Big W the twelth - "Hmmm, a Song"

A song on the radio can be a magical thing.   What does hearing a certain song do to you?   Which of your senses does it tweak?  twangle?  shiver?  memory?   another place?  another time?   experiences of your youth?   All of the above personally. 

For me, songs transport me in a variety of ways.   Sometimes they make me go from a bad mood to a good one.   Sometimes they make my mind journey back to a certain place in time.   Evoking a memory or an experience.    Simply because that song was playing then.     Other times, they make me feel things deeply....as like when you hear a song that was in a movie, and you can see a scene in your head.   I love when that happens.

Sadly... (yes I am masculine enough to admit it), the other morning the song from "Dirty Dancing" came on the radio... Ugh, I know.    Well hold on a second.     I had been in a blah kind of mood.   Upon hearing the song, my imagination played scenes from the movie in my head.   The scene where they are practicing in the dance studio.   The scene learning lifts in the water.  All the fun things that happened there.    An estate up in the woods where rich people took their kids for the summer.   And the whole crowd of workers and dancers and waiters that interacted with the kids there.     All very interesting.      I loved summer camp when I was a kid.   The whole movie was a little out of my own summer camp's league, but still evokes some memories.   As sappy as I consider the movie, I still love it.    Nobody puts baby in a corner.     :)   After hearing the song, I was in a much better mood.

Songs are magical.   Country songs have never been my favorite, although my parents subjected me to them all while growing up.   However, the older I get, the more interesting the themes are that I find intertwined within country songs.    I guess my experiences have caught up with some of those of country singers.  Not all certainly... but some.   They speak of some deep parts of life.  I guess now I get it a little more.   My parents were ahead of their time.   I suppose. 

The next best thing to escaping from the world is a good book for me.  But hearing a song evokes and transports me to another time and place in my memories.    Sometimes they make me smile, sometimes they make me sad.   Either way, they make me feel alive.    A memory that I hadn't thought of in a long time pops up out of nowhere, simply because of a song.     Need I go into the whole thing of junior high dances... Nope, I think the blog is already long enough.   Perhaps another day.

All very interesting for me the other morning.    A new appreciation for music unearthed again.   I had lost that feeling for awhile.   (see..."you've lost that loving feeling") what's that make you think of?  haha..

I've had the CD player on at home of late.   And have been enjoying rediscovering my love of music.

Thanks.  w.w.w.

Big W the eleventh - "Blogs are fun?"

I entered into the world of blogs for a couple reasons.  To promote my books certainly was number one.   The second reason was that I viewed a blog as a fun outlay of words and thoughts.   A blog is a writer's canvas to be able to muse, vent, rant, and express their opinions.    Quite an interesting public area where one's words can be viewed, commented on, castised, or loved. 

I wrote one blog, Loving Deeply/Slowly.   It is still my most viewed post.   The comments and reactions to it promoted me to start writing a romance novel.   Quite a switch for a guy who has written two mystery/detective books.   Did I let my target audience sway me into writing a romance?  I don't think so.   To be honest, I think that the idea was already within my synapsis's.   

I have learned a lot of lessons so far in blogging.   Some personal, some professionally related to my future novels yet to be written.    Stereotyping, even within one's own blog is bad.   And good I suppose.  Bad, because it is not how I am in my day to day life.    So why does it come out in my words?  Well, perhaps it is just because everyone out there has differnet opinions.   Which is healthy.   Good I suppose, in that a blog full of assertions, opinions, and even stereotypes fuels conversations, and actually gets people to view the blog.    Many a writer has told me that you haven't 'made it' as an author until you start to get some negative reviews on your books.    I'm not there yet, as all of my reviews are positive.   I guess I have to be a little more controversial, or scathing, or something.  But that's just not me.  

I like learning lessons.  It makes one grow as a person.  Sappy I suppose, but true.   I actually listen to those around me, and try to assimilate their opinions.  Pulling sometimes valuable things out of conversations or thoughts.   That's just me. 

The romance book?   Well, guilty pleasure or not.  I am writing three times as fast in it as I ever have before while drafting my mystery novels.    Who knows what will become of it, although I have been told that 50% of the readers out there read romance novels.   Wow.   quite a stat.

So... blogging is fun....  I find it a way to organzie my thoughts, goals, and center my focus.     That is all cathartic.    I actually deleted two posts that I wrote over the past week.   They weren't good posts, in the simple matter that I wasn't proud of the writing.    First time that's ever happened.    But I know why.  I had felt pressured to post something, anything, to keep the blog fresh.    But really I didn't have anything worthwhile to say.   My creative thoughts have been on writing of late.   My book.   Not my blog.     Interesting lesson to learn with respect to blogging.   Only blog when you have an entertaining series of thoughts that will invoke others to read all the way to the end.    Food for thought.

In the future I doubt I will blog as much.   I will do it for me.   Not because I should post something.   I have no desire to put my name to something that I am not proud of in the written word.   The word 'proud' is an interesting one.   I feel that it's my blog, my opinion.   Yet, as a writer the prose should be written in such a creative manner that I'm proud of it.      The pride similar to that when I received the first copy of my book, and looked upon the bright cover.    The pride of knowing that someone who had read my first novel kept after me to write a second.  

Lessons to be learned in life.   Who knew blogs were so helpful...

w.w.w.

Big W the tenth "Chpt 1&2 - A Home with no Roof"

Sneak Preview - First chapter and a half of "A Home with no Roof" Just released on amazon.com. Click on the blog title to go to amazon and download it to be further entertained!!! Much appreciated...

                                                                              ~~ 1 ~~

I know from whence I came, although I have no memories. In my unfinished home I accept visitors daily, although they are uninvited. I see everything and everyone around me, yet no one can see me. Flashbulbs sear my eyes every day, although I never have my picture taken. A grassy knoll creates a luxurious carpet in my living room, which is surrounded by stone archways that support no roof. I slink from my tunnel and gaze up into the open sky at night, when all the guests that visit my humble abode have departed. Music plays in my head, classical tones that should be soothing and calming although no peace exists within my tortured mind. I am continually at odds to discover and confront who I am.

Often times the music is so loud and intrusive that I have to beat my head continually against the stone wall to make it stop. I pass the really bad days secluded in a secret place where none of the visitors to my home can see me. A few times a month, not that I truly feel the passage of time, real music plays within the open walls of my home for a while. I do not invite the musicians into my home, although they play here for hours. This music seems to drown out the tortured tones issuing from within my synapses for awhile. The musicians are accompanied by numerous visitors to my home. Often a ceremony is held within the open walls of my living room although I don’t invite them to hold their court here. The sky above my home creates an artistic backup for the ceremonies. Very picturesque I think. The ceremonies appear to celebrate two figures, one clad all in white and the other all in black. I would rather wear black. When the ceremonies occur, it is a dangerous time for me. I hide in one of my many secret spots and spy on the intruders, trying to hold back the black thoughts that run through my head. The music played outside during the ceremonies eases the pain in my head. I never ask any of the visitors to stay and keep me company on days when it plays. Part of me knows that it would be too dangerous to do so. I don’t always listen to that voice; I try to, but it’s hard sometimes. It’s nice and quiet once they all leave. I like the quiet. Sometimes I also wish that I could have a radio in my home. It would be really nice to play what I want on the radio. When I hear a song I liked, I could turn it up loudly and sing along. It’s not always fun having a radio if other people always get to decide what plays on it. That’s what I think anyways. It would also be fun to have a bird. A cute little parrot. Repeating everything I said. Funny, but cute.

