Category Archives: All About Me

Ridiculous Times: Stuff That Probably Doesn’t Need To Be Said – Superbowl Edition

Just like in Spaceballs when they skip lightspeed to go to plaid, we’ve surpassed the old Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times” to live in a ridiculous time. Frankly, it’s kind of embarrassing.

Take the Super Bowl (or Superb Owl, or Superbowel, depending on how you feel about it). I’ll admit that I was happy the Chiefs won: not that I care about the game, but I’ve honestly been enjoying all the Taylor Swift conspiracy theories. To be honest, I know nothing about Taylor Swift, other than that she’s very pretty, very popular, she died horribly in Amsterdam* and apparently, she is the most powerful force in American politics today. At any rate, the Chiefs’ victory ensured a brief continuation of what is, for me, the most ridiculous (and entertaining) of the current crop of conspiracy theories.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Taylor Swift – The most powerful woman in America

Watching the MAGAmaniacs (MAGAniacs?) carry on about how the Swift thing is a psyop**to help Biden win in November is pretty damned funny. I’m not even sure how someone would go about satirizing that. To be perfectly clear, I don’t know anybody who doesn’t think that whole thing is abominably stupid – and the vast majority of my friends are staunch conservatives. It’s not a conservative or Republican theory, it’s a bunch of nonsense promoted by televised right-wing talking heads, politicians, and professional shit-stirrers.

It’s also notable that over here on the left side of the field (well, left/center), that none of the televised left-wing talking heads, politicians, or political shit-stirrers are taking it seriously (which of course doesn’t stop them from going on about it in search of clicks and ratings***). But don’t get too excited – there’s plenty of other nonsense for them to get waaaay too excited about. The problem is, for me at least, that while many of the left-wing screaming points are almost as ridiculous, they’re just not that entertaining – or original (This just in: Great Googly-Moogly! Trump said something racist, sexist, incendiary, or indecipherable! What you NEED to know!). Good grief, it is Tuesday already? I kinda feel like my own side is letting me down.

I’ve also been enjoying all of the whining about how people resent all the screen time wasted showing Swift during the games: “I wanna watch football, not some lefty bimbo!” (I’m paraphrasing). I mean, I totally understand where they’re coming from: having to look at a pretty girl for anywhere from 30-60 seconds of non-playing time during a 4-hour-long broadcast must be horribly frustrating.

The lovely and talented Jess and I got rid of cable/satellite TV years ago, because we hate commercials. I know how frustrated I’d be if my streaming services started interrupting my movies periodically for something I’m in not interested in at all (lookin’ at YOU, Amazon!). However, I am having a little trouble understanding the whole objecting-to-looking-at-a-pretty-girl-because-of-her-politics thing, to be honest (not that I would ever objectify a woman – gotta maintain my liberal-left-wing-commie-pinko-fag card).

In other Super Bowl-related ridiculousness, how about that “Jesus Gets Us” commercial? Apparently, everyone hated it, for reasons with absolutely no overlap: I saw a video from a guy who was horrified by it, because it apparently Wokefies Jesus – obviously a lefty plot. Gasp! The horror! This dude is apparently horrified by the idea that Jesus loves everyone, and that we should too****.

I followed that up by reading an article about how horrible the ad is, because of the apparently shady organizations/motivations behind it (the Hobby Lobby folks among others), are using it as a bait-and-switch to lure LGBTQI+, women who might be thinking about an abortion, addicts, and other folks like that, who are desperate for acceptance in so they can be either “fixed” or crushed and discarded as irredeemable. Obviously a conservative plot!

Then there are the sort of Christians that I know and love – you know, the kind who genuinely try to love and care for everybody. They’re offended by the fact that a gazillion dollars that could have been spent taking care of people/helping people was spent on an ad. Okay, this one, I actually get.

Even when we don’t like something, we’re not happy unless everyone else hates it for the same reason we do. We are ridiculous people living in an increasingly ridiculous country. So we’ve got that going for us!


* For my money, one of the best movies of 2022* (ironically, her character in the film was the victim of a conspiracy – coincidence? Don’t be ridiculous!)

** This Jesse Watters video literally made me laugh out loud. As an added bonus, here’s a really funny video I found in the comments: https://twitter.com/i/status/1723037915561746564

*** I hope this isn’t one of those “pot-calling-the-kettle-black” things!

**** This dude isn’t alone, either. Here’s a link to the commercial on the social media platform formerly known (and mostly still known) as Twitter: https://twitter.com/HeGetsUs/status/1756829657859772554https://twitter.com/HeGetsUs/status/1756829657859772554 As much as I normally avoid comment sections, I found the comments on this video kind of horrifyingly funny. Your mileage may vary.

Stories about Stories and Storytellers: One for All the Writers Out There

Yesterday was rough. The weather sucked, my arthritis was really acting up, I’ve hit a wall in trying to get my book published, and I had to go to the grocery, a weekly task which is never pleasant, but managed to sink to new lows yesterday. It was all extremely frustrating, and those of you who know me know my natural response to frustration is complete, all-encompassing rage. It was a real treat for the lovely and longsuffering Jess to come home from her work at a real job to my irrational, yet deeply felt, temper tantrum, I’m sure.

When I got up this morning, I decided today was going to be different.

Once I got through my morning chores, I had some time before I had to clock in at my work-from-home job as a writing consultant at IU East, which is generally not something I consider a real job (I’ve had real jobs and didn’t care for it), but is the first job I’ve ever had that I liked and was really good at, so I thought I’d watch a movie.

Instead of my usual fare of violence, bloodshed, and light depravity, I chose Cyrano, My Love, which tells a fictional version of the writing and making of one of my favourite stories, Cyrano de Bergerac, by Edmond Rostand. I’ve loved the story ever since I was a kid and saw the 1950 film version with Jose Ferrer, laughed my ass off at 1987’s Roxanne, starring Steve Martin, was blown away by the 1990 version starring Gerard Depardieu, and really enjoyed the 2019 musical version starring Peter Dinklage (it didn’t quite work, but Dinklage was impressive, as always). I’ve even read the play itself a couple of times, and I’m delighted to report that Cyrano, My Love did not disappoint.

It is laugh-out-loud funny, and pretty deeply touching, traits it has in common with Rostand’s play. The writing, acting, costumes, and sets, are all first-rate. The only drawback I can see (for some) is that it’s in French, with subtitles. If you love Cyrano, don’t let that stop you (if you don’t love Cyrano, I can only assume that you’re not familiar with it. Any of the adaptations I mentioned above would be a great starting point, but keep in mind that the Depardieu version, while the most visually stunning, is also in French).

