Evolution Of A Writer & Meeting My Husband At The Same Time by Joel Craig

Today we have a guest blogger!  Joel Craig is touring the blogosphere with his new memoir, NURSING HELLO!  Today he talks about the evolution of a writer and meeting his husband at the same time.  Enjoy!

 
Evolution Of A Writer & Meeting My Husband At The Same Time
by Joel Craig

My history of writing has been journal writing, play and screen writing and eventually comic books.  In the early 2000’s, I started a theatre company with my friends called Off Hollywood and we wrote plays and performed them on the Hudson Avenue stage that we

rented in Hollywood. We were able to workshop plays that myself and my friends wrote. Once we are satisfied with the staged readings (so we could hear our work out loud) we would plan a production so that others could see our work. Also I met my future husband Donovan for the first time when he came in to audition for Off Hollywood  for the company. Luckily he was chosen to be part of the company. We performed together in the play, The Son’ll Come Out Tomorrow by Christopher Reidy (one of the co-founders) and the rest is history. Eventually the theatre company disbanded but our work has lived on. Reidy’s play just performed in September at the Roanoke Diversity Center in Roanoke, Virginia. Stephen Foster (another co-founder) wrote a play about Joan Crawford, Bette Davis and Judy Garland fighting to play the lead in the movie version of Joan of Arc called Legends & Bridge. That play is being performed this December in Rahway, NJ at the UCPAC Hamilton Stage just twenty minutes from New York City.

After I became an RN, my work schedule was erratic. I worked every other weekend so that made performing in theatre impossible so I turned to writing short screenplays and eventually drawing cartoons about my work. I would add fantasy dream sequences about conversations I had with rock singer, Madonna so that my writing was not just about work. Why her? Because I’ve wanted to be like her my whole life. She is a successful business woman who is also creative and even she, the most famous woman in the world, is a failed actor. Adding fun and imagination into my story really opened my writing up. And I could go to the moon and back and not spend a dime. I didn’t just write about two people on a stage or film screen but I could go anywhere and do anything and not worry about if I could fit it onto a stage or having a runaway film budget.  The possibilities were endless. That excited me. My cartoons were easier to share with the world. The cartoons were on paper so anyone could read it at anytime, not just on the weekends at the Hudson Avenue theatre in Hollywood.

Another factor which was a key to my writing at the time when I first became a nurse was that I started working on the night shift. Most of my friends worked during the daytime so not only was I working at night but I was isolated from my friends. Donovan worked nights too but one time (luckily only 2-3 months) he worked on the nights that I was home and vice versa. More isolation. Yuk.

My graphic novel started out as two booklets called zines. Each zine had thirty-six pages. I took my zines to comic book shops and they carried my work on consignment. That is when the store agrees to sell your work and the two of you decide on what money percentages each gets. Usually it is a 50/50 split where the author gets 50% and the store gets 50%.  In some cases the author gets 60% and the store gets 40%. I like that one better. Meltdown comics on Sunset Blvd in Hollywood sold my comics which sold alright. Sales were slow. I may have sold ten comic books. But I just got Skylight Books in Los Feliz (which is right next door to Hollywood) to carry my graphic memoir Welcome To Nursing HELLo, a Graphic Memoir on consignment. This happened only a few weeks ago so I will wait and see what happens.

One store that worked well for me was  this store online called Microcosm Publishing, which also sold zines and books on consignment on the Internet. I sent them one of my zines not thinking they would want to carry them but they did! I was excited. Since they started carrying my work around 2010 I have probably sold 150-200 zines. (I really need to keep close track of my inventory but I admit I am unorganized.) I won’t be quitting my day job over this but I am excited that people are reading my work.

Would I have written my 190 page graphic memoir if I had not become an RN ? Who knows. But I have my book that people can enjoy. My book is funny and has non-nursing things in there such as: an awful job interview, the “Mood Swing”, fighting with my husband in Venice and why I made Madonna cry. So run (don’t walk) to a computer terminal to order my book on Amazon and if you are a writer keep writing.