Lying on my back now, buffeted by the springy grass beneath me, I stare up at the sky in my living room. Tiny dots of bright searing brilliance litter the night sky above me. I like that the roof of my home was never finished, as I enjoy staring up and seeing the brilliant dots of light. At least I think I do. I ponder for a moment when she will come for me. I know that she will, but I don’t know when. Seven times a day I turn this thought over in my mind. Not six, or eight, but seven times every day I think of her, although I can’t visualize her face in my head. She will come for me, although I don’t know if she will be happy with my new home. Maybe she’ll want a roof over our heads. I wouldn’t want to finish the roof of my home, it’s perfect without one. This way we can lay back and stare up at the dots of light. Fun.

A flood of thoughts pulls me out of that place in my head where I go to think of her. As I return to the present, I can still feel the cool grass blades caressing my body. I know that when I arise there will be a depression of my shape remaining in the green carpet. I know that the depression will fade quickly as it always does, although I wish that it would stay there forever. I also bet that the back of my legs will have thin marks up and down them, where I laid on the grass blades. Those marks are neat.

Standing now, I stride toward the vaulted stone archway that leads to where I sleep. I’m not at all sleepy at the moment but I know that I have to attend to the visitor that I have staying with me now. She might be awake, although I doubt it as I hit her pretty hard on the head earlier before I left to roam out into the night. She has been with me for two days now. I took her after all the other visitors had left my home the other day. She wasn’t too smart to loiter around after everyone else had gone because that’s when I come out to play and find a special visitor to stay with me. They never say no, although they don’t get the chance to argue. I like having guests stay with me to keep me company. They don’t have much fun, but I do, so it’s okay.

                                                                           ~~ 2 ~~

Detective First-Grade Scott Mathias was enjoying his morning so far as he walked from police headquarters down to the immense cruise ship docked at port, butting up to the pier at Hamilton. Having been promoted up to First-Grade a couple months ago after solving a string of high level cases, Scott felt as if he was living life to the fullest. This morning it seemed as if the sun was shining down on his little part of the island solely in an effort to brighten his day. Everything seemed more colorful and brilliant today. The pastel colors on houses that he had passed a hundred times before seemed more vivid today for some reason. Scott’s new wife Lily had announced to him that she was pregnant last night and nothing could darken his mood today. He was so full of good thoughts this morning as his mind filled with joy at the wonderful times that he would have with a child of his own. Everyone that he knew kept telling him that he would make a great father and he was so looking forward to it. He felt that he was truly walking with his head up in the clouds today. Having met Lily last year during an intense bank theft case that he had been working, the two of them had been truly inseparable ever since. They had happily married about two months ago because they were truly in love and also so that Lily could stay on the island. She had only been on Bermuda on a graduate visa to engage in a work study program at the Bermuda Underwater Exploratory Institute (the BUEI). By getting married, she could now stay on the island as long as she wanted. Of course the paperwork involved had still been extremely daunting to complete.

Striding easily along the sidewalk teeming with tourists from the massive cruise ship, Scott weaved through the throngs of people. They were all hungrily seeking out good shopping spots and bringing large amounts of tourist money to the island. Scott smoothed his navy gabardine trousers with one hand, holding a cup of coffee in the other and crossed the street. His purposeful gait propelled his six foot two frame across the busy intersection of downtown Hamilton as he headed for the cruise ship. He could have easily given this morning’s task to one of the junior detectives, but he figured that it would be nice to get out in the sun, so he took the call himself to go and see what was amiss on the ship. Ruffling his hand through his dark brown hair, Scott looked up at the huge vessel dwarfing the pier against which it rested. All of the cruise ships had their own security personnel on board, but if something happened to a guest while they were out engaging in activities in town, then the local police were called in to provide their expertise. Having received just such a call about twenty minutes ago, Scott headed up the gang plank to find security officer Ron Jonas who had contacted them from the ship.

Big W the ninth - "Writer's Block"

Writer's Block....  Those two words speak volumes.  Well, negative volumes for that matter.  Lack thereof.   If a picture is worth a thousand words, then those two words are void of thoughts, ideas, and any semblance of coherrent thought.  

Picture a crew on a ship in the middle of the ocean.    They have no wind.   They are not going anywhere fast are they.   A writer, with the BLOCK.... they're not going anywhere either.

It's been a troubling week.   My mind feels like it's being pulled in a thousand different directions at once.   Between a very demanding day-job (can't I make it as a writer soon and forget my day-job?--probably not), and an interesting personal life, all the social media out there, and everything I can not seem to focus my thoughts enough to sit down and write.

Even my blog has suffered.   I haven't been able to write in days.   So...what does any smart guy do?  Write about how he can't write.    At least... Get....the....words....flowing....   Write something.

I did do a guest post on someone else's blog this week.  It actually took me a few tries to get it right, because I was so hurried and felt like my four arms were being pulled in different directions by horses galloping for the four corners of the earth.   (Hey, nice image... the words are flowing now).

I haven't found time at home to sit down and write (see demaning, interesting personal life dilemmas)....   I hate when that happens.   I hate wasting hours in front of the television.   But that's what you do when you can't focus your brain I suppose.   I believe the term is 'vegging out.'   Or simply trying to appease the other people in your house.

I can write...  I've always been able to...

Have written poems when dating women my entire life.   Am never at a loss of things to say.  I actually crafted fun 'chapters' of a cute old couple to one woman I was dating back years ago.    It was just as fun to write them as it was to hear how entertaining they were for the person to read.    The joy was when on a slow Friday afternoon at work, they would write to me and say "hey, I'm bored and don't want to work anymore....Entertain me!!"     Always my pleasure.  

Women are better than Paris in the springtime.   More enjoyable than sitting in a olden square in Florence sipping chianti and enjoying a plate of caprese.    Anytime I have a woman to write about, the words seem to flow out of me.    Why is that?   So much to say?   Or so many experiences to draw from?

I do get called to the mat once in awhile... One of my books has a scene in it where one of the characters uses her toes to pull off the man's boxers in an intimate scene.   Sadly, someone I work with asked me if that was a real life experience.   I simply blushed...   Innocent little me.

So....  it has been good to write again...   Thank you for listening (and hopefully enjoying) the rant.

I have decided to write a period based romance novel... And am very excited to begin it.   It's different than anything that I've ever done, but I know I will be up to the task.   The question is whether I'll be smiling the ENTIRE way through.   Imagining what situations to put my characters in next.   That, is the pleasure of writing.   It's enjoyable and fun. 

