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Its September 28th. You should be twenty nine today. But you didn't even reach two years old. I'm sorry that you never even reached two years old. I'm sorry I never got to know you. I'm sorry you died in a fire crying by yourself. I'm sorry your mother wasn't there when sure should've been. I'm sorry your father wasn't there when he should've been. I'm sorry I wasn't there, but then I couldn't have been. I'm sorry that your parents thought so little of you that almost exactly to the day nine months later I was born. I'm sorry they thought they could replace you. I'm sorry you never got to meet our little brother. I'm sorry you never got a pair of decent parents like we did when we were adopted. I'm sorry I never got to tell you I liked boys. I'm sorry you never got a chance to find out who you liked. I'm sorry we never got to give each other birthday presents, or wedgies, or wet willies. I'm sorry that you never had a chance to live. I'm sorry I never visit your grave.
What I'm not sorry for is remembering you. I'm not sorry that I honor you when I use my middle name. I'm not sorry that I remember your birthday. I'm not sorry for never forgiving your parents. I'm not sorry that I hate them for not being there for them. I'm not sorry for loving you even though we never got a chance to meet.
Happy Birthday to you, my Big brother, Wesley Irvin Evans from me your little bro Jack Wesley Wimberly
I came across this article by accident. I belong to a few subreddits, and it was linked to one for writers. Normally, I don’t click on such links, but this one caught my attention. The article itself is older, was originally published in 2015, but the advice in it is one that can be used today. It goes over ten writing rules that they feel and supported by some survey, which SciFi and Fantasy writers should break. They give supporting reasons why when they discuss each rule. I do recommend reading the full article, and seeing what you think of it.
For me, I already break most of these rules, or at least I feel I do. I write InfoDumps. I write in Third Person Omnisentience. That’s two of the rules they say that writers should break. I agree with them. Another article on the same site, has InfoDump listed as one of the “writing terms, Authors wish would disappear,” among others.
The 10 Rules they list are:
1. No third-person omniscient.
2. No prologues
3. Avoid InfoDumps
4. Fantasy novels have to be series instead of standalones
5. No portal fantasy
6. No FTL
7. Women can’t write “hard” science fiction.
8. Magic has to be just a minor part of a fantasy world
9. No present tense
10. No “unsympathetic” characters
To date, in what I’ve written and posted on GA, I’ve broken rules 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, and 9. I can’t break rule 7, being a male. Rules 4 and 5 are being broken in my Fall 2017 Anthology story, and rule 10 I want to try my hand at.
For my take on some of these:
1. I find the first person very wonky and struggle with it. I’ve done a mixed POV story with Finding Eros in Florida, where the first person is used from the POV of the God Eros. I normally always used third person omniscient in my writings, and I prefer it that way.
2. I love Prologues and wish I would do more. Only my Aeris – Guardian Force has a Prologue, and it is a snapshot of a scene, that won’t be the full story. However, it set the tone, which I wanted to share. I had a Prologue for Finding Eros in Florida, but cut it out at the last moment.
3. I love InfoDumps. Chapter 1 of Aeris – Guardian Force is almost an entire chapter of InfoDump. It’s needed. It set the foundation of the world, around which Aeris is a member of.
4. Larry Elmore, a Fantasy Artist painter from the 80’s and 90’s wrote a standalone fantasy novel. It was awesome. I love standalones. Many Authors on GA have done one-shot stories, and they are awesome. Readers want more like I do with Myr’s Ranger story.
I could go on, but I feel you should read the article. See what they have to say and if you agree with it, let me know in the comments below.
It’s Thursday, September 21st, 2017 and I’m in Daly City California. It’s my day off, nothing special about that except that “N” is working the morning shift and I have the whole day off to do whatever I want. If I want to stay in bed all day naked, watching YouTube videos, I can. Or if I want to do a marathon of jerking off to free porn on the whole interwebs, I can and no one can say anything about it.
And don’t think I didn’t contemplate that last one this morning after waking up with a full on robot chubby that wouldn’t go away that defies all logic for a forty-two year old man. One of the reasons I was so happy with growing older was the mistaken thinking that my libido would diminish with the onset of old age.
And yes, I know that forty-two isn’t old compared to some of the other humans that populate this planet nor am I saying that forty-two is old. All I’m saying is that I was really hoping that I wouldn’t be the horny man I was in my twenties.
The man/boy that slept with the butt-crack of dawn for no other reason then I couldn’t think straight the moment things became erect. And to be truthful, that was the only reason I slept with a little person when I was 22. And because I wondered if his cock looked like a normal sized cock, for the record it did. Nor was it because I wanted to see how massive my cock would look like going in and out of his little butt. For the record he was a top…but that’s another story.
Why at my age do I still wake up with a hard-on? And even more curiously, why am I still horny the moment my boyfriend walks into the room? When will I get the dreaded EDS the TV tells me happens to every man over forty? For Christ sakes, I’m in my forties, do I still have to contend with my cock boning up with every stiff breeze that comes along?
My boyfriend left at 7:15 this morning to go to work. Apparently he had a few private parties and several larger groups for breakfast and needed to make sure he was there in plenty of time to oversee this madness. And right after he left, I lay in bed with my other head ready for some fun.
So I did what every man/boy does when his penis is taking over…that’s right, I got up and turned on my X-Box 360 and started playing Assassins Creed 3. And if you are wondering, I did not feel like a pervert playing games at 7:30am with a boner. Nor did I have a brief/thirty minute fantasy what it would be like to have sex with Conner from the game. And I am talking about a full thirty minutes of constructing a complicated story of what point in the game we would meet, the details of our first awkward encounter that slowly builds over time until we climax on the grass overlooking the manor with Achilles somewhat reluctant approval as he looks on.
Besides my raging hard-on, the only thing I wanted to do today on this glorious day off, was to get hot wings from Buffalo Wild Wings in Daly City, Ca in the Serramonte Centre.
I believe that everyone who has been reading my Blog for any amount of time…mostly a few years ago when I actually updated my Blog more than once every few years, would know that I am quite addictive to all things hot…exclusively hot wings. I will go to any amount of trouble to acquire those artery clogging morsels of ecstasy. Lie to policeman, check, leave work early on a faulty pretense, check. I’m not saying I would kill a human for those tasty treats, but don’t be the asshole that makes my life difficult at work and then stand in between me and those chickens that are fried in fat and then tossed in hot deliciousness. Seriously, don’t do that because I’m not sure what or who I would choose. Better to error on the side of caution then test my morals when it comes to hot wings.
When “N” left for work, I was horny and really needed to release but I started playing video games instead of taking things in hand as it were. Then after driving myself to the brink of madness wondering what it would be like to have sex with a 3-D construct, I really needed to curb my horniness with something tangible.
I played Assassins Creed 3 until 11am. I know, that’s like three and half hours playing a game. But all I was doing was waiting until Buffalo Wild Wings opened so I could indulge in man’s simplest pleasures. Okay, seeing as I was talking about jerking off, I wanted to indulge in man’s second simplest pleasure, the consumption of Hot Wings.
At 11:25, I called in my order to Buffalo Wild Wings. May I have a medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra extra wet, with a side of Blazing sauce, a Chili Queso Dip with no pico de guillo. I don’t really give a shit if I spelled that wrong.
I’ve lived in the Bay Area for thirteen years. I started going to Buffalo Wild Wings sometime in the last three years. Just so I can give you full disclosure, I’ve ordered the exact same order at least once a week for the last three years. It might have been longer/shorter, but I’ve spent way too much fucking money on this addiction that will probably put me in an early grave.
