I levelled up in adulting.

 

I earned myself a 12 foot aluminum fishing boat last year, doing it the old-fashioned way, bartering it from an obese neighbour who couldn't assist me in the building or paying of a shared fence. The boat had sat on an old utility trailer in the back corner of his yard and to which we stared at for the last five years, and after the bartering, found out it had sat there for twenty. 

I spent most of last summer rebuilding the trailer from the frame up, because also when you are an adult, you should have a utility trailer (caveat, you don't need one if you don't have property). So I rebuilt the trailer and spent this summer slowly migrating the boat from our back yard to the top of the trailer. I also needed to invest in a means of propulsion, for despite it also coming with a 7hp 45 year old outboard motor, I felt an electric motor would be more suited for my needs; specifically a quiet trolling speed. 

So for my 50th, I bought an electric boat motor and a battery to go with it. I also bought a fishing license, which is like an official ticket to enjoy the bounties of nature. 

I have used the boat twice this summer, which is a 200% increase over last year. I have taught my boy the ritual of the Fisherman's Club, which is to jump overboard and pee while holding onto the side of the boat. He enjoys doing that. I have learned that the slower it goes, the longer the battery life. I have learned rowing is not as easy as it looks in the movies.

I have yet to catch a fish. 

But I have a boat. 

I levelled up. 

yay. 

In other news, I was informed an ex-girlfriend of mine died last year of a brain aneurysm while running. She was 49 and one of those women who seemed larger than they were; who brought joy and laughter and excitement into my life and then when she left, it killed a part of me. She was someone who showed me how joyous life could be but I equated that to only being possible if she was there to point it out to me. I wrote poetry for her, wrote a short novella also about her that nobody has ever read. She was my first reader and my poetry made our relationship last maybe... two months longer? I can't exactly remember. However long it was, it wasn't enough for me, more than enough for her. It took a long time for me to get over her but that's on me. Life goes on until it doesn't.

I can only imagine how much laughter she and her husband for over two decades and I am sad to hear her life-timer is over. Just recently I had used her as an example to my daughter in a discussion about careers. My daughter had chosen 'computer designer' or something that sounded so establishment/stereotypical. My ex, on the other hand, 25 years earlier, told me she would love to be a do-wop girl, one of those girls in the background singing the ooohs and ahhhs while the singer did their thing. I loved that thought, someone not wanting to be the one in the spotlight, but instead being in the background, experiencing her own dream as she doo-wopped her way through life. 

She never did become a background singer, but I'm sure she helped so many others in her joy, laugh and smile, do-wopping through life. Here's to you, SJ. 

CoVid - A Year of Memories

 

I have this picture on my phone, a screenshot I took March 3, 2020 which mentions a virus death toll reaches 9.  

I think I took the screenshot because I thought it odd this virus (out of China) would make international news, make it all the way to this little corner of the Okanagan. 

The same screen shot shows a headline about a tornado that killed at least 22. 

So yeah, that was a pretty big jump in two weeks. But still, why would there be that mention 2 weeks earlier when it was only 9?

Things took a pretty big dump soon after. I recall there was a weird/funny rush on toilet paper; videos of Costco TP going as fast as the workers could unload them. A lady at work had a husband that worked there and confirmed that was what was going on.  

Then my next screenshot is on March 18, 2020 stating the total, now called Coronavirus worldwide as 8,969. 

According to Wikipedia, BC's first CoVid related death happened March 5th (a man in his 80s)

I believe Canada effectively shut down on March 17th, meaning for us, that the kids would be on an extended Spring Break.

We pretty much went full stop. I drove into town and it the roads were quiet; it felt like Christmas Day or a summer morning at 5am. So little movement.

In the days to follow, Trudeau announced the CERB, malls, restaurants (barring drive-thru), airlines, travel all shut down. 

I recall thinking we were becoming really societally stupid when the District closed off all open spaces (like our local 10 acre dog park) with caution tape (due to CoVid). Then when it did open up, they had wrapped up the park benches with tape as well despite no evidence. NO SITTING! Because someone, without any scientific proof, hypthesized that this airborne virus lurked on every surface; you could catch it simply by sitting on a common bench or god forbid, reading a book from a public library. 

While everyone was worried about their jobs, their bills, many utility companies put up a deferred payment plans for 6 months. Mortgage holders, those Big Banks, gracefully allowed mortgage payments to be deferred for 6 months (interest still accumulating) but no ding on your credit history. Soon complaints began of the stupidly long wait times to try to arrange this with said banks because they were all closed, due to CoVid.  

Yet our town's Garden centers remained open (for mental health) which meant Rona/Home Depot/Walmart opened their doors to limited customers, making many wait in line-ups outside as they hurried to buy paint and materials for long-neglected home renovations. Smaller businesses complained to deaf ears about why they had to be closed, about how this all just helped big business, like usual. The rich got richer. McDonald's staff risked their lives so we could order our coffees and chicken nuggets, every time wondering if this would be our last meal, served to us by minimum wage people with no health insurance while we praised all the hospital staff in their overly-sanitized buildings and layers of PPE who were willing to put their lives on the line while waiting for the rush of virus victims who (must stress that this is in my small town) failed to materialize.  

Then George Floyd was gradually choked to death by a cop who must have known he was being  recorded and shit really started to get crazy again down south. Nobody cared about CoVid. Cops were not your friends. Riots happened, shit got real, many people were breaking the 6ft radius rule and the focus changed. Trump continued to do shitty Trump things, with only half of America caring, the other half cheering. 

I questioned not the number of deaths, but the age. Of nearly 11,000 fatal cases in Canada, around 300 were not in care homes. That didn't make the news as much as I believe it should have. 

I have consistently said the people dying were elderly and yes, it's bad and they deserve to die with dignity and being able to see their loved ones but they weren't. Last words were done by Zoom. It was shitty. Yet people still said no contact. 

The average age of Canadians who died of COVID-19 in 2020 is 83.8 years. By comparison, the average age at death in Canada in 2019 was 76.5 years. Life expectancy is 82.1

Region	Deaths, due to COVID-19	Average age at death, due to COVID-19	Crude death rate, due to COVID-19	Life expectancy in 2019
	number	in years	per thousand	in years
Canada	15,651	83.8	0.41	82.10

Even with CoVid, the average age at death has increased! 

Life expectancy at birth (LEB) in Canada in 2020 is still unknown, but it will likely be lower compared with previous years. Deaths caused by COVID-19 contributed to an estimated reduction in LEB of 0.41 years in 2020. Compared to the life expectancy of 82.10 years observed in 2019, this decrease of 0.41 years would reduce LEB to what it was six years earlier, in 2013 (81.68 years).

We are now expected to live FOUR less months than expected due to CoVid. 

