David Alan Dedin
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The Lotto and the Liquor Store

3/30/2013

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I hate it when human debris wins a massive Lotto payout with a ticket they bought at the liquor store.  

Even worse, I hate it when they win with a ticket they don't even remember buying...because (ahem) it wasn't their first beer & cigarette run that day.  I hate it when a jackpot follows the news announcing an unclaimed ticket.  Reporters swarm the place where the quick-pick was purchased, and its always some nasty dive - a hole with a window full of beer neon and iron bars - with a dirty sidewalk that clearly smells like pee.  "WHO is the lucky ticket buyer?" the reporters ask.  And WHEN will they sober up to notice that it's THEIR liquor store on TV?

"I'll never have to work again!" the winners always cry a week or so later, on realizing their good fortune.  Inevitably, these people throw themselves at the camera, screaming at the viewing audience like an episode of COPS.  

"I'm sorry," I always say to the TV - 


"Exactly where do you work, again?  One can't help but notice that you were buying whiskey at 1:30pm on a Tuesday.  Who's kids are those, waiting in the car for you…and isn't today a school day?"

I don't mean to bitch, and it's certainly not my intention to insult the thousands of good people who've won a jackpot over the years.  To be completely honest, I envy every single winner.  But I really wish people would handle themselves with humility when they finally come forward to claim their winnings.  Claim the ticket anonymously…but if you MUST go on camera, have the decency to wear a clean shirt - and avoid celebrating until AFTER the news conference.

Don't make me hate you.
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Sister Act

3/29/2013

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Little Flower Parish in Springfield, Illinois
"Sister Mary Anne" was the oldest nun I'd ever seen, a hunchback from another time - a woman in her eighties in the late 1970s.  I was reminded of her this morning when I saw a birthday notice on FaceBook; a grade-school acquaintance was turning 44, and the two of us had attended Little Flower Parish together in Springfield Il, from 1974 - 1980.  

Back in 1977, every weekday started with morning mass, and Sister Mary Anne used to play the organ in church.  Her fingers were skeletal, and her arms moved like a puppet.  She didn't so much "play" the organ as she heaved her hands down on the keys, collapsing on each note like  she were crawling out of a grave.  She had a knack of making even the most heavenly hymn sound like a Dark Shadows scene-change.

After three years of suffering through Anne's Shout the Glad Tidings, our young congregation sighed in unison when the nun was moved to 5am mass.  It was an act of mercy on two different levels: 1, it got Anne out of the "popular" daily mass, and 2, it spared the sister's feelings (by not taking her playing away completely).  I imagined our Pastor at the time - a menthol-smoking priest as old as Anne herself - spinning the demotion as a positive: "By playing at five in the morning Sister Anne, your beautiful music will literally start our day."  Of course the Pastor would have had to YELL that as Anne was hard of hearing.

On a completely unrelated note, I was the only kid in class who didn't want to be an alter boy.
In hindsight now, I guess I missed all the fun...
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IML 2013

3/25/2013

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So this is the first year I'm actually looking forward to IML, rather than just going because the event is so close .  I live in a Chicago suburb and the city is just a quick train ride away.  Attending IML has often felt like an obligation, like a trade show for work or a neighbor's party just down the street. 

I normally shy away from crowds, and as IML is wall-to-wall asses & chaps, in past years I've always brought a full pack of cigarettes - so I had an excuse to slip out of the hotel and onto the quiet sidewalk.  But something's changed this year.  I really want to go.  

This will be the first year I attend IML as a writer.  I won't have a booth at the market or anything, but I will be carrying a backpack full of books - and a pocket full of business cards to pass out to readers.  In previous years, I've always disliked those vendors who wander the hotel at all hours, handing out advertisements for whatever they happen to be selling…but, hello Karma!  Look who's doing the same thing now?  

(Chuckling.)  

I don't care.  

I'll just be one of the guys, who happens to have something for readers if I find them.

I tried on my leather a few weeks ago, and I looked like a shiny black sausage.  I'm two weeks into the "stop looking like an old man" diet tonight, with two months to go to soften my gut & love handles.  I really shouldn't be that worried about my appearance.  Some of the guys I've seen wearing harnesses should avoid wearing tucked-in T-shirts, let alone a few bands of leather.  It's always been funny to witness doughy men walking proudly side-by-side with dudes so tone, you think about them when masturbating.  By the end of May, my goal is to be somewhere in the middle - a smaller shiny black sausage, with enough sense to show only chest hair.