I arrived at Buffalo Wild Wings at 12:30pm, because I stopped at the grocery store to buy Fosters beer and Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey. But before I talk about my Buffalo Wild Wings experience, I stopped at the local Lucky Grocery Store to do two things. First, I wanted to exchange my bag full of coins, they have a coin star that you can exchange your coins into money. When I first walked into the store, can you believe there was a line to use the coin star machine. Three people in front of me and I joined the line as I was listening to Penn’s Sunday School Podcast and really not in a hurry.
After about five minutes, the guy leaves and the next guy goes to the machine and places a paper bag on the counter. His actions was hidden with his body, but after a few minutes and I didn’t here the sounds of the machine counting the coins to convert into money, I peered to my left and noticed that he had a paper bag filled with already rolled and packaged coins. The type of packaging that looks like when you get coins from a bank. And he was slowly breaking open the rolled coins and putting them into the counting thingy.
“Fuck this” I thought and walked back to my car to place my oversized container in my trunk. All I wanted to do was cash in my coins, it wasn’t like I needed the coins to buy my groceries. I then walked back into the store and grabbed two bottles of diet coke, three 24 ounces of Fosters beer, and a 750ml of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey whiskey. I walked to the front of the store, and they only had two registers open, and they had to have at least ten people in each line. Of course, the self check-out lines was completely empty, but seeing as you can’t buy alcohol in the self check-out lines, that really didn’t help me.
“Fuck this” I thought as I dropped my basket and walked out of the grocery store. After all, I had lots of places I could buy beer and whiskey without waiting in line on my day off.
I drove to Serramonte Mall, where Buffalo Wild Wings opened a massive store. When I walked into the store, it was 12:30, almost forty minutes from the time I called in my order. I walked up to the counter and there was three younger girls behind it talking amongst themselves. It felt like five minutes before I was even greeted but it was probably less than a minute. But sixty seconds is a long fucking time to stand somewhere where three different people can see you and no one even says hello.
Seriously, right now, just start counting to sixty in your head and imagine you standing at a counter with someone standing behind it yet not saying a single word to you. It feels like forever right. That’s how I felt.
Finally after three hours/thirty seconds, someone says hello. I give my name, they read my order back to me, medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra wet, side of blazing sauce, chile queso dip no pico de guillo, that will be 30.92. I give them my card, I total it 35.00 dollars and she says, your order isn’t ready it will be another five minutes.
I sit down on the bench and continue listening to Penn’s Sunday School podcast. After eight minutes, I walk back to the counter and inquire about the status of my order. This is when the girl behind the counter decided to tell me, “There was a mix up of your order and they are re-making it, it’s not that busy so it should only be another 15 minutes.”
I’m not mad that they lost my order, I’ve worked in the restaurant industry for more than twenty years, I understand that mistakes happen and orders get lost. If they would have said something to me when I paid for my order, I would’ve sat there quietly while they figured it out. But they didn’t tell me that when I paid, what they said was it would be another five minutes.
And yes, I was really enjoying Penn’s Sunday School podcast, but I was also watching them. It’s a habit I’ve picked up over my years of running restaurants, I always watch the staff members. And in my watching, I saw that they were talking amongst themselves, pointing at me, and pointing back at the kitchen. Then I also observed them getting on the phone, gesturing towards me again, and then a minute or two later, a manager walked up to the front and started looking at the computer while looking at me everyone moment or two.
But I understand that things happen and though I knew deep down in my heart that something happened to my order, I was waiting patiently. But after waiting eight mintues, knowing that something was wrong, and rightly/wrongly waiting for them to explain what happened to my order, I walked up to the front only to be told off-handedly, that they were re-making the order and that something happened.
No apology, no saying they are doing everything they can to fix it, no offering a soda while I wait for the order to be corrected, nothing from the manager at all.
And I will be the first to admit, I was pissed. From 7:30 in the morning, all I could think about was getting Buffalo Wild Wings, getting beer and whiskey and watching the remake of Magnificent Seven. And once again, Buffalo Wild Wings fucks up my plans.
Earlier I told you that I have been ordering from Buffalo Wild Wings for longer than I can remember. What I never admitted too, was that they screw up my order at least 1 out of 5 times. Now before you ask me why I continue to go back to the place that fucks up my order that often, I will point out that I have an addiction and I will always need hot wings in my life. Always.
I am rather proud that I didn’t yell, or demand some kind of free stuff, all I said was I’ve been waiting for almost 50 minutes and I want my money back.
I want to say again, that Buffalo Wild Wings have screwed up my order so many times that I am immune to their incompetency and always check my order before leaving the restaurant. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the front of house staff, and have seen lots of staff and managers come and go. And usually all I do is smile and take whatever bad experience they throw at me because in the end I get what I need, Hot Wings. I’ve seen great FOH staff, who cares but mess up continually, bad FOH staff that can’t get an order right if there was a gun to their head. And everything in between.
And before you say, the FOH staff can’t control the kitchen, I know that. But Buffalo Wild Wings put the ticket on the bag, and I’ve seen the ticket never mention that I want no pico de guillo in my Chili Queso Dip. I’ve seen tickets that never says extra extra extra wet on my Hot BBQ wings. That is not a kitchen error, that is a FOH mistake.
And what really pissed me off today, when the manager told me they lost my ticket and was remaking the order, what pissed me off, she turned away and started talking to the girl next to her about the date she had the night before.
And I will be the first to admit, I’m not a nice guy sometimes. I have a sharp wit and sometimes it can be extremely harsh when I’m not at work. That didn’t happen today. I was calm, and politely asked for my money back. The manager looked at me, and said okay. She processed my order, gave me the slip that said my order was voided and that my card would be credited for the amount. She then turned away from me again and resumed her story about the night before.
For the first time in my life, and it has already been established that I am forty-two, I looked up the corporate office and sent an email detailing my experience. I didn’t demand my money back, nor did I swear and lose my mind which is what I would normally do. Instead I detailed my experience today, and asked for them to try and fix the issues that seem to happen at each and every Buffalo Wild Wing I have ever frequented. I said, “I wish I could quit you, because after giving you so much money over the years and having so many issues with your staff, I wish I could quit you, but I probably won’t because I love hot wings so much”.
It’s been five hours and I haven’t heard anything back from their website complaint department and I wasn’t really surprised. When you are such a huge corporation, people are going to give you money no matter what and that they believe that with all the new guests they get each week, they really don’t care about existing guests. But that logic is flawed, and what they don’t seem to understand, sooner or later they are going to run out of new guests and there will be no one left to try their restaurant. I spend so much of my energy making sure that all my guests are taken care of, I sometimes have nothing left to give to my boyfriend after a long day at work.
I left Buffalo Wild Wings with the idea that I would go to my local Hot Wing place that doesn’t really have spicy hot wings but have decent hot wings that I could purchase and then add my ghost pepper sauce to kick them to another level. But when I arrived at their establishment, they were closed for remodel. And then went to another hot wing place in Daly City and they were out of hot wings until 1pm because there shipment didn’t arrive on time.
It’s now 5pm and I’m at home. I did get my beer, and my whiskey, and I’m rather drunk, which is why if this Blog entry has mistakes or a rambling feel to it, it’s not my fault I’m on an empty stomach and rather drunk.
I still have a hard-on, I have no hot wings, and my boyfriend isn’t home yet from work. Sometimes life just sucks no matter how hard you try and maintain positivity.
I want to thank everyone at Gay Authors who has made my visits here so satisfying and enjoyable. The stories are what brought me here and keeps me coming back so I first want to thank Mark Arbour for his CAP Series and later his Bridgemont saga. Mark's stories are what brought me to the site in the first place and they keep me coming back. Along the way C. James' "Circumnavigation" and Andrew Q Gordon's stories also captivated me...and so many others too including Nephylim, Libby Drew, AnytaSunday, DKstories, and oh, so many others!
