Hey Nader, dude, just come out of the closet already -- admit you're a republican. It's OK. We're not going to think any less of you. At least this way, your run for the presidency will have context and make sense.

2008 is the year that the democrats almost can't lose. I say almost for two reasons. One, nothing is a sure bet in politics and two, the democrats have an uncanny knack of blowing those bets that are almost sure. Your run, mixed with good old fashioned democratic bungling, could be the one thing that keeps the republicans in charge of the white house. And even though I'm disgusted with Bush's eight years of mismanagement, I think it might be a good thing for four more years of republican rule.

If the democrats take the white house, they will have control of both the executive and the legistlative branches of the govenment. The republicans would still have a slight edge in the judicial and the Cheney branch would hopefully be dissolved altogether. The problem is that a lot of damage can be done when one party has control of both the executive and the legistlative branches as it takes quite a long time before a dangerous situation makes it to the judicial branch to be (hopefully) fixed.

So quit toying with us Nader. Even if you're not a republican. Even if you're just bi-partisan-curious, fess up. We'll still love you and you might be doing our country a favor this time instead of taking revenge on your old democratic cohorts.
 

Just like last November, I’m going to be teaming up with http://www.bamkaraoke.com and serve as a judge for a local karaoke contest. It was such a wonderful experience and I can’t wait to get started. The first qualification round is this Friday, February 1st.

This time my brother is going to serve as a judge as well. He’s no stranger to music. He plays guitar and writes his own songs and music. This will be the first time we’ve collaborated on a project. I hope it’s not the last though. Wish us luck!
 

My family has always told jokes around the kitchen table. One day, when I was four, I wanted to be a part and tell a joke too. So, sitting on my dad's lap, I told everyone to be quiet so I could tell my joke.

Silence fell over the normally boisterous table as my family waited to hear my brilliant offering. Milking the moment for all I could, I stood up on dad's chair and looked around at my brothers, sisters, and mom. The thrill of having their complete attention energized me. I held my little, white sippy cup in the air and I called out, "Take a cup and cup it up."

My family burst out laughing but I didn't find out until later that my joke wasn't funny and that they laughed simply because it came from the baby.
 

Since coming out of the cult I was associated with since ‘87, I have had inconsistent self-esteem. On the one hand, I’ve written six novels, won awards for my writing, been published in magazine and newspaper, and received a number of wonderful honors. But at the same time that I was achieving all those amazing goals, I was also supporting myself with entry-level jobs, even though I have expert-level computer skills; strong people abilities; and a fast, logical, and organized mind.

It was a mystery to me as well as to those who know of my talents why I couldn’t seem to even start the process of finding a job in my area of expertise. Whenever I’d even begin to think about it, I’d have a panic attack or something akin to one and I’d find myself stuck in a rut of procrastination and anxiety.

Then something happened. A wonderful catalyst sent out the necessary spark and the kindling I’d been moping around on top of started ablaze. Since my problem wasn’t simple, the catalyst that forced me to jump up and out of the fire wasn’t simple either. It was a collection of events, all coming to a head at the same time. They crashed together in a beautiful display of disfunction and New Year’s Eve Day found me romantically rejected, unemployed, and about as low as person can go without needing paramedics.

At the time, that catalyst, that string of events, that low point in my life seemed like it would go on forever and stood in defiance of any feasible solution. But just like sparks, catalysts are temporary. And when they’ve finished what they’ve set out to accomplish, they disappear just as realization arrives.

With the help of an amazingly wonderful friend, I found myself clear-headed for the first time in months and I knew what I had to do. I dusted off my resume, not touched in three or four years, and I solicted advice from my friends on how to make it as appealing as possible while still being 100% factual. In no time, friends were popping up all over with friendly suggestions. Some even sent me a copy of their resume to use as a guide. In two days, I had completely remodeled my resume and sent it out to a number or prospective computer companies.

The next week, I called each of the companies I’d sent it to. I thanked them for their time and for considering me for a position. One of the companies told me they were needing to hire a computer tech, but it wouldn’t be before the boss returned at the end of the week. The following Monday I called that company back. I commented on how they said they’d be hiring soon and mentioned how much I’d appreciate an interview.

The very next day (Tuesday), the boss called and asked me to come in Wednesday. I showed up on time and ready to sell every positive quality I have. The interview went nice and they asked me back to perform a bench test. That’s where they give you a disassembled computer and have you reassemble it. They usually throw in an obstacle or two (CMOS, TCP/IP config, ect.) to see how your troubleshooting skills are. I was a little rusty, but I managed to get everything up in running and in forty-five minutes. The boss seemed happy with my performance and told me he’d call me later that day. He did, and offered me a job.
 

Cry and you're a whiner that's overstayed his welcome. I can understand why. I really can. Who wants to be around someone that brings them down? Nobody. And since we all have a limited amount of time to go mulling about the planet, we simply can't waste our precious seconds with those who are just too low

Well, I say BULLSHIT! Yeah, we might have better things to do than to be brought down by someone's annoying whining, but sometimes the annoying whining is the only thing keeping the person going. By the time the whining stops, the person may have stopped as well.

