Unfair Web Reviews Are A Form Of Extortion

Have you ever had someone spread vicious rumors about you? Probably. Have you ever seen anything printed in the local paper that defames you? Probably not the latter, but you can get away with it on the internet with no problem. One version of it is nothing more than extortion.

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What happens is that some unscrupulous company (and there are several of them) puts up a review of you, your business, your product, or your reputation on the web. They let it fester for a short time and then send you a lovely email offering to help remove such horrible things from the surface of the earth. They don’t mention that they started the nonsense and hope to take some of your money to undo their damage.

This may sound insane, but I know one professional who fell victim to this whole concept. Their business actually suffered because they refused to play the extortion game. They fought back and asked people to post positive reviews on the web. I did right away and now my good review shows up over the bad one. The bad one is obviously a hit piece, it doesn’t say anything except my contact stinks.

How do you fight such things? Do like my contact did – get everyone in your business circle to write a review. Flood the internet with positives. Don’t lie for anyone, don’t coerce, don’t have your employees do it, but get the people that know the truth to write about it. Find a blogger who writes on your product and invite them to come and sample your product. Tell them you’d like a review of your business. Let them know it can be anonymously done, you don’t want to know when they are there. But get them in the door. If the extortion attempt is bogus, stand on your merits and fight!

On the other hand, sometimes the extortion attempt is legitimate. Sometimes you were a train wreck at some point and the information is valid. What can you do to fix that one? Simple – change your ways. What if it was well in the past and you’re no longer guilty of whatever the sin was. See the paragraph above. Be honest – let the person reviewing you know that you did have problems in the past but have worked hard to fix them. One of the few things that won’t fall into that category is your being a sneaky lowlife. That one is hard to fix in the public world of the internet. For that, you need to go one step further as I describe below.

Hire a Public Relations specialist. The good ones know how to go about repairing your justly deserved reputation as a skunk. Sometimes they can’t fix it – especially if you’re still a skunk. That’s the point at which you had best consider truly reforming your image from the inside out. No? You like being a swine? Then prepare to hand over several thousand dollars for that PR person to line up interviews with shills (in this case, journalists who like free stuff) and expensive planted stories. You will likely have to do something nice for a charity and then keep your mouth shut about your true motivations.

But back to the original point: isn’t it easier just to turn over a new leaf? Live that way for a year, or two, and then plead your case in the court of public opinion.

We’re lucky that our God doesn’t require that we do those things. He only requires an honest confession of our hearts. Beats the internet.

Bill Murray’s “St. Vincent” – A Review

Let’s cut to the chase: I loved the movie. If you don’t want to see a movie that portrays real life where people gamble, drink, consort with strippers, and bet on the ponies while cursing up a streak, St. Vincent is not for you. You have been warned. (Remember: I have the tender ears of a sailor. My threshold is very high.)

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Let’s start with the good stuff: the St. Vincent trailer

The stars, Bill Murray, Naomi Watts, Melissa McCarthy, and a strong supporting cast (including the children – featuring Jaeden Liberherr) all turn out great performances. The story is a good one and well written for the screen. There are more than a handful of memorable lines in the movie, and the audience seemed to respond well to the ones I enjoyed most (so it wasn’t just weird little me.)

I’m not going to tell you the story line. What I will tell you is that the movie actually has a strong moral message. I know this will upset some of more conservative brothers and sisters, but even rank sinners (which includes me) have some good points. Bill Murray’s character has them in abundance. He is a foul-mouthed, drunken boor on some levels, but a guy you’d want to know on others.

I had an emotionally hard time with parts of the movie. It reminded me, down to the house the movie is set in, of a neighbor in his final years. I loved him as a friend and a compatriot. He was my dad’s age, and he was one of those guys who probably retired too early and fell into disrepair. He had some real reasons for his final decline. Very different in many ways from the Murray character, but the similarities were abundant and touched on a few memories. It reinforced the need to be kind and considerate of people we don’t understand, or would sometimes look down on in our lives.

Compassion is a rare trait these days. I find it joyful on more than one level that a character like this brings it to the fore in my thinking. I smiled a lot during the movie. I also choked up a bit and shed a few tears at one point. Most of all, I enjoyed the movie and rejoice that there is about zero chance of a sequel – it would ruin a great stand-alone flick.

If you can tolerate the language and amoral behavior, it’s a movie you should see. Not for anyone under 16, nor for anyone who can’t stand guys like those that live in my world. I have to give it four ratings:

Five stars for fans of Bill Murray.

4.5 stars for people who can enjoy a great performance and ignore some grime.

Two stars for anyone who objects on a moral basis to any of the commandments being broken. The underlying message is good, the patina is not.

One star for the fussy among us who will complain about anything that you couldn’t do in church on Sunday.

I hope you enjoy the movie as much as I did. St. Vincent is a winner. Look for Murray to grab a little gold statue in the late winter months.

