"Own the Scrawny!"

In "Own the Scrawny," my follow up novel to "My Life at the Bottom of the Food Chain," Alexander discovers that while the humiliation of being the unwilling star of a viral video is bad, the comments on the video from compete strangers are much worse. Criticized and ridiculed on everything from his behavior, to his size and his clothes, Alexander begins to wonder if he's as weird as they say, and begins a desperate, often misguided quest to prove everyone wrong.

"Own the Scrawny!" is about Alexander's struggle to believe more in himself, rather than what other people think of him. The paperback and ebook launch this fall.

Meanwhile, here's an interview I recently recorded with YouTuber OhCurt about the first book, the second book, and living in Los Angeles. We even visit my old junior high school, a primary inspiration as I wrote both books.

You can follow me on Twitter @rickflix
Please join the "My Life at the Bottom of the Food Chain" Facebook Page.
Visit my author page at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Rich-Samuels

Book Two Title Reveal (But You've Gotta Work at it!)

There are still a few months before the follow up to My Life at the Bottom of the Food Chain will have an official launch, but the time has come to reveal the title...and a few details!

First, the details: here's a short teaser:

It’s bad enough to embarrass yourself in front of your friends.

It’s worse to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school

It’s horrible if someone records your humiliation on video and posts it online.

It’s a disaster if that video goes viral...

But it’s the comments on the video that can really send you over the edge...

As for the title, I've created a word scramble (remember those?) to offer my readers an opportunity to take part in the reveal (thanks to Greg's Gourmet for the idea).

As we reveal more about the book (including the cover) in the coming months, there will be more opportunities to take part—and even win some cool book-related gear!

Complete the word scramble above (don't worry, there are instructions if you'd like to cheat!) 

 If you would like to work from a PDF, there's one here. 

For more news, follow me @rickflix

Returning to the Scene of the Crime

Today, I had the opportunity to visit a location which features prominently in my book, My Life at the Bottom of the Food Chain. As part of an interview (premiering soon) I did with longtime YouTuber Curt Phillips - we'll talk about the challenges of living in Los Angeles—and about the book itself.

One of the conscious decisions I made when writing the book was to avoid too-specific descriptions of Alexander's school. My hope was that the reader would visualize the school based on their own experiences, and so make the story more personal.

Naturally, the book was inspired by my own experiences, and I did have Portola Middle School (then, it was called a junior high school) in mind. We stopped by the front gate this Sunday, a location that features prominently in the novel. It's a place of perceived danger by Alexander, and the site of a climactic confrontation.

Of course, since I walked daily through those gates, generations of kids have come and gone—and I'm sure that Alexander has been among them in an entire series of variations. Some things, including unfounded fears, are universal to kids of a certain age.

Still, as I stood there, I felt that I not only shared those experiences with all of my predecessor and successor students, but with Alexander as well. I could, if pressed, take you on a walking tour throughout the grounds of the school, and map out precisely where every action in this fictional book took place.

If you've written fiction of this sort, you'll understand: Now, this is very much Alexander's school, too!

"My Life at the Bottom of the Food Chain," and a short story featuring Alexander, "Why Do You Think They Call It a Ghost Town" are available from most online retailers. I'm currently working on a follow-up novel. Thanks for you support.

Follow me on Twitter @rickflix

Remembering World War II

Since I had the opportunity to visit several World War II-related sites in the UK last summer, and especially since the recent D-Day Commemorations, I've had a heightened interest in the history and personalities of World War II. I've watched a few recent documentaries, in particular  "The World Wars" a recent three-part series on the History Channel, which takes an overall look at the entire period from before the first War to the end of the second.

In addition to the traditional newsreel footage and academic interviews, this program features richly produced and somewhat melodramatic reenactments featuring pivotal moments in the lives of Hitler, Stalin, Churchill, Roosevelt and Tojo. It also includes perspectives from recent political figures, including former Vice President Dick Cheney, Senator John McCain and former British Prime Minister John Major.

While I find it fascinating to explore (or rediscover) the personal stories and motivations of historical figures, the reenactments seemed almost absurd at times: A long, slow push into the glaring visage of Adolph Hitler; the almost Hitchcockian profiles of Winston Churchill; the contemplative Roosevelt sitting alone in his wheelchair, or Stalin moving dramatically through a smokey environment. The symbolic moments were so frequent and over-produced that they distracted from the story at hand. Perhaps the inclusion of modern politicos offers a perspective that few share, but other than offer star quality to the program, I wonder if their true value to relating this history is a bit exaggerated, compared to their appearance in the program. Only John Major, perhaps, can at least share the experience with Winston Churchill of having been the British Prime Minister.

There are endless other documentaries, of course, as well as narrative films, that more effectively tell the story of a struggle that today seems barely comprehensible. There are almost an infinite number of human stories—of soldiers and civilians—that it's impossible to ever fully understand what it was like to live during that era, unsure if there would even be a future. The politically charged threats and doomsday scenarios that sometimes dominate our domestic world today are nothing compared to the very tangible international threats of that era.

