Local markets give Internet competition

March 14, 2009
11:00 P.M.
Somerset, PA
By Don Sikes | dons@dorymaust.com

Not everyone has a computer, and believe it or not, not every town has a bookstore. Following a write-up in Somerset, Pennsylvania’s “Daily American” newspaper about “Blood Stained: When No One Comes Looking” on March 3, 2009 which cited the only means of purchasing author Dory Maust’s books was via online bookstores, there was a local ruckus. It’s simply not true. Mrs. Maust’s books are also available through all major bookstores and can be ordered through them if they are out of stock.

However, it was true for Somerset; aside from a few used traders and a Christian bookstore, there is an absence of B. Dalton, Barnes and Noble, Borders or any privately owned brick-and-mortars selling unused books. After receiving a slew of “How-do-I-buy-around-here?” emails following that article, the Maust camp took action. Most people asking were uncomfortable buying online or the thought of driving thirty miles to Johnstown was unnerving. The real solution was bridged by people who had read the newspaper but were without computers and ventured into Steinkirchner’s Listie Economy Store asking its owners for information.

Mr. and Mrs. Maust spent a harrowing day canvassing ambiguous territory: local markets. As of today Steinkirchner’s Listie Economy Store is stocked with not only autographed copies of “Blood Stained” but also all of Mrs. Maust’s other titles. Other local residents were eager to express their frustration over forced book and CD Internet sales due to the absence of book and music stores in Somerset. They are now fervent advocates on Mrs. Maust’s behalf.

It doesn’t end there; this is not just in Somerset, Pennsylvania. A slow but growing interest in this solution is spreading among the most unsuspecting markets nationwide: little town outlets. Small business owners want big products, particularly in this economy. If major grocery store chains can pick up CD’s, books and magazines, why can’t Mom-and-Pop’s? They can.

Quote:

“It was a long day; I felt like we were campaigning,” said Dory Maust. “But they asked and we delivered; I feel really good about that. Everyone seems to be forgetting about the small businesses in the Stimulus Bill. All you hear about are big lenders and the automobile industry. Plus, I met a lot of really great people today.”

A special notice for Somerset, Pennsylvania readers has been posted on Mrs. Maust’s website: www.dorymaust.com

Nocturna

Quotes, Objectives and Rambling

Great quotes by and about writers:

Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.

Benjamin Franklin

Write without pay until somebody offers to pay you. If nobody offers within three years, sawing wood is what you were intended for.

Mark Twain

Writing books is the closest men ever come to childbearing.

Norman Mailer

The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it.

Ernest Hemingway

The trouble with young writers is that they are all in their sixties.

W. Somerset Maugham

The greatest part of a writer's time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.

Samuel Johnson

You must often make erasures if you mean to write what is worthy of being read a second time; and don't labor for the admiration of the crowd, but be content with a few choice readers.

Horace (BC 65-8) Latin lyric poet.

Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.

W. H. Auden

Writing is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.

Winston Churchill

I used to really envy you for being a writer – until I saw what you had to go through.

Cindy Evans, a proof reader on Blood Stained.



Well I made it within three years (Thank you, Mr. Twain); writing is worse than childbirth (But you’re forgiven for being a man with nothing to compare that to, Mr. Mailer); the chosen few are why I love my proof readers (Thank you, Horace); I’ve sure learned how to fling! (Thank you, Mr. Churchill) – And I still don’t know how to reply to Cindy. A “Thank you” for acknowledging masochism seems absurd. (Insert smiley here)

All of the great writers, be it of prose, poetry or music, I have known or studied were/are neurotic. Those who claim their do-do doesn’t stink are one of two things: A liar or a poor talent. I have begun reading some Best Sellers without the inclination to finish, and I have pulled a lot of my inspiration from unknowns. It’s insane how many gifted artists lie sleeping beneath a blanket of self doubt. It is also sheer madness how much money is poured into promoting so-so work.

Then there are the True Greats, writers who have the Big Daddy gift that pulls readers into their world for a breathlessly intoxicating visit, only to leave completely changed. Ernest Hemingway said we all are apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master; I, for one, am bold enough to disagree. The fine arts may be subjective for critics, but for artisans it is often completely abstract and objective. The idea of a flying horse, a cat who speaks human, a fish that lives on land or a little boy slaying a whale (we all know that one!) can and does live through imagination.

In this world of reality television shows, true crime buffs and historians on soap boxes, fantasy is a freedom so many of us are forgetting.

