What's happening lately

Finished my latest book.  I guess this one can be labeled "Mommy porn" although I'm not quite sure where that label comes from.  It should be up for sale by September 1, 2013.  It is a story about a girl's first time, about a deep love, mystery and tragedy and over coming the tragedy of loss.  I hope people like this one because it is by far, my best story yet.

Today:  The car is in the garage, yet again.  I'd buy a newer, less problematic car if I could.  But, for now, we have to limp this one along because, even used cars, are a small fortune.

Steve and I

Our anniversary was in July, spent it quietly, worked on my book so we didn't do anything especially memorable.  But quiet love has a lot going for it.  Kind of the inspiration behind my latest book.

We did go out last weekend though, to a couple local bars.  The first bar was pretty funny.  The bartender didn't know how to fix several mixed drinks, so we made it easy on her and asked for a seven, seven.  Such is life in small town America.  Something I found kind of crazy though, there are several 'kids' underage ones, working that bar.  Is that legal?  We ordered a pizza, which one of the '15 year old kids served us' but then the kid comes over to ask "would you like anything else?" and Steve said: "Maybe another seven seven" and, of course, 15 year old couldn't get it.  But couldn't the 'child' place the order?  We could pick it up ourselves at the bar.  So I think I'll walk in one night around midnight and see if the 'children' are still on duty.  Isn't there any child labor laws in NY?  I guess the bar is too cheap to hire adults?

Another thing about small towns, we went to a newer restaurant and it was only 9PM (everyone knows nothing fun happens before 9) and the waitress told us: "We close at 9."  No wonder that place is not seeing much business.  Ya gotta stay open later to get business, especially in a town like this that claims it wants tourist business.

Anyway, that's the latest.  Hopefully the old car will be done soon and not cost us too much more money this time.  So it goes.

What's it like being a veteran?

Available on: Amazon.com

Becoming a soldier, well, what does it mean?  Maybe it depends on whether you ask a soldier before going to war or after he comes home.

Being a soldier meant doing what we thought was best, we thought we were fighting for America.  It turns out not to be so true.  If we fought for freedom, why do people disagreeing with the government not have freedom of speech?  Why do people protesting unfair treatment get tear gas and tazers?  Did we not fight for your freedom, for mine?

Many times, soldiers become disillusioned with what war really is.  Did we think that bullets, bombs and any weapons of war discriminate?  Did we think they somehow they would not cut down anything and anyone in their path?  Maybe we did.

With the erosion of freedom, did we do such an excellent job fighting, fighting for, not your freedom, not my freedom, but for the freedom of rich banks and corporations to take over, not just other countries, but America as well?

Did we fight for the freedom of going backward in time, for the elite to take our jobs, to take our homes, to run us all into the ditch economically?

Well, Brothers and Sisters, then I guess we won that damned war.  Not for you, not for me, but for the rich and powerful.

Money cannot buy votes unless we allow it to.  Voting rights cannot be taken away, unless we allow them to.  Jobs cannot be sent elsewhere, unless we allow them to.

As a veteran, I see "support our troops" slogans that mean nothing more than just that.......words, meaningless words.  What in hell are you supporting?  Do you even know?

When I shop and the clerk says: "Do you want to give your change to help buy school supplies for the military families kids?"  I think:  Why in hell isn't our supposedly grateful, government buying those school supplies?  Isn't the government their present employer?  Is American government the Wal-Mart of America now too?  Low wages, crap services and driving military families into poverty?  Shame on America for hiring military people to be their private mercenaries and not paying them well enough for the job.  Fighting for our freedoms you say?  Look again and guess again.

When I to to the VA for services, services are limited.  Yet when I served, my time was not limited, those men who died did not limit their service to the government.  Limited?  Well, the hell, you say!  

Meeting an author

                                   
                                                  He looks agreeable enough.  Don't you think so?



Let's meet an author.............let's meet my husband, Steve.

You know we place the proverbial 'Author's Information' on the back flaps of our books.  But what in hell do those things say about who a person really is?  Those back covers are like a resume, you try to know a person in so many words or less. Simply can't be done.

When I met Steve, I really, really was soured on relationships, namely the institution of marriage.  I felt marriage was highly over rated and each time I would see a seemingly happy couple, I just felt there was a facade, I felt no one was truly happy being married.

We have been married, this year, for 14 years now.  What's it like being married to an author? Interesting at best.  Well, he spends time writing, we spend time riding around taking pictures for our site and we love yard and estate sales.  Problem is, those sales tend to bring out the worst in both of us, sometimes, OK, most of the time.  I've learned it's not a good idea to buy anything too big.  I know Steve loves me, good thing I know this, but he likes to tell me I 'just don't always pick up items right.'  In 14 years I've never really learned the meaning of those words.  So I tend to set the item down and ask him to explain, which kind of irks him. 

What makes up an author?  Well, in this case, a nagging wife who convinced him he does have a story to tell.  So tell it already!  He did.

His story is about a boy (him) from the Midwest, who joins the Army and embarks on an interesting journey in a land called Vietnam.

