“MLK Day Brings Back Memories”
Growing up as a kid in Lansing, I was totally oblivious to racism. I had friends in school of all colors. My parents did as well.
I do remember one night when I was in high school walking home from a local ball park through the middle of what was considered a very “bad” section.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a voice screamed at me—“Larry, what the &^%$ are you doing walking down here all by yourself?” This large, well known in school, athletic, and black friend of mine then proceeded to walk with me to what was considered a “safe” area—chewing me out all the way.
Incidentally, we are still friends. I see him monthly when a group of us from Lansing Eastern get together for lunch.
In August, after graduating from HS in June, I joined the USAF. After 12 weeks of basic and another 21 weeks in weather school, I was sent to North Carolina.
On my first weekend break, three of us went to town—one from NY, one from NJ, and me from MI. They had been there for a while. After fooling around town for a bit, we needed to hit a bathroom.
That’s when the shock really hit. At the back of the store we went into, there were two men’s restrooms.
Over one read WHITE, and over the other read COLORED. Between the two doors were two drinking fountains, each displaying the same signs.
I looked at my NY friend who had been there for a year. He merely shrugged and said, “That’s the way it is. Welcome to the South.”
I think of these two incidents every MLK day. I wish I didn’t. I wish it hadn’t been.
In the very near future, I plan to head out to Florida and VA Beach for close to three weeks. I’m sure it’s one of my nerdy idiosyncrasies, but I never advertise the times when I’m out of town.
I’m pretty sure that no one who is reading this or checking out Facebook is patiently waiting for me to leave the house unguarded so they can break in and steal all of my spare paper towels, but then, you never know.
Flipping the coin, I always enjoy seeing pictures of the travel adventures of all my FB friends as they journey all over the world. Some of the images they share are totally awesome.
Plus, it’s always fun to see shots of everyone and their kids/grandkids at places like Disneyland, Mt. Rainier, Mammoth Cave, or wherever—even if their homes are left totally unguarded and/or protected.
To me, the logical alternative is to wait until you get back, and then say, “Hey, look at what we just did.” However, that’s just me.
“Gossip of the Week”
Well, I’ve already blown my New Year’s Resolution of reading a book a week. Here it is, the 16th, and I’m only a quarter of the way through book two. Of course, the fact that the thing is a gazillion pages long doesn’t help much.
Besides, I’ve been working on two other projects that are taking some time. Let’s start with the income tax.
Been pumping the figures into my financial program that sorts everything and comes up with figures—you know, medical=$1,289,654; Book royalties=$1.29 for paperbacks and .87 for Kindle EBooks.
I guess I’m not going to get rich on last year’s royalties. (You people haven’t been reading enough of my literary masterpieces.)
The thing, however, that’s taking up the most time is my latest work in progress (WIP).
It’s book 3 of the I Can and I Will & Tell Me Why group. I don’t even have a working title for it yet. And, the only thing I’m going to tell you about it for right now is that Jayden, the main character, discovers his own death certificate.
How would you like to do that?
"A Book a Week"
Hey, I’m setting a record. So far my new year’s resolution has lasted a whole week.
I want to try to read fifty books this year. I started out with the idea of a book a week, but then figured some are longer than others, so I’ll settle for fifty. Finished up book one on the list last night.
After years of reading pretty much nothing but fiction, I’ve pretty much gravitated to non-fiction the past year.
The book I just finished is called The Fifth Risk by Michael Lewis. Like most current day NF writers, I’d never heard of the guy. Someone or something recommended this book so I checked it out.
The primary emphasis of the book was the departmental transitions, or lack of, between the Obama and Trump administrations. It made a lot of comparisons between what was expected and what actually happened.
There was a great deal of discussion regarding department heads and their qualifications for their new jobs. One of the things I found particularly interesting was the discussion that the Dept. of Commerce really has very little to do with commerce. It’s a compilation of a number of other things.
The last section was of particular interest to me. It dealt with the US Weather Bureau and how much data it had preserved, and how little of it had ever been analyzed. The author talked about some of the analysis that exists regarding tornadoes, hurricanes, etc.
Since I spent four years in that field in the USAF – just a couple of years ago, I was somewhat awed about what can actually be done today compared to “back in the day.”
Two points he made I found a bit weird were terms such as “Climate Change” are verboten. Also, how much of the analyzable data has suddenly disappeared and is no longer available.
The book seems to jump back and forth a little—maybe it needed a better editor. However, I would highly recommend it if you’re looking for a little non-fiction enlightenment.
Seems to me we’ve fought long enough over the wall, and it’s time to re-open the government agencies that are closed or not getting paid.
I think there are some rather dangerous ramifications possible with people like the TSA agents not getting paid and calling in sick. Like, why should they work when they might never get any money for it?
As one of them said, what are they going to do? If they file for unemployment benefits, they’ll be recollected from them when and if this thing is ever settled peacefully.
Let's face it, what do the millionaires who are running the show really care about the common man working paycheck to paycheck to pay his or her bills?
You’ll never convince me they really give a rip one way or the other. Each side has their own “principles” that they are going to stand on, and they won’t budge.
Wonder if any of those clowns have ever considered actually sitting down together and coming up with a solution for border security that might work—like maybe more border agents, cameras, and a bunch of drones flying 24-7 keeping an eye on areas where illegals tend to sneak over.
Let’s face it, if you build a 20 foot wall, someone will build a 21 foot ladder—or tunnel under the thing. Of course, my biggest concern is that Canada will build a wall across our entire northern border to keep out the American thugs, rapists, and criminals and make the US pay for it. Now, that might really get expensive.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, happy whatever it is you celebrate and whenever you do it.
My primary holiday wish is that people could get off the far left and right fringes and come together for the betterment of the world. I don’t think we need to be name calling and belittling each other even though those of you who don’t agree with me are nuts:-)
Seriously, one of the things that is bothering me is the fact that we are headed for another major depression—at least that’s what my mutual funds are telling me.
Also, it seems like we are fighting with all of our traditional allies—hopefully I’m wrong and that won’t backfire.
I would prefer to see our world become more inclusive than exclusive. However, what the hell do I know?
In the meantime, let’s finish off 2018 with smiles on our faces and a hope for a better 2019.
“Just Because Some People Have Asked”
Several people have asked about the “Rant” below, so here goes. For those who have read I Can and I Will and Tell Me Why, You know that Jayden was horribly abused as a child and ended up living with his best friend and his mother. The three of them basically adopted each other as a family unit.
When Jayden’s father dies, Jay manages to get his hands on a pipe the man always sucked on. He had a DNA test done on it. Well, in book three (No title yet), the first thing we learn is that his father isn’t.
After that, he will sneakily have a test done on his mother, whom he has reconnected with after twenty-five years. You’ll have to wait and see how that turns out. Not telling.
As you probably know, commercial DNA tests can also hook you up with distant relatives, if they have also taken the test. This also is going to happen. No details, but you can probably guess.
“So Much for Retirement #2”
I thought I probably was have to retire from this writing thing after 12 books and probably go become a greeter at Walmart. I tried a couple of silly short stories which were fun, but not real fulfilling. Nothing was clicking.
For some reason or the other, I haven’t been able to get Jayden, the main character in I Can and I Will and Tell Me Why out of my head. There was more to the story, and for some unknown reason, I had to get it down in print.
So, book 3 in the series is on the way. I have no idea whether this will turn out to be a novelette, novella, or a full length novel. It doesn’t matter. I probably won’t publish it anyway. This one is strictly for me.
I won’t go into detail, but multiple questions that arose in books 1 and 2 are answered. Many of my books end with a question just to drive the reader nuts.
The first thing book 3 does is answer the final question left in book 2. From there, away we go. Have no idea how this will turn out. Wish me luck.
“Time To Retire: AGAIN?”
For the first time in almost twenty years, I’m drawing complete blanks with the writing gig. I’ve always had something brewing in the back of my mind while working on the current WIP. (Work in Progress) There is nothing going on up there—no snide remarks sil vous plait.
There has always been something—like the time I walked out of Meijer’s and a young man lay on the cement with his hands handcuffed behind his back surrounded by the local gendarmes. We made eye contact, and a short story popped into my head.
Another time I was standing in my living room looking out the window at the house for sale a couple of houses down the street and the entire plot of Damey and Grandpa Tutor surfaced.
That’s just the way it’s always been.
To the credit of a number of my writing friends, several have tried to motivate me with ideas for a story, and so far nothing has worked. I’ve seen more writing prompts in the past month to no avail. So, I’m thinking, after twelve books, maybe it’s time to hang it up and do something else. Maybe Sam’s Club needs a new greeter.
“Technology ‘can’ be a pain in the …”
I have been trying to put two different advertising campaigns on Amazon for a couple of my literary masterpieces. Well, they use some kind of computerized algorithm system to determine whether or not to accept the proposals. The latest one got denied again this morning.
They claimed I was using too many ellipses. The only problem is, there isn’t a single one in the description. The other book has a standard complaint about punctuation. I have re-written the fool thing five times.
I don’t want this to come across wrong, but let’s face it, after teaching English for 35 years, I do know how to write a complete sentence. This morning I wrote Amazon a rather nasty letter, since they don’t accept phone calls for that particular issue. We’ll see how it works out.
Incidentally, the advertising campaign is where when you go on Amazon and see a series of books floating across the bottom of the screen or over to the side. If you click on the icon and read the advertisement, the author gets charged. Probably, if I weren’t so damned cheap and raised the price I was willing to pay per click, they would accept my campaigns faster.
In the meantime, be sure to check out Tell Me Why. It’s the brand new one that’s out there just in time for your Christmas stocking stuffers.
This week Tell Me Why went live at Amazon in both paperback and eBook. It’s been an interesting process. I’ve been working on it for over a year, and it’s relatively short. I intentionally aimed it at the Middle Grade/Young Adult age group, and I think I’ve procrastinated all the way through it.
The reason for the procrastination is partially because I haven’t been sure that I actually wanted to publish it. I wrote it more for me than the reader. It’s a twenty year after-the-fact sequel to I Can and I Will. There were some things in the original I wanted to go into more detail on and explain, so I used this one as the vehicle to do so. Again, whether anyone else will care one way or the other is probably not relevant.
Another reason for the delay is the fact that I have no idea what I’m going to do next. Always in the past, I’ve had other things percolating in the brain. This time there’s been nothing. I have done a couple of completely inane short stories for my own amusement that will never see print, but that’s about it. In the meantime, I’m still waiting for the next brainstorm.
“This Year’s Election”
I will be soooooo glad when this year’s election is finally over. I swear, this is the most negative campaign I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a few of them. I despise the negativity, angst, lies, deceptions, half truths, and the direct insults and snipes at the opposition—regardless of party.
Personally, I blame the majority on the pacs which are able to remain anonymous. They can say anything and be totally unaccountable. And, people believe them…
One campaign ad I have found particularly irksome is the one spreading a half-truth where the pac berates one on the candidates because she worked for one of the presidents. Well, when the truth comes out, she worked for two presidents—one from each party. She was doing her job. Duh!
Another blames the candidate for some of the misfortunes in Michigan because she worked with the governor when the entire nation had crashed economically into a depression. Like, the national depression was the fault of one state’s governor and staff? Get real.
Unfortunately, I don’t think any of it will get any better until we start electing more moderate candidates. All of these people who are on polar ends of the political spectrum, who automatically refuse to work with one another, are getting us nowhere.
Maybe it’s time for a third, centrist party?
PRESIDENT WEBB RETURNS
The Attorney General sat in the snack bar at the back of the congressional bookstore, nibbling on cannabis laced chocolate brownies while sipping his coffee. Life was good since President Webb’s unfortunate demise a year previously. That’s when, at the end of his gynormous parade, his Space Force rocket mysteriously went out of control and bypassed the moon instead of encircling it and then landing again on the parade grounds as planned.
For some reason or the other, it had soared directly into the sun and melted. Much to the AG’s glee, he hadn’t been insulted once since. In fact, the new president had stayed refreshingly low-keyed. It was almost like the new POTUS guy had been avoiding him. No problem. The AG liked it that way.
In fact, the only thing concerning the AG these days was the fact that the president always looked at him with this strange, eerie expression on his face anytime they happened to meet up. He couldn’t help but wonder if POTUS was somehow suspicious. After all, it had been him who’d pushed the button to send the rocket on its journey—obviously, the most glorious and self-fulfilling day of his life.
As the AG sat there, peacefully enjoying himself, his cell phone rang. “Now, who the hell can that be?” he asked himself. He and the merchant behind the counter were the only ones there, so he could rant a little about it out loud without bothering anyone. “I told everyone I was in the middle of an extremely important mission and didn’t want to be bothered.”
He took another bite of his brownie and then looked at the name on caller ID. It said, PRESIDENT WEBB.
“What? Is this somebody’s idea of a joke? Webb’s cell phone, telephone number, fifteen Twitter accounts, and email have all been decommissioned since he died. This has gotta be a humungous hack job of some kind.”
The phone continued to ring and never went to voice mail.
“Would you answer that damned thing?” Yelled the merchant, who was cleaning the glass countertop with Windex spray and a paper towel.
Finally, the AG had heard enough and couldn’t ignore it any more. He knew it had to be a robo-call. Smiling, he decided to give it his best robo-call response when, on those rare occasions, he actually answered one of the damned things. “Hello! You have reached the secret CIA Assassination Squad. No way could you have ‘accidentally’ called this number. Therefore, you will be eliminated. Do you have a preference for your body disposal? We always recommend the Dead Sea.”
“Bullshit! AG, that is the lamest thing I’ve ever heard you come up with, and you’ve come up with some doozies. You always were the most worthless piece of crap I’ve ever met. Why I never fired you is way beyond my imagination. SAD!”
The AG recognized the voice immediately. It was either President Webb or his freeking ghost. “What? This can’t be you. You’re dead. I saw the close up video replays from the telescope. You and the VEEP flew directly into the sun and your Space Force rocket disintegrated. I saw it! I saw it! You’re dead! You have to be.”
“I don’t think so. Admittedly, we are in a much different place, but I don’t think we’re dead. When our rocket exploded, we fell for, what seemed like, forever and then landed in a huge bright-red giant body of blood—known here as Blood Lake. Since then, the only problem we’ve really had is the heat. The blood in the lake is kind of boiling, making everyone sweat copiously when they first get here. It’s nothing like the delightful lakes on my own, private golf course. At least there aren’t any gators here, and that’s another plus. However, I don’t want to talk about those giant blood snakes bobbing their heads in and out of Blood Lake for air—gross!”
Sweating profusely himself and stomping back and forth behind his library table with his delicious brownies long forgotten, The AG screamed, “You’re in Hell—right where you belong!”
“Quiet over there,” yelled the merchant. “You’re bothering the other clientele—namely me.”
The AG glared at the man behind the counter. Didn’t that idiot know who he was?
“Irrelevant!” President Webb continued. “That’s not why I called. I wanted to be the one to let you know you’re practically on your way here to join me. Let’s face it, I know what you and the generals did. My genius allowed me to figure it out. After all, let us not forget, I am one of the smartest individuals on the face of the earth.
Anyway, I finally managed to get used to this insufferable heat a bit. It took almost a year, but now I’m good. So, with that little problem taken care of, I asked one of these weird looking dudes running around here with forked tails, tongues, and always carrying a pitchfork how I could get you here. He graciously complied, after I told him I need a masseuse to rub in my suntan oil and hair bleach. I figured, after all, you were completely useless as my AG so maybe you could be of some kind of value to me somehow. If nothing else, I need an oarsman for my raft out here on Blood Lake.”
“No! No! No!” the AG screamed. “I’m not going there. I’ve had it with you. I’ve been faithful my whole life. My Savior loves me. He won’t let this happen.”
“Oh, you seem to forget. I’m the greatest deal maker ever born, and I’ve made a deal. Like I said, you’re practically on your way.”
“Forget it!” The AG screamed again. “No way I’m ever going there.”
About that time, the merchant slammed his fist on the back counter. “Either you knock it off, or I’m calling 911. This is your last warning.”
Getting more and more frustrated, the AG flipped him the bird and then concentrated on his phone again.
POTUS Webb continued, “Oh, don’t worry about a thing. You’ll love it here. And, in the whole scheme of things, you don’t really have to sit naked in that barrel of boiling oil they stuff you into on arrival all that long—only a few months. It just seems like forever when you’re doing it. Sure, you’ll sweat abundantly at first, and a lot of your excess skin and body fat will melt and peel off, but you get used to it. Then, finally, they’ll let you go cool off in Blood Lake, which is only bubbling a little in comparison to the barrel of oil. At least you don’t have to worry about snow, and that’s a good thing. Oh, yeah, the torture chambers are no big deal either. I’ll be more than happy to be your tour guide.”
As the AG screamed again, the merchant lifted the receiver from the phone hanging on the wall. Within mere seconds, security rushed the scene.
“You’re not taking me anyplace,” the AG shrieked at them, reaching in his front pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He shook it at them, planning to call his people.
He never heard the shot. The next thing the AG knew, he was falling through the air, tumbling end over end, and flailing his arms. It was then when he opened his eyes, only to see a huge bright red body of blood directly below him and President Webb with wide open arms and a huge smile on his face. He was standing beside his raft and leaning against its mast, which was carrying its beautiful skull and wishbone flag.
“Welcome home, LOSER!” POTUS called out to the AG.
Perils at Finlandia University
(Writer’s block cure 101:
The story evolves from four key words drawn randomly and are in bold and underlined)
Even I can’t believe how brilliant I’ve turned out. Like, if I don’t win the tsunamis-come-loud award—or whatever the hell they call it—when I graduate, SOMEBODY has screwed up, and it sure ain’t gonna be me. (By the way, that’s Summa Cum Laude for you plebians) Anyway, the caper I’m pulling off today even dazzles my mind—pure brilliance. I’m gonna be rich.
Trying to look inconspicuous once I arrive on campus, I park my car in the visitors’ lot, pull my bike out of the trunk, slip on my helmet, and yank down the visor to hide my face. Even though I’m only a high-school junior, outfitted like this, I look like I fit right in. With my facial features hidden and neither whisker showing, I ride off in the direction of the business office of Finlandia University, AKA --FU.
I mean, like, look at this—it’s a Sunday afternoon. Why the hell are there ten-thousand students rummaging around outside? OK, OK, so maybe that’s a ‘slight’ exaggeration. Regardless, I’m seeing way too many students. After yesterday, they should be inside someplace, hiding behind their laptops, iPads, and/or cell phones. If nothing else, I suppose they could be studying—what a concept. Good grief! After Tim-Buck-Too-U trashed them in their football game yesterday 97-to-Zip, the last thing they should be doing is showing their faces in public. You’d think they live in Ann Arbor or some weird place like that.
Trying to act like I know what I’m doing, I cruise around the side of the business office to the back. After discussing this with a bunch of my friends, they all agree with me, that HAS to be where the campus stores all of its cash. I look around There is no one in sight. How lucky is that? However, it seems like the perfect spot for a young couple or two to be coupling in the soft grass under the trees. I need to make sure it's all clear..
I lean my bike against the railing leading up to the back door and scope things out. Being extra careful, I take a little walk around checking behind bushes, trees, and a little flower garden backed up to a wooded lot. I even look in the dumpster. I see no one. Personally, I don’t put anything past—as my dad always refers to my age group and older, us elderly teens or pubescent twenty-somethings. He’s so crude! Anyway, I know someone could be hiding most anywhere, and I don’t particularly want to be seen. I do a double-check.
After taking another look at the drive to make sure nobody is coming, I commence with the plan. I pick up a good-sized rock from the flower garden border and walk up the steps to the back door. The first part of my plan is simple, after I take out the window with my rock, all I have to do is reach in, make sure I don’t gash open an artery on my arm on the shards of glass, and unlock the door. I look over my shoulder one last time to make sure I am still the only one here. Like I said, even as brilliant as this stunt is, I don’t want an audience. I didn’t even tell my buddies when I was going to do this, ‘cause I didn’t want those clowns showing up with their phones taking pictures. They’re such dorks. Besides, I think, smiling to myself, if all goes well, I’ll write it up as a creative writing assignment for my English class. I’m sure that senile old goat will love it. He’ll probably make me read it to the class. Won’t the guys be surprised when they hear I really did it? They’ll wonder why I don't leave school and retire.
With my heart beating rapidly, I’m completely attuned to my senses. That’s when I feel something different under my feet. I look down and notice I’m standing on a foam-rubber floor mat. I smile. It’s one of those made from recycled car tires. I read it out loud, “Welcome to FU.” Completely on a whim, I squat down and lift up the corner of the mat and look under it. Lying there, inconspicuously doing nothing, is an old, yellowish, grungy-looking envelope.
Quickly, I pick it up, pull back the flap, and look inside. No, it can’t be. I don’t believe what I am seeing. Tucked away in the envelope is a skeleton key.
Once again, I smile at the ridiculousness of it all. That envelope is older than dirt. No way will the key fit the door. I wonder how long it has been there—probably through at least two remodeling sessions, if not more. Laughing at myself for even thinking of trying, I think, Oh, what the heck! After one more look around, I slip the key into the lock and turn it. It works. I try the handle, and the door swings open. Voila! The place and all of its money are mine for the taking. I pop the rock that I had set on the railing with the side of my fist, and it falls harmlessly into the dirt below. After all, I’m not going to need it.
Quickly, I walk through the door and close it behind me, wondering if maybe I should bring my bike inside and out-of-sight? Nah, I decide against that idea. I won’t be in here that long. I take a quick tour of the room, opening every desk I come to finding nothing of value. Damn! What kind of business office is this? Everybody knows that’s where the cash should be. Where’d they put it? I try a closet door. Aha! There stands a beautiful wall safe in all of its glory. That thing HAS to be filled with all kinds of money.
Using my extraordinary safe cracking skills that I learned from Ma Google, and practiced a couple of times on our dinky little wall safe at home, I listen to the clicks with the stethoscope which I stole from the school biology lab and had hidden in my pants pocket. Miraculously, the technique works, and I manage the combination in a heartbeat. I swing open the door. All I can see are empty shelves and a dim, flashing, red light. What’s that? A security light? No way. Not in this dump. Then, somewhere way off in the distance I hear sirens. Oh, crap! I have to get out of here. NOW!
Speeding away on my bike, multiple police cars pass me on the way to the school’s business office. Not a one of them pay any attention to me. Aha! I’m home free. Pedaling as fast as I can, I watch as all kinds of stupid students run in the direction of the excitement. After all, they don’t want to miss out on anything. I keep going in the opposite direction to the parking lot. When I get to my car, I jump off my bike, throw it into my trunk, and race off. Aha! Maybe I didn’t find anything of value, but at least I did escape.
I pull out of the parking lot and head west to get off campus. The sooner I can get off the grounds, the better off I’ll be. Suddenly in my rear view mirror appear two police cars hot on my tail with lights and sirens screaming in my ears. I stomp on the gas pedal, throwing my head back, as the engine roars. Within seconds, my vehicle races all the way up to 63 miles per-hour. Not bad when you consider that’s three miles faster than Dad had set the governor when he evilly installed the damned thing on this heap. However, I ‘m not stopping, I say to myself. If I can get off the university, I should be OK. I don’t think the campus cops can arrest me if I make it out of here. About then, they slip up beside me and start waving for me to pull over. I guess they’re trying to let me know escape is impossible. To hell with them. I mash my foot even harder on the gas pedal, flattening it against the floorboard--64.
Then it happened. I hear innumerable gunshots, and then both rear tires suddenly go into the thump-whump, thump-whump mode. My car slows to a crawl, and I dejectedly pull off to the side of the road.
What comes next is not pretty—especially after they finally let my dad drive me home, leaving my car to the mercy of the tow truck. Who knows where Dad told them to take it. I sure don’t. As it is, I hope to be out of house arrest and maybe even get my car keys back in seven years or so—give or take a decade or two. Damn—life’s not fair.
Regardless of where you stand on the political spectrum—left, right, down the middle, I think we will all agree that America has lost one of our best. John McCain was a war hero, prisoner, statesman, and committed to public service.
As a demonstration of his bi-partisanship, he was eulogized by people of both parties and independents—George Bush, Barack Obama, and Senator Joe Lieberman for examples. Others in attendance from both sides of the aisle were Bill and Hillary Clinton, Dick Cheney, Al Gore, John Kerry, Bob Dole, and many others.
McCain was known for trying to get the job done by negotiating and working with people from both parties. The relentless partisanship and divisive rhetoric of today’s politics was not his way. The American values he cherished were all spoken of by those who spoke.
If you haven’t watched or listened to any of the eulogies, go on line and look them up. The bi-partisan praise from all of the speakers is inspiring, if nothing else. R.I.P., John McCain. America needs more politicians like you.
“My Extremely Hectic Day at the White House”
By President Larry Webb
It’s been a horribly busy Monday morning. I’ve been sitting here at my desk for the past two hours in front of the my brand new floor-to-ceiling mirrors I had installed encircling my vision so I can practice my smile and wave for my upcoming parade. While trying to make it perfect, I hummed my theme song, “I love ME a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around MY neck.”
Suddenly interrupting the most important aspect of the day, my chief advisor du jour burst into my office sporting a pained expression. “President Webb, SIR, we have a problem.”
“Oh, good grief! What now? Can’t you take care of it and then blame my crooked opponent from the last election and not bother me with a bunch of trivial crap? I have important things to do.”
“No, no. This is much more important. I mean, like, this is serious.”
“Well, in that case, blame the Attorney General. We haven’t blamed that slime ball for anything all week. Way past due. SAD!”
“Sir, you really do have to listen. This one can’t be swept under the rug. Canada has followed through with that ridiculous threat of theirs. They started construction this morning on an estimated $155 billion dollar wall going across our entire northern border, and, not only that, but they said we have to pay for it. They’re complaining that they just can’t absorb a hundred thousand refugees a week from the US even if they are all doctors, lawyers, engineers, scientists, and all those flunky types.”
I take a deep breath and sigh. “Let’s face it—those deserters are really all criminals, rapists, LBGQ’s, minorities, and beggars with their hands out wanting free medical treatment and education. Good riddance.”
“Who they are really isn’t all that important. We CAN’T afford that stupid wall. Between your parade and promise to spend $100 billion as a down payment on our new Space Force, there just isn’t any money left. Our national debt is growing about $300 million a month over budget now.”
I look at the idiot. How can anyone be so dense? “Don’t you get it? We’ll lower taxes on the top one percent again, and all that extra money will trickle down to the peasants with lots and lots of new jobs and a much higher minimum wage of maybe all the way up to ten bucks an hour, if they’re lucky. They’ll happily pay more taxes.”
“And if it doesn’t, and the one per centers just squirrel away their ill-gotten funds in foreign bank accounts? What then?”
“We’ll deal with it when the time comes—blame my predecessor again maybe? Has to be his fault. What a loser…SAD!”
“But, Mr. President, I don’t think this is going to work. In the first place, a wall across all of North America is pretty stupid. Besides refusing to pay for it, shouldn’t we be doing something to prevent such a thing? Like, maybe making living conditions in our own country more favorable so people don’t want to flock out of here in droves?
For instance, would you believe their roads in Canada don’t look like Iraqi mine fields? And, believe it or not, their bridges aren’t all falling down either. Not only that, but a tonsillectomy for one of their kids doesn’t cost $100,000 up front either. What’s the world coming to?”
“Good grief! You sound more like the fake media every day. My living conditions are just fine. I don’t have a thing to worry about. If people don’t like the roads and bridges, why don’t they just take a helicopter? That’d solve all their problems. SIMPLE!”
After another quick smile and wave at myself in the mirrors, my fantastic mind goes to work as always as I’m thinking, I’ll tell you what’s coming to. I need a new chief advisor. This nut case has lost it. Not only that, but he never once mentioned how extremely awesome my practice smiles and waves will look to the millions lining the streets during my parade. I can’t believe he didn’t even notice. I mean, what is this loser even thinking? I’ve gotta fire this guy—the sooner the better.
“So, what else is new?” I ask. “Any whiney girls complaining because their over-stressed husbands slapped them up a bit over the weekend when their golf game didn’t go as well as expected? Like, I know Jr. was upset when he didn’t break par yesterday. And, I know for sure I was when our family golf course didn’t break $10 million in profit for the first weekend since we’ve been here in the White House. Good thing for her, my delightful bride decided to go another direction for the weekend. But, whew! Her security tabs are out of sight.”
“President Webb, that brings up my second point. The AG has come up with what I think is a tremendous idea. He’s suggesting that at the end of the parade, you and the VEEP could be riding in a rocket while the rest of your family and dignitaries could be in the viewing stand, fanned by some of those low-life peons out there. When you and the missile get to the designated area, the AG and some of the generals can push the button and the two of you will blast off into space, circle the moon, and then come back to earth landing in front of the viewing stand to the bows and cheers of all of your loyal peasants watching the parade.”
“Whoa,” I said. “The AG actually came up with a fantastic idea like that? Didn’t think he was that capable Maybe I’ve been judging him all wrong after all. Maybe I will wait until the mid-term elections before I fire him. Ah, I can see it all now—the army goose-stepping in unison with everyone else bowing deeply as I make my landing. I can hardly wait.”
My chief adviser popped a tremendous smile on his face as he clapped his hands and made a deep waisted bow to me. “I thought you’d love the idea. Mr. President, Sir, may we get started with our preparations?”
I can hardly contain myself. “Oh, yes. Get out there and start setting the plan into motion. Before you go, however, what do you think? Should we announce what I’m going to do beforehand, or surprise the world with this tremendously, stupendous idea when it happens?”
“Well, Sir,” my chief adviser said, “We were thinking of maybe getting a bunch of the other dictators from around the world to come and join your family in the viewing stand. Then they could witness how America IS number one. Also, we thought we should have US Space Force stenciled on the side of the rocket JUST as a little reminder to them and all the lame press from here and around the world about how great you really are.”
“Oh, damn! I’m so excited, I just wet my pants. Oh well, get out of here so I can practice smiling and waving to the crowd during lift off.”
After months and months of preparation, and only an extra $120 billion spent on the parade and project, the day finally came. Let’s face it; this is a lot better way to spend a little cash than on Canada’s stupid wall. What a spectacle this is going to be. DC is full of people from all over the world of every race, color, religion, and millionaire status. It had been an easy decision for me. I opened up the borders for the week so ANYONE from ANYWHERE could come to watch, provided they guaranteed in writing that they were GOOD people—and willing to donate a couple of million to my reelection campaign. I don’t know why my predecessors never thought of anything like this? Lame!
As the VEEP and I rode the streets of DC, heading to the review stand, we laughed, smiled, and waved at the throngs of viewers. How exciting! As we approached, we could see the AG and a handful of Five Stars circling the liftoff spot. They HAD to be as excited as we were.
In place and waiting for liftoff, the VEEP wore a wrinkled brow when he looked at me. “Sir, check out the expression on the AG’s face. The generals too. They look like a bunch of adolescents who just swiped some of their dad’s pot and got away with it. What’s going on?”
I looked, but the AG appeared like always to me—sappy as hell. “Oh, I think we’re fine. They just can’t wait to celebrate the lift off and touchdown. This is gonna be an event the world will never forget.”
As we watched out of our windows, the AG reached over and pushed the button to get the rocket under way. With really, really weird expressions, he and all the generals smiled and waved as we lifted off. I smiled and waved back at them and at the crowd, even if they couldn’t probably see me.
We could feel the thousands of pounds of thrust underneath of us as we lifted off. Up, up, up we went towards the moon where we would circle it, and then head back to the ecstatic cheers of the waiting crowd. Right on cue, we passed on the right side of the giant orb, Smiling, the VEEP and I waited for the arc to begin as we circled it, but it didn’t happen right away. We kept going. And going. And going.
The VEEP looked over at me. “Am I hallucinating, or is the sun getting brighter and brighter?”
The last thing I needed was to have him panic on me. “I think we’re fine. Yeah, it is getting a little bright and warming up a bit in here, but we should be turning soon.”
“We should have been turning twenty or thirty minutes ago. I’m not liking this one bit.”
“Oh, relax,” I said. “Like, what could possibly go wrong?”
“I don’t’ know, but it’s getting so hot in here. And the sun’s glaring so strongly, I can’t look out the window any more. We’re headed straight at it.”
“Oh, don’t be such a wuss. You’re as bad as the AG. Sure, it’s getting a little hot because we didn’t bother having an air conditioner installed. We didn’t know we were taking the scenic route. As soon as we get back, we’ll tell the Space Force people.”
“Sir, I think the rocket is melting. That looks like liquid aluminum dripping off the top of this thing.”
“Whine, whine! It’s just condensation. It must be humid in here. It’ll quit any minute now. When we get back I’ll take care of the problem. I’m gonna…OH, NO!”
“Robo Calls & Spam”
I swear, between the robo-calls I get every day and the spam e-mails, one could almost go a little whacky. When the house phone rings, I never answer it until I check the caller i.d. If the call isn’t from someone I know, I don’t answer. They can leave a message. Surprise, surprise… they never do.
Usually after I ignore their first call which is from Utica, NY, or some such place, the phone rings again and the number shows what appears to be a neighbor—again no name.
I have been known to answer some of these with, “CIA Secret Assination Squad. Having this number means you must be eliminated. Which ocean would you prefer to have your body disposed in? We kind of like The Dead Sea.” Disappointing as it is, they always seem to either hang up on me or continue talking about consolidating all of my credit cards. Darn!
Between my two email accounts, I average out somewhere between a hundred and one-hundred fifty spam mailings daily which I delete without reading them.
There was a time when I would go in and “Unsubscribe” to all of them. I now believe that was an indicator that the email was a live one and spread my email address to countless others. Joy! Joy!
“It’s Been Awhile”
It’s been a while since I’ve “Ranted,” but believe it or not, there’s been a reason. I’ve been hammering away at my latest and greatest literary masterpiece—Tell Me Why.
As of now, it is technically finished. All it needs if for my editor to go through it with a fine toothed comb and then tell me to run it through the shredder--or not. There are reasons for either choice. When she finishes, I have to go through it one more time to clear up any of those “things” that happen, and then decide what I want to do with it.
I’ve been working on it for over a year, and to tell you the truth, I’m not sure. My intent was for it to be a sequel to I Can and I Will only twenty years later. The main character in that one was horribly abused by his father until he ran away at the age of 15 and moved in with a friend—which everyone, including his own parents were perfectly fine with.
In the new book, his sons suddenly learn that they had grandparents who lived in town whom they didn’t even know existed. Then they become aware of the fact they know zero about their own dad’s childhood.
Being normal, nosy kids, they can’t let it just “go away” as their father wishes. They are hell bent to find out everything they can—which much of is pretty gruesome.
So, my question becomes, is it too much of a re-hash of the first book? Are things too repetitive in the book? Is the book about the boys and their questions or their dad and his life-long avoidance? That’s where my favorite editor comes in. What do we do with this thing—change it, shred it, or publish it? Time will tell.
“I Just Got Chewed Out by a Pro”
So, it is dry out, right? Like, we haven’t had a decent rain around here in ages. So, doing my duties, I went out to water the flowers. I started my little project by soaking my four hanging baskets that I bought from the Sprout House in Perry.
And then, all hell broke loose. The hose hadn’t much more than entered the first basket when it turned into Squawk, squawk, squawk—flutter, flutter, flutter, and two baby wrens fell out of the nest and onto the ground.
I picked them both, wiped them off, and put them back in the basket. By that time, Mamma Wren was screaming obscenities at me unmercifully from the tree which is about ten feet away. I apologized profusely and let her know the kids were fine. Doesn't matter. She hates me, threatened to call 911, the Mafia, and some acquaintance of hers known as the Hit Hawk from the Amazon.
I moved away to the other baskets and flowers, but it didn’t matter. She never shut up until I left the yard. At least, I’m assuming she finally did. I came into the house, closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner. If nothing else, I can’t hear her threats anymore. Thank goodness.
“Cool and Uncool”
I was out driving around MSU one day last week and was amazed to see so many solar panels. The major parking lots all have them. Clean energy is cool, but my goofy mind started looking in other directions. Have you ever had your car parked out doors during a hail storm, sleet or ice storm, blizzard? If I were on campus during one of those delightful events, I would much prefer being parked under a solar panel than out in the open. I also think your car might stay a little cooler on the inside during days like we’ve had recently.
Then I got to thinking. How cool would it be to have all the major parking lots in town and the downtown streets where there is metered parking have them also. I have no idea how much electricity it would generate for the city, but certainly they would pay for themselves over time.
Now to the uncool… With it being so dry, no rain in ages, I did a cemetery run yesterday to water the flowers. At my in-laws, someone had pulled out a geranium out of their urn and thrown it on the ground. I replanted it and watered the thing thoroughly, hoping it wasn’t totally dead and would survive.
Then, I went to my parents’ site at a different cemetery, and someone had stolen a geranium from in front of my dad’s marker. Someone told me last night that they had heard of multiple instances of vandalism in that particular cemetery. Like, why? People think it’s funny? Have nothing better to do? Are just plain A.H.’s? I’m putting my money on the last.
“Were We ‘Really’ Begging for this Six Months Ago?”
This is something like the third day in a row we’ve been under a Severe Heat Advisory. Wonderful! The temps have been ranging in the 90s with heat indexes in the 100s. The forecast is for the temps to stay near 90 for the next week—however, the humidity is cutting back a tad after tonight. Supposed to rain tonight.
In the meantime, it has given me the perfect excuse to ignore all the weeds in my flower gardens. After all, the TV, radio, and paper have all been harping at us old geezers to stay out of the heat and keep hydrated. Perfect! I’m spending most of my time working on Tell Me Why and drinking coffee. (That does count doesn’t it?)
I have the basic story told, so now I’m editing and filling in the details. People tend to want more emotions and basic descriptions, so that’s what I’m doing
For instance, when the main character gets suckered into singing at the school’s talent show, everyone else showed up in suits, ties, dresses, etc. When they drag him out of the stands to perform, he’s wearing lime green shorts with a matching lime green and gray t-shirt. Now, does that give you a little better visual of the kid? Oh well, hopefully this will be finished by the end of the year, and then it’s on to the next project.
“Read to Them in the Womb?”
In the past month I have learned of a situation strictly by coincidence. I have no idea how the conversations started, but they did. During this time I have had a chance to talk to two fathers of early elementary males who live miles apart but whose sons share the same advantage in life. Both of these boys read 4-5 years ahead of their age group in school.
One of the fathers told me that his son was so far ahead that the school had to devise a specialized curriculum just for him. I’m not sure about the second boy. We didn’t get that far into the conversation.
What do these boys have in common? Both families read to their child for an hour daily while the child was in the womb. After the boys were born, both families continued to read to their child for an hour a day. Once the child could read, the practice continued with the child doing the reading. One of the fathers indicated that they cut his “required” reading time back to a half hour a night because he had so many other activities going on in his life.
I was at a 9-10 year-old baseball game last night and mentioned the coincidence to a lady sitting with our group, and her comment was, “Oh, yes. That’s common knowledge these days and highly recommended.” Personally, this is the first I’ve ever heard of the practice, but it sounds like a great idea to me. If any of the rest of you have heard of this, shoot me an email and tell me your experiences.
I’ve had a couple of instances lately where I’ve really begun to wonder if some people are born totally stupid, or have they worked hard all their lives perfecting it.
This week I went to Horrocks in west Lansing to get flowers for the cemeteries and yard. The place was hammered with customers. As I left, this young couple were walking out with their two kids. Dad carried the baby, and Mom checked her phone.
The two year old ran loose with a steady stream of cars moving in and out of the parking lot. After someone honked at them, the mother continued checking out her phone as she called out to the toddler, “Stay with Mommy.”
