The Fall Back

Another Friday, another week that flew by way too fast. Right now, I’m standing in the office in the middle of the day, trying to come up with something creative to write about. Again.

Actually, most of my creative pursuits have felt stagnant for the entire beginning to this year. It isn’t just about this blog. Books, articles, press, are all feeling forced.

I don’t get it really. Coming off the three-book and NaNoWriMo wins of 2017, I looked forward to making 2018 my bitch, too.

But I’m soooooooooooo feeling like an angsty teen.

I don’t wanna. Pout.

Then the adult inside says I better get with the program because words don’t write themselves.

So, instead of stressing and rambling on like this for 800 words, I’m giving myself a mini-pass this week. I’ll get a blog out of a meme I saw floating around Facebook a few months ago.

This is what I do here. Sometimes you get deep, dark, light, breezy, life, career updates that I spend two days writing, sourcing images for, and editing. Crafted, creative non-fiction that reads like I wrote it in two minutes.

Sometimes you get a meme I copied and pasted into a notepad on my phone knowing I’d have at least one week this year I just wasn’t feeling a blog. (Despite my commitment to write every week, I know me way better than that.)

See? I’m so damn proactive I even plan for my desire for a total lack of adulting.

Without further ado…

1. Do you make your bed every day?

I make my bed, max, once a month. Matt usually makes it even though he’s not the one home all day.

2. What's your favorite number?

11 (No, this is not because of Stranger Things, I have loved the number since I was at least 11 years old.)

3. What is your job title?

Collector of information from the world at large, or, 10 times published author.

4. If you could, would you go back to school?

Tried college 3 times already, still haven’t finished, don’t plan to, so, no. And, if they mean any school year prior to college, then that’s a hell no. I'm not Billy Madison.

5. Can you parallel park?

When I worked in Somerville/Cambridge the city required us to move our cars every 2 hours or get a ticket. I had to parallel park for 2+ years, 5 days a week, at least 4 times a day. I can parallel park in my sleep.

6. Name a job you had which people would be shocked to know you had.

Back up dancer for JLo. It isn't true, but I bet some of you were shocked!

7. Do you think aliens exist?

Of course otherwise the universe is just a sad joke.

8. Can you drive a stick shift?

No. Let's just leave it at that.

9. Guilty pleasure?

None. Because I don't feel guilty about the things I like. Loud and proud baby!

10. Favorite childhood game?

Pushing the boundaries of my family's patience.

11. Do you talk to yourself?

All the time, I work alone at home I mean...

12. Do you like doing puzzles?

No. Word, piece, or otherwise I'm not a fan.

13. Favorite music?

Yes. All of it. Generally something with lyrics but I pretty much love all styles. Though my true love is rock.

14. Coffee or tea?

Coffee in the morning. Tea usually only when I’m sick.

15. First thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up?

The person who drives the street sweeper. Seriously. I thought that looked like the coolest job in the world.

16. Favorite Season?

Summer. But ask me again in August.

17. Truck or Car?

I have a small, square car but I have always wanted a big, bad-ass, black truck with chrome roll-bars, lights, and tinted windows. #environmentaldisaster

18. Steak or salad?

Yes, and can I get a bowl of blue cheese on the side?

19. Cat or dog?

No. Too much responsibility. I can barely manage to write a blog post every Friday. No chance I could handle the needs of another living thing.

20. The most influential person from your childhood?

My Creative Writing teacher, senior year of high school, who first insisted I publish something I'd written.

21. Crafty or all thumbs?

Depends on the day and the craft in question.

22. Biggest fear?

Becoming rich and famous. The good news is, I hear the best way to overcome your fears is to face them...

23. Pessimist or optimist?

Depends on the day and the situation. I like to look for silver linings but sometimes shit is just fucked.

24. Favorite Holiday?

My birthday. What? You didn’t say it had to be a national/international holiday.

25. Mountains or Ocean?

Ocean. The fact I'm not there right now (read: All. The. Time.) makes me sad.

26. People person?

Studying them for future character development, yes. Interacting with them in the larger sense, usually no. There are people I love and cherish and I actually enjoy meeting new people. But “people” are the ones taking the Tide Pod and hot coil challenge too so take that for what it’s worth.

27. White, Milk or Dark chocolate?

The darker the better.

28. Do you like to cook?

Ah hahahaha! I like to eat but loathe cooking.

