Bo Fexler, PI

Least Favorite Son at Untreed Reads

2011-11-20T17:30:00.001-05:00

My short story Least Favorite Son has now been published by Untreed Reads. It previously appeared at Darkest Before the Dawn in May 2009.

Support Bo Fexler! ;-)

Second Fall

2011-11-17T22:32:00.001-05:00

This Bo Fexler story was previously published at Muzzle Flash way back in February of 2007. It's now been reprinted at A Twist of Noir. Being able to tell what people want gives Bo an advantage; however, being willing to say anything to exploit that makes her dangerous.

My Town Monday: Small Towns

2011-07-04T14:32:00.001-04:00

The towns in Livingston County have tried to retain that small town feel, particularly around holiday or festival-type events. There are parades on holidays like Memorial Day and the Fourth of July (so don’t try to make your way down Main Street.) And each town has a handful or more of special celebrations intended to draw people into town.

Though, I would argue that there’s one big thing missing in today’s small town-style celebrations. It’s the sense of community. We don’t know everyone in town any more. And these days, most people will enjoy an entire parade or downtown block party without ever talking to someone they don’t already know. They’ll wave their little American flags at the passing parade, trying not to make eye contact with the Strangers on either side, before shuffling the kids back into the car to drive the few blocks home. And this is in an exceptionally safe community.

With any luck, though, people will continue to attend these events and maybe, just maybe, use them as a way to build community and make new friends. I’m looking forward to being able to walk or bike into town in coming years with my son—not just for the event, but the chance to mingle. If people will mingle in return… so far, my outings to the park have only resulted in discussions with grandparents, who apparently are more willing to chat with an “outsider.”

My Town Monday: Wagner Falls (Pictured Rocks Nat’l Lakeshore)

2011-05-08T23:08:00.000-04:00

Yes, there are STILL more waterfalls in the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Which was a nice consolation prize when we visited in the not-quite-spring before tourist season and found that we were seriously limited in what we could do while in the area.

Anyway, Wagner Falls gest a bit more love than Scott and Alger Falls. It gets a nice little scenic viewing area.

Wagner Falls consists of several small falls and rapids.

Visit the My Town Monday site for other places!

My Town Monday: More Pictured Rocks Area Water Falls

2011-05-01T23:03:00.001-04:00

We’ve looked at Miner’s Falls and Munising Falls. There are a handful of other waterfalls in the Pictured Rocks National Lake Shore Area.

One of them is Alger Falls. This little waterfall sits beside M-28 (the only major road in the area). There’s not even a parking area. I think Alger Falls deserves better than this.

Another disrespected little waterfall is Scott Falls. No parking area, so we parked on the edge of the road, again.

This little sign is the only indication that there’s even a waterfall here.

Like the other falls, Scott Falls was icy.

It make a neat shield of ice back into the cavern behind the falls.

Visit the My Town Monday site for other places!

My Town Monday: Munising Falls (Field Trip)

2011-04-17T20:26:00.001-04:00

The little town in Michigan’s UP near the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is Munising. It lends its name to one of the nearby waterfalls.
This was the first waterfall we visited, and the first sign that our trip was going to include some unforseen snow hazzards!

There was a cone of ice around the base of the falls, formed from the droplets of water splashing upon impact. In fact, though it’s hard to see in these pictures, the cone extends almost up to top of the falls, but behind the water.

Visit the My Town Monday site for other places!

Flash Fiction Friday: Cycle 26

2011-04-13T09:41:00.001-04:00

Unfair Fight

A Bo Fexler story

By Clair Dickson

Word List: Fist, Jab, Knuckle, Spirit, Fighter, Rhythm

Contains explicit language.

“All right you skinny ass bitch, you asked for it. Imma make you regret saying that shit.” She advanced on me, hands beckoning me closer. I may be blonde, but I'm not stupid. I try not to risk assault charges - or my PI license - on misunderstandings or overreactions. And this was both.

“I'm not here to start trouble.”

“Oh, you got trouble, skank!” She advanced towards me, weaving like a fighter should, but without any rhythm. She was nearly as tall as me, but heavier with broad shoulders and big hands. Hands with half a dozen rings on them. Her friend was similar in size and jewelry choice.

“This isn't a fair fight,” I noted.

She laughed, looking over her shoulder at her friend. “Guess you shoulda thought of that before, huh?”

“Perhaps. So, would it matter if I apologized?” I asked, stepping back, but turning my own hands into fists.

As expected, she responded with, “Imma make sure you learn not to say shit you can't back up.”

“Oh, I can back it up.”

She didn’t let me explain. She swung at me.

I easily knocked the jab aside. “Tonya, look, you don't want to do this,” I said sternly, stepping back again.

“Oh the hell I don't! I'm gonna enjoy given you a beat down.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” I stopped backing away, brought my fists to hip level, spread my feet and bent my knees.

She hesitated, uncertainty written plain across her face. The fiery spirit flickered, like a flame in the gust from a hastily closed door. She was wise to be cautious about my unusual response. But she put her angry face back on and declared, “Oh, bitch, you really asking for it now!” And she took another step closer.

I watched as she rotated her fists in front of her like a boxer in a movie. Then, I shot my fist through an opening and punched her in the face. I'd missed her nose and instead landed on her eye. The impact of my knuckles against her orbital socket fucking hurt. I brought up the other fist and, while she was still reeling, I landed a solid punch to her ample gut, knocking the wind out of her. She took a half step back before dropping to her ass. I finished with a solid kick to her thick skull.

She uttered one last strangled, “Bitch!”

“Correct.” I nodded at her friend, who, wisely, wanted nothing more to do with me. I took a photo from my pocket and tossed it into Tonya’s lap.

She took it up. Her face fell.

“So, you were wrong about me making shit up—your boyfriend is cheating on you. Well, since he was seeing her first, I guess he’s cheating on her with you. Anyway. You were also wrong about me being an easy opponent.”

She handed the photo to her friend.

There was nothing more to say. I left her with her mistakes.

END

My Town Monday: Miner’s Falls (Field Trip)

2011-04-10T20:15:00.001-04:00

Last week, I wrote about the Pictured Rocks. But the rocks on the lakeshore are not the only great natural attraction. There are a number of waterfalls in and around the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore.
One of those is Miner’s Falls. When we visited the area (about this time last year) there was still snow on the ground… and ice on the water, including the waterfalls!
It was an incredible sight and I’m actually quite glad we got to see this lesser-viewed condition of the falls.
Pretty sure that thing across the top of the water is actually ice… it doesn’t appear in warm-weather pictures I found on the internet. I plan to go back someday again, during warmer months to compare views.

(I'm playing with Windows Live Writer for blog post and still figuring things out-- which is why the picture quality suffered. Sorry!)

Visit the My Town Monday blogs to visit other places!

Flash Fiction Friday: Cycle 25

2011-04-07T17:05:00.001-04:00

INAPROPRIATE

A Bo Fexler story

“Imagine my dismay," she said wringing perfectly manicured hands, "when I learned my potential son in law was on the sex offender list. I have to protect my daughter. I need to know what Tony did to get on the sex offender list."

She handed me the color print off. It was not the state-run website, but another popular sex-offender site. His picture and address were the main information on the page. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“No. Not at all.”

"How old is your daughter?"

"Twenty-one. She's just a baby! She shouldn’t even been talking about marriage, but as soon as he did, I made sure to look into this guy. I never guessed I would find this!”

"Did you talk with her about Tony being on the sex offender list?"

"No. I don’t want to alarm her.”

“Right. That makes perfect sense.” Before she fully processed my response, I asked, "Am I allowed to speak with Tony or Louise during the investigation?"

"To him, but not her. I don't want to trouble her with such things. She’s too young for this sort of thing.”

“I see. So, curiosity compels me to ask what you’re going to do the findings of my investigation?”

“I’m not sure, yet. I’m still working on a plan for how to fix this little relationship problem. If you have any ideas, I’m willing to consider them.”

I could barely keep from laughing out loud. I long ago found that it was best to keep my ethics loose and easy. My job is about finding information—like the maker of a hammer, after I’ve done my job, I’m not responsible for what people do with it. I certainly don’t improve the reputation of private eyes. Maybe being a hot blonde woman makes up for it. I cleared my throat and launched into my spiel about hourly rate, retainer, billing process and minimum charge. Next, I produced a contract.

After she handed over the retainer, in cash, which I counted in front of her, I got as much personal information about Tony as I could, including employer and high school.

That was enough for me to get started, so I left. The dealership where Tony worked was on my way home, so I stopped there first. Perhaps I could get the story from the source. Given the circumstances, I was more likely to get a whole lot of sandbagging.

The man standing at the parts counter with a clipboard and a pen over his ear was dark haired with a slight stubble that could have either been a missed morning shaving or an early evening shadow. He carried the stubble look well, though, which may have had to do with his broad shoulders and stocky frame. He was shorter than me by about an inch, putting him around five-foot-eight or nine.

“What can I do for you?” he asked pleasantly.

“Tony Newman?”

“Yeah…”

I smiled, “Is your girl friend perhaps Louise Miller?”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah… why?”

“Ah, good, you’re the man I’m looking for. Do you also live in the Glen Wood Apartments?”

“No. I haven’t lived their for a couple of months. Got a new place.”

“Nicer than those apartments?”

“Yeah. It’s on a lake, well, a pond really.”

“Thinking of settling down with Louise?”

“Maybe. What’s with all the questions?”

“Just curious.”

“Sure. Did Louise send you to see how serious I am about her or something?”

“That’s a pretty stiff accusation. Is she the type of girl who would do that?”

He thought about it. “No… but her mom might be. That woman don’t like me at all. And she’s scary protective of Louise. Louise can’t do anything without Mom’s approval. You working for her mom?” His lip twisted in an ugly sneer.

“Hey, we all have to pay the bills somehow.” I handed him my business card.

“Private investigator. Never heard of it. So, are you supposed to see if I’m gonna flirt with you or something?”

“No. I’m supposed to get some background on you. Including your spot on the sex offender list.”

His face darkened. “You can tell that bitch to fuck off. And if you don’t leave, I’ll get your ass thrown out.” He stomped a few feet to the left, out of the window, but not far from it. His response was not a surprise. I leaned into the parts counter window.

“You aren’t interested in clearing your name?”

He muttered something at me with the word ‘fuck’ used several times, and grabbed a phone receiver from where it had hung out of my line of sight.

“What if I offered you fifty bucks?” was my last attempt.

That, too, warranted a couple fucks.

I headed back home, not surprised by the outcome, but mildly disappointed. I had Tony’s date of birth from the sex offender list, which was a big bonus. I put it into a credit header search just to see what would come up. If I’m going to pay for the database, I might as well use it.

The sex offender website page that my client had used didn’t show Tony’s offense so I went online to find the missing information.

Tony’s offense was listed as second degree criminal sexual conduct. After some hunting in the online government statutes, I found that it meant touching, no penetration, with someone under the age of 16, with a couple other possible situations and stipulations, such as for a coach or teacher.

The best lead I got was from the credit header, which includes past and current employers. One of his employers was a local school district. So I gave them a call. I confirmed that he worked there as a coach for girls basketball by pretending to be checking on his employment history for a new employer. People don’t question plausible lies.

The sort of information I wanted wasn’t really supposed to be given out during employee background checks. But maybe I could get the athletic director to talk anyway. Lots of men like talking to pretty blond women. And many people like talking in general—gives them a fleeting sense of importance.
The athletic director was an older man, balding with the beginning of a pot belly. He was doing something on the computer when I tapped on his half-open door and walked in.

“Hi—can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m doing a background check on a former coach of yours.”

His brow furrowed and he gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. One had a stack of folders and papers, so I took the other one. “You are?”

I gave him a flirty smile. “Bo Fexler. And I’m really hoping you can help me.” I leaned forward just a tad to see if he would take a peek down my cleavage. He didn’t. “Tony Newman is on the sex offender list. The offense coincides with his time working as a coach. Did he get a little too friendly with one of the basketball players?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands atop his extended belly. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

“No?” I took out one of my business cards and handed it to him. “It’s my job.”