As I was visiting the site fairly regularly, I finally decided to formally join it in April 2009 and I started to leave a few comments, getting more confident after awhile. "Likes" were not unlimited and actually fairly restricted, meaning I often ran out every day. Accordingly, reputation points built quite slowly for most on the site and that is why some of the classic authors' rep scores must seem low to newer members. It is only in the past couple of years that members could leave an unlimited number of likes.
I finally had written and revised something enough that I thought was good enough to post and "Dean Warner Intrigues" was posted in 2012. Having tasted some success, I began writing "Abel III's Awakening" and it was posted in 2014 and 2015. I intend to post some more, but my standards have grown and I'm not satisfied with anything as of yet.
Seventy years is getting a bit long in the tooth and for most people in their teens, twenties and thirties it doesn't seem possible to project that far ahead into one's life. But most everyone has grandparents, parents and other oldsters in their life and you do notice things. Not all of them complimentary either. Life is often explained in terms of a journey and what you make of it, how you prepare for it and how you take time to enjoy it and help others to enjoy it determines whether you derive satisfaction and what kind of person you end up being. The pursuit of happiness is hollow if it only involves the pursuit of money or things. It is also hollow if it only involves the next drug or alcohol induced high as that gets old quickly and makes you old before your time and unhealthy to boot.
People are social creatures. We crave interaction, touch and a sense of belonging. However, it is just those things that makes us vulnerable. Learning to chose friends wisely is an ongoing lesson. Everyone gets hurt, and in truth everyone has hurt some others, even if unintentionally. Forgiveness is a virtue which must be cultivated if we expect others to forgive us. Every long term relationship requires forgiveness and not just the act of saying it, but also of letting go of the resentment and hurt caused by the offense. It is not always easy and is damn near impossible at times, but the resentment and anger can eat at you. And life is too short to carry that around all the time.
I have had many family and friends die over the course of my life and some died much too young. What is worse, some died before they really had a chance to achieve anything, as I had a cousin who was murdered in a drive by shooting in Denver when he was in his early twenties. But most were of great help to me and always encouraging and I treasure the memories.
So while I have many regrets, but then again too few to mention, (a la Sinatra) I have had a good life so far and I'm looking forward to being productive for several more.
Thanks again GA for being part of my good memories!
Daddy, Dave K
Once upon a time scientists thought the world was flat.
Then they discovered chromosomes .
(these two events have nothing to do with each other, I'm simply using them of references to establish a time line)
Scientists discovered the (X) Chromosome and (Y) chromosome. The pattern in which these chromosomes occur decides whether someone is born (male) or (female).
All eggs start out with with (XX), female. Then once fertilized a surge of hormones in the uterus decide whether a fetus stays female or becomes male.
This path to maleness or femaleness originates at the moment of meiosis, when a cell divides to produce gametes, or sex cells having half the normal number of chromosomes. During meiosis the male XY sex-chromosome pair separates and passes on an X or a Y to separate gametes; the result is that one-half of the gametes (sperm) that are formed contains the X chromosome and the other half contains the Y chromosome. The female has two X chromosomes, and all female egg cells normally carry a single X. The eggs fertilized by X-bearing sperm become females (XX), whereas those fertilized by Y-bearing sperm become males (XY).
That was a lot of science talk, I'm sorry. But are you with me so far? Good.
So... time skip...
Due to ADVANCES IN SCIENCE (dun dun dun... oh no! that means somethings going to change!) scientists have now discovered that this isn't always the case! They have found that their are MORE THEN TWO POSSIBLE CHROMOSOME PATTERNS! (le gasp!). So what does this mean?
(get ready for some more SCIENCE!)
Some genetic men possess an extra X chromosome (XXY) or more rarely, two or three extra Xs (XXXY, XXXXY); they typically produce low levels of testosterone, leading to less-developed masculine sexual characteristics and more-developed feminine characteristics than other men. In contrast, some men receive an extra Y chromosome (XYY) in the genetic lottery (and while they have been referred to as "supermales" that is more sensationalism than science).
Some genetic women have only one X chromosome; they often display less-developed female sexual characteristics than other women. And people with a genetic mosaic possess XX chromosomes in some cells and XY in others.
Even if you get the "right" combination of sex chromosomes, it's no guarantee that you'll fit into the little boxes society has defined as of male and female.
For example, genetic women (XX) with congenital adrenal hyperplasia produced unusually high levels of virilizing hormones in utero and develop stereo typically masculine sexual characteristics, including masculinized genitals.
Similarly, genetic men (XY) with complete androgen insensitivity syndrome don't respond to male hormones and fail to develop masculine sexual characteristics. Most live their lives as women.
So what does this mean for society?
Some people with penises are more feminine and some people without penises are masculine.
The way we characterize this difference is called GENDER.
(I know it's scary, but please, stay with me!)
Sex refers to what sexual organs you have. There are two kids of sexual organs, MALE and FEMALE. And there fore four possible combonations
but! We're not done.
Gender refers to your mind, behavior and thought patterns; wither someone displays more 'masculine qualities' or 'feminine qualities' , which is in part determined by you chromosomal patters (which we have now learned has MANY MANY options) and how you were raised/ influenced throughout your life (nature vs nurture debate is on going).
Since the discovery of these chromosomal patters that differentiate from (XX) and (XY) scientists realized that not only does your sexual organs not always match your personality qualities but that their is a
(wait for it..... )
SPECTRUM OF POSSIBILITIES!
Now referred to as Gender Spectrum.
This is Science (biology, sociology and psychology)
So since there are more then two options we need more then two classifications, but unlimited possible patters mean way too many classifications for people to keep straight.
Non-Binary is a good start. it's an umbrella term for anyone who doesn't fit into either the 'masculine' or feminine' box.
But mostly what it means is;
Once scientists thought the world was flat.
Once scientists thought that the earth is the center of the Universe and that all other objects move around it.
Once scientists believed illnesses could be cured by bloodletting.
Once scientists believed the Earth was constantly growing and shrinking in size.
Once scientists thought frogs and toads could give you warts.
Once scientists thought lightening never struck the same place twice.
Once scientists thought there were only two genders.
Science changes, people. Get with the times. Educate yourselves.
This has been A Science Lesson with Professor Lee.
Thanks and Have a nice day
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It's live! We've finally hit the release day for Earning His Trust, which originally started here on GA as No Flash. AND guess what? It's 30% off at Dreamspinner Press through the 8th! You can get it there for just $3.49 if you haven't already.Purchase Links:Dreamspinner Press: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/earning-his-trust-by-alicia-nordwell-8830-bUniversal Amazon Link: http://mybook.to/earninghistrustBarnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/earning-his-trust-alicia-nordwell/1126959085?ean=2940158790324
Evin lost the only two men he ever loved. But he might get a second chance with one of them—if he’s willing to take the risk.
Following the death of his husband, Evin is living in Portland and raising the infant son they had through a surrogate. Six-month-old Micah is his life, and if it means no time for activities or friendships beyond his minuscule support network, that’s a sacrifice Evin is willing to make. When he suffers a burn baking teething biscuits, the last person Evin expects to encounter in the ER is Ben, his lover from college—and the man who left him without a word of explanation.
Ben knows it won’t be easy to earn Evin’s trust and prove he’s not the same man Evin once knew, but he can’t bear to watch Evin struggle to care for Micah, hurting and alone. He wants back in Evin’s life, as a friend and hopefully more, but Evin’s heart is fragile, and the years have changed him too.
The curtain slid on the overhead rails, and Evin held in his urge to snap about how long it took to get to him when the nurse said the ER was slow, but he froze with his mouth open.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Perez. I see you burn—” The doctor snapped his jaw shut and stopped before he reached the head of the bed. Micah was oblivious, sitting between his legs and playing with his fake keys, chewing away on the rubber tips and drooling. He clutched the soggy remains of a biscuit in his other hand.