29. Night owl or morning person?

Ugh, my natural clock leans toward night but I've been conditioned to a corporate clock over the years. Still, never a morning person. See question 14 for how I get around this.

30. Flannel sheets in winter?

Flannel, no. Too static-y. T-shirt material, yes. All year.

Hey, if nothing else, at least the thing was fun. For me, anyway.

And I promise I’ll be back next week with something of a little more substance.

Or not. Writers are weird like that.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Seven People at my Table

Someone once sang about one being the loneliest number. In theory, I get it. Nobody to talk to, and all that. But I can't believe that being 'one' means lonely or my days would get really depressing really fast.

I mean, I work alone. Monday through Friday, from about eight in the morning until five-ish at night, I rely on literally nobody but myself to do my job. That job? Actually creating people for a living.

Which, I’ve been known to point out to friends, means I’m never off the clock even when I say I am. Because it doesn’t matter if I’m alone, with one other person, or in a big group, there’s always inspiration for fiction floating in the air. Conversations. People watching. Even in my dreams.

Yeah, I know, fucked up right? When I think about it, I love that I get to do this but it is kind of weird. Characters, people, poof! Right out of thin air.

So, tonight I went to the monthly writer's meeting for Scottsdale Society of Women Writers and the presenter, Sarah McLean, led us in a writing exercise.

First, we spent about 5 minutes meditating (her profession is teaching meditation).

Can I be honest? I've never really taken to meditation. I've tried it, countless times, but I like my mind all cluttered like it is. And trying to de-clutter it just makes me feel anxious.

Again, I know, fucked up. You can probably guess how much I care.

The lights dimmed and she began guided suggestions.

I did try at the meeting. But thoughts kept coming at my head in rapid-fire succession. As always. A Five Finger Death Punch to my calm.

I paid attention to my breath, the candles, tried a few other tricks and techniques Sarah recommended. Sadly, no matter what I did, I couldn't turn it off. (Side note, it usually takes me an hour, or more, to fall asleep most nights.)

After the meditation and breathing, she gave us a writing prompt. Something we could use to guide our writing portion of the exercise.

Now that I can do!

Prompts are my favorite. Prompts were responsible for a lot of my early writing. Prompts got me started writing more serious fiction. Not to mention, my last 3 non-fiction titles, including 30 Chapters in 30 Days, were all about prompts.

When she said we only had 5 minutes to write, though, my first thought was, that's it? Why not twenty minutes? Of course, it was a dinner and presentation too, so we couldn't write all night. Damn it.

The lights came back up. She gave the prompt. I scribbled like mad.

After we finished she proposed we all choose a partner to read to and listen to.

Now, I don't mind reading out loud. And I've also done a similar raw reading thing in the past. Creative Writing class. Senior year of high school. So, admittedly, it's been a while, but doing it doesn't bother me. I just didn't feel like sharing what I wrote tonight.

Which worked out fine. I was odd gal out at the table. Literally. There were 7 of us and I was lucky 7.

Everyone paired off and I sat, listening to the chatter of white noise coming from half the room and then the other half of the room as each of the women across the six, full tables read what they wrote.

It was actually kind of cool, to hear everything and nothing at the same time.

The white noise was more comforting than the silence had been earlier in the night. So, instead of listening/reading to another gal, I went inside those chaos thoughts and I focused on my characters. I thought about my WiP and the next scene. One I was struggling to figure out.

Before I left for the meeting, I wrapped work early because I was a little stuck. On the way over I tried to piece things together. Nothing seemed right. Too cliché. Too disconnected. Wrong direction for supporting characters.

But, in the midst of the inaudible chatter, it hit me. The right direction. The next scene.

I came home, smiling, and decided to write this post tonight (Wednesday), instead of when I usually write/schedule (Thursdays), so I'd have all day to work on the next scene instead.

Maybe it was the meditation. The full, super, blood moon. Maybe it was me giving in to the noise in my brain. Or perhaps it was due to me being one, alone, while in a room full of people. A common occurrence for me. Sometimes it’s just easier to live inside my head than the real world, you know?

Whatever caused my mind to work double time, something broke through.

And tomorrow I will be alone, though anything but lonely. I have my characters to keep me company after all. And now I know just where they're headed.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Washing your Mouth out with Soap

For those of us born in a certain era, there were warnings tossed out by our parents or elders that elevated our fear level to that of panic. At least, some of us lived in fear. Some of us handily took matters into our own hands.

