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petersonwriter · 3 years ago

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What I Learned at My Workshop

What did I learn from the six session workshop, Your Story. Write Now presented at the Escondido Library with co-facilitators, Clive Aaron Gill, and Michele Ivy Davis? First, that my family didn’t name me right. I’d be much cooler I guarantee you if I was referred to by my first middle and last name. Here goes: Richard LeRoy Peterson.

Nope. That sucks.

Maybe I could borrow from my fellow Regal House/Pact Press authors. Doesn’t John Calvin Hughes sound snazzy? His book “The Boys,” will be released later this year. Doesn’t Beth Uznis Johnson give off a great image? “Coming Clean” is the title of her forthcoming book. Gerald Dale Neal. A name to kill for. Or, live for? Even his book title, “Kings of Coweetsee,” sounds royal.

Other than I was named wrong, what else did I learn from this hybrid workshop with over forty registered attendees from two continents and four countries- Canada, Nigeria, Ghana, and the United States, and sponsored by the Escondido Library?

Here’s one.

New and emerging writers want specific information and suggestions on the finer points of writing. How to get started writing was the most frequently asked question. We responded with the following:

Most writing authorities agree, the greatest challenge to writing is to start - the first word, the first sentence, the first paragraph. Let’s look at the first sentence. It has three primary functions: a) Make the reader want to keep on reading; b) arouse the readers interest to see what happens next; c) hint at what the story is about.

To help you sneak up on that elusive first sentence, before you write one word, answer the following five questions: Who, What, Why, When, and Where.

Point of View

Who’s story is it? Who are your main characters? Who will tell your story? How old is your main character? Where does the story take place?

What does the narrator want? Why? If the protagonist and narrator are different, why does he or she want what they want?

What obstacle stands in the way of your protagonist getting what he wants? What would it mean if she got it?

When does he want what he wants? How would she benefit?

Where does your story take place? When does the story take place? Is it current? In the future? In the past? In space? Underwater?

The Five W’s make a good start to your story, as in these examples:

When Scott Carter saw the two miners running away from the Widder Maker Mine, he grabbed his safety gear, his pick and shovel and ran toward the mine. “Make Mine Gold”- Ralph Whittaker, Story Magazine, 1958.

Why am I driving a 23 year-old Chevy with rusted fenders, two bald tires, and dim headlights through Oklahoma’s back roads as evening shadows swallow the rolling hills? WIP – R.L. Peterson – 2022.

Another hint: Begin your story, In media res – the middle of things. Start where the action is. Here’s an example:

On a warm June evening in 1957, along with 83-other young men I boarded a Military Air Transport Service, Cargomaster, bound for Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, CA. I was seventeen, a week out of high school. In the seat next to me, was Gerald R. Hermann. Soon to be twenty-two, Herm, has hardly left my side since we met two days before.

“Where ya goin’,” this concrete slab of a man asked me on the street outside the Greyhound Bus Depot in St Louis.

“My hotel.”

“I’ve got a free hotel room somewheres, too.” His Adam’s apple bobs. He shoves paper at me.

“I’m off to be a Marine. Could ya help me find it? We ain’t got cities this big in South Dakota. Name’s Herm.”

Off to Be a Marine – various publications – R.L. Peterson – 2018-2022

Another thing today’s writers want is a yard stick they can measure their work by. For example, what comprises a story? This definition rang a lot of chimes.

Story: A definition - A story is a narrative of consequential events, with a beginning, middle and end, involving interesting, believable characters with recognizable human traits – if Science Fiction or Fantasy based – who change or evolve as a result of these events

The Universal Story

The Universal Story - with a beginning, middle and end - is a narrative of life, birth, death, loves won and lost, tales of betrayal and redemption, challenges met, the agony of leaving home, of resistance and struggle and growth, of lessons learned and wisdom imparted; adventures often shared around a flickering fire as shadows dance on the cave wall or as a juke box wails at Happy Hour at the local tavern.

These transformative stories sustain tribe and story teller alike - ancient stories recorded in pictographs at sacred sites, scribbled in battlefield journals or composed on computers in plush offices - stories as necessary as the four-click rhythm of a mother’s heart to the child in her womb; esoteric as the song of the humpback whale, as essential as breath, as nourishing as protein, as memorable as that first kiss. Your story - intriguing and wonderfully told as only you can tell it.

Finally, we had many enquiries asking if we could help with this daunting task? Here’s how we responded.

James Michener, the best-selling author of Hawaii, Texas, Tales of the South Pacific, Chesapeake, Alaska, and other popular books, was asked if he considered himself to be a great writer. He pondered the question a moment, then answered, “A great writer? No. But I am a damn good rewriter.”

All writing is rewriting, is a truism many new writers deplore. Rewriting to many writers is at best, intimating, often daunting. Kelsey Ayton, in his article, “Writing Inspiration, says “There’s an assumption that true writing is rewriting. There are plenty of facts to support this revelation. Even though most books and guidelines suggest that editing and rewriting are distinct processes I question this. Is it possible to deliver a masterpiece without prior editing, rewriting, corrections, and amendments? I guess, but I know most professional writers who would answer, ‘Never!’

Successful writers know that in order to produce a truly professional piece, it’s essential to read, rewrite, edit, and rethink your work a number of times. Rewriting means you are not only a competent writer but an impeccable one.”

Content, Clarity, and Theme Formula

This is a helpful tool in the rewriting/revising process. Let’s see it at work on actual example from a recent Devan Crable story.

Corbie, Hehaka-sa, Billy, and Denver saddled their horses, picking the south trail toward the lake, where they last sighted Rat Tail. It was one of Denver’s favorite trails with low-hanging tree branches, creating canopies of shade. The path was well worn and known well by the horses. Corbie and Denver allowed their horses to walk while the other two men allowed their horse to trot ahead.

“Has Sara come to her senses?” Corbie asked, bouncing alongside Denver.

“What do you think?” he asked. Denver didn’t understand why Sara kept going after him, and yet he knew he wasn’t her child’s father, but a small voice nagged him with ‘what if’?

Corbie’s voice drew him back to their conversation “You still figure she’s normal? I’ve told you, Sara knows black magic, and I’m not saying it’s the truth, but she sure can influence people. Am I wrong?”

“She started nagging me again this morning, but I kept my head," Denver grumbled. “She used partial truths from incidents we shared, which made me mad, frankly."

