Category: writers

To Insure Prompt Service T.I.P.S.

A recent article about tipping brings to the forefront of our “things to talk about;” tipping.

Europe has simply raised the cost of goods and services 20% to 30% in their restaurants and stopped tipping. The money “supposedly” used to increase the wages of the employees as well as pay for things like health care. I do not see any issues here, do you?

In theory, it sounds great but what accountability is there on the shop owners that they will use that money for those reasons? The answer is none.

I would prefer to TIP my server, as his or her service can be quantifiably assessed by his or her clients. They get immediate feedback.

Speaking of jobs if I could choose, I would like to be a restaurant critic. I already am a foodie and know something about food. I used to travel a lot, when on an expense account one of my companies allowed generous benefits in that area. Taking clients out to dinner often times I went to 5 star places and came to know the difference between good, mediocre and bad.

If I could have dinner with one celebrity, it would be Gordon Ramsey. In the world of IT, I am just like him, other than I can choose my vernacular better than he…I still have that style and appreciate an honest person.

Life is not fair.

Not everyone will have the same skills and talents. When you as a younger person piss off your opportunities afforded to you in school, you relegate yourself to jobs that are currently being taken by others from other countries that think those jobs are sweet; you limit your possibilities!

In the food services industry, servers that are good, earn more money than those that work in the back room.

I would point out that the kitchen helper position is not exactly a career choice that anyone should aspire to. Much like working in the mailroom in a large corporation, those are entry points into the job market. They are minimum wage jobs because they require little talent to perform.

Retail sales is not a career choice, it is an entry point. The problem is that managers that work there will tell their people anything to encourage them to keep their nose to the grindstone and work hard as they see management potential in them. Most of the time they are lying in an effort to placate you into giving them more of your time in return for part time minimum wage dollars.

“Time is expensive.”

When you boil it all down, what you are selling is bits and pieces of yourself through the time you invest. We are all whores if you think about it; we will do almost anything for money.

“Money truly is the root of all evil!”

People that find a way to live comfortably, without killing themselves to earn more money, are probably the true winners of the game of life.

Higher paying jobs are inherently more stressful, and stress kills. Stress produces a hormone known as cortisol. This hormone is the “fight or flight” hormone, released when danger is present. When we stay in a stressed out situation, that hormone is released in copious amounts, and often…that takes a toll on your body and your health suffers.

If corporations had a brain in their collective heads, they would look into ways to reduce the stress on their employees; as stress leads to job burnout, sick time and turnover. Those are costly!

If you can live on minimum wage, work your 8 hours and whistle while you work, your life might be sweet.

Those who chase the dollar their whole life, typically die young and leave their life’s work to their spouse or their greedy progeny to fight over, allowing attorneys to swoop in like vultures, and acquire the bulk of it.

Tips for success.

Get a good education.
Find a trade or skill that cannot be outsourced, and master it.
Discover all of your talents and skills. What are they? Take an inventory of them.
Are any of them marketable?
Figure out what you like to do…what makes you happy?
Can you find a job doing that?

Keep toxicity out of your life.

If you have toxic friends, develop boundaries and keep them outside of them. If your job is toxic, find something else as soon as possible. We all have worked around toxic people who bitch and moan incessantly. That is their own toxic cesspool, which they most likely have created. Stay out of their sphere of influence. Do not add to it and certainly do not marry into it. You cannot fix stupid and you cannot help someone that does not know either that they need help or that they do not want it. Some people actually enjoy being miserable. They like to be the victim. You cannot help them.

As a manager, identify those employees and try to work with them through HR, or get rid of them, that BS is contagious.

Tomorrow is never coming back. The time you spent reading this is gone, forever. The time I spent elucidating my thoughts on these subjects is gone as well. I hope that I spent that time wisely. I am optimistic in thinking that you got something out of it.

Time is your stock in trade. Time can be measure in heartbeats as you only have so many. There is a finite number of times that your heart will pump that life force around your body. Do not waste it.

Now go take on the day!

-Best

My Fifteen Minutes

Everyone seems to get his or her 15 minutes.

I made the front page of a small East Texas Newspaper twenty-four years ago, in a most austere way.

Driving home this evening I passed more than one person who was weaving in their lane. Usually it is because they are texting or trying to see who called and of course, they are much better at this than every other driver is, so they can do it safely. Sometimes the weaving is simply because they are drunk, or high.

In the year 1992, my life changed forever.

After a head on collision at freeway speeds involving an intoxicated 80 year old, I was forced to re-invent myself. Managing to live through being treated in a small country hospital that doubled as an emergency vet… (Joking…, I think…) I was destined to do other things.

The broken bones and lacerations healed, but the scars remain, hidden just under the surface, pain is a constant reminder of that fateful day 24 years ago. I have legs today because I happen to enjoy coffee. Moments before the impact, I had stopped to purchase Gas and coffee. Filling one of those stainless steel thermoses, I had the thermos upright in the seat beside me. Topping the hill to find a Cadillac, in my lane coming at me, my two options were to dive into the other lane or hit the brakes. A red Truck was in the lane beside me so, in the split second that I had to utter the explicative “Oh Shit!” It was all over. Literally, the accident was that fast. I had locked up anti-locks breaks, and bent the brake pedal…He never attempted to hit his breaks.

The combined collision speed was 115 miles an hour. How they got all that I have no idea however, my speedometer was stuck at 45…frozen in time.