It's true, some people just like to complain. Some people just want attention. But maybe it's because they know they need it but they don't know how to ask for it. Maybe they aren't assholes, maybe they are in pain.

I met a young lady the other day at www.critiquecircle.com. She submitted a story that she listed as a "memoir." The lady in the story was in her early twenties and had the bad habit of calling 911 with the false report of a young girl being sexually molested. The authorities would come and find only her. She'd admit she made the call and they'd threaten to have her arrested for impeding their lifesaving work and then leave.

I don't know if her story was real anymore than I know if she was real. I only saw her words in a white box on my computer screen. But I think it's sad that someone so obviously in need of help would be ignored because she asked for it in the wrong way.

The bottom line is that not everybody knows how to function in our complex society. Even those who have found a moderate or greater level of success don't always know how to deal with the many obstacles that can appear. They might not know where to turn. They might not know who to ask, how to ask, or even what to ask for. Does that mean we should let them fall by the wayside?

If you see someone looking for attention, do you wonder why they are seeking it? Do you assume they are just a troublemaker or do you wonder what pain they are trying to escape from? If someone is so lonely or so scared that the only way they can think of to get attention is to become destructive, they need our help and our love, not our disgust.

I don't mean to be preachy and I have my own reasons for writing this. You may agree or you may disagree. I respect both possibilities, but at the very least, I hope you have pause for thought the next time you see someone acting up. You may notice they are sadly lacking in something that you have in abundance -- kindness.
 

I don't have nightmares very often. At least not that I remember. I do live a nightmare though. I'm behind at everything. I'm behind socially. I've been married twice but now since being in that religion, I'm a total waste with women. If they want me to talk I'm silent. If they want me to wait, I'm pushing ahead. I don't get it becuase I'm an amazing listener, but for some reason I always hear the wrong information. And I know it's from being in that crappy organization because my two best friends from high school (none of us jw at the time) are both happily married to their first wives. We all did the same things together. We all dated different girls and had different heartbreaks and issues, but they are both still married to the women who they fell in love with and my first wife left a couple months after I started studying with the cult. I wouldn't have studied if I'd have known it was a cult.

I'm not jealous of my friends. I'm happy for them, but I don't understand why I"m so f***ing defective that I can't even get a late start on a decent relationship. And it doesn't matter what I do. If I go slow and wait on them, they get bored and take off. If I'm up front about how I feel, then I'm coming on too strong. It isn't just the typical stuff that all men go through. There is something defective in me that ALWAYS makes me to do the wrong thing in a situation. If one more person tells me to try and change my attitude, I'm going to deck them. It isn't my attitude. My attitude sucks because I've been emotionally and financially abused by a gigantic organization and as it stands now, the only thing I can do is move on. OH, and I can't even move on because some of the damage is apparently permanent. I can move on if I want to resign myself to the fact that I'm going to be by myself for the rest of my life.

That shouldn't be too hard. Being with someone isn't the end all, be all of human existence. But it is one of the aspects of living that I treasure and value the most. Having someone who gets you. Someone who is there when you're down and loves that you're there for them when they need it too. Someone to read my work and build me up. Someone who I can build up as well. I'm not wanting to just get. I'm willing to give too. I'm a very good communicator. I'm able to express myself sufficiently if not eloquently. I just don't get why I can't run into anything better than rejection.

So, yeah I'm bitter. Yeah, I'm in my pity pot. Yeah, I'm whining. But I'm not just whining. Check this out....

I know how to build a computer completely from scratch. I can install and secure novel and microsoft NT networks. I can administer both kinds of networks. I can install programs. I can do just about anything computer related there is to do if I put my mind to it, but I can't get a job in the computer industry. I was in the indujstry for eleven years, but I never became ceritified in anything but Novell (novel 4 for those who are curious) and without that or a degree, I'm just laughed at. Hmmm, I wonder why I didn't get a degree. Anyone care to take a guess.

So, why don't I go get certified? Why don't I go back to college? For the past year I've been working two eight dollar an hour jobs. I've had to work two because I have two hospitals, a couple credit card companies, and the IRS all breathing down my neck, grabbing my bank accounts when I open one and garnishing my wages. I can't solve any of these things because I can't even begin to get on my feet before something else comes in the mail informing me of the latest judgment or legal action.

I'm being pushed on all sides and I have no idea how to escape because on top of not having a degree or A1 certification or something, nobody paying a decent wage wants to hire me anyway when the see my credit score.

All my fault right? My decisions, so it's my fault. Well, do you know where this started. In '98 I was making forty-five thou a year. Not bad for a self-trained computer guru, but I wasn't just trained in computers. I was also trained on serving god according to the watchtower society. Even though I'd been inactive since '92 and hadn't even seen a watchtower, awake, or even a tract in the intervening years, I still felt the guilt from letting god down. How could I enjoy this nice paying job, living just off the beach in beautiful Dana Point, California, and driving around in a brand new car without giving a thank you to the big guy?