But enough of plugging Cyrano, My Love (although seriously, you should see it). What I really want to write about here is my love of stories about telling stories, stories about stories, and stories about the magic of stories and books. Two examples that I’ve already written about are Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Shadow of the Wind, and Robin Sloan’s Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore. A series I may have written about is Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next series, in which Thursday, a literary detective has to find out who is kidnapping famous characters from their books. The Next novels are a wild, surreal ride through a literary amusement park – A lot of fun.

Sorry, but apparently it’s impossible for me to write about books without plugging those I really love. I’ll try to stay on track, but make no promises.

Anyway, all that got me thinking about the genre (?) of books about books, storytelling, and writing, which I’ve loved since long before I decided to try being a writer myself. I’ve been trying to figure out exactly WHY I love them so, and, to be honest, I really don’t think it’s all that complicated – they’re stories about my first, truly undying love, written by (generally speaking) really talented people in love with the same thing I love. They take characters I love in unexpected directions, while (also generally) remaining (reasonably) true to the original characters. It’s just FUN.

Then there are the books about books, which is to say books about why books matter, how a good one affects us, and what they give us. They bring books alive. Zafon’s book does that, beautifully. Another such story is John Connolly’s short story (novella?) The Caxton Private Lending Library & Book Depository, in which a book lover ends up interacting with both books and characters in mysterious, funny, and intimate ways. Connolly is best known for his Charlie Parker mystery series – sort of like if Stephen King started writing Philip Marlowe novels, and my favourites, the Samuel Johnson series, in which a young boy and his pet daschaund, aided by a couple of incompetent demons have to save the world from Armageddon (repeatedly) – really funny stuff – but I digress (again!). Anyway, The Caxton Private Lending Library and Book Depository is available as an e-book for $5 or $6 bucks on Barnes and Noble, and Amazon. Money well spent.

Then there are the books about writers writing (or at least trying), a sub-genre which I can really relate to. One of the best examples is Michael Chabon’s Wonder Boys which, I’m a little bit ashamed to admit, I haven’t read yet, but I did love the movie. It’s about a literature professor struggling with writer’s block (among other things). The great Stephen King has dipped his toes (talons?) into this pool a few times, with Misery, The Dark Half, the underrated Duma Key and the non-fiction On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. I know I can personally relate to feeling like something I’m writing is trying to destroy me.

It’s not just books though. Jess and I recently watched George Miller’s awesome Three Thousand Years of Longing. You probably know Miller from his awesome Mad Max series, or from the pretty-much-equally-awesome-but-in-a-totally-different-way family film (and Jess’ all-time favourite movie) Babe.

Three Thousand Years of Longing is about a scholar (Tilda Swinton) in the fields of stories and mythology who, while in Turkey, buys and accidentally breaks a vase containing a Djinn (Idris Elba). While she tries to figure out three wishes that won’t backfire on her, he tries to convince her he’s not a trickster by telling her stories of his life. Jess and I both loved it. It is funny, moving, and hypnotically beautiful.

It really reminded me of a very “for adults only” version of another favourite family movie, Secondhand Lions, starring two greats, Michael Caine and Robert Duvall. Chances are you’ve seen it. If you haven’t it’s a great, funny, and heartwarming movie about two cranky old coots telling tall tales about their lives to a neglected nephew. Both Caine and Duvall are on top of their game in this one.

Another great recent movie about storytellers is Babylon, with Brad Pitt and Margot Robbie, about the hedonistic chaos that ruled Hollywood right at the changeover from silent films to talkies, and before the Hays Code that amounted to self-inflicted censorship. It is very funny, a little heartbreaking, and very raunchy.

Of course, movies about making movies is a whole sub-genre of its own with a lot of standouts: Tarentino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Barry Sonnenfeld’s Get Shorty (based on a book by the immortal Elmore Leonard), the Coen Brothers’ Hail Caesar!, Ben Stiller’s hysterical Tropic Thunder and, of course, one of the greatest musicals of all time, Singin’ In the Rain. There are innumerable others, good, bad, and indifferent, but those are my favourites.

Anyway, I could go on forever about this, but I’ll wrap it up with the book I’m currently reading: Guy Vanderhaeghe’s The Englishman’s Boy. It takes place in two separate timelines, one in the Old West, the other in 1920s Hollywood. You may recall me waxing rhapsodically about another Vanderhaeghe book, The Last Crossing. This one is just as good, maybe even better. If you haven’t read anything by Vanderhaeghe, you really, really should.

Well, I guess I’ve beaten this dead horse enough, although just thinking and writing about this has put me in a really good mood (or at least better than yesterday). I think I’ll stop now, and maybe take a shower (a pleasant little after-work surprise for Jess – Yes, I am just that sweet).

Thanks for reading!

Words: A Tale of Disappointment

During my brief and unlamented period as a graduate student teaching the basic college composition course, and in my current job as a “Writing Consultant”, one of the most important things that I’ve tried to impress on my students and consultees (not really sure what to call them: clients? victims?) is that WORDS HAVE MEANING!!!! That the order/organization of the words in a sentence conveys meaning, and can either accurately convey the writer’s intentions, or confuse the reader, causing them to misunderstand what’s being said.

I fear that it is a futile endeavor. For a long time, I’ve been dismayed by the quality of writing I see in the public sphere, especially in regard to the news. Rarely does a day go by when I don’t notice some glaring grammatical, or even spelling, error in the news coverage of the day. Which leads me to the following headline from today’s Daily Mail, a British newspaper that also publishes American and Australian versions:

Cops: Georgia homeowner shot dead intruder breaking into his house

I will admit to a bit of confusion: initially, I thought the homeowner was killed, and was sad for a moment, until I read on, and realized that the homeowner is fine, and that he had actually shot a dead intruder for breaking into his house.

Now, as a fan of horror and apocalyptic novels and movies, I have to admit, I was both excited – there’s real-world zombie action! – and worried – there’s real-world zombie action?! Oh shit! Needless to say, I felt the need to learn more. I clicked on the link, and you can imagine my dismay when it almost immediately became obvious that I had been misled.

There are so many ways that this headline could have been worded to accurately convey it’s meaning: “Georgia homeowner shoots intruder dead for breaking into his house”, OR “Georgia homeowner kills intruder”, OR “Intruder killed by Georgial homeowner”, OR “Intruder shot dead by homeowner in Georgia”.

