A LOVE STORY

They were too young.  Everyone said so as they wagged their heads in disapproval.  The collective wisdom agreed that they were too young to know anything about love or marriage or anything else. Why ruin your lives with responsibility?  Go to college, get your education, if it is real you’ll know with time.  Oh, they said all this and more. It was true. They were young.  They had no money and no plans, but they were in love. She was just 17 when she asked him to marry her. They both were committed to a marriage without shotguns so intimacy was postponed, but that was the time and the place where they had grown up as much as anything else. It was different then.  It was their idea to get married and they would not have it forced upon because the decision would not be theirs.   Besides, she was the willful child who once having made up her mind was not likely to change it.

The idea however had a major dash of ice water when she told her mother that she was in love and wanted to get married.  Her mother’s shocked response was to drop of stack of dishes that she had just unloaded from the dishwasher.  She screamed “No way!” to the sound of breaking glass.  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.  Your father will never approve.  You don’t even know the guy.”  The emotional outburst was followed by tears and hysteria.  It was not a conversation to be repeated, so the subject was not brought up again.

When he told his family that he was thinking about getting married, the reaction was just as vehement but for different reasons.  Gasp!  She was a Catholic and unworthy of consideration.  Besides, the death of his father mandated that he take over the family business and support his mother in the manner she had been accustomed to.  His life was planned as the oldest son, he was expected to take care of his family.  There really wasn’t any room for discussion on that front either.

After the initial negative responses, nothing more was said, but that didn’t mean they changed their minds.  Planning just went underground.  Because the reaction had been so overwhelmingly against the idea, she knew that if they were to get married without parental consent, it better be done right.  Now, where she knew that from is a mystery, but she was certain if they didn’t do it right, her father would hire lawyers to set it aside.  In the spring of her senior year at high school she would cut class and head for the law library downtown.  She’d wander in and sit for hours among the lawyers writing briefs; the clerks checking the citations and the librarians demanding silence from all.  At first she didn’t have any idea how to do legal research and she was afraid to ask anyone for fear that they would realize that she had ditched class.  Over time, she learned which books to go to and how to look up the marriage requirements of each and every state.  It was tedious work, but soon there was a neat stack of 3 x 5 cards on which she had written all the legal requirements for marriage in each and every state.  It was funny.  Many states in the south allowed her to get married without parental consent when she was 14, but he was a problem – he had to be 21 to get married just about everywhere. He was only 20.

As a testament to the old saying, “Where’s there a will, there’s a way;” she finally found what she was looking for. There was one state where they could go and get married.  North Carolina. They decided that was where they’d head.  Now, at the time they were living in New York State, so a trip to North Carolina took some planning. It was risky.  It was across state lines. They were both under age (back then the legal age was 21).  None of that mattered. On her eighteenth birthday, they left armed with copies of birth certificates and less than a hundred dollars in cash.  They drove like maniacs all night long ever watchful for passing patrol cars.  They both had visions of an all-points bulletin being issued for their return to the custody of their respective parents and being labeled as “incorrigible”.  They would be lucky to get off was stern reprimands.  Both expected to spend time in juvenile detention centers if caught.  When they crossed the border into North Carolina their relief was measurable.  They quickly obtained the license and rounded up an ancient Justice of the Peace.  Their marriage ceremony was a hasty affair witnessed by the five members of the Justice’s family and they all had to be over the age of 70.  After the “I dos”, the bride and the groom turned around and headed back to New York to face family and friends.  The disapproval of parents resulted in a 30 year schism on her side, and almost open warfare on his.  But they were together, and they felt invincible, strong and empowered because they had each other.

The years flew by.  They grew up together.  Love and respect continued to grow and flourish. They put each other through college and then graduate school.  There was trouble, pain and sometimes much difficulty, but still through it all their love grew.  They nurtured their love into a wonderful trusting relationship where they see and admire each other’s strong points. In an instant, fifty-five years had passed and they are more in love now than the day they ran away.  They have lived the words, “Come grow old with me, the best is yet to be.”  Indeed, the best is yet to come.

