Wading through the sea of print-on-demand titles, one overpriced paperback at a time—and giving you the buried treasure
It's a gem. I hadn't really paid much attention to the concept of print on demand. Sure, I noticed it on the Amazon sites but I didn't bother to find out anything about it. Now I don't have to make the effort. Pod-dy Mouth not only explains the phenomenon but reviews the works as well.
There's a temptation to think they're all stinkers. And many of them are more on the nose than a week-old whale carcase. But there are some winners too.
Of course, I'm more interested in the Bulwer-Lytton wannabes. Pod-dy Mouth has gathered together some of the worst opening lines. Here's a small sample. For the rest—and some fascinating insights into the world of print on demand—visit the web site. You know it makes sense.
Michael Hierhoff III was born on October 17, 1972, the son of Samuel Hierhoff and Maria Hierhoff, of the Stamford Hierhoffs. Michael's grandfather, Elijah Hierhoff, came to America from Austria, where Miriam and Claus Hierhoff raised their many children. Ruth Hierhoff was . . .
The rain, wet, cold, misty and murky, fell on our saturated, pruned skin, had us running the cold, hard pavement with such animated and excited fury, that we fell in laughter when we returned to the warm, dry fire.
Everyday [sic] was like Monday for Trudy Goldman, except Tuesday, which always felt like Tuesday to her. I don't know, you'd have to ask her why. But Monday, different story. She preferred Fridays over any day of the week, which was strange since it felt like Monday. To her, I mean.
"Is that blood?" I thought. I ran to the phone to call my friend, Jack Walney, at the local FBI office. Turns out he was out, working another case. What are the odds of that? So I called my contact at the Houston Police Department, and he was out on a case, too. Had I stumbled onto something? Was this a conspiracy unfolding?!