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.

One Last Time

  Thanksgiving is upon us, and shortly, Christmas. Between the two is my father's birthday.

  I am grateful for my Father's health, that I have one more opportunity to be with him on his birthday. Dad was away on Exercise with the Army while I was growing up, that I rarely shared his, or my, birthday with him.

  As my daughters were growing up, I made it a point. Being so far away from own grandparents growing up, I never saw them either.

  Now that I live 7752 miles from my father, it's not such a simple task to drop by. It's certainly a lot further than my Grandparents ever traveled to see me.

  Not everyone gets "one last time" to go home.

Holiday Seasons

  Halloween is over. There is even a house a couple of streets away from me that has their Christmas lights up.

  I neither decorated for Halloween, nor handed out any candy. The house was dark and I didn't participate.

  I may not participate either in Thanksgiving or in Christmas this year.

  Thanksgiving is a time of family coming together. Christmas is a time of good will to all. In a moment of enlightenment, this will be the first holiday season that I will not know where my children are.

  My traditional holiday destination of Chesterfield Inlet is looking colder, this year. 

Not Being Stephen King

  I was recently approached by a fan - a First Fan - with a request to supply a book for one of their friends. The Other Person is a fan of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series in which I have made a number of published contributions

  I agreed to supply the book.

  Whilst searching through the Contributor's Copies of a number of books in which I have appeared, I began to think about what should I write to the Other Person as an Author Dedication. The First Fan has asked me for a copy to introduce my writing to one of their friends - should I include the First Fan by name in the dedication? Perhaps it would be better only to dedicate it the Other Person? Maybe I should include my business card to legitimize the dedication?

  Did Stephen King have these dilemmas early in his career, and how did he handle them? I sincerely doubt that King has these quandary's now - he has a staff to help and guide. For me, it's a one person show.

  Perhaps that's the benefit of not being Stephen King. I don't have to sign thousands of books at mass events where people line up for hours. I don't have a room full of books that will need generic signatures before being shipped out. I still have that intimate fan base, where all (most of) my Fans are known to me personally.

  Not being Stephen King may have an advantage.

  I wonder if King ever sits around at book signings and asks himself "when is the next person that I know by name, going to show up."

  I would suggest that those people that King knows by name, are his First Fans that he took care of in the early years, and still takes care of now. They don't have to show up at book signings - he sends them First Copies.

  I'll write the First Fan into the dedication.

  Maybe one day King will ask me to write a dedication for him.



  

...so I contintinue to write.

  Google Plus is gone. Another batch of writings lost to technology..

  I write on paper - with a pencil. It's more enduring that a pen. It's more comforting that dipping into an ink well.

  Over the years I have owned numerous writing implements - all have been damaged long after the gift giver has left me. So I continue to use pencil and paper. The log books from the years are numerous.

  The diary to my eldest daughter is the only one which has ceased.

  In another part of my personal life, I am caring for a another, approaching end of life. It is, tiring.

  So I continue to write.

I Always Knew It Was Coming

  There are moments in time, where everything changes. When you know that nothing will ever be the same again. Sometimes, you get real quiet, as it was an unexpected event.

  Sometimes you get real quiet, because you always knew it was coming - and then once it arrives, you immediately recognize it for what it was.

  Several weeks ago, my father reached out to the mother of my children, attempting to get in contact with my daughters. The mother of my daughters said she would pass the message on.

  My father never heard from my daughters. He, too, has become the grandparent affected by parental alienation.

  Yesterday, the mailman arrived and made rounds. In the mail for me, was the birthday card I had sent my eldest daughter, in May of this year. It was marked "no longer at this address".

  The last point of contact for my children has now gone.

  Everything changes now. Nothing will ever be the same again. I got real quiet. I always knew it was coming.

Story Goes to Slashdot

Story goes viral.

Today, the San Diego Reader published my story on the nationwide outage affecting the receipt of pay for Uber drivers.

The story was picked up on Slashdot and has gone viral.

A piece of work created by me now appears on  /.  a site that I read every day.

Thank you to both the Reader and Slashdot.