Tag Archives: author

The Purgatory Press/ After The End BOOK REVIEW

The Purgatory Press/ After The End  by John Culbert

4 out 5 rating

Vanished poets, overlooked artists, hapless visionaries: The Purgatory Press opens a tantalizing window on a publisher’s catalogue of improbable books. Dark, comical, and startlingly inventive, After the End is a dazzling display of postmodern storytelling. These short fictions showcase the many talents of an emerging author.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/books/dp/1782790616

Publisher website: http://www.perfectedgebooks.com/books/purgatory-press-after-end

More about John Culbert: http://www.perfectedgebooks.com/authors/john-bruce-culbert&i=45

Contact me for suggestions or book reviews at email: elliegracenation@yahoo.com or twitter @eeemazing

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Are You A Writer OR Something Else?

Are you just a writer or are you something else?

I was hanging with some friends and they were explaining to this young kid that I was a writer. The kid happened to be playing with crayons and started to write on a piece of paper. “I’m a writer now too.” he said. They laughed and told him that I write a lot more words than that. So, he started to write all the words that he knew.

I laughed because it was true. He was a writer, but I was something different from JUST a writer. It made me think everyone is a writer. Students writing essays are writers. Even though they hate their entire lives while writing them. Everyone and anyone can be a writer by definition.

But, I’m different, right? Maybe it’s my human way of wanting to feel special or unique or whatever, but I must have another title that’s more appropriate.

Again I was talking to this girl, who has written a book and hasn’t published it yet. She’s like I’m trying to be an author, but I have yet to publish the book that I have written. Then, she quickly corrected herself and said, Yes! I am an author!

An author is a composer of a literary work. So, yes, she is an author and I am an author whether I have published or not.

I feel that a lot of people think they have to be published to be an author or have written something extremely long. You are an author with your story that’s 10 pages. You are an author if you’ve written 230 pages and you hate all of them.

Does book sales or publishing make you a proper author? I have no idea how I feel about that, but I think that as authors we should celebrate every accomplishment we make. Writing is hard for some and easy for others. So, you finally finished 100 pages that’s a celebration. You’ve finished your first book. It’s a celebration. You’ve figured out your characters and plot and the ending, it’s a celebration.

Celebrate being an author.

Celebrate by getting yourself an “I AM AN AUTHOR” tee at my website

http://www.elliegracenation.weebly.com

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Worst Crime You Can Think Of #prompt 5

Prompt #5: Worst crime you can think of

I think the worst crime I can think of would be to kill someone. Having life is the most important thing. With a life no matter how good or how bad it is there is always a chance to improve yours or someone else’s. Taking a life is taking away an opportunity for that person to ever become or make something out of the world and themselves. Other crimes you can commit, but people can move on from them. They may be hurt for life, but it is up to them to make the most of life because they still have it. Basically everyone should try to find a way to love their life because there are people that didn’t even get a chance to have a full one. 

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Daily Writing Prompt No. 1

Prompt: You can speak to fish.

The main character is a guy who is a lifeguard for a beach. He is a typical surfer guy with sun died blonde hair, perfect tan, and muscles.

He wakes up one morning in the lifeguard shack as he always does. He is half awake stumbling around getting dressed and fixing something to eat. Then, he comes to his fish tank where he feeds his fish. Then, the fish starts to talk, “I hate these stupid dry flakes you give me.” The fish has an attitude, if you hadn’t noticed. The lifeguard can hear the fish and he’s looking around like did you just speak to me? The fish can’t believe that the guy can understand him. The fish is just like, “This guy is going crazy.” The guy starts having a conversation with the fish asking how this happened and how can he understand the fish. The lifeguard is freaking out trying to pinch himself and sticks his hand in the grease of the bacon that he was making for breakfast when he realizes that this is real. As he is trying to figure out what’s happening there’s a siren about a shark being in the water. He goes out to search and make sure the water is clear. When he gets out in the water he and the shark start having a conversation, but the people in the shore think that he is being attacked. His lifeguard buddy comes jumping into the water to get him out. The guy starts getting really angry because he was in the middle of a conversation and his buddy is confused because he thinks he saw his friend trying to talk to the shark. The guy tells his buddy to leave him alone. The guy goes back to his shack where he and his fish start talking and because he’s breakfast is ruined and his buddy is here he decides to take the fish in a cup with him to a diner on the boardwalk. He is trying to talk to the fish while people stare at him to figure out why he can talk to fish and why he can talk to them now.

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If you didn’t see the brainstorming for this check out my youtube channel: http://www.youtube.com/elliegracenation

FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A COMMENT ABOUT MY POST OR WITH YOUR TAKE ON THIS PROMPT. LIKE IF YOU WANT AS WELL (:

All this week my book Cigarette Suicides is free on Kindle! Get your copy! http://goo.gl/rLKrP

Say hi on Twitter @eeemazing

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Cigarette Suicides PREVIEW

Cigarette Suicides is my 11th book. Here I’m sharing with you the first chapter. Links for the book are after this!

