Paper Book Writer

Paper Book Writer ©

By

Michael Casey

I closed my Linkedin  yesterday, I’ll be back there when I’ve got more to say. As luck would have it as one door closed another opened. Amazon sent me a mail about Paper Book Writing, sounds like a Paul McCartney song fest so far.

As you know I do have 7 books on Amazon Kindle already and I had been sharing my gems with folks on Linkedin. So what Amazon offered is of interest to me, no fee setup for print on demand. Basically you upload your book and they do the rest. Its print on demand, no pile of books waiting to be remaindered, or sent to book heaven at the Works.

You can get your fingers burnt if you go the self-publish route, Amazon’s way you just collect the rewards, assuming folks like your book. Modern printing technology means Amazon can print what’s ordered and away you go. Their story is about a meter reader who has also sold a few thousand books, and no his name is not Rita, but I’m sure he’s lovely.

I mentioned this to my girls, so I said they could do the front covers, that was last night. This morning they descended to breakfast with A3 artists’ pads already with their designs. Now that is both touching, and wonderful. I had to get them to take their pads off the breakfast coffee table we use, or eggs and margarine stains would have been all over their designs.

Small daughter did The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker design, and big sister did 300 and Not OUT cover design.  I was really pleased with the results. They may only be 10 and 12 but their art skills are already fantastic. If Paul McCartney wants a cover design for his next album please get in touch.

I had to explain that our scanner only went up to A4, so the girls wiped away the egg and margarine from their faces, then reduced their designs to A4 on fresh paper. This was an intense period of creativity, so while the girls sustained themselves with the last of the Easter eggs, mum was talking to grannie in Shanghai, and I was entering the book details on Amazon’s  Create Space.

One book is 616 pages in pdf and the other is 400 odd pages, so once they are all uploaded in a day or so you can all see the girls’ artistic designs. If you remember the Tom Sharpe book covers then their designs are similar to that.

There are 5 other books that I could upload, so let’s see how my big ones go down first. 1000 pages of me may be enough to start with, there are maybe 1100 more pages of my stuff, my writing.

So this has been the Casey family activity for today, Arthur hasn’t been too bad today either, Arthur is the name I give to my arthritis. After today  I’ll just say Arthur, and assume you all know what I’m talking about.

I will try and add my girls’ designs to the end of this post, so you know what you are all looking for on Amazon. Then I’ll really be a paperback writer.

https://www.createspace.com/pub/simplesitesearch.search.do?sitesearch_query=+mr+michael+g+casey&sitesearch_type=STORE

to buy my print books on Paper

www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Tent Poles ©

By

Michael Casey

The girls came back from their aunty’s with a car boot full of treasure, so I unloaded it before with a double hoot my sister drove away. Amongst the treasure was a flat packed tent in a plastic bag.

It’s been sunny in Birmingham this Easter so obviously the girls wanted to try out the tent. So I unsealed the plastic bag, and threw away the instructions, doesn’t everybody? The tent was an igloo kind of design, there were plastic tubes that were ready for the tent poles,

The tent poles were more like the equipment Bruce Lee used to use, you know the sticks with chains attached. Though they were like giant chop sticks, with elastics holding them together and with a bit of metal too.

So I thought all I had to do was to thread through the 4 feet of elastic and chopsticks and then the tent would be ready. So I started in the middle and then tried to thread the poles through. I tried it this way then that way, and it was no use. The chop stick like poles wouldn’t and couldn’t  fit.

So what do you do in these circumstances? You try and find where the instructions were, the wind having blown them to the bottom of the garden where the squirrels lived. Perhaps if I gave some nuts or breakfast cereals to the squirrels they would explain how to erect a tent.

I looked at the pictograph and still could not work it out. So I went and had a cold drink before inspiration struck. Instead of starting from the middle and doing the splits all I needed to do as start at one corner and go diagonally over the middle and down the other side like a roller coaster.

Success, I did a lap of honour, the squirrels chattered, what an idiot this human was, obviously I didn’t eat enough nuts, I could hear them say.  Then it was just a matter of starting in the other corner and threading the pole though to the middle and down again like a roller coaster again.