The memory of that split second in time, indelibly etched into my brain is a constant reminder of what happens when idiots drink and drive. Every detail lives with me in excruciating detail. Time fascinates me today because of this, as I think time is not linear but relative. During the Nano second of the impact, the event turned into one of those films you see that was taken by a high-speed camera. Bits of glass tumbled frame by frame, horizontally from my left to right. The dash came up to meet me as the steering wheel crushed my face and chest. The thermos full of coffee tumbled from beside me, launching itself to the floor, lodging between the firewall and the frame of my seat. The hydraulic effect of the thermos filled with liquid, stopped the dash from severing my legs and most probably kept the shaft of the steering column from piercing my heart.

The driver of the other car was under his dash. He was hauled away first in the first ambulance arriving on the scene. He had one small cut on his forehead and released from the hospital that day. He was not even wearing a seatbelt. I never heard what happened with the driver after that. Since both of us had the same insurance company. I was lucky to be compensated for my losses. I remember the claims person as being nasty to me on the phone… They did not even replace my truck as it was now 6 months old. I was upside down on the loan and they did not care…. It was a smaller truck, not one of the full size trucks like I drive today. I understand that claims adjusters work for the benefit of the insurance company but I was surely not in “good hands.” Insurance is in fact unavoidable, if you are lucky; you are pissing your money away paying for something that you will never need. They do whatever they can do to keep from paying out.

The trip to the hospital started as I said, after they removed and transported the person who was responsible for the accident.

My vision was fading, as the pain in my chest was intense. I made my peace with God as I knew that I was going to die and strangely enough, I did not seem to mind. There was a strange peace about it as if the answer was at hand; this is how it will happen. God however had other plans… While waiting for the final sting… I tried to relieve the pain, I managed to remove my seat belt, but the pain was still there.

With what was left of my vision, I was able to watch as they pulled the other driver from under his dash and put him onto the stretcher. A man came to my window talking with me as I told him about the pain and the vision issues. It hurt to talk and my statements were short as breath was scarce. My face had met up with the steering wheel, Or the steering wheel with my face, so talking “clearly, plainly” was not really an option; nor was it possible as blood was now leaving my body through every orifice that I had visible and some places that were not visible.

The engine and tires of my truck were underneath my seat. Using the jaws of life I heard the popping sounds of the metal as they cut my door away from around me. Finally, they got to me after removing my door and cutting what was left of the restraining device that was still wrapped around me. By now, my vision was all but gone, but I could still hear the noises of the equipment, and the voices of the first responders. You have heard people mention the white light. My vision had faded from white sparkles to a blank white screen. One of the responders said, “It is a miracle that he is alive.” Placing that plastic collar on me, they then pulled me out of my truck. Once they laid me down, my vision returned. I could see the emergency vehicles, and the wrecker driver picking up my belongings as they were now strewn over much of the freeway. Steam was coming out from somewhere under my seat which was now where the engine was. The bed of the truck was warped; the force of the wreck torqued and twisted the metal.

Once in the ambulance the man told me that he was going to put some sugar water into me, the 18 gauge needle was going to hurt. Compared to the rest of the pain that I was in, that was a mosquito bite.

Arriving at the hospital, they were already working on the other person that hit me. A curtain separated us, but I could hear him. He was old, drunk and on medications. His wife had just bought him another car as he totaled the last one. He had badgered her about driving so she bought him this old big Cadillac so if he were in an accident; he would be protected. He bragged about how he guessed she was right because he was still there.

Laying there on the other side of the curtain, listening to him tell the story of his classic Cadillac, what was left of my blood boiled! It was not bad enough that they took the old person first, but I had to be in the same room with him!

It was now my turn to be treated like meat.

Cutting my clothing off me there was no shortage of witnesses to watch the story unfold. Doctors, nurses, physician’s assistants (young attractive female with long curly brown hair) and a burly old cop who clearly had never missed a meal, were a few that made the cadre of spectators.

The report of the accident was read aloud to all that were present including the fact that my seatbelt was not buckled.

I tried to tell them that I took it off but, the cop was making notes, not interested in my wellbeing but who was at fault and if there was a ticket to write. He looked down at me as if to say, yea sure…we have heard that one before… I was pissed! Arrogant son of a bitch! If he could not see from the evidence what happened, he was a moron!

As they cut my shirt off, a large purple stripe across my chest and my belly that the belt left, told the tail, and at that; the cop put his ticket book away! I was more concerned about living through this and he was looking to write a ticket. I do not mean to sound churlish. I know many police who I call friends. Thinking about this, I am still pissed at that asshole!

The doctor was wearing a black silky sports jacket with a yellow logo on it as he was at some sporting event and was on call. He was not happy to be there and his bedside manner left much to be desired. There were two hospitals in this town, one for poor folks, and one for people with means. I had insurance and means and they brought me to the other hospital that was in need of so many things.

After examining my naked body in front of many people, the “doctor” flipped me over to stuff a finger up my butt as the final insult… Now I had broken bones, crushed chest, face and legs and without x-rays or anything else, he treats me like a slab of meat to finish his exam so he can write up some orders for the nurses and get back to what he was doing before the rude interruption. After he was satisfied with his initial exam, he left. They did a sonogram of my heart to find that it had been bruised. Then they took me down to x-ray. X-ray was close to the morgue, I could smell dead people, or was it me.

The ceiling tiles, stained from years of leaks and neglect told the tail of the financial history of this place. The X-Ray machine would not stay in place. After she would set it, get some distance to trigger it, the head would slide down, as its joints were old and loose. We had to take several “pictures” before she was finished. No telling how much extra radiation that I was exposed to because of this antiquated relic that belonged in a museum.

Back in the emergency room, the man’s wife arrived. He told her… “They said I was in the wrong lane.”