The first and most overplayed cautionary tale was, of course, wait until your father gets home.

Now, I didn’t personally grow up with that particular threat because my parents divorced when I was young enough that, even if my mom used it, I don’t remember. The days when my parents were still together are somewhat blurry but I can’t recall those words flying out of my mom’s mouth.

My dad didn’t “get home” after work to (apparently) lay down the law that my mom couldn’t (or didn’t want to) enforce.

I always wondered about that warning. Who were those dads? What kind of people were they when us kids weren’t playing in their back yard? When they were left alone with their family after getting a recap of the day? And what, exactly, would dad do when he got home? Yikes.

I actually heard it used with friends or other kids who still had two parents under the same roof. As far as I was concerned, having dad come home after going off all day to do some job nobody tried to understand, didn’t seem scary at all.

Why was that a believable threat? Like, the guy who is never there is suddenly going to take on the role of enforcer and that frightened kids? Why? Wasn’t dad the “fun” one? The parent who got to relax and take you out back to play catch? He wasn’t the heavy. That was mom.

The one who actually made the rules all day.

At least, that’s what I assumed because television taught me what it was like to have still-married parents. And it always went down the same way. Mom, home raising the kids, dad off to work, mom doing everything else but dad being the one who got a foot rub and a beer at the end of the day. He falls asleep in the recliner in front of the TV while mom finishes her chores.

So, when the warning was doled out, I just couldn’t wrap my head around why it frightened anyone. You mean to tell me that the guy who puts his ass in an overstuffed chair for five hours every night and makes a cursory attempt to teach his kids how to play ball on the weekends is suddenly going to become a growling bear of a man who lives to put you in your place? Because mom told him what you did hours earlier?

As if.

Mom would have kicked your butt long before dad even got home, right?

On the other hand, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, holds a certain special place in my heart.

Did my mom/family ever wash my mouth out with soap? God no! But was I threatened with the possibility? Yes. Just once. But not by my family.

I distinctly remember the entire experience. Truly, it’s one of those days that I can recall just about everything about it – temperature, where I was, who I was with, who threatened me. Because the follow-up moments were insane.

 Well, I was insane.

The youngest daughter of my babysitter at the time, a girl in my sister’s class, and I were headed to the park. My after school sitter lived on the same street we moved to when I was in grammar school. We had a small park with a slide and a few swings right at the bottom of our street. I spent a good amount of time there and enjoyed walking the top of the chain link fence, trying to see if I could make it all the way from one end to the other without falling.

I have no idea if we were off to meet friends, just that we were walking down the street in that direction. Also, I have no idea what we were talking about but I do remember the word that came out of my mouth.

Fuck.

Just a word. One I still use in conversation to this day. Some things never change, I guess, despite the shocked look on her face and the following words out of her mouth:

“That’s a bad word! I’m telling my mom and she will tell your mom and you’ll be in trouble!”

For a split second, I actually felt like maybe I would be in trouble. But I went off to the park to enjoy my afternoon anyway. When I got back to my sitter’s house, I was greeted by the fact her daughter made good on her promise. She did, in fact, tell her mom.

And that’s when I actually felt the grip of fear.

For the first time in my life I heard the words, “I’m going to have to tell your mom and, if I was your mother, I’d wash your mouth out with soap.”

It was hours before my mom would get home from work. I had to live with the knowledge that my mother would take this horrible step the minute we got home. I paced. I panicked.

Soap? Like, real actual soap? In my mouth?

And what the fuck good would that do? It wasn’t like soap could actually wash a word out of my vocabulary.

Clearly.

But I digress…

I went to pee and that’s when I saw it.  A smooth bar of off-white soap sitting innocently in the dusty rose, built-in, porcelain soap dish on the wall. I stood at the sink, an eleven year old girl. Always in trouble for something.

How bad could it be, I wondered?

Before I could stop myself to really consider what I was doing, the soap went from dish, to hand, to mouth. I pulled my teeth in and just used my lips, she didn’t say she’d make me eat the soap so I took a chance.

I let my tongue flick across the slick finish of the bar. I didn’t get another chance. My stomach lurched and I spit the bar into the sink, gagging at the taste.

Thankfully, I must have wiped that part of this memory because I can’t seem to pull up a single adjective to explain how bad it was. But I definitely remember that I stuck my face under the faucet and proceeded to wash my mouth soap away.

Pretty sure I muttered what the fuck under my breath.

