A Week With My Thoughts

If I asked you about last week, what would you tell me?

 

The house is still very quiet, even my ‘mews’ is too bewildered at my early rustling around to consider begging for those little morsels of kitty crack, known as ‘treats.’

Peering through the window to the world, there are no glowing eyes of the usual vehicular madness that usually traverse the mazes of cement around my domicile.  Much like half-finished portraits of presidents to other notorieties, many of my characters are frozen in time awaiting some form of life from their creator.

Steam rises from the cup of elixir warming my digits as I stand in my miniature oasis among the rest of the city dwellers who are still capturing what their imaginary worlds have to offer.  An occasional raptor of the skies, still perched in the canopy overhead either tells me good morning or perhaps is telling me to come closer, so it too can bless me or perhaps target my cup full of caffeine.

A week of this solitude you would think my characters would be solving the world’s problems or perhaps fighting the aliens in some undiscovered parts of the galaxy.

The unknowns of the world lie hidden deep in the microscopic world around us.  Waiting to attack with surgical precision much like miniature IED’s, they are carried by almost anything that moves or they simply lie in wait, much like that tic in the forest.

The usual activities we enjoy are now suspect.  Should I? Could I?  Is it wise to?

All the while our usual haunts are suffering by our trepidations or perhaps ‘suggested activities’ while we wait for the all-clear.  The world waits and watches but nobody is at the helm.  The taxman or bill collector is blind to the uncertainties of the world, there is a balance sheet and the bottom line is the final stop, for those that were spared this time.

Stories of voices now silenced, permeate the imaginations of most, and panic the hell out of the spirits of many.

What if?

We have faced this before.

We no longer sing Ring around the Rosie or fill their pockets with posies.  Ashes, not so much, but the falling down will certainly apply in some parts of the world, where deep trenches are carved into the earth to hold the forms of the many, who will now reside in photos, memories, and the hearts of those left behind.

Echoes from sphincters emanating from lofty ivory barbicans, rail at those who seek to hold back the crimson tide, pointing their bent digits at their efforts.  It is they who do the devils bidding, herding the masses into those resting places while awaiting the sneak attack of some invisible assailant. They cause us to mock those trying to help us, in an effort to destroy what is left of the tapestry of humanity.

There is a higher power in control but, the lambs must look up from the next blade of grass while ignoring Satan’s henchmen on the rubicund State-Run propaganda Network.   The clueless threadbare statues uttering lies and innuendo created by the puppet masters become reverberations of the hypnotists.

The noise disappears with the touch of a button as my furry comfort creature hops in my lap taking her rightful place just below the keyboard.  The familiar vibrations comfort my soul as another sip of coffee slowly causes the blues to drift away.

The world is out there waiting for your tickling of the letters to form words, phrases, and uplifting sentiment while shunning the devil, not allowing him a win over you.

This epistle of sorts culminates the days and nights which preceded today.  There is a glow in the east and yes, it is light from that yonder window and no, it is not Juliet or Romeo.  Today marks the beginning of another day in which to leave my indelible mark on the hearts of many.  I am here.

 

Much Love -TW

Ripples

Did you mean to cast that stone?

 

Examining our lives in the micro-universe, our circle is small.  Tossing a rock in a pond we stop watching as it sinks below the surface. The disturbed molecules of water fan out to the edges of reality.

Stones real or metaphorical cast out upon the waters, cause ripples.

If you listen to any medium you will hear either the stone being cast or the ripple effect of that stone.

Listening to the news we hear what we assume is the total of the Iranian population screaming ‘death to America.’

The ripple effect is: if they act up and we nuke them, oh well.

Someone somewhere knows that to control the masses you use all the arrows in your quiver.  One of the largest of those arrows, the sharpest and most surgically precise is the arrow of hate.

Words like a misogynist, racist, fear-mongering, right-winger, left-winger, Nazi, white supremacist, privileged, black lives matter, Antifa, Feminist, fem Nazi, communist, all promote hate.

