The Anthology of Cozy-Noir

Editor: Andrew MacRae

Published by Darkhouse Books, Nov. 7, 2014

ISBN: 978-0-9908428-0-4

Editor Andrew MacRae compiled an eclectic array of short stories for his debut publication, The Anthology of Cozy-Noir. He considers it a new sub-genre yet the reader will find the traditional PI down on his luck, a sweet lady with knitting needles in hand and a mix of herbs from the garden that are sure to kill. However, there are no cats to be stroked, thus, more die hard killers or misfits who can’t get their finger off the trigger. For that, readers who love grit can be thankful. This first publication comes out of the cannon full force. Each story is full of explosive delights. Character development at its best. Twist and turns to make you dizzy. Blunt force when it’s needed and endings that amuse, satisfy and console. Do I have my best liked and my least—yes. But why spoil the fun. This collection proves the writers know how to put a match to a fuse and write a damn good story. Watch out mystery magazine publishers, Darkhouse Books has stories that rival the best sellers of shorts. This go-anywhere book should fly off the shelves.

Submitted by Wil A. Emerson

Nov. 23, 2014

The Anthology of Cozy-Noir contributed by the Editor

Quips about each author's contribution:

The Roseville Way by Robert Lopresti

Honor among thieves even in a small pizza joint. Knitting needles outwit the thugs. Order a large on with pepperoni...can't go wrong with this clever story.

The Pact by Judy Brownsword

Know thyself. A harsh way to keep principles intact but resolve pays off. Crazy ideas lead to murder but can you pull the trigger? Blunt ending...go for it.

Sweet Murder by Magdalena Jones

Delightful dessert of adverbs galore. Mystery editors be damned. Jones does 'ly' with humor and grace. This is a honey of a story!

The Photograph by Herschel Cozine

Drop out PI and an unpleasant murder. Add a preacher's wife who lies and a wily girlfriend who wants you to succeed. It's all in the photo and it ain't been shopped. Click, you're caught.

Everybody Knows This is Nowhere by L.E.Schwaller

The Moreau River can be a ghastly place with sticky gnats and fat mosquitos. It can also swallow a lot of secrets. Schwaller takes you there and back. His humor as biting as the gnats.

The Ferry Tail Murder by Percy Spurlark Parker

Mistress of Detection W.W. Willowby needs to find who killed hot headed Abby. Fairy tales and ballgowns. Deception, Parker has a knack for originality and a spot on ending. It's deadly clever.

Male Leary Comes Home by Michael Guillebeau

The sea has toughened young Mr. Leary but at home he has to conquer ill weather, too. Can Male survive the rising tide between Queen and the Bronx, Guillebeau makes sure he handles it well. 

Noir is Dead by Kate McCork

Hard boild tale, cancer sticks and tongue in cheek. But metaphors will kill you. A story of who's who.

Winner or looser....you be the judge. No disguise here...clever writing.

Bravisimo by David Himmel

The Dennings have money and give a lot away. Bradley, serves them with a flair which leads to an assumption he is gay. Susie's mistake--the next one kills her. Bradley knows it's all about work ethics.

Dead Dames Don't Wear Diamonds

In a lonely place, there's time to figure out what went wrong. Tee Bone's wife offered to help Dan Taylor and takes him on the bull ride of his life only to discover he's left alone in the saddle. As time goes by, he'll figure out what haunts him.  Thumbs up for the humor and guile.

Complete Deceit by Lynn Kinnaman

A stately matron in a button down, ankle length dress wants to hire Peter Ellroy. Peter would rather pour another shot of bourbon than chase down a murderer. But there's bills to pay. An unseen hand orchestras this mystery, But past and present come alive on a flash drive. Good ending for a wake. 

Little J's Sweet Potato Pie by Wenda Morrone

Oh, Lordy, Sweet potato pie. Little J, the street kid, wants Gideon to have it one more time. Vidalia, the trannie, knows someone who will bake it. But it'll cost a lot of money. J can get it if he outwits another thief. Easy as pie or will Little J stumble in the back alley? Oh my, this is clever.

The Last Dinner by John Haas

The reading of a will isn't necessarily for the living. Sam Carter, the Chili King has a bodyguard, Richard Lassiter, to protect him from animal activists and foodie fans. But he should fear his family. When he dies from a bad form of Mad Cow's disease the will gathering awakes the family to the fact that a bowl of chili has more in it than cumin. It's the dish that keeps on giving.

And thus, this final tale is the perfect ending for the short story gourmand.  The dessert that makes you smile for a long time.

Cheers to Andrew and his delicious serving of sweet, marinated and talentedwww.wilemerson.comwilwriter@yahoo.com writers!    

Hiatus over

It's been a long summer....hot, sticky, unnerving.  It unfolded too fast, after a very unsettling spring.
A series of events clouded my thinking, took my breath away and forced me to look at one day at a time; let go of the mundane issues of the day. 

When someone you love dies, there's no quick fix for the pain.  The days, though, have to be played out whether it's fair weather or not.

Details are too excruciating to explain the loss and how the hot summer affected the core of the sorrow.  The trail of death goes beyond one heart.  It causes a fracture amongst many.  In ninety-five degrees, we stumbled around the edges, the reality of it and attempted to disguise the what ifs.  If you had, if she had, if we had, if......

And now it's August.  As the eight month draws to an end, the leaves of the birch trees lose their emerald green glow and forest fronds begin to curl and turn brown.  I don't have to look at the calendar to know summer is almost over. Although plans are being made on how to deal with the winter, the truth is spring will hold the answer as to how well we've adjusted to the absence of one heart.  I've warmed a little to the notion that spring can come and it can be good. 