“You do your work dressed like that? Not very professional.”

“Most people don’t mind. I’m told I make for nice viewing.” I lowered my eyes.

He took a deep breath and his eyes flicked over me quickly. Perhaps he was too used to avoiding long gazes at young women in his office—it was an occupational hazard in his position. “I really shouldn’t talk about what happened.”

“Not even to clear his name?” I asked, changing tactics. I’m not all blond hair and long legs.

His eyebrows lifted. “What do you know about the situation?”

“Enough. You don’t think he’s innocent?” I countered.

“Oh, I do. I was surprised when the verdict came back guilty, but it came down to he said-she said.”

“What did she accuse him of?”

“Asking her into the office after practice. She claims that he closed the door and touched her inappropriately.” Even using that polite phrase made him uncomfortable enough for his extra large forehead to turn red. “Another student testified that she went into the office shortly after the first girl and Mr. Newman had his pants undone.”

“So, it’s not just her word against his.”

“Still could be. The two girls knew each other pretty well. They said they weren’t friends, but you know how friendships shift amongst high school girls. And there may have been a motive on her part. She got pulled out of a game a couple weeks earlier because she wasn’t playing her best. Rumor has it she was pretty upset, but you can’t prove that.”

I thanked him and went home to write up my report. I would have continued the investigation, but I suspected that my client would have no interested in digging deeper in the story, even with the possibility that the maligned man could be innocent.

Her answer was expected. “Oh, no, this is all I need, dear. Thank you. I knew he wasn’t good enough for Louise.”

“I’m sure there are few men who would be,” I said with a smile that contrasted how I felt.

She flashed a broad smile in return. “She’s my baby. I only want the best for her.”

Tony called the next day as apparently he’d kept my business card, and launched into a lengthy, expletive tirade on how I’d ruined his life and his relationship with Louise.

“Yeah, but would you really want to have to deal with her mother?” was all I said.

END

My Town Monday: Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

2011-04-03T18:32:00.001-04:00

If you head up to the top of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, you’ll find, amongst the many national and state parks, the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore.

The rock is in multi-colored layers and is exposed along the water’s edge. The water here is Lake Superior, the largest and coldest of the great lakes. Over time, the lake has eroded away the land, exposing the many colors of the rock.

You can see the layers all the way up the rock face (as I leaned out as far as I could to get pictures.)

The best way to see the Pictured Rocks is by boat… or so I understand. When we visited, it was late March last year and the tourist season hadn’t begun. So the boats were not running yet.

Here’s a view of some of the layers as seen on land.

This particular point is called Miner’s Castle, named for the miners who were looking for minerals and other valuable things in the area.

At the time we visited, while warmer weather had moved in across the Lower Peninsula (where I reside), it was still cold up north. And there was still snow and ice in spots, particularly shaded areas. This was a bit of a surprise to us, since we didn’t think about the difference in climate an 8 hour drive can make! But it turned out to be a wonderful surprise…

This shot shows the ice that formed on the cliff face where the waves splashed up.

The next couple weeks, I’m going to show you the waterfalls around the Picture Rocks National Lakeshore (as seen in early spring.)

And don’t forget to visit the My Town Monday blog for other posts.

Superhuman

2011-04-02T23:35:00.000-04:00

It seems to me, that male characters are more readily allowed to have superhuman traits. They take (or give) a punch and rarely suffer any ill effects, for example. But female characters are expected to be mere mortals. Not only that, but even “strong” female characters are expected to be rendered helpless by relationship drama in their lives. The female characters don’t get the privilege of being superhuman—they aren’t allowed to shake off personal problems they way male characters do. (Not to mention the fact that most male characters can actually stay focused on their job/ task/ plot and not be derailed by personal issues.)

This is where Bo is an outlier… she is more like a male character. But with all those fun female traits. She gets to be sexy and smart and more capable than the average woman. This too me sounds like a lot more fun than another average woman who gets her friends/ family in danger because she can’t think straight for more than two chapters in a row.

Perhaps this is the type of female character that is preferred? Except, over in Urban Fantasy, women like Bo are more the norm.

My Town Monday: the Upper Peninsula of Michigan

2011-03-06T21:54:00.000-05:00

Michigan is one of those unique states. We're a peninsula. TWO peninsulas, even. And our peninsulas have more peninsulas on them-- not just puny ones, but big ol' peninsulas. And if that doesn't sound suggestive to you... your mind is much cleaner than mine.

I reside in the Lower Peninsula, not too far from civilization. But because the Upper Peninsula holds several neat land marks, there are times when a Michigander should venture up there. Many Michiganders have cabins, "cabins" and vacation homes in the northern parts of Michigan, for hunting or just escaping (or "escaping") from city life. The Upper Peninsula is largely unsettled, though.

It consists mainly of forests and coastlines along the Great Lakes. Plus some tiny towns. US-2 meanders along the bottom edge of the Upper Peninsula, heading West into Wisconsin. This road, while being US road, is not a highway (or freeway or limited access highways)-- the speed limit is 55mph. There is no limited access highway across the UP from east to west. I-75 goes from the tip of the Lower Peninsula up to Canada, but that's it for highways in the UP.

After all, moose, bear and snow mobiles don't use expressways.

In the UP, it's colder than the rest of the state. Winter comes earlier and the snow is heavier and around longer. This situation is in someways exacerbated by the proximity of the icy water of Lake Superior. More lake effect snow (where extra snow is created by the moisture of the lake). But the lake, allegedly, has a moderating affect on the temperature-- which also causes more snow since snow can't fall if it's too cold.

Ice does form on Lake Superior and in massive chunks. It takes awful cold weather to cause ice to form on a body of water that cold. This shot was from April. In the part where I'm from, the ice was gone, but on the shore of Lake Superior, it was large, cold reminder that the Upper Peninsula is a different world.

Traveling through the UP is interesting. There are few towns. And those that do exist are very small. Some are so small that they don't have gas stations (a little disconcerting when you're miles from nowhere!) Others have quaint combination bar/ restaurant/ grocery store/ post office/ barber shops like existed once upon a time. You can drive for hours without seeing other cars on the roads of the UP. It's tranquil... until it gets really boring.

This is a main road heading into Munising in the UP. It was pretty busy that morning...

I like making visit to the UP. Sometimes I imagine living in one of the small cities up there. But only if I could work from home and never have to drive in the thick snow or go out in the cold. You know, hibernate. With high speed internet. But it sure is pretty up there.

Join us for My Town Monday

My Town Monday: How to Complain About Michigan Weather

2011-02-28T06:54:00.001-05:00

Michiganders love to complain about the weather. There are some guidelines for these complaints, though, so everyone is on the same page.

If it's in the thirtys and snowy in January or February, complain about it being too snowy.
If it's below zero in January, complain about it being too cold (and ask where's global warming?!?)
If it snows in January or February, complain about how you're done with winter already.

If it's still below freezing any time in March, complain that it's supposed to be spring (and ask where's global warming.)
If it's warm in early spring, complain that everything is muddy from the melting snow.
If there's snow in late March, complain about how you're sooooo tired of winter!
If it's warm during the day, but cold at night in March, complain about how cold it is at night, as if it's some anomaly.

If it's in the 70s before June, complain about how long winter was.
If it rains a lot in March, April, or May, complain about the dreary weather and you're ready for summer.
If it's below freezing at any time in the spring, complain about how winter is supposed to be over! (Don't forget to ask where global warming is.)

If it's over 80 in early summer, complain about the humidity or complain about how it's too early in the summer for heat like that.
If it's below 40 any time in early summer, complain about how it's still cold and how summer's NEVER going to start.
If it's hot and dry during the summer, complain about how brown and burnt all the plants are. If you live on a lake, complain about low lake levels.
If it's hot and humid during the late summer, start complaining about how you're ready for fall.
If the temperature is in the 70s, complain about how cold the store air conditioning is or about how it's not hot enough.

If the temperature drops below 50 in September, complain about how you're not ready for summer to end.
If the temperature shoots up to 80s in September, complain about how you're done with summer.
If it's cold and wet on Halloween, complain about how it's always cold and wet on Halloween.

If it's below 40 in November, complain about how you're not ready for winter.

If it snows more than once in December, each subsequent time requires complaining about how you're done with snow already, even though it's barely started.

That about covers it. Happy complaining!

My Town Monday: Ice Harvesting Exhibit at the CoBACH Center

2011-02-21T12:22:00.000-05:00

The old town hall in Brighton was recently repurposed for use by the the Brighton Area Historical Society. They've been doing some different exhibits. For the month of February, it's ice harvesting, which was a huge industry in the early 1900s, not just in Livingston County but in many colder climates. During the winter, local residents and migrant workers would score the ice and break it into large blocks. It would be stored in ice houses along the shore. During the summer months, the ice houses would be slowly emptied of their ice.

The CoBACH center (City of Brighton Art, Culture, and History Center) borrowed some items from the Port Huron Ice Harvesting Museum and set up a rather nice display. There were local photos of the ice houses and information about the tools of the trade. They also made a mock up of a small ice house.

I went there with Hubby and my Baby Son and we happened to go at the right time, I think. One of the leaders of the Brighton Area Historical Society was there giving a well-informed tour. My son was fixated on the sound of the tour guides voice, which was amusing. (The kid's only 8 months old, so I'm sure he wasn't that interested in ice harvesting.)

This is an image of the Mill Pond in Brighton. You can see the ice house on the shore past the boaters.
Here's some more recent images of the Mill Pond. The ice house sat where the brick building (barely visible over the bridge in the second photo) is today.

There's one more week of the Ice Harvesting Exhibit. I wonder what slice of local history will be displayed next?

My Town Monday: 6 More Weeks of Winter

2011-02-14T07:10:00.000-05:00

Puxatawny Phil predicted an early spring. Livingston County's own woodchuck (aka groundhog) Woody predicted 6 more weeks of winter. Now, Woody's record is 9/12 correct so far, so my money is on her.

That said, in Michigan, 6 more weeks of winter WOULD be an early spring. Sure, the vernal equinox falls March 21st (ish), which is about 6 weeks after February 2nd, but that's hardly the start of spring in the Mitten shaped state. Not weather wise at any rate. There is often still snow on the ground and one last snowfall in late March.

Spring doesn't really start here until mid or late April. That's when the weather starts to stay above freezing during the day. And the sun comes out from behind never ending piles of gray clouds. It feels so good to Michiganders, that winter coats are often prematurely shed in the "warm" weather. By the end of April, it feels like spring is finally starting.

That's also the start of road construction season...

My Town Monday: Snow Storm

2011-02-06T23:09:00.000-05:00

Snow is part of Michigan winters. And that includes the occasional snow storm. The Big One last Wednesday was a bit overhyped in my area, and, as with all things overbyped, it did not live up to the predictions. In my area, we got about 6 inches of snow.

This is about the amount needed to shut the area down for a day or so. Livingston County is part rural, part suburb-- but not a very dense suburb. It is largely a bedroom community to places like Ann Arbor and Detroit.

So, the snow fell. It piled up on top of the previous inches-- I think there was about 6 inches from prior snowfalls currently on the ground.

My driveway was complete obscured by the falling and blowing snow. I'm standing next to my garage. The road is past the fence. This driveway is only marginally longer than average.

Yes, we have a snowblower.

One of the most interesting thing about the last snow storm was how quite the world got. Few cars ventured out most of the next day. I rather liked it myself.

Also absent from the roads were snow plows. I live on a main road heading into one of the two larger towns in the county. Well, it's called a city, but it's not very big. (I know, it's a term that defines local government size and function more so than population size and density.) Anyway, usually this road is one of the first and best plowed, being that about a mile away it turns into Main Street. But even at 1 in the afternoon, the road is still snow covered.

Not bad though. One could easily get around in this sort of snow fall. I don't care much for driving in snow-- but that's just because other drives don't have the sense to slow down and exercise caution.

I happen to like when the snow comes down and the world is quiet. It's peaceful. There's nothing quite like the barely perceptible sound of snow falling-- yes, it has a sound.

