insert clever title here

I'm just coming down from one of my children's 3rd birthday party. It's now 11.56 pm. All in all it has been a very successful day of being a father. I swam with the 3 year old, played quasi-father to my fiancee's best friends 4 year old. I spent time building legos and a Thomas the Train track which was overly complicated.

I then took the dog for a walk to pay our babysitter money owed then came back and not only did I watch an old 80s movie (Can't Buy Me Love) with my honey, I also stepped up my Dad game by helping cheer up my now 7 year old and get her back to sleep after a nightmare attack of being chased by ghosts.

"Goats?" I asked.
"No, ghoath," she replied with a small lisp as her two front teeth are now gone.
"Goats?" I repeated.
"Ghoath," she repeated again, not aware yet that I was teasing her.
"Ghost goats? Why are you afraid of ghost goats?"

By this time she had started to smile and after getting her a glass of water, a cold wet cloth for her head, removing the bobbing balloon that was scaring her from her room, closing the bathroom door so it wouldn't creak and leaving the light on a little bit, not to mention the good night kiss, I went back down to finish watching the movie with my wonderful soon-to-be wife who frequently comments on how wonderful a father I am and how much she loves me despite be being fired last Tuesday.

We finished the movie and went to bed where I waited until I thought she was asleep, petting an aging cat who I am totally ambivalent about but for some reason also wanted to get in on providing me some love by pushing her wet nose onto my chest. Once asleep, I snuck down here, perhaps to work on my writing.

EaFoM2 has been going slow but it's getting organized a bit better. I still have some holes to fill and I'm getting a bit too involved in the logistics of the society/world I am creating. However, I did do a rough chapter of someone glad to stop having to live a life he was hating. That was kind of fun. I like those short bits better but I realize I need to get through the main story.

And I'm procrastinating on that so I better at least attempt something.

Later, 12.07am

Karmageddon Archives 3 AB

A recurring theme in author interviews is apparently the stereotypical question 'Where do you get your ideas?'

Although to be fair, nobody has ever asked that of me.

They might say 'What the hell are you talking about?' or 'You're fucked up.'

Anyways, I had a thought the other day that it would be good to make some notes on the topic, especially as it relates to my chapters. It's basically a behind the scenes DVD-type bonus section. I honestly believe there should be more of these in books and I wish there were more for the classics I have read.

I do know John Steinbeck wrote letters to his editor about what was going on. That would be interesting to read.


In the Chapter titled 'By Presidential Decree'. 

Genesis - I was driving to work behind a car with a strange Alberta license plate. Over here in BC, there is an annual summer migration of the Red Plates, a name given to Albertans with their distinctive white plates with red lettering. Anyways this license plate wasn't red nor a local BC plate. Curious, I creeped closer at a stoplight and saw it to be a military plate with the inscription 'Support Our Troops'. There was also a picture of a little yellow ribbon that was all the rage when ribbons manufacturers were pushing them out like dot.com startups. But, like the dot.com bubble, so too did the ribbon making bubble burst. But that is for another time. 

So I'm thinking of how loaded that 'Support Our Troops' statement is (and I've thought it for years). Support our Troops. The subtext is they are the lowest on the army chain of command anyways, right? People like you and me. Why wouldn't you support these people that have so much pride in their country they are willing to die for what it's leaders want them to do?

But logically, why don't they have a Support our Leaders slogan with it's own ribbon? Doesn't that really make more sense? Our Troops is an abstract concept with no face to it. A leader has a face, someone we can identify with. But troops are nameless, camouflage wearing death machines when it comes down to it. I know, it's very Orwellian and not very original but there's that seed... what if it was a Support Our Leaders license plate?

So all I had was this idea that the joke is a President in a country with no followers needed to do a Public Relations campaign. Something to get people's heads back on straight, to remind them what America was built on. Apathy was destroying the continent because nobody supported anyone anymore. He needed support by his countrymen.

Mind you, the set-up for this one note joke took about 6 pages I believe and as I'm writing to set up this joke I discover the President's Aides are all New Hires with little to no experience, realize very few people have any idea what's on the Oval Office ceiling, there is an official Presidential Pet Groomer, and that GWB has tagged the Oval Office during his 2nd term.

And all this because some Alberta military guy was driving in front of me on the way to work.

Karmageddon Archives 1 Group Meeting

When Your Characters Hold A Group Meeting Without You. (3/18/16)

"Okay everybody, let's sit down and figure out who's here," said Otter Larkin, the de facto leader of the assembled group of holocaust survivors and the one who probably has the most lines.