This is a true story.  I know as it is about me and my wonderful husband, Tom.  This month we celebrate 55 years of marriage, and they said it wouldn’t last.  It’s nice to reflect on the past and think – “Would I marry him again today?”  To that question I have to reply, “Oh yes! A thousand times, yes.  Without you, my love, my life would not have been whole.”  Like I said, I am the willful child.  My life has been of my making and this is one thing I did right.

Trying to get back to writing

I never knew it could be so difficult to get back to the computer and get my thoughts collected enough to start writing again.  I guess writing is like exercise.  It is easy to stop and hard to resume. Any excuse will do.  And believe me, I have a whole bunch of readymade excuses: I can’t go to the gym, it’s too late or it’s too early or it’s too crowded.  Sometimes I work harder at creating excuses for not working out than all the effort I would expend if I simply settled down and went to the gym.  But I digress.

At first, I must admit that I felt guilty about not writing.  Stray thoughts of “I really should be writing something if I’m serious about being an author” circled in my brain.  Recrimination and self-reproach tried their best to drive me back to the computer with rumblings of “I really should. . .” and “I’m wasting precious time. . .”   but being a practiced procrastinator, all of these thoughts were swiftly brought under control with a parade of excuses.  “I’m too busy” or “I’ll do it tomorrow” at first rang hollow in my ears but then settled comfortably into my writer-less routine.

For the past three months, I’ve written nothing. At first it was hard to do nothing, and then it was easier. I admit it.  And, this was the year of the New Year’s resolutions that promised to have a new book completed by mid-year.  Well, that isn’t going to happen.  What is it they say about the best laid plans of mice and men?

I’ve undertaken a new adventure of sorts – one that was unplanned, much delayed and totally dictated by circumstances.  I simply realized that I have too much stuff.  This has resulted in a serious distraction from the world of writing to the real life world of self imposed change.  Retirement looms.  Scary.

Moving, downsizing, and getting rid of stuff have all been first and foremost in my daily existence of late. You know, it’s the stage that old folks go through before they sell the farm and move to Florida. Retirement.   Withdrawal from the workforce.  Departure from the gainfully employed. I don’t really know what else to call this phase of life.  The operative word for it today seems to be “downsizing”.  That’s what you do when you retire and get rid of all the stuff that your kids don’t want – all the stuff that you’ve carted around for the last fifty years because it had sentimental value attached or because it was just easier to move than to part with.  I can almost understand hoarders now.  It isn’t so much that they want the stuff, there’s just that there’s no one else who wants it either.  I’ve learned firsthand that things you accumulate when you are young and think you’ll go on forever, actually are more of an encumbrance than a joy in later life.

If you live on the east coast, retirement means selling your house and moving to Florida.  You celebrate the change as never having to endure another snowstorm. But what do you do when you live in a paradise like Arizona?  There is no incentive to move to a warmer climate.  Change is more slowly approached.

It was a surprise then, when I turned my life upside down.  I sold a house, bought a house, updated it and learned the joys of remodeling and downsizing first hand and at the same time.  I now know that in reality either word “downsized” or “retirement” really mean “upheaval,” “turmoil,” “chaos” or even “discombobulation” (actually a word I made up but it seems to work). A type of insanity takes over.

After enduring three months of total disruption, I am slowly trying to return to the things I used to enjoy doing.  Today, I have my hands on the key board.  Tomorrow, I may get back to my book – maybe. I’m already working on some new excuses.

Sliding Into Retirement

It’s finally happening and without any fuss or fanfare.  I’m getting closer and closer to retirement. For five years now I’ve been planning and scheming on how to avoid the inevitable, but now it seems like it’s just happening.  I know one of these days in the not so distant future I will wake up and realize that I am not a lawyer anymore—that I’ve entered into a new phase of my life called retirement.  As a septuagenarian, that should be welcomed news.

Retirement.  Even the word used to scare me to death.  I would wake in the middle of the night and wonder how I would remake my life.  For over forty years now, my life has revolved around the needs of my clients, the merciless demands of a disinterested court’s calendar or the simply the siren’s call of the billable hour.  Vacations were few and far between, a reality if you chose an existence as a sole practitioner in the cut throat business of law.  In every sense of the word, my work was my life.  It came first above all else.  I didn’t mind because I loved what I was doing.  The law became interwoven into my sense of self.   I forgot the ‘me’ and became the lawyer.