Laying there listening to him getting his three stitches on his forehead, it was not long before he was released to go home. Before they left, his wife came over to me. From what I could tell, I was covered in my own blood from head to toe. My beard was caked in blood. She rubbed my forehead as she apologized… ”I knew better to get him another car.” She said…then she told me “I am not supposed to tell you this, we have good insurance…”

Even in my state of mind, I was too nice to tell her what she could do with her good insurance… I had to live through this day, this night and then another day before I could even think about getting things taken care of.

After hours spent in the emergency room; I was moved to ICU. If you have never been in the hospital before “and I had not” this was not an experience that I would welcome or recommend.

Since I had a bruised heart, it was decided that I could not have pain medication. A dentist came in and checked my teeth that had gone through my face. Stitching up my face from the inside out, no pain medication was used.

The next fun thing was the doctor that set my broken nose. This person reminded me of the professor on back to the future. Pushing on my nose with his thumb, he could not get it exactly straight so again, without any pain management, he put these huge forceps up my nose and … got it straight. The pain was unbelievable as the final crunching sounds of the bones ceased.

The machine that monitored my pulse echoed the throbbing of the pains in my body.

Listening to the beeping of the machine, I knew as long as it was beeping, I was alive.

The PA came in and tried multiple times to get me to tell her what I was taking. “C’mon, we know you are taking something, what it is…we need to know…” “Really…my word meant nothing… I don’t do stuff like that, never have!” Several times she tried to get me to tell her what I was on…the answer was always the same. I maybe the only person on this damned planet who has never done it but…I don’t…

“We don’t know what you are on so we can’t give you pain medicine.” She said… What was I supposed to do, lie so they could manage my pain?

The next day, after the worst night in my life the toxicology report came back…my potassium was low…”What are you doing to cause your potassium to be low?” the doctor with bad bedside manners asked. “Ummm, I don’t salt my food…” Never did get as much as an aspirin.

The days and nights blurred together as I could not sleep. My nose was packed with cotton, and it throbbed for days. I could barely breathe as my ribs and chests were broken, breathing hurt!

Every few hours someone came in and jabbed me several times with a needle to get blood. The phlebotomist, if that is who they were, sucked at it! I was still getting saline from an IV so peeing was the only activity that I could muster. Lifting the sheets was near impossible and on several occasions, I had to get help…talk about humbling…

After the third day, glass from the accident was still imbedded in my hands left arm and face. My beard was one solid chunk of caked blood and not so much as one person offered to get the glass out of me or clean me up.

For entertainment, I found that I could control the beats of my heart. Using some biofeedback technique, I could slow them down to an eerie slow level or speed them up. I was hooked up with a remote telemetry gadget so someone somewhere could look at a screen and see my heart rhythm. There was also a camera on the ceiling watching me. At some point in time, I wanted a nurse and could not get one. I pulled the telemetry leads off my chest. The monitor went to a silent tone and … nothing. Nobody came for close to 15 minutes! If this was ICU, I shuddered to think what care was like in a regular room.

The next day the hospital administrator came to my bed as I had asked to be transferred to Houston. I personally knew Dr. Debakey and he knew me. He even told me once if I needed his services to let him know. If there was anything going on with my heart, I would much rather he and his team take care of me than this bunch of people.

The next day they moved me to a private room in the “best part” of the hospital. Some wing of the hospital had been made via donations from someone. It was there, with help from family that I managed to get myself into the shower, and stay there until I managed to get all the dried blood off me, out of my hair, and what have you. I then dug into my luggage and used my own damned tweezers to get the glass out of me.

The doctor with the crappy attitude before releasing me was much nicer on his final examination. I guess he was finally satisfied that I was not on anything…the wreck was in no way my fault or…he got lucky the night before…. Either way, I was happy to leave that hospital. Holding a pillow next to my chest my friend of many years drove me home where I lost months of employment and finally had to leave the job I loved, as I was no longer able to do it.

One of the people that I missed was Dr. DeBakey and his team. I had spent years taking care of the doctors in the Texas Medical Center and ended up in a small East Texas hospital that was a joke by any standards.

Loosing months of pay I got a call one day from MADD…mothers against drunk driving. While I could ill afford it, I sent them some money anyway.

Today 24 years later I am often teased about my driving. I am very defensive, leave lots of room in front of me and preach to those that will listen. I tell them to pay attention to what is going on at least 15 cars in front of you and leave enough room so you can see them. I am often told, I drive like a grandpa…slow. Slow translates to the speed limit or a mile or two above or below it, depending on the average terrain.

Driving a full size truck with many airbags is only a small part of my strategy. When I see these people with their damned phones driving and messing with the phone, part of me really wants to scream at them. Then the cops have radios, phones and a laptop computers and a host of other distractions while they drive through school zones…Folks, they are no different from you… Watch them; you will see them drift all over the road as they mess with their toys. I have seen them, and I cringe.

Keep your distance from them, big trucks and cheerleader types who think a selfie while driving through a school zone is smart. They do it! They are all over Facebook… Just the other day a young woman picked up her child from school and took off from the school, passing everyone doing 40 or better in a 20. She was on her phone at the time…texting as she passed me. “Where is a cop when you need one I said…” With that, a cop pulled up on her bumper on his motorcycle. She drove a long way without noticing him behind her, as she was texting on her phone. That ticket had to be pricey!

Who do you think you are that you can endanger others with your BS?

I wish I could say that this is a story and “blah blah blah” but the truth is, that this is the truth.

