Crisis of Conscience

Well, I am NOT in the mood to be subtle, so I guess I just better hope this is not read by any detectives.

You know that story about the wisdom of King Solomon? The two women were fighting over who had the rights to the baby, so King Solomon said, "How 'bout we just slice the baby in half ?" So the person that really loves the baby says, "Don't cut the baby in half.  She can have it."  And King Solomon says, "Well, you love the baby more so you can have it."

So this is like a moral dilemma. Suppose a group of people are banding together to slice up your heart and your soul.  Would you play dirty pool just cuz they choose to?  Should you drag out the big guns?  If you knew the name of the grade school teacher that writes erotica on the side, would you reveal that?  Would you threaten to?  Would that be blackmail?  Even if you felt it was totally justified to survive their onslaught, to save yourself?  To save all that was important to you?  Stuff that is meaningless to them.  They are just doing it for spite.  Would you threaten to tell the guy that hides his marijuana stash in your garage to keep his wife from knowing that she will learn about it if he doesn't back down, if he doesn't take a different tack?  Would you talk it up in all the right social circles about the engaged couple that are seeing a urologist to get the husband-to-be wired up with a penis pump?  If you heard all these things with no warnings or stipulations, is it fair game?  If they go ahead and continue to attack you, when you know and they know you are undeserving of it, should you just reveal all?  Should you warn them of what may be in store?  Should you sit like a little mouse with your Christian conscience and let them ride rough shod over you?  My Christian conscience tells me to be a swell guy and keep all the dirty little secrets and hope Karma sorts it out.  (Yeah.  I know the Karma thing doesn't meld with the Christian conscience, but it is my mind, so get over that.)  But the subject of my quandary is far too precious to gamble with.

These are real issues that the midwestern grandmother faces daily.  Someone made a remark about one of my novels.  "Enjoyable read, but I don't know if it would play out in real life."  Wanna bet?  Does each and every Mr. or Mrs. Tom, Dick and Harry America have this shit raining down on them all the time?  Or is it just me?  Maybe it is my own misperception.  But I do have court documents bearing out this tale of woe and disconsternation.

Weigh in.  I am actually thinking of taking steps to erase the problem completely.  I discussed with someone just today what would be the outcome of my court ordered mental eval.  Would I live out the few short days left to me in a prison or in a mental ward?  Would it matter?  Actually, not at all to me if it served to preserve some of the things  that I find the most precious meaning in after all other considerations.

Strange how looking down the barrel of a gun can distract you from all the other weapons aimed at you.


Image Attribution:   asitoughttobe.com

The Big Hack

First, I offer you my sincerest apologies.   If whatever hijacked my accounts affected you, I am very sorry.  I see today that many people, including my bank, received a big red warning sign when they got the affected email.  Mine was from my cousin and did not bear a warning so I had no way of knowing it was infected.

I have changed all my passwords and stuff, but today I see that it has even affected some of my twitter contacts.  If you still have trouble, I can only suggest changing your passwords.  My bank suggested opening new email accounts, but that would be a disaster for me.  Not that this hasn't been so far. 

Please forgive me.  I was naive and careless.  I hope those are forgivable offenses.  

Image attribution:

robot6.comicbookresources.com

Everything Makes Me Cry

Just now I feel like I must be doing something right.  At least about one thing.  I think it would be better if I KNEW I was doing something right, but I take a lot of convincing.  But this is good enough to actually outweigh my worries for the moment.

It doesn't matter it seems.  I think I cry more tears over the good stuff.  

IDEALS

I feel like a fool.  I have always been good at rationalization.  Twice,  in the recent past, I have posted stuff in my feeble attempts at irony or jest and been taken seriously.  In another case, a person misread a facebook quote of mine and went into a well-meaning and correct explanation of the thing I was trying to be sarcastic about.

I do not have a sincere voice.  My real life voice is a joke.  I went to see a doctor about five years after my last appointment.  I said, "Hi, I'm Virginia."  He said, "Oh, I remember you.   The voice. . ."

My writing voice is intended to be facetious,  but evidence points to the fact that I am a complete failure at that.  Actually, I have heard from three readers that they got the joke in three cases.  Not a good percentage.

So, how am I going to steer this conversation back to rationalization or idealism?  Well,I just clicked on a book title in a blog.  Actually, it was a "website".  I think.  I am not too sure of the difference, and, no, Jonathan, you don't need to explain it to me.  The site was The Rumpus.  It is pretty liberal but kind of fun for writers.  It has infuriated me enough that I  have cancelled my subscription to it for years.  I have had wonderful discussions on it.  I found out, much later unfortunately, that one of the people I was arguing with was an author, unknown to me, of some repute. ( I admit I travel in the wrong circles.)  So apparently I read something on or about the Rumpus that caught my attention.  I am not subscribed to it, but am apparently subscribed to comments.  Really, that is all you need anyway, frankly.  It is even a bit too much info.

I linked to this book title which sounded interesting and that led me to two hours of linking through various sites connected, in sometimes vague ways, to the book title or author.  And I just stopped it by closing some of the many tabs I had thusly opened.  (I am relishing the fact that I have always wanted to use that word and have never before had the opportunity.  I hope it is a real word.)  (Aren't my asides annoying?)  And, for a reason God intended, but that has never worked too well on me, a light bulb just went off in my head.

