Shameless Self-Promotion

What is shameless self-promotion? What can you do to make sure it doesn't get out of line? Many in the US are aware of the balloon boy incident and the uproar when it was revealed the parents had staged the whole thing for publicity for a possible TV show. There is also the instance of the White House party crashers. Both of these illustrate what can go wrong when people are focused on promoting themselves that they disregard laws, but is it possible to promote yourself without coming off as desperate and "shameless?"
As a new author, I want people to know about my work; to read and, hopefully, love my work. There are several ways I've gone about trying to make sure people are aware of what I write; I have posted my work on Facebook, started this blog, offered my blog through amazon.com and its Kindle readers, joined the a number of writers groups on Facebook, participate on amazon.com forums, started the Exile Calling journal, and others. I am promoting myself in all of these, but am I doing it shamelessly?
In all honesty, I can admit to being shameless: I have no shame in what I do. It's my livelihood. Something that I hope will ensure regular meals and a stable abode...doesn't have to be a castle, but I don't see why it should be a cardboard box, either. I write without shame because it is through writing that I get to experience the world...it comes alive when I write and I strive to paint it through words. But, we all know that's not what they mean when they say "shameless self-promotion."
It is when one becomes more obsessed with and focused on the promotion than on what is being promoted. When you disregard etiquette rules of a group, society, or community in order to be seen or heard. This kind of self-promotion is what irks many (myself included) and leads to such legal problems as the two cases mentioned at the beginning.
What do you consider to be shameless self-promotion? Would saying "check out my funny blog or book" be shameless? What if I posted it in dozens of online forums without regard to their focus???

Thanksgiving

Well, while some of you indulged (excessively, if I might add) on the gobbling creatures, yours truly decided to go on a much more traveled mooing and clucking path. I figured it would be less time and more meat for the three of us (my girlfriend, her brother, and I) to consume and chase with the drinks. Her brother's plane landed at 6pm, a full hour before the time we had calculated (a breakdown in communication somewhere), so we drove the 20-minute one-way ride to get him. On the way, we noticed it had started drizzling, but I didn't think it would affect the grilling outside.
By the time we returned, the drizzle had increased and I still hadn't lighted up the charcoal. I started it before it became worse but had to move it on the porch before the coals were ready, or they would have been extinguished by the now pouring rain. Luckily, they didn't melt or disfigure the sidings.
When they became ready, I put on the marinaded chicken. Now, I am an artist; whatever I do whether it's writing, drawing, cooking, cleaning (sometimes), or driving, I aim to do it with a certain creativity that alleviates the mundaneness allocated to that particular task. So, when I grill I make sure all the things are done in a certain Eddie way that's creative and unique in one or more ways.
This chicken sizzled and wafted to the nostrils, making the mouth water, which led to a grumbling stomach, which, in turn, led to a lot of attention going unpaid.
While the chicken razzled and dazzled on the grill, I set to prepare some sauce for the brochettes (kebabs) and to put the brochettes, onions, and peppers on the skewers.
By this time a few beers had been downed and the atmosphere was becoming merrier than at Christmastime. I turned the chickens to ensure even cooking, peeled the potatoes and put them on the stove, finished the skewers, put a chuck roast on the stove (another specialty of mine), and made sure the sauce was turning out alright. I was busier than a bee in the springtime, an ant in autumn, and a bear's snoring in the winter. Things might be turning out all right after all, or so I thought.
I went out and divined the chicken to be ready. I removed the thighs and set them on the table. Those things looked and smelled scrumptious. We dug in but, for a few of them, the inside was uncooked. We picked a few that seemed ready and set to work. Meanwhile, the brochettes were on the grill.
Something made me go to the office room to look at the computer and that took my attention from the grill. When I finally remembered I found some of the brochettes were literally on fire. I salvaged what could be and we set off to eat as most of the other dishes were ready too.
I must say it turned out well, although I felt bad for Nadia's brother who hasn't tasted my great brochettes before. I will try to make good ones for him before he leaves, but, in the meantime, we have the left overs for today...and that includes the drinks...Eat, drink, and give thanks, my friends.

