What's in the news?...

Another day of agony...
Alex Baldwin makes an ass of himself and the air waves are trembling with the 'news'. I wish there had been just one small announcement in the back of a very bad newspaper stating Baldwin had been thrown off a plane for being a major pain in the ass. Of course, the real reason would eventually leak out (rude, obnoxious, condescending, ignorant about rules that we all must abide by) and we'd all have a good laugh. But then he wouldn't get any major publicity to confirm in his mind he's a 'celebrity' which translates to the level of importance in his feeble mind. Did his publiscist leak the story?

Then another 'big' story--perhaps of a more lofty concern---Blago is going to do jail time. A political jokester who thought he could use tax payer's money to put 'his' people in office so they/he could juggle the system (at our expense) to suit their/his selfish, immoral needs. He did get a little break, though, from the judge...no jail time until February. Will that give him enough time to explain to his 'babies' (his words) the adversity he and his wife are facing? How do you tell your kids you are a blatant crook? And why would a woman with a clear mind, a strong constitution, stand by and weap? Oh, I get it, he's a 'celebrity', too. She loves dishonest, immoral men. Blago was a tough guy through the whole court process, on TV with bragging rights, claiming his innocence, nothing done that hadn't been done before...until he got caught, begged for mercy in front of the sentencing judge and showed that he really doesn't wear big boy pants when push comes to shove. Bye bye Blago...another dirty politician bites the dust. Oh yes, we pay for his dirty deeds while he's behind bars but perhaps it will dissuade other celebrity seeking, power hungry rouges.

And then the finale....I can't reminder this guy's name. The former football coach from Penn State who likes young boys. Maybe I'm the only person who doesn't remember his name---I'm glad I only have so much room for worthy info in this brain file. Okay, he hasn't been proven quilty. I'll be kind. But, in my book...where there's smoke, there's fire. How many young men have to come forward before the proof is in the pudding? What really bugs me is the fact many people knew his proclivities with young males for a long, long time. Why did they cover up his pedophile fetish? Because the game, the football game, was more important than the sexual cravings of a contributor to the game. Little boys grow up. Maybe they, too, would worship the game, foster the myth, engage in the religion of "Football Reigns".

A psychologist wrote on the subject...Why do respectable men cover up these dirty deeds? Bottom line, males generally stick together when the cause is greater than the mortals begins lost in the shuffle.

Whether it's male star status, the glory of the win, or politics, the group is the bigger picture. The limelight, the win, the instant gratification, these kind of guys dig it.

Thank god...or whomever, for all the other good guys in this world.

So where does this leave me? Overall, I'm more pissed with Baldwin...he's a total A.H. Has proved it over and over again and somehow, he's elevated to 'newsworthy'. And he thinks he's important!
The other two.....they are pathological and will eat dirt for quite a while. Jail time. Hopefully we'll all forget about the lot of them.

Camping...New York Style

I'd like to go to New York in the spring...when there's no fear of snow. But rooms costs several hundred dollars a night. The rooms I like cost even more. So my plan is to camp out in Central Park. A little inconvenience won't bother me.

If I take a tent, a Coleman heater, and a good sleeping bag, I can save a lot of money. If I'm frugal this winter, I can buy one of those blow-up mattresses to sleep on.

I'll fly there, of course. Air fares aren't too expensive in the spring. I figure I can get all my camping supplies in one large suitcase, avoid extra baggage costs and put the few clothes I need in a back pack. A pair of jeans, drip dry tops, a nice pair of black slacks and black knit jacket in case I want to see a show. Walking shoes, of course.

I think Central Park is a good place to camp. Beautiful views, drinking water, rest rooms, nice people, police protection just in case a few dissidents rumble and for exercise, several walking trails. I won't cook out--there's a 'no grilling or campfires' rule in the city. Law biding camper, that's me. For just a few dollars, the street vendors will feed me well. The money I save on a hotel room will easily allow me one or two meals in a good restaurant if I need a change of pace from street food.

Oh, did I hear you say 'there's no camping in Central Park..not any park in New York City.' Oh really!

So those campers, I've seen on TV night after night over the last two months or more ...those are just figments of my imagination? Didn't they show row after row of tents, sleeping bags...you know, camping stuff?

Oh, you say they are protestors, not campers.

Okay, I think I get it. Some people can camp in the city. Some can't. If you have something to complain about, you can camp...pitch a tent, settle in and make yourself at home whether others want you or not. You beg for food, demand curb side service and don't even worry about waiting in line for a rest room. Just use a bush or squat by a tree. No problem.

It certainly is okay to camp/protest on public property, you say...we all own it, don't we? From what I've seen, you can be totally irresponsible on public property. I hear that if you scream loud enough, cry foul, soon city workers come and clean up after you...Was that your mess...or was it communal crap? No matter for me, I'll be a rather tidy camper.

The world is unfair, the big banks are out to get us, there's no fair share...well, okay, 'camp' in the city. You don't even have to claim you are homeless or indigent or unemployed. Good. So to be a city camper...well all I have to do is whine and complain. Got it!.

Then stake my tent on whatever piece of property I want. I can obstruct traffic, hinder business, spit on the police and cry foul play all night long. I don't have to close up shop, put out the lights or be kind to my fellow citizens. I just have to be obnoxious, disrespectful, disorderly, irresponsible or foolish. And, of course, I can defecate on the street...that seems to be the rite of passage...if you are a real camper.

So I'm going to camp in Central Park. Because----

I'm unhappy that unfair minded citizens can camp out, cause our city governments to spend huge amounts of money on their waste products, cause police officers to work extra hours and not be able to provide other services to law biding citizens. That's a start, isn't it? I'm also unhappy that streets are closed, traffic is stalled and law biding citizens are prevented access to public areas because of unsavory campers. I'm unhappy because if I watch TV I have to hear about a lot of sorry lots who have nothing better to do than act like fools. That makes me rather sad, disappointed and frustrated, too. I have a lot to complain about.

You say I don't have a legitimate complaint? Of course, I do. I say I do, therefore I do. And that's why I'm going camping in Central Park this spring.

Maybe I'll head out to Portland, San Francisco, Seattle, too. Oh, L.A. might be fun. I'll take any donations that come my way. I need help to get me where I want to go. Come on, hand out some money, give me, give me lots of money. You don't want to give me money? You're suppose to give me money. Aren't you?

If not, then I have another reason to camp in Central Park...I don't have enough of your money. That definitely is worth complaining about.

New York, here I come!

New Author....

I always say writing a book is easy. The hard work is getting it published. I'm happy to report that Lane Stone's book, Current Affairs, is published and has been released. I'm happy she offered me a copy for review. Scroll down below, past the blogs, to read the review (please).

Today is a good day to Write for Reason. This one is not a rant, not a warning, just a good-feeling chat. It's about Lane Stone.

I met Lane (alias Abbey)at Killer Nashville. We were trying to figure out who stole the beef. A mystery. Sort of...dinner arrangements were changed by the event organizer and a few stragglers didn't have a clue as to where we'd get our meal fix. Other than the hunger pains and a great need for a glass of red wine, we didn't care about the beef. We intended to listen to mystery writer, Jeffery Deaver, and we'd dished out $75 for the dinner event. Plus, the high heels we were wearing to prove we could still walk with straight ankles were annoying.