FFF 8: Time

2010-12-03T21:48:00.000-05:00

I'm a little late this week... partly because I still thought the deadlines for F3 were Friday. And partly because I really just need the whole week. =/ I'm gonna keep trying the prompts, when they tickle my muse, but I already know I'm not gonna make any Wednesday deadlines. ESPECIALLY not Wednesdays!

Anyway, here's my story for F3 #8...

Wasting Time
A Bo Fexler Story

The clock ticked off the seconds, each a piercing reminder that time moved forward. It was already late on a bitter cold night. The heat had turned off for the night—and the long holiday weekend—in the office building. The cold workspaces, extra clean by some managerial mandate, were even more impersonal in the dropping temperature.

My shoulders were tensed, as if doing so would contain what little body heat remained in my body. My fingers were so numb that I could barely feel the shape of the mouse as I navigated with it.

Without the intermittent whooshing and humming of the heating system, the office was still, lifeless. Only the barely perceptible whir of the computer fan, the faint click of the mouse button, and the interminable ticking of a clock on the desk next to the computer broke the still stillness.

Everyone that normally worked in that office building was off doing holiday related things. If not enjoying their families for Thanksgiving, they were tolerating them with whatever coping methods or alcohol they could manage, or just plain avoiding them at home or at the bar. The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving is the biggest bar night of the year. Few people work that night—besides the standard retail workers, law enforcement and emergency responders, and bartenders. The occasional private investigator will put in a few hours, checking to make sure that a certain spouse is actually working late, rather than finding unauthorized reasons for giving thanks. Then they, too, would join one of the normal Thanksgiving activities. Being a PI, like being a cop, can be hard on personal relationships, though, with the odd hours and spying and trust issues that come with watching everyday people betray the trust of those who care for them.

Luckily, I had trust issues long before I entered the PI business. It makes the job easier.

The holidays no longer have any meaning for me beyond the normal ebb and flow of business as people increase or decrease their need to know the truth. It’s just part of the passing of time. One month to the next, one year to the next.

I tucked my hands under my arm pits, trying desperately to restore some feeling to them, while the computer considered my request. Fittingly, the machine turned a digital hour glass while we waited. The sand grains didn’t move though. It was an old machine, running an old operating system. It made my job both easier and harder. Security on that old computer was something of a joke. And the man who used that machine wasn’t very good with computers. The collection of empty folders named New Folder was amusing.

The man who worked on that computer was at home with his wife and grown child. According to the wife when she called me, he was pretty well trashed too. That was why she'd asked if I was busy—or more importantly, was my time claimed by anyone else that holiday-eve.

She'd first thought maybe he was staying out late because he was having an affair with some office girl. But a couple days of surveillqnce showed that the husband was the last to leave his office, and did so well after everyone else. Sometimes, he'd return to the office after a few hours at home, claiming he had things to do. He had agreed to stay home the night before Thanksgiving, but promptly got plastered. That meant she could take his keys—under the guise of keeping him from driving drunk.

So, while he was drunk, and his wife was working on a bottle of wine, I was snooping around the man's computer. It looked like he had saved everything in the My Documents folder, without even the benefit of sub folders for organization. Except there was another folder, buried among the system folders. It was also named 'New Folder' but it wasn't empty. It was quite full, actually. Full of movies mainly, with the occaisional picture, too. Renaming files was not part of his skill set, so I was able to tell the content without actually having to watch any of them.They had titles like Girl Takes Huge Dick and Young Blonde Likes Getting Rammed. Not even any flicks about anal or threesomes. As far as porn went, it was tame.

I rummaged around in the man's internet history. Nothing much there. A couple porn sites, some random searches for trivia bits-- the sort of things people talk about in the break room and then Google to find out who was right-- and some searches for local addresses. I searched for the addresses and found he'd gone looking for a bar, a floor covering outlet, two restaurants, and a sex toy store.

With his not updated web browser, I was able to access his email, even though he'd logged out. The session cookie was still available, so hitting the back browser until it activated the session cookie. Except it wasn't worth the technical know how.

How the hell was I going to write up the report on this case? The man wasn't sleeping around. He seemed to be avoiding his wife by going to the office after hours and, while there, watched porn. And probably jerked off. He had enough videos that he could watch for days. Plus, given the dates on the files, it appeared that he went hunting for more every three or four days.

Hopefully she could accept that her husband was passing his time with porn and masturbation. More likely, she would claim the investigation was a waste of time.

For me, though, finding answers, no matter how mundane or disappointing, is never a waste of time.

Besides, I get paid pretty damn well for my time.

END

FFF3-Deadly Coincidences

2010-10-22T09:00:00.000-04:00

Joining in with the other fine folks at Flash Fiction Friday. This week was a themed word list with a suggested genre of suspense or horror. I got the words, but I'm not so sure on genre. I do know I'm not feeling the current title. Here's my piece anyway.

Deadly Coincidences
A Bo Fexler Story
by Clair Dickson

The death of my car battery turned out to be an omen of the disruption death was going to cause in my life the next few days. I had to cancel a meeting with my client and get a battery delivered from an auto parts place to the grocery store parking lot where I was stranded. Canceling the next meeting with my client only bothered me in that my client was hiring me to find her missing niece, who she cared about greatly.

As soon as the delivery hit showed up, it started to rain. And the rain was predicted to continental for the next several days. Regardless, I still had work to do, and to do it, I needed my car back from the dead. I lost my umbrella in the hasty move to the new apartment, so I just stood in the rain while I installed the battery.

A couple people stopped and stared. It’s rare enough to see a woman working on a car, let alone one who is tall, attractive, and standing in the rain. To my surprise, the only comment was from a matronly woman who told me that I was going to catch my death of pneumonia out there. I wondered what Louis Pasteur would think of such an enlightened comment.

When I went inside, I found a shallow puddle of water on my bed. It took a moment for the implication of that to set in. My bed is fairly absorbent, so for there to be a puddle, there would have to have been an unfortunately large quantity of water. A deluge.

With a sigh, I went down to the land lord's unit and knocked. And knocked. The nosy old lady across the hall poked her head out. “He's gone,” she snapped.

“Clearly.”

She glared at me.

“I'll try later then. Maybe he’ll be home tonight. He likes to watch the Late Shows.”

Her eyes narrowed and nearly disappeared in the wrinkles around them. “He's gonna be gone all weekend. Death in the family.” She slammed the door on my incredulous response.

I debated between spending money on a hotel room or just sleeping on the couch. The couch-- or rather my spendthrift ways-- won out. I did flip the mattress up against the wall and put the bedding in the wash. I was centering a bucket under the continuing drip when my cell phone rang.

“This is Bo,” I answered.

“Bo. It's Raquel.   I'm gonna-- I mean-- I guess I don't need you any more.”

“Okay. Why not?”

“They-- the police were just here. They found McKayla. Her car went off the road into a swamp. The think it happened two weeks ago.” She cried as she spoke, her voice wavering every few syllables.

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” I replied, the words automatic because my feelings were still sorting themselves out.

I was fired because the young woman I'd been hired to find was found already, and found dead.

After I hung up the phone, I sat on the couch a moment. Then I grabbed my coat and went down two blocks.

The church was old, styled in a Gothic sort of way with narrow arches and tall stained glass windows depicting scenes from Jesus's life. I hadn't been to church since I was a child and I couldn't articulate what I thought my visit would do or get.

But it seemed like a good idea.

END

FFF: Knowledge of Good and Evil

2010-10-08T08:52:00.001-04:00

I'm feeling a little rusty at this fiction thing, but I decided to take a shot with the Flash Fiction Friday folks.

Knowledge of Good and Evil
A Bo Fexler Story
by Clair Dickson

“Mom said I was going to be something one day.” She smiled as she said it, a big toothy grin that revealed a missing front tooth. She twirled the end of her blond pig tail around her finger.

"And what would you like to be?” I asked. If anyone had bothered to tell me just how much small talk I would do as a private eye before I got licensed, I probably would be in a whole different vocation-- for better or for worse.

She shrugged.

“Is Carrie home?” I asked.

“Nope. Not until 4. She's my sister, you know.”

“I do know,” I answered. I had also been reasonably sure she wasn't home. “Can I come in and talk with you for a little while?”

Jaimie hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. “I dunno.”

“I brought some ice cream that I was hoping you would help me eat.”

She grinned “I love ice cream. Chocolate chip cookie is my favorite.” But she still blocked the doorway.

“Can I come in?”

She nodded, hesitated once more, then finally opened the door to let me in. She led me to the kitchen and got two bowls and two spoons from the dishwasher.

“How long have you been living with Carrie?” I asked scooping a large bowl of ice cream for Jaimie and a more reasonable sized bowl for myself.

“Hmmm... Since March. Sisters are like friends but better, right?”

It was either the statement or the way she said it, but something about that bothered me. “You like living with Carrie?”

She looked around and made thoughtful faces before answering, “Yeah.”

“It's better than living with Aunt Tara?”

More thoughtful faces. “Sometimes.”

“When is it better?”

“When she takes me places or buys me a new movie. I have a TV in my room so I can watch my movies. Aunt Tara never let me have a TV in my room.”

“When do you like not like being at Carrie's?”

“When Jeff comes over.” She frowned.

“What don't you like about Jeff coming over?” I didn't really want to hear the answer. I never do, but my job requires that I ask the questions anyway. Some days, I would gladly trade that for the stupid paperwork or clueless bosses that other people complain about.

“When Jeff comes over to spend the night, I'm supposed to stay in my room. I don't like always being in my room. Carrie said if I lived with her, then we'd do fun things. But we don't do fun things when Jeff comes over. And he comes over a lot.”

“Do you ever get to play with Jeff?”

She shook her head. “No. Carrie says that he’s her friend so they play together.” She shrugged. “I just wish he didn’t come over so much.”

“Does Jeff ever come over when Carrie isn’t here?”

“No. He’s Carrie’s friend, so he wouldn’t come to play with me. He never plays with me.” She finished the last of her ice cream and licked the spoon clean.

“Did Carrie say anything about what the court thought about you living with her?” The main reason I was there. I wasn’t particularly threatening, nor was I part of the justice system. My client and I had both figured that might make it easier to get information out of Carrie.

Jaimie licked her spoon. “Well, she said that since she wasn't married, that the court wouldn't send me checks any more. She helped me get a job so I can still buy things that I want. I'm saving up for a Wii. I got almost a hundred dollars.”

I smiled. We talked—or rather, I let Carrie tell me about herself and her life with Carrie for several minute more. Then I stood up and told her, “You can have the rest of the ice cream.”

“But you're going to miss Carrie.” Her brow furrowed.

“You know what, you did such a good job answering my questions, that I don't need to talk to Carrie.”

Jaimie beamed with pride.

I stopped by my client's house on the way home to give her an update before I finished my report. “So Jaimie thinks she's not getting the checks any more, but she is,” my client said. She was Jaimie's aunt and, until the previous year when Jaimie has turned eighteen, her guardian.
I nodded once in confirmation of the facts.

“I fought the courts. Fought them hard, particularly because I don't trust anyone in that family. She may be nineteen years old, but she has the mind of a child.”

“Seems all Carrie had to offer was that they would do fun things together. Jaimie adores her sister.”

My client shook her head. “How do you stand learning these things about people-- or stand meeting people like Carrie who would con her own developmentally disabled sister? It makes me sick...”

I gazed out the window while I figured out the best response. “Because of people like you that are just the opposite,” I said, even sounding sincere.

Truth was, I also had learned to detach myself, distance myself from a young age. Jaimie, with her simple mind, couldn't imagine anyone deliberately doing harm-- but me, I could hardly bring myself to see anyone doing good.
END

Comments are welcome, but not required.

My Town Monday: Rough, indeed

2010-09-13T14:07:00.000-04:00

Financially, things are a little tight in the state that catered to the Auto Industry for decades. One of the areas that has suffered is roads. There just isn't money to maintain them (not counting the millions of mispent money.) This is also a state that LOVES to salt the roads all winter. As if the normal freeze-thaw cycle isn't hell enough of roads, adding salt exascerbates the problem.