I am sure I could find dozens of more words that instill hate and stir up feelings (emotions) that will bring some to act.  When I happen to tune to some of the left-leaning media and watch their ‘journalists’ use words like treason, impeach, emperor and so on I realize that they are feeding their base.

Fox does it too.  Crazy Rachel Maddow to tin foil hat Don Lemmon, they too are stirring the pot.

Those stones cause ripples worldwide.  Just like the chants Death to America doesn’t sit well with too many Americans, we only see that part of what they say.  That is purposeful propaganda.

I visit with people around the globe.  Normal people realize that this is one way their government controls their masses.  If you keep them stirred up and angry they are predictable.  If on the other hand, they could think for themselves then the government would lose power over them.  Much like Brexit.

You must know history to realize where the wizard is trying to lead us.  Much like sheep following one blade of grass to the next, without guidance, they will walk off the cliff while eating that last blade of grass.  That is what they think.

We are not sheep.  Without the constant noise from Pravda 2.0 (cough CNN) on every TV screen in every airport tailored to fit the country that it is in, the people might actually think for themselves. When a network pays the airport to only put their channel on the screens in the terminals that is telling you a story. That is propaganda.  While tens of thousands get their early and then sit and wait for their flight, the brainwashing ensues. It is close to state-run TV.  History people, you should know it.

Stalin said the sharpest weapon in his arsenal was the printed word.  If the internet would have been around then, Social media would be his weapons of choice with the MSM running a close second.

The ripples cast by them are worldwide and devastating to millions.  With social media giants controlling the narrative, we have real issues to contend with.

This blog reaches around the globe.  Many of you are in different countries and you obviously see. Those of you that follow me; I would wager if we sat in the same room we would find that we have more in common than not.

What ripple will you send out into the world?

Have a blessed day! -TW

 

Hey, I got your message!

Saying goodbye is not easy.

 

Walking through the valley of shadows, one might find that many of those shadows are no longer shades or reflections, but echoes.

Unless you live on a remote island with a volleyball as your companion, those around you, in your circle are part of you, and you, them.  Touching that green square on the phone that seems so familiar to me are the communications from loved ones that are no longer here.

Living on some nebulous cloud are the actual voices of some of those same people who no longer can speak.

I think the term audiophile might be archaic to many of you who read my blog.  Years ago, a wall of my house was dedicated to devices that played vinyl, reel to reel tape, and of course, cassette and even 8 track.  If you have never had the pleasure of slapping a cartridge in an-dash 8 track machine, you have missed something.

Digging through the closet of mysteries, I found several old reels of tapes that have gathered dust for decades.  Spending an inordinate amount of time getting one of the early machines to whirl the reels back and forth, I found the reverberations of my family’s voices who are long gone.  A similar thing happened when transferring old VHS tapes to DVD.

Viewing the large flat screen through prisms of tears, those loved ones spring to life once again.  Your heart aches as their memories burst through the waves of emotions that you thought you finally put to bed.  An emotional dam breaks as a tsunami of feelings you shared, knock you over. The pain you felt at their passing is now very real again.

You hear them talk and begin to count how many of them are no longer there.  How many of them have returned from whence they came.

As you listen, watch, or yes, read the text messages; somewhere in the back of your mind, a virtual calendar pops up, and the years re-wind.

‘When was it? Five, ten, twenty years, no longer than that, I was standing there, giving the eulogy.  I agonized for days writing that thing.  I practiced it, so I would not look the fool in front of hundreds of well-wishers.’

So many rainy days spent standing under a green awning as the cadaver like funeral home employee stands in the shadows while family and friends weep, or prattle on about how kind, good, etc. that the person was.

The smell of death lingers amongst the overpowering perfume of the flowers sent by loved ones; to adorn the pile of dirt that will one day in the not too distant future settle back into the recesses of the earth.

Children most probably experience this with their grandparents first, unlike me, who first went through this when a classmate in third grade, died from cancer.  My friend that shared so many secrets, so much laughter, was gone.  I now wept while holding the hand of a parent.  It rained then too.