So... I'm off to start it.   Right now.  No excuses... Just fingers on the keyboard, and start.   Go back and edit later...  It doesn't have to be a work of art right out of the gate.  That's what CP's are for.   Valued as they are.   To clean up the ramblings of a person who's mind works faster than his fingers can type.

Go write.   Now.

Big W the eight - "Henry the Eight I am"

I had to do it... Please don't shoot me....   Course, with a devilish grin I must admit that I looked forward to it.... in my Big W the "nth"... counting... I could see Big W the eight coming up soon...   Images of an annoying, yet charming man in such and such a movie (can't admit to seeing it), walking around a bedroom chanting and chanting until he got his way....     charming?  well at first.. then.. yes... annoying.

I'm Henry the 8th I am,
Henry the 8th I am, I am,
I got married to the widow next door,
She's been married 7 times before,
And every one was a Henry (Henry),
She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I'm her 8th old man I Henry,
Henry the 8th I am

Second verse same as the first
I'm Henry the 8th I am,
Henry the 8th I am, I am,
I got married to the widow next door,
She's been married 7 times before,
And every one was a Henry (Henry),
She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I'm her 8th old man I Henry,
Henry the 8th I am
Okay, I got that out of my system....  whew!!! 

Has any man ever used such childish games to get a woman to do what he wants?  Not a very effective means of communication... and perhaps during initial courting (just once), might be deemed as adorable.. (for a few verses).... but there are plenty of other ways to win a woman's heart.

The smile of any woman, gracing down upon you is more lovely than Paris in the Springtime....but if a man utilizes the silliness above, then please know that although you may get a smile, in her head the woman is pondering whether or not you are truly daft... (or worse, that she is daft to be in the same room with you)....   so don't do it.

Devilish, sly little grin.   Perhaps just once.

w.w.w.

Big W the seventh - "I am Darcy"

I... Am....Darcy...    Yes, I know, that is quite a bold statement.   For those of you who have not read Jane Austen, or some of her fan-followers, it is even a meaningless statement.    For those of you who have, please let me eleaborate...

No, I am not deluded into a fantasy of being Mr. Darcy.  But the comparison is an enjoyable thought.  First and foremost, his wealth exceeds my own by quite a measurable amount.  I would like to have his resources, if for nothing else than to be able to purchase any sweet trinkets, adorned with rubies and diamonds for the love in my life at the top of a hat.

However... Sir Darcy and I have much in common.   It is in the little things.  A thirst for life, love and happiness.  The hunt that he laid out for his true love, Elizabeth, leaving her cute notes to follow around the halls of Pemberly is something I would do.   Extremely thoughtful and very endearing.  I can picture the smile on Mrs. Darcy's face as she read each note and hurried along towards the following one.   The ulimtate destination of her desires running through her mind, thoughts burgeoning upwards from within her very body.

His piercing eyes.  Focused on what he wants, and what is important to him.   I have been advised throughout my life that I likely have him beat on that point.   A face that fully lights up, extending a twinkle of a smile up to the eyes and that takes over one's entire face is a very useful quality, especially during courting.   Please look up 'melting' in the dictionary.   Smile at that. 

Mr. Darcy often has troubles expressing himself at first.  As do I.   Some deep introspection, and further thought as to his true feelings and emotions takes a little while for the Master of Pemberly to come to grips with.   This is a troublesome quality, but also a deeply feeling one.   He takes time to truly understand his feelings before expressing them in such a manner as to adequately make his true love understand his thoughts.    Troublesome for Elizabeth at times as we read and follow along, the drama at miscommunication or misunderstanding vexing her greatly for a period.   But all will be revealed in good time.   A flighty, charming man such as Wickham can express himself (and tout himself) at the drop of a hat.   But... his feelings should not be construed as a true reflection of himself.  They are simply words.   Whereas, Darcy's words reflect his mind, body, and soul poured forth in expression.

Physically, Darcy must be active.  Much as myself.  Oh, he truly loves to leisure, should the perfect set of circumstances present themselves.   A lazing morning spent between the covers with his beloved is better than heaven on earth.   Slowly, gently trickling his fingers whereever they will bestow the utmost pleasure.  However, when inactivity builds up within, he must mount his horse (should his neather-regions allow) and gallop for the fences to burn off steam...  I can fully understand this and my horse (my cannondale bicycle) has eaten up many miles of thought-provoking introspection.

Darcy is sweet and caring to those that he holds dear.  But is viewed as somewhat aloof and better than others to whom he is not intimate.  I have been labelled the same many times.  Even receiving an 'arrogant' label once, which is personally so undeserved.  But knowing Sir Darcy I can see how his countenance may be misconstrued.  Life is short enough for all (especially in olden times), and the best way personally to go through life is by focusing on those dear to you.    This could be better explained by a statement such as "being able to focus on the minutia important things, whilest not being distracted by larger troubles in life."    Darcy manages a huge estate, but always has the time and energy left within him to devote to those dearest to him.   I view this as one of his better qualities.   Not allowing himself to be caught up and mentally downtrodden to such a degree as to make him unable to come home and greet his adorable bride with a face altering smile.   And make her feel that the rest of the world disappears when she is near him.   His focus is her.   I strive to do this whenever possible, although life does at times get in the way.   The continual realization of it is the important part I suppose, and will make one a better man

Virility... I will not even go there.  Suffice to say, a gentleman should never share.  But Wickham I am not.   Darcy and I are cut from the same cloth.  That is all I will say.  The rest is your own imagination.  Should you need further proof, read the 'loving..deeply..slowly' blog.   Enough said.

Family.  When pressed, Darcy defends, extolls, and savagely puts his heart into his family.   Closeness to his Uncle George is an admirable quality for a maturing Master of Pemberly and is heartening to read about.   I don't take offense to my person very easily, but if one messes with my family, please beware.   My dear mother is infinitely important to me, and I take it upon myself to make it known to her what she means in my life.    Again, life is too short.  Share now with those whom you love, your feelings such as would occur to you if they were ever taken from your life too early.  

Darcy is a better dresser than I...  but I dare say that if I had attendants who would match the color of my cravat to the shade of dress worn by my beloved, I would welcome the symmetry and adornments of presenting a union matched not only in love, but in fashionable sense as well.

I could dither on for hours, but in summary.... All the men in the world should strive to pull some of Darcy's characteristics into their own personalities.  If they did, the women around them would benefit and know that they are the most special and important part of that man's life.    It is the little things gentleman...   Grand gestures aside, by sharing feelings, emotions, and focusing on that relationship with all your being you will benefit from a life which is ungodly amazing and will repay your energies ten-fold.   Darcy struggled to withhold himself enough soon after wedding his bride, and when he did, the pleasure that she attained was more special to him than anything he had experienced.   There is truth in that.... simply giving is often more special than receiving.   A tough lesson in this day and age, but one that has a universal, timeless truth.