So, told him thank you and promised him I'd go back to the kingdom hall. I did, two weeks later, to the day, my wife was refused entry into the united states, had her visa ripped up in front of us, and had her application for citizenship canceled. Coincidence? Maybe. The brothers told me that I was being tested by satan and that jehovah would bless me. If by bless me, they meant cut my salary in half while expecting me to donate money for the world wide work, then they were right. Because in less then six months from my wife getting kicked out of the states, I went from making forty-five thou a year to just over tweny thou a year with the added bonus that I had a two hundred mile round trip drive if I wanted to see my wife. Obviously that couldn't go on forever. So, I move down to Tijuana to be where my wife is and commute the two hundred mile round trip drive to work. Yeah, I should have looked for a job a little closer, but besides not having a home or a phone number to use for looking for a local job, I was also suffering pretty severe depression from all the emotional turmoil my returning to jehovah brought into my life.

So, could it get worse? Do you consider having to go outside to take a crap or a pee worse? Do you consider no running water inside the house worse? Do you consider taking a bath using water heated up on the stove and pouring over yourself with a bowl worse? Nah, it was OK. I loved living in Mexico. But, even with those conditions, it was able to get worse. On January 26th my wife and I woke up and had a doozy of an argument. I finally left to go and change the oil in the car. I didn't tell her waht I was doing because of the argument and when I came back a couple hours later, I ran into her and her family unloading our apartment. Incidentally, that was only our second argument. The first happened in my little apartment in Dana Point about five years earlier. The previous time, I apologized and bought her some flowers. This time, I didn't think I was in the wrong and I didn't think it was right that she was just taking everything and leaving. So, I told her that if she was leaving then I was too. I was going back home to Minnesota. And I did. I've seen her one time since.

But what I failed to mention above is that during that five year period where I was living in Mexico, commuting two hundred miles round trip to work, supporting my wife, two of her kids and her mom, and trying to maintain a modicum of sanity in a country that for the most part hated me just because I came from the "rich" USA, I wasn't paying any income tax. Work considered me a conslultant. I tried to get my wife a TIN so I could claim her but for some reason it was denied. I don't know if was because they kicked her out of the country or what. But, here I am, paying for people I can't claim on one half the money I was used to while driving forever to get to and from work, I just didn't pay any taxes. And to make everything even more interesting, when I left Mexico that crisp January afternoon in 2004, I left behind the box that had all my receipts.

All the above happened based on my decisions. But so much of what happened had it's roots in my getting involved in that dysfunctional religion.
 

I would do this as a poem, but my head is too tight and I can't concentrate.

Some of us are born with stuff to reach the very stars.
Some of us are simply meant to stay right where we are.
Some of us can be our best when love is on the line.
Some of us simply screw up, each and every time.
Some of us will live a life that makes the world take note.
The rest of us ... won't.
 

In the past, Santa had always given me an actual present, something to unwrap, but this year he just gave me a stocking full of random, and in some cases disturbing goods. I don't mean to sound unappreciative, but I gotta wonder what's going through the big guys head. Is it possible that after all these centuries, memory loss or dementia is finally catching up with ole St. Nick? I don't know, but here's what my stocking contained:

The most peculiar item I found in my stocking this Christmas was a roll of quarters? Huh? A roll of quarters? Was he saying I need to wash my clothes? Is he suggesting I take more advantage of parking meters? Did he read my "little" post in the "does size matter" thread and feel I needed some artificial augmentation? I don't know. It gets even weirder though, because along with the roll of quarters he also gave me $2.36 in loose change. I'm not sure WHAT that message is. So, I did a search at eFoodDepot.com to see what I could get for exactly $2.36? Here's what I found: PC Tea - Dieters Herbal Tea, Lee Kum Kee Minced Garlic, and Original Extra Strong Lozenges. Hmmm, what's Santa trying to tell me? I'm too fat, have bad breath, and in danger of being attacked by vampires? Yikes!

But that wasn't all. Along with close to a pound of chocolate, in no less than five different varieties, he included a brand new toothbrush. I'm starting to think he has financial stake in either Hershey's Chocolate Company, The American Dentistry Association, or 24 Hour Fitness. Something's up anyway.

Rounding out the contents of my stocking were, in no particular order: a lighthouse calendar; post-it-notes with the saying, Bosses - Every Village Needs an Idiot; and a day-planner. I'm assuming the calendar and day-planner will come in handy as I look for new work after my boss sees the post-its. Well, there you have it. That was what I got from Santa. What did you get?
 

Hey everyone. I have four poems that I've written in the past month or so that don't have a single review or rating. I'm going to post them here and if any of then catch your fancy, please click on the link and review me. Sound cool?

Here goes:

"Invalid Item" 
Pounded in the kidney,
In the middle of a hug.
Couldn't tell what hit me,
Barely had the strength to shrug.
It's not the blow that hurt me.
But that a friend had made the slug.


