A sack

Last week as I was driving down the main street of the small town where I live, I noticed a lump on the sidewalk. A man stood over the pile of what looked to be dirty rags and clothes, looking about as if hoping to find something to cover him; he used the workout jacket he wore.
I am using the term clothes loosely as it relates what I saw by the elongated strips of soiled fabric stretching out from one end of the pile.
It wasn't until I caught sight of the other end that I knew it was the body of a man. His hair a matted mess of muddy brown. His cheeks gaunt.  Mouth agape. He looked as though he simply gave up while walking down the street. Thin to the point of being emaciated. Filthy enough his entire being seemed covered in oil as if he'd been exposed to a spill.
And dead.
The man, who I elevated to samaritan, was now on his cell phone. he was clean-shaven dressed in expensive brand name exercise wear (sans matching jacket), and clearly distraught. Why?
One reason, I was sure was that while he was trying to get help, four people walked straight by him and the body without a pause, not even a blink of an eye.
I remained at the red light, waiting for it to turn, noticing the occupants, of the cars around me, were all texting.
By the time it did, and the walk against the light people cleared the intersection (it's a thing here, you wait until the light turns and you slowly walk across the intersection blocking traffic), the emergency responders arrived.

I could hear sirens as I drove through the intersection. Police and Ambulance.

And still, no other person paid them any mind.

What have we become?

In a test of character, the participant is asked: who are you when nobody is looking?

Jesus or God or what-the-heck-ever you believe in,  is not our judge, we are our own. Our consciousness and subconsciousness build our character as we live our lives.
We can text, blog, post, and browse but all of these combined do not connect us with life or a solution. They pull us away and eventually dull humanity.

This death was not even counted in our daily body count (yes, we have one in the small town I live) as it is made up of the traffic, gang, and just plain violent acts with few natural causes listed.

The dead man was homeless and while I do think we need to abolish this state of life, I am more sickened by the growing lack of compassion.
The samaritan severed as a ray of hope. An ever so faint one. But sometimes that's all we get.

What would it take for someone to be walking along and be unable to even sit down, to just drop like a sack and die? Where did life fail him? When did it?
Not even a place to shower, clean his clothes, or get a bite, a single bite to eat.
A sack of dead.
Nothingness.

Finding the right spot

On writing:
I always thought when I retired I would hang out at my home and write, paint, and do the heck whatever I pleased.
Well, that isn't happening. So, I took charge and went out in search of just the right place.
Here's the thing, finding a place is not as easy as walking into a place, sitting down, and writing. A backup location is needed.
My local Starbucks works okay until the Yoga moms arrive with their nap-deprived children, then it's like trying to write in the middle of a war zone.
I went to another local coffeehouse and found the paid parking tweaked my attitude towards the place. I'll pay extra for the cup of coffee but not if I have to fork over money to park.
As a last resort, I tried the Starbucks inside my local Target. Success!
I have stopped in each day this week and think I have found my space. My only hope is that no one else does. Yes, I am selfish.
Backup: The other Starbucks.
Sorry, indie coffeehouse.
On handling things:
I discontinued my membership at the gym. They tried to convince me to stay. I almost fell for it. I dropped by for a swim. I left dry and with the screams of children (not sure whether they were happy or terrified screams) ringing in my ears.
The place did help me lose weight. Before they remodeled. Before they opened a swim school. I am sure some are applauding the changes. Not me.
One of my loves in life is Space, the final frontier.
This came into dock today.

The Falcon9, well, one of them. It found its spot.

Peace,

Hoping everyone finds their perfect spot.

The things People say that makes us think

Last Friday at my writer group, I was asked what did I learn at the conference I recently attended. I answered with my take on the amount of erotic sex in some of the mysteries as read by various authors at a gathering during the conference.
But, it got me to thinking. What did I take away from the conference? Deep down inside past all of the top of the head stuff, I realized exactly what.

1. That wearing pajamas and watching tv (any channel I wanted) is still a blast. I don't get to do this due to my living quarters being shared. I miss this.
2. Walking about freely in your living space is important to one's sanity. And one's writing. I found myself writing almost all night. Good stuff.
3. Doing what I darned well pleased.

I don't have writer's block; I have space issues.

But, life doesn't work according to our needs all of the time. Sometimes, it is about learning to deal with our surroundings. I thought I had. I haven't.