"Who is leading this meeting anyways? You?" asked Jack Steele, squinting out of his one good eye. His other one was covered by an eye patch. Although he was indirectly the reason for the nuclear holocaust he wasn't at that stage of taking responsibility for his actions.

"I think it should be me," said the one directly responsible for the holocaust, Jacques LaPlante. He had a large scar covering most of his forehead, a result of the smokestack falling on him. He also had an eye patch. The two were sitting side-by-side, yin and yang.

"Yeah, I don't think anyone is really talking to you right now," said Steele, "as far as most people know, you're still dead."

Ruby and Violet took seats behind La Plante in a show of solidarity. Violet was LaPlante's right-hand woman and childhood babysitter. Ruby was his daughter who until recently was in a casual relationship with Steele. He didn't know the relationship was casual so it came as a big surprise that immediately after Steele decided to give up being an American super-cop for the Canadian daughter of his arch-enemy, she tried to kill him. Ruby and Violet were the ones who set the Forty Plus Four in action so while it could be said LaPlante was responsible for the holocaust, it was actually Ruby and Violet who pushed the button so to speak.

Of course, nobody from the Forty Plus Four was there as they were all martyred in the nuclear blasts that lead to the giant free for all among the world's nations.

Lana Redfeather stood on a picnic table. As far as Native women went, Lana was a trailblazer and natural matriarch despite being in her mid-twenties. She carried herself with a sense of self-dignity and leadership and as such, it made her an intimidating figure in their stories.

"We need to figure out why we are all here, where we are going. I don't think the Great Storyteller has any idea. He needs our help."

"The Great Storyteller needs our help? That's ironic." This came from the French survivalist, Turgeon. Nobody knew if he had a first name which was one of the little idiosyncrasies of The Great Storyteller.

"Perhaps, but it's true. The Great Storyteller has lost the thread of our stories, I think. It's the reason why we are all here," Lana turned to the assembled others that were watching the gathering with interest. "If you aren't part of any major storyline, please go back to Wee Danpot."

"What about Bluenose City?" asked someone.

"Someone has a point," said Otter Larkin, "I don't know at which Gate I am stationed, is it Bluenose City or is it Wee Danpot?"

"All I know is that I am with Otter," said Chris Cross, who had yet to be fully fleshed out and so was just a hazy blur in the background.

"Right, and I think I am the bad guy," said Turgeon, "but I haven't done anything really bad as far as I know. I mean I killed some bad guys but that's about all."

"Yeah, he did. I saw it," said a woman with crazy in her eyes, "and with the Dickhead gone, I became leader of a horde... well, not really a horde but definitely a gang or tribe or whatever The Great Storyteller wants to call us."

"And Cross and I apparently killed a bunch of handicapped people," said Otter, not looking happy about it.

"Yes, you did," two voices said in tandem, the mother-daughter team of Sarah and Selina, although their names may have changed, "we came for help and instead you killed them all."

"Okay, that sounds troubling," said Lana, "then what happened?"

"Nothing so far," said Sarah, the mother, "I don't know what's happened to us."

"I know we are still alive," said maybe-Selina, "in fact because I'm of a good breeding age. I might have a thing for Otter, but I doubt it. I'm a witness/survivor to a multiple murder so I think I am feeling a bit too conflicted about being in love with him. No offense Otter."

Otter shrugged. It was his job as a Gate Keeper to make the tough calls on behalf of the survivors of Wee Danpot. Or Bluenose City. They didn't have any resources to care for those who couldn't care for themselves. Sarah and Selina had not realized that the crew of handicapped individuals they were caring for were already dead. It was Otter and Cross's responsibility to make it fact. The greater good.

Tristan and Turner spoke up from one side of the circle.

"I think Turner should change his name to something less ... white," said Tristan. "I mean, he's our native step-brother after all Lana. We should probably have The Great Storyteller address that."

"Yeah, I agree. I don't like the name."

"Fine, Turner, we will change your name to something more of your personality, like... David."

Turner-now David - shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay, so we have you -" she pointed at Jack Steele, "needing some resolution with the LaPlantes."

Steele and LaPlante glared at each other, eye patch to eye patch.

"Turgeon, we need to figure out how you are the bad guy. I think you and Otter should have some conflicting ideas of job performance. That sounds promising."

"What about you?" asked Turgeon. "You can't be the lead character for The Great Storyteller if you don't have your own story."

Lana nodded. "Yeah, I agree. All I know is I slept through the holocaust and have shown remarkable leadership skills in taking stock of the situation and getting a band of survivors out of town. Speaking of, where's Flint?"

Flint Freejack popped out of the crowd.

"Hey cuz," said Flint.

"What's your story?"