Amazon Kindle Program

I know, I know, I know...I had said I wouldn't be on here until the turkey (or turkeys, give or take a few) had been digested, but I just found a great service and I couldn't keep it to myself.
Kindle Publishing by Amazon. This is a blogging program where you can sign up for your blog to be downloaded by mobile users and the best part is...are you ready???...you get paid for it.
I figured why not sign up for it and tell more people about it. The subscription price per blog is set by Amazon at either $1.99 or $0.99, it's determined for you. You also have to set up a different account from your regular Amazon account and set up your information including payment info (bank account). Preferred payment form is electronic as there is a steep charge for written checks.
Anyways, if you are ready go to: http://kindlepublishing.amazon.com and get started.
Enjoy and happy gobbling!!!

Thanksgiving

We are in the midst of celebrating our first Thanksgiving in Upstate New York and we are more involved with shredding and emptying the still-packed boxes than with preparing the meal for tomorrow. It will be exciting, though, we will have a visitor: Nadia's brother, Willy. Yes, there will be eating, drinking, and, unfortunately, laziness. I don't think I will be able to write a word until next week.
But, there is a lot I have to be thankful this year. This was a rebirth year for me in many ways and I thank God for all the blessings and opportunities that have come my way.
I hope this has been a gracious year for all of you and may the blessings keep pouring in.
Enjoy, share some experience for which you are thankful, and see you after the turkey has been digested.
Peace!!!

A Charlie Brown Christmas???

I have absolutely no idea what a Charlie Brown Christmas is, although I do harbor my own suspicions, but I could not resist picking up a Charlie Brown Christmas tree at the store when I saw it. I'm sure most of us have seen the program A Charlie Brown Christmas, so you remember the story of the Christmas tree and Charlie Brown's misgivings about the holiday, which he sees as too commercialized.
Anyways, I picked up the tree and took it home, where I was told by my girlfriend that I had been ripped off. "That tree is not worth seven cents, let alone seven dollars," I was subjected to hearing quite a few times. I said I couldn't pass it and I'm sure I would do something about. Then an idea came to me. I have been keeping the Styrofoam packing material from when we bought our furniture a few months ago because I wanted to create something with them. Until recently, however, I had not been inspired enough to create something, so it was all lying in the laundry room waiting patiently for my brain to come up with a use for them.
Now I know what I want to do with it...create Charlie Brown, Snoopy, and Snoopy's famous kernel...all out of styrofoam.
I hope to finish it in a few weeks, and I will post the final pics on here...in the meantime, enjoy the pic of the Christmas tree.

Play to Novel

I consider myself a writer; not just a poet, novelist, lyricist, playwright, or anything else. Simply a writer. I dabble into all of them; I enjoy creating them all; and I don't claim to be the only one doing that. I am all, but not exclusively limited to one.
Recently, after struggling with writer's block and other excuses we give names to for laziness, I decided to write a novel based on my first play, Where Flies Flock, and not just create a new work wrapped around the play's shell (think book-to-movie), but use the same dialogue and scenes from the book. While doing this, I noticed that I had actually written the play like a dialogue novel - a novel in play-mode, if you understand what I'm saying.
Here's a raw excerpt from the beginning of the novel:

The sun beamed down mercilessly above the man tilling the brown earth. He had awakened before the sun had broken through the eastern horizon and ate his usual morning meal of sorghum porridge and imvage before everyone else in his household, except his wife, had aroused for the day. The first rays of the rising sun had found him meandering up the hill on a path invisible to all but his experienced feet. He had arrived at the untilled ground and began work without bothering to remove the myriad of ibishokoro and other grass that had attached themselves to his tattered pants. Instead, he rolled them up to just below his knees, grabbed his hoe, and selected a place next to where he had left off the previous day, and began plowing.

Now Yohanna began to feel a pang in his belly and knew it was nearing time for his midday repose. He made a mental note of a spot twenty steps ahead of him where he wanted to reach before he rested. He removed his safari-style hat and, with it, wiped the sweat from his gnarled brow. He readjusted it on his head, greased his palms with a spit missile, and returned to upturning the land.