For the record, I'm not against vaccines but it was sure convenient when Pfizer announced they had developed one Nov 12, 5 days after the too-close-to-call-but-probably-Biden American election (spoiler alert; Biden officially won Dec 14 according to the electoral college, which was also the date the first American vaccine was given).

Pfizer is an American pharmaceutical company. Moderna is as well. Coincidence.

We were warned of a second wave and everyone had to go through the motions again; but with much more mask wearing. Summer ended and schools/indoors/restaurants/cops all had to wear masks. A lot of fights were shared on social media of people not wearing masks vs people who said they had to. 

 Then we all had to have vaccines! Social lepers if you didn't. Talk of Vaccine passports, mandatory return to work vaccinations. 

Gas went down to 96 cents, as nobody was driving to and from work anymore. Some front line workers (such as nurses) were hailed as Gods, as they awaited the in rush of dying that for most smaller cities never came. Other front line workers (such as cashiers in grocery stores) received a temporary $2 'danger pay' raise. Other front line workers (such as at your local 7/11 or McDonald's drive-thru received nothing). 

At my firehall, we stopped weekly practices, were told to wear hazmat suits, including face shields and taped up gloves to prevent exposure on any calls we attended. I grew a small beard instead. 

In June 2020, school started again, attendance optional. Teachers learned Zoom while also working on a Day1/Day2 schedule for kids who attended. Most parents kept their kids at home. 

It was rumoured CoVid was carried by kids (who would show no symptoms) so anything they touched, could be infected by CoVid, which resulted in much wiping and hand-sanitizing; in my school our hand-washing schedule was; once before school, once entering, once leaving for recess, once returning, once when going to the gym, once when leaving the gym, wiping desks before and after lunch. God help you if you coughed. And yes, we were all supposed to stay six feet from each other. 

It was stupid time to be alive. But we did it. 

In April, 2020, somebody in the Maritimes dressed up as a cop and killed 22 people on a weekend murder spree; surprising everyone who thought those type of things happened only in the US. 

That's all I can think of for now. 

I'm still not vaccinated but likely will be in the coming year as my mom has paid for accomodations in Hawaii for us to celebrate her postponed 70th birthday. 

It is now July of 2021, the mask mandate is over, 70% of us have been vaccinated but that isn't stopping the Delta Variant which for all I can tell, still continues to kill older people that have lived past their average life span. 

And oh yeah, the Okanagan is once again completely covered by smoke, much like 2017. It just feels worse this year. 

Update July 28, 2023, : my last CoVid Count post; 

Flies; the first submission.

Attempt #1

Okay, so I know enough about the submitting process to know I don't know enough and never will. 

I'm going to detail my attempts at finding a publisher for Flies so that way either I A) have someone to blame, B) have a semi-interesting journal for people interested in a similar journal and C) therapy.

I'm just going to hop on C) here. I submitted Flies three days ago, via Submittable to the 'Featured Publisher' of my local chapter of the Canadian Publisher's Alliance - that's not the name but it was the first one that came up on a Google search.

They have a caveat; saying they publish about 20 books a year with around 1000 submissions annually. So, chances are pretty slim. 

Now, previous experience/homework suggested there's a long turn-around time when a manuscript is dropped into a 'slush pile'; like months and months. So I sure wasn't expecting an answer anytime soon. 

But I did. Running that high I started reading/editing Karmageddon again and SHIT there's a lot of notes I've made for the next edit. How do manuscripts get worse the longer you're away from them? 

Then something unexpected. A reply from the publisher. Could it be? 

Three days and form letter rejection. 

I found that out about 7pm tonight. That put me in a funk so hard I laid down on the couch and power napped for about 15 minutes before being woken by the kid. Then I spent about 30 minutes looking at other possible publishers, depressed and miserable, self-loathing, questioning my validity of writing talents, etc. I put that on pause, deciding I will look deeper into it tomorrow. Maybe submit again before the acceptance settles in which obviously already did.

Another hour or so of that feeling sucky before going to bed. 

It was while laying there that I had this epiphany that Flies was never going to be an easy sell - I mean, it's a story about killing children that nobody cares about. I need to work on selling it; how I'm going to do that, I don't know. I need to have a cheerleader in my life, someone who will say 'no problem, you got this, you can do it'. And I realize I don't so it's all up to me. 

It's always been all up to me. 

I got this. I will find a publisher for Flies. 

In the meantime, I'll journal my struggles on my blog (does anyone read blogs anymore?) for posterity. 

In this day and age of bells and whistles and 'everything lives forever on the Internet', which by the way is not true judging from all the embedded video clips that have been removed from this blog, I figure this will make for a decent memory for the day when I do get Flies published and maybe, just maybe, find an agent to make my life a little easier and my confidence a little stronger. 

I got this. 

Be your own cheerleader. 

 

Summer 2021

 

Here we are, still alive, still trying to figure out what this last 16 months has meant. A lot of people have died, current update is 4, 167,500 deaths, 26,000 in Canada. 

A lot of questions; vaccinations, yay or nay, lot of media propaganda which after nearly a 20 year bad rap (harkening back to Bush/Cheney) of being puppets to government spins. Nobody trusts anyone anymore, forest fires burning like 2017, masks no longer mandatory, US states 'opening' and dying again, the Delta variant, the Jan 6th capital attack, Branson and Bezos going into space, with the argument of what actually defines 'space' last week, no rain in the last 4 months, with a 44 degree heat spell and the town of Lytton incinerating. 

And somewhere in the last 5 months I completed Flies, and if I say so myself, it's pretty damn good. My 3 beta readers have loved it with one yet to check in. I am working on one last re-edit before doing the real work of pushing it off into some publishing houses to attempt to get that elusive traditional deal done; I'm old-school all the way because I hate the work of self-promo. 

So that is my quick update for the summer. I've not done much outside and the family has gone off for the weekend but I have to keep my eyes on the goal(s) and it's easier said than done. Still so much to do, both inside, outside and 75 pages still to edit. 

It's starting to feel a lot like...something.

 

It's been awhile. 

I've been busy. Busy being a father, a dad, a renovator, a learn-as-you-goer, teacher's assistant, dog-walker, home-maker, etc etc. with little time for writing. I'm only here because I am on a sick day from work with it's own weird little backstory behind that which I won't get into. 

I did Nanowrimo, which is a writing challenge held in November in which you try to type 50,000 words. I cut out an hour a day and my family let me with little to no distractions. I used that to edit a 1st draft I have let simmer for many months. It's a murder mystery thing; someone's killing pedophiles and it's done in three different points of views; a step away from my preferred Karmageddon world building. 

It's a challenge in itself and I'm only like... 1/2 way done, even with Nanowrimo. And CoVid. 

According to Worldometer.info, here are the latest stats worldwide; . 1,665, 000 deaths (about 3% of those who officially contracted it). In Canada there were 13, 865 deaths. They don't give out an age breakdown but that can be found with a little digging; last I checked, 96% were people over 80. 