So we get roads that look like this:

Yes, this section of road is merely a collection of hot patch asphalt.

This is the solution, apparently.

O.o
Really.

My Town Monday: Canadian Quarters

2010-09-05T20:23:00.001-04:00

Canadian quarters-- and other coins, but mainly the quarters-- have been a recurring frustration in my life. Canada is a mere 2 hour drive from my house. But that's not much consolation when I'm standing at the vending machine with a damned Canadian quarter... effectively 25cents short of what I need because Canadian money isn't accepted in U.S. vending machines.

Back when exchanges rates were far more favorable for the U.S., I'd heard rumors of unscrupulous shop owners crossing the border to get rolls of Canadian quarters. This ultimately would lead to profits for them on conversion. I don't doubt that a few vending machine operators employed this tactic too, given the frequency with which change machines and vending machines would spew the same little coins that they refused to accept.

I always figured this was a greater problem in states like Michigan, where the foreign land is so near. Does it happen much in other states? And do Canadians have problems getting U.S. quarters?

Though, I do think the dollar and two dollar coins that Canada uses are awesome. Especially for vending machine use, they totally trump crumpled bills. I am saddened that the dollar coin, which seemed to start taking hold a few years back with that Sacajawea coin, again faded in favor of the paper dollar.

My Town Monday: Hot and Bothered

2010-08-30T13:24:00.003-04:00

Folks in Livingston County get all worked up over anything related to sex. Like the Intimate Ideas shop that moved into town a few years ago to sell mostly lingerie (per local ordinance) and some adult toys. You know, the fun stuff that plenty of people use, either married or not, to enjoy themselves sexually. And, yes, I know about that sort of thing. (If you're here, than surely you've read a few of my stories!)

But a good number of Livingston County residents got upset about how such a shop didn't represent the interests of the local community. Okay, so, if the local community doesn't want such a horrid, "depraved" shop in their midst, then sales would reflect it. Oh, well, it's still open. And... so is the much older store of a similar nature in the next town over. The one that no one has picketed. Same concept, but it was the new store that got people upset... for a while.

Seems that lingerie and adult stores do reflect the interests of at least SOME of the community. Though I prefer to buy my items online.

The latest hoopla to get in the press is the new Hot Spot Coffee shop. You've probably heard about coffee shops like these. The young, hot chickadees dress in skimpy attire while serving up hot coffee. The idea has been very popular in other locations.

The controversy provides lots of free press as first there are articles in the paper. Then there are the several letters where people must voice their outrage that such a shop does not reflect the interests of the community. I dunno, I drove over there even though I don't drink coffee. If I did drink coffee, I'd totally go there for the scenery. Who doesn't like a nice mountain view? And so far, business seems to be doing well. Time will tell if this place-- like the two adult novelty stores-- fits the 'character' of Livingston County.

On an "unrelated" note, after some 30 years, the local Christian Bookstore is closing it's doors...

My Town Monday: Naked Guy On the Move

2010-08-23T17:15:00.000-04:00

The Naked Guy is infamous in Brighton. He's pretty controversial. And he's been dressed up a good number of times.

Now, he's on the move. The Powers That Be in Brighton have decided that the Naked Guy statue will be relocated from his present position-- where he flashes drivers on Main Street and visitors to the Mill Pond-- to another, yet to be disclosed location.

Frankly, I'm a little disappointed. I was enjoying his changing attire-- like the shirt for the local Cancer Run/Walk or the Red Wings Jersey. Then again, I don't get all hot and bothered by undefined lumps that don't at all resemble genitalia. (Oh, man, I could so make a comment here about local men lacking balls and dicks, which is why neither the men or women around here know that the Naked Guy isn't showing ANYTHING off. But I'm not like that. ;-) I mean, really, a Ken doll has more definition than the Naked Guy.

But the Naked Guy is going to go on a naked trek somewhere else in Brighton. A new piece of art will replace it. I hope it's not some abstract hunk like the big orange THING up the street a ways.

Now this knee-jerk "conservative" town will have to find something new to get upset about. That new coffee shop seems like a good idea... but more on that next week.

Too Pretty

2010-08-17T12:00:00.001-04:00

The latest Bo Fexler story has indeed found a home. This little flash piece follows Bo as her attempts to seduce a man at the bar don't go as planned. Being a pretty girl doesn't mean she gets everything she wants... find out what happens in "Too Pretty" over at Twist of Noir.

Fun author's note about this story: it was composed entirely on my cell phone using Mobile Word, and almost completely with T9. I still hate T9, but it was the only way to write with one hand while I held my son in the other. Since T9 doesn't have quote marks, I used parentheses in the original draft. And thus, a shred of my sanity was preserved.

My Town Monday: What's Missing?

2010-08-16T08:46:00.000-04:00

Little Ceasar's Pizza
Dunkin Donuts
Mr. Pita
Big Boy Resturant

What do these things have in common?

They each closed locations in Livingston County. For years, this county had one or more of the above businesses in the local towns (including nearby but actually the edge of Oakland County's town of South Lyon.) But in the last 10 years, many of the locations have shut down. Sometime, pulling out of the area completely. There is no longer a Dunkin Donuts-- though the shop previously known as Dunkin Donuts still makes Donuts, etc. under the name Brighton Donuts.

Little Ceasar's pulled out of most of it's locations, then brought a few back in new spots a few years later.

Mr. Pita lasted a few years in an odd, difficult to get to location before leaving. Like Brighton Donuts, the shop operated a little longer under a generic name before giving it up all together.

Big Boy-- now this one I know-- was struggling financially as a company and shut some of it's least popular locations.

There are a good many places that have never made an appearance in Livingston County, for reasons I may never understand. Sure, population is a little light out here, but not that light. As a suburban area, I would expect to see a few more businesses take the opportunity to bring their wares into an area where they're not represented. It was only in the last few years that Livingston County got a White Castle. Still no Sonic or Krispy Kreme. No California Pizza Kitchen. I couldn't even list what we're 'missing.'

No Dominoes Pizza, even, which is a shocker since Ann Arbor-- home of the corporate HQ-- is just 20 mins south of here.

Being in the Metro Detroit area, I see a good many commercials for places that just don't exist out here. It doesn't break my heart any, since I can't eat most places, but it's always struck me as curious how many businesses don't open a location out here.

I can't tell you how excited folks were for the White Castle to open. I understand there were people camped out iPhone-release-style before the opening.

Tell me your favorite chain location and I'll tell you if we have one nearby.

Out of It... And Getting Back Into It

2010-08-15T19:59:00.000-04:00

It's been more than a year since I spent much time on short stories. And almost as long since I paid much attention to the ever-changing landscape of short mystery/crime fiction markets.

No, this is not a post on why. This is a post on lamenting how much work it seems like it's going to be to get back up to speed. I have a new short story that I finished and polished up that is ready for a home. But I don't even know where to begin looking at markets. Most of my old-standby's are long gone.

I admit also having some of that new-writer trepidation, afraid that my work isn't going to be good enough. It has been a good long while since I wrote and submitted anything new. (And everything I did submit in the past year was soundly rejected.)

It doesn't help that story in question is one of those hard-to-classify the sub-genre shorts. It's a Bo Fexler story, of course. I don't think it's either crime fiction or a mystery. Just a 550 word short story that's maybe a little noir-- with a hot female detective as the lead character.

It feels like I'm starting over, but I still have that taste of success from those two years where Bo Fexler was strutting her stuff through so many of the mystery & crime zines.

My Town Monday: My Town through New Eyes

2010-08-02T13:52:00.001-04:00

No, I'm not going to get all mushy and such just because I've procreated... but I have noticed that I'm looking at my world a little different now that I have a young son. (He's six screaming weeks old now.)

When I look around town, I wonder what will change. What's going to be there and what will be gone.

Will I be able to point out the first apartment that I rented (with Hubby)? Or the retail center where I sold my soul for a few measly bucks an hour for 11 years of my life?

I've come to the conclusion that things change in our towns without us paying it much attention. It's like the shifting of sands and before we know it, it's a different place.

I was 9 when the change was made to prohibit left turns from Main Street to Grand River. In my world, it's always been like that.

Roads change course (including the one that runs in front of my house, but no one I've talked to remembers when that road was realigned.) Businesses come and go, sometimes without anything even as long lasting as a write up in the little local paper.

I grew up in this town. But it is not the same town I returned to as an adult. And it will not be the same town that my son grows up in.

Gratuitous picture of my son

My Town Monday: Field Trip "Up North"

2010-04-05T13:34:00.005-04:00

Recently, I took a trip "up north." In Michigan, this usually refers to upper parts of the Lower Peninsula (the fingers) or even to the Upper Peninsula.

My trip was a little of both. Originally, the trip up north included one of the few North/ South routes-- first US 127 or US 23. Today, most people take I-75-- the only limited access freeway heading to points up north.

I took I-75 part of the way, but since it primarily cuts through the center of the state, it's certainly not the scenic drive. So, I got off I-75 and stayed with US-23 which still runs it's old route to and along the coast of Michigan, the shore of Lake Huron. (The pointer finger of the mitten. No, I never get tired of references to my state being mitten-shaped.)

This meant that along the way, starting about Tawas, I got glimpses and full views of the large expanse of blue or gray (depending on the current color of the sky) that is Lake Huron. Luckily, while the weather was overcast most of the morning, by our arrival in Tawas, the sky was clearing. The lake reflected the blue, deepening the color of blue as the sky became less cloudy.

The first stop was in Tawas.

Then we went across the bay to the East Tawas Lighthouse. Unfortunately, the end of March is kind really "off-season" for such places. It wasn't closed, per se. It was "self-service." Yeah. We could walk around and take some pictures of the lighthouse and the point.

I read that the point often washes away during the harsh conditions of winter, only to be rebuilt again the following months.

Later, further up the coast, we stopped at a scenic overlook.

And later still, along the shore of Grand Lake. This lake is shortly inland from Lake Huron. It creates the area known as Presque Isle-- which means "Almost an Island." As you can see from the map, the area is barely connected to the mainland. The big white area on the top and right side of the map is Lake Huron...

Grand Lake

Then, we made our way past the Mackinac Bridge (pronounced Mackinaw) and into the Upper Peninsula.

Do you want to share your town or travel virtually to other towns? Join us over at the My Town Monday blog!

My Town Monady: Out of Town

2010-03-28T22:45:00.002-04:00

I'm off to parts north this Monday-- specifically to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan-- with my best friend (not the Hubby) for one last trip before this summer and my impending ~~doom~~ parenthood.

We'll be heading up the primary and only North/South expressway to the UP, I-75. Over the Mackinac Bridge-- the first longest suspension bridge (there are now others that are longer)-- and up to the freshwater, inland "ocean" that is Lake Superior.

We'll probably stop at random roadside attractions along the way. And ultimately we'll end up at the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Supposed to be really neat-- and neither of us have made our way up there before.

Sometime in the next coming weeks, I'll share the trip. It's not my usual town, but it's part of the state I call home.

Check out the other My Town Monday posts (where Barrie Summy is wrangling links while I go gallivanting off to remote places.)

Bad Girls

2010-03-23T09:23:00.000-04:00

It's not uncommon at all for so-called "good girls" to want to save those "bad boys." There's also the interminidable, and for many women, undeniable appeal of the bad boy who does what he wants and lives by his own rules. (Hey, don't look at me. I snagged one of the "nice guys.")

But what about bad girls? What about the girl that you might not want to bring home to mother? The one who makes her own rules, espeically about (gasp!) sex. I'm not thinking guys have any of the desire to save the bad girl. She is, ultimately, about the fun for now.

Of course, I do think that those bad girls-- or their lesser counterparts, the spunky, fiesty, or "independent" women-- have a much harder time finding long term relationships, even as they begin to mellow. Their spunk makes them fun and exciting, different and enjoyable, but like the bad boy, she's not long term relationship appeal.

Now, this is different in fiction. Those bad girls of fiction are always fun. There's few, if any, of the relationship problems that will come up with a strong willed person who does things solely by their own rules. But we don't really want to see these strong women settle down with a nice man (or woman) do we? We certainly wouldn't expect that from a 'bad boy.'

