How not to get published

How not to get published.

_{1.             Turn on computer.}

_{2.          Check emails for replies from any of the thirty-seven publishers you’ve sent your manuscript to.}

_{3.          Check Facebook.}

_{4.          Two hours and many cat videos later, check your email again, just to be sure.}

_{5.           Read ads about making a truckload of money by blogging.}

_{6.           Three hours later turn off computer in frustration.}

_{7.           Eat.}

_{8.           Swear off writing.}

_{9.           Slink back to your computer.}

_{10.                                 Repeat steps 1 – 8.}

_{11.       Watch movie.}

_{12.                                 Start writing a screenplay for a better movie than the one you just watched.}

_{13.                                 Go to bed, dreaming of characters and dialogue.}

_{14.                                 Start again tomorrow.}

The Mall (Novelette)

Chapter 1

Mopping up vomit wasn’t Todd’s favorite thing to do, but as much as he did it, you would think it was. As with anything, if you are good at something you usually end up doing it a lot more. Night after night, he committed himself to keeping Frost creek mall looking as good as possible. He went above and beyond when it came to his janitor duties. Often coming in early and staying late without asking for overtime. The biggest problem was nobody cared. Todd was invisible when he did good things, but was chastised very publicly when things didn’t go right. It wasn’t his fault that lady slipped and tumbled down the escalator, he had the ‘wet floor’ sign up. And that Black Friday incident of a few years ago. He was in training and didn’t know how to secure the top of a sixty foot tall Christmas tree. Fortunately no body was hurt when it came crashing down, but Todd was the one picked to clean up that mess. He smelled like pine for two weeks after that. The funny thing was, things like that seemed to always happen around Todd. Never anything outright or malicious. And nobody could prove any wrongdoing, things  just seemed to happen. Mostly, Todd kept to himself. He enjoyed doing his job and hanging out with his friends. He was a likeable guy. A lot of people told him he looked like Tom Hanks in the movie ‘Big’. But I think it was more his youthful innocence than his actual looks. Being in his late twenties, youthful innocence was hard to maintain. Todd and his friends managed to do it though. To call Todd’s group of friends ‘Eclectic’ would be a tremendous understatement. They were one nutty group. In fact, Todd wasn’t really sure when most of them had even become his friends. Todd shrugged it off.
‘It must’ve been after the accident.‘ He thought. They had hung out together for years, ever since high school. Going to movies was getting a little boring though. Playing video games got real old real quick, with the twins being champion gamers. And exactly one football game with Zoey was more than enough for most of the group. Somewhere along the line, someone suggested going to the mall after hours. Todd definitely wasn‘t crazy about the idea, but they held a vote and Todd lost nine to one.
“Looks like you lose, Toddzilla.“ Zoey said, giving him a noogie. “I guess you play by our rules or go play by yourself.“
Todd clenched his teeth, and looked like he was about to tell Zoey something, but something held him back.
‘One of these days.’ Todd thought. ‘You’ll get what you deserve.’
So, Todd gave in, like always and told the others to show up around midnight. They were to park in the underground garage and he would meet them at the service elevator. This gave him three hours to get all his work done. He rushed around emptying trash cans, cleaning toilets, he even dust mopped at a full sprint. When midnight rolled around, he was exhausted. He brought an office chair with him to the elevator, so he could sit down while he waited for everyone to show up.
They started arriving one by one. Chip pulled up in his Jeep, with a ‘Navy’ license plate on the front. He parked and walked over to Todd. He was 6’ 2”, muscular, with dark hair that was in a crew cut. He walked with confidence but not arrogance.
“Am I the first to arrive?” Chip said.
“Looks like it.” Todd said, giving Chip a ‘bro hug’.
Chip checked his watch.
“You said to be here at zero hundred, right?”
“Actually, I said midnight.”
Chip laughed.
“That’s why I like you man, you’re a cutup.”
Todd laughed along, trying to figure out what he had said that was so funny.
A red Corvette screeched around the corner and sped toward the elevator, blinding Todd as he and Chip dove out of the way. The car turned at the last second, doing a 180, and slid to a stop beside Chip’s Jeep.
“Are you insane?” Chip yelled. “You almost killed us!”