So why did the Daily Mail go with their headline? I don’t know. Maybe it’s a British thing, like adding U’s to words like honour, humour, etc. Maybe they are trying to appeal to a more morbid, gothic readership? Whatever the reason, my disappointment/relief about the apparently-not-impending zombie apocalypse was eclipsed by my disappointment in the sinking standards for public writing.

On the upside, bad writing, whether it be mechanical (grammar, punctuation, etc.), or communicative (actually conveying the intended meaning) would seem to be a unifying factor in an increasingly fractured world. It doesn’t matter whether a publication or writer is conservative, liberal, gay, straight, authoritarian, anti-fascist, or whatever other faction you want to mention, or if they’re a professional writer, semi-pro, or hobbyist blogger like me, or if the publication is reputable, disreputable, or just click-bait nonsense, apparently the idea that WORDS HAVE MEANING!!!! means less and less influence every day.

Of course, there are always exceptions – like myself. I pride myslef on vigorously proofreading every word and sentence I write, before sending them out into the world, lavishing all the care on them that most people apply to their children. I would be mortified if errors were to be found in any of my own deathless prose! Except of course, for those intentional errors I plant occasionally, just to prove to myself that readers are just as careless, and uncaring, about words as most writers are. The fact that no one has ever brought any such error to my attention proves that. But I dirgess.

To go back to my initial point, I have to say, irresponsible writing, like that evidenced in writing like: “Cops: Georgia homeowner shot dead intruder breaking into his house” certainly doesn’t make my job any easier. On the other hand, it does provide a certain amount of job security.

Another Review of My (So Far) Unpublished Novel, To Be Free: The Life and Times of Nate Luck.

Sometimes I’m glad I checked my email. This is one of those times. Enjoy this review from IndieReader!

Potential Book Cover I’ve put together.

TITLE: TO BE FREE (The Life and Times of Nate Luck)

AUTHOR: Lloyd Mullins

RATING: 4.8 stars (out of 5)

Half-Russian, half-Mongolian Nate Luck immigrates to America in 1854 and spends the next forty years seeking a path to social justice—a path soaked in the blood of the Black and Native Americans he calls family and friends.

In Lloyd Mullins’s historical novel TO BE FREE (The Life and Times of Nate Luck), a half-Russian, half-Mongolian young man immigrates to America in 1854 in the search for freedom from the confining pressures of his home. Anatoly Mikhailovich Lukyanov, now called Nate Luck, is often mistaken as Chinese, but he soon finds solace in work as a cowhand (calling himself a cowboy) with the help of his newfound friends Jack and Dave. Steered by his moral compass, when the Civil War breaks out, Nate fights for the Union to help end slavery, after which time he spends over a decade among Native Americans, marrying and having children with a wonderful woman named Coming Together. Gruesome and traumatic experiences later turn his new life upside down, but Nate continues to be consumed by thoughts of justice. His unique perspective and his lifelong theme of social justice lead to an ironic yet cathartic conclusion—if the ending is abrupt—with profound implications.

Each chapter is a self-contained scene describing a specific event Nate endures, sandwiched by wisdom he learns on that adventure. The introduction paragraph to each chapter is usually ominous and foreboding, as when Nate offers foreshadowing on the dangers of nicknames, while the conclusion is typically insightful—for instance, this follows a tense scene where character suggest names to tell three men named Dave apart: “Always beware a man who changes his own name, no matter what position he may hold. He is not to be trusted.” While each chapter is a self-contained scene, the chapters build on one another to progress the story forward at a steady pace propelled by character relationships and Nate’s personal ambitions. Nate is a moral man, driven to act in ways he feels are “right” and “responsible,” though he is often led astray by material distractions, like lust and money and revenge, which makes him both a likable and a relatable hero.

The book’s historical setting is masterfully cultivated, not only with era-appropriate content but also with dialogue that feels true to the time period. While most of the characters’ beliefs and values are products of their time, Nate and his friends tend to be more liberal, showing how social progress was made at the time. For instance, Nate is an avid reader of philosophy and shares his books and knowledge with Dave, who is a freed slave, but Nate often butts heads over this with Jack, who is fiercely loyal to Dave and aims to protect him from the dangers of white men who would kill a black man who knows how to read. Other minor characters, like Nate’s tenacious wife Coming Together, have full, lush personalities that challenge Nate’s beliefs and influence the plot while successfully respecting their individuality. While the book’s major antagonist at times feels one-dimensionally evil, most characters remain dynamic and complex. The traumas of Black and Native Americans are approached with tact and powerful empathy.

IR Verdict: With many moving parts and taking place over several decades, Lloyd Mullins’s TO BE FREE is a sweeping historical novel populated by richly complex characters about a man’s search for justice in a world rife with violence and discrimination.

Out of Time, Out of Place, Still Not Giving Up

There is so much bad and/or stupid stuff going on in the world, and I frequently find myself really, really wanting to write about it. Then I take a step back and realize there are enough angry voices out there, and that I just really, really, don’t want to be one of them – at least not right now. Instead, I’ve decided to write about something I love: Westerns. Specifically Western movies.

Yes, I know I really need to figure out how to resize these pictures.

I’ve always loved westerns. Some of my earliest memories are of my little brother and I building pillow forts to watch High Chapparall on the TV. The only movies I remember my family ever going to were John Wayne movies (although dad did make an exception for Jeremiah Johnson – a glorious experience for seven-year-old me!). I would guess that Westerns have had a stronger influence on how I see the world than just about anything else.

Like any genre, the greatest westerns are those about much more than just cowboys and indians and gunfights and wagon trains and schoolmarms and whatnot. To be truly great, any movie or book has to be doing more than just telling a story: For example, Silverado is one of my favorite westerns. I never get tired of it, but it’s a fun western, not a great one.

One of the themes of most of the truly capital-G Great Westerns that resonates with me more every year are those about the passing of time and place. Sometimes it’s The Wild Bunch or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, or The Long Riders going down in hail of gunfire because they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) change with the times. Sometimes it’s The Outlaw Josey Wales or Jeremiah Johnson or Shane trying to make a new beginning, to put the past behind. Sometimes, of course, it’s those burnt-out old cowboys and gunslingers showing they’ve still got some fight left in them, like in Unforgiven, Ride the High Country, and Lonesome Dove.

