Hit or Miss

So some sources are saying Rihanna and Chris Brown are back together. If it’s true, I wish I could say I am surprised. But I am not. I have seen it too many times and I simply do not understand it.

She’s loves him, I am guessing some will say. So what? When did love mean accepting being bit, beaten and abused?

He’s getting therapy, others will point out. Yeah? Because his publicist told him to to save his “image”? Oh swell. Therapy has become as convenient as rehab is as an excuse for celeb drug abusers.

Maybe I do not have the ability to understand the situation. I am on the outside of it. My limited experience with the subject is years of seeing my grandmother abused until one day she died as a result of it. My paltry experience is in watching another close family member go through years of abuse with not one husband but two, and seeing the kids suffer and be left with a legacy.

Hurray for her, going back and giving the poor guy another chance. Everybody deserves a second chance, don’t they?

The hell they do.

I predicted in my first blog dealing with this a couple weeks back they would get together again. I predict in this one he won’t stop abusing. He’ll do it again. Maybe she’ll even go back to him over and over. Unless, of course, he kills her.

My sympathy usually lies with the victim entirely, but I have a difficult time relating to a person who makes themselves a victim again after they have gotten out. I understand the fear that might keep someone in a situation of abuse, but I don’t understand returning to it once you’ve escaped.

I have never had that mentally, so maybe it’s me who has a skewed view of things. I have on occasion encountered people who have tried to put me in a victim position, especially when I was younger. Those people are not in my life anymore. The moment I was free of them, it was forever.

Is this hopeless? Stopping abuse, I mean? Is it hopeless if the victims continually place themselves back in a dangerous situation?

Sometimes I wonder. What good does speaking out do if the very folks you are speaking out for can’t break the cycle?

How does one help them, make them understand?

I wish I knew.

Through Life’s Kaleidoscope

If it’s all absolute…why do different people see the same situation different ways? The same moon glowing in the sky means and omen of dark tides to rise for some; for others the first shiverings of romance deep within our soul.

For some a lie is truth; for others it’s merely…a lie.

Some spend their days denying what’s right in front of them. Others embrace it.

Why such a dichotomy? Why isn’t the moon just the moon? Why are some lives filled with so much pain and conflict while others fulfill and thrive?

It is set in blood and stone? Is it human nature in its jumble of emotions and dreams? Must everything be the way it is? Couldn’t for once the poor be rich and ugly be beautiful?

Is that just the way life is meant to be?

Or is there a choice? Can we tint and shape our own kaleidoscope or does Fate control its patterns and tones?

If it’s all absolute…why are we here?

Someone tell me. I’d really like to know…

Boobles and Beads

There’s a mystique about Mardi Gras…as long as you’re not standing in the middle of it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking--knowing me and some of my past blogs, I like it because it’s the only holiday I can legally get away with tossing beads at a gal to get her to free the ta-tas. Well, unless of course you live here in Maine, because then you just get punched or a nasty finger flag. I think it’s the cold…

But if you think that’s the reason…oh, wait, you’re right. That is the reason. Which reminds me I better get more beads.

Hmm, I didn’t think of it before but Free the Ta-tas sounds like a really nice slogan for a sign. And way more fun and easier to remember than free the spotted heliotropic left-footed single-eyed two-toed boobie hatcher.

Sorry…wandering a moment. Caught in the, um, headlights…

Anyway, I have always thought of Mardi Gras as being mysterious and somewhat romantic. Ok, I have never actually been there, and wouldn’t want to be because I know it’s jammed full of overly lubricated people and crime. But the aura of it is what entrances me. A night where you can let go of your inhibitions and cares, be someone you want to be instead of what you’ve been shackled to by nature and by environment. Wear a mask and reveal your true self. Sounds oxymoronic, but it’s not really.

I think to many of us wear masks the rest of the year. Maybe because we feel we have to since others expect certain things of us, expect us to act a certain way. When we don’t act that way, we might feel foolish for it or even be judged for it. Some of us conceal a star-glistened butterfly inside, one waiting to break free of its cocoon and fly on glittering wings. (Others hide a poop-flinging gremlin and ya’ll just feel free to go ahead and keep those inside...)

So maybe therein lies the message of Mardi Gras…let your true self out, whisk off the mask to reveal le papillon. Each of us is a mystery inside, a wonderful mystery waiting to be unraveled, perhaps by one special person (or if you are Zsa Zsa Gabor maybe eight or nine special persons), or perhaps by ourselves for all the world to see. Whatever the case, it might be the night to make a pledge to stop letting others force our mystery, or worse, crush it. Maybe it is, instead, the night to bask in it and let it be a mystery no more. Or at the very least give ourselves the freedom to make the choice.

