Craziness on the Amazon Forums

Over the past week I've witnessed kindness on the Amazon forums, and a lot of hostility. Some people (they don't go by their real names, some call themselves ghosts--but others call them trolls) find it amusing to tear down other people. Gleefully, they accuse people of all kinds of things. I'm thinking, in particular, of what's been posted about Christopher Smith who recently experienced stellar success with his book, Fifth Avenue. Granted, Smith made the mistake of answering his accusers in posts--that only added fuel to their fire--but the other posters take delight in trying to bring down his success.

We live in an interesting time, when everyone can vent (or express something positive and creative) over the internet. I think it's important to consider that our actions have repercussions, and what you put out comes back to you. Think, before you post.

Bargain eBooks featuring Dating My Vibrator--now .99 cents on Kindle

Bargain eBooks is featuring Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction). Plus I just dropped the price to .99 cents as an experiment--so now's a great time to buy the collection.

Lots of debate about pricing ebooks on Kindleboards.

And for anyone who's interested there's a fantastic success story taking place right now. Christopher Smith published his thriller, Fifth Avenue, a few days ago and it's gone viral. Made the top 10 in paid books. Chris is a film critic, so he has a strong platform--phenomenal success. Congrats, Chris!

Excuse Me, Miss Feature: Dating My Vibrator

Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction) is featured today on Excuse Me, Miss a fun blog posted by Phillip Duck. It's also featured on Cheap Ebook Venue

If you're considering publishing on Kindle, be sure to check out Kindleboards--a forum for writers and readers. I can't express how wonderful this community is. The discussions are lively and touch on all kinds of topics pertinent to writers and readers. People air concerns, ask questions, seek help.

For example, recently a writer posted a cover for her book and asked for feedback. She'd struggled with the cover for hours, but she's not an artist, and the result was less than wonderful--and Kindleboarders were truthful enough to encourage her to get a better cover. At her wits-end, and low on funds, she was ready to give up the project. But within one hour, three people stepped forward with new cover designs for her book--gratis.

Anyway...check it out!

Draculas! HaHaHaHaHorror

Draculas! on Kindle
Draculas! is ridiculously funny--over-the-top horror. Here's my Amazon review:


This review is from: DRACULAS (Teaser Chapters) (Free Sample of the Upcoming Novel Release) (Kindle Edition)
I admit it. I was afraid to read, Draculas! Having read other books by these authors, my imagine went wild with expectations for violence and terror. And they didn't let me down. Plenty of blood and guts, but what's unexpected is the humor. And, for me, the humor makes the violence palatable...or should I say yummy. Really got me into the Halloween spirit.

My only complaint: this story is set in my hometown. Excuse me, someone's knocking at my door--be right back. "Oh, hi Blake." (It's Blake Crouch.) "Hey, what's up with your face? Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!"

OMG, can you believe he bit me? Had to slam the door on him. Wait a second...got to spit out a few teeth.

Like I was saying, the story takes place in Durango. Wait...another tooth. What's happening here?

Sorry, I'll get back to this review later. I need a snack. Think I'll head over to the hospital right now.

note: don't read this book if you have a clown phobia.

55 Word Contest Winners!

The challenge:

Write a story using exactly 55 words. (Not including the title, although the title should lend depth to the story and be no longer than seven words.)

The story should open with a conflict
Contain metaphor
Have a resolution--hopefully with a twist or deeper insight


The Winners:

FIRST PLACE ($15.55 gift card from Amazon for books):

White lady, blue sweets

The nibble-pibblies were back last night. They got under the bed again. The white lady who brings the blue sweets doesn't believe me. I don't eat the blue sweets - so I'm awake when they come. They tell me things about faces and voices, and how to make them stop. Starting with the white lady.

Nick Spalding


RUNNERS UP (each receive $5.55 gift card from Amazon for books):


Autistic Child.

He sat very still on the floor and let her build towers, tall fragile twins, one on each hand. Everyone smiled. It was rare for this child to relax and be peaceful like this. Then the towers fell down and the whole world fell apart. Outside the window, the grown-ups were as crazy as he.

Sheila Deeth


Life of the Party

Tall, slim, almost sexy, she was passed willingly from guy to guy every night. She accepted any set of lips, gave herself over to every caress, soft or rough. She took on anyone who could fill the hole and feed the fire down below. Again? Yes. Again? Yes! Again? YES!
“Dude. Stop hogging the bong.”

Steven L. Hawk


Victoriana Has Its Place

They wrote a manual on their life’s passion: hunting down melancholy trivia recycled to hold mail, hold nuts, hold everyone’s attention when the conversation lagged. We gave it our best years, he said proudly. It was as good as anything we might have done to keep from finding out how much we disliked each other.

