Judge Me Not

 

As a writer, I do not think that I could write a plot, which is as licentious as we see playing out before our eyes.  One would need to be willfully blind or complicit, to agree with the amount of malevolence we are witnessing in DC.

Since Trump’s election, we have seen the Deep State come to life, to obstruct in any way that they can, his ability to do the job of President.  We have seen his own DOJ fight against him from the day he became a candidate, to current day.

The left is losing their grip on your pocketbooks, so they have deployed a hard-core bunch of propagandist, to smear everything that this administration is trying to do.

The latest attack on Kavanagh is sadistic, barbaric and just flat out insane.

When you watch the news, you cannot overlook the most hideous bunch of yapping heads, spewing out garbage to those that hate trump.  They feed on the hate and anger, and those in the mainstream media know just how to give them what they need.

Playing to the emotions of the half that voted Democratic, their job is to paint the Republicans as bad, evil people who will eat your children and screw your daughters if you give them half the chance.

The facts do not bear out this BS but, damn the facts, they just need to continue to sow the seeds of doubt and stir up the liberal base to put their evil hides back in power.

  • Is that what you want?
  • Do you want to pay more taxes?
  • Do you want the jobs to go back overseas?
  • Do you want to go back to building foreign countries up, while sucking the lifeblood out of this one?
  • Do you not see what you are voting for, is another Venezuela?
  • How blind must you be, to not see through the lies of the media?
  • Even the most jaded person out there must see this Hail Mary attempt to slow down the judge’s confirmation, by any means possible as crap.
  • Folks, if they can destroy a man by a mere allegation, they can do it to anyone, including you.

 

Tomorrow we might see some more emotional nonsense, including some crying but in the end, I would watch her checkbook.  Soros is spending Millions to defeat Kavanagh.  Why is Soros interfering with the confirmation of a supreme court Justice?

The world is upside down right now, and the left is pushing that, as the new normal.  It is not!

Firstly, a person is innocent until proven guilty.  When you besmirch a man who has already been through six (6) FBI investigations which gave him the ultimate clearance up to and including the nuclear launch codes, it is now insanity or desperation.  I suspect that any of these recent allegations, released days before his confirmation hearing are bogus, and a trick to delay his hearing until the Democrats retake the house after the mid-terms.

In my mind, they are weasels and should be ashamed of themselves. We the American people are the victims, as we have to foot the bill for this tomfoolery.  We have suffered through two years of a Russian Collusion probe, which has proven nothing, as there is nothing to prove.

The goal is to cheat the American people from the desired outcome of having a conservative in the Supreme Court.  They cannot do it through legal, moral channels so they are cheating.

Here is the real question that I would like for you all to consider.

 

If we believe that Judges are to use the US Constitution as the basis for their opinions on legal matters, what difference does their party affiliation make? This is my rub with the current system.  Frequently, the Supreme Court is divided on party lines.  How is that? Does each side use a different version of the constitution on which to base his or her opinions?

If they are all using the same Constitution, they should all come up with the same conclusion. It would be like ten people going out of the same building, looking up at a clear blue sky, and then reporting on what they saw. Our current bench of Judiciaries could not even all agree that it was a clear blue sky.

How many of them would enter into their opinion that “due to global warming the sky was not as blue as it could have been.  Perhaps they might write the sky was more cerulean blue than phalo blue.

One might even write that the sky was devoid of clouds, rather than saying it was blue.

What we see on the news before us makes me fear what tomorrow will bring.  If the Democrats retake the house, it will be by sheer prevarications. I am sure that if a politician tells you something that you do not want to hear, that they might be more honest than those that tell you everything that you do want to hear.

The left’s tactic is to buy votes by taking money from the middle class. They then use the different judges to get their ways, as they cannot win in a true public court.  The rest of the world is screwed up by greedy people like this, and now they want to tear apart the greatest country on earth, for their own personal gains or….they have someone else pulling their strings.

My novel Presidential Assassins is selling well.  I might have to write a sequel to it.  The news today is rife with fodder for a sequel.  I could include rape chains, witnessed by adults that never spoke of it for 35 years.  Now we have a presidential want to be, a young Perry Mason finds some desperate woman to create a work of fiction, which would stir the emotions of many real victims, of the Me 2 movement.

We cannot win on the facts, so we win in the court of public opinion or emotions.

The Judge is certainly innocent of the claims, but the Democrats need to buy time.  They need to buy time and make the Republicans appear as bad as they possibly can.

For the left to turn the laws of this country around by calling an innocent man a profligate, to further their agenda is absurd.  For the mainstream media to aid and abed the deep state, erodes our constitution, and shows the world just how stupid or greedy that some Americans are.

I have noticed that several of the liberal media, allow their guest to espouse the necessary propaganda while they sit back and just ask the right questions, to make the point. They do this because polls show that they are losing credibility.  “You think?”

I feel for the judge’s family having to go through this.

There are many things that you can fix with Duct Tape; stupidity is not one of them.

Check out my novels.  Let me know what you think of Presidential Assassins.

Much Love -TW

 

 

 

Hello new followers!

I want to give a quick shout out to the newest followers of this blog. Yes, it is a lot of work, but I feel that you are worth it.

People from all over the globe are represented here, and that is what I hoped for.

We all may not agree on everything, and our cultural differences might be seen as roadblocks, but I disagree with that assumption.

There is a common denominator with each and every one of us and once we establish that, we can progress forward with some dialogue.

