled air could not comprehend what Ron was saying. “We’ll clear this up at the station.” The second cop said when he finally found his voice. “I think I might need an ambulance.” Ron said as he held up his blood soaked arm. “And I think my leg is worse.” “Yeah, right.” The second cop said. He seemed to be the only one that could speak. The second cop reached up with his left hand and squeezed the button on his lapel microphone. “I need an ambulance over at …” He said as he tilted his head to the right so his voice would be heard clearly on the other end. “… uh … over by … where the fuck are we?” Quickly surveying the surroundings, his partner saw that they were on the north side of the building. “Some where around gate 21 or 22.” The first cop said. “or thereabouts.” The second cop repeated what the first cop said. Then he stared hard at Ron. “You better have one helluva story buddy.” He said sternly. “You killed that guy right in front of us.” “I have a story all right.” Ron said. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

My third email to Mark Cuban

Dear Mr Cuban, It’s Paul Gavin again. You may or may not be aware that I have written to you on two other occasions suggesting that you visit my blog Misadventures of a 42-year old writer wannabe. There are several reasons I continue to write to you. The first reason is purely self-interest. As the title of my blog indicates, I would like to be a professional writer. At my tender age, I do not have the time or the inclination to live the life of a starving artist. Therefore I have tried to find a way to skip a few steps and move right to shamelessly promoting my writing talent and original ideas for content development and delivery. The second reason is that I think that you are the thought leader in the area of content delivery. From all that I have read about you and from your blog, it is easy to see that you fully understand that the world of entertainment is in a transition period. The third reason is purely for entertainment. Through my blog I have managed to build a following of tens of readers. Most of their comments have been about the emails that I send you. In my opinion, they enjoy my Don Quixote approach to building my readership. Now the important part, I would like share a portion of one of my ideas. The basic premise is to create an interactive TV show about bloggers. The show would revolve around a set of characters that met and know each other only through the blog site they patronize. Portions of the show would be comedy, other parts drama and some documentary. There is nothing new about the TV format, the real innovative is the interactive portion. I will not describe that portion here. If you find this interesting, please feel free to contact me. Regards, Paul Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Generating Traffic

My blog has been on blogger long enough and I have been updating the site frequently, that every time I post I get 10 hits in the next 30 minutes. Why does this happen? Not really sure, but it seems that my blog now shows up with more frequency when people (or bots) click on the "next blog" button in the top right hand corner of the page. It seems a little strange that I have never landed on any of my blogs when I click on next blog. Is this working? Maybe. I have had more hits on Paul Gavin's Storefront, but still no additional sales. However, I have learned more about marketing, web advertising and metrics in the last month than I learned in my 20 years in business world. My answer is: Yes, this is working. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

New MLM

Back when I was in my twenties, I was a restaurant manager. I absolutely hated my job. At one point, I thought that I would to anything to get me out of that line of work. That is until I went to my first "management trainee" interview. Well, you may ask wasn't I looking for a management job? Yes, in fact, I was and that is exactly why I responded to job posting. Really, I should have known better. I called the number. The pleasant sounding woman began asking me questions. Her reaction to my responses were so positive. I was ecstatic when, at the end of the call, she told me I was exactly the type of person they were looking for. Flush with excitement, I made my way to the Denver Marriott SE for my interview. Once again, how stupid was I? When have you ever been to a job interview for a "national" company in a conference room at a hotel? The first inkling that something wasn't quite right is when I walked in the room and saw 50 or 60 other people mingling around. I shook a few hands and then a man called us to order. We all took a seat and he said "Welcome to Herbal Life!" The passed out packets of information and kicked off the presentation. For the next 40 or 50 minutes he discussed the program and how we were all going to be millionaires if we followed the program. Then he did the most shocking thing I could imagine - he asked us to pull out the "Contact Sheet" and write down the names and numbers of everyone we knew. These were going to be the first people we contacted to sell our product to or better yet get them to sell product for us. In case you don't know about Multi-Level Marketing (MLM), it works on the premise that you make commission on what you sell, but you make even more in commission on the product that people sell that you bring into the program. I was mortified. I could not think of anything more crass than to try to sell to my friends or get them to join my organization. As soon as I could, I got up and walked out the door as quickly as I could. It was the last time I attended one of these session. Despite my previous experience, I was sucked in a few more times. MLMers are not stupid, they change tactics and have been known to lie when asked directly "Is this a sales position?" or "Is this MLM?" Regardless, I never got involved. So why am I telling you this now? Isn't this supposed to be a blog about a novel? Yes, it is a blog about my novel. But it is also about the process that I am going through. A month ago, I sent out an email to several of my friends to inform them that I started this project. Not wanting to share everyone's email, I bcc'd everyone. How dumb is that? Multi-recipients in the bcc line is one of the key triggers for a spam filter. Since I figured that out soon after - like a minute - I sent the message, I decided that I would send individual emails to people and let them know how things are going - you know. On about the fifth email I sent today, I thought about my Herbal Life experience. It really bugged me for a bit, but then I decided - this isn't like that at all. Although I would like to increase my traffic and build an large audience, I really just want to share what I have been doing. It's my new hobby, I like doing it and if things take off great. If not, we'll see how long it takes me to get bored. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Am I becoming a blogaholic?

Sometimes I wonder. Seems like I spend quite a bit of my time on the old blog, if you know what I mean. I just started this a month ago and already I have posted 28 entries and I spent quite a bit of time customizing. Boy am I glad I get to hire people to do my web design at work. As you can tell, I am not the greatest with colors. How do you like the new look? Anyone taken the poll. Personally, I thought the question was funny - of course I did - I made it up. I got the code from neomyz.com. It was easy, I made the selection, entered the questions and answers and had the code copied and pasted to this page in less than five minutes. I had a little trouble editing the HTML to get the placement right at the top of the page. Even with that, it took less than twenty minutes to have the feature up and running. I did the eyeball picture yesterday. I took advantage of the tools available on Blogger. It's pretty cool. If you want to upload a picture, go to your page, click on "view my profile". Your profile will be displayed. Then click "edit my profile". Go to the photograph section and click on "Find out how to get free photo hosting". Then follow the process. Think I should trademark the term "blogaholic". You know those cable news types are going to steal my word - I heard a couple of CNN anchors come to this blog before going on the air. I would beleive it except I have some many hits from the Atlanta area. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Kiss

