Scientific Method Pertaining to Book Sales.

considering…

Not a lot of people buy books from people they don't know.

and …

I don't know a lot of people.

therefore…

I'm not selling many books.

When my first book was published, I thought I would be on Oprah, and everybody would absolutely HAVE to have Rescuing Providence. Then, I found out that 90% of books sold are written by about 25 authors, and I am not one of them. Most books published sell less than 500 copies. Rescuing Providence is well over 2000 at this moment, and the Kindle version is doing quite well. Therefore, after letting the air out of my head, I have concluded that for a Firefighter in Providence who doesn't know a lot of people, I ain't doing too bad!

Responding has been available for a little less than two months now, and has sold about 300 copies. Considering about 100 went to friends and family, (much appreciated!) and another 100 to aquaintances, either on-line or casual friends, (also much appreciated!)100 people who I don't even know bought my second book. That's 100 people who forked over $22.50 plus shipping and handling to read my story. Plus, all of the folks I don't know who bought, or read Rescuing Providence.

And I had the balls to be dissapointed.

More Scientific Method Pertaining to Book Sales.

considering…

There are millions of things to read for free.

and…

Somebody I do not know is reading something that I wrote, probably right now.

therefore…

I am a one lucky guy.

Thanks for reading.

Hope to see you Sunday.

http://rescuingprovidence.com/2012/01/good-coffee-good-books/

She lived in a third floor apartment, exterior cement stairs led to her steel door that was secured with a lock and a dead bolt. Neighbors saw her earlier, standing on a balcony with her two year old daughter. At seven o'clock at night, the two year old girl's father, who lived forty miles away received a phone call from his ex, telling him goodbye.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, Engines 2, 12, 7, Ladder 7 and 3, Special Hazards and Battalion 3 were dispatched to a Still Box on Chatham Street, occupied apartment fire. I was in the tool seat, behind the officer in a four man company. Arthur was driving , Kenny had the pipe, Captain Kozak in charge.

We arrived on scene and reported a smoke condition. Fire was visible on the third floor, behind a secured window, the smell and feel of smoke growing heavier the closer we got. Arthur spotted the engine perfectly and got ready to pump, Kenny climbed onto the rear step of Engine 2, grabbed an 1 3/4 line with a Task Force tip, loaded a length of line on his shoulder and followed the Captain up the stairs. I shouldered about thirty feet of line and then flaked the rest as I caught up with the Captain and Kenny.

Using his Haligan tool, Captain Kozak forced the secured door and we made our way in. Neighbors had gathered, screaming there was a woman and infant inside, Flames rolled toward us, apparently originating in a rear bedroom, followed the ceiling and filled the apartment with heat. We crawled forward.

"Charge Engine 2's line," said the Captain, and I felt the line give a little hitch, and a lifetime of seconds later, as heated smoke drove us closer to the floor felt it fill, and so did Kenny, and he opened the gate, and he hit the fire just as it was about to overtake us.

Instantly the hallway was gone. Nothing but black in front of my mask. Kenny, two feet in front of me-gone. The Captain, ahead of us-gone. I heard a crash, and felt the heat let up a little and figured Ladder 7 had the roof. We pushed forward, hit some fire on the way, fogged the hallway, took a right into the fire's room of origin and put the rest out. The Captain appeared through the smoke, carrying a woman in his arms, and got her out of the building. More companies arrived, we did primary, and secondary searches of the two bedroom apartment but never found the baby.

She was gone, at a friends house. He mother dropped her off, went home, set a mattress of fire in the baby's bedroom then locked herself into her room, called her ex, said goodbye and prepared to die. She didn't die, she was carried out of her death trap by Captain Kozak while we put the fire out. I saw her a few years later, same apartment, but clean and sober, and she had her baby back. Both seemed to be doing well.

The city gave us medals. Meritorious Action, First Class. It looks good on my dress blues.

At the time I thought the medal kind of silly, I was simply doing the job I loved. Now, some twenty years later, I'm glad they did, life and careers go by in a blink, it's nice to have something solid to hold on to, and remember people and events through it.

Local author Michael Morse at The Coffee Grinder, 961 Namquid Dr

Tel: 401-463-3300 Sunday, January 29, 2012 from 12-2.

A different world exists ten minutes from your door. Find out what really happens in Providence from somebody who spent twenty years in the homes and on the streets of Rhode Island’s Capitol City!

Responding, by Michael Morse   $22.50

“Responding” is a fine, skillfully paced second book that offers more fascinating pieces of life in the city, of the tragedy and the brutality and the small rituals that order the time between calls at the firehouse.   Bob Kerr, Providence Journal

Rescuing Providence, by Michael Morse   $20.00

“Rescuing Providence, a new book by Providence firefighter Michael Morse, is an interesting look at the Providence they don’t put in the travel brochures, all told in a very readable, effective, descriptive style.” Bill Reynolds, Providence Journal

Alone with his thoughts most of the time, he sits in his room and doesn't make much of a fuss. The staff lets him be, figures he is content. There are plenty of other patients to care for in the nursing home, ladies mostly, older men are the minority. He gets visitors, not often, but more than some of the people who spend their last days here.

