The Intelligence of Readers

I've been following a discussion the last few days on one of my writer groups about naming characters. For my part, I want my readers to set my book down after reading it and feel as if they know my characters on a personal level. Kind of like they met them at the Harrison's pool party last month. I'm of the opinion that well thought out characters elevate the story by making it a bit more personal.

My characters have personalities and personality can only be full if you know certain events that formed that personality. Real people don't have insecurities for the hell of it. Events caused them and the people around them either fed them and grew them or helped the character lessen them. So not only does the character have center stage, but all the other characters that made him or her the way they are need their spot as well.
I name my characters for several reasons. They are directly involved with the main character as a love interest, a guiding figure, a friend figure or a nemesis figure.
So taking my first novel, the main character is Vespias Firstlight. Her world was shaped by her parents Vesperis and Vashnir. In the society they come from, the first child usually has a name that mimics the father. She also had three younger siblings, Veron, Vashira and Windsong. Veron was named after his grandfather who also contributed to the children's growth as did his wife Yava. They were the parents of Vashnir who was the third of eight children.

So before two chapters are through, the character list is at nine, simply because I only named two of the other seven children that Veron and Yava had.
The main message that I'm getting is that a lot of writers don't name as many characters because they "don't want to confuse" their readers. To me, what is being said is "my readers are too stupid to follow character interactions".
If you go to a friend's house one day and they introduce you to their family, does it throw you for a loop? Of course not. What it does, is give you a frame of reference for when they relate a story from their youth. A story might be funny because when the character talks about the stupid look on their brother's face, knowing the face helps to make the story funnier. Knowing what role supporting characters have in the protagonist's life makes it that much easier to accept the fictional character as being real. Once that is established, their story is that much better.

I just find it odd that a writer would think of his readers as stupid, or at least lacking the intelligence to understand who is who and the amount of importance they carry. I like to think my readers are smart. Very smart. Genius-level smart. The smarter my readers are, the smarter it makes me because I can keep them entertained. I can spark an intelligent person's imagination and speak to them on intelligent levels.
I like to think of myself as intelligent. Certainly above the neanderthal stage of evolution. And as a member of the intelligent portion of society, why would I ever want to write for the other ones? You know, the people that only buy books with pictures. To me, to dumb down your work because you think your readers can't handle what amounts to normal life is in itself...well, to put it mildly, stupid.
Even stupid people remember the people in their life. To say that readers can't follow characters in a book implies that they are extraordinarily stupid. Epically stupid.
Thankfully, not every writer thinks this way. Writers want you to feel the full experience of their work. At least I do. I want my readers to feel the joy and pain my characters feel. I want them to smile when good things happen.
I had a reader yell at me when a character died because it made her cry. She cried at a fictional character's fictional death. She threatened to never forgive me if I didn't find a way to bring him back. To me, that was a big, fat EXCELLENT! To bring emotions to my readers is what I want. To elicit an emotion like sorrow means I made that character real enough and human enough for my reader to see him or her as a real person. And I did it by using my readers intelligence, not by thinking they're stupid.

The Problems With Wicca

In case anybody doesn't know, I happen to be Wiccan. Wiccan as in card-carrying, spell-casting witch. I take my faith seriously and I have often been involved in debates about the way my faith is portrayed. Basically, they all break down to "it's my life and I can do what I want" arguments. My point is and always has been, that at the current state of Wiccan acceptance, you have to look at the bigger picture and if it means sacrificing your "freedoms" a bit, isn't your faith worth that?

A recent debate with a well-known figure was a prime example of this. My point was simply that we as a whole, have a responsibility to the Wiccan Community as a whole to help bring our faith to the mainstream.
I tried explaining that the greater majority of Wiccans cannot dress in ritual clothes as a daily choice, cannot practice their faith in public and cannot even tell others what their faith is.
I tried explaining that many Wiccans are still under the threat of losing their job, losing their homes, losing their children...all because of the fear America holds still. Fear that isn't diminished at all when one of our own appear on television drinking from a skull, rattling bones and generally looking every inch the Halloween witch.
Appearance is everything. There are a ton of religious figures that are 100% bat-shit crazy, but since they dress normally, they are accepted. Even when their ignorance and viciousness are made public, their religion is still accepted.
That is the point of everything. Wicca is not accepted yet and as part of this faith, it falls to all of us to help the image of Wicca. I'm not saying don't appear on television in ritual robes, but try to be a little cognoscente of how you'll be portrayed. Think about the show you'll be on and think about why they want you. Are you prepared to screw over hundreds of thousands of your fellow Wiccans who can't express themselves the way you can?