And then, the time went by. At least I knew what to expect when I got home. It wouldn’t be pleasant but I knew, once it was removed, I could wash the taste away. And I’d never curse in front of that girl again.

The sitter, me, and my sister met my mom at the front of their foyer at the top of the stairs, as usual. I looked down at the maroon pile carpet. Steeled myself for the inevitable. Ready to face being in trouble for saying a word.

And then, to my incredible shock and awe, we all said goodbye without another word about the word.

For days after I assumed she would call my mother and tell her. That the bar of soap was sure to find a way back into my mouth any day. But it never came.

I don’t know if my mom ever learned of my horrible transgression or if, somehow, my sitter found out I’d punished myself. Or maybe she just wanted to instill the fear into me so I’d never curse again but didn’t ever intend on telling my mom.

Either way, I learned one thing that day. Don’t eat soap, kids.

Soap tastes like shit.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Is Anyone Still Falling for this Scam?

Okay, I get it. The world is smaller, population larger, and employment pool shallow. So, if we want to survive in this world, we better be able to fend for ourselves. Get creative and learn how to make money in non-traditional ways.

But, is this idiot serious?

Wait. Let me back up for a second. This part of the backstory is important.

I got my first email address in 1997. It was an exciting time for me. Mostly, because I worked for a company that created and implemented healthcare software. I think. Honestly, I was the greenest person where IT was concerned.

No joke. Ten years or so prior to getting that job I sat in an office only a mile up the road as my mom worked an on-call shift and I uttered the words, “nobody in the world will ever use those stupid computer things. Who wants that in their house?”

Yeah.

In my defense, computers in the late eighties weren’t exactly the graphic wonders of ease they are today. They were big and clunky and so expensive my mom would have needed five jobs just to afford one of the things.

Fast forward to 1997.

Computers, for better or worse, were a thing everyone wanted in their house.

Oops.

Tired of a life of being a retail whore, I decided to get an entry level job in an office. Your friendly Receptionist, Jenn, at your service.

I started as a temp. It was the easiest work I ever did. And I don’t mean to demean Receptionists by saying that, there is a lot of work to do, it’s just, that work isn’t exactly solving the world’s problems. Or coding software.

Learn the phone system, everyone’s name, and password to the computer and literally anyone who can say “Thank you for calling MMS, how can I direct your call?” can do my first corporate job.

Monkey work. I was fucking great at that job. Zero real responsibility. Twice the pay I made at the mall. Every weekend off. Button pusher. Big fake smiler for visitors and employees. If I wasn’t doing what I was meant to do with my life right now, I swear I would go back and get a job as a Receptionist. One with zero ambition of advancement.

But that’s another story. This one is about why all that time in corporate America has me questioning the motivations of people in these modern times.

As a gal working with a bunch of techie types in most every corporate job I ever held, I guess I was at an advantage over the average Joe. I got my education on the job.

As little as I knew about the online world when I started that first job, nowadays, I’m pretty well seasoned to the internet-at-large. 1997 was the same year I heard the term ‘urban legend’ for the first time.

I distinctly remember when and why one of my co-workers shared those two glorious words. An email. Of course it was a freaking email. There was no other way to internet scam people back in those days other than through email.

We didn’t have social media. We had chat rooms. Nobody even used their real name, we certainly weren’t asking for each other’s bank account information. We talked about stuff like football and movie stars.

The email in question, however, scared me. Some poor person had their kidney removed and woke up in a bathtub full of ice!

I mean, can you even imagine?

I was a club girl. For years my nights from Thursday through Sunday were spent in dark, smoke-filled, loud-as-fuck nightclubs. Most of the time I was broke. And I loved (correction: still love) to dance. I also despise falling over. So 90% of the time I went dancing, I was stone sober.

Club guys didn’t like that. They wanted me drunk and pliable. Sucks to be them. Thanks for asking, you can get me a bottled water and I’ll let you grind up on me on the dance floor. But you probably won’t be taking me home. This is about dancing mofo.

So, when I opened that email I started thinking of the other 10% of the time. The times I went out and actually had a couple bucks to spend as well as a desire to get plastered. How easy would it be to wake up in a hotel room after being drugged? How easy would it be for someone to surgically remove my kidney and leave me to die in a tub?

I clicked forward and sent that warning to most of the people I knew.

Moments later, I learned the term urban legend, as provided by one of the techs at the company. He was, of course, nice enough about it but made sure to let me know it was in fact a scam.