After that, I went to Sam’s club to get gas and my 40 minute hike through the place. The furthest lane from the starting place typically has cars going against the arrow. As there was only one car in line, I joined in. A lady stood on the other side yelling at the African American gentleman pumping gas. She apparently was appalled that people would actually go against the arrows. After I pulled in, she started yelling at the lady in the car behind me. Was it the tilt of the head, looking over my glasses, as I gave her my best school teacher scowl? I don’t know, but she never said a word to me—which really disappointed me. I wanted to ask her if she really thought anyone gave a fiery flame thrower what she thinks. (I think that’s the way that F-Bomb works)
Then to top off my delightful day of enjoying stupidity, I went into Sams to get in my walk. Three days a week I go to the cardio lab, three days I walk Sams, and on Sunday I do nothing. Anyway, as I cruised down one aisle, a mother pushed her cart with a toddler standing up in the thing balancing itself. That time, I couldn’t resist. “Who’s gonna win when he nose dives head first onto the floor—the cement floor or his brains splattering all over it?” She didn’t say a word to me—in fact I think I got a dirty look. Anyway, I did hear in the background after I passed, “You’d better sit down, Honey.”
“Should I or Not?”
Here is a short, three page blurb I am debating with myself about. Do I want to include it in the YA sequel to I Can and I Will or not? My assumption is, adolescent boys will be embarrassedly amused, and girls of the same age will have no clue. Read it and tell me what you think.
After the thunderbolt settled from the boys learning about and meeting the biological grandparents they never knew existed—one in his grave and the other at her house, life settled back into normalcy. That is, as much as that’s even possible with a house full of boys.
One frigid January Saturday around noon, Jayden puttered in the kitchen, making a pot of homemade chili for lunch while Madelyn finished a load of wash. After she stashed the last pile of clothes in various bedroom drawers throughout the house, she slipped up on Jayden and wrapped her arms around him. Music blared from the radio and she wanted to dance. As they held on to each other and swayed to the music, she whispered something into his ear.
When the song ended, Jayden smiled and handed her the slotted chili spoon. Her turn to stir. He then walked down the steps to the family room AKA game room where the boys were playing video games as they waited for lunch. He grimaced a bit because this would definitely not be his favorite fatherly duty to accomplish for the weekend. A year ago, it had been Ryan’s turn, now it’s Rayden’s.
“Ryan,” he said, “would you go up and give Mom a hand? She’s finishing lunch, and I want to talk to Ray for a minute—just the two of us.”
“Why can’t I stay and play my game? I won’t listen—maybe. Besides, it can’t be that big a deal.”
“I don’t want to bore you. After all, you heard this same spiel a year ago. So, I don’t think you need to hear it again. Apparently, you’ve learned how to handle the problem.”
“Oh, OK. I get it. I’ll leave,” Ryan said. He managed not to laugh, but couldn’t avoid a huge grin when he looked at his dad.
Rayden could see nothing funny in the proceedings so far. He wracked his brain trying to figure out what he’d done this time. He couldn’t think of a thing. In fact, he thought he’d been pretty good lately.
Jay plopped down on the love seat and patted the cushion beside him. “Pause your game, and come sit down. We need to talk.”
“Dad,” Rayden said, “am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you’re not in trouble. However, according to your mom, apparently something’s been coming up lately, so I think we need to talk about it. That’s all. No big deal.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Jayden grinned. “OK, relax. I’ll get right to the point in a minute. All of us around here know how efficient your mother is, and you also know how she keeps track of everything. Well, it seems like some of your things have been coming up missing in the wash lately.”
Rayden still didn’t have a clue about what his dad was yapping about. He always threw his dirty clothes down the laundry chute every night when he took his shower. How could he be missing anything?
“Dad, I still don’t get it.? What have I done?”
“Since you take a shower seven nights a week, you should have seven sets of underwear in the wash, not seven tee shirts and five pairs of underpants.”
“Oh,” Rayden said as his face suddenly turned into a shining, bright red, glowing oval.
“Stuff happens, especially with young boys. It’s no big deal, but you need to take care of things the right way—and that doesn’t mean forcing your mother to crawl around on her hands and knees on the carpet while she looks under your bed, or checks out the floor and storage shelf of your closet, or anyplace else you might happen to have hidden your messy drawers. You do need to take care of things yourself—and that means starting today by finding the two missing items and throwing them in the wash.”
“But, but, but…” Rayden stammered.
“No buts about it. When there’s been an accident, you wad up the affected objects carefully so everything stays dry on the outside, throw them down the chute, and then tell your mom you had a problem during the night. She’ll understand. Believe it or not, she does know what it’s all about.”
“Dad, I couldn’t tell her something like that. I’d die of humiliation.”
Jayden laughed. The boys always seemed to forget their mom is a pediatric nurse when it comes to their own personal problems. Besides, her job doesn’t make any difference. This is a problem no boy wants to admit to his mother when it happens, whether she’s a nurse or a stay-at-home mom. It doesn’t matter.
“I totally understand,” Jayden said. “So, the way I see it, if you want to stop this from happening, you need to go into the prevention mode. It might not work one-hundred percent of the time, but it will help a great deal.”
“So, what can I do, Dad? I can’t stop it from happening. When it does, I’m sound asleep and then, all of a sudden, I’m dreaming this crazy dream, and then I wake up to a mess.”
“I’m going to give you a little equation that you have to figure out on your own. Your brother, being a chemistry nerd, figured it out as soon as I showed it to him a year or so ago. With you being into computer programming, it might not come as easy. However, if you think about it, you can do it. I’m not going to tell you, and no fair asking Ryan for help. Figure this out yourself.”
“OK,” Rayden said, still not wanting to make eye contact. “What’s the equation?”
About three o’clock that afternoon, Rayden poked his head into the living room where his dad sat watching the Spartans away basketball game on television. He tried to act serious, but he couldn’t stifle his grin.
“Dad, I think I’m going to go take a shower if that’s OK.”
“In the middle of the afternoon?” Jayden said. “Uh, what’s the occasion? Surely you haven’t gotten yourself all sweaty and dirty from cleaning your game room downstairs without being nagged.”
“No, no. I think I’ve figured out the equation, but probably should practice at least once this afternoon to make sure I’m doing it right. After all, I wouldn’t want to go take my nightly shower without mastering the problem in advance, now would I? Come to think about it, I may even have to take another shower after dinner just to be really sure I’ve got the thing right.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Jayden said. “put on your swimming suit, dive into the pool and get in twenty-five laps or so.”
“Dad!” Ryden said, “It’s January and the pool’s solid ice.”
“Well, I still think if you did, it would definitely cool down that hot-blooded body of yours a bit.”
Both laughed as Jayden messed up Rayden’s hair. It was time for them to watch the end of the game together.
“Boy Scouts Vs Girl Scouts”
After over a hundred years, the boy scouts are going to turn into a gender neutral group. Booo! I disagree. I’ve heard several supposed reasons for the change and don’t like any of them.
One has been because of declining enrollment and participation over the years. Supposedly, it’s a means of preserving the organization. Ever think of doing a little more advertising?
Another excuse I’ve heard is that the girl scouts don’t offer the opportunities such as camping, hiking, etc. etc. that the boys get and so it’s unfair to exclude them. I would suggest that if the Girl Scout programs are not meeting the needs of its members, why not change the programs? Duh!
One I heard this morning is totally putrid—it’s a far left conspiracy or some such crap. WHY does everything have to be political? That’s total BS. There is nothing political about being a boy scout or a girl scout.
I can still remember, even if it has been a year or two, sitting around the campfire out in the woods as our scout leaders talked about morals, ethics, and values—told in a way boys would understand. I’m sure the girls did the same. We paid attention because there were no gender based distractions.
Another annual scouting tradition had to do when we were at camp. Half way through our yearly hike in the woods to learn about poison ivy, edible berries, gopher holes, different kinds of trees, etc. we were always given a break. We all raced into the woods and found our tree. Who could produce the highest pee mark on the tree? Who could burp or fart the loudest during dinner? We had one boy who would get a mouthful of water from his canteen and gargle/sing a different song every year.
Those are BOY scouting memories, not classroom type memories. I’m sure the girls have more memories than just selling cookies. Hate to lose them all for future generations.
“Is It Really Here?”
I’m not going to hold my breath, but do you suppose that maybe Spring has finally arrived? I have so had it with the cold weather; I’m almost ready to buy into the anti ‘Global Warming’ hoax. Just kidding. Not going to do that even if it has taken forever for warm weather to show up.
Yesterday the temperature hit 83 degrees here in Lansing which was one degree away from the record 84. It felt hot out there. The skies were relatively clear and the sun beat down. Today is much more cloudy because we have Spring storms moving in. However, we’re still expected to hit 80. Ta Da!
On another note, I have been reinvigorated on Tell Me Why. I’ve been talking to some people and they have all encouraged me to keep going. They’ve also added some suggestive input, which always helps. Since I essentially write to entertain myself, I’m not losing my focus. I’ll keep at it and see what happens.
I haven’t been real happy with the book I’m currently working on, “Tell Me Why.” I’ve begun to wonder if what I’m doing is a rehash of the novel before which this is the sequel twenty some years later. So, I went back and reread “I Can and I Will.” I’m still not sure. After that, I reread a couple of the others. I examined “Pondering the Past” next. That is probably my favorite of all twelve books. That one makes this one look pretty lame in comparison. Of course, since I’m about the only one who has read it, it probably doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. I think the cover is at least partially to blame for lack of readership on that one. Doesn’t matter.
So, I continued on rereading a couple of the others. The themes are all way too similar. The plots are different, but there are glaring parallels. And, I do know why. Way back a hundred years or so ago when I first taught middle school, we didn’t have counselors. The teachers provided that role. The horror stories I heard about and from what I considered to be abused kids, dysfunctional families, and downright evil, non-caring parents have always stayed with me. Bits and pieces of those stories have found their ways into my books.
The end result is that I will probably continue along in the same vein because my stories always come out with a positive ending, even if maybe some of the original situations maybe didn’t. I have no way of telling how some of their stories resolved themselves. The situation I stole to write “Pondering the Past” didn’t end up well. Maybe that’s why it’s my favorite. My ending did.
“We Bombed Them: Now What?”
After several days of the world wondering how or if the US would react to the Syrian maniac who used poison gas on his own people, the US, France, and Great Britain put their heads together and hurled over a hundred missiles at their chemical weapons facilities.
Hopefully, they have been completely destroyed and Syria won’t be able to rebuild them.In the meantime, what happens next? Apparently the Russians have threatened retaliation of some kind. What does that mean? Will they bomb an American base in Europe? Will they attack the US? I would assume that whatever they do, they will do it more as a ‘signal’ of their displeasure than as an actual start to WW3. Let’s hope so. We don’t need to destroy the world as we know it.
What will the people of Syria do? Their resistance movement is reportedly almost dead in the water. That’s one reason this all came as such a surprise. The town he gassed was supposedly just about the last holdout. Their civil war has been going on for something like seven years. Will this reignite it? Will this end it for good? Who knows? All we can do now is wait and keep our fingers crossed that we haven’t crossed Putin’s red line in the sand and started a fiasco
“What Should the US Do?”
That maniac in Syria, Bashar al-Assad, appears to be at it again. He has used poisonous gas on his own people killing dozens including innocent women and children. He has done this before along with various responses from the US from literally doing nothing to bombing their military installations. The question is, what should we do?
Should the situation be left up to the United Nations which historically has done literally nothing because Syria is an ally of Russia, so they can veto any action. Should be left up to neighboring Middle Eastern countries like Turkey, Iraq, Israel, and others to take the lead? Or, should we risk getting ourselves into another conflict and ramp up our own presence over there and take Assad out? If we do that, are we taking a chance of a major conflict with Russia?
Hopefully, our glorious leaders in Washington can put politics aside for once and come together and make some kind of rational decisions about the situation. Let’s decide once and for all, since Assad is an evil maniac slaughtering his own people, is he our responsibility? Yes or no, what are we going to do? And, then let’s do it, whatever it is.
“Brick and Mortar Stores”
Hey! Brick and mortar stores aren’t necessarily dead—regardless of what you read. My coffee pot very conveniently died this morning. Pushed the button, and nothing happened. Wiggled the wires, checked the plugs, pushed every button on the thing, NOTHING. Well, concerned that I would have to get out my cardboard sign and hang out on the corner for a while trying to mooch some cash, I looked out the window and noticed the rain and wind. Well, I put away my, “I’ll pet your cat for food” sign, and I was off to plan two.
I went to Ma Google and started searching. I found some pretty decent prices at Amazon for what I was looking for—cheap, simple, and easy to use. I just happened to print off a handful of their best adds to take to Best Buys to do a little comparison price shopping. After pulling out my slips and showing them to the nice young man at the corner pleading poverty, senility, and the fact that I didn’t want to brew one cup at a time—and, that all I wanted to do was brew a whole pot and then warm it up the remains on the following day, my price suddenly managed to be lower than then the on-line Amazon one. I walked out with my brand new pot, washed out the various parts, and brewed a cup of plain water. I’m ready to roll tomorrow morning. Now, if this thing will just last thirty more years, we’re in business.
“Youth Gun Action Movement”
I’ve always been a firm believer of the idea, “When parents allow their children to think, they do.” I’ve been amazed at the number of people who have been so upset by the kids and their various marches regarding gun violence the past few weeks. Facebook has been full of adults ranting and raving about the kids who are willing to do most anything to live their lives safely without fear of being gunned down by some nut case. Why does a sixteen year olds’ concern for his/her own life have to become a political agenda?
Recent history is full of youth movements. For example, start with the civil rights activists of the 60s. Then move on to the Vietnam War protests. Those were mostly young people. In other parts of the world, we had the 1989 Tiananmen Square disaster in China where thousands of soldiers killed hundreds of unarmed students. In 2010 we had the Arab Spring in the Middle East by young people frustrated by police corruption and human rights violations. Closer to home, and more recently, we had the young water rights activists who did a lengthy protest on the North Dakota Navajo reservation in opposition to the oil pipelines crossing their land.
So, what it boils down to today is the fact that we have a nation full of kids who don’t want to be indiscriminately mowed down by some mental who should not be carrying a military style automatic weapon. At this point, they don’t want everyone’s thoughts and prayers, they want action. And, who has the ability to do something? Our politicians. Who gives a rip whether or not you’re a Democrat, Republican, Conservative, or Liberal? Get off your *&^%’s and do something.
Been reading on Facebook from all the “professional” critics regarding MSU’s season and coaches. All kinds of people have suggested that it’s time for Izzo to step down, become the AD, or simply disappear. Well, I don’t agree.
Yes, the team took a mid season skid and never totally recovered. However, let’s take a look at some of the possible reasons. Number one, that’s when the Nassar debacle surfaced. Yes, the guy is evil and fully deserves the 200 years or so he’s been put away for. With all the blame that was tossed around, how could the kids not be affected? Some of these kids are 18-19 years old. Yes, they are kids. To say nothing of the fact that it wasn’t the coaches who missed something like 13 of the final 14 shots.
ESPN, of course, had to put their 2 cents worth in. Like, the more hysteria they can cause, the higher their ratings. They went on an MSU witch hunt, vendetta, blaming the football and basketball coaches for sexual abuse cover-ups. The fact that all of these things had been investigated by the Title 9 people is irrelevant. They got to make up their own facts.
What say we let the authorities sort this out and move on to next year. In the meantime, let’s root form Michigan and get a Big Ten national champion. Wouldn’t that give the ACC droolers something to gnaw on?
Thank goodness we have brilliant lawmakers in Congress like the representative from Miamisburg, Ohio. He has solved the problem with crazy gunmen coming into our schools and shooting up the place, killing numerous students and school personnel. It’s simple. Allow the eighteen year old students to carry guns in school to protect themselves and their classmates.
Can’t you just see it now? I, as the teacher, give you, the student, a poor grade because you blew off an assignment. Back in the old days, you slipped in after class and asked, “Can I re-do that paper? I’m sorry. I had a wild and crazy weekend, and didn’t do it right.”
I let you know that you can, but there will be a penalty involved. Your grade will suffer some, but not like it’s sitting in the book right now.
Today, it’ll be different. We’ll resolve the crisis right now. You’ll see the grade and scream, “I’ve had it with you. You always expect me to do my best. We’ll see how that goes. DRAW!”
And, of course, we then have a shootout at the OK Corral—or the local high school. Let’s just hope the other kids find a safe place to duck while you and I go at it.
Oh, yes, Congressman Antani. Your idea was absolutely brilliant.
I’m contemplating very seriously of signing off Facebook for good. Maybe I just need a break. FB used to be fun. People would post pictures and stuff of their families, what everyone was doing, where they were traveling, etc. It seems like now, it’s all politics. It’s amazing how many Photo Shopped articles and so-called news clips are out there.
Everybody is an expert. Democrat is a dirty word. Republican is a dirty word. Liberal and conservative have taken the place of all of those four-letter expletives we used to get our mouths washed out with soap over. And, gun control or the lack of? Horrors! Everyone is nuts over that one. Of course, my favorite one along that line is the idea of arming the teachers. Right!
Several of my “friends” start the day by posting five or six political postings which are all total BS. And, not only that, but they do this every day. Do they actually believe any of it? Are they doing it for a joke? Or, are they so gullible that it all makes perfect sense to them, and they WILL change everyone’s mind by reposting all that garbage?
Obviously, my solution is to forget all of it and go read a good book. Need any suggestions? I’ll post some on Facebook.
Well, I’ve been back from Florida for almost a week and have managed to continue procrastinating on Tell Me Why, the sequel to I Can and I Will. For those of you who have read the first one, you will understand. The character Jayden has been estranged from his birth family for over twenty years. His two sons, Ryan and Rayden, have never heard any of the “ancient” history behind this, and it’s driving them nuts.
They first learn of the situation when one of their friends at school come and offer condolences for the loss of their grandfather. Only problem is, they have never heard of the guy. Naturally, they have to confront their dad, Jayden, and don’t learn a whole lot. He still wants to block it all out even after all these years. Their Uncle Rob and Grandma Roberts do manage to clue them in on some of the mystery. However, kids being kids, this isn’t enough. They manage to do some exploring and finally find the grandfather’s grave. They manage to convince their dad to go and take a look. Because of his pain, they agree to let the past lie.
However, that doesn’t work. They want to find their biological grandmother. I want them to make a connection, but I’m not totally sure how I’m going to do it. The thematic concept is going to be, One may forgive, but not forget. What none of them understand is how can a mother of a young teen, just be willing to give him away and never see him again. Obviously, there is a reason which I have shared with my editor who has taken the work to date and is going to help me figure the hows and whys of the whole thing. So, anyway, hopefully sometime in 2018, I might even finish this thing and get it published. Hold your breath, will you?
Well, I guess I’ve been slacking for the past week and a half. That’s OK. I’m in Florida letting my relatives babysit me and waiting on me hand and foot. This is quite a contrast from the home front. Back in Lansing, they’ve received something like 14-16 inches of snow over the weekend. Here, we’ve had temps ranging 84-86 every day. I’ll take heat and humidity over a foot of snow any day.
Another thing I’ve been slacking on is my writing. I’ve been working on the sequel to I can and I Will for a while now and have kind of bogged down with it. My excuse du jour is that I know what I want to do, Id just don’t know for sure how I want to get there. When I get back home, I’ll get started on it again, and it will all work out. So, in the meantime, I’ll continuing being a slacker and enjoying the good life for a couple more weeks.
The pedophile doctor at MSU has finally gotten his just due, but the rest of the university is going to suffer big time. So far, the president of the university and the athletic director have both resigned. There are a number of people calling for the heads of both the basketball and football coaches. The argument being, there is a culture of sexual abuse on campus, and this needs to be done. From what I heard this morning, one of the people at ESPN said they should disband all athletics from MSU. Now, that’s ridiculous.
To start with, the abuse and degradation of women is a part of a national crisis. The whole music and movie industry has been rampant with resignations, firings, and gossip. And it’s not only females. There was some coverage not too long ago that said that many boys in the movie industry had been abused. Like, if you want this part in such and such a movie or TV program, you’ll play along and keep your mouth shut.
There have also been a number of politicians who have been implicated in sexual scandals starting at the top and moving down the ranks. So, my whole point being, it’s not just the MSU athletic department that needs to change. The entire national culture of abuse needs to and the sooner people figure it out, the better off we’ll be.
“Our Delightful Politicians”
Well, our delightful politicians in Washington are at it again. They can’t get past their egos long enough to pass a funding bill to keep the government running. Technically, we’re shut down. Of course, that’s no big deal—nobody gets paid except the Congressmen, death benefits for the military are shut off, etc. etc. On the bright side, they supposedly are going to take some kind of vote at noon today to open things back up. Who knows what that all entails.
Not sure where I stand on this one. There are a lot of calls for the president of Michigan State University to resign over the sexual abuse scandal that has been plaguing the university. I know, the old saying, Harry Truman said it best. He had a sign on his desk saying, “The buck stops here.” Obviously, if she knew of the problem and was part of the cover up, she should go. However, what are the odds that anyone as high on the totem pole as that, even knew of the problem. I can see both sides of the issue, so right now, I’m not taking a stance. We’ll see how it all works out.
“Only in Michigan”
So, yesterday the temperature hit 58 degrees here in Lansing. That didn’t set a record, but came close. What seemed so nice was that I was able to do my afternoon chores wearing only a long sleeve shirt on top—no coat, no hoodie, and the grass was green. All of the snow had melted except for the piles caused by plowing.
Today it’s a different story. Right now at almost noon, it’s 22 degrees, we have a wind chill of 10, and visibility of .7. We’ve probably picked up 5 or 6 inches of snow and still have a couple of hours to go. The wind is blowing hard enough so the snow squalls are blowing sideways. To date, I have not seen one car go down our street. I’m sure there have been some, but I haven’t seen any. Ah, only in Michigan.
Things are getting more and more interesting. Less than a week after Fire and Fury came out, Oprah Winfrey is hinting at the fact that she might throw her hat into the 2020 presidential ring. Like Trump, she is a TV mega star, however, a polar opposite of him. Where he’s totally negative, she’s totally positive.
What’s even more interesting, is the day after that news breaks, he gets a bunch of Dems and Repubs together to hash out some kind of deal on DACHA. Those are the illegal immigrants that were brought into the country by their parents before their 16th birthday. Essentially, he said that he would sign whatever it is that they could work out amongst themselves. I hope he doesn’t change his mind. They thought they had a bi-partisan deal a while back and he nixed it because it didn’t include the wall he insists on building. We’ll see what happens this time.
“Fire and Fury”
With all the notoriety going on about the new book to hit the presses, “Fire and Fury,” I just had to spend some cash and get it on my Kindle. I’m about twenty-five percent in, and I must admit, VERY interesting.
My only concern is the accuracy. Even the author admitted that it is not 100% I guess a few names of people in meetings were confused, etc. If one is writing non-fiction, there has to be enough vetting and fact-checking to make sure that things are accurate.
In the meantime, the book is a real bomb shell on the current administration. If it’s even 80% accurate, this country is in for a lot of trouble. The allegations it makes against the President, his administration, and family are scary. Obviously, they come from a lifestyle that 99.9% of us will never understand—or probably even want to. However, if the egos, assumptions, and what the characters see when they look in a mirror, are portrayed anywhere accurately, look out.
"Maybe I Really Am Evil"
After having breakfast with my kid this morning in south Lansing, I was traveling home on south Waverly traveling north. The car immediately ahead of me was driving in the left hand lane approximately twenty miles per hour, veering back and forth across the line. Approaching her car, I peered through her car’s rear window, her head hung. Was she half passed out? Sick? Having physical or emotional problems? Nope. Busy texting.
I slowed down while I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. No other traffic was at risk, so I just had to do it. Holding my phone to my ear and wearing my best school-teacher scowl, I looked up and down her car as I pretended to talk into my phone. Then I stared at her, as I continued to describe what I was looking at. By then, she was staring back.
Much to my disappointment, giving me a dirty look, she suddenly tossed her phone into the passenger seat, stepped on the gas, and swerved left into the first shopping center we came to. Darn! Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, she spoiled all of my fun.
“Christmas is Over”
Well, Christmas is over for another year. On we move to 2018. Good grief! The years fly by faster every year. I’ve been taking a break from writing for a couple of weeks. Now that the main holiday is over, maybe I can quit procrastinating and get back at it. I’m still not 100% sure where Tell Me Why is going. It may or may not end up as a short novel, novella, or novelette. It doesn’t really matter one way or the other. The main thing is, it gives me something to play with and entertain myself with.
Been battling with Amazon over a review I’m trying to write for Lee Carey’s newest novel. Since they have figured out that we know each other, they won’t let me review it—which is pure BS. I purchased it for my Kindle, read it, and should be able to review it. I talked to four different people and didn’t get very far. I’m going to wait for a couple of days and call them again. In the mean time, all of you who bought I Can and I Will need to get out there and review it. If you have an account on Amazon, review it anyway whether you read it or not. Two can play their silly little games.
“Back in the Day”
I remember the time when 8” of snow was forecast when I would say, “Whoopee!” Not anymore. Snow is not my favorite thing. That means I’m going to get off my duff and crank up the snow blower and clean the thing out. That is, unless some enterprising young man or lady comes along and is willing to do it for $10. The way I see it, I can get it done with the S.B in twenty minutes, so a teenybopper should be able to shovel it in that time. Mathematically, using pre-modern math calculations, it would work out to about $30 an hour, and that “ain’t” bad. Now, the next trick is to have one of those darlings show up at my door.
That brings another thought. I read in the news that MSU is providing service dogs for final exams this week. I know, I’m old school, but heaven help us—service dogs to relieve your stress during finals? Kids are so coddled these days, I can’t believe it. That kind of falls along with the fact that every kid has to get an award of some kind for participating in a sport or other activity. Why? Again, “Back in the Day” we used to participate for fun. If you won an award of some kind, that was great, but you didn’t participate just to win a patch saying you participated. That’s enough. I’ll go crawl back into my hole and quit ‘ranting’ for the day.
“Maybe I Need a Break”
I’ve been playing around with a sequel to I Can and I Will. The working title is Tell Me Why. It all takes place about 25 years after the first one. The main characters are Jay and Rob’s kids who are now about the same age of their dads when the original happened. The gist of the thing is that they suddenly learn of the existence of a grandfather that they never knew existed. The obituary is in the paper and one of Ryan’s friends offers condolences at school. His mother had shown him the obit.
The basic plot has to do with the boys finding out as much about this person as they can along with his wife, their biological grandmother. Their father, Jayden, won’t tell them anything and sicks the kids on his brother, Rob, and his mom. Much to their frustration, Rob won’t tell them anything either. That leaves much of the story telling up to their now “adoptive” grandmother. It had never dawned on them that they had different last names from their grandmother, uncle, and cousins.
That brings up my dilemma. I really cannot get into the story. I play around with it about every day but come up with more excuses than you can imagine for letting it go and doing something else—like coming up with something for the “Irrelevant Rants.” The characters are in my head constantly, but maybe more a continuation of the original book than this one. So, maybe I need to lay off until after Christmas and concentrate on the holidays. I can always let things germinate and play with different scenarios until then and then decide what might may be the next step—Ctrl, A, Delete:-)
“A Break from Social Media?”
I find it interesting how many people I know are taking a break from social media. I think four or five people I know have essentially said in the past week they would not be active on Facebook for the foreseeable future. The reason most people give is the political turmoil going on. I don’t know how it’s working on Snap Chat, Twitter, and some of the others because I don’t belong to any of them.
The way it seems to work is that people either love or hate the President. The haters can say nothing decent, and the lovers are all anti liberal. I find it humorous that “liberal” “conservative” “politically left” and “politically right” are all considered to be the same as four letter “F-Bombs.” I have friends who cannot help but start ranting in one direction or the other. I usually just sit there and wait for them to finish and then change the subject. To be fair, most of them suddenly become aware that I’m waiting patiently for them, and then they apologize and change the subject themselves.
I do the same thing when people start talking religion. There is absolutely no reason to discuss or debate either topic as ranting one way or the other is not going to change anyone’s opinion. Let’s face it, since I “Know” what is right in both arenas, you are obviously wrong, unless, of course, you happen to agree with me. And if you do, I probably won’t tell you.
“Into The Twentieth Century”
Well, after fighting with my cell phone provider for a while trying to get my Dumb Phone so that it would behave receiving text messages, I decided to join the 21st Century, spend my kid’s inheritance, and switched to a Smart Phone. The problem really has to do with technology. My phone was older than dirt and probably couldn’t be updated. Who knows? Anyway, I could never get through to my provider. I even went to the store and had them try to connect me. I sat there for a half hour and finally said screw it.
This is what some of my messages would look like:
“About a half hour ago I started peelin” and that would be the end of it.
Or, if someone sent an emoge in the message, the whole thing would look like, “*&^%$#$^&&*%$##%^&” What a joy that was. Anyway, I have a new phone, a new company, and we’ll see how it goes from here. All I have to do now is figure out how to use the blooming thing.
“Beginning to look like it”
As I mentioned, a couple of my friends decided that I really needed to write the sequel to I Can and I Will. So, after the initial twenty pages that I had done pretty much for myself and shared with a few friends, I now have close to two pages of bulleted notes telling me where to go from there. I’m “kind” of laying low until after Thanksgiving, and then it’s off to the races and we’ll see where the characters take me. Should be fun.
I never get political on here, but the State of Michigan is pushing for a ballot proposal to outlaw gerrymandering. For those of you who are not familiar with the process, every ten years new district lines are drawn by the party in power to create voting districts for the next ten years. Obviously, this allows the current party in power to skew the results in their favor. If you look at a districting map, they make no sense—except to the people who drew them up to favor one party over the other. The ballot drive proposes to make the process a-political making it, hopefully, a lot less biased for either party. To me, that only makes sense.
I have been playing with a really short sequel to I Can and I Will. My intention was to make it somewhere between a short story and a novelette and do nothing with it. If anything, include it with my next short story book. I printed off what I had done and gave it to a couple of different people to look over for feedback.
So, what happens? A couple of different people have decided I should do a complete sequel. In fact, two people put their heads together and offered several suggestions about where I could go with it. As a retired philosophy professor, my one friend wanted me to delve into the psychological aspects and scars of parents literally “giving away” their child because it worked better for them. If I do this, it’s going to take some research and analysis into human fears and doubts. Good grief, am I up to this?
"Did You Know Cows Can Shed Like a Snake?"
I was truly alone, like a rowboat on a scornful sea when the doorbell rang. It was Halloween night, about a half hour after the siren had gone off, supposedly ending all trick or treating for the year. I had already pulled the drapes and turned off the porch light, Curious about who might be calling at that time of night, I opened the door and there stood a little cow. Well, it was late, but what could I do? Naturally, because of his size, I forgave him for not realizing the allotted time had passed, and gave him his treats of chocolate Krackles and Mr. Goodbars. Thinking he’d then race off to his next victim, I certainly was surprised when the little cow burst past me and ran into my living room like he owned the place. I figured the poor thing must be cold and wanted to warm up so I didn’t look for a rope to lasso and hogtie the critter with. I let him be.
Now, I must admit, I was a tad surprised with the whole situation, because, if I’m not mistaken, that might have been the first time I’ve ever had a cow in my living room. So, I don’t think it should be too surprising either that I might have been a bit leery at first. However, I hoped everything would be OK, so I decided to let things be—temporarily. We’d see how it all worked out.
As I chatted with the buckaroos accompanying him, I foolishly let them in on my Halloween secret. When I had loaded up on my candy supply for the big day, I discovered the huge bags came in four equal parts—Krackles, Mr. Goodbars, which are not two of my favorites, and semi-sweet, and sweet chocolates which are. Not even thinking, I showed them the container where I had hidden all of the good ones just for me. Lo and behold, before I could throw my body over the container and protect my secret supply, that little cow dove into my stash and hauled out a huge hoof full of my private goodies. Completely shaken, as he finished filling his mostly full pumpkin to the brim, I managed to quickly hide the rest of it, well out of a three-foot cow’s reach.
After another somewhat nervous, on my part, half hour or so of chitchat and listening to at least 87 “No’s,” something extremely weird happened. Believe it or not, but that cow started shedding like a snake in the middle of my living room. First off, it was the head which popped out of its skin, and then slithering arms set themselves free, and finally the bovine’s legs released themselves from captivity, and surprise, surprise! There stood my two year old great-grandson in his jammies, all ready to snuggle his head into his daddy’s shoulder and doze off. His deed for the night was done. Needless to say, at that point, all was forgiven.
Today is Halloween, and I’m participating for the first time since Kay got too sick to mess with the interruption about six years ago. I bought a couple of huge bags of Hershey Chocolate goodies filled with regular chocolate, a lighter chocolate, Krackle, and Mr. Goodbars. Well, since the last two are not my favorites, I separated all of them out into a gallon baggie and plan to give them out first—leaving the good stuff for me. Nasty, “ain’t” I? However, I feel that’s fair. It’s my Halloween trick on the kids. They get the treats.
Still working on the short story—novelette, whatever it ends up to be on what my weird imagination has come up with for twenty-five years down the road from the main story of I Can and I Will. Still have no idea where I’m going with this, and don’t really care. I’m having fun with it, and that’s all I care about.
Now, if all of you would just buy ten copies of I Can and I Will apiece for Christmas presents to all your relatives, I could seriously think about retiring from writing—or not.
“Famous Last Words”
When I finished I Can and I Will, I swore up and down there would be no sequel or series. However, when I write about a couple of characters, I know them practically from birth to infinity. Therefore, my crazy brain has fantasized Jayden and Rob as adults with kids of their own, about the same age as they were during their novel.
One thing Jayden’s kids never even thought of is the fact that their dad’s mom, their grandma, has a different last name than they do. That never even comes up until one of the boy’s friends offers condolences regarding the death of his grandfather—a man that none of the four kids have ever even heard of. However, Jayden is listed as the man’s “estranged” son.
Jayden has always emphasized “sharing” with his two boys—good news, bad news, life’s events in general. This unknown grandfather is something he has never shared. Why?
I have absolutely no idea where this thing is going. Right now, it’s slightly above the short story level and into the novelette stage. Where does it go from here? Who knows, maybe no place. As a dear friend of mine always says, “We’ll see.”
“Abuse Comes in Many Packages”
It seems like there has been an awful lot in the media of late about childhood abuse—physical, emotional, psychological, sexual, and more. I think it may have started with the outing of a number of religious personnel a few years back. Then it appeared to shift to big-name doctors who were involved with the care of young athletes. Just lately I’ve noticed that it has have shifted to young movie and television stars.
If the truth were known, this is something that has been going on forever to varying degrees. As I look back, most of my books have been written about dysfunctional families which are abusive in a number of different ways. I first became aware of the problem back, in what probably seems to many, in the dark ages when I first started teaching. In those days, we didn’t have counselors in the middle school so the teachers more or less took on that role.
I had the kids write journals which they knew would be read, but not graded. There were a number of things that I ended up keeping kids after class for where I could get a clearer picture of what was going on. And, yes, there was periodic intervention when needed. Sometimes it was only a suggestion.
Anyway, to get to the point, today I went to one of my great grandson’s football games. He’s a fifth grader. His best friend got hurt during the game. Watching him sit the bench the rest of the game, it had all appearances of maybe a cracked or broken collarbone. His mom did go down and check up on him. I watched as she kept feeling in different places, asking him if it hurt. She and her husband sat with our crowd, so at the end of the game as we were leaving, I casually asked her if they were going to get it X-rayed.
Her response was, “Do you think we should?”
I told her that I definitely would if he were my son.
What struck me odd was the boy’s dad, who was walking behind his wife, vehemently scowling and shaking his head no. It was almost like he was thinking, “Hell no, he’s a stud. He can live with a little pain. I’m not going to embarrass him that way.”
Was that really the reason? Don’t they have insurance? Is he religiously against medical intervention and care? Who knows? I just hope his wife is wiser and makes sure the boy is checked out. Let’s face it, he’s not a stud. He’s a slightly built, fifth grade little boy who needs medical attention. I hope he gets it.
“Politics and Religion”
I had an interesting thing happen yesterday. I had gone to a flag football game and was standing behind the chairs by myself watching. It wasn’t long when a person whom I have known casually for some time entered the park and walked up to me. We essentially said “Hi” and started watching the game, more or less, together. He wasn’t there five minutes when he started ranting politics. I listened and said nothing.
After carrying on for a few minutes, he looked and noticed I wasn’t paying any obvious attention to him. He paused, and said, “I probably shouldn’t be talking politics at a football game.”
I responded to him that I have made it a point for years that I never talk politics or religion in public. I just don’t do it.
He agreed that made sense. He stopped and didn’t say anything for a bit. Five minutes later, he started in again. Fortunately, about that time we were interrupted by a bunch of little bees who wanted to hassle us. We started swatting at them and the conversation ended.
In the meantime, let me hassle you with this:
Back Cover Blurb for I Can and I Will
The team had just finished the last day of tryouts, and the roster sheets had been posted on the door. Jayden, who had played halfback as a freshman, did not see his name on the JV roster. Devastated, he sat alone on the bench in the dressing room, with his head buried between his knees. His mind flashed back to what his father had preached to him his whole life. “You can’t do that, you’re too puny. You can’t do that, you’re not smart enough. You Can’t do that!”
So, what should he do? Should he give up, or should he fight? With the help of a number of people—his teachers, his counselor, his coach, his soon-to-be best friend and his friend’s mother, Jayden developed his own life’s mantra—I Can, and I Will!
I Can and I Will has been uploaded to Amazon.com as a paperback and to Kindle for an eBook and has been approved and all that good stuff. So, start saving your money. It’s going to cost you a ten spot for the paperback (Plus shipping, of course) or five for the Kindle. It should be available in both places by Monday. For the first time, I’ve actually written this ‘intentionally’ for a YA, MG audience. However, let’s face it, most of my readers will be former students wondering what the old codger did this time. Below is the back cover synopsis.
The team had just finished the last day of tryouts, and the roster sheets had been posted on the door. Jayden, who had played halfback as a freshman, did not see his name on the JV roster. Devastated, he sat alone on the bench in the dressing room, with his head buried between his knees. His mind flashed back to what his father had preached to him his whole life. “You can’t do that, you’re too puny. You can’t do that, you’re not smart enough. You Can’t do that!”
So, what should he do? Should he give up, or should he fight? With the help of a number of people—his teachers, his counselor, his coach, his soon-to-be best friend and his friend’s mother, Jayden developed his own life’s mantra—I Can, and I Will!
Finally, I Can and I Will is finished and sent to Amazon for approval. It’s been a long haul, but we finally made it. For those of you who are considering going this route, this is the way it works. Once you go through the process of publishing at Create Space, it takes a couple of days for them to either approve it or want you to look at something. For instance, there are usually some words intentionally misspelled in dialogue. For instance, I often use “I’m gonna so such and such” instead of “I’m going to…” So, all you have to do is dismiss their suggestions and move on.
Once they accept your manuscript, and get it ready for publication, you have to “proof” it. That can be done in a couple of ways. You can order a paperback version, which they send within a day or so, and go through it that way—checking for any errors. Or, you can do it on line. They will put what it’s going to look like in a file, and you can go through it that way. If it’s your first couple of times, I highly recommend ordering a paperback copy and check it through that way. With this being book number eleven, I’m pretty sure the printed part is how I want it, so I use the online method primarily checking for formatting.
So, that’s where we stand. The paperback and the Kindle version should be available within a week. For the first time, I’m aiming at a young teenage male audience. So, if you have a son or grandson, buy him a book, make him read it, and then send a review to Amazon. Love to get those.
Well, I’m almost done. I am about half way through what has been tagged as my third final draft of I Can, and I Will. This is it. It should be published within the next two weeks—give or take a week. Believe it or not, this might be the shortest of the eleven books, but it has also taken the longest to finish.
