Wanna Read my [unpublished] Novel?

 Don’t be so quick to volunteer, though.  Read on…

I’ve just completed my second novel.  You may recall that I bragged about writing one last spring.  I was very excited and had high hopes, but after 128 rejections…well, I tossed in the towel.  Sort of.

I still plan to get back to that one, but rather than make fixes, I wrote another story, taking some of the feedback I got from the first book to make the second one better.  I hope.

That’s where you come in.  I received a couple of suggestions to have others read the book first before submitting it to agents, and it seemed like a good idea.  So, if you’d like to read it, I’ll send you a copy (Word or pdf file only - sorry, I tried to convert to .epub but I’m a Luddite).

But not so fast.

The complete synopsis is at the bottom of this post, and I do mean complete.  What looks like the last three paragraphs (the end of the book) is there, but in WHITE, so you can’t find out how it ends unless you really, really want to (copy it and change the font color).

I am hoping that a few of you will volunteer to read it and then give me some feedback.  Don’t sweat the grammar – Mona has yet to touch this (and she’s the Grammar Nazi of the family).  She’ll also give me some feedback, but I already know what she’ll tell me (the same thing she always does, and she’s right, but ironically, it’s the same problem she and other authors have).  Why is it we can see other’s faults but not our own?

Well, that’s why you’re not supposed to edit your own stuff.

One more thing – the title.  I started out with SPEECHLESS but there’s a shitload of stuff with that title, then I came up with THE TOSS-UP, but then last night I had a brain fart, and RHYMES WITH LUCK popped in my head.

Which do you like?

 

And here’s the synopsis:

It’s Fall, 1993, the start of a new semester on the Northern Oregon University campus, and Robert Brinkerhoff is on a bench eating lunch while watching co-eds move into the dorms.  He’s single again, but the watching only fuels his fantasy life.  He writes short stories on the side, and occasionally he delves into bawdy fiction for the pulps.  While that writing might help pay the bills, it doesn’t help him find another smart, dynamic woman in his life, and he’s also not progressing academically, either.  Still an Assistant Professor in Communications, he knows he can’t get on the tenure track unless he completes his Ph.D.  He’s done as much about that as he has his dating life.

Preparing for the new semester, he’s hoping that the new crop of graduate assistants will pan out, and for once, he’ll get a helper for the student radio station who knows something about radio.  Acting as the faculty advisor for the station is one of the many little things he does to stay in Department Head Stan MacNeil’s good graces.

Robert is one of two professors who teach speech lectures for NOU; the graduate assistants teach the individual lab classes, and everyone meets once a week in “Seminar” to discuss those classes.  In one Seminar a GA describes an unusual (to her) event – an older student (old enough to be her mom) shocked her by using the F-word in a speech.  Curious as to the back story of the speech, Robert makes it a point to seek out the “fuck lady.”  Later that day he bumps into Rachel Shipley, the speaker, and is smitten.

University policy frowns on fraternization with students, but Robert thinks if he keeps it platonic, he’s OK until Rachel finishes her speech class, the only one in his department (she’s a Marketing major).  They strike up a friendship, and he discovers the reason Rachel gave the speech she did and used the F-word, though she’s not very forthcoming on details.

Robert does another good turn for MacNeil and fixes the department laptop, earning brownie points to use later.  His friendship with Rachel turns serious over the Thanksgiving break, as he invites her back to his mom’s place in Albany and she finally tells him the whole story.  When she was younger and in school the first time around, she became pregnant and had to drop out.  She had the baby but got divorced a few years later, hating her daughter and breaking all ties with the family.  On the drive back to campus things get a bit romantic, but Rachel insists that her schooling comes first, as she doesn’t want anything to prevent her from getting her degree this time around.

Things remain cool with Robert and Rachel, and just before the department Christmas party, he learns he’s losing his GA at the station.  He’s bummed because he promised Rachel he’d get back to his dissertation to finish his doctorate, but he gets to cash in his brownie points when MacNeil assigns a new GA to him.  He meets her at the party and becomes infatuated by both her brains and her beauty.