This happened, and I am certain that by now, some of the memories have faded but I must tell you, most are still there including the pain. Twenty-four years now, I have lived in unmitigated pain. I take nothing for it. I live with it, working out as best I can to help manage it…but there are no meds that would leave me mentally acute.

I do not know what happened with the man that hit me. I know that if you have the same insurance carrier, you lose. By now I am certain he is gone, but there are plenty others to take his place. There were no smart phones back then…Now everyone has one. Weed is legal in some states and I fear that those people will drive impaired as well. Even in states where it is illegal, I am certain that one of three folks is under some sort of influence.

Defensive driving if taught correctly, would be money well spent.

-Best

Getting Published #writer #author

I write the following from what I have learned thus far on this subject. I would appreciate input from those of you that have made this trip successfully.

Write Well

It cannot be overemphasized enough to write well. I have read many books written by people who were self-published. They wrote their story that they wanted to tell. Not being able to make their fortune from their manuscript, they self-published. They spent the next several months trying to sell enough of their books to re-coop their investment. Not everyone was meant to be a writer or published. If they had read their work more carefully they would have discovered that it was not written well. This leads me to my next thought.

Write for your enjoyment.

The passion that most writers have is not to sell millions of books, just to write. It has been said that if you want to get to know the author, read their book. Take this one-step further. If you want to get to know yourself, who you are…, write a book. When you are reading your story, if you are listening, you will find yourself in your characters. Insight as to who you actually are will come out in their actions and feelings.

If your characters do not have feelings, you need to go back and try again. Sell the story through their actions or feelings.

Which reminds me, do not try to do this for a living, until you are famous. Your sanity might depend upon you being in this world with a day job. We are social creatures, being around people and not in your world of your story all of the time is important. Of this… I speak from experience…

Start out with a bang!

The first few pages sell your book, especially for an unknown. The prologue is a good place to entice the reader to want to know more, than you can build the story after the prologue. Once you become a JK Rowling, than you can let your name (or brand) sell your product.

Be well read

Most successful writers read a lot. While I have read some “flash in the pan” books that were not well written, nor were the authors “well read,” that actually made it. Statistics show that more often than not, books that get published, are from people who were well read.

Have a story that is unique and interesting

Your story should be unique. If it is a rehash of a common situation, there is a good chance it will sit on the circular file cabinet of some publisher, until the janitor makes his or her rounds.

Expect rejection

You must have thick skin to be in this vocation. Your own family may not like what you have written. Do not expect everyone to love it as much as you do. This is your baby, your passion not theirs. As soon as you send it off to someone, start working on something else. One of the publishers that I have been talking with might take a year before they get back to you simply telling you, no thanks!

A Good Agent

First off, agents are about as hard to sell as are publishers themselves. Many folks take up writing as a get rich scheme instead of for the pure passion of writing or telling a story. Agents get a commission for what they do. Never pay someone up front…If the agent is a true agent worth their salt, they will know from your synopsis if this is something that they can sell.

Do lots of research on your agent before signing.

Good agents are available. Locating them through a writers league might be a good idea as the others in the league might have an experience to share.

Finish your work before you think about getting it published

I have spoken with many who get some idea for a book and immediately approach an agent or publisher. “You have nothing to sell, until there is a manuscript of 120,000 words or so in your hands.”

When writing your manuscript do not get hung up on the word count! After the editing process, your 135,000 words might be around 95,000. Somewhere between 100,000 and 120,000 seems to be optimal.

Check your work well before you send it off…

As alluded to in the last point, editing your work is paramount. When you decide to send it off, it should be as good as you could possibly make it. I like to read it aloud although one trick that I found is to have something like “Nuance’s Naturally Speaking” full edition; read it back to me, one paragraph at a time. Your mind will skip over clumsy sentences or bad grammar. The program only reads what it sees so the “you instead of the your” will pop out at you!

Try to get something published in a magazine prior to getting your book published.

This is a great idea for first time writers. Write a short story or several, 5000 words or so and submit it to magazines. If they publish it, they might pay around $500 for the story (one time) but you then can write on your cover sheet…published in…. That is a great way for your manuscript to get more of a look than 3 seconds, of some agent or publishers time.

“What magazine you ask?” What do you write? Sci-Fi… Pick a science fiction magazine and approach them with a story…

Submission guidelines are critical…

Everyone has some idea of what they expect to see when they open your manuscript. I have found double-spaced block type, cover sheet etc… They should have guidelines to follow…follow them not just a little bit, to the letter.

Have a well-written synopsis keeping it to two pages.

This is a problem for writers. You need to tell the complete story, with the ending in 500 words or so…2 pages… Look for guidelines online… Oh yes, it must be written well…

Purchase The Writer’s Market published by Writer’s Digest

Query Letter

Send a query letter even if they say they are currently not accepting. The worst thing that will happen is you wasted a stamp. (One page) Many publishers may say that they do not accept unsolicited manuscripts but truth be told, they all want best sellers. A query letter cost you .50 cents and it might perk their interests.

Sending your manuscript to agents and or publishers should not be with a lot of fanfare. Simply box it “if it fits its ships” or padded envelope and let the post office do it for you. No FED EX nothing like that…Media Mail in fact… Anything else gives the appearance of desperation. “They should be lucky that you have chosen them to publish…” Ok, maybe not but, you get the gist.

Now go back to writing and tell a story….

-Best

Below are a few links that I have found while digging.

http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/

http://agentquery.com/publishing_mp.aspx

https://querytracker.net/whatisqt.php

http://www.writersmarket.com/

https://duotrope.com/

As a favor to me, many of you read and like my posts, which I thank you from the very bottom of my heart. Follow me; share what you see. Thanks!