I have gone on and on arguing in favor of certain principles.  I am calling them that because, although they may be philosophies or dogmas or truths or precepts or commandments or ideas, I feel, at the base of their structure, they must be principles.  (I flunked philosophy twice.  I have a former classmate who is a Professor Emeritus in Philosophy at a major University.  I am able to communicate with him.)  (I'll stop it now.) And, just now, when the light bulb went off, I realized that some of the things I argue the most fervently for, that shall for the most part go unnamed, for which I have published material with tedious documentation, I do not practice, have not practiced, and have no intention of practicing. And I seriously do not think I am a hypocrite. I think I earnestly believe in those principles and, in my own concept of idealism, those principles would be followed to the letter by all of humanity -- which, of course, they are not and never will be.  And, in my dotage, I will gladly own up to the fact that a lot of the stuff I have done would not have been any fun if I had not felt like I was defying some moral precept or principle.  And that makes me a sinner and that makes me a Catholic.  And this is not a confession.  This is just a light bulb moment that I have really enjoyed.  And that two hours of linking from a book title has given me a lot more insight to my self than probably the whole rest of my life -- a life that has had its share of ups and downs, mostly downs, but has been a great deal of fun and very interesting so far.

Yeah.  My meds have been adjusted.


Photo Attribution:  Google Image

Professionalism

So this journalism degree cost a lot.  I hope to pay off my student loans soon.  I got a job!

Paying Attention

I notice that several of the people who's blog I read also read mine.  I am pretty sure not everyone who hits on my blog reads it.  I could be wrong about that because every now and then I will get a nice comment from some one who got what I was writing about.  I sometimes get comments that make me think they were reading a different blog altogether, but it is nice to know my words can mean different things to different people. And then there are the New Zealand Plumbers.

Someone just went over a million hits and offered a little contest event to celebrate.  She did mention that it would be nice if each of those hits was a dollar.  I have mentioned it would be good if each of my hits represented a book sale.

I just went to a book promo site and literally begged people to purchase one of my books that was not doing well.  I really have no expectations that it will help, but I am beyond being reasonable about that book.  It is not my usual fare, but it is a quick little non-fiction read that is fun.  I honestly thought it would be a big deal.  I have read so many articles about gender issues lately that I almost think I started something.

In a blog that was about giving a certain type of speech to certain audiences and the pros and cons of it, I chose to comment not on speech giving but on the content of the speech (politicizing gender issues).  No one commented back but two comments after someone left a comment about gender imprinting that was almost exactly what I had said in my book.  That affects me the same way that writing about washing the counters and having someone I know is a reader write about washing counters the next day.  Ditto:  boys haircuts, pets, serendipity, destructive storms, etc.  Sometimes I think it is flattering, but sometimes, when it is really noticeable, I would like a nod. (Yes, Roy.  I saw your wonderful reference and link.  Have you thought about cloning yourself?)

I have been on what, for lack of a better term, I will call the downside of having interest in this project.  I look at my past results and I know exactly what I have to do to duplicate that.  It is time-consuming and boring, but it is not difficult and it bears very sweet fruit.  Yet, I sit, I mull over the phrasing of a scene in my mind.   I know I should write the scene down and then work over it, but I don't.  I mull til I fall asleep.

Sometimes I think it would be nice to be noticed, to have people pay attention to what I have to say, but lately, ironically, since I have more blog hits every day than I ever imagined, I kind of don't care.  Well, it isn't really that I don't care because I know how I react to nice reviews and good numbers or compliments, (I probably get much more pleasure out of it than it deserves, but I think I already wrote that blog.)  but I am wondering what difference does it make.  Anything I do, some one else can do, does do, is doing, is maybe even using me for inspiration.  I know I never thought I would come up with a game changer so I do not know what is lacking in my approach to the process right now.  I do know that I am dying to reunite Maisie and her husband and will play solitaire on my iPhone for an hour and a half to keep myself from doing that.

If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding.
You can't have any pudding if you don't eat your meat.

What You See

 

Y'all see  that I am tapped out.  There is nothing coming out of my brain.  I feel slightly zombie-ish.  Maybe that will be the real zombie apocalypse.  Big Pharma will finally have everyone medicated to this level except the few selected to control the zombies or manufacture  the meds.  Although I am sure they will be able to train zombies to manufacture mediction.  I am currently still trainable.

I was reading about the huge uproar over the newest edition of the DSM, that new hand book listing  mental health  disorders.  The brain farts we used to call senior moments are now a disease.  I am currently reading a really interesting book called Blood, Justice, LLP: Vampires at Law by Juno Ross.  (Consider this a plug.) It sounds so plausible.  The few problems historically exhibited by vampires, such as sunlight, have  all been controlled by different kinds of pills.  The fun part is that if you were dumb when you became a vampire, 2,000 years later you are still dumb. It is a very interesting read and very well written, but it is a little scary if you actually think about whether or not it could be true.  There is that old saw I love to drag out that every societal myth is somewhere grounded in reality, a belief I subscribe to. So maybe there will be a future for me if I can find an agent that is an over-medicated zombie.  She will love my books.

Speaking of which, I thought April was the first month in which I had not sold a single book, but I sold a few on Smashwords, so thus far I am still afloat although struggling to stay afloat and not really very interested in whether or not I do.  I figured out why my Sacred Sin holds its place in the ratings.  When I had the KDPSelect  giveaways, I was downloaded in the  thousands and they count that.  So, here I go back to KDPSelect.  I was all afire then to do the promo so everyone knew about the freebie and I am just going to have to psych myself up to do that.  Now, at least, I know how.  I just hate it more.

I would also like to tie that in to the release of my next story which is about 75% done in writing and 100% done in my head.  But I started the book because I had a good idea for a title, and I am having a struggle fitting a book of any length to the paradigm proscribed by that title.  Which shall remain a safely guarded secret cuz it is GREAT.

