A rough life

I enter the club and scan the crowd.  "Hey there, hi."  I turn and see Daisy.  She's the barmaid here and we've been friends since I started working the club.  She took me under her wing right off the bat.

"Hi, Daisy.  Busy night so far?"

"Sure is, wow, I've been running drinks for hours."

As a kid, I grew up in NY City.  My Dad died when I was just 10.  We had a rough time until I turned 12.  Mom always found it hard to pay rent, utilities and buy food.  At age 12 I went to work for Sebastian Campos, he was a big time name in our neighborhood, the Latino neighborhood too.

One day, while hanging out by his store, some kid ran inside and grabbed a handful of cash from the open register.  Sebastian's clerk had stepped away for a moment and the thief saw his opportunity.  I saw it happen and chased that kid for five blocks, knocked him down, gave him a bloody nose and retrieved the cash.

Sebastian was so grateful he asked if I'd like a job.  I answered 'Hell, yes."  He said he needed something in a brown paper bag delivered to another neighborhood.  He told me not to look inside the bag and he said he'd give me $200 when I returned once it was delivered.  Sebastian is old school, so to speak.  Hell his hero is Scarface, so what does that tell you?



Mom didn't like it when she found out, but she didn't turn down the $150 I gave her.  She told me to be careful.  Everyone in our neighborhood knew Sebastian was into some dealings that my Mom didn't want to know. 

Even now, Sebastian fronted the money for this club I work in.  He set me up for this job, even though I'm not sure how much I like this job, but for now, it pays some money.  Since I quit running bags for Sebastian, I haven't made as much money as I used to, but I don't want to run bags anymore.  However, Matilda, Sebastian's 18 year old daughter and I have become good friends over the years.  She's like a sister to me and we grew up together.  We used to get into mischief together as kids too, but she's very nice.  She's petite with flashing dark eyes, jet black, wavy hair and the sweetest smile of anyone I know. 

The Healing powers of Your Story

I have always been a firm believer that everyone has a story to tell.  Why do I think that?  I know this to be true because even if people have shared similar experiences, like war, poverty or family tragedy, each person's experience is unique to them.  

I could be in the same war, same natural disaster but I will see it totally differently.  My experiences will cause me to see things in a different light than even a person standing next to me. 

That being said, it is good to write about our lives, about what we personally have been through, how we may or may not have handled the situation.  By writing, by sharing, we just may touch on the heart string of another reader who has or is now, going through something so similar that they are changed, forever, by what we have written.  Is everyone an excellent writer?  Maybe not, but writing your story isn't as complicated as you might think.  With self-publishing these days, I know that what you might see as ordinary in your lives, can now reach hundreds maybe even millions of readers.  I love self-publishing because I think the reading public is not stupid.  I prefer to let the readers decide what they like, not some publisher who chooses for them.

I have assisted people in editing, arranging and telling their stories.  I enjoyed it very much.  Why?  Because while helping a writer arrange their thoughts and notes, I have read some very touching stories.  I am going to show you some great examples of that.

My husband's book is at the top of this blog.  While I may be a bit biased on his, I can assure you it is somewhat a universal story about war.  About one soldier's experiences of a war that has been such an embarrassment to the United States government, that for a very long time, the government tried to bury it and pretend it never existed.  Kind of like the WMD fiasco that has now drawn us into wars where we do not belong, to this very day.  Steve tells about his experiences in Vietnam, how it's so easy to be drawn into a war and hate faceless enemies.  But once there, once he got to know the people of that country, it became increasingly harder and harder to hate people who did nothing to us personally.  He tells of the fears soldiers face when fired upon, how most soldiers, from both sides, will shoot others more from fear than from hatred.  How propaganda about the perceived enemy, is the driving force behind all wars.  He tells why he chose to make the military his career and why he chose to become a Drill Instructor to be able to teach all soldiers how to survive when faced with combat.  I'm sure anyone will love his story. 

 Poems of a Forgotten War is a series of Steve's feelings about a war he participated in.  They express how he felt.  Sometimes torn, sometimes he loved the country, sometimes not so much.  But they can certainly express how many people in a war feel about those sometimes mixed emotions.  Did he have regrets?  Well, does anyone ever experience anything as emotional as war and not have regrets?  Vietnam may be in the past, but stories he has read about concerning our recent wars are similar.  So he has come to the conclusion that war is war, no matter the era in which it takes place.  These are poems that modern military people can relate to.