If you say the word discrimination in America today, the first thing that comes to mind is racial discrimination. Then, gender discrimination or sexual discrimination. Religious discrimination is almost never thought of here.
The truth of the matter is, that Wicca was not even recognized as a religion by the U.S. Government until 1985. The pentagram, the symbol of our faith, was not allowed in military graveyards until 2007. Once a symbol is submitted, it generally takes a few months for the V.A. to approve. In the case of the pentagram, a symbol of a "recognized" religion, it took 10 years and a damned lawsuit.
Take a look at Carole Smith, a TSA worker that was fired for her faith. Her record was spotless until her religion came out. How about Gina Uberti, an employee of Bath and Body Works. Gina had been employed for 8 years. For the last 6 years, she would take the week of Samhain off to go to Salem. She would have her time approved a year in advance. Then a new manager came to her store and pressed her for the reason she took that particular week off. When she told him why she got this response; “Well, you will need a new career in your new year” and “I will be damned if I have a devil-worshipper on my team.” 

 Several Wiccans have had their religion become a major factor in child-custody cases. While religion cannot be material in custody cases, the "harmful" ritual and coven association is called in and judges must address these issues.
There have been cases of grandparents bringing their children to court for pagan and Wiccan affiliations. There is a case in Indiana of a Judge Cale Bradford that put a stipulation in a divorce decree keeping the parents from exposing their child to "non-mainstream religious beliefs and rituals." Both parents are Wiccan.
Clearly, there is still a ton of prejudice and discrimination about Wicca and those who practice it. Wicca needs much more "good press" and no more practitioners that pander to sensationalism. The country has to see Wiccans as people that contribute to their community, not those that are out there making blood sacrifices, people that are positive and strong in their faith, not those that are willing to sell out themselves and their faith.
Wicca does not have a central figure or group that controls it. Who we are and what we are becomes the responsibility of each and every member. Some of us came out and everything worked out fine. The world around us didn't turn its back on us. Some of us are still afraid that will happen so they stay in the closet. None of us chose Wicca as a way to make money. If that was the reason, you're just another con artist and karma will have some words for you eventually.

The majority of Wiccans are the normal, everyday people in mainstream America. They are truck drivers, doctors, nurses, writers, waitresses, carpenters...any occupation you can think of. Very few of the rising population of Wiccans are shop owners in Salem, a community that is founded on a tragedy and fed by tourists dollars to keep Halloween-town up and running.
Mind me, I have nothing against Salem. I've been there several times. I'm just practical and understand that the people there have a certain image to maintain in order to keep their livelihood steady. But can any of these characters claim to represent the average witch?
The answer is a resounding no, and yet that is where the news goes when they want a Wiccan point of view. It's where TV goes when they want a Wiccan in their show. It's where the entire country looks when anyone speaks about witches. That's great for business, not so great for those trying to bring our faith away from harmful stereotypes.
There are those of us who have empathy for the number still imprisoned in their faith. Rather the lack of respect or the out-and-out fear the rest of America has for Wicca that keeps them imprisoned. Imagine the outcry if a Christian or Jewish woman in Florida that wrote children's books became a target for her faith. Imagine if her home was vandalized by having windows shot out or exploding bottles thrown at the home with as yet, unidentified liquids. Then imagine if the attacks were accompanied by the attackers yelling out "Fucking Jesus-freak" or "Fucking Jew".
The outcry would be international! The news would rush to community religious leaders for their statements on what happened and what should be done. Those things happened to Kyrja Withers, a pagan. There was no outcry from the so-called Pagan leaders. The news didn't run to Salem to gather thoughts from those that claim to be among Pagan and Wiccan hierarchy. Any guesses why? OK, I'll tell you why then.
The simple truth is, the news doesn't think anybody is important enough to talk about anything other than Halloween tales and de-hexing baseball teams. The incidents happened within sight of the police station and the investigation is "stalled" despite eye-witness accounts and descriptions of the car. So obviously, the law doesn't think that much of helping the Pagan community.

