Sweet Dreams Series, Updates, and Inconvenient Realities

Hello, it's been awhile...in fact, quite a while. 

I've as usual been meaning to blog for a long time, but finding the time, making the time and all of that has gone by the way. Finally, after a long period of work, writing, editing and madness I have for once decided to make the fucking time.

There is much to anticipate this summer, and so many things have occurred that I have to figure out just how I'm going to do them all. In line with that come the happenings in our world, close to home and otherwise.

I made a joke recently with my old friend Jim on his birthday about not getting old, to which he replied something about his back. It's true, our bodies are turning into old cars: they're gonna break down, make sounds they're not supposed to, and leak things they shouldn't, but they do.

I have had some nagging issues, but they are really nothing to complain about. When I consider how much pain I really felt almost 25 years ago from an accident that should have killed me, this is nothing.

I'm so trying not to complain about things. I find that little things get me nettled, but that's always been the thing. I try to let that pass, and realize you can't change an awful lot of stuff outside you. You can change yourself if you want.

I again find I have to rethink things. The last thing I want to do is chase money, but you need just enough to get things done. Well, whether it rolls in while I'm alive or helps out the later generations, we'll see.

It's an ego thing...but I would like to see how the world reacts to some of what I'm doing.

So what is going on right now? Well, the good news is that a project that I started writing, and have dealt with on and off for 11 years is coming out this summer.

The Sweet Dreams Series is this crazy story of threads that came together and formed a Gordian knot, or perhaps some kind of non-tie able one. 

https://www.behance.net/gallery/11158157/Sweet-Dreams-Searching-for-Roy-Buchanan-(Ch1-proof)

What you think? Now true, this is not the finished product, just a rough cut. But does that get you interested? I hope so...

When I started writing that story in 2007, I did not know what I'd started, but I can imagine really well. The literary, manga and anime world did not break down the doors, and it won't until this gets out there. There's nothing wrong with considering the possibilities; in fact, I feel you have to, so you don't get blindsided.

So that is gonna be my fourth book, and the third on Brown Posey Press. People have asked how long that is going to run. Well, I wrote five, plus a compendium of sorts. But the arc is going to have to change a lot, and there's going to be an insane amount of work for the next one to make sense due to all the changes in the first.

I think we have a fine trilogy here. And when that's done, I'm going to let Aki and the gang grow up a little more.

Now, that leads me to my resumption of a radio role as...a talk show host.

Fuck me. The last thing I ever wanted to do is be that again. 

The toxic, filth-laden wasteland of talk radio, and I mean political as well as sports talk is, quite plainly, shit. Generations have been programmed to let their heads be filled with everything they don't really need. The shopping mall of the radio dial has become one gigantic gape shot that you don't want any part of.

There's little left that I can stomach. But...I was pleasantly surprised to get an opportunity to actually do something that really does appeal to me.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/bookspeak

Sunbury Press Books, which is our parent company created the BookSpeak Network, and I host the Brown Posey Press show, primarily for fiction.

Pretty cool; while generally I interview fellow authors on the imprint, I can go off the reservation. I've only done four shows so far, and I'm reading a lot more and prepping to do a full show without commercials.

Now we use phone hookups, so it's kind of a strange, almost analog sound. A friend listened to one of the shows and said it was like someone discovering a forgotten radio, and turning it back on. She found it a very comforting thing. How neat.

So I've interviewed some fine people and authors, and there will be more. I'm really enjoying this. This is the kind of show I can do. Authors talking about their books, about writing, what they read, how they've experienced things...it's actually really thought provoking.

I also have found a paying job...imagine that!

I'm working as a mentor for a gentleman who is in broadcasting school. He is a little older than me, and originally from Kenya. His goal is to return to his homeland and work as a talk show host. The power of radio over there is still king. 

He's got most of the tools, but he just needs some technical help, and practice. I've never done this before; I feel I can really help him. This is a nice give-back to an industry that needs people, still.

Now, we gotta hit the realities...our bodies are growing old, but our minds need not. These things I do keep my brain stretched, so I can write again and more, and further along.

I got a great opportunity last weekend to see an old friend. Kelly is a person I met 30 years ago in Northern NH. I was just explaining this experience to a friend, so I'll leave it this way: we were friends, lovers, and a lot of things for four years when it all blew up.