I did a bunch of research and learned that for the intended audience, it should run somewhere between 30-50,000 words. When I first finished, it was sitting at roughly 31,000 so I needed to add some things. Trying to figure out what was actually needed was the most difficult part. There were several things that were possibilities, but I didn’t want to add just a lot of fluff. So, I think it’s right now--41,000. When all of you buy ten copies apiece for you and all your friends, I’ll know I was right.
“9/11 and my latest Marketing Gimmick 101”
First off, today is 9/11. I remember the day like it was yesterday. It has to be our worst day in history. I think everyone spent most of the next week glued to their televisions. I never claimed to be overly bright, but I still do not understand how killing thousands of people does anything to advance one’s cause. Today we have people driving cars into masses of people trying to kill as many as possible. Why? How many people will you convert to your way of thinking doing that? NONE!
On a lighter note, I am starting a new advertising gimmick on all of my literary masterpieces that might qualify as Young Adult. Amazon offers a way to stick your work in front of people’s faces for a “slight” cost on their Kindles when shopping. I started “Damey and Grandpa Tutor” a couple of weeks ago. Today I started “Damey and the Z-Team.” In a couple of weeks I’ll start up the ghost trilogy. The idea is, I’ll have multiple ones running at once. The more that are out there, the more people will see. If I go broke in the process, that’s okay. I’ll just go move in with my ultra-rich cousin in Indianapolis and let him support me.
“This and That”
Got back from Seattle Tuesday evening after spending the holiday visiting my grandson in Bellevue, which is like a suburb of Seattle. Forest fires are running rampant out there. On the flight in, we saw several from the plane. When we left, you could no longer see the mountains from the ground. Pretty nasty, but much better than having one of these horrible hurricanes roaring through your homeland.
Been slowly but surely working my way through “hopefully” the final edits of “I Can, and I Will,” my latest literary masterpiece. I’ve been taking it slow and trying to add a little more background. Both of my writing groups wanted more background on the kids and more of a personal touch on the main character, Jayden, regarding how he’s feeling inside when a lot of the drama is going on in his life. Since there is absolutely no hurry, I’m all for taking my time and getting it right.
“Trying Something Different”
One of my nephews, who just happens to live in New York and is involved with a private church school, let it be known that he “loved” Damey & Grandpa Tutor because of the multiple issues dealt with in the book dealing with hate, love, racism, bullying, acceptance, and a host of others. However, he didn’t feel he could recommend to the kids at the church school because of the profanity.
Now, to be clear, there were no F-Bombs in there, but there were some four letter dandies that seemed appropriate at the time. Anyway, I got to thinking. Everyone has always accused me of writing for a Middle Grade/Young Adult audience, which I have never actually agreed with. To be truthful, the vast majority of my readers have been the mothers and grandmothers of boys. Obviously, a lot of men have read my stuff, and even a fair number of kids, but that all is beside the point.
Anyway, I have decided to try something new. The new book I’m working on which is almost ready to go is aimed at that market: Middle Grade/Young Adult. So, I have decided to try something else as well. I have gone through Damey & Grandpa Tutor and totally edited it and have eliminated anything that would resemble profanity. So now, that it has finally become available at Amazon, I am going to market it for that group and see what happens. So, if any of you have a boy anywhere from sixth grade and up, try it out. It might be perfect for him.
If this works, I will edit and re-publish all of my novels for the Middle Grade/Young Adult audience.
“Time for a New Approach?”
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting awfully sick and tired of all the negativity. Everywhere you turn, someone is venting about something. I’ve un-friended several people on Facebook because the only thing out of their mouths is hate, venom, vitriol, etc. Anyway, I think we as a nation should try my approach—ignore them.
What would happen with all of these hate groups and protestors if everyone ignored them, and nobody showed up at their rallies? For instance, let’s say several thousand Neo-Nazis went down to the state capitol and wandered around waving their banners and signs, and nobody came to watch or counter-protest? What if NO newspapers or television stations showed up to advertise their idiocy? Sure, everyone has the right to free speech, but that doesn’t mean anyone has to listen.
How many times have you, as a parent, taken your two-year-old to his/her bedroom, shoved them in, and closed the door when they were having a temper tantrum? Man, how boring is that, to scream, cry, and stomp your feet if nobody pays any attention to you? Talk about having a bad day—especially, if the rest of the family decides to have ice cream while you’re doing it. Bottom line, ignore those idiots. If nobody pays any attention, maybe they’ll manage to do something productive.
“Newest Project Du Jour”
Going through Damey & Grandpa Tutor to find and replace any assumed profanity was kind of fun and interesting. So, I’ve decided on a new project. I am going to go through all eight novels and eliminate anything that could be construed as a swear word—even the “Hells” and “Damns.” Then, I am going to promote them all as Middle Grade and Young, Young Adult and see what happens.
All of them have pretty much run their course, so now it’s time to try something different with them. In real life, my audience has always been pretty much the mothers and grandmothers of boys. At least, those are the people who have bought the majority of them from the feedback. So, now I’m going to aim the novels at your kids. Hopefully, it will be pretty simple.
Next book to be edited is Damey & the Z-Team, and then after that will come the As Life Goes On Trilogy. In the meantime, get ready for Block, Bob-Bob, Block. This one has been intended for MG/YA right from the beginning so we’ll see what happens.
“Now What Do We Do?”
Hired a new housekeeper this week, and she’s great. I think she’ll be the best one I ever had. Hopefully, I’ll be able to keep her for the next 30 years—that’s my timeline for hanging around on the topside of the sod.
I finished Block, Bob-Bob, Block this week and am waiting for professional editing to take place. It will not be returned until the end of August, so I have some time—which puts me into an interesting predicament. There is an individual in New York who is the purchasing agent for a small Christian school system. He has let me know through another individual, that he “might” be interested in purchasing 50 or more copies of Damey & Grandpa Tutor if I am willing to go back and edit it, eliminating all of the profanity.
I have the time while I’m waiting for the current literary masterpiece to be edited before I have to go through the process of publishing that, but will it spoil the effect of the book? Most of the profanity that’s in there is from the evil father who takes out his spite in life on his kid. To start with, the book was not written as a Young Adult novel. However, this guy bought and read it and supposedly fell in love with the message in the story and thinks it would be perfect. Since it has run the course as a regular General Fiction novel, I just might do it. We’ll see.
Well, we’re back to square one. My housekeeper sent me a note this morning indicating some very elderly people she works for are going to need 24/7 care from now on and she is committed to them for her days. I certainly understand the situation, but now what the *&^% am I going to do? I guess for starters I’ll contact the lady who used to come years ago until transportation became a problem.
One thing I am sure of, I don’t want to do it. I hate dusting, vacuuming, and polishing. I’d much rather sit in front of the computer and work on the latest and greatest literary work in progress. That’s a whole lot more fun. In the meantime, someone is coming to wash my windows this afternoon. Maybe they know someone who might be interested. Time will tell.
“Finally—Phase one is done!”
After over a year, two or three title changes, and a lot of head scratching, Block, Bob-Bob, Block is finally finished as far as the first initial draft is concerned. There are several things that have made this one different. For starters, I’m intentionally aiming it at the “Young, young adult” group. My target audience is 8th and 9th grade boys.
This is a somewhat realistic saga about a true athletic genius nerd who comes from a tremendously dysfunctional family. His parents hate and resent him, and he knows it. Unfortunately, for some out there, there are no flying dragons or magic sabers in this thing. It’s all pretty much true to life.
It’s also the shortest one I’ve ever written. Literature tells me for this age group I need to keep it between 30,000 and 40,000 words. This is roughly 32,000 so we’ll see what happens after I go through the proof reading, editing phase. That in itself takes a few months, and I’m sure there will be a number of changes. The biggest problem is keeping that which is necessary to the story and eliminating that which is not. For this age group, it needs to be short and sweet.
So, phase two of Block, Bob-Bob, Block is about to begin. Time will tell how it all turns out.
“Do I have a new Pet?”
Hummm! Do I have a new pet? Let’s hope not. There have been numerous sightings in my backyard lately of this beautiful black feline with a striking white stripe running from her forehead to the end of her tail. I’m sure the only reason I don’t want to adopt her is because of my allergies to cats. So, how do I get rid of her?
If it were a possum or something like that, I could set up a trap, snare it, and then take it over to Grand Woods Park and let it go. However, the last thing I’m going to do is trap some *&^% skunk and take it for a ride in my car. Hopefully, the fool thing will find greener pastures elsewhere and move on.
I suppose I could shoot it, but I don’t have a gun. Besides, I don’t that would go over too well here in the middle of Lansing. Neighbors and the law seem to frown on those kinds of activities. With my luck, I’d nip his tail and only make him mad. Then the thing would spray up the whole backyard. Can’t imagine how delightful that would be. However, it would be reminiscent of when Casey, our last Boxer, snagged one at three in the morning and raced into the house with a huge yellow stain on his pure white chest. That only cost a small sack full getting the carpet and furniture all cleaned—not to mention the half dozen baths over the next week. Only took three months to get rid of the smell.
So, if any of you would like your very own pet skunk, I know right where you might be able snag your new bed partner.
“Life’s Little Lessons”
Had something pop up this week I found interesting, if not potentially dangerous. I had my follow up meeting Monday after my recent incarceration at the local hospital for blood clots. When I was released, they gave me written and oral instructions as they normally do, along with a couple of prescriptions.
When I went to my follow up appointment, the doctor mentioned that I had gone off one of the prescriptions. No. That was one that they had written a new prescription for. To make a long story short, the “official” orders that were in the hospital data base were different that the written ones.
I “think” there is a logical explanation for the screw up—even if it is unsatisfactory. My cardiologist had gone on vacation for the week of the 4th of July. The person filling in for him was there one day, and then he went on an extended break. Over the five days, I saw three different cardiologists, all associated together in the same practice. The problem ends up to be a total lack of communication and/or consistency between them.
Fortunately, my PA was able to call his PA, and between the two of them, including a consult with my cardiologist, who is now off vacation, figure out what was going on with the medications. One of the meds that I was given a prescription to has been dropped until further notice. In the meantime, I have two new appointments within the next month—one with my regular doc, and the other with my regular cardiologist. Hopefully, all will work out and I can get my latest and greatest literary masterpiece completed.
“Life’s Little Ironies”
I don’t know if it’s my weird sense of humor, or if some things that strike me funny really are. I was scheduled to have lunch yesterday at noon with a couple of old friends. I had some extra time after doing all of my important morning chores—reading the paper and working the daily crossword puzzle, Sudoku, and word search. So, I decided to spend an hour or so on the latest and greatest American novel I am working on.
I was working on a particular scene where the mother is talking to the boys about something important while she’s fixing dinner. During the discussion, she spots egg stuck on the sixteen-year-old’s shirt from that morning’s breakfast. She picks it off while teasing him, telling him not to change his shirt until AFTER dinner, just in case, much to his embarrassment and his adoptive brother’s glee.
One hour later while having lunch, the lady friend slopped something all over her clean blouse. Naturally, I had to tell her and her husband all about the scene I had just written. She took it well, but needless to say, her husband was much more amused than she was. To stretch the irony a little further, I was having breakfast with one of my rug-rats this morning, and he managed to do basically the same thing. I know, I know, I didn’t REALLY tell him the story and rub it in a little. What do you think?
“Enough is Enough”
My dear daughter-in-law glared at me Monday afternoon as I’m being deposited back at the home front, and grumbled, “Enough is enough!” For the second time since March I’d made an unplanned visit to the emergency room and was given the dubious pleasure of being waited on for a few days.
Last week I was sitting here at the computer working on my latest literary masterpiece when my left arm stiffened up on me and started aching. I stretched it out and massaged it for a bit but the weird sensations just seemed to get worse. I stood up, walked around, continuing to stretch and massage, when I suddenly noticed that my arm was turning red and swelling. Hummm! That’s not good. And, you know what they say about an aching left arm…
Since I only live a couple of miles from the St. Lawrence version of Sparrow Hospital, I jumped in my car and drove myself over. Decided they probably should check it out. They did. After an ultrasound confirmed that my left arm was not pregnant, it did indicate that every vein in the thing was clogged. Fortunately, the arteries were clear.
To make a long story short, after five days on a constant IV carrying a clot buster, and the removal of a port that hasn’t been used for nine years, they sent me home with new meds, and new orders from my D-I-L to knock off the crap and quit scaring her. So, other than babying the arm for a couple of weeks until all the clots dissolve safely instead of breaking up and messing with the lungs or heart, everything is pretty much back to normal, and my latest masterpiece, “Block, Bob-Bob, Block” is back in front of me.
“Just a little off the wall”
Ever do something totally different, and maybe even a little off the wall? I do some volunteer stuff for one of the local medical facilities. In October we’re going to be doing a thing to promote health literacy. It was suggested that maybe we could put together some give-aways, games, etc. to draw people to our table. So, I volunteered to try to make a word search puzzle.
Well, in the meantime, I have created fifteen of them. That’s right, 15. They are all medically related dealing with COPD, cancer, heart disease, diabetes, stroke, etc. Now, we are at the point of testing them. If any of you out there like those types of puzzles, and are willing to beta test, send me a private email at email@example.com and I’ll send you as many as you want—up to 15. You would have to print them off in order to work the things.
I would love as much feedback as possible. I think they are all correct, but if you find errors, I claim mental incompetence, innocence, senility, and insanity. That should cover my excuses if they are not perfect. Let me know if you’re interested.
Block, Bob-Bob, Block
This is somewhat of a repeat of something I whined about a couple of months ago. I still don’t know exactly what I want to do or where I’m going with Block, Bob-Bob, Block. It’s a short novel aimed at 12-14 year old boys, starring a very small, half back on a high school football team. It’s a Mutt and Jeff situation with Jay being 5’ 6” and a burly 135 pounds. His best buddy, Rob, is 6’ tall and 200 pounds.
Jay is severely abused at home and ends up living with his buddy Rob. Rob’s mother is a nurse and struggles with the legalities of everything going on. When Jay’s dad beats the hell out of him and breaks a couple of ribs kicking him, she knows she should call the police, CPS, etc. Only, she knows Jay will run if she does. That wouldn’t solve anything. Jay is a genius and has a fantastic future ahead of him, if he can stay focused. She and Rob are determined to keep and protect him.
OK, so why is this thing driving me nuts? I don’t know how much back story I want to include—things I know that the reader may or may not need to know. To make it right for the audience, I want to keep it between 30,000 to 50,000 words, in other words, two hundred pages or less. Football is the vehicle used to move the story—his development on the team, skills, and future. So, I have to make sure it isn’t just a boy’s book about football, because it isn’t. It’s about Jay overcoming the obstacles in his life and becoming the best person he can be.
"Very Suspicious Market"
What am I going to do with a whole month off? I ask myself as I drive home from work on a Friday night. My boss just shocked the hell out of me. It was almost closing time when he asked me to enter that dreaded doomsday office of his and close the door.
“Sit down. We need to talk,” he said with a scowl on his face.
“Yes, sir.” I answered. What the hell is going on? I haven’t done anything wrong that I know of. Am I getting fired? I know he’s not cutting back. He just hired two more people this week.
“Sean, you’ve worked for me for five years. You’ve never taken a vacation. You’ve never taken a day off for sickness or personal use. That’s bullshit! Monday is August first. I deposited your entire salary for next month plus a five-thousand dollar bonus—that’s one thousand a year for each year of perfect attendance. Now, get your ass out of here. If I see you on or near the premises between now and the first week of September, I’ll deduct one thousand dollars per sighting.”
“But, but, but…”
“Out! You’ve done a hell of a job for me and I know I’ve never shown you how much I appreciate you, but I do.
I thank him with my mouth gaping open like an idiot as he grasps my hand and shakes it with a huge smile on his face.
I pull into my parking spot at the condo with my head going in circles. I’m taking a vacation. I’ve never taken a vacation since I got out of college five years ago. Good grief! I’m not a kid in high school. I don’t need or want to take time off. I didn’t even take time off in college. I went year round and graduated early. This isn’t fair. I’m not ready for this.
I look around my austere abode and make a quick decision. I can’t sit here and stare at the four walls for a month. I’ll go stir crazy. The first thing I need to do is jump on-line and check my savings account where my salary is deposited at the credit union.
Good Lord! Look at the money in there. I could be gone a year and still have money left over at the end. Fortunately, all my bills are paid automatically out of this account so I don’t even have that for an excuse to stay home. I check my calendar. Nothing, nada, nil. I don’t even have a notation on there to visit the local porn shop.
I guess that settles it. Tomorrow morning I’ll pull out of the driveway and head out. If I see something that looks interesting, I’ll stop. If not, I’ll keep going until I do.
I guess I’ve got to admit it; this is really kind of fun. I never realized what a cloistered existence I lead. In the two weeks I’ve been driving around, I’ve seen more stuff I never knew existed than I ever imagined. I’m glad I didn’t decide to do the tourist attraction thing.
Whoa! What’s this? It’s got to be Chinese or something. Got no clue. The only thing I can read is what comes after the symbols, and that’s “VERY SUSPICIOUS SUPERMARKET.” I’ve got to check this out.
Wonder where I am? I didn’t even pay any attention to the name of the place when I drove into town. Guess I was too busy singing to my IPod. Wherever I am, it’s kind of a rundown neighborhood. Now, I find this interesting. I see at least seven motorcycles parked in front of the place and a handful more on this side of the street.
I get out of my car and dodge traffic as I walk across trying to size-up the place up a little better. I don’t see a soul on the sidewalk and find that a little strange. When I walk in the door, a little bell rings. An elderly oriental man walks over and gives me an ever so slight bow and says, “Welcome to my market. How can I help you?”
“Well, I do need a bag of apples. I try to eat an apple a day and I ran out yesterday. Do you have any that are locally grown?”
He shows me his selection and I grab a bag and continue to look around the place. The store keeper and I are the only ones in there. Where’s the motorcycle gang?
As I’m nearing the counter to pay, an ancient, frizzy topped, gray haired lady of indeterminate origin shuffles in and plops her purse on the counter, opens it, and pulls out what is obviously her social security check. “I’ll take it in twenties.”
“Welcome back, Ms. Xzyng.” The name is as unintelligible as the origin. “You play today?”
“Yep! Baby needs a new pair of shoes.” That has to be an inside joke as both laugh uproariously.
As soon as she scoops up her money, she walks to the back of the store and disappears through a curtain hanging in a doorway. Before I can pay for my apples, two seedy looking bikers storm out of the back room extremely angry to say the least.
“Why do you let her back there? You know she cheats! She always has. That old broad is a thief and you know it. She should be banned.”
“She poor little old lady. Get lucky. You no catch cheating. Never.”
“No, and that’s the problem. We’ll drag her out into the street and beat her ass if we ever do catch her.”
The two bikers stomp out the door, jump on their Harleys, and leave a trail of flying asphalt, blue smoke, and enough racket to violate any noise ordinance on the books.
“Can I go watch?” I ask knowing in advance the answer will be no.
“You want play?”
“No. I’d just like to watch her for a while. Does she usually win?”
He leads me to the back room with a single comment, “Visitor.”
A couple of heads acknowledge my existence. The rest are too busy scowling at the old lady. I’m not sure what game they’re actually playing, it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before, but it drags on for close to an hour with the pot growing larger and larger.
Nobody flinches. Suddenly I see one of the bikers crack a huge smile. So much for the eight sets of poker faces that surround the table. The lady’s stash is almost gone and there are tears running down her cheek. They have her. Finally! You can feel the exhilaration in the room.
“Call!” shouts the one dude with the smile as he slams three kings down on the table face up.
As he reaches for the huge pot in the center of the table, the old lady snarls, “Hold it. Damned allergies are making my eyes water.” She wipes her face with her blouse sleeve. “My three aces beats your kings.”
She scrapes her winnings off the table and into her purse and let’s them know she’s had enough. The bikers scream in unison. “You can’t leave without giving us a chance to recoup. “
“Sorry, I can’t stay. I’ve got to get to the drug store and pick up my boyfriend’s Viagra prescription. We’re celebrating tonight. See you next month.”
I follow her through the curtain and towards the door as she winks at the marketeer and slips him a hundred dollar bill.
“Twenty-Four Hours a Day is Not Enough”
I swear, twenty-four hours a day doesn’t hack it. We retired folk need more time. Yesterday was a typical day. I started the morning having breakfast with friends. We spent two hours and didn’t even cure all of the world’s ills. Seems like we barely got started when I had to leave because of a doctor’s appointment.
My cardiologist ended our meeting by giving me a big head. Not only did he like everything he saw, but he told me that he wished all of his patients were like be because it would make his job so much easier. Which is ridiculous, because all I do is what he tells me and what makes sense. For example, I go to the cardio gym three days a week and keep records of blood pressure, pulse rate, and my 62 minutes of exercise. When I go to the doc, I take copies of them plus printed off pages of any questions, concerns, or whatever. How else would one do it? Duh!
When I left there, I spent three hours in front of the computer creating some Word Searches that I am doing for fun and a volunteer group I belong to which will have a big conference in October. We’ll be using these as give-aways to draw people to our table. I got a little carried away yesterday, because the first one I had made had a glitch in. Four edits later, it was perfect. ( I think ) In the meantime, I have created twelve altogether, at a typical rate of about six hours per.
After that, I got in my exercise walk, had dinner with other friends, and finally had a chance to read the paper. By the time the Tiger game finished, the day was shot and I had only completed about 3/4s of what I had intended for the day. Which, did not include putting any time into my latest literary masterpiece, “Block, Bob-Bob, Block.” Maybe today…
“My Suggestion to the Terrorists”
If you’ve gotten to the point where you want to put on a big show and really make a point, than perform your suicide mission thusly. First off, do your planning. You want to make sure your explosive device will number one, work, and secondly, it will create a tremendous blast that will rattle windows for miles. You will also need to research your media contacts in advance an have them all saved on your device.
After you have secured your materials around you and have tested the ropes, cables, or whatever it is that you tie the thing to yourself with, to make sure they won’t slip off, then you can start your mission. Go to the largest vacant field you can find, and position yourself in the center. The larger the better so more media can set up their cameras and get good pictures. Then, get busy. Call every media outlet you have been able to find—newspapers, television, radio, whatever. Maybe you could even do some kind of video chat on your electronic device.
Tell all the media folk what your agenda is, which terror group you idolize, who your psychiatrist is, and why you hate him or her, Then, tell them exactly where you are. Also, let them know you chose this particular vacant field so more media people would be able to video your venom. Then, when sufficient media trucks have shown up, pull the cord and enjoy your eternity in hell.
“Time to Get Back to Work”
Finished reading a book, Another Chance, by J.R. Rauschert over the holiday and put a review on Amazon. Actually, I think it’s two books molded into one. However, I do highly recommend it. The issues being dealt with are extremely important, PTSD, dysfunctional families, abuse, neglect, drugs, etc. The list goes on and on. As strange as it might seem, I see a relationship between Another Chance and the one I’m currently working on. In my head, thematically, it’s the same only different, if that makes any sense at all.
Well, I procrastinated enough over the Memorial Day holidays, so now it’s time to get back to work on my literary masterpiece du jour—J-Bird. The only thing is, I do believe I am going to change the working title to Block, Bob-Bob, Block! At this point in time, that makes more sense, even if none of you have a clue what I am talking about.
In the meantime, I now have nine medical word-search puzzles completed.(Discussed below) I think I am going to hold off now until I hear from the hospital librarian to see what he wants me to do besides digging a hole and jumping in it.
During the three to four-hour baseball games on TV, I normally work Sudokus, crossword puzzles, and word searches. I either do that or read with the sound turned off—providing it’s something that doesn’t require a lot of concentration.
Well, last Thursday I went to my monthly volunteer group at Sparrow Hospital here in Lansing where we review educational materials given to patients. Being the resident not medical professional, it’s my job to see if the jargon they write with makes any sense to a normal patient. Good luck with that. The doctors and nurses who write this stuff use words like “blepharoplasty” and expect Joe Patient to have a clue. Anyway, I’m getting off the track.
In October, Sparrow is doing an open house event where I’ll help man a table on the main floor for three hours or so. One of the group’s ideas was to have puzzles, games, knickknacks, etc. to give out to passersby. Since I do a lot of word searches in my spare time, I decided to volunteer to try to create some. Over the past few days, I’ve managed to put together four—Coronary Artery Disease, Heart Healthy Eating, Diabetes, and Stroke. I’m using a pattern of fifteen letters across and fifteen down because that’s what they use in the paper. Makes sense to me.
Thanks to Ma Google, I have been able to come up with a glossary of terms for each so that gets me started. Just don’t ask me what any of them mean. The tricky part is using the words at different angles, written frontwards and backwards, and making them all fit without leaving a tremendous number of blank spaces. Speaking of the blank spaces, at the end, I try to come up with some kind of phrase that is relevant to the topic.
I guess the major benefit in all of this is, one is never too old to have fun and learn something new—even at the ripe old age of 118, give or take a handful of years here and there.
“Math Quiz for Nerds”
How do you make 7 even without adding, subtracting, multiplying, or dividing any numbers?
Easy: Delete the “S” in seven: No S = even
“Unpublished Short Story”
The Nosy Intruder
I think I’ll sit down on this park bench for a while and see how long it takes for some nosy creep to intrude on my peace and quiet quizzing me about my scraggly, pure white, 32” beard. It never fails. People with an IQ of more than 80 see me and usually keep going. If they do stop and sit, they sneak a quick peek, but don’t say anything.
Oh boy, it didn’t take long this time. And what a charming, toothy smile, especially with what looks like every other one missing. I’ll give him five seconds before the skinny little runt strikes up a conversation.
“Wow! That’s some beard. How long you been growing it?”
I give the guy a quick look over before answering. He appears to be in his early forties, scruffily dressed, and emanating a slightly foul, unwashed odor.
“Two hundred and eighty-three years,” I answer returning his smile.
“Wow! That’s a long time. How old were you when you started it?”
Oh, good. I’ve got a gullible one on the hook. An 80 IQ might be a stretch on the high side for this character. Time to re-calculate. Let’s go for 70.
“I think I had just passed my eighth birthday when it first sprouted. Of course, it was brown back in those days.”
“That’s not hardly possible. Nobody gets whiskers that young.”
“I went through puberty early because I’d started experimenting with my magic invisibility potion, and that kicked in the hormones. Had my first kid with the neighbor widow at nine, and she never knew how it happened.”
“Wow! How many kids do you have?”
“Sixty-three at last count, but there might be a couple more who are currently pregnant. Not sure.” It’s hard to spew out the bull like this and keep a straight face, but I managed.
“How can you afford to feed sixty-three kids?”
“Oh, I don’t. That’s the advantage of the magic invisibility potion. Two hours after I drink the mixture, I become invisible. People can’t see me or feel me. I literally disappear for four hours. During that time, I can do anything I want to anyone I want, and they never know the difference. You know, like the widow lady I told you about. She thought it was all a dream. I happen to be a horny dude, so that’s my entertainment of choice. My other hobby is watching to see how many of them do get pregnant so I can enjoy their reactions when they discover they are. I like to nail older women who look like they haven’t had sex in years. You know the type, spinsters, old maids, and widows.”
“Wow! How do you do that?” he asked wide-eyed with a totally amazed expression on his otherwise blank face.
“I’m a cross-breed, half sorcerer and half wizard. That combination gives me extra special powers to keep track of interesting details in my life.”
“Wow! Over two-hundred years old and 63 kids and counting. How cool is that!”
“Ah, make that almost three-hundred. Two-hundred and eighty-three years for the beard plus the eight before puberty kicked in, and that makes two-hundred and ninety-one if I’m counting right.”
“Wow! And you don’t look a day over ninety. Maybe it’s because you’re dressed in all black and that makes you look younger. I’ll have to try that when I get old and grizzly like you.”
Thanks, buddy. Little do you know I’m a sixty-year-old creative arts instructor at the local community college. “So, are you interested in the invisibility potion at all? It took a lot of years experimenting and some bad results here and there, like this indestructible beard that can’t be cut. Of course, it does have its plusses and minuses. Babies like to pull it. They think it’s fun. The ladies I’m romantically involved with love to snuggle with it, even when they can’t see it or feel it. They sense it. They all think they’re having an erotic dream. Anyway, you might not be interested in seeing how much you can populate the world, but you may have other things you’d like to try. For instance, can you imagine how much fun it would be to walk into a bank with a bag when the only thing the teller can see is a bag floating through the air and nothing else? When you tell her to fill it with all the money in her till, she’ll freak out and throw the bills at you.”
“Wow! Really? Yeah, I’m really, really interested. What else can you tell me about the magic potion?”
By this time the guy was in perpetual motion in his seat on the park bench. He’d stand up and then sit back down. Then he’d squirm around and stand back up again. He reminded me of a four-year-old waiting in line for Santa.
“Like I told you before, exactly two hours after you drink it, you become invisible. You can set your watch by it. Four hours later, you return to normal. The timing shouldn’t be a problem because you can have your fun time, whatever it is, and then get back home and dress before anybody can see you again. I don’t think I mentioned the fact that you have to be completely naked to pull this off. Otherwise, they’d see what you’re wearing, and you’d look like a ghost or something walking around with clothes on. I can’t stress enough that you have to keep track of the time, because when you look in the mirror, you can’t tell any difference. You’ll see yourself just as you are, but others can’t. You can punch yourself in the shoulder, and it will hurt. If you punch me, I won’t feel it. I won’t even know you’re here.”
“Wow! Is this potion something that anyone can make, or does it take all kinds of secret ingredients?”
“No, that’s the beauty of it. It’s all natural and can be made out of readily available products. Not only that, it only takes a couple hours from start to finish. Want the recipe?”
“You mean you’d give it to me?”
“Well, something this valuable, I can’t just give away, but I’ll let you have it for twenty dollars.”
“That’s a deal. Let’s see if I’ve got twenty on me. I think I do—maybe.”
He fishes around in his wallet, checks a couple “secret” compartments, and finally manages to scrape up the twenty dollars. I almost feel guilty—but not quite.
“You have paper and pen?” I ask. “If not, I have a pen and we should be able to find something to write on in that trash can beside you.”
Looks like he’s pretty familiar with dumpster diving. He snags a couple of sheets of paper that were blank on one side in no time.
“Ok, here we go. I’m going to tell you the directions as I write them. If you have any questions, stop me. First off, you will need four of any of these ingredients. There are several possibilities, but you only need four. If you use more or less, you won’t turn invisible. Some of this stuff you probably already have in your own yard. If not, your neighbors will, and you can sneak into their yards at night and take what you want. Here are the plants you can use: Hyacinth, Iris, Lily of the Valley, Daffodil bulbs, raw Kidney Beans, Azaleas, Mums, Amaryllis bulbs, and Hydrangea leaves or their flower buds.”
According to Google, each and every one of these plants will create the effect I’m looking for. The results he’s looking for? Well, time will tell.
“Wait a minute! I don’t even know what any of that stuff is.”
“That’s why I suggested talking to your neighbors and casually asking if they have any of these things. Tell them you’ve heard they were pretty and wanted to see what they looked like in bloom before you planted any.”
“Ok, that makes sense. I can do that. My neighbor to the north has tons of flowers all over the place.”
“You need to gather quite a lot of this stuff. Do you have a blender?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Ok, put a little water in the bottom of the blender and start adding the four ingredients you have until the container is full. As much as possible, you want to use equal amounts of the plants, and you want it to be a thick sludge when you finish. Then put the concoction in the refrigerator to cool over night. Two hours before you’re ready for whatever fun thing you’ve decided to do while invisible, take it out of the fridge, give it another spin in the blender to mix it all up again, and chug-a-lug the whole thing in one sitting.”
“That sounds like an awful lot to drink all at one time. Are you sure I can’t just sip it?”
“I spent a hundred and twenty-five years perfecting this recipe. You do it anyway you want, but if you want to be invisible for four hours, you’ll do it exactly as I’ve told you.”
We shake hands and go our separate ways. Twenty dollars richer, I head over to the park snack bar for lunch. Sometimes I feel like such a jerk, but I can’t contain myself. I smile.
Two weeks later I’m watching the eleven o’clock news. The lead story goes as follows, “At four o’clock this afternoon a naked man walked into the Michigan Avenue Chase Manhattan Bank Branch armed with nothing but a large paper sack, stood in line, and waited his turn. According to eye witnesses, he appeared deranged and harmless. When he finally reached the teller, who had already seen him and pushed the alarm button, he told her he realized she couldn’t see him, but she could see the sack and hear his voice. Then he demanded that she fill the bag with all the money in her till. While she stalled pretending to look for large bills, people gathered around even closer to watch. He suddenly staggered back, doubled up, fell on the terrazzo, and spewed out a surge of explosive vomit and diarrhea. By the time he finished, the police had arrived with guns drawn. Sgt. Crawley of the Lansing Police department said that when they helped him to his feet and cuffed him, the only thing he said was, ‘Wow!’ The bank will be closed tomorrow for a complete cleaning and disinfecting.”
Since I talked about writing in general last time, I thought I’d talk about writing groups. I highly encourage those of you who are writing to get involved with different groups to see what works best for you. The idea is usually to take your work to the group, pass out copies, and read the thing. If things are working the way they should, you should receive honest feedback on what you have done. I emphasize the honest part, because sometimes they can be brutal. This is no place to wear your thin skin. Suck it up, listen, and learn.
Over the years, I have been involved with five different groups. Two of them folded over time for various reasons, I left one particular group because I found them a tad too toxic for their own good, and two of the groups I have been a part of for some time.
When you go to a group for the first couple of times, analyze what is going on. For instance, the one toxic group I went to seemed to have a limited vocabulary. The two words I heard the most were, “I” and “Me.” When one person in the group essentially told me that if I didn’t want to do it like he said, I should probably give up writing and find something else to do. I didn’t find that particularly helpful.
The two groups I have stayed with are totally different from each other. One group deals a lot with fiction, biographical writing, and non-fiction. With all of that variety, they are primarily looking for flow, content, and whether or not what you are doing works and makes sense—as well as typos, punctuation gaffs, reiterations, etc. In the other group, everyone is a poet. I am the first to admit that poetry has never been my thing. However, it makes me look at writing in a different way, and the other members have to do the same when I am presenting. I think we all benefit from the process.
So, my whole point is to shop around, try various groups. Don’t try one and give up if it doesn’t fit your needs. There are too many different ones out there to do that. Keep looking and find a couple where you feel comfortable and think the main purpose of the group is to give and get help and provide feedback on your passion.
“Writing is Fun and Rewarding”
I wonder how many times I’ve heard over the last ten years, “I have a book I want to write. I just haven’t gotten to it yet.” A number of you who are reading this are in the same boat. My question to you is, “So, what’s the hold up? Just do it!”
The rewards are multiple. It gives one the opportunity to let your imagination expand and run loose. The sky’s the limit. You can do with it whatever you want. I used to worry about the fact that some people might not view some of the stuff I write it as being realistic. Well, I have come to the conclusion that it is. Why? Because I wrote it—ergo, it’s true.
Let me give you a true example. I start “Really Short Shorts: Book 2” with a pretty much realistically questionable novelette, “My Mysterious Twin Brother.” Background—all my life I’ve had this crazy feeling that I had a twin brother. I even went so far as to check my birth certificate, and all it says is that I was a single birth. However, I have also been told by a reliable source that I could have had a twin who miscarried within the first three months, and nobody would have ever known. So, I wrote a story “kind of” explaining the whole thing. At the end of the story, I leave the final scene hanging so the reader can figure out the ending him or herself.
I was having dinner with an old, dear friend about a month ago. The first thing out of her mouth when she sat down was, “You As&^%le, what way did he run? I came this close to calling you at three thirty this morning when I finished it.” She held her thumb and index fingers about three quarters of an inch apart to demonstrate. That and similar comments by others made the six months I put in on the story 100% worthwhile. I could care less how many books are sold, My whole purpose for writing is to entertain myself, and what could be more entertaining than that?
So, don’t worry about becoming the next zillion copy selling author, write your book and have some fun.
“J-Bird’s Driving Me Nuts”
You don’t know J-Bird, but he’s the main character in my latest literary masterpiece. I’m writing a new Tween (Halfway between Mid Grade and YA) ‘novelette, novella, novel’ about a diminutive, high school halfback on the football team. His real name is Jayden, but his new, best buddy, Rob, nicknames him J-Bird.
Jayden is a great kid—brilliant, funny, tough as nails, and determined. This leads us to the basic theme of the story. “Don’t let someone else’s low expectations for your life keep you from being great.” Jay’s dad is the world biggest jerk who literally never wanted kids, never wanted Jayden, and doesn’t like him. He has no clue who or what his kid is or can become. He’d much rather abuse him verbally and physically and then go have a few beers with the boys.
Now, how is J-Bird driving me nuts? I don’t know how much back story I want to include—things I know that the reader may or may not need to know. To make it right for the audience, I want to keep it between 30,000 to 50,000 words, in other words, two hundred pages or less. Football is the vehicle used to move the story—his development on the team, skills, and future. So, I have to make sure it isn’t a boy’s book about football, because it isn’t. It’s about Jay overcoming the obstacles in his life and becoming the best person he can be.
“Is Spring Actually Arriving?”
As usual, it’s been a long, boring winter, but Mother Nature is showing signs… Today is a beautiful day so far, and it looks like the next few days are going to be even better. I can handle that. I have a ton of yard work to tend to. The place is a disaster looking for a place to happen. It seems like maybe I didn’t get a chance to spend as much time on it last year as usual. I wonder why?
I just might start by running out to Perry this afternoon and checking out the flowers at my Grandson and Granddaughter-in-law’s new hothouse they have built for spring flowers, hanging baskets, and veggies. I’m not ready to buy yet—the magic date for this part of MI is May 15, but it’s time to look and check out what is available.
“Reviews are Interesting”
Had a 2 star review on “Damey & the Z-Team” this past week which I found interesting. This is what the person said:
I really could not figure out what the author thought he was accomplishing with having the boys in this book constantly having hissy fits and crying like a bunch of girls. The story was kind of ruined by it all. They were all supposed to be so smart and so exceptional, but acted like a bunch of three year olds. Huh? I guess maybe this was a children's book? It was really juvenile.
I definitely have not commented at Amazon on the review and won’t, but thought I might here. All of the other reviews have been 5 and 4 stars, and then there’s this one. It’s obvious, to me, that the reader has no experience with pubescent boys going through puberty. Kids are emotional, and when they discover their dad has not died in a disaster in the Antarctic, that’s the way they deal with things. They are happy, emotional tears, not ‘hissy fits.’
My good friend, Lee Carey, at www.leecarey-author.com told me to ignore it and forget it, and don’t respond to it. I will follow his sage advice on Amazon, but not here. This is different, and pretty much only my friends and readers will see it. Rant Over…
“Where’s This World Going?”
It seems like every day a new disaster happens someplace. If it’s not ISIS, it’s some other idiot like Assad in Syria using poison gas on his own people. This week there have been two gems already, and it’s only Wednesday.
The first one was some nut case who was mad at his estranged wife, so walked into her classroom of kindergartners and opened fire with a weapon. Not only did he kill his wife, but he shot two children. One eight year old boy died, and another child was hospitalized. Can you imagine the effect that will have for the other kids in that class, and even the others in the school, for the rest of their lives? Sick! Sick! Sick!
And then we have the case of the airlines yesterday who dragged one of its paid passengers by the heels all bloodied up “He fell. Yeah, right.” And down the aisle of the plane because he refused to give up his seat. He had to work the next day and wouldn’t make it back home in time if he did. Fortunately, people were filming the thing and it went viral all over social media. All of this happened because the airline overbooked because some people are no-shows and this way, they get to sell the tickets to a particular seat twice making the airlines tons more money. However, when enough people don’t become no-shows, people get bumped. It’s all in the fine print of your ticket so you can’t sue. How classy is that!
I can hardly wait to see what happens the rest of this week.