I know I told you that this is a blog for the serialized version of my new novel. But I have been know to write a poem or two. Let me know if you want me to put more of these on the blog. The Kiss I looked deeply Into your eyes Touched my forehead To yours Then the smile That makes my heart Race and I see Your naked soul I lean in You lean in Our lips touch Bliss Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Realization

As I was writing today about my web traffic, it occurred to me that in the blogosphere there are many more writers than there are readers. Some, I'd say many, of us out here writing our blogs are hoping that we we get traffic and we will be the next big thing. A smaller portion are trying to make money without working. And some are just writing as an outlet. The one thing we do have in common, we want people to read our material. May I suggest that we all do. Stop writing for a few minutes. Take some time to look at what other people are doing. Not the well known sites, just another one here on blogspot. Leave constructive comments when you visit a site you like. I have been looking around, there is a great deal of amazing people out there doing some pretty cool things. Blog on both sides. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Yeah, baby!

Am I a marketing genius or what! In the last 24 hours I had over 30 new visitors. Of course only 2 of them stayed for longer than 1 second. Guess there are alot of speed readers out there. One of the new visitors actually stuck around and read for a while. Additionally, he left a comment. Here's a shout out to Chuck. Apparently, he's a big ISU fan. But we won't hold that against him - not much any way. When you are done here, give him a visit at his Blog. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