Fault is not one-sided, but we've long since forgiven one another for our doings. She did what I did, jobbed about the radio world, worked like hell, and has found a lot more.

We hadn't seen each other in 26 years, and I'm amazed and impressed by her. We both had things to work through, and we each had to do them. I'm still working on mine, but that's a lifelong deal.

That's the good one.

The passing of Anthony Bourdain is something I have to touch on. There was a recent suicide of a lady that shocked a lot of people, a designer that I am sorry to say I know little about.

I didn't know much about Bourdain; I'd only seen his TV show once, and there's a lot of love/hate flying about the man. He was loud, outspoken, and ruffled feathers. My kinda guy. 

He did a lot of good, though; he took us places, and tried food everywhere. Travel, he counseled us, travel; I need to follow that example.

His suicide shocked everyone. What could have happened? No one can say, but there's been a real re-ignition of the talk about suicide.

As someone who planned his own 30+ years ago, I can tell you a few things, but each person's reasons are different.

I wrote about this in Parasite Girls, my first book; and it looms in A Moment in the Sun, my second. Didn't plan that, but these things come about.

In the first, a character notes that a person is in the dark, so far, that they no longer realize what they are completely doing. The damage, the hurt, the agony, and whatever else influences otherwise rational people to do the irrational.

They may even think they're doing you a favor, by offing themselves. They may think life is no longer worth living; or that they cannot contribute, fit in, or do anything useful any longer, if ever.

The skin they live in must be something they cannot tolerate any longer. Everyone has a reason; the cases are different.

There are no true warning signs, but some say when a person no longer takes joy in the things they should, gives away valued possessions, withdraws, etc., those may be signs.

Hard to say. I never told anyone what was going on inside me, and most had no idea. But I'd also isolated myself enough, that the rare occasion anyone saw something strange, they either didn't get it, or passed it off as something other.

I can't really tell you anything specifics, because each of us are so different. Just this...if someone really reaches out to you, shut up, and listen. And listen critically. It's not about you. It's about them. Let it be them for just a little bit.

That said, I have to note the passing of a dear friend. Dick Huntington left us a couple weeks back. Dick was a lot of things, I can't even begin to document them. 

An author, a poet, a storyteller, a bard (he liked to call himsef), a teacher, so many things. He was in my old band Ahltyrra briefly, and he contributed in a lot of ways to my writing.

He edited and helped me greatly with my skills, way back when Sweet Dreams first went out to the world. He fell in love with the characters, and loved what I was doing with the time travel, the music, the people. Dick also tightened up my horrible writing style, and my awful changes of tense.

Dick served in Vietnam, but never talked about it. Rather, he talked about his time in California, the music scene, his years of living in different places, booking for the Baltimore Blues Society, meeting such incredible musicians. Great moments of his life.

As his health declined, Dick didn't quit. He helped right up to the end, and I feel that he should be seen for all the good he did, and yeah, he did a lot. I'm not going to toss off the difficult side of him, and that yes, he did piss some folks off.

But I ain't perfect, either, and don't I know it.

I'm sorry Dick did not live in his body to see the book make its way out, but wherever he is, I'm sure he'll see it, and have a lot to say about it!

RIP, brother, love you as you did me.

Well...time to move on here. Thanks for reading.

Writing, BlogTalking, Coolwalking, Smoothtalking...Yeah, Right!

Well, let’s try a new font while I sort through a bunch of activities, things, semi-accomplishments and observations, as I come out of realizing that my body is growing old.

Not me, mind. Just the vehicle I’m traveling around in. As the parts start to age, I find I’m dealing with the realization that upgrades and tune-ups may no longer be an option.

My hands are definitely becoming an issue. My touch-typing is not what it once was, and I feel like my brain and body need to be in tune and in sync in order to work. If not, my fingers are all over the place, and the muscle memory is not quite as good.

Finding out also that I have to really focus to keep on point. Certain tasks require it, and I’ve been able to focus my mind on them, and accomplish them pretty well.

Other things, not so much. I have too many things, interests, and I have to figure out how to manage them.

Case in point: I end up doing a lot of small projects, such as writing for Broadwayworld.com, PopImpressKA Journal (more on that in a bit), and now contributing to Plaisted Publishing House.

Okay, have I namedropped enough?

Then we have the radio fun and merriment. Radio PA continues apace, and going well; my stability is pretty much predicated on that. Not a job, again; but also my last stop in the business.