Evin had to swallow hard himself. Of all the hospitals, in all the cities, his old boyfriend had to be in this one.
He looked… good. Older, some wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It had been… how long since he’d seen him? Not since Ben was graduating medical school the same year Evin was graduating with a business degree. Evin certainly never expected to see him here, and by the shocked look on Ben’s face, he hadn’t known Evin lived in Portland either. Evin waited for Ben to say something else, but he just kept staring. Evin took a deep breath. He could be an adult. He was a dad now.
“Burned my hand,” he finished the sentence Ben never did. “I did it about an hour ago, and it really hurts.” Maybe he could move this along. Plus, Micah was on his third biscuit and getting fussy again. He probably needed to be changed, have some lunch, and then would fall asleep for the afternoon, just so he could keep Evin up all night again.
Ben dropped his gaze to Micah and then looked up to stare at Evin again. “What happened to you?”
Did he mean how Evin probably looked like he’d aged at least ten years since Ben bailed right before graduation, the last night they’d spoken? Well, spoken wasn’t a very good description for the fight they’d had after weeks of Ben ducking Evin’s questions about what he was planning. Maybe their relationship had run its course; maybe it was better for them not to be together.
But he’d never expected Ben to just up and leave. It’d been hard, but Evin had a job offer in Portland and he’d taken it. Fortunately, his best friend, Gianna, came with him, and they got an apartment together in a not-so-great area of Happy Valley. It’d been nice to have a friend he knew would stick by him, but then she met Carl, and they fell in love. Not long after that he met someone, but that had gone wrong too.
Gone was the bright, glittery guy who lit up the room in a flash, and this version of himself was all Evin knew how to be anymore. It was probably a disappointment. His hair was cut short instead of hanging down to his shoulders, and he was in a blue T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats instead of skintight everything. Nothing at all like how Ben would remember him.
Was he wondering how in the hell Evin had a kid, since he’d never even kissed a girl—at least before when Ben knew him? Probably.
Or had he brushed off their history, leaving Evin as the only one thinking about how the years had changed them—Ben definitely for the better. Most likely, he meant how Evin got the burn. He was a professional after all, and Evin was probably just another patient to him.
In the end, it didn’t really matter. His appearance, how he got hurt, it all came down to just one thing.
Did you ever wonder..
If everyone who's focused on meaningless things, violence and hatred, lies, getting the illusion of power would instead focus on what really matters... How beautiful we could make this world?
If everyone cared, just for a single day...
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1 (15.25 ounce) pkg. devil's food cake mix
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 pkg. Andes Mints
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
In a large bowl, combine cake mix, oil and eggs.
Drop spoonfuls of dough onto a baking sheet.
Bake for 6-9 minutes.
Take baking sheet out of oven and while cookies are still very hot, place an Andes Mint on top of each cookie.
In about 5 minutes, the mint will be melted. Take a spoon and smooth out each mint like frosting.
Note: I have found it easier to buy a bag of the andes mint pieces (can be found with the chocolate chips). I mix some into the batter, and then melt the rest to drizzle over top of the cookies instead of using full Andes Mints and having to wait for them to melt and then spread them. You could also melt the extra pieces and dip the cookies and place them on wax paper.
*Recipe courtesy of Six Sisters
As most of my friends were graduating college and moving on with their lives, I was getting left behind. I couldn't afford to finish school and worked my life away. Every day waking up and doing the same thing. Go to work. Go to a second job. Go to sleep. Repeat. It was horrible and I started falling into a pretty dark depression. Writing was the one thing I could turn to that would make me feel happy. Make me feel like me again.
Any free time I had I would try and write something. Many ideas came and went, just like all writers, but one idea stuck with me. A story about Patrick and his college experience. For months I wrote about him, his friends, his school, his loves. All these different stories making me feel nostalgic for college but helping lift my spirits. I fine tuned his adventures and compiled things into a neat little snippet of his freshman year. From move in day to the start of winter break. It wasn't half bad either. Something I rarely said about my own work. In those weeks, The CSU Stories were born.
Most of my projects sit on a computer or notebook somewhere and are never seen again. It didn't feel right for Patrick to fade into obscurity though. I shared the story with my Mom. An editing queen and published author herself, she read the story and was not shy about leaving her remarks. At first I felt discouraged. Like maybe it was garbage that I wrote but then I got to the last page. She wrote a paragraph telling me how proud she was of me and how amazing the story was and would be after I finished the editing process. Something a Mother had to say.
It spurred me on. I edited everything she marked and resubmitted it her. Round two of edits came down and I flew through them. Patrick was finished and ready to be something. What I didn't know. My Mom suggested I make it an ebook and I thought she was crazy. No one would want to read it. She pushed me until I finally did and in 2013, Patrick was released on Amazon. Four years later we worked together to make Patrick a paperback as well. It's been an amazing journey to this point but I'm proud of the work we did. Now almost six years since I started work on Patrick the next book in the series will be releasing on Friday!
You can get Patrick on Amazon in either format at https://goo.gl/szVDR5
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I've been instructed to write this letter. For my actions and reactions to an issue with a friend. I did not handle myself in an appropriate way. Being irrational.
I apologize to the Sirs I disrespected. With the way I may have addressed them. Along with not honoring with proper title. I deeply regret my actions to you. I've embarrassed myself and Sir.
I promise to be more mindful in future. Respecting Sirs and friends. Showing respect and settling my issues directly with individuals involved.
I hope you can forgive my outbursts and current irrational behavior. I'm working through what I need too. With Sir, and hopefully Dr. help.
Time to dust this blog thing off.... I haven't written anything since November 2015.
So over the last few months I have come to the decision that moving back to the Maryland area was the wrong decision. While it may help with my career aspirations, I really want to move away.
I pretty much have decided if I stay with Big Red (even though our colors changed the nickname sticks) I will either land up in Colorado or Minnesota. While Minnesota would be preferred I am not ruling anything out. I was given a heads up on an opening that is coming and I have been waiting for it to post.
When I told a few co-workers my plan/idea... all my old boss could say was I told you so. When I chose to come back East I pretty much ignored the reasons I left which was a huge mistake. My boss new she couldn't talk me out of it as family was weighing on my mind heavily. Now that I am back I miss it.
Yes it could get really cold out there. I learned what -50 felt like. Which is why when it is 20 degrees you will catch me in short sleeve shirt with no jacket.
I bought a house here.... yeah it was cheaper than rent. The commute of one and half hours to two is killing me and the gas costs are though the roof.
Friends... everyone complained I was too far away in Iowa. I moved closer and I am still too far. Despite the fact they go to the outlets 10 minuets from me.
My parents seem ok with idea of me moving back. They noticed I am not as happy as I was. Actually a lot of people have. I need to do what makes me happy.
My health... I was better off. No issues at all. No chest pain or kidney issues. I will find out Monday what they want to do about my right kidney. 10 months since the stone removal and it drains at a snails pace. I had a scan a few Friday's ago and the contrast was still chilling in my Kidney 45 minutes later. I also have another stone that may require surgery to remove.
Here's to hoping I can pull this off.... maybe with relo this time so I am not paying out of pocket.
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So, I'm writing again. I'm sure that'll excite the 2.7 people who remember when I used to post stories here.
I don't think I've had writers block, it's just rare that opportunity and inspiration intersect in my schedule these days. The only reason I'm even writing this week is because I'm recovering from surgery to insert plates in my face. Bad hockey injury, cheekbone broken in three places. Do not recommend.
