The Door Is Open To My Children

 

 

 

    A first fan recently asked "how will your children know they can contact you?"

    A valid question. Estrained from me for years, they have been told information without opportunity for rebuttal, or correction. My hope is that they have better judgement than their mother.

    Before we were married thei rmother and I were walking on a beach and a couple passed us in the other direction. It was her Father whom she had not seen for years. After preliminary conversation She was compelled to find out more, to discover if the stories that She was told by her Mother were true. When She reached out to her Father, then validated the versions, it was apparent that Her Mother had lied to her about her Father, for Her entire life.

    Unable to live with the truth that She had been lied to all her life - by her Mother - she cut off all future contact with her Father.

    History is not here for us to like but exists to teach us. To not recognise or consider that there might have been an alternative explanation, is to doom yourself to replicate history.

    I should have recognized that moment.

    I did not.

    Today, I have no ide where my children are, who they are, or if they are alive.

    Should they find their way here, the answer is yes, your Father will have conversations with you if you reach out, for of the two of us, I am the only one who has left the door open for you to find me.

The Voices of Australia

 

         After a five year absence I have returned to Australia, via the most oblique route I could orchestrate. I had other reasons for part of the journey which on the first night was not a success, from my chair. I should have been...better.

    The birds this morning were the cockatoos and the rainbow lorikeets. In California, all the birds are motley brown and have no voice. Here, each have their own unique voice, much like the people of Australia. Not surprising, I am having trouble with the Australian accent this trip that I've not had before.

    I hear the words but do not comprehend the message.

    I'm having to ask for the verbiage to be repeated second and third times.

    I no longer speak the language of my home.

    I am not even sure that there is a fit for me, here, anymore.

    

Happy Birthday Chickybabe

 

 

 

    Happy birthday Chickybabe.

    When the darkness settles on the edge of town, and the invisible lamplighters go to work, I think of you.

    I think of you in the dark and in the light.

    My hope is that one day, you will step out of your own darkness into the light of illumination.

    Happy birthday, Chickybabe. 

 

I Had No ...

    

    I had not recognized that I had not written in the calendar year of 2022 as yet.

    I had not known that I had not written until I was asked why I had not written.

    I had no answer to why I had not written when I had written in the year.

    I had not realized that other had noticed that I had not written until they mentioned that they were looking for my writings.

    I had no fans before I wrote my stories and now that I have fans the stories must continue to be wrote. 

Happy Birthday Ming

 

Happy birthday Ming.

It's a been a long time since we last spoke. I can't recall how long it is. I recall what was said, and how I was away.

In the last sixty days I've lost the man who taught me to parent, a parent I cared for and a co-parent. I kept to myself since I got here because of the damage that was done before I left.

How's your Goddaughter? You might know more than I, but the loss of the girls broke me. 

I went back to work on my book last week. In particular, I changed the part where I mentioned you and your wife. I had not used your names through the first few drafts - not because I didn't want to, but because I felt that you and D didn't need the "publicity" that might come when the book came out. I prefer to think of the two of you as the couple who could point to the book and go "he's talking about us there." There is a section where your words read "If he comes here, it's because no one else believe in him."

I have change it, to include your name, not because the words have changed, the relationship has changed. You were #thefirstfan and people should know, even if it's not the case now.

Happy birthday Anthony, from your fan. Your friend. 

I Write

  I write.

  I write about my children, about Parental Alienation, about the unfairness in the post divorce world towards Fathers. But until this week, I have never written about my ex wife.

  Not so much of my ex wife, but more of her actions. The actions that she learned as a child from her mother, which she replicated to our children. Twenty two years after our divorce, I look at what my ex wife has done to our children, and see the similarities that her mother did to her.

  The cycle has to stop.

  And it does with me.

  I write.

  I write about my children, about Parental Alienation, about the unfairness in the post divorce world towards Fathers. But until this week, I have never written about my ex wife's parental alienation of our children.