Now I’ve gone on at length about The Music Club, on Radio-Airwaves Station, which is still a hell of a lot of fun, and keeps me up on the new music that interests me.

I have also been tabbed by my publisher, Brown Posey Press to host a talk show.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/bookspeak/2018/04/13/brown-posey-press-show--tory-gates-interviews-author-sharon-marchisello

My first show...here on the site you will find shows from the varied imprints of Sunbury Press Books, and it’s getting easier for me to get back into to swing of hosting such a program.

Now, getting my fellow authors to do the show...well, it’s a help and a boost to the sales, believe me.

I made a trip to Carlisle today in honor of the Indie Bookshop recognition day. Whistlestop Bookshop is right in town, a neat little place with exceptional taste.

The cat's name is Mulan. 

I’ve spent the past several months working the owner to get my books in there...or a signing, or something.

You have to keep working it...Jeff promises to check my work out.

I was there today as my old friend T.M. Becker celebrated the release of her book, Full Moon Rising, on Prospective Press.

Tsiph (her full name is Tshipuneah) is a lady I met eight years ago through a writer’s group. She was working on this story way back then. I know the feeling of working, editing, writing, rewriting, and waiting years for your opportunity. Very happy for her.

Can’t wait to start reading this. And you know, reading other people’s books is a must as an author. Been trying to expand out on that, and I have to with the Blog Talk program. Sharon Marchisello’s work is out of my field, Going Home was not unlike my latest work, Live from the Cafe. Going back to the hometown, to find what’s changed and what has not was Luc and Emily’s MO, but for different reasons, and two people not expecting to see one another again.

I’ll be interviewing Robert Barsky, author of Hatched, also of the Brown Posey imprint next week. I think that will be a fun interview. I try to make them fun, two people talking about books and stuff, and that makes it work.

I am also open to those from outside the imprint. Tsiph wants to do it.

      

We also talked about finding places to sign and sell, and it gets harder than ever. Even indie bookstores aren’t always so interested...to be fair, time, space, resource, I get it.

But like Tsiph, I can do a signing and not be in your face and in the way. Damn thing works, and you can make it work.

It has boosted interest in this, HINT HINT HINT...

https://www.sunburypressstore.com/Live-from-the-Cafe-9781620067147.htm

I guess for me I am still finding my audience. I know my voice is finding its way to the page, and in a manner that is necessary.

Three books down, and the first of the Sweet Dreams Series will go later in the year. Searching for Roy Buchanan is the subtitle, and I’ve talked a lot and at length about it.

More editing, and I’ll be seeing my cover artist in May, hopefully; more legal stuff to do, more of too many things to do, and the knowledge we cannot quit this thing.

I do not quit.

Notice that yet? Yeah, I’m stubborn as fuck, but if it’s worth doing, you do it.

This is.

Now, back to health briefly...spending a bit more time at home, partly due to feeling like I have to get back to it. Lived here two years; not much has changed in the home, but I will be making a few minor changes as time goes by. It’s most comfy here; and regardless of where I live, I prefer and can handle it.

Also have to decide whether or not a certain Rx is gonna keep being used. I did something to my back over a week ago, and spasms were pretty bad.

I have seen the chiro, seen the doc, changed my sleeping position, etc. Now I do have a lovely muscle relaxant, but I can’t use it before work.

But two days of it, and I know what it’s done. I am alert, but it drops me back a gear, and I do not like it. I think the rest for a couple days outside the job was good, but I’m feeling better, and I just don’t want to go a full month of this shit.

People who really need it? I get you. The opioid epidemic here in PA is pretty bad, but I think we know where we can point the finger. Not at the victims of this, either.

And for those of you who ask:

Kao is adjusting well. She is a little monster. She “garbages,” which my mother used to castigate our old Beagle Rufus for doing. I’ve made it so she can’t really do that, and Kao has managed to get along with the others.

She is a quirky cat; doesn’t like getting picked up, and petting her is when she damn well feels like it.

Now what else?

Well, the feeling I have of not being able to relax, yet knowing I need to. I have a string of books that while not ready, are close to it. I could put one out a year for a very long time, but I think a bunch won’t see the light of day in my lifetime.

But I plan to hang out in this body for a while, so...get used to it.

I think as an excuse, I find other things to finish, or do, to avoid whatever unidentified thing exists that I don’t want to do. I still have no idea what that is.