Then the other night when I was waiting to fall asleep, the time I usually use to further the narration of my current book in my head, I was thinking, what will I do next?  And I had a brilliant idea that I could run with, but I did not quickly jot it in the notebook next to my bed which must always be there for that reason.  Instead of writing down a few words, I actually fell asleep and the next morning the idea was gone.  Here though I do have hope.  Despite my having a brand new diagnosed mental disorder  which they do not call brain fart-itis, they call it something like Minimal Loss of Cognition or something close to that because I am too lazy to go find the article, I know the idea will come back.  They always do.  So now I probably qualify to be diagnosed with Delayed Factual Memory Recollection disorder. 


Photo Attribution:  www.examiner.com

Mommy Blogging

I am not a mommy blogger.  I do talk about my grandchildren a lot and feel it is necessary to share their amazing beauty with this deprived world. (That is an "I" not a typo) And a few years back when nine people lived here and I was in a fog, I did write about my children some times.  But now I write about me and politics and idiocy and stuff. Which may be the same thing mommy bloggers write about.

Well, maybe I got this attitude from starting out my internet communication mania pre-twitter by using Goodreads and Amazon forums.  On both of those it is clearly stated that it is bad form to promote yourself or spam, that is, hide a sneaky link to something within the boundaries of your blog so people do not know they are reading an ad. They have specific self-promotion forums where you can go nuts if you want.

That has gone out the window.  There is Google Ad Sense, and I used to have ads on my blog.  Once I wrote about my canaries and an ad for birdcages appeared in the margin.  I thought that was terribly clever and technologically advanced.  I even had a balance of $1.72 in my Ad Sense account which I never collected because they don't cut you a check unless it is a certain amount.  I don't have ads anymore.  I have asked them why because the spaces are there.  My readership is much higher now so maybe I would earn more than $1.72 a year, but they keep telling me my blog sign-in is not my Ad Sense sign-in and they don't answer questions; they just send you to their circuitous forums and I never get the right answer.  Their loss.  They could be raking in a bundle off my back.

Anyway, I noticed lately this "Buy my book"  "Like me on facebook"  "visit my blog", etc.  EVERYWHERE.  Everyone still says you will lose twitter followers if you just keep linking to your book.  If someone reads my blog, they see the links to my book and can click or sample or whatever. (Damn, I wish they would BUY.  I'd be shitting in tall clover.) And "agents" will not ALLOW their clients to write on twitter or anywhere about their books.  So it is a subtle game.  To draw attention and not be spammy.  But now I have signed up to several blogs that have given me lots of hits, and some of them are interesting and amusing.  But many of them are purely ad based.  They try to relate it to their family, but it is buy this or that. And one that is usually about her family suddenly drops one that is purely an ad.  I am new to this, so maybe everyone else knows that is the purpose.  I am just trying to figure out how to get their links off of my facebook because they breed like bunnies.

I know that I will lose a passel of hits when they read this and take me off their linkys.  They probably already know I don't get it because I have been commenting  on their blogs about the content instead of the products they are pushing.

I hope everyone is not laughing up their sleeve at me, that that is the real purpose of Blogger and Wordpress and I have been totally disillusioned that it was to bring my literary bon mots to the attention of the world for their enjoyment and intellectual betterment.

And I hate that fucking Raffle Copter.

Photo attribution:  www.bloggerstand.com 

Image may be subject to copyright

Sauce For The Goose

One of the best parts of putting my writing out in public is, of course, a positive response.  And certainly, a bad review is hurtful, especially when they offer no insight as to what was wrong with your work.  In many instances, I know, it has to be just a matter of taste.

I have a sort of collection of King Arthur books.  Some I have tried and tried and cannot get into them.  One was the beginning  of a saga.  It started when the ship full of people spotted a baby someone had just thrown in the sea.  A sailor jumped in and saved it.  It was, or course, Arthur. (The different spins on the legend are part of the fun.) It was very well written and quite a large book.  By the end of the book, they were getting off the ship after finally  reaching shore and the baby was still a baby.  Sure, there was lots of back history and necessary exposition, but I just couldn't plow through it all.  Other, one in particular that is mostly focused on Guinevere, I have read and reread. I won't deny that a lot of what I write has its seeds in that legend.

One particular review struck me so that I wanted to ask the person to be a beta reader and dissect the book for me.  It is supposedly a no-no to speak back to reviewers, but I am still toying with the idea. Something about her language or style made me think we would understand each other.

I read one Harry Potter, the first.  It was okay.  I galloped right through it, but for some reason I have no desire to read another. I was insulted by one of my relatives when I asked her if she had read my book and she replied, "No.  But did you read Fifty Shades of Gray?" Please.

I will not be reading the Hunger Games.  Instead of Woody Harrelson  I will be picturing Richard Dawson and instead of Peeta, I will see Arnold Schwartenegger.  I just bought a trilogy of Edith Wharton's work.  She is very acerbic which I love, but I find it slow going so far.

I visit this site called Algonquin's Table.  I don't know how I found it, but I have put a few things up there.  The little story about the lamb was reviewed by someone who lived in that area and he said I got the sense of place right. That was cool since I have never been there.  The nice thing about Algonquin's Table is they love to comment and start convos about everything and they nag you in email if they haven't heard from you.  I recently submitted the same excerpt from The Maze that I have put up here. Here is a snip of some of the responses I have received:

I had made it clear that it was not classified as Erotica, but it is nice to hear someone somewhere enjoyed it.  Now I have to go back and thank him and mention the whole book costs last than a fancy greeting card.

"God Willin' and the Creek Don't Rise"

As a rejoinder to "See ya", the title phrase is a regional euphemism used largely today in an attempt to be cute or friendly or humorous.  I am sure there are areas of the United States where it is still in general use. God knows who lives back in the Smokies and the wilds of Western New Jersey (Yeah, there are. . .) But being raised a big city girl, I never heard it until I dated a person who had been raised rural and traveled many parts of the world.  He used it to be cute, I am sure. I married him.