So we joined forces, put our collective wisdom together to locate the beef. Luckily our instincts were intact even with the above noted distractions. We found the dining room. The salads were still being passed and a waiter still taking drink orders. Big Red wasn't quite appropriate for the asking, the dining room fit the occasion, so we settled on a robust Zin and didn't gulp it too quickly.

Thing is, we were virtual strangers. But it didn't seem like it that night. We had a great dinner together...well, we actually were seated with 6 or 8 unsuspecting writers/fans who listened to our chatter and joined in occasionally. We had a lot to talk about---we didn't know each other.

At any rate, Lane Stone's book is available. Current Affairs...a Tiara Investigations Mystery. There's no mystery here...it is a funny book. You'll get the essence of Lane when you read the story. But between the lines, you'll uncover this witty, intelligent, good looking lady who's not afraid to laugh out loud or make a new friend. She's a worldly chick with a lot of chique. If by chance you meet her at a writer's conference, invite her to dinner. Tell her I said hello....
Cheers, Wil

Plant Life

You might imagine the title has something to do with nature. Perhaps about green energy, organic food or community gardening. Well, it's really all about nature...the nature of man.

I was ready to toss aside the local newspaper and "Plant Life" caught my attention. An ad on the second page, right underneath the Ann Landers column and beside the obits list. The letters were a grass green color, bold print and wisps of slim green leaves bordered the "Plant Life" logo. Second line, in black bold, "Recommendations". Okay...on to the substance, pun intended.

This ad, paid for by a local physician, was intended to sell marijuana. Of course, this is a certified marijuana center. Our state has legalized the distribution and, thus, we can't complain that it is being offered to the public. Of course, there is more to this than the debate over legalizing marijuana. There's a lot to consider about this particular advertisement.

There's a charge for Registration. Only $125 for a bona fide consultaion, where you'll receive safe, natural treatment for Disease and Chronic pain. The ad notes also you'll be greeted by an informative and professional staff. Walk-ins are welcomed.

So what, you're saying. The state has sanctioned this activity, this kind of business. Some people may benefit from medical marijuana.

Take into consideration there are many reliable, therapeutic medications that relieve pain and help curb symptoms of various diseases. Medications that have been tested in numerous clinical studies, approved by the FDA and prescribed and administered by knowledgable professionals through out the community who do not charge a Registration fee for their consultation. Granted you pay a physician to prescribe legitimate medications...but a professional fee and registration fee are totally different and ethically different.

But what really frosts my cookies about this particular ad is the big, bold portion of the ad that details the location of the office. It's a vivid cross section of the intersecting streets with a thick line leading to the door. The line represents the main street in town. And circled in bolder letters were these words: JUST 4 BLOCKS FROM CAMPUS. 'Come on in,kids. We're just down the street'.

Now here comes the part about nature. Human nature....there's some of us you might call healthy plants and there's some of us that are just plain, ugly weeds. It strikes me that this particular business, those who advertise the medical marijuanna center, fall into the ugly weed category. Do you think JUST 4 BLOCKS FROM CAMPUS was an unintentional misnomer?

Naaa....just the nature of the beast, I'm sure. There's about 15 thousand students in close proximity to this informative and professional medical staff. I purposely avoided using bold to highlight 'professional medical staff'. Just my nature to read something more into the advertisement than what presents itself? Could be...but until proven otherwise, I'm going to talk to you all about these Plant Life recommendations.

Parents beware: Someone wants to sell marijuana to students.
Pain Victims beware: There are many safe, reliable, predictable, ethical medications to use to improve your quality of life and you don't/won't have to pay a registration fee or consume unknown, untested, unreliable Plant material (marijuana) to make your self feel better. In fact, if you do succumb to the advertisement, the plant material offered, you'll still have your pain...it will just be disguised in a cloudy haze of fantasy and elusion. Until you knock on the door again. Oh, and you'll have less money.

Nature....Human nature...there's a little bad in all of us, we're foolish, innocent and unsuspecting, dopers and dreamers. But lets not be 'drugged' by greed and misnomers.

Plants....well, some shouldn't be watered.

So...what's your thoughts about a little plant life down your main street?

Teach a boy to fish....

There has been a lot in the press lately about the death of Steve Jobs. I, like many, was saddened by the early demise of a unique, energetic, creative thinker who made an impact on our culture and advanced technology beyond our imaginations. Steve Jobs knew how to fish.
Somone I love asked why are we mourning the death of one man when millions of children have been killed, or dying throughout the world. I believe she is speaking about the genocide, homocide activities in Africa.
Recently our gov't stepped up an effort to help by sending forces to train others in the area. The UN has made little progress in containing the violence and genocide. Often foreign forces sent in by the UN to protect have aided and abetted the offenders.
Every civil man or woman bemoans the enslavement, abuse and death of children and humans everywhere.
Unfortunately the U.S. can not be the keeper of all gates, not the benefactor to all helpless men, women and children, nor the savior for mankind. But it does a damn good job of offering aid and assistance at every turn.
What can be done about the astrocities? Can we save every child from starvation, abuse and death? In all of civilization, we have not found an answer or initiated a sustainable solution. Does that say more about the nature of mankind than it does about those who try to help?
Let's not negate the positive effect Steve Jobs, one individual, has had on our country and throughout the world. While modern technology bears his imprint and he acquired millions of dollars through ingenuity and persistence, he did not sit back or close his eyes on humanity. His endeavors created hundreds, thousands of jobs. Those wage earners went on to invest in the U.S., bought homes, paid for their children's education, contributed to the Red Cross, Relief for Tsunami, Hurricane, Flood and Fire victims, served as military protectors of freedom, volunteered at hospitals, churchs and welfare centers. They and thousands of others have not sat idle.
Steve Jobs alone was credited for contributing millions of dollar to advance science and distibute medicine for Aids relief in foreign countries. Some reports indicate that his efforts alone helped save hundreds of thousands of children.
Steve Jobs nor the U.S. government could not, can not prevent corrupt political leaders, rogue uncivilizied organizations and criminal minded activists from destroying hope or life itself in others.
What one individual can do is provide opportunities for employment and education. Free spirit and will of the individual dictates how one advances his life or that of others. Education, whether through traditional routes or self imposed, extends the possibility of freedom and well being throughout the world.
Steve Jobs' unique personality, skills and ingenuity offered an example for others. He knew how to fish.
Let's hope his contribution to mankind continues to effect many others throughout the world.
Teach a nation to fish and no one will go hungry.

Writers Police Academy

Whether your a romance writer or delve into heavy metal--cops and robbers' stuff---at some point in your career you should consider attending a real work-shop with police officers, fire officials, lawyers, forensic investigators, etc. Why? There's hardly a day go by without hearing, seeing, thinking 'cop stuff'. Newspapers loaded with real, everyday adventures, tv and interent exploding with details real or imagined. This week, Sept 23-26, 2011, Lee Lofland, a real officer of the law, is conducting an arduous conference full of reality, excitement and nerve challenging simulations.
Why do I go? A, B, and C...all of the above.
And...I marvel at all these dedicated people who sacrafice years of their lives, know people who literally sacraficed their life, and just don't get the credit they deserve.
If you want to see true, patriotic, hard working, dedicated people...walk close to their shoes...attend a conference where these community minded people gather. Great Job Lee Lofland for pulling this all together!!

Another Day to Screech...