Yes, this blog is a way to communicate with the readers of my novels, and that too is part of the process as we artist and writers are starving for a reason.  We are passionate about what we do, and we will sacrifice much, to bring our projects to fruition.

This blog and meeting you is not a sacrifice, however, and it is one of the few paybacks I as an author obtain because I get to know you as well through your comments and your blogs.

Thanks for the recent follows and if you are a long time reader, thanks so much for hanging in there!

There are some exciting things happening in the future so follow me on twitter and of course here on the blog.

 

Much Love! -TW

 

 

Pro-Life— Pro-Choice?

Pro-Life— Pro-Choice?

Someone posted a picture on social media just last night that would cause the most leftist in the world to think twice about their stance on abortion.

Some man dug through a dumpster behind a Planned Parenthood, removing dozens of aborted fetuses displaying them all in such a way as to create an emotional riptide.  Either you would be swayed for or against with no room in the middle.  In fact, you would have to be pretty depraved to not see this as an act against humanity.

I won’t post the picture, but many of those babies looked very late term.  Working in Neo-Natal, I have seen preemies smaller than them who are alive today!

He even went so far as to put opened juice boxes in some of the trays which contained the babies.

Why?

He humanized the fetuses to drive once again the point home that these are babies and not lumps of tissue like a cancerous tumor.

The end of the story is he is going to give them all a decent burial instead of them being tossed in the dumpster with the empty pizza boxes, plastic straws, and Styrofoam cups.

Decent human being, or provocateur?

I would argue both.

This is the world we live in today.  This is why we cannot have an intelligent conversation on any topic.  From guns to an invasion on our borders, the community organizers of the world have made it to where we are close to civil war as we can no longer see eye to eye on anything.

When I was young, there were two issues you did not talk about.  Women’s lib and religion.

Why?  Both are fraught with emotion, and few can debate the topics without “feelings.”

The travel ban was recently upheld by the supreme court on the narrowest of margins, why?

The constitution clearly states the president has that right.

A judge in Hawaii strikes it down because of what?

The judge took the then “candidate Trumps rhetoric” and put an emotional spin on it, and became an activist himself causing more consternation and civil discourse tearing at the fabric of this country.

The judge on the ninth circuit was wrong, his logic was skewed, and I think his ex-boss and college roommate provoked his decision to act as a way to community organize.  We know for a fact that he was visited by him right before he interjected his stupid argument.

Community organizing is in short tapping into our tribal instinct through the manipulations of your emotions. Pro-life shows a bunch of aborted babies in a dumpster, pro-choice shows some disenfranchised women who now must resort to a coat hanger in an alley.

OF course, there is no middle ground because you must be corralled into one camp or the other.  Which community are you part of?

When one becomes a judge no matter what the issue, the judge is to interpret the laws and that is what the magistrate makes a ruling on.  Emotions or feelings are not part of the decision process.

That, however, is not the case as we see time after time.  It is all about emotions and screws the constitution of at least half the country.  Either I get it my way or you all are bigots, racists, deplorable and I could go on.  When the conversation turns into name calling the person calling the names knows they don’t have any ammunition, they are wrong so the megaphone and name calling is their tactic.

How many times have murderers been let free because of some technicality in the law or some juror was swayed by some lawyer who knew how to push his or her emotional buttons to create that ever so handy “beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

 

Yes, it took over a year for the supreme court to come up with a 5 to 4 decision on something that is apparently in the president’s bailiwick to do.  The fact that four of the supreme court justices weighed in against the president tells you the state of our country.  The law is clear period.  They should not be judges.

If Judges were to do their job without feelings, without being an activist, it would make no difference if a liberal or conservative picked them, hence the flaw in our judiciary system. Feelings are irrelevant.

Supreme court Justices should be held accountable and should be able to be fired.  I think they can be impeached, but I do not pretend to know the mechanism of that or what would constitute the reason for that action.  They, in fact, need a boss that can keep them to a higher standard then what they hold themselves to.

Without this you have a non-elected branch of the government making laws that you must follow and they are there like so many other third world countries, for life!

That is true of any judge, who steps outside of his or her boundaries.

“Here is the case, here is the case law, This is how the constitution regards it, what say you?”

I want to put a different spin on abortion that might upset some of you but that is what we do isn’t it.  We talk about controversial subjects, and we try to do it without injecting our personal beliefs.  Once you are locked in on your own opinions or feelings, you are closed to the possibility that you are wrong.

Full disclosure, I lean pro-life.   I lean that way rather hard because someone needs to stand up for the child.  Someone needs to stand up for those who cannot speak for themselves. Having said that, is abortion always a bad idea?

I will not (NOT) allow the argument that it is a woman’s body and therefore it is her right to choose.  If you get aids or some other STD from unwise sexual conduct can you just “decide” not to have a terminal illness?  Nobody has a right to kill another or take another’s life.  Where would it stop if they did?  We have seen many mothers or parents kill their children, was it her choice and right?  She brought them into the world is it her right to take them out?   I could easily make the argument it was.  “She stayed out late past curfew too many times, so I killed her.  Her actions were giving my family a bad name; she had to die.  She was defective. End of story.”

Here is the twist.

There was a video on social media of a mother tossing her half-naked daughter off the couch.  When the child started to cry she viscously beat the child.  As the child continued to cry, she kicked her and then stood on her so she could not get air into her lungs to cry.