Big W the sixth - "The Luncheons - Part 2"

Reaching forward with one dirty hand, Jimbo pushed aside a few of the soldiers from the camp.  Poking a pudgy, dirty finger and digging with a mud-caked fingernail, he delved into the hole at the top of the sand mound.  Trying to forage deeper to see where the congregation was, or how big their food store was, he dug.  Striking the red brick underneath the sand mound he found nothing.  Disgusted, Jimbo brushed the measly sand mound away, clearing the spot where it once stood.  Underneath the site was about four or five big holes in the packed sand between the cracks in the brick.  Way underground.  Under even the bricks, there was probably a thriving community.  Now that the mound was gone, the ants just plunged into the holes, bound for who knows where.

            Getting to his feet, Jimbo made his way back over to the swing-set.  Forgetting about the world of the ants, he got on the swing in the middle.  Higher and higher he swung as he propelled his feet forwards and backwards.  The swing-set was beginning to pull out of the ground when he went too high so it was time to abandon ship.  Geronimo.  Flying through the air, Jimbo jumped off the swing at mid-height.  Coming down on his feet, his forward momentum propelled him to his hands and knees.  Hard landing.  Standing up and dusting himself off a little, Jimbo skipped to another part of his world, totally forgotten now were the ants and their lunch mission of the hot dog bun.

            In the corner of the yard near the house was an old stump.  The tree that had stood there had been sawed down by his dad’s trusty John Deere chainsaw.  Because it was getting too close to the power lines he had said.  Whatever those were.  A favorite past time of Jimbo’s was peeling the bark off the stump.  The old oak had tough brown bark that came off easily and was fun to play with.  Sitting on top of the stump now, Jimbo picked at the sides of the stump, pulling off two good pieces of bark.  Rubbing the two pieces together, small bits of bark got shaved off the big pieces.  Very neat. 

            Something over on the other side of the stump suddenly caught Jimbo’s eye and the bark was momentarily forgotten.  A Gardner snake was sneaking through the grass towards the stump.  Slithering back and forth, the snake was moving quickly through the blades of grass.  His pink, forked tongue darted in and out of his mouth as Jimbo watched him. 

            Jimbo wasn’t afraid of snakes.  Ignorant was probably more like it.  They just looked cool and moved quietly and were all in all, kinda neat.  Getting down from the stump Jimbo moved silently over towards the snake.  Sitting down on the ground, he watched as the snake finally reached his goal.  Circling around the stump, the snake moved to a pile of bark where Jimbo had put it last week when he was done playing with it.  Moving amongst the pike, the snake paused for a moment.  He had green spots on his black back and was about a foot long.  Wanting to pick him up, Jimbo moved a little closer to the snake.  He stopped in his tracks just like the snake as they both saw something else in the bark.  A little black bug moved out from under one of the pieces of old bark.  It was probably nice and damp and dark under the bark, probably the roach’s home.  The snake moved before Jimbo did, towards the bug.  Jimbo just watched, as he sank to his knees to get a closer look.

            The slithering predator moved in for the kill.  The bug didn’t have a chance, the snake moved faster.  Really fast.  Jimbo watched on as the snake moved behind the bug, darted its head outwards and the bug was gone.  Lunch.  Jimbo was fascinated by the whole scene and watched as the snake settled amongst the bark to rest and relax.  Jimbo decided not to pick up the snake because he didn’t want to interrupt its digestion.  Nothing like a good nap after a good meal.  Ohhhh, PB and J would hit the spot right now.

            Forgetting about his sudden hunger urge and the snake he moved towards the white fence.  The street lay beyond the fence.  The forbidden territory, a place where no man ever goes.  Without mom of course.  Putting his hands on two of the pickets, he looked over the fence to the cars and the houses across the street.  Everything looked so big, and unfamiliar.  Wow.  Two boys were playing hoop across the street, too much of a big boys game for Jimmy, outside of the living room toss that him and his dad enjoyed after dinner.

            In the middle of the street lay a brown shape with a mixture of red in it.  Craning his neck higher, Jimbo couldn’t quite make out the identity of the object.  Cars flew by on the way home form the high school.  Probably the football guys coming home after practice.  That means that it’s almost five thirty.  Wow, time flies when you’re having fun.  Looking back to the object in the middle of the street, Jimbo now saw what it was.  One of the cars must have hit it when they went by.  The squirrel now stared at him just as Jimbo stared back.  Red stuff was all over the squirrel’s legs.  Neat.  Road pizza had been the term that his older sister had used a few times.  She had made an ugly sounding eeek! when she had seen a chipmunk squashed in the road last week.

            While thinking all of this Jimbo hadn’t even seen the black crow swoop down towards the squirrel.  Looking back now, he saw the crow peck into the squirrel searching for a tasty morsel.  Gross.  That’s disgusting, Jimbo thought as he moved back towards the stump.  Grabbing a piece of bark from underneath the snake he hurried back to the fence.  Seeing the bird still chewing away at its lunch, he hucked the bark towards it.  The bird, unfazed by the bad throw continued to chow down on its snack.  Going back for another piece of bark, Jimbo noticed that the snake was now gone.  Slithered away now that digestion was all done.  Taking a big piece, he went back to the fence.  The bird, like the snake had vacated the scene.  Eat and run.  Jimbo looked at the remains of the squirrel and saw a few holes that were new.  Placing the bark in between two white fence slats, he vowed to be ready if the crow returned to the street.

            Getting a little tired now from all this running around he went back to the swing-set and sat in the swinging loveseat.  His big sister and the little girl down the street’s big brother had married Jimbo and the little girl last week.  Whatever married means.  All the girl could talk about afterwards was something called divorce.  Cool, maybe now she’ll come over more often.  Sitting there swinging back and forth he looked back towards the walkway.  No ants could be seen moving about but he kicked some sand in that direction anyway.  The sun was beginning to move down behind the trees and he figured that it was time to go in.  Before mom gets out the bell and rings it.  Why doesn’t she just come out and say it’s time to come in.  Or hold a PB and J sandwich out the window.  I’d go in for that.  Anyway, it must be near time to eat.  Hunger, forgotten since the first PB and J, seemed on his mind for some reason.  Licking his lips as he bounded the steps, Jimbo left his world, the yard, and everything in it until tomorrow.

Big W the fifth - "The Luncheons - part 1"

THE LUNCHEONS – Part 1  (ah the suspense…part 2 to follow)

            He was ravenously hard at work on his PB and J sandwich.  Munching down huge sloppy bites.  This was tough stuff.  Keeping all the jam from sticking to the side of his face or from spurting out the sides of the white bread was even tougher.  Wonder bread.  Lunch food of champions, sticks to the top of your mouth and settles in your stomach with the ease of molasses.  Jimbo loved his PB and J; his mom even cut the crusts off for him.  He didn’t want his hair to get curly. That’s what bread crusts do to your hair.  Or at least that’s what his grandpa always said.

            Enough said.  The six-year old yelled to his mom that he was done and was going outside to play in the yard.  The only reply was a stern ‘don’t go in the street honey.’  Freedom, belly full and the yard to conquer. The Osh Kosh ‘ralls were already in motion towards the screen door.  Pushing in that place on the door where the screen was starting to wear from constant use, Jimbo was in the yard.  The world was his.  The grass lay before him in a huge expanse of green, yielding only to the white fence that signified the end of the world.