“My Gold Dollar Coin”
Never underestimate the value of a kind, unexpected deed. This past February when I was visiting friends in Virginia, my author buddy and I were having breakfast at the local watering hole, Margie and Ray’s. We sat at the counter, and my friend struck up a conversation with the gentleman sitting beside him. I was introduced, but I don’t remember his name—just the expression on his face when he reached into his pocket and dug out a gold coin and handed it to me. It was cool. I hadn’t seen one in a long time.
I looked it over in admiration, thinking back to the time when silver dollars were common. After inspecting it thoroughly I tried to hand it back, and he held up his hand telling me, “No, you keep it. It’s yours.” A total stranger gave me a gold-plated dollar coin for no other reason than kindness, sharing, and a sign of friendship.
My plan for that dollar: I intend to keep it in my pocket as my own personal reminder to be kind to others, unselfish, and do things that will bring a smile to someone’s face and make their day. If I promise not to throw my shoe at the ceiling again next year where my friend is snoring above me, “Maybe” they’ll be kind enough to invite me back. If that happens, I hope to return to Margie and Ray’s in Sandbridge Beach and see the gentleman again. I would like to show him that coin and let it know what it meant to me.
Then, when I get home, I would like to find the perfect time and place and give that coin to another perfect stranger. I would tell him the history of the coin and my hope that he will carry it for a year and then repeat the gift to another.
“Basketball is Over: Time for Baseball”
College basketball is now officially over. North Carolina is king again. They came in second place last year, but managed to squeak one out last night over Gonzaga. It really was a good game to watch as the lead kept changing back and forth right up to the bitter end. They had all better watch out. Sparty will be there next year and take no prisoners on the way.
Not it’s time to concentrate on baseball. The Tigers were rained out last night and are supposed to replay the game today. Hopefully, the rain has finally run out in Chicago and they can get the game in. It’s still raining here, but we are a few miles from Chi Town.
In the meantime, I’m supposed to go to the game Friday in Detroit. It’s only supposed to get up to 48 degrees. That might be a bit on the chilly side. However, it’s a great atmosphere, a lot of fun, and well worth a little discomfort. That’s a LITTLE, Mother Nature—got it?
“Cheap Entertainment at its Best”
When I was incarcerated at the local hospital for three days recently for blood pressure issues, a dear friend bought me two books: An 80 puzzle word search and an 80 puzzle crossword puzzle book. I started working the two while I was in the hospital and continued when I got home. I completed the two books this past week and then did the math.
I averaged between three and four puzzles per hour. Since I would take breaks to go pour the coffee, grab a snack, check emails, or whatever, I used the conservative figure of three. That equates to 53 hours plus for the 160 puzzles. That figure works out to something like thirteen cents an hour entertainment value.
Now, compare that to spending a couple of hundred to go to a Tiger game in Detroit for a three hour experience. Maybe I’ll stick to the puzzle books, unless, of course, one of the kids or Grands springs for the tickets. Then, that’s an entirely different story.
“Affordable Care Act”
Well, do you suppose there is any chance our wonderful politicians on both sides of the aisle could possibly get their heads together and out of their ‘you know whats’ and work out the problems with the ACA? Both sides have made their points, managed to blame each other and members of their own parties. So, how about doing something? Is that too much to ask? I think we elect these idiots to actually get something done. Maybe that’s so 1950’s. Hope not.
In the meantime, the NCAA tournament is almost history for another year. One more weekend, and we can get back into baseball. No Big 10 teams made it to the final four this year. That’s too bad. There were three teams who had a chance. Just think, it’s only six months before football starts again. That’s my favorite season. Hopefully, the Big 10 will shine a little brighter this year than they did last—especially the Spartans.
“I think I’m Growing Roots”
Not sure, but I think I may be growing roots. I’ve been glued to the end of my sofa for so much of the NCAA Basketball tournament, I may have become permanently imbedded. That, of course, is only a ‘slight’ exaggeration.
Reality has it that I have watched more of the tournament this year than I ever have. Even though I bleed Green and White, I still want the other Big Ten teams to do well. One person even called me a traitor because for the first time in memory, I have been rooting for that Maize and Blue group down the road. I know, it’s hard to say, but I have. Ever since their plane went off the runway leaving only minor injuries, I have been cheering for them. And, boy, have they ever come on big time since then. I hope they go all the way. I’d love to see two Big Ten teams fight over the national championship—so much for all the BS about the Big Ten being weak this year.
I’ve always been intrigued with the workings of the human mind. After the near disaster at the end of the runway, my brain connected with the parents of Moe Wagner from Berlin, Germany. All I could think about was what must have gone through their minds—especially if it had ended in tragedy. “My God, we sent our son to school in the US to play basketball at a top notch university and conference with hopes he’d attract the pro scouts, and he got killed in a plane crash.”
Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but it could have. I was also very happy to see Moe score a career high number of points in last night’s game as they now head to the Sweet Sixteen. Wishing all three Big Ten teams the best, and I’ll stay rooted to the sofa until it’s over.
“Time to Get Back to Work”
For the past few weeks, I have done literally nothing with my latest masterpiece in progress. First off, I went to VA Beach to meet up with author Lee Carey and his wife for a week. We spent a lot of time discussing the plot, concepts, etc. in the thing, but other than some outlining, I did very little actual writing.
Then I went to sunny Florida for two weeks where I was “forced” to go out in the 80 degree weather and ride around in a pontoon boat looking for alligators and enjoying the breeze. Never saw a one. Tried to get my nephew to dangle his toe in the water and see if we could get a nibble, but, poor sport that he is, he refused. While I was there, I did do some more outlining and thinking on the project, but, again, very little actual writing.
A few days after I got home, my blood pressure decided to go absolutely nuts on me and I ended up in the hospital for three days until they got all the meds regulated. Now, everything is back to normal—except that I haven’t cracked open the file and started doing anything with it. I have a lot of ideas and plot scenarios, so it’s time to crack the whip and start. Tomorrow!!!
“Ah, the Golden Years”
Well, I managed one of those Golden Years sneak attacks this week. I went to the cardio gym last Friday, and the BP was up to 200/100. Whoops! Where did that come from? My normal is about 135/65. Naturally, they wouldn’t let me do anything. After another check five minutes later which wasn’t any better, I jumped into the elevator and went up 8 floors to the doc’s office.
He was pretty flustered after his office took the PB four times along with an EKG. There was absolutely no reason for it to be happening. I kept track of the fool thing twice a day over the weekend, and when it hit 226/100 (Definitely a stroke looking for a place to happen) he decided to admit me. I spent three days in the cardio wing with absolutely no conclusive results trying to determine a cause. The last major test was a 24 hour thing that they ended up sending to the Mayo Clinic. I won’t get any results from that until Monday or Tuesday, so I got evicted. The BPs had been pretty normal for 48 hours.
I’m still checking the fool thing twice a day this weekend with mixed results. In the meantime, I can hardly wait for the bills to start pouring in. I can’t imagine what would happen if I didn’t have insurance. If that were the case, I guess they’d just tell me to go have my stroke and die. They’d smile and tell me, “Just think how much the system will be better off when you do.”
I’m hoping our delightful politicians in DC will pull their heads out of their butts and figure out a system of medical care for all. Personally, I’m leaning towards the European and Canadian system of guaranteed care for all regardless of their situation.
“Back to the Roller Coaster”
Guess what! I’m back in Michigan with the roller coaster temperatures. I woke up this a.m. with the thermometer reading in the teens. It’s been cold yesterday and today, and then it’s supposed to warm up again for a couple of days. The weather sure has been strange this winter, not only here, but throughout a lot of the country.
In the meantime, I think it’s time to get re-started on my Jayden and Robbie literary masterpiece. So, I’m back in front of the desktop with a decent sized keyboard so writing is a lot easier. At least I’ve been mentally developing the teens and learning more and more about their characters.
Jayden is going to be character number one, and he’s a complete nerd. I’m using the term loosely, because even though he’s small, he’s an exceptional high school football running back, making him popular with the kids and other fans. The girls especially like him because he actually dances at the Friday night post game dances. Most of the kids don’t even realize how smart he is, even though he helps his buddies on the football team with their homework, and puts some of his teachers on the spot with his questions. He reads and retains information very quickly and easily, so he normally uses Ma Google to expand his homework assignments far beyond what is expected—sometimes to the chagrin of his teachers who haven’t.
For the record, I’m talking about the temperature here in central Florida and not my age. I went for one of my daily walks an hour or so ago and managed to work up a sweat. The humidity and temperature are both up a bit today from yesterday. I’m guessing mid 80s right now. Most days I’ve managed two, which adds about 8000 steps to the daily Fitbit total.
Tomorrow morning we head out for the Sanford/Orlando Airport in prep for my 4:30 takeoff. We’ll have lunch along the way, and then it’s hurry up and wait. The airlines always say to get there two hours early, but that’s a bit of a waste. An hour and a half will be plenty. Then, it’s sit back, people watch, and think about Jayden and Robbie.
For those of you who have not been keeping up on the latest “Irrelevant Rants,” those two are the main characters in my Young Adult WIP. (That’s Work in Progress for the uninformed.) I’ve been spending a fair amount of time developing their life stories. You will only see a small portion, but I get to see it all. That’s the advantage of being the author of the story.
“Hanging in Florida”
Suffered a second brutal day of floating on the lake for two or three hours yesterday with temperatures hovering in the 80s. Oh, the misery! The lake was so calm, it didn’t even suds up our adult beverages to the point where they fizzed in our faces when we popped the tops. Thank heavens.
My gracious hosts still have to put up with me for another week. Bet they think twice about an extended invite again. However, it has been a great deal of fun. I’d say ‘tremendous’ but that word gets used way too often these days. You remember what your English teachers always told you about getting carried away with adverbs.
Speaking of English teachers and adverbs, I’ve been spending a considerable amount of time mentally developing my two new main characters, Jayden and Robbie. I’m sure all authors of fiction are the same. The book will cover maybe two years of their high school lives, but I know them from birth to middle age. I know their family histories which have created the people they are. I know about their adult jobs, marriages, and love lives, and how and why they turned out to be the people they have become, none of which is ever mentioned in the book, unless an allusion is presented somewhere in that two year story.
For example, Jayden’s competition for starting half back on the football team has a steady girlfriend, who just happens to end up marrying Jayden when they are in their mid twenties. That information provides for less than a one sentence reference in the story. You just learned more about it than the reader of the book will know. Don’t you feel lucky?
“I Could Get Used to This”
Here it is mid February and the temperature is in the upper seventies. I like it. Of course, the temps back in MI are up into the 50s this week, but they’ll be cooling down about the time I get back. That figures.
In the meantime, I spent several hours yesterday on a pontoon, soaking up the sun and sipping on a barley soda. I might have even picked up a little color on my face. Terrible, isn’t it?
Next week we’re going to a Tiger game down in Lakeland. Already have the tickets bought and paid for as well as delivered. However did we manage before the Internet?
We’re supposed to get showers and thunderstorms this afternoon, so it looks like I’ll be spending the day watching the Spartans BB team. They had better win if I’m grounded to the house because of the weather.
“Everyone has a story. What’s his?”
I went to a writer’s conference (AKA Vacation with friends) in Virginia Beach last week. On the last leg home, the short hop from Chi Town to Lansing, I had a young man sitting beside me. His Mom and younger sister were across the aisle.
I first spotted this kid at the terminal because of his appearance. I’m guessing he stood 6’6”, and if he weighed 120 pounds, that might be a stretch. When he sat down, I took one good look at his face, and said, “Let me guess—8th grade?” He smiled, and indicated the answer was yes. I told him that I had taught middle school for 18 years and high school for 17 so pretty much had him pegged. He smiled again, and that was pretty much it. Then I asked what middle school he went to and he told me. Later I asked if he happened to know the girl who lives down the street from me and goes to the same school, and he didn’t. Then I told him she might be in high school now, but I wasn’t sure. All of his answers were one word if he could get away with it.
His mom leaned over and talked to him periodically, but it was all very private and quiet. Probably reminding him not to talk to strangers, especially, crotchety looking ancient ones. However, he still intrigued me. For such a giant of a kid, he had a real baby face. I kept thinking that he had to look an awful lot like a certain guard at MSU from Texas did at fourteen. You Spartan fans know who I’m talking about.
Most of our thirty-seven minute flight was done in silence. As the plane started its final decline, the boy leaned forward, pressed his face against the back of the seat ahead of him, faced away from me, and started crying. What could I say? What could I do? I looked over at his mom, and she was on it. Soon, she was leaning over the aisle and whispering in his ear.
When we landed, he grabbed his backpack out of the overhead. Mom and sis didn’t appear to have any luggage stored above. When I departed the plane, I walked down the ramp and after a, what seemed like lengthy wait, gathered up my luggage. None of them ever showed up at the turnstile. For all I know, they were traveling with only his backpack.
So, what’s his story? Why was the kid flying? Why was he the only one with luggage? Why was he so emotional? Did he just leave Dad? Is he going to see Dad? Where is Dad? Why was he flying in the middle of the week when he should have been in school? Why were Mom and little sister flying with him and not carrying any luggage?
I’ll probably never see that kid again, buy I’ll always remember him and wonder.
“Evolution of the Jayden and Robbie Story”
Returned home Tuesday night after five days in VA Beach with my good friends, Lee and Kay Carey. Lee is the author of something like 10-12 novels and we have been friends for several years.
Well, we spent our time doing what authors do, talking about our current WIPs (Works in Progress). Lee is in the process of finishing up book three in his “If Bullfrogs Had Wings” trilogy, and I’m pretty much starting my Jaden and Robbie book. In five days, we accomplished both—polished off the plot of his, and got mine on the floor running. Now, all we have to do is sit in front of the keyboard and let our minds soar.
For those of you who write or are contemplating it, I cannot stress how important it is to have someone you can bounce ideas off. When discussing a particular part, it’s amazing what a little feedback can provide. Lee came up with the nickname of J-Bird for Jayden. Let’s face it, all teens have to have a special name that only his friends call him. Now for the irony: Lee dropped me off at the airport in Norfolk, and less than five minutes later, I was walking towards my gate and ran into a sign sprouting the name, “Jaybird.” That same day, Lee was reading the obits in his local paper and noticed that one of the people listed had a lifetime nickname of J-Bird. Two spottings within a day of our naming Jayden, J-Bird indicates to me that we got it right.
“Jayden and Robbie”
The characters in my new whatever have been consuming my feeble brain. (No comments, s’il vous plait)That’s where the fun comes in with this writing thing. Visualizing, fantasizing, and dreaming up scenarios for the characters. Some of the stuff I come up with never sees the light of print; most of it does. When I’m at the cardio gym, I essentially pass my time mentally developing plots and scenarios. Then when I get home, I jot down a few notes as to what I dreamed up while gone.
That’s part of the fun of it—deciding what do I use, what do I discard, what do I set aside, just in case? That is also part of the reason for belonging to a couple of writer’s groups. They, normally, are brutally honest in sharing their opinions. If they think scene X is over the top, they’ll tell you so. If it needs development, they also are more than willing to let you know. One of my biggest problems is over telling the story. They’re always telling me to cut this, cut that, show it, don’t tell it, etc.
Of course, how much actually gets done during the month of February is still up for grabs. I’ll be gone most of the month between a quick trip to VA Beach and a more extended one to FL. The one good part is, my friends and family in both places have a lot of good ideas when I tell them what I’m doing. The Florida bunch gave me a big help with one plot part in Pondering the Past last winter. It was something they had had experience with and provided numerous suggestions. Of course, that’s what I was saying about the writer’s groups. If you talk, people are willing to share those bits of knowledge.
Those of you, who have never tried any of this writing stuff, should. It’s great for the aging brain, and a whole lot of fun. It is so much better than vegetating in front of the TV hour after hour with the brain cells and juices withering, atrophying, and drying up. So, try it.
“Starting Something New”
I’m starting a new novelette, novella, novel, or whatever it turns out to be. I’m not 100% sure what it’ll be, or if it will end up as nothing but a fun exercise in scribbling. Since I’m not totally sure where I’m even going with this, this is what I’ve figured out so far.
A number of people have continuously said that I write middle grade or young adult, which I have always denied. My primary audience has always been the parents and grandparents of boys. The language has been aimed at them as has been the plot. In every case, it’s been a matter where Mom/Dad or Grandparent, would nod his/her head and smile. They had seen something similar.
Well, this time I’m intentionally writing to a mid grade audience, that is, middle school kids. I’m keeping the language simple and understandable—with a couple of intentional exceptions. One of the kids in this thing is very, very bright. I have two main characters—character one has had two name changes, and character two has had three. Believe it or not, there have been reasons for all the name changes. Hopefully, these are what I will stick with.
One of the characters is essentially abused and ends up getting thrown away by his parents. Dad never wanted kids, and has never really liked Jayden. To make it worse, Jay knows it and wonders why he wasn’t aborted. His football teammate and buddy, Robbie, and his mother take him in—temporarily at first until things settle down at home, but then it ends up as a permanent situation.
It’s a real Mutt and Jeff situation with Jayden being a 5’6”, 135 pound freshman running back, and Rob a 6’, 200 pound junior offensive lineman. Both boys relish in giving each other a hard time strictly in fun.
Right now, I’m about 5000 words into the thing, again, not knowing exactly where I’m going or why. Normally, it takes me about a year to complete one of these things if it ends up as a 50-70,000 word novel. So, we’ll just have to wait to see what happens.
“The Election is Over: Enough of the Bickering”
Good grief! The election is over. Can we just get on with the day-to-day running of the country and forget all the political BS until it’s time to start in on the election of 2020? Between the protests, the claims of a crooked election, who is/is not legitimate, press coverage, I’ve had enough. I just may stop watching the news. Of course, that would defeat the whole purpose of finding irrelevant stuff to rant about.
Now, on to the really important stuff. I’ve talked before about all of my marketing gimmicks. This past weekend, I gave away copies of Damey & the Z-Team for the Kindle. Set a personal record with 554 giveaways. There were 541 downloaded in the US and 14 in foreign countries. Will those freebies lead to any sales on Damey & Grandpa Tutor? As a friend of mine always says, “Weeeell see.”
In the meantime, there haven’t been a million copies of Really Short Shorts: Book 2—Bathroom Edition sold yet, so I’ll still be nagging one-and-all. Get your copies while the getting is good. It’s available in both paperback and the Kindle.
“Stupid is that Stupid Does:
There are a number of clichés regarding stupidity, and I think some of them have really come to light recently. About six-thirty this morning someone’s car was hit by a train here in Lansing. Now, agreed, all the facts have not been released, but the major question comes in, “Why?” The only thing that has been said so far is that there was one person in the car.
I am familiar with the particular crossing where it happened and know the guard arms come down well in advance of the trains—maybe even too much. I have also observed people at that particular crossing swerve out and go around the gates. I have no idea if that is what happened this morning, but I can only imagine. Regardless of how it happened, what could be so important at six-thirty that you would risk your life to save five minutes at the crossing?
Also, this weekend another classic example of, “Were you born stupid, or have you been working your whole life developing the art?” One of the SNL writers apparently tweeted that Barron Trump would become the first home-schooled shooter. I could give a rip less if you are Democrat, Republican, Independent, liberal, conservative, Tea Party, or non-voter. The minor children of the President—or any other official are off limits. It doesn’t matter if their name is Kennedy, Nixon, Clinton, Bush, Trump, or anything else. Do NOT use those kids as a means to express your vitriolic stupidity. (And, if you’re too stupid to know the definition of “Vitriolic,” look it up.)
A few weeks ago I mentioned my latest marketing gimmick. The idea is to give away or put out something new every month. In other words, flood the market. I’ve been doing the give-aways on Kindle weekly for some time now with mixed results. One book was downloaded 96 times, and that had been the best to date. Most of the short stories or novels had gone to the tune of somewhere between twenty and fifty.
This week has been different. I have no clue why, but so far Damey & the Z-Team has been downloaded over five-hundred times in two and a half days. What’s different? It almost has to be the cover. It shows an icebreaker surrounded by ice in the Antarctic, leaving somewhat of a mysterious feeling. At least, that’s my best guess.
I wish I knew the marketing statistics. What percentage of the 500+ will actually read the book? Of those who do, what percentage will write a review on Amazon? What percentage will check out other books—like Damey & Grandpa Tutor? How many will not only take a look but buy one of the other nine available books? My best guess is 10% for all. A friend of mine, who is a marketing guru, told me the percentage is probably higher. We shall see.
“Background on Really Short Shorts: Book 2”
Really Short Shorts: Book 2—Bathroom Edition went live at Amazon this weekend. I’ve had a lot of fun with this one. Several of the stories have struck nerves with some people. I eliminated one story and replaced it with an essay because one friend was offended by a sub-topic which was supposed to be humorous, not serious. However, because of some of the political BS of the time, probably the timing wasn’t the greatest.
The essay that replaced it caused a stir at my writer’s group. Most of the old duffers like me agreed with the premise 100%. However, one lady, who is a child psychologist, let her nose pop way out of shape because of it. The session ran late so I didn’t get a chance to really pump her for her disdain, but it pretty much had to be because she’s all for wrapping today’s kids in cotton while coddling and pampering them unmercifully to the point where a pin prick in their thin skins will make them bleed out. Might be a “slight” exaggeration, but you get the point.
In the meantime, the book is now available for your perusal. Collectively, if you buy over 10 million copies, I’ll quit harassing all of you and retire to the Bahamas, out of sight and out of mind.
"Really Short Shorts: Book 2"
Well, I think maybe Really Short Shorts—Book 2 is ready. I did a number of revisions on the novella that starts the thing, My Mysterious Twin Brother, hopefully answering a number of the vague questions for the reader. I will spend the next couple of days going through that story, reading it aloud to myself and sounding like an idiot, but hopefully, then it will be right. My editor convinced me to delete one of the stories towards the end which MIGHT be offensive to some people and replace it with something called a Stream of Consciousness Essay. I’ll take that to one of my writer’s groups tomorrow night, make my final edits, and then be ready to roll. With any luck, I hope to have the thing out and for sale before I head to Florida on the 22nd.
You creative types will understand the time, pain, and agony that it takes trying to make it “Right.” I have been working on this short story book for over a year. Seeing it come to fruition is a double-edged sword. I’m glad it’s finally over, but I’ve truly enjoyed the process.
I have no idea what will come next. I have really enjoyed the short stories, but I get a lot more positive feedback on the novels. For some reason or the other, these things always seem to work themselves out, which is good. Less pain for the brain.
“You Gotta Love It”
Yesterday the temperature was in the forties. A little warmer than usual, but then, this is Michigan. One of the old clichés about this place goes something like, “You don’t like the weather? Hang around five minutes, it’ll change.”
Today it’s snowing, the temperature is 18, the wind is blowing 30 miles per hour which all equates to a two-above snow squall. Had a few errands to run this morning and managed to see and hear three different emergency crews and one wreck. People are idiots when it comes to driving. “Oh, it’s only snowing a little bit. It can’t be slippery.” Yeah, right! Snow on roads that were in the forties yesterday means a delightful glaze on the road.
Oh well, in a little over an hour I leave again for the cardio gym to get in one of my three-times-a-week cardio workouts. Hopefully, the people on the road by then will be a little more aware of what’s going on than they were earlier to day.
“Happy New Year”
Wanted to take a time out from all of the holiday doings to wish everyone a happy new year. Sixteen was not the greatest, so I’m hoping for a fresh start with lots of positivity for the new year. During the course of the last year I managed to have a nasty heart attack and then end up the year losing a brother-in-law, dear old friend of thirty-five years or so, and a great-grand dog.
My hope for the New Year includes publishing a new short story book in January, vacationing in FL and VA Beach in late Jan. and early Feb. to visit friends and relatives, and hopefully continue the year in a happy and positive demeanor.
I have gotten to the point where I refuse to read all the negative BS I see and hear on the Internet or in the papers. As usual, I refuse to talk religion, politics, or “personal” values that others love to expound upon. I won’t even talk about Edward Snowden to my grandson. I don’t have time. Life’s too short for that crap.
My mantra is to have fun, love everyone, and laugh whenever possible. Fortunately, most of my friends are the same way. That’s probably why they’re my friends. So, make my year. Laugh, have fun, and buy at least ten copies of all my books and give them away to your friends. Once I reach a million sales, maybe I’ll quit hassling all of you. MAYBE!
“Holiday Weight Gains”
I’ve gained five pounds over the holidays, and it’s not my fault. It’s the medication. To make the Christmas season even more interesting than normal, I managed to come down with a little case of Sinusitis. This, of course, allows me to hack, gag, etc. 24/7. After about a week of it, I finally went to Redi-Care. Their solution was a daily dose of steroids for seven days. Well, as we all know, steroids are the cause of water retention and weight gain.
The whole point is, those five pounds I’ve gained over the past week have everything to do with the medications and nothing to do with the fact that I have a house full of sweets and am a firm believer in the old adage, “Waste not, want not.” In other words, it’s my patriotic duty to eat the stuff, rather than having it go to waste. No way would I be pigging out so much that it made me gain five pounds over the holidays. Anyway, it’s my theory: I’m sticking to it. I’m sure you all agree with me.
“One Down, One to Go”
Christmas is over and all went well. New Year’s Eve is right around the corner. At least I haven’t heard of any terrorist bombings that happened, but you never know. After all, the “crooked” media might be hiding something from us. Seriously, my hope for the New Year is that everyone can forget their differences, mend all the various fences, and try to get along for the betterment of civilization as a whole.
I never claimed to be the brightest person I know, and sometimes I think I must be, in truth, pretty dim, because I just do not understand the hate that is out there. I mean, why do you have to think just like I do? Whether we’re talking about religion, politics, morals, or whatever, what difference does it make? If I’m left of the political spectrum, and you’re right, or vice-versa, why should we hate each other and call each other names. Why are “Liberal” and “Conservative” dirty words ranking right up there with the raunchiest? I don’t get it.
If I’m Christian and you are Muslim, why should either one of us feel it’s necessary to bomb, shoot, or run over each other, and thump our chests, waiting to die in a hail of police bullets?
With the New Year soon to be upon us, it’s my hope that somehow we can all accept one another, and start getting along for the betterment of man. We don’t need to name-call, threaten, maim, or kill one another. What a more perfect life we could all live, if we could just live in peace and harmony.
“The Holidays are Upon Us”
Whoa! Where has time gone this year? Christmas is Sunday, and I’m not ready. However, I’m betting most of you reading this aren’t either, so I have company in those regards. I also know that by the time your holiday gets here, you will be too.
In the meantime, I hope that all of you have the greatest of holiday seasons, whichever one you practice during this time of year—and there are at least three that I can think of right off the top of my head.
The one thing I would hope for with the coming of the new year is that people could get a little more positive and a little less negative. The one place I see this the most is on Facebook. The election is over. Can we now concentrate on posting pictures and stories of families, pets, the kids sporting events, and whatever it is you are doing for fun? I could care less about the current conspiracy theory du jour.
I like seeing pictures of your kid’s piano recital, basketball game, dog stealing pizza off the counter, whatever. If you forward the latest scandal, I skip over it and don’t even look. So there! End of rant for today.
We are in the midst of the holiday season, and old Scrooge hasn’t done a thing yet. I won’t put up my tree until the weekend, but you’d think I’d get off my duff and put up the wreathes, Nativity Scene, and some of the other table decorations. My big goal for the day is write out the Christmas cards and maybe even get them sent. However, we will not hold our breath on that one. I mean, like, we still have a day or two leeway.
OK, now that I have your attention, here’s the basic info on Really Short Shorts: Book 2—Bathroom Edition.
Really Short Shorts is a compilation of one fifty page novelette and twenty-four short stories ranging from four to seventeen pages. The stories cover a wide variety of topics. Most of them deal with people, ranging from young to old. All are pure fantasy flowing from my imagination. I was entertained writing the short stories; hopefully you will be by reading them.
The subtitle, “Bathroom Edition,” comes from two sources. A close friend of mine kept Really Short Shorts: Book 1 in his bathroom for a long time, which I found amusing. Telling this story to one of my writing groups, one young lady got very serious. She indicated the hardest thing to do when her mother passed was to dispose of the two short story books she’d had stashed in the bathroom for over forty years.
Now, all you have to do is wait with abated breath for this particular literary masterpiece to make it to Amazon. I’m guessing it will be close to the beginning of the new year. It will be available in both paperback and eBook by Kindle.
Today we have up to eleven inches of snow forecast. From the looks of things, we may not get that much. Hope not. One of my writer’s groups is having its annual Christmas party tomorrow night, and I don’t particularly want a forty mile round trip if the roads are hazardous.
In the meantime, I’m down to the final edits on Really Short Shorts: Book 2—Bathroom Edition. I only have about fifteen pages to go. Then it will be time to publish. Of course, if someone capable volunteers to edit the thing again in the next couple of days, giving it a fresh set of eyes, I’ll take them up on it. I had originally wanted to get the book out before Christmas, but that is no longer a concern. Even if it happened this coming week, it wouldn’t leave enough time for it to be a viable option for holiday marketing.
Another reason for staying home and working today instead of running the roads—a Sunday delivery, US Mail Vehicle just spun out in front of my house trying to get up our slight incline. Oh, good. Now’s she’s sideways. I may have to stop this particular, slightly useless rant for the day, and go watch. Incidentally, I think she finally made it. Good. Now I won’t feel guilty for not going out and helping.
Tonight I finished putting in the last two stories of Really Short Shorts: Book 2—Bathroom Edition. There are twenty-five altogether. There is a real variety of stories ranging in all kinds of different lengths. However, even though the stories are all there, it isn’t ready yet.
First off, I need to put in all the disclaimers stating that it is fiction and nothing is real and no actual people were used in the stories to protect the guilty:-) After that, I need to put in all of my blatant advertisements for the other short story compilation and novels, and then I need to come up with a cover. I looked at a handful of images tonight which I could use, but nothing has struck me yet. I’ll do more on that tomorrow.
When it’s completely done, I’ll print it off so I can edit a hard copy. That always shows stuff that I miss on the computer copy. Typically, like everyone else, I read what I’m thinking and what I meant, and not necessarily what is actually written. Anyway, after that, I may or may not have someone else go through it for editing purposes. However, with this being the Christmas season, I don’t want to have to pay for it. I know, I know—I’m cheap.
“You Guys are in for It”
Sorry, but I’m at it again. Sometime in the very near future, my latest and greatest will be published in both paperback and on the Kindle, and I’ll be in your ear continuously. Now, if every one of my Facebook friends bought a minimum of ten copies apiece, I “might” quit nagging. That would make about 6,000, and at that point Amazon would take over and advertise it big time, and all of you would be off the hook. So, keep your stocking stuffer list open. Hope to have this ready in the next couple of weeks.
What this literary masterpiece consists of, is another short story anthology. It will start with one 30 page novelette, followed by two short stories that my sister and I collaborated on, and then 22 more short stories to make a total of twenty five.
The title will be, Really Short Shorts: Book 2, Bathroom Edition. That part was slipped in because of this friend of mine who kept the first short story book in his bathroom. Figured most of the stories were right about the correct length. Great idea, right? Anyway, keep posted and start saving your money.
The Kindle freebies are proving more and more interesting each and every day. Over time, I’ve given away several short stories for the Kindle, but after reading some marketing manuals, decided to try something different. The plan is to give something away weekly for a few months and see what develops.
I started four weeks ago with one of my older novels. Every week since, I have put out either a novel or a short story for five days at a time, going from Thursday until Monday. There have been maybe an average of twenty downloads per piece over the five weeks. This week I offered “Sometimes Home Ain’t Home Sweet Home.” On Thursday 59 copies were downloaded, Friday 19, and Saturday 5. I haven’t checked today as of yet. Usually, they go a little later in the day.
To make it even more interesting, at least to me, is the fact that 4 have gone to England, 4 to Canada, and 1 to Germany. Why? Is it the title, the cover, the write up? Who knows?
Have no idea on how marketing statistics work, but I’m wondering how many people will actually read the book, and how many just downloaded it because it was free with the plans of, “One of these day’s I’ll take a look at the thing.” Of the, who knows how many people actually read it, how many will write a review on Amazon?
A few years ago, I gave 60 paperback copies of one of the books with the agreement that if I sent them a book, they would read it and review it on Amazon. With postage and all, the experiment cost me about $300, and only 25 of the 60 actually wrote a review. So, as you might guess, I like this method much better. It doesn’t cost me anything.
My marketing gimmick has really been kind of fun. This week I’ve given away a handful and sold a few, along with another book being read through Kindle Unlimited. This weekend, “As Life Moves On” is the one that’s available. That’s book two in the “As Life…” trilogy. Last weekend it was “Grammy Gets Busted.”
Where I find a lot of fun out of this is last weekend, one of the “Grammy…” stories was downloaded in Germany. This weekend “As Life…” has gone to India and Canada. I think I have a fan in India. Someone from there has taken three of the last four offerings. What is impossible to tell is whether or not it’s the same person.
In the meantime, I’m researching coyotes fast and furiously. I’m expanding the story about a mysterious twin into either a novelette, novella, or novel—as yet undetermined. What I “want” to happen is to have the so called traditional twin attacked by two or three coyotes with his twin coming to the rescue, saving him and risking his own life. So far, all I’ve found are incidents when individual coyotes have attacked very small children. The characters in the story are sixteen which puts them out of the norm for sure. However, using poetic license, most anything is possible so there’s always a first time. If any of you have any actual knowledge or experience with this, email me privately at firstname.lastname@example.org and clue me in with your knowledge.
What are parents teaching or not teaching their kids in today’s world? Yesterday, there were a bunch of nasty incidents at a couple of our local middle and elementary schools. I haven’t heard about anything at the high school, but who knows. Not only that, but it almost looks like the superintendent is trying a massive cover-up.
I happen to know the mother and grandmother of one middle school student who did not want to go to school today. She is afraid. There were at least incidences I happen to hear about. In one, a group of students lay on the floor in front of a teacher’s door to “Build a wall.” The school just happens to have an Asian Teacher and an Hispanic one, and I guess both were harassed all day.
One seventh grade girl was encircled by a group of students as they built a “wall” around her, telling her to go back to Mexico. I think she’s the one whose mother escorted her to school today.
Supposedly, there was a similar incident at one of the elementary schools. I heard what it was, but I can’t remember exactly what happened.
To make things even more interesting, rumor has it that the two teachers were asked to take the day off and not go to school today. The schools knew the media would be present and wanted to avert an incident if possible. Like I said yesterday, “Come on people, it’s over. Let’s go back to work, knock off the petty squabbles, and do something positive for a change.”
“It’s Over Let’s Go to Work”
OK, everyone, it’s over. Let’s can the vitriol, hate speeches, demonstrations, and all that crap and let’s get on with it. It’s time for the country to prove to the world that we can get together and work on the country’s problems. That would be something new. When is the last time that happened?
I admit, I’m not the brightest bulb screwed into the socket, but I do not understand all of the protest marches yesterday. From what I read, these are the same people who refused to vote because they couldn’t stand the candidates. I heard one protester say that if Bernie Sanders had run, the protest marches never would have happened.
I guess I‘m too ‘old school’ because I personally buy into the concept that if you don’t vote, you’ve got nothing to complain about. One of my own kids strongly disagrees—says it’s his Constitutional right to complain and voice his opinion even if he doesn’t. Incidentally, he posted his “I Voted” sticker on Facebook, so he’s excused this time.
My whole point is, it’s over. We have a new president elect. Let’s get behind the candidate and knock off the petty squabbles between the two parties that we’ve suffered through the past few years and see if we can get something done. We certainly do have enough issues to deal with: the national debt, Isis, affordable health care, immigration issues, etc. etc. etc.
“It’s Almost Over”
I can hardly wait for tomorrow to be over. At that point 50% will be satisfied, 50% will be angry, and probably 80% will shake their head and say, “There, that’s over for another four years.”
I’ve been around for one or two of these presidential elections, and never, never, never have I see so much venom, hate, slander, exaggeration, and downright lies as I have for this one. What scares me is how many kids have been exposed to this vitriol. What will be the after effect of the election? At what point will parents be able to stop covering their children’s ears every time a commercial comes on? Soon, I hope.
On a happier note, today is the last day for your free Kindle version of “Grammy Gets Busted.” Go back to the main page, click on the cover, and get your copy.
Congrats to the Chicago Cubs for winning their first World Series in Baseball in 108 years. Gee, I was just a young dude when that happened. I guess I technically should have been rooting for Cleveland because of the American League relationship to the Tigers, but I didn’t. I rooted for Chicago and watched all of the games in the W.S. That is, I watched last night until the ground crew pulled on the tarp about midnight with the game all tied. That’s when I flipped off the TV and decided I’d check this morning to see how it went. The series was exciting and so was the ending. Congratulations again.
Those of you with Kindles, be sure to grab my latest free short story du jour, “Grammy Gets Busted.” It runs free from 11/03/16-11/07/16, and then you’ll have to cough up ninety-nine cents for it.
Halloween has come and gone. That’s my day to go into hiding:-) Ever since we had the Boxers, I’ve done this. It was so much of a pain in the butt when the kids came to the door. The dogs thought they should be outside playing with the trick-or-treaters. That’s OK. Like a wimp, I closed all the drapes and blinds, watched the news, and then turned on Monday night football real low and hibernated. Nobody even came up and beat on the door.
Interesting marketing note. Since I’ve been giving away the short stories on Amazon, several people have bought the short story collection, “Really Short Shorts.” That has forty short stories in it so it’s really a pretty good deal for people who like them. I have several friends who bought it when it first came out and kept it in the bathroom. Maybe next time I do it, I’ll label it “Bathroom Breaks.”
In the meantime, be sure to get your free Kindle copy of the newest short story, "Grammy Gets Busted" between 11/3--11/7.
Back in 2013, I sent the little blurb below to the Lansing State Journal. From what I’ve seen of Common Core, I don’t think things have changed one bit. I know my opinion hasn’t. Our glorious legislature’s latest brilliant scheme is to hold back any and all third graders who do not hit that magical point on the reading scale—regardless of individuality, dyslexic tendencies, or other genres being their strong suit:
I’d like to congratulate the state legislature for its ingenuous idea of putting each and every child in Michigan on an automotive style assembly line. The concept that children are individuals and learn and develop at different rates and speeds is so passé. The latest bill on the docket requires schools to retain children at the end of the third grade who have not attained the prescribed reading efficiency—which means that 36,662 students will have to repeat third grade.
I would like to suggest further measures. I think every child should pass through puberty by the end of the seventh grade. Back in the prehistoric days when I taught middle school, I had one boy burst into tears when he received a hard-earned A on a quiz. In today’s world, that would be way too much of a distraction. Suppose that had happened on April 27th. when the new state and national curriculum guide dictates on page 3,428 that all eighth graders master introductory gerund phrases?
I also think that the members of congress should each be personally responsible for checking each and every child in their own districts to determine if that satisfactory puberty level has been attained.
For those of you who give a rip, here’s the schedule for my Kindle Give-Aways from now through the end of the year. I could only go through December because of a thing known as KDP Select. It’s the guarantee I will only use Kindle for electronic downloads and not any of the others that are available. It automatically renews in Dec. so then I can line up the others. Anyway, here is the list to date:
- As Life Continues—10/28-11/1
- Grammy Gets Busted—11/3—11/07
- As Life Moves On—11/10—11/14
- Sometimes Home Ain’t “Home Sweet Home”—11/17—11/21
- The Carpet King—11/24—11/28
- My Kids are Nuts—12/01—12/05
- Getting Grammy to Breakfast—12/8—12/12
- Terror While Vacationing in Pisa—12/15—12/19
- It’s My Story : I’m Sticking to it—12/22—12/26
So there you go, Kindle fans. Download a freebie every week for the foreseeable future. Some are novels and some are short stories. Doesn’t matter—grab ‘um while they are free.