"Don't know. Right now I'm just being the messenger for La Plante, getting the 1% of people who haven't been affected by Karma to understand what has happened."

"Anything else?"

"Not yet, as far as I know. I believe Boogie and Uwe are also in this story somewhere but haven't seen them."

"Right. And what about those who don't care anymore? The 99% affected by Karma?" she turned to La Plante.

"Don't look at me. I guess they are still out there. Millions of them are innocent casualties of course but you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs."

"So they are all on their own?"

"Pretty much. I don't think The Great Storyteller should spend too much time on them. He needs to focus on us."

"True," mused Lana, a stoner-created nuclear holocaust is a big subject, each person would be a story in itself. Best to concentrate on this small corner of the universe. "Turgeon, what are you planning?"

"I don't know. Probably killing a lot of innocent people. I think I am working to keep Wee Danpot isolated from any re-organization with the outside world."

"Okay, that's a start. Anybody else? LaPlante?"

"I honestly don't have anything planned. I still in a bit of shock my daughter and nanny released the Forty Plus Four. And I think I have some post-concussion symptoms from when that smokestack fell on my head."

"Right," said Lana, "and if I recall, I am going to be going out into the world, try making contact with other survivors."

"And I'm going to become the new face of law enforcement," said Steele, "a lot of moral decay will be happening out there. People who have no fear of consequences, the strong preying on the weak kind of thing."

"Right, the other 1%," said Flint. "For every good, there is a bad."

"Big theme right there," said Otter, "classic storyline. Good vs. bad."

"Yeah, but is Turgeon enough to be 'bad'? I mean, it sounds like he's just trying to maintain a certain status quo, protect the town of Wee Danpot-"

"or Bluenose City," interrupted Turgeon.

"Or Bluenose City from outside influence."

"Besides there are the Dregs or whatever he decides to call them; the roaming gangs of cop-bandits."

"Yeah... I guess, but I think The Great Storyteller put them in as a bit of a wild card. I don't think The Storyteller wants to make things that black and white."

"Is there anyone we are missing?"

"Well, let's do roll call and perhaps our story line. Maybe that will help. I'll start."

Lana looked out at the assembled crowd circling the core group.

"I'm Lana Redfeather. I'm leading a band of survivors out of the town of Vernon (I think) to Wee Danpot, based on Flint's recommendation. I don't know if my step-brothers are coming with me because they were playing video games last I checked." She looked over at the two.

"We're Tristan and David, formerly Turner. We are a couple of Karma burnouts so we will probably tag along with our older sister, only because we have nothing better to do."

"I'm Otter Larkin. I have a brother named Sturgeon who hasn't appeared yet. I'm a Gate Keeper, along with Cross. I'm basically a good guy who makes the tough choices. I don't really have any story right now other than manning the gate."

"And I'm Cross, I'm his partner and also have no story line other than manning the Gate."

"I'm Turgeon, a loner survivalist who is also manning The Gate. I don't know which Gate however. I want to keep either Wee Danpot or Bluenose City pure from outside influences. So I also make the tough decisions nobody wants to make."

"Hey, everybody! Sorry I'm late. I'm Stuart? I came into Wee Danpot with Jack Steele?" 

Stuart had a bad habit of making facts into questions. "I am a Karmafarian on a pilgrimage to Wee Danpot. I made it and now have nothing to do. I'm apparently one of 274 other Stuarts that felt they needed to make a pilgrimage to Wee Danpot. I'm also Ruby's ex-fiance."

"Right. I met Stuart after coming out of the woods from my ..." here Jack Steele paused, looking over at Ruby who pointedly ignored him, "holiday." he finished. "I don't know my purpose other than to go back to Wee Danpot, find out LaPlante is alive and find out what happened."

"And I don't really know what happened," said LaPlante, "until Ruby and Violet come in and tell me they activated the Forty Plus Four. Perhaps out of a sense of loss? I don't know if that has been clearly explained yet."

"Fine, I'm next," said Ruby, standing up so everyone could see why Jack Steele chose to leave America and all he and it stood for in order to be with this woman, "I'm Ruby, I'm Jacques' daughter, an award-winning horticulturist, inventor of Karmajuana and former beauty queen."

"And I'm Violet Farmer," said the older one as Ruby sat back down, "I was Annie's nanny way back when he went by the name of Annie, and I nursed Jacques back to health."

"Okay," said Lana, "that's about it then?"

"Not so fast," said a voice from the outside. "What about me?"

"And us? The Great Storyteller has a grand story to tell about us," said a couple holding 

hands, stepping out of the ring of observers.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Cash and this is Olivia, The Great Storyteller was working on our story."

The first voice spoke up.