I think the reason I used to love those stories was that, in addition to being capital G Great movies, I felt a lot of sympathy for those characters – and glad that was never going to happen to me. Now, I love them because I can empathize with those characters – because I feel like it’s happening to me. The world I live in is very unlike the world I grew up in, the world of my salad days. Now, it seems like sometimes I spend as much time looking for the remote or cursing because I’ve-hit-the-wrong-damned-button-and-now the-TV-is-asking-me-questions-and-I-can’t-figure-out-what-I’ve-done-wrong-or-how-to-make it-stop, than I do actually watching a movie or show.

I’m pretty sure that in another 10 years or so, I’m going to need to pay a kid just to hang around, turn the TV on, change the channel, etc. It’s really frightening, how fast technology is changing, and how bad I am at keeping up with it. Most days, I don’t even want to try.

Of course, it’s not just technology. It’s society. It’s always changing, and the one thing that doesn’t change is that the generation shouting “We Shall Overcome” at us old fogies will, before they know it, hear a new generation shouting it at them (a tip o’ the hat to Sir Terry Pratchett for that joke).

I’ll tell you what, if you want to feel out of place, try being a retired veteran who’s always worked with his back and his hands, starting a Creative Writing graduate program at a really, really, liberal college like Miami University! It’ll freak you right out. I know it freaked me right out, and not only was I really, really, trying to belong there, everyone there was really, really, trying to make me feel like I belonged.

I’d never even known that pronouns were an issue, until the first day of the program (which was on zoom, talk about an adjustment!), when the Prof. asked us all to introduce ourselves and give our pronouns. At first, I thought it was some kind of English joke. It was not.

Don’t get me wrong – I have no problem with the whole pronoun thing. I figure you’re entitled to be referred to however you want. My issue isn’t philosophical or political or religion-based, it is entirely a matter of an inability to change, no matter how hard I try. It is embarrassing and frustrating to be unable to refer to a perfectly lovely human being as “they” when, for my entire 50+ years, it’s always just been “he” or “she”*. I would sit there stammering and stumbling and cursing, trying to correct myself to “they”, feeling like a jerk and a linguistic dinosaur the whole time (and this was in my last semester of the program!).

Fortunately they (meaning the individual in question, not everybody in the room) was very understanding, and when I apologized after class, told me not to worry, that they appreciated that someone like me would even try, which was more than they got from their family. Honestly, after that, I didn’t know whether to feel better or worse.

But I digress – back to the Westerns!

This morning, I watched Out of the Wild (on Amazon) which, if not a great movie, was a really good one, about a broken-down, alcoholic cowboy forced to take a job at a dude ranch after no real ranch would hire him. It was a beautiful redemption story, but not sappy or sentimental. It put me in mind of the TV movie The Good Old Boys, based on a novel by the late, great Elmer Kelton, about another cowboy facing the end of the cowboying days.

By the way, you can’t go wrong with Elmer Kelton, but his best, in my opinion, are The Good Old Boys, The Time It Never Rained, and The Day the Cowboys Quit, precisely because they deal with the changing times.

Thinking about The Good Old Boys got me thinking about Monte Walsh (the awesome Lee Marvin version, not the Tom Selleck one). Monte Walsh is another one about an aging cowboy, and honestly, I don’t think anyone can do that role better than Lee Marvin (and I just learned that Jack Schaefer, the guy who wrote the book Shane also wrote Monte Walsh! I just bought it – I’ll let you know how it is).

Anyway, this has all been (for the most part anyway) waaaaaay more fun for me than writing about all the things that are wrong with the world and how I’d fix ’em. Probably more fun for you, too. At the very least, you’ve got some good books and movies to check out! By the way, you don’t have to be a man to enjoy them, especially not The Good Old Boys or Out of the Wild, which are basically love stories that even a strong, manly man like myself can love.

I guess that’s about it, for now anyway.

Thanks for reading!

*Or, to my shame, as “it” whenever there was some question. That was years ago, before I became friends with a trans man, and had to seriously start thinking about this stuff, back when I was a much less decent human being, and less Christian, something I’m trying to rectify. Can’t fix something if you can’t admit it’s broken.

The Latest Review of My Novel!

Hey all! Just wanted to take a minute to post a copy of the latest review of my historical novel To Be Free: The Life and Times of Nate Luck. The review is from the Historical Fiction Company, and has given my novel 5 stars and the HFC “Highly Recommended” medal!

Now, I don’t know if that’s going to impress anyone in the publishing industry, but I’ll take it! Feeling pretty stoked this morning. I also want to take a minute to thank all the folks who helped me get this turkey written: my brother David, my sister Sharon, my cousin Ross, Dave McCoy, Andy Miller, Judy Jennings, Beth Slattery, and all the others who gave me very valuable feedback and encouragement, my MFA committee – Brian Roley, Margaret Luongo, and TaraShea Nesbitt, and the folks who were in the program with me. Couldn’t have done it without all of you, so THANKS!

Anyway, without further ado, here’s the review:

To Be Free Review

To be Free is a biographical novel about Nate Luck, a Russian of Mongolian descent who immigrated to the United States in the 19th century. Luck’s Russian name was Anatoly Mikhailovich Lukyanov. The novel begins with his childhood in Russia, follows him through his journey across the Pacific, his time as a cowhand and Civil War soldier, his joining Native American tribes, and a legal officer. It opens with an editor’s note, which states one of the book’s most interesting features. Lloyd Mullens, the author, explains that he discovered Lukyanov/Lake’s unpublished memoir manuscript within a trunk his friend purchased. Mr. Mullens then says that he left most of the memoir intact, primarily editing the language common in the 19th century but offensive in the 21st. Other clues imply a modern hand had a larger role in shaping this novel. It contains direct, post-Hemingway prose that would have been uncommon for a writer in the 1890s. It also has an extensive bibliography of sources at the back, and most of all, contains modern conceptions about marginalized communities. For example, here is a quote from Esme, one of Luck’s primary love interests, about relying on men:

“There’s not a woman in this world that’s safe, and a woman who counts on a man to make her feel safe is a fool. Besides, anything I can’t handle with this, Samson’ll take care of.”

Samson was Esme’s pimp/club owner. Similarly, here’s a quote from a Native American chief justifying his people’s actions against white American encroachment:

“Enough!” Wolf Chief who interrupted, “You call us savages! We fight yes, to protect what is ours! Who wouldn’t? But you ve’ho’e who come here to take everything and leave us nothing — you call yourselves civilized! You bring nothing but disease and death and destruction, and all in the name of your Jesus Christ.