Consuelo Saah Baehr


Slab

He calls me at 10:34, but that’s all wrong.
The space is dark, muted. Its walls feel like a dead man's skin, cold to the bone. I’m hungry and my toe hurts. Then I hear someone talk, getting closer. Fuzzy red light reaches my eyes. Let's go for a T-incision the man says.
I bleed.

Jeroen ten Berg


United

He regularly came to this overlook with its view of Manhattan. One day, he noticed an attractive woman, several benches away. For many weeks, he sat at his bench; she hers. They both sat quietly staring at Manhattan. He finally decided to say hello; she got up and walked away. He never saw her again.

Philip Chen


Rejection

You’re a lying snake, Richard. That’s what you are, and you d*mn well know it. I hope cheating on me with that skank, Cindy was worth it. I hope the two of you knuckleheads had a whole lot of fun. And I hope you know that’s why I’m setting your house on fire right now.

Michael Crane


HONORABLE MENTIONS:


Nexus in Texas

She flowed into the chaise like liquid silver-- an alien goddess reclined in my living room and ordered sweet Texas tea. How could I have anticipated my house would be a nexus for inter dimensional travel across the nether realms? Eureka! A way to pay my bills!
“Want that super sized for only $1000 more?”

JeanThree


The Club

Wrapped in a blanket of his own conceit, he strutted into the meat market. Spying a pretty blonde seated in a corner, he strutted over. Ignoring the hopeful look of her overweight friend, he asked the hot model to dance. She looked him up and down with disdain, then turned back to her conversation. Brrrrr!

Lynn O’Dell


Seven Thousand Island Girl Undressing

I peeled sun scorched skin from my tender shoulder and let the flake flutter down into the toilet bowl below, to accompany a recently disposed condom. I had met the Filipina only four hours ago. Things progressed quickly and here I was, removing skin and latex, telling remnants from the vices of sun and sex.

Anonymous


Divorce

You said you no longer loved me. I gave you my heart, children, and my best years. Two decades discarded like used Kleenex. Was your time with her worth it? Well, at least I got half. I bet she and your pool boy are enjoying the other half. Do you need to blow your nose?

Lynn O'Dell


Ethereal Tears

I can't say goodbye my love. My ethereal form lingers the feeling of your loving touch. If I crossover I will be loosing you one more time. Perhaps we will be able to communicate in your dreams. In the meantime please don't cry for me anymore.
We will be together again when you die, love.

Vianka Van Bokkem


Alcoholic Inspiration

I take to the drink, except when my insanity sufficiently intoxicates me. I drink. Hemingway drank. They say he liked to drink while he read but never when he wrote. Well I drink when I write! I’m a little drunk right now; and so, splendid buzzing prose flows from my inebriated but not inert brain.
Anonymous


Incompatible

Stupid cow. I hate her and I wish I never met her. She’s made my life miserable. She never listens, always upsets my routine and is the bane of my existence. I should get rid of her. Just get my gun and put a bullet in her head. I bet she would make great hamburgers.

A.F. Stewart

Homecoming

The plane is delayed, tardy with your arrival. I am dressed, patiently waiting. It is hard being left behind as the one you love most is sent half a world away, to dance with the enemy. The day you left was the hardest until now. When you return in a box, ready for the earth.

Steven L. Hawk


The Repurposed Wives’ Tuesday Night Get Together

They were impatient to chime in. It was agreed. Now they had everything. Extra income, a usefulness, the bond of self-hate broken, happier children. We eat less, was said. More sex was implied. A tongue, loosened by god knows what piped up: I didn’t realize how much I hated to turn to him for money.

Consuelo Saah Baehr


BFFFU

Dirty little lies. A little emotional slight of hand and you won’t even see it coming. A small knife with a shiny blade so thin you barely feel it going in. Add a little twist to make sure it leaves a scar. You scratch mine and I’ll stab yours. After all, what are friends for?

Monique


Note: the entries were submitted, without the writers’ names, to three judges—a well known novelist, a published poet and a playwright/ former professor of literature.

Thank you so much for submitting your work. I intend to hold this contest again.

Suzanne

Four 5 star reviews this week--Joe Konrath says "Pure Comedic Brilliance!"

I'm so excited. Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction) got four 5 star reviews this week on Amazon! J.A Konrath says, "Pure Comedic Brilliance.'

Pure Comedic Brilliance, October 5, 2010
J. A. KONRATH "Thriller Author" (Chicago, IL USA) - See all my reviews (Author, Draculas!)

