Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?


Thank You

The internet is full of rants. Help tip the balance: today, simply be thankful for something (or someone).

I am thankful, truly grateful for every single freak show that has ever rolled into my life, smooshed the flowers in my garden  and almost ran over my cat.

Without the twisted wreckage of humanity that ended up at my front door asking for my help, my attention, the marrow of my bones I might not be the writer I am today.

If my life were perfect, if everyone who came into it was  well adjusted I would be…I don’t know… uninspired is the word that comes to mind.

I know life is meant to be sweet, simple, full of laughter and breathtaking sunsets and our connections with each other should be deep and profound.

Those things can be tossed in the kitty and can show up in writing, but not in mine.,

I like to kick over a rock or two and see what scuttles out.

Speaking strictly from experience things that scuttle are worth every second you can spend watching them.

And for that I am thankful.

Do I Have To Go Over This Again? Well FINE.



“ You wrote that about me didn’t you?”

Put up a picture with a snarky quote on your Facebook Wall  and I guarantee you somebody will jump on the comment section and answer it as if it was intended for them … you know, like out of the 400 people on my page I took the time out of my day to post about YOU.

I sat on my phone and ate up Data looking for a picture to sum up YOU.

I can’t speak for the rest of the “ Facebook Community” but the thing of it is I’m a writer and when I’m using facebook or my blog it’s all about ME.

It’s not about YOU.

If you want something about YOU sent out to the interwebs, please feel free -this is America after all.  YOU  are free to express yourself all over YOUR FB wall. Anything your little heart desires within the scope of the law- which on FB seems to be like the laws during the Wild West Days here in the states. So you can get away with some pretty nasty crap.

Because when I write, it’s all about ME and whatever story is in my head.

Only room for me and that story in there.

Besides, writers are self absorbed it’s all about us and our thoughts and our visions. I really don’t sit around and think, ” Oh boy. I might offend somebody out in the FB Universe. I better scrap this.”

When I write it’s full steam ahead.

The way it works is, when  I’m inspired by a phrase or a picture and I think I might find useful for my future works,  I put it on FB. If  it really strikes a chord I’ll probably do post about it, or I’ll walk away with a character personality trait or at the bare bones I’ll have a neat picture to throw into my post because hey, people love those pictures.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that people go to my wall for the most part because they like the pictures, I don’t think anyone goes there to actually read anything, or they’re just NASTY OLD TROLLS and want to see what I’m up too and figure it’s a way to get into my head without me knowing it,  however-  FYI – (POLITICOS this includes you too,) I write FICTION, I make stuff up ALL DAY LONG when I write. Just keep that in mind ) I look at my FB Wall as a brick or cement wall and I have all the chalk in the world to play with.

Plus when I hit a theme I like I’ll stick to it- like for awhile my page was all about David Tennant and Cats.

Once I write something  or go on FB ( and those pictures and links do tell a story, when you view them all together as opposed to stand alone posts ) I’m prepared to stick to it. But explain it? No. If I have to do that I didn’t tell the story very well and all one can do is try better the next time. That means that there is a chance that  if you saw something that ticked you off, you’re going to be ticked off again and again until I get whatever feeling that I  am trying to capture right and I’ve made my point..

I’m tenacious when it comes to my writing- no matter what form of media I may be using at the time.


As the kids would say,

“ Word “


They Don’t Really Like Us, Do They?


Back when I was a kid, the Zoo was not an Animal Friendly place.

It was all concrete and people throwing peanuts at the animals and the Primate House was like- as I would discover years later- like walking onto a Psyche ward.

Those Gorillas and Chimps would sit there and glare at you and when they played it looked frantic.  People would point and make faces  at them and  they ( the humans ) would wave their babies around  and make Monkey faces and I would think:

” Those Monkeys don’t like us and they look really, really sad.”