The man slowly, deliberately got out of the Corvette. He was Chip’s size and build, only with blond wavy hair, wearing sunglasses, and oozing with self importance.
“Oh, sorry there Chips ahoy, didn’t see you.” He said.
“Maybe if you took your sunglasses off, you could see Zoey!” Chip said.
The remark hit the exact target Chip was aiming for, Zoey’s pride. Anger erupted like an explosion.
“I told you, call me ‘Z’!” He said, rushing toward Chip, fists raised. Chip ducked his wild swing, grabbed him by the collar and planted him into his own car.
“Ahem.” Came a shrill sound from inside the car. Chip and Z both looked at each other.
“I’m waiting!” Came an impatient voice. Zoey seemed to deflate a little. He pulled away from Chip, went to the other side of the car, and opened the door. Amanda stepped out. She was 5’9”, drop dead gorgeous, with more curves than a roller coaster. Satisfied that all eyes were on her, she pulled out her compact and checked her makeup.
“Hello boys.” She said, as if just noticing them. Todd and Chip rolled their eyes.
“Hello Amanda.” They sing songed in unison. She went back to primping as the twins pulled up on their identical motor scooters. The tires seemed to re-inflate as Bob and Tom dismounted. Each was 5’10” and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds (Not one ounce of it was muscle). They called each other ‘Mario’ and ‘Luigi’ (though they each claimed to be Mario). They even tried to grow thick mustaches (failing miserably).
“How’s it going, guys?” Todd asked.
“Powered up, dude!” They said. The rest of the group arrived at the same time. Nancy-The Goth girl, Sam-The nice guy, Jessie-The valedictorian, and last came Evan-The scary dude. Everyone else was on the freight elevator when Evan drove his motorcycle in. People dove out of the way as Evan screeched to a stop.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Zoey screamed.
“Not very fun when someone tries to run you over, is it Zoey?” Chip said with a smug smile. Zoey started toward Chip, but Evan revved his bike and lurched into his path.
“Move the bike!” Zoey growled.
Evan revved up the bike, making it impossible to hear, then held his hand behind his ear, feigning deafness. No one else muttered a word of complaint. Evan’s temper was famous, and no one felt like seeing it tonight.
Todd brought the elevator up to the main floor. As soon as the doors opened, Evan roared off. Todd looked at the rest, standing there, choking on exhaust fumes.
“Welcome to the Frost creek mall.” He told them.
They slowly emerged from the oversized elevator, into a darkened corridor.
“It seems eerie without all the lights on.” Jessie said.
“And no people.” Sam said.
“No people is a good thing.” Nancy said, adjusting her spiked bracelet.
“It’s so quiet.” Chip said, just before Evan’s motorcycle roared in the distance. “For the most part.” He said, rolling his eyes.
“So, who’s up for a game of hide and seek?” Todd said, smiling.
“What are you, twelve?” Zoey said.
“How about we play ‘Serial killer’.” Nancy said, with a gleam in her eye.
“How do you play that?” Chip asked.
“Ten slips of paper, on one of them, you write ‘killer’. Everyone takes a slip and hides. Once everybody is hidden, we take our slip of paper out and see if we are the killer. Whoever has that slip hunts us down until we are all dead.” Nancy finished with a stabbing motion.
The others looked around, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“That’s a little macabre, isn’t it?” Jessie said.
“That’s the whole point.” Nancy said. “Add a little excitement.”
“I’m in!” Evan said, though no one remembered hearing him drive up.
“Where’s your bike?” The twins asked.
Evan whipped around and glared at them.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s safe.”
“Okay.” Sam said, trying to reduce the tension. “Let’s play then.”
“What are the ground rules?” Jessie asked Todd.
“Umm…“ Todd said, thinking it over. “No going into stores, no going outside, no doing anything I would have to clean up or repair.”
“Fair enough.” Chip said. “Let’s go.”
Todd secretly found himself hoping to get the ‘Killer’ tag, just so he could kill Zoey.
They all grabbed their slip of paper and ran off in separate directions. All except for Evan, he just stood there for a moment, looking around at the huge empty building. He unfolded his slip of paper, smiled, then started walking in the direction he’d seen one of the others go. They had all been to this mall before, and each had their favorite stores, but tonight was different. Perhaps it was the lowered lights, casting odd shadows, perhaps the stillness of the place made it seem almost alive. Whatever it was, they all felt it…this was a different place at night.


http://www.amazon.com/The-Mall-ebook/dp/B00EWO7T8Q/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1378416212&sr=1-4

They said what?

