writing

All I Want Is $100,000 Up Front – Is That Asking Too Much?

What are they going to do when I get into the finer details?

So – this happened.

I answered the phone yesterday. There was a five second delay which (really) lets you know you are in a queue. Suspicion created.

A garbled voice ( I honestly couldn’t tell if I was experiencing an accent different from mine, or if they were in a large room with lots of speakers – I suspect both at the same time) inquired about my book, using the correct title. Gotta admit, that did catch my attention.

Was I the author?

Yes?

Did I want to sell a lot of books?

Yes.

They could do it!

Then, what I assume was a company name, was mentioned. I never did hear the name distinctly enough to know what it was, though mentioned four or five times. It was never clear what its function would be.

But – you know – they mentioned the title -correctly- a number of times. And, in all truth, I figure I should be making more money.

So, I asked questions. Not very deep questions, but I should know something.

They seemed to know next-to-nothing about the publishing world. They did concentrate on “promotion”, which would, I readily admit, help.

World-wide promotion. Somehow.

So, knowing that they had a stellar product to sell, I just went to the end result. I would consider their proposals for the up-front price of $100,000. A nice round figure. Easy to remember. I could picture the cheque.

This seemed to confuse them.

A few more entreaties were made. An additional publishing term or two. Alas, it was still all garbled. I pointed out that I could still not fully understand them.

I noted they made no counter-offer (not that it would have done any good). $100,000 SVP.

So, I was told to wait until I could speak with a supervisor.

The supervisor did not seem to have an individual office. Same garble and/or background noise.

How could he help?

$!00.000 please. I was tempted to add (and I’m all yours). But I did not (though surely it was implied).

The call ended.

Since there seemed to be no knowledge of traditional publishing (which is how my book is published) I assume this con is directed to Indie authors. Beware, y’alls.

04/12/2026 0

What Do We Discover When James Bond Interviews Hamlet?

Q: To be or not to be?
A: Who asketh the query?
Q: Bond – James Bond.
A: Sound and fury, it seems to me.
Q: They say you’re a talker – is that true?
A: More of a thinker.
Q: Then a doer?
A: I put many acts in play.
Q: The power behind the throne?
A: When the throne is rotten.
Q: So, do you dither?
A: Whilst thou hither.
Q: What is your wish?
A: To whisper in your ear.
Q: To tell me what?
A: Fear not, it won’t be poisonous.
Q: Will it be a secret?
A: More likely than not.
Q: In my line of work, secrets are Death.
A: You deal with Kings and Queens?
Q: I’m on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
A: A double life is a double sword is a double bind.
Q: How do you know that?
A: I write plays.
Q: And tell the truth?
A: My word is my bond.

DE BA UEL

01/24/2026 0

Kafka Has A Dream And Then Ponders His Life

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
*********************************

15 January 1917

Dreamed that I never dream.

“That can’t be true,” said AB, dropping the papers she held. “Everybody dreams.”

“It never happens to me,” I insisted. “And what’s more, I don’t really believe that anyone else dreams, either.”

“Of course people dream,” said AB, dropping bunches and pots of flowers on the floor. “I dream all the time. I’m full of dreams every night.”

“Even tonight?” I asked, excited, because I had some power, some type of knowledge, although I didn’t know what it was. “Tonight,” she repeated. “Especially tonight,” she said, dropping bowls of snow on the floor. “It is right now, right here.” Her voice was also full of excitement. “I am dreaming about you.”

“Me?” I said. “You can’t be dreaming about me. I’m right here – I’m not in your dream.”

“Not only are you in my dream,” she said, dropping automobiles and tram cars on the floor, “but you’re talking in your usual obstinate way. You’re cross, and you’re silly, and you’re shaking your hands at me.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” I said, wringing my hands and starting to yell.

“You’ve taken your absurd thoughts,” she said, dropping pieces of Prague on the floor, “and you’re forcing me to be part of them.”

“Even if it’s true – all true,” I said, trying to sweep Prague into the river, “it still isn’t me. You’re the one having the dream.”

AB snatched the broom out of my hand, and dropped it to the floor. “Then try to wake me,” she said.

16 January 1917

I have the feeling, that what I really am doing at the office, is committing suicide. And doing a good job.