Oh yes...I have a photo shoot tomorrow, courtesy of my longtime friend Alice. These are for this little publication:

https://popimpresskajournal.org/

Pretty cool, eh? Well, I have written a short piece on my good friend Gene Dante for the upcoming magazine, which can be picked up physically or online...the art world collides with fashion and so much more.

So much more to do...reading...been working on a number of books, and getting through them. Isabelle Allende’s The Japanese Lover was interesting; not a fan of hers, but this one worked out nicely.

The Gift of Rain...this is fucking brilliant. Tan Twan Eng’s historical novel of pre, during and postwar Malaya from a British mixed-race young man (and old man’s view). Detailed, graphic, violent, and unflinching.

We can only hope to write like this.

Not sure why, but I gave Amy Tan another chance. The Bonesetter’s Daughter was not as great as many made it out to be, just hard to follow. But The Joy Luck Club, despite jokes some have made...not done yet, good, but still a focus thing I have not been able to figure out. But the characters are very well done, and crafted nicely.

Tsiph’s book goes up top with all these others. As for the SDS, I am slowly probing the areas that need to be, to get it a bit better, and to also figure out how to promote again, and to do it right.

I also finished a manuscript, or the second draft, of a YA work, The Feels. It’s got a way to go; but I am now seeing there is a real, dual line of my writing.

The SDS is one line, and that contains, ready for this, two other trilogies written, and a book that could be three!

WTF, right?

And...the string of stories that are of a different vein. Serious ones, but also stories that find a way to celebrating a youth that I never celebrated.

So we’ll see where we go.

As usual, I’m a man in a hurry, but whatever. It’s how I’ve always been.

Peace, Out. 

How About a Preview...?

Hey all...well, I wish you and yours and Merry Xmas, a Joyous Yule, Blessed Kwanzaa, or whatever you like. 

I may have noted recently my displeasure or unhappiness at having to "get through" these holidays, and it's a battle. But I apologize if I freaked any of you out about that. I have a place to be today, and yesterday...I began writing a new, mad piece.

I've been working on this in my mind and through too many pages of sketches and storylines for two years. I hope it doesn't take that long to finish it.

I can't tell you too much about this, because I don't know how it's going to come out. But the story began from hours and miles of driving in total darkness, and listening to Joe Jackson's amazing Fast Forward CD.

So...here are the bashed out, first two pages of Part I, "Christmas in New York."

Times Square; this place was the center of New York City, mostly in the minds of those who’d never lived or been there. The place where dreams focused, for people who believed that old song, the one about making it there, and then propelling oneself further into the world.

      Christmas Eve, around the gigantic tree, bedecked with hundreds of ornaments, a thousand lights or more were revelers, celebrants of the holiday season, with lip service to the child supposedly born on this night, but more to the gayer, less serious aspects.

      Lights flashed across the sky, from the skyscrapers, the billboards and the windows of shops still open. Smaller and less noticed ones flickered as well, from the cameras of tourists taking selfies to broadcast to family and friends back home where they were. Others jammed the sidewalks and streets, partying from club to bar and then the next, and still more hitting those places with last-minute and impulse buys to be had.

      There too, the music: holiday sounds, from the traditional to contemporary, the voices of those at Mass and other more staid events, remembering what they were taught about the so-called Holy Night. The overproduced, glitzy versions of schmaltzy songs about winter wonderlands, a reindeer with an improbable nose, and of course Saint Nicholas; no one here seemed to remember the roots of these things, the Pagan Gods and Goddesses that bore these children.

      A word to the wise to those less experienced was: when in New York, one dressed and acted as though they lived there. The aim was not fall prey to the pickpockets, scammers and grifters that plied the city streets, in search of an easy mark.

      Amid the well-dressed and heeled, those of the middle and working classes walked, rushed and jostled for position in these streets, as they did all around the world. The chill of December was felt more by these folk, but they accepted cold and this time of year as a part of life. Their breath fogged like smoke or vapor; it rose and dissipated with millions more on this grand night.

      And within all these, were the ones that no one noticed, or would admit, even to themselves existed.

      The ragged creature shuffled along the sidewalk, her feet taking in the freezing walk through her battered sneakers. They didn’t even feel as though they were on her feet, these numb to near frostbite. That mattered nothing to her; at least they no longer hurt.