“I was there,” he continued, “when your soldier chief Eayre attacked our village at Ash Creek. Lean Bear rode out to greet them with your president’s paper in his hand, your president’s medal on his chest. ‘Don’t be afraid!’ he told us, ‘The soldiers are our friends.’ The soldiers shot him down and kept shooting his body as they rode over it.”

All of these elements lead To be Free to read like a modern composition. If the Editor’s Note is accurate, and the document was minimally edited, Mr. Mullens made a remarkable find and readers of biographical fiction have an exciting new entry into the genre. Like some other biographical novels, To Be Free acts as a fictional memoir. Unlike some of those contemporaries, (such as Marguerite Yourcenar’s Memoirs of Hadrian) it reads more like a first person novel than a memoir. The novel is largely dialogue driven, much of it excellently written, and each character possesses a unique voice.

The novel’s main theme is finding a place in American society as an outsider. Lukyanov flees Russia under the threat of violence and holds an idealistic view of the US, largely due to his Enlightenment-infused father. He quickly learns that his Asian features result in discrimination from his new countrymen, his first step toward cynicism. His Enlightenment views lead him to critique America’s hypocrisy on slavery, including this interesting exchange about American slavery and Russian serfdom:

Dave sat deep in thought for a while and then said, “You Russians sure done us one better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well here at least, a slave’s free when he dies. You boys have figured out how to keep him in chains and make money off him even when he’s dead.”

Much of the plot also deals with US-Native relations, which contributes to Lukyanov/Lake’s disenchantment with his adopted country. He lives among them multiple times, once infiltrating a tribe as part of an Army assignment and once joining from genuine choice. Each time culminates in witnessing the Army’s brutality toward Natives. Lake’s outsider perspective allows him to see 19th century America more objectively than its natural-born citizens. By the novel’s end, he views much of American society as a corrupt sham, and no longer blames his enemies for their behavior, but society’s incentives. The end result is a tragedy of sorts. This means that To be Free shares themes with two of America’s greatest artistic works, The Godfather and The Great Gatsby. The first implied that assimilating into mainstream American society was impossible, the second made a similar statement about fulfilling the American dream. Lake’s commentary fits along similar lines.

Most stories prioritize either their plot or their characters. Biographical fiction generally falls into the latter camp, with much of the genre serving as character studies for their respective subjects. To Be Free does an unusually good job at balancing both. Its adventurous plot of voyage, cowboys, wars, Native Americans, love, rivalry, and corruption will keep most readers hooked through what is admittedly a long narrative. But Lake discusses his view of himself and the world, building a compelling psychological portrait. He discusses his support for the Enlightenment, his love of novels, his skills at language and in horseback riding, and his thoughts on Manifest Destiny, on killing during war, and on what makes a good life. Each chapter opens with a fragment about its theme, which is a nice touch and gives additional insight into Lake’s mind and beliefs. One of this reviewer’s favorite quotes was the following:

It was funny, but then I thought about “Blessed are the peacemakers.” In my experience, all too often, the peacemakers pay the price for all of us. Look at Jesus. Or Black Kettle. The world would be a whole lot better off if we’d listen to men like them rather than kill them because they’re inconvenient.

Side characters, such as Esme, a love interest, and Bill Morrow, Lake’s rival, also receive thoughtful character analysis that produces important character arcs. The romantic and conflict driven plot-lines help ensure a well-rounded narrative that will appeal to most readers.

In conclusion, To Be Free balances the different aspects of storytelling better than most novels. It contains an exciting plot and thoughtful characters, good dialogue and descriptions, conflict and romance, social commentary that is forward looking and doesn’t overwhelm the narrative, and even functions as both a biographical novel and a memoir. It is highly recommended for fans of creative nonfiction (biographical fiction) and westerns.


“To Be Free” by Lloyd Mullins receives five stars and the “Highly Recommended” award of excellence from The Historical Fiction Company

Today, My Inner Narcissist is a Happy Camper: Tomorrow, a Return to Despair

I’ve often thought that there is a certain degree of narcissism present in anyone’s decision to become any kind of artist. Just having the idea that I’ve got something to say, and I want as many people to hear it as possible, because it’s important to me and should be important to them too, strikes me as arrogant at the very least – of course in my case, it’s a charmingly self-deprecating sort of arrogance.

It is, however, really difficult to maintain that narcissism/arrogance/healthy self-confidence once you start sending your work out into the public. Take me for example – I spent waaaay too much money on research (I’m going to have to sell a lot of books just to pay for the books I bought to write my book*), and two years of my life thinking and writing and editing and rewriting and re-editing and so on, until I thought, “That’s it! That’s exactly what I want to say, and said as well as I can say it!” Then I started shopping my new baby around to agents and publishers, visions of accolades, best-seller lists, and movie deals in your head. “Hahahahahahahahahaha!” I thought (charmingly and humbly, of course), “This’ll show those naysayers who said I was dreaming/wasting my time!”

So I sent out a shitload of query letters and waited for the offers to start rolling in, for the agents to start slugging it out over representing me and my modest little book: “What? All this fuss over little ol’ moi?”

Except that’s not what happened. Responses start trickling in, but they’re all rejections – as of this writing, I’m up to 67 rejections from agents, with only a couple of tiny nibbles of interests. They’re almost all really, really nice, but still . . . I haven’t faced this much rejection since before I met the lovely and talented Jess . . . I’d kind of forgotten how much it stings.

It really gets kind of demoralizing but every once in a while, something happens that gives me hope. A few weeks ago, I learned that Frontier Tales wants to publish a chapter of my novel, which was a huge boost.

Last week, I entered my book in a Cinematic Novel contest. I broke down and paid an extra fee to get some feedback. I wasn’t hoping for much – after all, I’d sent my first novel, Thumperica, to Kirkus Reviews for an obscene (to me anyway) amount of money, and they trashed it. What made it even worse was that the reviewer clearly only read roughly the first half of the book (but at least I’m not bitter).

Anyway, today, I got the feedback from the contest. Here’s what the contest person had to say (by the way, IP stands for Intellectual Property – I’m guessing that by an “existent IP” they mean a character or story that is out in the world now, i.e. a franchise sort of character):

*****

Feedback (Cinematic Book)
TO BE FREE tells the action-packed, vivid story of Nate Luck, a Russian-Buriat immigrant to
America during the heyday of the “wild west.” As a rancher, a soldier, and a father, he transforms
effectively from a starry-eyed, adventure-craving idealist to a disillusioned but still principled
American in every sense of the word. The characters, plot and structure are all there to make this
a dynamic feature or limited series, and the storytelling should be noted as a standout. The
primary obstacle to adapting this work to the screen will be that it’s not based on existent IP, and
as a period piece may be expensive to produce.