“Glad you got your sanity’s back. Last night, I figured you were falling for her again the way she wrapped her sweetness around everyone. She still at the house?"

“Hopefully, Betsy told her to go home. Victoria and Betsy are close friends and we both know Victoria’s feelings about Sara. I hope she doesn't affect Betsy's kind heart with all her goings-on."

A first reading of this segment shows that Theme is handled very well. However, a bit of rewriting for Content and Clarity would help. A rewrite, a simple Shelter In Place revision, results in the following:

Corbie, Hehaka-sa, Billy, and Denver saddled their horses, deciding to take the south trail toward the lake. That’s where they’d last sighted Rat Tail. Denver liked this well-worn path, the low-hanging tree branches creating frequent canopies of shade, the horses familiar with the terrain. Corbie and Denver walked their horses, while Billy and Hehaka-sa let their mounts trot ahead.

“Has Sara come to her senses?” Corbie asked Denver.

"What do you think?”

He didn’t understand why Sara kept nagging him on this subject. He knew he wasn’t the father of her child, still a small ‘what if” voice nagged him.

“You think she’s normal,” Denver asked.

“I’ve been told she knows black magic. I’m not saying it’s true, but she sure can influence people. Am I wrong?”

“She started in again this morning, but I kept my head. She used partial truths from things we shared. Made me mad, frankly."

“Glad you got your sanity’s back. Last night, I figured you were falling for her again the way she wrapped her sweetness around you. She’s good at that.” He pulled on the reins to stop his horse from tearing succulent leaves from an overhead tree. “She still at the house?"

“Hopefully. Betsy told her to go home. Victoria and Betsy are close friends, and we all know Victoria’s feelings about Sara. I hope she doesn't change Betsy's kind heart with all her rantings."

While the first version tells the story, the second version is more crisp, easier to read and solves the Reader Feeder element present in the earlier version. The Content, Clarity, and Theme Formula strikes again.

Often, writers are faced with two options when it comes to revisions, make small, sometimes almost unnoticeable changes, kinda like a senior citizen adding a grab bar over the bathtub or anchoring throw rugs in place – a tense change perhaps, or editing a transition for clarity.

I call this process Shelter in Place. When wholesale changes are needed, Urban Renewal, is the term I use. Urban Renewal means we tear down what is and rebuild. Right?

Here’s an example of Urban Renewal from my short story, “Grandma’s Way.” The original version read as follows:

“My Grandmother took me to raise when she was sixty-seven years young, and I was nine, going on ten. She schooled me, let me have a dog named Buster, and in high school, play football. Granny died after I came home from the Marines. Another, almost forgotten Asian War left me a miserable wreck of a man, with legs that didn’t work and a mind that couldn’t remember or forgive, but sure could hate, and the person it hated the most was me.”

In a nutshell, that’s the Theme of “Grandma’s Way.” But, it’s obvious to even the casual reader after reading the first paragraph, that massive revisions are needed. Here’s the published first paragraph after Urban Renewal:

Grandma is white bones now, but before she died, she insisted I get a dog. “Not a teeny, little one like that hotel heiress sticks in her pocketbook, but a real dog. A German Shepard, or Pit Bull.”

“Why’s that, Grandma?”

“Crippled up like you are,” she said, “it’d keep your mind off what happened in Afghanistan and keep ya from pinin’ over the likes of Candi Anne Baker. Even in a wheelchair you can feed a dog, clip its toe nails, give it worm medicine, rub on flea powder.”

“Sounds like work.”

“Not work. Care. Life's more bearable when you do for others. Even a dog.”

Grandma's gray head is at 1100 hours, outlined by cumulus clouds that snipers hate because the white reflects the sun, making environmentals hard to measure. Target prep’s only good for three seconds anyway. Collateral Journal – May 2021

Don’t you agree, the second version is better? What changed? Content for sure and a rewrite for Clarity. The Theme, a war-weary vet, damaged mentally and physically yet ready to tackle life on life’s terms, seemed good, if I could pull it off.

Rewriting and revision is where the writer faces his or her mistakes and has a ‘do over’ a second chance, or perhaps, forty-three chances as the case may be, to do the right thing, or at least try to make things better. To do this, the aware writer recognizes several truths.

A) Every word you, or I, write is not golden.

B) Rewriting involves critical thinking – the ability to evaluate the strong and weak points of our writing; eliminate the drawbacks and build on our strengths.

Here are some other suggestions:

Use Beta readers, preferably someone who understands your target market.

Maintain your own style. Allow your ‘voice’ to express. A professional rewrite man once tore into one of my fiction pieces. I’d asked for help in reducing my words. He took this to the extreme and eliminated words and expressions, reducing my 2,300 word document to 1,700. He also took out the guts of my story, leaving me with a vapid representation of what I wanted to say.

Yes, your sentence structure should vary in length; vocabulary and dialogue should remain yours.

Use professional software to check for grammar and spelling mistakes. (Word offers this, ‘free’ with Office.) Most publications require grammatical correctness with certain exceptions – the narrator may not speak correct English, or dialect may be used.

Follow a clear structure. Your beginning in a short story should be roughly one quarter of the document, your middle, two quarters (or one half), and your ending one quarter. Naturally, these are guide lines. Use common sense in writing your story.

Read out loud. If you notice a tongue twister, eliminate it. Get rid of the words like good, bad, think, now, important, another thing, suddenly, you won’t believe and similar phases.

Be accurate, yes even in fiction. If your protagonist turns right when leaving the post office on Escondido Boulevard and your reader travels that route frequently, he knows that’s an illegal turn. You’ll get heat for this inaccuracy.

Reread your rewrites. Look at your piece from your reader’s point of view. This skill is extremely difficult to acquire, but is essential to quality rewriting

As you may have noticed, our tips on rewriting call for creativity, critical thinking, analysis, good grammatical skills, and independent review. The last, but not the least important tip?

Practice, practice, practice. Which means write, write, write. The hallmark of great writing – rewriting.

In a nutshell, writers want specific examples on how to handle specific issues they encounter in the daily task to put one word after another in saleable form. We’ll return to this theme in later issues.