Now…anyone want some beads?

Naked Vlogging???

As if vlogging weren't hard enough and embarrassing enough, I'm told there's a secret to getting folks to actually watch what you've sweated your way through. Now, I am not one to dispute secrets, especially when said secret comes from a gal getting a few thousand views of her almost daily vlog. Really I'm not. And I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (um, what is a gift horse exactly and why would I even want to look in its mouth? Oh, that Trojan thing again probably. Meh.)

But after taking her advice when making my latest vlog I find myself at a bit of a loss. I can't see why it would help me. I always thought content was key. But I think her vlog might have, er, bigger content.

I dunno. Maybe there's something I am missing and am taking her advice a bit too literally. I guess I'll have to wait and see whether I get a thousand views.

Or arrested.

So if you want to know the secret, click on the vlog. If you'd like a week of sleepless nights, go ahead, click, I dare ya.

Hey, don't say I didn't warn you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go check myself into a monastery…

Betty's Bein' Bad

It’s kind of funny how things can be misconstrued on the Internet. There’s no tone, no expression beyond the use of little smiley faces or winky faces and thank goodness no finger gestures or too many anonymous posters would have one really large digit from overworking it.

So some folks will take a post as literal while others will assume sarcasm, humor or even anger. The person reading the post or blog is apt to apply their personal life filter and read it in a totally different context than the way in which it was meant.

Take for example this: In one of my recent blogs, I described how mystery writer Betty Sullivan LaPierre and I collaborated on the upcoming Chloe Files #2 book trailer. Innocent enough, yes?

Well…Betty read my blog and liked it, and decided other people should read it too. She also decided to have a wee bit o’ fun with it. So she posted a little something on a couple lists we cohabitate (and have been longtime known members of) about having been away for a spell because of a fling with a certain horror author. She remarked in the post that in the end she had lost out to a gal named Chloe (the fictional heroine of my book for those who don’t know) and that I’d run off with her. She then told people to take a look at the link she’d posted detailing the tawdry tale. The link, of course, led back to my blog detailing our movie-making experience.

Most people got a little chuckle out of it. But one guy…not so much.

He made a post something to the effect of: Moderators, get that bimbo off the list.

Oh my.

The person was serious. I’m sure he took it as a spam post, though why he opened the post and read the whole thing is a wonder because the title head said: “I’ve Been a Naughty Girl!” Hmmm, maybe he was disappointed. However, I do accept most major credit cards if that was the case…

Betty’s female friends thought it was pretty funny. Betty’s husband with the big shotgun…I’m not sure he was quite as amused.

Believe me, having known Betty for years, I can emphatically state she is no bimbo (shucks, you can’t have everything you want in your friends, can you?). Although…digging into things a bit deeper I have noticed a suspicious connection to the world of burlesque under the name Gypsy Sullivan RosePierre, and there are those compromising photos with Tom Selleck she has yet to explain to me.

You know, maybe I don’t know her quite as well as I thought I did…

Why Don't You Write a Real Book?

I’ve decided to expand a bit on my previous post on writers being non-workers, and dwell on the subject of genres and what people read, as regurgitated from well-meaning neighbors, friends and relatives. Well-meaning being a specious term, at best, where some of these folks are concerned.

It seems a no-win situation. It really does. Because whatever genre I meekly chose to say I write, it is the wrong one. I have a gut feeling that with certain people they have a contrary answer ready for whatever you say, which means you might as well just blurt out whatever and hope they go away after getting their jollies out of their feeling of superiority. Unless you are one of those who can think fast on their feet and hit them with the rapier comeback—and that doesn’t do a whole lot for book sales because it tends to send these types off sputtering about what an ass so and so writer is. And weirdly enough these types always seem to have cadre of fiends, er, I mean friends, eager to proliferate the rumor to their cadre of friends…ad infinitum. Bad word of mouth is certainly something to avoid.

So, unless they are totally rude or just happen to hit me on a day I am having my male period, I usually grin and bear it.

Horror, I might answer. I write supernatural horror books.

Oh, so you sacrifice babies?

Um, Westerns, then?

Oh, cowboys stories! Did they really do perverted things with their hosses?

Ugh, comic books?

Funny books? You write funny books?! Oh my frickin’ gawwwd! How’s Little Lulu doing these days, anyway?

Mamma mia, kill me now.