Kids...you just never know what they're going to say. Here are some of the head shakers that my kids have come up with over the years.


“Mommy, is chicken made out of chicken?”

“Daddy, what does onion powder taste like?”

“Mommy, does chicken come from cows?”

“I’m not really hungry, I just want food.”

I asked my wife to pick up a few things at the store.
Hearing this, my preschooler says, 
”Mommy, will you bring me some diarrhea?”

Walking across a parking lot, my tired preschooler looks up at me and says, 
“Daddy, my feet have a headache.”

In a restaurant, waiting for our food to come, I was reading the place mat which posed the question, 
“If you were alone on an island, and you could only bring one thing with you, what would it be?”  My middle schooler’s  response was, 
“A boat.”

Walking through the parking lot to the grocery store, my eight year old tripped and fell on the asphalt.  I picked her up, and checked her out, concerned that she might have hit her head.  Not finding any marks on her, I asked her, 
“What did you hit?”
With tears streaming down her face, she said, 
“I hit the ground.”

My ten year old had done something wrong, and I had sat her down to explain to her what she had done, and why it was wrong.  In the middle of explaining, I noticed that her attention had drifted away from me.  I stopped and asked, 
“What did I just say?”  
Her immediate answer was, 
“What did I just say?”


“Dad, are they selling the bank?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
“The sign on the bank says, ‘loan sale’.”

Doomsday predictions 12-21-12

I've decided to embark on a new career. It's lucrative, very lucrative, however this career is a rung lower than a used car salesman on the morality ladder.
I'm going to be a doomsayer. 
I'm going to find some minuscule event about four years in the future. This event could be anything astrological, archaeological, or Bill Murray actually agreeing to be in the next Ghostbusters movie. 

Once I have my event, I'm going to write a book proving that this event will somehow eradicate all human life on earth. Once this book has gained a following (and it will) then I'm going to write a second book. This book I'll write under an assumed name. It will refute the 'facts' of the first book, calling it total hokum. I may even create a bitter rivalry between the two authors. To the point where they refuse to be in the same room together. (I may have to hire an actor to play the part of the second author)

Then, I'm going to write a third book, by another 'Author', claiming that the first two 'Authors' wouldn't know the correct date if it bit them in their Y2K. This book would claim that the real date was two years further into the future than the first claim. 

I would continue in this way, leapfrogging predictions, (which some people would buy into) essentially creating my own 'doomsday franchise'. 
After a while, if I got bored, I would write one final book, saying that it's all a load of crap, and we should go back to the Bible. 

The Bible says "No man knows the day or hour..." so how can we, as semi-intelligent human beings, keep believing all this random doomsday crap? 
Every time someone makes some wild prediction, based on a little fact, and lots of hype, people buy into it. And they buy like crazy. Most doomsday books become bestsellers. Is that why these 'Authors' are so eager to predict the end of the world as we know it? Hmm...let me think...

I've got a doomsday prediction for you...There's only one being in this universe who knows when doomsday is, and He ain't tellin'.

Free financial freedom

Hey you!! Yes you! No, not you, YOU! The one sitting right there!
Have you ever wanted money?
Do you have no discernible skills whatsoever?
Do you breathe?
Well then YOU could be making Eighteen Trillion dollars right now, just like I did!!
Sound impossible?
If you email me right now, I mean RIGHT NOW. Don't even finish reading this sentence, email me first, and I will send you this blurb on how to make money just by breathing!
"This can't be real." you say.
Just shut up and send me the email already!!
(Sorry about that, need to back down the caffeine content.)
In this email you must include your name, age, birthdate, social security number, outstanding debts, likes, dislikes, yearly income, recent photo, and last year's income tax return.
If completed correctly, I will send you a link.
This is not any ordinary link.
This is a powerful link to untold riches, fame, fortune, and the key to free financial freedom.
This link will ramble on and on for pages, full of testimonials from untraceable people, saying how fabulously wealthy they are now, thanks to my program.
The most important thing you'll find in this link is another link.
This link will direct you to a link where I give you a PERSONAL LINK.
This is a very special personal link. It is meant for you and no one else.
This link has been set aside specifically for you since the day you were born.
I cannot possibly tell you what's in this link. It's like the Matrix, you cannot be told, you have to see it for yourself.
(Insert ominous music.)
Inside that link is a link to my bank account. (I accept, Visa, Mastercard, Diners club, Discover, Food stamps, SSI, Gold, Silver, and Platinum.)
All this can be yours for the low, low price of only $39 plus shipping.
But, if you act right now, before you even take another breath, I will send you another link for only an additional $39. The shipping is on me.
How can I afford to be so generous? Easy, my system works. I have personally made Eighteen Trillion dollars. And now, because I'm such a nice guy, I want to pass the secret on to you.
So don't delay, act now, I mean right now!! Run to your bank! I don't care if it's two in the morning, rob a convenience store if you have to, just GET ME MY MONEY!!