Some interpretations might be better than others, but it's worth the time, I think, to honor the memory of that fading generation by occasionally revisiting their legacy.

The Battle of Britain Monument in London.

Quiet

The long-distance Metrolink trains that travel throughout sprawling Los Angeles County and surrounding areas include a designated "Quiet Car," allowing passengers the choice of riding in peace and quiet to their destination.

I have mixed feelings about the policy. If I take an early morning from Santa Clarita to downtown Los Angeles, I'm climbing aboard a train that's more than an our into its journey. Some passengers already on board are completely covered with blankets and/or sleeping masks, while others are bleary eyed and still struggling to wake up for the day ahead.

Even in the non-quiet cars, conversation is light at this hour, but I suppose I can understand the desire of drowsy passengers to have a reasonable environment in which to travel.

On the afternoon train, the conversation is much more energetic. People are happy to be done with their day, and some meet up with their friends and celebrate. Loudly. I've sat down at a table like the one in this blog, only to be joined by a mom and her children, and their chicken dinner. Awkward, to say the least.

So, I can also understand the desire of afternoon riders to simply ride home peacefully, and perhaps catch a little rest.

The concept seems odd, but sadly symbolic of a time in which conscientiousness has to be given a special, separate place all its own.  There are even sheriffs and security personnel who occasionally wonder the Quiet Cars and police the rule. Talk loudly on your cell phone, and you can be banished to the Loud Car. Come on board the Quiet Car with a child, and be banished as well. Play a game on your tablet without muting the volume, and get a stern lecture.

I guess you could say that they're the Polite Police...

Some Gamers Hate Me

This is a last minute post (I'm a touch late, but I make the rules, so it counts!), so I think I'd share with you some of the more amusing messages I've received in what's essentially only ongoing venture into online gaming on the Playstation 3. I play just one game - James Bond Legends, and often play it in multiplayer mode, which puts me in competition with other players worldwide, either on a team or independently. For ten minutes, we shoot, are shot it, are killed and respawn to play again, all in various James Bond-related environments.

James Bond Legends, however, isn't a very popular game, so even a fairly awful player like me, if I play long enough, can rise up to the top of the overall game statistics. I'm currently 13th in the world, which might sound impressive at first, but since there may only be two or three hundred players left, it might not mean all that much...

Of course, with great success comes great detractors. I've been condemned in a YouTube video for my choice of weapons (the video creator guessed that I must be a thirteen year old who gets stuffed in lockers all the time - I wonder if he read my book?),  and I sometimes receive messages that aren't very friendly:

I think his question was rhetorical.

The so-called "benladengang" is currently the top player, so I'm
in good company! I'm a bit concerned about those "guys on the internet," though...

This is the guy who created the YouTube video.
He's not very happy with me.

I'm "Rickflix" on PS3, by the way. And I'm Richflix on Words With Friends—I'm not nearly as hated over there...

Rich in the Stockade

Here I am in Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, when I was about ten years old. If I don't look particularly happy, there was a reason.

I have borderline traumatic memory of this trip. Amongst the authentic buildings, crafts and costumed actors, the venue also offers a traditional stockade, which guests can choose to try if they wish.

Most of you are familiar with the stockade in which your head and hands are secured in a wooden restraint (see the example below) . It was a pretty simple matter to stick my head and hands through the stockade and slip them out again.

A traditional stockade.

However, there is another stockade in which a prisoner's ankles were secured.

In my questionable wisdom, as I wandered on my own around Colonial Williamsburg on a late afternoon, I decided to try out the ankle stockade.

Somehow, I got stuck.

I was a little guy at the time, and though it seems as if anyone could slide their feet right out of the restraint, I couldn't. Perhaps, being small, my foot was at an odd angle. 

I just knew I was stuck.

I tried to reach forward and lift up the stockade, but my arms were too short. I was afraid that if I leaned forward too much, I would fall off the small bench I was sitting on and somehow break my ankles. 

At first, I just sat there and pondered my predicament. A couple of people walked by, but I pretended as if everything was fine.

This is the same ankle stockade I tried
out in Colonial Williamburg. Borrowed
from another blog.

But it was getting dark, and my parents were expecting me to meet them. When you're a kid, asking for help from strangers because of what you perceive as your own stupidity is...well...humiliating.

Ultimately, though, I had no choice. I had to gather my courage and call out to a total stranger and admit I was trapped. To make matters worse, the stranger I had to call on was a costumed actor. He kind of looked like Ben Franklin, I thought.

He stared at first, unsure what I was trying to say. Apparently, just saying, "I'm stuck" wasn't enough for ol' Ben. He stared as if I were speaking another language entirely.

I pointed at the stocks, "Could you let me out?"

It was as if he'd heard his cue. Instantly, he was in character, chattering with a Colonial English accent and skittering over to me, "Why certainly, young man! You've done your time!"

I was the only one there to see his performance. I waited patiently, but I really wanted to ask him, "is this really necessary?"

He lifted the stockade and I was free.

I mumbled a quick "thank you" and rushed off to find my parents, and leaving ol' Ben to fly a kite.