tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61245076521582223162024-03-12T18:03:34.276-05:00Doug Glassford - StorytellerWhen asked what's the difference between a liar and a storyteller, I respond, "A liar seeks to harm, while a storyteller seeks to charm."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-8440923905962529112015-02-11T13:20:00.000-06:002015-02-11T13:20:08.232-06:00WATCH YOUR STEP"Bloody Hell she will..."<br />
<br />
Two senior prep school boys backed away as Ms. Tapping bellowed past them charging down the hall scattering a covey of bewildered students.<br />
<br />
"Think we should have told her the lift is down?"<br />
<br />
The elder of the two shrugged. "Hey, she said she knew everything that went on in her school, let's see if she does."<br />
<br />
Moments later a loud wail rang out and faded like an echo. The hallway buzzed with new drama. Moans of despair both real and feigned flowed toward the two lads still standing in the Principal's Office.<br />
<br />
"Guess she was wrong." the taller of the two smirked.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, damn shame... NOT!"<br />
<br />
The boys laughed until they almost wet themselves.<br />
<br />
"Who's next on the list?"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-30628421485660885212015-01-19T20:06:00.002-06:002015-01-26T12:32:05.596-06:00Opening lines...Anyone aspiring to be an author or even a well published one will tell you that the opening line to any written work, whether fiction or non, must capture the reader's attention. This is generally referred to as 'a hook'.<br />
<br />
When I am sitting and considering what to write I practice writing opening lines. I use them as prompts to see where they take me. I have decided that I would start posting some of my opening lines and see what you, my friends think about them. You are welcome to use them as prompts as well and should you craft a fine tale using one or more please feel free to use them as you will. I only ask that you send me a copy of your story so that I can enjoy your creativity as well.<br />
<br />
Here are just a few with the title of possible works included:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">LIFE IN GARY</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Few things are more frightening than seeing your
own blood, especially if you cannot see the puncture wound. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">WARZONE</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Deaf from the
explosion and unable to move because of the rubble that had pushed me into a
corner before burying me up to my neck, I saw that I was looking down toward my
feet with my left eye while looking up into the darkening sky with my right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">HARSH TIMES</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Even sitting on
the porch at the opposite side of the house I could hear my grandfather choking
down his liquid lunch, the failed removal of a cancerous growth in his throat
made it impossible for him to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">NO TITLE YET</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I sensed the
music coming from somewhere below me long before I heard it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">AUNT FANNY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Jammed into a garden loveseat with my ponderous and funny Aunt Fanny, I tried to not fidget or act up doing my best to ignore the appalled looks upon many of the faces of her audience as she enthusiastically recounted stories of our comical relatives while repeatedly releasing gastric reminders of an earlier meal with all of the subtlety of a trumpeter swan.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-36659608433871404672015-01-19T19:43:00.001-06:002015-01-19T20:09:21.640-06:00Zombie Flyball...Keeping my head down and my breathing shallow I waited for the last of the zombies to shuffle past. I watched it sniff the air in my direction like a hunting dog or a wolf. My hands were shaking as I readied myself to plunge the long, heavy crowbar through its misshapen skull. It walked a little further before it stopped and turned back. It seemed to be staring right at me but I could not tell for sure as it didn't appear to have any eyes. It sniffed again and started walking towards me. The way it bumped around its surroundings implied that it was indeed blind. In the narrow alcove of the corner of the building where I stood, just off from the main alley it would not matter if that son-of-a-bitch could see or not. It would feel me.<br />
<br />
I looked around in a quick scan to see if I could shift my position and get out of its path before it got any closer but there was no time or room. I lifted the sturdy crowbar above my head swiveling it slowly like a batter readying himself for the next pitch... wait for it... wait for... SWING!<br />
<br />
"And it's a high fly ball going back... back... yes! It's a home run!" I cheered, my voice barely above a whisper as I watched the bulk of the zombie's head soar up and over an adjoining fence, its scalp flopping as the head spun under an overhead light like I had knocked the cover off of the ball before splattering against the building's west wall. It sounded like a wet mop slapping the pavement followed by the mushy splat of spilled oatmeal dumped by a baby when it landed in the parking lot. I sidestepped the falling body hip bumping it against the wall hoping it would slide down instead of crashing into the debris strewn behind me. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<br />
Zombies seem to be sensitive to sound so I try hard to be as quiet as possible, especially since I forage at night. If lighting matters little when dealing with zombies you are probably wondering why I don't forage during daylight hours. It is because of other survivors. Many are so paranoid, whacked out, or just plain selfish that they attack other survivors, wounding them to be used as distractions or bait; killing them to protect their stuff or take their victim's stuff. Either way, it's a shitty situation and not worth the risk.<br />
<br />
