QR Codes & digital distribution

Part of my "digital distribution" philosophy with Surfing the Middle East is to integrate my hardcover book with my digital products . . . mainly, the iPad & iPhone app.

One way to do that is with QR codes. What is a QR code? View below:

Simply, QR codes allow you to take out your smartphone and snap a picture, effectively scanning it, redirecting you to the App Store or mobile website. Think of it like scanning something at a grocery store, but with your phone.

Inside the dust jacket flaps of my book there will be two of these funny-looking codes. And when people scan them, they'll connect people to the iPad app and promotional iPhone app that I have yet to dive into on this blog. Though that will be soon!

So there it is, just another tool within the concept of digital distribution. And for those new to the site, "digital distribution" is the term I'm using for selling my paper books and apps for Surfing the Middle East online. NO BOOKSTORES NEEDED. Putting prospective buys within a click of buying. A new model for authors.

Wall near West Bank village moves? (small excerpt)

In my book, the chapter The Battle of Bil'in, is about this very place . . . again making international media. But this time, however, the story has changed. The Wall is moving. Is this a good thing?

(Taken in the summer of 2007, while covering the battle of Bil'in)

From Surfing the Middle East:

“Filistine Arabya! Flilstine Arabya!” continued the crowd. And I finally left my nook behind the wall and darted along the side of the protest to where Jared and As-Salibi were waiting. They were stopped, right under one of the larger olive tress, adjacent to where the “PRESS REUTERS” Chevy was now parked.

Quivering like a fiend, I kept adjusting my elevation near the wall. I was trying to figure out exactly how low—or how high—I should squat as the Bil’in mob approached. The left knee of my worn blue jeans tore when I ducked down too fast. Fuck it! I’ll switch my camera to video and let this crazed mob pass. And slowly, they did: old Palestinian men in bland suits and white checkered kuffyias, middle-aged men with Palestinian flags attached to broomsticks (one carrying the shield of his fallen comrade), kids whose mothers had wrapped their faces with scarves. And there where the Westerners. One guy, about my age wearing surf sandals, shorts and some kind of ridiculous name brand sunglasses, like he was headed to a drunken beach bash in California. I recognized him from the gruff Palestinian man’s apartment.