Gesundheit

: Yep, that tree is sending out its pollen…

This time of year, watering eyes, plugged up noses can be the start of something much worse if not taken care of properly.

Checking your pollen counts for your area when this happens is critical to know what it is that is effecting you.

“Why?” You Asked.

Avoidance things that you are allergic to, is your first line of defense from becoming ill.

746941main_pollenprairiehollyhock_full (1) — Is it any wonder why this thing bothers your sinuses?

Juniper is one of the triggers that affect many. The pollen from this plant causes the sinuses to become inflamed or agitated which in turn causes them to react, in this case, create mucus in order to wash away the offending irritant.

The sinus tissues becomes inflamed and swells, thus trapping that mucus allowing bacteria to find a nice moist place to grow and thrive. Once of course you have bacteria take hold, you now have a sinus infection.

The more disconcerting problem with this is; “why the hell do people plant this plant?” Yes, the plant has a pleasant appearance and stays green all year round.

Juniper_berries_2595104k — Oh, look how pretty….NOT!

From late September to April this thing sends pollen out onto the winds which affect many.

Older folks or people who already have respiratory concerns can become ill with these triggers which could actually lead to pneumonia and death.

“You can’t fix stupidity.”

Juniper plants grow all over the US so avoiding them may be a tough call. There are parts of the country with higher levels of pollen than others however. Living near the ocean where onshore breezes from the salt air is probably why so many live so long in Florida. Respiratory illness is one of the leading causes of death.

If you have ever looked up at the moon and seen this…that is pollen causing it and you can bet it is Juniper…

Manage the symptoms.

Talk with your Pulmonologist about your condition.

If you have not already done so, speak with an allergist and see if you are a candidate for immunotherapy.

When you start to sneeze, that is the time to get serious about your regimen to stay healthy.

Prophylactically attack the problem head on with everything in your arsenal from Nasal irrigation to anti histamines. Nose sprays with steroids in them are also a good idea. Keeping the swelling of the sinus tissues at bay will allow the mucus to actually wash the surface of the tissue and be expelled as they was designed to do.

While Allegra and Benadryl are over the counter, these too should be part of your arsenal if your doctor agrees with this.

What you take must be ok with your doctor, as your other meds may interact with it; or your particular health may not afford you the luxury of taking things such as this.

The idea is to avoid that which triggers your allergies.

Manage the symptoms

Go see your doctor before it gets too bad. Once it turns into an infection, a course of anti-biotics may be needed which we use way too liberally in this country. Bacteria will become resistant to them and then stronger and stronger antibiotics will be needed. These not only kill the offending bacteria but, the good bacteria that lives in us all.

Once these take hold…you may need the big guns to get rid of them.

Like brushing your teeth is a daily regime; I would take your sinus health just as seriously. If you decide to do some landscaping around your house, I would not plant cedar juniper plants just because these things are vile when it comes to health.

-Best

Depression…

There is a huge difference between depression and simply being sad. Sadness is a normal part of life and we all go through it. This time of year seems to bring on depression or bouts of it, for various reasons.

We could even call it “seasonal depression.”

As we age we lose people that we love.

Now, when the holidays come around or those other family events which bring everyone together; we think of those that are no longer with us. There at that certain spot, sits an empty chair which they should be in.

Looking into the “mirror of time” will not bring those people back. Those memories that we keep alive are what we still hang onto them with, and that is OK ; but not to focus on.

I personally have small mementos of those that I have lost, which I see daily. On one of my desk there sits this absolutely hideous lamp that one of my Uncles bought his wife as a gift. The shade is painted with some sort of pattern and I have to agree with my aunt, is it pretty terrible. His taste however; was not hers… Every time I see that lamp; I think of him, who I loved; and chuckle.

In another part of my house there is a small wooden wheel barrel that my grandfather made. He made it for my aunt when she was a little girl, who is also gone. When I see it…I think of him and her…and smile. I took it down the other day and dusted it… I noticed the fine workmanship that went into it and imagined my grandfather making it, some 80 years ago.

There is an old kitchen clock that was made in 1912 that my grandmother bought for her kitchen; while visiting New York in 1912. That clock sits in the Den. I never knew her but; I know that I would have loved her…From stories of her…she sounds a lot like me.

If I went through the complete list of stuff from the many in my life that I have loved, some might conclude that I was a hoarder. I hoard the memories of those that I loved, and sometimes I keep too many reminders of them. Pictures here and there of them, is really all we need but…that is just the way it goes.

My grandfather used to fish in the Mississippi not far from where he lived. He left me his tackle box which I still have. I open it every now and then, and gaze upon the things inside.

He was not a rich man but, here in this box is a wealth of stories and love… There is a history of taking me fishing when I was barely out of three cornered pants. A history of comforting a crying child who was just bitten by a horsefly stopping the bleeding followed by a history of teaching me how to catch a horse fly without getting bitten, and placing it on a hook and catching my first fish.

There are other stories of comforting a small child who hurt themselves, by spilling an entire wheel barrel full of leaves, that he had just picked up while trying to help.

There was my first taste of beer from his can while building our lake house. I was maybe 4 at the time and I remember the taste of it. I searched for years to find out that it was PBR…

From watching Saturday night wrestling with him, to listening to baseball games on a huge floor model radio…they are all there…tucked neatly away in that tackle box of life.