With the law unwilling to help, with people that claim themselves to be the "voice of the Pagan community" more interested in sales , then who is supposed to look out for us? Who does the job of making the country look at our faith as being legitimate fall to?
It falls to every practitioner. It falls to common sense when speaking of it to outsiders. Think about this; would the Gay Community have all the breakthroughs and success they've achieved (and Goddess knows they're still far off from total acceptance) if the people who spoke on their behalf epitomized the fear that mainstream America had of them? If the people that spoke before congress and on television were dressed as Las Vegas showgirls or looked like stereotypical and derogatory images of gay people, how much credibility do you think they would have gotten? Yes, it sounds terrible to hear it put that way, but the truth is that you are not going to ease fear...and that's all any hateful feelings are...by ramming the more flamboyant aspects down America's throat. Just like we will not advance towards acceptance by ramming our more flamboyant practitioners down America's throat.
It falls to each of us to present Wicca for what it is. A religion. Plain and simple, a religion. Nobody questions how the church carries out their mass or how the synagogs carry out their services. If a religion is accepted, those things are secondary and non-issues. Those should not be addressed unless it's to correct a fallacy like human or animal sacrifices.
It falls to the common among us to answer questions honestly. Without a business to support, that should be easy. It falls to the people who are questioned to let go of their wallets and start telling the media how it really is. It falls to them to either help the Pagan and Wiccan community or stop acting like they care.
It falls to those who have come out, to help and support those that can't. It falls on the Pagan community to become a little more united and start throwing our numbers around. It falls on us to be a little bolder and tell that political system that we vote against them en mass unless they start to support and protect our community.
It falls to us to do all of these things and to stick to them. Yes, if I see bullshit I call it. If that ostracizes me from the community, who cares. My Goddess knows what I did and why I did it. I have nothing to apologize for.

Coulrophobia - Scared Silly

Of all the legitimate things to be afraid of, like spiders, snakes and/or woodpeckers, my wife is afraid of clowns. I'm talking push-me-to-the-ground, run-off-screaming afraid. The real thing. She even has clown-sense. It's like Spider Man's Spidey-Sense but it works with clowns. We were in the mall once and she gripped my arm and in a squeaky voice said "There's a clown here!".
A few minutes later we turned a corner, and I shit you not, there she was. Red nose, big funny shoes and clothes that had 43 shades of color in them. It was a lady clown making balloon animals for kids I think. I didn't get a good look since my wife threw me down to facilitate her escape. She figures that if I'm down, the clown will eat me first, giving her plenty of time to escape.

The first clown to terrify her was not Pennywise. It was not one of the Killer Klowns from Outer Space. It was not even one of those creepy circus clowns. It was Ronald MacDonald.
Granted, the product he stands for is pretty damned scarey, but the clown himself isn't made to scare the bejesus out of kids.
Market research says Ronald is a fun-loving symbol of good times and good food. Well, since they lied about the food, I figure they lied about the clown's image too. Personally, I think Mayor McCheese is a lot scarier, but what do I know?
Apparently, coulrophobia...the fear of clowns...keeps a lot of people awake at night.
California State University did a study that told them, kids did not like clowns because of a familiar body type with an unfamiliar face conflict. I have no idea what that means because it doesn't tell me shit. My wife has no fear of zombies. Familiar body type and unfamiliar face. No fear of werewolves and their familiar body type and unfamiliar face. So that offered reasoning doesn't work. I want my tax dollars refunded.

I need to understand the reasons behind this fear of clowns. Let's face it, I'm getting closer to the break-a-hip stage when I fall or get thrown down. Before I end up in a wheelchair, maybe if I understand why I can help her overcome it.
It doesn't help to ask her. Here is a typical exchange over why she is afraid of clowns:
Me: Why are you afraid of clowns?
Her: Mustn't say...clowns will eat me.
Me: Why would they eat you?
Her: Clowns are evil.
Me: Why do you think clowns are evil?
Her: Because they scare me.
Me: But why are you afraid of clowns?
Her: Mustn't say...clowns will eat me.
Get the drift? There's no logical explaining for this unnatural fear of such jolly folk. The entire purpose of clowns is mirth and merriment. The whimsical faces, the big shoes and bright red nose... all there to make you laugh.
Most researchers will tell you that coulrophobia is quite the modern problem. Among phobias, it's a fairly new fear. To understand phobias, you need to know what it is that begins one. If a child is bitten by a dog, that child can grow with cynophobia, an abnormal fear of dogs. Very few children are bitten by free-roaming clowns so we can rule that out.
Another way to acquire a phobia is to witness the reaction of another who fears the object. In other words, if Aunt Lois is wheeling you along in your stroller at the tender age of 2 or 3, and she sees a clown and rockets you towards it while she runs off screaming,...well there you have it.