One of the primary elements studios and streamers look for in adapting material is character, and
that is an area where this book really shines. Nate Luck is a captivating protagonist, driving the
action forward with his impulsive love of life, fighting spirit, as well as sunshiny optimism. Whether
he’s defending someone outside a brothel or battling the love of his life, Esme, the plot hinges on
his action and his character. He also is a unique protagonist in terms of his heritage, and the
specificity that brings to him navigating The West is truly wonderful. His strength as a horse-rider
due to his Mongolian grandfather and mother, his resistance to being seen as anything other than
independent, they are ripe for bumping up against this classic American setting. How he
transforms into someone who sees the cracks in the shiny marquee of The American Dream are
all the more heartbreaking for the great spirit he brings to fulfilling it.

The women characters are also refreshingly vital and active, which is all too rare in male-dominated
genres and historical stories. From the engaging way Nate’s mother is described to the feisty
Esme, there would unquestionably be desirable parts for actors of many different genders, ages,
and ethnicities. This diversity is a definite plus, but all the more so because it doesn’t feel on-the-nose,
but rather — simply — earned and factual.

Speaking of factual, the historical research would set this project apart for adaptation as well. They
add so much (seeming, at least) authenticity, whether talking about the cargo laborers traveling
on credit-tickets to the differences between the Cheyenne and the Nez Perce tribes. While at times
the line between reality and fiction is blurred, much like in the novel of The Princess Bride by
William Goldman, this only serves to plunge us deeper into the story and is effective. My only
caveat would be that some of the racial realities of the time, even if they are grounded, can be a
tough pill to swallow. For instance, Nate’s reaction to the Chinese as an “inherited prejudice” may
shut down some readers, even if he very quickly realizes the error of his ways in America.

My main word of caution is that, as the story is not based on existing IP, it will likely be more
challenging to get made. Typically, historical adaptations have had a well-known protagonist or a
connection to a specific, well-known event that can help sell the story. One thing to consider is
how Nate Luck can feel like a FORREST GUMP protagonist, traveling through many different well-known
events. Highlighting these instances structurally could perhaps help filmmakers connect
the dots. That said, this may be a challenge for the writer, no matter how well-told the story is,
particularly given the added expenses that come with any historical setting.

One quick thematic note: I really like the idea presented that, because Nate has a wealth of
memories to “draw on and remember,” that he can live as a “King of Infinite Space.” This poetic
counter to the ravenous demands of Manifest Destiny elevates the story into the arena of the best-themed Westerns, like NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, TRUE GRIT or UNFORGIVEN. Overall, this is a
highly readable story that has the action-oriented, visual elements to translate well to the screen.

*****

Yes, you read that right – it gets compared to No Country For Old Men, True Grit, and Unforgiven! Feel free to go back and double-check it; I’ve probably read that thing six or seven times since this morning. I’ve got to say, this came out waaaaay better than I expected. To be honest, I had very low expectations. I certainly didn’t hope for anything this positive, and I’m not sure how to process it. I was really expecting something that would just make me feel worse for wasting the money (lookin’ at you again, Kirkus!).

Instead, I got feedback that made me feel like they really “got” what I was going for, and that I kinda hit that nail on the head. I’ve had some wonderful friends and family who’ve given me very generous and favourable feedback but, outside of my thesis committee (who also liked it, but mostly seemed impressed by my ability to eliminate 50,000 words in a couple of weeks while keeping it a coherent narrative), there hasn’t been much in the way of outside/objective validation until now.

It’s nice to feel this way, even for a little while!

So now I’m doomed to have hope again, at least for a little while. To quote some British Sports commentator, “It’s not the despair, it’s the hope that kills you.”

Oh well, I never expected it to be easy.

*On the other hand, is money spent on books and travel ever really misspent?

I’m Not Yet Abandoning All Hope – But It’s Getting Closer

The older I get, the less I understand the world or anything in it. I just spent about half an hour on the Facebook and Twitter trying to figure out how many “followers” I have – something that sounds just as stupid as it is. The idea that anyone is following me is, quite frankly, horrifying and – I’m pretty sure – one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

I do take some small comfort in the knowledge that the term “followers” does not actually denote any kind of discipleship, worship, or adoration, but is actually social media-speak for “people who are marginally interested in what I have to say OR are just “following” me in hopes I’ll reciprocate” – which would admittedly be hard to fit on a little “button” (or is it “icon”?) on a screen. I say small comfort because I’m a word guy. I like words. I hope to make a living with them. I also feel pretty strongly that they have meaning – or at least that they used to.

And why was I trying to figure out how many followers I have? Because I’m trying to find an agent or publisher for my book, and many agents/publishers want to know that stuff . In addition to how many followers I have, they want to know how active I am on social media, do I have a website, do I have a blog, etc., and how will all that fit into marketing my book, should they deign to represent/publish it.

Seriously? I thought all that marketing stuff was their job (just another thing I’m clueless about). Here I was, thinking all I had to do was spend a couple years’ worth of blood, sweat, and tears researching, writing, re-writing, workshopping, and editing my book, not to mention all the actual money I spent on research, find someone to represent or publish it, and then it was just sit back, put my feet up and wait for the checks to start flooding in.

I mean sure, I figured I might have to do some promotional stuff, like bookstore readings, interviews, talk shows, maybe walk a few red carpets (kidding. I’m stupid, but not delusional), but not actually come up with some kind of marketing strategy. I’m not anybody’s idea of a salesman. I couldn’t sell ice cubes in hell.

And that’s just on the “somebody PLEASE buy my book” front.

Employment is almost as bad. See, I had a master plan – I’d go to graduate school, get an MFA, and then I could get a job teaching at a college. Hahahahahahahaha. Sadly, there were two things I didn’t know: 1) Unless you’ve got tenure or are at least in a tenure-track position (which at my age is extremely unlikely), it is almost impossible make a living teaching at a college as an adjunct (unless you’re just phoning it it or willing to work yourself to death).