The girls leapt for joy and hugged their fat panda like dad, I could not do kung fu, but I had threaded the kung fu fighting sticks, they had a tent and I WAS their panda like dad.

The girls gathered their books and used the tent as a reading room, the library is at the bottom of our street after all. Blankets and cushions were added to it. I went inside with a dad smile on my lips, this is what being a dad is all about, priceless, though sometimes useless as the squirrels might say.

The girls stayed in the tent all afternoon, bringing their cheap and cheerful tablet outside to the tent, Utube in the garden. Me, I retreated to the PC, see how many more people I could annoy on Linkedin. I had taken loads of photos of my tent puzzle, so I posted them on Linkedin, somebody said he expected a story, and yes right now a day later I’m writing it.

Later as the chill descended I brought the tent inside still with the poles in it. I placed it on the floor of a bedroom. So the girls ransacked the wardrobes for pillows and set up their next palace. The squirrels watched from the trees in the garden, at least the human’s small offspring were not as stupid as him.

Today we hung out he washing, this was my excuse for not bringing down the tent. The tent stayed upstairs on the bedroom floor. Like a tent for Bedouins tribesmen or Eskimos, either or, I’m not sure which.

The girls stayed there reading books and watching Utube. Perhaps they even watched Panda videos on the tablet. As for the squirrels they debated what washing was, a series of tents maybe? 

The Last Word

The Last Word ©

By

Michael Casey

In the Beginning was the Word, Let there be Light. If those are the 1^st words, what will the last word be? Who put out the Lights, perhaps.  Why do people want the Last Word? He who laughs last, laughs longest. Now that’s more to my way of thinking.

Success is the best Revenge are words that I like, and hope to live, in due course. You are just a burnt out has been are words I’ve heard in the past. Though the person who said them was last seen scavenging from a waste bin in the confines on the cathedral in Birmingham.

So what is it with words, they do have power, the power of love, and Love Does Conquer All as my mum once said. Its 18 years since she went to make the tea in Heaven. So it must be God alone knows when she actually said those words. You are as good as anybody are other words she used, and yes she was right, we her children did achieve, and over achieve too.

But why do some people think the Last Word is the best word. Because it isn’t.  The best words are the right words, the right words you give to give people courage. England expects that every man does his duty, Nelson flagged those words to the fleet, and we beat the French, again.

We shall fight them on the beaches, Churchill spoke those words, England really did have its back against the wall, but by words and action the mad and evil Nazis were beaten. Words do offer courage, we have all seen the Kings Speech now. And we all now have such deep deep appreciation for all the Queen Mum did behind the scenes.

So why do some think having the last word is so important. Lack of education maybe? Words are explosives and should be used with due caution. A kind word can save a life, or propel somebody to their life’s dream or vocation. Just a few simple words can and do make a difference. Yes words, prayers DO work, so don’t be too arrogant to think that prayer is a waste of time, I know from experience  prayer has worked. That’s why I have a wife and  kids.

Do you need the last word? No. A boxer may need the last punch to win the bout. The last word no. Don’t waste your words on people who are not worth your breath or spit as the Chinese say. Save your words for nurturing things, the last word tends to be about arguments.

If people want last words, let them say that what you do, or make IS the last word in fashion, in industry, in ideas etc. Then last  the word IS worth remembering. 

Splish Splasjh in my Bath

Splish Splash in my Bath ©

By

Michael Casey

In the bath we are all alone with our thoughts, just me or you in the bath lying there soaking. We lie there like a hippo, water all around us, lapping at the edge of the bath, occasionally bursting over the top onto the bathroom floor.

The bath is a place of peace, and hot water, provided the wife isn’t washing the dishes while you are washing  your tum and all other parts. So it’s a rush to fill the bath before the wife fills the washing up bowl in the kitchen sink.

Otherwise we lie there with just our thoughts for company as we feel the warmth of the water. Lotions and potions are stolen from the wife’s collection of this and that. Competing smells waft around the bath and into the air in the bathroom. You turn a different shade of pink, your toes and fingers turn into prunes.

Sometimes you bring in a radio for company and music, as you soak the steams runs down the tiles in the bathroom, and steams up the bathroom window.