From then on I learned to filter the internet through my cynicism before forwarding anything.

But, just to be safe, I pretty much stopped drinking when I went dancing.

That urban legend email was the day my curiosity with the interwebs came to a screeching halt. Wait, what? People try to steal your money online? And nobody has lost a kidney in a hotel bathroom?

My mind flashed back to the office with my mom. I suddenly wished I’d stuck to my guns. Computers were nothing more than a big waste of time. Right?

I got all the scams, but was lucky enough to know they were false. So, I guess I assume that twenty years later everyone with an email address has seen and dismissed just about every email scam that’s ever been tried. That old scams were forever a thing of the past.

That is, until I opened my email this morning and read this:

Dear: Friend.Assalammu'Alaikum I am Mr Hamza Mohammed, I need your assistance to transfer an abandoned sum of(US$20.5million us Dollars) into your Bank account 50/percent will be your share,50% for me and 10% for any income expenses that will come during the transfer,I need your assistance only keep the business secretly. No risk involved but keeps it as secret. Contact me for more details. Please reply me through my alternative email id only for confidential reasons,( mrhamzamohammed8@gmail.com ) I am waiting for your urgent respond to enable us proceed further for the transfer. Yours faithfully,Mr Hamza Mohammed.

Really?

I mean, if this former tech neophyte could learn what not to do online then I figured everyone with an email already knows to filter shit like this to spam.

Who is still falling for this con that someone is still selling this con as legit?

Does anyone think they might hear about millions of dollars in abandoned money (earmarked for them) in a freaking email? No, I mean, like I said, I was once very green too but come on. Even back then I never would have fallen for something like that. Who just gives a stranger their bank account information?

Who reads this and thinks, “Oh good, my ship finally came in!”

The email alone tells us everything.

Things wrong:

1. The email sender: mrhamzam9@aol.com. I know some people still use AOL but, really? Again, welcome back to 1997. I’m pretty sure if I get an email that someone wanted to give me up to 10 million dollars it would come from @lawfirmofchoice.com.

2. Math. Look, I’m a writer and numbers aren’t exactly my forte if you will, but even I know the cliché of “I gave it 150%” can’t be real. 100% is the actual maximum available. Especially when we’re talking about a finite number. For example, “US$20.5million us Dollars.” So if we take “50/percent,” and add that to “50% for me,” then again add 10%, I’m simply left scratching my head. Where exactly does Hamza expect to find “10% for any income expenses” lying around? Which one of us must sacrifice our $2mil to these foreseen expenses?

3. That grammar. I literally can’t even. That sentence is about as fragmented as it gets and it still makes more sense than any single sentence in Hamza’s email.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the 1997 throwback (especially with a book set in the mid-nineties about to drop [Makeup Your Mind] I’m pretty much all about the decade right now), but the guy might as well have told me someone was going to steal half my liver and stitch me up with yarn.

I know better. That 10% of the time I spent drinking took care of my liver.

Try again Scammy McScammerson.

Photo courtesy quick meme

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Lighten it up with some Girlie Things

So, after my last post, I kind of got the feeling like people were concerned. For my safety, specifically.

Sorry to everyone who got scared, freaked out, etc. by the things I wrote. That wasn’t my intention and I just want to say the fact you reached out means a lot. Writing is my therapy, always has been, and perhaps that’s the first time you read something in that vein over here.

I want to clear the air and reboot a little bit because the concern actually shocked me. But then I went back and re-read the post and, yeah, I can see how some folks might have been wondering about my mental state.

I’m not, however, sorry for sharing the post because it was something (is something) I felt needed off my chest and in a very publicly shared way.

You should probably know that my mental state is basically fucked all the time.

No exaggeration, I pretty much think like that most days at some point or another. A common occurrence since I was ten or eleven years old. I call it the curse of the creative.

I need to feel things. Everything. Enhanced emotions are what keep me working. When’s the last time you read a book where the characters never experienced anything? Never cried, screamed, flung their arms around the one they love to tackle them to the floor?

Exactly.

I tap into my highs and lows on a daily basis in order to craft my worlds.

Last week’s blog post was a reflection of that deep seeded personality trait bubbling up into my world. That’s all. I swear, if you pulled out my journals from any year of my life since age 14 you would be amazed at how much of that super dark shit comes out.

I don’t often share that kind of raw emotion over here but on that particular day it was something I felt I needed to do.