      She was surprised she felt anything at all. Cold had set in weeks before, and never left her. The thin clothing inside of the wool coat, still not one for this weather, did nothing to protect her from the elements. Her gloves, the fingers torn or cut away by a previous owner weren’t much help, but she flexed her hands and fingers as much as possible to keep some feeling. It gave her something to do with her hands, and to focus on.

      Her jeans had seen better years, and the wool cap could not keep the long, matted rat’s nest of black hair from being seen. Down over her shoulders it bounced, and looked more like dreadlocks.

      If anyone chose to look at this thin, gaunt urchin, one might see a face. Thin and long, the jawline was not completely square, but decently formed. Skin, pale from exposure; a Caucasian but not through and through, because it would have taken a very close look to see there might be a little more in this girl’s lineage.

      The eyes were a liquid blue, the black lashes long, even under the body’s duress. The nose, thin, not too large or too small, and the lips too seemed correct for a female that one might draw a picture of. She was not beautiful by the standards of the day, but she was not ugly, either, apart from her current disposition.

      The wind blew down these streets as the girl walked through, unable to find any protection from the buildings, the numerous vehicles or the people who stormed along; they paid no heed to this child, and she did not stop or bother them.

      There was no point. As the wind again tore through her, she drew her thin jacket, most of the buttons long gone about her, and kept on. The clouds had thickened throughout the day, she’d noticed, and there was almost no sun from this morning. A winter storm was coming; the first flakes had already begun to fall, glinting with the colors of the Christmas and city lights, and floated down like confetti. They already had begun to collect on the parked cars, SUVs, trucks and taxicabs that lined the block; it would be a bad night.

      Again, it didn’t matter. She kept walking, but her head came up slightly. Leaned against a brick wall, alongside one of the high end stores, she saw a man. Barely able to stand, in a rough looking jacket and clothes nearly as pathetic as her own, he held out a used McDonald’s cup, asking for spare change. There were few takers.

      She looked at him as she came abreast of him: he was black, probably in his twenties, but the live he led made him look forty. Sharp features, in the cheekbones, the prominent nose, damaged teeth behind his lips; his brown eyes stared at this strange one that walked past him.

      No words were exchanged, but the two nodded. They understood one another.

Well, what do you think? It is a dark, odd beginning, no? The book is tentatively entitled, Times Best Remembered, and I'll explain that in further detail when we finally get there.

I did this the other day:

I made a road trip from Harrisburg to Valley Forge, with a short stopover in Newtown Square, right near a former workplace. My goals were to hit every rest stop on the PA Turnpike, where I left "gifts" of my books.

Yes, it is a cost, but a write off. Here now, my books for free, in hand to those I hope will read them, like them, and expand the base.

The deck is stacked against us indie authors, it's rigged. Big bookstores won't stock you, indie bookstores won't stock you. They stock what they know they can sell.

How it is...we must make ourselves visible, and obnoxious. I aim to.

Feh!

So anyway, let me know if you like that. It's a good story; might be the best thing I've done.

The best work is the one you have not yet written.

Peace, Out.

A Reading of Book 1 of the SDS

Here is a quick one...a while back, I submitted the first chapter of my book, "Sweet Dreams: Searching for Roy Buchanan" to the Wildsound Festival in Canada.

Here is a reading of Chapter 1:

How about that?

One of the things I've been looking for, for quite some time, are actors or others to "read" the characters as they might see them in their own minds. That presentation has always been of interest to me, and I recently have been talking with theatrical friends about that possibility.

It's down the road, but worth looking at.

Does this make you want to read it? I hope so.

The Sweet Dreams Series is a multi-volume work that I began in 2007. Here is the Wildsound link that tells you about the story, and a bit about me:

https://novelwritingfestival.com/2017/12/16/novel-reading-of-sweet-dreams-searching-for-roy-buchanan-by-tory-gates/

Now I am still pushing and promoting my latest, "Live from the Cafe," on Brown Posey Press. BPP will do the SDS next year, and we'll be working up till then on this.

I got a really nice bit of validation yesterday from someone who knows what's what in theater. I gave the pitch, and explained this idea...

"You have quite a universe going on there," or something like that.

That's kinda cool. I have to really expand it, though. So much more to do.

Anyway, I thought Rachel did a very nice job on the read...I like hearing different voices, and it intrigues me to hear how others interpret the work.

Anyway, I don't know if I'm going to be back before X-day, but either way, have a good one.