Yep, CoVid is still the thing. There are too many conspiracy theories to count and, depending on who you ask, faith in our leadership is plummeting. We have small owner-operated restaurants forced to close while McDonald's has their best sales ever. You can't have a wedding with more than 20 people (depending on where you are) yet Home Depot and Walmart are fine. You can't work out at a gym or have dinner with more than 4-6-10 family members but you can go into any store that is open as long as you wear a mask. 

Masks are mostly mandatory the world over yet nobody mentions the mask-makers as part of any conspiracy. That's left to Big Pharma, two of whom have announced vaccines immediately after the US election win of Joe Biden over Donald Trump. And socialists; that one is fun. While the stock markets show huge gains (keeping the rich richer), somehow this is all a conspiracty for a great economic reset where everyone will get a (gasp) basic universal income. 

As back when this first started, nobody really rich or famous has died. Tom Hanks was one of the first to get it and that would have been a game changer. But he was fine. As was Justin Trudeau's wife, Boris Johnson (UK premier), P!nk, Trump ('cured' over a weekend), a ton of other White House high-ups in his cabinet, Prince Charles. 

I had my own theory at one time (writer brain kicking in) that this was a War of The Worlds/Invasion of the Body Snatchers thing where those who die are pod people, advance forces for alien overlords. It's not sensitive to those who have lost someone but we all have to try and make sense of all this in our own ways. If that involves me coming up with a Killer Alien Virus theory to explain why I can't watch my daughter play ringette, so be it. 

Mostly, those who died have been old and with weakened immune systems. I went for a walk awhile ago and had this minor epipheny of how this is a Boomer reaction to the approaching of Death, as futile as it may be to fight it, they're going to try. It's backfired a little, such as so many have had to die alone, their families unable to hold their hands one last time, in fear of infection. When we, as a society, placed our elders in care homes, paid other people to care for them then get angry that they are dieing in these places we have put them, who really is to blame?   

So we have people shouting online to wear your masks and other people shouting it makes no difference. In my province, nearly all the deaths were in long-term care homes (which are like bus stations for funeral homes). We have a 50 person cap on a hockey arena that sits 3000 and a 2 person cap in public restrooms. 

We have this 'front-line workers are the real heroe' memes going around yet many of those are the cashiers who are keeping the economy running. There has been no mention of Big Banks or credit cards doing anything other than lip service to everyone falling deeper in debt. I don't know how that will play out but in the meantime, we try to keep as normal as possible. 

Yet on my end, things are actually quite stable. We both kept our jobs; I caught up on a lot of side-projects such as building a front walkway, building a fence, bartering my labour from that to a 14ft aluminum boat and a utility trailer (which I then rebuilt). We resided our house, finally losing the avocado green aluminum siding and replaced 8 windows. Then to top it off, we have a new(er) truck, one that can actually tow the utility trailer! So yeah, sorry society is in the crapper and our alien overlords are about to run the show but I'm doing pretty darn good.

 

Now if I can only get a book deal. 

 

Day 10 of Societal Isolation

Current method of Social Isolation.

I don't know if I am embarrassed on behalf of humanity or proud. On one hand, our ability to mass implode as a civilization is unprecedented. I had the feeling this shit was getting real when Starbucks started offering only Drive-Thru service. We nearly shut down Starbucks!

Then it got stupid(er) when they shut down our 8 acre neighbourhood dog park, which I've never seen more than 10 people in on a good day, due to the COVID19!!! It's a goddamn 8 acre park that dogs poop in during the winter and kid leagues play soccer and T-Ball in during April and May.

Keep in mind that I live in a community of about 1000 people. There are more people that walk on the streets than go into this park. I mean, if we are following this current thought, why aren't the mailboxes taped off? There's at least 50 boxes that can be infected with COVID19!!!

But that is what this has come to. I'm tired of saying it's the flu, yes, it's highly contagious. It kills off the old and weak, Yes, that sucks. But that's what flus have always done. Yes, I understand that people are dying. That's nature. We don't live forever.

And until the rich and famous start dying off, in other words, those that can afford health care, then I'm not really worried about it.

At least, physically. Mentally, I'm drained. I'm trying to live in a 'Keep Calm and Carry On' world but everyone else is making it tough. We need t-shirts to differentiate us, to help us remind each other that we're not alone in thinking we're over-reacting. We need to Keep on Keepin' On.

Economically, I'm okay with my 2 weeks emergency funds and our 'Essential Services' jobs. I'm not like a lot of others out there. Thankfully, being perpetually poor prepared me really well for doing limited things on limited funds. I even might splurge this weekend and go for a non-essential drive what with gas at 94.9 cents (British Columbia, represent). That represents a savings of nearly 30 cents/litre in less than a month. How are the oil companies surviving?

And let's not talk about the credit card companies, who have been pretty silent on their whole 'we are still charging you 20% interest on any charges you incur.'

I am reminded of the saying "There is nothing to Fear but Fear Itself" and as a society, we are doing a bang-up job of living in fear. It will be a strange world to come back to, especially economically. Will our standard of living go down? Will there be a new iPhone release for this year? Where will ex-Prince Harry and Markie live? 

Self-quarantine Day 4

Day #4 of the national self-quarantine aka Spring Break 2020. 

While I jest, this is where we are at. I don't know if things would be much different for us to be honest. The kids are doing what they are doing; nothing different from their previous school holidays, barring the fact my daughter's Stay At Home class was cancelled and, as of yesterday, so are our weekly firehall practice.

We are still planning to go into town today; my oldest 2 have a bowling date with Grampa, who is willing to risk the chance of infection to spend some time with the kids.

I bought my oldest a bass; today I plan to go into pawn shops to see if I can find a cheap amp. My daughter is missing a sketch book so we will buy another one. My youngest is happy that his leprecaun trap has netted four hats and golden chocolate bar.

Still off Facebook, and now Yahoo is starting to send me emails about it; Greg shared this, Ken shared that...

I'm reading Stephen King's On Writing and Wings of Fire, recommended by my daughter. It's a fairly straight forward dystopian rebellion tale, but with dragon/insects. It's not very subtle. For example, the bad guys are wasps and when the protagonists are deciding where to find the Rebellion, they have a choice between Yellowjacket Hive, Bloodworm Hive or Jewel Hive. Not hard to guess where they're going.

But she's reading and I love her and I will finish it. As per King's On Writing; Reading bad writing makes you more aware of your own bad writing. I'm not saying Wings of Fire is bad; it's meant for a particular audience.

Nobody died last night from CoronaVirus, keeping the Canadian death toll at 4 in a population of 38 million people. We talked a little at the dinner table with the kids. They seem mostly oblivious however the older one isn't saying much.

Emotion is Contagious (this didn't age well)

So I'm wrong but will keep this up for some humble pie.