His sunglasses, old wire frame glasses, along with his lucky coin are two of the first two things that jump out at me. There are different lures and even a reel or two; still in their original box along with line that has to be older than me. I picture him walking from his house, to the bank of the Mississippi, pulling some sort of fish out of that river… He loved to fish …

After getting my “grandpa” fix, I carefully put everything back, just as I found it, and tuck it away until I find myself thinking of him… needing another fix, reminding me of the humanity of an old fashion, soft spoken man, who would give anyone that needed it, the shirt off of his back.

On one of my bookshelves there is this old plastic fisherman with a wire attached that has a small yellow plastic fish on it that used to adorn a shelf in his house. I am certain that it was a gift from someone who loved him. Daily; it is my reminder to be gentle, soft spoken and try to exude some of the wisdom, caring and compassion that I learned from this man. It is my reminder to not take myself too seriously, and to laugh…

Each year it seems that the Christmas card lists gets shorter, as more and more leave us.

Not only do we have our family and friends but, we too are effected by those that we come to love from the silver screen, and now of course the flat screen that entertains us. We grieve for those too; and each day it seems more of them are leaving…

Christmas music seems to bring on depression for me; so I limit my exposure to it.

This year, 2015; four of my good friends have passed. I have mementos of them and I even have a hat that one of them gave me that honors Reagan, who he was a fan of. I wear that hat from time to time just because I am thinking of the person who gave it to me.

I’ll be home for Christmas is a downer… Songs…good songs bring out emotions in people and that one makes me sad. I have been away at Christmas before, and it too reminds me of those that won’t be home for Christmas. When we turn this time into a time for “stuff” it really again shows the worst in some of us, with black Friday deals and “stuff!”

We can choose….

I choose to acknowledge them…and then look forward to time spent with those that are still here and of course those that I have yet to meet. I look forward to the memories that I have yet to make. I make damned certain that I smile at those that seem to be having a hard time, and learn everyone’s name that I come into contact with if, only to use it once during a conversation with them. From wait staff to the person checking you out at the store…They have a name and it is not “you there…or hey!”

Tonight I went to dinner with 3 of my close friends as a pre-holiday get together. We shared a few laughs, and I valued that time as it will never come around again. The waiter…Ross… I made sure to include him in the conversation when appropriate, and let him know that he was appreciated, not only by saying so but; by tipping in way that he knew how I felt.

Every one of us has some sort of personal battle going on. You have no idea what it is. Some of us honk ruthlessly and drive terribly because we feel that we are more important than others. We cut people off and we… “let’s face it; show our ass…”

“You don’t know what that person who you just did that to, is going through in their life…”

Lead by Example

When I managed people, I managed by leading by example. I was a “hands on kind of guy” and I would purposefully involve myself in the worst jobs that we had to contend with, to show that no job was too small or insignificant. Nobody is too small or trivial to be marginalized by given the “shit jobs.”

I made a point to know the cleaning crew’s names as well as the lady that watered the plants… We are all worthy of being treated as such; if you think we are not, your moral compass is out of whack!

We as people need to lead by example when we drive, engage with people and yes…be nice to the poor cashier who has to put up with impatient people, and company policies which require them to get information from you so they can market to you via e-mail or other such methods. Their arms are twisted to do it… The wait staff are forced to up-sell you into buying cobbler or some other dessert that you don’t really want. They are told to ask, and I am certain that they are measured in some quantitative way by how many they sell.

Stop looking into the rear view mirror of life.
Enjoy what you do, and how you spend your time.
Make time to enjoy the day…
Acknowledge those around you and tell them thank you!
Serve others; and by all means treat others as you want to be treated.
If depression is bothering you…do this….
Set regular sleep hours and keep them. Stop any caffeine after 3pm.
Get up every morning and go greet the sun. Your body needs at least 15 minutes of light to set your clock.
Don’t stress over things that you cannot control.
Do your best, give your schooling or job your bests, and don’t worry.
Love and laugh often. Laughter is medicine that is cheap, and requires no prescription.

You are worthy of the best… Don’t let anyone tell you differently…

We can make it through this season…Remember it is not about gifts, or what someone is going to do for you…It is about giving of yourself. I like to try and make someone’s life a little better each and every day… Even if it is just a kind word…. Or some encouragement. Follow that lead….

-Best

Periscope or Pervascope?

Full disclosure…I have been working with computers before the internet. And I can tell you Al Gore had nothing to do with it.

One thing that we as a race of beings seem to do is seek the lowest level. Some would argue it is our nature, and others would argue it is because we are fallen as a people.

Porn was one of the first things to make its way through cyberspace even before the Internet; when there were only BBS’s … I think that the first or second time that I saw it, it was a novelty…Now things of value are the novelty.

One of my author friends discovered something called Periscope… She announced that she was going to do this “periscope talk” which prompted me to look into it.

“I watched someone broadcasting Ted Cruz live…I watched someone send video from a storm, another from a beach in Indonesia and I even chatted with Danica McKellar who was doing a live broadcast while one of the Hallmark movies she was in; played. It was nice to see that she was still grounded as a person.

While watching some of these events…artist and such, it further amazed me that the “people” who will try and get ladies to “open boobs.” What the hell is “open boobs?” How do you open boobs?

These people have such poor English and are so deviant that they will do their best to get people to show them some part of their anatomy.

Ignored Behavior Goes Away

One would think that after a while that these “people” would just go away….

The problem is that the behavior is not ignored…

There are “ladies” out there that use this “forum” as a marketing tool to take in money from the people who would be willing to pay for a peek that their goods.

They are in fact feeding the stray dogs, encouraging the riff and the raff of the internet.

These “people” know no boundaries either… If your daughter or other child should find this mud hole to play in, they will undoubtedly be taunted and coerced by unsavory individuals from anywhere on the globe that the internet reaches to; “open boobs” or “pussy please.”