It's a shame, I genuinely like people and loneliness is the toughest part of surviving... cause you're surviving for what?... to walk alone?... where's the future in that?<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-36588246931720629612015-01-19T19:40:00.003-06:002015-01-19T19:41:19.262-06:00Tommy's Hot Mom"It's not to late to change your mind." a husky voice accompanied by an electric hum hissed through hidden speakers.<br />
<br />
"Well..." Tommy's mother grew impatient.<br />
<br />
'So many choices' Tommy thought as he scanned the drive-thru menu. He could see his mom's face turning a slow red. "Okay already... I'll take the double cheese with extra pickles, no onions or lettuce or mayo on a toasted bun with curly fries and a medium Squirt with little ice."<br />
<br />
"Good call, little dude." said the voice, "And, what can I get for you pretty lady."<br />
<br />
Tommy saw his mom's face turn a different shade of red and watched her fuss with her hair, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror before she replied, "Well, Eddie... what do you recommend... any specials?" she finished with a flirty chuckle.<br />
<br />
'Oh good grief' Tommy groaned within himself cupping his eyes and shaking his head side-to-side, 'having a hot momma is so embarrassing'.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-1112594131596178912015-01-19T19:31:00.001-06:002015-01-19T19:35:46.246-06:00Amity - The Shack<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The low setting sun's dappled rays seeping through the loose fitting clap boards of the old hunter's shack gave off a warm, soft glow that reminded Amity of happier less complicated times; of days spent in innocence with schoolmates giggling as girls do unconcerned about missing teeth, braces, or the awkward features that would later become a source of joy or anxiety in the secondary school dating game.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It made Amity slip back and remember her best friend and true sister, Tiffany. Her smiles turned to tears as she came back to the present.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>While attending a seance, Tiffany was brutally murdered by a mutual friend possessed by a demon that the foolish teens released. Amity was supposed to attend but she was busy with her boyfriend, it was her 19th birthday. Less than an hour after its release the demon who had killed Tiffany and several other of Amity's friends found her and temporarily possessed Amity, the demon forcing her to attack her boyfriend with the kitchen knife she had used to cut the cake. It's assault upon her was thwarted by Joshua who coaxed the demon out of her and into himself before killing himself to save her.<br />
<br />
It seemed like so long ago but was in fact only 3 years prior when the town she grew up in and the world around her changed before her eyes compelling Amity to become the person she was now... a battle-hardened warrior, an outcast, an exorcist/demonologist, and worst of all... a loner. Everyone she gets close to either dies, gets possessed, or damaged along the way.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was rare when she allowed herself a pity party but today seemed like a good day for it, she was alone, so very tired in every way a person can be tired, and... it was her birthday.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-47116753186440286282015-01-19T19:27:00.001-06:002015-01-19T19:29:03.225-06:00Easing back into writing...It has been over a year since I did any real writing, creative or otherwise. The pain and pain medication I was taking to alleviate a lengthy bout of kidney stones and eight bulging discs (4 upper and 4 lower... it's nice to know my body does its best to stay balanced :)) in my spine sapped me of my desire to write more than a snippet or two.<br />
<br />
I spent most of my time laying in bed playing video games on my XBox360. Fun... yeah, but not very fulfilling. My main desktop computer died and I was unable to make the proper repairs so I offline for months... how many? I haven't a clue. I stopped all social media interactions prior to my forced sabbatical and became a hermit. Other than a blog or two I don't know if I can transition back into a social butterfly. It is not that I no longer wish to make new friends and strengthen the relationships I have with so many wonderful writers, authors, and just good folk from around the world that I have allowed to go fallow due to my absence, it is simply not having the motivation to do so. I hope this is due to my continuing recovery... I am now sitting typing this on a resurrected laptop in a recliner in my living room. A big step up... typing while prone just doesn't cut it.<br />
<br />
To all of my friends who are still interested in being my friends I thank you... and, to the rest of you that have moved on, I will miss you and you have my best regards in your future endeavors and relationships.<br />
<br />
Cheers & Ciao for now.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-74276799631435448742014-12-30T12:32:00.004-06:002015-01-19T19:29:44.054-06:00The Quick Red Fox Jumps Over The Lazy Curmudgeon Doug<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22.0pt; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 25.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">12/30/2014 12:04<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The quick red fox jumps over the lazy brown dog. Why? Because he has
to. The dog is laying in the middle of the path down which the fox was wont to
go. This is just as practical as answering the question, "Why did the
chicken cross the road?" Because it wanted to do so. It had a need. Chicken feed was on sale on the
opposite side of the road. Sadly, for the chicken, it was a ruse to tempt
chickens to cross so they might end up as road kill dinners for the homeless
group that was feigning the sale of cheaper feed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Why type such a simplistic sentence as "the quick red fox jumps
over the lazy brown dog"? Because it causes the typist to use every letter
of our twenty-six-letter alphabet. This is good practice for finger memory and
allows the diligent typist to increase their ability to type with greater
accuracy and increased speed. Those of us who do type desire greater accuracy
and we wish to be able to type as fast as we can think or dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Writers are dreamers, visionaries who are compelled to share their insight,
humor, dreams and visions with others through the medium of the written word.