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petersonwriter · 5 years ago

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petersonwriter · 5 years ago

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Alcohol - The Legal Killer

Pete Peterson

He came to lying in puke and piss on the hardwood floor of his den. It took him a minute to figure out where he was. How he got there, he did not know. His head felt ready to explode. His eyes ached. He shivered in rancid sweat that soaked his tee shirt. He struggled to his feet, his trousers wet with urine. He wore a shoe on one foot, and nothing on the other one. His heart banging, he stumbled into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and peeked at the unshaven stranger in the mirror.

“You were supposed to be dead by now,” he said. That’s what he had intended when he started this drunk, what two weeks ago? Nausea swept over him. He dropped to his knees, hugging the commode and retched, spewing green bile and blood. After maybe fifteen minutes, he stood weak and dizzy.

He heard footsteps in the hall. He didn’t want his daughters to see him this way as they left for school. He tossed his trousers into the closet and pulled on running shorts. He’d pretend he was going for a jog. He reached for his bottle to take a swig so his hands would stop shaking. That’s when he noticed the pile of glass in the corner, a broken bottle on top of it.

He staggered to the closet, pulled out a fifth of Evan Williams Black Label, twisted off the top and took a long slug. Usually, he’d feel a rush of well-being, a sense of relief course through his body, stilling the popcorn thinking that peppered his mind. Now, he felt nothing. No relief. No feeling of well-being. Nothing.

He heard his daughters giggling. His beautiful curly-headed, freckled face, black-eyed girls. When he heard other voices, he realized, school was out, not starting. He reached for the doorknob. He’d greet them, tell them how important they were to him, let them know he loved them.

His oldest daughter’s voice stopped him. “Let’s play outside. We don’t want to make Daddy mad. He’s sick. Again.” He heard the girls walk down the hall, past his room. He heard the living room door slide shut with a bang, loud as a prison door. He took another pull from his bottle. The usual warm feeling, the dulling of senses, failed to materialize. He let the bottle drop to the floor, turned and fell on his sofa, sobbing, hot tears rolling down his face.

* * *

Alcoholism has many faces and facets. Often what is said about it is not only wrong, it’s dangerous. With this in mind, let’s turn to an expert to examine the real issues of alcoholism. This is important, since alcohol abuse caused over 88,000 deaths in 2015 alone, (and opioids, killed another 42,000). With so many conflicting reports emerging, new legislation, drug policies, penalties, and programs being continually trotted out, it is important to re-conceptualize what we already know.

Psychologist Donald Lee, a former Oceanside resident, is an expert in the field of alcoholism and alcoholism recovery. He’s seen the effects of it as an adult son of a practicing alcoholic, as a scholar and in his day-to-day practice. He offers straight forward advice based on his wide knowledge and experience.In a wide-ranging interview conducted in the Escondido offices of the National Association of Sales Consultants and Coaches, Mr. Lee addressed many aspects of alcoholism to a rapt audience.

First question, “What is an alcoholic?”

LEE: Alcoholism and substance abuse - Alcohol/Substance Use Disorder - can be defined simply as: Continued use of drugs or alcohol in spite of serious health, family or economic consequences. Add to this academic definition these in the field observations - an alcoholic is a person who can no longer control and enjoy their drinking; an alcoholic is a person who is either thinking about drinking or thinking about not drinking – trying to get sober. Alcoholism is a 3-part disease consisting of an allergic reaction to alcohol that is exacerbated by a compulsion to drink, coupled with a spiritual void. This is pretty hard-core definition for some – as real as it might be – but it’s safe to say that an alcoholic can never safely drink again, just as the drug addict must maintain life time abstinence. And there’s the rub – the addict and the alcoholic must find some way to live without using or drinking again. That’s why getting appropriate help is so important.

Why Use Drugs or Alcohol?

NASC&C: How does one become addicted in the first place?

LEE: Neuroscience paints a pretty clear picture of what happens to the addicted brain. Drugs (and alcohol is a legal drug), release a chemical called dopamine into the brain. This externally induced overflow of dopamine changes the mid-brain's response to other survival needs -food, water, even procreation, get bumped down the list of priorities, and the drug becomes Number One to the user. This person is now an addict. To those so afflicted, the crux of addiction is that the brain has been hijacked, creating physical and emotional cravings for the user’s substance of choice. The brain has literally been changed. And it doesn’t go back to normal on its own. Just putting the “plug in the jug” – advice often offered to new alcoholics - isn’t enough. If not drinking or using were the answer, long-term addiction problems would not exist. The brain needs to repair. It doesn’t happen simply through abstinence. Not for the real addict or alcoholic. Dr. Drew Pinsky, famed addictionologist, says, “Every thought a newly recovering addict/alcoholic has for the first six months to a year, is a thought that is trying to make the individual return to using the substance.” Thankfully, he adds, “The Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous seems to fix those parts of the brain.”

Alcoholism: Acts as an Infectious Disease

NASC&C: If a drunk, or an addict continues to use, what lies in store?

Lee: Alcoholism and drug addiction kills. Dead. Addiction to drugs and alcohol is a terminal condition. Pure and simple. But this addiction can be interrupted, and sobriety prevail if the drunk or addict gets help.

NASC&C: I hear from addicts and drunks that I only hurt myself. If I want to die drunk, that’s my business. True?

LEE: Not true. Every addict/alcoholic adversely affects, on average, seven other people.

NASC&C: So why is addiction so different from other terminal maladies of human existence?

LEE: This question is answered quite clearly in the 4th Edition of Alcoholics Anonymous. “If a person has cancer all are sorry for him and no one is angry or hurt. But not so with the alcoholic illness, for with it there goes annihilation of all the things worthwhile in life. It engulfs all whose lives touch the sufferer’s. It brings misunderstanding, fierce resentment, financial insecurity, disgusted friends and employers, warped lives of blameless children, sad wives and parents -anyone can increase this list.” When an alcoholic or addict says, “I’m only hurting myself,” this is a lie they tell themselves to justify their actions but is one of many errors their thinking sets in motion by the mid-brain's single-mindedness of purpose, which for the addict is to get more drugs/alcohol.

It’s A Family Dis-ease

NASC&C: I also hear, alcoholism is a family disease. What’s meant by that?

LEE: This is an area many misunderstand. First, because of the care, worry, empathy, fear, upset, frustration, love, and desire for the addict to get better exhibited by family members, they often fall in the trap of impaired judgment, becoming distracted by the actions of the actor, continually thinking about the alcoholic/addict until it becomes an all-consuming obsession, thus loved ones become just as ill as the addict, in the very same way. Over time the entire family dynamic can change. Alternating between codependent overindulgence and physical and emotional cutoff, the family desperately strives for some sense of normal homeostasis. But it never comes.