The video was hard to watch, and yes, I would have had no problems with locking the woman up right there and then. I would argue the death penalty, and I would volunteer to push the plunger or pull the trigger. Defective people like that need to be out of society and, if not rehabilitatable, sent back to the manufacturer, GOD, to see what went wrong.

This was my emotional response.  It made me sick and angry.  At that moment, I was enraged.

What should justice look like for her?

In the case of a sick person such as this who are so selfish that they opt to abort, would it not be kinder for the child not to be given to such a person?

This issue has caused me many sleepless nights as I can see a case to allow seriously stuffed up women to abort their babies.

There are so many ways to keep from having an “unplanned” pregnancy but, we have people who will flirt with aids, flirt with death at the end of a needle, and of course, do drugs and smoke while carrying a baby.

I have not interviewed anyone at planned parenthood, but just maybe they are pragmatic about this like I am trying to be in this “twist” on the issue.

Is that why the dumpster is full of dead babies?

Are they not babies?

They look like babies, you can clearly see that they were humans, how can you disassociate yourself from the baby aspect of what this is?  How can you as a doctor who is not to harm, kill babies still in the womb?

Should the babies in that dumpster belong in that dumpster?  How many women have carried full term and then tossed the baby into a trash?  Too many to count.  How cheap is life?

Often I find that those that kill, find that life is pretty cheap until it is theirs on the wrong end of a needle.

If a woman wants an abortion, the chances are good that she is not going to be a great mother so just maybe it is kinder to the child.

I realize this is emotional dynamite and that is why we have the rhetoric today by the leftist regarding this SCOTUS pick.

Roe V Wade will not be overturned.  On the off chance that it is then the states will be forced to deal with it like they are dealing with legalized pot.  Maybe that is the right answer.

The bottom line is elections have consequences and the leftist in this country lost.

Until you strip all of the layers of the onion back, you cannot know what you are dealing with.  Decisions, where laws are concerned, must be made without fear mongering or empathy.  I can be sympathetic to your cause, but if I am empathetic,, I put myself in your shoes and not the shoes of the collective or the masses.

This is why a pick for a Supreme Court Justice must be made in a very practical matter.

 

I hope you enjoy the fourth of July and for those of you in other countries thanks for reading my take on things.

As always feel free to comment.

I spend hours on these blogs as I want them to be thought-provoking and open up a dialogue on just about any subject.  No subject should be off the table.

My novels are selling nicely, but I still have a day job… If you haven’t read my work, why not?

 

Seriously I am 50 K words into my latest thriller, and it is coming along great!

Much Love -TW

 

The Ghost Within

When do we just give up?

Strolling the halls of a nursing home always seems to rattle my soul a little.  You see the body, the machine of what was once a vivacious individual, sitting in a wheelchair parked in the shadows of society.

The Sunday visitors come and go with the children tugging at their mother skirt, “can we go eat now?”

How awful that must feel to the person relegated to such a place.

In many of my novels, I bring up the simple act of hugging someone.  When we embrace another individual do we do it to be polite or because it is expected?  There is, of course, the polite hug and the real hug.

When we visit a relative in the “home,” do we do it because it is expected or because we care about that person? Why are you going there?

Have you written anything down about your end of life expectations?

Do you envision living out your days in your home?

When we come into the world, we come in with nothing.  We pee and poop ourselves and depend upon the benevolence of others to care for us until we can do for ourselves. We depend upon them for food, protection from the elements and some semblance of life.

During our years as adults, we pay it forward.  We do for others and hope that those that witness our efforts understand that is what we expect.  Do they? Is that why we do it?

Visiting a friend not terribly long ago she pointed out a man who was visibly upset.  She told me the story of how his family invited him out to lunch, drove him to this place and put him there against his will.  His house, cars, and finances were now in the care of his kids.

I visited with him to try and calm him.  He told me of the deceit, the obfuscation of facts disclosed to the administrators of this place.  Perfectly lucid and aware of his surroundings and the predicament was upsetting to him. It was distressing to me as well.

The last few years I have been involved with the care of an aging friend.  In and out of hospitals and rehab facilities I had plenty of opportunities to see what we do with misfits. I don’t use that word in a pejorative manner I am trying to make a point.

When do we lose control of our rights and become a misfit?

There is this horrible story which is true where the state assigns a guardian to older folks.  Usually, this is a friend of the judge or court who becomes tasks with taking care of older people.

It works something like this.  Somehow, some way you are discovered and show up on someone’s radar.

I feel like these places that are sold to “mature adults” with activities and such are probably good hunting grounds for these predators.

Some judge signs some paperwork, and there is a knock at your door.

The Guardian appears, introduces themselves and then shows you the paperwork.  He or she then gives you thirty minutes to pack some clothes and so forth where they then whisk you away to one of these facilities where you are locked up.  They will call it a new residence, but it is a cell without bars.

The Guardian then returns to forage through your home looking for paperwork to take over your life.  He or she then turns all of your stuff into liquid assets through estate sales and so on.  Once your entire life’s collection or residual is in the bank, this guardian then writes themselves checks against your trust every time that they do anything on your behalf.  That could be arguing with your relatives or talking with your caregivers at the facility.  The Guardian acquires a few of these cases and might visit ten or fifteen of them in one day writing him or herself a check for $500 for each person visited all in the same facility.

The families are hamstrung as undoing this appointment of a guardian is a long and protracted legal mess which will cost the family tons of money.  The Guardian pays for his or her legal expenses out of your parents or whoever’s estate.