All of Them

  Some time ago, probably months, I had a Dear Old Friend write of their current relationship.

  "They won't leave me."

  The commentary hit home, because, they All leave me.

  All, are the important women in my life.

  Mother. Wife. Daughters. Girlfriend.

  In my Dear Old Friend's relationship, their Partner wont be leaving them. Good for them. They deserve second (or third) opportunities.

  For readers, I have been caring for my Mother in Law for several months. Another important woman in my life about to leave me. Once again, powerless to stop it.

  My Dear Old Friends comment was right. Might not apply to me, but for them, it's good enough.

 

Demons, On Arrival

  Demons can come in all shapes and forms. For some, it's nightmares creating the sensation in their sleep. For others, it's a fear of depths

  For me, it's returning to a land that is unfamiliar. Unfamiliar as I still call the place my homeland.

  People I no longer recognize, places I no longer identify with, roads that did not exist. Feelings long swept away come rushing back with the only familiar demon I recognize.

  The water. The surf. The river. And the bay.

  168 hours is not enough.I shall need to return for less glorious reasons, but for this nightmare, 168 hours was more than enough time for the Demon On Arrival.

Demons, Awaiting the Arrival

  All writers abhor going home.

  For some, it's a case of not having achieved enough. For others, it's a case of facing the music on what they have achieved.

  For I, it's facing the demons.

  I have looked at photographs and not recognized my hometown. I have examined a map and not know locations. I have emailed others, to be greeted by non response.

  The demons are awaiting my arrival.

The Wayside

In a few days, I will be celebrating a birthday.

When I was a new Dad, birthdays were events that were planned weeks in advance. Travel, dining, and if required, accommodation. First my eldest, and then later joined by her younger sister, they would be "moments" of togetherness.

And they were only moments. Those togetherness moments went by the wayside once the separation and the divorce began. Years later, although remarried, they are still by the wayside.

Not All Bad

Not all bad things have evolved from this period.

Yesterday I was able to submit a feature article, the first such submission in almost three years. Why?

For the past three years I have been gainfully employed in an industry that pays for a forty hour week and demands a hundred hour week. Between the Southern California commute and sleeping, I can examine almost every aspect of my life that has been vanquished for the industry. It is not wonder now that my body is sleeping more, recovering from the damage that has been exerted.

That doesn't pay the bills though.

Not out of the woods yet.

I'll get there after I have a nap. 

Counting On A Miracle

  Earlier this week I received a private message from a person whom knows, how shall I say, my history. They provided me with some information about my eldest daughter. When I went to verify the information, their report was confirmed and the last known connection that I had to my children, was now gone.

  So, once again, in the words of Bruce Springsteen, "I'm counting on a miracle, to come through."

Plagued By The Memories

Plagued by the memory of the women in my life.

They show up in my novellas. They show up in my memoirs.

The show up in my nightmares.

Sometimes, they collaborate on the issues that haunt me.

I'm Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

Houston, we have a problem.

Nothing as dramatic as the O2 panel exploding off the outer skin en route to the moon.

Nothing as devastating as Cyclone Tracy on Christmas Eve.

Proportionally, just as devastating.

My writing laptop took 25 minutes to boot up today and another 7 minutes to open a browser window.

I'm gonna need a bigger boat.

Or a new laptop.

In Bruce We Trust

Bruce Springsteen had his first hit in Australia with "Born To Run". The track was met with moderate success until the advent of FM radio, where the crisp and clarity of transmission put it into perspective. When "Born in the USA" was released, it became clear that Springsteen was tormented by women in his life. "Tunnel of Love" being the benchmark.

The internet has given insights into the writings of Bruce, as we, fans, can now delve back and discover the trauma in his life - predominately created by relationships - and how it was covered in his writings.

Writers, it seems, capture the essence of the their relationships, in their words.

And so while reviewing some previously written material, I discovered that traits of certain women in my life had found their ways into my words. Some it was the way they wore their hair, others it was their toxic relationship with their mother, and most always included the trauma of being a father.

