Asking for a friend. No. No it’s not. Abuse, sexual assault, violence against the vulnerable — these things are not political. They cross the entire political spectrum. I asked the rhetorical question because I was informed this morning by a longtime reader that he would not be reading Broken Betties because #MeToo is political. Really?!…
It’s been a while since I posted last. I apologize. I’ve been elbows deep in a new series, trying to write while there’s a moment of peace in my life between Gretel’s treatments. And I’m sorry it’s our current state of affairs that moved me to write today… I’d much rather be talking about Don…
I once served under an Ops Sergeant named Smitty—SFC D. Smith—who I always looked up to as the type of soldier I wanted be. Smitty fearlessly grabbed satchels full of explosives and tossed them over his shoulder. He walked toward the sound of gunfire, no matter the context. We could be in the middle of…
When your mind is filled with information, worry, and emotion, it’s easy to get to the end of the day and feel the time just evaporated behind you. As you get older you begin to feel the same way about weeks, months and years. I remember as if it were yesterday, the time I stood…
So it will be 20 days tomorrow. When I woke up on the morning of May 6th, I couldn’t stand, my chest was tight, my head was spinning and nausea rolled over me, wave after wave. The Urgent Care center thought it might be a stroke so I spent the night in the hospital. After…
Around the age of 31, I started a new ritual; waking up and announcing my gratitude aloud. It seemed silly and I didn’t even say it aloud at first, worried my bedroom furniture would judge me as some new-age, hippy-dippy, crystal worshiping doofus. The improvement was immediate though not significant. I in fact, didn’t realize…
So, it’s been a year since my dad died and I wrote my own sharp edged memorial to him. I can’t say I’ve done a whole lot of work in resolving anything with him. It’s been a little quiet from his side, and I’ve been fairly busy myself since my beautiful wife (who was ill…
Cold against my thigh, I feel you in my pocket reminding me that I want to smoke. Your weight is comforting to me. Unlike your plastic imitators, you have substance, bulk, a heaviness that hints at your great worth. Ahhhh, my Zippo. My first was stamped with the Army Engineer logo. That made Zippo a life icon,…
He looks like me. He wears my clothes and sounds like me when he speaks, rarely as that might be. The troll at my writing desk is my distorted doppelganger. He comes into existence slowly over a period of days. Sometimes just a shadow, at first. But as my manuscript or editing become more involved,…
I can only imagine how impossible it must feel for someone who has to face clients when in this situation. The reality of dealing with the daily agony of a sick, possibly terminal loved one, then having to go to work, facing clients, buyers, even workmates with a smile on your face has to…
When he thought about her, he was sad. If “he” is a supporting character, and the reason he was “sad” about “her” is not critical to the story, then I would be fine with the description. But if there is any significance to his sadness, “her” or the circumstances around either of them, then I’ve…
She walked into my study, her fuzzy bunny slippers slapping her heels with each step. “You have something for me?” I looked up from my computer and smiled thinly, apologetic, before shaking my head. “Sorry. I’m working on it though.” She lingered in the doorway, cupping her coffee mug with both hands. Her robe…
I called out to her, nearly moaning in frustration. “Please! Give me anything.” She didn’t respond. So typical of the fickle, flighty fairy. When you need inspiration, she is nowhere to be found. She shows up on her own at the most inconvenient times; when you’re stepping into the shower, closing your eyes to sleep,…
Like hot dusty air, it burned with each breath. It didn’t matter that the air was clean and cool…my scene had me choking, my eyes watering. When to breathe? Writing my story (or rather, my story shoving me through a tube, squeezing me out at the other end with frantic key strokes) consumes me in…