It's not that I like to complain but I've about had it with the multitude of requests I receive to improve my credit rating, earn a police officer's degree, donate to save the Ilimutirak three-legged mouse, look up old classmates, find an over fifty friend, cleanse my colon, or enhance my sexual life. The most frequent request that sends me to the mountain top is the Enlarge Your Penis invitation. It usually follows the Pay Less for the Blue Pill advertisement. Someone in a foreign country believes I need to improvement my bedtime romps. Holy Cow!!

I would use another expletive but this is open to the public...so I'll just say Holy Cow again and you figure out what I want to say, what I really mean. Imagine a two word ripper and it is not 'Let's Dance.'

Do I want a Penis Enlargement? "H.C." I don't even have a Penis. If I did, I definitely wouldn't buy anything over the internet. I'm one of those naturalists...but if I were a male and turned out to be a 'minimalist'...maybe someone with bad eyes and a large imagination would love me anyhow. On that note, I don't want my breasts enlarged either! And I've not missed any loving in that department, either.

Why does this bombardment continue? Or better yet....why does it even exist? How many senseless, hopeless, worthless people are out there? I mean the rogues who sell the products. Yee gads, normal people with at least an IQ of 70 would know this is all pure junk. Wouldn't they?

Sure I can report it all to Spam, and I do, but it keeps on flowing downstream like the muddy Mississippi. A terrible flood this past week. Overflowing. Flotsam and jetsam up to my thighs.

What I'd like to do is send all this junk back to the originators.

Is there some genius, techy, hacker out there who can figure out a way to volley this crap right back to the senders? Jam their systems. Put them out of business. Come on, let's figure out a way to sabotage these small penised, bad debtors, stuffed colons, undereducated internet abusers. Come on, we can win this battle. Toss around some ideas. Let's get rid of the junk!

Big Names...Bad Books...

Have you noticed the trend: Big name authors are writing stories out of their successful genres. Why? It generates a multitude of sales because of name recognition. I fell for the scheme recently. Bought a book by David Baldacci...who I believe is an excellent writer and has, in the past, created interesting, insightful stories loaded with believable characters who take crime and suspense to the federal level. I bought 'his' latest work...Summer something...it's so bad I don't remember the title. And I don't want to remember the title. This story is totally weak, amateurish: the plot--if you can call it that--floats like a wet donut scraped off a plate at the bottom of the sink. Granted it's tissue intended...as it tries to compete with the Nicholas Sparks hearty achey stories. But it falls so flat and far from a substance story that you begin to believe Baldacci had a ghost writer pecking away at his keyboard. Here's the jest of it: Dying man saying goodbye to his family, wife dies instead, he makes miraculous recovery and moves his family to the beach to recover. Hmmmm...maybe not a bad idea. But beyond the back cover blurb, you get nothing but idle chatter, weak characters and predictable, meaningless dialogue. Here's what I purpose: Big name writers---take the money and run. Don't ruin your reputation on junk writing just to get a book out to market. It reminds me of 'this little piggy went to market' ... the successful one stayed home. Wasn't fried for bacon. Didn't disappoint his audience, didn't cause a negative rebound in his sales. I'd be hard pressed to buy Baldacci again...his next novel would have to get such high reviews and publicity coverage before I'd put my foot in the water. Beach story...blah, blah, blah....bypass "....Summer....something..." and pick up a Harlequin romance. You'll be pleased by your decision.

A funny book to read...

Title: The Herring in the Library
Author: L.C. Tyler
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
ISBN: 978-1-934609-76-7


If you bloody well love British humor, then the third Ethelred and Elsie mystery will be a perfect late summer beach read. L.C. Tyler pulls together the classic components of a courtly mystery in this clever who-done-it: An English estate, murder victim in a locked room, bungling detectives, and rich but rather seedy characters. The scene of the crime is a stately mahogany library with a secret door and you have another Tyler winner.

Tyler has had a fair share of Edgar nominations, but this one makes you laugh out loud. And for readers who are also writers, an agent paired with a not- so-talented writer, gives the amateur sleuths a twist that makes your lips curl with envy. She manages to sell his books between chocolate fixes and he just can’t get on with the next page of his work in progress. Together they stumble and bumble to uncover a chapter full of clues that professional detectives have been eager to ignore.

If I had reason to fault the plot line, I’d question the story within the story…but you’ve got to read the quirky book first to appreciate the critique. The prose is Monty Python priceless. Example of a disinterested fellow: “He was looking at the floor as if he had developed a sudden interest in faded, moth-eaten carpets.” Or the not- so- sad murder: “She and Dave Peart confirm they were together in the kitchen when Shagger popped his clogs.” Popped his clogs?

So why not pop your fanny in a comfy spot on the lawn, open The Herring in the Library, have an umbrella ready in case the London wets return, and read how Shagger Muntham and his un-titled wife end their dismal marriage. Murder isn’t always fun but it sometimes leads to happy endings.

What ends up in trash box?

Offers this week included (but not limited to) a change in penis size, breast size and bank account. Not necessarily related to each other if I clicked on either "opportunity". I could go back to school, get a better credit rating, buy a car, take inches off my waist, clean out my colon, remove at least ten years of wrinkles from my face. Why wouldn't I want to take criminal justice classes on line, find a new mate over 50, find a play mate under 30, secure my computer from viruses, buy enhancement drugs on line, find a lawyer, improve my vocabulary. But I was stuck on the offer to change my penis size. How would they would the size--whether it needed to be larger or smaller? How would they know if I even had a penis? Breasts...well, everyone has breasts. But I don't think they meant male breasts, now did they?
Listen, you computer hounds, you low life hackers, whackers and degenerates. Leave me and a zillion other people alone. Don't send any more garbage to my/our email box. I didn't give you the address and I don't want your junk! You are a plague---a rodent, a rat couldn't carry a worse virus. Find another hobby.
My trash box is bulging with unwanted, unsolicited crap, junk, garbage, nonsense and ...and...and...misinformation.
Listen, you low lifes....I don't have a penis and, no, I don't want to buy one!
Shouldn't there be a law against....... but them some of the trash comes from political parties. Most often from the one that I don't give a rat's ass about. So I guess my angst will have to go in another direction...ah, a perfect place. My blogspot....sorry to dump all of this on you but I sure needed the relief. My poor computer? I'm sure it will blow up one day. So full of trash penis ads, drug fixes, colon cleansers, acne removers, odor reducers that it will explode into one giant waste cloud and ride high in the sky to rain like a moonsoon over the world. I hope most of the by-product falls on the heads of the low lifes who spew this stuff across the internet. I'm hoping...whoops another bing. I've got mail. Oh my god, omg...another offer. No, damn, that part of me doesn't need to be any bigger either...no!