I’ve been debating with myself if I want to try a marketing experiment I heard about or not. With nine novels and something like a hundred short stories, I have plenty to work with. What it boils down to is, I would give one of them away every week for five days for the Kindle. I would keep rotating the works so I could do it for a year. I can only “give away” any particular piece once every three months. I have enough so it shouldn’t be a problem.
One of the big questions is, do I advertise them or not? I hate to keep loading up Facebook with my goofy advertisements, but it’s the only way those of you who have Kindles would probably know. Amazon does do some minimal advertising, but I think more of it goes to European countries that it does our own. For instance, the last two stories I gave away were both picked up from someone in India. Unfortunately, I have no clue who the takers are. Are they American citizens, or are they maybe students who are learning English, or are they just people who want to read something? The bad part is, there is no way to find out—unless I convince the Russian hackers that this is something they might want to check up on. Not!!
Thank goodness the debates are over. Now, if November 8th would just get here and leave, I’d be much happier. I find it hard to believe, but I watched the whole thing again last night. After debate number one, I declared I would not watch number two. I did. And, then I made the same claim about number three. I watched it. I must be out of my mind—especially due to the fact that I’ve already sent in my absentee ballot so there was no way I could change my mind one way or the other. Oh well, in four years from now, I’ll be more selective. Right!
In the meantime, my sister and I are collaborating on another short story. We did the one about getting Grammy to breakfast and had tons of fun with it. While I was having lunch with her yesterday she told me about how the police helicopter hovered over her twenty acre back area and found marijuana. Her driveway ended up filled with police cars as they pulled up the plants. There is a limited access via a crossroad to her property, so the people who planted it must have used that. At least, that’s her story… We’ll see how the “real” story works out when I finish it.
“Marketing Gimmicks du jour”
Well, I have three different marketing gimmicks going on, and none are producing an over abundance of sales. I’m going to let the “countdown” on Pondering the Past finish and then do some major changing around. The countdown is simply putting the eBook version out there for .99 for two days, then raising the price to $1.99 for two days, and then keep jumping it until it gets back to normal.
The other gimmicks actively running is one where I’m giving away free “Fireman or Firebug?” for five days as an eBook. There have only been a handful of those given away. However, I do seem to have a fan in India. Someone there has downloaded each of the past two freebies. It’s always fun to see people in foreign countries get them. Are they Americans? Are they Europeans learning the language? Who knows? In the past month, I’ve had freebies downloaded in England, Ireland, Italy, Spain, Canada, Japan, and India. (I think that’s all.)
The other gimmick is where I pay to have Amazon pump the advertising on certain books. Currently I’m doing As Life Goes On where 3,352 people have had the cover flash in front of their eyes, 34 have clicked on it to read the description, and none of them have actually bought it or read it through Kindle Prime. The good part is I’ve only had to pay $8.40 for the advertising to date. I’m thinking that as soon as the “countdown” on Pondering the Past is finished, I’ll do that one next.
“Going Cheap gets Expensive”
Being the cheapskate I am, sometimes I do stupid things to save a buck. My laser printer is getting old, and they have stopped selling the cartridges locally, so they have to be ordered. Naturally, they’ve also gone up in price since they stopped carrying them. Hummm! Maybe that’s why they have free shipping??
I’ve never gone to “Toner Cartridges are Us,” or whatever it’s called, because I didn’t quite trust the concept. I’ve heard some horror stories. I also know some people who swear by them. Oh, well, what the… I decided to give them a whirl. What did I have to lose? Fortunately, they just happen to have one in stock. It wasn’t factory labeled as such, but the correct number was written in with a pen. I bought it. It didn’t fit just exactly right, but I managed to get it in.
To test it, I decided to print the daily Sudoku. The paper jammed. Tried it again—same results. After five tries I stopped. The sample sheets all had a kink in them where they jammed and covered with toner. Wonderful! I took it back. The man gave me a new one that was actually an aftermarket cartridge that had never been opened or refilled. Same results—except by then the printer had developed a rattle.
Decided to get the printer checked over and fixed. Nobody does printer repairs anymore. It seems that printers are considered expendable. Buy a new one—recycle the old. The cartridge goes back this afternoon, and they’d better give me a refund. If they refuse, I stop payment at Discover. Fortunately, my ink jet still works. I’ll check around and see what I want to do in regards to buying a new laser.
My bad! Lately this older gentleman has been coming to cardio rehab. Other than “Hi” we hadn’t spoken until Wednesday. He has long, scraggly, gray hair and a long, scraggly beard. He’s normally dressed in old, raggedy blue jeans, suspenders, and an open, tattered shirt. Working my way through the treadmill, NuStep, and other apparatuses, I tend to spend the time listening to other people’s conversations. Cool of me, eh?
On Wednesday the gentleman was talking to one of the hospital techs who asked him if the football coach had ever given him tickets. I didn’t catch all the answer except for the part that he normally didn’t go to the games. Didn’t want to fight the crowds, and one could see the game better on TV at home anyway. When I finished, I stopped by where the gentleman was working out and asked if he were connected to the university in any way. Much to my surprise, I learned the gentleman is a medical doctor, psychiatrist, and full professor. I decided right there and then, never will I prejudge someone again.
So, this morning, I swung by the local mini-store to grab a double chocolate muffin on my way to the car wash. Standing in my way into the case was a boy maybe thirteen years old. He stood approximately 5’4” and weighed somewhere in the vicinity of 350 pounds.
- •Medical condition?
- •Couch potato?
- •None of the above?
- •All of the above?
Nope! No more pre-judgments for me. I put my double-chocolate muffin back in the case, walked out, and headed for the car wash.
To make the weekend even more interesting, I was coming back home from dinner last night after dark and noticed two houses in my neighborhood already decorated for Christmas. I even drove around the block on the first one to make sure it wasn’t Halloween decorations. Nope! Christmas, and it’s still practically the first week of October.
“Darn! Hung up on again”
I’m really disappointed. I just got hung up on for the second day in a row. The same caller ID called again today, and I was still curious. It’s POTS something. Yesterday it was a foreign speaking lady from the FBI informing me that I was soon to be arrested and needed to pay my fine right away. Boy, that sounded scary. Too bad her English was so bad I could barely understand her. Now, you’d think the FBI would hire people who could speak a little better.
Today when the phone rang and the POTS identification came up, I was curious to see if I’d been arrested yet so I answered. Only this time, it was UPS wanting to deliver the gift that I had won. I think there was a fee of some kind. Not sure, our conversation didn’t last that long. I do wish UPS would also hire people who could speak English so it was understandable as well.
Anyway, after I told the FBI and UPS that I was the CIA and had kept them on the line long enough to trace their calls, and that they could be expecting one of our agents within a half hour to walk through their door and arrest them for perpetrating a scam, they both hung up on me. How fair is that? And, here I thought I had really won something instead of being arrested. So, if POTS calls you, tell them for me that I’m still waiting for my gift. I just can’t afford their delivery fees.
Listened to the vice-presidential debate last night and was totally turned off. There is something about one participant trying to talk over the other that drives me up a wall. The same thing happened during the presidential debate a couple of weeks back. I thought that was bad enough, but last night we got the same thing. Bah, humbug!” As off-putting at it is, I’ll probably still watch the final two debates—just so I’ll have something to rant about.
Part of my merchandising plan, which I stole from two different books about advertising for the Kindle, is to not only put a new short story up on line every month, but to give it away for five days. Currently, “My Mysterious Twin Brother” is available through today. What I find intriguing is the number which are given away overseas. As of early this morning, three copies had been downloaded abroad—one each in England, Germany, and India. Where my curiosity goes, are these Americans, foreign students learning English, or who? Unfortunately, I’ll never know.
What a horrible weekend in sports. Not only did the Spartans play horribly, but the Tigers blew their playoff chances, and the Lions stunk up the place. I may have to take up knitting.
I’m afraid this is going to be a long season for Sparty. Between injuries, inexperience, and a number of other things, it appears that their two early losses will multiply big time. I hear a number of people blaming the QB, but there are a number of areas that are going to have to get cleaned up in a hurry. One freshman dropped a pass when he was wide open to a touchdown. The ball obviously hit him in a bad spot—both hands at the same time. How many plays were called back because of frivolous fouls? In overtime, IU’s defensive line spent more time in our backfield than in their own. Like I said, it’s going to be a long, long season.
On to more important things. I was at a restaurant last night, and you should have heard the couple sitting behind me. I’m guessing both were in their forties and maybe dating. Both giggled like a couple of 13 year-olds. There is something about a 40+ y-o male going “Tee hee-hee-hee” that is reminiscent to fingernails on the chalk board at school.
And, even more important, Amazon seems to have fixed the ordering glitch on Pondering the Past. Order reports have started coming through again. If you are one of those who ordered the paperback and didn’t get it, go in and reorder. You were not charged previously, and things are once again working.
Way to go, Amazon. Looks like you messed me up just a tad. Numerous people indicated that they had ordered Pondering the Past, yet the orders reports don’t indicate that many. Apparently, there was a glitch and people who ordered, didn’t. My sister and one close friend are included in that list. They have since reordered, and all is well.
If you have ordered and didn’t get your book, click on the book at Amazon, and the page will tell you that you have already ordered, if they have the order recorded. If it doesn’t, you might need to reorder.
In the meantime, the violence continues. Yesterday some teenager murdered his father and then went to an elementary school and shot up the place. When and where will it stop?
The nonsensical violence across the country is driving me nuts. Who know if there is actually more today than twenty-thirty years ago? Modern media drives the sensationalism of it. It’s probably not the media’s fault; it’s just the way it is. If someone sneezes wrong in one corner of the country, it is known within five minutes.
This morning a former Michigan State football player was killed in some kind of bar fracas in Canada. I just saw at least six different postings of the thing on Facebook, and it wasn’t that many hours ago. To put it in perspective, when I was about twelve, a boy my age was murdered in Lansing by a family friend (pervert) who cut off his genitals and stuffed them in his mouth after raping him. This barely made the local paper the next day. They didn’t have enough information to appropriately publish it.
Can you imagine what would happen if that happened today—especially if it happened to be white on black or black on white? The demonstrations and riots would start before his body reached room temperature.
Maybe it’s time for the media to cool its heels a bit and wait until they have more information before instantaneously broadcasting every single violent event across the world. Of course with people’s availability to U-Tube, Facebook, Twitter, and everything else, that’s impossible. I guess it would just be nice to not see and hear about every single disastrous event that happens. Maybe it’s time to become a hermit???
“Pondering the Past”
In case you’ve missed the multiple posts re Pondering the Past, here’s the scoop. It is now available at Amazon in both paperback and on the Kindle.
The prologue goes thirty years into the past when a two-year-old, feral child paces his crib, refusing to speak or communicate. In that condition, he watches his father stab to death his mother.
Chapter one jumps forward thirty years as Thomas, the previously feral child, prepares to marry. Amy, his fiancé, is clued in by Thomas’s adoptive father that she knows nothing of his early life, and before they get married, she should pry the past out of him.
Amy sat in the parking lot of the credit union pondering the past of all those who are close to her. Why had Mr. Carter insisted she probe Thomas’s brain until she dug out the entire, previously unmentioned to her, story of his life? What hadn’t Dad Carter told her? He insisted the task was for therapeutic reasons—Thomas’s or hers? He hadn’t said.
Thomas’s past was something the two of them had never discussed. Why not? Everyone talks about their childhood. Everyone, that is, except Thomas. He never mentioned it. So, what had she missed? As she sat there thinking, she nodded, realizing it was a subject he’d continuously skirted. Later. We’ll talk later, he’d say, if and when she brought it up, but they never did. Why? Was he hiding something?
She’d known him for several years. On the surface, he was an upright, straight forward, honest, and loving guy. Was he somehow some kind of closet criminal? Was there something evil about his past she should know? As she saw him walking across the parking lot towards her way, she made a decision. One way or the other, she would find out—the sooner the better.
“The Publishing Game”
Been working on going through the motions with the publishing game re Pondering the Past. It can be extremely simple or a pain in the tush, depending on whether or not you pay attention to what you’re doing.
One of the restrictions is that the bottom right hand corner of the back cover has to remain clear of any design and/or writing. That’s where the publisher puts the UPC code for the book. I normally manage to forget that little detail and have to re-do the cover—like I did this time. There were some design characteristics on the cover I originally used. Now, it will take another 24 hours before I can order a proof copy and to any required editing. No big deal in the long run. It just threw me back one day. Since I’ve been working on the thing for over a year, what’s another day?
Speaking of edits, I had to do a bunch of them tense wise on “My Mysterious Twin Brother.” I’m taking that to one of my writing groups tonight and noticed some present tense—past tense changes that needed to be made. At least I think it reads smoother now. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but six different people indicated that I had to turn it into a novella or novel because I couldn’t leave it as it was. So, that’s the next big project.
“More Irrelevant BS”
Getting very close to finishing the final edits of Pondering the Past. Of course, I’m not sure on the title. Cannot make this any too easy on myself. Right now I’m also considering, The Quest, and The Dash between the Dates. In the story, Amy is on a quest to discover the truth regarding a hidden past from her fiancé. It’s not that he has done anything wrong, it’s that he’s tried to block out his childhood because of the gruesome details that come out in the story.
Twice during the story the concept comes up that the two dates one always sees on a tombstone are not what’s important in a person’s life. What is significant is the period of a person’s life, always represented by the dash. That’s the period when the person lived, made decisions, lived a good life or wasted it.
Of course, the Pondering the Past notion is self evident in the story. Thomas’s dad put a bug in Amy’s ear telling her to ‘make’ Thomas tell her his history for his own emotional good. He ‘needs’ to express this information and get it out into the open.
So, as you can see, today’s Irrelevant Rant really is. I’m just going to have to decide which way I want to go—and I probably have less than a week to do it.
Trying a couple of things. First off, I’ve put one of my goofy short stories on the FREE list at Amazon for the Kindle for the second time. Only, this time, I am not advertising it one bit. Amazon does something, but I’m not exactly sure what. It will be available today, the seventh through the eleventh. We’ll see what happens. In the meantime, when I got up this morning the first give away had already happened. Someone in France grabbed it. Ta Da!
The second experiment du jour is my web site itself. One of my friends told me that most web sites had the option to make the site much more accessible to one’s smart phone, IPad, etc. in the way it was viewed. I talked to the people at Homestead yesterday and they supposedly talked me through it. Since I do not have a smart phone, I have no idea if it works or not. Apparently, my phone is one of the ‘dumb’ ones because even though I’m on the ‘Do Not Call’ list, I still get my share of robo-calls. Grrrr.
Are any of you as sick of this election cycle as I am? I swear; it’s going to drive me nuts. I know, I know, no comments about how short a trip that will be. Anyway, a long time ago I made sure that almost no one could figure out who I supported for any particular election. Years ago while still teaching, when I happen to get a history class, I always made sure the students didn’t know my positions on various issues. The two regular American history teachers were so biased on one side of the coin or the other, that I wanted the students to know what impartiality in the class looked like.
I still laugh about one of my fellow teachers who just “knew” who I supported and voted for in every election. Over the years, I wonder how many times I heard, “Well, what do you think of ‘YOUR’ boy now?” Little did he know, and I never straightened him out. It was more fun watching him make a fool out of himself.
I get the same thing today, only maybe today it’s a little less aggravating that it used to be. Maybe I’ve mellowed with age? Ha! Don’t quiz my rugrats about that one. I have friends who bring up politics every time we talk, and I don’t respond. After I just sit there long enough, they change the subject and on we go to something else. I just don’t want to talk about ‘The horrible Donald’ or ‘Crooked Hillary.’
If it weren’t for the shameful promotion of all of my literary masterpieces, I’d vacate Facebook for the next three months. I’m so sick and tired of seeing and hearing the latest vitriolic, hate-filled, photo shopped line of BS, I just want it to be over. Believe it or not, whichever one is elected will not mean the end of the US or known civilization. We will survive this election one way or the other. Let’s just get it over with.
“When It Rains, It Pours”
Recently I’ve been whining because I didn’t have any ideas for new stories. Then I started in fast and furiously on The Choice –mentioned below. I have relatives here from Florida and we spent considerable time hashing over the plot line. Unfortunately, they’re gone now and I’m on my own.
In the meantime, my editor returned Pondering the Past—also mentioned below. As usual, that is going to take forever to go through, “ponder” the options, and make changes. Not only that, I really need to come up with a different title. Nobody seems to like the title as it stands who have read snippets of the thing. It’s only had about six different titles to date.
I that isn’t enough, I have to keep coming up with new short stories every month for the next nine-ten months for the marketing gimmick I’m working on. Need at least twenty-four stories within twenty-four months. Be sure to keep checking for the free ones only for the Kindle. Those are all part of the operational agenda of the marketing plan. (Wow! Did that sound professional?)
“Another Book to Bug you with?”
Looks like it. I’ve had five different people inform me that there was NO way I was leaving the short story, “My Mysterious Twin Brother” as it stood. It has to be turned into a novella or novel. There are too many unanswered questions. Therefore, The Choice is beginning to unfold. How far it goes is strictly up to Charlie and his twin brother. The characters always write the stories anyway.
In the meantime, I will have other things to nag you about. Pondering the Past is a relatively short novel that will be available in paperback and in Kindle within a month. I’ve only spent probably a year and a half finishing that one. Of course, I did have a slight delay this spring and early summer. As it is, I’m still doing my cardio rehab three times a week.
Just to whet your appetite, here is the cover blurb for the upcoming novel, Pondering the Past.
Amy sat in the parking lot of the credit union pondering the past of all those who are close to her. Why had Mr. Carter insisted she probe Thomas’ brain until she dug out his entire, previously unspoken of life’s story? What hadn’t Dad Carter told her? He insisted the task was for therapeutic reasons—Thomas’ or hers? He hadn’t said. Thomas’ past was something the two of them had never discussed. Why not? Everyone talks about their childhood. Everyone, that is, except Thomas. He never mentioned it. So, what had she missed? As she sat there thinking, she nodded, realizing it was a subject he’d continuously skirted. Later. We’ll talk later, he’d say, if and when she brought it up, but they never did. Why? Was he hiding something? She’d known him for several years. On the surface, he was an upright, straight forward, honest, and loving guy. Was he somehow some kind of closet criminal? Was there something evil about his past she should know? As she saw him walking across the parking lot towards her way, she made a decision. One way or the other, she would find out—the sooner the better.
I swear, the Robo-Calls I get could drive a person whacky. The fact that one has signed up on every do-not-call list available to mankind is irrelevant. They just keep changing their numbers and keep calling. It does no good to report them because of the number changes.
I am thinking of trying something. Way back in the Twentieth Century, there was a time when if someone called you and you answered but didn’t hang up when the call was finished, it kept the person’s phone tied up and unusable until you finally realized your phone was off the hook—usually because of a “beep-beep-beep.” I haven’t tried it because I normally check caller ID and ignore the call unless it’s someone I know. If it’s someone else, they can leave a message and I’ll get back to them. We’ll see what happens—probably nothing except a lot of clatter on my line.
“My Mysterious Twin Brother”
This past week I wrote a short story that is totally different. This one is a bit on the dark side. There is absolutely no humor involved in this one. I’ve had three people read and react to it before publishing. A friend of mine is in hospice care, so I told her the story as she is unable to read any more. She laughed all the way through it—it isn’t funny. I sent an early draft to an author friend of mine and he questioned my sanity—hummm! A third person I sent it to is a retired registered nurse who spent some time working in a mental hospital. She pondered that ‘back-in-the-day’ they never tested children for schizophrenia—suddenly, I was questioning. Was she referring to the character in the story or me?
There is background to the story. Ever since I can remember, I have felt as if I had an identical twin. I have no idea where the idea came from or why. I can remember asking my mother about it as a young child, and sloughed it off with, “Don’t be silly,” or, “Go play. I’m busy.” I have a sister six years older than me who would remember if something like a still-birth had taken place. Years ago when I asked her, she retorted about the same way. She ‘may’ be excused somewhat due to the fact that back when I was born, women automatically stayed in the hospital for ten days, so maybe she really didn’t know anything.
Anyway, with this background, I let my imagination go. “My Mysterious Twin Brother” was the result. It’s somewhat dark, evil, and leaves a lot of unanswered questions—which is the point.
“Pet Peeve of the day”
Maybe it’s just the ‘crotchety old man’ syndrome, but when I go to a restaurant, I prefer it to be somewhat peaceful. I had a business luncheon with my editor today, and there was a table of women who were in competition to see which one could laugh the shrillest, the loudest, and hold the –nail scratching against the blackboard-effect the longest.
If any of these women had witnessed this among their pre-teen daughters, it would never have continued on for as long as this did. Now, I say pre-teen, because their teenage daughters probably wouldn’t be caught dead with their mothers out in public.
Been having fun with anew short story. Stay tuned. It should be available on the Kindle soon. In a nutshell, it’s about a seven-year-old who discovers he has a feral twin shackled by a chain in the basement. How he deals with it, and how his parents deal with his discovery, is the story. Have I peaked your interest yet?
My latest give-away at Amazon is going well. “My Kids Are Nuts” is a fictional short story about how the kids are trying to put me away in an old folks’ home because I’m going a ‘little’ senile. Naturally, it’s all made up with the intent of picking on them.
The merchandising gimmick has turned into a lot of fun. I take some stupid topic and write a short story, put it out strictly as an e-book for .99 and then give it away for five days. That’s all Amazon will allow. I’ve mentioned what I’m doing several times in the past month. We’ll just have to wait and see how it all works out.
I’ve been watching a lot of the Olympics this year for the first time ever, I think. I continue to be amazed at how good these people are, and at such a young age. I try to visualize the lifetime of hard work and effort these young people have put in, and can’t. When the commentators tell their stories, I just shake my head in awe.
We’ve been having quite a drought this summer. The man who put in two of my trees for me stopped by to check and make sure I’ve been watering them. I admitted to slacking a bit because of the heart attack, but then did go out and water for a half hour each. In the past twenty-four hours, Mother Nature has come to the rescue and dumped 3 ¾” of rain. It might be my imagination, but I think the grass has greened up a tad. At least, it’s not looking totally brown today and that’s a good sign.
I’ve been watching the Olympics this week, and like many of you, I am thunderstruck. The skill demonstrated by these young athletes is absolutely amazing. But, that’s only part of the story. The lifelong dedication and work ethic are unparalleled.
Listening to the stories of the athletes leaves me in awe. Many of them started when they were 4-6 years old and have been doing it in daily training sessions ever since. I think for some it’s been an escape from reality like the young female gymnast who came from a completely fractured and dysfunctional family. I HOPE that none of them have been forced into the routine as a means of satisfying the lost hopes of their parents.
Between home-schooling, the loss of school events, proms, high-school sports, and all of that perfectly normal stuff enjoy—along with the drama of being a teenager, it seems as if the kids are missing a lot. However, that’s the price one pays in order to win one of those medals. Think of how many compete and never win one.
I take off my hat to each and every Olympian competitor. They have show the dedication, drive, and work ethic in their chosen field that I couldn’t even imagine. Congratulations to all of you.
Just recently I have been back creating short stories. Having a ball. I’ve been working on novels the past few years, and this has been a fun break. Earlier this week I was chatting with my author buddy in VA Beach, and we somehow got on the topic of independent writers versus those who depend on publishing companies and professional editors who both have a tendency to take over your story. After we clicked off of our phones, for some reason or the other a scenario crept into my brain.
Saturday I finished “Starving Artists.” It deals with all of the suffering independent authors have to live through. I’m convinced it’s probably the biggest line of BS I’ve come up with yet—from the story line to the four recipes which I concocted off the top of my head.
I guess the primary message in the story is a reminder of the fact, I’m in this to entertain myself. If anyone else likes a particular story or book, I get pleasure out of hearing about it—especially when the person takes the time and effort to write a review at Amazon.
The last thing I’m concerned with is a huge publishing contract from one of the major publishers. Sure, if one presented itself, I’d gladly take it. However, I’m too old to waste my time looking and waiting for them. Besides, I don’t “Need” the hassle. I’ve learned how to survive. Read the story when it becomes available on your Kindle and see how I do it.
Put “It’s My Story : I’m Sticking to it” out free on Amazon for the Kindle for five days (8-1 through 8-5) Have given away a lot of them, as I have done for the other four or five I’ve given away in this advertising gimmick I’m experimenting with. To date, very few have written reviews.
Now, let’s face it, if nothing else, I am SOMEWHAT realistic. I know that the vast number of people never review books or stories they read. However, it would be nice if you did. Those of us who are independent writers depend on those people who are willing and able. We are not in the position to hire companies willing to write hundreds of reviews like the big boys are.
Like I’ve told you before, the goal is to give away a minimum of twenty-four books over the next two years. If the marketing pros are right, the residuals will start pouring in. Grisham and Patterson, move over. Here I come:-)
The Innocence of Youth
Why can’t we all keep the innocence of youth instead of getting jaded, bitter, and nasty as we grow older--especially during election season? Went to Sam’s Club today to get in my non-rehab day walk and people-watching endeavor as per usual. Sunday tends to be family day at Sam’s so there are always a lot of kids. I entertain myself by watching them. To &#^% with the parents.
Now, the ages I provide for the characters are strictly guesses so keep that in mind. One of the first groups I saw included a boy of approximately five years, all dressed to the nines in his black suit, red stripped tie, and shiny shoes. He was standing on the front rail of the cart facing his sister who was driving. She was maybe eight and dressed in a long, ankle-length, satin, beautiful dress as she weaved in and out trying desperately to dislodge him much to the hilarity of both.
And then there was the young trouper about four who I happen to notice when he spoke up and asked his Dad if he was finished loading the salt yet. Dad indicated he had, so junior plopped his little butt down on the top bag of three forty pound sacks of rock salt. The grin said it all. “I’m ready. Push me around the store.”
Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that one kid in the store had eaten since last week sometime. Every one of the freebee taster specials had kids either waiting in line or already eating. Good! Sam Walton can afford it—even if I did have to elbow kids out of the way to feed my face.
"Political BS Du Jour"
And to think, we have another four months before the election. Not sure if I can stand it that long. There is so much hate and venom going on out there, it’s pathetic. It doesn’t matter much which candidate one prefers, everything you hear is negative.
Remember what our mothers told us eons ago? “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” It has gotten to the point where I don’t even look at FaceBook. Everything that is out there is vitriolic and I won’t waste my time.
On a sad note, a former Michigan State punter, Mike Sadler, and another fellow punter were killed in an auto accident this past weekend in Wisconsin while at a punting camp. What a shame. Mike was one of these people who had everything going for him—four year academic All American, a three-year engineering graduate, already earned his master’s degree, and accepted to a prestigious law school. Granted, his life isn’t any more valuable than anyone else’s, but one cannot help but wonder what the young man would have accomplished during a normal lifetime. Rest in peace, Mike. The world will miss you.
“My Kids are Nuts”
I’ve managed to write two new short stories in the past couple of weeks. The first was “It’s My Story: I’m sticking to it.” For the cover, I included one of the little green aliens who were trying to lure my body away and into a hovering UFO during my heart attack fiasco. What I found hilarious was the fact that my writer’s group took it seriously. I mean, really? With that title and a green alien with horns on the cover? Oh well, I almost felt guilty when I told them that the story was 50% fact and 50% BS.
The one I just finished is called “My Kids are Nuts.” It’s a spoof mostly on myself for getting senile and dotty as they sneak around behind my back shoving me into an old folk’s home. I’ve had a lot of fun with it, and the kids found it humorous as well. That’s what it’s all about, even if they are all in denial.
In the meantime, I’ve put both stories up at Amazon as short stories for the Kindle. I’m in the process of giving them away for five days for advertising purposes. It will be interesting to see if the marketing gimmick works as advertised. The goal is to have twenty-four short stories up and running within two years. The way it’s going right now, I’ll have 30-45. In the meantime, I’m waiting patiently to see if it will do anything different in the sales department on the books. Time out! I have to go and check the latest sale’s report.
“Reviews at Amazon”
From the fifteenth to the nineteenth I have given away somewhere in the vicinity of one-hundred downloads of “Don’t Tell Mom” a somewhat humorous—at least I thought so—short story at Amazon for people’s Kindle. To date, not one person has reviewed the story at Amazon. Wish you would…
Last week’s post dealt with advertising questions and gimmicks. Giving away the short stories is a gimmick to get people to read my stuff—hoping some people might buy or read more with their Kindle Prime. It’s been working. While I’ve been giving away the stories, numerous novels have sold or been read on Prime. That’s the object.
The goal of all of this is to get pushed up the food chain at Amazon where more and more people will see the works. Reviews help. I know of three magic numbers—twenty-five, fifty, and one-hundred. Obviously, there are many others. The big boys like Grisham, Patterson, et al can afford to have advertising agencies create hundreds of these reviews. Independents (Indies) cannot. That’s where you come in. When you read something written by an Indie, it is very helpful to them and their goals if you take the five-minutes required and write a review. Just think! If a hundred of you wrote reviews to “Don’t Tell Mom” that would jump me three places on Amazon’s advertising protocols. They are important.
I’ve had numerous people ask me recently why I was giving away short stories. Like, where’s the profit in that? Well, to be perfectly honest, it’s an advertising gimmick. I have two Kindle marketing books which have both indicated that the secret is to publish something monthly over a period of time. Both “gurus” said the same thing. It doesn’t matter significantly whether it’s a novel, novella, novelette, or short story. Put something out there.
Since my take is, not too many people will pay .99 (Amazon’s minimum) for a seven-nine page Kindle story, I should give away as many as possible. The more of you who download a free story, the higher I go on the food chain and the more visibility I get on line. So, the key is, everyone grab the free stories as they come out. What would be really great if all 50-100 of you who download the stories would also review them. It’s really easy to do. Just find the book on Amazon, and it asks if you’d like to review it. Click on the button and away you go.
Okay, so here’s the next one. Personally, I LIKE this story. Its fun: FREE—July 15-19 “Don’t Tell Mom” a short story at Amazon
Nine-year-old Tommy spots a huge snake as it crawls under the trailer. He calls dad, Billy, who is drinking beer with his buddy, Sammy. Naturally, they don’t believe Tommy. They pretty much consider the boy to be a nuisance. After all, what’s more important—drinking their beer or checking on Tommy’s “humungous” snake claim? Finally, to shut the boy up, they check. Yes, there is a snake under their house trailer. It is gigantic, and it needs to be disposed of. The plan is to get the snake out, shoot it, and call the game warden to come and haul it away. Like a good parent, Billy works Tommy into the solution much to the boy’s chagrin. Only Billy and Sammy could hatch the plan they came up with. The key ingredient being,” Don’t Tell Mom.”
Okay, it’s probably more appropriate for you to accuse me of having fried my brains than me, but “Oh, well.” After the multiple electronic zaps during the flat-lining episode bringing me back to reality, I’ve had serious issues with creativity. When it comes to writing and brain storming with myself for topics, the neurons are just not clicking on all cylinders.
Normally I have numerous ideas percolating at the same time, and keeping them separated and in their own private little categories has been an issue. Where the problem comes in is, I might be writing about story A and suddenly have something show up out of story B or C. Sometimes it actually works and stories A and C suddenly become story D. However, that’s a separate issue.
Hopefully I haven’t totally confused you at this point. I have enough trouble confusing myself. My cardiac surgeon, his partner, and my GP all asked me if I had memory issues after all the zaps. I told them “No,” and I don’t think I did. My only obvious issue is this lack of creativity—which has historically never been a problem. Just look at all the books and short stories I’ve written since hanging up my shingle at WHS.
So, it’s time to pick YOUR brain. Those of you who are former students, do you remember any shenanigans that happened during your time at WHS that I would remember? If so, go back to the main page and drop to the bottom on the left side. There is a section for people who want to email me. Do so and remind me. I won’t use your name, and I’m pretty good at disguising identities so others won’t see or recognize you in the story.
Focus groups are good for the soul. The only ones I can truly relate to are writing groups. I have belonged to several over the years, and they all have the same thing in common. There is a certain exchange of energy, ideas, and feelings which pass back and forth between members. I have to assume all focus groups are the same whether they are for writing, yoga, dance, art, or anything else we happen to be involved with.
Each person in the group brings his or her own personal set of experiences, background, and knowledge to help the members attain their goals and potential. Each person’s goals are unique to the member whether they are writing poetry, fiction, or non-fiction. For example, I know very little about poetry and would never try to write it. However, when a member brings a poem for perusal, I look at it carefully. There are certain things that just innately strike me. Sometimes it’s the choice of a particular word, placement of a remark, punctuation, or whatever.
When I comment on a particular thing in a poem that has struck me as out of place, context, or maybe even powerful, at least the poet gives it his/her attention and thinks about it. Sometimes the poet agrees with me, sometimes the person doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is the fact that a non-poet has looked at it and has had a reaction. Looking at our interests from a different point of view makes us all stronger.
As far as writing goes, I find it all as part of unraveling one of the mysteries of life. There are so many ways to look at a situation whether we are talking about politics, religion, or the plot in a story. Like I told one of my very narrow-minded grandkids—put the ugliest doll you can find in the middle of a circle. Now, get three-hundred and sixty people to stand around that doll—one on each point of the circle. Then, have each person write out a description of what he sees. Then compare notes. Every person’s description of the doll is different, yet correct from his/her point of view. My description from point one is 100% different from the person at one-eighty. Is my description more or less accurate?
Besides the obvious, camaraderie, a night out with friends, a social experience, focus groups are very good. They make you think. They make you ponder. They make you better—whether we’re talking about writing or tap-dancing. Join a focus group in your area of interest and get away from rotting in front of the TV one or two extra nights a month.
Carrying my short story experiment one step further. Since the plan is to put twenty-four stories out there over the next two years as an advertising gimmick, I’ve changed up my web site. Under short stories, I am putting the Kindle Shorts out there instead of a weekly short story which has probably been seen anyway by those of you who check weekly.
Right now on the short story page I have the book of short stories along with five individual ones. Just to be different, I’m creating the covers for all twenty-four to look the same except for the title and cover picture. Like I said, this is all just one big experiment to see if anything comes out of it. Monthly, I’m offering one of the short stories for free. From July one through five, “Mom’s Dating My Teacher” will be available at Amazon. More than likely, on or about July fifteenth, I’ll put “Don’t Tell Mom” out there for free on the Kindle.
According to the “authorities” who have written a couple of marketing books for the Kindle, those of you who pick up the free ones will get curious and start buying the novels. Feel free to get started any time.
No way! Not possible! No way in Hell can it be twenty years ago you guys graduated. It had to be just a couple of years ago. You’ve got kids in high school? No way!
Teachers don’t have pets just like parents don’t have favorites. I know, it depends on the day. However, the class of 96 just MAYBE might have been a pet class. There are a number of kids in that class who stand out, I have kept in touch with for a variety of reasons, or some of the old jokes have lived through the passage of time—Ka-Nipp, Ka-Nopp comes to mind.
Friday night was fun because I had a chance to touch base with a bunch of them. Lots of hugs, smiles, wise cracks, and remembrances—like one of them who refused to take the final because he had accumulated so much extra credit he could take a 0 on the final and still 4 point the class. Today he’s a high school English teacher.
There were a couple of the kids who I particularly wanted to see that I missed. They were late getting there and I didn’t get to touch base with them. Oh well, their 30 year reunion is just around the corner. In the mean time, it was a lot of fun seeing all of you whom I did. Many of you have evolved into fantastic adults, which is no big surprise because you were fantastic kids. Great seeing you all.
“Our Delightful Weather”
With a little luck, one of these days it might rain again. Everything is brown and dry. Had my lawn done yesterday, and it really didn’t even need it. Oh well, it always looks better when my guy does it. He does a lot better job than I do. However, I’m much cheaper:-)
We all complain about the weather, but at least we don’t have the same problems as the areas around Arizona where it’s 115, dry, and fires burning out of control. That’s nasty. However, we can still whine if we want. It almost tried to rain one day last week. It ended up sprinkling for approximately five minutes and didn’t even get the sidewalks or street wet. We do need it. I don’t want to have to haul the hose around and water the flowers if I can help it. It’s weird about what things get me winded and what don’t. Pulling or dragging things get me all out of breath. Hopefully, the cardio rehab will take care of that little problem sooner than later.
In the meantime, it’s back to editing my current WIP.
Good grief! I think those fine folks at cardio rehab are trying to kill me, and they aren’t even in the will. Friday was day two of the torture chamber. I have no idea what the numbers mean, but Wed. I left off at 2.5 on the treadmill. Well, on Friday they wanted to start at 2.5 and have me crank it up every two minutes for the 10 minute period. I don’t think so. We instead started at 2.0 and then moved it up from there. Not sure where we ended.
Another real joy is the cool down—stretching and weights. The stretching is a piece of cake, but those stinky little weights sneak up on you. They have you doing ten reps with each arm on about six different maneuvers. I swear. I thought my arms would fall off when I was done. Oh well, only 34 sessions to go. Hopefully they will do the job and I won’t have to go through another stent placement. That’s what the surgeon is concerned about. I have another artery that is about 70% blocked and he wants to wait and see what happens after rehab.
In the meantime, “Mom is Dating My Teacher” a short story for the Kindle will be free at Amazon between July 1-5. So, save your pop cans and plan on getting the free version. Read it and put a review of the thing on Amazon. All five-star reviews greatly appreciated.
After not looking at my WIP (Work in Progress) for over three weeks, I’m going back to the very beginning and starting over on the editing part. The idea is to take my time and see what areas need to be fleshed out for more information and what areas can be cut. Naturally, I need to keep a close lookout for typos, repeated words, ideas repeated, etc.
The way this works is after I finish editing and re-writing the ending, I’ll need to print it off so I can go through it again off the computer screen. That and reading it aloud to see how it flows. After I do that, I need to get a couple of people to read it and offer their input. So, as you can see, we’re not real close to the ending of the process.
The advertising trick I’m trying is to publish a short story every month for the Kindle. The latest one I put out there is, “Mom is Dating My Teacher.” (75% autobiographical, 25% fiction) I’ll give it away free for the first five days of July. I’m actually about a month behind because of the heart attack. I haven’t looked at the MSS since the 24th of May when everything kind of went to hell around here. The whole idea of giving it away free is to push myself up the food-chain at Amazon.
One of the things I’ve found interesting is that fact that people are reading a lot more on Amazon Prime than buying—which is fine. I had two people read “Taming Little Ike” this week and I haven’t advertised that one in ages. So, the gimmick seems to be working. After people read the free ones, they read something else.
“Time to Get Back at it”
It’s about time to get back to the book I’m working on. It’s been three weeks since I’ve even looked at it. However, between a week in the hospital with the heart situation, company this past week—my nephew and niece from Florida have been here babysitting me. That wasn’t the intent when they planned their trip, but that’s how it worked out. Can’t imagine why they only plan to stay one week. Just because I’ve stuck them with all the cooking, acting as my chauffer service, and in general keeping an eye on the old goat is no reason. They should stay another week—just to make sure I live through this rehab stint.
It probably is a good idea to get away from the book for a while anyway. I do have a chapter from one of my writer’s groups that I need to finish editing into the main file. That won’t take long, but then I should go back to the prologue, chapter 1, et all and go through the whole thing. My author buddy in VA Beach has threatened to re-write the ending for me ‘cause he doesn’t like the way I did it I may have to let him if the creative juices don’t start flowing by the time I wade through the mss.
I have also fallen behind my goal of publishing one short story a month for the Kindle for a year. The advertising gimmick here is to give it away for free for five days and then let it sit there for ninety-nine cents. The more you have out there, the higher up the totem pole you go with the Amazon search engines. Getting the June story out there will probably be number one on the agenda come tomorrow (Monday). Between the short stories, rehab, and the novel I should be keeping busy—and that’s not all bad.
Well, next week I start Cardio Rehab. I will have 36 trips to rehab before it’s over. Tuesday I have an orientation event, and then start for good. If I understand things correctly, I’ll be going three times a week for twelve weeks.