One Month Summary

As you may have noticed, there have been some changes to the site. I have added a few things that I want to talk about. Additionally, I changed some of the formatting. Some of the changes are cosmetic, but some are features that I hope will increase the traffic to the site. Since I told you when I started the blog, that I would be chronicling the entire process. It's time to share the numbers. As you may recall, my goal in this was and still is to gain an audience for my materials. For the last month, I have tried quite a few things to pull in new traffic. You may have noticed the hit counter on the sidebar below the list of blog directories. It was one of the first customizations I did to the blog template I am using. There are several open source applications out there. All I did was google “hit counter”. I checked out a few and picked one that seemed to be the easiest to use. From the statistics gathered over the last month, here are the numbers: Page loads: 354 Unique Visitors: 149 First Time Visitors: 135 Return Visitors: 14 In case you don’t know what the numbers mean: Page loads: The number of times any of the pages on the blog were clicked. Unique Visitors: The total number of visitors both First Time Visitors and Return Visitors. First Time Visitors: The number of visitors that came to the blog. Return Visitors: The number of people that have visited more than once. My astute analysis tells me that I not getting the traffic I had hoped for. Since I have been monitoring my traffic, I knew that I was not getting to the number of people that want to. Additionally, I have not generated much new traffic to my Lulu site nor have I sold any additional copies of "Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain" or "Some Things Just Happen". Today, I decided to take the next step. Although, I have Google Adsense for content (the list of ads at the top) on my blog on the first day, I didn’t have all the features. Today I added Google Adsense for search and Google referrals. None of these will drive traffic, but they will earn revenue if people use them. The exciting part, at least for me, is that I signed up for Google AdWords. I am actually paying to advertise my blog over the web. So far, I have had two people click on my ads. It cost me a nickel a piece, but I think it’s money well spent. As far as writing goes, I have posted Chapter 10. If you haven’t noticed, the blog only goes back to Chapter 7. Something happened with the archiving. I added a link to the previous chapters on the sidebar. It has Chapters 1 to 7 posted there. Next time, I will get into the specifics of the Google tools. Can you tell I like Google? Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Ronnie was seriously considering quitting the restaurant job. Between dealing for Schneider and the money from the gigs they had been playing, Ronnie didn’t need a job. Really the only reason he stayed was Annie. He had it bad for her and he just wanted to spend time with her. Then again, there wasn’t much of a future in selling dope. The risk was way too high. Eventually, he would get caught. Some dumbass punk would get busted for having a roach and he would roll over on Ronnie. “Damn, I am getting a paranoid as Schneider.” He thought. But really knew it was more than that. He was jeopardizing the whole band’s future, not just his. It was great having all the dope he could smoke, but was it really worth it? The thing was, the DJ from KBPI had put Ratdick in touch with a record company. It was very possible that they were on the verge of hitting the big time. “No dude,” Ronnie thought. “This has gotta be the last pick up. But how the fuck am I going to break it to Schneider.” Just then a thought entered his mind. If the record company thing panned out, they would be hitting the road. “That’s it. I’ll get Schneider to be a roadie.” He said out loud. They were making excellent money at the gigs they were playing and they might even get an advance. They could afford a roadie. Plus, Schneider could be their security as well. Ronnie pulled up in front of the trailer. Normally, he would load up first and then have a little chat with Schneider. But today he wanted to talk first. Deliberately, Ronnie walked to the front door and knocked. “Who is it?” Schneider hissed in a menacing whisper. “It’s Ronnie.” “You a Fed?” He hissed through the still closed door. “Schneider dude, c’mon it’s me.” Ronnie said. “How many times we gotta go through this. C’mon open the door I wanna talk to you.” Slowly the door opened slightly, just enough for Ronnie to see Schneider’s right eye. He could see the absolute terror in his eyes. “Dude, what is up?” Ronnie asked in a concerned tone. Schneider didn’t answer, instead he flung the door open. “Get in here.” He said in a panic stricken voice as he grabbed Ronnie’s shirt and pulled him in to the trailer and quickly closed the door. “Dude, that’s my shirt.” Ronnie protested. “What’s with you?” “I told you they were out to get me.” Schneider said desperately. “And you didn’t believe me.” Ronnie was shocked. Schneider had never been like this before, not even the first time he showed Ronnie the garden. “What are you talking about, dude?” Ronnie asked totally confused. “I saw him.” Schneider continued wildly as he grabbed Ronnie by the shoulders. “Who?” Ronnie asked nervously. “Him, man.” He said as he stared deeply into Ronnie’s eyes. “You know, HIM!” Ronnie was very confused and even more upset. The wild look in Schneider’s eyes was getting creepy. He couldn’t take the stare any more. Ronnie looked away as he tried to free himself from Schneider’s grasp. “Schneider … uh … look … I …” Ronnie tried to form a sentence, but had no luck. Suddenly, Schneider’s eyes softened and his hands released Ronnie’s shoulders and fell to his sides. “Oh…oh…wow, man.” Schneider said totally defeated. “That’s right, you don’t know him.” “Who?” Ronnie asked. “Who don’t I know?” “The evil, man. The evil…” Schneider’s barely audible voice tailed off. Stunned, Ronnie stood in silence for a moment. Not knowing what to say or do, Ronnie simply put his hand on Schneider’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Hey dude, wanna smoke a joint?” Ronnie finally asked. “Sure, man.” Schneider said totally defeated. Ronnie busied himself rolling a joint. It wasn’t as good as Schneider rolled joint, but it was pretty close. Placing the joint in his mouth, he lit it and inhaled deeply. Then he examined the joint as if he could get a read on the quality by looking at it. He hit it again and handed it to Schneider. Schneider seemed vaguely aware of what was going on around him. Smoking the joint was more of a reflex action than a conscience thought. “Hey, Ronnie, man,” Schneider said as he exhaled. “I ever tell you what happened to me in Nam?” “Uh … not really.” Ronnie said hesitantly. “Just some stuff here and there.” Schneider leaned back in the recliner and stared up at the ceiling and placed the joint to his lips and inhaled deeply. He held the smoke in his lungs for thirty or forty seconds. Suddenly he forcefully blew out the smoke, pressed the joint to his lips and inhaled insanely. Repeating this process over and over, he almost finished the joint himself. Shocked, Ronnie stared at him in disbelief. He had never seen anyone smoke like that before. Just the sight of it made his lungs hurt. “Jesus dude, you get enough?” Ronnie asked. Schneider held his hand above him, between his eyes and the ceiling, and stared at the remnants of the joint between his thumb and forefinger. He held that position for a moment and finally he broke the silence. “First, they kicked my ass.” Schneider began without acknowledging Ronnie’s question. “Then the bastards stripped me naked, doused me in water and threw my ass in a freezing cold cell.” “What…who…?” Ronnie said totally flabbergasted, but it was useless. Schneider was obviously in his own little world. “Every fifteen minutes or so, they would come in and beat me till I passed out.” He said without taking his eyes from the ceiling. “Then they would throw cold water on me to wake me up. I’m telling you man, it was fucked up.” This was all new to Ronnie. Up until this moment, every story Schneider told involved killing gooks. “Jesus Christ, this is messed up.” Ronnie thought. “What am I supposed to say?” Not knowing what to say, Ronnie decided the best thing to do would be to roll another joint. “I have no idea how long they did it, but it seemed like forever.” Schneider continued. “You have any idea what it’s like to be naked and wet?” “Not really.” Ronnie said softly as he tried to image what Schneider had gone through. “Not at all. “You get so cold that you can’t even shiver.” Schneider explained as he continued to look at the ceiling. “But then you start getting use to it.” “Really?” Ronnie asked amazed. “You get use to it?” “Yeah, the human body is amazing.” Schneider said. “But the gooks know that, too. So they start switching things up. They took me to a different room, a hot room, a really hot room. They keep taking me back and forth for days with absolutely no food and just a little water. They gave we water so I wouldn’t die on ‘em and ruin their fun. Then they finally gave me some food and I ate it as fast as I could. Well, turns out it was bad, so I spent hours puking. Even after there was nothing left. Then it was back to the hot-cold treatment. Just for kicks, occasionally they would hold my head under water and then kick me in the stomach just when I was getting my breath back.” Ronnie was totally enthralled. He had never heard of anything like this before. “Is he shitting me?” He thought as he stared at Schneider trying to figure this out. “Seems wacked.” “It went on forever, man.” Schneider sobbed. “They just kept fucking with me, man. Over and over …” Schneider’s body was wracked with sobs. He curled into a ball in the recliner and continued sobbing uncontrollably. Spasms wracked his body and suddenly he lurched out of the chair and he fell to the floor. “WHY?” He cried out. “WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHY, why, why …” “Cause I’m your friend.” Ronnie answered trying to decide if he should go to Schneider. Suddenly Schneider sat up. Although he had stopped sobbing, the tears continued to flow down his cheeks. “Not you, man.” He said as he wiped the tears from his face. “The evil, man. The evil is here, man. I seen him.” “What are you talking about Schneider?” “I don’t know.” “What?” Ronnie asked. “I just don’t know.” He stated flatly. “Whenever I think about it, my mind gets all fucked up. I just don’t know what is what.” Still seated on the floor, Schneider nervously began wringing his hands. “All I know is that the evil was there.” Schneider continued. “And now that the evil is here, man. The evil is here.” “Schneider, dude, what are you talking about?” Ronnie asked timidly. “I really don’t know, man.” Schneider said truthfully. “My shrink never could figure it either.” “Uh…your shrink?” Ronnie asked nervously. “Yeah, didn’t I ever tell you that I spent most of the eighties in the loony bin?” Schneider stood up and looked around as if to reacquaint himself with his surroundings. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he took his seat in the recliner. “Uh … no.” “Hey, roll another joint, would ya?” Schneider said to Ronnie. With out a word or a moment of hesitation, Ronnie began the process of rolling another joint. “Yeah, when I got out of where ever the hell I was I winded up in VA some where. Finally, they shipped me back to Fitzsimmons so my parents could come visit me.” “Your parents?” “Yeah, that lasted all of three visits.” “Then what?” Ronnie asked as he twisted the smoking end of the just rolled joint. Ronnie lit the joint, inhaled deeply and passed it to Schneider. Schneider accepted the joint and raised it to Ronnie. “Cheers.” He said and then he said morosely. “They couldn’t handle it.” “Handle what?” “Look, man. Sorry I lost it.” Schneider said. “But I really don’t wanna go there now, dig.” “Sure dude.” Ronnie said. “No probs.” Although Ronnie was very curious, he knew that when Schneider was done talking he was done talking. He didn’t want to press the matter. “So what’s up?” Schneider asked. It never ceased to amaze Ronnie that Schneider could snap out of it so quickly. It was as if nothing had happened. Ronnie looked into Schneider’s eyes and that confirmed that everything was back to normal. “Okay … uh … well …” Ronnie started. “Well, spit it out boy.” Schneider said cheerfully. “Wasamatter, you gotta dick in your mouth?” “Damn Schneider, that’s fucked up.” Ronnie protested. “It’s just … well … you know I told you about the band?” “Yeah.” “Well dude, it looks like we are bout ready to hit the big time.” “Really? Cool.” “Well, yeah. Thanks.” Ronnie said. “Here’s the deal, though. Uh … like … you know … it’s not real cool to be dealing and shit. I mean if I get caught, I could fuck this whole thing up. Schneider was just staring at him. Ronnie licked his lips. He gone over the edge, he had to finish now. “I mean, it’s not just me I gotta think about, ya know?” Ronnie said nervously. “There are three other guys in the band.” There it was out in the open, hanging there. Ronnie shifted his weight uncomfortably and kicked at something on the floor. Finally, he looked directly into Schneider’s eyes. They stared at each other and after a excruciatingly long pause Schneider said, “That’s cool, man. We’ve unloaded most of it anyway.” Knowing Schneider, Ronnie knew that he meant what he said, but he wasn’t happy about it. “You know dude, it doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hang with you.” Ronnie said. “As a matter of fact, that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about.” “What?” Schneider said. “Look dude, if we’re going to be rock stars, we’re gonna need some security.” Ronnie said enthusiastically. “So, I was wondering if you would be interested in being our security slash roadie.” “Are you shitting me, man?” Schneider said as the color ran from his face. “No, I’m not.” Ronnie said. Then he saw Schneider’s reaction. “What?” “I can’t go out there, man.” Schneider said in a shaky voice. “They’ll get me if I do. I told you that.” Not sure if he should press, Ronnie decided to go for it. “C’mon Schneider, you can’t believe that.” Ronnie said. “How long you been here and has anyone ever come for you.” “You don’t know what you talking about, man.” Schneider said. “I’m telling you they’re out there – I mean – he’s…it’s out there. I told you, the evil is here, man. He’s here for me.” “You really believe that?” Ronnie asked. “Yeah, man. I do.” Schneider said and he turned and walked out of the trailer. “I seen it.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Search Engine Optimization (SEO)