Last week, I made a promise to myself to get out of the house and not be so stubborn as to think if I stay I could make things change. All staying in the muck and mire did, was jam up my head. My story. My writing. My happiness.

Ah, happiness, the harder we strive for it; the further away it gets. Herding cats is easier than chasing happiness because somewhere along the way, you lose direction.  The journey becomes about making your surroundings (and the people in it) happy. And just like those cats running amuck, they don't want to be caught, herded, or made to do anything. Except maybe, drive you to the point of exhaustion and surrender. Alas, poor happiness, I never knew you.

And finally, I learned I am not only a pantser but an over-plotter as well. I got so much positive feedback.
One of the sessions was about overplotting.  After the second epiphany, I took a deep breath, and made a note: clean up and thin out plot lines. I spent the past week doing as my note ordered. In the end, I felt like I had cleaned out a catchall drawer.  I even thought my protagonist cheered. She's a gloomy sort but lovable.

And my final, finally, is: I learned I am still learning and darned proud of it.

Questions of the day

This post isn't about writing; it's about the state of my life and questions I need to be asking myself.
I have been on a weight loss journey for over a year and have used an online program with great success. The questions are: When is it time to cut the cord? Or should I ever? Will I ever lose the last 8lbs? Do I care?
If I had to answer each of these this morning; the results would be:
Now. Yes. Don't really care. No and yes.
The last one is the most important one.
We measure our lives in failures whether we want to or not. We drown our successes with them. Stomping them out like wildfires because it is easier to strive for success than to maintain one.
I believe it is referred to as "resting on our laurels"
Are we at war? Yes, with ourselves.
The paranoia and fear that rises with the mear thought of unsubscribing to my diet program is astounding. It shuts my entire day down at times.
I also have a gym membership that must go.
Do I do both of these things at the same time?
Why not?
I can't attend the gym because of the new, "teach screaming children how to swim with parents yelling on the sidelines like they're at a tee-ball game" program they have put in practice.
Try unwinding in the not-so-warm-pool (a remodel took the warmth away) with that crowd next to you. Add the elevated chlorine levels burning your skin, and you just don't want to be there. The place did help me on my weightloss journey but things change.
Okay, I could attend and just don't want to be around the chaos. It's unsafe for all parties. I don;t think they could hear a child in need. With 7 CPR saves and 10 near saves (that's where they did not die but have no quality of life), and about the combined amount of fails. The "fails" stay with you more than the "nears" and way more than the successes. Just like life, except you can walk away from a job.
Rule: Never walk away in life. Never quit. Never give in. Never, never, never.
Next question:
Why if I outline a story, do I feel like I have written it and move on to another? I am not ging to stick to an outline because it is more like brain dumping.
Two weeks ago, I learned that I am not alone in this; hence, pantsers are born.
I need help page by page and have a wonderful tough group who helps with this.
It is my head that acts like a high-speed blender and attacks my work. Learning to concentrate on the "KISS" principle in my work would be grand.
More than likely in my life as well.
Peace out and write on,

The way life looks.

Update:
Went to gym. Apparently, I was not the only complaining. Mornings are "adults only" received a free month to see if I want to stay. I have given me a week to go twice or I quit.
Online diet? Same thing. Free month to gradually wean myself off of the program.

Do I feel a sense of accomplishment?
Hells no.

Sometimes life doesn't let us sever ties as quickly as we would like.

Peace and love.

After CCWC, What the conference left

For the last week, I have been reading other posts about the things they took away from the Crime Writers Conference.

Mostly about things they heard.

This is about what I felt and experienced.

The first evening was insane. I almost left. Why? It was like jumping from a cliff filled with the belief you won't fall. Writers are a solitary bunch, for the most part, so arriving with no idea of what to expect left me with no idea of how to find a writer.
Dinner proved as elusive. The restaurant was behind a wall, a dark foreboding wall. There was an open loungey looking area, filled with people. Since writers do not have Plumbobs dangling over their heads, I had no idea the people before me were writers, Crime Writers. I retired to my room and ordered room service to regroup.
Being a steadfast believer in making myself do the uncomfortable, I returned to the loungey area and found the nightclub (Glorious Art Deco Den) and walked into the sardine can.
A myth was exposed. The readings contained more X-rated material than you can find on Cinemax. Myth: Mysteries do not contain explicit sex.
I managed to stay and enjoy for about 30 minutes before feeling uncomfortable in many ways. Erotica is Erotica no many how many people get murdered.
Takeaway: Write your story

The next morning went much better thanks to copious amounts of coffee and stellar organization.
Loaded up on free books, not free books, and coffee (continental breakfast too) I proceeded to my first session.