Peace, Out.

The Rock, the Island, and What On Earth is This?

It is time as we approach the Deep and Dark December, that I again realize that I have to devote a period of time to this blog thing. I haven't done it much of late, because I'm busy. And I don't often feel I have much to contribute to the blogverse any longer.

Someone recently made an observation about my busy nature. It is that, to be busy, to be occupied, to be doing things. An old friend counseled me in her way of saying something without meaning it be a judgment, that I was doing things to keep myself busy.

She would be right.

The important thing for me is to try and keep myself moving forward, despite the ever-increasing need to focus an ever-declining number of brain cells toward tasks at hand. 

The Simon & Garfunkel tune has always resonated with me. I wonder who that misanthropic character is based on. Interesting that song out of so many wonderful ones from that period showed up on my radar as a young person, and stayed.

I had old Columbia 45's (remember those?) my brothers had and left...I think those were David's, but I can't be sure. Anyway, the music of the late 60's was in the head of a young child, post-Boomer, pre-70's, who knows what I was.

I'm aware of certain things from that period, not all of them good. I remember the music my brothers listened to specifically: Beatles, Stones, CCR, Dylan, the Doors, I think. Not a bad template to learn from, and the generations after that followed them.

Music again is coming back around for me, but it is not taking. An old friend and bandmate is interested again, as is a friend from another project. I don't know.

I honestly don't. I can still write, but do I have the health, and/or the energy to do another band, another project? I have some questions that need to be asked before I commit.

My writing...I am a pre-Curmudgeonly Zen Pagan Bastard who is in a Fucking Hurry. I am trying to be patient.

I had a very interesting experience the past couple of weeks, and I want to share what happened with the online retailer Amazon.

I give you Exhibit A:

"Parasite Girls" came out in 2013, and you can get it from me (when you see me, heh!), on Amazon.com and on Smashwords for cheap, if you have an e-reader, any of them.

Well, this book was mired down in about 8-millionth-515-thousandth place for fiction not that long ago. There are something like 11 million books for sale through Amazon.

My old friend Jim Henry, author of many interesting things, such as the Antiquity Calais series told me that he purchased his books full price for his book signing stock, because it helped his sales numbers.

I thought about that, and so I conducted a test. I bought ONE copy of "Parasite Girls," $9.99 plus shipping. I wanted to see what would happen; it takes a day for the figures on Amazon to catch up.

Next day, "Parasite Girls" was at 255-thousandth something.

What's that tell you?

Was that a fluke? So just for fun, I tried with my latest, "Live from the Cafe."

Well, it was at 7 or 8-millionth whatever, too. That jumped to 250-thousandth or thereabouts.

One book.

One full-price buy did that.

What. The. Fuck?

Not like I'm getting a lot of the cut for those, but damn. So friends, this is why we need to have the support of those who dig what we do.

If a few people, just a few people buy the book, Amazon and the muckety-mucks who know what's what in the literary world will take notice.

"And if two people do it...in harmony..." (Thank you, Arlo Guthrie)

It becomes an organization, or a movement.

You know, I totally get that my writings may not be your thing. I get that money is tight as fuck, and if the tax package those drooling bottomfeeders want to pass in DC goes through, it will be even tighter.

The thing I need, however, is not just that. I have to keep writing, I have to keep working, and I have to get the body of work going in the direction it needs to go.

I'm not seeing the support of the community the way we thought we'd see it. Local bookshops may not be in the keeping of a corporate office telling them everything to do, but they too must stock what they know they can sell. Shelf space is not easy in too many cases.

Doing my best to get my work out there, to get that attention, to get the public to meet the real, live author, and then it becomes the pitch that you hope gets people to whip out their card or their wallet.

Hardest part is when someone is supportive, and says they'll buy your stuff...and then they don't.

I don't mind if you don't, but don't bullshit me. If it is not your thing, I'm cool with it. My work is a semi-acquired taste, I realize that.

But I gotta get the next one ready, and I'm formulating too many things at once, while doing everything else at the same time.

This is how it is. I'm in a hurry, because I may leave this body before all things are in place. So that's why I'm like this.

Okay...now here's the topic of the week.

Sexual harassment, and/or assault.

Yikes.

The body count is rising. From Harvey Weinstein's antics, it now has crossed all manner of business. Roy Moore, in his fake "Christian" arrogance and the idea that women are handmaids and girls are virginal creatures for the taking and abuse is still likely to win a seat in Washington.