JOEL CRAIG is a nurse who works at a busy hospital in Los Angeles and lives with his husband, Donovan. They have been married twice with the second time finally being legal. In addition to writing about nursing, Joel is also an actor, having appeared in the films, Sideshow and Sordid Lives. Currently

he is acting in the web series, What’s My Intention? He's working on his next graphic novel, Vampire Nurse in Hollywood. 

His latest book is the graphic memoir/nonfiction, Welcome to Nursing HELLo: A Graphic Memoir.

For More Information

• Visit Joel Craig’s website.
• Connect with Joel on Facebook and Twitter.

 

Remembering My Mom: The Living Memories Project by Meryl Ain

Remembering My Mom: The Living Memories Project

By Meryl Ain 

My mother would have turned 93 this year. When she died after a brief illness in November 2006, although I knew she had lived a long life, I was bereft.  There is never enough time with a loved one.

My mom was my best friend, a reliable loving, comforting, and wise presence in my life.  I

spoke to my mother several times a day. When there was a lull at work, she was the one I called. When something wonderful happened, I called her. When something challenging happened, I called her. When I needed advice, she was the one I trusted. I could always count on her to be a calm and intelligent sounding board.

She looked at least 10 years younger than she was, and even when the freak cancer attacked her, her mind and heart were still intact. Although I was happily married with three grown sons, a daughter-in-law, and a granddaughter, I confess I didn’t know how I was going to go on without my mom. In addition, although I was in my 50’s, I was now officially an “orphan,” my father having died after a long illness a year and a half before.  It meant that I would not be able to call her when our other sons became engaged, nor would she be at their weddings. She would not enjoy seeing our granddaughter Grace, who was then less than two, grow into the beautiful and talented eight-year-old she is now, nor would she even know future grandchildren.

I was in a funk, going through the motions but not really enjoying it.  I was told it would get better after a year and that I needed closure. I began speaking with my friends about how to achieve it and came to the conclusion that there is no closure with those we love deeply. They are in our lives and in our hearts forever, although they are not physically present. Some keep alive their memories through small acts, such as looking at photos and making recipes.  Others do big things to carry on the legacies and values of their loved ones, such as establishing foundations. 

My mother was essentially a cheerful, optimistic person.  When I was bored, sad, or depressed, she would say: “Get yourself a project.” A project could be anything from cleaning out a closet to writing a book. My mother had actually written two unpublished manuscripts, one about her life as a WAC in World War II, and another about her family history. 

So I decided my project would be to interview people about how they keep alive the memories of their loved ones. I was hoping to get ideas from them, and to heal myself. I enlisted the support of my husband, Stewart, and my brother, Arthur, and together we captured the stories of more than 30 individuals who created tributes – big and small – as living memorials.  The project was therapeutic and cathartic for us; not only did it give us wonderful material, but it turned into an inspiring book and an amazing tribute to my mom.  

It is our hope that those who read The Living Memories Project will find comfort and meaning through honoring the never-ending influence of those who are no longer here.

About the Author:

Meryl Ain holds a BA from Queens College, a MA from Columbia University Teachers College, and an Ed.D. from Hofstra University. She began her career in education as a

social studies teacher before she became an administrator. She is also a freelance writer specializing in issues related to education, families, parenting, and children and has contributed to Huffington Post, Newsday, the New York Jewish Week and The New York Times. She embarked on The Living Memories Project after she lost both her father and mother within a year-and-a-half. She and her husband Stewart live on Long Island and have three sons, three daughters-in-law and three grandchildren.

For More Information

• Visit The Living Memories Website.
• Connect with The Living Memories Project on Facebook and Twitter.
• Visit their incredible trailer at YouTube.
• The Living Memories Project is available on Amazon.
• Order the book from Little Miami Publishing.