Know what lies in the water before you jump in…. Parana’s and other leaches are there waiting for you, your child or your credit card…

-Best

Writers Block

As a writer, I follow many, talk with several; and listen a lot.

There are those who feel that they must complete 5 pages a day. There are those that don’t.

If you are passionate about it; writing 15 a day or more could be a piece of cake, or a bloody nightmare.

You simply cannot force creativity….

I have crawled out of bed at 3 AM and worked till well past noon the next day, as I was inspired. I have also stopped, and not touched the keyboard when nothing was happening.

There is a flow to the creative process and “external shit” can mess with that flow.

Maybe you don’t feel good, maybe the neighbor or spouse or sibling pissed you off…

Writing and painting to me are one in the same…I am an artist; I paint with oils…I can paint from my head, or from a model, or from a picture…it depends what I am going for.

I can also paint with words. In many cases I am much better with words than oils. My paintings have sold in many different countries, and yet I aspire to invoke emotions through language. Many artist do it through painting, or music, and that is all great and good. While I too play instruments; that is not my passion… I love music but telling a story…Ah…That excites me….!

Tonight I had a block…The story stood still and I sat here… I looked at the words and my characters were frozen. A fluid story stopped … as my creative process stopped….

I walked away…took a long shower and in that shower the next chapter sprang to life as the water danced off my hands and arms and…the rest of me….

Sometimes you simply have to wash the block away…..

Five pages a day….no…..I could force it but it would suck, and be badly created, and poorly read and most probably deleted the next day when I reread it….

You simply cannot force creativity….

-Best

Creative writing II or Happy Place!

So, I get this email regarding “good writing”….

It would seem that many of you liked it but, some “at least one” took issue with the example of the bathroom… 🙂

To me that example was perfect in that you have all heard this before or maybe said it, “Find a bathroom that looks clean.” This is said as you are motoring down the road at some speed at or slightly above posted limits! That phrase or statement always made me chuckle as in, “how the hell do I know if the bathroom will be acceptable to your standards from this distance at this speed?

If you are guilty of this statement, I promise I am not picking on you… I actually know what you mean; as men sometimes must sit too…..

I don’t understand however; why some will not lift the seat to pee and instead, pee all over the seat and leave! It is my fervent wish that all who did or do that have to clean someone else’s pee off of the seat, so they can sit and relieve themselves.

Anyway, enough on my bathroom story.

Creative writing is definitely an art form as I have spoken about in the last post on writing.

I mentioned my happy place.

Before I write, I sometimes will find my happy place, and ponder on it for a while.

My Happy Place

Under a huge tree, up on a hill overlooking the countryside, the sun has risen enough to warm the tall grasses and dry the morning dew that dampened my feet a short while ago as I wondered up the hill to greet the sun from its slumber. The sky is now a cerulean blue, after shifting from its former oranges and yellows; sporting a few wispy clouds, lazily floating by. A slight breeze caresses my face and carries with it the scent of salt water, from the beach down the hill.

In the distance, there are a few people setting up their blankets and umbrellas, as they prepare to spend the day collecting shells, digging their toes into the sand, and watching the seabirds call out to the wind, in eager anticipation of their next meal.

My morning watching the sunrise has ended, I too seek the company of strangers, as well as the feel of the sand between my toes; and the warm water circling between my legs and eventually immersing my body in its warm embrace.

I watch from a distance the young families building sand castles with their children, remembering with fondness the days of doing the same with mine. The sand sticks to my feet up to my ankles as I sit on my lounge, peering into the distant waves as they meet the sky.

A shriek from a young child brings me back to the here and now, as a small crab scuttle’s by the imaginary moat; protecting the castle against all invaders. While the white winged dragons in the sky see the invader as lunch; they too are afraid to get too close to the giants wearing pink frilly armor. They seem interested in the morsel as well. The dragons call out to the giants but to no avail, the invader of the castle has been captured and placed into a small vessel, held by the giants for examination. The giants speak in a language that only they can understand, as it is full of squeals and single syllable utterances that the taller giants seem to understand.

The dragons return to the skies, looking for less protected invaders. The giants quiet down from the excitement. My thoughts once more return to the waves, the clouds dancing above us in a slow waltz, while a ballerina does a slow pirouette in front the spot light, which immediately cools my skin and brings me once again to the here and now.

Looking around, I see more families and others like myself who are there to simply enjoy the beach. Some come as couples and others by themselves, and of course there are those with stories in paper format to lose their selves into, while allowing the sun to warm parts of them that rarely is seen by the sun, much less others.

Very soon, their openness comforts me, as my attention turns back to act II: the ballerina morphs into a butterfly! The other dancers on stage also morph into dogs, and rabbits, and even a shark! The audience calls out to them, as they too perform amazing acts of aerobatics, not be outdone by the vaporous ghost of the sky.

The spotlight is now bright upon me, and the others who have joined me. The smell of coconuts and other potions punctuates the fluidity of my thoughts. I decide to lay on my tummy and allow the sun to tan my back for a while, as I drift off into a deep slumber, with the sounds of the ocean, the birds and the children to lull me into another world, where my thoughts are not constrained by anything physical. The sounds actually guide my imagination to other worlds, occasionally bringing me back to this one, as I take stock of my own lotions, and my growing desire for food as somebody has decided to light a grill.

I too must return to the real world, and it is this grill and the thought of a sizzling parcel of meat that drives me to sober from my thoughts, wipe the now dried sand from my feet, and leave this paradise for other adventures, in other realities.