            The red-stained picnic table was off to the left of the yard, while an even more tempting vista was over to the right, the swing-set.  As the sun beat down on the blond head speeding around the yard the swing-set became Mt. Everest.  Bolting across the grass, Jimbo leapt onto the slide.  The next five minutes seemed like hours as he tried to walk, crawl, and scramble up the silver slide.  Never budging an inch, never losing hope, with the patience of a stock broker waiting to sell off millions in stock, he tried to get up that slide.  His blue Keds kept slipping down the shiny slide.  Victory was to be his though as he pulled with his arms with valiance, edging his way upwards.  The top.  Top of the world ma.  Standing on the top platform Jimbo looked around surveying his territory.  With that done, he grabbed the side-rails and flung himself downwards.  Sliding quickly down, he flew off the end of the ride into the hole where feet had landed time and time again at the end of this journey.  Dust kicked up, covering his overalls with a brown tinge that mom would probably frown at later.

            The picnic table now lay in his path, the site of last night’s barbecue.  Watermelon, corn on the cob, hot dogs, etc.  Nothing like his favorite PB and J though.  Getting down on his hands and knees, Jimbo crawled onto the grass under the table.  The relatively cool shade under the table on this humid summer day made it seem like he had just entered a cave.  Cobwebs above him further solidified the prospect and made the picture complete.  Indian carvings formed on the underside of the old wooden table, or was that just old gum stuck there by his older sister.  Some kind of strange animal lived in this cave.  A prehistoric wolf hound or even a cougar.  Its droppings were in the corner of the cave, in a little pile.  His dog spent most of the family picnics scrounging for scraps under the table, amidst all the feet.  That little fact escaped Jimbo’s mind as his cave world whirled around him.

            Rolling out from underneath the table, he crawled along the grass on his hands and knees.  Green stains now accompanied the brown ones. Mom would be pleased.  The army owned him now.  He crawled under barbed wire and stayed really, really close to the ground, dirt went down the front of his overalls and rubbed against his white T-shirt.  Mom would be happier still.  Ahead was the red desert, formally know as the front walkway made out of red bricks.  Sand was king in the desert, with palm trees or rather, weeds, growing out between the cracks in the bricks.  Inching along on his elbows, Jimbo saw the enemy ahead of him.  They came out of the grass and moved across the desert into the sand hills.

            The army was moving consistently along as Jimbo settled down on the edge of the grass to watch today’s maneuvers.  They stayed mainly (on the plain) no, in the sand of the cracks.  Sometimes they would go underground, tunneling into the safety below the surface.  They had many groups, all of them moving along different paths, from different directions, towards a common point.  The camp.  The big sand hill lay about six inches from the grassy forest.  The whole army complex must lay underground because all that Jimbo could see was a whole in the top of the hill.  The infantry trundled down into the hole while still others, done with business below, came up out of the hole in search of a new mission.

            Jimbo lay there motionless, watching the goings-on and wondering what the underground camp looked like.  More soldiers came out of the forest with trophies.  Jimbo saw a platoon carrying a trophy back from a long mission.  A piece of hot dog bun lay atop about six soldiers as the group proceeded towards camp.  Wondering still about how the group made the trek from the picnic table all the way back here.  Or how still, did they know that the food was over there in the first place.  A scouting mission, must have been.  Jimbo looked down at the soles of his Keds, looking for any casualties from the army.  He had run back and forth in the area between the table and the walkway many times.  How many soldiers got smooshed under his Keds during his random playing.  Wow,  probably a whole battalion.

Big W the fourth - "Googling someone.. Curiosity or Crossing the line?"

Okay…. disclaimer first.   I consider myself to be a proper person.  At times I am a little too polite, professional, and reserved.   I manage a variety of companies, doing the finance and HR duties at them.  I was once told by an employee that I was “the oldest young person that they knew.”   Not sure, but I took it as a compliment.    One reason that I think that I enjoy Bermuda so much is the British influence.  The people are always engaging, polite and professional.  Always with a smile on their face, whether it is a hotel worker, or just someone passing you on the street.

That being said.   (Yes, I added the above so that I can assert that I am in the ‘curiosity’ category, not the ‘crossing the line’ category.   I don't play games.  I'm straight-forward.  Simple even.

So… Google.   How many of you meet someone online at Facebook or on Twitter and then go and google their name?   Yes, be honest… most of you do it.    At least most of the people that I know.  

Is it curiosity plain and simple?  Or a thirst to find out more about the person that you have just connected with?    I view it as a curiosity.   Call it a search for additional knowledge.   But, when you find something online about that person….do you, should you share it with them or ask them about it?   I find that is a very difficult conversation to have.  It looks bad.

What if you googled someone and found a police report?   I have found them.   One person was arrested years earlier.   They actually ended up offering up the information to me at a later time.  They were arrested while trying to cover up something that their spouse had done.   Nice intentions, but a black mark on your ‘google’ search record for everyone else out there.   Information age indeed.  Not fair to the person who was just trying to be supportive.

What if you googled someone and found pictures of their wedding?   This might be prying a bit.  But they might enjoy it if you commented on their special day.  The castle in the background, a gorgeous dress.  And lots of smiling pictures.  Still not really proper in my eyes. 

However…if the information is out there on the website, then I suppose it’s free game.   Yes?  Or no?  I’m curious…..  and like I said in the disclaimer above….I err on the side of keeping one’s mouth shut about it.   It is all well and good to be curious, but keep it to yourself.

If people google me… oh my.  Please don’t.    They will find all sorts of articles that I wrote back years ago when I was at a very boring job and had WAY too much time on my hands during the day.   I wrote for an ezine called “write for cash” and put out two or three articles a day…. Often making like $60 a day.    It passed the time.  The articles weren’t literary masterpieces…. Although I am supremely proud of my one titled, “How to pick the right carpet pad.”   Ugh…    I do have more involved things out there… (I am telling you all so you DON’T have to google me)…   I once wrote a self-help how to book on dividend reinvestment plans.   It had a neat format that I had to adhere to…  Information on the left side and questions and quizzes on what you just read about on the right.   I think I sold like 5 copies.  And made about $5.55.    But it was glorious fun to write.   I also once wrote a very sweet piece for Just Labs magazine.   It was about my war with my dog, who was a digger.  And how I had to battle her in putting down chicken fencing on the ground so she couldn’t dig to China. 

I have no desire to rot my brain in front of the tv every night.   Writing is cathartic and gets your thoughts organized and out onto the paper.   Freeing one up for more new, engaging thoughts.    Healing and enjoyable.

Meeting new people on any of the social media platforms these days is fun and exciting.   There are many engaging people out there in the world who have a lot of thoughts, books, and opinions to share.   Who wouldn’t want to know more about these people?   What about the rest of their life?   Just curious to see what other things they have written, or what websites and blogs they have created.   Coming across a picture perfect castle backdrop of wedding pictures is a rare occurrence, but is entertaining and more enjoyable to pass the time instead of playing games on one’s blackberry on a slow Friday afternoon at work.