Writers paint pictures in the minds of their readers. The wonder of this is
because once a painter has painted their work of art it is static in terms of
interpretation. Now, I am not speaking of abstract art, but of the more formal
displays where an artist interprets a scene, a building, or a piece of fruit
and shares this perspective with the world. The beauty of painting pictures
within the minds of a reader is that each individual reader will take the words
written and paint the scene or building or fruit into an image unique to them
and their perspective. This is why fictional characters or even those of
ancient times where we have few if any pictures are illustrated so vastly
different depending upon the artist. More so the visionary impressions within
the mind of those who read such stories about these characters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">I find that seeking to paint images within the minds of my readers is
quite rewarding and worth the effort to do so. I seek to craft entertainment or
education with the greatest respect for my audience. If someone is going to
sacrifice precious moments of their life for my sake, I wish to make that
sacrifice as pleasant an outing as I am able to craft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">It is my wish for this upcoming year that writers everywhere find
their respective audiences and that their audiences respect them as authors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">That said, God bless you all and Happy New Year 2015!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-53363436272646326922014-01-09T18:30:00.001-06:002014-01-09T18:31:01.495-06:00Snippet 01-09-2014<br />
It reminds me of the time I went to visit an elderly relative in an old folks home. There was this guy who I was told suffered from dementia who the first time I met him walked up and sprayed in the face with a cold water misting bottle, the kind used for tending houseplants. When I asked him what in the hell he was doing he simply replied, "My job. I work for the Misting Peoples Bureau." And, then I swore he winked and pranced of singing to himself some offbeat ditty.<br />
<br />
When I complained to one of the attendants, I was told that he was harmless enough and was here because he was a nuts. My gut told me the old geezer was a scammer and must've had no family to take care of him so he was living off the state's nickel, much like being in the pen but with lesser restrictions and better food.<br />
<br />
I made a note to myself to watch the old guy and when he headed for the can I was going to follow him planning on pissing on his leg while he was filling up his water bottle. When he asks what in the hell I'm doing I'm gonna tell him that I work for the Humane Society and was sent to test out a theory on how well old dementia patients like him would respond to elderly dogs treating them like trees or fireplugs.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-82236391292429211652013-07-04T08:30:00.000-05:002013-07-04T08:30:52.514-05:00Happy Birthday, America 2013!<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy Birthday, America! 2013</div>
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In these tumultuous and uncertain times with the media
focused upon the pain and evil that we as humans do to each other in our bid to
be or remain King of the Hill, we need to also consider the good that surrounds
us on a daily basis and be thankful for the bounty that is ever before us.</div>
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We need to weep with those who weep, such as the families of
the 19 fallen firefighters who lost their lives in the Yamell area wildfire in
Prescott, Arizona. Men such as these who put their lives on the line every day
risking all as they seek to save and protect the lives of their neighbors, in
many cases total strangers. We weep with not only our own losses, such as our
service men and women but for other nations and cultures ablaze with war and
tragedy. And, as good stewards of this precious planet we call home, we mourn
the death of flora and fauna caught up in our quest to have it all.</div>
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And, we are told to rejoice with those who rejoice. So, as
we take delight in our families, partying playing hard this Fourth of July
Weekend, let us not forget as we light up the skies over America with aerial
displays of colorful grandeur or shaking the ground with percussive emulations
of historic battles of our past and saturating the air around us with smoke,
grit, and odor of our glee that we take the time to remember our heritage,
regardless of our familial origins, and give thanks for this great, and oft
battered and badgered nation that allows us to be so free with our celebrations
both great and small.</div>
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I thank God for this country. I thank God for my family,
friends, and circle of influence. Though my heart aches as most news reports
our ugliness towards each other, my heart soars as I see the kindness of those
around me. Most are unknown to me by name, but they are the smiles of warm
souls at the gas station, the grocery store, on the streets where I walk as we
meet and greet. This is America to me.</div>
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Just the other day my beloved wife, Cathie and I attended
our first Hungarian Picnic held at St. Elijah Serbian American Hall in
Merrillville, Indiana. My wife saw it in the newspaper and told me she missed
her grandmother's cooking so we went. So many attended the food service line
took over an hour for me to purchase our Hungarian goodies. All lovingly
handmade by the ladies of the Hungarian American Citizens Club. I saw both the
good and the bad in those attending, as a younger couple standing directly behind
me groused about the long line and accused an elderly couple of line cutting.