He was too young for the big one, but served in the Army in Korea, even got a few medals. Doesn't talk much about those years, ancient history. Raised a family, worked two jobs, held a position of authority then, at work and at home. He was respected in the community, everybody knew him, couldn't buy a coffee at the local diner, he had lots of friends.

Life was hard, but good, bills were paid, a vacation now and then, watched his children grow from babies, to students, to graduates then parents. But even the grandchildren grew up, and the once vitally important man started to lose his position, and the world sped past him. Then his wife, the woman he spent his life with got sick, and he wasn't able to take care of her, and they put her in a nursing home, where she died one night, alone in a hospital bed while he slept peacefully in the bed they had shared for fifty years.

He's alone now, the kids call now and then, grandkids less so, but that will change he figures, once they get a little older. They have lives of their own now, and their own legacy to fulfill.

Where did it all go, he wonders as the man half his age takes his blood pressure, asks the usual questions and gives him a nitro.

"Put it under your tounge, don't chew," the young man says, then puts the leads on his chest, exposing a once powerful frame, a build he used to be proud of, but even male vanity has fled the scene, and he cares not that the EMT has to lift his fatty breast tissue to attach the electrodes.

 The EMT reads the EKG. His expression does not change.

"Did the nitro help the pain," he asks, and the old man grins.

"My heart feels better," the old man says. "Less pressure. But the pain won't end until it stops beating."

"Rescue 1 to Fire Alarm, time on scene?"

"0645 hrs., Rescue 1."

"Roger, cancel Engine 10, send a Police Sergeant and notify the Medical Examiner."

"Roger that, at 0652."

Repeat after me: "My job is lucky to have me."

Do not ever say: "I'm lucky to have a job."

People who say they are lucky to have a job have either been brainwashed and beaten down by the present state of the economy, and manipulated by the near mythical "Job Creators" into actually believing that their job, their means of survival, their contribution to society and the very essence of self worth is a product of luck. Their uncertainty about the future, and anxiety about their ability to find work, and somebody to work for fuels the machinations that lead to a culture's decay. A population beholden to people who control the wealth and fuel industry and commerce is doomed.

 "My job is lucky to have me."

There is no need to begin a shift bowed to powers beyond our control. The economy is a complicated, fluctuating thing, fed by us, the people who make it work. Without us, it dies. As it stands now, people are depressed, tired and uncertain. Their sense of value to themselves, their families and their community is under constant attack. The economy, or rather those adept at manipulating it feed off of that uncertainty, and profit from it, and wear a man down until he utters those words, "I'm lucky to have a job."

"My job is lucky to have me."

Say it. Believe it. Make it true. Be on time, be prepared, learn everything possible about whatever it is you do; be a great cook, clean as good as you can, write well, teach well, drive well, and be well. Some people are actually fortunate to love what they do, most of us are not. That is no reason to not excel at work, and no reason to go through your days content to just get by, put in your time, cash your check on Friday and tell yourself you are lucky to have a job.

"My job is lucky to have me."

Luck does not exist. Luck is a myth. Work is real, and good work a valuable commodity. This economy is not going to right itself. Without us, the people who power it being healthy,  productive and confident in our abilities and worth mediocrity will rule. We will be a country full of mediocre people doing mediocre things for mediocre wages as the world generations of hard working, productive people have built crumbles into a pile of mediocre things that nobody wants.

"My job is lucky to have me."

The power of one person who believes in himself cannot be understated. We can't all own the companies that employ us. Everybody can't be the boss. Most of have to do the work that keeps everything going. Every person who contributes is vital. So stop telling yourself that you are lucky to have a job, and start believing that your job, or the job you seek is lucky to have you.

Save the Date!

Sunday, January 29, 2012 from 12-2 PM at The Coffee Grinder Inc, 961 Namquid Dr, Warwick, RI. Tel: 401-463-3300.

I'll be selling and signing my two books on that day, so stop in, say hello, have a coffee and a bagel or muffin and buy a book! You will be glad you did, and so will I!

http://www.paladin-press.com/product/Rescuing_Providence/Action_Careers

The brave men and women who make up our nation's EMS system willingly risk their lives every day to save people they don't know and often cannot communicate with. See for yourself how difficult, frustrating and at times heartbreaking this job can be, as lives are lost, scarce medical resources squandered, futures altered, and hope abandoned and then reborn. Despite this, most rescue workers cannot imagine doing anything else. For them, every day is different, every patient is unique and they know with certainty that they make a difference in people's lives. And, as Lieutenant Morse so eloquently states, sometimes it is the rescuers whose lives are saved by the job they do.

 $22.00

http://www.emergencystuff.com/9781887321143.html

I always thought that my job,or better yet-a day of my job, would make a great book. I had all of the ingredients for a good story, some crazy characters, life and death situations,  a ticking clock to add suspense, a pace that goes from auto-pilot to full throttle when you least expect it, and most importantly, a beginning, a middle, and an end.