I’m sure this isn’t an unusual state.  They tell you in law school – almost the very first day – that the law will become your jealous mistress. I remember laughing when I heard that.  “Sure, like I need a mistress in my life,” I thought.  But, of course, they were right.  I don’t even remember when it happened.  I slipped into that all consuming web.  It was exciting, intoxicating and stimulating all at once. Like a ride at Disneyland, there is a certain kind of regret when the ride is coming to an end.  You feel like buying another ticket and getting back in line to do it all over again.

So, how am I making this transition to the end of the line?  Well, it certainly hasn’t been quiet or boring, that’s for sure.  Since the beginning of the year, I bought a new home and started to renovate it to be my “ultimate dream house.”  I’ve sold my big house on the water which was a surprise to me because I never thought that I would sell it.  But, all of a sudden, it was the right thing to do. Now I look at it as a rite of passage into a new phase of life.  The new house seems to fit into the plan.

It’s really strange how I used to think big was better.  The operative word now is “downsizing”.  Small is the new incentive.  I am learning how to divest myself of a lifetime of things—many of which I don’t even remember the how or why they came into my life, let alone, why I’ve held on to them.

Because of all the activity and change, I really haven’t had time to focus on what my life will be as I move to my new retirement community.  I want to get back to writing.  Although I’ve started my third novel, it is definitely at the bottom of my ‘to do’ list these days. I will get back to it one of these days. I still have lots of characters in my head who want to come out and play.  And so as I slowly move toward the dreaded retirement, I find that it’s not so dreaded after all.

As part of the chaos that is my life this instant, is the Book Fair in Tucson to promote Tender Offers.  Of course, I will go and put my author hat on as part of my newly assumed retirement. For the first time in nearly a half century, I actually have some control over my calendar – imagine that!  Nice.

Authors’ Luncheon

This week has been exciting!  I was invited to speak at that annual Scottsdale AAUW Author’s Luncheon.  It was my first speaking engagement as an author, so I was really excited and honored to be invited.  I really had no idea what to expect, so I was pleasantly surprised to find about fifty congenial women who were interested in hearing what I had to say about my Tender Offer Books – enough so that they actually bought some. (Imagine that – I still can’t get used to that idea.  I’m still not used to this book signing thing though.  I find it difficult to understand why anyone would want my signature on anything that is not a check, but I digress.)  I had a half an hour to talk.  I worried on what I would say and how I would fill the time, but believe me, I wasn’t lost for words when someone handed me the mic.   The time flew by as I rattled on about how I wrote the books, the characters, the plot, the unsolved murder and why my villains are so villainous. It truly was grand fun.

I actually shared the stage with a well known bestselling author, Betty Webb.  Talk about blowing my socks off and keeping me humble, all I can say is “Wow!”  Betty is absolutely incredible.  She writes the Lena Jones series that are filled with socially relevant themes that have been the leading force for meaningful change.  Her book “Desert Wives” told the seamy side of Warren Jeff’s polygamy and was picked up by television.  It ultimately forced attention on forced marriage, and the reality of a cult lifestyle that most chose to ignore or worse, snicker about.  It is not often that I sit in awe of a person, but I have to say, on this occasion I was captivated — totally and completely awed.

My first thought was, “Boy!  Am I out of my league!”   It was humbling, and that’s a good thing.  (All lawyers need to be humbled once and a while. It keeps us livable.  Otherwise, we would be even more over bearing and obnoxious.)  As humbling as this experience was, there was much to be gained.  I’ve been mulling over how to react.  My first instinct was to say, “Who am I kidding?  I’ll never be a real author.”   Or, I could simply brush it aside and simply say “Well, she’s great, but she’s been doing it a long time,” and rationalize it as just one of those flukes that happen in life – kind of a mismatch.  Or it could be easy to shrink into my shell and say, “Well, I’ve had a great run as an attorney and I’ll never be as good of an author as Betty Webb.”

I’m not sure there is a correct way to react to a situation like this.  If there is, I admit, it has eluded me for decades.  All I can comfortably do is charge forward and keep trying.   Betty Webb will serve as my inspiration.  It may well be true – I may never be in Betty Webb’s class.  I may never again have an opportunity to share a stage with her, but I did have that one time.  I will let her be my new found star.  She will be my inspiration to keep me going.  So, thank you Betty Webb.  I may never be in your league, but thank you for graciously sharing the stage with me.  You are incredible.