So when my family would wander around and look at the animals I would be quiet- which was not the way I normally behaved. After my family had taken in the bears and big cats  I would start in about going to the Nocturnal House and the Reptile House to see the snakes and bats and bugs  and I kept asking until I made my family’s ears bleed.

I wasn’t a big fan of reptiles- however I liked the bats because they looked like cats with wings and my Mom refused to let us have cats back then so hanging around the Bats at the zoo  was as close as I could get to cats.

Plus I liked the little bowls of blood they had out for the tiny Vampire Bats and I loved the Fruit Bats because  they were big and I was sure they’d make great pets and I even had a spot picked out in our house two keep one or 15 of them.

So why did I like the Reptile House so much if I wasn’t a Reptile fan?

I liked it because the Reptiles looked alive.

Reptiles looked right  at you and when  they did it looked like they would like nothing better then to crawl out of their cages and eat you  bit by bit and I had heard some of them would stash body parts from their kills for snacks.

I felt sorry for the other animals, they looked sad and broken and if you really watched them, it was obvious. They didn’t like people very much.

The Reptiles though, they were not looking sad and broken and if they had gotten loose and eaten their way out of the zoo and hid body parts up and down Aurora- even as a kid in Kindergarten I understood one thing-

it would have been fair.

Maybe even right.



Que Sera Sera
Do you believe in fate or do you believe you can control your own destiny?


The first case I work at the funeral home all on my lonesome was for a young man ( according to paperwork ) who had died in traffic accident.

I did the paperwork, checked out a removal van, drove to the hospital ( look for the garbage cans I was told, and go through the doors.  That’s where the pathology labs and Morgue is.

And for Godsakes,  I was told, don’t go in through the front doors  And don’t park out front. ( Doi, I remember thinking)

I found him, got him on the gurney, zipped him up and took him to the Van and we drove back to the Funeral Home.

I helped put his face and skull back together.

And then I cleaned him up, dressed him. Fixed his hair and fussed over his tie.

The  Funeral Director who was training me checked said it was good work and told me to get ready to put him in the casket.

It was when I was ready to move him that I really looked at his face. I stopped. I stood back up and went back to his chart and looked for his name.

When I had the chance I went up front and checked the folder that was ready to take in when I met with the family.

I read the names.

It was true.

We were the same age and when we were six  years old he was my very first kiss. I saw him again just after we graduated from High School.

I was in California at a club called The Palace in Hollywood and I turned around and there he was. We chatted until his date showed up. It was a nice talk.

I didn’t seem him again until my first day as a Mortician’s Apprentice.

Was it fate? Was it Destiny?

Was the First Boy I kissed simply destined  to go out one night and forget to click his seatbelt and was he truly destined be thrown out of his car and have his poor mangled face rebuilt by the very first girl he kissed?

Was I really fated on my first day of work as a Mortician to embalm a nice kid who became a nice man and bought me a Sprite at The Palace and remembered on that night between sets how my little sister collected bees in a bag?

I don’t believe that  for a minute

I think when we step out our door we are faced with a million possibilities and we make decisions and from there we narrow the possibilities down to the moment – and for some of us, sometimes in that inexplicable moment,  we find ourselves looking  to the sky and crying out dramatically:

” Was it fate? Was it destiny? I don’t know, but this was magic. THIS WAS MEANT TO BE.”

People have written Epic poems and plays and movies based on that bullpucky.

You made those calls. You decided to turn left or right. You decided to say yes or no. With an entire Universe out there I doubt that any sort of being sat around and said,

” Gee, I think Anita Marie should meet this guy years later on an embalming table. And just for fun, let’s have her cat Frito die on the same day .”

Fate? Destiny?

How could you say we are really living if things are planned out for us? I mean if it’s all planned out why even bother to draw a breath?

 Fate or Destiny makes us slaves to the moment.

To all of our moments.

And in the end if it’s all about Fate and Destiny it wouldn’t matter if we show up to live our lives or not.

What a waste of perfectly good DNA in a Universe full of infinite possibilities that would be.