It took me a while to convince them that I had been keeping the couple's place
having let them sit down because the elderly woman was suffering from arthritis
and after being in line for over 30 minutes, she needed to sit down. The good
news is that this incident, though ugly, did not dampen my enthusiasm or
enjoyment of both the food and new found fellowship. God bless us, America, we
are a fine melting pot of the many cultures of the world!</div>
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This post went longer than I originally planned, but, so be
it.</div>
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Let me finish with this:</div>
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No matter how disheartening the news of our incompetence,
greed, or uncaring attitude of our national, states, and local governments, we
must remember that people are just people and as such will seek their own best
interests whenever possible based upon the biased clarity of their funneled
focus. This is not what or who we are celebrating. We are celebrating the
birthday of our nation with all of its diversity, peculiarity, prejudices,
pride, patriotism, and most importantly those kind and generous people who
surround us daily filling us with the hope of a better day and a future worth
striving toward.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember to focus on the good, forgive the bad and the ugly,
overall we are a good people worthy of second and third chances to become the
best we can be. Be kind to the unkind, lovely to the unlovely, this will
confuse the dickens out of them. Most of all do not allow the pressures, the
media, and the ugliness that pops up on occasion to change who your are. Stay
strong and live long and prosper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy Birthday, America... God bless us, every one!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-84260614394732396462013-05-12T14:00:00.002-05:002013-05-12T14:01:07.673-05:00Happy Mother's Day 2013To all the mothers around the world I wish you great joy, fulfilling love, abundant peace, flowers, and lots and lots of chocolate!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-32420776354792008362013-04-29T10:43:00.002-05:002013-04-29T10:45:00.631-05:00A Woman Is As Strong As ___________?<br />
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
A few moments ago I clicked on an email link that took me to: <a data-mce-href="http://betteleecrosby.com/2013/04/27/celebrating-the-strength-of-women/" href="http://betteleecrosby.com/2013/04/27/celebrating-the-strength-of-women/">http://betteleecrosby.com/2013/04/27/celebrating-the-strength-of-women/</a></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
While there I read Bette's endearing article honoring her mother. At the end of the article she asked for readers to submit comments as contest entries using the prompt: "A woman is as strong as ____________ ?" </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Almost everyone who commented wrote of their strong mothers. I did as well.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
At first, I was unsure whether I should post a comment because the contest was listed as "for the girls". But, I felt compelled to honor my strong mother and one of my prime heroes. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Over the years I have come to know that I get my quiet inner strength from my mother, along with my desire to serve... those whom GOD has so graciously allowed in my life, no matter how brief the encounter and my Lord and Savior King Jesus Christ.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I don't personally know of anyone as strong in their faith as my mother. She has overcome so much and recently defeated colon cancer. She never complains and is the only person I know who practices the old saw: "If you can't say something nice about someone, then don't say anything at all." She has held her family to this same standard, though I constantly fall short, I continue to do my best to honor her wishes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I remember a time when I was a teen and my older brother John and I were arguing about something I no longer have a memory of when I called my brother a jerk. My dear little 4'8" Japanese mama walked up to me with a stern face and pointed at me and said, "That's your brother, so what does that make you?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I replied as I often did, incorrectly. Through gritted teeth I said, "The brother of a jerk."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Mama proceeded to judo-slap me so hard that my head shoulda spun like the little girl character in the movie: The Exorcist. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Now that I am much older I have come to realize that my brother is not a jerk and never was. He is a wonderful brother, husband, and father. My admiration for him grows daily... as does my love and gratefulness for my strong mother.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I pray everyone can feel and say the same of their mothers.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-60117814541060862942013-04-18T12:51:00.001-05:002013-04-18T12:52:13.895-05:00Protect Your Hearts...It has been raining quite a bit lately... and the rain has come down hard and heavy. There is flooding throughout the area, but so far, we are still unaffected. Chicago is experiencing major flooding and incoming flights are being cancelled. I just saw a news report showing a sinkhole that opened up on the South Side, it swallowed a car, the driver suffered minor injuries, and then two more cars and drivers piled in atop the first one. From the roadside view, the crumpled rear portion of a silver or white car could barely be seen. OUCH!<br />
<br />
This morning I awoke to news that a fertilizer plant down in Waco, Texas blew up like an atom bomb in the midst of firefighters working to put out the original fire. They are still unsure of the amount of casualties to both firefighters and local residents. Latest estimates were 5-15 dead, mostly firefighters, and 180 injured. Whole blocks of houses were blown apart by the blast impact. Most of the residents were eating their evening meal when this occurred. According to an ex-CDC director, the scene is much like the aftermath of a battle.<br />
<br />