Now then, we've established a very feasible way to explain how one gets a phobia. The clown has gained popularity as the antagonist in plenty of movies since Steven King decided that the lowest common denominator of fear is the clown. Hence, in his story It, the antagonist will appear to victims as their worst fear. But when the potential victims are in a group, enter the film world's scariest clown, Pennywise. That slightly insane killer with his balloons.
Since Penny, there have been more killing clowns than comedic clowns. We've seen Rob Zombie's Captain Spaulding, Violator, the nemesis of comic hero Spawn, the entire cast of Killer Klowns from Outer Space, aliens that just happen to look like clowns, Side-show Bob, out to kill Bart Simpson and last but not  least, that creepy frigging clown doll from Poltergeist. I mean really, who buys their kid that thing? It just screams homicidal maniac.

Speaking of homicidal maniacs, let's not forget what John Wayne Gacy did for clowns and their image. Pogo the Clown was his alter-ego, that funny, whimsical party animal. How often did he look out from that clown make up and think about raping some young guy at the party and then strangle him?
Another reason people fear clowns is the make up. The happy face with the big smile hides any true intent. Look at Gacy...you would say a million things looking at him in his clown make up and not one of them would be killer. Unless of course you suffer from coulrophobia. Then you'd have him nailed the minute he showed up.
So after doing the research, reading the psychiatric reports, interviewing the sufferers and looking at the pictures, I'm no closer to finding a cure. I suggested dressing as a clown thinking that if my wife actually watched me put the make up on and knowing who it was, it would cure her.
The kick in the knee to drop me and the broken nose from getting rammed into the dresser in her bid to escape before I ate her told me that approach was wrong. Then I suggested she dress herself as a clown. Amazingly, she threw me down in a bid to get away from herself...then ran over me four times trying to escape the "demon clown that was chasing her through the mirrors".

I thought about buying a nice clown doll but realized I could never stand up to the beating if it were to be used as a weapon. Besides, she would never sleep again and would eventually deteriorate into a zombie. But at least seeing a zombie in the mirror would not set off a phobia where the ultimate loser is me.
But all this research has benefited me somewhat. The next time people are helping me up from the mall floor, I'll just go see my lawyer after I manage to capture my wife and I'm going to sue the crap out of Steven King!

Father's Day

Today is my day. Father's Day. Today I rule supreme! That's right, today is my day. It is the one day set aside for Dad. Somewhere in history, June 19, 1910 to be exact, the very first Father's Day was celebrated in Spokane, Washington.

First time Dads have a lot of expectations during the nine months of pregnancy. They have this whole per-conceived notion of how they will act and then...baby. All that shit you thought and said is out the window when you see that little bundle. The first time you hold him or her, you get flooded with all these feelings you never experienced before.

It is a lot like when they put that emotion chip in Data on the Enterprise and he lost his positronic brain. He was nailed with things he had no knowledge of all at once and it overloaded him.
Same thing when you hold that baby. Things you have no concept of...like the idea that someone comes before you...start popping into your brain. Concepts like unconditional love...that alone will shift you into a gear you never knew you had and the next thing you know, you've spun out on the track and here comes the wall. Emotions can be deadly in the wrong circumstances and a baby is the fast track to those emotions.
But the subject is Father's Day. My day! The day when I can do damn-well what I please. Go where I want to go, do what I want to do and eat whatever I please. Yup, I can eat a big bag of chips if I want, I can watch boxing on TV all day, lounging in my underwear if I want and after that, I can go sit in the park and throw walnuts at the squirrels if I so desire. So far, what I have done is pretty much what I've planned. Somewhat. Kind of. In the ballpark.

I spent my morning catching up on some writing deadlines. That was fun. Well, it was a necessary evil. After all, I can watch boxing anytime I want right?
Then, since my wife works nights and her aunt is away this weekend, it was time for my daughter's bath. First of all, how can such a small child get so much water on the floor? And why do they need so many toys in the tub? Is it really more fun with the entire Disney family in there? I can understand Donald and Daisy, they're ducks. But Mickey and the gang? Really?
Well, that was interesting and really, I can throw walnuts at the squirrels anytime. It's not like they remember former concussions.
I did finally settle down with that bag of chips at least. I popped it open just around the time my wife woke up. So, I'm taking the roll of the househusband here and there's absolutely no problem with fixing her lunch. Hey, when duty calls, I'm there!
Apparently, when Dad gets called away, Anubis the wonder-dog springs into action too. Anubis, whom I affectionately call "Noob" looks a lot like Santa's Little Helper, the Simpson's dog.