My book Interference keeps up with the spirit world but probes deeper than Whispers did into theological debate and structure. That’s due out sometime this spring or summer. The book I am co-writing with Daniel Kelly is technically written as fiction but based on a lot of true events. That’s my last dance with reality for awhile. When that’s finished I am forging ahead with Nocturna, a crazy – no insane – depiction of a town that sleeps all day and lives at night with psychological booby traps reminiscent of Twin Peaks meets The Walton’s.

Ernest Hemingway is often cited as writing in the manner with which he talked. I, on the other hand, write in the manner with which I think, and believe you me, sometimes that’s just completely bizarre.

Maybe that’s why I get along so well with horror writers…

New to this forum.

Today is my first day on Blogger.com. It feels like I've been doing this forever on MySpace, but I decided to broaden the circle somewhat. So if my history seems a little slim at this point that's why.

At any rate, I listed the "Gift of Gab" as one of my stronger points, so I am going to dedicate a fair amount of time to this in the future.

Dory

Regarding "Blood Stained: When No One Comes Looking"

One observation I would like to point out, which is in the book but worded with the psychiatric community in mind rather than the layman: Murder by disassociation. In the mere month that Blood Stained has been available to the public, there’s been an increasing interest in his story, which is good. What gives me pause, however, is the eagerness of many who have written about or studied serial killers to lump-sum David into one typical profile.

It is important to remember when categorizing for profession, fascination or one’s own safety that most spree or serial killers view their victims as “things”. Bundy, Gacy, Gein, the Zodiac, the Boston Strangler, the Green River Killer…the list goes on and on…obsessed over “things” reminiscent of “someone” they hated. This is another reason that, with the exception of Gein, their body counts were so high. Like a soldier in war fending off the enemy, they were not killing people; they were killing things.

David murdered people, not things. His effort to develop relationships, often longstanding ones, denotes a significant difference in pathology from these other psychopaths and sociopaths. His love for who they were to him in the moment, not necessarily what they represented, was defined by great remorse after they were dead.

Herein lays the great debate about David Maust: Was he or was he not your garden variety psychopath? No, he was an anomaly. There will be many who disagree, be it from stubbornness or sheer ignorance of what the term psychopath genuinely means, but if one is to apply labels, it is my belief that one must understand the label. Psychopath does not mean crazy, insane, evil, dangerous or cruel; however, a psychopath may carry one or all of those traits. Its fundamental foundation lies on depravity and lack of remorse.

If it is difficult for society to accept that a serial killer may have remorse, then we are, as a whole, in a regression that will only hinder prevention and aide in more tragedy. I receive emails almost daily from readers who call David an animal rotting in Hell or who, on the flip side, show compassion for his childhood traumas. I’ve yet to receive one that excuses murder or his actions as an adult. That’s a positive, as there is a large difference between killing and murdering which is supported by the governing mitigation of circumstance. A soldier kills the thing called enemy; a serial killer murders the thing called revenge; David murdered people called “loved ones”.

This, without a doubt, is offensive to the families and friends of David’s victims. To assume, as bold in classification as it is, that David actually cared for those he eradicated from mortal life, would be reprehensible for me to accept should I be in their shoes. It is a statement not meant to rally forgiveness for David or his motives; rather, it is to raise understanding and awareness.

Your children, and mine, may be the target of a psychopath and disappear without notice by the hands of a stranger. Or they may be in a relationship which, on the surface, seems void of danger. David’s love and remorse did not eliminate a description of lethal. To that end, it is my earnest and unyielding goal to broaden understanding. To me the Gacy’s and Bundy’s of the world are boring; their profiles are entirely predicable and passé. My greatest fear for our children stems from the anomalies like David Edward Maust.

Blood Stained was written in part to provide some closure for those willing to accept it. There was never a trial for the three murders in Hammond; there was a plea bargain. And then he died by his own hands. Perhaps the biggest gift he felt he ever gave to society was his suicide. To argue prosecution and defense at this point is a waste of time and energy. He was guilty; those murdered will not be coming back to mortality; those who survived deserve the opportunity to move on.

In parting, I’m compelled to deliver this message: Despite any efforts, either large or small, to put David on trial postmortem, I will not be privy. It’s over. Having said that I will, as always, be open to discussion on how it happened, why it happened and how to prevent it from happening again.

Sincerely,

Dory Maust