A couple of days ago, I told you I was surfing through blogs to support others as I hope to be supported. I listed two blogs that to me seemed like nonsense. My curiosity piqued, I posted the links on my page and asked if any one knew anything about it. I think I stumbled on the answer. There are many different things that search engines look for: 1. Links to your page 2. Content 3. Keywords These particular blogs are full of keywords repeated over and over with links to their main page. The theory is that these search-engine friendly "blogs" will trick the search engines into giving the main page a higher rank. How did I figure this out? Well, I participated today. I was looking up SEO and I came across a product that guaranteed to increase traffic to my main site. Since I am trying to increase traffic, I thought it would be a good idea to download the Demo of the software and try it out. It was a very nice interface, but one thing struck me as odd. No where did it tell you what it was doing. All it keep doing was showing squiggly words and a text box for me to type what I saw. Once I entered the text, the system generated a new “blog”. The response was pretty significant. I received 23 new visitors to my main blog. Of course, none of them stayed for more than 1 second. Officially, that’s traffic. Their guarantee was good. But I don’t think I am going to pay the $147.00 for the full package to have it automatically generate 1000s of “blogs” to contain links to my site. However, every time I run across one of those sites when I am surfing, I add a link to my blog. So far, I have left 30 or so links. In some ways, I wonder about the ethics of it. But, for now I will keep my low tech bolstering of my web site. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