NASC&C: That’s a pretty bleak picture. Is there no hope for the alcoholic/addict or the family?

Lee: Yes, there is hope. Alcoholics Anonymous and 12-Step programs patterned after it, have helped millions of people recover from this seemingly hopeless condition of mind and body. Simply defined, we can look at alcoholism as an allergic reaction to alcohol. The allergy manifests as a compulsion to drink more and a mental obsession that guarantees it. This is why it can be so difficult a habit to break. Professionals in the field of drug and alcohol addiction have known this for close to a century. What they didn’t know was how to beat it. The famous psychiatrist Dr. Carl Jung suggested that an alcoholic must have “a complete emotional displacement and rearrangement.” He called this, “vital spiritual experiences, where ideas, emotions, and attitudes which were once the guiding forces of the lives of these men are suddenly cast to one side, and a completely new set of conceptions and motives begin to dominate them.

The Gift of Desperation

NASC&C: What was the genesis, or beginning of a verified treatment program for drunks?

LEE: A newly sober stockbroker found himself broke, far from home, and tempted to drink after six months of hard-won abstinence. In a moment of clarity and he realized he desperately needed to talk to another alcoholic. He intuitively knew he had to get out of his own head and try to help other suffering alcoholics. He called a pastor who knew of someone he could talk with. He called Henrietta Seiberling, who introduced him to a local doctor who had tried everything he could think of to get sober but could not “whip the devil.” The two men met at her house. A projected 15-minute meeting lasted for hours. Somehow, talking alcoholic to alcoholic, without the specter of shame or authority, the two identified with each other.

The broker, Bill W., came to stay with Dr. Bob for a time. As Bill W. and Dr. Bob continued their efforts to stay sober, they began to formulate other ideas about recovery. They agreed that their common problem was complete powerlessness over alcohol. Their ideas were simple but not new. They realized a dependence on a Higher Power (however you conceive of Him/ or Her or It) was essential. Becoming honest with defects of character and past behaviors would allow one to be free from the bondage of the past and able to make amends for past offenses.

These steps were formalized to include continuing inventory, prayer and meditation, helping others to recover from alcoholism, and striving to practice these principles in “all our affairs.” After one last prodigious bender, Dr. Bob realized he had not been completely honest with himself and others. He had tried to hold on to his old ideas that others would judge him, or if they found out about his problem, he’d lose all his business.

He was the first to realize what they say in recovery rooms, “You can’t save your ass and your face at the same time.” Doctor Bob made the rounds to his patients and others in his community and made his amends to the best of his ability. “To his surprise, he was warmly welcomed. He returned home that night exhausted but very happy.”

He never drank again.

Bill and Bob met with a third alcoholic in the hospital and told him their stories. Alcoholic Number Three could tell from their demeanor that these men were sincere, knew what they were talking about, and most importantly, weren’t coming from a position of authority. Simply one drunk talking to another. After explaining their simple program of action, this man left the hospital for the last time, never to drink again, one day at a time.

This was the beginning of Alcoholics Anonymous. Over the ensuing 85 years, sobriety, serenity, and sanity have been returned to millions of people all over the world. Having a certain mindset and following a simple plan of action, lives and fortunes of countless individuals and their families have been made whole.

N.A.S.C.C: If AA works so well, why then doesn’t everyone get sober?

LEE: The Big Book (Alcoholics Anonymous) suggests a possibility: “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program. Usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates.”

There are other challenges as well. Many individuals, whether through early experience or temperament, have difficulty with developing a belief in a power greater than self. The Big Book goes to great lengths to detail how many alcoholics came to AA as atheists or agnostics yet found a way to believe in a power greater. Sometimes it began with a realization that personal powerlessness itself means there must be some power greater than one’s self.

It has been the experience of many that when faced with the prospect of total destruction, leaning into the idea of a Higher Power is not such an onerous choice. Since that time in 1935, millions of alcoholics have found relief from the lethal condition of alcoholism.

In addition, recovery for the family comes in the form of Al Anon and Al-a-teen. Both are patterned after Alcoholics Anonymous and use the same 12-step program. Their mission and purpose is to help families and friends of alcoholics connect and support each other…to find hope and encouragement to live joyful, serene lives.

Many 12-step groups have sprung up for narcotics addiction, marijuana addiction, heroin addiction, crystal methamphetamine addiction, cocaine addiction, gambling addiction, sex addiction, tobacco addiction, and others.

A couple of important points may help explain why Alcoholics Anonymous can be so helpful: “AA’s steps are ‘reports of action taken rather than rules not to be broken under pain of drunkenness...nor commandments to be followed.’” From A Member’s Eye View of Alcoholics Anonymous: “AA's Twelve steps are a group of principles, spiritual in their nature, which, if practiced as a way of life, can expel the obsession to drink and enable the sufferer to become happily and usefully whole.” Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions.

NASC&C: I’ve heard that alcoholism and drug addiction are particularly rough on women. Is this true?

LEE: According to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, more than 5.3 million women ages 18 and older have an alcohol use disorder. Approximately one in two women of child-bearing age drink, and eighteen percent of women in this group binge drink (five drinks per binge, on average). Recently, National Public Radio aired a segment regarding a woman in Mom’s Club, a membership program devoted to teaching the finer points of wine selection and consumption who realized she was drinking too much and decided to quit.

She recounted this was not as easy as she thought, but with help, she’s recovering. Only after she’d stopped drinking did her menstrual cycle return to normal. The feature noted that often women who binge drink are more likely to have unprotected sex which increases the risk of unintended pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases.

In fact, women who drink while pregnant increase the risk of fetal alcohol syndrome, which can cause mental and physical birth defects. Binge drinking dramatically increases the risk of sexual assault on women, especially those living in a college setting. Alcohol abuse disorder in women has increased by 83.7% between 2002 and 2013, according to a 2017 study sponsored by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA).

I hate to spew numbers, but it’s important to note that high-risk drinking, defined as more than three drinks in a day or seven in a week for women, is on the rise among women according to a 2017 study. Death from liver cirrhosis rose in women from 2000 to 2013. Drinking too much – on a single occasion or over time – can take a serious toll on your health.

NASC&C: Why does extensive alcohol consumption effect health so adversely?