I can only imagine the uncomfortable moments some erotic romance writers must experience (and since a number of them are males writing these books under a female penname I really wonder how they explain what they do. Anybody out there writing these please let me know.) It must be tough, and even more so if the person asking is a coworker or minister or PTA member. I don’t envy their, er, position.

What constitutes a real book, anyway? I’ll sometimes come back with. Well, at least I used to. I expect them to say mystery, or maybe even historicals.

Answers vary. Some say, oh, only non-fiction represents a real book. Or only literature, like Shakespeare or Chaucer or Danielle Steele.

I usually nod and leave it at that (i.e., try to escape with my tail between my legs), but one answer trully befuddles me:

Oh, I don’t read.

Say what now? You tell me I don’t write real books but you don’t read?

Nah, I don’t have time for that because…I’m doing REAL work.

Well, crap on a cracker, as Chloe would say. Me...I just mutter something unprintable and go back to my writing hole…and not work some more.

I Don't Work, I'm a Writer...

Being a writer might be one of the oddest jobs in the world. Or, according to some, one of the oddest non-jobs.

I remember when I was working on the first Chloe Files novel, and apparently after only six years a well-meaning neighbor just noticed I was home during the afternoon. Either that or his curiosity finally got the better of him.

What do you do? he asked me in a nonchalant way.

I’m an author, I said. I almost hate even answering that question because though I am proud of the fact, I also find myself embarrassed to say it aloud for some reason unknown to me.

Oh, so you don’t work, he said, cocking an eyebrow.

Huh? I answered, quite elegantly. And feeling more embarrassed now, though I knew better. I had run into the question and attitude before, but still hadn’t really come up with a perfect answer for it.

No, I write books and short stories and articles, I said after a minute, not bothering to ask why he himself was home at 3 in the afternoon (I knew, however he was a DJ and worked at night sporadically.)

So you don’t work, he said again.

Yes, I do, I am a writer. Now I was fighting off the urge to just run back to my desk and justify my answer. Self-esteem probably isn’t at the top of most writers’ list of attributes.

He chuckled a condescending little chuckle. Wow, I wish I could sit on my butt and just type all day, he said.

Yes, that’s what I do, I sit on my butt and type. Sometimes I even dictate it to my cat so I don’t tire out my fingers.

I think he figured out at that point I wasn’t real comfortable with the line of questioning. Which is exactly why he continued it.

So what do you write? Sounded innocent enough.

I am writing a supernatural mystery series about a woman who chases demons and ghosts. I write westerns and comic books, too.

His eyebrow jerked up another inch. I think it got stuck that way. So why don’t you write a REAL book? he says.

A real book? I asked before I can stop myself, wondering why the devil I haven’t jammed a copy up his, er…nevermind.

Yeah, like the ones James Patterson and Dr. Phil write.

At that point, I know convincing him I have a real job and write real books is futile. But before I slink away he gets around to the real question on his mind:

So…how much do you make doing this (non) job?

Ack. I dunno, how much do YOU make sticking CDs in a machine and yapping all night? I didn’t say that, decorum and all, but jeez, would he ask his dentist or plumber how much they made? Maybe he would. Who knows. But it’s not the first time somebody asked that question (and it has come from people who know better and have some working brain cells) and I doubt it will be the last. Writers seem to fall in some peculiar alternate dimension. It’s ok to ask them to whip out their tax statement.

Because we don’t work. Really. ;)

Trailers and Tribulations

Making a book trailer can turn into quite an adventure--or perhaps ordeal might be a better word. Over the past week or so, I got a chance to work with friend and mystery author Betty Sullivan LaPierre on the upcoming Chloe Files 2 book trailer. Since this is for the second novel in the series, Sliver of Darkness, I wanted it to be something different from the first mini-trailer for Ashes to Ashes. Betty has been making some wonderful videos for her own novels and graciously volunteered (I didn’t even have to transfer money to her Swiss bank account!) to produce the video for me. She’s working on a Mac and has programs that make much niftier transitions and things like flaming and glittering letters, so I jumped at the chance.

It turned into a huge learning experience for us both, since I am on a PC. What was supposed to be a fairly fast project ended up taking many—and I’m sure frustrating—hours on her part and plenty of diazepam on mine. Cross-platforming has a long way to go, let me tell ya.

I set out by collecting some interesting images that represented the book figuratively or literally, then, since I produce book covers for myself and others, created some melds and the new Chloe block banners you see attached to this blog. I gathered a few sound files as well and bundled them all up to send to her. That turned out to be the easy part.