Anyway, would really appreciate feedback on the prologue I've been working on. I have thirty-two chapters mapped out in Scrivener, so hopefully the words start to flow nicely now that I've figured out the beginning.
“Hey Jordy, what’s orange and sounds like a parrot?”
Stuart Bomford delivered the joke like a seasoned late-night comedian, despite the fact that his current audience consisted of a solitary, disinterested teenager.
“You know you tried that one on me last week, right?”
Jordan Russell didn’t even bother to look at his best friend, choosing instead to bounce the basketball in his right hand three times and bring it smoothly to his right hip, before calmly swishing another free throw. It was a routine that had served him well over the years, delivering countless made baskets in a string of high school gyms, and it looked certain to deliver another victory today as Jordan collected the ball and jogged back to the makeshift free throw line on his driveway.
“You really need some new material, Stu.” Jordan moved back into his shooting routine, needing just one more made basket to win the game. He bounced the ball three more times with his right hand, brought it smoothly back to his right hip, and then, just as he was about to flick his wrist…
“Why wasn’t Cinderella very good at basketball?”
Jordan paused in the middle of his shooting motion, momentarily distracted by the question. Had Stuart actually sourced some new material? He glanced sideways at his best friend, curious to know both the material’s origin and the source of Cinderella’s woes.
“Are you gonna finish the joke or what?” Jordan asked, continuing to stare at his friend. He got nothing but a shit-eating grin in return.
“Ugh, you’re such a dick.” Perturbed by Stuart’s lack of response, Jordan resumed his shooting routine, bouncing the ball three more times with his right hand before…
“Her coach was a pumpkin!”
The punchline was delivered at the exact moment of Jordan’s release, causing him to miss the shot wide right. The ball clanged off the side of the rim and straight into Stuart’s grasp.
“HA!” Stuart briefly held the ball aloft, before swooping past Jordan’s outstretched hand and dribbling it back towards the half-court line.
“I feel violated.” Jordan shook his head at Stuart’s childish humour, annoyed at both his poor execution and his inability to keep a straight face. “That joke was terrible.”
“Suck it up, princess.” Stuart had zero remorse for his actions, especially now that the ball was back in his possession. “You had your chance. Deal with it.”
The pair began to size each other up again, like they’d done thousands of times before in this setting. Though Jordan was the quicker and more skillful of the two, Stuart was able to hold his own by utilising superior size and strength. Their backyard games of twenty-one often came down to the final shot.
“You know I’m gonna beat you, right?” Stuart spoke the words with absolute confidence, though he was still trailing by two baskets. “Like Chris Brown beat Rihanna.”
“Settle down. Jesus.”
Jordan gestured toward his eight-year-old brother, Rory, who was playing with his Transformers just a handful of metres away. Though Rory appeared blissfully unaware of Stuart’s vulgarity, he was known to repeat their words at the most inopportune times.
“I forgot you’re on babysitting duty.” Stuart at least had the grace to look mildly embarrassed. “Wouldn’t want you to be grounded again.”
“Whatever.” Jordan dismissed his friend’s faux concern, instead focusing on the defensive task in front of him. “You gonna shoot the ball or what?”
“Oooooh, talk dirty to me.” Stuart began dribbling the ball again, though he made no immediate attempt to attack the basket.
“Come on, get on with it.” Stuart continued to dribble the ball, hoping that Jordan would become impatient and potentially be lured into a mistake.
“Seriously, do you want a written invitation?” Right on cue, Jordan started pushing up into Stuart’s personal space, attempting to push him further and further away from the basket.
“Do you… DAMN IT!” Jordan pushed into Stuart’s left shoulder again, but this time Stuart used his momentum against him and muscled his way past for an easy layup.
“You really are too predictable sometimes.” Stuart dribbled the ball back to the halfway line, grinning all the while.
“Try it again,” Jordan challenged, immediately crowding his personal space again. He was now bouncing on the balls of his feet, mirroring Stuart’s every move, determined to steal the ball away and put an end to the charade.
“You really need to work on that first step, Stu.” Jordan was more in control of his aggression now, staying in front every time Stuart jab-stepped and attempted to catch him unawares. “It’s almost as bad as your haircut.”
“Screw you, boyband.” Stuart used his non-dominant hand to flip Jordan the bird, briefly leaving the ball exposed.
“DAMN IT!” Jordan darted to his left and made a quick swipe at the ball, missing by mere millimetres. The move did force Stuart to pick up his dribble, however, meaning that he’d now be forced to shoot from where he was standing or risk a double-dribble violation.
“Sucked in.” Jordan planted his feet and raised both hands in the air, knowing that all he had to do was wait for Stuart to attempt an unlikely 33ft jump shot.
“You’re a dick, you know that?” Stuart let out an exasperated sigh, annoyed that he’d been checkmated. “I don’t know why the fuck I play with you sometimes.”
“Hey, easy on the language.” Jordan gestured toward his little brother again, still quietly playing with his Transformers in the front garden.
“Yeah yeah, whatever.”
Neither of them cared to the repeat the ‘What’s a Dirty Sanchez?’ incident from three weeks ago, especially now that Jordan’s mother knew how to use Urban Dictionary.
“Anyway,” Jordan turned his attention back to Stuart, “you may as well shoot. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Whatever.” Stuart again sized up his options, however limited they were, and made a quick decision. Flipping the bird once more in Jordan’s face, he spun away to his right and planted both sneakers on the pavement, before leaping high into the air over Jordan’s outstretched hand.
“KOBE!!!!!!!” He shouted the name of his basketball idol, hoping to emulate his feats as he released a one-handed hook shot that could only be described as a ‘prayer’.The ball sailed over the top of the backboard and landed on the garage roof.
“Nice job, dickhead.”
“Language!” Stuart mocked Jordan’s earlier chastening, as both boys moved to stand next to the garage. “You know what happened last time.”
Jordan mirrored Stuart’s earlier middle-finger gesture, before beginning to assess their options.
“What are we gonna do?” Stuart asked, acutely aware that the game was still tied at 20-20.
“Climb up.” Jordan pointed toward the wooden frame attached to the garage’s side wall, originally installed by his father to train an ivy plant.
“You want me to climb this thing?” Stuart inspected the latticework more closely. Though it had hand and foot gaps big enough to accommodate an adult, he seriously doubted its ability to carry his 6’3”, 100kg frame.
“Unless you have a better idea?”
“Don’t you guys have a ladder or something?” Stuart pushed and pulled at the wooden frame’s joints, wincing as they made a groaning sound. “Surely your dad owns a ladder?”
“Don’t think so.” Jordan made no immediate move to test this theory.
“Can you at least check?” Stuart rolled his eyes, watching as Jordan opened the side door to the garage and began rummaging through its contents.
He returned after a minute or so. “Nope. No ladder.”
“What about a broom? A rake?”
“Maybe.” Jordan went back into the garage, emerging a few seconds later with a broom.
“Thank you.” Stuart took the broom from Jordan’s grasp and attempted to poke the ball loose, but the handle wasn’t long enough. Even with a running leap, he came up two and a half feet short.
“Fuck sake.” Stuart cast the broom aside in frustration, earning another 'look' from Jordan. “Is there anything else we can use?”
“Not unless a ladder has materialised in the last sixty seconds.” Jordan’s sarcasm wasn’t appreciated by Stuart. He checked the garage again anyway, unsurprisingly coming up empty. “Nope, definitely nothing.”
“What are we gonna do then?” Stuart asked, inspecting the latticework again. He still didn’t trust its integrity. “I really don’t think this will hold my weight.”
“You sure?” Jordan inspected the wooden frame himself, eliciting the same groaning sound that Stuart heard earlier.