May you too find your happy place, and revere in its existence. When in the real world your happy place is always there, look for it. It might be in the small flowers attached to tiniest of plants, or simply above you; inviting you to take part as they too dance and entertain.

-Best

Good Writing

There are too many books that I have trudged through in my life to tolerate bad writing. Too many good books exist and let’s face it, how many books does one have time to read in the very short time that we have here?

As a writer, I craft the story much like so many other writers in that there are twist and turns, and I try to throw predictability out the window. One of my friends compared my “style” to Stephen King! I am not sure that is a good thing but, it is what it is.

I try not to worry with technicalities as I write. Those will get sorted out in the editing phase.

When I write a story, it is as if someone somewhere out in the “ethos” is dictating it to me. As I write, I too am enthralled with the story. The story takes on a life of its own and therefor interruptions cannot be tolerated.

When I craft the words, I am painting a picture. As an artist I know all too well what has to go into a painting to make it interesting so, when I paint with words, I too know how to create a picture that will form in the readers head.

From the dead flies in the windowsill, the flickering fluorescent light that comes to life with a snapping buzzing sound, and the smell of an un-flushed toilette; you suddenly remember each and every “not clean” bathroom that you have been forced to use, at some time in your life.

Even my beloved muse, a Russian Blue who has yet to learn the meaning of “no,” has to leave as he too disturbs the process, by trying to chase the words as they trudge across the screen.

One of my writer friends goes off to remote cabins and waits for “the mood” to strike, and then sleep will not get into her way, as the thought process gels, the pages turn into marching characters and symbols that systematically stop and start as the process of transformation of thought to text, occurs.

Many of you here who follow me are writers, and it is to you who I am addressing the following.

We share a common bond and while we don’t personally “know” one another, we do know each other through this medium.

“If you want to get to know someone, you read their book.”

While the story may be as fictional as “Never-Never Land,” it is also, to many of us, our “happy place.”

Character development is a struggle for me. As a man I can develop the female character and paint a nice picture. Realistically, I have developed her from what I “see” and know of women. Doing so for the male character is somewhat of a challenge as I don’t look at men, as women do. I can however; capture the logic and thought processes of men much easier, as I am one. The emotional side of the female is a stretch for me.

There are all kinds of readers out there, so character development should be such that whoever is reading your words, should be able to “know” your character.

As a writer, I feel a personal loss when I “kill off” a character. As a reader, I feel that same loss when the book is over.

Currently, I am working on a trilogy and it is because the story material is that entertaining to me, that I could not end it with one book. The characters have taken a life unto their own; and I suspect most of the writers out there know exactly what I am talking about.

Writing cannot be forced.

Mechanically you can write and if you remember your English class’s where that was the case, the stories that you wrote were for the purpose of dissecting your usage of nouns and verbs and punctuation, not for creativity. Sentence structure was so damned important!

Screw the rules!

Weaving a tapestry of intersecting thoughts, while making it all grammatically correct is to me a true Rembrandt. I don’t think being a grammatical and creative savant, is something that you can simply ask of someone, who does not share the passion of writing.

Painting is much the same way. When painting, I am lost in the painting. Each and every brush stroke has to be perfect. The smaller the painting; the more flawless the brush stroke must be.

Write to please yourself. Making it grammatically acceptable is something that can be accomplished after the creative process is done.

Painting and writing is “me time.”

Sometimes, I feel a little selfish when I carve out “me time.”

As an artist, you will not get rich by your efforts, unless of course you are doing it for some large publication and it is mechanical. One of my Artist friends has her work re-produced on greeting cards, puzzles, and other things that people purchase in gift shops around the world. Every so often a check will appear for a few hundred dollars. She has no way of knowing how many actual unites were actually sold however.

I have also concluded that many feel that if they can just finish their book, they will get rich. Too many out there “self-publish” and the only people making money “for the most part” are the folks who offer that service.

Lastly, and why I write this is; “write to please yourself.”

If your end goal is money, your writing will be forced and not genuine. Much like doing a story for some professor to “grade.”

Immersion into the story, taking time to reflect, re-read and edit, and re-read again for the flow of the words is tantamount to making the story your own.

I will offer one free tip on the editing process for you, a trick that I figured out.

There are “services” that will edit your manuscript for you for who even knows how much money.

Purchase the latest version of Dragon Naturally Speaking with the text to speech option.

One paragraph at a time: have it read it, to you.

Go and edit that paragraph until it sounds right and then go onto the next. When reading your own writing your mind tends to skip over the “you” instead of the “your” or the “the the” mistake that I see too often. When writing, your words are punctuated with gaps as the thought process starts and stops. That is when the “the the’s” occur or other anomalies that your professor in college would have a hay day with their “Fucking Red Pen or F.R.P.!” Of course, there were no computers in my day so possibly, this process would be easier.

I don’t mean to belittle writing classes. Don’t get me wrong. Finding a professor that is passionate about their job, and what they are doing is a true goldmine. Finding someone that will constructively criticize your work and offer suggestions is great. Finding folks who are genuine, and are there without the need to equivocate for their personal aggrandizement is a definite plus.

There are writing “clubs” where others will read your works or have you read excerpts to the others in the group and they all cumulatively have something to offer. There may be a pearl of wisdom that you can take away, even if you simply listen to their work and what the others have to say. I have seen some however; who are so haughty, that just about anything that they said was dismissed without taking the time to weigh it on its merits. It was almost as if they were there to build themselves up, at your expense.

-Best

Staylor at Guard-protect.com

WWW.guard-protect.com

A disaster is one “Event away,” are you prepared?