Anyway, today, as we near the Vernal Equinox, the temperature hovers around 47 degrees Fahrenheit, (she adds this coyly, knowing the world-wide breadth of her blog audience) the ground is still covered with several inches of snow,  and it has been raining lightly for about 24 hours.  My little creek is already over its banks.  This should be interesting.  The carp flopping around under the play gym was a memorable sight.

"BORING" and I do quote. . .

In a local library-type amateur critique group we were talking about slow sales and some one said re:  Sacred Sin.  "Don't you think that story's been told enough?  Like Gone With the Wind?"  I mentioned I was well aware it has been told and retold but I was working more in the Arthur-Guinevere vein.  I wonder if anyone told Margaret Mitchell her book was too derivative of the King Arthur Legends?

And a baker (!!!) in England found my sex scene excerpted here, "Sex in the Shower"  (most hits of any post ever) introspective, (Bad?) human, (Bad?) and somewhat boring.  He said he felt a little sad for me if I thought it was racy.  I think he was looking at some of my other book blurbs cuz I didn't use the word "racy" on Algonquin's Table.  He probably didn't find enough references to "shaved pussy" which he mentions a lot in his work,  and which I think sounds a little crude.  And anyway, my heroines can all afford laser treatments for that issue. Well, maybe not Deanie.

Guess I'm having one of those bitter days here. Don't know why. Ben's team won again and last night I felt like I was back in that writing place after a long time.  So on with that boring, introspective, human stuff that's already been told.  And retold. Gonna tell it again!!



Photo attribution:  www.shavingstuff.com (I am not making that up.)

Now That I have Your Attention

SACRED SIN

A silly love story with moments of such intensity you will weep as it tears at the heart of your memories and your dreams.

Let's Bunch Up Our Skivvies; Another WTF Moment

So it was on the Web and on Facebook and many many pub, Indie,  or author blogs and posts.  Amazon won the rights in court to a patent to RE SELL ebooks that had already been sold.  They want to open a used book store for digital files.

I am no computer whiz.  I usually write most of it off as Magic because I don't want to figure it out.  I have to keep myself contained.  A few weeks ago I was reading a beginner's guide to quantum physics and kind of getting into it.  I had to stop myself up short and give myself a good shaking.  But I do know a digital file is an endless resource.  I also know that putting DRM on a book is stupid because there are dozens of sites that will tell you how to go around it.  The only time I did it was because I pushed the wrong button and they wouldn't let me undo it. 

I am not sure what a Bit Torrent site is but I know it is like user to user and bypasses servers some where and it is shady if not illegal.  But certain people that advocate open sourcing and intellectual property freedoms will only use Bit Torrent for their readers (i.e.: Mises.org)  I kind of don't pay attention so tell me if something needs to be cleared up here.  Anyway, shortly after the big Shades of Gray debut, a reputable blogster in the Indie book area gave the addresses of the bit torrent sites where you could download all three volumes for free.  I am a little scared of doing that  because I have heard those sites are heavily monitored, and I am already logged in to Al-Jazeera and probably, hopefully, on someone's NSA list. but how many people did Apple sue when they caught kids downloading music without paying for it?  Or paying for it and giving it to thousands of people?  One I read about.  A kid in a dorm room that they went after for zillions and who knows if it was ever prosecuted.  Certainly, I feel sure, they never collected a cent.  And the pirating of 3 Shades didn't keep the author from making millions.  

There is this site called Quora (q.v.) that seems so nice.  I've posted some stuff and answered some questions and even gotten a thumbs up or two.  (Oh, Lord!  Only we lonely blogsters know the importance of a thumbs up!) So they had a forum about owning digital files and this one guy said he had a vast digital library and went to a lawyer to find out about willing the work to his heirs and the lawyer said there was no law yet, he would have to look into it.  So this guy was wondering what the current drift was.  Umm, want to let your son inherit your digital books?  Hand him your Kindle.  

So anyway, already purchased digital books are now probably going to have some code embedded in them saying how many people read it and how much someone will have to pay to read it again.  And it will take some hacker about four days to figure out the over ride for that.  And how much do we think Amazon spent on lawyers for this show?  

And, I guess journalists have to make a living, just like the lawyers do, but now there are dozens of articles in every sort of publication, Internationally, about how now that Amazon "owns" the digital used book stores, whatever are Kobo and Nook and Apple and everyone else going to do?  Why, shucks.  Amazon has just put the final pillow over the mouth of the suffocating publishing industry.  

Spare me.



IMAGE ATTRIBUTION:

NYPL.org

THE WINNER

Do I have to say I was wrong. . .again?  My Wordpress blog outstripped my Google blog by one hit yesterday, And it is only a few months old.

Everyone says that Wordpress is so wonderful, but I still have issues with them that arise from my having a blog with them some years back with a different email name.  I rarely am able to comment on anyone's Wordpress blog. And it comes up a different way almost every time I sign in.  I have to go to Wordpress and log in instead of using my URL.  Well, what does that mean?  Maybe everyone does.

But, yeow, the traffic is impressive.  Still, ever cynical me wonders what if all those hits were on one blog?

READING

First let me announce the production of an entirely new novel, way off the beaten path from the frivolous but fun stuff I write. The YA (young adult)  (lots of sex, but implied) market is so hot right now, especially if it is paranormal  so I have decided to whore out my abilities.

In this book the main character is a young girl about sixteen years old.  Since she "became a woman" at age thirteen she has noticed she has strange powers.  She can levitate small objects by thinking at them.  Every day she finds she can levitate bigger and bigger objects.  Her husband/boyfriend will never need Viagra.