Aug 15, update; there are over 174,000 dead in US (#1) and 9000 in Canada (#24)

Conspiracies are all the rage right now, masks are semi-voluntary, the US election is nowhere near the same amount of hype/hysteria as it was 4 years ago so at least we have that going for us. 

PANDEMIC!

Coronavirus is all the news nowadays. As far as I'm concerned it's a variation of the flu and I fear that I am the only one who remembers the media panic of SARS, the bird flu, avian flu, ebola and flesh-eating disease that ran their course over the last two decades.

Emotion is contagious; if one of us laughs, others laugh. That is why comedies feel so much funnier in theaters; stand-up comedy is done in front of an audience instead of one by one. Funerals are where people gather to feel sad. We avoid funerals so we don't feel sad(der).
Weddings make us happy. Winning as a group, losing as a group, it makes us feel emotions that are increased by the amount of people we are sharing that emotion with.

This is the basis of mob mentality; our emotions, heightened by others, make us do things that we would not otherwise do as individuals.

And the current emotion running through society is fear, pushed by social media and a large international organization called WHO.

Beware of Coronavirus.

For some reason, this is worse than all the others most of us have lived through before. And because we are now a world that thrives on fear, we relish the opportunity to do what we are told because of flu epidemic that hit a country on the other side of the globe

We are flourishing on fear, our leaders are showing each other what we are made of. And this is what we have shown;

All international travel is highly discouraged.
If you do travel, you are to self-quarantine yourself for two weeks before returning to your employment. Nobody will check up on this - you are to police yourself. WE are counting on you to be honest about your travels.
All events or gatherings of more than 250 people is forbidden.
That means ALL sports, from the NHL to the local ringette end-of-season dinner has been postponed/cancelled.
School districts are shutting down despite no children having been diagnosed.
Churches are closing their doors (read that one again and note the hypocrisy)
St. Paddy day parades cancelled!
There is an increasing push to create work-from-home scenarios so people don't have to go into work.
There is a big public information push to wash your hands.
There is an unfathomable, unexplainable rush on toilet paper.
Athletes are offering to pay the wages of stadium employees who would otherwise be serving over-priced food and beverages to their fans.
Big businesses are spamming emails, declaring how they 'are navigating' this pandemic which has KILLED 62 people in the US (of 331 million) and 1 person in Canada (of 37 million). Yes, it will be more but that's it as of March 15th, 2020.

To date, according to https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/ there have been 6000 deaths world-wide. 76,000 have recovered. The breakdwown of the age of fatalities is broken down on this page; https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/coronavirus-age-sex-demographics/ . According to CNN, the average age is 80. No child has died from coronavirus.

There are over 7.7 billion people in the world.

7.7 billion.

Do the math. This is not a pandemic; this is nature. Sickness kills off the old and the weak. It is nothing personal, it's saying your time is up. Time to move over, shuffle off this mortal coil, face the music, pay your tab, check your balance, meet your maker, etc. etc. etc.

Yet here we are. Two weeks into March. The Apocalypse is upon us.

I have logged off Facebook. I found it to be part of the problem instead of part of the solution. 

I am sure there are sane people among us; plenty in health care. Yet our self-isolation cuts away that sense of group rationality. FB does the same. Funny memes or videos on Toilet paper mobs do nothing buy hype the situation, only help stoke the flames of fear. We have been told to self-quarantine and so most of us will. We are obedient sheep and all it took was a little snowball to create this avalanche of fear. Much like AIDS, SARS, Bird flu, swine flu etc.

I am old enough to remember this situation playing out so many times before. News clips of everyone wearing face masks, nobody in our social circle having any personal experience of said deadly disease and then we continued on as if it never happened.

The difference this time is how influential social media has become; it not only pushes the snowball but creates more of them. It is our most trusted news source.

And this is the Catch 22 of our times; the argument will be that thanks to these restrictions, the pandemic never happened. If we didn't have these restrictions, we'd have deaths in the millions. We can't prove that wouldn't happen as we are not given the opportunity.

It's like saying those day-glow head-to-toe uniforms traffic control people wear keep them safer as opposed to only wearing a day-glow jacket. You can't argue with safety.

Group mentality wins out. Nobody is brave enough to call bullshit because YOU ARE THREATENING SOMEONE'S LIFE!

Yet, if Death is going to happen, it's going to happen. Your time is up; be it from an elderly driver behind the wheel, cardiac arrest, ski jump, or a 7 year old with a runny nose.

Yet here we are. 1 person dead in Canada has ground near everything to a halt except the Internet.

I especially love that the Houses of God are encouraging their parishioners not to gather there. There's a huge irony in that.

Good luck, everyone.

Jay's Big BOoTy List (w intro) #1

The Big BOoty List - Books Ogled over The Year

Classic Ogling...

I'm noticing that as the years go by they are doing so with increasing speed. I can't say 2018 will go down in history as my favourite year, especially the last couple months. December was a rotating 'flu-enza' in our house with myself being the lone victor in staying healthy throughout. Career choices, conflicts, criticisms, children... 2018 had it all.

Of course, there was so much stuff I could get angry about outside of my own small life. It was embarrassing the lengths people went to on social media went to demean or debase whoever they didn't vote for, as if our leaders were somehow appointed for life while hundreds of miles up in the air, there is a small glimpse of what our future could be if we only focused on what is good about ourselves instead of what is bad about our neighbours.

I don't know how people can live surrounded by so much negativity in their lives and as such, I'm again trying to limit mine.

Gratefully, amidst that chaos and background of social-loathing, I did manage to finish my 3rd book called Karmageddon. Thanks to everyone who has supported me by purchasing a copy. If you haven't,you can find it here.

I'm fully aware it isn't for everyone and many people may not like it; many may take offense to it. That's okay I guess... everyone has a right to their opinion, despite what others might think. I guess it comes to how offended you are. It's not meant to offend, it's a book. Books are meant to distract you from the world, to provide an escape. Maybe if you learn something along the way, all the better.

Right now, I'm taking a break from writing, despite the voice of many writers who insist 'you have to write every day to succeed'. For those who do it for a living, sure. For those who (like me) do it for the pleasure, go at your own pace.

And as of January 1st, my new year's resolution is to keep track of ALL the books I read over the year. I'll provide a brief recap, mostly for my own amusement.

So without further adieu, welcome to Jay's Big BOoTY List.


Book 1

Emotions Explained With Buff Dudes by Andrew Tsyaston

Let's admit that there is a small type of satisfaction when the clerk behind the till at the book store praises your selection. Like somehow, this insider to the book industry has better taste than you and therefore their opinion is valued. That's what happened here. I bought it thanks to a Xmas gift card from some great people who believe in the dreams of book stores.