"Wait, The Storyteller was working on my story, I'm Detective Bennett."

"I'm part of Detective Bennett's story too. I'm Jeff Fontaine...I think. Fontaine, definitely. I don't remember my first name."

"Hell, I don't even know my name but I know I am in Bennett's story too. It's a murder mystery told in three different viewpoints."

Lana stared at the three men and the woman.

"Yeah... I don't think you are involved in this. I think you two only complicate things. Best let the Great Storyteller concentrate on one thing at a time. And right now, I think it's us."

The four drifted back like ghostly fog into the outside circle.

"Um, excuse me? We're part of your story too. I think we are Gate Keepers but haven't been given names. I'm a Gate Keeper also called The Lead and he's the Rookie," said an old man, pointing to a wide-eyed young man beside him. "In fact, we haven't been told much other than we give people a symbolic and ironic choice on where they wish to go; to the old way or the new way."

"Yeah, it's a Catch 22 of sorts for some people," said the Rookie.

"Okay, we will get to you later," said Lana. "Let's work on the main story first. And that would be me, Steele and Larkin. Our antagonists are .... me vs. the world, I guess? Steele vs LaPlante, although I don't see any more conflict there at the moment. And Otter vs Turgeon, which seems the most promising."

"Maybe Turgeon creates his own band of survivors? Tries to take over Wee Danpot?"

"I don't know," said Turgeon, "I'm more of a Lone Wolf. I don't think I would do well in a group environment."

"Okay...what about I'm assigned to try and track you down because you are destroying our attempts at rejoining the human race?"

"Closer. I'll see if I can come up with something better. I need to figure out what my end goal is."

"Hi everyone," said another Native man, also late to the party. Behind him was a band of Indians. 

"I'm Clayton Sparrow. I'm leading this group somewhere but I don't know where."

"Hey, I got an idea! How about they come to Bluenose City and I massacre them?" asked Turgeon, "that will give you the purpose of tracking me down. The stress of deciding who shall live gets to me and I snap."

"Sure," said Larkin, "but we need a precipitating moment. Some reason why you massacre this tribe."

"I'll think about it. Sorry Clayton."

"No worries, I am glad to be of some help for The Great Storyteller."

Flint raised his hand.

"There seems to be a lot of Indians involved in this story. And we still haven't mentioned Uwe and Boogie. Or the Man in the Tan Van. He should make an appearance too."

"I don't know... we have plenty of characters already." Lana waited for more voices to come out of the audience.

There were murmurs in the outer circles, but none were willing to step forward at the moment. They all knew it was soon to be time for the Great Editing. And then after that, there would be more Great Editing.

So it was meant to be...

Sneak Peak; Country Roads, City Hearts

Chapter 1 aka The Beginning of This Tale

The Beginning of this circular tale of love and heartbreak starts on a late summer day with a glass of red Kool-Aid on a country road.

A case could be made it started a few weeks before that, when Cash’s parents stopped referring to each other by nice names and started using mean ones. If one were really willing to reach back, one could state it started when Kool-Aid started making delicious thirst-quenching drinks to a childhood demographic way back in 1927. This is all that will be said about Kool-Aid in regards to the story other than without it, history would have gone a completely different route. For one boy named Cash, Kool-Aid was his Butterfly of Chaos. 

Fulton ‘Cash’ Scribe wasn’t a country boy by birth. He inherited country living at the tender age of five from his mother after moving from the City. He was too young to know exactly what city. The City was only how his mother described it. He heard he lived in Vancouver, other times Surrey. And when things were really bad, he lived in Whalley. He didn't know much about the City, other than that was where he lived and it was in a country called Canada.

Cash’s mother frequently stated to his father he couldn’t wait to move out of ‘The City’ and back out into ‘The Country’ where she told Cash she grew up and everything was much better there. She emphasized that on many an occasion, especially late at night and very loudly to his Dad when they believed Cash was asleep. She would say if Cash grew up in ‘The Country’ he would have a proper upbringing. He would breathe air that hadn’t been breathed a million times before and be able to see stars at night and hear birds in the morning, and most importantly Wouldn’t Have A Drunk Womanizing Loser Who Was Never There For Him For A Father.

That was the gist of it anyhow.

Cash’s mom didn’t like the City very much, and Cash’s dad didn’t like Cash’s mom very much. That was all too evident to the neighbours witnessing the last fight they would ever have in front of Cash. His mom had already buckled him into his booster seat in the back of the car. She didn't tell Cash where they were going. When his dad came running out of the house and started to shout the bad grown up words at her he knew things were very bad.