"Invalid Item" 
I’ve fulfilled my purpose.
Not needed
Anymore

God withdrew protection.
Been knocked to
The floor

I called out for Socorro.
It fell on
Deaf ears

Told people I’d been damaged.
Was met with
Rude cheers

What’s with this condemnation?
I’m not here
By choice

I'm living life in a tornado.
I can’t find
My voice


"Invalid Item" 
It’s more than just an issue
It’s bigger than it is
It’s become catastrophic
Look out! The monster lives

It trudges through the city streets
Knocking on your door
Offering with words of peace
A life that’s just a chore.

The monster slithers through the town,
With book bags full of slime.
If offers deceit without charge
It hides a life of crime.

What can you do to save yourself
From such an evil beast?
Turn down their Watchtower and Awake –
Avoid their loathsome feast.


"Invalid Item" 
Some people are offended,
By excellence, not theirs.
Competence is greeted,
By mean and jealous stares.
Why not just say, “Good Job!”
Instead of, “blah, who cares?”

Some people are supportive,
Of those who chase their dreams.
Others are just nasty,
Or, at least, that’s how it seems.
I guess not everybody,
Shines with loving gleams.

So if you know somebody,
Who’s trying to do their best,
But still having some trouble,
Perhaps a bit depressed.
Why not give a helping hand?
Show them that their blessed.

In June of 2004, I decided to write a novel. I knew what subject I wanted to write about and I had all the characters in mind but I didn’t know the first thing about writing a book. Luckily, I didn’t realize that only skilled writers have the passion, determination, and skill to complete such a daunting project. By the end of the month I had completed the 20,000 word rough draft of my current novel.

I didn’t learn until later that 20,000 words isn’t long enough to be considered a novel, but even when I did, it didn’t matter to me because the story I completed, When Daddy Left, was the biggest creative challenge I had ever undertaken. I was stoked.

Then, while thumbing through the August 2004 edition of Writer’s Digest, I found a small blurb that caught my eye. “Write a novel in a month,” the ad commanded. “Take part in National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo for short.” But wait, I didn’t need that. I had already done it. Still, it piqued my interest and I read on. The add was suggesting that a novel needed to be 50,000 words to count, but I had only written 20,000. There was only one thing I could do – take part in NaNoWriMo and write a real novel in a month.

There was a website listed, www.nanowrimo.org, and so I surfed on over and signed up. I completed that year with a quirky love story about a feisty, young lady who needed to learn what true love was. And she did. But not just her, I learned as well. I learned that my true love revolved around writing and that no matter what I did for the rest of my life, it had to involve writing.

I took part again in 2005 and I won with a psychological thriller about en evil, warlord from Vietnam and another feisty woman named Anna. This time the heroine was kidnapped and spent the better part of the novel trying to get free. I didn’t like it as much as my 2004 offering, but I had a blast writing it.

2006 was more difficult. To spread my wings a bit, I decided to go with a genre that I never write in – science fiction. I came up with what I thought was a charming tale of mystery and intrigue in a place called The Finer Diner. The novel quickly disinegrated, unfortunately, and what I ended up with was part sci fi, part romance, part new age, and part stream of consciousness.

So, when this year’s NaNoWriMo arrived, I was excited to get back to basics. Since my favorite novel was a romance, I decided to do a romance this year as well. And, since my second favorite novel was a psychological thriller, I decided to do a mix between a thriller and a romance. The idea intrigued and excited me.

I am happy to announce that my 2007 novel, Not (re)Quite(d) Love, is now more than 50,000 words. I can’t say it’s finished, exactly, as I still have a lot of story to tell, but I had almost as much fun with this novel as I had with my first one. And, I’m almost as much in love with the story.
 

I want to change the name of my blog. When I first started this, I wasn't sure what I'd be talking about and being a HUGE fan of alliteration, I kind of liked the whole Tom's Titillating Transmissions. But, now I'm not so sure. I don't think it's quite me.

So, the other day, I was looking through my writing journal and I came across the phrase, Poems, Prose and Promises. I wrote it as a take off on an old country song, I'd Love to Lay You Down by Conway Twitty:

I'd Love To Lay You Down
by Conway Twitty

There's a lot of ways of saying
What I wanna say to you
There's songs and poems and promises
And dreams that might come true
But I won't talk of starry skies
Or moonlight on the ground
I'll come right out and tell you
I'd just love to lay you down

Lay you down and softly whisper
Pretty love words in your ear
Lay you down and tell you all the things
A woman loves to hear
I'll let you know how much it means
Just havin' you around
Oh, darlin', how I'd love to lay you down

There's so many ways your sweet love's
Made this house into a home
You've got a way of doing
Little things that turn me on
Like standing in the kitchen
In your faded cotton gown
With your hair all up in curlers
I still love to lay you down

Lay you down and softly whisper
Pretty love words in your ear
Lay you down and tell you all the things
A woman loves to hear
I'll let you know how much it means
Just havin' you around
Oh, darlin' how I'd love to lay you down