I don't know about you, but I am sick and tired of seeing these scams in my inbox. Is every single one a scam? I don't know. Are there legitimate ways of making money on the internet? Sure. Are some of these companies on the level? They may exist. Honest politicians may exist, but I haven't seen one.

The truth is, if these people had really discovered the secret to easy wealth on the internet, why would they share it? Wouldn't they be creating their own competition?  If I found a two ton Gold nugget, I wouldn't tell someone else where it was, I'd dig that puppy up and look for more of them. To continue the metaphor, these people dig up the gold, make sure there's no more around, then sell you a map to the site, saying that they found gold, and you can too.
P.T. Barnum would be proud. He would probably have his own web site, and be making millions of dollars a year, selling the internet's version of snake oil.

Anymore, I read these scams just for a laugh.
Just to make things clear. You will not make any money from this article.
It's debatable if you will make any money from any of these scams.
They will make money, selling you their so called 'secrets', but in the end, you'll end up with a bunch of very expensive downloads, and questionable content at best.
Good luck! (You'll need it)

Amazon.com: Playback (short story) eBook: Michael Kelso: Kindle Store

Playback - A short story crime/suspense by Michael Kelso

Rated PG for violence

Chapter 1 preview

     The final disk had been pressed. Jacob carefully lifted it out of the machine and placed it in its case. He stuck a ‘demo’ sticker on it and put it in the mailing envelope he had already addressed, along with a letter. It explained that the addressee had been randomly chosen to be in a focus group, testing a popular video game. All they had to do was play the game to the end, then instructions would appear on the screen. Jacob smiled to himself as he picked up the five envelopes and took them to his mailbox, knowing that none of their lives of these unsuspecting people would ever be the same.

     Jacob Anderson was a self made millionaire, but he didn’t plan it that way, it was more luck than anything that got him his money. He had two loves in his life. One was video games. Playing, designing, programming, anything about them. His second love was secret, and not nearly as constructive. He had spent years developing and programming his first commercial game, ‘Playback.’ When it was released, it was hailed as groundbreaking. No one had ever played a game where the player is cast in the role of a serial killer, stalking his prey. Jacob didn’t care about the money. He put on a suit and a pleasant face and accepted the awards. But all he really wanted to do was start work on a sequel so he could go do more ‘research.’ his five unwitting victims were going to help him with that. Along with his silent partner.

     Kevin slowly crept into the room, trying to be as silent as possible. The sleeping form in the bed didn’t stir. He pulled a large knife from his belt. It glinted in the moonlight shining in through the window, bathing the room in an eerie glow. He was almost within striking distance when he stepped on a creaky floorboard. He looked down and silently cursed the floor. When he looked back up, he was staring down the barrel of a forty caliber pistol held by the woman who was soundly sleeping just a moment ago.  She was beautiful. Her flimsy nightgown clung to the curves of her body, distracting him.  Instead of running, or ducking, he just stood there. Her trigger finger got impatient and she started pumping round after round into his chest, knocking him to the floor, in a splatter of blood. She leaned over the bed to look at his lifeless body. Her face frozen in his view, as his life ebbed away. 

’THE END.’

’CONTINUE ?  YES/NO’. 

“Dang, I almost had her that time.” Kevin said, as he selected ’NO’ and tossed the controller onto the couch. He yawned, stretched, and walked upstairs. He didn’t notice the little light flash on his game system showing that it had sent information online. He grabbed two sodas from the fridge, plopped on the living room couch, and handed the other soda to his dad.

“What are we watching?” Kevin asked.

“Footage from my last murder investigation.” Bruce said as he took the soda. “Thanks.” He took a swallow, then looked at Kevin.