His mom yelled other bad grown up words at his dad before she jumped in the front seat and put the car in gear. His dad picked up the collection of newspaper flyers that were piled on the doorstep and threw them at the car as it reversed out of their parking spot. The flyers exploded in a blizzard of colored sales and branded logos on the hood of the car. The last image Cash had of his father was of him in his blue boxer underwear and white t-shirt, his dark dreadlocks bursting out in all directions. He was looking around the porch for something else to throw. His mom stopped the car from backing up and squealed the car tires as she took off. The sound underlined their leaving as a statement of finality. It was also the end of the short beginning of Cash’s life in the city and now the beginning of another.

Cash and his mom drove out of the complex. He stayed quiet, as did she, barring the occasional grown up word. He knew from past experience this was not the time to say anything although he was pretty scared and confused as to what was happening. He didn't want to cry. Sometimes that made things worse. This seemed way worse than the other times.

He knew the routine, stay quiet and don’t attract attention. She didn’t like it when she saw him acting scared and would tell him so. She would say she needed him to be a big boy for her. That was what she always was to her, her big boy. He knew this was one of those times she needed him to be a big boy. So Cash sat silently in his booster seat, watching the usual assorted townhouses merge into bigger houses with their own yards and driveways. He fingered the ears of Ollie, his stuffed rabbit he had since he was a baby. Soon the small streets turned into bigger streets and then into one really large street with more cars and trucks than Cash usually saw. He knew they were on the freeway. He noticed they had gone so far that that cars going the other way had a road all to themselves. He was tired. He fell asleep.

Cash had no concept of time, being slightly too young to fully comprehend anything past ‘fun’ and ‘time to go’ and ‘nothing’. When he woke, he spent the next bit of time in the ‘nothing’ section.  His mom noticed he was awake and occasionally talked to him. She would say things such as everything was going to be okay and it was going to be so much fun in the country at Gramma and Grampa’s which made little sense to Cash. Having just turned five, he believed everything was going to be fun. He couldn’t think of anyplace that his and his mom went that wasn’t fun, even the bus. That was being the advantage of five years old. Plus, he remembered Gramma and Grampa and they always sounded like fun when he talked to them on the phone. They hadn’t been to see him since he was two years old, reminded his mom. But they always said they couldn’t wait to see him again, although that didn’t make sense to Cash. His mom told him that was because they lived very far away and it would take a very long time to visit him and Grampa didn’t care for his dad too much at all.

They stopped for ice cream at a little town that had hardly any people on the streets. He picked his favorite; chocolate. His mom had strawberry because it was pink and mom was a girl. They sat down at a little table outside the store and Cash got to work eating around his ice cream cone, like he was taught so none of the ice cream would drip on his hands and get them sticky.

“So Cash,” said his mom, “we are going to be staying at Gramma and Grampa’s house for awhile. Do you remember Gramma and Grampa?”

“Sorta,” he said, “are we meeting Daddy there?”

“Your dad won’t be meeting us. He has to stay in the city because he has a lot of things he needs to figure out and decide what is important to him. If he figures it out, he will have to come and meet us but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“Why would I hold my breath?” he asked.

“Sorry, Cash. That’s just an expression. It means that we will be at Grandma and Grampa’s for a long time. You will be meeting new friends and I am going to sign you up for Kindergarten there. You will be going to the same school I went to. Isn’t that exciting?”

“I guess so.”

Cash’s mom watched her son dig into his ice cream cone. She doubted the enormity of what was happening had really sunk in to her only child. He would never know how hard it was to to finally leave, to admit her parents were right after all; Cash’s dad was a loser. He had more interest in his musical lifestyle/career than raising a family, much less a home. Unless she wanted to have Cash live a life of growing up with low level groupies hanging around their townhouse while his dad ignored the two of them it was best to cut her losses.

“And you know what? I think we should get a puppy. Gramma and Grampa mentioned that they were thinking of getting a puppy.”

That was the best thing Cash heard all day and immediately became the only thing that mattered.

“I’ve always wanted a puppy! Ever since I was three and a half!” he stated, eyes open in excitement.

His mom smiled and patted his head, her very own human puppy. They finished their ice cream as happy as a single mother and child could be; Cash provided great distraction for her. Although it took her a few years to realize it, he was the only man she needed in her life. The best part was he asked nothing more of her than was to be expected. She could handle one five year old. She couldn't handle two, especially when one was actually twenty-five and still asked his mom to buy him underwear, That guy she could do without.

They got back in the car and played ‘I Spy’ and sang songs and practiced the alphabet for the rest of the drive. When his mom told him they were getting close, he strained in his seat to see something out the window, but there was still only trees and fields. Some had fences but it was still a whole lot of nothing in his opinion. He did see a few black cows and a horse in one field so that was neat. 