I’m not defending it, don’t feel I owe anyone an explanation per se but I at least wanted everyone to know that I am a-okay.

But you should also know that I still feel the same. Still frustrated, still a bit lost. But I will find my way and appreciate all the hands I have to hold on the way. Love you all!

Now, in an effort to flip-flop right over to the other side of my self-diagnosed bipolarity, I thought it would be fun to share something here that I haven’t done in a long time.

Nail art! (See ya dudes…)

I’ve been getting back into it lately, watching (read: binging like a zombie) YouTube videos about anything and everything under the sun. So last week while I was working on this manicure:

I decided to give a bunch of different styles a little practice. Since I have a silicone nail art mat I decided all of the designs would be something I could lay down to save until I did my mani this week. And it worked to create a skittle manicure (meaning all fingers are different).

I’m calling it Cohesive Color Chaos.

None of them came out perfect, far from it, but I had a lot of fun creating each of the designs, keeping an eye on the color theory of the full manicure, making sure the two hands were balanced (for example, if I did a white/teal/iridescent on one hand I did the same on the other in a different design), and learning which are my favorite techniques.

So far, I’m not a big fan of water marbling, am only a partial fan of freehand, and love stamping.

Without further ado, here’s the mani in full detail by finger then a mashup of the two hands so you can see what it looks like all together.

First, here’s the mat with most of the self-created decals laid down.

The two on my pinky fingers were supposed to be those pink and white ones but they crumbled a bit and I had to use some backups.

Now here are the nails as I see them, from left to right, starting with the pinky on my left hand.

Drag marble

Blobicure

Stamped flamingoes

Water marble with glow in the dark

Freehand sunglasses and letters

Stamped sunglasses

More attempts at water marble

Freehand flamingo with acrylic paints

Drag marble

Smoosh marble

And here are both hands side-by-side. What do you think?

Personally? I love the mani, not as thrilled with my application. Some of them are already starting to peel up in the corners (applied Saturday) and I’m sure it’s because my nails are so C curved that the decal just didn’t bond with the base coat of polish I laid down.

No biggie, I’ll keep practicing and get better at some of these techniques.

Bottom line, this fun, upbeat girl is who I am today (and every day). It’s just that some days she has to let the darkness surface.

Just like nail polish, I have to let something sucky take the lead every once in a while and share that fail with the world. Because that lets me remove the layers and get back to my natural starting point. The clean slate of my nails and my brain.

xoxo

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

The Opposite of Blue

What’s the opposite of feeling blue? There is no color equivalent to describe a happy emotion, is there? Not really. Not in the simplest of sentences.

For example, ‘I’m blue.’ is pretty much a full sentence. Two tiny little words and people know just how you feel – depressed, melancholy, forlorn, like the world has killed your inner child piece-by-piece for a full year.

But, say ‘I’m’ with any other color and it just doesn’t work to convey happiness. Red, orange, yellow, green, purple, brown, black, white, grey, mauve, chartreuse, hell even pink. None of them are happy colors on their own. Not like the word blue conveys sadness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the past few days as even more of the heroes/celebrities/path-blazers of my generation have been snatched out of this plane of existence. All of us social media peeps can’t avoid the outcry, the memes, the articles that detail every blue detail of the past 365 days.

Silver lining? At least it wasn’t a leap year. Oh, wait…

366 days for the waves of ice cold water to slam into all of our brains. All but numbing us to the constant barrage of names thrown at us this year. Names we will never again hear used in present tense.

Zsa Zsa Gabor, John Glenn, Prince, Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Glen Frey, Patty Duke, Harper Lee, Alan Rickman, Gordie Howe, Alan Thicke.

That list is just off the top of my head too, if you want a complete listing of all the amazing souls the world lost this past year you can check out this link, seems pretty comprehensive. Albeit way too long for my liking.

Awards season this year is sure to be a hoot as they spend a half hour per show honoring the fallen. In fact, this year has been so bad, some guy actually started a fund-me type account to order protection for Betty White. 2016 only has 3 days and about 14 hours left.

This year has been a true roller coaster in many ways. Since January, the world beyond my problems not only lost all those people but there was a year-long political campaign fueled by so much vitriol and hate that I almost guarantee anyone reading this who is on social media unfollowed and/or got rid of people they never expected to care that much about.

Views, primarily political made an appearance over here (and here, and here, and in 3 other places) this year. I wouldn’t think of that as strange except the last political related post I wrote before this year was in November of 2012.