In some cases, it is the very children who do it to their parents.  As it was with this man I spoke with.  How awful that must have been for him.

It is one thing to be kidnapped by the judicial system but quite another to be hoodwinked by your own kids.

Some of those that you see in the halls are apparently not there.  The brain is gone.  The hollow eyes and vapid stares are only a ghost of what once was.

Dementia is a cruel thing as it can remove the filters that we once had which made us the person who the world knew.  Suddenly we can become nasty using our words to hurt those that are trying to make our final days tolerable.

Walking the halls week after week the names on the doors change, as another ghost now occupies the rooms of the “home.”

You see them, laying there with the TV blaring either some talk show, game show or Joy Behar spewing out her hateful Anti-Trump venom.  What must go through their minds as the poison from the idiot box continues to insult their intelligence!

I watched one man curse the TV as George Stephanopoulos tried to tell a story out of context to sway the emotions of his audience.  The old guy knew he was not telling the whole story as he seldom does and called him on it.

Why was that man in there I thought?

Clearly, his intelligence and awareness were there.  Have you ever gone in and sat and talked with them?

I have.  The invectives against those that put them there are on the surface with many of them.

Apparently, they know that this is their last stop.  They know the next time their body leaves that place will be a one-way ride to the funeral home or the crematorium.  Is that all we are?

When would you invite the sting of death into your life?

What would it take to just lie down and give up?

Have you ever looked closely into that mirror and seen your ghost?

Are you satisfied with your life?  Have you run a good race?

What does your race look like?  When will it be done? Is there a finish line?

Do you have a bucket list?

Are you living your life or are you drifting along with the currents without a rudder?

There are times that I feel like Don Quixote.  Are there windmills that need tilting at or do we just sit down and shut up?

I feel for this generation growing up today as they have been cheated in their education. I have hired many who were only good on paper and not in practice.  I knew it when I hired them, but their work ethic is why I hired them.  Not for their pedigree. Anyone who would vote for a socialist clearly did not pay attention in school.

There are lies out there being perpetrated on the youth today, and they are working.  White men are all of the sudden feeling guilty for being white and a male.  This is an idea pushed by vile racists bigots.  It is wrong on so many levels of wrong, but some of our youth are too dense to see it.

The blank stares looking back at you as you walk by them, the spark is there in some of them.  I know because I tell them each hello and ask them how they are doing… Some look at you with a blank stare and some are somewhat lugubrious about their predicament, but they are there and able to carry on a conversation.  They are in the here and now.  Some have accepted it and make the best of it. Some smile and genuinely appreciate not being treated like the walking dead.

I wonder about the people that work in those places.  They live their days around those that are affected in some way, and of course, those that are mentally dead but their bodies are still living.

There is an old axiom I will share with you, and it is germane for this blog.

Once a man twice a child.

Man of course in the generic sense.  One an adult twice a child might be more salient.

Where are you right now in your life?

Have you set goals and are you reaching them?

Are you preparing for your retirement?

Do you have plans for those “golden years?”

A tip from me to you, live every day like it is the last.  Don’t waste a minute of life on things that you cannot change.  Laugh often! Keep toxicity out of your life.  That includes toxic people.

Spend time with your parents or grandparents.  If they have passed, go and spend some time with those in a nursing home. The administrators can point you to those that would appreciate your visit. Pay it forward.

If you are an author like me you never know where your next story idea might come from.  This is not my motivation to visit with them but I do listen just the same.

Much love my friends! Thanks for the follows, and comments.

-TW

 

 

Are You Blind?

Time is our stock in trade, use it wisely.

This topic has never been lost on me.  As we age and we bury more and more of our friends and family life takes on a new meaning.

I watch social media accounts and am consistently amazed at people.  “Damn, tomorrow is Monday!”  “Yipee, Tomorrow is Friday!”

I used to think like that.  I had a job that I liked most of the time, but it had its moments.  Carrying a product sample kit into a large medical facility in the Texas Medical Center during the summer is a task all to itself.  Add a tropical “disturbance” into the mix along with the August heat, and it is like being in a steam room only with hot water hitting you as well.

Walking into a clinic for cancer patients puddles off rainwater were around me as I closed the umbrella trying to make myself look as if I had not just been in the torrential rain when an older black man caught my attention.  There he was in a suit, tie, and hat looking as if he were headed to meet with some group of investors.

No, that man was a patient, and he just wanted to look his best.  He was jovial, and I was trying my best to understand him as we got on the overloaded elevator. We were in fact headed to the same place so as we walked together down the hall I asked him, “How about this Houston weather?”

I was expecting him to complain like most New Yorkers do, or to grumble as most would who just walked several blocks in the rain from the parking lot but no, he amazed me.

He said, “It is a beautiful day!” Ok, maybe the guy was blind.  “Beautiful?”

“Any day the good lord lets me suck in air in the morning, it is a beautiful day.”

It was me that was blind.  I never forgot that.  I look at life differently as I make my way through each and every day.  Did I use my time here in a productive way?  Did I assist someone else on this journey we call life?

Yesterday I was at another funeral of a family member.  The drive was long, and the traffic was brutal.  The church was out in the middle of nowhere, but I got there early.  As family members came through the doors, it was a mixture of tears and laughter.

The funeral is not for the deceased it is for you, and the rest of us “still sucking air.”

Indeed this was a celebration of this man’s life.