What seems a lifetime ago I decided to go ahead with my plan to write the Great American Novel. On the way to work one random day I absorbed my surroundings a little more than usual, and made notes in a little pad that I bought just for that purpose. At the station I tried to remember conversations, and wrote remarks made, jokes told and anything else that caught my interest in my notebook. On calls, after the smoke had cleared, sometimes literally, I would get back to the pad and make more notes. When I called home, again I wrote down little nuances of my conversations with Cheryl, and added some thoughts and descriptions of our life together.

The shift went on for thirty-four hours, and those notes became Rescuing Providence, which was published in 2007 by Paladin Press. But the story did not end there, it was only half way through. The next day, I started a thirty-eight hour tour, and continued to write down everything that happened during that time. Three years later I finished putting those notes into book form, and those notes became Responding, published this week by Emergency Publishing.

$22.50

http://rescuingprovidence.com/2011/07/the-ems/

From the Executive Office of The EMS
 

Directive 1-A

Please post in a conspicuous place

Effective immediately:

There will be an Emergency room, and somewhere else, somewhere nearby,  a REAL EMERGENCY room

Field Units will evaluate patients and transport to the appropriate facility

There will be no Entertainment Weekly, People, or Star magazines permitted in The Emergency Room

Posted in The Emergency Room will be an updated list of local clinics, Primary Care Doctors and detailed directions on how to apply band-aids

People waiting in the Emergency Room will be shown REAL Emergencies while they wait

The Jerry Springer Show or similar entertainment will be banned from The Emergency Room monitors

Emergency! re-runs wil be permitted

The Emergency Room will have a mandatory five hour wait, whether it is needed or not.

The REAL Emergency Room will  have no wait at all

People who call 911 for rides to The Emergency Room and do not need The REAL Emergency Room must pay in advance for the ride

The REAL Emergency room will be staffed by people rotating from the Emergency Room

Persons who "might be" having an emergency will be allowed five (5) mulligans, after which they will be directed directly to The Emergency Room for treatment

A complimentary buffet will be served after each shift for both The Emergency Room, and The REAL Emergency Room staff.

Open bar  will be included with proper ID

That is all, carry on and stay safe…

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"State your name for the record…"

I forget most of the rest. I forget a lot of things, apparently. A letter arrived by carrier to my home one day, a subpoena, hand delivered by an officer of the court. A few weeks went by, the day of the deposition arrived and I showed up, as ordered.

"You were first on scene at a fatal motor vehicle accident on Route 95 on December 9, 2007, do you recall the event?"

"Yes, I do." I'll never forget it.

"Can you tell the attorneys exactly what you saw when you arrived on scene at," a shuffling of papers, "1134 hrs.?"

"A van was on its side, broken glass, major damage. We drove past the vehicle and stopped in front of it. When I got out of the rescue I saw a childs safety seat twenty feet away from the vehicle. I saw an infant in the seat, and the infant appeared dead."

"Lieutenant, you state that you drove past the damaged vehicle is that correct?"

"Yes." I remember it vividly.

Glances between the assembled lawyers, and clerks, the stenographer stayed on task. Pens on paper, then silence.

"Continue."

"I approached the seat and found an unresponsive infant. Another rescue arrived on scene and I handed the seat off to them and continued to assess the accident scene."

"Did you initiate any life saving efforts?"

"No."

"Can you tell us why?"

"The other rescue arrived on scene within seconds and i needed to size up the scene."

"Continue."

"I looked into the van and saw two more victims. One appeared dead, the other still breathing. By now more help had arrived, a chief officer, an engine company and a special hazards unit."

The deposition continued. I told the story exactly as I remembered it, each detail clear in my mind. The incident happened years ago, but the memories from that day are embedded into my subconscious, and easily pulled to the front of my mind when called upon.

"Any more questions?"

"No."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. We have footage from the scene and would appreciate it if you could identify some personnel, we need to get more information before the case begins."

"I'd be glad to."

A TV monitor turned on, and news footage from the incident began. My rescue was there, right behind the wreckage. I never drove past it. I also learned that the child seat was never thrown from the vehicle, though I vividly recall seeing it twenty feet away from the wreckage. Nothing was as I "vividly" remembered it. Nothing. It was as if a reenactment team did a poor job of reconstructing the incident. Actually, it was my own mind that did a poor job of recreating the incident.

I have no idea how many other things that I vividly remember are actually fabrications. The mind is a strange place, bearing witness to things better left unseen must scramble things up more than I thought.

"I wish you had shown me the footage before the questions."

"Thank you for your time, Lieutenant."

And that was the end of the deposition. I doubt if they call me back.

It matters not who calls us, what matters is their condition upon our arrival, nothing else. I have seen people of many colors, religions and political beliefs caring for and being cared for by each other, and little else makes me more proud to live in a day and age where predjudices are set aside, and healing is allowed to happen. The patients, the medics, we all have one thing in common, we are human beings.

"All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence." Martin Luther King, Jr.