Cigarette Suicides

1: First Cigarette

            A cigarette was the only thing ever given to me. Wasn’t given a mother to hug or even a father to play ball with. Just a foster mother with a bad habit of overflowing her liver and mixing medicines.

Miss Foster Mama was old. She must’ve been pushing 60 plus. She had been a looker in her youth. Blonde hair with deep waves and sky blue eyes. A true southern bell, but she had move to the city where the action was.

Miss. Foster Mama had seen a lot of action and that had made her tougher than most, but also pass up marriage and child bearing.

I think that’s why she decided to be a foster parent. She could have kids without actually having to have them. She told us to call her Miss. Foster Mama. Partially because that’s who she was to us and names wouldn’t matter after we were truly adopted, but more so other people could know what service she was doing.

I believe in the beginning she really enjoyed it. She really wanted to care for the kids, but not every kid accepted her.

I could tell she was coming to the end of her fostering years. She didn’t move around as quick, but she would still put on an old song and swing her hips as well as have boys over for rounds of poker.

The kid who had been with her the longest would serve her and her friends during the poker game. The younger kids were always getting adopted, but as the years went by even the older ones started to get picked. I was still there.

It’s not like I sat there hanging my head over it. I knew why I wasn’t being picked. I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want to go to any old family. Unlike dogs I could speak when someone chose me from the pin.

So, my first night I was real nervous about serving and Miss Foster Mama liked to practice tough love. She came over to the table and I sat there not saying a word.

She eyed me. “You nervous about something, babe?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She said flipping out her switch blade.

Oh, yeah. She carried a switchblade. She had one for each of her handbags. She never used them on the kids. It might have been a cruel joke, but it didn’t scare me. I still did what she said when she pulled it out. I wasn’t gonna be the first kid she used it on.

I told her I was nervous about being around her friends. She smiled at me while opening a bottle of Brandy. She poured a gulps worth in a small paper cup and handed it to me.

I frowned and pushed it back.

“I’ll open your mouth and pour it down.” She said sternly.

I grabbed the cup and drank it. I was eleven then.

The drink went straight to my head. When I saw her rather large male friends come in I was nervous again, but she shook me out of it with her scream.

Miss. Foster Mama liked to scream. I hated screaming especially hers and especially because the table was only 5 steps from the poker table.

After a couple drink orders I wasn’t nervous anymore. Foster Mama drank straight Brandy. Her friends liked either Brandy or Beer, but after a while they didn’t care what it was as long as it made them forget about losing money to Foster Mama.

It was three years later when Miss. Foster Mama had her first seizure. The boys had been too drunk to notice her having a seizure. I knew what was happening and I sprang into action. I ran to call for help, but Lee stopped me.

Lee was a regular at poker night and any other time of day. He wasn’t tall and his beer belly was obvious. He was always wearing jeans stained by dirt, paint and probably more. He’s shirt had the same stains. His face was dark with hair that was never combed and thinning.

Lee said Foster Mama would kill me if I had called the police. Ambulances were the chariots rich people took to the hospital. Foster Mama didn’t have the money for that.

He and I grabbed her up and put her in the back of his white van wrapped in blankets. I had started to get twitchy with nervousness as we came up to the emergency room. They wheeled her off and Lee and I sat in the waiting area.

Lee had made himself at home. Drinking a beer he brought and eating Cheetos from the vending machine. He tried to comfort me by patting my arm, but his fingers were covered in Cheeto dust instead he pounded my shoulder with his palm.

I wasn’t comfortable being in here and I seemed to be the only one that was worried about Miss. Foster Mama having a seizure. I went outside to get some air. It wasn’t cold, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

There was a nurse outside and she was clearly wondering what was wrong with me. I was trying to act normal because she was pretty. Light brown hair, deep green eyes and lots of dark eye liner in purple scrubs.

“You alright, man?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.” I answered.

“Is that your family? That woman who had the seizure?”

I nodded not sure whether to tell her who she really was.

“She’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“That’s what they say, but I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

“Here take a drag.” She said holding out her cigarette.

I looked back at the door like Miss. Foster Mama would come out and scold me. “I don’t know.”

“Alright. I only say that cause it’ll help you calm down.” She said placing it back between her lips.

I watched the smoke flow out of her mouth. “Okay, I’ll take a drag.”

She passed it over to me. “Now, don’t go putting your lips all over it.”

I was confused, but I took it and inhaled quickly. I bent forward coughing.

“Slowly, man.” She said concerned.