You drift to different places in your mind as you are entombed in the warmth of the bath. You are back in the womb, secure and warm and listening to music.  A baby can hear in the womb before birth, now you imitate that again. The radio blares out and you sing along.

Why do we sing in the bath? In the old days it was because there was no lock on the door, now it’s because we are free, free to be ourselves in the bath. I of course sing “If I were a Rich Man” going my best Topol impersonation.

Dreams visit us in the bath, we are relaxed and clean. We may even shave while in the bath, so from head to toe we are clean warm and relaxed. Clean feet do make all the difference, we sigh and clean between all our toes. Now we understand why the Romans enjoyed Bath and baths so much.

A bath as big as a small swimming pool, or even a swimming pool itself would be so nice, we muse as we close our eyes as we listen to Peter Gabriel singing Steam. If only we had some money we sigh as we break into “If I were a Rich Man”  again, Topol seems to return whenever we are in the bath.

Dreams  appear and spiral into the air along with the steam, we are in our own private world without distractions to attract our eye. Just the white of the bathroom, the white and the purity of our dreams. We top up the hot water, and sink lower into the suds of the wife’s bubble bath.

Gentle relaxing bath, a gentleman’s way to wash. Showers are for kids, for haste, for Americans. For those who claim they are saving water, but wasting tranquility. That’s what it’s all about really, a bath is not just for washing, it’s for inner peace. 

Girls gone shopping

Girls Gone Shopping©

By

Michael Casey

I get left abandoned at home every now and then, today was another occasion, I was home alone and enjoying it. The wife had to buy ingredients for big daughter’s school cookery lesson. Small daughter wanted to come too. So she had just come home from school with me, now she was going out with mum and big sister. A kind of invisible revolving door.

This means I get to bring the  washing in and spread it on all the radiators around the house, while they drive off laughing . It also means I can watch the news in peace and quiet. For me watching the news may mean 2 to 3 hours a day scattered throughout the entire day, on PC too, while I write.

At the shops they all may speak Chinese, mainly Shanghai dialect, just so nobody can understand them. Big daughter at 5feet 3 or is it 4 is already taller than mum. And spookily looks exactly like me, as I was, though with female features. Small daughter looks like mum, the gene pool split both ways. Though we hope small daughter grows taller than mum, just so we can call mum “Titch”.

I look at news on BBC and SKY, plus DT and Daily Mail and a quick browse of other newspapers. Meanwhile the girls are browsing the rails in Asda and Matalan, 3 pretty girls in the house, Fashion rears its head and screams “BUY ME”.

I have a cup of green tea to go with my news browsing, them, they have a pit stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Afterwards I put some frozen food in the oven to bake while I write. I do throw in some cloves of garlic, as its good for me, I also ready the sweet corn and a slice or two of brown bread. I can almost hear my small daughter belching from afar, fizzy pop treat to blame. Normally they are on Shanghai diet 95% of the time.

A new top is required for big daughter, small daughter is jealous when she does not get one too. So she gets pink trainers instead. Mix and match your daughters. Me I gave up clothes shopping years ago, I used to just hand my debit card over, now the wife can use her own card, and have the girls in toe.  They have more fun that way, and U get a bit of piece, I don’t have to share the family computer either. Perfect Peace.

I am about to finish my latest story when I can hear the car pull up outside the house.  The sound of laughter and high heels proceeds them, the front  door is flung open, and the girls are back from town.  Noise and laughter fills the house, as I hit save. I’ve written a new piece and they have returned with food and garments.

I try and salvage some scraps from the treats they have had, if only it’s a lick of the paper bag that once had cream cakes in. I turn the bag inside out to lick off the last of the fake real fresh cream, naughty but nice as Salmond Rushdie wrote when he was a copywriter.

They are back full of noise and laughter, I look this way and that as they show me their treasure. In return I read out my latest story and see if they like it, though it has to compete with new clothes and cheese and onion crisps. So I put the kettle on, this time for hot chocolate for all of us.  The family is together again.