Then she falls in love and her love interest is aware of her powers and she fears that is the only reason he is consorting with her, but he is nice and she likes him.  Then, with his prescient power, one of many, he realizes that their kingdom will be invaded by a group of human-like creatures with a name I haven't made up yet.  Then they begin to find others with  super, "paranormal" if you will, powers and they all band together to defeat the enemy and live happily ever after except for the things that will happen in book two and book three.

Just kidding here.  That is the plot of 84% of all "YA" novels and I sure don't need to write another one.

Secondly, I am not a very popular writer.  According to recent graphs posted on Amazon, I am 672,000 in rank in one category and 34,000 in another.  I get some nice reviews, more nice than bad, but I get some bad ones too. I have actually made money on this project.  Actually it is always a surprise when money is posted to my account because I seem to be completely unable to understand the charts and reports offered for my perusal. And I read the reviews, and I am getting better about not crying over them if they are cruel.  BUT.  I read one that very kindly gave me a two star review.  The things she said, I think she should have given me a minus five, but that's just me.  The review was interesting but I got the distinct impression she was having trouble following the story.  One girl, two guys.  What is complicated about that?  Anyway, it is kind of long, but  most every one, even the haters, have to struggle through to the end to see who gets shot first.  Which I consider sort of a compliment.  BUT one thing she said puzzles me endlessly.  She said, "At one point it seemed like the narrator was telling the story." As opposed to what?  Waiting in the car?

I know  there is a big deal about "showing" rather than telling.  "Showing" is big with MFAs.  Many popular authors say "Hogwash.  I am here to tell a story." I tell.  But you see every thing that is going on so I guess my telling shows stuff.  My work is very visual. My brother said about one, "It is a chick flick."  I also classify that one as positive.

Well there was a third thing, but my anxiety ridden mind has lost that thread.  You were getting sleepy anyway.  Maybe I will catch up with you later.

Oh, no.  Wait up a sec.  I remembered it.  I received  a comment on Outside Plumbing.  He very kindly offered hints on how to get your outdoor faucets ready for the frosts of winter.  I thought that was adorable.  I am also pretty sure he didn't read Outside Plumbing.

Huge HUGE thanks to all of you that have stopped by during 2012.  I am amazed and grateful.  Being inordinately cynical, I can't help but wish those blog hits were cash sales of the books, but I appreciate you stopping by.

Y'all come back, now.  Real soon.

Ilustration from http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/ComicBook/X-Men

AAARGH...

Once again, I  have posted the wrong link to my freebie in about a dozen places.  In the actual blog I had it two different ways.  Thanks to those that pointed it out to me for even bothering because I do this so much it is beyond belief.


http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0098R9HPK



No.  Seriously, this works. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0098R9HPK

Delusion, Illusion, Reason and Reality

I think my mother might have hated me.  I know she resented me, but I was never sure why.  Maybe because I was smarter than the Golden Prince and the Golden Prince was supposed to be the smartest.  Maybe because I never had to ask her to help me understand things.  I always thought my take on things (still do) is the right one for me and usually the right one.  Just the right one.

Maybe it was because I was just something she had to do, like because of the day and age she lived in, or because she was Catholic, or because nobody she had ever heard of  had just one kid, so another one was supposed to come along.  I do know that she felt she had to have another kid and it was planned at a drawing board so it was convenient for everyone.

She was pretty, much more pretty than the average bear I am led to believe,  but a child can never have an unbiased viewpoint about that.  I think she thought I was ugly.  I look at pictures of me at every age, and I think I was the cutest thing.  I would die to have had a little curly headed redhead  girl.  Instead she got her.  I only remember being teased about some really major times in my life, like getting a figure.  And God made that shit up to me. He gave me a great figure.  I feel like God knew what was going on and tried to lend a helping hand.  But now I am shaken in my belief.  

My mom died a few years ago and one of my brothers cannot get over it.  He idolizes her.  I only remember the embarrassment she caused me, singling me out for jokes in front of company, drinking until she was staggering and slurring, caring about "care" in so far only as it applied to my father.  I feel like she was never herself.  I feel like I was always myself. I feel/still feel like I had to be---that I was all I had to cling to. And it is only me that is holding me together, keeping me standing right now.

My mother left me with two horrible unsolvable problems.  No matter how strong I feel or how strong I am, I cannot solve these problems.  I can only stand here like a dessicated sponge soaking up pain from these two problems, every day, every minute of my life.  That's all I can do in my life---while I have life.

I feel strongly about karma, and as a joke, I say, what ever it was that I did to deserve this, I hope I enjoyed it. But I cannot imagine.  I do not believe I have ever hurt anyone as much as these two things are hurting me. And I cannot see that, under any circumstances or imagined scenario that I will learn or become stronger from this.  I feel like it is chipping away at my heart bit by bit with an extremely dull and cold chisel.  I know it is impossible for me to ever know the outcome or the possible rewards for living through this in my lifetime, if ever. 

I ask her, probably daily, why she did this to me.  Not that it doesn't impact other people.  It does.  And others are being terribly hurt, but it still seems like I am the focus. And it is an absolute truth that both things things have been placed here by her. I don't get it.  There is no lesson embedded in this.  It is just pain, pointless,  unnecessary pain.  I hope that is not the legacy that I leave behind me.

I receive professional advice , psychoactive meds, and counsel from wise and loving people whose views I value greatly and admire, but all I ever walk away with is that I have to make peace with the situation.  I can't.  I refuse to.  If I had a large rusty nail sticking out of my forehead I would not endeavor to ignore the discomfort, nor would I ask people to ignore the fact that a large rusty nail is sticking out of my forehead because I am being so fucking brave about it that they shouldn't call attention to it.  They should pretend it is not there.  Because I am working so hard to pretend it is not there.  No.  Pull the fucking nail out for Christ's sake. 