When a whole lot of Decembers
Are showin' in your face
Your auburn hair has faded
And silver takes it's place
You'll be just as lovely and I'll still be around
And if I can't I know that
I'd still love to lay you down

Lay you down and softly whisper
Pretty love words in your ear
Lay you down and tell you all the things
A woman loves to hear
I'll let you know how much it means
Just havin' you around
Oh, darlin' how I'd love to lay you down

Lay you down and softly whisper
Pretty love words in your ear
Lay you down and tell you all the things
My woman loves to hear
I'll let you know how much it means
Just havin' you around
Oh, darlin' how I love to lay you down

Lay you down and softly whisper
Pretty love words in your ear
Lay you down and tell you all the things
My woman loves to hear
I'll let you know how much it means
Just havin' you around...

So, what do you all think of the title, Poems, Prose, and Promises?
 

Guess who sent me a charming, WDC writing kit. Go ahead. Take a stab. I'll even give you a clue. She's a fellow yellow case here at WDC. She has a special gift with writing. Using as few words as possible, she can break any subject down into its purest form, its essence if you wil,l and then paint a fascinating picture that even the most inept can fully understand. She's simply a wonderful person. And she's my best friend. Her name? susanL
 

Chapter Twenty Nine
Cindy didn’t like Steve at all. Samuel, or practically anyone else for that matter, could see this written across her face any time she had to talk to him or take care of him. Most people, after even ten minutes with Steve, would find themselves almost wholly on Cindy’s side. Especially if they spent five minutes with her as well. Most people would, but not Samuel.

Samuel had spent enough time with Cindy to know that she was as close to a saint as anyone could hope to find, but he noticed that she lacked in one major area. She had no compassion for those who were mean. It was hard to care for those who didn’t ever seem to appreciate the concern or who would take kindness, spit on it, and toss it back as hatred, but he strongly believed that those were the people who needed to be understood the most. They were the ones who simply couldn’t make it through life on their own. They either ended up in jail, in a psycho ward, or in the ground from their inability to function in normal society. But, some did manage to succeed. The difference, Samuel thought, was whether or not they had someone who realized they needed help and offered it even when the person fought it or rejected it.

Samuel thought that those who pushed people away were handicapped at birth with a negative personality. A personality that guaranteed they were going to find life more difficult than those around them. He saw it in his father. He saw it in other people he’d come across in his life. And, he saw it in Steve. Samuel refused to buy into the idea of some people having worth and others not. Or some people having more worth than others. The way it looked to him was that everyone had their skills and faults. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. Everyone had their moments of glory and their moments of shame. And everyone, no matter who they were and no matter where they were and no matter what they’d done, deserved to be considered and honored for their moments of brilliance when they shone rather than the times they failed and let those around them down.

He accepted that there had to be laws, that some would have to be locked up, that some people’s failings were too harsh to allow them to have the same freedom that other people had, but even those people, even the ones who didn’t deserve to walk and go wherever they wanted, even those despicable souls deserved to be honored. And more than that, they needed love and understanding. More love and understanding than other people got even. Whenever he’d tell his views to someone else, nine times out of ten they’d object to his reasoning. But he stuck by it because people who were hard to love naturally needed more love and understanding because they didn’t get anywhere near as much as those around them got. Maybe they deserved it, maybe they didn’t. The bottom line, Samuel figured, is that people do bad things when they don’t love themselves or don’t feel understood. People who love themselves and who feel that they are a valuable part of society go out of their way to help those around them. Maybe not all are that way, but hurting someone who most needs to be loved and understood is too big of crime to not try.

That was why he couldn’t dislike Steve. He didn’t like the way he treated Cindy and he sure didn’t like the opinions he was so quick to voice, but he understood that something big must have happened to him when he was young and impressionable for him to have turned into such an offensive person and he wanted to find out what that was and see if he could make a difference. Even a little difference mattered and Samuel had many experiences where he had made at least a little difference. Usually, though, he made big differences and those spurred him on to help still others. Most of the differences he made, however, were with kids. Small ones. Grade school age kids. But he firmly believed that the same principles applied to older kids and adults as well.

“Cindy, come on over here for a second. I need help with this bandage.” Sure, he was lying. The bandage was fine, but he was very alert to how other people felt, especially those with low self esteem like he judged Steve to have.

Showing uneasiness on her face, Cindy turned from Steve and walked over to Samuel. The uneasiness replaced with kindness she bent down, taking his hand in hers. “What’s wrong sweetie? Is it coming loose?”

He gestured for her to bring him something to write with. She looked at him with a puzzled expression as if she were trying to decipher some hidden message, but went and located a notebook and pencil and delivered them to him. “Here you go Mr. secrecy. Now are you going to tell me what this is about?”

He nodded his head toward Steve and held a finger to his lips, off to the side where Steve wouldn’t have been able to see. Then, he opened the notebook and wrote, “I don’t like the way he talks to you either, but I think you need to give him a break.”