“Okay.” Jordan surveyed their other options again, quickly dismissing a rake that was the same length as the broom and a fence that was too far away from the garage wall. His attention returned to the wooden frame, as he inspected it more closely. The structure groaned each time he pulled at it, but it actually seemed to maintain its structural integrity. It wouldn’t be able to hold Stuart’s weight, but maybe it could hold a smaller mass.
Jordan’s brother looked up from the battle between Megatron and Optimus Prime, a brief flash of apprehension in his eyes. “Yeah…?”
“Need a massive favour, buddy.”
“What…?” Rory hoped that he’d misheard the conversation he wasn’t supposed to be listening to.
“We need you to climb up on the roof and get the ball down.”
Rory looked all the way up to the top of the garage, to where the ball was wedged behind the backboard, before looking back down at his brother.
“I left my other ball at Stu’s.” Jordan added a pleading tone to his voice, as Stuart nodded to confirm the story. “Can you please help us?”
“I dunno…” Rory placed his Transformers down on the grass, but didn’t make any move to stand.
“You won’t get into trouble.” Jordan offered Rory his biggest and most comforting smile, though he had no ability to promise such a thing.
“What if dad comes home?” Rory asked, still not convinced. “What if mum comes home?”
“Dad’s at work, Mum’s at the supermarket.” Jordan truly had an answer for everything. “They won’t be back for ages.”
“But what if they come back early?”
Jordan could see that Rory’s defenses were beginning to wear down. He watched as he broke off a blade of grass and began to fidget.
“If you do it, I’ll take you to McDonald’s.” Jordan moved to seal the deal now, smiling as the fidgeting stopped.
Rory finally climbed to his feet, taking Jordan’s promise at face value. With a whimper, he accepted a leg-up from Jordan and began to slowly climb the latticework, the structure easily supporting his lesser weight. Eventually reaching the top without issue, he slowly crawled across the roof to dislodge both the lost basketball and a couple of long-forgotten tennis balls.
Then he made the mistake of looking down.
“I-I’m scared, Jordy.” Rory’s bottom lip began to quiver, as he realised the enormity of his predicament. He was frozen to the spot, unable to lift even a single finger. Tears began splashing onto the corrugated iron beneath him. “H-Help me!”
“It’s ok, buddy.” Jordan was regretting his decision now, as he watched helplessly from ground level. Many, many metres below. “I’ll help you get down.”
“B-but I’m s-s-scared.” Rory’s trembling grew more pronounced, as the tears continued to fall. “I don’t wanna get caught.”
“You won’t get caught.“ Jordan gave Rory his warmest and most comforting smile, in the hope that it would be enough to settle him down. “Mum and Dad won’t be back for ages.”
“B-But Dad said not to climb on the roof!” Rory continued to argue against climbing on the roof, even as he sat atop it. “I’m gonna be in real big trouble if he finds out.”
“You’d better get a move on, then.”
Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Stuart found himself in Jordan’s cross hairs. The comment was meant to be sarcastic, meant to be taken as a joke, but it had only served to upset Rory further.
“Not helping, Stu.” Jordan cut a sideways glare at his best friend, as Rory’s sniffling grew louder.
“What I meant—”
“Whatever.” Stuart rolled his eyes at Jordan’s outburst, muttering some additional four-letter words under his breath as he scooped the basketball up from the concrete and disappeared back down the driveway.
“You ok?” Jordan turned his attention back to his little brother, smiling as he nodded between sniffles. “Good.” Stuart’s sarcasm aside, he really was now conscious of the time it was taking. Though he didn’t necessarily want to, he decided to push Rory a little bit harder. “Now, let’s get you down off this roof. Can you move your hands for me, buddy?”
“Ummm…” Rory stared down at his hands, the motion causing a few leftover tears to leak out. “I-I guess.”
“Good.” Jordan gave his brother an encouraging nod, his smile still warm and bright. “We’re gonna do this one step at a time, okay?” He nodded again, hoping to show enough confidence for both of them. “Move your right hand forward, then your right knee.” Jordan watched as Rory began to regain control of his extremities, staring intently each time he placed a hand or knee down as if the iron sheets may part from under him.
“That’s it. You’re doing great.” Rory continued to crawl slowly across the corrugated iron, as Jordan offered more encouraging words.
“N-Now what?” Rory asked, after eventually reaching the edge. He surveyed the 12ft drop beneath him, eyes threatening to overflow again.
“It’s ok, there’s no rush.” Jordan was mindful of his brother’s state of mind, even as time continued to tick away. “When you’re ready, swing your legs out over the edge and hold onto the gutter really tight.”
Jordan watched as Rory dangled one foot out over the edge, before quickly retracting it.
“I-I’m scared, Jordy.” Rory was again rooted to the spot, unable to stop the tears from falling again.
“Don’t worry, I’m right here.” Jordan inched closer to the garage wall, ready to catch his brother in a worst case scenario. “Nothing bad will happen.”
“P-Promise?” Rory still didn’t look certain.
“Pinky swear.” Jordan wiggled his little finger to reinforce the statement, smiling as Rory unconsciously mirrored the gesture. “Now, are you ready?”
“Okay.” Jordan inched closer again to the wall, ready to act as Rory’s safety net. “Now swing your leg over and hold on really tight.”
“Okay…” With one last sniffle, Rory slid his left leg over the edge and began to follow Jordan’s instructions. He used his left foot to gain a foothold in the latticework, then repeated the same process with his right foot.
Jordan watched as Rory took a strong grip of the guttering, oblivious to the fact that Stuart was waving his arms and calling his name from the bottom of the driveway.
Then he heard the slam of a car door, followed by an angry voice.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Jordan panicked. Seized up. An instinctive reaction after eighteen years under his father’s roof.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU—”
He didn’t see Rory lose his grip until it was too late.
It's here, it's finally here!
"Rivers of the Dead" looks amazing with its brand new cover and renovation to this new-fangled age of digital media. That's right, it's available as both a paperback and as an ebook, and here's four reasons why you should consider buying it:
1) It's a story about love, about sacrifice and overcoming grief—it'll pull on your heart over and over again as you journey with Caleb as he journeys to The Underworld to reclaim his friend's soul.
2) The mythological perspective is fresh, even if it returns us to the classic Greek myth of Orpheus. He may be ancient, but he's traded his lute for a guitar and a wickedly sarcastic attitude. You'll love him.
3) If you like my stories, you'll like this one, too. If you trust me to tell a good story, you'll definitely like this one.
4) If for no other reason, I'm taking the plunge in October and quitting my day job to become a full-time writer. Your support simply by purchasing this book will do more for me than you can possibly imagine.
Whether you decide to pick up a copy or not, know that I appreciate you getting this far. I love being part of this community, and I appreciate all the support you've given me over the years.
That being said, there's a link here I hope you'll check out:
As the sun rose up, consciousness suddenly hit him in the face, with an iron fist.
His face rested on the table, with the headset laying on the keyboard, a few inches away from his head, just below the screen showing a new window, with a video call.
"Good to see you after all this time. Oh...Sorry, good morning, I`m general Price. Heard a lot about you. Time for work kid."
Andrews eyes felt heavy. He could barely see the slightly fat face, of the old general.
The mutant monsters took a lot of the worlds big and smaller cities, destroying humanity, slowly but surely.
His body shivered under the flashbacks from the last mission. He could live without it, but the monsters never asked anyone if they can tolerate their existence. The last lines of defense were the oddest places, the most powerfull countries all dead, completely wiped out, only animals survived, but no humans roamed the lands of the usa, russia, korea, and such. The other lands and their people were underestimated, therefore they survived.
So did the young security guard, Andrew.
"Your services are required in the army."
His broken soul reflected on his young but right there and then seemingly ancient face...
Another chance for the enemy, but for him too. The call of the homeland.