He is a wonderful husband, but does any wife and husband get along all the time?  I doubt it.  His journey to become a Drill Instructor proved to be because he had and has, a burning desire to control his own destiny.  A commendable quality.  But the rigidness of the DI life can spill over into his personal life, sometimes.  Like the other day we went to lunch and the waitress decided, in the middle of our eating lunch, to try and sell us a coupon book.  She droned on and on and I saw the perturbed look coming across Steve's face.  He was good though and when she finally finished, he leaned over to me and said: "Wouldn't you think they could save that speech for after people are done eating?"  I said they are probably pressured into the speech and selling by management.  I felt sorry for her.  He left her a tip though because he truly is nice.

                           
                         A sweet, hard working young soldier.

We have had times when we were at a fast food drive through window, ordering coffee and after waiting for 10 minutes, Steve has been known to say, loudly: "How many waitresses does it take to pour two coffees?  We may never know because it isn't getting done."  He says some places give the term 'fast food' a whole new meaning.  This is true.  But somehow, I think our unhappiness or expressing it, will do little to spoil the day of a worker making minimum wage and dealing with irate customers only to not make enough to pay their bills.  

                                
                        A dashing young soldier.

Steve is highly competitive and sometimes when we play games, even on Facebook, he will compete with my scores.  Just a little quirk he has.  But that quirk is what helped him climb the ranks to be the DI he wanted to be.  

Sometimes when he asks me to do something, I like to say 'No' because it's priceless to see the look on his face.  A guy who likes to run smoothly so I have to toss a wrench in there sometimes.  I just cannot resist. 

A wife couldn't ask for a more attentive and giving husband though.  He moved across country for me to be able to advance my career and to a place, Indiana, where he couldn't wait to leave when younger.  Just helped me pack up lock, stock and barrel.

He also kept saying how he just did not like cats.  But rescued a little, helpless kitten in our backyard and now they are the best of friends.  

Would I trade this author?  Not for the world!

A young soldier's journey

Walking home from school that day, my throat was dry, a sensation of strength washed over me.  I had really wanted to hurt that guy, to see blood.  Right now I figured my blood pressure was like 160 at least.  I was grateful for the eight miles between the school and my house.  I needed this long walk to help silence the blood pounding in my ears.  I knew my parents might be upset when they heard what I'd done but this showdown had been a long time coming.  Right now I didn't care about the possible consequences.  Besides, I felt like that guy had been just looking for a fight and he nearly got one from me.  

  Maybe my vision was clouded as I walked home from high school for the last time on that warm day in 1965, the year I turned 16 and knew I didn't have to take that mistreatment anymore.  Hell, it wasn’t like it was my first trip to the Principal’s office, I had gotten used to that, but on this day, I was determined it would be my last trip there.

I was sent to his office, this time, from shop class.  I had rigged a piece of lumber in the lathe so it would fling out at the shop teacher when he turned it on.  While that action had gotten a rousing laugh out of the class, the shop teacher was far from amused so it earned me a trip to the principal’s office, nothing new for me.  But this time it was different from the three days of detention I usually got. This time he told me he ‘would have to paddle me’ because it was such a ‘serious offense,’ and someone could have been hurt badly or even killed by the flying wood.  He then took a significantly sized paddle from behind his desk and came at me with it, a look of almost delight in his eyes, as if hitting students made his day.  I decided I wasn't going to make it easy for him either.   I had already decided that he wasn't going to lay a hand on me. 

As he approached me, I bit my lip, felt my hands clench and unclench as I moved slowly and deliberately towards him.  As soon as he entered my personal space, I planted my feet further apart to let him know I was standing my ground.  I defiantly said: “If you touch me with that damn paddle, I’ll break it over your f%*@king head.” 

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, as his eyes widened he seemed to be doing a double take about the whole situation.  He was probably stunned by my language.  Back then, small town Indiana nice kids weren’t supposed to talk like that.   But I had always been a rebel in those days anyway, and I admit I had a definite problem with authority figures. 

Whatever the reason for his abrupt stop I will never fully know, but after lowering the paddle he looked at me through squinted eyes.  Finding his voice again, he asked: “What did you just say?”

 Infusing as much anger into my voice as I could, I answered: “You heard what I said."  Once I repeated myself he then pointed out I would have to be suspended for three days at the very least.  I lowered my head and mumbled something about how it was going to be the longest three days he would ever see.   With that having been said, I slammed out of his office, walked through the big glass doors, away from the building, never once looking back. 

That son of a bi&@h sure didn’t need to tell me twice.  I knew I was never going back to that school.   I really hated school anymore anyway.  For a long time now school seemed to hold little meaning for me.  I had grown restless and failed to see any reason for continuing high school.  

On any other day but today I would not have liked the eight mile walk home because it usually seemed so long.  But today I was grateful for the distance between the school and my house because it gave me a chance to think as I walked.  While walking the eight mile journey home, I mulled over in my head what I was going to say to my parents about my plans to never go back to high school.  I had been thinking of joining the Army for some time and I could think of no better time than now but I would need my parents to sign papers for me because I was only 16.  I would just need to convince them it was the right decision.  

Steve/Author

As a young soldier in Vietnam