So…   please weigh in…  Is Googling someone just curiosity?  Or is it crossing some kind of line?

Big W the third - "Loving deeply... slowly"

The Background:  I love Jane Austen's book, Pride & Prejudice.  Yes.  I am a man.  But I have read most of Ms. Austen's books.  Sense and Sensibility would be my second favorite. 

Gruffly I add, 'any smart man who wants to know anything at all about how to treat a woman correctly would benefit from the research.'

Truly however, Austen's books are a guilty pleasure.  I love reading them.  And revisit them often, year after year.  I enjoy and identify with her Darcy characters the most.  Lizzie and Fitzwilliam are a pure form of how amazing love can be.   When it is right. 

Okay.. present time.  Over the past decade, a friend of mine from school and I have been reading Sharon Lathan's books.    A modern continuation of the Darcy series.  I can never put them down.  Yes, truly a guilty pleasure.  I am secure enough to admit it.   A number of years ago, I had an experience.   Totally lost myself.... in a simple, sweet, intense kiss that I know will always be one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

Silly guy that I am, one day long ago I toyed with my friend that I read Ms. Lathan's books with.  I told them that I was going to write a chapter for the Darcy's and send it to Ms. Lathan.  It's the little cute things in life isn't it?   I didn't expect a response, and didn't really want one.  The fun was in the doing.   Revisiting a moment in my life when the world stopped spinning for a second, and everything else disappeared.   Have you ever shared breathing with another person?  Felt as if every part of you were connected and merged?    There are certainly other activities in life where this occurs.   But.... A kiss?   really.

Here is the chapter that I sent to Ms. Lathan....  Enjoy... feel it...   deeply and slowly.

Good afternoon Mrs. Latham:

Below please find a chapter for your perusal to include in your next Darcy book.   The real life version of these events was so overwhelmingly intense and romantic that I am certain you will agree that the Darcy’s would be lucky to find themselves in just such a situation.   The connection felt is so right and pure, the Darcy’s will thank you for setting them into this situation.

Chapter 12

The seascape set a perfect back drop for a wonderful afternoon.   Waves lapped gently up against the rocky shore as Fitzwilliam strode hand in hand down a pebble strewn pathway with the most wonderful woman by his side.   He and Lizzie had journeyed back to the seashore where they had enjoyed a fabulously intimate vacation a year previous.  The two of them would certainly have to join with each other in the private bathhouse later this evening after dinner, but for now, they were content to simply walk and talk.   Their conversation ranged across a number of topics, and while it didn’t really matter what they talked about, they enjoyed each other’s company immensely.  William found himself gazing over at Lizzie by his side, sneaking little glances at her to drink in the sight of her beautiful face.   He found it difficult to pull his eyes away from her, but tried to cast his gaze back on the pathway if he felt that she was turning his way.   Oh, he knew that she was aware of his glances, and could see a little smile gracing her face when she ‘felt’ his gaze upon her.   He was simply content and happy to be nowhere else on earth at this moment, and was wishing that the clock would stop so they could freeze this perfect afternoon in time. 

Breaking him out of his reverie, Lizzie squealed lightly in delight as a sprinkler threatened to drizzle them.  Her hand left his momentarily as she skipped on ahead a few paces to get out of the way of falling water cascading over the lawn on the side of the path.   William watched her figure as she daintily danced outside of the water’s grasp.   He laughed inwardly as he stepped gracefully, yet stoically around the shooting water stream.   He caught up to her a moment later, grasping her hand and twirling her around.   The smile on her face made him go slightly weak in the knees as he intoned, “I can wait any longer my love, you are so cute, please kiss me.”  She answered him by moving her body up against his, falling into his embrace as their mouths met each other.  Hungrily, they tasted and felt each other’s tongues roving around, connected blissfully as minutes passed.  A small family happened by, interrupting their kiss as William reasserted proper etiquette, sadly breaking from the kiss.  Decorum in public always being upheld and all. 

Lizzie’s smile beamed brilliantly as the two of them continued down the pathway along the shore.  She was caught up in the moment and could feel Darcy’s hand in her own, resting casually, his inner heat emanating through his skin, warming her own.   She looked down at their hands, his long fingers intertwined with hers.   He smiled back at her and unfurled his fingers from hers, moving their hands slightly so that they were now clasping palm to palm, instead of with interlocking fingers.   They smiled at each other, both simply enjoying being outside by the water.   Their carriage had brought them over to this secluded area earlier and they had been walking for about a half an hour, losing all track of time as they drank in the day.   The Vernors had recommended that the Darcy’s take this seaside stroll as Harriot Vernor found it to be one of the most romantic stretches on the seashore that she had ever seen.

Without preamble, their feet stopped at a spot on the path where they could see a way down onto the rocky shore below by the water.   Darcy again twirled the lovely, amazing woman towards him, pulling her in for another deep, passionate kiss.   Lizzie moaned lightly, but broke from the kiss first and headed down the rocks.   William, ever the gentleman, held her hand as she agilely traipsed over the rocks.  She was important to him, monumentally so, and he could not bear it if she fell on the rocks.   He followed from behind, not even watching his own footing as his eyes watched her slender figure navigating further down the slope in front of him.

The two of them found a good spot to sit in, an almost naturally created stone chair that had a backrest and everything.   Proclaiming the spot pure perfection, Lizzie kicked off her shoes and settled down on the rocks.  She hiked up her dress, exposing a few inches of bare skin as she did so.  Darcy’s breath caught in his throat momentarily at the smooth, porcelain flash of her leg.   His heart started to beat faster as he hunkered down next to her.   They were hidden from the view of the path enough that Darcy felt they were truly alone on the seashore.  Every once in awhile he could hear other people talking or playing on the water, but honestly, his thoughts were truly centered on the gorgeous woman next to him.   They sat for awhile, simply staring out at the water, an island visible off the coast in the distance.   They talked about family and Georgina and Uncle George in particular.   Both of them missed the others, but still loved getting to find time alone for just the two of them.

Lizzie boldly stood up from her spot next to William a minute later, a smile twinkling in her eyes.   William momentarily shocked by her movement said, “Lizzie are you well?  Is everything okay?”  She didn’t answer him and he noted the twinkle in her eyes a second later.   Instead, she maneuvered herself onto his lap, straddling his waist with her legs.  “Elizabeth, dearest, we are in public you know,” William intoned.   “No one can see us darling,” Lizzie responded, distracting the man underneath her further as she lightly rocked her hips back and forth.   William could feel his body responding to hers and stopped protesting.  Instead he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and keeping her safe.   Their eyes held each other’s as they gazed into one another’s face from mere inches apart.  William’s breath began hasten as he felt the amazing woman moving back and forth ever so slightly.   As caring as she always was, a minute later she inquired, “Am I hurting you dearest?”   William could not respond right away given the trance that he found himself in, but nodded that she was not hurting him.  Then he added, “I would rather have you nowhere else my love.  God, what you do to me darling.”