Matt Lauer, #1 seat holder on the "Today" show is gone, and suddenly. 

And why am I not surprised about Garrison Keillor?

Well...first of all, I don't know any of these guys. But you see them, and you know the culture we are in.

In the media business, believe me, it hasn't changed much. The Boys Club is still that, and horny, crotch-grabbing, masturbatory world of 40 year olds who didn't make it past middle school for maturity. All you need do is listen to sports talk radio, or any talk radio, and you can hear it.

Let's think about harassment. You know, I was as guilty as some, but thankfully I have not suffered consequences other than embarrassment, having to face something I didn't fully understand, and then owning it.

One reason we have people like this is because we do not have frank, honest discussion about sex, sexuality, and the breaking down of roles, re: what we are and what women are, and how we're supposed to treat one another.

I had no social skills growing up. None. I had very little understanding for attractions, and I didn't always understand what others said. I was behind the curve.

The things we said in college...you have to know, I didn't have hardly any contact with high school peers. I remember emotionally how I was the first year in college, awkward, shy, not mature enough to be there.

I admit that my efforts to know certain people were taken wrong...but that is my fault.

I own not understanding how I creeped out people that were my friends. I didn't know, but I did know. 

That immaturity lasted until I got called out my senior year by a young woman. She let me have it and I deserve what I got.

I apologized, and I think she accepted that.

That incident changed a lot of my thinking, but I still had a lot of growing up to do. I have at times not been correct, but I am certain I've not intentionally hurt anyone.

I learned my boundaries, and I want to think I am ever more mindful of that.

So why has this perpetuated itself all these decades?

Well, let's look at some of what I heard and saw in my career. Certain jobs I had were pretty chill, in terms of the male/female dynamic. I did have one issue with one fellow employee; me forgetting myself, not gauging a sense of humor, a fuckup again, on my part.

Beyond that and before it: I could not be surprised at the sexist, and misogynistic attitude some men (and men old enough to know better) displayed toward female colleagues, be they announcers, in sales, or interns.

Ei, but the interns got shit from some quarters. I remember one station was a mill for interns. One executive had nicknames for some of them. The prerequisite for an intern was not where you went to college, what you were doing in school, or what you had for any kind of track record, but how short were their skirts, and how big were their breasts.

That's an observation. I know what I saw, and heard. I found out that one of the young ladies who was in the place for a time trained as a kickboxer. I was manager of the station at the time; I gave her permission to use her skills as necessary.

She was amused, but she understood, and seemed to have been through it before. I kind of hoped to walk in one day and find one of the offenders lying on the floor after taking a roundhouse kick to the teeth.

One of my colleagues was still thinking he was in his 20's when he was not. He totally was convinced that if a young female sat, stood or breathed in his vicinity that, SHE WANTS ME!!!

FACEPALM.

My point is not to stigmatize anyone or anything like that. My point is, we have all fucked up at least once in our lives.

We have said things we wished we didn't say; we did things we could take back. We can't. We can only hope to show some growth by being sorry, admitting our error, and trying to make it right.

Some people are beyond hope. They truly believe they can do no wrong, that everyone's overreacting, they're lying, they're soft, they're Milennials, they're snowflakes, this, that, etc.

NO. YOU ARE JUST A FUCKING CHILD IN AN ADULT BODY. 

We need to grow up, folks. In so many ways.

We don't live in the past. This is not the set of "Mad Men," or any of those other shows.

I don't give a shit what you look like. I don't care what you wear, or don't wear. If you're working with me, you are a fellow, a colleague and we are working for the same fucking goals.

You might be asking, "Well, don't you have attractions for women?"

Of course I do. I'm just at the point of knowing that in my life, the way things are...I don't see women interested in me. Or anyone, for that matter.

Yes, people, male or female, neutral, this, that whatever, you interest me by what you say, what you do, how you are. I don't have to agree with you politically, religiously, spiritually, or on anything. 

But how do you treat people? And how do you see me?

I take it as a case by case thing, and try to do my best to be the person who would like you to treat me as I do you. If that makes sense.

Yes, some people rub me the wrong way. Some people piss me off. Some people I find abhorrent.

I don't hate anyone. I despise some people, dislike others, have contempt for a few, but I don't hate them.