I admit that the whole romance/ settling down thing that always fucking creeps into so many female-lead stories always drives me nuts. I want to continue reading books with butt-kicking bad girls. Not nest-building and babies.

Not that I'm worried about any long-term relationships with Bo at the moment. I do, after all, have to get the stupid first novel published, series launched, etc, etc. Getting knocked up didn't help with that...

My Town Monday: Brighton's Four Corners, Part 4

2010-03-21T21:04:00.003-04:00

The remaining two corners of Brighton's Main Street/ Grand River Intersection are harder to track the history of.

On the South-east corner, across Main Street from where the Eastern House Hotel stood, there is currently a two story jewelry store. (The building itself looks too expensive for someone like me...) I missed my chances to get the last shots of the former building when it was torn down a few years ago.

Before the jewelry store, for a good many years-- back into the 60s or 70s if I'm not mistaken-- this corner was home to Cap'n Corky's (sp?). It was a liquor store-- probably what we call a Party Store around here. The terminology matches what my students use to define a party: not a party without alcohol. Anyway, with the opening of the CVS, as well as a good many other chain stores in the vicinity, it appears that the Cap'n Corky store couldn't really keep up. Add to that the ever-present problem in the downtown: parking.

The store closed. And-- I wish I'd had time to stop and take pix-- the construction crews gutted the buildings. I believe only the two walls that abut the neighboring buildings were left standing. Then they added the second story, the new front facade, and all the fanciness.

I have to wonder how long the jewelry store will last in this economy... especially since a long time local favorite is about two doors down. Or will locals go for the "brand name" over the locally owned and operated place. (Sadly, I'm voting for people to go with "brand name" over local. It's happening in so many other places. But I wish it wasn't so.)

Going back through history, all I can find is that this corner was home to Brighton's Foundry for a while. Though, there's some indication that the foundry was actually not right on the corner. Other records indicate that some part of the time, this corner was a private residence. It's a little mind boggling for me to think of people living in houses on Grand River... in my life time, Grand River has always been the main business drag through Brighton. Only when you get out WAY past the edge of Brighton's business stretch are there houses.

More My Town Monday!

Guest Post: Stephen D. Rogers

2010-03-20T02:58:00.001-04:00

Today, Stephen D. Rogers is treating us to a post about one his stories in his SHOT TO DEATH anthology! I feel like I've entered the big time, having an author like him here... but enough from me

Stephen's Post:
Perini closed the folders on his desk as soon as he saw the shadow on the pebbled glass. - A FRIENDLY GAME
So begins one of the 31 stories contained in SHOT TO DEATH (ISBN 978-0982589908). Within that beginning lurks the ending to the story and everything that happens between the beginning and the end. Or at least it seems that way to me.

The first action in the story is to close folders, to hide things. What prompts Perini to do so? A shadow, not an image or a silhouette, but a shadow. Pebbled glass? Things are not as they appear.

Pebbled glass in a door makes me think of small offices located on public hallways. I can't stop recalling Richard S. Prather's Shell Scott who makes a wry comment about legends, or the scene from CHINATOWN where Jake interrupts the man repainting the name on the door.

So Perini is a private investigator, surrounded by secrets and shadows. He's a man of action.

I know he's a man of action because of how that opening sentence is structured. He responds to the stimulus before before we even become aware of the stimulus.

We would see the shadow and close the folder but Perini is that much quicker on the draw. Is he fast enough? The opening doesn't really answer that question. Most of the words are neutral, the darker "shadow" balanced by the lighter "glass." Perini's office is located off the hallway, which tells me he's a one-person shop, which could be good and could be bad.

The lack of direction is itself a directive. The story should swing back and forth between negative and positive poles, keeping in mind that Perini at least starts ahead of the game.

All that remains is the writing.

Stephen D. Rogers is the author of SHOT TO DEATH
(ISBN 978-0982589908) and more than six hundred stories and poems. He's the head writer at Crime Scene (where viewers solve interactive mysteries) and a popular writing instructor. For more information, you can visit his website, www.stephendrogers.com, where he tries to pull it all together.

SHOT TO DEATH contains thirty-one stories of murder and mayhem.

"Terse tales of cops and robbers, private eyes and bad guys, with an authentic New England setting." - Linda Barnes, Anthony Award winner and author of the Carlotta Carlyle series

"Put yourself in the hands of a master as you travel this world of the dishonest, dysfunctional, and disappeared. Rogers is the real deal--real writer, real story teller, real tour guide to the dark side." - Kate Flora, author of the Edgar-nominated FINDING AMY and the Thea Kozak mysteries

"SHOT TO DEATH provides a riveting reminder that the short story form is the foundation of the mystery/thriller genre. There's something in this assemblage of New England noir to
suit every aficionado. Highly recommended!" - Richard Helms, editor and publisher, The Back Alley Webzine

For a chance to win a signed copy of SHOT TO DEATH, click on over to http://www.stephendrogers.com/Win.htm and submit your completed entry. Then visit the schedule at http://www.stephendrogers.com/Howto.htm to see how you can march along. And then come back here to post your comments. Phew.

My Town Monday: Brighton's Four Corners, part 3

2010-03-15T09:40:00.001-04:00

The main intersection of Brighton is where Grand River and Main Street meet. Once upon a time, Main Street was called Fitch Street. Then, apparently, someone got the memo that ALL towns must have a Main Street.

In an early era, when traffic was getting too great, a "silent policeman" was installed at the intersection. I'm not entirely sure what the role of this "signal" was since it didn't have electricity or, from what I can tell, any signaling capabilities. Apparently, it was to keep traffic divided... kind of like the dashed lines in multi-lane intersections that keep traffic where it's supposed to be.

In 1989, left turns were prohibited from Westbound Main Street onto Grand River.

And, thankfully, in 2010, the traffic lights were updated to the new blinking yellow arrow for lefts (though still prohibited from westbound Main onto Grand River) to allow cars to sneak through in the rare chance when traffic is clear.

I used to watch the signal for the pedestrian crossing count down because the left light only allowed 2 cars through the light-- the 3rd had to go on the yellow. (Though, many an impatient 4th, 5th, and 6th vehicle thought that they shouldn't have to wait for the light to cycle... but that's a separate ~~rant~~ issue.)

This last shot is the intersection while the new lights were going up. There was, oddly, nothing in the local paper about the new interchange. In fact, there was an odd little situation where it looked like typical "expendable tax payer dollars being misspent" situation.

See, they took down the old poles with traffic lights on them and hung up the wires. Then... within a few weeks, they put up new poles with new lights. (In the pick, you can see the new lights are turned funny.) I honestly believed that it was some flub of the government where they didn't realize that they were replacing recently replaced poles. Wouldn't have surprised me any. Still don't know the whole story on why they took down the old poles, put up wires, then put up new poles.

Side note: I drive through this intersection every day on my way to work. If the light is green, my commute to work is about 3 minutes. If the light goes red, it nearly doubles my commute. Heh.

Map Note: Yes, Google Maps will try to have you make a left at the intersection from Main Street onto Grand River. Though it does tend to default to taking the side streets if the route is long enough. Which isn't much better, IMHO. As a driver in a strange place, I'd prefer to stay on main roads.

My Town Monday: Brighton's Four Corners, part 2

2010-03-07T19:43:00.005-05:00

Across Grand River from the Eastern House Hotel once stood a grocery store.

Some time later, the building was torn down and a new store opened. Eventually it was the Brighton Drugs store. Later, in 1937, had bought the Brighton Drug store with Baldwin. For some time it was Leland and Baldwin Drugs. Then, Leland bought out Baldwin and renamed it Leland Drugs.

Leland had the second floor of the building removed and large shop windows installed. Leland's Drug Store became the first building in Livingston County to boast a Frigid-aire air conditioning unit. I believe this distinction came in the 1930s.

Tracing the history of a rather unremarkable set of businesses on this corner is quite difficult. The next information I have is that during the 1980s and 90s various eating establishments were attempted on that corner. One of the problems with that corner-- at least in this modern era-- is that parking is limited and not terribly convenient. There is a lot across Grand River, a few parallel parking spots, and another lot about a block away. These are not far or difficult, however, this is Livingston County, not Ann Arbor. Here, people don't like to walk any farther than necessary. (See in Ann Arbor, you don't drive. You find a place to park, and walk the several blocks. That's just "How it is.")

But, in the early 1990s, this corner of Brighton opened a new eatery. A place called Lu and Carl's that has thrived. Thrived to the point where, in summer months, they have seating on the sidewalk. Like, right alongside Grand River where one can breathe in the lovely aroma of car exhaust and listen to the rumble of hundreds of cars rolling up to and eventually through the traffic light. (Um, you couldn't pay me to eat on the sidewalk of Grand River, but anyway.) My never-humble theory as to why Lu and Carl's has thrived while other restaurants did not is slightly cynical: Lu and Carl's is the first eatery on that location to have a liquor license.

My Town Monday

What Retail Taught Me About Writing

2010-02-24T09:20:00.000-05:00

I realized that some of the things I learned working in retail for eleven years are applicable to writing.

Some people are truly expendable. They add nothing and often just get in the way.
If, in the process of reassembly, you have extra parts, chances are very good that those parts are unncessary.
There is no such thing as a "minor" change.
You accomplish a great many more things if you do them, rather than if you merely talk about how you do them.
The end results are nearly always better than the process, be it finishing a book or getting paid at the end of the week.
Every "authority" will say something different in response to the same question. The best listerners will hear it all, then sort out what works best for them, knowing that it is impossible to please everyone.
It doesn't pay well.
It's important to do the mundane clean-up tasks, either straightening shelves or copyediting for typos, etc. If you've done it right, the audience will only notice that it looks nice. if you do it wrong, the audience will draw the worst conclusions.
People judge the quality of work based on a tiny sample. A messy endcap means a trashed department-- and a sloppy first chapter means a poorly written book.
Everyone thinks it's easy, but only those who have truly undertaken the job, with the goal of being GOOD at it, understand just how much hard work it requires.

My Town Monday: Brighton's Four Corners, part 1

2010-02-21T21:23:00.004-05:00

Main Street in Brighton intersects Grand River and forms a well-known and ever-changing intersection. This set of posts will look at the every changing buildings.

Today, a CVS sits on the corner, set back from Grand River with the parking lot in front. A Murray's Auto Parts store and a Sushi Zen share the location.

But a hundred and fifty years ago, this location-- on the Northeast corner of the intersection-- was the spot where the Eastern House (or Hotel) sat. The Western House sits by the railroad tracks on the other end of the down town-- all three blocks of downtown. Eastern House sat along the Grand River Trail, where the stagecoaches and wagons traveled, even before there was a railroad.

The hotel was constructed in 1850, the same year that Grand River was made into planked toll road. When built, the hotel was called the Brighton House. It was sold in 1892 and became known as the Eastern House.

Anyway, the Eastern House was more than just a hotel. For many years, it was one of the gathering places in Brighton. It was two stories, plus a basement. A sign out front (hard to make out in the photos) says it's 48 miles to Lansing and 40 to Detroit. Livingston County is the midway between Michigan's biggest city and it's capital.

The hotel building burnt down New Year's Day, 1926.

And something else sprouted in the spot.

My Town Monday: From Farm to Suburb

2010-02-14T20:41:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time, much of South East Lower Michigan was trees. Shortly after that, it was farm fields and small towns. This image shoes the little town of Hamburg. Today, Hamburg itself is still a little town. But it is surrounded by suburbia (or at least a version of suburbia.) Strip malls and subdivisions have replaced nearly all the farm fields in this little area.

This aerial view is from about the 1930s. The number 3 marks the historic church in down town Hamburg. (Still there.) The main street of Hamburg runs along in front of that street (connects #2 and 3). Follow it northerly (to the left side of the photo) through the line of trees and around the corner. The road goes off into farm fields.

By contrast, this image was poached from Google Maps. All developed—well, except the little town of Hamburg. The pink dot is downtown Hamburg.