Forget Marley, Noob is the worst dog in the world. This is a dog that would stay on the riverbank and watch you drown because ball-licking is so much more fun than rescuing. The kind of dog that farts in the room and gives you that look of disgust as he walks out.
At any rate, Noob saw an open bag of chips and no guard...it took all of three minutes for the bag to be emptied and for him to prance into the kitchen wearing it like the latest Gucci design.
But hey, I can eat chips anytime right? In fact, I'll be eating them one year from now! Right after I toss a few walnuts at the squirrels and while I sit around in my underwear and watch boxing. That's right, because it will be my day! That day set aside to let Dad know just what he means to those around him.
To his stupid dog with the empty chip bag over his head, to his squeaky-clean daughter and her squeaky-clean Disney toys, to his wife and her well-deserved and filling lunch and to his clients and their highly-anticipated ghostwritten projects. Yes indeed, my day! Dad's day!
Next year will be here fast. I'll just have to finish another sticky, hot summer up. Then it'll be winter before you know. Two or three blizzards and maybe another super-storm and before you know it, the third Sunday in June will be here and I'll be eating chips!
Happy Father's Day for all of you out there who have raised or are raising kids. For all of you that didn't have kids and are stepping up to the plate for some other guy's kids. For all of you that are tasked with teaching kids or watching them on the beach or volunteering to be someone they can count on and talk to. And for you single moms that pull double-duty, this day is yours too. Grab a bag of chips and a bag of walnuts and head down to the park...the squirrels are waiting.

Teach Your Children

In my younger days, one of the popular songs was from Crosby, Stills & Nash,  entitled "Teach Your Children". It told the listener to teach their children well. Most of us from that generation did not succeed. Sure, our kids might be raised right, the thirty-somethings, but they seemed to have missed that very important lesson of "teach your children well".

Today at the local mall, they had a super-hero camp for the kids, with Spider Man as the guest hero. When the area opened, I saw mothers push their children towards the arts and crafts tables with no regards for children that were already there.
I watched parents step over children sitting in front of the small stage where the blue and red costumed hero would speak, and plop themselves and their children down blocking the view of those who already had spots.
What happened next was disgusting. It was one of the worst examples of parenting I have ever seen, and I've seen some really stupid parents. Spider Man took the stage amid the cheering crowd and immediately asked for volunteers.
Among the children there was one that had either social problems or just needed a huge kick in the ass. His mother just pointed him towards the front and he screamed at the other children on his way past them. He screamed loudly! Maniacal loud. I was glad there was a super hero there because this kid had the makings of an arch-criminal.
He kept climbing on the stage and Spider Man had to keep escorting him down. Every time I looked at Mom, she was busy taking pictures of her treasure as he disrupted life all around him. Arch-criminal. Above and beyond ordinary criminals.

While the Joker Jr. was disrupting the front of the stage area, at the back of the crowd was a Honey Boo Boo clone rolling around the floor in an anger fit. When Dad tried to calm her he took a right cross to the chin. Apparently, either he didn't know any boxing moves because this was fine with him.
This makes me wonder, What in the wild, wild west of Fuckville is happening to parenting? Why is there a problem with using discipline anymore? Why are people afraid to punish their children for bad behavior? I'm not saying Dad should have given Boo Boo a good gut buster followed by an uppercut, but jeez, even a stern look would have been something!
Then, just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the show came to an end and Spidey announced that he would be giving away a special trading card and taking pictures with the kids. He then pointed towards a long corridor made from those mall cattle chute dividers. The ones with the red canvas belt that winds out and hooks on to the next pylon.

Let's put aside the twenty-something guy that ran for the lane, pushing children out of the way so that he could get his picture with his hero. I'm chalking that one up to retardation.
But a good number of people did as instructed and walked to where the line started, entered the chute and waited their turn. That's when the ignorance swept through. I watched several women unhook the lanyard and push their children ahead of everybody that had done the right thing. By the time the guard reached the breech, at least a dozen of the rug rats had gotten in.
I was expecting tazers to be drawn but it didn't happen. Clearly, he had seen the assault the same as I had, but there was no repercussion.
I looked at the children who stood next to their parents and saw their eyes had become soft and full as the guard approached. Little halos appeared and settled into a soft orbit around their heads and their parents avoided eye-contact with the guard at all cost. All he did was shake his head and re-hook the lanyard. By the time he reached the end of the line, the lanyard had been undone again and more children poured in to the breech.