Just the other day our nation was jolted by a horrific unprovoked attack upon the City of Boston during its most celebrated annual event: The Boston Marathon. Two of four bombs placed within trash receptacles at the finish line exploded killing and maiming many people. I don't know the count... my heart was heavy enough after the three funerals I attended last week. I had to turn away from the television news reports. So far, they are still investigating in hopes of discovering the perpetrator(s). It is being treated as a terrorist act. Several of my friends who work in large cities like Chicago, were sent home from work early in fear of there being other attacks around the country.<br />
<br />
All I can say is how horrific are any such attacks no matter where they occur. There prime purpose is to instill fear into the populace and governments. I might revisit this subject in a different post. For now I want to remind you that Jesus Christ said that in the end or latter times that <b>people's hearts would fail them because of fear.</b> And, I see that this is certainly the case. Heart attacks and strokes are still the leading cause of death in our society and the trend is continuing to climb at an alarming rate, especially among women.<br />
<br />
Jesus also told us to not let our hearts be troubled or afraid when we see or experience these horrible situations of disastrous proportions in weather, industrial accidents, wars, and acts of terrorism. He told us to keep our eyes on Him and trust in Him as we trust in God and He would see us through these times... for He declared that He has already overcome the evil, the pain, and the tragedies of this world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-41154628155267799902013-04-14T09:09:00.000-05:002013-04-14T09:09:46.227-05:00The Winter of SpringtimeThis past Friday, April 12, 2013, I attended two funerals. One was a close friend and fellow church member, the other was a close friend and family. Both were strong, beautiful women as was the one who had her memorial the previous Saturday, April 6th. She was the mother of one of my best childhood friends.<br />
<br />
Wowsers... three awesome saints gone within a few days. God bless their families and friends.<br />
<br />
The weather on Friday was unusually cold with mixed rain and sleet. Not the best weather to be standing by a gravesite. Still in retrospect, perhaps even nature mourned along with us at the loss of the presence of these precious souls? It is a nice thought that warms me while the lingering winter still chills me.<br />
<br />
Have a wonder filled life and be sure and enjoy those around you. Shalom.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-52841846745256373312013-04-10T13:29:00.001-05:002013-04-10T13:32:00.960-05:00MIA or What?Sorry for being missing-in-action... but, I have been exceptionally busy with other projects as well as still dealing with kidney stones and pain... lots and lots of pain.<br />
<br />
I thought getting a laptop would help me to keep up with things here in cyberspace. So far, I am still off the main shipping lanes hoping to get back in the groove soon.<br />
<br />
Haven't even had opportunity to start taking the new writing course I posted about earlier.<br />
<br />
To those who've been checking out my blog and finding it static and stale, I apologize with all of the sincerity I can and thank you for your patience hoping you will come back again. I do have some new short stories I am working on and one for the new <b>KINDLE ALL-STARS ANTHOLOGY: FanaticFiction. </b>This anthology is open to EVERYONE who wants to submit a story. Find out how on our fearless leader's official blog post here: <a href="http://bernardjschaffer.blogspot.com/2013/02/klaatu-barada-necktie-mother-frakkers.html?spref=fb" target="_blank">Klaatu Barada Necktie, Mother Frakkers</a><br />
<br />
I've gotta come up with an article for Billie A. Williams monthly newsletter: You can check it out this month's issue on Evernote via this link: <a href="http://dld.bz/cwGmv" target="_blank">The Mystery Reader's Connection - April 2013</a> If you would like to subscribe to this FREE newsletter, you can do so here at: <a href="http://www.billieawilliams.com/">http://www.billieawilliams.com/</a> The subscription link is on the right-hand column. Billie is an awesome friend and a wonderful writer of mysteries (winner of many awards for her many published books) as well as a writing coach.<br />
<br />
Last thing, if you would like to check out <b>HOLLY LISLE'S </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">HOW TO THINK SIDEWAYS: ULTRA COURSE </i>along with me and many other published and aspiring to be published authors, please consider doing so via my affiliate link. I do get compensated should you join us... and, I'd appreciate it. The money I make will go toward paying for my course and the other courses I plan on taking after I've completed this one. If you've never read any of her stories or her excellent online articles, do yourself a favor and do so. Holly is a straight shooter, no BS sorta gal who I trust and highly respect; as an author, a teacher, and a wonderful human being. Here's the link: <a href="http://dld.bz/cwC2m" target="_blank">Holly Lisle's How To Think Sideways ULTRA</a><br />
<br />
Thanks again for stopping by, should we not connect again, have a wonder filled life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-6628625592624801612013-03-13T22:48:00.000-05:002013-03-13T22:50:04.130-05:00HTTS: Lesson 1 Has Arrived!I am so excited to be able to say that I am now a student of Holly Lisle's HOW TO THINK SIDEWAYS: ULTRA course. I have long been an admirer of Holly and have followed her blog and articles as well as purchasing her course books. She is good people and an honest, hard-working, no BS kinda gal who's middle name is 'servant'.<br />
<br />
I have wanted to take this course from its onset but was prohibited because of finances or should I say a lack thereof. I have been out of work for over five years. I do freelance and side-jobs but nothing steady as I did for well over 30 years.<br />
<br />
Even though our finances are extremely tight, for my birthday my beloved wife, Cathie, who believes in me even more than I believe in myself, has insisted that I take this course and allow myself the freedom to explore more fully my love of writing. The best part of it is she is going to take the course with me. Just as she believes in me I have been encouraging her to let the genius within her free. Now, she and I are going to embark on a new adventure together. We are going to write stories and children's books together. Even if we never publish them traditionally, they will be heirloom treasures for our grandkids.<br />
<br />