Cindy was dumbfounded. Of all people she expected to understand her acute dislike of Steve, Samuel was on top of the list. He knew how to treat women. He knew how to flirt without being crude. He knew how to look away when a women bent down or otherwise found herself in a compromising position. He was simply a class act all the way around. She just couldn’t believe that he would defend such a worm as Steve.

“Wh…what…are you,” she started to say but he gestured firmly toward the pad of paper and thrust it into her hands. She snatched it up, now almost more mad at Samuel then she was at Steve. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she wrote in big, letters, her hand shaking, her stern face too.

Giving her the most understanding and caring look he could manage, he rubbed her hand gently as he recovered the notepad and pen. “Please don’t be mad at me,” he wrote. “You are an amazing nurse. I’m not trying to honor the man that dishonored you. Not like that. It’s just that do you really think a person that treats people as he does has ever truly been loved? Or at least, do you think he’s ever felt that he’s truly been loved?”

She looked away. The words that Samuel had wrote made sense, but that was the problem. They made too much sense. She didn’t want to find a reason to care about the asshole in the next bed. She wanted justification for hating him the way that she did. Still, she knew that he was right and she hoped that she could look at things the way he did eventually. She took the proffered notepad and pen, more gently this time, and held it to her bosom for a few moments. Samuel looked at her with the calmest smile she’d ever seen and it made her feel calmer too. Then, after a few moments, she started writing. “He’s an asshole!!!” She thought about putting enough exclamation points to fill out the line, to the end of the page but three should suffice. Samuel didn’t reach for the pad. He knew she had more to say, that she needed to say more, that she needed to get it out so she would be able to learn this important lesson. She continued, “He’s a complete asshole!!!” She glanced at Samuel out of the corner of her eye to see if she’d gotten a response to her latest line, a line which she realized was not accurate and meant more to get a reaction than to state a fact.

Not sensing any negative reaction from Samuel at all, she drew a line through the word complete and glanced once more at him out of the corner of her eye. He was smiling even bigger than before. She began to smile too. “OK,” she wrote, “I get it. He must have his good qualities too and I don’t know what he’s been through that’s made him this way.” She set the pad down on the stand beside Samuel’s bed and bent over to give him a large, warm hug.

Samuel hugged her back as deeply as he could in his condition and whispered into her ear, “You’re a class act. Don’t ever limit the quality of person you are just because of the person you’re with.”

Wiping a newly formed tear from her eye, Cindy stood up and moved to Steve’s bed. She grabbed his hand and said, “You are right. I haven’t treated you very well since you arrived. I thought I had my reasons, but I’m not so sure anymore. What I do know is that it doesn’t bother me THAT bad that you find me attractive. I just wish you had a better way of expressing it. That’s all.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t think of a single word to speak to offer in response. Nobody had ever told him off so eloquently before. She was right. He was very crude in his comments, but she did seem to get that he meant it as a compliment. That’s one of the things that drove Steve crazy. Most people, well actually, everyone he’d ever met didn’t seem to be able to tell when he was giving someone a compliment. If he told a lady she had a nice ass, all of a sudden, noticing a woman’s derrier became a bad thing. But if one of these slimeballs like Samuel were to make some comment about how lovely she looked in her outfit, well, he was saying the same damn thing just with different words and she’d turn all sorts of shades of red and giggle and thank him and crap. It just plain wasn’t fair.

Cindy felt good. NO, she felt better than good. She felt amazing. It wasn’t easy being nice to Steve. Or at least it wasn’t easy to get started, but once she did, she knew she’d done the right thing and felt so good for it. She walked back to the nurses desk feeling better than she had in days. And she definitely didn’t expect to hear what Steve yelled out as she walked away.
 

Wow, tonight has been interesting. Judging this karaoke contest was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. Well, not really. I anticipated that there would be some people who wouldn’t be pleased with our decisions. I anticipated that some people wouldn’t agree with our constructive criticisms. And I anticipated that we wouldn’t be praised as heroes when the whole thing was over. But we did take our job as judges seriously and chose the three best performances of the night to win.

The contestants were determined to make our job difficult. Throughout the eight weeks of the contest, and especially during the five weeks of the elimination rounds, we judges had plenty to say about what we liked and didn’t like about each performance. Those in the top five paid attention to the suggestions that me made. What made it difficult was that any of the five could easily have come out on top. They all were that good. They all were in costume. They all tried to get the audience fired. They all chose songs that went well with their voices and they all wooed us with their powerful lungs. The sad part was that not all five of them could win.

We had to take these top five contestants, give three of them prizes and send two of them home empty handed. Was it an easy task? Not by any means? Did I enjoy it? Yes and no. I say no because what would have been the most appropriate is if we could have awarded five grand prizes, one to each. But since we couldn’t, and since I knew that coming into tonight, I enjoyed watching such wonderful singers, gracefully and skillfully compete for the prizes.
 