I wanted blood. I wanted Russel Crowe to enter the arena and begin chopping heads. I wanted these families pitted against each other in mortal combat, until only one family stood strong. Then I wanted them thrown to the lions.
For a moment I thought about releasing Honey Boo Boo from her leash and springing Joker Jr. from his mother and turning them loose on these maladjusted, confused parents. I wanted to see blood spilled.
I thought about the lesson these dysfunctional people were teaching their children. They were too good to wait, other people are not important, rules are not important, fair play is not important...nothing is more important than getting yours ahead of everybody else. Nothing was more important than getting to Spider Man before anybody else did. Long story short, they were taught the golden lesson of the penitentiary, fuck everybody.
Then I thought about these wacko's that enter schools and movie theaters, and start shooting people. I laugh when people are shocked and surprised and they wonder why these things happen. Come closer, I'll explain... It happens because YOU DIDN'T TEACH YOUR FUCKING CHILDREN WELL!!!
You put them on sports teams where "everybody wins" and you teach them to face adversity by being quiet and unassuming. What you've actually done, is set the kid up for hard times because...come close again...LIFE DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY!!! People lose out. Not everybody wins the promotion. Sometimes you need to smack somebody or the world will saddle you with a pussy label. Once you wear that label, somehow people know and you can expect to find shit on your clothes forever.
When you show your kids that courtesy and rules and fair play doesn't exist, you show them that people were meant to be fucked over. So when your treasure picks up a gun one day because he didn't get what he wanted and kills 4 or 5 people, don't cry.
You didn't teach your children well.

Birthdays

Today is my wife's birthday. She's 35 today and is fine with that. A lot of people start to freak when they hit these little "milestones" in age. Truth be told, like the old saying goes, you're only as old as you feel.

For instance, when one of those favorite songs comes on the radio you'll move around. No matter what the age, you'll move. Especially if you're in a car, safe in that invisible cocoon of leather and steering wheel. Just a note though, those clear things all around you are called "windows" and we can all see you.
But it doesn't matter, because something has taken hold and you no longer feel your age. You're now as young as you were when you first heard that song and just as dumb. The song has transcended the years on you. You are now as young as you feel.
So, are you at a party getting your first kiss? Maybe you're with some great friends you've lost contact with over the years. Or maybe you're driving around through the old neighborhood, laughing and joking when the same song came on the radio. Whatever it is, you were younger then and through the magic of music, you're younger now.
Birthdays are also a sign of maturity in some cases. Or at least some people think so. We've all heard the stern lecture of "You're 21 now and it's time to act like an adult." What in the hell does that mean???
Lets see, you've spent the last few years in serious school...you know, the one where you actually learn stuff that might be useful...I'd say that was pretty adult. All things considered, that was your job and you did it. Yeah, you also played beer pong, went to or joined in wet t-shirt competitions and most likely smoked some funny stuff. Is that acting childish or just unwinding from work like the old folks do with their beers and martinis at the weekend parties?

Often times, life is likened to a highway...there's even a song that says so...and each birthday is a road marker. There are lots of other metaphors that keep that trend going. Don't burn your bridges behind you, don't blow a gasket,  don't live life in the fast lane...the list goes on and on. Maybe the thing is, life actually is a road.
The secret is, don't pay so much attention to the road. It's not the kind of road where you crash and burn. All the dangerous stuff...and the great stuff is along the side of the road. Focus on the scenery instead of the asphalt.
Unless you're so old that you're on a dirt road. Then you still have to watch out for stones because they can trip you up. I'm getting to that spot now. I told you my wife was 35 today. In September, I'll be 60. Yes, I got lucky and had a young girl fall in love with me. But before you envy me too much, allow me a moment. Young wives are great, but in rushing headlong into it, most of us forget something very important. Young wives can still get pregnant!

My Girls

Yes, we can still make children even though our body is no longer equipped to deal with them. But children have this great effect on older fathers like me. They make you feel young and alive while they slowly kill you. It's very euphoric you know.
My little one has me attending tea parties and judging fashion shows with stuffed animals. All manageable and easy on the back. She also wants to run around the playground and go down slides and swing. Not so easy on the back.
She's four now which means she has an attitude developing and being who I am, it's not turning out good. She refers to the cat as "her bitch"...not the best of terms, I'll give you that...but much better than what she calls drivers that honk their horns when Mom is driving too slow.
Being four, she also knows when to run. The nemesis for older fathers like me. Luckily I have no problems in tripping her as she streaks off.