I used to work as a freelance cartoonist and commercial artist up in Chicago in the late 60's and early 70's; started while I was still in high school. I gave most of it up when I went to work in a local steel mill to help our my family and found myself stuck when I married a woman with three kids. I could live off of Peanut Butter and out of my car but I could not expect my new family to do the same. I do not regret my decision to work the long hours to raise my new family. I do however regret that I allowed my now ex-wife to convince me to quit drawing and focus on making more money doing practical mule jobs. Somewhere along the way in a marriage that was doomed from the onset, I lost my creativity, my genius, my love of art and writing.<br />
<br />
It has taken my best friend and now wife of 21 years most of our marriage to help me get my head back on straight. She has always been my biggest cheerleader. I don't know why it has taken me so long to believe in the inherent genius of God that has always been within me... but, I am going to hold back no longer.<br />
<br />
RELEASE THE KRAKEN!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-61045366786337613142013-03-12T19:57:00.003-05:002013-03-13T22:49:41.965-05:00How To Think Sideways ULTRA: Career Survival School for Writers<br />
<strong><strong><a href="http://howtothinksideways.com/how-to-think-sideways-ultra/htts-ultra-d/?ap_id=DoogieHoser"><img align="right" border="0" src="http://howtothinksideways.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/HTTS-ULTRA-135x1801.png" hspace="10" /></a></strong>Caught up in the struggles of writing a novel? Frustrated by the blinking cursor? Fighting with blank pages, soggy plots, or on-strike characters? </strong><br />
<br />
<em>If you'd like to regain--or, perhaps, find for the first time--your joy in writing,</em> learn <strong>How to Think Sideways</strong> from established novelist and well-loved writing instructor Holly Lisle. She's taught thousands of writers a unique, systematic, repeatable method for creating not just fiction, but really good, rich, deep, meaningful fiction. Fiction better than anything they ever imagined they could write.<br />
<br />
Starting today, Holly invites you into <strong>How to Think Sideways ULTRA: Career Survival School for Writers</strong>, a 32-week online writing course, at the 2011 legacy pricing. <strong>At noon (EDT) on Friday, March 15, 2013, the price goes up</strong>. <br />
<br />
<strong>What if you sign up and decide the course isn't for you?</strong> Holly guarantees that you can quit at ANY time and receive a full refund of your current lesson and all remaining paid-for lessons. No questions, no hassle. <br />
<br />
You have nothing to lose. And even by trying out the course, you'll learn more about the process of writing than the last ten how-to books you read even hinted at. Promise.<br />
<br />
I'm a graduate of <strong>How to Think Sideways</strong>. Some of Holly's methods didn't resonate with me, but many of them did. . .and still do. I learned how to find great ideas that work for me. I learned how to watch for surprises while writing, and use these gifts to their full advantage. I learned how to create a simple but effective plan for my stories' revisions. In short, I learned to Think Sideways.<br />
<br />
<h3>
To join me in class, or just find out what all the fuss is about, go here:</h3>
<br />
<h2>
<a href="http://howtothinksideways.com/how-to-think-sideways-ultra/htts-ultra-d/?ap_id=DoogieHoser" target="blank">How To Think Sideways ULTRA: Career Survival School For Writers</a></h2>
<br />
Please note that I'm a course affiliate. You'll be helping me if you buy through my link.. and I appreciate the help.<br />
<br />
If you know me: I only recommend things I personally believe in. See for yourself!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-68595466423842938852013-03-05T16:07:00.001-06:002013-03-05T17:17:52.637-06:00A Winter's Day in MarchIt is snowing heavily right now. The weather prognosticators are warning of levels of snowfall from 5-10 inches by tomorrow morning. In like a lion and out like a lamb comes to mind. It is March and not January is it not?<br />
<br />
Having been born in late January I have always admired the beauty of a winter snowfall. Who of us here in the snow belt areas of the United States of America have not enjoyed as school-age children a snow day or two? And, who of us has not stood in awe when looking out over a brace of trees or even a single tree covered in glistening ice in lieu of leaves?<br />
<br />
I no longer play in the snow as I once did. Still, I enjoy watching the neighborhood kids as they do, and I remember when I was as they rolling and sledding and fighting fervent but playful snowball wars.<br />
<br />
The snow is at least 3 to 4 inches deep and shows no sign of easing off. That's okay with me, I am enjoying the white wonderland effect lauded in song and story since man discovered how to keep his bahookie warm.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, I have to go and prepare dinner for me and my beloved.<br />
<br />
Have a wonder filled day... wherever you are.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-33300906425499984482013-03-04T13:26:00.003-06:002013-03-04T13:28:03.455-06:00I started this blog with the hopes of gathering together a reflection of myself through a collection of stories, witticisms, snarks & rants, and other musings all in one place. So far, it has not been working out as I'd hoped. But, I am not dismayed. If nothing else, being on this earth for 60 years has taught me that some things just take more time and more effort than we first imagine. And, those things that time the longest are either projects we never should have started because we haven't the passionate interest to complete them, or they are the projects that like a crafting a wondrous tapestry, comes together in all its brilliance, color, and shades of nuance telling a great story over the course of a lifetime.<br />
<br />
My hopes are that this blog will be the latter. I don't know if anyone will read this or anything else I write. Yet, I will write it anyway. I cannot keep what is in my heart to myself forever and I do not wish to pass from this earth with my song still unsung or my stories untold.<br />
<br />
I have been experiencing some mechanical difficulties of late, dealing with kidney stones and related issues for over 6 months now. Having ADD/ADHD as well as being a bit wonky does not always help to keep me consistent... but, it tries its best to keep me unfashionably late and forgetful.<br />
<br />
Thank God, I am so blessed to have my beloved wife, Cathie to keep me on even keel. I would be lost without her... and, my life barren and bereft of the joy and laughter we share together. I have dedicated this blog to her and our journey together as much as to myself and my egocentric yearnings.<br />
<br />