A brief skimming of the drawings led me to purchase it. This is a great, but short, easy read of cartoons that reflect and see the humour of depression, our definitions of success, coffee addiction and feeling like on some days life is physically waiting beside your bed for you to wake up so it can punch you in the face. Like, literally... that is one of the cartoons.

If you, or anyone you know tends to slide on occasion down Pessimism Mountains, tend to defeat themselves before entering, then this book might help them get back on track, or at least put a smile on their face long enough for them to fight another day.



*I'm not paid to endorse any of these books, the BOoTY(tm) awards are for my own amusement. If you're interested in any of the books I read, please search them out yourself. If you have any recommendations based on these books, please add them to the comments.* 

The Joys and Pains of Self-Evaluations

We've all done a personality test of some sort; 'which superhero are you?' 'what type of pie best represents you?' 'If you were a car, you would be a what?'. Sure, they're funny and for a brief moment we might wonder what our life would have been like if we actually were Ross or Rachel from Friends. But for every goofy personality test, there are the more serious ones; the ones psychologists and scientists put together through data collection, analysis and accepted hypotheses.

They aren't necessarily fun. They allow you to reflect better on who you are as a person, why you might not feel like you fit in with the general populace. For some, they are epiphanies; 'Oh, that totally explains why I like spontaneous acts of expression and shutting myself out from the rest of the world'. I've done a few of them in my time but I'm at an age of 'tell me something I don't know'.

First, disclaimer; According the Mayers-Briggs Personality profile, I'm an INFP. You can be one of 16 different letter combinations and for most people (like myself) I don't really investigate many of the other combinations because, well, they're not me. I did the MP test in my first year of college, in  a room full of budding accountants. I was the round hole trying to fit into the square peg in that class, which made complete sense at the time.

I did it again twenty years later thinking I've had a lot of experiences since my first year of college. I've loved and lost, hired and fired, tried and failed, tried and succeeded. I've met hundreds of new people so all of that experience must have changed me somewhat right?

Nope, still an INFP.

I means introverted, I feel better by myself than with a crowd.
N means iNtuitive, which means I mostly go with my gut instinct as opposed to rational deductions.
F means Feeling, which means I am guided by my principles; if I agree with it, I'll do it.
P means Perceiving; I'm an idealist, I believe the best in everyone.

By no means is that a complete definition; for we are all only parts of a whole. But those are some of the basic ingredients which make up myself.

Now, I just did another test; the via assessment test, which is also free to do online. It measures those characteristics/values which dominate your personality; there's around 24 of them - too many to list.

I value honesty above all else. I also enjoy humour, creative thinking, and learning new things.

Sounds great, right? Nothing too surprising there. But when it came to my weakest strengths, you know what lays at the bottom of this idealistic soul?

Hope and gratitude.

That's a pretty big kick in the nuts and hard to rationalize with my strengths. How can I appreciate honesty yet have so little hope? How is I love to learn new things but have so little gratitude to the world I'm learning about?

So that's what I'm dealing with today; all because I took an assessment which tells me what science has determined by a series of 120 questions what I truly think of myself.

Does my humour come from my sense of hopelessness?

In Other News

An old film friend of mine reached out and said he'd been writing something. I offered to read it.

It was some of his own therapy regarding his love life of years past.

It wasn't anything special. But then he linked me to his own blog and was blown away. I told him so. It was original, had a unique voice, etc etc. I told him this was a book waiting right there. He writes short and simple, with great imagery. I don't know if it is because I know him or if his writing is that good but I really relate and/or get frustrated with the protagonist's views.

Here it is.

He thanked me for my thoughts but wants to write of a different girl right now.

I'm a bit envious of his writing style but remind myself we are all different. I think his story could be more successful than mine ever would be, but then again - two completely different ball parks.

He writes kind of like this;

I'm listening to Creep by Radiohead right now. The dogs are laying on the couch, one is licking itself. I have to bathe them today, if for no other reason than to delay other mini-projects.

Artistic Therapy Part 5 Cancer

So, having cancer really puts a stop to things.

But it doesn't, life goes on.

I have a good doctor who is able to schedule me for a kidney removal in one month's time. I have my parents fly out to join me for the big day. They are divorced and remarried but they both come out and everything is weird again. I think they are staying in my nice landlord's place while I am in the hospital. I don't recollect much of this time.

I do remember, and this part still messes with me, for the weeks before the operation I was given a sieve to pee through; the thought being I'd pee out any kidney stones that were in my uretha. I did that every day until I had to go to the hospital.

The night before I was given 2 liters of electrolites to drink; that's basically a super-cleanse and by the end of the evening, it was going in me as a liquid and coming out as a liquid. My insides had never been so cleansed. All this was so there was plenty of room for them to do their digging around in there as they cut out my kidney.

So there I am, in my johnny, getting ready to go on the gurney which would lead me into the Operating Room. I go to have one last pee. I no longer have that sieve after all, what's the point, right?

So as I flush I notice this little turquoise tip-of-a-pencil thing going down the toilet. Or did I?

I get on the gurney, say nothing. I go into the operating room and it's lights out.

I recall waking up, or maybe this was from the first operation, and lifting myself over to the stretcher. I then pass out again. Next thing I remember is waking up with a young nurse over top of me. It's all foggy for a bit here - needless to say, the movie is the last thing on my mind.

I spend a few days in the hospital. When I'm able I fly home with my Mom to BC and convaless at home in her basement, my old room from my twenties. I listen to a lot of Bif Naked, hiding down there doing ... nothing I remember.

I hear somehow my ex-partner's sister also has a cancerous brain tumour. There's no contact there.

Facing Facts

I was angry at her. I was so angry at her.

I was tired. We were tired. I left a note saying we were going for pizza. Call me. Yes, I get she felt excluded. Yes, I was part of making her feel excluded. I didn't want her there. I wanted her studying on movie-making, learning the business side, figuring out how to enter film festivals, doing producer-type stuff.

I didn't want our days spent discussing shots, her swishy-snow pants swishing, the inevitable cutting remarks that I felt would be directed her way by X. I could visualize his scorn spreading to the others, making her the omega wolf, the one picked on, despite it was her drive that brought all of us together.

I felt I was protecting her.

I was wrong to do that.

I wanted to be entirely in control, to not have to argue with her about what to do, defend shots, scenes, lines. To avoid another discussion where she tells me we need to have a dream sequence with Y because she has two friends willing to go topless in a car wash and boobs sell movies.

I was so angry. I was angry at Sound Guy coming in and pointing out all the holes in the ship - holes I knew about and was the reason I called him.

I was angry this dream, making a movie, wasn't fun. I was angry my friend, the guy I trusted to shoot the movie, fucked off on me. I was angry I felt pushed into doing this, that there was no way to go but forward, ever since she said we had an investor.

I felt so alone, nobody to turn to to complain we weren't taking log notes. In the back of my mind, I knew every day meant another tape I would have to go through later, take by take, to figure out which was best.