LEE: Alcohol interferes with the brain’s communication pathways and can affect the way the brain looks and works. These disruptions can change mood and behavior, and make it harder to think clearly and move with coordination. It also interferes the function of one’s heart, may lead to arrhythmias – irregular heartbeat – as well as stroke and high blood pressure. All most everyone is aware that heavy drinking affects the liver that can lead to a variety of problems and liver inflammations including, stenosis or fatty liver, alcoholic hepatitis, fibrosis and cirrhosis.

NASC&C: How about the Big C? Cancer. What’s the scoop there?

LEE: Based on many reviews of research studies, there is a strong scientific consensus of an association between alcohol drinking and several types of cancer. In its Report on Carcinogens, the National Toxicology Program of the US Department of Health and Human Services lists consumption of alcoholic beverages as a known human carcinogen.

The research evidence indicates that the more alcohol a person drinks—particularly the more alcohol a person drinks regularly over time—the higher his or her risk of developing an alcohol-associated cancer. Based on data from 2009, an estimated 3.5 percent of all cancer deaths in the United States (about 19,500 deaths) were alcohol related, including head and neck cancers, esophageal cancer and liver cancer and breast cancer, many studies have consistently found an increased risk of breast cancer associated with increasing alcohol intake.

The Million Women Study in the United Kingdom (which included more than 28,000 women with breast cancer) provided a more recent, and slightly higher, estimate of breast cancer risk at low to moderate levels of alcohol consumption: every 10 grams of alcohol consumed per day was associated with a 12 percent increase in the risk of breast cancer. Alcohol consumption is with a modest increased risk of cancers risk of the colon and rectum. And researchers and medical authorities have long associated alcohol consumption with weakened immune systems as well as pneumonia, tuberculosis and diabetes. Booze often lingers in the body for days and a single episode of drinking can weaken your body’ s ability to ward off infections – often for 24 hours after getting drunk.

NASC&C: Going back to a previous question, I’ve heard AA described as a cult. What’s your take on that?

LEE: (Laughs). I’ve heard that. too. In fact, it frequently comes up when working with newcomers. The best answer I can give comes from A Member’s Eye View of Alcoholics Anonymous, which answers the question. “If the blind lead the blind, shall they not both fall into the pit?” The answer is strangely enough, “No”. Perhaps one who is a little less blind, or who can at least discern vague shapes and forms, can describe what he or she sees while the other one still lives in total darkness.

Before the average alcoholic walks through the doors of his first A.A. meeting, he has sought help from others or help has been offered to him, in some instances even forced upon him. But these helpers were always superior beings: spouses, parents, physicians, employers, priests, ministers, rabbis, swamis, judges, policemen, even bartenders.

The moral culpability of the alcoholic and the moral superiority of the helper, was clearly understood. The overtone of parental disapproval and discipline in these authority figures is always present. So when a new drunk hears for the first time from the lips of another one suffering just like him, and this message is what happened to me and this is what I did, not a menacing rat-a-tat tat of “This is what you should do,” the message resonates. I’m personally convinced that the basic search of every human being, from the cradle to the grave, is to find at least one place where one belongs, where one can stand stripped of all pretense or defense, and trust that those present will not to hurt him or her, because they too are stripped of their pretense.

That’s what AA does, it gives each member a clear picture of the foibles of each member – what brought them to this moment and what they did to stop their drinking. No dogma, no religion, no belief, no philosophy is necessary. Just what I did, and what you can do if you wish. Pure. Simple. The idea that alcoholism is a disease — is now no longer unique. However when one hears from the lips of another person their story, no reasonably intelligent person can quarrel with has been said. This desire to stop drinking is the only requirement to being a member of AA.

* * *

Perhaps it’s time to check back in on that poor drunk lying in the ‘prison cell of his own making,’ sobbing while his two daughters played outside. After several gulps of top-quality bourbon, he felt no effects, no lessening of terror and dread. To the outside world, he was a success – he had a great job selling law books for a respected publishing house, a lovely wife, a beautiful home in a desirable neighborhood. His lack of self-esteem, his sense of never belonging could be dissipated by a double shot of bourbon. One drink led to another until now he was crying on his sofa, his trousers wet with urine, his life that of complete and incomprehensible demoralization.

In a moment of clarity, he realized that if he was to live and he desperately wanted to do so, and do something worthwhile with his life, he had no option except to quit booze. Forever.

He somehow managed to get dressed, dialed a phone with shaking hands, scribbled down the address of an AA meeting and walked on unsteady legs into a group in his helpless condition. He admitted to himself and others, that he was powerless over alcohol.

From that day to this, some forty-seven years, he has not had another drink and has taken his rightful place in society. The End

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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I was pleased to be published this week in The Paper. Hope you enjoy the read.

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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International Book Launch of “After Midnight”

A Rousing Success at Escondido Library

Guests filed into the Turrentine Room of the Escondido Library to the happy throb of banjo music, laughter and excitement. Why all the fuss? This was the day for the much-anticipated Book Launch of R. L. “Pete” Peterson’s short story collection, “After Midnight.”

Facilitated by Dutton Children’s Book author Michelle Ivy Davis, (Evangeline Brown and the Cadillac Motel) this shindig featured a short reading from one of his stories, followed by an interview. Davis’ question as to where story ideas come from elicited responses from Nigerian – American poetess, Okiemute Esiekpe and Sycuan Band of Kumeyaay Nation writer, Friedrich Gomez. Ms. Esiekpe said many ideas often come from the Bible and outside references. Gomez shared that. “often people stop me on the street to exchange viewpoints. Sometimes they hand me written messages which I read and revere. Some ideas I use, some I don’t, but I feel the people talk through me.” Michelle Ivy Davis said her ideas come from places.

“I was driving through Florida where I used to live. A run-down motel with a Cadillac in front of it caught my eye. What would if a young girl lived there with her parents? That became the basis of my Young Adult novel.” Davis whose work has appeared in 12 “Chicken Soup for the Soul” editions, says she makes copious notes when she and her husband travel. “You never know when an idea will strike.”

Legacy writer Peterson was a bit esoteric in his answer. He recalled he and his wife were hiking in the Swiss Alps. A wind-driven sleet storm caused them to take refuge in an ice cave. When they emerged to resume their hike, his cell phone bloomed – a story had been accepted. “That gave birth to my novella. No, it’s not about mountains or hiking or cell phones. It’s more along the lines of facing life’s hurdles regardless.”