Special Guest: Cary Smith, author of 'Four Corners'

Cary Smith, the nom de plume of Greg Hawkins, lives in San Jose, CA. He became interested in books and writing because of a teacher. His favorite book is "Hocus Pocus," by Kurt Vonnegut or “100 Years of Solitude” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. He is currently either going to finish his collection of short stories next or turn one of his short stories into a novel, which would be a new take on the ghost genre.

His latest book is Four Corners, Or a Book That Will Tickle Your Intellectual Nipple.

Visit him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/tickleintellectual.

About the Book:

High school. Those two words, for some, instill fear and loathing and vivid memories of sadistic teachers, bullies, and bad lunches. For some happy few, however, high school remains a misty paradise, where a student's budding

dreams and aspirations were nurtured by brilliant, sympathetic teachers, guidance counselors and peers.

Cary Smith, the nom de plume of Greg Hawkins, clearly falls into the first group, as he describes in his hilarious new book, FOUR CORNERS, OR A BOOK THAT WILL TICKLE YOUR INTELLECTUAL NIPPLE.  With a keen sense of the absurd, Smith thrusts his satirical sword straight at the jugular vein of all things pretentious and pedantic that haunt the halls of the educational world. Nothing is spared as Smith takes on the institution of secondary education. Readers will wince in recognition at the cast of characters Smith has created – the brains, jocks, bullies, cliques, incompetent teachers and pompous administrators – who all take a good drubbing from the flat side of Smith's sword.

“I don't know why I thought that when middle school was over that high school would be a brand new place, a fresh start,” Smith writes. “Maybe it was because all my teachers in middle school were implanting their lectures about how in high school the teachers wouldn't let you get away with this and that and that it would be a very different place. Well, as usual, the teachers of the system lied to me ...”

For good measure, Smith creates another archetypal character – Brad Cruise, a symbol of the pseudo-intellectual critics and pedagogues who inhabit academia. If you spotted Cruise's name as a mash-up of Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, that's what the author intended.

Hawkins also points out that, while Cary Smith is the “satirical narrator” of FOUR CORNERS, “what we come to find out is that not only does he have a humorous side, he has a serious side, and he does, in fact, care, despite what he may say.”

Although much of Smith's writing is clearly based in personal experience, Hawkins says the book is satirical fiction. The book's style is steeped in hyperbolic language and literary hi-jinx that hark back to the 18th-century comic classic TRISTRAM SHANDY.

“I wrote FOUR CORNERS to entertain people,” Hawkins says, “not only to help people get through the turbulent time that is high school in America, but to make people feel OK about the time they spent during those years.” He adds:  “There is no one, to my knowledge, writing with this type of narrator, about this subject matter, in such a style and manner, and writing humorously. It is very hard to find a good book with a blend of the serious and comedic.”

Guest Post:

My insurrection against the educational system of America failed, and all I wanted was some compensation for my age group, not a complete destructive revolution where the people of the new end up being exactly like the people of the old. It was an insurrection of which I was able to gain no followers, fellow leaders (I wasn’t offering that really), and pretty much no momentum whatsoever.  I’m not to blame for that, and I don’t care what my ghostwriter thinks or tells me otherwise.  The ghost just takes one thing from my life, a little moment, one sexual mistake which involved a hairy nipple, a mistake of which I really wish I could ask my ghost writer, “Could we never, ever bring this up again?”  This one mistake supposedly ruined my whole insurrection.  It ruined me, my ideals, my plan, my thoughts, just as they (ideals, plan, thoughts) and I were about to collide, but I don’t believe that.  I believe my only mistake was in hiring this ghostwriter who now has an obsession with my hairy nipple incident that I told him about. 

