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Related: Culture Forums, Support ForumsIs this too self-promote-y?
In a few fevered weeks after the election, I updated 21 classic children's tales for the Trumpian terror. Mostly as a coping mechanism. Then I decided to sell 'em on Amazon. But first I decided to give them away for a couple of days, to get feedback and spread the word.
I'd love any advice about where I might promote this, once I'm actually charging for it. I posted a few things on Daily Kos, and I'm on Twitter--but that's just shouting into a crowd. Mostly because I'm publishing this anonymously, and can't use any of my 'real life' connections.
The (free, for now!) Kindle book is here: http://amzn.to/2gLGbfs
The cover is this:
[IMG][/IMG]
I tried to advertise on Twitter, but they rejected my ads and shut down my ad account. I'm thinking of advertising on Facebook, though I don't really know how to use it. Any other suggestions?
Brother Buzz
(36,217 posts)You own the copyright so you can post an entire story right here as a tease, then encourage DUers to download the FREE book at Amazon and leave a fine review. Win-win.
NTOZamboni
(21 posts)But here are the first three stories!
The Ant and the Grasshopper
You are good, hard workers! Grasshopper said. Look at you, doing jobs that grasshoppers wont!
We have to fill our larder for the winter, one Ant told him. So when the snow covers the ground well still have food to eat.
The winters a long way off! Grasshopper popped another raspberry into his mouth. Theres no reason to worry. Ive got plenty.
We must plan ahead, just in case.
Thats fine for you, Grasshopper chuckled. But the beauty of me is that Im rich in berries.
You should save for the winter, too, the Ant scolded. For yourself and all the other grasshoppers.
Why bother? chirped the Grasshopper. Youve got more than enough.
Youre not going to contribute? the Ant asked, slightly shocked.
That makes me smart, Grasshopper announced, and hopped merrily away.
Over the next few weeks, the raspberry bushes gave fewer and fewer berries, until they finally gave none at all. Flurries of snow covered the field, and Grasshopper went knocking on the door of the ant colony.
Give me some corn, he said.
The Ant tsked. You should have saved your
Ill protect your jobs! Grasshopper shouted into the ant colony. Youre losing! Your Ant Queen is so stupid. Everyone in the field is laughing at you. Youre living hand-to-mandible, struggling just to get by. Youre losing. So, so stupid! Working all summer just to stock your larder.
We need to stock the larder! the Ant said. Now that winter is here
The whole concept of winter, Grasshopper scoffed, was created by Aardvark. What the hell do you have to lose? Give me your corn, and Ill pay you in berries.
So a group of ants led Grasshopper to the larder, where he stuffed himself until his abdomen bulged and only a few kernels remained.
Now where are our berries? the ants asked.
Im not paying you.
But you promised
Wrong! Grasshopper told them. You did a job thats not good. Very not good. I dont pay for shoddy work. Thats what your whole colony should do.
All of our corn is gone! the ants wailed.
Didnt I say that your Ant Queen is stupid? After all your hard work, youre still losing. Losing all the time.
Were going to starve, the ants moaned. Oh, think of the poor pupae.
You want food? The honeybees are taking your food. Theyre taking your corn. I love the honeybees, but theyre killing you.
Thethe honeybees? the ants said. Theyre just like us, hard workers who raise large broods. Except, instead of saving corn in a larder for winter, they save honey in a comb.
Corn, winter, larder, Grasshopper scoffed. Youve got to get rid of all these rules. These rules are destroying you. You cant breathe. You cannot breathe.
We cant eat, the first Ant grumbled. Because you hogged all our food.
You want to eat? Put me in charge, and you are going to start eating again. Youll have so much eating youll get bored of food. Look at me, how my abdomen bulges. Ill get you so much food. So, so much.
Now, the ants prided them on one thing above all else: they were a shining city upon an anthill, where every ant was created equal.
So they held a vote.