Her blond curly hair was replaced by a knitted cap, and the pink ribbon that she used to wear was no place to be found.

I often wondered if God sent the rain to cry along with you, to let you know that he had not forgotten you, or your loved one.

After the last line of Amazing Grace is sung, the crowd disperses.  You stand there and look at the coffin with the small white flowers on top of it.  Cars start; some people chat while making plans for lunch or heading to someplace for a reception. Some return to work or some other place as they are busy.

You’re not there, you’re with that person in the box.  You want that one last hug, a smile of reassurance, or to feel the warmth of them.  That sense of humor that kept you laughing so hard that you thought you might pee yourself.

‘Wait, we can’t do this without them!’

Employees of the cemetery wait patiently for the last one to leave, so they can work in the shadows.

‘This is it, this is really it.’

Reality sets in as you force yourself to turn, to face away from that box, those flowers, and the empty chairs under the makeshift pavilion.

You’re torn, you don’t want to face the reality that it is over.  The rest of the family is waiting for you at the large sedan that will take you to the function.   Their figures are blurred and smeared as you slowly put one foot in front of the other like you have done your whole life, ever since that person in the box taught you to walk or tie your shoes.  You know, the one that told you to wear clean underwear just in case. Once there, in some fellowship hall, there will be more crying and hugging and whispers by those who start the sentence with ‘I heard.’

Those in charge of the sponsored event will paste on a face that they wear on Sunday as they direct you to a line and give you instructions.  Casseroles that were prepared for this event came out of the freezer and now adorn a long table with different crock pots and other warming devices. People you don’t even know or maybe met years ago will act like your best friend to be seen with you.  Then they will tell you about how it was when their great aunt Martha passed after a long bout with something or other.  You try and act as if you care, but the pain of your loss is genuine and it is hard to appreciate their loss.

The silence keeps me up at night.  Even now, I can hear them all calling to me.

‘Stop grieving, it is all ok.  I am no longer in pain. I sent you those flowers in your garden, I can do that now.  Those clouds you saw turning into animals, that was me telling you those stories you used to love.  Those waves crashing on the rocks…yeah, I sent them to you too.  I know how much you love that sound.  When you are ready, I will tell you another story, just lay down on a blanket in the grass and watch, I have been working on some great stories for you.’

Do you delete the text messages, erase the tapes, and put the photos away in a box?  What about those voice mails telling you to call them when you get this.

“Hey, I got your message!”

Much Love -TW

Do it now!

Listen to that little voice, call them tonight not tomorrow.

I should be telling you about my latest project to get you excited about it as I am.

I should be spending time with my characters, making sure that they are not naughty.

I should be doing a lot of things that make me more productive.

Today I did none of those things.  I got up at my usual time, got dressed in drab clothing fit for the somber event that was hastily scheduled for today, and headed downtown to mourn in public.

The weather participated in the event, making sure that everyone was wet and cold.

A few weeks ago, one of my friends was going to be in town and suggested we get together for lunch.  That is an easy decision to make as this person was a beacon of light on a cloudy day like today.  Our schedules did not match up this time…

You notice I said ‘was.’

A few days ago, I got word he died of a heart attack.

I write about heart issues, but I don’t write about physical heart issues.  I write of love and torment but not about clogged arteries, high blood pressure, and of course, high cholesterol.

Not many would read a novel about such things, but, a love lost would garner your attention.

Today, friends of mine who loyally read these blogs, I have something for you to do.  Actually, I have a few things I would like you to consider.

Firstly, if not for you than for your family and friends, make sure your health is in check.  Many don’t take that stuff seriously, and they should.

Next, make sure that your loved ones do the same thing.

Finally, don’t put off calling on your friends, family, and so on, as you never know when the bell will toll.

We all contribute to that butterfly effect.  What you do in Mumbai or San Francisco will have an impact on others in distant places.  This very blog is read in countries and areas I have never been but would love to go, just to meet those of you who spend your time reading it.