She produced a video after about five hours of work that was damn near excellent—except for the fact I couldn’t see it! Seems the Mac .mov file wouldn’t play in anything lower than Quick Time 7, which of course I did not have on my older, ricketier computer. So I unloaded it to YouTube privately, which allowed me to see the video. Problem: sound did not come with it. For some reason we still haven’t figured out, the sound simply would not convert.

So off I betook the file to another computer with QT7. Lo and behold it played with sound! Betty had found an excellent little number called “Terror” that fit the movie perfectly. And now that I could get the video to play I could plug it into my converter to turn it into a Windows .wmv or .avi file. Or so I thought. Problem was, it only translated the video portion and again the sound mysteriously vanished, as it had on YouTube.

Well, as Chloe would say, crap on a cracker.

So I kept the video portion, figuring I could plug in some music or sound effects in Windows Movie Maker, the way I do for the trailers I create on my own, and Betty separately emailed me the sound file. The sound file turned out to be a midi.

Guess what?

Window’s Movie Maker doesn’t accept midis.

Thank you, Mr. Gates. If yer gonna swipe the Mac concept why not go all the way?

Well, after some web searching I found this wonderful little—free!—computer program called Switch, one that lets you covert midis into wav and mp3 files. I highly recommend this program and it comes for both Mac and PC. It takes only a minute to download and works like a dream.

So “Terror” all converted, I put it with the movie and we now have a beautiful working version, which will premiere within the next few weeks. This is only actually about half the story because we tried a bunch of other things that didn’t work, or worked partially. We’re still trying to figure out a few things. But we learned a lot and came up with some pretty cool files for future movies. The effort produced what I feel is the best movie possible (far better than I could do) and a huge amount of thanks goes out to Betty for taking so much time and putting so much work into it. I was amazed as just how perfect the song was and at the smooth transitions. I hope y’all will like it as much as I do.

Vlogging Made Scary

I had always resisted doing a video blog, or Vlog as they are called. I think most people in general and writers in particular don’t feel very comfortable in front of a camera or speaking extemporaneously. Writers tend to be more introverted as a whole, spending lots of time holding conversations with the people in their head, but not being so clever in social speaking situations. This is certainly true for myself. Reading in front of people terrifies me into that deer in the headlights freeze, though I sing and play in front of people a little easier (keep in mind though these are mostly nursing home folks and we lock the doors so they can’t get out and I notice many a hearing aide suddenly turned off!)

I also resisted because at this writing I am still on dial up and trying to upload any sizeable file is very time consuming and often a hair-pulling experience. I really don’t need to lose anymore hair.

But it’s the wave of the future (at least until I can figure out how to do a holographic blog or hlog) and while immensely uncomfortable I bit the bullet and started my Dark Bits vlog to go along with the blog of the same name.

After a first experience with a digital camera I picked up a fairly inexpensive Logitech webcam ($35 at Walmart) with a mic and set out to embarrass myself as much as possible. I spent the weekend doing different types, three so far, though only the first has been released, learning something new from each and hopefully improving. I decided not to use a script and speak off the cuff, hoping I wouldn’t come over like, um, well, you know, um, you see, I wanted to talk about, well, you know…

Seriosuly, the one nice thing about vlogs for authors is it lets readers see the face and hear the voice behind the writing. The more comfortable you become, the more your personality will shine through and translate to the camera. While the first one was about as much fun as getting a nipple pierced I am warming up to it. I am discovering ways to plug it into Windows Movie Maker and add titles and effects (and dumb down the file size for us dinosaur dial up users).

And I think all authors should give it a try too. Don’t worry, nothing that goes on the Internet ever stays around for long and nobody sees it anyway. ;)

Making of The Nightmare Club Book Trailer

These days it seems authors need to do a book trailer.

These aren’t the easiest thing to create if you have no experience with them, and Windows Movie Maker for us PC users is not the most intuitive or friendliest of programs. But it can be done after an initial learning curve and maybe a bit of hair-pulling. Or a lot of hair-pulling.

Anyways, I decided to create a new trailer for the second book in my children’s horror series, The Nightmare Club, The Deadly Dragon. I started by locating some images and a few sound effect files. I wanted the book cover of course, but I also wanted some pictures that represented literally or figuratively scenes from and the theme of the book. A few I already had on hand from making the book’s cover, but others I used a graphics program to meld together or create special effects. I colorized the photos to match the book cover’s eerie green tone as well.

After arranging them in the order I wanted, I added some sound files, things like thunder and a ghost wailing, then used a shatter transition from scene to scene, and a black fade-in to the Nightmare Club banner (which was originally red, as on the Nightmare Club homepage).