The nursing home book is my story.  I guess you can call it my baby.  I've worked with the elderly in nursing homes for a long time.  I've worked with the elderly in the community for a long time too.  This is a book about my observations of the situation that many elderly find themselves in when they are too frail to take care of themselves at home.  It is a tale of many people facing this situation.  Some like nursing homes, but far too many hate the experience.  I try to explain why people hate it, what causes them to feel like it's hopeless.  But I also tell how and why, it can all change, if people stand up and demand changes for the better.  I explain how the Federal Government and state governments think throwing money at the problem should change it.  It doesn't.  But I also tell of the Culture Change movement taking place in America right now.  I explain how it can change for the better and why it should change.  I'm hoping everyone will read it, learn from it and I hope they will demand changes and understand that the government is not the hope for changes they might have expected them to be. 

I have one more story to share.  I'm hoping this writer will not mind my sharing it.  I chose it because it is so powerful, I think everyone should read it.  This story is set in a time when home health for someone who is dying of cancer, did not exist.  This writer tells about a time when a woman, her own mother, had to experience the shame of having a child out of wedlock.   She tells of growing up and feeling she was hated by her own mother.  How she, as a very young child, had to care for a mother who was so sick, she almost felt overwhelmed by it all.  But most importantly, it is a story of healing.  A story of coming to understand that it was not her that her mother hated, but it was the situation her mother found herself in, that was the object of her hatred.  She tells of a mother who was so proud and strong, she felt like she lived in her mother's shadow as a child.  A very unique story that anyone who may not have the perfect parent, can relate too.  I hope you will take time to read it.  The author related to me how just telling her story has given her the emotional healing she so desperately wanted and needed.  A good author, a powerful book.

I hope you have enjoyed reading about the healing power of stories.  Do you have a story to tell?  If so, I'd be happy to help anyone compile their story into a manuscript.  Yes, I charge, but I charge far less them others and far less than you might think.  I can work on a sliding scale. 

Thank you for reading this blog. 

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

The winners

We would like to thank everyone who requested a free copy of the first book in the series of Something in the Blood. 

We had so many requests..............wow!  We are sorry we were unable to fulfill them all but we did promise only 10 copies.  Because of the overwhelming response to our offer, we could only do a first come, first serve basis. 

We would like to list the names of the 10 people who did get a copy.  

The winners are:

Kathy F..........Chicago, Illinois

Samantha M.................NY, NY

Jen B..............Philadelphia, PA

Lorrie L.............Pittsburgh, PA

Mark O..........Detroit, Michigan

Tony H............Chicago, Illinois

Allison R..............Toledo, Ohio

Tanya G.....................NY, NY 

Liz D.......Indianapolis, Indiana 

Manny W......San Francisco, CA

  

Thanks again to everyone who responded and again, we are sorry we could not give one to everybody who requested it.  We hope you all have a happy holiday and enjoy the book.  

   

 

The final installment coming soon

Watching that stinking vampire's body get swallowed up by the water gave me a feeling of satisfaction. A feeling of vengeance beyond compare. I know killing the rest would do the same. I won't rest until the job is done.

I looked around the clearing and saw a coat lying on the ground. That boy must have removed it when he decided he was going to take me on. Fool! He needed to be a much older and much more clever vampire to defeat me.

I looked through the pockets and then, I saw a paper. Reading it I thought, well, well, I don't need to track that female after all. The paper contained an address. I couldn't believe my luck. Idiots, leading me right to their door. How convenient for me.

I would go home, clean myself up and check out this address. I needed to survey the situation, that house and find out who lives there before I proceeded.

Morning, dawn breaking through the horizon. I got in the hot shower, feeling invigorated. I always felt like this after a good kill. I can almost understand how Jenkins must have felt each time he made a kill. 

More love

Available on:

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I had never thought I’d like any military lifer,
much less fall in love with one. I never
believed in soul mates before either. But I
hadn’t counted on meeting Steve. I just could
never imagine, before now, living the military
life as an adult ever. But since meeting Steve at
the barbecue my father held for a group of
Army guys, I began to think maybe it was
possible to live this way forever. Steve is the
kind of guy I could very well imagine living my
entire life with, even if it means moving around
a lot, like I did as a kid. I could envision
myself doing anything so we could be together.
Together, as man and wife, talking about his life
in the military, maybe even raising a couple of
kids together.