I wasn't staring down the camera. I was angry that every day was such a complete tiring mess where I wondered what exactly I was shooting here. I was angry she said our relationship was over once the movie ended. I was doing this for us, I told myself.

And if there was no 'us', what was the point of anything? Being dumped on any day is never the best. It was only a slight drop below being stranded at the alter.

I was angry when she told me we were through. I said fine but we could we finish the movie first. We finished, hooked up for one more night and then I was angry she expected me to continue to fly back and forth to edit the movie, knowing the relationship ended.

I was angry I didn't get a choice in the editor - not even a fucking demo reel from the guy. We already got burned for $800 by the 'FX guy' for a shit totem grade school kids could have done in 20 minutes and a fake head so realistic I had to shoot it mostly from the back. Then there was my original DP, then there was the new DP who left town with one master tape still in his possession.

And now she was saying I wouldn't get a choice in who was editing this fucking mess? Were they aware we had no log sheets? Was he going to go through 18 hours of tapes for free?

So she kicked me off my movie. I was furious. She even got the investors to all sign something saying I was fired. I still have it. Along with a ream of angry letters sent over the next few months.

I was angry that I loved her, agreed to do this movie because of her, that she made me decide between the movie or her in the middle of filming.


I hated her. I hated her so much I moved across Canada. I hated her so much I sent her the masters after making my own copies and told her to go ahead. I hated her so much I had to ask her cancer-fighting sister if she was seeing someone else as she was recuperating in a hospital bed. I hated her so much I spent $1500 on a camera just so I could edit it myself. I hated her so much, I learned to edit. I hated her so much I would call her business phone from 3000 miles away in the middle of the night just so I could listen to the sound of her voice on her messaging machine. I hated her so much I never left a message.

I hated her so much I kept all her letters, a dying art, the angry letter - all capital letters, hand-written. I still have them, that's how much I hated her. I have pictures of her in my memory chest, from happier days of course, when I loved her and thought she loved me back. She was as old then as my wife is turning now.

(... that made me pause).

I hated her so much I yelled Happy Birthday to her when I saw her on the street five years later. I hated her so much I tried to say Merry Christmas to her when I saw her selling something in a department store. I hated her so much I left chocolates on her car door that night. She knew they were from me. I hated her when I saw her car beside mine, her staring ahead - either unaware I was right beside her or painfully aware.

I hated her for killing my dream, for no longer being part of my life. I hated her for making me feel like I could do anything and then telling me I couldn't. I hated her for the amount of times she'd blow me, far more times than actual sex. I hated her for pretending to believe in me. I hated her for all her arguments about her 'editor'.

I wanted nothing more than to win her back. I thought if only I edited this whole mess into something, entered it into a few film festivals on our behalf, then maybe she'd see I was doing it all for us. I wanted her to believe in me again. I needed her belief in me.

And when it was gone, so was I.

Life happened. I got cancer. She didn't acknowledge that. I moved back home. Not even a peep. I left, came back, got married, got divorced. Met someone else, and we are still together, two kids now. Happy life, happy wife.

The last time I saw her, and I've googled-creeped her name many times over the years to see where she was to no avail, she was entering a furniture store. I was inside, holding my months old baby daughter in my arms. I turned quickly, kept my back to the door as she entered. When she passed, I exited.

And that was the end of her. Physically.

Yet, she's still inside me. She found people willing to invest $15000 in our vision. It was an amazing, awful, one of a kind experience which will never happen again. For a few months, I was a filmmaker.
For a few years, I tried to recreate that lie, believing in an impossible goal, 3500 miles away from her.

Do I still hate her?

She did her damage.

Do I still hate her?

Did I ever hate her?

Or did I always hate the choice I made?

The Hilarity of Depression

Sometimes, I want to laugh at how depressed I get because I'm pretty good at hiding it. I think most people with depression know how to hide it; they remove themselves emotionally and physically from everyone.

I know that the more productive one is, the less depressed they tend to be; like the act of keeping the mind busy will keep those nagging thoughts at bay.

So here is my morning.

I wake up and get the kids to school. No problem so far, my mind is busy with the kids, we walk, we talk, we say goodbye.

Now I'm in trouble.

But wait, a friend's wife is running for council in our local election. She's off to put up some signs with her 2 other children not yet in school. I'll totally help, for I was busy trying not to think of what
I'm going to do today to avoid being with myself.

That takes about 30 minutes and then I'm back at the house. I have so much I could do so I'm going to take a long shower first to figure out my plan.

Such a long shower.

Here's a list of things I think about that I can/want/should do;

• research some lit agents (3)
• research similar publishing houses
• update my social media
• read and review some homework
• watch a movie that my wife probably wouldn't want to watch
• take out the compost
• buy tickets to a bucket list item. 
• go to firehall and work out
• apply to EI (hours recently cut back)
• update resume
• take the dogs for a walk. 
• Do some editing of Karmageddon
• Do some writing of anything
• clean up spare room for son #1
• dismantle legos and put on kijiji
• clean up carport
• unlock some more characters in Lego Batman 2. 

I go through all this and then decide I will do the last one first. But only until 10am.

I figuratively give my head a shake. I realize that's the least important. What's most important to me? Probably the computer stuff. But then I need to go downstairs, unpack the laptop, log in.
Just the thought of that is overwhelming in this mindset. Let's get dressed first. Make some coffee.

So I broke it down into little goals. And while it might seem to go down 2 flights of stairs may only be a problem if I was morbidly obese (I'm not), it is.

But first I make a coffee. I find the laptop. I go downstairs, clear off my desk. I power it up.

And now I'm here and it's 10am.

Deep breath...

Yes, Daughter, there is still a Santa Claus

Late night thoughts on Childhood Beliefs

Note; It’s been nearly 6 weeks since I’ve written anything of substance. The cycle repeats. Inspiration, Dedication, Insecurity, Shame, Confidence. If I’m lucky, sometimes I’m able to replace Shame with some Editing. I shouldn’t feel insecure about what I do, I know it’s good. But I lack validation and the desire to seek out the validation, so I have let my dreams sit for the summer, enjoyed it with my children, for the summers do go fast and they are both starting school this year and my memory is slipping faster than they are growing.

I love my daughter. She’s nine. She told her mom a few days ago that she’s starting to have suspicions about Santa Claus. She didn’t say that directly, she was making an observation. “You know, Santa seems to only have toys that you could also buy in Walmart.”

I’m like… wow. But you, as a parent, have to keep that dream alive, you know? What do you do? Bring down the house of cards that is Santa Claus? 

My bookshelf

I have a bookshelf. Everyone should be so lucky.

Actually 5 bookshelves. They are the length of closet doors, because that is what they are. That is also why I can't call it a bookcase. The shelves are full, with books I have read. Most of them only once but liked enough to keep, thinking one day I will read them again.