The ants who supported Grasshopper marched into a warm and spacious chamber nearby. The ants who supported the Ant Queen marched into a cold and cramped one across the colony.
When the votes were counted, sixty-two ants supported Grasshopper.
Only sixty-five ants supported the Queen, though, so Grasshopper won!
Wait a second, the first Ant said. Isnt sixty-five more than sixty-two?
Not how we do math, said the other ants.
Isnt that a problem? the first Ant asked. For a shining city on an anthill?
Its a huge problem, said the ants whose votes counted more than anyone elses. Were sick of feeling powerless.
The Emperors New Clothes
Except one peddler didnt shout in the boulevards.
One peddler wasnt allowed.
He woke early every morning to secure a good spot for his stall, and every morning the other vendors chased him into an alley, between a heap of refuse and a tannery wall.
Unfair! he muttered. Im the real victim here ...
He glowered at the other peddlers. Selling fish, apples, and iron was easy! But he was a hatemonger, and peddling hate took real effort. Even people who enjoyed a good, bracing hate in private still shied away from buying his wares in bulkor in public.
The hatemonger scraped together a meager living from a small-but-fervent following, until one day his best customer pulled him aside. This customer was a clever man named Bartholomew, and he suggested a plan.
The Emperor, Bright Bart said, is a shallow, vain man. He loves nothing except himself, and is loved by nobody except himself.
How can a man like that help our cause? the hatemonger asked. We are men of principle and purpose, not self-regard.
Well use his vanity to make him our puppet.
So they bought two looms and began to weave a web. Not of cloth, but of lies. They spread word that they were super-classy weavers, the most popular and high-energy weavers in the city. Soon the palace buzzed with the news, and the Emperor summoned the weavers to meet him in the throne room.
We weave the most amazing clothes, Your Magnificence, Bright Bart told him. The colors will make your head spin, believe me. And the patterns? Huge. Huge patterns. Beautiful.
Tremendous, the hatemonger said, then lowered his voice. And thats not all, Your Worship.
What? the Emperor asked, absently stroking his daughter, who was sitting on his knee. What else is there?
We only use the rarest fabric, Your Supremacy, Bright Bart said. Fabric so very, very great that its invisible to anyone who isnt great.
The courtiers gasped in amazement, but the Emperor merely said, Ive heard of that fabric. I know all about it. I have so much knowledge, I know more than anyone.
Of course, Your Perfection. Bright Bart bowed, and then addressed the courtiers. You lesser lights may not understand exactly how useful this material is. Our fabric is utterly solid and impeccably sourced ... yet absolutely invisible to anyone who is disgusting or low-energy.
It cannot be seen by losers or clowns, the hatemonger added, nor by anyone who is third-rate.
What we weave on our loom is the truth, Bright Bart told the courtiers. For those of superior blood and unfettered sight, we embroider everything except the facts.
You will see the world as it truly is, the hatemonger promised. For we never cut our cloth on the bias.
The Emperor rubbed his stubby hands together. Using this wondrous fabric, he could easily check if any of his people were losers or dum-dums.
Make me your finest outfit! he declared, and told his treasurer to give the weavers a chest overflowing with gold.
Yes, Your Magnificence, the treasurer said, though knowing his Emperor well, he only gave the weavers a promissory note.
The so-called weavers didnt care: men of principle dont work for a payment, but for a cause. They were hatemongers, and hate does not mong itself. So they set up the two looms and pretended to weave, though they used no thread save that of their curdled imaginations. They danced around the empty looms, making minute adjustments and sweeping generalizations.
For weeks they wefted and wove. Word of their unstinting drudgery spread through the palace to the city, until every one of the Emperors subjects knew about the wonderful properties of their cloth.
After a time, the Emperor wondered how his new garments were coming along. Did he feel a faint sense of unease, that perhaps he wouldnt see the new clothes? A niggling worry that he would prove to be a loser or a clown?
No. Not even for the tiniest fraction of an underfed second.
