AVOID SCAM VANITY BOOK PUBLISHER CALLED OLYMPIA details here

Basically i sent them a book file of short stories and poetry on varied topix. This was after looking for various publishers to send new work to. I sent work to other places too. This publisher has a good website with books and info etc. They offer 2 book deal types that is normal where they pay all the fees and a vanity/rip off one where you the writer/poet/author pays the fees. They never told me how much but upon looking on blogs and articles one mentioned each book set up is 2,500-3,000 uk pounds. AVOID THIS SCAM VANITY RIP OFF PUBLISHERS. New writers beware. Some of the emails are here-

Dear Nick,

 

Thank you for getting back to me.

 

As stated on our website this type of offer would incur a fee.

 

This offer is based on a one-off fee, to be paid by the author, to cover initial production of the work. The publishing process is just the same as our traditional publications. We provide full production, printing, storage, marketing, and worldwide distribution.

 

We understand and respect this is not what you are looking for at this time.

 

May I take this opportunity to thank you for your interest in Olympia and wish you all the best for the future.

 

Kind regards,

 

James Houghton
Commissioning Editor 

Olympia Publishers 

Hi James and good day,

Thanx for your email and details it contains. I will take time to read it in detail. I wanted to reply and say this though. On publishing any of my work or in any platform, site, book etc i always never ever pay for publication. This is my simple long standing view and principle. Did i understand your email right that i will need to pay a fee on this contract? And what is the difference in a traditional publishing contract or a hybrid publishing contract? Please confirm thanx so much.

Regards Nick Armbrister

Dear Mr Armbrister,

 

Thank you for your patience during this process, I understand it can be tedious awaiting responses from publishers regarding your writing. However, we have now completed our evaluations of your collection of writings ‘Drag Me A Race’.

 

Over the past few weeks my colleagues and I have been discussing various aspects of your collection and have agreed that your stories and poetry are well-written with an eclectic range of themes and narratives throughout, we see potential in the work. We believe that it deserves a chance to reach the general readership and this can be achieved with the marketing capabilities we can provide.

 

As I’m sure you know – as it is explained on our website – we receive hundreds of submissions each month, many of which are rejected, when we accept a work we can offer either a traditional publishing contract or a hybrid publishing contract. At this time, I can proudly state that we would love to publish your work under the Olympia banner and wish to make a hybrid-based offer for ‘Drag Me A Race’.

 

Please consider this offer carefully. This hybrid offer incurs a one-off fee. Any future costs, to cover marketing over the lifetime of the book, will be covered by Olympia.

 

We understand this decision cannot be taken lightly and you’ll need to see the contract before you can make a decision. The contract, along with the fee and royalties, will be finalised once we have a request to view it.

 

At this stage we are seeking only an agreement in principle to view the contract. Please note, there is no obligation with the contract and both parties are still free to withdraw at any point, until contracts have been signed.

 

Please note the finite figure can be paid in monthly instalments over 10 months.

 

Please let me know whether or not you wish to view the proposed publishing contract for your work. I am currently working remotely from home so if you have any other questions regarding publishing then please do not hesitate to contact me by email.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

James Houghton
Commissioning Editor 

Olympia Publishers 

https://olympiapublishers.com/about-us/

poems on ccp virus and vaccine

 Coined Up

Maybe we will all be dead in 6 months
Due to being jabbed up with the vac
Which was to stop the CCP Virus
But it backfired due to the mushrooms
Which are a toxin and kill in many ways
Only the rabid anti vaccers will live
In a kaos driven world of lunatix
Do you want to exist then and there?
Toss a coin get a jab wait and see

Orwell Correct
George Orwell was correct but he was slightly off in his years
The world he predicted now exists where we are all controlled
Big Bro, the New World Order, the Illuminati and others the boss
We are nothing but verminous numbers to them to be organized
As you would a chess game all pre-planned no matter what
Like the play things of a deranged child pulling our strings
The evils humans can do is nothing like their capabilities
If they want to start a war they do or create a virus that’s easy
Maybe a meteor strike will be next or a fake alien invasion
Like putting a film script together all seems real but is fake
This can’t end well or be changed they’re too powerful
With eyes and ears everywhere never missing a thing
If they offered you a job would you take it and defect over
No longer one of us the little meaningless slaves who are us
But I am somebody I am not a nobody no matter their views
Or actions in their planetary playground with 8 billion slaves
I’m more than a fucking number or bit of bloody data
I only belong to myself as a person not to any damn system
Even if they eradicate me I know in my head I am free