I think what you read says a lot about if we could be friends. I think my books say a lot about me.

Let me check out your bookshelf and I believe I will get a glimpse into your soul.

Look at my shelf and it's a clusterfuck of authors, subjects and genres... which is appropriate.

I am barely holding on here.

At one time, I built these shelves, for the specific purpose of making a home for my book collection. They were organized in some way now lost. Was it by author or subject matter?

The shelves, like myself, have become disorganized. I look back on these shelves, dissecting them, much like my life, what choices made me do this? Why are they there? When did I start stuff books anywhere there was space?

What was my original intention with that top shelf?

Perhaps that was where the 'classics' were to be. There was my Steinbeck, Asimov, Hesse, Wolfe. But then again, why is there a Mastering The Tarot book, sandwiched between a single serving of Tolkien (a hardcover 74th printing of The Two Towers (1983) I bought for a quarter at the Mission 2nd hand store) and Elmore Leonard's Rum Punch (better known as the Tarantino movie Jackie Brown)?

And why is 1 Harry Potter book and a Richler book on top of two Terry Pratchetts? Why are they with the Winston Churchill biography trilogy? The only thing separating the two is a sci-fi 'Hall of Fame' anthology (1971) I keep solely because it has Flowers for Algeron in it, a legendary story I only read a couple of years ago and was kinda 'meh' about.

At least still perchedon the top-right corner are my memories; about a dozen notebooks from years past, story ideas and memories waiting to be re-discovered, analyzed, considered. There's also a copy of the Joy of Sex under all that, because... I was single once.

Is that good those notebooks remain untouched, when so much of the rest has been tampered with?

On my second shelf, the 'eyeline' shelf for me, which I would think should be my favourites, are books organized again mysterious to my reasoning.

From the left there are a few hard-cover books, most over 75 years old if I go by their spines. Great, I get that - high enough to imply value if I ever become a book-collector/seller and also to keep out of toddler hands. But then there is a pile of financial books which I doubt I will ever read (again). It takes money to care about keeping money.

Then a few pretentious names to keep you interested; Philip Dick, Chuck Palaniuk, Ayn Rand. A couple books on accepting I'm a writer and how to deal with it. Dead center of the shelf is my current fav contemporary writer, Patrick DeWitt and his three books.

Beside him, my humour section. Woody Allen, Carl Reiner short stories. Will Ferguson devolves into a Uncle John's Bathroom Reader. That is bordered on the right by my 'spiritual section' in case I ever want to read more about Taoism or How to Win Friends.

Third shelf - I remember this is for my pocket books as the height is quite short. I'm thinking this uneven spacing needs to change if I am going to organize this mess. I have a lot of Discworld on this shelf, altogether. A sign of respect for honestly most influentialBut then I have some Vonnegut and Brave New World. A bunch of Malcolm Gladwell books separates the books from the few cassette tapes I have remaining from that part of my past.

I'm getting tired. So much to dissect.

Fourth shelf - the bigger books, too large to fit on my paperback shelf. These range from The Shining (2 copies) to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Anthology.  I recall this was to be my 'books made into movies' section, which explains why Gone Girl is beside Captain Corelli's Mandolin and Princess Bride beside American Hero (rebranded Wag the Dog for Hollywood purposes). There's also Silence of the Lambs and Cloud Atlas and my in-joke copy of God Hates Us All, the meta-book within a TV series, Californication, written by 'Hank Moody'. 

But that segment is cut off by the few Ender saga books I have found in bookstores by Orson Scott Card. Then it goes back into my over-sized Vonnegut, a copy of Geek Love found under the Free Books Tree in my neighbourhood. Fencing that off is my stack of sports-related books, mostly hockey. Now I'm seeing the subjects; the social consciousness pile, Shock Doctrine, a Leonard Cohen biography sandwiches some Noam Chomsky and 2 wildly different biographies of Howard Hughes. A Pat Riley Life Coaching dips into my Pierre Burton historical Canadiana books. I enjoy historical fiction but don't go out of my way to find it. Beside Burton is the collection of James Michener books/volumes read and still waiting to be read. Chesapeake, Alaska, Space, all bought for 50 cents each. As for cost per word, you can't get a better deal than this.

I am getting OCD just looking at this... 

Finally, on the bottom shelf, there are my textbooks, coffee-table books too large to fit elsewhere. My collection of Calvin and Hobbes, my Star Wars trilogy storybooks, which is probably worth quite a few bucks nowadays. Yet, there they are, bottom shelf. Surprised they weren't destroyed by curious fingers yet. A quick Internet search reveals some for sale on ebay, roughly $10 each.

Guess that new sailboat will have to wait...

Beside the fantastical X-Men anthology, Macbeth adaptation and V for Vendetta (graphic novels, not comic books I remind myself) there is a very interesting illustrated book called Great Moments In Medicine. The corners have been nibbled on by mice years ago when I had so many of these in storage as they waited for me to put down roots. This is where I learned they used to put boiling tar into bullet wounds during the American Civil War until some doctor decided that probably wasn't helping.

There's always a lesson if you read long enough.

My last two books are Lady Cottingham's Pressed Fairy book, a book I never gave to a long-ago crush and a textbook on Criminal Behavior. Perhaps there is a link? Then it devolves into photo albums, another nostalgic memory from decades ago.

But then... stashed behind those snapshots is another memory vault. My collection of childhood hard-cover Hardy Boy books, twenty-some in total. Back when I thought Franklin W. Dixon was a real person and had no idea what a coupe was, no matter how many times it followed Frank and Joe. Turns out it was a type of car. Memories. 

I thought at one time I would be giving them to my son. Thankfully, life made it so I have two. However, my first doesn't live with me and is a great reader, probably too far ahead of the pop curve what with his Harry Potter series, anime and Youtube channel. I doubt he would ever get hooked on two teenage detectives.

Perhaps my younger will be interested. However, that is many years away yet until he will be able to read.

I really need to organize this... but there you go - a quick glimpse into my book shelf. 

Still avoiding...

Once again, I've reached the summit of how far I'm willing to address the cancer/Pestilence thing.
I can say it is a lot of things, time, Spring, etc but really it's just me avoiding these demons.

I talked w/ my mom about that summer - 2003 as it turns out, making it almost 15 years this July. She stayed with me after the operation until I flew home with her. I, however, insisted I take her to a tea cafe in Halifax before we left. I have no memory of this. She also gave me a Radiohead fan magazine to read and Douglas Adam's Salmon of Doubt while I was in the hospital. Intensive care as one of my lungs partially collapsed during surgery. I recall the man beside me was often delirious. He had septic shock I could see his colostomy bag hanging off his bed.

Mom and Dad stayed with my landlord, who keep in mind, inherited a cancer boarder only 2 short months ago. I wish I could remember his name as well. He was very kind to take in my family and my problems on such short notice.