It was a bit ironic in his position, after getting all his ranks removed for disobeying an order, and saving twenty lives, they want him back.
He took a minute, then smiled...
Three months later the young officer found himself near Budapest.
Wearing the Hungarian military uniform again.
Out in the great outdoors, with a small squad.
"Get the backup generator online, so we have power in the base. After completing the primary objective, look for the locations of distress signals, escort any survivors back to base. Move out soldier, get it done."
Just a very short intro to something I might work on for a little longer.
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Wen my niece was 3, I was in my sewing phase. Some fabric company had just come out with a set of watermelon fabrics, with one looking like the rind, and another being red with white and black watermelon seeds. I also found a pattern for preschool girls dresses that was a watermelon. I made it. It had this huge bib like collar that was half a watermelon, and the pockets were triangle watermelon slices. I even found lady bug buttons and added felt leaves and ladybugs.
It was my first zipper, and I messed it up. My niece's stepdad's mom replaced it for me. So for years my niece insisted Grandma C made it, even though everyone including Grandma C told her that's I made it.
the dress was a swing dress and my niece was a twig, very tiny. She literally wore the dress for about 4 years, two as a dress, then two more as a top?
Dress Lilly now has a watermelon dress, and my niece wants it. Odd to see I influenced her tastes as we aren't close at all.
I wrote this poem the other day after watching about five minutes of 'America's Got Talent'. Hope you can relate.
With curious gazes do we transfix
Our eyes to things bizarre;
O! how we know (or entertain)
Ideas that are so far
From things we maybe ought to think-
Or also entertain
But no heads turn, no gaze transfix
Upon me or my name-
I am the invisible; the sensible; the good;
And ev’rything opposed to it
(though nothing really should)
Is led, descending, into, the deepest depths I know,
With resounding shouts of glee:
“Watch him go! Watch it go!”
A droopy, weary figure draws
A picture in the sheen-
And though they may have followed laws
Not one can really glean
A story or a notion behind the shaky glyph;
But the who went is able to-
And does not save them from the cliff.
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Last week I was talking to a friend and during our conversation he mentioned that Dennis, a mutual friend, was retiring. He had so much time in that he was losing money if he continued working and he had maxed out his retirement. I've known Dennis for forty years, but I haven't run into him in a long time. He's been married more times than I can count. Marriages don't seem to take with him. He has three children by different wives. One of them is a boy named Stone. For some reason I recalled Dennis coming by with Stone when he was just a young boy. He was probably five or six at the time. He was a handsome boy with blue eyes. The most striking thing about him was his light blonde hair and he had lots of it. I've never seen a boy with longer hair. It ran all the way to the bottom of his back. I asked someone about it later and they told me his mother wouldn't cut it. I have a feeling it was a way to irritate Dennis, who was her ex-husband by that time.
While Dennis and I were talking a woman came by and remarked, "What a pretty little girl!" I could see the look of pain on Stone's face and he mumbled under his breath with that intense, forceful way children have when they're angry, "I'm a boy, not a girl!" He was saying this more to himself than anyone else because she was already gone. I felt so sorry for him.
With this in mind, I decided to see what had become of Stone. After looking around on Facebook, it didn't take me long to find out. Stone had been dead for nearly two years. He was 22 when he died and had a young son of his own. I was stunned. I called around to other friends who knew Dennis, and Stone's death was news to them also. I had no details on what had happened, but the next day one of the friends I had called told me what he had found out about Stone's death. He had killed himself in front of his mother. It takes a great deal of pain to do that.
Stone's son looks very much like he did when he was young, but he has short hair. There are only two photos on Stone's remembrance page out of many photos where you see him with long hair. He was playing in a Little League game. His son will grow up with only photos and a vague memory of his daddy. It's all very sad.
For me, I will always remember Stone as a boy frozen at the point in time when he had long, flowing blonde hair, a petulant boy who was mad because an unknown woman thought he was a girl.
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The thing that scares me most is love. I'm scared because I love easily. I find someone I can connect to and within a week I feel love for that person. I've done this twice and both times that love was not returned. In fact the first time the other guy and I were planning to celebrate his birthday together. The day before I was to come over I tried texting him and he didn't reply as a matter of fact the message was never delivered. I then called his number and that's when my heart broke when the message said 'the number you are trying to dial is no longer in service' my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. I cried, I didn't eat, I barely slept. I felt rejected and alone. Being bipolar this didn't do much for my mentality. So now when I go into a relationship I try not to get attached to people but it doesn't work. I'm not saying I'm easy to love, but I love easy. That's what scares me more than anything
Before I begin, I just want to let you all know I'm trying to keep this blog happy and positive, despite the turmoil I'm experience today.
In the summer of 2007, my family at the time had only one pet, a cat, named Shata. While she was mostly an indoors kitty, she did like to go outside every now and then. And since our neighborhood had other cats roaming the street, it wasn’t a surprise when we found out one day that she was pregnant.
Funnily enough, just the year before, my eldest sister had her first child, so I had some experience around pregnancy… but as it turned out, not enough. You see, when I found out that Shata was pregnant, I turned to my mom, and asked, “Will we have to wait 9 months for the kittens to be born?” Yes, I know, I was a pretty naïve kid back then. Anyways, after laughing a bit, my mom reassured me that the kittens will be here in a matter of weeks. And so, I eagerly awaited the day of the kittens’ birth.
Finally, on 19 July 2007, Shata gave birth. When I first looked at them, these tiny and blind bundles of fur, I knew I was a goner. I told my mom that I was excited to raise all of the kittens, but, my mom had to dampen my spirits. She told me we wouldn’t be able to afford raising them all- we’d have to give most of them away.
My family ended up keeping one, a white-furred male, and due to his coloring, my mother named him Guero- a Spanish word associated with the color white.
And so, my family had two kitties, Guero and his mother. But… one day, Shata went outside and… she never came back. We were devastated, my mother even more so, because Shata was her little princess. This event changed my family, from that day forth, we’d raise Guero (and all future kitties) as a housecat. That way, we’d never have to deal with the uncertainty that would come if they were to disappear.
Guero was, and continued to be, somewhat shy and timid. He’d hide away somewhere if he encountered someone new, and it would take him a while for him to warm up to a stranger. But, when he did warm up to someone, he or she better watch out! He’d come to you for pets and strokes, and he’d purr and shower you with affection as you do.
And, he knew he could give you a look or a meow to get what he’d want. (He had me wrapped around his little paw... lol) Case in point, when I had to study or work on an assignment late into the night, Guero would be outside my door, clawing at it while he gave the most pitiful meow imaginable- wanting to get in. I’d do my best to ignore him, and focus on my schoolwork. But, I would cave, and open the door, and Guero would rush into my bedroom, and rub up against my leg, and purr. Of course, I’d have to divide my time between studying and petting Guero, although he would have preferred if most of my time (if not all) was used to pet him, lol.
-The above is what I wrote before Guero died, and right now, I don't know how to complete this today, or for that matter, if I ever will be able to. I'll just end it here and say, Guero will always have a place in my heart.
Something came across my Facebook feed recently that I thought I should share here.
At last year's Toronto Pride parade there were issues that many of you are aware of. The end result of those issues had the Toronto Pride Committee banning uniformed police officers from participating in this year's Pride festivities. (I won't even get into the irony of Pride Toronto still expecting the police to be there as security for the event.) I have many acquaintances and friends who are either police officers, or have family members who are and I can tell you, Pride Toronto's decision hurt them deeply. There have been a lot of strides made for LGBTQ officers to be accepted, and this puts a stain on their accomplishments. I know there are issues still to be resolved in the LGBTQ community and law enforcement, but I've never found excluding a group solves anything, and generally only leads to polarized positions.