CREDIBILITY ON-LINE

A young friend of my daughter went to Amazon to post a review of Outside Plumbing.  She noticed the other reviews she had previously written for other books (I think there were two) were gone.

This is being talked about all over the web, on blogs, on-line publications (such as Huff Post) Linked-In, Facebook, etc. One of my books had two reviews and they removed one.  Maisie still has not a single review.

A person who is held up as a great success in selling e-pubbed books, and who even wrote a best-selling book about that subject, has admitted publicly that he has over 500 paid-for reviews.  He did this after the contractor who arranged for the reviewing wrote an article about it.  The contractor only blew the whistle when someone discovered the nature of his business and asked him to comment. This contractor also mentioned that you paid more for a good review than a mediocre one, but his sub-contractors were instructed not to write a negative review. 

Yet, the Amazon review is still considered the bench mark for e-pub success.  Some sites won't even list your book unless you have five reviews four star and over. 

Here is my response to the concerned young lady who approached me with the news.


"The review was on my phone last night but on my computer today it was not  showing up.  Some dick who has written a book about how to successfully become a best selling author has admitted publicly that he has over 500 paid for reviews.  I have books with two ratings and they take down one.  Maisie still shows no ratings at all.  Don't bother trying again.  It is horse shit.  Everyone is talking about it and yet everyone thinks your Amazon review is the most important indicator. Fuck it.  I'm tired of it anyway. 

Thanks for trying.  It was all just a mania side effect." 

I also signed a petition that is being circulated about it and I contacted Amazon Customer Service merely to ask "why" they are doing this. But I have already seen, several times, the form reply that Amazon sends out to people who inquire about the problem. 

It is also very discouraging that at least 85% of the comments I place on other blogs, websites or articles go into the black hole.  This bothers me as it is a loss of possible blog hits for me. But, further, it may appear to the people who comment on my blog that I am not interested in theirs.  Which is hardly true.  I hate to tell you how many hours I spend answering emails and reading my 'friends' blogs.

This writing stuff used to be fun for me and great therapy.  But the whole web presence stuff is getting to be a pain.  I actually received a notice that I was banned from a website I don't even disagree with.  Again, when I inquired as to why, I received no reply.  My message to them probably went into the black hole. 

And you make  a new contact on twitter and exchange tweets a few times and visit their blog and then someone steals their identity and sends you some porno link and you try to tell the person they should change their password and boing, one more unfollow.  They are never going to get a handle on this. 

Writer's Digest recently sent me a survey and a large part of it was devoted to what my opinions are about DRM.  (Digital Rights Management)  It is to laugh.

F***ING

Okay, everyone. Quick run and put your judgmental pants on.

What should I call this article? "Sexual Intercoursing", "Copulation", "Banging" ? I am open to suggestion. You will soon see why it cannot be titled "Love-making".

Many years ago I worked with an unmarried girl who was about  five years younger than I. We became quite close friends and saw each other socially for various reasons.  After I left the job we were in contact for many years. I worked in a glass booth in the lobby of a company that was at that moment manufacturing the hottest brand of the hottest "new thing" on the market. I did the switchboard, reception, and security for the front entrance. Everyone had to have a badge. This was not so common then as it is now. One day Mr. Gronski called me from engineering and said, "We had to fire Adam and his mom just called and said he is on the way over here with a gun. Don't let him in."

Honestly.

And whiz-bang champ that I was and am, I handled it beautifully.  Even calmly announcing after about thirty minutes of chat (he was a good guy and we liked each other) that he shouldn't get upset, now, but there are six squad cars in front of the building. Well, that is kind of an aside, but it is just to point out that it was a kind of important job and this female was my back up. We spent many hours chatting in this glass booth. We would do menial typing or accounting jobs as fill-ins, but we socialized a lot and I knew a great deal about the most intimate parts of her then current social life.  Now, don't go all critical and judgmental on me here. My opinions will be evidenced, and you don't know how you would have handled it. Talking about it is different than living through it.

She got pregnant and trusted only me to tell about it. She mentioned it to the "donor", but he didn't want to handle this part of it. She wanted an abortion and asked me to accompany her and I agreed without offering my opinions or suitable alternatives. I well knew her circumstances and reasoning at this point.

We went to the Albany Park Woman's Health Center which is a close if not accurate facsimile of its name.  was where you went to get birth control products, VD treatment, abortions, etc. Everyone acted like it was a woman's health center but it was widely known in the city that you usually went there for an abortion. Of course it was only one of many such centers in this very large city.  She had counseling and stuff and, afterwards, I took her to her parent's summer cabin for a few days recovery.  Her boyfriend joined her there later. Her parents were unaware of the entire drama.

When she needed to talk about it later, and she did, I was there to listen, and I had one child and a bunch of pregnancy disasters, so I was able to give counsel. We actually even talked about what a beautiful baby it would have been. The thing that struck me most and remains with me to this day is how crowded the waiting room at that facility was. You can get pregnant maybe four days a month, and if this many women on just this one day, had unwanted pregnancies and they were a percentage of the pregnant women because there were others who wanted the pregnancy, and there were many  other centers like this one everywhere, it struck me that there must be a heap of fucking going on. I was not particularly chaste at this time in my life, but still, it boggled my mind.

About a year later, it happened to her again and she turned to me for help. I started crying and said I couldn't. I was at the beginning of what turned out to be a successful pregnancy and I thought she was being too blase about it. I told her the boyfriend needed to take her so it sunk in how serious it was. She understood and we remained friendly.