Can A Lawyer Live in a World Where Reality Is Not Dictated By Facts?

An age old question hit me on the head today and forced me down a path that I probably wouldn’t have wandered down if left to my own devices.  The question I’ve been pondering deals with the issue of facts verses reality or in today’s more scientific jargon – which side of the brain is going to dominate.  Now as a child, I remember my father railing on the subject of facts verses emotion, usually in the context that women were non-factual thinkers and men were.  There definitely was the inference, if not the outright insinuation, that men were somehow superior because their minds were fact-based.  That was then and this is now.  I realize that I have both capacities.  I can do fact and I can do emotion.

Today, the question of fact verses emotion is usually couched in a discussion of which side of the brain controls.  There are those who maintain that a successful propaganda program hits the emotional side of the brain while rational thought hits the other side. It could be true.  I don’t know. However, I do recognize that trial lawyers use this phenomenon, perhaps without conscious thought.  The prosecutor uses an approach which goes to more toward factual analysis while the defense counsel is more prone to emotive arguments.

The whole question of fact verses emotion snuck up on me today by way of a stupid Facebook cartoon.  It was one of those insipid lawyer jokes that makes its way around the internet, gets rediscovered and makes its way around again.  Picture this.  A trial is going full force.  The judge is looking very judgmental wrapped in his black robe of power.  A lawyer is at the podium making lawyerlike arguments.  The other lawyer is seated at counsel’s table taking copious notes.  The court reporter is feverishly getting it all down to preserve appeal rights.   The twist is that instead of writing down the actual testimony, the court reporter is writing it down as a novel.  She records the proceedings thusly:

“The defendant appeared belligerent under the prosecutor’s merciless hammering.   His hands shake uncontrollably under the intense probing.   Beads of sweat break on his brow.  He feels the perspiration drip off his nose.  He is uncomfortable in his suit and tie, something he never wore while free but something that his attorney insisted that he wear for his testimony.  He squirms in his chair and takes a gulp of water.  His rage swells from within.  He is losing it; a meltdown is erupting into a murderous rage.  He lunges at the prosecutor.  ‘I did it!  Yes, I did it and I’m glad,’ he screams as he dives onto the prosecutor and starts punching him with angry blows.”

Of course, this isn’t the exact wording used in the joke.  I had to adlib a bit here because I like a good story, and well the joke just didn’t cut for me, but, you get the idea.  The type of descriptive narrative that a storyteller must engage in is very different from the world that I have inhabited for over forty years.  My world is of the old Dragnet variety – you know, “just the facts, ma’am” type of reality that doesn’t like embellishment.  Like a mathematical formula, facts lead to a predictable and of course, right conclusion.  This has been hard for me to learn because I’ve always liked a good story and somehow, ‘just the facts’ doesn’t make very interesting reading.  As I slip from the world of careful lawyering to storytelling, I realize you can take twists and turns along the way.

Too, bad this has taken me so long to figure out.   You can have all the drama – all the intensity of court without the drudgery of facts.  Sorry dad.  You lose on this one.  Like I said, I can do either fact or emotion.  They both have their place.

Springtime in Arizona

This blog a departure from my usual ones about what’s happening with my books as I undertake this exciting, painful and exhausting journey from lawyer to author.  Right now my life is filled with distractions, but all that is happening with my books can be summed up in a single word – “nothing”.  Well, that’s not entirely true, this week I will be an invited author at the AAUW Scottsdale Annual Author’s Luncheon.

Somehow, the books have taken a backseat position as I emerge almost as from a cocoon to the promise of renewal.  All of a sudden it’s spring in Arizona.   I find that it is impossible to focus.  I’m too busy relishing the joy of being alive and just sensing the wonders about me.  Springtime in Arizona is a wonderful restorative event that must be savored first hand to really understand what it is about.