My second email to Mark Cuban

Mr. Cuban, My name is Paul Gavin. On January 27, I sent you an email telling you a little about myself and the blog (http://rebeleyeball.blogspot.com/) I am using to try to create a readership for my material. I posted the email on my blog along with an explanation as to why I am writing to you. The reason I am writing to you is I truly believe that you are the visionary in the area of content delivery. In addition to the delivery of content, I am sure you have considered the possibilities of the type of content people will be demanding for entertainment purposes. In the next five years, interactive media is going to outpace sedentary TV watching and Web Surfing. I have what I think is a mind blowing idea for an interactive TV/Internet “show” that will capture the younger audiences that you are not currently targeting with the simultaneous Theatre/PPV/DVD release. As I stated in my last email, I know that you receive endless requests for you time. Additionally, I understand the HDNet Films has a submission page. However, I know that this idea is so fresh that I am reticent to blindly send off my outline. If you are curious to hear about the format and why I think it will be successful, please feel free to contact me. Regards, Paul Gavin Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 The Doctor’s words still hung in his head like a heavy curtain keeping out the sunlight. Everything was dark. He still couldn’t believe he heard correctly. But he had heard correctly. “Cancer.” The doctor told him matter-of-factly. He was home now. After a while he heard the sounds of Ronnie’s band. It was an unfamiliar tune but it sounded great from here. Big Ron decided to go in and listen more closely. He entered the garage silently so that he wouldn’t disturb the boys. If they knew he was there, they might stop playing. Big Ron watched Ronnie in a way he never had before. For the very first time, Big Ron saw the incredible talent that his son had. Ronnie’s raspy screeching contrasted with full, rich baritone when he sang. It matched the music perfectly. “Damn, these guys are good.” He thought. He focused in on Ass. “The kid is intense. Look at that. He and that Ben are tight, real tight.” “Okay, okay.” Ronnie said. “So, whaddya think?” “It’s badass.” Pete said. Big Ron turned to leave the room before he was seen. He was impressed and he had an idea. His friend Bob Marsh just bought Ecks Saloon. Ron knew he was always looking for hot bands. Suddenly an idea hit him. He’d wanted his son to be a pro athlete, but that didn’t happen. He had different talents and now Big Ron believed it. Yes, Ronnie would be famous but not for winning Superbowls. Ron went to his office and made a phone call. When Ron returned to the garage, they were playing the same song. Only this time it had revved into a monster jam and suddenly there were three staccato symbol crashes and they abruptly ended. None of them had even looked at each other. They had all known it was time to stop. “Fuckin’ A” Pete said. Ron watched his son. It seemed like there was a peace surrounding him. A moment of happiness. He heard his son reply, “Yeah! Yeah!” And that was really all that needed to be said. Ron watched as the four performed a few post-jam rituals. Pete wiped off with a towel, Ben continued stroke the bass, Ass leaned back against the wall his arms hanging at his sides and Ronnie just stood in the middle of the floor, head down. “Hey Ronnie.” Big Ron said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” “Yeah.” Ronnie responded robotically without lifting his head. Big Ron spun on his heeled and walked briskly to his office. He walked across the room and took a seat behind his desk. “C’mon in, Ronnie.” Big Ron said cheerifully. “Have a seat.” “K,” Ronnie responded as he slouched down into one of the large leather chairs that faced Big Ron’s desk. Big Ron frowned to himself. “Jesus, what kind of Dad have I been if this is how reluctant my son is to be with me?” He thought. But he had to get rid of that thought. Maybe he could change things. He wanted to do this right. “Ronnie, hey, I was listening to you guys earlier. What was that song? I’ve never heard it before.” “Just somethin’ we’re working on.” Ronnie replied nonchalantly. ”You guys wrote that?” Ron asked, genuinely surprised. “I kinda came up with the idea, but yeah we wrote it. Just today.” Ronnie said in a snotty tone. “It’s great. You boys play well together.” Big Ron said. The words fell strangely on Ronnie’s ears. This was the first time Ronnie could ever remember his father commenting on his music, let alone the compliment. Ronnie was shocked. He really didn’t know how to respond. Ron saw Ronnie’s reaction and again frowned to himself. He didn’t know exactly what Ronnie was thinking but he felt his perplexion. “Anyway,” Big Ron continued. I have been listening to you guys for a while and it dawned on me that my friend owns Ecks Saloon and he is always looking for bands. Turns out he has a shitty band that he wants to fire, so you guys are on tomorrow night.” “Wha…what…what are you saying.” “Well I know you guys have had some problems getting gigs and you really do have talent. So, I thought I could help you out.” “What … I … what the fuck?” Ronnie could not believe what he was hearing. “Ronnie, I thought …” “You thought? What the fuck do you know about us?” “Well, I know you’re good, maybe even great.” Big Ron said a little confused. “Ronnie, I thought you’d be happy. I know how tough it is to get a break.” “You don’t get it, Dad.” Ronnie said. “We’re not ready.” “What do you mean, you guys are fantastic. And I know you know a lot of songs.” Big Ron said as he sat forward in his chair. He leaned forward to Ron. “I mean …” “Look, what gives you the right to just sign us up like that?” Ronnie interupted angrily. “Maybe we have another gig or plans or something. “Do you?” Big Ron asked. “What?” Ron said puzzled. “Have a gig or plans or something.” Big Ron replied irritated. “Well, no.” Ronnie replied. “I just we … well … we…where the fuck do you get off. You don’t even know the name of the band!” “What?” Ron asked. “You don’t know anything.” Ron pondered conversation. He was trying to figure out why Ronnie was reacting like this. He knew that he had never supported his music. Then, suddenly it hit him. “Don’t tell me that you guys have never played in public.” Big Ron said. Ronnie couldn’t bring his eyes to meet his father’s. He just sat for a moment head down and finally he said, “No we haven’t.” Ronnie said embarrassed. “Why not?” Big Ron asked. “I…ah…well...I’m not sure … I mean …” “Stage fright?” Ron said as he began to chuckle. “That’s it – stage fright.” He laughed fully now. “Really funny Dad. What do you know about it?” “Plenty.” Big Ron replied with a knowing nod. “What do you mean?” “You think it was easy playing in a Orange Bowl? In front of 80,000 people? On national TV? – yeah, I know a little bit about it.” It was Ronnie’s turn to be taken by surprise. “You played in the Orange Bowl?” “Yeah, did you ever listen to my stories?” “Guess not. So what happened? You know, at the Orange Bowl?” “Oh, I was scared shitless. I puked a couple of times and proceeded to have the best game of my life.” “What? You just went and played after puking?” Ronnie asked. “Yeah. Look Ronnie it’s natural to be nervous when you’re performing, but trust me once you get into it you have no problems.” Ron felt the angst from his son. He wanted to do something, say