Archive | January 2017


Well, promoting my books is the purpose of this page (when I’m not veering off topic or doing something other than writing).

Right now, I am one of BookRhythm’s featured authors. Really:

BookRhythm Link

And if you’re interested, I’m participating in a giveaway over at their site:


BookRhythm Kindle Giveaway

You can win a Kindle! Woo Hoo!

Who doesn’t want free electronics? Go sign up!

Go Sign Up!  Or drop and give me 50!

Go Sign Up!
Or drop and give me 50!

This Blog Ain’t Gonna Write Itself

People are amazed and impressed when you write a book.

“Oh, my God!,” they say, “ You must LOVE to write.” They see us author types as constantly, happily bent over a keyboard madly pounding away in a frenzy of verbs, nouns, maybe with a little sex (“Sullivan’s Travels” reference. Great movie and you’ll see lots of nods to it in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”) , emerging from solitude happy, exhausted, disheveled, malodorous (because we’re so busy creating that we forget to bathe) clutching pages and pages of glorious word art. “I could never do that.”

Well, between you and me, based on emails and Facebook, the basics of English composition and grammar plumb evaded them. “Lie” is fast fading as the correct verb for putting oneself into a horizontal position; the bastard “lay” is usurping the throne. YOU LIE DOWN. THE DOG LIES DOWN. I LIE DOWN BECAUSE I HAVE A POUNDING HEADACHE FROM ABUSE OF THE WORD “LAY.” There is a reason, People, that the phrase is “get laid,” because the seducer is laying you (putting you horizontally) down on a bed. (And all you smartasses who want to snigger and post comments about various positions – don’t even thi…well, wait a minute. If they’re good comments and get some attention…NO! EXTREMISM IN THE PURSUIT OF GOOD WRITING IS NO VICE.

It may be a losing cause, but I’ll continue to fight a rear-guard action like the Spartans at Thermopylae.



Where was I? Ah yes, writing.


I do not happily pound a keyboard. Years of pounding keyboards for a living plus being enough of a klutz to have fractured the navicular bone in both wrists have made the actual typing of writing somewhat uncomfortable and stirs up carpal tunnel-like symptoms. Y’all can imagine how much fun that is.

I do write during the weekday. I make terse, yet helpful comments on mortgage loan files. I write short, clipped sentences about homeowner’s insurance, disclosures, and whatever else I spot. No, “Hortense pondered what to write on her application. Would they believe she could afford a $500,000 house on a McDonalds part-time salary which her mom was actually buying as an investment?” (No. I can read.
And I have common sense)

It has been three and half years since I published my books and I have fragments of other stories and notes for still more on various hard drives, scribbled in what appears to be a lost alphabet of Middle Earth in fifty-cent composition books and sheaves of paper locked in a small filing cabinet 3,000 miles from me. See me rushing to retrieve it so I can continue my work?


After his death, Douglas Adams’ computers (he had several) were searched and a host of story fragments, imaginary interviews and other intriguing tidbits were found. I can relate.

I’m not lazy so much as I excel at procrastinating. And it’s fun. Suddenly, sorting through beads, completing my tax return, playing endless games of Spider Solitaire (although that’s how I do my thinking for writing. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Alternative fact), doing laundry, all become absorbing and fascinating when the alternative is to transfer thoughts out of one’s head and into a medium where other people can see it. Unless those other people are psychics and I’ll just sit still and let them read the story in my head because my “process” (Ewww, how hipster and arty) is that I “watch a movie” of the story in my mind’s eye, then try to retell it to the reader. That’s the sucky part right there.

Blogging is procrastination. And I even procrastinate that.