01/16/2026 0

An Elephant Tale For Christmas Eve

The Elephant was not oblivious to the

Christmas season, and wanted to pay his

respects. He travelled to the special clearing

where a cloud waited for him.

“It’s your Son’s birthday and I want to congratulate him.”

“Thank you.” The cloud descended further.

“It is a grand time.”

“I’d like to …” the elephant hesitated.

“Yes.”

“You sent your son for us to see, so we

would believe.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I want to …”

“Spit it out,” said God. “You’re fired up.”

“I want to see you.” The elephant spoke

quickly. “I don’t have to see you, you know

that. I believed even before you talked to

me. But I want to see you; it would mean so

much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but

cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I

can’t explain, but …”

“Go home,” said the cloud.

“You’re not angry with me?” said the

elephant.

“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s

an honest request.”

“Thank you for coming to see me,” said the

elephant.

“Sing some carols.” The voice was distant. “I

like them.”

The elephant turned and started through

the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves

within easy reach, and the rich grass near

the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly

as possible, so he could join the singing at

the Mission he knew was happening later in

the evening.

He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch

here and there in his haste, when he noted

the stillness, the hush which had overtaken

the forest. He slowed down and then

stopped in his tracks.

He turned his head, his small eyes squinting

into the brush. There was movement

coming toward him, and when the trees

parted, he went to his knees with a gasp.

Tears rolled from his eyes, and the golden

trunk touched his own, and gently

wiped them away.

(Image) 3.bp. blogspot.com/-Cu2l0Z3a5RY/UNX-AVe2xcI/AAAAAAAABfo/xse8jdvJsLo/s1600/creche%2B1.png

12/24/2025 0

Kafka Walks The Charles Bridge In Prague And Ponders The World

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the lost diary entries that he either ignored, or destroyed.

Kafka made this walk hundreds of times (and I managed a few, myself).

The following is the entry I made of Kafka crossing the Bridge, and what he pondered.

Excerpt From Kafka in the Castle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

29 August 1917

I strolled the Charles Bridge a long time tonight, before coming on to the castle. I have the feeling that the river air helps my lungs.

I also like the city lights reflecting from the racing water. And the occasional boat, lanterns stern and bow.

I have once or twice steered my own boat through the dark, the flickering light dripping through the gloom before me. If I could have reached the sea while it was still dark, I would have tried to do so. But I was younger then. And could breathe deeply.

Fantasy fuelled this escape, from my Moldau island and then along the Elbe, through Dresden, Magdeburg and Hamburg, to the freedom of Helgoland Bay. Further into the North Sea, if I wanted. Perhaps to Iceland, where I could become lost in the snow and white.

All this, from my perch upon the Charles Bridge, as I strolled from side to side, and one end to the other. My last smile reserved for the statues staring down on me.

Their stony expressions etched upon their faces, as is mine to me.

12/03/2025 0

On My Way To Greater Greatness via WORDPRESS

Congratulations! Your site, kafkaestblog, passed 50,000 all-time views.

10/24/2025

10/24/2025 0

A Way To Block “Writer’s Block”

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure (even in metric).

I experienced over two months of writer’s block many years ago.

I literally sat at my desk for hours.

To this day I can accurately describe that desk. Its vision is before/behind my eyes as I key. It had a red leather top.

I have devised a scheme which I find is 90% successful in combating writer’s block.

Do not complete your thought on page or screen.

Make sure it is solidly in your mind (make notes if necessary).

But, do not write it down.

If it is a description – don’t finish it.

If it is dialogue – don’t complete it.

If it is a line of poetry – don’t end it.

The next day, read the preceding page.

Then slide into the phrase you would have ended with yesterday.

Put in those final words.

The odds are excellent you will continue on your way.

08/16/2025 0

What Do You See When You Are Black As Agate?

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as agate

With one white mitten,

Is turning into Narcissus.

He is gazing at himself

In a quiet pool of water,

Becalmed along the shore

Of Partridge Island.

He does – sometimes – look

Into the mirror,

And lingers.

I assume he sees

What I see.

But I know cats,

And many of the other animals,

Also look with their noses,

And ears.

Perhaps that is why

He gazes so intently,

Not being able to recognize

What he sees.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report. DE BA. UEL

07/19/2025 0