Mystery of the Minds

What in the world was she thinking? A mystery, maybe one that will never be solved. How many of us have had children at an early age, skipped the fun and excitement of being a unencumbered young adult into their late twenties. Eager to explore the world, dance all night....but instead accepted the responsibility of raising our child, children because of youthful, fanciful love? What was she thinking when she left her child on that fateful night? Sex, lots of it with a new boyfriend? Late night frolicking, beer, wine and tatoos? Oops...an accident...now I'm free. What was she thinking?
I have a difficult time believing Casey Anderson didn't know her actions and wrongful intent caused the death of her child. Accident or not. Of course she knew. An accident...scream, cry, demand 911 even if the child appears dead. Did she blatantly murder her child? Plot and plan...connect the dots...follow her actions. They speak more than words.
Only the most callous, disheartened person could stuff a tot's body in a laundry bag and then tape her in garbage bags. Even vicious sex offenders who take young girls and kill them leave the bodies in a fairly convenient location for others to give them a proper farewell.
Mothers kill their babies and walk away without batting an eye. Read a police report next week or the next. Infants in toilets, battery cases resulting in death Strange cases in the books about mothers caught after the second or third child died under mysterious conditions. The Smith case comes to mind where she strapped her young sons in the back seat of her car and let them drown. That mother blatantly lied, too, but didn't throw anyone, her family, under the bus. But this Casey gal had the bus going full throttle...and never lost the defiant, in your face, attitude. She never appeared to be shamed or embarrassed by her 'molester father or brother'. Smug towards her father, all smiles for the brother...for what reason?
I wonder where she'll sleep when the jail door is opened. Will she beg her parents to take her into their shattered lives after they tried everything to get at the truth? Will her brother take her in? Will one or many of her sorry-ass boyfriends sleep with her again...maybe...not much sex in a jail cell. Bella Vita. Or will she rise to notorious fame and live off the profits netted from her dead child? What is she thinking?
It's another sad day for Caley Anderson. Who's mourning her death? Not the mother...she's estactic that she's soon to be free. Not the defense lawyer who said this was all about the death penalty. Oh yes, he spoke rather eloquently, humble after the jury verdict...'she didn't murder her daughter'...but then roled into his cause to shame our system of law that allows the death penalty for heinous criminals. What was he thinking? Caley is dead...gone...and she was rendered a death penalty that no one could ever call humane.
So questions will remain...many unanswered. We are a mystery, we humanes. But for those who know how they feel about the terrible injustice for Caley Anderson, let's remember to not buy into any profit making endeavor this callous mother ventures into. Whether she blatantly, with free will, killed her daughter, we may never know but we will know she didn't do what a reasonable person would do if an accident occured. How can she sleep at night? What was she thinking?

No mystery...no mustard...

This Weiner thing is driving me nuts. Not because I dislike the media hype. No--because I'm dismayed that another high-profile rogue has turned out to be a total ass-hole; because a politician can and does what other folks in the real world can not do and pays no consequence. What drives me nuts is that so many people (his constituents...his liberal pals and confidants) say 'oh well'-- we all have sinned. Really? Okay, then let's all get down to the nitty-gritty and pay a price for our sins. Believe me, if a doc or nurse that I work with is putting their PUTZ on the internet, they are going to loose their job. Why? Credibility. Who trusts a Whacko? Yes, it's a rather important factor in real jobs. If my business world co-herts put their private parts on the internet, solictites attention from colleagues, associates or the public, they'd be out on the street. Fast. No further explanation needed. But the greater sin in the Weiner, without mustard, is the fact that this lying SOB went public with his lies. What happened to keep your mouth shut? If this Lying SOB had said 'this is a private affair' (no pun intended), then 3/4 of the sin would have been absolved. His wife and family could have dealt with the humiliation. His psychiatrist might have prescribed some pills to inhibit his impulses. But he went public and said "I didn't do this. I'm not lying...if you believe the pictures then you're the fool". To take the stance in public betrays all sense of logic. Keep thy sins to thyself. Fool. But then, in reflection, it looks like he has been counseled by none other than the contemporary master of deceit. "What is Is ...or it ain't sex if it isn't the actual act in the actual orifice." Blue dress aside, when rogues of this nature defy the standards of common decency, defy the bonds of even contemporary marriage where you can divorce, leave, negotiate if unhappiness prevails, you can only wonder what else is hidden in their secret files. Blatant lies in public, asking others to stand behind you is the weakest form of manhood. This Weiner character has no mustard on his bun. He is pure relish and if voters want that kind of narrow, superficial, cowardly character to represent them in congress then they deserve to be treated like the ketchup on the bun. An after thought for a Weiner that really has no substance. A cheap hot dog. An empty bun that tastes weak even with a splash of mustard and ketchup. Who wants that for lunch?

Winston-Salem Delight

From East to West
... and stops along the way

If you’re heading west from Raleigh-Durham area on Hwy. 40, your eyes will delight in the rainbow of colors along the roadway. It’s a refreshing change from the hectic pace of the Triangle area. The plush emerald green pines dot the main thoroughfares in this multiple research-university city and are a sharp contrast to most congested metropolitan areas.

As you leave the southern style bustle behind, you encounter fields of crimson and yellow crested poppies as you cruise along the interstate. Amongst the foliage you’ll also view what appears to be lavender holly hocks but there’s no time to stop and verify your findings before another tuff of brilliant poppies appear. These prolific blooms have taken over the once lush golden Tiger Lilly gardens that lined the freeway. The colorful display is a pleasing drama. Dogwoods and Crepe Myrtles, in what appears to be natural growth, adds to the refreshing landscape. This is one government project to be applauded. Job well done North Carolina.

As you roll closer to the Blue Ridge Mountain range, beyond Greensboro with Point Pilot in the horizon, why not take a leisure detour into Winston Salem via the 40 Business Route which intersects with north/ south 52. That route will take your directly to the vibrant downtown of a city once famous for its tobacco industry. In today’s sensitive atmosphere over lung disease and clean air, you won’t see any signs to encourage smokers to light up nor will you smell the aftermath of burnt tobacco leaves. Those ghostly smoke stacks have long been removed or disguised.
What you will see are rows of quaint houses on steep inclines, with clapboard siding and multiple window boxes as you twist and turn toward Fourth Street where the action in this historic city takes place.

We decided on a whim to spend the night at the Marriott Hotel in the heart of Winston-Salem. Southern hospitality at its best, first the doorman and then the concierge encouraged us to take a stroll down Fourth Street and suggested a restaurant for dinner other than the one within their employer’s establishment.

Needing a stretch, we embarked on a short walk with a faint mist in the warm air. Hunger would win out soon so we decided to check out the choices for dinner on the street. A busy specialty pizza stop, steak house and a coffee shop, few others that caught our eye. A crush of people walked at a more hurried pace than ours. On their way to the Stevens Center, a renovated theatre for the performing arts. The energetic crowd brushed by with smiles and nods as we casually window shopped. No hurry on our part, the art shops and menus posted by the various eateries had our attention. We came to the end of the block and found the recommended restaurant which had outdoor seating on the walkway. With the pleasant spring air, we were tempted to take a seat and relax over a glass of wine.

My companion, who always decides by convenience, surprised me with a suggestion to walk a little further. We strolled by Dioli’s Trattoria and took a quick glance at the menus. Hooked. Classic Italian. Were we in South Philly or North Carolina? We did a double take at the hustle and bustle on the other side glass door. Oh dear, how long the wait?

The Maitre’d, a charming young woman, said it might be quite a while as they were in the midst of serving a full house intent on being seated before the opening line of Oklahoma. No problem, there were two seats at the bar. Out of the busy path, we'd have a drink and enjoy the busy but cheerful atmosphere.

The first sign our choice had been on mark came with the calm and ease of the tall bartender who smiled at us as he filled drink orders in quick, rapid order, satisfied the sweet-tooth of a departing guest with delivery of Drioli’s own tiramisu , re-stocked the bar with needed glasses and assured two travelers the house merlot would make for a perfect transition into the dining room. Had angst been evident on our faces over how to relieve our road thirst? “Cielo Merlot,” he said and then offered a taste before the purchase.