To all you fans who traveled to Arizona for the Super Bowl thinking that you would kill two birds with one stone and get a bonus of wonderful sunshine in the middle of your winter while watching the game only to find Arizona with three days of consecutive rain – the first time in ten years — I want you to know that I’m sorry you didn’t get to share our glorious weather, but understand, it really is part of a secret plan.   It is a scheme to lure here with promises of wonderful warm sunshine just to get you here.  If you saw Arizona as it really is, you might want to stay.  So to set the record straight, I just want you to know that as soon as you left Arizona to return to your snow and cold, our glorious weather came back with clear beautiful days, flowers in the deserts and sunsets to die for.  Of course, it is a conspiracy to keep you from deciding that Arizona is so beautiful that you had to go home and sell everything to move here.  Arizonans are never inhospitable.  We would never do anything to make you feel unwelcome.  So we roll out the welcome mat and pretend that three days of rainy and cold weather is normal and that we like it – just like we pretend that the summer isn’t hot because it’s a “dry heat”.   The truth is that there are so few cloudy days that a few days of cloudy weather is nice for a change — however drizzling rain – that’s another story.  We love to have you visit, but want to keep the best place to live in this country as a secret for ourselves.  With more and more people moving here, it is harder and harder to keep this paradise to ourselves.

Just so you know what you are missing, as I sit writing this, my windows are open.  It is bright and sunny outside with temperatures in the high sixties heading for the low eighties.  The wonderful fragrance of orange blossoms fills the air.  The streets are lined with plum trees displaying their annual formal dress of white blossoms.  There is a gentle breeze whispering though the trees and yes, it feels like spring.

So, to you who had to go home to winter, you have my complete sympathy.  Since I am originally from Buffalo, New York, I truly can feel your pain of enduring gray skies, snow at your feet, frost on your windshield and icy roads.   For me, the rest of your winter will be endless sunshine, wide open spaces, beautiful mountains, balmy temperatures and endless flowers.  I am sorry you missed it, but you can come back anytime and see the real Arizona without the Super Bowl or the golf tour or the car sales, but then it wouldn’t be as much fun.  So you see, we really do want you to come, we just don’t want you to stay.

My First Year as an Author

The Tender Offers Books have been out just slightly under a year now and it has been a fantastic adventure.  It looks like I’m getting some real attention as an author.  I’ve been invited to speak at the Scottsdale, Arizona Branch of the AAUW for its annual authors’ luncheon.  And, I’ve been invited to the Tucson Festival of Books.   I’ve endured the ups and downs of great reviews and critical ones, too.  And I’ve tried to learn from both.  I’ve experimented with social media which has been a brand new undertaking for me and opened doors I never knew before.  I’ve learned how to blog, and promote books, and do videos for YouTube.  To say that it’s been an exciting year is really an understatement.

Now, I am getting some recognition as an author and I must say that I am truly flattered.  I’ve spent my entire life avoiding the limelight.  I never was the type of lawyer that wanted the attention of the press, even when I’ve handled high profile cases and I’ve had plenty of those.  In fact, I never really wanted to talk to the press and made it a practice to give the lawyerly “no comment” response to all inquires.   Now that is changing and I have to learn how to deal with it.

This transition from an active practicing attorney to semi-retired attorney to author has been quite a process.  There have been many times that I have felt totally lost and at odds with who I am and what I am doing.   Honestly, there have been days when all I’ve felt is overwhelmed.  I can’t remember which hat I am wearing and it is hard to separate my clients’ needs from my heroine’s distress.  There are days when I suffer from one of the maladies of old age – the CRS syndrome (“can’t remember s**t” syndrome), and then, I really don’t know what I’m doing at all.  Endless hours are spent looking for a file or re-researching something I did the day before.  Other days, I just want someone to tell me how much time I’ll have in my “golden years” so I can smack them good before the delusion spreads further. The practice of law still demands much time and attention and writing is still more of a hobby than a career, and transition is much harder than I thought it would be. It is hard to unlearn a lifetime of skills and responses.  Sometimes the lawyer response is exactly opposite what I should do as an author.  I still almost instinctively want to avoid the press.

So as I continue with this learning process, I find the many friends (both old and new) that I have connected with on LinkedIn, Facebook and social media have been a wonderful support system full of ideas and information.  I owe them all a big “thank you” for all the interest and comments.  I want you to know that you all have been with me every step of this wild ride, but for me, I am enjoying every single delightful minute of this adventure.