I added a few words to the various photos, then fiddled with lengthening some sounds and shortening others. I wanted to keep the trailer short, around a half minute, something easily uploadable and downloadable for those on dial-up (yep, there are a few of us out there still stuck in the slow-motion age!)

I have to admit I am not fond of doing these and what I figure to be a quick half-hour job always seems to turn into a five-hour one! This was no exception, but I discovered a few things that will hopefully make the next one easier. Well, actually the next one is going to be way easier because fellow author and friend Betty Sullivan LaPierre kindly offered to produce the second Chloe Files trailer after I wrote a script and composed a number of photos. She works on a Mac and can produce something far more sophisticated than I can. Look for that to be premiering soon.

Hit Me Baby One More Time

It makes my blood boil.

It really does.

A week ago actor Christian Bale blistered a co-worker with an erudite stream of expletives. A few months before he’d faced charges of physically assaulting female family members, though he got out of that in short order. The studio is now making excuses—“oh, he’s a method actor and got too into his role”. He’s got a method all right. A method of abuse. At the least, he has severe anger management problems.

But he’s a celebrity. Because of that, some hold him to a different standard. Some say that makes what he does more forgivable. But I don’t. I have seen it too often. I’ve seen people die from it. He’s an abuser. And at some point whatever control he does maintain is going to fail because some fans and the studio are enabling him. He says he feels like an ass. But I bet he feels a bit powerful, too. A bit invincible. Abusers like to hurt, then apologize, then hurt worse, until their victims are broken down to a point where they can’t make rational decisions or even tell the difference any longer between affection and manipulation.

I’m sorry, I will not make excuses for him. He’s an idol and role model to too many kids. He’s effing Batman. Just ask him. He’ll tell you.

Couple nights back Chris Brown apparently got it into his head to go for a bite right during the middle of the Grammys. Unfortunately what he was biting was his girlfriend, pop diva Rihanna. Witnesses heard screams. She suffered “visible injuries” and he was arrested for assault. Want to make any bets on whether he’ll actually do time for it? Or do you see a rehab stint coming on?

I heard someone on TV saying: “Oh, I feel sad for him because he was abused by his father…”

The hell? Sad for him? When are people going to stop making excuses for these sonsofbitches? Yeah, well, ok, he’s perpetuating what he was raised with and maybe he honestly can’t tell the difference between loving someone and hurting them. So what? I don’t care. He’s an adult now—an adult with a choice and an adult with a lot of money…enough to figure out how to get help. He says he hated his (step?) father for abusing him and his mother. Really? Then look in the goddamn mirror, dude, because you just made him friggin’ proud.

Chances are, a few weeks from now Rihanna will say she still loves him and doesn’t want to press charges. Prosecutors may still, but he’s a celebrity, so who knows? I don’t hold much hope because even the authorities Just. Don’t. Get. It. Domestic violence is at an epidemic level in the US. Too few people take it seriously and proving it, well, proving it might be just enough to get you murdered because that restraining order is worth as much as Monopoly money and courts aren’t going to do anything serious about it until someone is dead. If you’re a victim, male or female, you have very few options. Being the abused is the new leprosy.

And these guys with their bling and money, sympathetic studios and empty-headed “loyal” fans are not making it any easier.

And that’s a goddamn shame.

Bumps in the Night

Since I write horror/supernatural novels as well as westerns, you might well imagine I have a fascination with things that go bump in the night. Ghosts, witches, Halloween, all that good stuff. I think it comes from my mother letting me watch Dark Shadows as a kid, instead of going out and playing baseball or basketball like normal six- or seven-year-olds. But, then again, I never really had much of a claim on normal, so why start now?

I think that’s one reason I enjoy writing my series, The Chloe Files, so much. Through Chloe, assuming I could wear a dress, of course (well, I could, but that’s a whole other issue and I have enough of those to deal with already), I get to play around with ghosts and demons and witches…all from the comfort of my little writing chair, then shut off the computer when I am done. And hopefully none of those creepies follow me into the real world.
However, there have been a couple times as a kid when I thought I experienced one or two of those creepies. No demons, of course, but maybe a ghost or two?