Seldom does a house wine offer the same excitement as a great wine with a price that doesn’t make your heart stop. We toasted the busy bartender and looked over the menu. And realized we’d created a problem. A light dinner could easily turn into a weight watcher disaster. With a deep breath to quell our unruly urges, we decided we could be sensible and still sate our appetites. A longer walk after dinner.

The menu included several dishes with freshly made pasta, guaranteed to be served al dente and preserve its toothy bite. From small plate to dinner entrees, we thought the mix of protein, carbohydrates and aromatic olive oils would fit our likings, too. Foodies that we are, we knew by the carefully worded menu we had found a first class, nuevo Italian treasure. My seafood loving partner ordered the Grilled Salmon Piccata entrée served atop a generous but not chain store size serving of risotto Milanese. A side of fresh, bright green asparagus not only added color but balanced the sharp flavor of the piccata sauce. "Wonderful," he said. He offered one small bite and I concurred it was a melt in your mouth delight.

Several small plates caught my attention and I vacillated between a pure vegetarian plate or a serving of protein to balance the carbohydrates from Dioli’s daily made breadsticks which we enjoyed with the rich, velvet Cielo Merlot. Thin and crisp, the sticks were delicately flavored with rosemary and a little garlic salt. I remembered perfect meatballs from my South Philly days and ordered the small plate of homemade meatballs smothered in Dioli’s house marinara and parmesan cheese. They were, undoubtedly, the lightest and best I’ve ever eaten. Three per serving—just enough to feel I hadn’t shorted myself by ordering an appetizer. What made the texture and taste so perfect? Did the chef blend the right amount of veal with sirloin and perhaps added pork tenderloin for perfect balance? The marinara sauce—a full bodied taste of roasted red tomatoes, perhaps cherry, grape or Roman, blended with olive oil, onions and garlic? Perfect texture and delicious doesn’t do justice to the taste provided. My side, too, came from the small plate list. Grilled asparagus wrapped in pancetta and served with a red bell pepper pesto took my breath away.

We savored the wholesome tastes and finished the carafe of Cielo. When we complimented our hostess and she invited us to return. That we will. I've planned my next foray into dining heaven--the Eggplant Involtini filled with fresh ricotta cheese and grilled vegetable pesto. Something tells me, though, I can't go wrong with whatever choice is made in the comfortable setting. My partner…well, he’ll go for the Salmon again but plans to bypass lunch and try the small plate Ricotta Gnocchi to add to his feast.

Did we succumb to Dioli’s fresh prepared desserts? Tiramisu and other chocolate and crème delights were as tempting as another serving of the breadsticks but we passed this time around. We’ll give up breakfast on our next visit so we don’t miss out the best of the best. Dioli’s deserves the highest rating for its service, ambiance and food. Back on the road soon. Route 52 into the heart of Winston-Salem and great dining.

Heading Home

Our brave soldiers are heading home....somewhere in Virginia. I'd like to think they'll sleep in their own beds tonight. A good thought.I'm on the road, too. Heading in their Virgina direction but for another reason.

I'm celebrating a young woman's graduation from college. She's excited about the future, a safe future...she's going into community service, family counseling. A worthy endeavor. I'm happy for her. More so, because she's free to make choices, to plan for the future, to make a serious contribution to society. She's one lucky girl.

She's a few years younger than the woman in Pakistan who watched Obama Bin Laden die. They report the woman was his wife, they had at least one child. A twelve year old girl. So this woman, who witnessed the death, was younger than my graduate when she was 'given' to this despicable man. Given to him by her Yemen, Muslim family, to be used and abused, to father his children. Abuse of the most hideous kind.

Corey, the new graduate, and I will thank the heroes who are heading home today. In some way, we have to find a way to thank all the dedicated soldiers who sacrafice their lives for her freedom, for our freedom.

Yes, we're celebrating her graduation but it seems to hold even more significance today because many young woman will never be free. Those terrorists arms reached far and wide and reminds us we are privileged people. We are free because of brave individuals who have fought long and hard to hold on to our rights, our freedom. We hope those warriors sleep in a warm, soft bed tonight.

Face of Courage

The world is a-buzz over the take-out of Osama Bin Laden. A man who perpetrated grave injustice is finally dead. Questions arise about the actual assignation, the military manuevers, the hide-out, the people who secured the compound where this most-wanted, dead or alive, man lived. The fact that he had women, wives and children, around him offers proof that he expected others to do his dirty deeds while he lived the life of a noble and free man. The irony, the inquistion, the illusion will fill newspapers and television for weeks to come. For most writers, for inquisitive minds, many questions are yet to be answered.

The story I'd like to write is a more personal one. I don't want to hear about the politics behind the decision to kill Bin Laden. God forbide, if we repeat those stories, it will only advance the career of a fallow politician who would gladly take credit for the heroic acts of courageous men.

I want to write about brave soldiers who ignored the evil face of danger and risked their lives for the good of their country. I don't need to repeat the name of the soldier who took the final shot and killed a rogue, conscienceless individual who thrived on killing Americans. I expect this brave, dedicated soldier will remain anonymous so he can walk free in this vast world. But I'd like to write about him, his peers, his fellow soldiers and the heart that makes a committment to serve with dignity and pride. I'd like to tell others about their wives and children, their dreams for the future, their plans for a Christmas at home. I'd like to tell the world these courageous individuals will never have to worry about health insurance, funds for a college education for themself or their family. I'd like them to be rewarded by our forever grateful citizens for their good deeds and not fall victim to political rhetoric.

When they come home, will the price of gas, unemployment, arguments over the freedom to bare arms or express their religous beliefs overshadow the fact they went beyond the call of duty to protect the rights of everyone? Will the feckless politicians who so readily stand in front of the cameras and proclaim 'America prevails', vote to restrict the freedoms and rights these fearless soldiers hold dear to their hearts? Will politicians continue to argue over the defense budget, continue to restrict or deny public prayers that carried those brave souls into the night? Will they de-fund patriotic programs that served us all so well during these tumultous, terrorist times?

I'm afraid they will.

The Faces of Courage, young soldiers who risked their lives, nameless heroes, will not not stand before cameras and petition elected officials to support their cause. And they will not be granted plush offices, extended insurance benefits, staff privileges, expenses for luxury travel. Nor will they vote themselves an increase in pay. God willing, they will return to their families, to their communities, to their friends and neighbors and enjoy a good night's sleep. A job well done. A free heart.

Or will they blend into uncertainty? The unemployment line? The high-risk insurance pool?

I'm afraid they will.

Too many politicians do not believe our soldiers, our heroes, should have the same benefits they receive. And that is good reason to write about real heros. A personal story, a very personal sacrafice. Men and women who put their lives on the line, for our well being and safety, should receive a life time of health insurance, secured employment benefits, the same reward every congressional member is granted for less risk, less investment, less time. Is rhetoric more valuable than deed? Is duty defined by the number of votes one receives? A soldier sacrafices all and yet is expected to remain faceless in the battle for freedom.

Let's make sure politicians who take minimal risk and receive many rewards, do not take the glory for those who give all and expect little in return.

But I'm afraid they will. That's a good reason to write.

Face of Courage

The world is in a buzz over the take-out of Osama Bin Laden.

The Wedding....