something to make Ronnie feel better. “Look Ronnie, why do you play music?” “What?” Ronnie asked dumbfounded. “Why do you play music? Is it cause you like it or you want to be famous or what?” “I guess …well …I mean … well …both …you know.” “Well then you’re going to have to get up on stage sometime, right. Hate to sound like a Nike commercial, but you just do it – get it. Look nothing in life is easy, but you can do what ever you have the courage to try. What’s the worst that can happen? Seriously, what’s the worst thing that can happen?” “You make it sound easy.” “Don’t get me wrong, it is difficult. But son, that is what life is.” Big Ron said in a very sincere voice. “If you let the fear win, you’ll never do anything. Christ look at this house. You think we would be living there if I gave in to fear?” Big Ron stood up and walked around the desk and sat down in the chair next to Ronnie. He reached out an put his hand on Ronnie’s knee. “Son, I am scared all the time.” Big Ron said. “You think you make decisions lightly when the deals you make are going to affect four thousand people you’ve never met, probably never will meet? You have to stand up and face it. Sometimes, you’ll fail. Other times, you’ll be successful.” “Dad,” Ronnie said. He swallowed obviously and asked, “Do you really think we’re good?” “Absolutely, you have a sound and what a rhythm section.” Ron said sincerely. “Those two are amazing.” “Yeah and they hardly even talk.” Ronnie replied knowingly. “They just know.” “I think you all share that. All good teams do.” Ron stated matter-of-factly. “Never forget you’re a team.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The four band-mates sat in what passed for a dressing room. They were about to be thrust upon the stage for their first gig. On top of that, they were to be introduced by one of the most popular local DJs. He did every Thursday at Ecks and tonight was no exception. “Put your hands to together for “Ratdick!” The DJ screamed into the microphone. “That’s us, dudes.” Pete said. “Let’s do it.” “Yeah!” Ass and Ben screamed together. Ronnie turned his head and puked into the sink. “Dude, Jesus Christ. What the …?” Pete started. “It’s cool.” Ronnie said reassuringly. “Kinda family ritual. Let’s kick some ass.” The four ran on to the stage. Ass literally jumped into his seat behind the drum kit. Ben and Pete assumed their positions and Ronnie strode forward to the microphone. “We’re gonna rock this fucking place, man.” Ronnie yelled into the mike as he ripped it out of its cradle on the stand. Instantly Pete ripped out the first strands of ‘Evenflow’. Although Ronnie’s voice did not sound much like Eddie Vedder’s, it was still strong, melodic and very good. The boys were tight. Ben and Ass were in rare form and Pete was just smoking. The sound was filling the bar and people began to take notice. After the first song, they didn’t even pause. Boom, right into Tool’s ‘Sober’. Again, Ronnie’s voice didn’t match, but it was almost a better sound because it fit so well with his band-mates. It wasn’t that “Ratdick” wanted to play covers. Not at all, just earlier in the day, the band had a very brief argument with the owner. He wanted them to play covers. They wanted to play more of their own stuff. “Look, you play shit that people know.” He stated flatly. “That way they dance. When they dance, they get thirsty. When they get thirsty, they drink. This is a bar. I want people to drink. So you play covers or you don’t play.” As they started in on their twelfth cover in a row, they could see that the dance floor was crowded already. It was better than Ronnie ever expected. His voice was at its peak. He was in the zone and loving it. “Not this song, not now.” He thought. Quickly he shot a glance at Pete. Pete subtly turned to Ass and Ass clued in Ben. Barely ten seconds passed and Ronnie stepped up to the mike. “Fuck it.” He said and instantly the band stopped in unison. The crowd erupted in a chorus of boos for having “Closer” interrupted. “We wanna do a song we just wrote the other day.” Ronnie said as he began the tuning start to the new song. An eerie feeling came over the entire band. The booing actually added something to the searching sound. It was almost as if Ronnie’s guitar was searching for something to appease the angry mob. When Ronnie and Pete simultaneously thundered into the nasty, severe riff, the booing instantly stopped. The music wretched out of the band with such emotion, that the crowd was instantly mesmerized. Pete cracked off the lead intro and the dance floor erupted. The drunk and not so drunk revelers began dancing with wild abandon. The longer they played, the more wicked the frenzy became. They came to the end of the song and Ass hit the cymbal with the familiar three staccato bursts and they stopped almost drained. They looked up to see the crowd cheering enthusiastically. “Break time.” Ronnie barked into the microphone. Pumping his fist, he strode off the stage completely confident the others were following right behind him. They basically staggered back to the dressing room. None of them had ever experienced anything quite so intense. “Holy Shit.” Pete was the first to find his voice. “Did you see that shit, dude?” “No doubt.” Ass added. “I knew that song was good, but I had no idea…” “Fucking A” Ben said to finish Ass’ sentence. Ronnie was wiping the sweat off his head with a white towel. He was shaking the wetness out onto the floor. “That really was better than sex.” Pete finally said. “That’s the most intense …” “Fuckin A.” Ben said again. “MOST INTENSE FUCKING EXPERIENCE!” Ronnie screamed directly into Pete’s face. Pete just smiled. The right hands of Ass and Ben met in a loud high five. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Quickly, the door swung open and the club owner filled the doorway. He was a massive man and by the looks of his reddened face and his sweat stained shirt, he was pissed – not a good combination. “What the fuck was that?” Bob Marsh asked sternly. “It’s a song we wrote.” Ronnie said looking directly into the fiery eyes of the huge man standing in front of him. “You wrote that?” He asked in a menacing tone as he moved well into Ronnie’s personal space. “Yeah, sorry. I know you told us to play covers.” Ronnie said apologetically but, uncharacteristically, he did not look away. “But we didn’t think you’d mind hearing one original.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” Bob asked. The boys exchanged puzzled looks. “Look at me. I got sweat running down my ass crack.” He said loudly. “I been dancing my ass off and did you see the crowd? They loved it. So, you guys got more of that shit?” Again, the boys looked at each other trying to put it all together. None of them attempted to answer the question. “Well do ya?” Bob asked almost accusingly. “Yeah.” Pete finally said. “Really, a couple? Three? A dozen, what?” “We’ve written sixty-two of our own songs.” Ronnie said nonchalantly. The owner was stunned. “Sixty-two.” He said. “Well if they’re anything like that last one, you can play as many as you want.” “Really?” Ronnie asked. “Hell yeah. I known you’re old man a long time.” He said. “And when that piece of shit told me you guys were good, I thought he was just blowing smoke for his kid. But I tell you what, you four have got IT. And I fuckin’ mean it. You’re here for the weekend and I have you back in two or three weeks. I gotta check the schedule.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