Chapter Fifteen
Kids playing. That’s what Brenda thought about as she heard her first sounds since the accident. Tennis shoes against concrete. Heavy breathing sparkled with high-pitched shrieks and laughter. Lots of laughter. She had no idea how long it had been since the Semi crashed into her, but the pain had begun to be unbearable. Her mind must have given up trying to block it. It had been settled mostly in her lower back and abdomen, but now it was everywhere. Even her ear lobes ached.

So the sound of kids playing gave her a much needed distraction and a ray of hope. If she could hear them playing, maybe they’d find her. Maybe they’d see the car and come to investigate. She was still in the car, wasn’t she? She didn’t remember getting out. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have been able to move herself. But she wasn’t in a car. Those kids were close by. Close enough to where they would have noticed a recently wrecked car with a person dying inside. So how did she get out? Who would help her out of her car after an accident and then not take her to a hospital or call an ambulance? Unless… She shuddered. Her whole body shook and the pain was intense. Unless the accident wasn’t an accident.

She nearly passed out from the fear. “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” echoed in from somewhere. The kids were closer now. How could they be so close and still not notice her? Where was she.
Everything was black. She didn’t know if it was because her eyes weren’t working properly or if she was somewhere completely devoid of light. She had assumed that here eyes were damaged, but she wondered if that were the case. Up until this point, she’d assumed she’d still been inside her car. Now she wondered about that too. Reaching to her left, searching for some clue as to where she was, she ran her hand against something hard. It was smooth but rough. And cold. Very cold. Concrete! She was seated on concrete. She ran the palm of her hand against the concrete until it came to a wall. It was concrete too. Concrete floor and concrete wall? Where on earth could she be? Still, she could hear the kids playing.
“Bobby, what are you doing? I’m gonna tell momma.” The kids voiced sounded louder than ever.

“No you’re not. I’ll throw daisy in the river if you do,” said a boy’s voice. There were two of them. Yes, that made sense. Two little kids, one boy and one girl. That explained the slight difference in the high-pitched shrieks as they were playing.

“You better not do anything to Daisy. You better not,” said the girl and then silence.

Footsteps. She could hear the footsteps close now. They were very close. “Susie, help me push.”

“No! Do it yourself. I don’t want to go in there anyway. Let’s just go play some more back by the creek.”

“No, come over here. I almost have it. Come on, I just need you to help me.”

“Bobby, I’m not going in there. And I don’t care what you do to Daisy, I’m going to tell mom if you don’t stop that and come with me right now.”

“OK, OK, I’m sorry about what I said about Daisy. I wouldn’t throw her in the river anyway.” Brenda began to shake. What if they just left? What if they didn’t find her? She must not be out in the middle of everything. She must be out of the way. Would anyone find her?
“Come on Susie. Just gimme a hand and then I’ll play whatever you want to. OK?”

“Well … I don’t know. I don’t like this.”

“Please. Please.”

“OK, but if anything bad happens, I’m telling momma.”

Brenda breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen. I just want to see what’s in there. Maybe there’ll be a ghost.”

“There better not be a ghost.”

Just then, Brenda remembered that she could talk. If she could hear them, all she had to do was say something and they’d hear her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her throat was too dry. She moistened it with her spit and tried again. Finally, words came out but they were too garbled to make any sense.
“What was that,” Susie asked.

“What was what? What’s wrong with you? Nothing’s gonna happen,” Bobby replied.

“I heard something, something scary. I don’t think we should continue with this,” his little sister insisted.

Brenda began to shake again. What if instead of making them want to investigate more she scared them off? What would she do then? She wondered if she should try to speak again. Maybe her voice was too weak or maybe her vocal cords were damaged in the crash. She needed help but her head hurt and she couldn’t think clearly. Call out again? Don’t call out again? Call out again? Don’t call out again? The sweat poured out of her and made her feel cold on top of everything else.

“Just grab a hold of this and help me pull,” Bobby instructed. “Nothing’s gonna happen. Let’s just open it up a crack. If we see anything, we can run away and it won’t have enough room to get at us. OK?”

There was hesitation while Susie pondered over her brother’s logic. “Ummm, OK, I guess. But if we see anything, anything at all, we take off running. Right?”

“Of course! Now give me a hand.”

Brenda listened to the breathing and grunts of the two kids. Whatever they were pulling on, it must have been slippery or small because they seemed to lose their grip a lot. “Come on, I know we can do this, “Bobby said and then grunted loudly.

Caught up in the excitement of the moment, Brenda cried out, “I’m here, I’m here, please help me.” That’s what it sounded like inside of her head. That’s the words her mind pictured. But what came out to the rest of the world and to Bobby and Susie in particular was more like a cross between a growl and a moan.

“I told you, now let’s get outta here,” Susie cried out, panic in her voice. Brenda listened to the sound of two sets of sneakers raced across concrete. And then there was silence. Painful silence. Deadly silence.
 

I started out a bit slower with NaNo this year than any other. In previous years, I’ve tried to get between three and four thousands words on the first day and make it to fifteen thousand by the end of the first week.

This year, I managed only eighteen hundred words on the first day, was stuck at just over seven thousand by the end of week one, and didn’t hit fifteen thousand until day twelve.