The choices were amazing.
I chose the FBI and law enforcement session.
I thought I did so to learn. Nope. It was to see if my background still applied. It did.
I did attend and Author and Agent session, which I fully enjoyed.
As the day progressed, I met people, writers. Turns out I wasn't the only uncomfortable one there or in real life. I am a listener, and I listened, to the echoes of my inner feelings popping up all around me.
Wow. I am not alone.
A fellow writer asked what I write. First, I said, Soft Boiled Noir.
She smiled and said, so Noir.
I told her and sort of inadvertently pitched my story to a nearby agent in doing so. Later she said, You are your story.
See I started with my Vegas story blurb and went from there to telling the writer about my day as an EMT in rural Nevada and my jobs in Nevada. Without realizing it, I pitched me.
Why?
Because I am the story. I don't make this stuff up, well, for the most part.
Takeaway: Write what you know.

Lastly, was the positive energy. Wow. Did I mention the positive energy? Double wow.

Acceptance is a powerful thing. More powerful if it is sincere.

I got to hang with some heavy hitters aka authors. Amazingly, they are people. Really cool people.
My Kindle "to read" pile is overloaded now.

Since returning, I have cherished the afterglow and inner confidence. I am being selfish with my time. My writing time.

Oh, one last thing: 100% of the writers I spoke with said:
Never let anyone read an unfinished work because it will remain so. Apparently, they might be plotters with a bit of pantser stuck in there for good measure. Never let anyone rush you (not even if you have a contract).
Do force yourself to write every day, even if it sucks.

Holly S.
oh and I have struggled for an author name. My family has led to:
Titus Sweany

I like it. Ties that bind. Roots, good solid roots.

The Fall Equinox is today

Yay! Another season begins! And I'm alive!
Kicks imaginary leaves from the pile I just raked up in my head.


I guess that's why sunrise if so blooming late.

The good part is the chill on the morning breeze and crispness in the air after four days of humid swelter.
Mother Nature has a standard of excellence. Damn the torpedos and full speed ahead into Fall.

We all should live this way.

There are a million quotes on when the going gets tough the tough get going.

The populous test nature's resilience every day. She will survive.

Will we? Will you?

It's not about plastic bags or straws; it's about every part of everything. Co-existing.

Something we can't even do with our personal beliefs. How do we expect to save a planet that we can't even agree on how the planet should be let to exist. We want all people to be the same. We want. We want. We want.
Be like us, not you, you're wrong.
Stifle it.
Be whatever you want or what you need to be to be happy.
(Unless this entails murder.)

I watched, Emeril Eats the World, the most ridiculous title for a show in a long time, last night.
The episode in South Korea. Where he travels to meet Jeong Kwan, a Zen Buddhist nun and the show evolves to something special. A spiritual journey. 

.Listen to what the nun says.

Fall Equinox
Mabon
Thursday
This day is yours to live.

The Memory of a Friend

It has been one year since I saw my friend. The thought I will never see her again consumes my thoughts at times. There are moments I dwell in memories and it makes me smile.

We knew each other's darkest secrets and kept them like precious jewels.

She thought she was the world's biggest failure. Even in success. She had all of the positive beaten out of her by her father and all the want sucked dry by her mother. All that remained was what matters most in life, goodness, kindness, and a gentle spirit.

She soared beyond expectations. And never knew.

She dressed in a veil of humility but was the most courageous person you'd ever meet.

In awe of the beauty of nature, she walked among the flowers and trees as one.

Her weakness was the unwanted. Dogs, cats, or birds left behind or dropped off on a strange street; they soon found refuge in the blue house with the broken garage door left purposely unrepaired so that those in need might enter.  She kept all of them until their final breaths.

She never asked for favors, only gave.

Even to cancer.

When it came for her brilliant mind, she stood nobly before it and asked only the time to say goodbye.
Her call to me felt like one of our coffee talks. We talked of trips we would never take, homes we would never know, and our friendship. The thing we kept without fail. Tho at times distant but never far. And one promise we'd made long ago: live our lives as best we can and dream to make it better.

 Until the end of the conversation when she apologized for not being able to continue as her memory of all things was being erased.

It's okay dear friend, I will always remember you.

Always.
As this branch cradles the full moon, I hold my memories of a precious jewel lost.