I had a justifiable insurrection going on before I fled the idea all together, and my insurrection inspiration got its starting blocks early in my life.  Ever since I could remember in my educational career, either right when I got to the school, or was just about to leave and go to another school, construction was started on the school to improve it.  Construction that would be completed right when I left or a year after.  It was like “they” were shoving it in my face, saying, “Na-na-na-na, this school is going to be nice, clean and new, but just not while you’re here.”  It had been that way for my age group since elementary school, and continued into middle school, high school, and even some in college.  It was as if I were in some guinea pig age bracket, the last group to be fashioned in the environment of the old schools, and as soon as my friends (my age group) and I left, “they” could start fashioning the new modern ages, in the new modern schools. 

Who “they” is? I’ve got no idea, and I think that was a big problem in losing credibility in my insurrection. 

I don’t know what “they” expected to happen, other than an insurrection.  Just leaving my age group out there like a floating fart in the wind.  Making us the new Lost Generation (or Lost Generation Redux), with a fart in the wind war that didn’t seem like it was going to end, even in twenty-ten.

As the Paper Shreds by Kathy Holmes

As the Paper Shreds
By Kathy Holmes

I was living/working in a high-stress job in Silicon Valley, had recently married my soulmate, and was longing to switch careers. I started thinking about my love of fiction and how I’d promised myself that one day I would write a novel. Sound familiar? Anyway, with my new husband’s whole-hearted encouragement, on January 31, 2002, I ordered the “Immediate Fiction” workshop course from the Writer’s Loft in Chicago. I discovered later that this was the same workshop that my favorite author Laura Caldwell participated in.

About this same time, I’d read The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks, Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller and The Gazebo by Emily Grayson. These books inspired me to try my hand at writing a similar book. My first two manuscripts, Carmel Knowledge and Lies! Camera! Action! got agent requests but not agent. I buried these on my computer.

By this time I’d discovered Chick Lit when I read Laura Caldwell’s Burning the Map and we’d just moved to Florida. Totally in love with this new genre, I sat out on the screened Lanai with my laptop, played Jimmy Buffet and Steel Drum music, slathered on the Hawaiian Tropic to get into the mood for a Caribbean cruise and wrote Real Women Wear Red. Not only did I begin to get full requests from agents but one agent offered me representation. Not only that, but this was manuscript #3 and Nicholas Sparks didn’t sign until manuscript #4. Woo hoo! I thought I was on my way.

Unfortunately, I’d discovered Chick Lit a little too late because by this time we were hearing that Chick Lit was dying and my book didn’t find a home with a major publishing house, much to my agent’s and my disappointment. I was offered a contract with an e-publishing house. After much consideration, I decided to turn down the contract (hard to do because it was exciting being offered that first contract), part with my agent, and self-publish before self-publishing was the hot option it is now.

This was before Kindle so after it ran its course in the print market, it was revitalized with the new Kindle market and it continues to sell.

For my next novel, The Tom Jones Club, I decided to sign with an e-publishing house because I knew how hard self-publishing is. It was a relief to hand off some of that responsibility to somebody else, although I did miss the control I’d had with self-publishing.

My third and latest published novel, Letters on Balboa Island, received interest from romance publishers, but they wanted me to adhere to romance guidelines I just didn’t want to adhere to. I felt it would change the story too much, so I decided to self-publish again.

Each one of these publishing experiences was an experiment. What I learned is that it’s important to consider what type of book you’re writing before you decide how best to publish it. What works for one author or one genre doesn’t work for another and you have to shut out the noise out there that tells you to do it one particular way.

Born in the City of Angels, raised on Walt Disney, and inspired by the dreams of both, Kathy Holmes grew up in southern California halfway between Disneyland and the beach.

Tantalized by the tropics since Adam Troy set sail on the Kon Tiki in James A. Michener’s “Adventures in Paradise,” she traveled to tropical destinations such as Hawaii, Florida, the Caribbean, Mexico, and Asia Pacific. Eventually, she moved to Florida where she wrote and secured representation for Real Women Wear Red. She also wrote for Walt Disney World and the Orlando Sentinel.

After living in Las Vegas for a few years, Kathy, her husband, and their three Burmese cats have moved back to Florida and are now living halfway between Walt Disney World and the beach in Central Florida.