Interestingly enough, Hamburg was platted to be a much larger town.

But it never really grew, despite having two rail road lines and two train depots. It just never became more than a little farm town.

The Mill Pond (and the Mill) are gone from Hamburg. All that’s left are two streets, and a few houses. Even the little grocery store left (though a new one may be/ have gone in.) Hard for a local little store to compete with one of those big chain stores.

It’s interesting to track the changes over time. Sometimes I wonder what Hamburg was like, once upon a time, before it was just a bedroom community tucked away off the main road.

My Town Monday: Brighton Mall... including the answer to a riddle

2010-02-07T17:32:00.001-05:00

The Brighton Mall is nestled in the corner of Grand River and I-96. Built in the 1970s, it was, once upon a time, a "real" mall, with the shops opening on the inside and you had to walk from store to store instead of the strip-mall (or "open air" malls) of today where people really and truly do drive from one store to another. Sorry. Moving on…

The Brighton Mall was anchored by K-Mart, which had it's own entrance. It was also home for many years to the Little Professor Bookstore, a locally owned bookstore. Over time, including by the time I became a resident in the area, there wasn't much to the Brighton Mall. Eventually, it was redeveloped into a Strip Mall. It's now got only a couple big-box stores. The K-Mart is a "Sears Essential' which is kind of neither a K-Mart or a Sears and I've never found it much good for shopping. (The low number of customers in that stores seems to indicate others share my opinion of this concept. Especially when it's an hour drive, tops, to a real Sears store out in Novi.) Distracted again.

Anyway, other stores include Marshall's, Jo-Ann Fabrics and a sporting goods store. Two other strip malls have been adding, including one that has Best Buy and PetsMart.

One of the interesting features of the Brighton Mall, though, is that it's below grade. To enter the Mall from Grand River, there is a rather significant ramp. Here's a shot with Panera Bread showing just how high Grand River is over the Mall parking lot. Curious. Not something I ever really though much about. It was just How Things Were. Until one day, while I was reading through some local history snippets, I found the reason why.

During the 1960s and early 70s when I-96 was being constructed, the road crews came through Brighton. Since Grand River was (and is) a major thoroughfare, of course the decision was made to build an overpass so I-96 would go over top Grand River. Well, that's an awful lot of dirt to pile up. Can you guess where this is going?

Yeah, the man who owned the farm there sold the DIRT to the state for construction of the I-96 overpass. They dug it out and left something of a hole in the ground. Well, this hole in the ground did not prevent the soon after sale of the LAND to a company interested in building a mall alongside the new entrance/ exit ramps on I-96.

These sort of stories are exactly why I LOVE local history.

The Sound of Pen on Paper

2010-01-28T14:06:00.004-05:00

Or, more accurately, the sound of the keys on my old keyboard.

While there's been a lot of keyboard clicks lately, there have not, however, been words added to any piece of fiction for over 2 months now. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit it, especially since I've always been a big proponent of writing regularly, even if it's only a little bit.

I have reasons and excuses. Some are physical-- such the time-sucking adventure that is known as homeownership. Some are mental-- such as a crippling wave of low self-confidence.

I miss writing. I miss Bo Fexler. I am continually hoping to get more writing in, one way or the other. I know I need to improve my habits, get into a better routine, and make progress, even if it's only little bits. Next semester I have a different schedule, which I'm hoping will afford me just a little more time-- the time needed, I hope, to return to writing as a habit.

I have some new ideas for improving the novel I'm in the middle of. Things that will straighten out a few niggling problems.

But more than hope is needed-- I must make that push, that change and begin to write again. It's the only way that Bo Fexler will see print.

The mystery book section needs some shaking up-- some one modern and appealing to younger readers. Something new and different. Maybe I'm concieted, but I think the mystery book section needs some young, hot women running around. And I've got one just waiting for her chance. As soon as I finish an acceptable first novel.

Novels don't write themselves, though, anymore than dishes wash themselves or clothes hang themselves in the closet.

My Town Monday: Pokemon City Championships in Brighton

2010-01-18T09:48:00.001-05:00

Every winter, there are city championships for players of the Pokemon Trading Card Game. (If you don't know what it is, ask your kids. They'll know.) This year, Brighton was able to hold a city championship tournament-- one of 9 in the Michigan/ Indiana area.

As a Pokemon Trading Card Game player, I travel-- with the Hubby-- to as many of the Michigan/ Indiana Tournaments as I can manage. And I have to say, the five minute commute around the "block" to the Brighton City Championships was my favorite commute yet. Beats even the 45 minute drive to Okemos and certainly better than the 2 hour drive to Angola, Indiana (just south of the Indiana/ Michigan border off I-69).

The local paper almost covered the event in a sad little paragraph.

One might notice how crowded the room was. And it was packed. There were about 34 "big kids" as I call us... you know, the kids who are over 16 or so and still play Pokemon. I'm one of those. (I don't even have the excuse of "my kids play" like some of the other players who figured they'd play while the little ones battle it out.) And 16 of the medium sized kids. And about 12 of the little kids. That adds up to 62. We'll kind of overlook the fact that the room capacity was 62-- after all the half-pint kids only count as half a person, right? No? Well... um. Turn out was good at least, meaning there's a good chance there will be another tournament or so held in Brighton.

Oh, how did I fare in the competition? I made Top Cut-- meaning I was in the Top 8 players at the end of battling cards all day. (Though it was some uncanny luck and the fact that another player dropped at the last minute that put me in that spot.)

Yeah, that's me in the black sweater. Nice pic...

Since the library closed, we scooted over to Mancino's Pizza and Grinders. (OMG, Yum!) There, the Top Cut finished battling out. And this is where I lost. Badly. As I expected since I have played my opponent before and nothing changed in our games since the last time this player whooped me.

Brighton Library is a nice place to play, I must admit. Though, apparently, whoever designed the building is a dumbass. The room we are in is connected by ventilation directly to the quiet study carrols. (Yeah-- 62 players in a small space, it's gonna be noisy. Plus, word is one could have yoga in that room and it would seem loud to the other end of the ventilation.) And the hallway outside our room ends in a coupula by the door, which echoes all sounds, such as those spilling from the room and the players who head out in the hall after ending their current round. I'm surprised the lady who organized it isn't banned from the library for life.

Good fun, though. Next tournament-- Michigan State Tournament in Okemos. (And one of the nicethings about the Pokemon game is that you can go to every tournament even if you didn't place or even play at all in the previous one. For some of us, we just go to play for fun, even if we don't do well. (Well, I prefer to win more than I lose, but will take a spot on Team 50/50.)

Pics compliments of Missy (and her husband), one of the Poke-judges and a Poke-mom.

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My Town Monday: Mr. B's Rustic Tavern and the Story of the Missing Awning

2010-01-11T08:58:00.000-05:00

In Downtown Howell, there is a restaurant called Mr. B's Rustic Tavern. Nice enough place (though rather loud for me-- one of those places that plays music and sports and stuff. And I think I went there on a Friday night, which is usually my restaurant-avoidance-time.)

This restaurant is located in a historic building on the corner of the two main cross roads in town. Mr. B's sits on the Southwest corner of the intersection. A person (or semi-truck) heading to I-96 would make a left turn from westbound Grand River onto Southbound Michigan Ave.

It's important to note that the downtown area is kind of small, and cramped. Michigan Ave is barely three lanes, with no on street parking at the intersection. This is important. This is also part of the reason why semi-trucks are not supposed to travel through the downtown. (I believe the exception is actual deliveries in the downtown.)

There is a green awning above the windows of Mr. B's Rustic Tavern. It goes along Grand River and... huh, it doesn't go around the corner onto Michigan Ave.

Actually, it used to. I never did get a shot of the scene any of times it happened... but the story goes something like this. Repeatedly, the awning would get nailed by, presumably, a large semi-truck and be crinkled up. The street light on the corner also suffered in these cases. I never saw it, but it's hard not to surmise the scenario when one sees a mowed down street light, a crumpled awning, and tire marks on the curb. Plus the fact that it's a dreadful tight corner that would be hard-- if not impossible-- for a semi truck to mange.

You can still see where the awning used to be. Eventually, the street light was no longer replaced and the awning was truncated. I imagine there are still too-big-semi-trucks that think they got the mad skillz to make that corner and still ride over the curve.

Every time I go by, I still curse the fact that I never got a "before" shot of the damage.

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New Baby Shark Book

2010-01-07T10:36:00.004-05:00

In all the craziness of the fall, I haven't gotten around to pimping my favorite female sleuth. Baby Shark-- Kristin Van Dijk-- has a new book out. Baby Shark's Jugglers at the Borders. I don't have my hands on a copy yet. (Hubby learned an important lesson this Christmas-- the books Clair wants are not regularly stocked in bookstores, unfortunately) but I've loved the previous three.

Also, as he tends to do with the new release, author Robert Fate is giving away PDFs of a previous book, in this case, the second book in the series, Baby Shark's Beaumont Blues.

If you like Bo Fexler, chances are good you'll enjoy Baby Shark. She's as tough as Bo, though she doesn't quite use her feminine charms the way Bo does. Then again, what good-guy female EVER does in mystery fiction, anyway? (But that's a separate rant.)

Anyway, I gotta pimp this chick. Gotta make sure she stays in print and gets out there.

My Town Monday: Dark and Cold

2010-01-03T20:07:00.002-05:00

Short post since I'm mired in grading.

It's about this time of year that people start turning off and taking down their Christmas lights. It's "too late" to leave them up.

But I wish they would.

Fine, fine, take down Santa and the creepy reindeer skeletons. But leave up the little lights. At least in places like Livingston County, Michigan.

See, it's January here. The sun rises about 8am and sets by 5pm. Yeah. The sun only works a 9 hour day this time of year.

So, seeing those little twinkles of white or colored lights is rather nice in the middle of the afternoon when it's already dark out. It provides a little bit of cheery light to contrast the cold, gray/white snow and the bare trees and the gray cloudy skies.

Who decided, anyway, that Christmas ends so early? It's okay to start Christmas festivities a month before the actual event, but less than two weeks afterward, one can be hated by the neighbors for continuing to have their lights on?

It's cold and dark. We really should be hibernating. Since we can't, how about leaving some cheery little lights on, to ward off the winter blues.

List of Goals

2010-01-02T21:50:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I'm not one of those resolution type people. (Big surprise.) I am, however, a goal-setting. And a list maker. Goodness, do I make lists. I like making lists just to cross things off...

Anyway, I have a couple goals for 2010.

1. Finish at least one Bo Fexler novel (I'd love to get two written, but I have my doubts-- see below)

2. Secure the Tech Specialist position at school, which comes with a few extra $$.

3. Have a healthy baby sometime around June 14. (Preferably between May 28 and June 8th. We'll see how well the kid listens to the first mandate from Mom.)

4. Retain the few remaining shreds of my sanity. (Ha! *giggle*)

5. Write and submit more short stories.

I don't know if I'll achieve these. I'll try. If not, there's always next year. Well, except #3. I think that's pretty solidly on this year's list.

I'll have to revisit this list in December and see if I can cross anything off. Ooo--now there's an incentive for a list-maker like me. ;-)

Transitions

2009-12-31T09:36:00.003-05:00

I'm not very good at writing transitions in my stories. Lucky for me, life tends to push onwards, whether or not the transition is any good.

But, it's the end of 2009. I've been in the New House for a year now. We call it "The Money Pit." (I'd like that movie better if that shrill chick wasn't playing opposite Tom Hanks. But I still like the story. And story trumps all.)

Owning a house has certainly cut into my writing time. I'm rather embarrassed to admit that I have done little writing this fall. It's been a busy couple of months. As always, I plan and hope and wish to write more.

Unfortunately, 2009 was not the year I landed an agent. It was a year of many things, though, including completion of Grad School (which freed up time and money that was then spent on the house... hm. Dang.) I'm still hoping for 2010 as the year I land an agent.

I never feel anything new or different as one year turns into the next. The most I ever feel is that frustration over writing the wrong damn year on the checks for about six weeks. Perhaps the calendar is turning over a new page, but my life will continue on, one day after the next, same as before.