Dad left on a Sunday. Mom says he didn't believe I had cancer and so kept a letter from my Dr. identifying it as such... something -carcinoma. I plan on talking with him about his version of that time.

I then came home and recuperated in my Mom's basement. I don't recall much of this; listening to Bif Naked on the computer, avoiding everything as best as possible. I lost a lot of weight - I recall being about 185.

Somewhere during this time I learned my ex-partner's sister had brain cancer. I don't know if this is intertwined but there was another family friend who also had very aggressive cancer - he was down in Vancouver's cancer ward. These are only slivers of memories but I recall thinking how awful this all was. I partially hoped my cancer might somehow bring us back together only her sister had it too and all thoughts of the movie were set aside for both of us, I'm sure.

I went down to Vancouver in my step-brother's car. I recall this as I was pulled over on S. Marine for something and I had to explain why it was my license but my brother's registration. I don't think he was allowed to drive at the time. The cop was a bit confused but it was the truth and so I was let go, perhaps with a warning. I don't recall.

I had this plan to go visit both J and B in the cancer ward. I had this idea I would give J two flight passes so her sister could fly down and visit her sometime. And who do I see waiting for a bus stop on Oak? L. Crazy coincidence, right? So i loop around, park the car and go meet her.

She's not happy to see me. I don't recall most of this incident, other than she's making a scene and the other bus patrons are grateful for this bit of drama. I give her the flight passes and walk away.

I go to visit her sister, she's doing well. I recall asking something about L and another guy - figuring I might as well get it out of the way. L finds out I visited and yells at me some more. Don't know if it was by phone or letter as to this day I don't think she has a computer, having google-creeped for any evidence of her existence a few times over the years. For this journal I actually tried again but still nothing.

But I get ahead of myself. So, I go to visit J and I visit B - he's far worse off, bald, plump, hooked up to so many bags he looks like a technological Buddha.

I believe it turned out my Mom and her husband were there the day before? He had tracked dog shit in on his shoe into the ICU which made it so memorable.

I must have driven back to PG. I also had to go back to Halifax. I think I was given four weeks off for medical leave. I should have asked for longer as I was definitely not ready to return to work. I was there very briefly, gave my notice and flew home after a quick coffee date with the nurse who took a shine to me while I was in the Halifax ICU.

to be cont'd.

Artistic Therapy Part 4

I've dredged through pre-production and production. I've taken a break from this therapy. I could say that it is because I've gotten too busy what with the kids on spring break, which is kind of true. Or maybe I can just say I'm 'avoiding'.

But I also promised myself 2 weeks ago I would submit my latest manuscript to a chosen publisher - and I still haven't done that. So maybe, I am avoiding not only that but also this. Maybe the two are connected.

And now I'm thinking - where would my energy be better spent? Here or on polishing that manuscript.

I'm going to spend 15 minutes here at the very least.

Artistic Therapy Part 3

Previous Artistic Therapy here.... 

The Credits:

CREW
Me - struggling creative type, wanting to write and direct. 
Winnie - Producer and ex-gf
Mel - my ex DoP
Lester - The New DoP
Ned the Assistant Director
Boris the Assistant Camera Guy
Tony - the Sound Guy

CAST
Herb, the American Jock
Ash, the Quiet One
Tim, the Joker
Demi, the Native Girl
Rachel, the Trophy Girlfriend
Amy, the Angry Woman


Pestilence Part 3.

So, we're now in production. We have a 3 man crew, not including me. I can't recall much of that first week - it's a blur of waking early, driving 45 minutes to the set, lighting the stove in our crew/cast cabin.

But this isn't really a memoir, this is my memories of some of the struggles I went through, most of it after filming so I'm going to skim through most of this.

I recall near the end of the week thinking we were in a deep hole. The cast was great, I was barely holding on to an image of things were going swell. My DoP and I were the only ones who had been on actual film crews before. One of the cast had experience as an extra and wanted to make acting a career.

I called up an old friend from film school who wasn't working at the time and willing to fly up and help out. 'Tony' stayed at my mom's place with me. After his first day he pointed out a shitload of problems I was facing, none of them new to me. It was the reason why I called him. I was taking on too much of the AD role, not through any fault of Ned, just more because I had experience and wasn't able to properly delegate things to him.

So I patiently listened as he told me everything wrong. It was tough to sit through and not lose my shit. I knew all the problems. I needed someone to hold the boom and be an all around grip. Ironically, by the third day Tony had severe bowel problems and came down with the flu, causing him to hole up at my Mom's for a day or two.

Days later, Tony and Les the DoP ge in a huge shouting match one day, far from civilization. I don't know what it was about but it was just another small thing to try and mend. They managed to stay civil to each other for the rest of the script but you bet your shit there was tension building between 'them' and 'us'. The us being me, Winnie and Tony, who was guilty by association. I have no doubt there was a lot of shit talk after we'd call it quits for the day back at Herb's basement suite. Why? Because it's human nature to bond over things we are mad about and here I am, trying to make them famous through an indie film during a typical Canadian winter.

Behind the Curtains of An Indie Author

If you came here from Reddit or any of my writer forums, welcome to the show.

If you came here from Facebook, welcome back.


In the interest of anyone thinking of self-publishing or already are a self-published writer I have decided to write about a subject all of us dread to think about but must be acknowledged.

Sales.

On the forums I lurk and participate in, it feels like talk about Sales goes one of two ways; either someone is humble-bragging about what they've done or, and this is far more common, someone is panicking about not having enough sales.

Now, to be honest, the self-published books I've read tend to be either a) pretty bad or b) close to pretty good.

For me, most are too 'wordy'. If I had to take a guess, I'd say many of these fellow Indie writers are in their twenties, as I was as well at one time. That's okay. But I'm a talk and plot guy, not a preach and describe the scenery guy.

Back in my twenties, we didn't have the ability to push out whatever we chose without having to go through the hoops or getting a professional opinion. If you wanted to be published, you had to rely on someone else's opinion, a gatekeeper so to speak. You had to submit it and wait weeks, months for a letter.

I once received a form rejection letter from a publisher that I had no recollection of contacting, much less whatever it was I submitted.

It felt like a preemptive rejection and quite rude, to be honest...

For those who may fall into the b) category listed above, I usually want to say 'hey, let me help you trim this a little'. But then it is probably too late and perhaps a little rude. After all, they have already published and moved on to checking their sales stats, Kindle listing, book 3 of their fantasy epic trilogy, etc, wondering when the gold will start rolling in.

So with that said, I'm peeling back the curtain on my book sales to explain why you don't see a Tesla in my driveway. Maybe it will help some of you indie authors feel better about yourself or at least not as alone and worthless, as I sometimes feel.

Click that little 'read more' link below to continue.