Her latest book is Letters on Balboa Island.
Visit her on the web at www.KathyHolmes.net.
Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Amazon| Amazon Kindle | Smashwords l Official Tour Page

About Letters on Balboa Island

When Rosalie Martin was seventeen, she knew two things that were true: (1) You couldn’t help but meet a man in a military uniform in southern California in the 1950s, and (2) Sooner or later, men would leave. But that didn’t stop her mother, her sister, or even herself from trying to find a man who would stay. And before she knew it, she had not only one man on her hands, but two. 

When Rosalie sends a Dear John letter to the one serving in the Korean War to marry the one back home, she begins a life of secrets and regrets. Years later, when letters surface on Balboa Island, she realizes she may have chosen the wrong man. So when fate gives her the chance to make a different choice, will she? Or has she lived a life of lies for too long?

How Lying Will Make Us Better Writers by Noah Baird

Noah Baird wanted to attend the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Clown College, but his grades weren’t good enough (who knew?).  However, his grades were good enough to fly for the U.S. Navy (again, who knew?), where he spent 14 years until the government figured out surfers don’t make the best military aviators. He has also tried to be a stand-up comedian in Hawaii for Japanese tourists where the language barrier really screwed up some great jokes. On the bright side, a sailboat was named after the punchline of one of his jokes.

He has several political satire pieces published on The Spoof under the pen name orioncrew.  Noah received his bachelors in Historical and Political Sciences from Chaminade University, where he graduated magna cum laude. He knows nothing about hoaxing Bigfoot. Donations to Clarity is his first novel.

You can visit his website at www.noahbaird.com or his blog at www.noahbaird.wordpress.com.
Connect with him at Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Noah-Baird-Writer/100193913390453.

About Donations to Clarity

The plan was simple: hoax bigfoot, then sell tours to bigfoot enthusiasts. The plan wasn’t brilliant, and neither were Harry, Earl, and Patch. The three chemical-abusing friends only wanted to avoid the 9 to 5 rat race, but their antics attract the attention of a real bigfoot. When the misogynistic Earl is mistaken for a female bigfoot by the nearsighted creature and captured; it is just the beginning of their problems.

The U.S. Government has a plan to naturalize the mythical creatures living within the U.S. borders.  The problem is the plan needs to be carried out carefully.  You can’t just drop little green men and Sasquatch in the middle of Walmart without warning Ma and Pa Taxpayer. The naturalization program is not ready to be set into motion, and the rogue bigfoot is bringing too much attention to itself, including a feisty investigative reporter who uncovers the truth of the government conspiracy and two bigfoot researchers. No longer able to contain the situation, government agents are tasked with eliminating the bigfoot and all witnesses.

Between bong hits and water balloon fights, Harry and Patch come up with a plan to save Earl and the lovestruck bigfoot. Where do you hide a giant, mythical creature? In an insane asylum, because who is going to listen to them?

Along the way, the three friends learn Star Wars was a government training film for children, the truth behind Elvis meeting President Nixon, and the significance of the weight of the human turd.

How Lying Will Make Us Better Writers
By Noah Baird

Hi, everyone! I’m Noah Baird, author of Donations to Clarity. Today, I am guest blogging for As the Pages Turn.

Today we are going to talk about lying. I used to be a liar; now I write fiction. I lied so well someone published me. That means I have a black belt in telling lies. I am a Jedi Master of Bull.

You’ve been told your entire life not to tell a lie. As children, we held George Washington is great esteem because he could not tell a lie. Turns out, that whole little story about George was itself a big lie. We were told a lie to teach us not to lie. So, pull up your big-boy pants, and start squeezing that bs gland.

Lying will make you a better writer. Not those little ‘white lies’ we tell each other. I don’t mean when you tell your wife she looks great in those new jeans, or when you tell the neighbors how cute their mutant children are. I mean a gigantic, steaming pile of a lie. The kind of lies you can barely keep a straight face telling. Lies so big you feel sorry for anyone who believes you.