“Did she beat you again?”

“Yeah, she always seems to get me at the last second.” Kevin said.

Bruce chuckled.

“Is this where a responsible father should say ’I find it very disturbing that you spend so much time playing a game where you pretend to be a serial killer.’ And ‘What kind of sick mind thinks this stuff up anyway?’”

“Yeah, ok.” Kevin said as he motioned to the TV, where they were videotaping entry and exit wounds on a dead body.  Bruce laughed. 

“Point taken.” 

“But aren’t you supposed to stay away from police work during your time off?” Kevin asked. 

“Yeah” Bruce said “Something about this last case just doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“Isn’t that why you’re off?  Because you couldn’t let it go?” Kevin said.

“Now you sound like Don, it’s not as simple as that.” Bruce said. Kevin could feel his dad tense up. He decided to change the subject. 

“Well, I think you’re a very responsible dad, and I have enough common sense to realize that playing a game won’t turn me into a serial killer.” Kevin said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to the basement to terrorize and kill a certain lady friend of mine.”  Then he looked at his dad and winked. 

“Go get her, boy!” Bruce said, smiling as Kevin strode from the room.

Amazon.com: Cell (Short Story) eBook: Michael Kelso: Kindle Store

Cell...A short story Horror/Suspense by Michael Kelso

Rated PG for violence

Chapter 1 preview

     “Operator…How may I help you?”

 “I need you to give me the number of the phone I am calling from!” Said a man’s desperate voice. 

“I’m sorry sir, I cannot give you that information.” 

“BUT IT’S MY FREAKIN’ PHONE !!” He screamed back.  

“I’m sorry sir, if you continue in this manner, I will have to give this number to the police.” 

“Fine, give it to the cops, just give it to me first!” 

Loud thumps could be heard in the background. 

“Please, I need this number. It‘s an emergency.” He said, almost pleading.

The operator paused. 

“585-7734” 

“Thank you.”

     Long before this desperate call took place, there was a young man with a simple wish. His name was Tony. Like other lower-middle class teenagers, Tony had problems. His biggest problem was money, he didn’t have any. At 6’2”, he was tall for his age, but thin. He got his jet black hair from his father. Surprising, seeing that his mother was a natural blonde. He wore old, hand me down, jeans that were two sizes too big for him, because that’s all he had. But with the way fashions went, he was actually in style, at least for the moment. That sort of thing never concerned Tony anyway. The problem that weighed most on his mind, was that he was the only one in his class who didn’t have a cell phone. He had begged his parents for one, and they wanted to get him one, but they just couldn’t afford it. So, a determined Tony had gone to the local gas station and talked the owner into giving him a part time job. Tony’s best friend, Zeke, was about as different from Tony as humanly possible. He was nearly a foot shorter than Tony, with bright red hair and a chubby build. Physically they were the odd couple. They met in first grade, when Zeke first moved to town and had no friends. Tony had been the first one to talk to him at school, and they had been best friends ever since. Zeke had told him it not to worry about having a cell phone, that they were overrated, but he was interrupted when he got a call on his own cell. Tony was excited when he first started working, but soon found out that it was a boring, thankless job. After two weeks of working almost every night, he finally got his first paycheck. He tore open the envelope, nearly ripping the check. Reading the numbers, his face fell.

“Umm…Mr. Haskins, there seems to be a mistake.” Tony said.

“My check should be a lot more than this.”

Mr. Haskins patiently took the check and looked it over.

“No, that’s right for the hours you worked.” He said, handing the check back to Tony.

“But what are all these numbers over here?”

“Those are deductions.”

Tony looked at him blankly.

“You mean people are taking my money before I even get it?”

Mr. Haskins laughed.

“Welcome to the real world kid. Didn’t you think you’d have to pay taxes?”

“Taxes, yes. But what is FICA? And why is he taking so much of my money?” Tony said, distressed.

Mr. Haskins laughed even harder.

“Don’t worry kid, you’ll get some of that back in about fifty years.”

The look of horror on Tony’s face made Mr. Haskins go into fits of laughter. He had to walk away just to be able to breathe again.

Tony stared at the check all the way home.

‘This won’t even cover a down payment.’ He thought. ‘I’m gonna be working for a month just to get my phone, let alone keep it.’ He fell asleep with visions of tiny cell phones dancing through his head.