Spamalot (Not the Musical)
I’m thinking about venturing into a career as a stand-up comic.
I already have a enough material for a routine full of laugh-out-loud absurdity, delivered to me in the form of dozens of spam emails that arrive in my inbox every month, specifically, the ones that offer me fame and fortune as a best-selling author. All for a handsome fee, of course.
I could riff on every one of their offers, like the one from “Elena” that promises Category optimization | Review velocity strategy | Long-term discoverability.” Wow, she’s really got her corp-speak language down!
*Chloe” tells me that my readers are in the “wellness and niche communities,” whatever that means. “Lewis,” from the Author Credibility Society, says he’s “creating meaningful conversations in my field.” And “Tim,” from The Philosophical Zurich Club, “an international literary community,” is deeply moved by my writing.
Their real names should be something like A.I. Scam or Chat-Gee P. Tee.
In my new act, I could deliver zingers about the idiots who, after scraping tidbits from my website and other urls where my author info resides, still get it wrong. Yes, “Rachel,” I did once work at a prestigious film organization, but it was not the American Academy of Dramatic Arts.
Next comes one of my favorites so far, from “Samuel, a literary advisor at QuantumCreative.digital.”
Hi Gay,
I came across your Facebook author page and I have to say — a feature in D Magazine, an author interview, a series with a title as sharp as Sorry Knot Sorry — this is an author with genuine credibility and a clear voice. The work you have done to build visibility in the Dallas literary community is evident and impressive.”
I agree that my esteemed colleague, Lois Winston (the actual author of a book with that clever title), has genuine, award-winning credibility. However, I am the one who earned that national literary award for a series of articles I did for D Magazine in Dallas, back when I was its managing editor.
All of this seemingly unceasing, unscrupulous, and pitiful effort to scam unsuspecting authors is big a waste of time, especially my time, when I could be working on my next book instead of having to daily flush this spam down the toilet. Anyone with a working idea of how to eliminate the constant barrage, please let me know. There may even be a free book in it for you.
And, speaking of free books…
This June is the time for the Stiletto Gang Annual Summer Book Bonanza, when lucky readers can win free e-books from our participating authors. First Prize winner receives one book from each of us. Two runners-up will get 3 books by the Stiletto authors of their choosing. Just sign up on our homepage, and in July, you could be a winner!
In the meantime, if you know any of the aforesaid e-scammers personally, please kick ’em un the shins for me.
Thanks!
Read more about this award-winning author at GayYellen.com…
… and remember to sign up for your chance to sample some of our books. Winners announced next month, Happy Reading!



What did he know? I remained steadfast in my belief I’d chosen the right antagonist for my story. Yet as my page count increased, reality intruded on my pipedream. I was a brand-new author; Donald Maass was an expert. I remember the precise moment I flipped the script and changed my killer’s identity. It was near the end of the book. To this day, I credit Donald Maass’s advice. Thanks to him Deadly Recall became a more cohesive and suspenseful story.

Deadly Recall while you’re at it.” I’ll never forget when BelleBooks sent me an offer letter for both books. I had huge respect for Debra Dixon and Deborah Smith, both legends in publishing, and decided to accept. As a courtesy I wrote the New York editor with whom I’d submitted Walk Away Joe. All my rejection bruises seemed to fade when she wrote back, “Congratulations. This is our loss. I love Melanie and Joe.” FYI, Melanie and Joe are characters from the WAJ manuscript that BelleBooks/Bell Bridge Books subsequently renamed The Past Came Hunting.



,” a display in honor of the 250th anniversary of the United States of America. The invitation to the opening of the exhibit had me wondering where they’d be parking a Boeing 737 in the museum’s urban setting.
I wished I was allowed more time to read the difficult script and each signature, and especially, to ponder those last minute, hand-written edits on what became the final drafts.
In adding their names to the Declaration of Independence in 1776, these colonial representatives still had to unite and then muster the wherewithal to engage in a long, costly war. A peace treaty with Britain was not signed until 1783.
The final draft of the U.S. Constitution was not ratified until 1783, and at the actual signing, representatives from only eleven the thirteen new states were present.
Read more about this award-winning author at 




Here comes the time to plant seeds, stroll through the woods, or simply bask in the sun.
calls to mind the encouraging message in Leonard Cohen’s beautiful Anthem which shares the wisdom that—even when life feels like there’s a crack in everything—remember this: it’s how the light gets in.


In my favorite new twist, even a well-respected institutions like the Museum of Natural Science is offering a chance to dedicate a live Madagascar hissing cockroach in honor of your favorite person.

After venting my frustration over a personal relationship, an older and wiser woman of few words, responded, “When you argue with a fool, there are two fools arguing.” She saved me from allowing an untenable situation to ruin my life. It’s been a lesson I’ve returned to time and again.
“Why not resolve to do things that you really secretly want to do,” he asks, like “eat some chocolate every day?” Wise man.
One Friday morning in L.A., a friend called me at work to ask if I could fill in for a journalist who was scheduled to cover the opening of a new tennis camp in Lake Tahoe over the weekend. Apparently, the designated reporter fell ill at the last minute, and the magazine was desperate to find a replacement.




In my continued slog through what remains from my mother’s storage unit, I came across a boxful of her college yearbooks, plus one from her high school, and one from my father’s high school, too. Together, they weighed fifteen pounds, and were large enough to overwhelm my already over-burdened bookshelves. So I wondered…
I pored over the pages of Mom’s books, looking for her familiar young face and checking out her class activities. Most of them were familiar to me: French club, a campus play or two, a modeling job, a social club, etc.
I finally decided to call our city library to ask if they had any interest in old school yearbooks. Yes, they replied, but only if they didn’t already have them in their collection. So I took them there, and just as I was about to hand them over, I had a last minute urge to check them again.
He was a Dad who shared his love of the sport with this lucky little girl. He taught me the rules of the game, and how to throw and catch and bat. Took me to local community games, where he coached a local team. And he was among the first to buy season tickets when our town got a pro baseball franchise.