And 2) I kind of suck at teaching. I wasn’t really expecting that. I think I was probably at least adequate (marginally), but I just could not connect with the students. Naturally, I blame them. Okay, not really. At worst, it was a 50/50 split, but I think the bulk of the problem was me. At any rate, I care too much about teaching to be willing to do it badly. At my age, I think I’m too set in my ways, and don’t really have time (or the inclination) to change.

So, I’ve gone back to something I am good at: being a Writing Consultant, or Mentor, or whatever they’re calling it this week, at IU East. It’s a great job, and I’m working with great people, but it’s only part-time. Still, I’m hoping it’ll be enough for us to get by until those bestseller-level checks start pouring in.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining (well not a lot, anyway). I’ve made every decision that got me here, and honestly, I don’t know that I’d change any of them if I could. I’ve met some great people along the way, and done some cool stuff, and learned a lot of lessons (many of which weren’t even painful!). I didn’t go to college to get a job. I went to college to learn, and to grad school to get better at the thing I love, which is writing. In both cases, I feel like I succeeded.

I can’t even say I’m surprised at where I’ve ended up. Given my predilection for stubbornness, hard-headedness, and self-destructiveness, I guess I’m surprised that I’m doing as well as I am. I blame it on my wife, the lovely, talented, and long-suffering Jess. My decision to pursue her relentlessly until I wore her down and convinced her to marry me is probably the only good decision I’ve ever made, or at least the absolute best one. She really is the best.

So anyway, here I am, a wildly overeducated middle-aged man with no practical marketable skills and no real inclination to develop any, hoping to strike gold as a writer. Trust me, I know how stupid it sounds – roughly as stupid as it is – still, a dreamer’s gotta dream, right?

Besides, I figure if the writing doesn’t work out and worse comes to worst, I can always go into politics (taking up prostitution seemed like a more decent and honourable option, but I saw myself in the mirror, so that’s off the table). Looking at the clown show that our congress has turned into, I figure its the one field in which a guy like me, with no discernible talents other than bullshitting, can still really shine.

Please join me now in prayer that it doesn’t come to that (seriously, if I do get my book published, buy a copy. If not for my sake, then for the sake of the country!)

I think this would make a great author photo for the back of my book OR a great political ad. What do you think?

Stop the Bullshit!: We’re ALL Part of the Problem – Part 1 – Stupid Generalizations

Disclaimer: One of my favorite writers, Joe R. Lansdale has said that to be a good writer, you have to write as if everyone you know is dead. That’s what I’m doing in this piece. I’m not calling anyone out, but I’m not going to tip-toe around either. If you’re offended, that’s fine, just be offended (maybe take a minute to think about why you’re offended). None of this is intended as a personal attack on anyone, but on certain types of behavior that we’re all frequently guilty of. You’ve been warned.

Disclaimer 2: The following contains some bad language. I make no excuses and offer no apologies. If that sort of thing offends you to the point where it takes precedence over what’s being said, then do yourself a favor and stop reading now.

Stupid Generalizations

Yesterday, I started writing a post about how words, and how we string them together have meaning. I’ve abandoned that post, since I’ve come to the conclusion that most people just don’t care, at least not in America.

That last sentence brings me to my first point: when I first wrote it, it said “. . . no one cares . . .”, which is a gross, and inaccurate generalization. Lots of people in America actually do care. The actual issue, the reason I’ve abandoned that post is that it’s pointless. The people who do care would hopefully read it and agree, but those it was aimed at wouldn’t even bother reading it. I’d just be preaching to the choir, and there’s enough of that kind of bullshit going on in this country right now (which is another point I’ll get to later).

But aren’t we all guilty of making those same kind of gross and inaccurate generalizations, even when we know them to be completely untrue. Every day I see videos, and read “news” articles and social media posts, and hear conversations doing this same thing. Keep in mind that I’m not talking about politicians, or the professional talking heads on the news networks, or internet “influencers” (whatever/whoever they are. I just found out that’s actually a thing), nor the websites of extremist propagandists of every stripe. For the most part, I believer those people are at best, extremely biased, and anything they say should be fact-checked, and at worst – well, I would say they’re whores, but as my dad would have said, that would be denigrating whores.

Nope, I’m talking about normal (whatever that is) people. For argument’s sake, lets say people like you and me (except for YOU of course – you know who you are*). People whom I know to be decent, reasonable, intelligent, caring, and basically good human beings. We’re talking liberals, conservatives, Christians, agnostics, atheists, and undeclared, gay, straight, trans, etc., about as broad slice of the human spectrum as you’re likely to get in rural Indiana.

People who, for all their sterling qualities frequently use the phrase “all conservatives”, “all liberals”, “all Republicans”, “all Democrats”, “all Christians”, “all Muslims”, “all fill-in-your-own-favorite-existential-threat-to-our-country/religion/way of life/etc. demographic”. You know; dipshits. The kind of people who if you were to claim something derogatory about their group would protest vehemently that you can’t attribute the worst whatever of the most extreme branch of whatever group they belong to, to every – or even most – of that group.

Lets face it: anyone who knows anything about people knows that generalizations are pretty much useless and provably false (although is that a generalization in itself?). But we insist on doing it anyway, shrilly and belligerently and as loudly as they can.

I know they’re not going to stop, so all I can say is that I’d appreciate it if you could stop doing that crap around me anyway? At least if you have any interest in me actually listening and considering whatever it is you have to say. On the other hand, I do have to say that it does save me a fair amount of time, since I’ve found that pretty much anything that starts with or includes “all conservatives/liberals/Christians/Muslims/etc. . . .” is basically bullshit anyway, so there’s no sense bothering to read it.

I know a lot of Conservatives/Republicans. Most of my “friends” on the Facebook, and in real life are Conservatives/Republicans. None of them wants to cage children, watch you die because you don’t have health insurance, want to send our troops to more endless wars, or block any legal voter from the polls. Are there some Conservatives/Republicans who either do want to do those things or at least are okay with it? Yes there are, but I don’t know any. The ones I know would give pretty much anyone in need the shirt off their back. At least that’s what I believe they’d do, and I like believing in people.

I also know a lot of Liberals/Democrats. None of the ones I know want open borders, or Soviet-style socialism, or to even get rid of capitalism, to force preachers to gay-marry people, or to destroy the country. Are there some that do want those things? Absolutely there are (although I’m not really sure about that “destroy the country” thing. Not sure what anyone stands to gain from that), but I don’t know any. The ones I know are just as decent and caring , and just as supportive of our country and rights as the conservatives I know.