But before I leap that far, I have to finish summer, embrace the decline of it, turn on a light as the days grow shorter, shore up a few logs in preparation for the reality of a deep frost, the snow and ice.  And I will write...reviews, short stories and send Moon Shadow, my latest novel, off to market.

Moon Shadow is about a young woman who marries the man of her dreams.  Her spring heart is full of love and grandiose plans for the future.  But the weather changes quickly and his winter comes before her wedding flowers wilt.  Will she adjust to the disappointment, the uncertainty?  Can she hide behind work, the community?  She's the preacher's wife and must carry out her duties.  Intimacy, fulfillment, happiness at her fingertips; is it too much to ask?  Soon she learns it takes more than the passing of time to find inner peace.  Moon Shadow isn't over until the season of hope returns.

So I grasp the future once more, the change of season, ready to get lost in my work.  Fall is like a warm scarf for the soul.  It wraps around you in a variety of color, aromas, sounds.  It makes you think about winter, reminds you to prepare for the unexpected.  With autumn's cool wind at your back, you have to move on.  You're stronger, ready to embrace what unfolds. 

www.wilemerson.com
       

Winter Day...Disappointing or Not?.

When it's sunny, a mood can change for the better.
I feel so good with a sunny, blue sky. It even makes me optimistic
about the economy.
Even a disappointing book seems better than when I finished it last night.

The King of the Badgers.

What started out as a mystery about a little girl's disappearance turned into one big sexual party. A homosexual party, at that. No, don't call me a homophobe, prejuidice or too stupid to understand about sexual liberty.
If the book had been about heterosexuals and their love fests, I would have been as equally disinterested. Remember it started with the young girl's disappearance.

I wasn't prepared for the ongoing (inter)course of the story. From start to finish, the multiple love fests had no relevance. In my limited and humble opinion, I think homos or heteros would not want to be characterized by this kind of story telling.

But in the light of day---something clicked: I got it. I got the essence of the book. The protagonist was actually the quaint town where all these prolific lovers, non-lovers and bad people lived. Sort of a hum-drum town with a lot of superficial inhabitants with little else to do...but carry on with one fiesty, furious,f...ing fest after another.

In that sense, it was a marvelous book.

But I'd never want to live where The King of the Badgers reign.
I don't particularly like people talking about their sex life. Homo or Hetero. Seems like it takes all the mystery, romance, wonder, fun out of the experience. And shouldn't the act itself be something magnificant? Something more than a cluster f...well, you know where that goes....

The King of the Badger...don't check it out. Or do...if you want to read something that is well written, something that is unique, something that proves a book can be published and bought by many whether the subject matter is worthy or not. Don't buy it...borrow from a friend or from someone who mistakenly purchased it and now wants to prove a point. Some bad books get published. People shouldn't make a lot of money off of them.
If I'm wrong, post me a note....

Snowy Day....Winter Blues?

People complain about the weather. Rain, snow, hot, cold, too dry, too wet...too tooo. I really don't care about the weather. In that, as soon as someone starts talking about it, I tune out. In my mind, weather is exactly what it's suppose to be. That is, it's always changing, sometimes perfect, not always for the good, not a death sentence either, it just is what it is.

When I was young, I watched how older people reacted to the weather. Couldn't figure out what all the concern and drama was about. Visitors to my parent's house, either neighbors or relatives, would sit around the table and talk 'weather'. We seldom had visitors so I was struck by the change in our household. My parents became talkative, outgoing people, involved in the conversation as much as the worried aunt or the grumpy neighbor. My parents seemed so polite and polished compared to the somewhat sterner behavior they exhibited while dealing with eight kids and not a lot of variety in their life. Except the weather and the occasional visitor. I'd watch, listen and soon start fidgeting. As the 'oh my gods' about the pending winter storm, the summer heat, the threat of a tornado increased in intensity, I'd fidget, squirm and twiddle as though a mouse had found a piece of cheese in my jeans.

One time a tornado had every one in a near fit. Oklahoma experienced a big blow-out over a small remote town and Cousin Tom was sure it could come our way. (We lived in the north--hundreds of miles from that fierce, dry windy area. I wondered if it would reach us and what it would look like. Now that would be something to talk about.) I'd got so fidgety during those duanting times that my mother would give me the 'eye'. Yet even her stern look couldn't make me settle down.

I wanted to run outside, escape the duldrums, get into the weather, feel it, smell it, taste the rain drops on my tongue, run my fingers through the snow. Make a snowman or build a pile of leaves so high, I couldn't be found when I dived into them. My attitude hasn't changed too much and the weather certainly hasn't gone dormant, either.

So it's snowing today. The sky is a deep blue/gray. The sun peaking out now and then and the temperature at a level that makes the roof of your mouth cold if you leave it open too long. Winter is like biting into an ice cream cone and getting brain burn. Once you get past the brain and savor the flavor of the smooth cream, you're in heaven. Yes, winter bites at the core of you...but it is so lovely.

I seldom see a cardinal in the summer because there are so many colorful sights to take in. Daffodils, dandelions, corn stalks, falling leaves. But in the winter, a cardinal stands out like...well, a bright red cardinal. It chirps and flits around like it's on a warm, balmy vacation. Lovely.

I've planned a drive into the city tomorrow. A weekend get-away. Several inches of the white stuff has fallen, more expected; winter storm warmings and cautions on the news. I'm fidgeting. Have my boots at the door, an extra pair of gloves in my furry jacket pocket. I turned off the TV when the weather came on again. It reminded me of those days not so long ago when my mother would give me that 'eye'. The relatives all in a buzz like someone had disturbed their beehive.

Stop fidgeting? No, I'm going outside. Gotta taste that snowflake on my tongue, gotta build a snowman, kick the snow and ice off the underside of the car, will watch the other drivers on the road, clutching their steering wheels, oh my god. It's winter...and I'm fidgeting. Gotta get out there.

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.