But, tonight, after a week of six two thousand plus days, three of those days above three thousand and one of those just a hundred shy of four thousand, I have finally broken even.

The Excel spreadsheet I use for tracking my words displays the information about the days I’m behind using red digits. There are five columns in the sheet that display the information in this format and so far, the only two days that I have had everything in the green was day one and today. In fact, I’m even forty-seven words ahead.

So, going into the final third of NaNoWriMo 2007, I’m feeling good about my story, my progress, and my chances of winning.
 

Wow, what a night. We started with twelve wonderful singers and ended up with eight. I think I lost a pint of blood in the process from agonizing over who t eliminate because everyone who's made it this far into the contest can sing.

Tonight's genre was '80s rock, which wasn't the best for some of the voices, but boy were we in for a treat. I'm not going to point out any particular singer, because I don't care to show a hint of favoritism. However, the judges, the staff, and the audience witnessed some spectacular performances.

Each contestant has their own strength. Some have stronger vocals. Some are more better performers. Some excel at getting the audience fired up, but every one of the singers we watched tonight was great in at least one category.

We have eight performers left. And two more weeks of judging. Next week we're going to eliminate three which will leave five for the final night. That night, the top three will go home with some cash in their pockets, but all deserve props for having done a wonderful job.

Plus, something really cool happened, which unfortunately, highlights what a dork I am. When I showed up to the club this evening, with one of my favorite shirts on (ask me which one) and ready to judge, the song playing was You're Every Woman In The World To Me by Air Supply. Here's the dorky part, I had it in my mind that the song was by Billy Joel and that made me think of my wonderful friend, susanL , who's favorite singer is Billy Joel. So, after we announced the winners, I ran outside (too noisy inside) to call Susan to tell her about the song and that it made me think of her. I've called her other weeks after the contest, or during, and every other time I'd gotten her voice mail. Well, this time I got HER. It was so cool. We had a lovely conversation, even though I'm so musically challenged that I got the singer wrong.

A night of beautiful singing, breath-taking performances, and topped off by a delightful conversation with a wonderful friend. I guess this is why the last line in my journal for tonight reads: A man could have a collection of days like this and be eternally satisfied.
 

Being my fourth time participating in NaNoWriMo, I no longer fret about whether I'll be able to complete it or not. I don't think it's cockiness, exactly, but more familiarity. I've been both way behind and way ahead at various times during my previous three attempts and each year I've found that there was sufficient story in me to allow me to pass the 50,000 mark with time to spare. Regardless of whether I liked the story I started with or whether the story turned out at all how I had envisioned it.

So, even though I'm a bit behind this year and even though I'm less sure about where my story is going than any of the other times, I'm full of confidence and fully at ease. I started out my story as I wanted to with a couple having a fight that neither of them understood. Then I started to give a deeper view into the mind and motives of the antagonist of the story. He's the husband from the first chapter and he's a doozie. He considers the cheating he's done as a positive thing as it's allowed him to become a better lover in case he ever decides to try and satisfy his wife. He isn't sure he'll ever be so inclined at this stage.

Then, out of nowhere, his wife had a car accident that looked a little bit suspicious. But, did her husband have anything to do with it? And if he did, why would he want her dead anyway since she seems satisfied, or at least resigned with their less than satisfactory family life? But, if that wasn't enough, out of some twisted part of my brain, perhaps brought on by a dearth of sleep or as a result of near fatal chocolate poisoning, a group of homicidal gerbils with assault weapons decide to descend upon the local, country diner where our husband was having a late breakfast.

Truly, what's going on here? Well, I have no idea because this is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and the one thing I love about this amazing writing event more than any other is the way a complete story, with its own weird and wacky ways, jumps to life on the computer screen in front of me. All I have to do is listen for the words and faithfully type them in. Oh yeah, I sure LOVE NaNoWriMo.
 

...sure is fun to watch. Go Vikings!
 

Does anyone know where I can take a class in unscrambling eggs? No? Well, how about where I might find some detailed instructions on slipping a greased up wallabee through the eye of a sewing needle? No takers? Darn it.

I may be exaggerating a teeny, tiny bit, but judging this karaoke contest is akin to doing one of the above tasks or something else equally impossible. Tonight for example, we had fourteen excellent singers but we still had to eliminate two. After much discussion, we finally chose the two that wouldn't continue, but doing so wasn't easy. We asked both a man and a woman to step down, but both of them could have just as easily been back next week to compete. The whole group is simply that good.

Last week, I felt I caused a few hurt feelings by giving Simon-ish critiques to the participants. This week was completely different. I may have stepped on some toes last week, but everybody learned of the importance of dressing the part and being in character. And let me tell you, we had some performances this week. They were in costume, addressing the crowd, making comical comments between stanzas of the song, and basically having a wonderful time. Plus, they didn't seem to hate me this week when I could hardly find anything to really complain about.

Am I looking forward to next week? Does an American Idol contestant sing in the shower? Yes! Definitely!