As much as I enjoy that type of thing, I tend to be a skeptic when it comes to them in real life. Yet there was one time after my grandmother passed away, I think I was about 12, I thought I heard breathing in my room late one Christmas Eve. My dachshund started acting funny, too, rearing up in bed and looking off into the corner and whining. At the time I thought it might be my gram’s ghost, but just the dog acting that way was enough to freak me out and send me running from the room. I didn’t really want to stick around and find out if it was her ghost. I was brave in those days…

There have been other little experiences like that, but no ghost has ever stepped up to me and introduced itself. At this point in my life, older, hopefully less of a chicken, I’d like to encounter a ghost. And I think it’d be quite a bit of fun accompanying Ghosthunters. But for now I have to be content to live such experiences vicariously, through my characters. Oh well, at least that way I won’t end up turned into a toad or anything.

How about you readers out there? Do you believe in ghosts? Had an encounter with one? Want to help Chloe deal with hers? ;)

Author Days Report

Our first official Author Days on my Black Horse Western yahoogroup has come and gone. It was more a weekend than a day (mainly because Black Horse authors are scattered across the globe, me in Maine and many in England, another even in Japan!) and I find myself a bit exhausted by it, but it was a great deal of fun and group members posed some fascinating questions (some of those questions will be translated into pieces for Black Horse Express, our online western magazine.

Author Days was the brainchild of British author Joanne Walpole and she coordinates and runs the event. Each “day” is devoted to a featured author on the group. I went first because my latest release, Coyote Deadly, is just out.

For those who don’t know, I write Black Horse Westerns for Robert Hale, Ltd. of London under the penname Lance Howard, which is simply my middle and first names switched. I have written 30 novels so far, with number 31 nearly finished at this writing. Lately the books have been gaining some steam and the publisher has relented to larger print runs to meet orders. Coyote Deadly sold out two weeks before its release but should be seeing a reprint soon, and has already sold to large print from another company, so those who missed out will be able to pick up a copy.

Anyway, the weekend/day starts with a brief intro by the author, in this case me, then a posted excerpt from his/her present release. Then a bout a nerves while you pray the group doesn’t ravage your writing, or worse, dead silence reigns! Fortunately that didn’t happen. I got a number of tech questions, such as the use of a narrowing viewpoint to the employ of western lingo (when to use it, when not to, and how much). Also answered a number of questions on the use of strong women in the Wild West, because my novels generally include a dual protagonist, one female.

Coyote Deadly is a different type novel for me, involving outlaws who ravage the women in a town that abhors violence (except by its own Elders behind closed doors) and the use of an atypical, heavy-set heroine, so much of the discussion centered around that.

About halfway through, I posted another excerpt from a non Black Horse book, Pistolero, because of its blending of genres, western and ripper/mystery, something the discussion had turned towards after a group member asked me if I liked to mix horror with my westerns (the answer was definitely yes, because I have a vampire western, The Dark Riders, out under my own name).

At times I worried a bit I might be asked something I couldn’t answer because I had written the book over a year ago and honestly had forgotten much of it. I’ve developed a habit of forgetting my books after the first draft, so that I could edit them more objectively. But it became such an ingrained habit, I discovered it causes me problems for discussions and interviews when the actual book sees print. That, plus I have written four other novels in the interim!

All in all, for a first run, I think the weekend went extremely well and I enjoyed my stint. I will be greatly looking to the upcoming authors and a big thanks to Joanne for making this a success.

Those interested in Black Horse Westerns, westerns in general, or just enjoying the Author Days, are invited to sign up for the group. There’s a box on my Western Books Page. Hope y’all will come by.

She's Sooooo Fat...

With all the things there are to goof on Jessica Simpson about, I can’t believe the media is picking on the extra fluff she’s packed into her jeans.

Maybe it’s because I was a child of the 60s, a time when women courted curves and weren’t these walking coat hangers you see today, but I prefer a little junk in the trunk and a little extra square-footage on the front porch. People just weren’t meant to be size zeroes. First of all, it’s unhealthy because most of those women got that way by starving themselves--or worse, binging and purging. Second, what kind of example is it setting for girls growing up if they feel the only way they will be attractive is if they can make their bodies look skeletal and fit into Barbie clothes? Lord knows the teen years come with enough esteem-demolishing garbage as it is.

Yes, we do have to take personal responsibility and letting others set your level of self-esteem is a damn poor idea. If somebody doesn’t like you because you are carrying extra weight then that somebody is really not worth setting your clock by, are they? Because it’s a sure bet they are far south of perfect.

And there’s far too much pressure to be perfect—and too many people simply don’t realize the makeup, lighting and various other techniques that are used on models to make them look the way they do—and even men fall prey to it. If you don’t have that six pack or perky butt, then you aren’t a man. I’m pretty sure Hurly isn’t the sex symbol guy on Lost.