My Approach to Characters

When I am telling a story, I am attempting entertain as well as give my readers something to think about. I try to focus in on the characters because I think people are the story. My main objective is to present flawed characters as they are. There are two things I try to do in order to make the story interesting. First, some of the characters I create understand and accept their flaws but most do not. In my life, I have had the opportunity to interact with quite a few people. It seems to me that most conflict is caused by people that do not understand their flaws or have not found a way to compensate for them. The second tool I try to employ is to try to present unusual situations and see how the characters react. In some cases, the characters act exactly the way you would expect them to given the background information provided to that point. Sometimes the characters will behave in inexplicable ways. That’s what I hope to achieve. As I have been thinking about this, I have come up with an idea on where to go with this story. I am going to continue with the main story, but I am also going to try to fill you in with more background information about each character. How am I going to do this? I am going to let the characters tell you about themselves in own words. This week I am going to create blogs for Ronnie, Annie, Anita and Ben. They are the most likely to participate as bloggers. Stay tuned and I will let you know where you can get to know the characters a little better as you read the story. Let’s see who reacts as expected and who doesn’t. Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

More on the whole blogging thing

If you have been reading my work, then you already know I am pretty new to the whole blogging thing. If this is your first taste of my exquisite prose, how lucky you must feel. Either way by the end of this post, you will find yourself exhausted but enlightened by the nuggets of information with which I impart to you. If you are ultra-observant you may have noticed that I have approximately one BILLION links to blog directories on the right side of the blog. I have registered at about 20 of the top 55 blog directories as listed at http://www.masternewmedia.org/rss/top55/. When registering at the directories, I use my super-top-secret email address. Since I started this blog two weeks ago, my spam filter has been working double, nay triple duty. It is amazing - I use to get maybe 3 spams a day in this mail box, now I get 10 an HOUR. I am not joking. It is unbelievable. Since I am doing this for you, I actually click on a few of them so I can tell you the flavor of spam that is being served. Apparently, I have won a full-sized PacMan game. All I have to do is click on http://www.choosewant.com/srpac/ and claim my prize. In the spirit of taking one for the team, I followed the link. Big surprise, they wanted my email address. Man, the things I do for you people. I gave them my email, but was that good enough? Heck no, they wanted my name, address and phone number - so I put in my info - from 2 houses ago! Then it was on to the survey. It was 4 full pages, like 25 per page, of offer after offer. I had to click yes and then fill out additional forms with name, address and phone number. Then I hit the wall. I made it to the page where I actually had to buy something to move on. Sorry, I here for you, but I will not spend one thin dime on a scam. The most irrating thing is I know that all of the spams are scams, but people keep clicking on them. My journey over, I turned my attention elsewhere. I started going through some blogs. You know, support the community. After I read a few good blogs, I hit 2 weird ones in a row. I have no idea what they are about. Check these out and let me know if you have any idea what this is all about: http://my-common-boat-names-webpage.blogspot.com/ http://about1000115chippoker.blogspot.com/ Next time, I'll tell about "How to make a 6-figure income writing online". Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

boingboing

As I told you, I am trying many different paths to gain exposure for the site. So far I am getting more traffic on the blog than on my Lulu store front, but it's still just a trickle. In my research, I found a site called boingboing. It seems like a pretty cool site. So here is the submission I sent: "My blog is a serialized version of a novel I am working on along with commentary about the writing process. It also contains commentary about things I am discovering while blogging. The base url is http://rebeleyeball.blogspot.com. I submitted a url with one of my blogs on the difficulty in getting people to read my material. Additionally, here is a link to an example of the novel: http://rebeleyeball.blogspot.com/2006/02/break-chapter-8.html. Check it out, I think you'll enjoy it. " They have 4 editors and they actually check out the sites submitted and if they find them interesting they post a link to the sites. Here's hoping they find this site interesting. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