In response to Pride Toronto's decision a small group decided to spearhead their own celebration, in honour of first responders. The celebration, dubbed the First Responders Unity Festival is being held on June 25, 2017. I hope the festival is well attended, and these first responders enjoy a day meant to honour them and their fight for acceptance. After watching police officers in London racing towards the danger a day ago, I feel like they could use a little extra appreciation right now.
This is the powerful, touching story of a young gay man's struggles to survive, beginning as a child in the suburbs of Ohio,
then moving on to the bright lights and big city of New York. Throughout his journey of life, Nick Buchanan encounters some
difficult obstacles, painful hardships, and discovers the ins and outs of show business while trying to make it in an often exciting,
but sometimes devastating world.
After nearly giving up, Nick discovers a new sense of strength and resilience that comes from facing his fears, standing up to
prejudice, and learning what genuine love and respect for himself truly are.
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So I fell off with my blogging, obviously, but honestly it's for the best. The last few months were important, but would've been unpleasant to read about week by week.
To sum things up:
1) We've moved closer to campus, chopping fifty entire minutes off my commute, which has been game changing.
2) The "we" in question is the sort-of boyfriend I seemed so dead-set on breaking up with in my last entry. I'm not interested in hashing out exactly what all has happened, but it will suffice to say that we radically renegotiated our relationship: we're entirely open; I bear a lot less of the chores/finances/being an adult burden; and I get a lot more alone time. At first he had some issues, but now that I've gotten some distance and seem to be really into him sometimes, and now that he's had some side flings of his own, we are both very, very happy.
3) I was sober for a solid three months, dropped fifteen pounds, and now I'm letting alcohol back into my life, which I'm sure will backfire shortly enough, but for now it's under control.
In short, I can't believe how happy I am. It's weird how I always end up on GA just before making a bunch of life changes. I wonder why that is. I have some ideas, but I can't pin them down entirely.
One of my first acts after redefining my relationship with my non-boyfriend was to go on a complete fucking rampage. I can't believe how many guys I've been getting lately. It feels selfish, immature, and even irresponsible, but I really don't care. I've had nearly four years of suppressing monogamy, and what I've learned is that I really, really, really love guys. It's not just that I like men, it's that I like men in their plurality. I love how much variety there is among men. I would never be satisfied with just one, and as long as my sex drive holds out, I will never agree to monogamy again. I'm having the time of my life.
As a side note, I've also discovered that telling guys I'm on a rampage is a great pick-up line, for whatever reason. As soon as I explain that I'm on a rampage, they want in on it. I think to bottoms it implies a certain kind of sex, so they get all excited. I hope I'm not disappointing them
Tonight was a little sloppy though. Some surfer type guy (this is California) came over, and he was pretty attractive, and we watched most of a movie together before starting to cuddle. I gave him what I thought was really stellar head for a bit, really enjoying myself, and then before finishing, he asks me to cuddle naked with him. I strip to my underwear and we start cuddling. He mentions he's dizzy because he had a few shots earlier. I thought nothing of it until he got up suddenly and vomited powerfully into my sink.
The funny thing about that is that that was the second time those dishes had been vomited upon. One of my friends in the department lives in the same apartments and visits herself upon me sometimes, often after she's had an unclear amount to drink. A few nights ago, she came over, we were talking, and I was fucking around on my phone. I look up at her as she's talking, she casually turns her head to the side, projectile vomits, and then starts to talk to me again as if nothing had happened. I told another friend about it and she called it a "casual side-vom'," which I found funny.
I've gotten a student loan as a living cushion (I don't pay tuition and I get income as an instructor, so it's not so ridiculous), and I'm using part of it to finally get a professional wardrobe. That shopping trip hasn't occurred yet, but I did buy some cute boxer briefs online, and I'm using them as a weight loss incentive. I bought three wonderful pairs. One pair I'm allowed to wear now. Another pair I'm allowed to wear once my weight stays under 162. My favorite pair I'm allowed to wear once I get under 157, around which weight my abs re-emerge. I'm hoping this is a good dieting strategy.
Anyway, things are pretty awesome right now. I hope to keep blogging in the near future, and I hope you're all doing well.
Yes, it has been forever and a day since I added anything to the blog. I feel like one of those co-workers who leaves the office for a new job and promises on their mother's grave they'll stay in touch. Then you only see them when lightning strikes and you're in the same place at the same time and you swear once again you'll stay in touch, but in reality you know the demands of your job will never allow for it. That's a convoluted way of saying, sorry I've been so absent, but I've been crazy busy.
That said, I need to say thank you to GA and Caz Pedroso for nominating Chosen of Honorus for story of the month. Chosen of Honorus was the precursor to The Last Grand Master - the first book in the Champion of the Gods series that DSP Publications is publishing. It was/is the book that jump started my publishing career. I owe a big debt to GA for taking a chance on me and giving me the confidence to push out into the wide literary world.
There is a prequel to Chosen of Honorus - First Love - that is available on the DSP Publications site or you can find a link on my website. If you sign up for my monthly newsletter, there is a link in one of the welcome emails as well. If you want to sign up for my newsletter, you can use this link:
In addition, if you like Chosen of Honorus, there are now three more books in the series available from DSP Publication and the last book in the series will be released in 2018. Books 1-3 are also on sale now through the end of April. Here is a link to the sale page on my website:
Despite what I said above about being the co-worker who left, sometimes a little jolt reminds you of what you're missing. In my case, I realize how much I miss the people I met here. I think if I have time to socialize with fans on Facebook and Twitter, I can use some of that time to come here once a day too. I'm going to do my best to do that. That said, the new set up is going to take me some time to get used to so if I miss your comments, you can always email me - Andrew@andrewqgordon.com. I'm usually very good at responding to emails.
Thank you all again. It's humbling and flattering to realize people haven't forgotten you. It's a very good feeling.
PS In case you forgot what I look like or want to see a new picture of 'lil q (way more likely than wanting to see me) I'll post a few pictures in a few minutes. .
We might have done something insane. A suspect a lot of you might think so. We have made a mad, crazy, awesome, wonderful, expensive, fabulous, impulsive choice. Again.
Our little Goblin is currently 17 months old, gorgeous, blond, fluffy, blue-eyed, intent on digging in the dirt, playing with his brother Dashi, pointing excitedly at tractors, ‘helping’ water the garden, and getting to know the sheep and lambs at the farm.
So we thought we’d get him a sibling – a real human sibling (which in no way diminishes Dashi’s position as his only older brother).
Yes, we’re insane.
New Baby will be a blood relative of Goblin, and we will be accepting delivery of them sometime in mid August. Goblin will be 22 months old, we’ll have two in nappies, we won’t be sleeping, life will be harder, more expensive, and potentially more stressful.
Why on earth have we chosen to do this? I couldn’t tell you. We love being parents to our little man, neither of us would have life any other way now. So why not?
Sure, every now and then I have a split second desire of student life with clubs and loud music, louder outfits, and flirting with pretty boys. But then, I think the reason I look back so fondly, was because we were young, we’d just got together, and it was fun to be cute and desirable late at night in Brighton. I wouldn’t go back to that life for all the money, all the books, or all the pretty horses in the ‘verse.
I see dads and mums in the woods, by the beach, in town sometimes, with their gaggle and brood of children in different heights, chatting, squabbling, giggling, sharing ice cream, playing games – and I want that life. Our one boy is perfect and marvellous, but I want him to have siblings to fight with and play with. So here we go.
If I seem distracted, that’s why.
As last time, I am not prepared to talk, openly or privately, about the ins, outs, or specifics of how we are going about this, and we thank you in advance for your understanding.
So, anyone got any advice how to tell the Goblin he’s going to have an even smaller person in his life?