It’s foolishness. Your person comes from within. People will find you attractive…or they won’t. Those who don’t aren’t worth worrying about. Move on. It doesn’t even matter what their reasons are. And their opinion is subjective and just that---their opinion. Not yours. Others will like or love you for who you are and those who truly love you won’t criticize you constantly to tell you how you should look or how much you should weigh. They will encourage you to do what you feel is best for you (excluding health issues, of course). The things you see as flaws are often the things that others find endearing. Who wants to be cookie cutter? I mean, really?

Now, that’s not saying you shouldn’t be getting into the gym and eating right. Obesity is a major health concern. But a size ten is not fat people! And a size one is not the norm. Kate Moss looks breakable to me. That so much air time has been devoted to Simpson’s jeans probably says more about our media and societal obsession with perfection and celebrities than we really need to explore here.

Recently Jennifer Love Hewitt came under fire for being a little too womanly, too. I sure wasn’t complaining. But apparently somebody thought she was a bit too hippy or some such. She fired back, but then went a lost some weight anyway. She didn’t need to.

I don’t know. Some people should stop pumping up their own self-esteem by picking apart others and stop trying to set impossible standards. A fit body is fine; a walking skeleton is not.

Can’t we focus on people’s positives instead of negatives? And can’t people just let others decide how they wish to be and accept it? If Simpson is fat—and she isn’t in my opinion—who’s business is it but hers?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go work on my abs…

You are the Drama Queen, Loud and Mean...

It never fails.

Without exception, the moment I need my focus most, usually at the very first page of a new novel or short story, some family member has a drama. It’s happened so often I cringe when the phone rings the moment I type “Chapter 1”.

And if it’s not at the start of a book it’s at a holiday when everyone should be happy. We all have them, at least most of us do. You know, certain relatives or friends who need attention all the time and when that attention is off them they find a way to draw it back, usually by creating a crisis. Or an argument. My family seems riddled with those insecure types.

I swear there are people in this world who simply can’t be happy. Because the moment any happiness creeps into there lives they manufacture something to make it miserable again. Peace is one of those things that absolutely cannot be tolerated by these types. Smooth sailing means you have to fall overboard and scream, “Help, I can’t frickin’ swim!”

A lot of us to a lesser degree are afraid to embrace happiness. Maybe it’s a fear that if we do that happiness will be taken away from us and we will simply be hurt all the more. Maybe it’s that if there is too much going right we fear something terribly wrong with come along to even out the odds.

I find myself entirely too guilty of that, though I am a huge drama avoider. I like it just fine when nobody’s flinging poop at anyone else in the family or having a meltdown just at the precise moment everybody’s supposed to be celebrating.

There are certainly circumstances in life that can’t be avoided, bad things that happen for seemingly no other reason than it was just our day to get crapped on. But there’s no need to create drama where none exists; there are better ways to get attention. Try helping, volunteering, whatever. And there’s no need to fear fear. Fear of bad happening when things are going ok (or even if they are not) is self-defeating and sometimes truly prevents us from reaching our potential, for success and for happiness.

Maybe it isn’t yet time to throw away our rose-colored glasses. Maybe it’s time to put them back on…

Your Snake is How Big!?!

While I was driving home from my weekly trek to the comic book shop today, I caught a piece on the news about how scientists had discovered the fossilized remains of a snake at least 45 feet long and weighing several tons. Along with it were the bones of dinosaurs the creature had eaten.

Eew.

Ok, being more than a little ophidiopobic, you can imagine just how impressed I was with the thought of a 45-foot python slithering around. And one that didn’t even intend to swallow J-Lo for lunch (anyone make it all the way through Anaconda? Not me.)

I remember a couple summers back, brave horror writer that I am, not being able to walk into my shed one day because there was a six-inch snake coiled on the shelf, so the sight of something as large as that fossil would probably have me passing out cold.

What is it about snakes anyway? People either love them or are scared crapless of them. For some reason girls in naughty videos—not hat I have ever seen one of those—like to play with ‘em. All phallic imagery aside, what the hell? Some Goths like to tote them around on their shoulders. Is faux fur too plebian? Shell necklaces not in style anymore?

I don’t even want to see fake snakeskin boots or purses, let alone real ones. I don’t want to see them on the animal channel either.

Maybe it’s the monkey in me from way back. Maybe they just make me feel inadequate in ways I won’t get into here. I dunno.

You'd like being a horror writer I would like things like that. But I don’t. I like things with fur. Cute I’m-not-gonna-swallow-you-whole things.