Stacey Mills would be Robert’s ideal mate except for the fact that he’s twice her age and they work in the same department, but he still can’t get her out of his mind.  Meanwhile, Rachel signs up for a heavier class load, putting a crimp in her time with Robert.  He doesn’t mind too much, as he thinks about spending more time with Stacey and fulfilling his promise to work on his dissertation.

Over the break, Robert discovers the floppy disks holding his dissertation writing and notes are damaged and his backup is blank.  This causes a drunken spree and a writing orgy, where he pens a series of Letters to The Penthouse Editor featuring Stacey. 

As the second semester begins, he’s convinced that a doctorate isn’t in the cards, and since he’s selling more of his ribald writing, a different career track is an option.  He’s having weekly Sunday dinners with Rachel that are fun, but there’s no sex.  He finally tells her Ph.D. is dead; she gets mad and reveals she was holding out on him so she could reward him with sex for various completion points on his doctorate.  Now, all that’s off the table.

As the term progresses, she gets busier and puts his off; they don’t meet for almost a month.  Frustrated, Robert decides to seduce Stacey, deciding that there’s no harm if no one knows about it.  Turns out she has the same idea; they go out of town for pizza and spend the night at a nearby motel having wild sex.  That same weekend Rachel calls him.  She feels bad about everything and wants to rekindle the relationship.  They have dinner again, and finally, sex.

(last three paragraphs are in "white" font, remember?)

Now he having relations with both women, at different locations on different days.  Still convinced he can have it all and keep it all hush-hush.  Near the end of the semester there comes a day when both Stacey and Rachel expect to be with him.  Since he can’t be in two places at once, he must choose.  But which one?  He flips a coin, an old trick his mother taught him – when the coin is in the air, your brain makes the decision (and ignores how the coin falls).  He picks Rachel.

He plans to spend the night with her, but after dinner and sex, he confesses his love for her.  He’s convinced she feels the same.  She coyly admits she feels somewhat similar, as she was practicing signing her name “Rachel Brinkerhoff.”  She tells him it’s a lot tougher than her previous married name…Mills.

The final scene finds Robert at the start of a new semester, sitting on a bench eating lunch at the University of Oregon.  He’s convinced Stacey is Rachel’s daughter, and knew he had to leave NOU and Maple Falls, and start all over again.

THE END

Guns ‘n’ Motives

Let me start by saying I haven’t written much about guns or gun violence.  Twice, to be exact, both in 2015 (October and December) and one of those was more about hate than about guns.  This time, I am writing about guns.

As I’ve said previously, I have no use for guns.  Never owned one.  Never will.  Can’t shoot ‘em straight if I did (I have an eye defect that inhibits my ability to sight the target, and I proved I’m awful about this once when I did a radio story about the local ROTC Turkey Shoot and they foolishly let me try to hit the target for the story and even though they showed me how to do it I wound up hitting the target…in the next booth over).

A gun, whatever the type – handgun, rifle, AR-15, has one and only one purpose – to maim or kill whatever is being shot at.  Period.  Any other “weapon” is similar to this, though there are many tools that have other primary purposes that are used as weapons, too.  Knives, hammers, hands, feet, and so on.

Again, a gun is a weapon designed to main or kill.  You might say, “No, I use it for defense” and my response is “So you use it for defense, in case your home or your family is attacked, and the purpose of this defense is to…do what, exactly?  Maim or kill whoever is attacking, I assume.”  You might “I use it for target practice” and I would respond “Yes, so you can shoot more accurately, so when the time comes to use the gun to maim or kill you can more accurately hit your target.”  Do you want to practice hitting a target?  Play darts, or play lawn darts (oh, wait, that’s outlawed). 

Some folks hunt.  Yup.  Many friends (and some relatives) do this.  I understand completely.  Of course, they hunt animals, not humans, but again, they use whatever weapon they use to maim or kill their prey.  Can’t deny that.  Bow & arrow serves the same purpose and is much more of a challenge (I knew a guy in Idaho who was more successful getting his elk/deer this way).

But when the national discussion turns to gun violence, we never get to talk about guns.  And that’s on purpose.

The first tactic is to delay the conversation, partly to defuse the emotion that comes right after yet again another mass shooting.  “It’s too soon,” they say, and what they really mean is “Is never soon enough for you?” because they never wish to discuss it.