“Drinking,” you say. “The great writers drank.” Yes, and died of cirrhosis, suicide, cancer, being totally broke and homeless because they drank all their royalties or an ex-spouse got them in one of your divorces (Glenda? Theresa? Charles? I can’t remember)

“Well, how about one of those voice to text softwares?” Yeeeah. Right. Until I get a story rolling, I feel disconnected* (“disconnect is a verb. Not a noun. Another losing battle for me) from what I’m doing. I have to start in longhand until things establish themselves. I shit you not. It’s like putting a standard transmission in first gear and rolling down hit until you hit 5 to 10 MPH then you pop the clutch. With the voice to text dictation, you have to also include the punctuation as you dictate. Doesn’t make for the greatest flow, “Jerry slid his warm [comma] long[dash]fingered hand down Luella[apostrophe s] silken thigh [period][quotation marks] [capital M]y darling[‘comma] {quotation marks] he whispered[comma][quotation marks] I want to put my [laughable euphemism for genitals]

You get the idea.

However, if I do not write all these “movies” I have inside me, I will kick myself. Hard. Very hard. I think they’re good. I think you’ll like them. However, there is a pregnancy and labor of undetermined duration to undergo before they emerge, covered in goo and screaming for attention, into the world. (And then it’s time for the Amazon reviews to show up. Oy)

Or as is more often the case, it’s like passing a kidney stone.

book in you

Time to procrastinate.

What I Saw at the (Newish) Revolution

with a hearty “Fuck you” to Reagan apologist Peggy Noonan. Your crew put a lot of shit into motion that has effectively hamstrung the American middle class.

I participated in the Women’s March on January 21 as promised. I was at the Palm Beach, FL rally. They expected 1,500 people, got 3,000 RSVPs and the final estimate of the crowd was 7,000. Seems this happened at all rallies (except Antarctica. I think they got exactly  the number  they expected).

All 7 continents!

All 7 continents!

I’m hearing the same thing about all the Marches/Rallies: they were peaceful. Upwards of 3 million people assembling around the world and no arrests. In fact, a group of the marchers in DC sang “Happy Birthday” to a cop.

Peaceful, I tell ya.

Peaceful, I tell ya.

My group and I were heading home (actually, it was me, my friend, and three ladies we met on our way to the rally) before we were hassled. That was by a random man who decided he was going to lecture us on abortion because when women march obviously, that’s we’re planning to kill babies.

I’ve seen posts on Facebook from people telling us to “get over it” in terms of the election results

Oh yeah.

Oh yeah.

and just accept them. And posts from people condemning the marchers for wanting to kill babies.

You guys, this was so much more than that.

Women deserve respect.

Women deserve respect.

Yes, there were signs with coat hangers and Pro Choice messages. There were signs protesting the attempts to kill Planned Parenthood. “Aha!” you say, “So this was all about reproductive rights!”

Not even close.

There were signs for LGBTQ rights. Signs for immigration rights. Signs for equal pay and a higher minimum wage. Signs for mental health care. Signs about respect. Signs for veterans, Black Lives Matter, protecting Muslims from official harassment, climate change (Gaia is a female construct. MOTHER Earth)

The numbers of people hitting the streets and the diversity of issues presented said a lot about how the new President and his agenda is viewed. Inaugural speeches are usually upbeat, speak of unity and progress, and speak of a better future. “New Frontier.” “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.” “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” “With malice toward none, with charity for all…” are the kinds of classic phrases that have come from inaugural speeches. What did we get January 20th? “American carnage.” “radical Islamic terrorism.” That won’t do. I will not fear. I’d like to think that, if necessary, I would stand my ground against tyranny like this:

This is courage.

This is courage.

The message of fear was stopped by millions lacing up their sneakers, donning pussy hats (not me. And I’m not showing you pictures of me from Saturday because I look like a weird-looking old man), and hoisting signs demanding respect, equality, and services for better lives for all.

Hope. Love. Apply liberally

Hope. Love. Apply liberally

I’m going to sum up with another picture (it’s how I get you guys to read these things)

get used to it

Lacing up the Sneakers

“We hold these truths to be self-evident…”

I’m sure this will trigger a memory of high school civics (or American History) and the need to memorize the Declaration of Independence.

“…all men are created equal.”