Pandas anyone?

Is Reading Worth It?

One of the biggest hurdles authors or small publishers face when trying to promote books is price. This is especially true for small pressers who can’t afford to dump thousands into large print runs that keep down the individual unit cost. Add to that the cut distributors take along with bookstores such as Amazon and Barnes and, well, you’re paying a good chunk of change. It can be off-putting to potential readers/buyers. I can empathize, being a comic book reader. Those are just going up to $3.99 an issue.

But are books that poor an entertainment value? I mean, really? Let’s take a brief look. I will use my horror novel The Chloe Files #1: Ashes to Ashes at $13.99 for my low end example and my doorstopper horror tale Night Demons at $22.99 as the high end. Most authors’ trade paperback novels run somewhere within that range.

Been to a movie lately? Here in Maine it’s $8.50 or $9.00 per ticket. For that 9 bucks you get one to two hours of entertainment. You see it once for that price. The book? Well, there you get hours of entertainment, depending on your reading speed. And you can reread it. As many times as you want. Till the pages drop out anyway.

And this assumes you can get out of the movie with just the ticket price. Add popcorn and small drink and you are right there at my most expensive book price (those of you without oversized purses sneaking in stuff…) Add candy or be lucky enough to take my niece with you…well, suddenly that book looks like a pretty good value.

How about DVDs? Probably 15-25 bucks there, depending on sales, extended versions, etc. Yes, you can rewatch those. But technology is changing quick. What if you can’t play them in a year or five? And if you scratch them up a little your DVD player pukes them right back out with that dreaded reading error message. Your book? Scratch the crap out of it. Go ahead. You can still read it. And you won’t need a player ever either. You can always read it.

Concerts? Well, anyone who’s been to a concert lately knows we don’t even have to go there. 50 bucks if you are lucky.

CDs? A little better value, but same tech and scratch problems.

Of course, you don’t know if you are going to like the book or the author, but you don’t know if you’ll like the movie or artist’s new material on the CD, either. I recently spent 20+ bucks for the new X-Files movie. I should have read a book.

My point is: books are still one of our best entertainment values. They have side benefits, too, such as engaging your mind and keeping you sharp (seriously, some studies find reading may help delay some of the effects of Alzheimer’s), and in the case of Night Demons building your arm muscles just lifting the dang thing.

So the next time you need to be taken away from your daily drudge and cares, go ahead, buy a book, guilt free. Some day I hear we may even be able to stuff them in our gas tanks to run our cars…now, wouldn’t that be cool?

Home Pleasure Channel or Toys Will Be Toys...

Sometimes right before going to sleep I lie in bed, my grubby little paw clamped about the remote, channel surfing. I leave the sound off, using the closed caption if I stumble upon something important, which usually translates to anything with BFP.

So a couple nights ago…what? Oh, what’s BFP? Are you sure you really want to know that? You probably shouldn’t ask. Last warning.

Ok, ok. BFP is mancode for “boob flash potential.” It makes even the lowliest movie worth watching for about 15 minutes just in case ta-tas pop out.

I told you you shouldn’t ask…

Anyway, a couple nights ago I’m surfing like a cable kahuna, just starting to notice my thumb is freezing on the button because my consciousness is blinking in and out. On a blink in, however, I notice one of those home shopping network type stations, except it’s immediately apparent this is not your mama’s QVC.

No, two young ladies are sitting on a plush velvet couch with something I can only describe as a mining implement. It’s long and bit curved. And bumpy. Need I describe it further?

By this time I am fully awake again and a little shock and awed. Shocked because I have never seen such things being jauntily sold on late night TV and awed because, well, I should be so lucky.

Next, one of the young women pulls out this crystal blue, um, bulb-headed, um, thingy. It’s really rather pretty blue crystal. It might even look awfully nice sitting on a window sill catching sunlight.

Except you can’t really put it on display in a window or even on the coffee table without shaking up the neighborhood watch or most of your family members and friends. Because the thing is a sapphire crystal…er, joy toy. Apparently there is a whole new meaning to blown glass I wasn’t aware of.

These young women, smiling like it was Christmas year round—and I think, judging from what they were hawking, we know why—reached into their, um, bag of tricks and showed off other items, some of which I couldn’t even begin to guess at what the hell they were for.

By this time I’m feeling a little inadequate and wondering if I should have paid more attention to those Chubby Santa commercials.

I changed the channel fairly soon, but I was, er, up for half of the night. Um, who could sleep after that, is what I mean. Really. No, truly.

I’m going now…