Mark Twain said, or at least he’s credited for saying, “Why shouldn’t truth be stranger than fiction? Fiction, after all, has to make sense.” The same goes for a lie. Have you ever heard a young child lie? Small children lie so poorly it is hardly worth listening to. It’s not until we are teenagers that our skill at lying becomes believable. And it’s not until we start drinking that they start becoming truly entertaining.

To write fiction is to lie. We pull the threads of bs out of the ethereal and weave the fabric of fibbery. If you want to write fiction that is believable, then you need to lie with conviction.

I lie to my children nearly everyday. I’ve told them lies, they have repeated my lies in school, and I get phone calls from stern-sounding teachers wanting to discuss their concerns about my fibbing children. That was another lie; my ex-wife gets phone calls from the teachers. I just get the talk.

I once told my son, who was attending preschool at a Presbyterian church, the reason we celebrated the Easter Bunny was because when Jesus died and was buried in a cave, an egg-shaped rock was placed in front of the cave so Jesus couldn’t get out. The Easter Bunny pushed the rock away from the cave and saved J.C. The chocolate symbolizes the wood of the crucifixion. We got a very nice phone call from the school to discuss what I’m teaching the children.

Sometimes I lie because my children ask far too many questions for their size. I have two little boys, 4 and 7, who are bubbling fountains of questions. Sometimes I lie because I don’t know the correct answer, but usually I lie because it’s a lot more fun.

One day while shaving, flanked by both boys quizzing me on my shaving ritual, my oldest asked me, “Dad, why do you grow hair all over your body and mommy doesn’t?” I crouched down to their level, looked them both in the eyes, and very seriously explained to them I was a werewolf. I had to shave because some people are afraid of werewolves, and I didn’t want to scare them. I watched as their eyes grew big. They both nodded obediently when I explained this was a big secret and they shouldn’t tell people I was a werewolf.

Here are the facts as I described them:

• My hair is brown when I’m a werewolf (they asked).
• I don’t transform in front of them because I’m afraid it would scare them.
• I won’t eat the dog.
• I became a werewolf when I was bitten by a werewolf when I was a boy. That makes me a 2nd Generation Werewolf.
• They may also be werewolves, but they usually won’t show until they are teenagers. They would only be half werewolf because their mother doesn’t like this werewolf business. That would make them 3rd Generation Werewolves.
• They may show signs early. I instructed them to check their feet when they woke up after a full moon. If their feet were dirty, then they were out howling at the moon.

At this point, the reader should expect a story about frightened children who could not sleep; afraid of the werewolf dad prowling around in the dark. My lie had the opposite effect: it stopped the bad dreams, monsters in the closet, and moving shadows on the wall. I hadn’t made the connection until I overheard the boys playing. My oldest, speaking as the elder statesman of the two, wished the boogyman would break into our house so I could transform into a werewolf and scare him away. My youngest speculated I would only need to show the boogyman my claws and roar, and the boogyman would never scare another kid again.

My double life as a werewolf has been the answer to numerous prepubescent concerns. Vampires? Werewolves and vampires don’t bite each other’s children because we are equally strong. A vampire attacking a werewolf’s pups would be inviting an attack on their children. Peace is maintained through equal power; the Cold War with fangs.

Zombies? Werewolves don’t taste good to zombies so they stay away from us. Of course, no self-respecting werewolf would ever eat a zombie. That’s just disgusting.

My oldest is now at the stage where he’s excessively fascinated with guns, war, and all about my military experience. Enter the werewolf; I fought in the Great Werewolf-Zombie War. Werewolves and Vampires rounded up all of the zombies and locked them into underground bunkers (because you can’t kill zombies. Duh!). You try to explain the U.S.’s foreign policy in the 21st century to a four year old. There are people running for president who can’t explain why we’re in Afghanistan.