This review is from: DATING MY VIBRATOR (and other true fiction) (Kindle Edition)
Suzanne Tyrpak has created a truly unique collection of short stories in this offering. It seems impossible that one woman has had such misfortune in the world of online dating, but Suzanne's bad luck is our reading enjoyment. Please believe me when I tell you that books that are simultaneously this insightful and hilarious do not come along all that often. I write thrillers, I read thrillers, so for me to rave about a short story collection based in the world of online dating signals a truly unforgettable work. You simply have to read this.


I love Suzanne, October 6, 2010
Terry Silver "retired" - See all my reviews (Author of Nunzilla Was My Mother...)

This review is from: DATING MY VIBRATOR (and other true fiction) (Kindle Edition)
If I could, I'd give "Dating My Vibrator" six or more stars. It's that funny and that well written. I've been disappointed in the past by books written by women that were advertised as being humorous, which I thought were more silly than funny. Suzanne is witty, intelligent, and indomitable. My sympathies, Suzanne, regarding your disastrous dates. Couldn't help laughing though. I'm looking forward to other works by you. Talk about making lemonade out of the lemons in your life . . . how about making custard pies and throwing them at your dates?


Absolutely freaking hysterical!!! A must read!!!!!, October 3, 2010
William B. Crouch (Durango, CO) - See all my reviews (Author, Draculas!)

This review is from: DATING MY VIBRATOR (and other true fiction) (Kindle Edition)
Suzanne Tyrpak knows of what she writes. This is a razor-sharp, witty, laugh-out-loud collection of stories about the pitfalls of on-line dating.

It doesn't matter whether you read suspense, historical, romance, or crime fiction. Tyrpak knows how to write, and knows how to perfectly draw a character.

Miss out on this utterly charming collection at your own risk.


Laughing my hooters off..., October 3, 2010
Tyler Nunnally "ReadingIsFundamental" (New Jersey) - See all my reviews

This review is from: DATING MY VIBRATOR (and other true fiction) (Kindle Edition)
A combination of a great sense of humor, and an ability to actually write, makes Suzanne Tyrpak's collection of 9 short stories well worth the [...]price. Women will definitely relate, while men will laugh and ponder whether they've done something similarly stupid in their past. To her credit, Ms. Tyrpak hasn't created a stage where she is blaming men, she simply tells us many wonderful stories about the interactions that take place in today's dating world (Internet included :-)) between men and women. Lucky for us, she has a good enough sense of humor to look back and laugh at herself and write about it.

Ghost Plane

For those who wonder what goes on at an airport at night. (Previously published by CrimeSpree.)



Ghost Plane


She preferred the airport at night after all the passengers had gone. Preferred the quiet.
Out here on the high plateau wind swept away the jet fuel and brought the pungent scent of sage. A tumbleweed, spindly and skeletal, cart-wheeled across the tarmac. Miles away in town lights twinkled against a backdrop of the moonlit Rocky Mountains.

Carrying her bucket of paper towels and Lysol, she trudged back inside the terminal.
It was her job to clean the planes, empty out the seat pockets, vacuum popcorn off the floor, dump the lav--jobs the day crew shunned. Tonight she was the last to leave, but she didn’t mind the closing shift. Since the divorce no one waited for her back at home.

Computers glowed along the ticket counter. Fly High. Fly High. Fly High. Purple letters floating in a sea of stars as the screensavers kicked on.

“G’night Chuck,” she called out to the maintenance man.

He didn’t seem to hear her; no nod of his cowboy hat, just kept walking down the terminal past the car rentals.

He paused to check the automatic sliding doors, making sure that they were locked. Small town, small airport. Come midnight everything shut down. When he reached the bag belt at the far end of the lobby he switched off the lights.

“Leave ’em on, Chuck. I’m still here.”

She hated when men did that--pretended not to hear you, ignored you like you were invisible. Her ex had been like that.

The door clicked behind him and he headed for his truck.

She ran down the terminal calling, “Wait!”

Through the glass doors she saw a gray plume of exhaust, red eyes of the taillights growing fainter in the dark.

She snapped the light switch on and nothing happened. She had no idea where to find the breaker. Walking back through the terminal she searched the gloom for familiar shapes--a potted palm, cushioned benches, unlit signs of Avis, Hertz, Budget. Behind the ticket counter, she fumbled for the doorknob, pushed open the door leading to the SIDA area where a badge was required.

The garage stunk of diesel. The electricity was working. A single bulb swung from the ceiling, casting shadows on the floor.

Her footsteps echoed on the concrete as she hurried to her locker. Soon she would be home, putting up her feet, watching television.