If you do read my posts, I thank you in advance.<br />
<br />
I cannot promise you will see what you like or that you will see only the best of me... but, I can promise that you will see the truth of me through my words, even amidst the fictional tales.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-360911379507915782013-02-15T00:26:00.000-06:002013-02-15T00:26:45.433-06:00Wreck Collections by Little Willie - Women Trouble<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember hearing my grandpa complain to my momma that her
brother, Uncle Bobby, “had gotten another wild hare up his butt”, shook me up
so bad. I hated fleet enemas.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t know how it coulda happened, and then I thought
about how my mother would panic when I would run out of the house naked when I
was younger. We had a garden full of wild rabbits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I told that pesky Sue Ellen about it when she found me
sitting on the porch thinking about my poor Uncle Bobby, only because she was
bugging me and I’d hoped she’d go away. She did. But, I got in trouble because
of her anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She went and asked my momma if she could have the rabbit
stuck up Uncle Bobby’s heinie after he was done with it. She promised to give
it a bath. My grandpa laughed so hard his choppers fell into his lap. My momma
liked to turn me into a rabbit pulling on my ears so hard. She told me I musta
gotten my puh-verse mind from my father’s side of the family as she marched me
into the bathroom and gave me my choice of Castile or Dial soap.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wondered as I stood there making mouth bubbles if I would
always be plagued by women troubles.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-72812529750114310962013-02-14T19:51:00.001-06:002013-02-15T00:23:59.743-06:00I Saw HerIn honor of my lovely wife on this Valentine's Day 2013. I would like to post something I wrote for her a few years back. It was my recollection of the first time I saw her transformed into a story. I hope you like it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I saw her.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I saw her as I did every workday morning. She had become my internal sunshine and the best motivation to get me to work on time.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I did my best to be casual, trying not to gawk or stare. It's hard for me to hide my feelings once they sprout.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Did she ever see me?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The radiance of her smile scans past me. Did it stop if but for a moment and acknowledge my presence as more than just a placeholder in the long line of jostling customers seeking their fix of burnt coffee?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I smiled back as usual, praying for some favor, for just the chance to be more. She paid no notice until I stood directly in front of her. I feared my grin would show the truth behind it, the strain to contain my delight that sought to reach out and encircle her with my ardor.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She acted different today. She cocked her head as if I'd posed a question, one requiring an immediate response. Her pleasant manner and charm never ceased, and unlike my heart, never skipped a beat.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Grande, right?" she drew me in with the deepest blue eyes I'd ever encountered. I was swimming in them and could only manage a clumsy nod. Oh how I loved to see the early morning sunlight seek her out, sneaking through the louvered window shades, slanting golden illuminating her with angelic glow about her shoulder-length flaxen hair falling straight, framing her delicious fresh face.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The sweetness of her essence cradled my order. I should say her order. I never could finish such a large cup of coffee before it went cold. She must've assumed a hyper-guy like me needed the extra caffeine to keep me pumped. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>She doesn't know me. Would she if she saw me as I do her?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our eyes locked together for the first time. I trembled at the thought of asking her out, but I did not even know her name. She never wore a name tag.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Hey Cath, there's other folks in that line. Step it up," her supervisor said. His glare at me said to back off.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I did not blanch. He did not own her and at that moment I did not care about him, about the coffee, or the pushy people getting mouthy behind me. Screw them and their travel mugs they so piously clung to... I was talking to the girl of my dreams, the captor of my heart. I was talking to <i>Cathie.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"That will be $2.50 please," her voice shattered my reverie.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now it was my turn to cock my head.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"$2.50, doesn't a Grande cost $4.50?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I sensed an added warmth in her smile.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Frequent customer point's just saved you two bucks."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Enthralled, I continued to stand there and I would have forever if the burly guy behind me hadn't pushed me and said, "Buddy, pay the girl and get the hell outta the line. I gotta get to work and I need my joe too."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
His complaint was echoed in the chorus behind us. I snapped to and paid her.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our fingertips brushed ever so slightly, a surge of possibility fluxed up my arm and tickled my brain stem. Cathie handed me back my change along with a new frequent customer's card.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I slapped the change on the counter. "Apply it to this guy's bill for his aggravation. I'll see you tomorrow."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I swore she winked as she smiled goodbye. The impatient guy turned away, probably embarrassed at my generosity in the light of his rudeness.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I strode out feeling much more alive than the mass of extras for a zombie movie lolling around waiting for their fix.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