Men. Got news, George, Thom, John, and Benny Boy: women are, too. And we’re going to marching this Saturday to drive home the point.  If you’re interested, you can find a march here:

Women's march poster

Women’s March on Washington

Nothing personal, but there are issues of personal sovereignty at stake here. It took from 1783, when Britain signed the Treaty of Paris acknowledging the sovereignty of the United States (and I have copious notes for a story about that. They’re 3,000 miles away. Please buy a shit ton of my books so I can use the royalties to go get them) to 1789 when the Constitution was ratified and became effective (By the way, all of you “State’s Rights!” junkies: we tried that under the Articles of Confederation from 1781 to 1789. Weak central government with strong regional government failed miserably. Really. It did) to figure out voting and representation and how the machinery of democracy would work. The Founding Fathers screwed up on a few points: slavery wasn’t outlawed, in fact enslaved people were counted at 3/5 of the number of white inhabitants, and neither the Constitution nor the Bill of Rights did not specify that gender could be used to deny the right to vote. That didn’t get straightened out until 1920. It didn’t say we couldn’t, but that’s the way the guys interpreted it, because God knows, they love their boys’ clubs.

It took until 1974  and the Equal Credit Opportunity Act before a woman could get a credit card or a mortgage in her own name.

Until 1978 and the Pregnancy Discrimination Act, a woman could be fired for being pregnant.

The “boys will be boys” and sexual harassment of “Mad Men” was perfectly fine until 1977. Of course, in 1991, we saw that it didn’t stop because the chairman of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, Clarence Thomas, was accused in graphically detailed testimony by Anita Hill of engaging in a pattern of sexual and hostile behavior WHILE HEADING THE OFFICE TASKED WITH ENFORCING EQUALITY. Didn’t stop his ascension to the United States Supreme Court (and he’s done zip minus while on the bench except to “me, too” everything Scalia wrote). And I can attest that that shit still goes down without much fear of reprisal unless the victim gets a lawyer and sues the employer.

Not so much this...

Not so much this…

as this

as this

The biggie…

1973, Roe v. Wade. Wherein the Supreme Court said that a woman’s right to choose whether or not to terminate a pregnancy was legal.

Right now, we are a day away from swearing in as President of the United States a man who has a track record of contempt and disrespect for women. Never mind that he’s cool with sexual assault, that he makes comments about his daughter that leads me to believe he has actually had inappropriate relations with her. He has said he thinks women should be punished for getting an abortion. He’s in favor of defunding Planned Parenthood. Since the rise of The Consecrated Con Man, Jerry Falwell,  and his “Moral Majority” (which was neither), a woman’s right to choose has been under focused, high-powered, relentless assault. Personally, if a woman I’ve never met wants an abortion, it’s none of my business. I had a friend tell me he was “morally opposed to his tax dollars paying for abortions.” Thanks to that shithead Henry Hyde, and the Hyde Amendment of 1976 (which keeps getting polished and renewed), they don’t. And the maker of the statement was shitting his diapers when it passed. I’m morally opposed to war, and I don’t want my tax dollars paying for that. However, I don’t get a say in the matter. Even Henry Thoreau couldn’t get away with not paying taxes because he objected to the Mexican War. The incoming President, on the other hand,…not as a moral objection but because it was “smart” and “good business” for him to carry forward a $900,000,000 loss and legally avoid paying taxes for years. (The $900,000,000 loss being a mark of “good business”? Not so much).

I’m not sitting this out. I may be beyond reproductive age and I have no daughters, but I see a big picture here. Women ARE the majority in this country and we should not have our gains rolled back. Read “The Handmaid’s Tale” by Margaret Atwood sometime.

Handmaid's Tale

Thus the march.

No reason resistance can't be fashionable

No reason resistance can’t be fashionable

I figured this would be a peaceful thing. However, I was given information on recording police violence, what to bring in case of tear gas and arrest; who knows what’s going to happen. But it’s important enough to take the risk.

I urge you to also lace up your sneakers, RSVP to your local event, and make it known that we, the majority of Americans, will not stand for our rights, our personal sovereignty, to be eroded or taken away.

Now watch this video. And share the hell out of it.

New Guards