Now, at this point, you are probably thinking: Noah, lying to children isn’t hard. And you are correct. I lie to adults too.

Many years ago, I was teaching an oceanography class to some young men and women who were working for the U.S. government. This particular portion of the lecture covered topics such as plate tectonics and Mohorovičić Discontinuity (In scientific terms, Mohorovičić Discontinuity is the surfboard the land rides over the mantle).

Because I wasn’t as familiar with the subject matter as I needed to be, as well as the students’ insistence on asking too many damn questions, I convinced them the reason the earth’s core was liquid was because of the ‘Half-Baked Brownie Effect.’ Never heard of the ‘Half-Baked Brownie Effect’? Well, I’ll explain it to you. The reason the earth’s core is liquid is because the earth is too far from the sun to bake all of the way through. Space is cold, right? So as the earth rotates around the sun, the dark side of the earth cools off, which causes the center to never fully bake. As far as I know, there are about thirty people working for our government who believe this to be true. The next time you hear of the government pushing another head-scratching policy; just remember this story.

You’re welcome.

On a road trip with my wife-at-the-time, we drove from New York into Pennsylvania. We passed a sign along the highway welcoming us to Pennsylvania, and about a half mile down the road we pass the back of the ‘Welcome to New York’ sign. My then-wife turned to me and asked why there was such a large distance between the two signs. I explained to my soon-to-be-ex-wife that the ink on maps which demarcate the boundaries between states occupies physical space on the earth. That narrow ink line on the map was about a half of a mile wide on the earth. This is where the term ‘No Man’s Land’ comes from. My ex-bride-to-be pointed out there was houses in the space between the two state borders. I explained those houses belonged to whatever state was closest to the house’s master bedroom. Houses on the north side of the street were New York.

Houses on the south side were Pennsylvania. If your bedroom faced east or west, then you flipped a coin to decide what state you paid taxes to.

As far as I know, she still believes this to be true.

Before I was married, I owned a dog. After getting married, it was decided by my future-ex-Mrs. Me that I should be the one to bathe the dog. Which meant the dog usually needed a bath. One day, apparently sick and tired of sharing a house with a filthy dog, my no-longer-wife called me at work to ask me how to bath the dog. I explained everything she needed to know about washing dogs, which consisted of: “You know what you do to your hair in the shower? Do that to the dog.” I did add one itty-bitty, teensy-weensy, little fib to the end of my instruction. I told her she had to squeeze the dog’s anal glands. All she had to do was squeeze each side of his little doggy butthole until everything that was going to come out was done coming out. She responded that she didn’t want to express the dog’s anal glands. I went on to assure her I did it all of the time. The truth is: I’ve never done it once; the dog follows me around enough as it is.

If you want to write believable fiction, you need to learn to tell an outrageous lie. Lying teaches you to create plausible falsehoods to support your bs. In Jurassic Park, Michael Crichton didn’t write, “I don’t know what happened, honey. I turned on the lights and there were a bunch of dinosaurs everywhere!” He explained, in detail, how fossilized dinosaur DNA, when fused to amphibian DNA, could be used to clone dinosaurs. It was a huge lie and we loved every bologna-scented second of it. As you create your fictional world, learn to fabricate the rationale which allows your fictional world to exist. The more plausible your fiction is, the more realistic it will feel to your reader. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you. Now get out there and lie to someone.

There really isn’t a point to the dog story except I laugh myself silly every time I think about it. I would like to tell you I called my ex-wife back before she molested the dog. I would like you to believe that I am not the kind of person who would think my bride-at-the-time had better things to do than milk the dog’s anus. Let’s just say that isn’t the reason she left, but it was on the list.

“Carlyle said ‘a lie cannot live.’ It shows that he did not know how to tell them.”

-  Mark Twain’s Autobiography; Mark Twain in Eruption
“’Tis immoral to lie except for practice.”
- Mark Twain; Reported in the Washington Times.