The Book Launch attracted a bevy of writers and publishers: Lyle Davis, Publisher / Editor of Escondido’s popular weekly, “The Paper” and his co-editor, Evelyn Madison, were door prize winners; Ron Pickett who does outstanding work helping veterans write their stories, announced the third book he’s shepherded into existence – “Stories That Must Be Told” – will be released in December. Sharon Singleton, winner of the First Annual Escondido Library Writers Contest, seemed to enjoy the evening as did poet Marlys Collom and Escondido’s latest literary star, Kirstyn Chemstruck, she of the top-to-bottom and bottom-to-top poems.

Turn up the music. Let’s dance. As Escondido Library’s Director of Adult Services, Azar Katouzian, said, “This well-executed and extremely well-run event was a delight. It was our pleasure to host it. ” Well said.

Thanks to Nancy Anne, Corrine Johnson and Matt Peterson, it was a Book Launch to remember.

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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News about Pete’s new book!

Pallamary Publishing Releases "After Midnight A Collection of Short Stories" by R.L. "Pete" Peterson

Historical Tales From Acclaimed Writer R.L. "Pete" Peterson.

By: Pallamary Publishing

Spread the Word

Listed Under

Tag: * Historical Short Stories

Industry: * Books

Location: * Ocala - Florida - US

Subject: * Projects

OCALA, Fla.

July 19, 2019

PRLog

-- Pallamary Publishing is pleased to announce the release of

After Midnight A Short Story Collection

by author R.L. "Pete" Peterson. Set in the Missouri Ozarks and spanning the years 1933 to the present, Peterson's unique perspectives on life, loss, and survival

create

a smorgasbord of emotions leaving readers with a smile, a tear, and a desire for more stories. Pallamary Publishing and Peterson have signed a 3-book contract including a novella titled

Leave The Night To God

Highly acclaimed works in this collection include "Winner Take All", a gritty tale of bare-knuckle fighting that leaves readers reeling from the gut punches and lessons learned both in and out of the ring. "Summer Slave" introduces readers to a time when hunger and survival went hand in hand as a young man scrambles to navigate life as an unpaid laborer on a poor Missouri farm. "Rules For Dying" delves into the psyche of a grief-stricken widow mourning her husband's untimely death while visiting his grave in a veteran's cemetery and finds a few surprises along the way.

Peterson's writing career began when he was seventeen and his writings have appeared in numerous publications nationwide including

Seventeen

Leatherneck, Hunter's Horn, Red Ranger, Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Stoneslide Collective

, and

Deadly Writer's Patrol

to name a few. His prolific body of work includes both fiction and non-fiction and has been featured as cover stories in many magazines. In addition to writing, Pete facilitates a twice-monthly Writer's Group near his home in Southern California and will be a featured speaker on a historical writer's panel at Stetson University in 2020.

After Midnight

is available on Amazon.com. For more information on R.L. "Pete" Peterson's upcoming projects visit his website at

pete-peterson.squarespace.com. Also visit

http://pallamarypublishing.com

for updated information on other projects.

Contact

Pallamary Publishing

***@colleenpallamary.com

End

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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After Midnight Arrives!!

Where do I start? Perhaps with my bride of sweet summers, Colleen, Gerry and Mickey. Thank you one and all! To my former read and critique group, Storyteller's Collaborative, see persistence paid off. I finally happened. Here is the link to Amazon: https://amzn.to/2SvXJh2

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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When professionals do their job it is a job well done. Take a peek at my upcoming short story collection. Enjoy!

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petersonwriter · 6 years ago

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petersonwriter · 7 years ago

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A Tale of Loss and Redemption

Rules of Dying

(published in Issue #15, Deadly Writer’s Patrol. www.deadlywriterspatrol.org

Pete Peterson

Every work day morning at 8 o'clock sharp, me and Juan and Marcus and Willard stand at attention with our hands over our hearts while the National Anthem plays on the loud speaker at Fort Rosecrans Cemetery. The Resident Supervisor, Captain C. T. Wallace, looking sharp in his Navy Reserve uniform, runs the flag up, ties off the halyard, salutes, and retreats into his office.

I’m Mike. I ride herd on the crew renovating grave sites here. It ain’t an easy job. I speak un poco Spanish. When my crew conversates among themselves, they can speak Swahili for all I care, but when they talk to me it better be English. With this bunch one minute I’m a drill sergeant, the next a priest.

Anyway, after the Anthem we wait to cross the road while a gray Kia Rio drives past and parks in the gravel next to the big wall. The driver, a young blonde wearing a blue pants suit, low-heeled black shoes and a white blouse, opens the car’s trunk, grabs a green and white folding chair, yellow umbrella, and a white flower and carries these like birthday presents to her usual spot.

She sets up her chair, opens the umbrella to shade the sun, and goes to the columbarium, where ashes of cremated bodies are kept. She unlocks a niche door, takes out an urn, about the size of a half-gallon of milk, holds it a minute, puts it back, stretches tall, removes yesterday’s white geranium from its holder, and replaces it with today’s, then walks to her chair and sits.

Often, on the blue San Diego bay below us, like an art gallery painting, a submarine or aircraft carrier glides out to sea, past the Point Loma light house, with sea gulls circling and the sun turning the ocean silver and gold.

Once seated, the young blonde fits i-Phone ear buds into small white ears, opens a thick book, wetting her finger with a pink tongue to turn the pages. She’s still there when we come up to eat lunch in the shade of the coral tree at noon.

Juan says, "She’s here all the time. For who? A husband? Brother?" He waves a tattooed hand in the air. “Every fuckin’ day, rain or shine.”

Willard asks, “How do ya know ever day? Ya work week ends?”

Juan says, “If the park’s open, she’s here. It’s a husband, I bet. Not likely her daddy. Or maybe she just likes the scenery. Maybe she’s lookin’ for a man. Like me."

Juan’s on probation. He joined our crew from Donovan State Pen in January. He’s edgy standing at attention when the Anthem plays but follows instructions and works hard.

Marcus asks, "She play music on her phone?” Marcus and Juan are kin. They ride to work together in Marcus’ Bronco.

Willard says, "Classy girl like her? Probably religious shit." He strokes his sandy red beard. He has more ‘tats than a pro basketball player, ears big as cabbage leaves. He’s never done hard time, according to his application, but noone called New Orleans to confirm where he says he worked last.