Then, when there is “conversation” it’s merely one side throwing out words and statistics and the other side responding with the same.  But as you surely know by now, you can make statistics say whatever you want.

And they do.

Recently, the old “hammers kill more people than rifles” argument has been circulating, and you know what?  It’s true.  It’s cherry-picking the data, of course, but it leaves the impression that guns are not the problem.  And that’s wrong.  Here’s the data:

Now, you see that there are separate categories for handguns, rifles, shotguns, and firearms (not specified).  Why?  Why would these be separate categories?  One reason could be because combining all of them together makes the chart look like this: 

All firearms are now shown to be TEN TIMES more lethal than the next highest category (knives/cutting devices).  Draw your own conclusions.

Another argument making the rounds again is the fact that in Switzerland, every male citizen 21 and older is MANDATED to have guns at home, so why not do this in America?  And yes, this is a true (as far as it goes) statement, because of the Swiss Army’s rules regarding their militia.  So if that’s true, why this chart?

 

Note that Switzerland is here along with damn near every other country having low death rates.  The answer, of course, is that while the Swiss have plenty of guns at home, they HAVE NO AMMO.  Big dif.

But it’s these “facts” and “statistics” that continue to muddy the waters when it comes to discussing guns and gun violence, as does the tired drumbeat of “SECOND AMENDMENT RIGHTS.”  The facts are that weaponry is far different now than in 1791, and the amendment calls for a “well-regulated” militia.

Consider that we’ve changed voting laws considerably since then – in 1791 only white males who owned property could vote.  And the militia only had three types of weapons: single-shot rifles, swords, and cannons.

It seems that when it comes to voting, certain factions wish to make it harder to register and harder to vote.  That same faction wishes to make it EASIER to own a gun.  Seems weird.

Another analogy:  when it comes to abortion, certain factions wish to make it harder to get one.  That same faction wishes to make it EASIER to own a gun.  Seems weirder.  Especially since those who really want to reduce the number of abortions know that reducing the number of unwanted pregnancies is a far better method.  Increase the public’s knowledge, sex education, access to pregnancy prevention like pills and condoms, and other methods help reduce unwanted pregnancies and abortions.  And it’s those same steps that certain factions wish to reduce or eliminate.  The very things that could achieve the supposedly “goal” of reducing abortion are tossed aside in favor of outright restriction.  But the very things that might achieve the goal of reduced gun violence (background checks, liability insurance, banning assault weapons, invest in better gun technology, and eliminate restrictions on gun violence research, for example) are never considered in favor of…the idea that more guns are the solution.

Seems weird.

Anyway, we’re going to have that “conversation” again and I know how it will turn out because it ALWAYS turns out that way.  Still, here is a page with some wonderful charts to use when having that conversation.  Good luck.

Calculating Medical Odds (and ends)

Not just because I play, poker, but overall, I consider myself a pretty good judge of risk. Working in Marketing Research taught me a lot about statistics, probability, and so on. It helps on the felt and in life. And when it comes to my medical history, I’m beating all sorts of odds. For example, I finally had a chance to sit down (via video) with my doctor about my test results (that I wrote about here), and I received a copy of the results.

 

What I can tell you is this – if I had any less cancer, I wouldn’t have cancer. 

When they do during a biopsy is gather samples from various places on the prostate, and then test each one. My results showed cancer cells in only ONE of the six areas, and on only ONE of the samples in that area. Then, they look at “how cancerous” that sample area was (using something called a Gleason Score) and determine the overall risk. My Gleason Score was the lowest it could be and still be called “cancerous.” 

So it’s no wonder my doc said “low risk,” though it should be “low/low/low risk.” 

If my prostate was a hand in poker, it would be like holding pocket Aces against my opponent’s 8-3 off-suit, and the flop comes A-9-3. I am a heavy favorite to win it all. 

Of course, I use this hand as an example because it’s EXACTLY the hand I wound up losing in the final stages of a tournament a few months ago (yeah, I still remember). I was up against a LAG (loose-aggressive player for those of you who don’t know the poker lingo), the type of guy who’ll play any two cards and bet big just to scare you. In this hand, he raised things up, and as I had a great starting hand, I just called. The flop gave him a tiny pair of threes compared to my three Aces, and I sandbagged the hand by checking, knowing that he’d try to bluff a big hand. Sure enough, he shoves all in and I snap-called. 