We Turn On Lights For Each Other.

Many couples stumble around darkened homes, both metaphorically, and literally. The two of them go through their days not concerned with the other unless they are side-by-side. Often that’s not enough to bring out the best in them as a couple. I am proud to say that my wife and I have been schlepping around for 30 years and we still turn on the lights for each other.

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Sometimes that light is just opening a car door. Other times it is making sure that when I leave the house at 11:30 in the morning, still full light, that I turn on the kitchen light so that she will be able to get to the alarm panel without tripping on the dog at 7:30 that evening when she gets home. Other times it is turning on the bedroom light for her before I go back down stairs to work. I hear the click of my room light behind me. I get her switch, she gets mine.

We never organized this campaign of light giving. We didn’t say, “You do this for me, and I’ll do that for you.” We fell into the pattern because we love and respect each other. We have bad days like all couples, but we’ve pretty consistently made sure that the other member of the team is priority number one in our lives. I like that in our marriage.

If I could give any counsel to others who are dating, newly married, or in a marriage that’s getting stale and runs the risk of breaking up, it would be to turn on some lights.

Take the time to make sure that when you stock the beverage drawer in your fridge you put in a couple of bottles of her favorite soda. Ensure that the licorice bag on the top of the fridge has enough to get him through the weekend. Get the extra container of handy-wipes for her because she’s got that art project this weekend and goes through a whole bunch of them. You get the idea: think of the other before yourself.

We, my wife and I, try to do this for others as well. I truly enjoy chatting with the homeless guy who stands on the corner as I make my way to church on Sunday. Last week I had a gift card for McDonalds for him, and a spare hashbrown from my breakfast. He needed that hot food way more than I did. The gift card? I have a couple in the car at all times for people in need. Sometimes they are hungry, sometimes sad, sometimes just in need of a kind gesture. The smile I got on Sunday, and the wish that I would have a great morning at “God’s House,” was payment for all that I’d ever done in this realm. I touched another and lived my Christian values in that moment.

It’s not that hard to live outside yourself and nurture others. I’ve even done it when I was pretty much flat broke. It’s a good story, and it’s short. It was Christmas and I didn’t have any money to buy stuff for Toys For Tots. So I went to the warehouse to unload trucks for them as my contribution. One thing led to another and I became their Santa. I paid my mortgage off years early with some of the money I made as a professional Santa. But if I’d never done the right thing and gone to unload trucks that December morning, I wouldn’t have had the blessing of being Santa today.

He does bless us. We just have to be smart enough to open the windows and let the blessings in to our lives. Turning on a light or two along the way doesn’t hurt, either.

Assault On Saint Agnes Update

In order to follow the “tortured author” script, I’m supposed to proclaim something here about the deep anguish I’ve been experiencing for the last month. Instead, I’m going to update you on the novel, Assault on Saint Agnes, and where we are in our publishing journey.

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Let’s cut to the chase: the book will not be published in 20 days as originally scheduled. Why? That’s a good news, bad news issue in my life, mainly good.

I went to the ACFW conference in September with exactly zero cares in the world. I wasn’t pitching anything except my voice for audio books, and I was bereft of even a single one-sheet. It was lovely. Stress free. Wonderful. The night before it all began I met with my agent for dinner and a marketing meeting on how to launch Assault on Saint Agnes in November.

We schemed, nibbled, chatted, snapped a picture or two, and had a pretty good idea of where it was all going by the time we called it a night. We agreed to have lunch the next day so that I could rescue her if she needed some time without having to think too hard. (Yes, I’m strictly eye-candy, but I can live with that most days.)

The next morning I texted her from my class and set up lunch. Slight change, need to meet with a publisher. Me? Yes. They want to meet you, pitched the book to them this morning.

Eh, I’m dressed like me – you know what that’s like. If not, look at the right side of the blog and the margin picture. Not all that classy most days. But she wants me to show anyway. It worked out fine. The publisher was a delightful person who wanted details on the book, asked questions about how flexible I was in preparing it for other English-speaking markets, and how long until the sequel can be written?

After lunch I see her in the hallway between engagements. Another publisher would like to see the full manuscript. This is a major publisher who would do amazing things. This leaves me, exactly 14 hours after I launched the publicity campaign on this blog for independent publishing, with two possible buyers for the book.

I am not going to whine. I am blessed to have this opportunity. I am blessed to have an agent that keeps pitching for me even when I’m sitting on my backside. I also have a lot of work to do to ready that book for the next level. My agent, whom I love dearly, opened a can of – shall we call it enthusiastic fervor? – on me and let me know there was work to be done to make this a smash.

After a few years of reading, reworking, and thinking about this book almost every day, I wasn’t overjoyed to hear that my little darling needed work. Didn’t she, and everyone else, know it had won prize money! Accolades! Yeah, yeah, but it could be better. And that’s what I’m doing right now.