While standing waiting for the 7:20 A.M. city bus, I pulled out the new Coffee Rewards card Cathie handed me. I knew my old card was short a few punch holes and yet she gave me both the discount and a new card. I turned it over and almost dropped my steaming hot Grande because I instinctively wanted to grab it with both hands like it was a winning lottery ticket.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There, written in delicate feminine swirls, was her name... and more importantly, her telephone number.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Revelation came.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>She saw me.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>* * *</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6124507652158222316.post-67791673499238361502013-02-14T18:25:00.000-06:002013-02-15T00:23:59.741-06:00Happy Valentine's Day!How appropriate that my first post for this blog be on a day that honor's passionate love. Besides my lovely wife, Cathie, reading & storytelling are my other passionate loves.<br />
<br />
This being St. Valentine's Day of 2013, let me tell you about my best friend, my girlfriend, wife, and lover. I am most fortunate and twice-blessed of all men to have found and married my dream girl.<br />
<br />
I met her a few years back when she was 19 and I was 23. She was pregnant and engaged to one of my best friends who practically grew up in our house. I was stricken by her beauty and fell for her instantly. I made it a point to say nothing to anyone about this as I thought she was in love with my friend. As it turned out, she felt trapped in her situation and her family had pressured her to get married to the father of her baby. Understandable for 1977. (Later on I found out that she was attracted to me because I was so kind. But, said nothing because I gave no indication that I was interested in her as more than a friend.)<br />
<br />
I was raised to be honorable and to respect everyone, especially family and friends. Even though her soon to be husband and I had fallen out of intimate friendship years earlier, I still thought of him as a brother. We both entered into marriages that were doomed from the start, which ended in divorce at about the same time. It took us another few years to find each other. It was like a fairy tale story, some say. All that matters to me is that we did... and still do.<br />
<br />
I mentioned in my profile that one of my favorite movies right now is the classic Christmas movie, "It's a Wonderful Life." I did so because late last year, right after Christmas, I was reading a wonderful book for writers by Lisa Cron (<b><a href="https://twitter.com/LisaCron" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">@</span><em style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; line-height: 16px;">LisaCron</em></a></b><em style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 16px;"> </em><em style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; line-height: 16px;">on Twitter)</em>, <a href="http://www.wiredforstory.com/" target="_blank">WIRED FOR STORY</a> - (Writer or not, please check it out if you want to understand why people are so enamored with stories, no matter which media or means brings them our way. I promise you, you won't be disappointed.) - and it changed my life. I am being serious here. I get no compensation from her book and she does not know I even exist... but, her insight led me to an epiphany for which I will be forever grateful.<br />
<br />
Let me explain: Ms. Cron used George Bailey, the primary protagonist (hero) of this movie as an example for discovering your characters inner motivation as opposed to their outer motivation. As she explained the difference between these motivations for George Bailey, I saw a correlation to my own life.<br />
<br />
All his life, George Bailey wanted to leave his small town and go out into the world and build grand buildings, making a name for himself. But, things just kept happening that blocked him from leaving, and he remained tied to the town working in his family business feeling like a loser, like he was losing out and his life was being drained away. He felt this way so strongly that he wished he had never been born... and, for you who know, this is the basis for the story. In the end, in the midst of a very dark moment, he had a revelation, his pivotal moment. He discovered that what he thought he wanted in life was not what he needed, and that what he had was what he had internally wanted and needed all of his life... to be unconditionally loved and respected.<br />
<br />
I started out as a portrait painter and cartoonist. I wanted to move from Gary, Indiana where I was born and for the most part raised and make my self a name in Chicago or New York City. I wanted to be a famous artist. As things turned out, I had to help our family because of tough financial times by working in a local steel mill. I thought it was only going to be for a summer. Then, I would attend the art schools I had gotten scholarship offers from. An invitation letter from Uncle Sam via President Richard M. Nixon supplanted my plans for a few years. When I returned from the service, I found myself back in the steel mill... but, for just a summer. That summer lasted 30 years. All during that time I resented my situation. Like George, I held it within myself, most of the time. After I retired I worked as a mule in a local lumber yard until it shut down because of a greater financial downturn in the home building business in the area. I have been unable to find suitable work in the last 5 plus years. Frustrated artist that I was, I took up my second love, painting pictures in people's mind via words. This led me to Lisa's wonderful book. That allowed me to see that like George Bailey, what I thought I wanted was not what I craved inwardly in my true self. I wanted to be unconditionally loved and respected.<br />
<br />
I have all that and more in my lovely wife, Cathie. God bless her... she loves me in spite of myself. Knowing this I can now pass from this earth a complete human being. Should I never publish another story, or get acclaim for another work of visual art or any other accolade in this life, I lack for nothing. Her love has made me whole. I tell her and everyone else proudly that next to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Cathie is the greatest blessing in my life.<br />
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I know this is a long post... and, I thank you for reading it this far.<br />
<br />
Happy Valentine's Day everyone, and I pray you all find what I have found in my best friend, lover, and mate.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871588293558111571noreply@blogger.com0