I have learned though, that life can sometimes get in
the way of a person’s happiness. Right now my
dad is lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a
dialysis machine that cleans his blood.

He collapsed and was rushed to the hospital
when Marie and I got the call. His kidneys are
both failing him and without a kidney donor he
might not survive for very long. Marie and I
aren’t able to donate one for him. We both have
diabetes so we can't help him with one of our
kidneys so we’re both feeling pretty helpless at
the moment. Dad has always been so strong so
to see him this sick is very shocking to me right
now.

To make matters worse, Steve, hasn’t written to
me in months. He is in Afghanistan, working
as an interpreter for the United States Army
there. I’m feeling pretty lonely and sad right at
this moment. But I guess this story should start
at the beginning.

What's in YOUR blood?

Cover of the final installment of Something in the Blood

Something in the Blood................

Just another vampire story you say?  Nope, this series is yes, about vampires, about a young girl who falls deeply in love with one, but there's much more to it than that.

Cheryl:  A young girl, living a somewhat sheltered and, what she would sum up, as a boring life.  She feels awkward, gawky and not popular.  To her, popularity is something to be admired, to strive for.  After all, her best friend, Karla, is beautiful, a bit spoiled and, oh yes, very popular.  

Karla:  Cheryl's bff, very pretty, self-assured, everything Cheryl wishes she was.  Karla knows how to get into odd predicaments and often brings Cheryl with her.

Duncan:  The mysterious young man, a new face in town.  Is he part of a cult?  Is he part of something bigger?  This is the man who will change Cheryl's outlook on life forever.  Cheryl has no clue why she is so attracted to Duncan, she just knows she is.

Jenkins: The detective who has been hired by the local police to help solve a series of mysterious murders taking place in the city.  He is an expert, he's pretty sure he knows who is doing the killings, he aims to bring the killer, or killers to justice.

Those are just a few of the interesting characters you will meet in the Something in the Blood series, plus many, many more.  There are plots, and just when you think you have figured it out, there's often a new twist.

I am finishing up the final installment of this three book series.  I hope you will seriously consider these as great gifts for young and old alike.  I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have enjoyed creating them.  

So come with me, into a land of mystery, romance and intrigue.  I'm sure you won't regret taking this wonderful journey.

Something in the Blood, series, with the other two books I have written.  I hope one day soon, you will enjoy them all.

Families and such

With the holidays coming up I tend to start to reflect on families this time of year.  Many people have great parenting experiences, yet some of us do not.  I could say I'm not sure why this is, but in our case, that would be a lie.  

When you have lived in an abusive household, with a parent who is mentally ill, one of the casualties is usually the children.  When a child has a parent who is absent, who does not care for their own kids, then kids cannot help but be affected in some ways.  When a crazy parent actually resides in the household, it also hurts the child or children.  As much as we, the not so crazy parent, may think we can shield and protect our kids, it isn't possible.  Craziness rubs off in ways we may not even fully understand.

What does this blog have to do with books?  Well I am writing a book about relationships, why bad ones are bad and about how for the past 14 years, I have seen the other side.  Moved beyond the dark side of a relationship, moved into the light of love and the fun of having an understanding and loving husband.  I am fortunate to have found him, but, unfortunately it was later in life.  Better late than never, in my case, but I wish with all my heart, I'd found him, or been wise enough to spot the duds I once thought I loved.

What in hell do we know in our twenties?  I don't know, maybe I'd have known more if my own upbringing had been different.  I don't blame my grandparents who raised me, but they were getting older as I grew older.  Their goal was to marry me off, as Grandma often said.  So I felt pressure to marry young.

I know many young women feel this pressure, even though we might like to think we are living in such an enlightened age.  But remember, people and human nature stay the same, only times and the tools we use change.  

The next blog will address how we, as young women,and often, young men too, think we know about life, know more than our elders, even know more than those scenarios we actually see.  You know what I'm talking, our very friends who have bad relationships, they often reflect our own we are in.  Yet, somehow, for some reason we still think 'ours will be different.'   Usually we repeat the same thing we see and hate, we walk straight into the fires of hell with our eyes wide shut!