New Chapter Format

In Chapter 8, there is a new chapter format. Since there are several plot lines I am trying to develop, I thought I wold try to advance more than one in a chapter. I am not sure that this is going to work. Let me know what you think of the format. On a different topic, I haven't done much new writing other than the blog. It's not exactly writer's block. It's more like procrastination. I have 4 main plot topics in The Break and I have a really good idea where each one is going, but I just can't seem to advance any of them. It was last night that realized the lengths I will go to in order to not write the story. My original idea for "Progessing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain" was for a screen play. There was only one problem, I had no idea how to write a screen play. So I changed it to a novel because I assumed it would be easy. I have read a ton of novels - how tough could it be? Well, I found out but that is a different story. Anyway, last night as I was surfing the web for examples of screen plays and simultaneously attempting to convert "Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain" into a screen play, it hit me. Why am I suddenly working on something I haven't even thought about in a year or so? Why am I not writing "The Break"? Oh, I get it. I am worried that I can't work out the plot line. From now on, when I write - I write "The Break" Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 Ian inhaled deeply on the cigarette. He examined it closely as he rolled it between his index finger and his thumb. He was waiting. Waiting for the familiar form to walk out of the store. He had been following the man for three days. And each day he had seen that everything was as it should be. Today was the day. He had to make sure he got close, very close. Ideally he would be able to get within six inches of the man’s face before he knew he was there. He could do it. He would do it, because he was a professional. He knew that when his target exited the store he would turn right. At that point he would cross the street diagonally. He would move rapidly, but not too quickly as to cause anyone to take notice. If you move to fast, you excite the air. People start to look around attracted to the energy of something in motion. Not a good thing, he did not want to attract attention to himself in anyway. He needed to catch up to him, but he didn’t want to activate the primeval feeling that no one really notices. Once in position, he would lean in closely. Close enough to see the late day whiskers protruding from his pores. That would maximize the shock. He wanted to shock the man’s psyche to the core. The more freaked out the man was, the better. He smiled to himself, he wondered if the man would be able to maintain standing. As he mused on this thought, the door to the store opened and the man step out. Caught in thought, he was taken off guard when the man turned left. Luckily years of experience came in handy. By taking up a position on the opposite side of the street, Ian had given himself room to maneuver with out betraying his presence. Subtly, Ian turned his back to the street and hunched his shoulders to reduce the chance of being recognized. After a short pause, he turned to face the street. Ian quickly scanned the sparse crowd before locating the man. As soon as Ian had acquired the target, he glanced over his shoulder to ensure there was no traffic and he jogged across the street. He closed half the distance between them within ten seconds. He slowed to a walk still closing quickly. He fell into step about seven steps behind the man. He followed in step for almost a block. The man in front of Ian turned right on to a deserted street. Even though it wasn’t the spot the Ian had planned on overtaking the man, this was a very good place to do so. Ian picked up his pace, closed the distance between himself and the man. Reaching out with his left hand, he roughly grabbed his target. Frightened by the sudden contact, the man jerked wildly. But Ian squeezed his shoulder tightly and spun him around. As the man’s body turned to meet his, Ian leaned in so that he was eye to eye with his victim. “Hey, Frankie boy!” Ian said loudly in a very threatening voice. “Oh…my…it’s…holy shit …” Frankie attempted as all of the strength drained from his body. Frankie’s body began to shudder from the shock. His knees began to shake and he head was spinning. He jerked uncontrollably and began to sink to the ground. “Y-y-y-yooooooouuuuu … ” Slipped from Frankie’s mouth, barely audibly as he burst into tears. Ian was taken somewhat aback by the reaction. Earlier he had been amused at the prospect of watching Frankie sink to the ground. Actually seeing it happen was pathetic. Ian moved quickly to steady Frankie and return him to a fully erect position. For a fleeting moment, Ian felt bad. “Jesus, what have we done to this guy?” Just a quickly his attitude changed back. “Fuck Frankie.” He thought. “Whasamatter, Frankie?” Ian said. “You didn’t expect to see me again?” “Wha … what the … WHY?” Frankie said totally flustered. “Why? Cause it’s time Frankie. Time for you to do your job.” “Wha…I…job…what…?” Frankie stammered. This was becoming very trying for Ian. “I guess I maximized the shock, but this is getting old. Plus, this was supposed to be a quick encounter. “Look,” Ian started. “It’s time and you know what I’m talking about.” Ian hissed as he grabbed Frankie by the shirt and pulled him to within inches of his face. Now, Ian wanted to really set the terror. He purposely breathed heavily into Frankie’s face and said, “Get your shit together. I’ll be in touch.” Ian released Frankie and quickly turned and disappeared onto the street where the store was. Frankie just stood there blinking his eyes – stunned. “What the fuck.” He said out loud. “Who was that?” Frankie thought quickly, searching, trying to remember. “I’ve never seen that guy before, but it’s like I know him.” He thought as a wave of terror flushed over him. All he knew was the he was afraid, very afraid and he should be. Jesus Christ.” He said aloud again. “What the fuck is happening?” ---------------------------------------------------------------- Ass was bustin’ on the snare, feet working independently on the high-hat and the bass drum and then a crash of the symbol. All of it in perfect time with Ben. They were brothers. Brothers of rhythm. They both had it and it was exactly the same. Not like the head nodding of dancers, but the serendipitous synchronicity of true musicians. It had been that way since they met in band at Deer Creek middle school. They hadn’t even spoken. During the first song they played together they made eye contact and fell into the same groove. They hadn’t gotten out of it yet. Ass sensed the song coming to an end. No one needed to say anything, they all knew. Three staccato shots to the symbol and everyone stopped. “Fuckin’ A.” Said Pete as he picked up his towel from his guitar stand and wiped his forehead. “Yeah.” Ronnie said, head hanging down. He inhaled deeply to return the air to his lungs. “Yeah.” They all took a private moment to revel in what they had just created. This was why they played. This moment where everything felt exactly right. They felt alive with each other and they shared an intimacy that few would ever know. It was the feeling all groups of people feel when they share a moment that is bigger than their collective effort. They had achieved more than they believed they were capable of. That moment. That perfect one moment. “Ronnie,” Big Ron’s voiced shattered the moment. “Yeah.” Ronnie mumbled without looking up. “Can I talk to you?” Big Ron asked. “In the house.” “Sure,” Ronnie said and fell in step behind his father. Pete busied himself undoing his guitar strap. He put his guitar down and wiped his forehead again. “Dudes, gotta piss.” Pete said to his remaining band mates. “Cool.” Ass said as he hopped off his stool and extended to full five-foot one-inch height. Ass was stoked. He tried to remember if he had ever heard anything like the song before. “That was a fucking jam.” He thought as he grabbed a towel and wiped the copious amounts of sweat off his head and upper body. “Ronnie’s got some talent.” He said out loud. “No shit, dude. That was sa-hick.” Ben responded. “I hear that. We are fucking good.” Ass said and believed. “Now all we gotta ...” Ben started and then paused in thought for a moment. He looked up and stared directly into Ass eyes and said in a very committed tone. “Dude, we gotta do it.” “Think?” Ass asked. Ben paced back and forth. “Yeah.” Ben said with finality. “Yeah.” Ass agreed solemnly. “Talk to Pete first?” “Sounds good.” Ben agreed. “Hey, Ronnie’s still not back?” Pete interjected as he returned to the garage. “Shit, I wanna pa-lay, ya know.” Pete walked over and quickly picked up his guitar and began tuning it. Ass and Ben shared a look and then Ass nodded and said, “Yo, Pete.” He looked down at his shoes and kicked at an imaginary speck of dust or his shoe. He looked up and looked directly at Pete. “Look, dude me and Ben. We gotta play or go.” “Hang for a few, Ronnie’ll be right back.” Pete said. “I wanna get that groove again.” “No, dude.” Ass said shaking his head. He started thumping a rhythm on his chest. “Ah…we…ya know … gotta play or we’re gonna go.” “No shit, dudes.” Pete said as he looked to Ben to confirm that he agreed with Ass. Ben just nodded and played a quick bass line. Pete shook his head from side to side as he bit on his right thumbnail. “Uh…Pete…we…uh…we been …well … there’s this dude …” Ass said. “You guys been talking to a dude, she-it.” Pete said with disgust in his voice. He shook his head vigorously. “Fuck, dude. You been talking? You been talking before you said anything to me. What the fuck is that all about? Huh?” “Shit, Pete dude. He just talked to us.” Ass said trying to defend their act of betrayal. “And we gotta play, dude. This garage shit is bullshit, dude. You know it, you’re just like us.” “But you didn’t tell us.” Pete started. “C’mon dude. You know he’s not changing.” Ass said sincerely. “Dude, we know like two hundred songs and we written like sixty of our own. We need to play.” “What’s Ronnie …” Pete tailed off. He saw Ronnie had entered without them noticing. He was standing close to the door. His face was ashen and he was staring blankly towards the others. “Ronnie…dude…I…” Ass tried to explain. “My Dad … ” Ronnie interrupted in a monotone voice. “My Dad…he…um…just told me that…uh…he is buying us an entire new sound system and he talked to one of his buddies that owns Ecks Saloon and we have a gig there tomorrow night.” The three band mates stared at each other in disbelief. The moment they have been waiting eight years for had hit them like an avalanche. After a dumbfounded pause, Pete said, “What? Are we going to play it?” Pete asked. “I guess I don’t have a choice.” Ronnie replied. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

This is fairly amazing

Ok, so you all laughed at me for sending an email to Mark Cuban. That's cool, I don't really think he is going to respond either. But I don't think that a reason to quit trying. It's not like I am buying lottery tickets. It doesn't cost anything to send an email. On to the fairly amazing part. I posted that email to Mark Cuban on the blog yesterday, right? Well, here's how quick things happen. I don't know if anyone has noticed, but there is a Google Adsense box at the top of the page. These ads rotate on fairly complex rules that I am sure Google considers to be proprietary. Anyway, What advertisement do I see today - approximately 16 hours after posting the email to Mark Cuban? "Mark Cuban Apparel Official Site - Dallas Mavericks Wear What Mark Wears At The Game! http://www.mavgear.com/" Pretty freaky, huh? It's called contextual advertising. Google Adsense actually monitors to see the topics on a blog and serves up ads to meet the topics. So let's try a little test, shall we? If you happen to leave a comment, type in a brand name and lets see what happens. Here are a few from me: Tyson Fried Chicken Audi A3 Home Depot Second test, click on one of the ads. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.