At that point he will re-evaluate one of the arteries he doesn’t like. The question is, does he want to put in another stent, or will it straighten itself out over the twelve weeks.
One thing I found of interest. He wants me to essentially not do much while on rehab. Leave the bike sitting in the garage. Forget the half hour walks through the mall and Sam’s Club. In other words, as he put it, keep in mind how much stress ye ole body went though for the week in the hospital and take it easy. I’ll get enough in rehab to keep me exhausted.
In the meantime, is he going to come out and edit the literary masterpiece du jour? Hope so ‘cause I haven’t touched it in close to three weeks now.
“Being Sick Sucks”
This is the seventh day home since the heart attack, and I don’t k now how to act. I know the docs want me to be active, but how much? I see the cardiac surgeon on Monday and hope to get some answers then. In the meantime, I’m pretty inactive and that isn’t good either. The good part is there has been no chest pain. However, both arms and legs feel weak. That’s what causes the questions. How much should I do? How much should I not do?
Since I’m not the least bit interested in flat-lining out in the front yard—I live in a quiet neighborhood, you see, and would hate to disturb the neighbors—I guess I’ll continue doing what I’m doing until I get told to do something else.
One of my cardiologists told me for every day in the hospital, it takes 1 ½ to 3 days to recover. I can’t think lying around doing nothing at home would be much better. So, I have to stay active the best I can.
In the meantime, I’ve lost about fifteen pounds. Zero appetite. Have to force myself to eat twice a day. I’m betting it’s one of the medications. Hope to find an answer to that one on Monday as well.
In the meantime, my literary masterpiece du jour is sitting here gathering dust as I haven’t looked at it or touched it since the day before flat lining almost two weeks ago. Oh well, I will get back on it soon. It’s within shooting distance of completion so I need to get some motivation going.
For those of you what have been wondering what is going on, here you go. Tues Morning, the 24th of May, I was reading the paper. Suddenly, I had the sensation than an escaped walrus was sitting on my chest. I say to myself, “Hummm! That’s not right.” After a couple of minutes I start sweating like you cannot believe. I was dripping. I say to myself, “Hummm, this ain’t good.”
I put in a call to my kid who was fortunately on vacation last week (I made it a wonderful one for him) and told him I thought we should go to the emergency. He was here in ten minutes, and we headed out. We went first to the old St. Lawrence that handles minor stuff, but you can always get right in. They immediately threw me in an ambulance and we headed for Sparrow main. Inside of the cardiac unit, they were preparing to take me off the ambulance gurney and onto one of Sparrow’s main ones, and I flat-lined. CPR didn’t work so out came the paddles. All together, they zapped me eight times before I decided come around and show some life. I either dreamed or was aware of the last four charges with each getting stronger. (You should see the beautiful purple upper rib cage and chest I have.)
When they decided I might be back, we headed for surgery where they ended up putting in two stents. One artery was 100% closed, one at 90, and the next at 70. That’s the one they put in the stents. Time for my RANT. My “previous” cardiologist never caught this mess? Anyway, to make it even more interesting, Wed. morning when they were preparing to take out the temporary pace maker, I went into arrhythmia, and they had to shock me again.
After that, things went reasonably well and they tossed me out of the place Sunday night. I must say, I can think of ways I would have much preferred to spend last week—However, I’m back and plan to keep it that way for the foreseeable future.
“Verboten Writing Rules”
One of the highly emphasized rules for writing is to avoid backstory whenever possible. For those of you who are not sure what I’m talking about, ‘backstory’ is telling what happened in the past that causes your main character to be whom he or she is. Well, guess what. The Pulitzer Prize winning novel I’m working on right now is about ninety percent backstory. Aha!
The story’s prologue begins when a semi-feral two-year-old watches his biological father murder his mother. When he is carried out of the trailer where he’d spent his entire life, he had nothing but questions rumbling in his mind. Chapter one happens thirty-two years later when the boy—now a man is contemplating marriage. His fiancé is reminded she knows nothing of his past, and she should pry his memories out of his mind for his own good as well as hers.
Therefore, the majority of the story is ‘backstory’ which has to come out before a successful wedding and blissful life after marriage can take place. With Amy’s prodding, Thomas provides her with the story of his life—making for some changes in who and what he is.
“The Human Brain”
There are times when I wonder if I’m totally ‘normal’ or not. I have certain memories pop into my brain for absolutely no reason. This past weekend, I was sitting in front of the computer editing “Questions of our Lives” mentioned on Sunday’s rant, and a memory, going back probably in the vicinity of thirty years, popped into my head.
Three high school girls were in a car and apparently speeding on a dirt road to the east of Williamston, the city I spent thirty-five years teaching. Somehow, they lost control of the car and it smashed head on to a large tree, killing all three girls. The story in itself was heart wrenching for not only the families, but the entire town.
Now, the bizarre part of this memory is the fact that the brother of one of these girls also became a victim as well. There are times when family dynamics are weird to put it mildly. I’m not 100% sure of all the details, but I think this middle school aged boy became a non-entity in his family. Within a year or so after the accident, this poor kid left his family home and moved in with his grandparents in Lansing. Why? I have no clue other than suspicions.
All I know for sure is that several years later he came back to town—I think for the funeral of one of those grandparents, and he looked me up. He has become a very successful member of society, and I’m extremely happy for him. I hope someday we’ll hook up again. I’d love to build up the nerve to ask him about the incident and find out what are and what are not the facts regarding to his leaving his home.
Back to the original scenario, why would memories of something like this suddenly re-emerge after all of these years? And, I’m not talking only about the accident itself, but those unanswered questions resulting from the tragedy. To me the human mind is a complete enigma. Don’t know if a deeper study of psychology would have helped or would have made for even more questions.
“Literary Masterpiece Du Jour—Step One”
Well, there, step one of “Questions of Our Lives” is done. I finally have the rough draft of my latest literary masterpiece completed. Step two will be a complete edit, step three is printing it out and editing off of paper instead of the computer screen, step four is getting my editor to ‘fine-tooth’ it for any typos, suggestions, (Like hit ctrl A Delete) etc. Then it will be a matter of going over it one last time before publishing—probably in about six months.
In the meantime, I’m still not 100% sold on the title. Lee Carey, my author friend from VA Beach, and I spent probably an hour hashing nineteen different ideas and variations. This is what we finally settled on, and that’s what I‘ll stick with unless something better pops into the brain.
Just to whet your appetite, the story starts with a prologue when a two-year-old boy watches his biological father murder his mother from his crib. Chapter one begins thirty years later when the now thirty-two year old Thomas is living with the woman he plans to marry. His fiancé is prepped by her future father-in-law reminding her she knows nothing of Thomas’ past and should. Dad Carter wants her to pump him for stories on his past for therapeutic reasons. He knows Thomas has never revealed his memories to
This only happens about once in every five years when all the trees are in bloom at the same time.
There was a picture in this slot of five flowering trees in my back yard all in bloom at the same time.
“I Did It”
Much to my chagrin, I did dismantle my water fountain and birdbath, and store them in the garage for the year. Hopefully, Mother Nature will prove me absolutely nuts, and the Zika virus will not infiltrate the United States, and I will have wasted a year of stereo-water on my patio for nothing.
Much to my glee, I managed to do it all by myself without suffering either a heart attack or dislocated spine in the process. Do you have any idea how heavy a cement birdbath is? All together, that thing had to have weighed more than I do. Fortunately, it was in three pieces. The top was simple. I carried that into the garage with no problem.
The bowl and base were another story. They weighed about five hundred pounds apiece, give-or-take a few pounds here and there for exaggeration purposes. The base, being semi-round, allowed me to kind of roll it across the floor. It took a while, but I managed. The bowl, even though round, was oddly shaped so I couldn’t roll it. I had to lean down, scoot it six inches at a time, stand up, stretch back, and go back to it. Ahh, the Golden Years. What a joy.
Anyway, I have them stored, so I have no pools of standing water in the yard to call the mosquitoes. My hope is that it was all for naught, and next year I can bribe a couple of the neighborhood kids into reassembling it all, and I can go back to enjoying my stereo-water on the patio.
I’ve talked to a few people about this, and nobody has told me I’m totally nuts—yet. I have both a fountain and a birdbath with pumps that I have been running for years. The fountain is old, cracked, and has had its day. It’s time for it to go. The birdbath is cement, heavy as hell, and still in good shape. Anyway, what I’m thinking seriously of doing is recycling the fountain, and stashing the birdbath in the garage for a couple of years just to see what happens with this Zika Virus thing.
Supposedly, the concern right now is in the southern states, but according to at least one newscast I’ve heard, they’re predicting a national epidemic. The USA Today section of today’s local paper published an article, “Uncle Sam Wants You to Clean Your Yard to Fight Zika.” The message is, essentially anything with standing water can be a nesting ground for mosquitoes. Granted, when I’m parked out on the patio, the water in the fountain and birdbath is not ‘standing,’ but I don’t turn them on unless I’m out there. Scrooge that I am, I won’t waste the electricity to run them continuously.
So, the way I see it, why not cooperate, eliminate two sources of standing water, and see if the threat of a nationwide epidemic is overkill or a reality. Since I have a whole liter of childbearing aged grandkids, I’d prefer to act on the side of caution and hope the scourge gets wiped out in the south this year so I can put my birdbath back up and open for business next year.
Sneaked it in a couple of days early, but just put “The Carpet King” up for the Kindle. It was intended to start on May 1, but they sneaked it in early. Oh well. What it’s all about is a blatant advertising experiment. I read about one person who put either a new novel or a short story up every month. By getting his name out there, his sales went from mediocre to “over the top.”
So, here’s my plan. I have over seventy-five short stories stashed in the archives. I am going to put on one line strictly for the Kindle every month for twenty-four months and see what happens. The one I put up for May is “The Carpet King.” It’s a re-write on the first story in “Really Short Shorts” an anthology of forty short stories I put out a couple of years ago.
Each story I will run free for the first five days of the month. Last month, I gave away sixty copies of a story about a camper and a snake at the Leaning Tower of Pisa in Italy. This month’s story is about a homeless guy and his 387 pound girlfriend who live in a sub basement of a mausoleum and go to all of the funerals and post-funeral luncheons. It’s a fun spoof and well worth the free price tag. Of course, if you want to spend .99 and give me my whopping .35 commission, feel free to buy it.
I’m getting to the ending of my latest, and it’s driving me nuts. I could end it in about a half page or drag it out for another forty. I know exactly what has to happen, but how do I go about it? Therein lies the problem.
In the meantime, I’ve been stalling on it for about a week as I did a whole boatload of edits and changed a bunch of stuff around. There are still areas which need some work, but right now, it’s time to get going on the ending and quit procrastinating.
In a nutshell, the 32 year-old main character is going to Vegas to get married. His severely handicapped dad from an accident five years previously which killed his mom has to come out of his funk and move on with his limitations without the main character hovering over him. It’s a “Circle of Life” type of book where the dad took over the kid at twelve and gave him a good, stable, and loving home and life to the other end of the spectrum where the kid ends up doing the same for the dad—if that makes any sense. I know what I want to do, but not exactly how I’m going to do it. Maybe by this time next year, I’ll have it figured out.
“Marketing Plan 101 Continued)
“Terror While Vacationing in Pisa” finished its free run at midnight last night PST. I ended up giving away 60 copies of the short story on the Kindle. I realize, the majority of the people who downloaded it are people who have read my stuff before, but if even a fraction of them are new, it’ll do what I intended—create a potential new market.
Watching it progress on Amazon was fun. As of yesterday afternoon, it was rated number eight at Amazon for free short stories under twelve pages. There were three ratings all together, one was 8, one was 13, and the other was 6700.
The first of May I will put another on out there and continue monthly for a year or so and see what happens. Let’s face it, any sales resulting from my latest “Gimmick du jour” are a pure positive.
Trying a new marketing gimmick. Why not? Read about the idea either in “Reader’s Digest” or on line—don’t remember exactly where. (Remember my mantra—senility is a wonderful thing if you don’t weaken) Anyway, the idea is to put yourself out there in the extreme. The article said to publish either a book or a short story every month. The more the better. Well, since I am not going to sit in front of the computer for twelve hours a day, I’m going to have to depend on some of my short stories. I have close to eighty of them.
The person writing the article said he has somewhere in the vicinity of twenty novels and seventy short stories at Amazon in the Kindle format. He doesn’t even bother with paper backs. After he had been doing this for a while, his sales went through the roof.
So, here’s my plan. I am going to publish one short story per month for the next two years or so and see what happens. I intend to use the exact same cover, with a different graphic. My first one had the image of a huge snake, and this month’s has the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Then, to boost readership, I will be giving away the Kindle version for five days. (That’s all Amazon allows) Currently, “Terror While Vacationing in Pisa” is free at Amazon on the Kindle until April 20th.
Now, if all of this works up to plan, people will download the free version, and then want more. Maybe they’ll buy one or two of the other short stories and then decide to try one of my eight, going on nine, novels. Just for the record, twenty-one people have downloaded the current short story in the first twenty-four hours. So, if you have a Kindle, you have until the twentieth. Get it while the getting’s good.
“Back to Work"
Took a week off from my latest literary masterpiece because of all the medical drama dealing with two different people, but now I’m back at it. The main character is thirty-two years old and approaching his wedding. Because of an extremely sad and dysfunctional childhood starting when he watched his biological father murder his mother, he has always been extremely tight-lipped about his past. His first twelve years were pretty much a living hell.
Amy, his fiancée, has taken it upon herself to pry these tucked away secrets out of him so he can talk it through and completely clear his mind. Stay tuned. Sometime in the next six to twelve months, this thing should be ready. Start saving your money. You’ll want this one the day it hits the press
In the meantime, “Terror While Vacationing in Pisa,” one of my delightful short stories will be running free at Amazon on the Kindle from 4/16/16-4/20/16. If you don’t get it then, you’ll have to cough up .99 for it. Better get it while it’s free.
“Hospital Political Battles?”
This is weird and total BS as far as I am concerned. A person I know well, after consulting with her personal physician, was sent to Hospital “A” emergency room on Tuesday of this week in debilitating abdominal pain, blood in the stool, blood in the urine, and coughing up blood. After a series of blood tests—which indicated several were off kilter, and other tests, she was sent home with pain medication.
The next day, her symptoms were worse. Her doctor once again sent her back to emergency—same results. Only this time, they put on her discharge papers they thought she was faking it and was looking for drugs. This was beyond belief because she’s a stay-at-home mom of an eight month old, and the only drugs in her system had been administered by the ER room.
On Thursday, her doctor sent her to Hospital “B” and they admitted her. The suspicion is some kind of bowel blockage so they need to do a colonoscopy. The plan was for this to happen Friday morning. Where the kicker comes in, she’s a hemophiliac , meaning she has a blood disorder. Since she is actively being treated for this disease by a doctor from Hospital “A” there is some screwy law saying Hospital “B” cannot do any procedures which could cause bleeding without the advice and consent of her doctor from “A.”
It was requested that said doctor from “A” go over, check the patient, and give permission for the Fri. morning procedure. She was scheduled to go on Thurs. She didn’t show up. Her excuse was that she didn’t feel comfortable at “B” and hadn’t been there for 1 ½ years. She finally showed up at five pm on Friday, and said (without looking at any of the labs or charts) that she felt that “B” was overreacting and probably had a virus. Fortunately, the patient’s mother happens to be an RN and pointed out the charts etc. to the hematologist who finally agreed to the procedure. As it was now after five, that meant the whole thing had to be put off until Monday.
The RN-mother who stepped in, essentially hates both hospitals and said that type of political BS goes on between the two hospitals all the time. One hospital hates to admit it might have made a mistake so they refuse to cooperate with the other because they don’t want to look bad (Law suits). The fact that a human patient is caught in the middle is irrelevant.
“Bad Couple of Months”
They always say that bad things run in clusters of three. Well, I guess the past two months is the perfect example. I’ve had two of my former students and a former colleague die in the past six weeks. Two were expected, and one wasn’t. I must say, one of the funerals was probably the most moving and unique funeral I’ve ever attended. It had to have been planned well in advance.
To make things worse, I have an old and dear friend who was taken to the hospital on Tuesday for the third time in the past six weeks. Currently, she is unresponsive and unaware of her surroundings. They’ve been taking a bunch of tests. The latest report is that she may have over medicated herself. She takes a whole slew of pills everyday for every ailment known to man and it would probably be easy to accidentally double dose on something critical. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for—an accidentally incident.
Fortunately for me, I have fun activities scheduled for almost every day this week which will help keep my mind off of the misery going on around me. Hard to concentrate on my latest literary masterpiece—in fact, today, I’m not even trying. Thinks will get better.
Good Grief! Here it is, April 2nd, and we’re having a regular blizzard out there. The snow is swirling, visibility next to nothing, and the rooftops and grass are covered. This is ridiculous. I realize El Nino gave us one of the warmest winters on record, but enough is enough. I have flowers coming up and it’s snowing.
I think the time has come for warm weather—nothing over 75 right now, but let’s get on with it. Maybe all the politicians could take time out from name-calling and dissing each other and figure out a solution. Maybe that would give them something positive to blow off steam about other than each other.
Since not a one of them are probably capable of accomplishing a thing, I guess we’ll have to leave Spring and warmer weather up to Mother Nature. Come on, lady. Let her rip. I’ll even drop my request to 70 degrees.
Just wanted to take a minute and wish everyone a Happy Easter whether you are of any kind of religious persuasion or not. Today is a beautiful day and let’s hope spring is finally getting here. It’s right at 70 degrees and the sun is shining. I’ll take that for the end of March anytime.
Something interesting, in my humble opinion. In the book I’m working on my character doesn’t get adopted by his foster parents because he is one-quarter Native American, and his Native American tribe would get first dibs on him if anyone wanted to adopt him. They choose to keep him as a foster, stay under the radar, and not take any chances of losing him. So, what is a news headline this week? Somewhere in one of the western states a six-year-old girl, who has been in the same foster home for four years, is taken away because a tribal family—supposedly related to her in some way but not Native American themselves, wants to adopt her. The news report I read said she’s only 1/64th Choctaw. Hardly seems fair. Her foster family has vowed to take it all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary.
“Writing Is Too Much Like Work”
Had a brainstorm last night regarding my latest literary masterpiece in progress. I got to thinking that my main character who witnesses a tragic event at the ripe old age of two, suffers from PTSD. Did a little Googling and discovered I was right. So, I’ve spent about three hours this afternoon editing and re-writing numerous episodes to demonstrate the fact.
Now the question becomes, do I ever want to mention the term PTSD in the story or just let the reader figure it out on his/her own? I am leaning towards letting the reader figure it out. I’ve contacted some editor and writer friends for their input. So far, it’s a split decision. I guess I’ll have to wait and see how it turns out. If anyone ever thinks it, it would have to be the main character’s fiancé. She’s the one who is pumping him for feedback on his past that he keeps secretly hidden away in his memory.
As a result, I have done nothing to move the story along today except edit. No wonder it takes over a year to do one of these goofy things.
“Woe is Me”
I’m in dire need of sympathy. My face feels like I lay in the sun face up for six hours on a beach someplace on a perfectly clear day. It’s burned, scabbed, pealing, bright red—except for the brown scabbed up parts, and sore as hell.
Six months ago I had a skin cancer thingie on my head removed, and last week was my appointment to have it rechecked. Everything was fine, but the doc had a suggestion. According to him, about 80% of us my age have these little “buds” that can turn cancerous. It all goes back to when we were kids, playing out in the sun all day with no sunscreen or protection. Anyway, his suggestion was using this cream for two weeks morning and night. Keep in mind, he told me what the reaction would be. All of the above mentioned in the first paragraph.
Yesterday morning, I took the stuff for the last time—two days early. Enough. The worst part is, I got some of it on the corners of my mouth so it’s even hard to get a spoon in. Flossing is a real joy as well. Have to start in the middle and work my way back, slowly and carefully.
So, to end my rant for the day, be smart and use your sunscreen. Plaster the kids up with it too. That way, fifty-sixty-seventy years from now, you won’t have to do the same fun chore I’m doing.
“Down with Oreos”
Everyone loves Oreos. Nabisco advertises them as “America’s favorite cookie.” Well, they are no longer America’s favorite, but Mexico’s. It seems, according to the USA Today, That Nabisco has upgraded a factory in Mexico and is moving the production of the Oreo from Chicago to Mexico costing 600 jobs.
As I see it, there’s a good solution to that one. Let’s all stop buying Oreos. They don’t have to be your favorite cookie. Something else can take over. How about double chocolate chips? There’s another cookie out there that looks a lot like the Oreo. Maybe it’s time to try that one.
If some of these companies want to shift manufacturing jobs overseas so they can get sixty cent an hour workers, then let’s all stop supporting them. If enough people do, maybe they’ll think twice and bring the jobs back home where they built their companies.
“Your Chance of a Lifetime”
I’ve decided that I’m going to try something new. I ‘m going to publish a short story for the Kindle about once a month. I’ll start it out at .99, and then after a month run one of the Kindle specials and give it away free for a month. At the end of each short story, I will advertise one of my books. Why not? It doesn’t cost me a thing to do, and it “Might” work as a little extra advertising.
I have over a hundred short stories. Forty of them ended up in the book titled, “Really Short Shorts.” However, I have a slew of others that I can use. If I run out of originals, I’ll use some of those from the book. I’ll put in the write up that it was in the book, just in case someone sees it who has the short story book.
The first one going up is “Snake Eyes.” It’s really an evil horror story about some little girl who sees a man with shining eyes who keeps glaring at her. They freak her out so she quits going to the park. Then she get an intuitive flash that the old man is dead. She goes back to the park and never sees him again. Years later when she’s a new grandmother, those eyes reappear in the form of a huge snake. Naturally, all turns out evil and horrible. How else?
The Michigan State Spartans ended the regular season 26-5, beating Ohio State 91-76. Denzel Valentine, a national player of the year candidate, put on a show with twenty-seven points and thirteen assists. This past week they were rated #2 in the nation. With a little luck, they’ll be #1 after this week. All of that is rather ironic, because they ended up # 2 in the Big Ten.
When Denzel was out with an injury, they lost most of those games. It just goes to show how important he is to the team. Should be another feather in his cap for those national player of the year honors.
The next show will be the Big Ten tournament next week, March 9-13. State should get two byes so they’ll only have to play a couple of games to get to the finals. That’s good, because if they were at the bottom of the bracket, they’d have to play four games in something like four days.
After that, it’s off to the Big Dance, the NCAA tournament. Let’s just hope they get a #1 seed in a close-to-home venue. This year, the sky’s the limit. Go Green! Go White!
I think my lap top died and went to computer haven. It started acting up a few months ago when sometimes when I lifted the lid, it didn’t turn on. Usually, I could do a hard shut down and restart, and it would start right back up. Sometimes I would have to do it a couple of times.
This morning it worked normally. Then after getting back from my appointment with my income tax guy, it wouldn’t kick in. I have rebooted it probably ten times to no avail. I think my income tax man jinxed it. At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Fortunately, nothing is on there that isn’t backed up. It’s just handy as hell to have on the kitchen counter when I want to check emails, Facebook, or my secret recipe folder that makes all my kids gag. (They have no taste.)
Now, the question becomes, do I want to spend a hundred bucks and have Best Buys take a look at it and tell me that it’s dead, or just spend the loot to buy a new one. This one is seven years old. The good thing is I don’t play any of those high gig/ram computer games that all the kids do, so I don’t have to have the fastest or most expensive device on the market. Of course, I don’t want the cheapest thing on the block either.
So, if any of you techies out there have any better ideas, email me.
Ever think about how many times you’ve escaped or been involved in a major tragedy by a mere second or two? Two days ago it happened to me. I approached a green light traveling west and slowed down as I was making a left turn. No one approached from the other way so I cruised into the intersection.
Right then a pickup sped through the red light at, I’m guessing, fifty miles per hour. The teenager driving had his head down looking at his lap where he was either playing with himself or texting. I slammed on the brakes and hit the horn at the same time. I know there was less than five feet clearance between our vehicles. If I hadn’t been turning, I’d have been T-boned probably into the driver’s side door—which was me.
Startled, the kid hit his brakes and swerved to the left. If anyone had been in the left hand turn lane on the east bound side, he would have hit them head on. The whole scenario could have been a major disaster with a couple of different outcomes. My only hope is, that night when he was lying in bed, he relived the moment and realized how close he came and how lucky he is the outcome worked out as it did.
“Apple Vs the FBI”
Wonder how the Apple Vs the FBI standoff will turn out. If Apple is forced to open up the phone of one of the San Bernardino killers to scrutiny by the FBI, does that really infringe on our privacy, or does it help secure our safety as a nation against maniacs like ISIS?
I can see the arguments on both sides. Apple is concerned that an invasion of privacy will open the doors to the government and hackers to take a look at anyone’s private accounts. Apparently, Apple has claimed that they don’t even have the software to do such a thing. I would have a tendency to not quite buy into that argument. The government is claiming they only want entrance to that one phone. That might be a stretch too. Once they had it, couldn’t they be able to adapt the software to any phone in question?
I guess my personal thoughts would be to go along with the government on this one. If the killers didn’t wipe their phones clear before going on their murderous rampage in the name of ISIS, who knows how many others might be identified. As far as worrying about my own cell phone’s privacy, I would guess that 99.9% of us would say, “If you haven’t anything better to do than spy on my cell phone, have at it, Dudes.”
In the meantime, we have up to a foot of snow forecast for today and tomorrow. Now, that’s something of substance to worry about.
“Advertising Campaign #2”
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I had started an advertising campaign for the Kindle through Amazon.com. I find the results so far quite interesting. To date, 241,962 people have actually seen the cover of one of the books flash by either on Amazon or their Kindle. Those are called impressions. Then, out of those impressions, 1685 people have “Clicked” on the impression in order to read the various book’s descriptions.
Unfortunately, all of those 1685 people did not push that little “Send to Kindle” button, but I sues that can be expected. What I have found interesting is the number of people reading the books on Amazon Prime. For those of you who are not familiar with that, for a price you can join Amazon Prime for an annual fee, and then “borrow” books, music, movies, etc. without paying anything else. From what my observations are showing, some people who have borrowed or checked out like a library one book have come back and read one or two others. Oh yes, Prime members get free shipping for items they buy at Amazon.
Looks to me like Amazon Prime might be the wave of the future.
Ever get one of those days when you feel absolutely brain dead? That’s me today. (Who just asked, “What’s today got to do with it?”) Anyway, I came down to my office in the family room to work on my latest and greatest literary masterpiece. I started out by checking sales and the Kindle promotion I’ve been taking part in. That took approximately ten seconds. Two hours later, I have cleaned about six inches of paper out of my desk and shredded it. The vast majority of it was Google research for “Damey & the Z-Team.” I had tons of stuff printed off dealing with ice breakers and the Antarctica.
After that, I cleaned off the top of my desk. You can’t believe how much crap I shredded, most of it having to do with the current book. All of it has been incorporated into the novel, so it’s just taking up space and making a mess. Voila! The top of the desk is clean.
Okay, now what? I’ve run out of things to clean regarding old files and the desk. Do I kick myself in the butt and get started on writing? I think not. I know what scene I want to do next, but not sure how I’m going to go about it. Do I use it as a form of introduction after the prologue, or do I insert it in the middle of a chapter? I guess maybe it’s time to go walk the mall, get a massage, and think about it. Maybe later on today or tomorrow will be a better writing day and I won’t be totally brain dead. Let’s hope.
“I’m Done with the Debates”
I’ve watched the last two debates, one Republican and one Democrat—actually, I’ve watched all but one. That’s it, no more. When candidates stand on a national stage and call each other liars and losers along with a lot of other adjectives, I say, that’s enough. If I were still teaching, there is no way I’d encourage my students to watch that garbage.
These people are running for the presidency of the United States. Don’t they get that? What does that tell the kids who stay up and watch them? They interrupt each other, sometimes you have two and three people all talking at the same time, and they’re extremely rude.
It’s a good thing the debates start at nine. The elementary and middle school kids should be in bed by then or shortly thereafter. I assume some high school kids may stay up and watch. How would you like to be the coach of a high school debate team? What would you tell the kids when people vying for the highest office in the land act the way they do? If the student debaters followed the candidate’s example, they’d be disqualified and probably wonder why. Enough! I’m going to write my own name in underneath the independent label.
The political race for the White House has barely begun, and I’m sick of it already. Why can’t they deal with the issues? The Republicans have been doing nothing but name-calling and slandering one another, and now the Democrats are joining in.
Maybe it’s my senility acting up, but I do not remember the vitriolic references to the people running in their own party ever being this bad. Sure, once someone gets the nomination, then everyone joins together and lambastes his or her opponent. That’s to be expected. However, ripping to pieces people of your own party? Personally, I’m thinking of voting for a write in candidate. I see one in each party whom I like better than the thirty-seven (Only a slight exaggeration) running now.
I guess I’ll have to wait to see how it all plays out, but right now I’m not that impressed with any of them.
“Testing for Lead”
After the latest debacle in Flint, several schools around the state have been testing for lead levels. Several have found unacceptable levels in their water. A number of times, it has been in isolated fountains, and they have been able to fix the problem with some quick plumbing adjustments.
What I found interesting was that a lot of schools in the local area have not checked their water for lead and apparently have no intention to do so. Looking at the evidence, it appears that any school, public building, etc. may have a problem. Again, the whole school’s water supply may not be tainted, but one isolated fountain in any school is one too many.
For once, I would like to see our local legislatures actually work together and pass a law that every school and/or public building should have every one of its water outlets tested. I don’t think the state should have to pay for it either. I think schools and public areas probably have enough in their “slush” funds to do a quick check. Hopefully, the vast majority of schools and public buildings will not have a problem, but that’s irrelevant. Why not make sure?
Surely, mid Michigan is not the only place in the country where this issue is happening. I personally think every school and public building in the country should be tested. If your building turns out to not have an issue, hooray! But, if by chance it does, do something about it—Now!
Prologue to my
Newest unnamed and unfinished literary masterpiece du jour
Two-year-old Thomas Alexander Matthews paced back and forth in his playpen. That’s where he lived. Nobody ever let him out except to put on a clean diaper and then set him back. He spent the day walking back and forth, back and forth. When he wore himself out, he’d lie down on his belly, use his one and only toy, a stuffed lion, as a pillow, and then curl up in a ball and go to sleep.
Thomas didn’t talk or cry—his choice. He walked; he watched; he listened. He learned not to cry early. At first, when he was hungry, wet, or soiled, he’d cry. When that big man they called Daddy, Alex or a number of other names was there, he’d grab Thomas and shake him, hard. Thomas learned that if he’d scrunch up his shoulders so his head jammed against them, his neck wouldn’t shake back and forth and hurt so badly. The daddy man always screamed in his face telling him to, Shut up! Sometimes he’d even slap him. Thomas was afraid of him, so he decided not to let himself cry anymore. Maybe the daddy man would leave him alone.
Little Thomas hated cold, wet, soiled diapers. He’d hold it for as long as he could until the cramps and pain forced him to finally let go. When he did, he’d take off his diaper and drop it in the corner outside of his playpen. Then he’d continue his pacing, naked, with ribs showing and rings under his eyes. The next time he had to pee, he’d go over to that corner and aim at the diaper on the floor outside of his pen. When he had to poop, he’d go over to the same corner, lean back against the rails of his pen, and try to hit the diaper. It never worked.
If a doctor were to measure and weigh Thomas, he’d discover that the boy was only in the seventy-fifth percentile of normal height and weight. The mommy, Sarah person only fed him when she thought of it. The daddy person never did. Thomas’s stomach ached most of the time from either hunger or the need to relieve himself.
He knew the only way he’d get rid of the hunger pangs was when she fed him, whatever it was—cold cereal, peanut butter on bread, left-over French fries from last night’s cheeseburgers that the mommy and daddy persons ate, or whatever she found. Yet, he never cried or asked for food. He was afraid he’d wake up the daddy.
He learned a lot of words, but he wouldn’t talk. He didn’t know what most of them meant. He knew he had several names. His mommy person called him Thomas, sweetie, pest, nuisance, brat, lover boy, and his daddy person called him either you little bastard, the little bastard, or that little bastard. One time it would be one way, and the next time it would be the other—depending on who he was talking to. Thomas didn’t understand. Why couldn’t his daddy person stick to calling him just one name?
His mommy person had a lot of names too. To Thomas, she called herself Mommy, but the daddy called her Sarah, bitch, slut, whore, and a lot of other names. His daddy person also had of names—Alex, Daddy, asshole, son-of-a-bitch, shit head, and more. Thomas was confused. He didn’t know who any of these people really were. Was she Mommy or Bitch? Was he Daddy or Asshole? Therefore, he chose not to call them anything. He could, but he refused to talk around them. When he was alone in his pen, and the rest of the room was empty, he’d practice. He had a great vocabulary for a two-year-old.
Another reason Thomas refused to talk was because he wasn’t sure what tone was appropriate. When his mommy and daddy persons talked to each other, everything was loud, very loud. It was like a contest to see who could make the most noise. Yet, as soon as his daddy person went to work at the factory for the midnight shift, some other man would slip into the trailer. He and Thomas’s mommy person always talked softly and acted like they were sneaking around. That man never looked at or spoke to him. Thomas, pretending to be asleep, watched from the floor of his playpen. It really didn’t matter, because they didn’t spend much time talking. They always went into his mommy person’s bedroom and closed the door. He couldn’t hear them talk in there. All he heard was a rhythmic thumping against the wall. Thomas had no idea what was going on. Didn’t matter. He’d pretend he was asleep until the guy left. Once he was gone, Thomas would curl up with his lion and shut his eyes.
One night before his daddy man went to work, Thomas’s mommy person and him got really mad at each other—worse than normal. They screamed at each other for a long time. His daddy kept pointing at her belly, using other words Thomas didn’t understand. He thought his daddy was mad because she was getting fat. Daddy’s face got all red and sweaty. Then he walked over to the counter and grabbed something long and shiny and hit her as hard as he could in that bulge.
She dropped to the floor, groaned and squirmed, and then didn’t move. Thomas’s daddy person grabbed his jacket off the chair and stormed towards the door. He stopped before reaching it and glared at Thomas with those dark, piercing eyes, shouting at him and pointing at his mommy on the floor. “You better never learn to talk, you little bastard. If you do, you’ll end up just like her.”
His daddy person stormed out of the trailer leaving the door wide open. Thomas heard the roar of the car’s engine as he spun the tires off of their gravel parking spot and onto the asphalt. Thomas looked over at his mommy. She must have wet herself and didn’t have a diaper on. Fluid leaked out of her lower body, only it was red. He thought that was weird, because he peed yellow. Did mommies pee red? He’d ask her some day when he decided to talk to them. She didn’t move.
Not too much after that, the soft-spoken man who always came and took his mommy to the bedroom walked through the open door. He used a lot of those words Thomas heard every day but didn’t understand. This time he yelled instead of talking in his normal whisper. He pulled out his cell phone and called somebody. Thomas was tired and really wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t. He kept pacing and watching silently.
Shortly afterwards, he heard sirens and saw all kinds of flashing lights pull into the trailer court. People charged through the open door. Most of them were all dressed alike in dark blue. One kept pointing around at things and did most of the talking. Thomas watched, listened, and trod back and forth, making no noise. Everyone ignored him.
Sometime later after many of the people had left, and his mommy person had been put in a black bag and taken away, a lady came through the still wide-open door and walked directly to Thomas. She picked him up and gently held him and rocked him in her arms. She was soft and smelled good. She spoke very softly and soothingly to him. He liked that. He decided then that if he ever decided to talk, it would be like her. After she’d held him a minute or two, she looked into his eyes. “Do you have to go potty?”
Thomas nodded that he did. She looked around for a potty chair and couldn’t find one. She carried him into the bathroom and sat him on the toilet and held on him so he wouldn’t fall in. He hadn’t realized how long it had been. His belly throbbed. By the time he finally finished, all of the cramps and discomfort were gone. He smiled at her. She’d helped him do what he wanted, use the potty, and nobody else had ever figured it out.
She took him back to the living room and found him a clean diaper. It took a while, but after some searching, she found some clothes. They were too small for him, but she squeezed him into them. She couldn’t button the top button on his pants. After he was dressed, she picked him up and walked towards the door. He grunted and tapped her shoulder. She stopped to see what he wanted. He pointed at his lion. She went back to the pen and picked it up and handed it to him. As the two of them crossed the room, he looked back where his mommy person had been lying on the floor. All he saw was lots and lots of red pee. He looked away, lay his head on her shoulder, shut his eyes, and never looked back again.
“Some Drivers are Idiots”
Driving home from my third annual sojourn to Florida and Virginia Beach this week was interesting, to say the least. It was the third morning after the huge Nor’Easter that blasted Washington DC and NY with three feet of snow. (Incidentally, my author friend and his wife who were babysitting me during the storm talked to a friend of theirs in WV who had received over four feet of the pretty white stuff. Nobody in the news had even mentioned them because it was in the WV mountains, and “nobody” lives there anyway.)
Anyway, to get back to my “rant” for the day, as I was driving north, the roads were in remarkably good shape. Twice, however, the four lane highway was squeezed down to two lanes so that snow removal trucks could have room to load up dump trucks and haul the stuff away. When four lanes squeeze down to two lanes, traffic stops. And, that’s where the idiots take over, switching lanes, waving at people to back up so they can squeeze into line ahead of them, and then shifting lanes again.
We were at a standstill for almost an hour at one point, inching ahead one car length at a time while I watched some jerk in his fancy sports car weave back and forth across lanes. When we finally cleared the loaders filling the dump trucks, I could still see the goon. In probably forty minutes of watching this one car, he may have gained a total of four car lengths.
Now, just to stray off topic for a second, my last motel for my trip was an absolute dive. There is, what I would call, about a twenty mile dead zone between the PA Turnpike and the OH Turnpike. I stayed at a real nice motel there last year with a little restaurant within walking distance. That’s where I was aiming for this year. I missed. Where ever it was that I turned off, there were three motels, one of which was closed, and no restaurants within sight. At least they had a Papa John’s nearby that delivered. Apparently, they had recently painted the ceiling, but had neglected to vacuum up the paint chips all over the floor. The shower had what looked like mold on the side walls, and the heater banged and crashed all night. By six thirty in the morning, I was out of there and back on the highway bidding them a little less than a fond adieu.
“The Literary Masterpiece du Jour”
Working on my latest, “Tommy’s Fund,” and may drive myself a little crazy before I get too much further. Have completely re-worked one of the major areas about three times and not really sure how it’s going. I’ve been brainstorming with several people, and they keep coming up with new ideas. Of course, that’s the idea. All of them are good, and it’s a matter of incorporating all of them so that they work.
Just to give you a teaser, the main character who is 32 and about to get married is telling his fiancé his life story. He’s always been very closed mouth about everything, so Amy, his girlfriend, is convinced his telling her his story will be therapeutic.
Currently he’s telling her about when he was 13 and had lived with “Mom” and “Dad” for over a year. He comes out and asks them one day why they don’ t adopt him. It seems there are legal issues because of the fact that his biological father, who is spending the rest of his life in prison for murdering his mother, is of Native American heritage. That fact creates some legal issues which I won’t go into here, but it’s creating problems for the writer as to how to work out the “problem.” Stay tuned.
Did you ever really stop to imagine what it would be like to win 1.4 billion dollars? It sounds like it would be a huge “trip,” but I wonder if it really would be. How many lawyers and CPA would come crawling out of the woodwork to HELP you figure out your investments, etc? How many long lost relatives would be out there who have missed seeing you dearly for all of these years?
I’ve always joked that one of my goals in life would be to pay a million a year in income tax, but seriously, if one had that much money, people would drive you nuts. Look at all of the professional athletes who have made millions in their careers and have ended up going bankrupt because of stupid spending, gambling, and their entourage who expects you to pay for everything.