Still, he was curious. Not just for himself, but because he enjoyed a spectacleand he knew that his subjects were impatient to discover which of their so-called friends were disgusting pigs and low-energy losers.
Ill send my old guard to have a look, the Emperor decided. I can trust him, for he grovels better than anyone in the palace, even the Scribe.
You called, Your Highness? the Scribe simpered, stepping forward.
The Emperor scowled at the smug, ink-stained wretch. Go with my old guard to inspect the weavers work. I cant stand the sight of your ugly face.
So the old guard knocked on the workroom door while the Scribe stood beside him, quill hovering over parchment.
Before you come in, called the hatemonger, promise us one thing.
Whats that? the old guard asked.
Dont be too kind, the hatemonger told him through the door. If you spot a single flaw, you must tell us immediately.
Of course, the old guard said, relieved at this trivial request. After all, he prided himself on his hard-won ability to never spot a serious flaw in any respectable party.
Bright Bart ushered him and the Scribe inside. The pattern is amazing, Bart said. The very, very best. And the colors are beautiful, believe me. So beautiful.
The old guard stared at the empty looms, a brittle smile covering the breaking of his heart. Hed always suspected the truth, but hed never known before: he truly was a loser, a third-rate clown. Without the Emperor, he was worth nothing at all.
Still, before he said anything, he glanced nervously at the Scribe. Maybehe barely dared hopemaybe the looms truly were empty?
What do you think? the Scribe asked him.
Oh! The old guard swallowed. Um. Its tremendous? So, so amazing?
How very true! the hatemonger said.
The old guard took comfort from the scratching of the Scribes quill, as the ink-stained functionary recorded his words. After all, if the Scribe saw empty looms, he wouldnt simply transcribe the quote, would he?
Of course not. The very idea was laughable.
Bright Bart told the old guard about the clothes in lurid detail, mentioning every imaginary seam and non-existent button. The old guard memorized his words, while the Scribe recorded every boast and brag. And when they returned to the throne room and repeated the breathless description to the Emperor, the courtiers fluttered with excitement.
The Emperor decided hed wait no longer. With his court at his heels, he rushed to the workroom to see for himself.
So beautiful! the old guard cried, throwing the doors wide. Amazing! Terrific!
For a terrible moment, the courtiers stared in dismaythen they broke into a chorus of praise, each one seeking to prove that they, at least, were high energy and first rate.
The Emperor approached the empty looms, his brow furrowed. The courtiers quieted. Even the hatemonger held his breath as the Emperor circled the workroom.
At long last, the Emperor thought, a set of clothes that truly reflects the inner me. An outfit that encapsulates my very soul. For the Emperor could see clothes on the looms, where no thread existed. His self-regard was so mighty that it painted a breathtaking picture for him, shimmering with his favorite colors: red, white, and blue but mostly white.
Huge, he uttered, and the room erupted in cheers.
Your Superlativeness, said his old guard. Perhaps youll grace the city by wearing your new clothes during the procession tomorrow?
The Emperor agreed, and the weavers worked through the night, inventing a few last challenges for themselves, then proposing a few final solutions. And as dawn broke, they finally announced, The Emperors new clothes are ready!
When the Emperor entered, the weavers bowed low and gestured to the empty racks. Here are the trousers, Your Magnificence, Bright Bart said. Here is the shirt and the belt, here the hood and here the robe.
All of them together as light as a spider web, the hatemonger added.
Look how it sways, one courtier gasped. So delicate, so airy.
And the colors! another gushed. Like an autumn sunset over a lavender field.
Like the fresh fall of snow, Bright Bart murmured, over a wintry field.
With a steady stream of flattery, the weavers pretended to dress the Emperor. When they finally stepped away, the Emperor surveyed his naked self in the long mirror and gasped in delight. And after a scant hour enjoying his courts groveling praise, the Emperor marched from the palace, leading the procession through the streets.
Nobody in the city wished to be proven a loser or clown, of course. So the gathered throngs cried, The Emperors new clothes are beautiful! They fit him so great! The best!