They turned off a road onto another road and then another road that was made out of dirt. Cash knew they were really close because his mom kept saying it to him, as if she didn't quite believe it herself. They finally pulled up to a house that looked smaller than their old home but also bigger. There were no other houses attached to it or even close to it. It was surrounded by trees, like they were in the middle of a park. The trees was what made it look so small.

Mom stopped the car and from out of the house came two old people, smiling. They were obviously Gramma and Grampa. Mom was immediately hugged by Gramma. Grampa opened up the back door, said ‘howdy, stranger’ which Cash thought was strange because maybe his Grampa didn’t remember they had met before. That wouldn’t surprise him because they were both really old, although they didn’t look much different than the other old people Cash saw in the City. He was happy to see that Grampa was wearing a cowboy hat which nearly fell off as he unbuckled Cash's seatbelt and lifted him out of the booster seat.

“It’s good to see you!” he said, rubbing Cash’s belly with one big Grampa hand.

Cash wasn’t sure yet if it was good to see him because Grampa was tickling him and he hated getting tickled because it made him laugh. He squirmed but Grampa wouldn’t let him down. 

“Gramma, look at this giant boy! We are going to need more food in the cupboard!”

“Hello Cash," said his Gramma, "You look so grown up. You come over here and give me a hug."

Cash noticed a strange thing then. His mom was crying. Gramma was hugging his mom and patting her head much like Mom did to him whenever he would start to cry. He didn’t see how his mom hurt herself but he hoped she was okay.

“Are you okay, Mommy? Did you hurt yourself?”

She let go of Gramma and wiped her eyes.

"I'm okay Cash," she said, "Gramma says there is something out back for you. We should go take a look."

"There is?"

"Why," said Grampa, "I believe there is. Let's go see."

Grampa placed Cash down on his feet. Cash grabbed his hand and followed as he led him around the side of the house. His Gramma and Mom followed behind them. In the back yard there was a large shed. In front of the shed was a small dog tied up, looking sad. Once it saw them, it began to bark and jump around, tugging at the rope which Cash noticed was tied to a bike that was way too small for Grampa.

Grampa bent down to untie the leash from the handlebars. The dog bolted to Gramma and jumped up, trying to lick her face and when that failed, it ran over and jumped at Cash, who was much more his size and started to lick Cash’s face, with much better success.

“Is this my dog, Grampa?” he asked, "Mom said I was going to get a dog."

“Well, so much for secrets. But yes, if you are going to live with us, you are going to want a dog. Keeps the bears away. And that is also your bike.”

“Bears? Like my teddy bears?” Cash noticed the bike but was much more taken by the puppy who demanded much more immediate attention than the bike. 

“Real bears much, much bigger than your teddy bears.” Grampa laughed. 

Cash’s happiness could only be best described by those who actually witnessed a four year old boy getting his own dog and a bike on the same day. It is suffice to say Cash would never have a birthday or a Christmas present that surpassed that moment at the woodshed with his Grampa, Gramma and Mom on his first day of his new life.

The puppy, now freely untied, started rolling in the dirt around the shed, rubbing wood chips and bark into it’s dark black and white fur. 

“What’s his name?” he asked Grampa.

“He doesn't have one yet. What do you think his name should be?”

“Is it a boy dog or a girl dog?”

“It’s a boy,” replied Gramma.

Cash thought of all the boy names he knew, but he didn’t want to name the dog after any of his friends at pre-school or one of the dogs on the cartoons, like Scooby Doo or Blue's Clues. He looked from the big curious brown eyes of the puppy to his Grampa.

“A boy name? How about Daddy?”

“Oh for-“ said his mom, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You okay, Nancy?" asked Gramma, adding "Gramps, don’t laugh. |It’s not funny."

His mom laughed a small laugh then, for which Cash was grateful. Nothing was too bad. His mom shook her head and after a brief moment, inhaled deeply. She pinched her nose again and shook her head.

“No, I’m fine. Just caught me by surprise, that’s all. I don’t think Daddy would be a good name for a puppy. You already have a Daddy, and you can only have one daddy.”

“You need to give it a boy dog name,” added Grampa, "like Mutt or Spike."

“But you said I won't be seeing Daddy anymore, and besides, my friend Kyle has two daddies. One only sees him on weekends though, and the other one lives with him and his mom and baby brother.”

“Yes, but that is a daddy and a step-daddy. He has only one real daddy.”

“So I can’t name him Daddy?” Cash asked as he held the puppy around the neck, much to the consternation of the puppy, who seemed very confused by the lack of freedom.