And that post was the first since 2008. Yeah, this space isn’t usually a place I discuss world issues unless those issues are directly related to pop culture. (Like every fucking celebrity in the world passing away in a year, for example.)

This election got lost in the blurry lines between culture and pop culture. And, yes, those concepts used to be two different things. Not anymore.

And as if that wasn’t enough, radical people with issues and differing viewpoints on how to be a human, did some scary and shocking shit in a night club in Florida, in the streets of Dallas, TX, and in other countries. Many other countries like Belgium, France, Turkey, Germany.

We killed a gorilla to public outcry and tried to find an alligator like A Cry in the Dark was set at the Grand Floridian.

We watched enormous earthquakes impact Italy, Ecuador. An unconscionable hurricane hit Haiti and the United States.

By the time I got the news that Carrie Fisher had died it felt like emotional and mental whiplash. I just want to lie down now and take a big old nap from all this world shit until 2016 is over.

Because this year was supposed to be fucking awesome. The native people protected their sacred land and water. We had the first ever female nominated for President. Weed became legal in some way shape or form in all but 1 state that had it on the ballot this year. We had the Olympics. The Cubs won the World Series for goodness sake.

On a personal level, this year was pretty awesome. In fact, many super things happened.

I got to see my oldest friend and soul sister who traveled out here to visit us for a few days.

Matt turned 40.

We were fortunate enough to spend time with family we rarely see, as well as some people we saw a lot this year (another bright spot!).

My in-laws moved back to town.

We traveled to a beautiful tropical destination for a literal once-in-a-lifetime trip.

I got to celebrate my birthday in California at a Billy Galewood show.

We finished our final major renovation.

I released three books.

See? All awesome things.

So in 2017 I’ve decided to be more about the day-to-day wonderfulness, the personal victories and beautiful moments like the list right there. Because I’m done with the heaping pile of smelly trash that 2016 tried to become. Moving along. This is all behind us now.

Next year I’m going to be the opposite of blue.

Orange you glad?

Hmm, I agree, that’s weak. I’ll work on it. Next year.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

“Started out Clean but I’m Jaded”

I have to be honest here, this post is one of those long winded rants where I talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Where I tie in all the issues plaguing an entire country, world, and bitch about something I can’t ever fix on my own.

Where I also become a hypocrite, doing the same thing I’m questioning about society. Sigh.

After all, a blog is supposed to be nothing more than a marketing tool, right? Stuffed with all the things people search for on Google so it wins in page rank. Nothing about the actual words matter other than their ability to drive traffic.

Then somewhere near the end is where I’m supposed to tell you all what to do next – subscribe to my newsletter, buy my book, be a better human by being more like me by supporting my career!

Isn’t that what all of us online business people are trying to say, after all?

I mean, without selling books I don’t have much of a career and, these days, it’s all but impossible to sell unless you have a full online presence. And so I do. Just like everyone else, trying desperately to convince you and the rest of the world just how very awesome we all are so you read our stuff, invest in our coaching, buy our books…

Buy into our “unique” perspective.

The one that happens to sound as generic as every band to come out during the Everclear/Third Eye Blind/Gin Blossoms/Goo Goo Dolls/Better than Ezra years. I sometimes get all of those bands from the ‘90’s confused with each other because they all sound pretty similar.

Ah yes, the music of my bitter, jaded, cynical generation is there to point out one very important fact – everyone is exactly the same. Nobody has a unique twist. But, these days, as long as you’re loud and in-your-face enough, masses of people will listen to everything you have to say. As if somehow that one opinion is the one we should all adopt, you know, to be different.

Um, what?

Aren’t we supposed to be authentic? Unique snowflakes of personality so when the people come they will know who we are in an instant?

How can any of us do that when we’re all trying to be authentic in the exact same way?

These days, anyone with a cell phone and an internet connection can record and share anything they like. When we listen to all of it there’s nothing but a big line of white noise ringing in our brains.

Listen/read then, just as quickly as we found and raved about the thing, forget it and move on. Never to return to the original again.

I’ve decided this is the “SQUIRREL!!!!!!!!!!!!!” theory of modern society.

The question, of course, is this: at what point does it depart from snark to outright bitter and devolve into a spiral of fear mongering, anger, uninformed “opinion based fact” because in truth nobody seems to take the time to look anything up anymore. At least, not past the first page of Google.