After a lengthy service, we ate a meal together provided by the church.  We visited with family that I had not seen in years and made a promise to keep in touch.  One last thing to do before the sunset was to drive another fifty miles to this small cemetery out in the country and say our final farewells to this man who brought so much happiness to so many.

The wind was out of the north blowing, howling actually, bringing the windshield down to the teens.  For Texans that is cold!

I was dressed for it, but many were not.  As the final words were said, the first spade of soil was tossed into the hole by his last remaining brother.  There was not a dry eye there as turns were taken to throw some dirt in the grave.

We departed the cemetery as the last rays of sunlight were casting auburn fingers across the sky as if to reach in and grab the soul of our family member, and take him home.

Driving the several hours back to Dallas the day played through my mind.  Each and every conversation with family members, each hug, handshake and the warmth of the members of that small country church played through my thoughts.

Late last night as I checked my e-mail I read of yet another friend who passed away and soon I will making my way to East Texas.

As I write this tonight, I wonder if I made the best use of my day today. I was tired and did not do too much of anything.  I played with the cats, wrote on my latest book, tried to teach myself another song on the guitar and admired Mary Chapin Carpenter for her talents.  I am ending this day thinking of you who take the time to read my blogs and novels and of course tweets.

Don’t let today slip away my friends, it will never repeat itself! Did you make good use of your time here sucking in air?

Much love!  -TW

Day 1 2018 Zombies are Real!

Sitting here at the keyboard on the first day of 2018.  All is quiet in the house; not even the cats are stirring. I too feel like my mind should be still as I did imbibe a little-fermented grape juice or was it whiskey. Hmmm.   At least I returned home with the clothes that I went out with.  I think….

Somewhere during the witching hours of eating, dancing, drinking, waiting for a big ball to drop, and hoping anything that I said or did does not end up on YouTube, it got damned cold for Texas.  The plants that I covered up to protect are now plantsicles.

The hotel this morning was awash with zombies.  Young child creatures carrying oversized teddy bears thought that screaming at the top of their lungs was a fun thing, as they watched the zombies shrivel to almost pulp. The piercing sounds that could break glass were no match however for the evil stares from the zombies who tried to use their magical powers to silence the evil imps.  Had they looked into the eyes of the Zombies they surely would have evaporated into steam or possibly frozen into marble statues to stand as a stark reminder to the other urchins, never taunt or antagonize a zombie on New Year’s Day!

I did not fall into the undead or walking dead category this beautiful day.  I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing.  I saw the ragamuffins as someone else’s problem and went about my way to find one of the carts that hotels often have in good supply.  Waiting over an hour by the cart return area, two zombies of unknown sex or age came walking at a snail’s pace, pushing said cart as if they were Sisyphus struggling to manage the two roller bags and one black dress.  Slowly losing ground against the load, a bellhop took pity on them, or me, and assisted them with their load.

One of the zombies went to the door only to be met with the harsh reality of “DAMN ITS COLD OUT!”

I, although annoyed by the lack of courtesy of the zombies laughed at the sudden jolt of life that seem to lurch through the embalmed veins of the gray creature. Color of some sort seemed to well up from somewhere deep inside the beast as their animated arm movements caused some circulation of the antifreeze still sloshing through the carcass of this fiend. For the first time, I was able to tell that it was the male of the species.  I could tell this as it growled in a deep voice as it struggled against the automatic door for the disabled to breach the icy unknown terrain of the sunlit parking lot.

Thirty minutes later the creature managed to maneuver his vehicle to the entrance of the hotel where his mate waited patiently or was it dead.  The mate did not move as the car pulled close to the door.  I was not sure that it was still breathing.  Carefully I nudged it as it snorted and then as it’s large eyes opened it looked at me through a crimson hays.  I suddenly became fearful as it appeared as if it had the eyes of Mordor, and I had no magic ring to toss at it.  I cringed thinking surely that daggers would come out of those gaunt looking features but it actually spoke. “Yes, can I help you?” It said.  Clearly, this was the female although I could not picture it in that little black dress! I pointed to the other creature now looking very much like a yeti, which was standing outside his vehicle waiting for his partner, or was it his precious?

As she tried hard to stand, I slipped the bellhop five bucks to assist them and bring me the cart.  While I might have enjoyed watching the two creatures, try to lift their two bags and one black dress from the vehicle, my patience was just about gone, and I too felt as if the monster within me might immerge and ruin the first day of the year of me not sinning any more…   ever…. Who am i kidding! I sin before I ever get out of bed!

If my beast had come out to play, and I ripped my clothing off to expose my superhero status, would I have found a suite with a large S? Perhaps a suite with a large W?  Would there be a red cape or magic golden rope, or would I have established that I indeed did not have all the clothes that I started the evening with and suddenly resemble an oversized smurf with built-in glass cutters?

  • How was your first day of 2018?
  • Did you see the zombies?
  • Where you a zombie?
  • Are there videos of you on YouTube?
  • Did all of your clothes come back with you?
  • Did you know the person you woke up with?
  • Did you recognize the person in the mirror?
  • Did you see a reflection in the mirror?

Novel 26 is close to being ready to edit.  I am so excited that I have figured out how the book will end.  This is one book that I have put much thought into and actually planned it, rather than allow it be a stream of conscious.  “That will make sense to any writers out there.”

I look forward to getting to know each of you better in 2018!  Thanks so much for following me!

Follow me on Twitter @authortwscott.com or @TWScott823.  If you are an agent and want to represent someone with a proven track record, I am not sending out Query letters so contact me via the website at www.authortwscott.com.