I never considered it before today but it appears that Springsteen was one of the most influential writers in my life.

In Bruce We trust.

Science Fiction, Memoirs and Relationships

Three weeks into the new year and what have I learned form the Writers Lament?

I've learned that I have not protected my writing time enough.

Until such time that i can rest on my laurels (and royalties) I have to continue to write.  Sometimes it's not for the money, today is was for the message for my children.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

I was a father to two.

I still am, but my daughters don't know it. I continue to write about what has gone on, and what their father has lived through in their absence.  One day, when I am gone, they will read about really happened.

Until then I continue to write.

Science fiction. Memories. Relationships.

Three subjects I am apparently, not very good at.

Writer's Lament for 2017

At this time in December,  most people look back on their accomplishments and make resolutions for the next year

As a writer, 2017 was the first year I did not have a major publication. How did this happen?

In December 2016 I received a new assignment at my employment. That task was a lot of creation and documentation. I was just getting the place secure when in July I received another assignment. That, my current assignment, has blacked out my writing time as I grapple with sixteen hours days seven days a week.

Not that it's an excuse, but it robbed my writing time. Lesson learned: protect my writing time.

T'was not as though I did not write, I wrote in the moments that I could, in the arenas I am comfortable with, in the genres I tried. I just didn't "follow through" and spec enough to have a major publication.

2018 will need several major publications.

Happy New Year.

Why I Write

I write not to release the demons within me,

But rather to resolve the conflict the demons have brought.

What I Do, What I Write

Next week, I travel interstate for a conference which pertains to my "day job". While it is no secret about what I do - a quick search of Google will show that - there is very little writing about my work.

Conversely, twenty years ago, I was in an environment which now has numerous appearances in a variety of genres - self help, family, motivation and science fiction. How is that I was able to turn a career into profitable works?

I wrote about work.

The New York Times in 2014 wrote that "just being a novelist is a lot harder than it looks". Never has this been more apparent when people inevitable ask me what I do to support my writing. Again, it's no secret, but what I actually do - well, that needs to stay on the 'down low'.

This week I started working on a piece of speculative fiction and several thousand words in, I recognized that had I been sitting at a Starbucks writing, (as most writers seem to be identified as commencing there) any Tom, Dick or terrorist in the area would have been able to see "what I actually do".

Delete.

Our Nations Security, is far more important, than anything that I might write in the imaginative world of the Saturn Sector.

Force Majeure of Parental Alientation

Each week, I look at the bank page where my blog resides and try to decide what stains will grace it.  Mostly, this blog alternates between the development of the writer within me, the injustices orchestrated against fathers, and occasionally, recent events in my personal life.

This week all three managed to combine into a "force majeure" event, a phrase normally associated with a contract where certain circumstances beyond their control make either party unable to fulfill their obligations.

Acts of God, natural disasters, civil war are the big three that most think of. Sometimes it can be the mental grind.

This week I had to take on the State of California and the Commonwealth of Australia as, once again, their errors which are compounded with automatic penalties, were once again identified as inaccurate. The State acknowledges that the error occurred, but claims it has no authority to correct it. At the same time, they report that they are legislated to act on a thirty (30) day response. The Commonwealth of Australia report that they have no recourse when payment is not made, but must continue to act until so resolved.

No one wants to take responsibility, but will proceed regardless rather than redress the error. Sounds like a poor parenting plan. And it is.

Having championed the cause, I have returned home to receive correspondence from my native country addressed to my daughter at her mother house. Apparently, her mother can receive payments for our daughter at that mailing address, but when a gift from me is sent to our daughter, it is marked "return to sender".

It was only in recent years that I found a name for the "force majeure" of my life.  It's called Parental Alienation. And it's taught by the evil mothers to our children, learned from their mother.

Wickedness, repeats history. As done to the mother of our children, so is now done to our children.