I read many of your blogs.  While we may never meet in person, I feel like I know many of you.  Some of you have such a beautiful soul.   You honor me by spending time on my site.

Today I said goodbye to a good friend, the likes of which I will never see again.  I have many friends, each of them, like yourselves, is different.  You are each unique and bring to the table a sense of wonderment, joy and your personality that I love to experience.  When I write these posts, I love to see who liked it, who commented, and read about what is going on in your lives.

This fellow was like that.  He had a servant’s heart, and was a model for many; that light has faded away.  There are no do-overs when you don’t take the time today to go have that lunch or dinner or just talk on the phone.  When the Bell tolls, you waited too long.

I was speaking with a young man who waited too long to tell this lady how he felt about her.  She stopped waiting, and someone else found her.

That sounds like the stuff of Hallmark or Harlequin, but…You can and should think outside the box.

We, as people, are still about ownership.  We marry because we want to own that person.  It is archaic and backward thinking.

Plug for Saga of the Starduster.

We don’t have to own anyone to enjoy them.  Firstly, there is no ownership of anyone.  Yes, you can exchange vows and rings but in the end, if you abuse one another those nuptials will vaporize like Jelly beans in a room full of two-year-olds.

There are many ways to enjoy someone without carnal expressions being part of the mix.  That friend I lost today was married, had children, and I cherished the time we spent together.

Many of you who write from your heart, much like this blog, are sharing an intimate part of yourselves with many.  Carl Sagan said if you want to know someone, read what they wrote.

In my novels, the characters are me.  That is so true and so telling.  We share our most intimate thoughts and feelings as I am today.

You do that as well, and I applaud you.

Make time for each other, and take care of yourself.  There is only one you and even if you feel totally bereft of love,  whatever your circumstances, I do offer love on this blog.

When I sign ‘much love,’ it is from the heart.

Take care of yourself.  Much love -TW

 

 

 

Hello and welcome to Wednesday!

Is the week half over or do you still have time to do something wonderful?

For many of you, Wednesday is a milestone.  To some, it is known as hump day meaning we are on the downhill slide to the weekend.

A little different perspective might be, what did I do on Tuesday?  Did I spend every minute the best way that I could?  The week is half over, what have I got to do before the weekend? What will the weekend bring?

Some of you just let life happen, and others make it happen.

Which one are you?

I don’t think that there is a right or wrong answer, but there should be.  I am a control freak.  I admit it!  Very seldom do I throw caution to the wind and just wing it.  Even on those ubiquitous road trips, I have some method to my madness.

Each day will never repeat itself.  Break that down into hours, minutes and then seconds.  They will never happen again.  Are you spending them wisely?

My mornings consist of a hot beverage and some quiet time outside. I like to be alone with my thoughts as I think about the night and any dreams that I can recall.  Not far from my back porch there are tall trees that crows often play in.  I find something soothing in the call of the crow.  When I was a child, we lived close to a schoolyard, and I loved to hear the sounds of children playing.  To me, the crows remind me of children as they too seem to play games with one another.

I love the feel of the soft breezes on my skin and the warm morning sun as it greets me or me it.

These few moments sets the tone of the day for me.  Often I will do this out of the shower allowing the air to dry what water is left on me.  The scents and sights of the flowers from the garden delight me as I take them in.  I live in the moment.  What about you?  What is your morning like?  Is it hectic?  Are you an exercise person who maybe spends time on a treadmill or stair stepper.

When the weather warms up, I swim in the mornings for about thirty minutes or so and then sit there with my hot drink of choice.  If I am home that day, I might even add a little libation of some sort to it.

Life is short, and you must make time for yourself.

The world looks at you and me as taxpayers.  That is sad but true.  They want you to produce offspring so there will be more taxpayers.  The rich or elite live off of your backs and mine.

What drives the wealthy to make more money also drives them into an early grave.  Stress kills.  Can you live with just enough to be happy?

When life kicks you a little, kick back and pick up a book.