They sat, joined as one for a long time, Lizzie nuzzling her lips across his neck as she laid her head on his shoulder, contentedly happy in every possibly way.  This amazing man was all hers, and he loves me more than anyone else in the entire world.   Her happiness flowed through to her face, lighting up her features as she pulled her face back to look into his piercing, amazing blue eyes.   “I love you dearest, with my mind, body and soul.”   She watched a sly smile cross he face as he simply responded by moving his face closer to hers.  They almost kissed, but at the last second, William drew back his mouth a scant quarter of an inch.  Their mouths were both open, and open to one another. Slowly, lightly, William moved his tongue forward, just finding the tip of Lizzie’s tongue with his own.   They tenderly, teasingly moved their mouths back and forth as their tongues lightly, ever so lightly touched.   Moving forward ever so slightly, William pressed his lips fully against hers and madly kissed her passionately for a second, breaking contact moments later.   The grazing touch of their lips ached as they parted again, gently feeling each other's body respond.   Their breathing hastened as Lizzie grabbed his waist with her hands, curling her fingers into the folds of fabric at his hips.   The rest of the world disappeared in a blink as time truly stopped, and only the two of them were on that beach, alone, and together.  Joined as one.  Slowly...ever so slowly... Their breath intermingled, breathing as one.   Light, soft lips touched briefly, tongues tantalizingly touching and teasing each other.   Heated, both of them rocked back and forth slowly, in tune to one another’s embrace.   William shivered, and grasped her shoulders tightly with his hands as a shudder passed through his body of its own volition.   Time ceased to exist.  Nothing else in the world entered their thoughts accept their joined breathing, and heightened intensity of feeling.    Onwards and onwards both of them spiraled deeper and deeper into one another, losing themselves in the moment.    Shivers coursed through Lizzie’s entire body as she felt every gentle touch of his lips, his tongue, his mouth.   Breathing together, they both found themselves entering a bliss that neither one had ever felt throughout their entire lives.    A final shudder flowed through Lizzie’s body as William ultimately pulled himself away from her.  Having to, before his heart stopped beating altogether from the intense pounding echoing through his chest.  Their heartbeats in rhythm with one another.   Both of their breathing continued flowing in heated, hot, ragged breaths, unable to regain control of themselves.    “God good William, everything that we experience is always so amazingly intense,” Lizzie finally found the words to say, amid her hungry breathing.  God how she wanted the man nestled and intertwined with her.   It would be too many hours until they found themselves at the boat house later.  Lizzie was not entirely sure that she could wait that long.   William sat contentedly looking at her, a sly little smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.  Life was good, amazing and true.   They had always had intense lovemaking, but neither had ever experienced anything like they just had.   

Standing up from the rocky bench moments later, the pair of them strode relaxingly back to the carriage.   Both of them were privately replaying the intense feeling of the long, passionate kiss through their heads.   They passed a few other people on the path but neither of them noticed anyone else.   Their fingers were locked together again.   Happily, amazingly, joined as one.

Big W the second - "Why Bermuda???"

I've written two books now.  Both based in Bermuda.  The question that I get asked the most from readers, friends, and people I meet is "Why did you base them in Bermuda?"   I think that a lot of folks are curious because they want to write their own novel and don't know how to start.   I agree with that.   The starting is the hard part.  Once I start, the words flow out of me like water through a strainer. 

First and foremost, I don't know where my books are going to go when I start them.  I just have an idea, and start.   I keep a little flowchart down at the bottom of the story.   Generally when I'm driving, new ideas will pop into my head.  I add them to the flowchart.   After having written about 40 pages, the flowchart has the next five or six scenes/chapters in it.  Once I'm to about page 150, often the flowchart has the rest of the book all charted out.  It's magic.   Poof!     The second half of books that I write is the easiest as I just pull up the manuscript and pick the next line on flowchart and write that scene.   The tough days are when I see a 'tough' scene to write coming up.   That is often when I don't write for a few days.   Want to compose my thoughts and do it justice.

So... why do I base them in Bermuda?   I have been to Bermuda about 12 times.  I love the island.   I go there to scuba dive, and love anything in the water.   It's close to home and the flight is only 1 1/2 hours.  I also get a great rate at the Fairmont South Hampton which helps.   I look forward with a small amount of grumbling in my stomach to dining at their restaurants.   The Waterlot is my favorite, followed closely by Bacchi.    But I always have dinner my last night on the island down at their restaurant on the water.   I think it's called the Ocean Club at this point.  (the name has changed a couple times).   But, it's perched out on a craggily rock outcropping, with waves crashing up against the rocks.  When you can sit outside, it is amazingly wonderful.

I live vicariously.   I love sending my characters on a drive around the island.  I can see where they are.  In my head I can mentally picture the scene that they see in front of them.    "Scott maneuvered his car across the bridge near the airport, the huge orange hotel Grotto Bay looming in his rear view mirror."    or...   "Scott and Steve sat outside smoking some extremely good cigars on the patio of the Waterlot by the harbor."     Hmmm....  My mind travels back to many of my trips.

So, the simple answer is...  I write about Bermuda so I can travel with my characters.   I don't really do character development before a story.   They just grow into their own as I write.   I make them go to all the places that I want to be at. 

My first book, "Sunset over the Hermes"  http://www.amazon.com/dp/0557546427  concludes its story at the Hermes shipwreck.   I have scuba dived that wreck.   And can see it in my head.   However, I am very glad that I did not have to deal with what Scott and Lily did.

My second book, "A Home With no Roof," http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005I044L8 has a picture on the cover of the Unfinished Church in Bermuda over in St. George.    The day that I visited the picturesque site during on trip, the story idea popped into my head.    Oh, don't get me wrong I took MASSIVE literary liberties with the architecture and I am quite uncertain whether or not there is a tunnel from the Church underground over to the St. Catherine fort.    But who knows?  There might be.   And it worked for me.  

After writing my first book, I tried a novel set in Santorini, over in Greece.   That was my favorite Greek island, and I figured that the Bermuda one had been SO enjoyable to write, that Greece would be just as fun.   It wasn't.    I don't know if it was because my mind wasn't in Bermuda, or whether I just simply didn't have engaging enough characters.   It wasn't as fun, and after about 50 pages, I abandoned it.   Now that my second Bermuda book is done, I've been thinking about going back to it.    But, I think I'm a better writer now, and will probably revise it quite a bit.

I have travelled many places in the world.  But have always enjoyed my time on MY island.  Bermuda is so comfortable and quaint.   I don't like places like Jamaica or Aruba.   Sue me, but I really don't like sitting on a beach and having a questionable man come up to me offering to sell me small white rocks.  Dust, whatever it was.     An event like that my friends, has never even entered my mind while on the British island of Bermuda.   It is a proper place.   The people are pleasant and engaging.  The food is amazing, and the water calls to me to jump in for a cooling swim.    I still struggle with my golf there, but that's my own problem.   I will continue to wage that war in the five inches between my ears.