The radio kicked on in operations. A staticky, “Durango do you copy?”

No aircraft should be calling in. The last plane had arrived an hour ago.

She skirted an empty bag cart, squeezed past the Ground Power Unit--the GPU’s heavy electrical cord snaked across the floor and nearly tripped her. Fighting to maintain her balance, she scrambled to the radio.

She depressed the button, spoke into the microphone, “This is Durango ops.”

“In range,” the radio crackled.

She turned up the volume. “What flight is this?”

“Emergency landing...” More crackling.

“Durango ops,” she shouted into the mike, “do you copy?”

No answer.

Opening the door, she peered out at the ramp. Planes perched on the tarmac like great winged beasts, and the crane of the deicing truck loomed like a dinosaur. A string of blue lights glimmered along the runway.

A plane would be landing soon.

She grabbed the telephone, punched in the numbers for dispatch. Waded through prompts, punched in more numbers. The phone rang and rang and rang.

She slammed down the receiver, hurried to the emergency radio, and tried to reach the fire station.

“Anybody there? Pick-up!”

Gone for the night.

Roaring engines of a plane sent her running to the garage door. She pressed the button and the metal door rumbled open. She hooked the GPU to a tug, jumped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine then tore out to the ramp.

Across the runway a coyote howled.

The Navajo say coyote is a trickster.

Sweat prickled on her brow as she veered across the tarmac, palms slick against the steering wheel. She hit the brakes and jumped off the tug. A white prop-jet barreled down the runway. No insignia to indicate the carrier. She held up the lighted wands guiding the aircraft to its parking place then chocked the front wheels.

The engines powered down, propellers slowing to a stop. She unclipped the side panel, plugged in the GPU, and felt a disconcerting jolt as power surged into the plane. A faulty cord was dangerous and she’d have to report it, but the cabin lights flickered on so she gave the thumbs-up sign. Thought it odd she saw no pilot in the cockpit.

The plane’s door opened like a gapping mouth. She stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for passengers, but none appeared.

“Hello,” she called and climbed the narrow steps into the plane.

She glanced down the cabin’s aisle, saw thirty-seven empty seats. No flight attendant.

“Are you ferrying this flight?”

No answer from the cockpit.

“I couldn’t get a hold of dispatch. Do you need a mechanic?”

She pounded on the cockpit door.

“Anybody home?”

The door squeaked open, revealing a deserted flight deck. The control panel flashed yellow, red, and green--a Christmas tree gone haywire.

What was that annoying dinging sound?

She backed out of the cockpit and surveyed the galley. Pressed her hand against the coffee canister. Still warm.

Could the crew have left by some other exit?

She stood still, listening.

Heard moaning. High-pitched keening.

The noise came from the lav.

The door said vacant.

She turned the knob, pulled open the door. The toilet gurgled, and she peered into the bowl. Not blue juice. Crimson. A rotten stench attacked her nostrils, made her gag. The toilet lid fell with a thud.

Bending over the tiny sink she splashed water on her face, glanced at the mirror and thought it odd that she didn’t see herself--only the reflection of pale plastic walls splattered with what might be blood.

She bolted back into the galley, slammed the lav door shut and leaned against it, listening to the grumbling GPU.

The cockpit’s ding, ding, ding.

Her thumping heart.

Nerves frazzled she wanted to scoot, to clock out and go home. But the securing the aircraft was her responsibility. And she needed this job.

Stay calm.

An automated voice called from the cockpit, warning, warning, warning.

From the aft of the fuselage, she heard knocking on the thin wall that separated the cabin from the baggage pit.

“Who’s there?” she called.

Knees trembling, she clutched seat backs, steadying herself as she walked along the aisle. 3B, 4B, 5B. She glanced at a overhead bin. Heard scratching, someone whispering.
She turned and ran back toward the cockpit. But as the she reached the galley, the cabin door slammed shut.

The GPU groaned and sputtered. Died.

Then silence.

Even the incessant dinging stopped as the cabin swallowed her in darkness.
She pounded on the door. Tried to release the latch, but the handle didn’t budge.

“You’re one of us,” a voice whispered.

“One of who?”

The engines fired, and the propellers turned, faster, faster, becoming invisible.

“This is your captain,” a voice announced over the intercom. “Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

She glanced around the cabin. Every seat was occupied by faceless passengers.

One seat remained empty.

The aircraft rolled out of the gate, and with a lurch she sat.

“Prepare for takeoff.”

“No!” she screamed.

Kept screaming as the aircraft accelerated. Screamed louder when the wheels left the ground.

Wind carried her shrieks up into the mountains, up into the stars.

And in the distance a coyote howled.