10 years ago

Dreams 2014

Dreams 2014 ©

By

Michael Casey

I had a very vivid dream last night,  it may have been two dreams even. Dreams are the mind’s way of sorting out all our daytime activity, they can also amuse and/or   frighten.  They say that without REM sleep our bodies suffer. Well worth a google or two.

We can dream of our dream house, my small daughter sometimes dreams of a big house and a cat and a dog. I’ve told them if ever I sell any books we’ll have that house plus a pet. My daughter draws pictures of the dream house and a cat on the roof. Perhaps I’ve brain washed her.

You can have nightmares too, which are so much more than bad dreams, you can wake up screaming. Too much feta cheese or Greek cheese can make your mind go into overdrive. So if you watch that late night horror movie, when you go to bed you will be IN that horror movie.

Inside a dream you cannot escape, it’s like being in a prison cell with no way out, so what happens? You rock and roll and the killer with the gun is chasing you. You start to moan in your sleep, your REM is in overdrive, like a ping pong ball being hit and returned by the Chinese world champions.

You sit up in bed suddenly, and lash out with your hands, trying to knock the gun from your attacker’s hand. Only you send your mug of cocoa flying off the bedside table. You look around like a tortoise poking its head out after the Winter hibernation.  You  yarn then fall back into the comfort of the pillows.

You return to your slumbers, the gunman has evaporated into the mists of sleep. You cuddle your pillows, and wallow like a hippo in the comfort of your bed. The gunman is dead for tonight, though your blood or rather your cocoa is all over the bedroom carpet.

photo is my pretentious writer's pose

Clothing Clearout

Clothing Clearout ©

By

Michael Casey

Well the Cotton Traders magazine came through the letter box the other day. I promised myself I would not spend any money, but a magazine is a break from my hausfrau life.

So I flicked through the magazine and saw a few things I liked. The thing about Cotton Traders is that it has up to 5XL sizes and down to the small sizes too, all for the same price. Check the website for yourself, I don’t want to misinform you.

I don’t know about you but if I buy something just for myself I feel a bit guilty. So to lessen my guilt I asked my daughter did she want a quilted jacket in red. She said that red was not her colour, it was mum’s obviously, but not hers.

So my daughter flicked through the magazine and spotted a jacket, which was twice the price of what I was offering. It was not in the sale. So we compromised and I said she could have it as she’d be a teenager on her next birthday. I tried to persuade her not to be taller than me, as she is 5feet 3 or 3 already, as a sidebar to our deal.

So we went online and found the jacket, only they did not have her size. I did have to find my extending metal tape measure so she could measure herself, but this was to no avail because they did not have her size.

So I laughed, then she flicked through the magazine and found a sparkly jumper. The fashion is for big and baggy sparkly jumpers, so we checked and a size 10 was available. So she got her jumper and I got a soft rugger kind of thing. And my guilt was assuaged.

My small daughter looked on and said she needed a jumper too, so I promised to take her to Peacocks and get her one. Balance is a big thing when you have two pretty daughters.

Today after school dad was banished, small daughter wanted to go with big sister to buy a jumper. So I gave them the money and away they went. Only to return 30 mins  later empty handed. They were 50p short of the only thing small daughter liked.

My wife was let into the secret and said I was stupid as small daughter still had a few jumpers that grannie in Shanghai had knitted. So the girls went upstairs to check all the nooks and crannies in our wardrobes.

An hour later 3 jumpers, really nice ones had been found. Plus a clear out had produced a load of clothes now too small or too unfashionable for the small daughter to wear. With kids there is no wear in clothes as they grow so much. What does this mean? Some lucky child tomorrow will have several really nice additions to their wardrobe. As I left the cast-offs at a charity shop.

I also got in on the act and had a look at some of my less fashionable but 2XL  sized clothes. I filled a carrier bag and my old cast-offs were left beside the children’s clothes.

So this meant that I’d saved a few quid, which was a good enough reason to celebrate. So on the way back from the charity shop I dropped in at the Polish deli and bought a kilo of nice sausages for 3 quid, and some of their fizzy pop to share with my daughter.

All in all a good day, apart from Arthur, my arthritis. I’m listening to Eye of the Tiger the theme from Rocky Three now, perhaps I should take up boxing. I’d box Arthur’s ears first, that’s for sure.