So...  I guess my point (Is there one?) is this.   If you want to sit down and write a novel, base it somewhere that you have a mental connection to.  It will be easier for you.    If you spent summers in Cape Cod as a child, set your characters up there.     Just my opinion (I think that's what blogs are for), but I don't think I could ever write a novel set in China.  I've never been there.    Oh, scratch that, I'm sure I could write it.   But...... I.........wouldn't.......enjoy........it...     nope.  wouldn't.

Many friends have been after me to write a pure romance.   Their favorite parts of my first book were the romantic interludes, and relationship angst.     I think I'm going to give it a try.   I have plenty of material in my mind.    I have enjoyed many things throughout my life.    

In "Sunset" one scene was commented on by Scott Mathias.... "when it comes to boxer shorts, Lily has very talented toes."   

Hmmmm.. indeed.   That person did indeed.   Her name wasn't Lily though.  Have to protect the innocent of course.    Did I say innocent?    Hmmm again...   Like any intelligent man, my entire life I have let women lead the back and forth... They lead, I respond.    Never force it...  I read a blog recently about french kissing.   Very insightful.   Men would be smart to read it...   They will thank their lucky stars later if they do.

So... send your mind out, to places that you can call home in your memories.  Set your characters there, and then put them through the motions...   It will make writing more fun for you.   At least it does for me.

Big W the first - "motivating and doing"

I'm a writer.  I love to write, about anything, in any format and about a variety of subjects.    Okay, now I'm trying to be an author.   I guess.  I think.  

I've written two novels.  Both are set in Bermuda.   The first was a fluffy mystery/romance.  The second was a darker mystery/thriller.  They were a labor of love, I looked forward to writing and hated when I couldn't find the time to write.  I just published my 2nd one and am very, very excited to start my third.   I write for me.  It keeps my brain active.  But moreso, I just love thinking up scenes, plots, and what to do to my characters next.    Why do I write books based in Bermuda?  Well, I've been there about 12 times.  I love the 'British' feel of the island.   It's comfy, end to end.   The water is gorgeous, and the scuba diving among the shipwrecks around island pulls me back time after time.   The people there are amazing and polite.  I have always felt safe there, no matter where on the island I ventured.   The golf is tough, but I can take it.  Their grass is just 'more dense'   My nine iron has troubles with dense. 

My mom edits my books.  I think the process has brought us closer together.  She did my first one after it had been done and published.  Some dear friends told me it needed work.  I went to mom.  She worked in a school for 30 years and the English teachers brought her stuff to edit, so why couldn't I.    My dad told me that she was really excited and went out and bought a whole carton of red pens.  A carton?  Surely my novel wasn't that bad?   It wasn't.  She was just excited. 

My second book, I gave to my mom in pieces.   Do you as an author want motivation?   After the first 50 pages were edited she bugged me, cajoled me, hounded me for more content.  After 100 pages she pleaded...  "I need to know what happens next!!  Write faster!"    Those words were said about six months ago and I can still hear them as if they were yesterday.   She finally kept after me, motivating me, and I finished the book.   Other friends had read my first one and were politely asking and inquiring when the second was coming out.   It was very nice to hear, but not the same as mom's motivation.

So... now I've seen, I've written.   Now I'm trying to be an author.   Have read a lot about what to do.  Don't really think I'll ever be able to quit my day job and be a full time author.  But that doesn't keep me from trying.   A guy could have a worse hobby.   It's not an obsession.  I pay attention to those in my life that are dear to me, and do little special things for them.   I am well balanced, but I do have an overwhelming desire to have more people find my books and read them.   It's not about the money or prestige, just having your own book (pretty cover, nicely bound) in your hands is pleasure enough for me.  But, it's something I want to do.   So, I've gone on twitter, and now I've been reading about blogging and social blah blah blah networking.   Do you know what?  It's been extremely fun.  I've loved every connection I've made on twitter, and have chatted with some amazing people.

I met one person on twitter that said that I could do a guest blog on their page.  I'm not ready.  I'm not sure if it's an image thing, or reputation, or just the way I was brought up.   I want ANY words that I send to someone to post on their own site to be top-notch.   Interesting, engaging, and above all, entertaining.   So, I'm not ready.   But..... you know what?   Just someone offering for me to post on their blog was all it took.  The motivation and desire to do it.  Get it done.   So here I am.   That was yesterday, and now I have The Big W.    (there is no sexual double entrende in my blog name BTW)... my initials are W.W.W.      

Why did I do it?  Was it because of the kind words of that person?   Yes and no.   I'd been trying to weed through all the things out there that I was reading about.   Tried and sent off a couple requests to some guest blogging sites about travel and such.   Simple things that I could do easily.     So, I had all these things and thoughts rambling around in my head.   That person just seemed to center everything in for me.    A few kinds words, really nothing special, "you could guest post on my blog."    That was all it took.    I spent the next day reading a bunch of their posts on their site.   Very entertaining, insightful, and deeply felt.    Then I knew what I had to do next.   Do my own where I could ramble, experiment, and try this stuff out.  I had asked my IT guy to make a blog on my website (http://www.waynewhicher.com/), but he's too busy and I don't pay him anything, so it will be a few weeks I'm sure.  Then the heavens opened and I saw a small little link up in the corner of that person's site.  'Create Blog'    

Could it be that simple?  Yes.  It was.   Here I am.   Oh, I'm sure I don't have all the links that I should, and that it's not pretty enough yet.   Sexy enough.   Organized to 'truly maximize Social Optimization' or whatever.    Do you know what?  I don't care.   I'm enjoying myself and feel quite alive the last few days.  I only truly feel this good about writing when I sit down to start a novel and try to chart out how to start.  

Energized simply in the "doing."     Not everyone can motivate to do.  But try, and try, and don't sleep until you're happy that you're doing something.   Doesn't have to be the right something.    Never give up.   If you do then you should just spend every night in front of the TV, vegging out, before you have to go to bed, and get up and go to work and do it all over again.  Day in and day out.   Blah, blah, blah.   Not me.

Thank you to my motivators.   Hopefully I can return the favor.  As any intelligent man knows, it's in the giving, not the receiving.   This goes all the way back to elementary school, first girl crushes, and everything else in between.   Kissing, life, love, and just being there for someone to vent to.   The pleasure should be in knowing that you are turned to, thought about, and loved because you care.   Anyone who doesn't get it can get out of my life.   In any relationship that I ever had, I got more pleasure out of making the other person laugh, smile, and shiver moreso than anything else. 

For that one person in particular over the past couple days, I appreciate the kind words.   You weren't trying to motivate me, but you did.   Hopefully someday I will think that my words are as insightful as yours are and I'll send you something to guest on your site.   Until then, I'll enjoy reading your thoughts.   It's a simple thing in life, when someone you don't know, will never meet, and will never talk to other than through words electronically can motivate you.   I guess that is the true power of all these social online things.   

All this stuff I guess makes the world a better place for me.   But then again, I try to stay postive and deal in smiles.   But I'll save the closet romantic thoughts for another day.

My mom would be proud.