“No," said his Mom, "Pick a different name.”

“Okay. Then I will call him Doggie. Because he’s a dog. Is that okay?”

His mom rolled her eyes and smiled more in exasperation than amusement. The puppy barked happily as Cash asked him if he liked being called Doggie. So it was decided. Not not only did Cash have his own bike, which he thankfully only referred to as his bike, but also a dog named Doggie.

A couple of quick weeks passed. Cash, Doggie and his mom moved out of Gramma and Grampa’s house into a house in the same neighbourhood. After Mom and Gramma went to see it, she had gone to the bank with Grampa and came back all excited. She told him that soon they were going to be in their very own house, living very close to Gramma and Grampa. Gramma said that he could even ride his bike from there to here (‘but only with me’, his mom emphasized).

To celebrate, that night they all walked over to see his new house, with him riding his bike and Doggie running circles around them. It wasn’t very far away at all. The house was smaller than his grandparents, but still larger than his townhouse in The City. It had a lawn, a garage and even a small cage where there appeared to be some strange looking birds.

He pointed them out to his Mom.

“Are those chickens?”

“Yep.” Said his Grampa. “You are going to be a farmer!”

“Eggs come out of their bums.” Cash told the grown-ups, confident in his farm knowledge picked up from children's books. 

“Their bums?” asked Gramma. "Where did you learn that?"

“Yep. I learned it in a book. About farm animals.”

Cash stared at the birds pecking away at the dirt, eating what appeared to be dirt. A couple pooped on the ground. He came to a conclusion.

“Mom, I don’t like eggs anymore.”

“That’s too bad, young man," said his mom, "They come with the house. It’s going to be our job to feed them and clean out their coop.”

“What’s a coop?” he asked.

This started Grampa laughing again, to which he had seemed to be doing a lot lately as Cash had tried to learn all of the new things involved in living in the country. He learnt to chop wood, weed a garden, rake leaves and his personal favourite; hammer nails into pieces of wood which once altogether would become a doghouse for Doggie, or so Grampa told him.

Gramma had seemed to think that Grampa was taking advantage of him, whatever that meant. Grampa told her he may as well learn now. He even promised that when winter came, he would take him skating so that he could play real hockey on ice like the men on TV did.

“A coop is where the chickens go at night and lay their eggs,” his mom replied. “They lay them in their nests. And it will be your job to take out the eggs in the morning.”

A lot of people Cash didn’t know came to bring furniture and stuff to the new house. Some were old friends of his mom’s others were old friends of his Gramma and Grampa. They were all very happy to see her and told her she had to come visit as soon as she was settled in. Some even had children close to his age but he couldn’t remember their names. Because Cash didn’t have many toys, they would play outside with whatever they could find and to Cash’s amazement, the parents wouldn’t even supervise them. They were only told to stay out of the chicken coop but nothing about throwing dirt and grass at the chickens which was great fun until they left. 

Gramma and Grampa stopped in a lot during the first days when Mom was unpacking their stuff. Gradually the visits became fewer and fewer. His mom seemed to appreciate that. She kept saying she was tired of all the company. Once they went up there and had a big fancy dinner outside with strange people who his mom said were cousins she grew up with. They, like everyone else he met, were really nice to him.

His mom taught Cash the names of the roads so he would never get lost going to his Grandparents’ house. He lived on Rattletip Road. To get to his Grandparents, he went past one road called Puddleton. It looked like it went on forever. Maybe if he went down Puddleton far enough he would get back to ‘The City’ and he could see his Dad. He filed away that thought for future reference in case he grew bored of living in ‘The Country’.

Although his new country house apparently didn’t have all that much going for it in terms of kids nearby to play with and interesting cars going by, it wasn’t that bad either. He was surrounded by trees and bushes that were silent for the most part but full of adventure and sticks and probably hidden caves and monkeys and such. On occasion, Doggie would run off barking into the bushes, then reappear a moment later looking curiously satisfied.

Cash could barely see the neighbours on either side his house through the trees. There never seemed to be much going on at either house. The big brown one at the end of the road appeared to have 2 dogs who were always sleeping in the middle of the driveway. On the other side of him was a smaller house with different shades of blue covering it. He never saw anyone over there.

He definitely did have freedom unheard of before now. His mom rarely checked up on him as much as she used to in ‘The City’, and he was even allowed Out of Eyesight, which was a very big thing. On occasion if he was out near the end of the driveway (that was as far as he was allowed to go, but for Cash that was fine) she would remind him to watch for cars, like in ‘The City’. But out here he could see a car coming from what he thought was miles away (in truth, it was more like 400 yards but to a four year old’s eyes and legs, 400 yards is 400 miles away). 