And the turn card was another three. 

And the river…the fourth three. 

Grrrrrr… 

That’s a “less than one percent chance” coming through against me, and yet that’s TWICE as likely as me getting cancer and succumbing to it in the next ten years. So yeah, I like my chances.

 

Even better, consider this – I live in Oregon, currently one of the worst states in the US in the rate of vaccinating its citizens with the COVID vaccines. Worse yet, I live in Columbia County, the WORST county in the state for vaccination rates. 

And yet, today I received my first shot of Moderna. As did Mona. AT THE SAME TIME. 

Just last week when I received my various emails and notifications from the state and county health offices about what was available, getting an appointment was a crapshoot (and I lost, though I am happy to say my 78-year-old neighbor got in for his first shot). This week? Piece of cake. Getting the shot was easy, too. And we’ve set up a time for the second dose. 

I plan on being around here for a long, long time. I like my odds.

Testing, 1, 2, 3…4…5…

I put off writing about this for a while, partly because I wanted to see how it all turned out.  Turns out the ending isn’t exactly what I hoped for, but it’s still a good story and parts of it are funny and there’s a moral or two at the end, so…here goes.

First, let’s get the shitty part of the story over with.  The ending.  And that is…I have “low risk” prostate cancer.

I knew something was wrong; that’s why all the tests, five in all (hence, the title).  I wasn’t worried too much then, and I’m still not all that worried.  My doctor and I have a strategy (active surveillance), and I plan to be here for a long time.  Chill.

So, how’d this come about?

Back in November, I had an “incident.”  Those of you who have known me for a while know I’ve always had a small bladder problem (in that I have a small bladder).  This problem escalated when my prostate grew, as is common in most older men.  I’m always careful when we leave the house to “go before we go,” but in this case we hadn’t been on the road but five minutes when the urge came a callin’ and…I didn’t make it.  Hurt like hell, too.  And an hour later the same urgency hit, and this time, there was blood in my urine.

I’m not a paranoid guy, but I know when I should call the doctor, and this was one of those times.  He listened to the story and said it could be this or that, but to be sure I should see a specialist.

Flounder, Doctor, Newman, Camera, TV

One of these guys is my urologist, Dr. Woldrich.  He’s a brilliant man, with impeccable professional credentials and a very interesting background (volunteer work in foreign lands, etc.).  I am happy to say I feel that I am in good hands, except for the fact that I know where those hands are going.

Fellow poker players – remember back in 2003, how exciting it was to watch the World Series of Poker and FINALLY be able to see the players’ hole cards thanks to the new technology of the “lipstick” camera.  Naturally, technology has evolved and cameras are smaller than ever.  Back in 2010 I had a colonoscopy so I know about camera up my whosits, but until now I’ve never had one up my whatsits.  That was a new one on me (or, rather, in me), and by the way, numbing jel my ass.

And it didn’t work on my ass, either.

Painful as it was, it was necessary.  Thanks to the “Four Ms” (the Marvels of Modern Medicine, and Medicare), we were able to rule out so many different possibilities.  Still, we didn’t know what caused the initial problem until this last test, a prostate biopsy.  Several samples were taken, and a few were cancerous.  Not many, and it doesn’t appear to be aggressive, or spread anywhere else.  Chances something bad will happen are just 1 in a 100.  With active surveillance, we’ll keep testing and watching and if things go south, change our strategy.

The morals of this story are simple.  First: get checked, dammit.  My dad had esophageal cancer, and died from it.  He should have seen a doctor long before he did, but kept putting it off and putting it off.  When he finally saw someone, it was too late.

The other moral is that I realize, as you should, too, that health care is very expensive.  I shudder to think what I would have had to choke up if Medicare did not cover all of this.  Worse yet, there’s a moment when I realize that at certain times in my life I would have had to be like my dad and put off seeing someone simply because I couldn’t afford it. (Full disclosure: He could have, so that wasn’t the excuse.  Just stubborn).

The good news is that I’ve healed from this last procedure, and “all systems are normal.”  The plumbing for all functions is working normally, thank you, and I know Dr. Woldrich will ensure that I’ll be able to know whether I’m coming or going for a long time to come.