Shadow Lies
The dead must laugh at how silly we are
For most of us will soon join them
Due to being jabbed up with the vacc
To cure the world of the CCP Virus
And de-populate the planet for them
Them who run the world behind the scenes
We only see shadows and hear lies
And countdown till we all die
The clock in the vac is ticking
Will you go and die before me
Time to go now see you soon

Everything Facts

 Everything Facts

They write their books and stories and poems and blogs

Telling the world their views and their research

Then they wonder why their writing it blocked

Restricted closed shut off censored banned

And the writers disappear one by one

A bike crash a car wreck a hiking fall

Each one bumped off for saying too much

They got too close to the truth and were offed

Some an easy kill others so difficult

Murdered by authorities who run the world

Controlled by the shady elite who doesn’t exist

So we have no way to know of them or fight them

A brave few find or stumble upon the truth

This makes them a target to be eradicated

Those who write in any form are shut up

It goes on and on just like in a film or novel

But this is real and will not stop till silence is here

Even if it means killing us all to hide the real truth

Facts that will change absolutely everything

And bring a new safe world upon us

other book 2009-11 stories published 2021

other book 2009-11 stories published 2021

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0996BD1CS

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09969L9N8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09969GRV8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09969V914

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0999MSJ5W

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B099FLNT37

 

 

Of Equal Importance: Tarac Ridge Poems 

 

It was like a film script but real. 2 planes 2 pilots 2 crashes... We went to the crash area at Tarac Ridge on February 8-10 2018. This was the 76th anniversary of it. We went to the P-40 on Feb 9 and the Ki-27 on the 10th. The crashes are over a kilometer up altitude wise. We had to hike many hours through the forest/jungle and mountain to the area. We camped at the lower campsite. There is an easier site at the top of the mountain near Kurosawa’s Nate which is less than a hundred feet below the area. Because we never camped there we had to ascend the final hour to the summit each day.

For Stone and Kurosawa. In death you are both equal. RIP.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GRIM TOWN OF NO HOPE

 “Come on you little beggars! Move the coal. I’m not paying you for nothing. Now move!” shouted the old man, with real anger in his voice. He was thirty years old but looked twice that.                                            

A group of scallywags, barely into their teens, glared at the old man with defiant resentful eyes. None of them dared answer back or to call the man a name. He would beat them to an inch of their petty puny worthless working class lives. Grumbling amongst themselves, with aching muscles, they moved the coal sacks.

“I’ll beat you with my bare hands if you drop a single piece of coal! Get a move on!” screamed the man, still angry. Was he always like that?

From lower down the sloping cobbled street, a group of people heard the shouts. They looked up the road and saw the lads, along with their master. He was a ruthless bastard. He didn’t care what the spectators or his lads thought of him.

The eight lads all had down cast eyes; they hated their boss and their job of moving coal. Yet they were aware that six years on their ages would have meant war time service. The prospect of fighting the Nazis or Japs was worse than the job they did. This labouring job made them strong, gave them defiance and pain tolerance from the hard work and beatings. A wartime death held no glory for them. They just got on with it.

He, their master or “The Bastard” as they called him behind his back, was unfit for war duty. An early TB infection from the 1920s nearly killed him. He was still a strong man and a tough guy. No one had ever broken him and he took whatever life threw at him, on the nose. He was a real man. His working class clothes were the uniform of his generation – cloth cap, worn out white shirt, black jacket and trousers and hob nailed boots. His lads were smaller mirror images of him, an unbroken path from generation to generation. It was men like these that allowed us to win the war.

Air raid alerts had once been a problem. Nazi bombers had appeared regularly in the day. This meant leaving the valuable coal where you stood and legging it for cover; be it a shelter or a ditch. Quite a lot of coal went missing by the time they returned, when the all clear sounded. Now the war was over, the lads spent twelve hours a day moving coal sacks from open ground on Glodwick Lows to the depot. All by hand. It made them tough, bitter, angry, resentful and like their master. Real men. As hard as old Victorian terrace houses and cobbled streets. As hard as England.

Many of the lads had lost family members in the war. Some of them were the sole bread winners, busting their guts for a measly six pence a day, on the coal run. Digging it up, filling the sacks, carrying it to the depot. Day in and day out. When they were older, they would each be a hard drinker just like Him, their boss. “The Bastard.” Till then, they silently cursed and got on with their work.

Till one day, an official government photographer took their picture. They weren’t happy! “The Bastard” didn’t care one way or another and the lads got a two minute rest break. He captured them for posterity in an old acetate photograph. Then the shouts came again, “Come on you little bastards! Move the coal. I’m not paying you to stand there!”

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