Big day for the royal couple. I didn't set an alarm clock to view the happy couple recite their vows. Enough already on TV, radio and internet. The repeats will provide all the details...ad nauseum. It's not that I'm against weddings, love, kisses and all the gush. What makes the gut churn is the damn drama, the hype, the extravagance.

Pure luxury, pure unadulterated waste of precious resources. I would have been so impressed if Will and Kate would have said 'this is the most important event of our lives, we need to focus on the moment, the beginning of a good life together. Turn off the cameras please'. Holy matrimony. Holy Cow.

What is even more disturbing is the continual reference to Diana and Charles. Who would want their union compared to the very public, scandalous relationship of two mismatched souls? You would hope the bride and groom be given a bit piece over the past. A token of respect. But, no, media skunks make the most of the worst and shove it down our throats...or down the gullets of the royal family. Why would they allow themselves to be exploited in such a callous way?

Exploited? Hmmm....maybe. Or is everyone, including the younger members of the 'royal' family as greedy for everlasting celebrity status, the magic crown bestowed on them as being truly 'remarkable' human beings, deserving of all the pomp and circustance, that they overlook the hype, drama, debauchery, the foolisness of the whole event.

I wish the couple well. I wish every married couple well. Life is difficult, no matter a big golden spotlight or a flame that flutters in a cold wind. There are so many important concerns that need to be resolved in this world that I can't help but cry over the waste...the terrible injustice, the gross attention to the most trivial details. And if history repeats itself, I shudder to think what we'll have to endure when the media skunks go wild again and make news out of a not so unusual event.

Jodi Picoult Fan?

I'm a Jodi Picoult fan...that is, if a fan is defined by buying an author's work when it's first released, no matter the subject content.I've enjoyed all of her books, some to a greater or lesser degree.

As a writer, I find her style intriguing and her prose especially enlightening. A few words and she describes the whole. "He smelled like summer." Can't you see, feel, smell this guy? More so than if you read about his sinewy muscles, tall stature, aluring gray eyes. Or "It's like waking up from the best dream to find a hundred knives at your throat." You can't help but feel the terror, the pain in the awakening. Picoult's words are sensual and effective, she teaches, she promotes, she's disciplined. Each story is a message about life, conflict, controversary.

'Sing You Home', her newest release, is, in my humble opinion, the best and worst of Picoult. I don't think the subject to birth, whatever the cost, or taking a new lover is extraordinary. But Picoult's character Zoe struggles with these two contritions of human behavior via invitro fertilization for a physical act she can not surmount, has a still born and then shortly after the tragic event, falls in love again. With Vanessa. Suddenly Zoe is lesbian and out to prove that it really isn't an issue to be in love with the same sex after you've so feverently been in love with the opposite sex who happened to be a doting, patient, tolerant husband.

I understand Picoult's quest to standardize, justify all love relationships...got that...but this is a convoluted journey to a maybe happy ending. Frustrated forty-year-old with hormonal anxiety? A little baby girl with two mommies? Okay...nice journey. But along the way, Picoult assaults all conservative values and sheds a not so glowing light on the most liberal, go with the flow agenda of the extreme left. Fair and balanced, or not, she attacks Beck, Rush and the very, very right arm of Christian ideology. Okay, I get it about the Bible thumpers and those who are totally intolerant of Jews, Muslims, atheists and homosexuals. If you think you are a good, loving Bible practioner, be aware that scriptures are full of delusions and/or reckless weapons that target the weak minded. Good people do not tip so far to the right that equilibrium can never be regained. I got that. But what is insulting to the centered intellectual is the fact Picoult lumps all people who don't fall into the category of total acceptance of the left as wrong-doers, malacious and vengeful.

I won't accuse her of being another one to throw darts at Bush for Katrina but in all other realms of human frailities and news media injustice, she leaned toward bashing the entire conservative establishment. Or...perhaps it was her character Zoe who leaned toward the far, sliding down under, left. Did smart Jodie let her character ride face down that slippery slope? I've always thought, based on my readings of Picoult works, that she's an intelligent, sensitive, wise woman who understands controversy, the power of it's wave and that it, the controversy, can save or destroy what it encounters in the rush to judgement.

Remember Nineteen Minutes when the story revealed how various factors played a role in the destruction of young, innocent people even though one lone soul performed the dirty deed? In her most recent story, Sing You Home, Picoult seems to justify the unnecessary. With one monumental leap, she implies that love is love. Sexuality, the physical act, is not a compelling, biological drive but an exercise of free will. How do the Homosexuals who believe they were 'born that way' feel about his free fall scenario? If you love, you love. It has nothing to do with man or woman...it's an emotional experience between two people who share a friendship and common interest. The permanent bond of two needy souls? For a cerain time it may work---the convenience of need. Picoult is so convincing in her portrayal of Max and Zoe's love and their quest for a child that it circumvents the end result of the union between Zoe and Vanessa.

And in that, Picoult has created the most complex story in her body of work. A clever manipulation of the procreative process...what the nature of man and woman can not accomplish, two women can. Great for those who believe men are not a necessary factor in the family stucture. In fact, Picoult affirms the belief that women can accomplish anything by introducing two husbandless mother's of the sensitive, socially worthy, dedicated defenders of the underprivileged--Zoe and Vanessa. Two plus two equals more happiness. And then to stun us all, Picoult does a King Soloman deed and grants the singular right of birthhood to her same sex lovers. Is Max, the heterosexual-ex-husband, a hero when he gives up his fertilized sperm? Or is artificial insemination, a fertilized ovum, the real benefactor?

In this scenario, love has no need to conquer all...it's all about having a baby, no matter the cost (nix the idea I mean financial). From the start of this book, I felt a real need to put it aside. And yet as I turned another page, my interest peaked, the intensity accelerated. The desire to understand reached...a climax...of singular proportion. The need for resolution kept me turning. But was I satisfied with the ending? I have no answer...now. The journey continues. Can there be a happy ending for a child who has two mommies and a part time daddy? Can a variety of honest, worthwhile, important social values embrace all the various non-traditional renditions of friendship, love and procreation and survive?

I don't know. But I know I'm a Jodie Picoult fan. I'll read her next book even if I have no idea what the controversy will be. Perhaps far left ideology will be attacked and we'll understand more about why Picoult thinks it isn't intelligent or wise to fall far from the lines of center. Perhaps we'll learn that humans need structure, biological uniformity as much as they need unconditional love. I don't know...I'm learning, I'm waiting for answers.

Review...And Every Man Has to Die..