So the bottom line is, like they say...you're as young as you feel. My wife doesn't feel as if she's stumbled over some invisible road marker that turned her towards middle age. My daughter doesn't count because her life is still nothing but Barbies, My Little Pony and M&Ms. She doesn't even know she's driving down a road yet.
As for me, I've figured it out and have somehow reversed the age problem. When I first met my wife I was 50 and she was 25. She was half my age. Now, she's 35 but I'm not quite 60. See? She's not even close to being half my age anymore. Somehow, I'm managing to leech life away from her while slowing down my advance. Before you know it, she'll be 50 and I'll be 75 and will have cut her down from 50% to a mere 25%. If I live long enough, she'll eventually be older than me.
And when she does pass me on the road of life I'll be sure to smile and wave...but I won't honk the horn. I don't want my daughter to let me know what she thinks of my driving.

Philly Pride

Looking back on my life, the thing I notice is my inability to stay rooted. Even when I've stayed in one particular city, the urge to move all around is always there.

My home was, and in my heart, always will be South Philly. To me, there's nowhere like it in the world. It might as well be from another planet. We just do things different there. Whenever I tell people I'm from Philly, the reaction I get most is that look like the person just put something sour in their mouth.
It doesn't bother me. Philly has this reputation for some reason but if you never lived there, you wouldn't understand. I had a co-worker tell me that he went to a Eagles/Giants game in Philly and someone threw soda at him. It struck me as odd until he said he was wearing a brand-new Giants jacket. What the hell did he expect?
Philadelphia is a lot of things, some of them not so pleasant. If you want that, there's a place in Jersey named Mount Pleasant. Go there. What Philly is though, is a place where very strong ideals and convictions are formed. We learn loyalty at a young age, and understand that it stays there in good time and bad. We learn honesty at a young age and if my honesty hurts your feelings, I don't know what you want me to do. My wife will often tell people "He's from Philly...he doesn't know any better" and she's right. I call it like I see it.

This look says it all

If I see stupid, I don't try to find an excuse for it, I call it stupid. We don't have excuses in Philly. We have stories though. We have at least a dozen stories for any situation. In the end, if we did something stupid, the story says we should have known better so we wouldn't be standing there all stupid-like. We take responsibility for ourselves. If our kid breaks a window it's because he's a dumb-ass and has nothing to do with the way he was breast-fed or the way his grandfather spoke to him. Likewise, the proper way to deal with such an incident is a good kick in the ass...we have our own kind of therapy in Philly.
We learn to laugh at ourselves. We think funny is funny and the rest of the world should pull that stick out of their ass and stop trying to be so damned polite. If you do something that makes people laugh, why in the hell would it offend you? It would make me feel much worse if I did something that made people throw bottles at me. Listen, everybody does dumb things...if someone gets a laugh out of it, go for the ride. They'll do something just as stupid one day and then you can laugh.

We have a unique way of talking. Nine times out of ten, people have no idea where I'm from. When I first moved to New York, one guy asked me if I was from Oklahoma...Okla-frikkin-homa. Other bets were Florida, Minnesota and my favorite, Hawaii. A lot of people joke about the way we talk and that's OK. I do pronounce water as wooder, sausage as saaahsage and according to my wife, I enunciate every single letter in the word beautiful when I say it. I also say "y'all" when referring to a crowd and "youse" when referring to singles or small groups. The word "Yo" is standard and not an option to drop.

We have an attitude in Philly too, only we pronounce it "atty-tood" and we mean it. The funny thing about that, is that apparently it is genetic. My daughter has it and has only been to Philly twice for a day each time. Sometimes we are accused of being mean. It's not a matter of meanness, it's a matter of low tolerance for stupidity. If I explain something to you and you don't get it, I'll explain it again. There will be no "mean" spirit in it. If, after I've explained the fourth time and you still look at me like I have an extra eye in my forehead, then I'll have to tell you to go fuck yourself. It's not being mean, it's a matter of survival. Stupid people will leech your brain cells right out if you let them. Their greatest asset is to make you as dumb as they are. This way you're on new ground and they have the upper hand since they have more experience.
People think we're rude and unrefined. Simply not true. We don't like outsiders for the above mentioned reason. We do things a certain way, a way we were taught as children, and when you come to visit our city you just screw things up. Like when we drive, it's slow on the right, fast on the left. If you come here and have no idea where you're going, you better have your ass in that right lane. But more often you don't and we have to get rude.
You say we're unrefined, we answer "Your mother is unrefined!" Yes, we're very big on dragging mothers into arguments in Philly. Truth of the matter is, Philly is very refined. Philly is on the leading edge in fancy. We have great museums, the nation's oldest zoo, some of the country's leading restaurants and top innovators in industry.