Fifteen minutes later, he had reached his goal and added another five or so steps. He headed for the shade of a nearby group of eucalyptus tree and leaned against one. Yohanna removed his hat and held it crumpled in his left hand. With his right hand, he reached for his water jug, removed the lid, and took a few swallows. He had to be careful to leave some for his meal and the rest of the day. He put the jug on the ground, made sure it was on even setting, and put the lid back on.

He turned towards the crumpled hat. It had been given to him by Belgian missionaries many years ago that it still surprised him the thing had lasted this long. He unfurled it and looked at the words that had been stitched in so many years ago. The stitching had made it possible for them to escape the many washings they had been subjected to in the twenty-odd years. He remembered the missionary telling him the hat had been bought in America on an excursion to a church meeting there. The words “Don’t Worry: Be Happy” meant not to worry about anything, but always to keep smiling. Or so he was told. Unfortunately, the happy face that had been on there had not been lucky enough to be stitched on and it had been washed off. Yohanna unconsciously put his right index finger on the spot where he remembered the smiling face to be. The material was soft now, not to the point where it was brittle to the touch, but he imagined it wasn’t going to be long before it reached that point.

He tried to think of the missionary’s name, but it failed him. He remembered the man befriending him because of his hard work on the mission’s farm. School had never impressed Yohanna much, but he enjoyed Agronomy because of the opportunity to showcase the skills his father had passed onto him. Whether it was tending to the young sprouts, watering the mature vegetables, or herding the cattle, Yohanna always exuded a certain quality of hard work that failed other students and most staff. This allowed his missionary teachers to overlook his poor marks in other areas, as they envisioned a farming career for him, and who, after all, needs arithmetic in farming? The missionary had been a teacher at the school but Yohanna could not recall the subject he taught. He just remembered that he had been given the hat to shield him from the hot sun he was usually under while working at the farm. The story had been an extra, but Yohanna took it to heart and used to walk the school grounds with a smile planted on his face. The hat was removed from his constantly shaven head only when he entered a building, bathed, or went to sleep. 

Lots editing will need to be done, but this is where I'm going with it...I have a few pages done, will be done when it's ready...be on the lookout.

What I write

I have had a few new followers, people that, supposedly, follow what I write on here and will get crucial insider information about me and my work -on top of other little perks, don't ask me what they are now, though- so I want to go over what it is I write and who I am. I have covered this in my previous post (http://exilewriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/who-am-i-and-what-am-i-currently.html), but I feel the need to say it again because I doubt people have gone back and read the very first post I posted on here. If you have, big ups to you.
I aim to write on three main subjects: 1. Life and its meaning. 2. exile 3. Nature. I explore these subjects through, not only my writing, but also photography. I'm an avid amateur photographer and you can see some of my pics on here or on Facebook. I love being surrounded by nature; understanding that all things have a purpose to which they strain to attain, and an end that is as much about life as is the beginning. I love, especially, water. Anything to do with water moves my spirits in ways I don't even fully comprehend, although it might have something to do with the fact that I'm a Pisces, but who knows.

Currently, I'm working on so many projects that I wouldn't have enough space to list them on here, but the good news is that I have a monthly journal I publish every first Monday of the month and I fill it with as much of my work as I possibly can. It's titled Exile Calling and the third issue is coming out December 7th. If you haven't signed up for it, you can subscribe either through the button at the top right of the page, or you can send me an email. I charge $15 per 12 issues, but I think that's small change to you bigwigs; besides, I have to eat somehow. So far, the circulation is around 25 people and I hope it will grow into three figures by the summer. I, also, hope to begin featuring work of other exiles in future issues.
Well, now you know what I do, but if you've read this far, maybe you deserve knowing who I am. My name is Edouard Samuilovich Mutabazi...some call me Ed, Eddy, Eddie, Edick, J, Kunta, Mr. Ed, Mr. Eddie and, believe it or not, sweetie, baby, and a few other fluffy names...yep, true story.
Now you know all there is to know about me, why don't you tell me about yourself.