No wonder there's no symbolism in my writing... I don't buy into symbolism in my life. For those of you that make something special of the changing of the years, enjoy.

May we all see more of Bo in the new year. (Not like that... well, maybe. ;-)

My Response to Harlequin's "Reprinting" the Pulps

2009-12-07T23:34:00.003-05:00

Harlequin is reprinting some of the old pulps-- you know, those old books with plenty of sex and violence-- the sort of story where Bo Fexler would fit right in.

Except they're "editing" them to make them more politically correct. Apparently, Harlequin never even read the Wikipedia article on pulp fiction books... like where it says that pulps were "perhaps best remembered for their lurid and exploitative stories."

So apparently in Harlequin's reprints, instead of walking down these mean streets, the detective will walk down mildly disgruntled streets.

My Town Monday: Hiatus

2009-12-07T20:15:00.004-05:00

I debated long and hard today, but I decided to take an official hiatus from MTM until the new year. I'll be working on some new material though, in part because next semester I'm teaching a Michigan & Local History class to my lovely students (assuming I can get enough of them interested in it!)

I'm hoping to have a few posts along the way, but it's entirely possible that the lights will dim on this blog over the next few weeks. I've got a lot on my plate both personally and professionally at the moment (the price of working too many jobs, methinks.) And that doesn't even include this writing hobby of mine. Though I have a few rants and musings that may or may not be subjected on those other than my poor Hubby.

I'll still be collecting links over at the My Town Monday site. And hopefully making progress on the novel-in-progress.

If you ask me, the new year is a great time to start up My Town Monday posts... so if you've been thinking about it, consider joining me in the new year.

My Town Monday: Dark Alleys and Streets

2009-11-29T21:12:00.002-05:00

The alleys in movies look nothing like the alleys that we have around here. In fact, the alleys in Livingston County, what few we have, are hardly ominous.

In movies, alleys are always dark, narrow, and secluded. Around here, though, our alleys are short both in length and the height of the buildings (seeing as how are tallest building is 4 stories, with most being about 3).

Our alleys are also wide, well-lit, and fairly clean. Some of them are kind of charming.

So, as a writer, it does leave me without any real dark alleys for final showdowns or something. Especially since our little towns have this dreadful problem with illuminating a radius eight miles larger than the town itself (more or less) in all directions with the abundance of street lights. Street lights on otherwise empty, dark streets.

Now, I'll admit that I don't much see the point of most street lights. Downtown, sure. Though our local towns could turn off half their street lights and still have enough light to illuminated any person who happens to be out. Especially about three in the morning when there are NO shops open and about 1 or 2 cars driving within the entire city limits.

Once outside the city, what do we need lights for? Certainly not pedestrians as there aren't sidewalks much past the last building in town. My car comes equipped with headlights, and I believe this is standard. So why are there so many street lights here and there throughout Livingston County? They're blocking my view of the stars! And they screw up my night vision when I pass through the cone of yellow-blue light and back into darkness again.

I've got no dark alleys and lights on what should be dark streets. I suppose that's why I fit in here-- I'm as quirky as my county.

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My Town Monday: Invasion

2009-11-22T21:05:00.003-05:00

The Soviets came to my little town. In fact, they were just around the corner. More or less. Near Mt. Brighton (which I can see out my bedroom window), a scene for the upcoming remake of Red Dawn was filmed. It included scorching a stand of trees along the front of the parking lot.

There's still evidence of the charred trees last time I drove by Mt. Brighton. Most of it had been bulldozed into a pile for clean up.

There have been quite a few movies and scenes that are being filmed in Michigan, part of the tax breaks for filmmakers. The idea is that it will bring business and dollars to Michigan to be spent, thus helping our staggering economy. (Except the economy isn't staggering. It's comatose.)

This is actually the second movie that was right near me... and I didn't find out until after the fact. (What's that saying-- if I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all?) The other movie was some small film that included a high school. It was filmed last summer at the local high school-- where I was teaching summer school. One of the teacher's took her class down to spy on the filming at the lake behind the school. Or so I heard the next day when the crew was gone.

Aside from meeting Barrie Summy last week, this is as close to fame as I tend to get. ;-)

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My Town Monday: Livingston County v. Ann Arbor

2009-11-15T21:26:00.002-05:00

The little country mouse left her country home and ventured into the city this weekend. I went to see Barrie Summy at Aunt Agatha's bookstore in Ann Arbor. Meeting and chatting with Barrie and the others was great. Driving into Ann Arbor, not so much.

See, where I come from, the tallest building is 3 stories high. And that's only in the one or two blocks of the downtown in Howell and Fowlerville. Most of the rest of the buildings are single or maybe two stories tall. No towers blocking out the sunlight.

Where I come from, we have spaces between most buildings. Occasionally there's a stretch or a strip mall where buildings are pressed up against each other. But usually, there's a space, a parking lot, or even grass. Not masses of buildings all squished together, block after block.

Where I come from, nearly every establishment has a parking lot. And they're free. Not so in a city like Ann Arbor. I only park in parking structures. And the parking structures in Ann Arbor are taller than our tallest building in Livingston County. Though, I did, for the first time in my life get my parking validated. The country mouse can learn new tricks.

Sadly, where I come from, we don't have very many bookstores. And we certainly don't have a bookstore as awesome as Aunt Agatha's with it's overwhelming collection of used and new mystery, detective, and crime books. Yes, I was drooling.

Where I come from, there's less traffic, less people, and fewer businesses to overwhelm the senses of a simple country mouse. As much as I enjoyed my visit to Aunt Agatha's for Barrie's signing, I was SO glad to get out of the city and back where I belong. Now, if only Aunt Agatha's wasn't in Ann Arbor...

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Wordless Wednesday: No More Swing In Its Step

2009-11-04T13:16:00.002-05:00

My Town Monday: Something Fun to Do

2009-11-01T21:42:00.001-05:00

One of the common complaints from Livingston County Youth is that there's nothing to do. I think they're just not trying hard enough. There's lots to do.

Livingston County is home to several parks, including Kensington Metro Park, which boasts a water park along with beaches, dic golf, nature center and trails for walking, biking, and skating. There's also the Hudson Mills Park which has disc golf along with trails beside the Huron River. And the Lakeland Trail, which is a linear state park. Plus there are several beaches.

Hartland Consolidated Schools has a fancy new pool with water slides, lazy river and other things since, when building the new high school and it's accompanying facility, the community was in favor of making it a community center. Non-residents are welcome, for a small fee of course. Most local schools have open swim for a nominal fee.

There's a couple miniature (or putt putt) golf courses in the area, including one in Howell and one in Hartland. I believe Golf-o-Rama, the indoor putt putt golf moved into Great Escape, which is a one acre indoor attraction featuring putt putt golf, bumper cars, go carts and more. And it's all indoors, so even in Michigan's lovely winter months, there's a place to go play. We can't forget Rollerama, the indoor rollerskating rink that's about as old as I am. More recently, for the extreme sports folks, a skate park was constructed behind Meijer in Brighton.

There are two movies theaters in Livingston County (well, more or less...) the large MJR theatre with 20 screens and movie tickets that cost more than the hourly minimum wage. There's also a small historic, two screen theater in Howell that is currently supposed to reopen, likely showing dollar movies. Oh, and not far away, South Lyon's historic theatre also shows the older flicks for a dollar. (That's a price I can deal with!)

For the younger kids, there's the Imgaination Station and Castaway Cafe. The former is a massive castle and play structure on the Mill Pond in Brighton. The latter is a large indoor play-place-- like the McDonald's play place, but on steriods and away from the intoxicating scent of McD's food.

For the more extreme, there's Hell's Survivor's Paintball Park. I never saw the appeal in amassing bruises, but I'm told it's great fun. There's also skiing and snowboarding in the winter months at our own Mt. Brighton. Plus summer includes rolling a giant hamster ball down that same hill.

One of the state parks in Livingston County is a riding stable, where you can 'rent' a horse. (That doesn't seem like the right term!) There's hour long trail rides and if you're like me, you learn that the hours can tell you're a pansy...

There's also the usual assortment of fairs and festivals... honestly, I think there's something about every two weeks in one town or another in this county. Hamburg's Railroad days or the Balloon Fest or the Melon Fest or the Summer Fest or Fowelerville's Fair or something or other going on.

Fall includes the Terrified Forest in Pickney and a slew of corn mazes, haunted or otherwise.

Most of the attractions are fairly inexpensive. If you can't find something to entertain yourself in Livingston County, you're not trying hard enough. Besides, it's less than an hour drive to Lansing, Ann Arbor, and Flint, all of which boast their own set of attractions. We've kind of got the best of both worlds here-- small town charm and close proximity to the attractions of the city.

Check out other My Town Monday Posts!

National Novel Writing Month

2009-10-29T09:04:00.000-04:00

I'm not doing it. I've done it for the last four years. Won three of those. And never did another thing with the stories. It's just too much work for me to feel like going back through those stories and editing them into something actually worth reading.

It wasn't a total loss. I learned a lot over time about plotting, about adding words regularly, about how I can push myself to work on my stories.

I'm going to be writing throughout November, anyway. Except, rather than the breakneck pace of 1,667 words per day that NaNoWriMo demands (for victory at least), I'm going to set my minimum word count for 500 words. Each and every day. I'm even going to start before November does. I'm not going to leave crappy scenes or misdirections in my text just for the sake of wordcount.

I really don't care for editing. I prefer to get the story pretty well the first time through. This often includes backing up, ripping whole chunks and chapters out of the story, and redoing the same section more than once (or twice.) It takes me longer to get there, but since editing to me often means ripping out chunks of story and going a completely different direction in this one scene and now the rest of the story is wrong and has to be ripped out too, it's not really worth writing to the 'end' or writing a large chunk if I'm not sure this one scene is right. (This strategy only works if you CAN make it to the end, rather than endlessly revising.)

I admire the people who find editing to be less daunting and can tear apart a finished story. I usually can't salvage much of a previous version. Some peices, but because scene A is changed, this exchanged in scene B doesn't make sense... and so on and so on.

I think NaNoWriMo can be a great learning tool for some people. Teaching them that they CAN *make* time to write, if they really want it, for example. And depending on the person, there are other lessons. But, after several years, I'm finding that it just doesn't accomplish what I'm looking for.

Good luck to any one participating in the frenzy of writing that is NaNoWriMo. May you learn much about yourself and your writing.

My Town Monday: Metro Detroit... and beyond

2009-10-25T19:04:00.000-04:00

Most of the population of Michigan is the area known as "Metro Detroit." It consists of Detroit and the areas surrounding it, until one gets about to Novi... or 20 some miles East of me. (Okay, technically, Livingston County is part of Metro Detroit, but really, it's so far out that the designation is, in my opinion worthless... see the red circle on the map?)

Now, believe me, I'm happy not to live in "Metro Detroit" because I'm NOT a city girl. But there are some problems that comes with not being part of that congolmerate of urban life.

My TV commercials are all geared towards those who dwell in Metro Detroit-- or at least have little aversion to making an hour plus trek out of the sticks and into the concrete covered land. Time and time again, there are advertisements for stores and restaurants that are miles and miles from where I live.

Take for instance my recent trek to find and purchase a new winter coat. Being a picky bugger and not into this years "hip" coat fashions, there was discussion about how and where to find one. My husband was also looking for a jacket and suggests going to Burlington Coat Factory. Supposed to be great selection and good prices-- according to the commercials.

Okay... google google. Oh. The nearest locations is... an hour away. And pretty much all the locations are in places that are foreign and terrifying. We finally picked a location-- one at the gigantic mall Great Lakes Crossing. This was selected because most of the journey is on roads I'm now familiar with. And, I know the mall is RIGHT off the e-way. (We were successful procuring a new winter coat for me. And then we missed our entrance ramp and ended up taking a different route home, but it was all good, because, like I said, I knew the roads.)

Most of the chains have never made it out to the sticks. And in recent years, oddly enough, several chains that had spread out this way actually retreated back into Metro Detroit. We lost our Dunkin' Donuts and our Little Ceaser's locations in Livingston County, for example.