 We have history! Philly was the first capitol of America. Philly was where our forefathers declared independence from England. Philly is where the first flag was sewn.  Philly is loaded with history. We have places like Elfreth's Alley, Independence Hall, The Liberty Bell, The Benjamin Franklin Monument, Old Christ Church...we have it all. We even have a plaque that tells you where Larry Fine was born! We don't play around.
We have historic Fort Mifflin, we have sites from America's Centennial Celebration, we have Betsy Ross's  house, Edgar Allen Poe's house, Thomas Jefferson's house and Ben Franklin's Post Office.
We have the First and Second Banks of the United States. We have Pennsylvania Hospital, the Fairmount Waterworks and the New Market/Head House Square Historic District.

 Philly has plenty of green too. We have places like East River Drive, renamed Kelly Drive after local politician Jack Kelly, brother of Princess Grace Kelly of Monaco. The drive winds along 4 miles of the Schuylkill River and has plenty of room for hikers and bikers.
Philly has Fairmount Park. Fairmount Park is made up from 63 parks with 9,200 acres of land. It is the largest landscaped urban park in the world. Not too shabby huh?
There's greenery all over Philly with local parks and squares everywhere.

 Philly loves a good time. We have the Mummers Parade, a one-of-a-kind celebration every start of the New Year. The Mummers have been parading since the mid-17th century and it is the oldest folk festival in the United States.
While the parade started almost at the same time as the country did, the first official parade didn't happen until January 1, 1901. "Wenches" and other women's parts were played by men. In fact, women were not allowed to participate in the parade until the 1970s.
The Mummers are such a tradition in Philly that there are often generational marchers from the same family. We even have the Mummers Museum in Philly.

Most of all, Philly has people. We have a diversity of people that bring so many different traditions and customs and somehow it all melds together and forms this amazing thing that is Philly. Yeah, we have problems but so what! Show me a city that doesn't. If you try to, every single person in Philly will stand united in their diversions just to flip you off. Philly is a treasure trove of ethnic diversity, meaning all the best and worst of such a mix is there. Without such diversity however, growth just moves along at a snails pace.
So Philly might not be such a bad place. Despite everything that Philly has, it seems that the true treasure of Philly, the things that make Philadelphians who they are, are unseen by the rest of the world. They'll still see us as rude, arrogant, loud and boisterous with very little regard for manners. We'll continue to laugh at that assessment. We know exactly who we are and what we have and in the finest Philly tradition, if anybody doesn't want to take the time to see that, screw 'em.

Why Do You Write?

Once I was asked, "Why do you write?". My first thought was that this was a rather odd question. Then it occurred to me that people who didn't write or create in any way might actually be curious. I managed to suppress the urge to answer "because it's there" and set about to try and explain why. This was my final answer:

What is best in life?

To crush your enemies...to see them driven before you...to hear the lamentations of their women! Perfect if you are Conan. Not so much if you're Joe Average trying to get past the daily routines of life. I think that's why I write, to escape the humdrums of the world. Don't get me wrong, I love my life and everybody in it. However, to be able to create a completely new world, new races and creatures...and then to thrust them into adventures, that is what is best in life. To be a writer is the closest any human can be to god. Breathing life into a new world and then determining that world's fate. Choosing their heroes and villains, setting them on a course of discovery and trials and finally bringing their story to an ending...or to the start of the next adventure. 

To write is to escape. To bring the thoughts and images that wander through our brains and give them descriptions and therein, life. To enrich them with purpose and direction, to lift them beyond words and into a story and then to share that story with others. Even if only one person reads it, it has served its purpose and the writer his.

What is best in life?

To capture your thoughts... To see them written before you... To hear their story told aloud!

OK, I'll admit that I had watched Conan the Barbarian just hours before and for some unexplained reason, Arnold inspired me. I'm not ashamed. But back to the subject. I wonder what reasons other writers have? Certainly some might do it for the money and others might do it to have a great pick-up line at the nightclub. Still, I need to grasp that there are other reasons not quite as shallow.

Is it a driving force that requires vomiting words into a story or is it a more delicate nudging of something that must be released? Is it joyful or stressful? Is it satisfying when it's finished like sex or more like a cold beer on a hot day?

I'd love to hear what other writers think about such a question. Why do you write?