Query letters take four hours to create, and I don’t have the time or patience.

If you like what you read please repost or tell others about it. This is me, marketing and building my brand and you the readers of my blog are the beneficiaries of pure pearls and entertainment! Much Love -TW

 

Writing Tips Revisited

You don’t have to have a near death experience to write but it is a game changer.

 

At the end of each blog post, I encourage you to share, press, tweet and otherwise assist me in getting my brand out there.  I repay that kindness with similar actions, and I post some delicious stuff from time to time. This blog is one you want to pay attention to if you are a writer, author or just think you might want to be someday.

If you look at any of these sites where independent authors publish their manuscripts, you will quickly discern that everyone thinks they can write.  By everyone, I mean everyone that can string a noun and a verb together in the same sentence feels that they are the next Hemmingway or Tolstoy.

I especially am interested in young people with limited life experience with a penchant for painting pictures with words.  Reading great writers will undoubtedly get your juices flowing.  I have read some young people’s writings and was impressed. Blog before you publish.  Like walking before you run you have this opportunity that those that came before you did not have.  You have technology that is incredible, and you have access to the world through the internet.

Google does not replace life experiences nor does any form of social media. Do something.  Become a missionary or go see Machu Picchu for yourself!  If you walk among the locals, you will all of the sudden develop an appreciation for what you have, and you will meet others with a different culture.  In short life experiences can inspire a writer to be a better writer.

Me personally, I have traveled extensively and still have more to do.  I may start out with a tour bus but I will explore, and I will visit with the locals.  From the local pub to another social event.  Those are life experiences that if you are aware of those that you are talking with, will reward you in kind.  From the street vendor to the waiter they all have a story.

I will get their name and talk with them as we are equals.  Why, because we are.  I can disagree with everything that they believe in but, I can still respect them and find something in common even if it is merely that we both bleed red.

Now that paragraph sounds very altruistic, and I am not that philanthropic.  If someone appears deranged or dangerous, I will not bother them or try to engage them in conversation; I am not that brave.  My first trip to Manhattan I was told not to look the locals in the eyes.  Don’t talk with them unless you are in a setting that they expect interaction such as a business environment or restaurant.

Folks, I talked with everyone I came across.  Now when I started out my greeting with HOWDY, they knew that I was not from around there, and felt strangely at ease with talking with me.

Yesterday I was on twitter, and some author put out a statement that I took issue with.

“I carefully craft each sentence rewriting it as many times as necessary, before going on to the next.”

If I wrote like that, Under Roswell, my first novel would still be in the first paragraph, and the other 25 books would still be future events.  Respectfully I would say that she is in the wrong line of work.

You cannot be that anal or obsessive-compulsive with your manuscript.  Writers are creative types.  We don’t think in dotted I’s and crossed T’s.  We don’t give a damn about a dangling participle or my favorite the split infinitive.  We are writers not English teachers.

In short, we tell stories, and we do it in such a way to engross the reader in the story.  When I write, I or my characters are telling the story as they see it at that moment in time.  As you read it, I hope that the picture of where they are, and what they are doing, is etched into your mind with the assistance of your imagination, using my words as the pigment and brush.

As long as the “stream” is flowing, I will press on, sometimes three or four chapters at a time.  If the stream switches off, I go back and do a rough edit looking for consistency and those nasty little participles.

Writers, like an artist, are a work in progress.  When I look at my first painting, I want to gesso over it and do something else with it.  My child will not let me as she loves it! It was my first attempt at putting oil on a canvass.  As we do this time and time again, we develop that critical eye one must have to paint. To paint and be any good at it, that is.

Writing is the same way.  Write short stories. Blog about your summer vacation.  Write, write, write, and with each paragraph, strive to improve.

Two quick stories that I think you will appreciate.  Once upon a time I golfed.  I sucked at it.  I went to these par three courses where you use the short irons and putter, and I played round after round. Mastering the drivers next, I was suddenly playing with business executives and influential people.  My five iron was still eating my lunch.  Every time I pulled it out of the bag, the ball would find the water or trap or the weeds. WTF!

Back to the par three course with you guessed it, only the five iron and a pocket full of balls. I felt kind of manly with all those balls there at the beginning of the first nine.  (a joke in case you missed it)

After several rounds with that five iron, I could play it with confidence every time I played.  Golf is about muscle memory and your mind.  If you don’t think you can do it, you won’t!  You must convince yourself that you can, then you will.

Twenty-Eight Years ago I was in a head-on collision with a drunken driver who was also on drugs.  This changed my life.  I could no longer do what I was trained to do.  In many of my novels, you will see that someone dies or has died in an accident with a drunk driver.  That little factoid is part of my life, and I want to drive that home just a little bit with whoever reads it.  I don’t preach; I just put it out there.

Along with ending my golfing career, not that I had one, it ended many things that “normal people” do.

I accepted my fate and re-invented myself once again.  Computers were just coming into vogue, so I took some classes and began learning all that there was to know about computers.  That last statement is pushing it a bit because I soon discovered that statement is an impossibility.  I have certifications in Novell and Microsoft and Cisco and it all changes overnight.  The people who put on the classes get rich, and of course, the testing centers make money.