I am still pursuing the independent publishing line in the event that these two publishers pass on the work. I finished the cover changes/finalizing issues with the artist on Monday. I will have a copy of it to show you this next week. It is spectacular. I will have the book revised shortly. (Turns out that other nations/translations prefer a few different things than American audiences. I can change things so that both will be happy and not lose the story.) And I will forge ahead on other books I am writing.

I delayed spilling the beans until I was more settled on how I viewed the whole situation. But the work is moving forward and I didn’t want anyone to be waiting patiently for the launch date and hear nothing. After all, Christmas is coming and you have books to buy! I’ll continue to write reviews, post pictures of Stormy, and flash fiction. (I got more Twitter followers out of the Santa Ebola story than I could have imagined.)

In the meantime, please pray for me, the book, and my wife who has to listen to the “bam-bam-bam” of my head hitting the desk as I do revision #5,742 on the book. We all can use a little prayer.

Secret Santa: Not For The Kids.

As many of you know, I spend way too much time thinking about horrible things. That’s what makes me worth reading. Today I wish to share some flash fiction with you. I’m sitting down to write it in one shot of under one hour (including editing.) I hope you enjoy it, but do not read it to your children. Before you accuse me of black helicopter issues, read the news. And be honest with yourself: it could happen, couldn’t it?

Besides, after two weeks of romance novel reviews, I needed this to get my man card back.

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Secret Santa: No elves or happy endings.

Carl Baker was one of 74 professional Santa’s who attended the midway dinner at the steakhouse just outside Chicago on December First. He was tickled to be there in civilian clothers and not his Santa suit. The men sat swapping stories with friends and reviewing the “Santa Season” at it’s half-way point. They needed the break on this Sunday night to recharge and face the next three weeks of sitting in that chair snapping photos. Between them, they were the most popular Santas in Chicagoland, controlling the biggest malls and private venues. Carl was a widower, and he missed his wife terribly. More than once during the dinner he drifted off into a world where she sat next to him, holding his hand and smiling at his antics. The final time he was interrupted by a clanging of silverware on water glasses.

Carl stood up and said, “Gentlemen, I can never tell us apart in those group photos. This year I have provided bright masks with a reindeer nose that each of us should wear for the picture. That way, I won’t be the only one who can’t tell who is whom. My lovely assistant, Melkania, will give you one as we enter the lobby to take the picture. Please play along and have fun!”

Each of the men smilingly took the mask from the young girl and put it on as they lined up for the picture. What they didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that Melkania had her cousin Nancy staying at her apartment for the last three weeks. That cousin was supposed to come and take pictures tonight but was too sick to make it to the restaurant. Instead she’d helped assemble the masks for Melkania that afternoon so that she could get the camera gear ready.

The masks were inexpensive, kind of rough, and the bulbous red nose was plenty big enough to put over the wearers own nose. This would be the lynchpin for the explosion of the Ebola virus in Chicago. Each of those noses had been moistened with her saliva so that Nancy could make it fit through the rubber edges of the mask. Nancy had become symptomatic earlier that day but was not yet so sick as to require medical treatment.

Pictures taken, most of the masks were put in coat pockets as keepsakes. Some were given to friends and grand children as a gag gift. All of the Santas carried away a very tiny Shepard’s crook in their nasal cavities.

For the next three weeks the men who’d attended that party grew full of the little virus. Some were concerned when the first few deaths took place in Chicago from Ebola. But the victims were confined to a neighborhood near Northwestern University and they didn’t recognize any of the names. Nancy and Melkania were never mentioned in the press, as the forged documents on them held different names. Both passed away at a small military hospital in Wisconsin where the outbreak was being handled.

Each day thousands of children sat on the laps of Santa all across Chicagoland. On the 22nd of December the first Santa called in sick at an outlying mall. His replacement hadn’t attended the dinner earlier in the month so he wasn’t exposed. But he did notice that the camera girl and some of the elves looked a bit rugged. Santa had taken picture of each of them wearing the reindeer nose the morning following the party. As the day went by, most of them went home sick as well. The next day some of the people in the food court were very ill, from the same rubber nose, and the mall was quarantined. It wasn’t the only mall: the authorities had very quietly put everyone in several major malls on buses for a camp where they could ride out the incubation period. Families, high-school kids, armored car couriers. If you were in the mall you went. Including Santa.

But the damage was done. Thousands of children from all over the area had cuddled with various Santas for that prized annual photo. They brought the virus with them to their daycare centers, schools, families, and to other parts of the country as they flew to grand parents homes for the holiday.

On December 25th, shortly before midnight, Carl Baker died, alone, in his bathtub. He was Patient 3 and the true primary vector. It was his final sleigh ride.

He finally rejoined his wife.