For those of you who are interested, here is the information for upcoming events:

The link for the Tucson Book Festival:  http://tucsonfestivalofbooks.org/?id=14

The AAUW luncheon is on February 18, 2015 at 11:00 am to 1:30 pm at the Artichoke Grill at the Scottsdale Community College Culinary Arts School

Book Fair

Book Fair

I suppose I should be honored because I’ve been invited to participate as an author in a Book Fair in Tucson, Arizona, March 14th and 15th.  This invitation only event will be the first Book Fair I’ve ever attended, so I have to admit that I don’t have a clue what to expect.  I know that I will be there to promote my Tender Offers Books, and to answer questions and meet people.  Okay.  I can do that. No problem.  I wonder though, how in the world will I fill two whole days if no one shows up?  It is rather like having a party when none of the guests shows up or maybe, just like crying in the wilderness “Is anyone there?”

This, of course, makes me wonder how I could have lived so long and never gone to a Book Fair before.  I mean, I am a reader first and foremost.   I must read a hundred books a year, so why am I a new comer to this type of event.  Oh, I’ve been to trade shows galore.  There is nothing quite like the book sellers at the Bar Conventions.  So, I guess I have some familiarity with book selling in general, but I’ve been told this will be different from anything like that.  It will be like a huge book signing event.

My books have been out a nearly a year now.  It has been an exciting ride to say the least.  I keep learning new things about the industry and about being an author.  I even have a couple of book signings under my belt and they have been enjoyable.  I think that the best part about doing this new venture has been the people I’ve met – especially the other authors.  They are a diverse group of people who have broadened my outlook from my usual contacts and acquaintances.  I’ve come to understand that lawyers can be a relatively boring bunch of people.  Obviously, that is a broad generalization that I hesitate to do, but some of the lawyers I’ve known can only discuss the law and legal issues.

As I head toward retirement from this honored profession (honored at least in the view of this lawyer – others may disagree) I am learning that there really is a life after practicing law that is exciting, gratifying and people oriented.  For that I am grateful.   So I welcome every new adventure, including the Book Fair and similar events as another step in the process of transition to a more expansive world.  The event will be great even if no one shows up.

Meantime, my life is filled with distractions as I get involved in a new project of “Let’s remodel this house.”  In anticipation of a life of retirement, I bit the bullet and bought a new home in a retirement community.  Now, I’m in the throes of remodeling it to make it mine.   Believe me actually doing a remodeling job is not as easy as it looks on HGTV, but it is guaranteed to keep me busy for a couple of months and too busy to worry about book fairs or anything else.

If anyone is interested, the Book Fair is going to be at the University of Arizona, and yes, I’ll be there with bells on promoting the heck out of Tender Offers.  Come see me so I won’t be lonely.

Good Old Fashioned Villains

Not many of us remember the early days of the movies with the “Perils of Pauline”.   The classic series came out about 1914, and was one of the first silent movies.  Because there was no dialogue to carry the story line, the acting was all.  Mind you, I am not old enough to actually remember going to the movies to see the weekly episodes of “Perils of Pauline”.   Although I am old – old enough to be referred to as a senior citizen—I  am not that old.   What I know about the “Perils of Pauline” is not much, but I do think the character Pauline was forever being rescued from a multitude of villains.  She carries the historic brand as the beautiful but trouble-prone female that always needed to be rescued.  (Not my kind of character at all.)  However, the series is notable because it started the trek down the screen path to villainous villains that will live forever in our collective memories as wicked characters.

And, this brings to mind another one of the early screen characters who was really the archetype of all villainous characters to follow in the next several decades.  You’ve probably heard the name Snidely Whiplash — the most evil of all creative characters.  Snidely Whiplash was the arch enemy of Dudley Doright, that stalwart Canadian Mountie who always got his man.  Somehow, Snidely always managed to escape capture though his evil plotting.  In the episodic  adventures, the audience was held spellbound by the conniving that marked Snidely a villain.  In fact, Snidely Whiplash probably set the standard for truly wicked characters for at least five decades.  In the world of over the top acting, Snidely Whiplash carried the day with his pure unadulterated nefarious behavior.  There was no one more cunning, devious, or just plain despicable than good old Snidely.  The audiences loved seeing a villain escape justice.