For one thing, the Republican presidential candidate has now done all the same shit that the Republican party chastised others for doing back in 2003. Back then, one single sentence was enough to almost kill the career of a band. Today, a man is revered, celebrated, encouraged, to question the President and more.

It’s easy to become a candidate for President these days, just refuse to release your tax returns, negatively stereotype everyone to prove how awesome you are, prove that being a hypocrite is an asset in modern politics, and you’re in!

Let’s make America the nation it used to be? Which time? The time we complained that foreigners were taking all our jobs, or, the time all the companies started taking the jobs away from Americans and outsourcing them to foreign lands without most of us even noticing it happened?

A quote from that article I just linked really got me thinking:

“It is essentially capitalism versus socialism in disguise – the government needs to keep the capitalists happy because they bring in the money and drive the economy, but it needs to keep the people happy because, after all, thats what governance is about.”

Is it? I mean, the tiny point missed in all of those words, the between-the-lines if you will, is that capitalists are bringing in money from other places, Americans aren’t making enough so they can run around spending all theirs, and the economy is a disaster because the people definitely aren’t happy.

Is 13 years too long ago to remember how an entire political party has flip-flopped? I guess it is when the majority of people clamoring for their ten seconds of fame were too young to pay attention when all that went down with the Chicks.

I mean, hell, the internet meme world basically got started by using just 2 little words:

“Thanks, Obama.”

Because, after all, the entire world’s problems are obviously the fault of just one man.

The “real world” is so real these days that it has gone full circle back to fantasy.

You know what I mean?

“Real” housewives. Random people posting their moment-to-moment experiences on any given social media platform. Check out my perfect life! The one that’s so hard because I just don’t know how to spend all this money I have. I think the entire world should see just how fucked up I am and why my problems should mean more than someone else’s who can’t afford a TV crew to film their life.

#boofuckinghoo

When did educating yourself to facts take a backseat to scripted reality? And since when did wardrobe take a front seat over talent and ability?

Even the Olympics are steeped in the drama that everyone seems to need in order to keep them interested in anything anymore. Why aren’t there any stories about how long shot put has been practiced as an Olympic sport, the years of training it takes to compete at that level, etc.?

Why? Because that shit is bo-ring to society. There’s no tooth in shot put. But the rise and fall of people? For instance, discovering a shot put competitor flipping the bird to a paparazzi? Bring on the negative reporting!

We like to set up gods with the full intention of toppling them. And they gladly fill the role even though they know what's coming. Controversy sells. Controversy keeps people talking. You have to be somebody before they can decide to turn you into someone else. And by “they” I mean the internet.

Test the theory. Next time you’re at a party strike up one of these two conversations:

The men’s Olympic shot put record hasn’t been broken since 1988.

Or

Did you get a look at Michelle Jenneke’s boobs this week? I hear she might run track or something.

And

Which one of those conversations do you think is going to last longer?

Another case in point, there are countless people commenting on the Democratic candidate’s wardrobe. Which you know makes me mental because, really? That’s the takeaway? Her pant suits are too, something?

Don’t dress like a man because people will think you’re an uptight bitch, but don’t wear something that shows your body, you slut. Boys can’t concentrate in school when your shoulders are showing so cover up or the men won’t learn enough about how to make all the decisions from the teacher who just spent half of her paycheck on supplies you’ll squander.

I personally care about her wardrobe as much as I care if the Republican candidate’s hair and tan are real. Neither of those things has anything to do with being the figurehead of one of the (quote) most powerful countries in the world (end quote).

But these are the things people focus on. These are the things that make someone a “good” candidate for President. Because nobody wants facts anymore. Nobody knows how to research. Our snap judgements are based on the shit we read in social media. Online. In the “real” world.

It stinks that sources and resources are so skewed and biased even when they claim not to be. Because getting informed ends up meaning reinforcing an already existing opinion as opposed to opening up room for understanding and acceptance of the opposition.

And as most of you probably know by now, I will never claim to be unbiased. I have my opinions and just as I’m not likely to change yours, you’re not likely to change mine.

And so it goes, which I’m sure is a direct factor in why we care about the meme worthy events over other more poignant moments that define character, not caricature.

So I’m going to stick to fiction from now on. Books. Movies. Television. Because the truth is that I was shaped by a bitter, jaded, cynical generation. And I’d rather spend my escape time in an actual land of imagination and fantasy.

Sure beats “reality.”

Title quote from Matchbox 20 Bent.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.