In many of my novels, I take you to such serene places like the ocean or plush fields with flowers and different birds calling out to you.  Some of them have magic to entertain you, and others have a romance of various kinds to allow you to live vicariously through one or more of my characters.

If you want a feel-good story read Diamond Joe.

Whatever you do this Wednesday keep it real.  Enjoy the day as it will not repeat itself.  Make a memory that will last.  Make this day and every day unique in some way.  When people tell me that the days of the week run together, I ask them to slow down.

We need to smell the roses which is a metaphor for living in the moment.  Stop for just a minute and take a breath and realize that what you offer to your employer is your life force.  Each and every heartbeat is what you are selling.  Your time is your stock in trade.  Try to enjoy what you do and make it special.

I get so many kind e-mails from followers and twitter people and yes from those that read my novels.  It is heartening to know that what I do makes someone’s life a little more pleasant.

As I make it through another day, I will be thinking of you.  I try to put myself in your place.  What would you like to read?  What story would you love to hear?  What would make your life a little more pleasant?

Can I weave those words or thoughts into some sort of a cogent tapestry that will accomplish those tasks? Input from you will make the mission easier.

Talk with me. I don’t bite, well I nibble, but I don’t bite hard.  What is on your mind? As I wait for the ideas to convalesce into some actionable sequence of events to put into words, is there anything that would excite you?

There is power in the pen or the keyboard in this case. What shall we create?

Thinking of you my friends.

Much Love -TW

Tipping Point

How do you get something for nothing?

Tipping Point

How do you get something for nothing?

As a person who understands physics, I can tell you that you don’t!

To obtain energy; fuel of some sort must be spent.

Targeting the moon with a laser for Nasa is an easy feat.  When you want to measure the distance from the earth to the moon you bounce a laser off a mirror placed on the moon, calculate the amount of time it takes to return and Viola!  You know the distance from the earth to the moon.

When Nasa could not hit the target, a red flag went off around the world.

Samantha, a genius in her own right, ask the question, “how do you get something for nothing?”

With tens of thousands of windmills extracting energy from the wind, she asked the question, could these be slowing down the earth causing the weather patterns to shift?”

Believe it or not, this is a romance!

Yes, it is an enjoyable Sci-Fi adventure of the likes you might see on the SCI-FI channel right after Sharknado, but it is that kind of story.  Many of my readers have mentioned that the SCI-FI channel should make a movie out of it.

If it ever happens maybe I will get to write the script!

I have been thinking about writing a screenplay to see if it improves my writing, has any of you done that?   With a screenplay, you have to think of every detail, which I think might improve one’s writing.

Someone told me that there is software designed for that purpose.

Anyway, Tipping Point is a fun lunchtime read on Kindle Unlimited, or you can support yours truly by actually spending a couple of bucks.  Think about it, for half a cup of coffee you can be entertained.

Tipping Point is a young adult kind of book with a tiny bit of implied naughtiness.  A tame version of my usual reads.

Follow me here on WordPress or Twitter @authortwscott or @twscott823

Check out my website www.authortwscott.com

Much Love- TW

Voices From the Past

Was it fate or magic that put the two on a collision course.

Married to a mommas boy, Jennifer decides she has had enough.  Twenty odd years of putting up with supporting her husband, and now his mother was too far.  Just wanting to go away for a few days without his mother tagging along; was a non-starter.

After the final argument, she leaves the house.  Filing for divorce, She soon finds her way to the States as a correspondent for her magazine.  Leaving the editing desk, she was now on an adventure.  Covering the Texas state fair; she bumps into a cowboy spilling his beer.  Harold bit his tongue wanting to take the mousy haired Brit to task when she smiled at him disarming him as she began to speak.

Was it fate or magic that put the two on a collision course.

Voices from the Past is a story about magic, romance, and love but not what you might expect.

Old meets new in this modern day tale of witchcraft, magic, and love.

Voices from the Past has been a good seller thus far, tell me what you think.

Much Love -TW