Title: And Every Man Has to Die
Author: Frank Zafiro
Publisher: Gray Dog Press, 2011
ISBN: 978-1-936178-41-4
‘The Russians are making a play to control organized crime here in River City.’ With one line, author Frank Zafiro sets the stage for a bloody war on the streets of his fictional town in Washington. Ex-cop, four time published, Zafiro knows crime and depicts it in real cop fashion. And Every Man Has to Die is Zafiro’s best work to date. His writing is as meticulous as his villain Valeriy who will burn down a house and the woman and child inside to get across the point he expects totally loyalty from his foot soldiers. On the good side of the law, Officer B.J. Carson, is a rookie who isn’t quite prepared for crime warfare. She’s still enamored by her uniform and other co-workers dressed in blue who make good bedfellows. Katie MacLeod, seasoned and somewhat jaded, has been placed on restricted duty after a losing a battle with a fleeing bad guy. So the police force in River City, a combination of characters who have been brought to life in the past with Zafiro’s rapid fire writing style, must put the pieces of the puzzle together before the Russians take over. They discover second in command, vicious Valeriy is trying to outsmart his boss, Sergey. He has pitted Blacks and Asians against each other so he can come out on top of the heap and hopefully Sergey will get caught in the cross fire. Why should a Russian trust a Russian seems to be the underlying theme for these types of thugs.
Zafiro doesn’t paint a glamorous picture of the River City force, either. Their drug of choice is legal. Beer and booze takes you straight to a hotel or bedroom. There seems to be no white knights in Zafiro’s stories. Real people, with real problems. If I were to pick at problems in his story, it would be in his mix of characters. Chisholm, Sully, MacLeod, Tower. There’s no one major hero in this book, no one soul to carry you through the angst as you turn each page. But then Zafiro is a cop, he knows it takes more than one person to solve a crime. In that, he’s done a good job. By 2204 hour in the plot line, the pace can’t get any better. If you remember the chase scene in the French Connection, by far the best of Hollywood, Zafiro has surpassed it. This book should put Frank Zafiro on the fast track.

Another day...another dollar

I'm slowly recovering from being 'stranded' in London. I had to change my passwords in several email accounts and sent out dozens of notes to encourage others to do the same. I've learned a few things since the scam notice went out to send funds for my rescue. First, people are unpredictable. Friends who I hadn't heard from in a long time, decided they should at least contact me but made it clear money wasn't on the way. A long lost brother who blacklisted me from his communication network inquired as to my exact location but didn't offer to 'help'. Hmmm...wonder about his ulterior motive... And then a few people in my 'groups' network offered to help anyway they could. Love their blind faith. Most of those glad-to-helpers were from the writing community. Money is scarce for those struggling to sell their first book. Ahh..but I know they are more savvy and knew the 'send funds' message was a scam. So they were playing it safe. I couldn't help but love each and every message...even the ones indicating they didn't mind if I were 'stranded' for a long time. (Just a couple.) It made my day even more interesting. A German friend figured out the phone number didn't jive...not a London exchange...smart lady. Another friend called the scammer and asked the names of my dogs to verfiy my needs. Smart like a fox. Another friend said she knew it was a scam because I knew she never had extra money. The second lesson out of this is that one should never discount what a near or far friend might or might not do for you. Third lesson is don't trust the internet. At least be diligent about saving info, deleting email addresses that are no longer pertinent to your business or friend list. Fourth is, there's only a few people in the world you can truly trust. Whether its for rescue or not. One gal who always totes the message that you do anything/everything for a friend, didn't bother to comment. The ones who are trustworthy, would come to your rescue, might surprise you...the ones who don't might surprise you. There are no certainities in life. Best to play it safe and rely on your own wit whether it be with friends, family or aquaintances. Cheers, Wil

Stranded....

Yesterday an email note went out to all my contacts which stated I was stranded in London and needed funds to get home. Fat Chance! I always have a back up plan no matter what I do. Almost always...that is...I'm human, too. I received numerous phone calls and email notes about my name and email address being used to solicit money for a foreign bank account. Dear friends that I have said no way...'Wil you've got to get yourself out of this mess'. So I invited them all to spend a couple of their hard earned bucks and come to London and party with me! They could at least buy the ole wretch a cup of tea or a healthy pint in a pub. Although I prefer wine I could settle for a lesser drink. Still no offers. And that's the way it goes with smart friends. A scam is a scam no matter how needy one sounds. It reminds me of the scads of people who are now protesting about bargaining rights, free pensions and benefits. Wanting more for less. Some people believe taxpayers should foot the bill for them to retire without one penny of their own saved for later years. And they want taxpayers to pay for their health care benefits here and now. Of course, some service is really needed from goverment workers. The service from those who protect us. I'd be willing as a taxpayer to give all fire and law enforcement workers full benefits for life at the taxpayers expense...they put their lives on the line. But the rest of us...well, life is a crap shoot and you make a choice about where and what kind of work you want to do. If you're lucky, the work you do is something you love and pays you well. The free market pays for your knowledge, skills, dedication and success. Anything less and you're not worthy of the income. And that leads me/us to writing...while it is a struggle for most of us to earn enough money to buy a luxury townhome in Manhatten, we don't whine, complain and say 'you owe me more'. We plug away with passion like our foot is on the gas pedal. The Great American Novel is just a page away. The lesson here is: Don't scam yourself, dear writers in cyberland. Don't expect someone will come and rescue you if you are stranded on that lone page...where that paragraph won't move forward. Reach deep, laugh at the fact that your muse sometimes asks for a little breathing room, let it reflect on the pay dirt ahead. Let it invest in itself--when it speaks again, you'll move on to the next chapter. I'm sure the scammer that had me stranded in London decided to move on when no one came to my rescue. I hope those striking Democrats in Wisconsin will regain their senses and get back to work and I'm more hopeful that fellow workers, writers, bakers, nurses, school teachers, too---no matter what their chosen profession, vocation will embrace the fact you have to give your all when you do what you do or you're not worth a dime. It's up to you to invest in your future.
Now on to the next chapter...happy writing!

Busy Month

Pick a subject that hit national news this month and your blood might boil. Especially if you are a passionate writer and/or have a desire to make sense of this crazy world. I'll start out light to keep my blood pressure near normal. Did you see the new designs that took over the runways a couple of weeks ago? I'm sure everyone, everyone would say they were colorful. But what female with two breasts, natural hips and the urge to sit on a toilet would add these costumes to their closet? Hems trailing six feet behind, patterns so wild you should worry if you're near open land. Who holds your skirt tail if you have to sit on the pot? Eagles and impalas across your breasts or over your arms? You'll get shot during hunting season. Please, leave the owls and foxes where they belong. Cut our dresses at the knees, please. Girls want to look like girls...even if your 40, 50...you get my drift? Leave the stupid designs on the boards and get back to real clothes. Sexy, smart, flattering.
Protests? God bless those with a cause. But get real, why should taxpayers go broke paying for someone else's health care and retirement benefits? I'm all for giving early retirement and special privileges to high risk profession...god, I love those cops and firefighters with nerves of steel and backs to match. Give them more than those mindless basketball players who too often carry a gun and shot themselves in the foot. Give every soldier free health care for life and a college education. But if you choose another profession...teacher or desk clerk for a public organization, you should plan for your retirement just like everyone in the private sector. Save your money, pay yourself first. It is not my job to pay you to sit on your duff when you turn 55.
Freedom...those in the middle east are working on it. Why we continue to extract oil from dictators is beyond reason. Wonder what would have happened if the citizens had 2nd ammendment rights years ago? For all those bleeding hearts who say we should be a little more like Europe...take a good look at what is going on in Europe's backyard. Protect what we have at home, give up our dependency on foreign oil and drill at home. I'm not giving up my car to ride on a camel. Drill, baby, drill.
Charlie Sheen...did I read they are cancelling his show? Great...another looser out of the face of US kids. Yeah!
Now if all this doesn't get a writer riled...summer is coming. If there's a hurricane (god forbid), who will we blame it on?
Cheers, Wil

Hearts

We sit and write. Compelled or obsessed? USA Today reviewed Joyce Carol Oates this week. I'd say she is an obsessive writer. The two page article featured her recent memoir, the death of her husband, her many life accomplishments. Interesting--she writes constantly. So much so her scribbles are archived. They're taken out in carloads from her Princeton office. What I found even more interesting is the fact she runs two miles each day. And she's in her 70's! Gotta give the ole gal credit for doing something most of us refuse to do. She's also very thin...running, genetics or the fact she writes so much and doesn't take time to eat? This blog is food for thought because in another USA Today report, the news on heart disease and women wasn't good. Heart disease is woman's number one killer but more of us shake with fear over breast cancer. Neither should be ignored. Can writers curb their fears with the Oates' plan...run two miles? The challenge is for writers to get off their arses, eat less and concentrate on how to best keep their hearts flowing. If nothing else, why not do it for love. Oates lost her husband of 48 years...her writing didn't slow down nor did her heart. She remarried within 13 months and published her memoirs...not bad for a 70 something gal who is obsessed with writing.