And for all the time he had been there, he had only seen two cars come down the street, and they had both turned onto Puddleton Road and never came back out. He assumed that was more evidence that the road led to ‘The City’.

He never saw anybody on the street which sometimes gave him the feeling there was nobody else that lived around them. He wondered if maybe all the houses were empty. Even the big brown house was only lived in by the two big dogs. He thought that would be pretty neat but he never heard of dogs living in houses in the real world, only in books. Cash lived in a world that consisted only of his mom, grandparents and Doggie. And the chickens, who weren’t nearly as entertaining as he hoped.

What he was really missing was some friends to play with. And this is where the Kool-Aid comes in.

Reviews, yay or nay?

Well, it's been about 6 months since I finally published EaFoM; I'm one of the masses who can say they are published, I think I'm one of the minority who will say that it hasn't gone as well as I hoped.

After 6 months, my 'sales' on Amazon have been... 2.
After 6 months on Smashwords my sales have been ...3.
(with 115 sample or full downloads).

I've also sold 4 privately.

so.. yayyyyy, me.

this is what i feel like...

There's a ton of info on the Net for independent authors, from branding yourself as independent instead of self-published to taking advantage of all that social media has to offer, including swapping reviews with other independent authors because 'reviews sell books!!!'

But here's where I feel naughty. I did a review swap with someone who reached out and suggested it as we both were dealing with similar (so he probably thought) subject matter; marijuana.

Disclaimer; we weren't - his main characters smoked dope but were also involved in a zombie-like situation while EaFoM is about marijuana paranoia and Canadian idealism.

Anyways, his story was good but rough. That's my review in a nutshell but I didn't feel i could say that publicly - after all, we are 'swapping' reviews. Tit for tat, so to speak. His story wasn't something that directly appealed to me and it would feel odd if I rated said story the same rating I'd give something like a bad Kurt Vonnegut story (which would be 4 out of 5).

So I felt dirty. I added some fluff to it, took his excellent review of my book and felt shame i didn't say anything better but... at least it's honest.

I don't think I would like to swap reviews again. I want my reviews to come honestly. If you like it, great, if you didn't, tell me why. It helps me learn.

Also, a sure-fire sign that the review is most likely a friendly fluff job by a friend or fellow indie author - the review is a short story in itself. Keep it simple, keep it sweet and above all, keep it real. If you want to get more in-depth, probably best to email the author directly if you can.

That's all for now. No other updates.

shhh...indie author thinking...

A little venting about returning to writing

So I'm taking a stab at Flies; i've uploaded a lot of files and memories from my group home days. They all have vague titles like 'Reed bit' so at least I know at one time i intended it for the Reed character but i'm having trouble identifying why or what I should do with it.

I've rewritten the first chapter and prologue, making them both much shorter. A lot less exposition on Bill's part - a few pages of exposition on the other kids in the STOP program now gone. I will have to fit that in later.
Bill no longer confronts the woman who wanted a face to face with him - honestly I can't see how that would ever happen in real life. Instead of it being his ex-wife pushing people to confront him, she's now just an ex-girlfriend egging his house frequently.
He also has a dog named Apples.
Christine is the name of the Program Director
STOP stands for Sexual Therapy somethin' somethin'.  I'll have to find why i named it that.
Ben is Bill's peer in the group
Luke and Dustin live with Bill.

I've been invited to join this writing group - the idea is you review their works, they review yours. I'm not really participating yet. I feel indebted already to Tucker/High Water for his nice review so i have his 2nd book to read, 3 other free promo books i've downloaded. How the hell am i supposed to get time to write if i'm reading all the time?

Must be nice to not have 2 other jobs and be a dad to 3 kids.

Enter A Fistful Of Marijuana Summary

Enter a Fistful of Marijuana 

Jack Steele is a former super-spy, brought out of retirement by the International Internal Revenue Service (IIRS) for one last mission; to infiltrate the Canadian Rocky Mountain headquarters of Jacques LaPlante and get him to pay his fair share of taxes for his drug distribution network and greenhouse sales. If he could also rescue Ruby Valentine, that would be nice.
BFFs Flint, Boogie and Uwe are proud young men of the town of Wee Danpot. They take it upon themselves to warn LaPlante, the town of Wee Danpot's number one employer and mayor.

Little to any of them know that LaPlante has plans of his own, to change the world through his genetically modified marijuana, bringing peace, prosperity and unity to all.

The world's only hope lies in Jack Steele and the IIRS.

*****Overall, a great read for anyone seeking something fun, sometimes deranged, and lighthearted!*****
                                     -actual review on Amazon.