I inhaled again and let the smoke flow out. I took it in one more time before passing it back.  I did feel calmer. Maybe it was because I focused all my thoughts on the smoke.

She finished it and turned back to go inside. I could see her from the corner of my eye stop. She opened her pack and reached to get another cigarette. “Here.” She said. “You need this. Take it as a gift from the hospital. Here’s my lighter. Just leave it on the side of the ashtray. I’ll get it on my next break.”

“Really?”

“They might not be good for you, but I’ve learned that most things that help you through a tough time aren’t always the best for you.” She winked.

I smiled.

“Enjoy it. You’ll be out of here soon.”

“Thanks.”

I wanted to savor it like the last piece of candy, but I also wanted to keep it like a sports memorabilia all locked up in a case. I was still shaky and when else would I get to smoke a cigarette.

I smoked it slow as I continuously peeked over my shoulder to see if Lee was coming. I finished up, but realized I reeked of smoke. I decided if anything to tell the truth in hopes someone would buy me more.

The next morning, Miss. Foster Mama could smell the smoke and she pulled me in by the collar. “There won’t be anymore smoking cause I ain’t coming back to this place again, so don’t get anxiety over me.”

I pulled away and nodded.

I never say I can see the future, but I know Miss. Foster Mama hadn’t seen the next two years the way they played out.

Every couple of months she was in the hospital for something which meant Lee gave me a cigarette for each time she there.

At the end of the year the state cut back on the amount of kids that stayed at her house. Soon after she died.

Silly Lee had suggested I stay with him, but neither Miss. Foster Mama nor I wanted that to happen. Miss. Foster Mama’s Will had included me. I was happy to be included in her Will. I hadn’t loved her and I hadn’t come to think of her as anything close to a mom. Just a more caring dictating ruler.

I think had I been one of her first kids at the beginning the bond would have been better, but there was still a small string of bonding.

Miss. Foster Mama’s Will stated that I was not a state kid. She said I was a part of her family and I was to go stay with her younger brother Papy.

@cigsuicide

http://goo.gl/rgME6 KINDLE

http://goo.gl/tMHEp PAPERBACK

 

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Introducing Yourself As An Author

When I say introducing yourself as an author I don’t mean when you’re on stage in front of a crowd. I mean introducing

yourself at a social event. I’ve always heard that being an author you should always promote yourself. I always hear that

every opportunity I have to engage and talk with people about me being an author I should.

 

I go to different types of events all the time, but it never gets old when people first find out that I write books.

Normal answers I usually get:

A. I’ve always wanted to write a book

B. You should write about me!

C. I wish I could write a book

Then, for the rest of the event people are coming up to me, “so you’re the writer?” In that voice you give a toddler who has won a shiny gold star. I think it might be my

age, but I don’t know. Does anyone else have a phrase that people normally say once they figure out you write books?

 

 

 

PRE ORDER YOUR COPY OF VOX ACADEMY: THE COMPLETE SERIES

http://www.voxacademyseries.com

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Self Publishing Friends

My last post I wrote talks about self publishing and how I believe in self publishing, but I need more self publishing friends. I’m 20 years old and I’m on my tenth book. I’ve been doing this for about two years now, but I don’t know everything. Self publishing you are totally on your own. I love this, but then again I don’t. I have questions and I’m constantly googling self publishing blogs to see what they do and if I’m doing the same things. Trying to get tips from authors and writers everywhere, but sometimes I just need a friend.

to my self publishing people out there! LET’S BE FRIENDS!
Let’s work together. Let me talk about your books on my blog and on my twitter. Let’s get through this together!

 

Ellie Grace

http://www.voxacademyseries.com

http://www.elliegracenation.weebly.com

 

 

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KICKSTARTER HAS NINE DAYS! TITS!

Hey everyone!

My kickstarter has nine days left!!!!!! Please check it out and tell a friend.

I will write about anything you want, tits, grass, doors, zombies, cell phones, girls, frats, babies, vampires, obama, rainbows, dragons, fish, spongebob, Kevin Dyrant, Kobe, stabbing, gangs, drag queens, WHATEVER YOU WANT etc.

Anything you pick I will write about! Love you!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1284709813/let-me-tell-your-story

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Am Writing Your Story!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1284709813/let-me-tell-your-story

Hey everyone! We’ve got 11 days and we’re already 61% there!

In my Kickstarter… you donate & give me one idea…. I will take that idea and write a story summary for you.

I will put the story summary on a story page fully decorated (almost like a scrapbook page).

You must donate at least 10 dollars for that. But you may donate as little as 1 dollar

Whether you donate or tell a friend I appreciate everything!

 

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LET ME TELL YOUR STORY

LET ME TELL YOUR STORY

My Kickstarter has official started! Please take the time to click the link and check it out!

 

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