Make no mistake about it though, in those days, good was good and evil was evil.  The audience might cheer for Snidely, but it was always clear that he was the bad guy.  As Hollywood got more sophisticated, the bad guys wore black hats and the good guys wore white ones.  There was no possibility that the audience would get it wrong.  There was no “Fifty shades of gray” to cloud our perception with regard to the actions of the actors or judgments as to morality.

Move forward nearly a hundred years, and much has happened.  The biggest change is that Hollywood no  longer has good guys and bad guys.  The supposed good guys have flaws which undermine their characters, and the bad guys are all warm and fuzzy endowed with the milk of human kindness as they engage in cold blooded murder.  This is supposed to be provocative and I agree, it is that, but it leaves the viewer disturbed.  It is discombobulating to find justice elusive and good blurred into evil and vice versa.

All of this leads me to look critically at characters in books.  Have the villains in books become more villainous?   And if so, what makes them so villainous?  What do readers expect of the anti-hero?  And then, I have to ask myself, “What do I lean toward—the nuanced villain, or the Snidely Whiplash variety?”   I suppose I like villains that are real life anti-heroes, but that being said, I want my villains to stay in character.  I would not expect someone capable of murder to be compassionate, or to empathize with the victim.  I look for a type of calculated coldness – a state of unfeeling.   Conversely, I would not expect my female protagonist  – remember, I like strong female characters – to succumb to the ravages of temptation and fall into the black despair of evil.

I understand that there’s a kind of rogue villain—the one you love to hate because he is likeable even though he is naughty.  That’s just it.  He’s naughty–not wicked. The rogue is in my mind more like a  little boy who manages to tell an adorable lie.  However, this type of character will never manage to achieve my standards as a true coldhearted died-in-the-wool villain.  The rogues will have to remain on the sidelines in my books.   I’m in for black and white – good guys and bad guys.

So where do you put Aaron Rose?  Don’t know who I’m talking about?  For shame!  You need to read Tender Offers –both books — to see about him and how you would classify him.  Let me know.

Does anyone make New Years’ Resolutions anymore?

Well, here it is – a brand new year to make into whatever you want.  Isn’t it wonderful?  We all get a chance to wipe the slate clean and start all over again.  Just think of all the possibilities.  I remember when I was a child, the New Year started with a list – not quite like the list that I made for Santa.  No, this list was different.  Santa was usually all about what I wanted for me.  A list New Years’ resolutions was about what I wanted to do to me – how I needed to change.  Admittedly, the list of resolutions was not as long as the one I made for Santa, but then children have very little perception about improvement.  I certainly didn’t.  My list usually included things like picking up after me (something that really stuck), or not being disrespectful to my elders (something that I’m still working on, but it is getting easier as I’m getting to be the oldest one around.)  The point is though there wasn’t a lot of thought that went into my list.

As I got older, the list (if it was made at all) was more about losing five pounds or not spending as much money.  Yes, they were areas in which improvement could always be made, but they were still about me.  Now, if I think of New Years’ resolutions at all, it is about things I have to do.  In fact, I could probably call it my annual To Do List – you know, taxes, contracts, thank you notes.   This kind of list has very little relationship to self improvement.  It certainly is not about how to change the way I am or how I relate to the world around me.

As I write this I have to admit that I am in awe of the opportunity to really try something new and different.  What would happen if just once every day, I did something kind for someone else and that someone else did something kind for another person?  It could be contagious.  Instead of flipping off a bird, I could learn to smile and say “that’s okay;” or “I’m sorry;” (even if whatever happened wasn’t my fault).  What would happen if I actually listened to what someone is saying?   What would happen if I stopped and helped someone in need?  How about if I actually stopped and talked to the person who just asked me for money?  Would it hurt if I did one of these things every day?

Today, it seems like we’re totally estranged from each other.  We are more interested in being right than being caring.  What would it hurt if we were just kind to each other one time a day?

Okay.  Just for the record, this year I intend to dispense with my normal self improvement list and try something different.  I will have one resolution only. I resolve to be kind at least once a day.  I don’t mean artificially kind – I mean genuinely concerned about someone else, perhaps a co-worker, an acquaintance or even a stranger.   I will be concerned, companionate, respectful and to the best of my ability, helpful.  I will try a little love for a change, and spread it around.

So, how about it?  Does anyone out there want to try this too?