Safe Haven

Warm weather, the sun in your face...makes you think all is well with the world. After reading Nicholas Sparks book "Safe Haven" you might wonder, though, who is really safe. Someone who is supposed to be a great protector might turn out to be a hideous offender. Safe Haven is certainly a good read...what I call a beach read. It's set in the sunny south, Southport in the Carolinas. It is not for the weak at heart, though. It isn't a fun day at the beach. Abuse, neglect, arson, attempted murder. Perhaps this is Sparks most revealing book...a muse that is dark, frightening with an unforgiveable mean streak. The author, Sparks, stole our hearts with The Notebook, then came along a string of other contemporary love successes. The titles I forget (Sorry, Nicholas). Most were charming, enduring--all great beach reads. I particularly liked the settings for his stories because I'm an East Coast beach fan. If you've walked along the shore of Carolina Beach in September, the soft sand between your toes, the warm, warm surf splashing at your knees, the sun in your face, you'll feel like you've found your own Safe Haven. Something about the currents on a beach, the melody, the action...never quiet but always singing to your heart in one form or another. You don't know the words to the ocean's song, but you can't help but hum as you stroll along. Safe until the storm blows in...and that's what Nicholas Sparks' Safe Haven does to you. The pace, tension increases and strikes like a voilent storm. And after the storm.....back to the beach....Wil

Point of view....

Sometimes it takes a frosty morning to get a point of view to change. I was prepared for a sunny, warm day but a storm blew in and I took cover. Long jeans, jacket, that is: no beach walk. From this desk it's not a bad way to spend the day. I delved into my latest work...a story about a fragile woman who thought she had her act together until she ventured to Paris. Near the end of a grand week, she and her friend are kidnapped. Rogues want to bring a large American company to their knees by demanding a huge ransom for these two unsuspecting victims. The story actually is about her recovery...and that's where point of view becomes important. Do I move in a world where my eyes, heart, thoughts are focused on the here and now? I do. I react to a change in climate, the news of the day, a delay in traffic, an email rejection with frustration but no real personal stake on the line. I'm sheltered, secure, well-fed, determined and driven...my point of view. But what about my characters...those who explore, live in a different world? How do I move from my within to their place where their eyes, heart, thoughts need to come alive on a page for others to see, feel and respond to? Its more than saying 'she said'. I realize I must take my heart to another level and I must dig deep into the psyche of my character to understand why she suffers. I have to change my point of view---not sheltered, secure, well-fed, etc. She's a sick women living in a web of fear. If I can't make myself shake with this fear, my reader won't either. And so I work today on my point of view. It's a chilly day, with frost on the window. I take off my jacket, my warm jeans and return to Carolyn who is shivering on a cement floor and I write again. She said, "I close my eyes, my mind and you are gone. There is nothing more you can take from me."

End of Month...

It was the worst of times and the best of.....something like that. January was a bitch of a month. NY got hit the way Dems do when they whine life isn't fair: a shit load of publicity falls on them from the Hollywood crowd and the liberal press. So the Big Apple got buried, again and again. Blame it on the Mayor, because it could have been another Katrina and the perfect politco would have prevented it. Snow.. in January. Go figure.
I'm actually not complaining as I'm up to my knees in snow, too. From my view, it is the perfect time to write, reflect, write some more. I'm hoping a book gets picked up soon by an agent. It's not necessarily a 'happy' story but it does offer a satisfying ending. The protagonist is on a quest for 'self' and thinks a vacation with her best friend will ease the angst. Unexpectedly, she's thrown into a middle-age crisis via an international terrorist plot. Will an American corporation pay big ransom bucks to bring home a wife of one of their up-and-comings? Whether they will or not, won't solve her problem. The price she pays for the undaunting experience is a fractured psyche. On her return home, she'll either mend or remain in a very safe, a mental hospital, where no one can get to her. Another journey she has to take by herself.
So January ends with the hint of spring on the horizon, a sunny day. Counting the weeks ahead then might hit the streets of New York if the Mayor has all the snow removed. Heard the labor union is taking a winter break...gotta love those Dem's and their work ethics.

New Bridges...

What's new about today?....A look toward the future with a revamp of the great state of Michigan. We need jobs, we need a new image. We need jobs. While our new governor is mapping out a plan, I'm hoping people will decide to buy close to home. Cars, for sure. I'd buy more merchandise made in Michigan if products were available. It seems everything I wear is made in a country I barely can pronounce. When I look at the produce, most of it is tagged by foreign companies, too. Okay, I have to eat banannas from South American. But apples from Japan...in the fall we're flooded with these foreign varietals. It makes me crazy...
On the writing front, I've transferred all my records to a portable device. Like a Mission Impossible scene, the bad guys coming for my worldly secrets, I'll grab my stick and hightail it out the door. My door is open for a trek down south...sun, warm weather, sea food by the sea. Will I miss the snow? Yes...but I get to write when I'm on the road. And with my little stick...I'm to work on more than one project instead of worrying about what's left behind.
This perhaps is another boring blog...I think most blogs are boring...but I wanted to reflect on new bridges, new ideas, new ways to be productive in the writing world. I need everything to be portable...everything. What if our government was more portable, more flexible. Put what needs to be done on one memory stick...a little device that doesn't cost to much. Streamline everything they do. We need roads, we need defense, we need a few laws enforced. Carry a little memory stick, do a big job. We'll see where this new bridge takes us. Cheers...

Catching up....

Ok, you might see by the dates, there's been a big lull in posts. Great! I've had lots to do and my characters have been talking like crazy. And...life...bumps along the way. No details...too much, too common. We all have issues to deal with. Regarding that...when will decorum return and people put there troubles back in the pockets and get on with resolutions and improvements. It seems everyone has a rotten husband, a cheating wife, a boss that treats them poorly and a paycheck that is flat. And when their dog dies...the plea for sympathy never ends. Believe me, I know how hard it is when a dog dies. But like most tragedies, upsets, disappointments, healing begins with acceptance. Whining, complaining is like a mosquito bite on the listeners arm. Have we turned into a mush pot of emotions, streams of tears, fluttering nerves because we rag on about problems, disappointments and me, me, me? I think so often that is the case.
Okay, I'm out of here...too much to do and the sun is beginning to wane. I don't like saying this daily good bye but then I love curling up under a perfect down comforter with a good book and a gentle nudge of kindness from the one with the blanket tucked under a strong chin.
For now...Wil

Catching up----

Ok, you might see by the dates, there's been a big lull in posts. Great! I've had lots to do and