Hate is a destroyer. The people who spew their filth on social media from behind their keyboards and fake screen names, you are killing yourselves. You are taking a dull, jagged butter knife and disemboweling yourself on the Altar of Facebook.

If you think your employer, your family and friends can't see you, think again. They will find you; hopefully before your ulcerated cancerous soul dies, and your lie in a pool of your own self-satisfaction.

Now some of these people...a disturbing story has come about regarding Ann Curry, a co-host on "Today." I always felt that Ann was a good journalist, who would have made a very good host.

They used her as a toy, a fool, a joke, the token Asian lady. The worst thing they did to her was dress her up like a cheerleader.

Nothing surprised me about morning TV and it still doesn't. News is not delivered from a couch, assholes. I'm showing my age, but so what?

Curry it seems was set up to fail by those behind the scenes, and it appears Lauer, if not behind it directly, was in on the game and approved.

She was gone, Lauer was given millions to re-up in 2012-13, because execs were worried. Meredith Vieira was leaving, and the loss of the appealing and popular host, coupled with the potential loss of Lauer, left NBC in trouble. 

They didn't trust Curry, nor like her, and they ran her out. They treated her like shit.

Now Lauer suddenly got fired. My guess is whatever he did or is alleged to have done was bad enough, or, a long enough pattern beyond circumstancial evidence or he-said, she-said that he had to go.

Keillor...I'll tell you what, the urbane, cultured, intelligent voice of Lake Woebegon was a gifted storyteller, and is. He is a decent author and writer, and he knew how to run a show.

I did not like certain things about "A Prairie Home Companion." For one, his use of executive privilege.

His singing. He can't. I can sing better than that.

I didn't mind his singing the open, "Ah, hear that old piano from down the avenue..." That sets the tone, you know where you are. That was fine.

But his insistance on singing with the guests! No, just didn't work.

And the pervy old geezer...I remember his bizarre, strange, haunted look he had on his face when the show was live on TV several years back. He was telling a story, and he looked and acted for the world as a perv. Something was just not right.

I thought, "Okay, it's how he looks, his voice, this is how he gets the point across."

Then later on, his perverse onstage gushing over a singer named Iris DeMent. Iris is a folksinger from Kansas, and her voice is unique. She is a good musician and a very good songwriter.

Her voice is high. Nails on a chalkboard high; I get it, but I don't.

Well, she was a staple on the show, and I figured out why one time while listening. Keillor introduced her and over-explained how they were going to sing "a love song" together.

He sounded like a quivering, licentious fiddler (not a musician) as he spoke to DeMent onstage in a way that was disturbing. Fucking Disturbing. 

They sang "That's the Way Love Goes," which Merle Haggard made a hit with. She sounded fine; he sounded like himself. Embarrassing.

Why on Earth DeMent kept going on that show I have no idea. Maybe she didn't feel he was doing anything, I don't know. We'll have to ask her.

Now...this incident:

I do not know the woman's side yet...Keillor has admitted to touching her, but that either she moved, or things didn't angle right, and she was taken aback.

He apologized. Is that what happened? I don't know, I was not there.

This is not to defend Keillor, because his track record of treating backstage people is not good. He's not the nicest man, I hear, but to be fair I have not met him.

I think we guys need to check ourselves. Even if we have not said/done anything, and our records and consciences are clear, here is the lesson I've learned over the years.

Men are NOT chick magnets. Women do NOT want us, just because we're there.

I've often felt my physical condition, look, size or whatever is hardly sexy by the standards that we're expected to uphold. Women, well, see what they're forced to deal with. It's worse. I don't think I need to go there.

As a man, I know certain things attract me, but I hope I know that is not what makes a person, not one bit. 

A little advice from an old guy about relationships, and the love thing: my experience has always been, that I didn't expect to fall for someone. 

I was not looking for it. It happened. It didn't matter to me who that person was, the feeling was there, and it went from there.

At my age, I have a lot of what I call Intellectual Friends. People I can talk to, hang out with, discuss things. I find those the best relationships, because those people become your friends.

That's about it.

We are going through them changes, and we've resisted change with every fiber. We can't live in the past anymore, we need live for the now, and for the future. It's changing, all of it is changing, we are changing.

Embrace the change. Accept the change, and know that change does not have to kill you. Unless you want it to. 

If that's the case and you cling to that past, my dear, you're on your own.

Peace, Out.