I would go so far as to say that virtually all of the conservatives I know have way more in common with the vast majority of liberals I know, and vice versa. In fact, I believe that they have more in common with each other than either have with the extreme wing of their own group.

That’s why those bullshit generalizations just make things worse: They’re divisive, hateful, and destructive. That’s the sort of thing that no one who spends any time thinking about the people they know would say.

“All . . .” is the sort of phrase that tells the audience more about the speaker/writer than it does about whoever it is they’re talking about. Before you do it again, think about what it tells people about you.

*Just a joke. Not intended toward any actual person. Still, I have to say I’m curious to see if/how many people take it personally.

Stupid Technology: Never There When You Need It

Those of you keeping score at home know that lately I’ve been having even more trouble with technology since I had to get a new phone. It hasn’t really gotten any better.

This time however, I’m not whining about how I can’t answer my phone, or how I can’t do this or that with my phone, I’m whining because I frequently refuse to carry my phone, and it turns out that’s not great either.

Every Sunday, I leave my phone at home when we go to church. I consider it my one day of freedom from the electronic leash (plus, my ringer is set really loud, and I don’t think that a robocaller triggering “Slaughter on 10th Avenue in the middle of church would go over particularly well). Also, don’t even get me started on trying to figure out how to turn the volume down. I’ve got enough trouble.

Anyway, a couple Sundays ago, the lovely and talented Jess and I, along with our normal Sunday lunch buddies, Steve and Dot Bickerson, went to our customary Sunday lunch spot, a local diner (not to name names, but it’s got a large, wavy-haired, fat kid in front) where I proceeded to order my customary Sunday lunch – the pork tenderloin, no tomato, with fries and coleslaw. I can’t remember what anyone else had, but honestly it’s not really all that important.

It is commonly known in our small circle of friends (and after this story, our circle may contract even more), that although we really enjoy eating there, the fat boy’s food doesn’t always agree with either of us. It’s not his fault really, nothing we eat agrees with us. We both live in a constant state of digestive crisis. Fortunately, we do like to live dangerously.

On this particular occasion, the food hit me even faster and harder than normal. With no time to even excuse myself, I got up and walked as quickly as it’s possible to walk with your entire body clenched from the jaw down, praying the whole while that the bathroom would be empty.

A dramatic recreation of this traumatic incident.

My luck was in and the bathroom was deserted. I closed myself in the stall, and took care of business (and let me take a moment to mention my gratitude to the laws that mandate those safety bars in public bathrooms. Sometimes it’s good to be able to brace yourself). After the accompanying sigh/groan of relief and a moment of self-congratulation about having the fortitude and kung fu grip needed to make it to the facilities, I’ve got to say, I was feeling pretty good about things. Sadly, that good feeling was too good to last.

If I might digress a moment (and honestly, who’s gonna stop me?), I’d really like to know what jackass designs handicapped bathroom stalls. I mean, come on man, you’re designing this thing for people whose mobility and physical capabilities are already limited in some way. So why in the name of all that’s holy, would you put the toilet paper dispenser UNDER THE DAMNED GRAB BARS?!!!!! It’s not like the wall ABOVE the rails is so cluttered up with stuff that there’s no room for it.

Seriously, can you imagine having to lean over far enough to reach your hand up into a dispenser lower than your knees if your legs don’t work? It’s hard enough to do with more or less fully-functioning legs. It just ain’t right.

It’s also waaaaaay less right when you go through all that only to find out that there’s no toilet paper, which is what happened to me on this particular occasion. I’ve gotta say, the fat boy really lost some points with me that day.

So there I sat, my forehead still damp with a cold sweat, fruitlessly sliding the little door on the dispenser back and forth, as if a roll was hiding in there somewhere, or would magically appear if I really believed hard enough. It didn’t.

Still, I’m not one prone to panic. I know that I can’t be the only one who is adversely and drastically affected by the fat boy’s food. Sooner or later, I told myself, someone will come in whom I can ask for help, so I settled in to wait.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, somebody came in and bellied up to the urinal, just outside the stall. Being the considerate guy I am, I waited to try to get his attention until he got to that sweet spot between flushing and washing hands to say “Excuse me? Hey? Excuse me?!”

“You talking to me?”

Like there was anyone else in there. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“Maybe?” He sounded a little nervous (as one would, I suppose).

“There’s no toilet paper in here.” I waited for him to stop laughing, then said, “I was hoping you could tell one of the employees?”

“Yeah man, no problem,” and he left.

I waited. I waited some more. Then, for a change, I tried waiting. I was beginning to doubt that my new friend had actually told someone about it. As I sat there with my legs going numb, I could hear the sound of happy families enjoying their meals. I could even – and this part is absolutely true – hear the lovely and talented Jess laughing (she has a hearty laugh that really carries. It’s just one of the many things I love about her) as she and Steve and Dot visited. It sounded like they were having a really good time. It was also like she didn’t even know I was gone.

I thought that surely enough time had passed that she’d come to check on me, or at least send Steve. I was wrong. I actually started thinking about just yelling for help, but I was really hoping to get out of this with at least some dignity. I found myself wishing there were some sort of device, a personal communicator if you will, that I could carry in my pocket and would enable me to contact Jess and let her know of my predicament.

And then, I remembered – my phone! I could just call her – that is, if only it wasn’t sitting on the printer back at my house. Of course, there’s no guarantee that it would have worked anyway; the lovely and talented but frequently uncommunicative Jess is notorious for not answering her phone (at least when I call).

Still, I could at least have left a voicemail, or as a last resort, texted her. Those probably wouldn’t have worked either – She is just as technologically unsavvy as I am, and has no idea how to check either her voicemail or messages. Still, at least there would have been something with which to make her feel guilty about later (althought she doesn’t really do guilt, either).

At any rate, after sitting there for what seemed like hours, but was probably more like only 10-15 minutes, another guy came in, and I went through the previous exchange all over again. This guy however, actually went and got help, and a few minutes later, a roll of toilet paper slid into the stall. Thank God.

Ironically, as I was finally leaving the bathroom, I met Steve coming to check on me. We went back to the table where I told them about the whole ordeal. They laughed and laughed. Steve and Dot eventually stopped laughing, but Jess was still laughing all the way home.

I take some comfort in the fact that there are probably few husbands who make their wives laugh that hard or that often. She’s a lucky woman. Just the same, I’m going to start taking my phone to church from now on.

Stupid technology. Can’t live with it, and apparently can’t live without it either.