Okay. That is like the forward.

****
A few days ago, my daughter and I received emails from a distant relative just cuz we were on his enormous remailing list. We were discussing it and the conversation turned to his relationship to our family.  His mother was sister to so and so.  Before a certain patriarch of ours became a married person he had been intimate with the emailer's mother, his eventual wife's sister.  When a "person" heard about it, too many many years after the fact, the "person" became upset. Disparaging the memory of honored ancestors I guess. This segued into a conversation of how a similar situation had occurred and certain future generation members became upset when they inadvertently became a party to the details in an almost identical case  on the other side of the family. My daughter commented that she thought this probably went on  all the time and people just didn't talk about it.

Today a person I respect and admire enormously told me a story about a terrible marital disaster that occurred in the lives of close family members. He commented that he thought this stuff probably went on a lot more than we think, but people just don't talk about it.

I recall older novels where the single woman raises her actual child as an orphan and starts an orphanage just to be able to raise her secret child. (That one sticks with me especially because it was commented that this woman would have been considered beautiful if it hadn't been for her unfortunate red hair.) The "donor" married her sister. Then there is a Theodore Drieser novel, "An American Story" or something like that, where he hits the girl over the head with a shovel in a boat, and dumps her in the lake, a tidy way to solve the problem of his pregnant girlfriend.

Really, when you bother to think about it, those novels that are considered erotic or racy are portraying the tiniest instances of universal life. You might as well write a novel about the wonderful fork you used when you had dinner at the Carleton that time. Sometimes I kind of wonder how this many people have the time to fit in all this fucking and still carry on with what is considered normal life. I myself find the theoretical logistics mind boggling.

But still, in each individual case, the shock waves and historical repercussions can be so intense. You almost have to stop and ask yourself why.

Someone was doing research on whatever in the Bayous. He talked about how he saw this older couple a-settin' on the porch steps one afternoon and when he took the return journey a few hours later, the couple was  blatantly performing the rites of procreation on that very porch. Another person he interviewed said, "I don't know what's the fuss all about sex. It's just a squirt in the dark."

So, to tie up the frayed ends of today's treatise,  it seems that what I have to announce is a conclusion that you already may have reached on your own. You just don't talk about it.

There probably never was a sexual revolution. There is probably, percentage wise, the exact same amount of fucking going on that there has been since the dawn of time. The only thing that has changed is the way we talk about it.

Or write about it.

CTA:  What is your perspective on this?

Excerpt from The Maze

(an excerpt)

.  .  .

Barney wanted to try and talk to Maisie before he left, see how she was.  But Jenny said she was gone.  He never saw that steely look in Jenny’s eyes before.  It chilled him.  He felt his world was narrowing in on him.  He felt alone.  He wanted a drink, called his sponsor, talked it through, stayed strong, flew to Denver, Told Madalyn and Fiona not to pick him up.  He had to lease a car anyway.  Fiona was abrupt on the phone.  He didn’t pursue the subject.  Just made his way woodenly to the airport and to Madalyn’s.  She hugged him when she saw him and pressed her face into his neck, but she felt the change.  The voltage, the need, whatever it was, it was gone.  “You’re gonna need some time.  It’s okay, Barney.  I understand.”

“Do you, Mad?  Cuz I don’t.  I should feel relief.  The order for dissolution is already signed by both of us and notarized and ready to be presented to the court.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.  I was worried.”

“Worried? That she’d fight it?  That she’d try to save her marriage?  No, Mad.  She didn’t.  She said it’s fine.  Whatever makes me happy.  No worries.  She’s strong.  No worries.  She’ll be fine.”

“She will.  We will.  She’s so young.  You weren't together that long.  .  .”

“That long?  We were together.  Now we’re not.  Everything is fine.  I’m free.  I can be with you now.  I told her I had to be with you now.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“What is going unsaid here?  This should be our moment.  But there’s an elephant in the room.  Isn't there?”

“I’m gonna stay at Fiona’s tonight.  I need to rest.  I need a space.”

“You need to be with me now.  That’s why you did this.  For us.”

“For us?  I’m going to Fiona’s.”

 ***

Fiona could only say to him, “I can’t talk about it, dad.  You have to deal with this on your own.  I love you and I try so hard to understand you, to at least see your point of view.  But I love Maisie and you guys were perfect.  Perfectly in tune.  I don’t see this thing with Madalyn at all.  And I knew her long before you met her.  How could it happen?  I can’t talk about it, dad.” She turned her back on him. 

  He was going to explain it was just the usual waking, half-drunk, to the awareness that his dick was in Madalyn’s mouth, but decided it wasn’t the kind of story you tell your daughter.  And Madalyn pushing the drinks on him had never before registered as being part of a plan of attack.  He was a guy.  It was a bj.  He was drunk.  Now what?

In the middle of the night, Fiona woke and saw the light in the family room.  Barney was staring at a silent television screen, an infomercial about a cookware set.  “Dad, you have to rest.”

“Please listen, Fiona.  Please.  I felt revulsion when she touched me.  What did I do?  Why did I do it?  I felt revulsion at my skin touching hers.  What have I done?”

“Dad.  Stay with her for a few days.  Take it slow.  It’s a big change.  You didn't expect this to be easy did you?”

“It was easy.  Maisie said she wants me to do what’s right for me.  Like she wants me to be with Madalyn?  Why would she want that?”

“That’s not what she said, dad.  She said she wants you to do what’s right for you.”

“But we were talking about me being with Madalyn.  Maybe Maisie knows better, knows I should be with Mad, knows she’s too young for me.  She started to seem so immature compared to Mad.  Like Maddie was on a path and knew what to do and where she was going.  And Maisie just floats along, letting stuff happen.”