Marcus says, “Classy? You mean assy? She wants carne dulce. I’m her man.”

I keep quiet. These guys opinions about women are different than mine.

* * *

One noon, we’d finished our tortas when Marcus grabs the weed whacker we use to barber the grass around a marker. He runs across the street and begins trimming grass next to the girl’s chair. What the hell! That’s maintenace’s job. Not ours.

I run up. The blonde’s brown eyes go big.

“Pardon our intrusion, ma’am. My man’s cutting grass the mower missed.”

“Yeah,” Marcus says, “Make it perfect for you.”

His hot, black eyes scorch her from blonde hair to round bottom. She’s wearing the blue pants suit with red tennis shoes.

Her voice is sweet as a phoebe’s call. “How nice.”

* * *

Back at the truck, me and Marcus have a go. “What the hell?”

“Wanted her to see a real man.”

“A strange way to do that, ass hole.”

“She liked it.”

“Really? Scared the shit out of her. Pull that again, I’ll write you up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Count on it.”

“Un hombre tiene que hacer lo que unhombre tiene que hacer?”

“Not on my watch, hombre.”

* * *

At 2 o’clock sharp every day, the girl’s watche ends. She stows her gear and drives off, without a word. A young blonde driving a gray Kia slow as a funeral hearse.

* * *

Soil contracts at night and expands by day. Tree roots attack caskets. Gophers and rats make tunnels. Water washes away dirt so head stones tilt or fall over. Sometimes, a casket has split open. Inside is rags and uniform brass buttons, bones grey as gun powder and no longer than a chicken leg. Some days we renovate a whole section, spreading caskets and markers on the grass, name side up.

Cemetery guests swarm like hornets, push past our yellow tape taking selfies with the caskets, stopping our work, kicking dirt into the trench and peppering me with questions. “Whatcha doing?”

I answer, “Every hero deserves a peaceful resting place. Pardon us while we assure their eternal rest.”

“There a body in every casket?”

“Absolutely. We take great pains to see each grave is correctly marked.”

That’s a lie. Some stones show where a body used to be. To restore a section, we dig markers out by hand before the back-hoe rips a trench, then we lower a special metal box into the hole and pour in concrete. When it starts to set, we lift in the stones, a man on each side, tamp sand and pea gravel around it and replace the sod. It’ll stand straight and proud as a soldier for years.

It takes sweat and know how to pry out roots with a rough-neck bar or square up a trench with a sharp shooter, but it gives you time to think. Eight years ago, as part of my rehab, the VA sent me to culinary school. I had my kids then. I got a job busing tables, hoping to cook, but the wages wouldn’t buy food, much less clothes, so I hired on here. Now, me and the kids momma share custody. I get $12.38 an hour, $18.56 overtime, with an extra twenty-five a week as a working supervisor. I save a little each pay day. I want to open a restaurant someday. Weekends only, with reservation seating.

Cinda’s coming for dinner Saturday night. If she can find a sitter. She lives in that double-wide across the street and two trailers down at Clariton Estates Mobile Home Park. She has black hair and black eyes. When she smiles, her white teeth show, and my throat gets so tight I can’t talk.

I’ll start with an amuse bouche, say a celery-infused beef puree. For the primo, Bibb lettuce and endive, with a little arugula and radicchio for bitterness, tossed with quinoa and mushrooms, topped off with honey-roasted walnuts and organic plum tomatoes and a nice lemon garlic dressing.

What secondo will she want? Fish or chicken? I’ll drop by her trailer tonight after her kids are down, say 8:30, and ask. If fish, it’ll be sea bass grilled in lemon butter and almond paste. If chicken, I’ll smoother it in charcoal with parsley, onions and green peppers.

The dulce? Double chocolate cake. I'll bake it Friday, after work.

I think about cooking mostly, but sometimes my thoughts wander to the blonde in the beach chair by the columbarium. Who’s she thinking about?

* * *

Willard and Marcus are having a lover’s spat. They pair on most jobs. If Marcus made a sharp turn, Willard would break his nose. “What ’ya mean, rules for dying? That’s silly”

Marcus says, “There’s five of ‘em, man. When my nephew was offed, the social worker told us about ‘em.”

Willard makes a face. “Tonterias!”

“Bull shit or not, it’s true” Marcus turns to me. “Tell him, Boss.”

“You mean the stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Williard says, “When Dad took out that eucalyptus on his motorcycle, we knew he was dead. Tore the ‘cycle and him both all to shit.” His face is red, and not just from work.

I nod. “Ever work over in your mind what you could have done to stop his accident? Feel sad thinking about it? Worry about it from time-to-time?”

“Everyday. Normal, right?”

“Marcus’ point is our mind goes though different stages when someone close to us dies. Thinking how you could havw changes things is bargaining. Feeling shitty. Depression.”

Willard slices a lizard in half with his shovel. “I don’t drive that street any more. Ain’t that the shits?” He shakes his head.

Juan says, “What staget, how you say, stage, is our Little Darlin’ goin’ through?”

“Beats me.”

“Is there a dickin’ stage? That’s what she needs. A good jugando.”

* * *

A week or so later we’re waiting for the back-hoe to make a trench. Marcus says, “Boss, I gotta go get my gloves. Left ‘em on the bench at lunch. Won’t be gone but a minute.”

“Like hell you’ll go. The other crew sees you, they’ll report you for loafing. I’ll have paper work for weeks. I’m paid the big bucks, so it’s on me.”

Marcus clinches and un-clinches his fist.

I pretend I don’t see this. “Double check our measurements before the back-hoe gets here, okay? I’ll be back.”

We eat lunch across from the columbarium because the benches are shaded, and the rest rooms are close. I go to where Marcus ate. Nothing. The trash can is negative as well. I stoop to look under the bench.

A girl’s voice interrupts. “Looking for these?”

It’s the blonde, but she’s not blonde any more. Her hair is pink and blue. She wears a yellow blouse, white jeans with holes at the knees and open-toe, sparkly sandals. Her Oakley sun glasses are silver-tinted. She hands me Marcus’ gloves.

“That wild-eyed guy dropped ‘em. I was headed to the Superintendent’s office to turn them in. You’re his boss, right?”

I take the gloves. “Thanks.”

The small gold necklace around her throat says Misty.