I went into Management of IT. I had a good run of it until I was replaced by an H1-B person. The company got to write off their salary (half of what they paid me) to take over after I had updated the company to the latest greatest of everything including redesigning and upgraded their computer room.  I did all this in just a few months.  I was at the top of my pay quartile, and they were not willing to pay more for my talent, so they had me do all of these projects working 70 hours a week for months.  Expecting a bonus, I was laid off.  “We don’t need anyone with your talents anymore so thanks for everything here is your final paycheck!” That was a lovely life experience that I will not repeat ever!

Many of my novels I talk about technology, that is where that comes from so yes, the bits and bytes are not far off.  It makes some of the stories interesting when they use forensic technologies to find the bad guys, which is what I do now.

One of the things I did before the wreck was, played musical instruments.  Nerve damage in my wrist and well everywhere else made that untenable.  I have an excellent ear and “yo dog your pitchy” resonates with me.  “If I cannot do what I did then, screw it…” I was wrong.

A few months ago a friend saw my guitars and ask me if I played.  I kept them out as a reminder to never even think about drinking and driving.

“Yes I played 30 years ago or so why?”

“You should pick it up again.”  Those words sat hard with me.

After he left, I picked one of the instruments up and plucked a few strings realizing that I needed new strings.  My cheeks were damp when I tried to play stairway to heaven to only hear what an awful sound it was and that it scared my cats.  I couldn’t blame them.

Like golf, you take the good shots that you get in now and then and try to do better with the bad ones.  Practice practice practice.  Is this sounding familiar?

There are some great apps for a guitarist that I found.  Even an awesome tuner.  People who have strokes may have to learn to walk again.  I had to reteach myself how to play again, with my new abilities.  Notice I did not say disabilities.  Things are just different than what I remembered them to be.

Finding boring old tunes with three chords then four and then the dreaded bar chords I practiced.  After a few weeks of messing around with that guitar trying to keep my emotions in check, I have since purchased two more; the last one is a Taylor, which I am rather fond of.  Playing no less than two hours a day I can finally make bar chords “ring” again.  It chokes me up actually. Every time I play a song that sounds half decent, I often find my cheeks are wet and my eyes are blurry.  It is a good thing, those are happy tears.

You see that careless SOB took so much away from me with his drinking. Music resonates with my soul, it is my happy place.  When I am making it, that music is much more special than if I am listening to it.

There is not one minute of any day that I am not in physical discomfort to outright pain.  I don’t take pills or anything, I exercise and stretch and endure.  Oh yes, I don’t sleep much!

Will I ever be as good as I was, who knows?  My calluses are back, and the will is there.  I listen to the different artist and try to emulate them and see what I can do with the cards that I now have in my hands, pun intended.

If you are still reading this rather long blog, bless you.  This is the kind of life event that makes it into my stories.  Now I am not suggesting that you hit another car head-on doing 85kph.  As a matter of fact, I would strongly advise against it.

One side note that is rather interesting.  I have legs today because I drink coffee.

You see I had stopped minutes before the accident to fill up the car and purchase a thermos full of coffee.  The thermos, a Stanly Steel thermos was sitting on the seat next to me.  As I topped the hill passing a red truck, there was a Cadillac in my lane headed straight for me!  This was a divided highway and he should not have been there.

I locked up anti-lock brakes and bent the brake pedal.  Time slowed to a frame by frame sequence of events as glass from the window beside me tumbled horizontally by me as the steering wheel came up and impaled me, crushing my chest and face.  The thermos fell to the floor, and I saw it tumble as if on some purpose other than obeying the laws of physics. Time stood still, literally, frame by frame.

From the time I topped the hill, to the actual impact I said, “oh shit” bang! “Oh, shit may have been my last words.”

We ended up in the center part of the divided highway.  The pain was indescribable.  There was an elephant on my chest.  Blood was flowing from everywhere, and I merely thought, this is how it ends.

Oddly enough, I was ok with it.  That sounds strange but it is true.  The mystery of what the sting of death would be was answered; I thought.

There is this old story about people seeing the white light before they die.  My vision was failing.  It started with sparkles, and not too much longer I was pretty much blind, but I could still hear.  Then there was this rushing wind sound in my ears, so I guess that was the next sense to lose its ability to function.

My brain was being deprived of blood flow and oxygen and that is what it is like to die.

The red truck I passed was a guy that worked for the local fire department.  They took the old bastard out of his car who did not have a seatbelt on and was under his dash before they cut me out of mine.  He had one small cut on his forehead and was released from the hospital that night.

When they finally pulled me from my car, as they laid me back, my hearing and then sight returned.  The pain also returned, and breathing was not comfortable, to say the least.

The guy in the ambulance said, “I am going to put some liquid sugar water in you and this needle is going to sting, it is 18 gauge.”  My teeth were through my lower lip, my nose was broken up, my chest was crushed, and I was losing more blood that I thought I could spare,  and he thought that I gave a shit about a needle prick!

They took me to the charity hospital I guess because it was the closest and it showed.  The doctor was a complete ass as we had interrupted his game that he was watching.  Suddenly I was a sideshow as they cut my clothing off with police and who the hell all knows who all were looking down at my nude and bleeding body. Suddenly I was not a person or human but a piece of flesh to be poked and prodded and well pieced back together.

The cop was an arrogant piece of work.  I have many friends who are police.  This person was a total ass!  I had removed my seat belt thinking that would stop the pain.  It didn’t. I think the bastard was going to write me a ticket for no seatbelt until the purple streaks across my chest and waist that were caused by the belt were self-evident that I indeed had it on.  The man, I kid you not, looked disappointed when he saw it! This guy and the doctor too wanted this to be my fault.  I am pretty keen on reading people, which can be a curse.