“Yeah.  Right.  Stuff just floats by Maisie.  She just sits there.  Writes two more books, raises three kids, keeps a perfect house, cooks from  scratch, looks adorable, loves you to death, puts up with you.  Just floating.  And, I know you make a good living, so I won’t even go there, but, really, dad?  Supporting her?  How does that work?  Emotionally?  And you in the sack with the next bimbo in line?”

“That’s hitting way low, Fiona.  That’s not how it was.  And I know now I need to be with someone who is mature enough to see that you have to take care of the future, have goals.  You can’t just.  .  .”  His nose was getting all clogged up with backed up tears.

“Dad.  Rest.  Take time.  Wait ‘til the dust settles.  And I don’t want to give out advice, but you are not in a good place.  You aren't thinking of jumping into another marriage, are you?”

“The order of dissolution isn't a divorce.  After it's filed  the judge still has to issue the decree.”

“I know that, dad.”

“I told them to hold off filing and the JAG is my buddy.  But I’m just making excuses.  I’m so confused.”

“You have to spend time with Madalyn and sort out your feelings.  Maisie and the kids gone is a major upheaval for you.  Don’t rush.”

“I’m gonna talk to that doc friend of yours tomorrow.  Thanks, FiFi.  I think I can sleep now.  You don’t mind if I sack out here a couple of hours do you?”

“Couple of hours.  Couple of days.  Just take some time here.  Please?”

“Okay.  Yeah.  Okay.  Fuck.  It was like revulsion.  It made me think of that gecko.  I thought we had good chemistry.  I hope it was just a reaction.”

Walking back to her room Fiona thought, “Yeah, dad.  A  reaction.  Get a clue.  Pure carbohydrate chemistry, dad.  Booze and you know it.”

 ***

 He talked to the doctor the next day and had dinner with Madalyn.  She was glowing.  She knew when they made love again he would remember why he was here.  He’d know they were supposed to be together.  But she wondered why he wouldn't drink the martini, would only ask for more water.  They went back to her place and she moved toward him.  She teased at his shirt buttons, bit at his lips, started to unbutton her blouse.  He woodenly tried to get into it, remembered they’d really been hot for each other.  Knew it would kick in.  She was in great shape for her age.  Really good boob job.  Gorgeous silvery gray lingerie.  Maisie wore underpants, not lingerie.  This was what they called lingerie.  His mind wandered off.  “That grey tank top she always wore to bed with the little frayed bow.  .  .”

Madalyn touched him, looking for his response.  Drew her hand back in shock.  She was having no effect on him.  “It’s okay, Barney.  I know you need time.”  She went into the bedroom and took a couple of Ambien.  In the morning he was asleep on the couch, snoring, still dressed, rumpled, looking kind of awful, actually.

“I have to go talk to that doc again.  I gotta get in the shower.”  She followed him in and tried to make love to him.  He said, “I’m sorry, Mad.  I don’t  know what’s going on.  The doc will help me straighten this out.”  But Madalyn was pretty sure she already knew what was going on with Barney.

 ***

 Half way through the second hour with Barney, the doc laid it all out for him.  “You might be impotent because of the guilt or because it’s going too fast.  You expected to work through things with Maisie and process it all as you moved from one relationship to the other.  But you haven’t had the time to do that.  Maisie didn't cooperate.  She wouldn't give you time to process it.”

“But I was in the new relationship.  Maisie was right.  Our relationship was gone or I wouldn't have gotten into this new one, fallen in love with Maddie.’

“Listen to yourself, Barney.  You're giving yourself permission because Maisie said it’s okay.  You used the word ‘revulsion’.  That’s very telling.”

“Isn’t it normal to grieve for the old relationship? The loss of my family?”

“Sure it is, Barney.  Even the impotence.  Perfectly normal.  Text book.  You could hang around and see if your pecker responds.  I could write you a scrip for Viagra.  You can go through the motions.  Anyone can.  But revulsion? Thinking a couple of drinks would make that go away?”

“Yeah.  I was thinking that, but I know I can’t have that first drink.  Especially when things are so unsettled.  I’m in transition.  I have to process it.  I’m thinking alcohol was a mechanism in this.  I know I can’t blame it on that, but I’ve been very strong up until now.”

“You don’t want to think Madalyn plied you with drinks to bring down your defenses.  You want me to say you have to be accountable for your own actions.  You already know that and I’m not going to say it.  I’ve met you socially and professionally through Fiona—seen you with Maisie, counseled you, partied with you, heard stories from Fee about your whole family.  Once again, there is that conflict of the personal and the professional.  You’re here for my professional opinion today so I’ll try not to let this get personal.  But I feel it’s my obligation to say Madalyn has a reputation in this town and we all watched in shock that she was doing it to you.  If you are sure you love her and want to be with her—well, that’s a possibility we must consider.  But I think your affair with Madalyn was a symptom.  You don’t sound like you’re in love with her.  You sound like you’re trying to sell me on it, Barney.  This isn't a ‘you and Madalyn’ problem.  It’s a continuation of the ‘you and Maisie’ problem.  You're still afraid to let little Maisie hold your balls in her hands.  You have to prove to yourself and to her that you and nobody else has control over your manhood.  It’s classic Jung.  It’s cliche'  mid-life crisis.  I've never before been pissed off at a patient.  You’re what? Forty eight?  Grow the fuck up, Barney.  Give the intimacy to the person you love and need.  Throw away the fear.  You don’t need to have fear.  You need to trust the one you love with your feelings.”
“You’re not talking about Madalyn.  You’re talking about Maisie.”

"Wow, Barney.  You didn't even need to put that in question form  Get the fuck out of my office.  I have a loaded gun in my desk."