“Misty, you’re here every day. You read a lot. Fiction or nonfiction?”

She holds up a book. “Stuff Tate liked. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.” She smiles. “I finished Harry Potter. The whole series. I’m getting damn good at Grand Theft Auto, too.”

“I’m impressed. Tate’s your husband?”

Her face pales. “Yeah. Army. Killed in Afghanistan. IED. Never saw his body. We were married one year, eight months and four days. At his memorial service I vowed I’d visit him 609 days straight.”

She smiles. “Seventy-three more to go. You familiar with the Five Stages of Grief?”

“I’ve heard of ‘em.”

A small white hand removes sun glasses. Big brown eyes. “They’re a general guide for grieving. I’m past denial but still mad as hell. If I had chance, I’d kill every damn politician in D.C.” Her eyes go black with tears.

“My support group says we never recover, just survive. That’s me. I’m waitressing at a bowling alley cafe. To keep busy. I can’t date, though Tate says it’s okay with him.”

She blushes. “Isn’t that crazy? I talk to my dead husband. And he answers.” She puts her finger to her lips. “Quiet, Misty. Silence is sacred here.”

She turns and walks to her chair, without a glance back. A young girl with pink and blue hair, a small gold necklace with her name on it and holes in her jeans.

* * *

I’m Navy myself. The only one in my crew who served, but they turn over so fast next week I might have four vets. In the Navy I was stationed at Subic Bay, Philippines. Me and this local short skirt did the khaki sack thing. Great sex. Woke me up to possibilities since I was a Jesus Freak then. Back home, I felt guilty. And horney. My pastor told me I could send for her. I did. We were married. She liked the religious life. I liked the sex, but booze and nose candy became my Gods.

Four years later, a boy and a girl were running around the house, Baby Ruth preaching Jesus to me, and me begging her for a ten to buy my next binge. Wrecked my truck. Spent forty-two days in the VA hospital in La Jolla. When I got out, I joined AA. Took me 3 years to get straight. Lost my job as a heavy equipment mechanic. Took up small engine repairs, but the drugs damaged my nerves so I couldn’t handle detail work. Went to culinary school. Kids are sixteen and seventeen now.

Last June, my daughter, Margaret, ran off. I found her at a shelter in Santa Monica over Thanksgiving. Needle tracks up both arms, her nose dripping snot. My heart bleeding in my chest. Like father like daughter, I guess

I visit AA rooms most weekends. Last night, the speaker talked about the 3rd Step, where you make a decision to turn your will and your life over to God. Years ago I talked with my sponsor about this. He asked, “If two bull frogs sit on a lily pad and one of them decides to jump, how many bull frogs are still on the lily pad?”

“One.”

“No, dummy. Two. Decidin’ to jump ain’t the same as jumpin’.”

I was sick and tired of being sick and tired, so I jumped.

* * *

Getting ready for my dinner with Cinda, I clean the kitchen, wash my DAV china, shine both settings of silverware, spread a red and yellow beach towel on the table and put Martinelli’s in the frig. I’ll buy a cake since I didn’t bake last night. I clean the bath room and change bed sheets. Mrs. Chase from the single-wide next door, I call her Mrs. Scuttlebutt, bangs on my door.

“Ain’t it romantic? Cinda’s husband brought her the sweetest bouquet. Spend the night. He wants them to try and make a go of it again.”

Damn. Damn and double damn. I guess it’ll be chicken for lunch this week.

* * *

Sunday morning, I’m nervous and empty. The next time I want to score with a woman, she better have a sitter. I wonder, Does Misty visit her husband’s grave on weekends? I grab some 5-Minute Energy drink, slam Nine Inch Nail’s “Year Zero”into my truck’s CD player and head for Ft. Rosecrans.

Willard’s Toyota’s in the parking lot. He’s walking toward Misty, his face covered with a blue handkerchief. He wears gloves and carries a plastic rope. I cut across the grass to head him off.

He sees me. “Stay out of this, Boss!” He waves a pick handle at me.

“Whatcha you doing?”

“Juan says she needs a man. That’s me.”

“You can’t just grab her.”

I feel his body heat, and smell whiskey and sweat. He holds the pick handle like a batter waiting for a pitch. “You didn’t say shit when Marcus bragged what he’d do to her.”

“I should have. My bad. Don’t do something today you’ll regret later.” Talking Program to a drunk is a waste. Get ‘em when they’re shaky, the Big Book says.

Willard breathes hard. He shakes the pick handle at me. “I could take ya.” His beard drips sweat.

“I know you could. But why?” I’m breathing hard, too. “Walk away, and it ends.”

He cocks his head. “Promise?”

“Promise. But don’t show up Monday. HR will send what you’re owed.”

“I could still take ya.”

“I know. Go sleep it off.” “I do somethin’ bad?”

“Not yet. But leave.”

He examines the pick handle like it’s new to him, rears back and heaves it maybe 7 or 8 rows away. “I get stupid when I drink. I owe ya, Boss.”

I watch him walk to his car. He sits a while, then drives off.

* * *

Monday morning, we stand while the Anthem plays. No one mentions Willard is gone. The Kia drives by, a man sits next to Misty. I get the crew started then drive to where Misty sits. She’s listening to her phone.

“This is Mark,” she says. “He’s in my group. He lost two buddies at Fallujah. I’m going with him to Miramar this afternoon. His first visit.”

Mark nods, but doesn’t get up. That’s when I see he’s missing a leg.

Misty says to Mark, “This is the guy I told you about. He kinda looks after me.”

* * *

In early October, we wait for the Kia to pass. It slows. Misty rolls down her window. Her hair shines purple. “Day 609,” she says. Her eyes are swollen. “My last visit for a while. Thanks for your help.”

“Thanks for your service.”

Marcus is the only one from my old crew. At our work site, he says, “Boss ya sweet meat yer girlfriend yet?”

I say,”That’s enough vulgar talk. Women deserve better.” The crew looks at me like I’m playing an organ or something. “Let’s get to work.”

A black Toyota drives slowly by and parks. A gray-haired man in a dark suit, carries two chairs in one hand. With the other, he holds the arm of a small lady in a black hijab. They walk to new a gravesite and sit. On the San Diego bay below us, like an art gallery painting, an aircraft carrier glides past the Point Loma light house, with sea gulls circling and the sun turning the ocean silver and gold, going out to war.

The End.

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