Going back to looking forward to the event, I think the reason why I feel different this year is because I know exactly what I'm searching for at this stage of life.  IML is a big thing for Chicago, but it's just a blip on the screen when you think about the leather world as a whole.  There are millions of gay men who participate in the lifestyle, and IML provides a glimpse - a window into their world.  I've written about my own leather world in Goodbye to Beekman Place, and somewhere out there - at IML and beyond - there's a boy who's been waiting for a Sir who understands his.  

Whatever the case, it would be nice if that boy looked good in a harness.  


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Goodreads

3/14/2013

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I spent yesterday afternoon building my "Goodreads" profile.  

I'd heard about the site from both customers & coworkers, and I finally joined, myself...which I have to admit, was a lot more fun than I expected.  Goodreads reminds me of a Facebook for readers, and I was startled to see how many friends were already members.  When I think about how much fun it is to socialize about books, I'm not quite sure if I'm a nerd - or just old.  (Considering that I've got an ass full of Preparation H right now, I'm gonna go with "old.")

The coolest thing about Goodreads was searching the database to find books I've read.  I found myself calling up titles that I read back in the 70s, and the sci fi pulps in particular were great to revisit.  I stumbled across one of my favorite teenage books - James Hogan's Inherit the Stars. I grinned ear-to-ear when I saw the 1980s artwork on its cover, and I remember reading it in high school.  The book is about a 50,000 year old astronaut (corpse) that's discovered on the moon, and the pulpy plot explores Earth's "real" history - a world known to other species as "the Nightmare Planet."  Great shit.  Especially for a teenage boy.  The sequels were awesome, too.

My Goodreads profile hadn't been up for 30 minutes when I received a quick email from one of my favorite authors.  The message was a thanks for following his reviews, and I shot him an email back - which was neat because I have his books on my bookshelf.  It made me think about how small the world has become, and how easy it is to connect with people who only ten years ago were very hard to reach.  Over the past few years, I've sent messages to authors, musicians, and even the President...all while sitting in my pajamas, scratching myself and drinking coffee.  There's no greater feeling than messaging a politician when you're on your iPad, taking a morning dump.

And on that happy note, guess where I'm writing THIS right now...
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When Dictators Die

3/9/2013

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3/6/2013

  • Hugo is dead.  The news says that he died of a unspecified pelvic cancer.  

  • What a polite way to say crotch rot.

  • Now I'm wondering if the Queen might have died last week (when she was in the hospital with a stomach bug), and now Buckingham Palace is carting her around (Weekend at Bernie's) because Charles isn't ready to be king.  Or even worse, maybe The Queen died years ago, and Charles has been doing a Norman Bates thing.
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Watching an Author's Book Signing

3/9/2013

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3/2/2013

Slow night at the bookstore tonight.  Pretty sad, considering that Travis Thrasher is signing his new book - Home Run - in the store right now.  

Normally, Travis attracts quite a crowd, but for some reason tonight, nobody showed.  I feel bad for him.  He was supposed to give a talk to the public, and I was planning on watching how he presented himself to his readers (in case I ever get to do the same).  But the chairs sat empty.  Every writer's nightmare.

Still, like a pro, Thrasher kept his head held high and stayed until an hour before closing.  He made the best of a bad situation, and I was reminded of JA Konrath's old blog - about what writers should do (how to behave) if no one shows for their appearance.

Travis nailed it.
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Modern Self-Publishing: Writing's "Minor Leagues"

3/9/2013

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3/1/2013

Modern Self-Publishing:  Writing's "Minor Leagues"

So this is kind of eerie, blogging when nobody's listening.  

As of today, my website isn't even up yet...and I still haven't received my "big box of books" (sample copies) from AuthorHouse, my publisher.  Goodbye to Beekman Place went live several weeks ago, but I'm still waiting for some frustrating little glitches to get fixed...like, for example, the story's lack of description (or, "about this item") on both Amazon and BN.Com...issues that must be corrected before I start to formally market the novel.  No worries, though.  It gives me more time to get this website up and running.

I've worked for Barnes & Noble for almost a decade now, and I've witnessed the growth of digital publishing...and it's affect on modern bookstores.  I remember the days when print-on-demand titles were considered cheap & amateurish, and were easily recognized from books from the big publishers (especially when their titles were written in Comic Sans font).  

It was only 10 years ago when POD books were known for poor quality.  I swear to God, whenever I thumbed through a self-published title from that era, the reader was lucky if a writer remembered to press the spellcheck button, let alone hire an editor.   Who could have predicted that in less than 10 years, POD publishers would be considered the "minor leagues" - the place that the major houses would search for new writing talent.  And who could have known that digital e-books would someday warrant their own NYT top-ten list, next to the Pattersons, the Roberts, the Baldaccis, and the Fifty Different Vampires.

I certainly couldn't.

Off to work.

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