Look at his long train! called the people leaning from the windows. Thats the longest train. Nobodys ever had a longer train!
Praise and exultation sounded all around ... except from the costermonger. Hes naked! she blurted. Hes not wearing anything!
The courtiers sneered and the guardsmen snorted, but whispers spread like wildfire: Someone says the Emperor is naked! Hes not wearing anything at all!
There isnt a single stitch on his flabby bum! the ironmonger agreed.
And small hands or no, the fishmonger tittered, apparently there is a problem. I guarantee it.
Neighbors turned to neighbors. Friends turned to friends. Was it true? Were they not lightweight losers and disgusting pigs? Could they trust what they saw with their own eyes? In a moment, half of the crowd started shouting, The Emperor has no clothes! The Emperor has no clothes!
Laughter rippled through the streets ... until the rest of the crowd jeered, Liars! Crooked liars! He is wearing clothes! The best clothes!
You losers just cant see his clothes, the hatemonger called, pushing forward. Because youre terrible, disgusting people.
Look at him! the fishmonger said. Hes naked.
Treason! cried Bright Bart. Who dares mock the Emperor?
Ask anyone! the ironmonger shouted. Ask ... ask the Scribe!
The crowd turned to the Scribe, who puffed out his chest and stroked his chin. He looked to the costermonger, then to the hatemonger. He consulted his parchment for a thoughtful moment then gazed at the Emperor, standing naked in front of the parade.
Tell us! the costermonger demanded. Is the Emperor wearing clothes?
Some claim he is, the Scribe informed her. And some claim hes not.
Id like to punch them in the face! the Emperor bellowed, his jowls wobbling. So obnoxious! So loud! Treat them very, very rough. They ought to be carried out on stretchers!
Your wish is our command! the hatemonger cried, and he and Bright Bart beat the costermonger with cudgels until her bones snapped.
I hate to intrude, Emperor, the Scribe said, with a trace of alarm. But perhaps you should stop them?
My followers have tremendous love for their country, the Emperor explained. Theyre very passionate, and theyre sick of losing.
While the costermonger bled to death, Bright Bart took the old guards place at the Emperors side. He bowed his head in perfect deference, whispering assurances of loyalty into his puppets ear. Meanwhile, the hatemonger glared at the frightened crowd. Why werent they cheering louder? Why did they still resent him, after everything hed done?
Im the real victim here, he muttered.
And the Emperor led the procession away, his new clothes resplendent in the sunshine.
?
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
The fat brother was named Ali Baba, and he and his wife spent their money as soon as they earned it. They invited dozens of guests to lavish, all-night feasts, they hosted costume balls and poetry readings, they attended dockside concerts and supported religious festivals.
He wastes all his money, his brother Kasim gloated to his wife, in their cold, bare house. While we hoard all of ours.
Your brother is foolish, his wife said, skinnily. And deserves whatever happens to him.
I hope he doesnt expect me to help, Kasim said, though he dreamed every night of Ali Baba begging for a handout, just so hed have the opportunity to refuse.
But Ali Baba didnt expect help. Every day hed cheerfully take his three donkeys into the forest to collect brush to sell at the market. And every evening, he and his wife would cheerfully spend what he earned on guest and neighbors, on sweets and song.
Then one day, as Ali Baby was wandering the forest looking for dropwood, he heard the clipclop of hooves.
Bandits! he gasped, and pulled his donkeys into the underbrush.
The horses trotted closer and
{DISCONTINUED IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE EXTREME VETTING GUIDELINES OF THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE}
annabanana
(52,791 posts)Pretty damn good stuff!
They were therapeutic, too!
NTOZamboni
(21 posts)This book will only be free for another few hours (or maybe the rest of the day, I'm not sure how Amazon works). So starting tomorrow, the original post will be a lie! Not free! Don't expect free! I only have 5 'free days' out of every 90 or something. Sorry if you got this far and expected free ...