Maybe, I could compromise. Perhaps I would be willing to have three other people share the same numbers with me so I’d only have to mess around with a measly $400 mil or so.
”People Think before they Speak?”
I wonder how many people ever think about what they are saying when they spout off on Facebook, Twitter, or wherever? From the looks of things, I’d say, not many. Of course, they have some prime examples to follow. Try listening to any of the 69 (Or whatever the count is today) candidates running for President. Nobody wants to talk about issues, it’s all about character assassination, name calling, and just plain BS that nobody wants to listen to.
I see the same thing on Facebook every day. People act like they are in a contest to see who can be the most offensive. And, it’s not all just politics. We have a Neighborhood Watch group on FB, and sometimes it’s a hoot what goes on there. Last week someone posted that her boys were outside playing football in their own front yard with the end zones spreading into the next door neighbor’s house which is empty and for sale. It seems that some old biddy across the street called the police because the boys were “trespassing.”
Wow! You should see the firestorm that started. There have been over one-hundred replies ranging from “Tell the old biddy to mind her own business,” to “Beat your kids for not staying in their own yard.” Well, the second one might be a stretch, but you get the point. The funny part is, the neighbors started attacking each other because they looked at the situation differently than they did. “If you don’t see the solution the same way I do, you’re ignorant.”
Like I told one of my grandkids one day when he was on one of his political rants. Take the weirdest looking object you can find and put it in the middle of a circle. Get 360 people and set each of them on a different point of that circle. Then, have each person draw a picture of that object and then describe what they see to the other 359. Is the person sitting on point 45 going to see and describe what the person at point 270 sees and describes? So, what was Grandbrat’s comment to that? “Well, yeah. That proves my point.” LOL Think before you speak. Think before you post.
“Oh, the Pain”
Well, it didn’t happen. MSU is not going to move on to the national championship in football this year. They lost in a blowout. The sad part is, they did not play up to their capabilities, or even close. I think the turning point in the game was when Alabama intercepted a pass right at the end of the first half as State was marching for a touchdown. If they had gone into halftime down 10-7 instead of that huge deflation of the balloon, it might have been a different story in the second half. We’ll never know.
In the meantime, congratulations to Alabama, and I hope you win the championship, convincingly. Next year just might be a challenge. I think I heard someplace that we have 22 seniors on the team who will not be back next year. That’s a lot of people and experience to replace. However, that happens every year, so it’s probably no big deal. Have faith in Dantonio and the rest of the coaching staff. We will survive.
December 31, 2015
Today is BYOC day to Cedar Village in East Lansing. If MSU wins the National Semi-Final game, it will be up to each of the celebrants to bring their own couch. It’s not fair to go see the rioting and fires without taking something to share. It isn’t even necessary to take matches. There will be plenty of torches going around, so if you drag up your couch, someone will light it for you.
On a little more serious note, this is MSU’s biggest football game in decades. If they win tonight, they will play for the National Championship in a couple of weeks. The program has evolved so far under Mark Dantonio and his coaching staff it’s hard to fathom. They’ve won four bowls in a row, including the Rose Bowl and Cotton Bowl and national top four finishes in the past couple of years. Add that to the exploits of the basketball team, it’s a great time to be a Spartan. Go Green! Go White!
“So, I’m going crazy. What’s new?”
There are times that I think I’ve gone nuts, and other times I’m sure of it. I have been working on the same four page, single-spaced chapter for about three weeks on the book I’m currently working on. I keep changing it around and re-writing things. Every time I change one aspect, it affects everything else.
I sent the chapter out to four people whom I trust as editors and have received various responses. The one that is driving me the wackiest is, “It’s okay, but it feels like it’s missing something, but I’m not sure what.” That means I’m going to have to go back through it and see if I can figure out what he thinks is missing.
In the meantime, I’m working on another totally different chapter. Maybe if I play my cards right, I can crisscross ideas from the two chapters and screw up both of them. Ever wonder why it takes so long to write one of these things? Maybe I should do this little chore like some authors do by just sitting down and writing the entire story without ever editing anything. Then, when they’ve finished, go back and start editing. However, I can’t work that way. My cluttered brain keeps rehashing what I’ve been working on and changing things.
With a little luck, about a year from now I should have my latest literary masterpiece ready for the presses. Don’t hold your breath.
Want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Holidays, Season’s Greetings, or whatever you prefer. Whatever your flavor, I hope your holiday season is fulfilling and happy.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could eliminate the doom and gloom, terrorist activities, and negativity going on? I’m already sick of the 2016 election campaign. It’s amazing how many adults cannot even be civil to one another. There’s an ancient movie or TV clip that posed the question, “Can’t we all just get along?” That’s what we need, we should all sit back and make it a point to be positive and happy and make others feel the same.
Go out and throw an extra buck in that Salvation Army kettle, or a little more to feed the needy, and feel good about yourself. Remember, the two biggest words in the world are not, “I” and "Me.”
“A Book on Every Bed”
Amy Dickinson has a syndicated column called, “Ask Amy.” Every year one of her columns just before the holidays advocates having Santa place a book on every child’s bed on Christmas Eve, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, or whatever holiday you do or do not celebrate this time of year. She cites several sources that promote reading as a way to improve educational success in the future.
One of the more important sources she provides is reachoutandread.org Amy has partnered this year with that organization to promote the importance of reading aloud. If you click on the link, it will give you example after example of why one should read to their children and grandchildren—learning language skills earlier, developing a love for books and reading, providing for future educational and life successes, and much more.
As a long time English teacher ranging from grades 7-12over a 35 year period, I can only agree with everything Amy and the organization say. Obviously, there are exceptions. There are people with dyslexia and other reading problems who still become highly successful in school and in life. However, from personal experience, those children who are read to at an early age and encouraged to read and write at early levels, tend to have successful school and life experiences.
“Running for President”
Watched the debates on television again last night, and I swear, why would anyone in their right mind ever want to run for president? I don’t even know why I watched, since this year’s election has gotten so ridiculous. I think it must have had something to do with, if it were solely up to me, which one would I pick. I may have narrowed it down to three, and not one of them probably has a chance.
In the meantime, the show went on with each contestant attempting to see who could be the rudest, insult more people, and be the most obnoxious of the lot. I don’t see where, “I will get it done. Trust me” is a realistic solution to the problems we face. Is it too much to ask what the candidate might see as a possible solution?
I also wonder about the proposed solution to our ISIL problems as bombing Syria to smithereens. Unfortunately, I’m old enough to remember when we dropped atomic bombs on Japan. How many totally innocent men, women, and children were vaporized when we did that? Sure, it ended the war, but at what price?
I guess the biggest reason I wouldn’t run is because I wouldn’t be comfortable knowing that at least fifty percent of the people hated me, and I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to find out I really did stick bubblegum under my desk in junior high.
“Sparty is Driving Me Crazy”
I don’t know what is going to happen first, either the Sparty footballers are going to drive me absolutely bonkers, ( No comments) or somebody is going to have to zap me a few times to jump start my heart.
How many games have they won in the last couple of minutes of the game this year? It’s insane. Personally, I love those 45-zip games where we can sit back on the sofa and smile through the whole thing. I DO NOT LIKE games that are won by a field goal or touchdown right at the end.
Fortunately, we only have to survive two more football games, Alabama on New Year’s Eve at the Cotton Bowl where we rip out the hearts of Sabin and his “Tide” as we roll them under the bus. After that, we’ll have to take care of either Clemson or Oklahoma for the National Football Championship. Then college football is over for the year.
After that, I can start breathing easier because the Sparty basketball team is a shoo-in for the National Basketball Championship. Let’s face it, they’ll be ranked number one when they come out on Monday, and I see no reason for any of it to change for the rest of the season. Keep in mind, I am not biased. Go Green! Go White!
"The Last Child"
Just recently, a friend was telling me of a book he just finished by John Hart. He couldn’t extol anything but praises. That got me to thinking; I have a book by John Hart. Five or six years ago John came to a book signing in Lansing, MI at Schuler’s Book store. I picked up a signed first edition of “The Last Child” and read it, put it away, and forgot it.
Listening to my friend’s praise, I dug out my copy and re-read it this week. Wow! It blew me away. There are two mantras that are always preached to writers, “Show, don’t Tell,” and “Show growth, decline, or change” in the characters. I could visualize little Johnnie in his various stages from a heart broken little boy, to a wild little Indian, to a child of acceptance. I could also visualize and empathize with Jack, who only had one friend, Johnnie.
I always try to figure out how the ending will turn out in a book. This one took me totally by surprise, as it should. If you haven’t read this book before, do. If you have, read it again.
“Kindle Advertising Campaign”
I’ve been having some fun going through the process of watching a Kindle advertising gimmick I’ve signed on to. The most it could have cost me was $200, but it won’t because I’ve actually sold several books from it already. I won’t sell enough to cover the cost, but that’s irrelevant. Getting the books out there where they are actually seen and looked at, is more important. Using Facebook as an advertising device is not real profitable.
The way this works is, I set an advertising amount I’m willing to part with, and then set a “click” price I’m willing to deal with. Amazon then put the book out there for people to see. When someone actually sees the cover of the book (Called an Impression) it’s counted. If and when a person clicks on the book to look at the description, I’m charged. In my case, I chose .09 per click. You could go anywhere from .02 up to as high as you want. I read later that the average is .30 to .37 a click.
I read in a book, I think it was called “Advertising on the Kindle” or something like that, that the author of that book actually made more money when he sold it for .99 than he did for $2.99 and it was a best seller at that price in its genre. So, to run the comparison, I dropped the Kindle price on all of my other books to .99. So, now I am running the advertisement on both books. “Damey and the Z-Team” for $2.99 has been running for 14 days. It has 8087 views, and 52 clicks meaning that many people have actually gone in and read the description. “Damey & Grandpa Tutor” at .99 has only been running five days has 12,664 images and 114 clicks. Also, sales are six times higher on the .99 book than the $2.99.
Anyway, I’m having a lot of fun watching the progression. I really don’t care how the $ work out in the end. It’s a relatively cheap way to advertise and hits a lot of people who knows how it will turn out.
When I turn on the news and watch the actions of some of the people in this world, I feel very thankful that I have lived the life I have and where I have. Can you imagine living in the Middle East these days where some hell bound crazed idiot from ISIS, ISIL, or whatever they’re calling themselves today, might walk up to you, praise their maker, and then cut your head off, thinking nothing of it?
How much of our continued existence is pure luck? Suppose one of us had been visiting the city of Paris recently? Would we have been wiped out in the bombing? Suppose we had been in Oklahoma City in 1995 when Timothy McVeigh and his buddy blew up the building killing 168 people? Would our presence there have made it 169?
According to Ma Google this morning, there have been over 400 murders in Chicago alone this year already. Could one of us been in the wrong place at the wrong time? How much is luck, and how much is using a little common sense? There are places here in peaceful Lansing where I would not walk around by myself at 2 a.m.
I guess my whole point is, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and when I look around, I feel very greatful that I was born in this country where, even though we are not one-hundred percent safe, we sure as hell have a better life than a lot of people in this world. My hopes for the coming year are that the sane countries of the world unite and rid the place of ISIS who think mass murder is a wonderful way of promoting their so-called religion. That would take care of a number of the problems in the world today, so whatever the government does to accomplish that, is fine with me. Just get it done.
In the meantime, stay safe, pay attention, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
When it comes to football and Michigan State, I tend to get a little over zealous. Back in the days of Yore, Kay, my wife, would sometimes leave the house and go sit on the patio and read during the day games, if the weather cooperated.
This weekend, MSU was scheduled to play Ohio State. It had been hyped as the game of the year in the Big Ten. Normally, the adrenalin would be pumping so hard the neighbors would have been able o hear me. However, this year was different. Our star QB who held MSU’s record for wins hurt his shoulder last week. Whether or not he played became a game time decision. When it was discovered that the shoulder had not healed enough to get that zip on the ball he needed, it was decided his two backups would play and he would call in the signals from the sideline.
Neither of the backups have had more than a handful of reps all year. It was a given in my mind, State would lose. The game became a defensive battle between the two teams. Both coaches decided to grind it out. State had a couple of miscues giving Ohio State a couple of easy touchdowns. State managed to battle back each time keeping the score tied at 14 apiece. I stayed perfectly calm the whole time except for the last drive of the game. More than likely, the game would go into overtime. State moved the ball down the field, and with three seconds left in the game, our field goal kicker split the uprights and gave us a 17-14 win.
Not once during the game did I scream or yell or jump up and down. I stayed perfectly calm. If Kay was looking down, I know she rolled her eyes and shook her head. No way could that ever happen.
“Playing With Pricing”
For all of you who have Kindles out there, here’s your chance. Except for “Damey & the Z-Team” which will remain at $2.99 because it's brand new, I’ve dropped the price on the other seven books to $.99 temporarily just to see what will happen. It all has to do with a marketing experiment that I’m trying.
I’ve been reading a book on marketing for the Kindle, and their basic premise is to set the price as low as Amazon will allow and then keep track of your sales record. The idea is, people will read your book and put a review on Amazon to help you promote it.
Step two, is after a set amount of time, raise the price a dollar and see what happens to sales. Since the idea is to promote reviews because it pushes you up Amazon’s food chain, hopefully, sales will consistent. After that set period, raise the price again. Keep doing this until sales drop. Then, go back to the previous price.
So, you folks with Kindles, get out there and grab them while they’re at the lowest price they will ever be. Just make sure you write a review at Amazon when you finish before you nominate it to the Pulitzer Prize committee.
“Is the Whole World Going Nuts?”
Reading and watching the news about the terrorism attack in Paris makes me wonder if the whole world is going nuts or what? How could anyone who is anywhere on the spectrum of semi-sanity walk into a crowd of people with a weapon and just start shooting people? An even bigger question has to be, how could you strap a boat load of explosives to your body and blow yourself and as many others as possible?
I can’t believe it all has to do with religion. In the case of ISIL, or whatever it’s calling itself today, I can’t believe that is a part of the Muslim belief system. I know that true Muslims don’t believe in that crap. It’s just an excuse. There are probably radical sects in all religions—I know for sure there are some radical Christians. However, they don’t go out and kill as many people as they can to attain their fifteen minutes of fame.
These murderers have to be just plain nuts, not unlike Adam Lanza at Sandy Hook, Timothy McVeigh in Oklahoma City, Dylan roof in SC, Major Hasan in Ft. Hood TX, and on and on the list goes. The biggest question in my mind is, what can we do about it? There has to be more attention paid to mental health, not only in our country, but all over the world. Of course, that costs money, and a lot of people don’t want to go that route.
I guess in the meantime, we have to hope the politicians come up with a game plan to tighten security on terrorists coming in and out of the country and keep tabs on the comings and goings of those who are expected to have those inclinations with the ones who are already here. If that means bugging their damned phones, go for it. Screw their “rights.” The rest of us have the right to be protected against them.
As I write today’s “Rant,” I am well aware that today is Veteran’s Day. Two articles in today’s paper rubbed be a little on the raw side. As one who spent four years of my youth in the USAF between Korea and Viet Nam, I tend to be a little opinionated. The first article I read this morning indicated that 71% of today’s youth are not fit for military service. They gave the reasons for it being obesity, stupidity (Lack of education or ability to pass the intelligence test in their words), criminal records, etc.
Thirty percent of today’s youth, according to the article, are too damned fat to join the army. Maybe it’s time to reenact the draft and put those people in basic training until they melt off sufficient fat cells so they qualify. I know, at least, during the time they spent in basic, they wouldn’t be able to sit on their fat *&^’s and play video games all day. When I look at the statistics, the majority of those blobs will never reach my “advanced” age due to health conditions brought on by their obesity. Putting them in the army might actually save some of their lives.
The second article that caught my eye was one suggesting that they allow Edward Snowden to return to America from where he’s hiding in Russia. I agree, under my conditions. Back in the day, traitors were taken out to a field with their hands tied behind their backs, a bull’s eye pinned to his shirt over the heart, stood in front of a six foot hole already dug, and shot by a firing squad. Typically, they had six riflemen who performed the deed. One of the six had a blank so the squad never knew which one didn’t actually shoot him. Need I say more?
“If It Seems too Good to be True…”
There’s an old cliché out there that I’m sure you’ve all heard, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.” I have an old and dear friend who was scammed by one of these deals recently. It was one of these “Mystery Shopper” arrangements.
The company had mailed her this advertisement for the position. She had to fill out an application and do all kinds of things—which probably included her banking institution information. Anyway, they sent her a $3000 check along with the directions about what she was supposed to do with it. There were all kinds of instructions as to how she was supposed to evaluate the places where she shopped. (She was told where to go. Apparently, the parent company had paid for this evaluation of their stores and shopping experience.)
The victim of this thing checked with The Better Business Bureau, and they had no bad reports on the company. She deposited the check. It sat there “Pending” for a few days and finally cleared. She went about her job of purchasing the required items, doing the evaluations, and waiting for her next assignment. Just about the time she got her next check in the mail, her bank account emptied leaving her with no money and a slew of bounced check fees and owing the bank for all of the purchases.
She notified the Attorney General’s office and they told her to call the local police. An officer did come out and talk to her and took all of the paperwork. Apparently, this was a new scam for our area they hadn’t heard about yet. In the meantime, her bank is going to waive the bounced check fees and make arrangements for her to pay it back. This is a real consolation for someone living on $800 a month Social Security.
In the meantime, let’s all take heed, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.
"Spur of the Moment"
I did something different and totally out of character for me this week. About four-thirty on Wednesday afternoon, I came in from reading my book on the patio (Yeah, it was 75 degrees on the 4th. of Nov.). While I was in the house, I checked Facebook. The first thing I saw was an advertisement for the Williamston boys' soccer team which was playing in the semi-state final at 6 o’clock at the Howell Middle school about 40 miles away. I looked at my watch, and said to myself, “Hell, why not?” So I jumped in the car, told my On Star navigation where I wanted to go and off I went.
Prior to this, I had never been to a soccer came in my life and had no idea what was going on. All I knew was, when the ball landed in the net, it indicated a score. I sat beside a personal friend of an old student of mine, who I have known for years, and is currently the assistant principal at the high school. He explained things the best he could as the game progressed.
During half time, one of my old principals stopped by to say “Hi.” This one was a total rip. His daughter, who I had in class, and his son-in-law, who I also had in class, married and have a son, who is a senior at WHS, playing on the team. John, the principal, was always calm, cool, and collected. Never got excited or showed any real emotions. So, what does he tell me when half time is over? “I’ve got to go. I can’t sit or stand still during the games. I’m too nervous. I have to pace back and forth.” Talk about being out of character. I guess grandpas can show another side of themselves that principals can’t.
Anyway, I saw a number of old friends and students including “Grandpa’s” daughter and son-in-law, and had a great time. Not only that, but WHS won and play for the state championship this Saturday. I have a birthday party for one of my great grandsons to go to at the same time so won’t be able to make it. Wish they were going to play on Sunday.
The one thing that impresses me the most is, those kids who ran at top speed for 80 minutes – two 40 minute periods, all had to get up and go to school the next day. I was never in that good of shape in my life. My hat’s off to those boys. Congratulations on a great season and good luck on Saturday.
I’m starting a new book that even has me baffled. As of now, there is really no big plot or conflict. It’s more or less a feel good type of thing.
Essentially, it’s about a thirty-two year old man who shows “Grandpa” that his savings account has hit the one-hundred grand figure. Twenty years previously twelve-year-old Thomas, AKA Tommy, was sent back to the children’s home on the last Friday before Christmas break by foster parents who didn’t want him around anymore—especially over the holidays.
On the Monday following break, the old retired widower who had been tutoring him was asked by Child Protective Services if he’d be at all interested in taking Tommy in as a foster child until they are able to find a more stable environment for him. Grandpa starts a savings account labeled “Tommy Account” and puts every foster care stipend in there as a slush fund for Tommy.
He never tells Tommy about the account until two weeks before his eighteenth birthday when the CPS case worker informs Thomas that he may have to leave Grandpa’s because the checks will be coming to an end on his birthday.
The flashback is going to cover twenty years and I have absolutely no idea how this is going to go. It just may end up in the recycle bin before I’m done. Hope not.
“Ah, Senility Strikes Again”
I was updating my web page yesterday getting ready to drive everyone nuts when I hit the “Publish” button next week on my latest literary masterpiece, when I suddenly couldn’t get one of the processes to work. I screwed around with the thing for an hour before calling their “Help” line. The very patient lady on the other end reached through the computer screen, grabbed me by the ear, and kindly led me through the process in about five minute’s time.
I guess if there is a message in here, if you are considering making yourself a web page, I highly recommend the folks at Homestead.com. They have always been extremely helpful any time I have ever called them for an S.O.S. The site is actually very easy to operate and a “normal” person shouldn’t have the same battles I have.
Now, for the bad news. Since “Damey & the Z-Team” is ready to go, a new story has been brewing in the brain. By the time I finish hassling all of you about buying ten copies apiece for stocking-stuffers this year, I’ll be hot-on-the-trail with book nine. Can hardly wait, can you?
“That Y in the Road”
All of us in our youth, at one time or the other, read that poem by Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken.” Did any of us actually think about it back then? No, of course not. However, today many years later we look back on our lives and think about those things. A student teacher I had in high school signed my yearbook with, “If, if it had been.” How prophetic.
I look back at my own youth and think about some of the choices I made. I enlisted in the USAF with a couple of my buddies instead of going to college right after high school. The way it turned out, my draft date would have put me in the early part of the Viet Nam war. When my four-year hitch was up, I had the opportunity to extend for a year so I could participate in a huge bowling tournament in Spain. I didn’t.
All of us have Y moments in our lives—jobs taken or not taken, schools attended or not attended, spouses taken or not taken, kids, adoptions, abortions, investments made or not made, promotions that took away all job security or not, write the next book or not, and on and on it goes.
All of us have had a number of these Y moments in the road, and we have no way of knowing how our lives would have turned out if we’d taken that other road. Is that a good thing or not?
“Once You Think You’ve Heard it All”
For those of you out there who pay any attention to college football, you’ve probably seen the ending of the MSU/UM football game last Saturday at least a hundred times. It is likely to be one of the most bizarre endings in the history of the game.
Two things happened as the result of that play that could be considered tragic—at least to some degree. Tragic might be too strong a word, but I hope you get my point. When the MSU player crossed into the end zone, the defensive player was trying to pull him back to prevent him from scoring, and dislocated and broke the kid’s hip.
Not knowing the player was injured, most of his teammates piled on top of him pummeling him half to death. One was yanking on him trying to get him off the ground so they could mob him further. As soon as they realized he was injured, they naturally backed off and called for help. Ultimately, the young man was carted off the field and taken to the U of M hospital where he had surgery on Monday. One humorous quip was when they released him, a nurse told him to be sure to tell everyone how nice they were to him.
The second thing that happened, which I consider as truly tragic, was what happened to the punter who fumbled the ball allowing the MSU touchdown to happen in the first place. The kid we’re talking about is a Rugby player from Australia who has only played American style football for two years. He’s an honors student working on his second master’s degree from the U of M.
With ten MSU players on the line and three coming at him totally unblocked, he clutched and fumbled the ball. That’s when the bizarre part of the play happened as the ball flipped into the hands of the MSU player and he ran it something like 38 yards into the end zone for the winning touchdown.
So, how do (Hopefully a very slim minority) of U of M fans react? They send him some of the most hateful messages on Twitter and Facebook you can imagine. There were death threats, suggestions that he commit suicide, people telling him they hated him, calling him all kinds of names, etc. On one of the discussion boards, somebody left a Twitter link providing a whole list of their rants. I read through a number of them, and they were totally sick.
Of course, U of M fans were crushed and heartbroken at the end result. Any U of M enthusiast would be, but you don’t threaten a college student’s life or suggest he commit suicide just because you are disappointed at the outcome of a GAME. Some people suggested that the people were all probably drunk and didn’t know what they were doing. No excuse. In my book those who did it are pure TRASH.
“Once You Think You’ve Heard it All”
Four years ago a lady went to her then eight-year-old nephew’s birthday. When he saw her, he ran at her saying, “Aunty …., I love you,” and flew into her arms all excited to see her. The leap into her arms knocked her over, and the end result was a broken arm.
Now, four years later she sued her twelve-year old nephew for something like a $127,000 dollars to cover medical expenses and her enduring pain. She actually said at the trial that at a cocktail party she had trouble holding her drink in that hand. Goodness, gracious. Seems like she should have sued him for at least a million in that case.
Now, to make the story even more traumatic for the boy, his mother died about a year ago so he’s been going through all of that heart ache as well as his aunt suing him. Supposedly—she was forced into filing the law suit from her insurance company. The Internet News agency does not name the insurance company. Wish it did.
On a positive note, the jury basically threw it out after deliberating a whole twenty-five minutes. What I don’t understand is, why did it take that long, and why didn’t the judge throw it out before it ever went to trial?
Sometimes, events that happen in real life are a lot more far-fetched than fiction. If someone used that as a plot for a novel or short story, nobody would ever buy or read it. It would be way too ludicrous.
One more example: Fact is wackier than fiction—check one of the replays of the ending of the Michigan State/University of Michigan football game this weekend.
I think there must be something wrong with me. For the most part, I hate television. I watch the news and sports and nothing else. I don’t know if the political debates would fall into news, sports, or comedies, but I watch them as well. However, the daily drivel, no.
I have friends who religiously watch the morning programs while having breakfast and reading the paper. Other friends watch the reality shows and serials in the evening. I can’t do that. I find them boring as hell. I’ve had several friends tell me, “Oh, you have to watch so-and-so. You’ll love it.” I don’t.
A couple of years ago I decided to watch one of the reality shows one night that had been highly recommended. That lasted fifteen minutes before I turned it off. It was the stupidest thing I’d seen yet. I used to enjoy watching some of the talent shows, but after a while I burned out on them. I think all of the “Drama” that the show put into the choosing of the winners is what turned me off on them.
I think the last show that I watched more than one episode of was, “Are you smarter than a fifth grader?” Now, that show I enjoyed. That’s probably why it didn’t last very long.
I guess my TV preferences run closer to an old principal friend of mine. He doesn’t have one in his house. He gets his news off the Internet, and if the Spartans are playing football, he goes to a bar and watches the game. I guess I won’t go that far, but I sure can’t knock the concept.
Damey & the Z-Team is essentially done. All I have to do is wait for two more people who are editing it, make the necessary changes, and then pop it up on Amazon.com for my normal self-publishing deal. Sounds simple, right? Get it all wrapped up and available by the first week of November so two or three million people can buy it as a stocking stuffer. (OK, that might be a slight exaggeration.)
Herein lies the problem. I submitted it to a small book publisher in Colorado that I have had some dealings with. They know me; I know them. They specialize in “Geek Fiction,” whatever that means, and it will take a while. Personally, I think this book could be considered as geek fiction because of the oil-sniffing underwater robot and some of the technology related things involved in the story.
If I wait the required month or so for them to actually look at it and come to some kind of decision—which will probably be, “It’s not geekish enough,” I’m missing out on my self-appointed deadline. If by some stretch of the imagination, they decided to publish it, it would take another year before it hit the shelves. Do I want to wait that long?
If a traditional publisher did publish the book, I would definitely sell more copies. However, keeping things in perspective, who cares? I write to entertain myself, not make money. If another thousand or so people also enjoy my scribblings, I’m happy. Would it make any difference to me if, let’s just throw out a figure here, an additional five-thousand people bought it? No, not at all. Would I get a big head and become an insufferable egotistical boor if it sold a million? Probably, but then, some people find me that way now. (No comments from the peanut gallery, Ms. Judy)
So, the question of the day is—do I wait for that publisher for a couple of months and miss the Christmas rush, or do I say. “To hell with it,” and punch the “Publish” button the first week of November?
“Patience Is NOT My Number One Virtue”
For the most part, Damey & the Z-Team is done and in the final editing process. I have been working (Procrastinating) on this thing for just about a year and a half. Now, that I have a handful of people reading it over for one last edit, I’m ready to polish it off, hit “Publish,” and call it a day.
My intent was to have the book a little on the science fictionish side including a lot of things, like the nuclear powered, oil-sniffing robot with claws that can hold, sever, or weld steel under water. Where the procrastination part comes in is when I started Googling all this stuff and learned that it is already out there. That threw me in a funk for a while. All of my “original” brainstorms were, not only, not original, but were already in the testing and/or operational stage. Damn!
After a number of friends convinced me that it didn’t make any difference, I went ahead and finished the novel. Now all I have to do is sue the makers of those robots for royalties. After all, they stole MY idea.
Back in 2013, I leased a car for the first time. Every dealer I have talked to in the past five years has told me that this is the way I should go. Why tie up a whole ton of money when I typically trade cars every three years anyway. I don’t like driving a car that isn’t still under warranty. So, I decided to try it.
The dealership used US Bank at that time. (They no longer do) One of the fine print items on the agreement was a $395 termination fee if I didn’t buy the car, and I’m assuming, using them for the financier of the loan if there was one. I don’t remember the dealership mentioning that little item. Maybe they did, and I don’t remember. Anyway, when it was getting to be that time, I dug out the agreement and noticed it. I wasn’t thrilled to death over that one.
About three months before the lease expired, I started getting these letters from US Bank wanting to come out and inspect the vehicle in advance. I didn’t have any idea what that was all about, but since I figured the car was in pristine condition, I ignored the letters. Well, about a month ago I was getting close on mileage so leased a new one. Then came the surprise.
I get this bill from US Bank for $1,129.50 for “Excess Wear & Tear.” I called the company and managed to swear at this idiot I was talking to enough so she finally sent me on to someone up higher up in the food chain. In a monotone, the person gave me a link to pictures of all the “damage.” There were some minor scrapes under the front bumper from the blizzard two years ago when the city plowed and filled in my driveway while I was gone. I didn’t want to leave the car in the road while I cleaned out the end of the driveway, so I plowed through the thing and scraped the bottom of the bumper. These were not visible when standing in from of the car. You had to squat or lie down on your back to see them.
Then they showed some pictures of some minor scrapes on the wheel rims that came from someplace. I have no clue. I never saw them before. They also charged me for a new tire because there was excess wear and not enough tread showing. Really? These were run-flat tires that are guaranteed for 80,000 miles. The tire had 34,000 + miles. Those and a couple other even more minor things added up to the total.
Still talking away in his monotone, the character on the other end of the line told me that if I’d followed directions and had them come out and inspect the vehicle, I’d probably have saved considerable money by getting these things fixed on my own.
I guess the fine line comes in determining between “normal” wear and tear and “excess” wear and tear. I do know for a fact of two dealerships that no longer use US Bank for their leases. I wonder why. I also know for a fact that I will never lease an automobile from them again and would highly recommend you don’t either.
There’s an old saying that goes, “Senility is a wonderful thing, if you don’t weaken.” I’ve weakened. This week I finished reading the seven-book Harry Potter series for, get this, the third time. I read it the first time when they were all originally published. The second time was last year just for the hell of it. The only problem was, I decided to set up a time limit where I would finish it by the end of the year. That meant rushing through the last three books to hit my goal.
This summer I decided to read it again from the viewpoint of an author. I wanted to see if I could determine just exactly what and how she did this. After all, if I wanted to compare her three billion in royalties with my $3, I should be able to learn something from her. That lasted about ten pages, and then I just dove into the stories again, amazed how much I’d missed or forgotten.
Now let’s put this all into a little perspective:
Book 1 = 309 pages
Book 2 = 341
Book 3 = 435
Book 4 = 734
Book 5 = 870
Book 6 = 652
Book 7 = 759
Total = 4,100 pages
Multiple that total by three and you end up with 12,300 pages of fantasy.
Now, is that crazy or is that crazy? Not only that, but I even teared up—again when Harry repaired his phoenix wand at the end.
Like I said at the beginning, “Senility is a wonderful thing, if you don’t weaken.”
A discussion has come up in our state legislature making it possible for everyone to vote by mail. I’m not sure at this point whether they are talking voting only by mail, or if they want to make that an option. I definitely think it should at least be an option.
How many parents, care givers, college students, employees, etc. don’t vote because they just don’t have time or means to go to the poles or stand in line for one to two hours waiting their turn? If voting by mail became optional, I’m betting a lot more people would do so.
I think people would vote more intelligently as well. Some of the proposals are written with the purpose of confusing the voter. (That might be a stretch, but it seems that way at times.) Anyway, being able to sit down in your own living room and read them carefully would allow one a more informed vote. Not everyone takes the newspaper so I’m assuming many of the issues on the ballot are seen for the first time while people are in the booth.
Watching election results, it’s obvious that many people do not vote on some proposals, and it’s understandable. If you are faced with a two or three paragraph proposal that you are seeing for the first time and there’s a line going out the door waiting for your booth, you might have a tendency to skip it and move on to the next box.
Anyway, I hope this does not become a “political” issue and our politicians sit down together and make this idea work. This is not a liberal/conservative, democrat/republican issue. This is an issue that will allow more people to be informed on the issues and to vote.
Tonight is debate number two. I certainly hope tonight’s is more substantive than the first one. I’m not the least bit interested in what Candidate A thinks of Candidate B or what he or she thinks of the current administration. I would like to hear some actual talk about issues.
Don’t bore me with, “I’m gonna repeal O’Bama Care.” That’s not going to happen. The Supreme Court has already ruled on that. Tell me what revisions, additions, subtractions that you would favor. Where do you see weaknesses that can be corrected?
Don’t tell me that you’re going to move the Great Wall of China to the American/Mexican border and make the Mexican government pay for it. Tell me what we can do to provide for lawful, sane immigration that might even work and be effective.
What would you do with the hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees who are trying to flee that murderous dictatorship that’s in the middle of a civil war? Are you going to tell them all, “No, go back to where you came from so they can kill you and your kids. I mean, like, one of you might be a terrorist or something. It’s probably that two-year-old you’re carrying.” Or, do you have some ideas where we might actually help some people?
Our infrastructure is going to hell in a handbasket. I read the other day that over fifty percent of the bridges in the United States are crumbling and are a disaster waiting for a time to happen. What do you suggest we do about this problem? What about the fifty year old pipes moving oil under the Great Lakes? What solutions do you have for these problems?
Do you have a solution for the widening gap between the rich and the poor? Supposedly, in the not too distant future, we’ll be back like we were in the 1700s—a handful of the mega-rich on top running the kingdom with all of the rest of us in virtual poverty. How are we going to build the middle class?
Somehow or the other, let’s deal with some actual issues tonight and for the rest of the campaign and forget about the name calling, BS bravado, and trying to pump up your own egomania to the point where your head is going to get so big it explodes.
“Is the Whole World Going Nuts?”
For the past year or so, it seems like the whole world has been going nuts. Between police assassinations, the shooting of unarmed Black men by the police, the murder rate in some of the larger cities, it seems like it couldn’t get any wackier.
I was wrong; it did. This week here in Lansing the fire department was out in force making collections for muscular dystrophy. One of the trucks was parked in the left turn lane on Cedar St with the firemen in full uniform including reflective jackets. For some reason or the other, some car pulled up beside one of the firemen and words were exchanged. The driver then sped off, drove down a block, turned around and roared back, veered out of his lane, and intentionally ran over the fireman he had just had words with.
A couple of different civilian cars who saw the incident take place took chase and helped the police spot, stop, and nab the person after he took off running.
The firemen on the scene took over emergency duties trying to save the victim until the ambulance could get him to the hospital. To make this story all the more sick, the fireman’s wife is an emergency room nurse at Sparrow Hospital and was on duty when they brought her husband in.
The current media offerings indicate that the murderer has been mentally ill for the past four years. Apparently he has been admitted at least twice for treatment and then turned loose on society. The biggest question for me is why has this been allowed to happen? Here’s why. Huge cuts were made politically to the public health programs here in Michigan a number of years back and have never been restored.
How many more people are going to be murdered senselessly before the politicians get their heads out of you-know-where and start worrying about the people instead of kissing up to dollar signs?
I swear, some things in life are just not fair. This is the first week of school for most traditional schools in the state of Michigan. For fifty-one years, I’ve had one version or the other of the same dream during this week. I’m standing in front of the class and total chaos breaks out. Kids are screaming, yelling, running over desk tops, and throwing things. What am I doing? I’m standing there holding onto a lectern with a death grip, mouth and eyes wide open totally panic stricken.
Fair is fair. Maybe I deserved that nightmare for thirty-five years, but I haven’t had a first week of school since September of 1998. When I walked out of the door in June of 99, that should have taken care of it. But, oh no, it happened again just like it has every September since. Fortunately, none of the faces in the nightmare look familiar, so I guess I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. Somewhere along the line, however, my penance should be paid in full.
Ever stop to think about how some of your family traditions may seem a bit odd to others? I’m probably three months early or nine months late for posting this, but, oh well. I just happened to think of it. For as far back as I can remember, our family tradition on New Year’s Eve has been oyster stew and hot tamales.
My mom and dad started the tradition of having oyster stew on New Year’s Eve. When their three cherubic angels came along, none of them would touch the stuff. It probably started with Evil Sister No. 1. Being the oldest and spoiled beyond repair, I’m sure they catered to her whims and gave her something she would eat—hot tamales out of a can.
That tradition carried on. When my wife and I married, she and I and the kids continued to spend the holiday eve with them having the same fare. As the years passed, and it was just Kay and me at home, the tradition lived on. She loved that rancid smelling oyster stew, and I liked the hot tamales.
To this day, even though it’s just me, I still have hot tamales on New Year’s Eve—sans the oyster stew.
Think about your own traditions. I’m sure you have something equally bizarre.
“Football at Last”
Last night I sat in front of the TV for hours switching between the Lions and the U of M game with Utah. Occasionally, I even checked once to see how badly the Tigers were getting beat. I think that game ended up 15-7.
Football is my favorite sport. I love the action, the skill, the technique, and the strategy. Can’t wait for tonight’s MSU game. They are starting the season ranked No. 5 in the nation. How fickle those numbers are though. One bad outing and the whole season could go to Hell in a hand basket. Two games stand out right now between a stellar season and an “Oh, yeah. Ho hum” one—Oregon and Ohio State.
I remember the 1965 and 1966 national championship years. Oh, how I would love to have a repeat—shall we say, 2015 and 2016? Go State. Go Green and White. Football is back.
“I Didn’t Ask to be Born”
I’ve heard this highly intelligent comment twice in the past few months from members of the “younger” generation. Of course, my response is, “Name me one person who has.” I think there is a feeling of entitlement and a lack of self-responsibility in many members of today’s generation that I didn’t see, back in the day…
I know of one young man who graduated a year ago with a degree in computer science who has a job working from home making $75,000 a year. That in itself is great, and I’m proud of his accomplishment. However, he is living in his parent’s basement for free expecting Mommy to cook his meals and wash his clothes because he’s not ready to move out on his own yet and they “Owe” him that. In my humble opinion, he’s an immature, twenty-four year old mooch—AKA, spoiled brat.
I know, this isn’t representative of all of today’s youth, but it sure does apply to a few others I’ve heard about as well. You know how things from way-back-when stick in your mind for absolutely no reason? When I was nine-years-old, I got a paper route delivering three different Sunday papers, the Detroit Times, Free Press, and News. After I made my first collection and paid my bill, I refused my fifty cent a week allowance when my mother handed it to me. I told her I didn’t need it anymore, and she asked, “Are you sure?”
What I remember most is the look on her face. Not sure quite how to describe it, but if you’re reading this, you know what I mean. I was never out of a job again from that time on until a few years back when I chose to quit working because it was interfering with my writing schedule. LOL
What a wild week this has been on the stock market. Talk about roller coaster rides. At one point on Monday it was down a thousand points. It ended up the day around 500 down. That followed Friday’s dump of about the same.