They checked me for drugs and alcohol and all kinds of stuff.  “Nope, I don’t do that stuff.”

Because my heart was bruised they could not give me anything for the pain.  In a way that was ok, I remember thinking as long as I am in pain, I am alive.  It was ok until they stitched me up with no anesthesia.  That hurt like well, you can imagine.

Later another doctor came in to fix my nose, long hemostats up the nose crunch crack, thumb placed on one side pushing things back into place and then stuffing a whole bale of cotton up my nose with no anesthetic.

I spent a lifetime in that sorry little emergency room listening to the beeping monitors, having to get assistance to pee every 30 minutes being careful not to turn my head because my inner ears were severely screwed up.  Any movement caused a case of vertigo.   The last thing I wanted to do is throw up!   I wouldn’t be surprised if this doctor were also the town vet.  Thinking back, I would not have been shocked to have seen an animal on the next bed.

Minutes turned into hours and hours turned into days.  With all the cotton up my nose, I could still smell myself, and it wasn’t pretty.  Finally getting some kind nurse from California to bathe me, I felt a little more human.

When all the results came back that I was not under the influence, the cop went away probably disgusted because he just knew that the young person had some culpability. Hick!

The old guy that caused the wreck was drunk and on drugs, and he went home. I know this because we shared the emergency room with a curtain between us.  I heard everything, including his wife scolding him for drinking and driving. She actually came over to me and apologized.  She stroked my forehead which was still spattered with blood and told me “I am not supposed to say this, but we have good insurance.” BFD!  Lady, I am in pain here, and I may not live to see tomorrow.  Didn’t say it, but I thought it.

Instead, I asked her how her husband was.  When the words came out of my mouth as angry as I was, I knew what my true character was.  I was actually concerned about that old fart!  That still boggles my mind.

She went on to say that he had recently wrecked their last car, so she bought him that Cadillac so if he hit another tree or something he would not get hurt.  Wonderful logic!  Let’s put more old drunk guys in tanks and set them loose.  Wait, maybe that was the mayhem guy?

Years later I found out why the old guy went home and not to prison.  I was cleaning out the filing cabinet and found the file folder from the infamous day that I about died.  Reading the police report, the bastard cop only wrote him up for left of center.  Now I get that the guy was 84.  I understand that he was well known in the community.  But the guy was drunk and on drugs, prescription or not; he should not have been behind the wheel!    Yes, I am still pissed and every move to this day reminds me of that fateful day 28 years ago.  And the limitless insurance, same outfit as me.  Want to guess how that worked out? I had to fight to get my car paid for!

Oh yes, the coffee and legs.  The thermos that traveled from my seat to the floor wedged itself between the frame of my seat and the firewall.  Since it was full of coffee, it did not compress with the impact thus keeping the steering column from going through my chest and the dash taking my legs off at the knees. There is this whole hydraulic thing I will not bore you with.

The engine and front wheels were under the front seat.  Steam or freon was still escaping from somewhere as they hauled me off to the ambulance.  The violence of the crash turned my vehicle sideways.  The sides were split open and my stuff was scattered all over the highway.  It is amazing that I am not driving a Volvo, which is close to a tank I understand!

God was there that day.  Not sure why he allowed my life to be so drastically altered, but he did.

Maybe he wanted to teach me to forgive… Not there yet.  How do you forgive someone like this?  If you know please tell me.  I do pray about it, it is in my heart and only hurting me.  I cannot forget about it, as I have constant reminders.  The ringing in my ears is a result of the damage from the wreck.  The arthritis is of course where everything was injured. Anyone that has ever played sports knows what I am dealing with.

My doctors tried to give me that handicapped plate and I refuse.  I can still walk.  It is painful but once you stop, you die.  If you are coasting you are going downhill.

I now drive a full-size truck, fuck gas mileage. I don’t pass unless I can see down the road, even on divided highways, but I do travel.  I love road trips; I am just a little more cautious about them.  I stay in the right-hand lane unless I am passing and, I don’t care if I am up to the speed limit or not.  I would rather get there in one piece, than five minutes earlier.

When you read my books, snippets of this story are in them as well as many other stories.  I think one of my favorite books that I have written to date is Diamond Joe.  No car crashes, but that is such a great story, I like to read it again and again.

And my point to this is what exactly?

Go live your life and have adventures.  As Sally from The Girl-Next-Door discovers, life is about adventures. You cannot write with passion if you have not lived a life.  If you live your life through the tellie and or other people’s books, that is not living, that is existing.

Steve Erwin who I admired greatly died doing what he loved.  He lived his life in his 42 years more fully than most people do in 84 years.  There is a man I can admire and did.  I actually used to talk with him on e-mail, told him he was nuts.  In a good way.

Please please please don’t drink and drive, and put that damned phone down!

Thirty percent of all drivers statistically speaking are under the influence of something.  God only knows the percentage that are texting while driving and under the influence.

If you are like me and live in pain every day, don’t give up.  Hang in there and feel free to connect with me here on the blog or the website http://www.authortwscott.com. If I can re-invent myself as I have, and live without pain meds, you certainly can.  I am a wimp with this stuff, so I know.

This blog is the creation of yet another sleepless night where insomnia once again has scuttled my attempt at rest.  One day I fear I will end up giving in to the need for medication, and I will most likely hate that day.

Much Love TW

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