This morning it’s up 369 points, but it’s early in the day. (It ended up down 200.) Who knows what the reading will be at five o’clock when they hit the bell. All I know is, I don’t touch mine. My financial guy told me one time, put yours in a relatively conservative interest bearing mutual fund and then ignore it. Whatever you do, don’t panic when it goes through a rough spot.
I’m the last person who is going to “play” the stock market, so that’s great advice for me. Let it sit there and allow the interest to reinvest itself and ignore it. Like he said, think of the positive, when it’s down your interest buys more shares. When it goes up again, so does the bottom line.
So, there it sits. I do have to peek at it and gasp a little during these times, but better days are ahead.
“Will It Work Or Not?”
I’ve been playing with “Damey & The Z-Team” for almost a year. It’s actually a novella instead of a novel. My biggest problem has been and is, does the thing work?
Very briefly, it’s a continuation of “Damey & Grandpa Tutor” about twenty-five years after the main part of that story takes place. Damey is now a PhD, high-level robotics engineer who is the vice president of a Lansing computer/robotics engineering firm in Lansing called Dewline. He has a wife and three sons whose first names all begin with the letter Z.
In the story Damey has invented an underwater oil sniffing robot which was originally built to seek out oil leaks in the Atlantic. What happens is there is a discovery of oil leaking from under the ice shelf in Antarctica. The government sends Damey and his robot to an icebreaker in the Waddell Sea to see if he can find it and possibly seal it.
While he is there, a violent thunder-snow storm hits and lightning makes a direct hit on the ship’s computers while he is sleeping. The safety locks work in reverse and Damey is locked in his room with no lights, running water, or heat. The outside temperature is -20 degrees.
Every time he goes to sleep, he dreams of the past year and a number of events that happened within his family. That’s where the problem is, it’s sort of like two stories blended into one. So, I’m going to have a couple of people read it before I do any last ditch editing to see if it confuses the hell out of them, or does the story work. Stay tuned:-)
“News Credibility and Integrity”
Brian Williams, former TV news anchor for NBC, has completed his six month exile. Now he’s coming back. Yes, he’s been demoted and his pay cut drastically, but should he be back at all? In my humble opinion, no.
I liked Brian Williams and watched his news cast faithfully, but I don’t want him back. It’s not that he hasn’t learned his lesson by embellishing certain stories—like claiming he was riding in a downed helicopter during the Iraq war, it’s more like NBC didn’t consider the matter serious enough to drop him.
The media gets trashed every day. Some networks are far right and some are far left. Trying to figure out who will just report the news without a political slant is difficult. I’m not sure these days it’s possible. The closest I’ve found to completely unbiased reporting is CNN. However, who knows? I don’t think any of us have the ability to know when they are giving the straight news and when they are putting a slant on it.
I know a number of the “kids” in the current generation of college students and recent grads don’t watch any network news. They get all of their news off of the Internet. That’s scary too. You don’t know there whether someone has just made something up and reported it, or if they used a reliable source.
So, I guess we all have to go with our gut and get our news from wherever we feel the most comfortable. The main thing is, don’t ignore all of it and just listen to the people at work, in the restaurant, or local watering hole. Can you just imagine the credibility that reigns in those places?
I normally sit back and laugh at the “Conspiracy Theory Du Jour” and shake my head wondering how in the hell can be so stupid to believe it. However, this time, I’m beginning to wonder. Are the oil companies scamming us big time?
In the US Today part of the paper yesterday was an article about how the price of gas had dropped on the world market to the lowest it’s been in over five years. I don’t remember the exact figure, but it was something like $43 a barrel. It wasn’t much more than a year ago that the price was over $100 for the same amount.
So, what has happened this week? The price of gas has jumped twice, raising it by about .60 a gallon at the pump. According to the paper today, it might go up as much as a dollar before all is said and done. It seems some big refinery in Indiana has shut down, and it might be six months before they can get it back totally operational again.
Now, how convenient and believable is that? At the same time the price of oil hits record lows for modern day rates, the seventh largest refinery in the country has a massive breakdown? Yeah, right. I wonder what exactly happened to that refinery and why. Certainly, the company wouldn’t sabotage its own equipment so they could gouge the public at the pump by selling off all that stored oil they’ve reported on recently because the supply is higher than its demand.
I know it’s too much to expect, but I would certainly hope someone in authority does some on-location inspections to see what exactly the truth is. If it’s not really a conspiracy, it probably should be. The timing is way too convenient.
“I Hate Politics”
The older I get, the more modern day politics disgusts me. It is so negative, it’s sickening. Over the years I have de-friended four different people on Facebook because everything out of their mouth is a vile, hateful, spiteful rant. Amusingly, I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day who just happens to be an old student of mine, and he had just done the same thing to three of the four mentioned above.
He had answered one of their virulent rants on FB, suggesting that the least they could do was show a little respect to the office of the person they hate so bad. So what do two of them do, but attack him—letting him know how stupid, ignorant, and useless he was just because he made a suggestion and didn’t necessarily agree with them. He deleted both of them immediately.
I must have been out of my mind, but I actually sat down and watched the debate last week. I wanted to hear what they had to say on some issues that I would like to see Congress get off their duffs and actually try to do something about. The only thing that I got out of the debates was the fact that our so-called leaders—whether they be governors, congressmen, or business people, wanted to do nothing but name-call and attack one another. I can’t tell you one thing any of them said of any consequence. And, don’t get me wrong. I’m sure several of them did or tried to address the issues. What I’m saying is the only thing I got out of the two hour debate was the intense negativity.
Eventually, I plan to upgrade my website so I can put the “Irrelevant Rants” in a blog so people can respond. People periodically send me responses privately, but there is no real way right now to do so publicly. So, what I have decided to do is give people the opportunity to write “Guest Rants”, send them to me privately at email@example.com and I will put them up for people to look at and respond to when I get it set up.
Here are the stipulations: (I know, Nag! Nag! There always have to be those nasty guidelines.) Anyway, here they are—no politics, no religion, and no profanity. Your name will be posted to the rant. The intro will look something like this:
“Children Should be Seen and Not Heard”
(Or whatever your name is)
I normally put up new “Rants” on Sunday and Wednesday. If you send one, it will probably go live for that three to four day period. If I get a number, I may cut it down to two to three days. We’ll see how it works out. In the mean time, here’s your chance to vent with the knowledge that multiple people will see it. One last thing, Put “Irrelevant Rant” in your subject heading so I will recognize what it is and not delete it like I do 99% of the advertisements.
“Take a Break Before you Hit Send”
Have we gotten to the point where sometimes social media is too fast? I remember some advice I heard years ago when Email first became the rage. If you’re feeling grief, angry, upset about something, stressed, or sad, let that message sit and go have a cup of coffee before sending it. Fifteen minutes later, come back and read it. Then you have three options—send—delete—let it sit for a while longer.
Had a sad situation happen to a long time dear friend of mine this week. She and her two sisters lost their mother at two-thirty in the morning after a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease and old age. That morning she and one of her sisters were busy notifying relatives when their phones started ringing from angry family members and friends wanting to know why they hadn’t been. It seems the other sister had posted the news on Facebook at eight a.m.
In her grief, that was her way of coping. Unfortunately, the same rules for Email don’t always seem to apply to Facebook even if they should. That would have been the perfect time to sit back and get a cup of coffee and ask herself, “Is this something I want to send at eight in the morning when the event only happened a few hours earlier?
I see all kinds of rants on Facebook about politics, family, “Ex” friends and spouces, etc. where people might have been wise to take a breath, go have a cup of coffee or a Coke, before they hit “Enter” on the keyboard. Of course, there is always the “Delete” key, but sometimes even that is too late. I know of one lady who has two children, one in high school and one graduated. She posted a couple of weeks ago that she was pregnant. Two hours later, it had been deleted. Too late. By then the news had traveled across the globe. WHEN YOU’RE IN GRIEF, ANGRY, UPSET, STRESSED OR SAD—TAKE A BREAK BEFORE YOU SEND THAT MESSAGE.
Today I had great plans to be good. I got up at a reasonable time, read part of the paper, started the wash, planned to have breakfast at home for a change, and then get in some quality time editing my current WIP. Seems like all I do is waste a bunch of time and money by running out to one of the local restaurants for breakfast just because I don’t happen to feel like cereal.
That’s where Robert Burns 1786 poem, “To a Mouse” comes in—The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. I opened the refrigerator, pulled out the milk, and just happened to glance at the expiration date—June 29, 2015. That didn’t look good so I opened it and sniffed. Whoops!
I poured it out, filled it with water three times and watered all of the hanging baskets. Then I filled it again and ran it over to Chapel Hill to water Kay’s urns (which were dry as a bone). You guessed it, after that I headed to the restaurant with the rest of the paper to finish off the sports section, comics, and work the crossword puzzle. “Wrymoq” really is a word isn’t it?
Oh well, today I will buy a fresh gallon of milk, and tomorrow I WILL be good and eat breakfast at home. Maybe.
“Work in Progress”
The first major draft of my latest literary masterpiece, “Damey and the Z-Team,” is done. Now comes the hard part. The first thing I have to do is print it off, which I have already done, and then start going through it line-by-line. I actually try to read it out loud. Naturally, I do this when nobody else is around so they don’t think I’ve gone totally off my rocker.
The number one thing is to see if the story flows. That’s the part that worries me the most with this book because it jumps back and forth between the primary scene and earlier. Most of the story takes place with him stranded on an icebreaker in the Antarctica. When he goes to sleep, he dreams of family events of the previous year.
The next thing is to determine if there is anything that I need to add or subtract from the current manuscript. The toner on the page wasn’t dry from printing the thing when I’d thought of two scenes that have to be added. I’m sure as I go through it there will be a number of things that do nothing for the plot and need to be deleted.
Then, there’s the real reason for reading it out loud. Most of the typos, word choices, auto-corrects that went the wrong way, and all of that fun mechanical stuff is easier to spot. So, after letting it sit for the weekend, I’ll get started tomorrow on phase two.
“Buy or Lease?”
Three years ago I leased a car for the first time. I have extremely mixed feelings about the whole process. Number one, the car is never “yours.” It’s essentially a rental. That seems to be a hangup for me. I like the idea of being able to say, “It’s paid for. It’s mine.”
On the other side of the coin, it never goes out of warranty and you never pay for an oil change. Last month the engine light came on. I took it into the dealership, sat in the lounge for a couple of hours reading the paper while they took care of that as well a “recall” for the car. They offered me a loaner, but I didn’t want to bother with that. I’d wait. When they finished, I signed on the dotted line and walked out the door never taking my wallet out of my pocket.
I’ve been talking to three different dealerships—including a nephew who used to own a car dealership and a grandson who is the general manager of one, and I get the same response from all. It makes no financial sense to invest thousands of dollars buying a car especially with my track record of never keeping one for more than three years.
So, that’s where I am. Do I follow my comfort zone, or do I listen the professionals who tell me I’m nuts? I have about two months to figure this out.
“Some of Us Are Gluttons for Punishment”
I am something like half way through my third reading of the Harry Potter series. Towards the end of last year, I read it for the second time but raced through the last three books because of my “important” goal of finishing before the end of the year.
This time I’m taking my time and trying to read the series as an author trying to dissect what J.K. Rowling is doing. Can’t say I’m having a whole lot of luck with that. I get interested in the various plot lines and ignore how she is doing it. I guess that’s OK because I’m having more fun this time. The one thing I have taken out of her work is how each and every book gets darker and darker as they go. Each book progresses from point A to Z getting more and more dangerous and evil. Then, there’s the book progression. Book one sets everything up. Book two starts to get a little darker and more evil, and on and on it goes.
I guess the biggest surprise is how much I either missed or have forgotten from one reading to the other. I’m right in the middle of book four and remember “kind of” what is going to happen, but not really the details as to how Rowling get us there. I guess that is where the dissection part comes in—trying to second guess the author and remember “How” she does what she does and why. In the meantime, I’m having fun and that’s the goal.
“Insurance—Rip Off or Protection?”
Had an interesting discussion the other day with someone about insurance in general. Since the Lansing area is supposedly the second largest area in the country for insurance companies after Hartford, CT, he was using some of their mega-complexes as proof. And, yes, some of these building sites are absolutely huge and expanding.
I call it a discussion, but actually it was a one-sided rant while I listened. His position was that insurance is essentially a rip off that you’re forced to partake in—not unlike the Mafia protection rackets in the big cities. If you get into a car accident, they raise your rates. As one commercial running now states, if you buy a $40,000 automobile and total it before your first oil change, most companies will only pay you $37,000 because of depreciation. His, of course, was the exception. If your house gets hit by lightning and burns down, they raise your rates. On and on he ranted while I listened.
Maybe I’m in the minority, but I never looked at it that way. I always looked at it as protection and hoped like mad that I never collected. When the kids were young, I carried a substantial life insurance policy to protect my family in case something happened to me. Fortunately, for me anyway, nothing ever did. I no longer carry that kind of insurance because I don’t need it. I’ve never considered those dollars to be pouring money down a rat hole. I’m glad I had it---I’m glad I never used it.
“Yellow Journalism at its Best”
The paper reported today the story of finding the body of a nine-year-old severely autistic boy in a lake. He had been missing for a week. The park and lake had been searched by divers earlier, and he had not been found. As reported, he had visited the park with his foster family and disappeared.
Here’s the problem. The article goes on to tell us that he and his siblings had been in foster care for some time because of the awful conditions in his biological home. Then the story goes on to tell us how his teacher had clothes for him to change into when he got to school because of the condition of his own. Then it continues on to tell us he was bullied because of poor hygiene and body odor.
Why in hell did they have to report that part of the story? It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that a little boy who was severely disabled had gone to a park with family, wandered off, and drowned. All of the other BS was sensationalism. Stick with the story, reporters. What does that accomplish except to sully the unfortunate fate of the child? I was left with the impression that the reporter cheered the fact that it happened to that poor boy rather to one of the “good” ones out there.
Why wouldn’t it have made more sense to warn other parents of autistic children that these kids seem to have some kind of fatal attraction to water? Google “Autistic children and water” and check it out if you’d like to see more on the issue. To me, that would have been much more valuable information than what they printed.
“Really Important Question of the Day”
I’m in the middle of reading the seven-book Harry Potter series for the third time. I know, many of you are probably wondering why on earth would anyone read them three times. Easy, it’s fun. Both times I’ve re-read the books, I’ve found things that I’d forgotten or missed. For those of you who have read them, you have to admit they are crammed full of you name it—plot twists, innuendoes, mystery, magic, and surprises.
OK, here’s where the “Really Important Question of the Day” comes in. Knowing what you know now, if you were eleven-years-old, from Muggle (Non wizard and witch) parentage, and you received your invitation to Hogwarts—would you go? Now, let’s face it, you’re no Harry Potter struggling with Lord Voldemort and the three Dursleys. You’re just a “normal” kid who finds out you have magical powers and have been invited to a school of magic.
All of the kids have tons of homework every day, horrible creatures running around the place ready to maim or kill them on sight, dementors, teachers like Professor Snape who are mean and play favorites, magic curses to put up with, and all kinds of other scary things. Yet, they have great feasts, a lot of fun, learn all kinds of magic, fly brooms, play quiddich, and have great friends as well as enemies.
I really never pondered this question until I started book three the third time around. Now, I wonder. I had breakfast with a friend this week who said unequivocally his answer was yes. He also admitted that when he was eleven, he had different values than he does now and probably wouldn’t have gone. Of course, that’s why I said earlier, “Knowing what you know now …”
“My Next Literary Masterpiece”
There have been some people asking lately when I was going to pop loose with my next WIP (Work in progress). Well, the blunt answer would have to be, “Beats me!” It’s going to be a while.
I have been working on this gem for some time now and have taken turns with getting disgruntled and ready to throw it in the scrap heap, letting it sit and simmer for a while, to “All hands on deck. Let’s go for it.” Right now, I am currently working on the thing.
Here’s the problem. I had all of these “brilliant” ideas for the major plot line that would make it completely unique and a tad futuristic. Just to give you a sneak peek into what it’s all about, an oil leak has been discovered under the ice shelf in the Antarctic and our main character is being sent there with his underwater nuclear powered, oil-sniffing robot to find it, seal it, and, if it’s an oil well, dismantle it and bring it to the ship so it can be sent back to the States for testing—since all mineral exploration has been banned since 1988 for fifty years.
So, what do I find out? There already are nuclear powered under water robots, and there is an oil sniffing robot that’s shaped like a lobster since apparently lobsters can detect oil and other foreign substances in their waters. Finding out all of this has kind of been like sticking a needle in a balloon.
To my rescue, a couple of my fellow writing friends said, “So what? You’re writing fiction so what difference does it make. Most people wouldn’t know about those things anyway.”
So, back at it I went. Not sure whether the whole thing is working or not, I printed off what I had, and decided to outline it to see if it was flowing. What did I discover? Over time, I had written the over-arching disaster scene twice and in two different ways in two different parts of the book. Currently I am meshing those two scenes because there are parts of both that I like.
We’re probably still a year away from turning this thing loose—that is, unless I delete the whole thing. Time will tell.
“Money Is Not the Object”
People have asked me why I run Kindle specials on my literary masterpieces for a measly ninety-nine cents. Well, I’ll guarantee you, it’s not for the money. If money were my big motivation in life, would I have taught school for thirty-five years? I must admit, I’ve always claimed that I’d love to pay a million in income taxes.
As I have said many times, I write primarily to entertain myself. Multiple times a week I slip over to the little restaurant by the airport for breakfast along with a printed copy of my latest WIP (Work in Progress) and spend an hour and a half editing, drinking way too much coffee and while eating a bowl of fruit—or was that a blueberry pancake with hot syrup and crisp bacon? Whatever, I’m entertaining myself as well as having fun with the waitresses.
Which gets me back to the original premise—why sell them so cheaply? When people read my stuff and get a laugh at some of the ridiculous stuff that happens like when Damey in “Damey and Grandpa Tutor” has a nature call while lost in the middle of the woods and ends up using poison ivy to clean himself, it makes it all worthwhile.
The special I’m running between July 1-7 is book one of the trilogy, “As Life Goes On.” It starts out on the tear-jerker side as one of the boys gets killed. However, he comes back as a ghost and the two boys have multiple adventures that run through three books. Whether you believe in ghosts or not is totally irrelevant. These books are “fiction” with one purpose in mind—entertaining me and you.
“Support Independent Authors”
I went to a book signing at a local bookstore this week for an old friend who had written a non-fiction novel about a murder that had happened in Williamston, MI back in 1897. It seems that an extremely insane young lady chopped off her mother-in-law’s head with an axe and put it on her husband’s plate facing him complete with a knife and fork placed appropriately beside the plate.
The author, Rod Sadler, who is a retired Eaton Co. Sheriff Dept. officer, literally spent years researching the material for this book, “To Hell I Must Go.” To add a little irony to the story, Rod’s great-great grandfather was the Ingham Co. Sheriff who investigated the murder.
Very few independent writers ever get rich applying their craft. They do it because of their love of the topic or story, their love of writing, and that sense of accomplishment when it’s done. These people need to be supported. Go and listen to what they have to say about their work. Buying their book is not mandatory just because you go—but it would be appreciated if you did.
This is the second presentation that I have attended in recent months. It was well advertised in social media and in the regular media, yet only about ten people attended. To me, that is sad. The hour that I sat there listening to all that the author did researching the book made me wish I hadn’t bought the Kindle version and had waited to get a signed copy. He was that interesting.
The last book signing I went to at Schuler’s was a disaster. It too had been well advertised in advance. The author is a recovering addict who has been “clean” for years. His story was about the struggle that it took to turn his life around. I was the only person who showed up for his presentation. We spent an hour sitting at a table talking. As badly as I felt for him, I couldn’t help but appreciate the time I had with just the two of us and a couple of cups of coffee.
Support those independent authors. Take an hour of your precious time away from the latest talent show on TV. It will be time well spent, and let’s face it, a lot more informative and entertaining.
“Most People are Pretty Darned Good”
Sometimes it seems like the only thing the media sees is the hate, venom, crime, and violence that goes on. Sometimes they get it right. This week a tornado touched down in the small community of Portland, MI. It didn’t last long, and didn’t cover a vast area, but it did cause major destruction.
Immediately after the storm, people responded. One story told of how one man left his own house and helped eight different people to safety. People from all over town came to help. People from neighboring communities arrived—all with one thing in mind, “Let’s clean the place up.”
Volunteers of all ages from toddlers giving out water and refreshments to seniors with chain saws, all there want to help. Businesses are donating a lot of their time and resources to the cause. Apparently two heavily damaged churches are going to have a combined service this coming Sunday.
People helping people all with the same goal in mind and not concerned about what they are getting in return. And what might just be the icing on the cake—to date, I have not heard of one incidence of looting.
“I Don’t Get It”
This week a young man walked into a church and killed nine people because they were of a different race and trying to “take over the country” among other things. I’m sorry, but I just don’t get it. Why is there so much hatred out there? And, there’s a lot of it going around. I don’t care if we’re talking about race, religion, gender, or politics. Those differences are no reason to hate.
I have de-friended people on Facebook because everything that shows up on their page spews venom. Usually their topics relate to either politics or gender. People pour their guts out on some of the stupidest things. On some people’s rants, everything that goes wrong in the US is the President’s fault—Clinton, Bush, O’Bama—flip a coin and take your choice.
I guess the part that really confuses me, is that people so narrow-minded they cannot even accept the other person has a right to his/her own opinion/gender/race/religion/political persuasion. The message is, if you don’t agree with me, you are downright stupid.
Look at the mayhem going on in the Middle East over different factions of the same religion. I see it as no different from a Baptist killing a Methodist because the evil person wouldn’t convert. I’ve heard “gossip” of a local fourteen-year-old who was kicked out of his own house because he came out to his parents that he is gay. So what if someone is different than you are? Who cares?
I guess I’m just too old and stupid to understand that kind of hatred and lack of acceptance. Must be William Howard Taft’s fault.
“What a Waste”
The USA Today reported on Friday about a seventeen-year-old who had been arrested for getting involved with ISIL and helping a fellow student travel overseas to join the terrorist group. This kid was an honors STEM-robotics whiz, already accepted and submitted his deposit for college, and supposedly an all-around good kid.
Now, instead of graduating this week with honors and heading off to college, he’s going to jail. How could this happen? Where were the parents of this kid? Why didn’t anyone realize what was going on and intervene?
Is this the way society is now? Parents, kids, school, friends all wrapped up in their own little worlds with their noses in their own electronic devices ignoring everything going on around them? I think that’s probably the way it is.
Just this morning I was having breakfast at one of the local restaurants and there were seven people circled around this one table. One was a late teenager who was there apparently with his grandparents. He sat there the entire time with his nose buried in his phone. I had the biggest urge to go over to his table, grab his phone, and turn it off for him. Nobody else was paying any attention to him and what he was doing, so why not?
Good grief! The media has been having a field day recently with Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner’s transgender status. Who cares? If a celebrity decides to come out as gay, straight, transgendered, bi-sexual, or whatever, what difference does it really make to any of us?
I think I’ve either seen an article in the paper or some quip on the news every day since it became public. Are they that hard up to find something to discuss? Must be, since I’m talking about it too. Grin
Even the politicians are discussing it. That’s just what we need. I can see the debates now. Are we going to allow gays, bi’s, trans’ into our party or should we expel them? Oh boy, can’t you see it all now. What happens if Bruce/Caitlyn decides to get married? Shouldn’t we pass a few laws saying they should or should not be able? Obviously, Hillary and Jeb are going to have to disagree on that one. Wonder which one will take their stand first?
That’ll be another one for the Supreme Court to get involved with. Let’s face it, if the politicians can get their shorts in a know over that one tight enough, it gives them ample excuses for not balancing the budget, fixing the country’s infrastructure, and dealing with ISIS.
“Last Day of School”
For most of the little rug rats in this neck of the woods, Friday was the last day of school for the summer. There are a couple of exceptions. If they had too many snow days (A number of them did), they have to be made up. If the kids are going to one of the year-around schools, they are still in school.
Personally, I like the year-around concept. Students aren’t going to school any more days, it’s just that their vacations are shorter and less information is lost and has to be re-taught. That was an issue in middle school when we were teaching grammar concepts, punctuation, etc. Half of what they’d learned the year before had to be “reviewed” to remind them where we were in the learning curve.
That wasn’t so much an issue in the high school in the English classes because so much of it was literature based, it would be more an issue of getting them used to homework again and actually working their way through the books and not falling behind. I would assume in the math and science areas, there would be a lot more content re-teaching.
Anyway, I miss the anticipation and excitement of the upcoming end-of-the-year time. The kids always thought they were excited. Ha! They didn’t know the half of it. That was the time for traveling, kids going to camp, and letting your hair down. (Back then I had some.)
“Facebook is Getting Too Negative”
Have you noticed how negative the posts are getting to be on Facebook? Seems like everything you see is some kind of rant. Much of it seems to be circled around politics—and the election is a year away.
People also put a lot of personal stuff out there that should be kept “In-House.” Just for one example, one lady who recently celebrated her twenty-fifth anniversary spends most of her FB time whining about her husband.
The ones that I think are funny are the ones where people either start or end their post with, “I’m outta here!” Then they blabber about something that makes entirely no sense. It might be something that someone said to them the night before—probably in a bar, and nobody else has a clue what they are ranting about. Probably, the person who it’s aimed at won’t even see it. However, eight-hundred others probably are wondering what crawled up his or her hind end and died.
Personally, the only ones I like to read are the fun ones—people posting pictures or events about their kids, spouses, and friends, people meeting people they haven’t seen in years and are having a wonderful time, that kind of stuff.
Remember the old Bobby McFerrin song—“Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”
“Free Range Parenting”
Believe it or not, there are actually two articles about Free Range Parenting in the Lansing State Journal today. One by Meta Pettus in the USA Today section deals with a couple who live in the sub urban neighborhood in the Washington DC area. This couple has been in the news before because one of their neighbors keep reporting them to the police and Child Protective Services. It seems this couple allows their ten-year-old son and six-year-old children to walk unaccompanied to play in the park. If memory serves me correctly from the previous article a few weeks back, the park is one or two blocks from their house.
What I find totally absurd about this situation is, the nosy neighbors reported them, the police have picked up the children three different times and detained the children for hours, and that CPS has filed complaints on them. Two of these horrendous offenses dealt with the children walking either to or from the park, and the third was when these little criminals were actually at the park playing unattended by an adult.
Fortunately, CPS has thrown out the first offense. The sooner it throws out the other two the better. Now, if someone would just tell the nosy neighbor to mind her own damned business.
Celia Rivenbark quotes a British writer who has calculated the risks. According to him, “It would take the average child standing outside by himself 750,000 hours to be kidnapped by a stranger. Statistically speaking, the ‘child’ would be 85 years old before that would happen.”
Playing it safe and warning your kids about talking to strangers and avoiding the offered candy or getting into someone’s car is one thing, complete paranoia is another. Think what must be happening in the minds of those two little kids who have been “arrested” by the police and held captive for hours because they were outdoors playing. Good Lord, people, get a life. I’m willing to bet everyone reading this was raised as a “Free Range Kid” and Voila! We’re all still here.
This is Memorial Day weekend and it leaves me with a lot of mixed feelings. I spent four years in the 1950s in the USAF and it might have been the most eye-opening and learning period of my life. A year of that time was spent in Turkey during what I have always described as “The U2 Campaign.” That was when Russia shot down Gary Powers flying the U2 from Incirlik AFB in Adana, Turkey. Powers bowled in one of the same leagues I did, and I knew him by sight.
All these years later, I still can’t handle “Taps” when I hear it. That’s the song bugled at military funerals. I heard it this past Saturday during lunch at a local restaurant and almost had to get up and leave the table. Where the mixed feelings come in, not a one of my kids or grandkids have ever joined the service. Have I ever wanted any of them going to Iraq or Afghanistan to fight in that mess over there in the Middle East? No, that isn’t the point.
Being in the service and having the chance to serve overseas gave me a feeling and understanding of this country and what it stands for that I never would have achieved without that experience. I don’t think the current generation growing up including my grand kids have any clue what it means to live here in America. Are we perfect? Do we never make mistakes? Hell, no! However, compared to the rest of the world, we’ve got it made.
When I am decorating family graves in three different cemeteries for the holiday, there are several military graves in the immediate vicinity of each. I give them all a nod and quick salute along with a “Thank you” as I pass by.
Observed a situation recently that actually found people working together for good instead of having a “Pissing match” to try to claim that, “I know all the answers so you have to do it my way.” That in itself is refreshing.
Background—a very young member of my family has suddenly developed migraine headaches that were sometimes relieved only by vomiting. Since he is in kindergarten, the suggestion was made to have his eyes checked for vision problems. Glasses were ordered and this seemed to help some, but the doctor was still not happy. He ordered an MRI which showed a shadow. He ordered another MRI to zero in on the questionable spot. This showed something so a second opinion was ordered from a pediatric specialist in this area in a different hospital—plus the orders for a third MRI three months down the road.
The new specialist, who was highly recommended from two different “secret” sources, indicated that the migrains are not being caused by the spot showing up on the MRIs. He feels the concerned spot may or may not be a tumor afterall. It could be something that’s been there since birth or from a fall where he bumped his head. He wants the parents and school to go on a vigil and watch for possible triggers—diet, lighting, hard play, etc. Not only could it be a phase his body is going through, it could be caused from food or airborn allergies, lighting, or a number of things. Apparently, he has one boy who can only play hard for about thirty minutes, and then he has to either rest or suffer a migraine.
Not only all of this, he wants a third opinion. He’s setting up an appointment with the big children’s hospital down the road to confirm or reject his findings. Personally, I find this all pretty cool. It’s going to end up with three doctors, three hospital systems, parents, and school all working together to solve this problem. Thank God they aren’t politicians.
“Some Things Just Aren’t Right”
I know, today’s world is different because of all the technology, etc., but sending out a death notice using a mass text message to a whole group of relatives and friends at the same time? A text message? Really?
A person I’ve known for a number of years had a stroke and was in bad shape. He really wasn’t expected to make it, and he didn’t. However, when he died, his grandson was notified by a text message. Granted, they weren’t real close, but I would think he at least deserved a phone call.
Has modern day technology made us so callous that shooting everyone a text message is okay? To me, that just isn’t right. I can see the texts of the future, “You wouldn’t believe the size of the garter snake I saw in the garden this morning. It was humongous! And, oh yeah, before I forget, your grandpa died last night.”
Fair warning, if that happens when I kick off, I’m coming back to haunt whoever does it. Rant! Rant!
Went to one of the multitude of graduation ceremonies this weekend at Michigan State University. The speakers were inspiring, and the young ladies and gentlemen were awesome. The one I attended was for the College of Natural Science. Fortunately, I can at least pronounce my Grandson’s major—Environmental Geosciences. Most of them I didn’t have a clue as to what they even were, like Genomics and Molecular Genetics just to name one of my favorites.
Seriously, I wonder how long it will take these kids to actually realize what they have accomplished in the past four or five years. Each and every one of them should be so very proud of themselves. However, I wonder how many of them won’t until one of their own children are making the walk. The students all had hearty smiles on their faces, but were they smiles of relief, joy for the moment, or a realization that they had done one heck of a good job.
To all of you who made that walk this weekend all over the country, you didn’t do it just because you showed up for class. These were not certificates of attendance. This was your reward for years of cramming, burning the mid-night oil, experimenting with classes and majors that might not have been you, and the ability to finally find the ones that were.
Congratulations to all of you. I am proud of you and what you’ve done, even if it hasn’t sunk into that brain of yours yet.
“Safety Tip for your Children”
Every great once-in-a-while, one runs into something worthwhile on FaceBook or on the Internet news clips. In the past few days, I saw one that could prove valuable to all of you out there who have young children or grand children.
According to the story, a man approached a boy getting ready to get on a school bus and told him his mom had asked him to pick him up. He told the boy that she had to go someplace and wanted the man to take him to her.
The boy looked at him and asked him for the password. When the befuddled man mumbled and couldn’t come up with it, the boy ran for the bus and hopefully told the driver.
What an easy way for parents to work with their kids to make sure something like that never happens. Find a “secret” word that both would remember—a pet’s name, the child’s birthday, or a term of endearment that only Mom or Dad uses like “Snookums” or something silly like that. If that trick saved one child’s life, it would be well worth it to set up a password with your kids.
Went for my six mile bike ride through the neighborhood last night and couldn’t help but marvel about how serene and peaceful it is. My ride takes me through what I would consider upper middle class down to the lowest edges on the poverty scale.
With all the rioting, demonstrations, and civil unrest going on due to racial differences and police brutality and over-reaction, my “Hood” seemed almost boring. In my highly culturally and racially diverse neighborhood, I saw a handful of people mowing lawns and working in their yards.
Then I spotted one group of four, I’m guessing, twelve-year-olds all climbing the same tree in one of their front, side yards with one hanging off a limb like a monkey. That one brought back some memories of days of yore. Also along the way, I saw several boys out shooting baskets in their driveway. I yelled at one and told him I wanted to see his “Slam Dunk.” He gave it to me with a big smile on his face. I told him Coach Izzo should have seen that one. That brought an even bigger smile.
I know it would never sell, but too bad the media can’t take one of those rides like I did last night and see how peaceful and “normal” life can be. I’d much rather see that post slam dunk smile on the TV news than all of that angry, hate filled BS we’re subjected to every night.
“Indian Magic Crabapple”
I thought we had something nice happen in our neighborhood today. The city came through and planted a new Indian Magic Crabapple tree in my yard out near the curb. I had lost a giant soft maple during the ice storm of a year and a half ago and don’t know if this was an attempt to replace that or just beautify the city. I really don’t care. Since they planted another one across the street, I’m guessing it is a beautification attempt.
I asked the men who were planting them if they really wanted to plant it under the power lines, and he said that it was no problem. They didn’t grow tall enough to bother. I Googled the tree, and in the description, it also said they were good for areas with power lines because they didn’t grow high enough to bother them. According to the picture, it looks like it will be a beautiful tree when in bloom. I’m happy.
Now, I suppose, to be politically correct, I should start ranting and raving about the city “wasting” money planting trees when they should be fixing the roads. Of course, I could take it one step further, and say it’s all O’Bama’s fault. However, being the politically incorrect slob that I am, I just looked at it and said, “Cool.”
“What is Going On?”
Three children’s obituaries in the paper this past week. It started with a nine-year-old dying of complications of the flu. Apparently the flu somehow resulted in pneumonia in both lungs and his body shut down. The next was a fourteen-year-old who committed suicide. How sad is that? Then a fifteen-year-old died of some other illness.
Hold on to your loved ones and let them know they are. We never know when it’s going to be too late to do so. People die at child birth. Some go at a hundred plus. Everyone else goes somewhere in between. I really get bothered by those young ones. All three of the above had at least seventy years more on the time clock except…
I remember when one of my uncles died in his fifties and my grandfather was beside himself. I can still hear him saying, “It should have been me.” Can you imagine what’s been going on in the minds of the parents of those three kids? I can’t imagine, and I don’t want to. Love and spoil your kids. That next crushed parent could be you.
I know, Michigan has the worst roads in all fifty states, but why do I have to always get tangled up because of construction/resurfacing/pothole patching, etc? Cruising down one of the main drags a couple of days ago and the lane I was in was blocked up ahead. I turned on my blinker to get over into the left lane, and do you think anyone would let me? Oh, no. It might cost them an extra second on their trip to the bar. People are so thoughtful.
I think the solution to this would be to have all road maintenance happen between midnight and six a.m. That way traffic would be thinned out enough so horrific issues like mine wouldn’t be a problem. If you’re out driving at two or three in the morning you’re probably drunk anyway so it won’t matter. You can just swerve in front of someone and cut them off and the problem will be solved. I know, it might be a little distracting and noisy, but ear buds would probably help a lot.
The only exception to this should be when they get to my neighborhood. That should be done during daylight hours while most everyone is at work or on the golf course. At the current rate of repair on Michigan roads, it won’t matter much anyway because the rumor is our neighborhood isn’t due for resurfacing until 2106. By then, I probably won’t care.
“Hey! I’m a Star”
I must be. Someone wrote a magazine article just about me. I’m sure nobody else shares my qualities. In the January, 2015 issue of “Writer’s Digest” Tracy Barnes Priestley wrote an article entitled, “Why So Many Writers Give Up Mid-Novel.” Obviously, she was talking about me and my battles with “Damey and the Z Team.”
On page 35, she nailed all of my qualities:
- •Destructive thought patterns
- •Negative experiences
- •Ambiguous motivation
- •Unrealistic expectations
- •Lack of initiative
- •Inability to prioritize writing tasks
- •Frequent distraction
- •Too busy
- •Etc., ad nauseum
I think it’s fantastic that someone sat down and actually wrote a multi page article all about me. Only problem is, how did she know? We’ve never met or even seen one another. It must be an ESP thing. That’s pretty scary too. To think, someone can get into my head without my knowing it.
Well, on page 36 & 37 MS Priestley sets down a nine point agenda on “How to Avoid Stalling.” I guess the next thing I’m going to have to do is re-read those items—especially number 9, “Above All, Be Patient.”
“Childhood ‘Rearing’ 101”
Well, I haven’t made anyone angry all day, so there’s no time like the present. I’m sure the following will take care of my daily quota when a certain individual reads this. There is a person whom I know fairly well who has a five-year-old son who is not housebroken yet. Why? Because, “He is too lazy.”
I hate to tell you, but it isn’t the child who is too lazy, it’s the parents. Apparently, when Junior needs his diaper changed, he tells Daddy because Mommy yells at him. Awwww, poor baby. Not only that, they are home schooling him partially because of that. They don’t want to embarrass him in front of the other kids.
I had a suggestion that went over like a lead balloon. I told his mom that every time she had to change him, after she cleaned him up, he’d be appropriately dressed for my solution to the problem. Briskly slap that little bare ‘rear’ about five times and send him to bed for the rest of the day. I told her I’d be willing to make a bet that by the time it happened three times, the kid would be potty trained.
Then I had to hear about how Daddy, who lets the kids do absolutely anything they want with no consequences, would never allow it. “When Junior is ready, he’ll quit going in his pants.”
Sorry, but unless the child has cognitive problems of some kind, I find it totally unacceptable to allow him/her to reach the age of five without being made to use the bathroom appropriately.
So goeth my rant for the day. Hopefully it will be read by the appropriate persons and action will be taken. However, I know it won't.
Kid’s Bodies Found in Freezer?
There’s been a very disturbing story in the news this past week. It’s been disturbing to me on several accounts. If the story is true, a mother tortured her nine-year-old son for two weeks back in 2012 before he died. Then she wrapped his body and put him in the family’s freezer. Nine months later, her thirteen-year-old daughter said she didn’t like her surviving siblings so her mom strangled her, wrapped her body, and stuck that in the freezer.
I have so many questions. How could this happen and nobody in the neighborhood notice that two of the family’s children were missing? Where is the father? Why didn’t he know? I suppose there are a number of possible explanations for that one because of estrangement issues, not knowing who the father is, or whatever lame excuse is given.
What about the other two surviving siblings? Why haven’t they ever said anything to a teacher, neighbor kid, or anyone else? Are they so terrified of their mother that they wouldn’t dare say anything knowing they’d end up wrapped up in the freezer next? Are these kids even in school? Why weren’t the authorities notified when the nine-year-old and the thirteen-year-old kids quit going to school? Where the hell was Child Protective Services all this time?
If the mother has been collecting Aid to Dependent Children from the state, has there ever been any accountability? Is the system so weak that they just automatically pay for years without ever checking up on the welfare of the children? I have many more questions that I won’t post here, but I guess you get the gist of my “rant” for the day.
(Today's Irrelevant Rant is actually a very short story that I wrote for no other reason than to pick on a friend of mine named Jim who sent me a picture of a half full baby bottle in a parking lot medium and said I should use it as a writing prompt.)