We're not Metro Detroit, but we're not small enough to be a small town. We're kind of a strange in-between. If the folks here weren't so keen on driving miles and miles to get to the chain stores, we might just have better luck nurturing more home grown stores. But, being so 'close' to Metro Detroit (and Ann Arbor) we've got a bit of a problem with being a bedroom community.

It's good... and bad. It's those people moving OUT of Metro Detroit and trying to bring the live they left with them out here that ruins it.

It'll Be Just Like Starting Over

2009-10-22T09:49:00.003-04:00

I knew I was having trouble with the opening of the current Novel-in-Progress. Some time back, my Beta Reader confirmed it. Then, life intervened and things were seriously derailed.

Now, I'm returning and basically starting over. I think the overarching plot idea is still solid, but I've completely changed the intro. Hopefully it will be a better-- or at least more publishable-- version.

Having written one full novel and 50k of a second (plus several NaNoWriMo novels) in the past few years, I have a renewed appreciate for the amount of time and work that goes into writing a novel. I knew it took a long time and a lot of work, but just the sheer scale of starting with word one and knowing how long this one story will dominate my waking thoughts. Well, most of my waking thoughts. I do have a husband and a tendency for story-ADD (look, new shiny story idea!)

Things have been extra busy this year (Side note: I'm tired of homeownership. I want to be a renter again...) And I keep getting distracted from the story. It's harder to chug along on a large piece of writing with regular interupptions-- and I'm not even talking about a day or two without writing, but rather a week where things are so nuts I can't even remember the names of the characters in my story. Sucks.

I'm going to keep on. My goal at this point is 500 words a day. Like putting pennies in a jar. I'd love to have more words each day, like adding silver coins to that penny jar, but it seems unlikely with the current situation. (Fear not, nothing bad, just busy.) But little at a time, I will write this novel. I refuse to wait until I have "time" to just sit and write. I'll never have "enough time" for that. Instead, like the Colorado River, I will carve a Grand Canyon... and write the next best selling detective series.

Hey, if I'm going to have a fantasy ending, dammit, I'm going all the way. What's the point otherwise? =)

Wordless Wednesday: Maybe It's A Seeing-Eye Ad...

2009-10-21T03:46:00.000-04:00

Indentification

2009-10-20T19:19:00.001-04:00

Apparently, I'm the odd one out.

Again.

Apparently, most readers want to follow a character who they can identify with. One who shares flaws or fears with them. One who is like them in some ways.

I don't. When I read, I want to escape. If I wanted to be reminded of my own shit, I wouldn't be reading. I'd be pretending to deal with my own shit. The only trait I like to share with the characters is that of self-sufficiency or competence.

I read to escape. For a little voyeurism. To get into someone else's life, skin, and flaws. To get away from my own.

I've no interest in a story revolving around a teacher. I've watched some of those feel-good teacher-changes-the-world movies and they just leave me flat. I'm not likely to be changing the world. I will change individual lives and that's the best I hope for. I'll never get my motley crew of students to all ace the ACT (or Michigan Merit Exam) next go-round. Hell, I'm lucky if I can get them to read three whole novels in the course of a semester.

I don't want to read about failed relationships or people who only whine about their failed lives and poor choices. I want to read about action, adventure, mystery, and other people getting by in life. I prefer stories where people are doing at least okay in their lives, not fucking it up.

Now, either I just write it poorly, or what I write just doesn't go over with the average reader. I know that I'm not including these fatal flaws-- though Bo does have some pretty serious flaws-- but I also don't dump them out at the beginning of the book. It's not a massive bitch-fest about how horrible her life has been.

Like me, Bo has a tendency to focus on what she can and will deal with now. She doesn't spend much time lamenting what happened before. She focuses on the her work, current problems, and honestly, tries to avoid spending much time on things she can't deal with-- her past. Maybe this just doesn't (or hasn't) translated to the page well.

But I'm still getting feedback-- occasionally-- that deals with this issue. And I'm not sure how to reconcile it. Do I try to write is as people expect or do I hold fast to my vision of Bo. Do I write for readers or for myself. It's a tough choice. I'm still going to pretend I can do a little from column A and a little from column B.

And it may just mean it takes longer to get published. Good thing I have this cushy teaching job... oh, wait. There's nothing cushy about it. Damn.

Wordless Wednesday: Lost the Satellite Signal

2009-10-14T10:50:00.000-04:00

(see the gray metal piece... without a dish? And it was only like that for three weeks.)

My Town Monday: Getting Out of This Godforsaken Town

2009-10-12T18:30:00.000-04:00

Actually, the title is misleading. Unlike so many of my classmates-- and most of the young people in the county, from what I can tell-- I had no burning desire to get the hell out of the Livingston County area.

I never really minded the area. And growing up in this sort of mostly rural area made me rather averse to cities of any real size.

To this day, I still hate driving in Ann Arbor. Or anywhere that could be considered Metro Detroit. I prefer my roads with two lanes, maybe three.

I never really thought about where I would end up living once I reached adulthood. It all just kind of happened without much consideration beyond "for now." I got my first job at a local retail center... and proceeded to work there for 11 years. I went to college in Ypsilanti (about a 40 min drive to the south). And so, commuting to said college, I stayed put.

With family in the area, I didn't mind staying in the area. (Especially since my oldest bother maintains my car.)

Then, when I got my teaching job, it was in the same county. And so I stayed. We bought a house last year.

I think we've pretty well put down roots. It's kind of odd to think that I'll likely be raising any kids here. It's a nice place to raise a family. Not too busy or bustly. Plenty of shops and a fair amount of recreation opportunities that don't require me driving to places that have too much traffic or roads too complicated.

I don't feel trapped. I feel settled. I still don't want to leave this place. It is the quite, quaint, unexciting sort of place that's perfect for me.

Check out more My Town Monday Posts.

Note to Self

2009-10-08T13:06:00.000-04:00

Sticky notes on the monitor.
Notes scrawled on half-sheets of scrap paper.
A spiral memo book of notes.
Notepads of notes.
Text files of notes.

I have notes all over on things that I want to remember or easily be able to find again.

Except I have notes everywhere. I can't keep track of what's where. I've thought about moving my notes to my computer. Not that I think that would help with the proliferation of notes and other information I like to hang onto.

It's a pack rat thing, really. And I hate having to hunt for that neat thing again. Except, I end up hunting through notes. Or forgetting about it until I am rifling through the notes in search of something else or perhaps, even more infrequent, cleaning up.

And I think they breed in the night. Slowly, as they plot word domination. Or at least to take over my office.

Wordless Wednesday: Makes Sense

2009-10-06T23:42:00.000-04:00

Box elder bugs... on the Box elder tree.

At Least They Know They're Bad At It

2009-10-06T09:31:00.000-04:00

Ah, it's grading-time again in this English teacher's classroom. Which means, I spend a whole day preparing myself to read some incredible work.

Many of my students either don't know or don't care about grammar, spelling, and mechanics. Few know how to tell a story. These are high school kids... I'm doing my best, but I can't overcome motivational deficiencies.

But, at least my students generally know they're not good writers. They don't think that their work is of publishable quality. They just want to get their credit and move on. Sadly, few actually want to learn anything while earning the credit.

I can only imagine if I was reading their work in a slush pile. I'm already somewhat disheartened by the lack of quality, time, and attention. (Why, yes, I do worry about the future in these kids' hands.) It would be awful to slog through such poorly written work from people who mistakenly think they are good at it. People who want to see me select their work as the best of all, suitable for publication.

While my collection of writing samples is from a particular, low-standards group, I do, from time to time, get students who think they are good and would love to be published. Students who've never noticed how quotation marks are used, who 'have no idea' where to put periods in their writing, who don't even bother to break their writing in paragraphs (unless required by their teacher who's eyes glaze over with huge chunks of horrible text.)

In writing, as with many things, I've come to the conlusoin, that those who are bad often don't realize that they are bad at it. Bad drivers never see that their close-calls or citations are from their own actions. Bad writers don't think that their poor handling of the craft is reason for rejection. Those with poor social skills may just think the world hates them. And American Idol is a lovely tribute to the people who think they can sing... but shouldn't ever be allowed to, again.

Yes, I'm procrastinating. That's something I know I'm good at...

Does this post make me look fat?

2009-10-01T09:41:00.004-04:00

I find self-destructive behavior to be quite interesting.

Things like eating another serving when you know you shouldn't.
Spending money when you know you shouldn't.
And unfair expectations of one's partner.

Now, for some reason, I side with maligned husbands in this category. I despise when a woman-- even on TV-- asks "Does this dress make me look fat?" As it's continually joked about in media, there is no correct way to answer it. Though, I'd go with, "No, sweetheart, it's your ass that makes you look fat," but I can be a bit of an ass myself.

But not so much of an ass that I would ever ask my husband this. Hell, when I gained weight, I mentioned to my husband that I thought that was the case. He agreed. Told me I looked like I had more tailfeathers. GASP! But, he said so without any fear of rebuke.

Of course, I think a lot of husbands get the short end of the stick. They're maligned for not helping around the house, but harshly critized for not "doing it right." They're sneered at for wanting sex-- even though they got a bait-and-switch with sex being freely given in early days of the relationship but withheld after some point (often birth of one or more children.) They're called distant and chastized for not taking care of the wife... but those same wives deny that the husband has needs, too, that are going unmet. And, in too many cases I've seen, the wife withdraws her attention in favor of the kids. The first broken link...

And, on top of all this, it is now 'socially acceptable' to man-bash. Look at all the 'stupid husband's on TV-- you could never have a stupid wife character anymore. (Though, many of my male students are more than happy to accept this lable of being stupid and useless-- less pressure, they say.) My spot in hell will be an ice cold room with a baby shower full of women bitching about their husbands...

You know, I actually like the man I married. Still. I can't imagine doing him the disservice of bitching about his actions publicly.

On an unrelated note, I hate most TV shows, have trouble with most female characters in books, and have learned to never watch anything labeled "romantic comedy" ever again.

Wordless Wednesday: Murder in the Men's Room

2009-09-30T09:37:00.002-04:00

Honestly, is there anyone who can see something like at the local JCPenny's and NOT think that?

Professional v. Profanity

2009-09-29T08:15:00.000-04:00

I'm starting to fear that being professional is a lost art to some kids these days. And some grown ups. Particularly in the age of insta-communication-- emails and texts written without forethought or afterthought.

My students usually smile when I tell them during the first day song and dance that I understand that profanity becomes habit. They smile and nod to each other. Then they get all flummoxed when I tell them taht I can out-swear the best of them. And I could. I can string profanity and vulgarities together in a way to make even the most bad ass high school wigger stop and stare. But I also know when not to use it.

When I'm heavy into writing, I notice that my speech pattern is altered a bit. I use more big words, even in the classroom than otherwise. I'm also more prone to being vulgar and shocking. Though you'd think my Hubby would be used to the things that come out of my mouth... even writing the words makes those speech patterns seep into my speech.

I don't have any real problem cleaning up my foul mouth for teaching (good thing!) though the occasional snarky line does sneak out. Luckily, each time it was with students that found it more amusing to hear such a thing from their teacher than offensive to hear it in school.

Nor do I have any problem writing polite, professional emails. In fact, I have a hard time being ME in email. I'm usually in something similar to "teacher-mode" that's nice, polite, and proofreads twenty-seven times to make sure that what I've written has a very high likelihood of coming across as intended.

I do, however, have trouble cleaning up my fiction for those markets that request things that way. I don't write clean by nature. To clean up, I usually go back in edits. And when I'm done, I always feel like the color has been bleached out of the story. Sometimes I think taht should I release a collection of Bo Fexler stories someday, that I'd go back and re-write the profanity and vulgarities back where they 'belong.'

Of course, the funniest part of all this, is I only swear at top strength around Hubby and a few other select people who I know don't find it offensive in anyway. I respect their right to not heard my creative use of bad words. But, man, they are missing out on some great lines...

My Town Monday: Backroads

2009-09-27T23:22:00.004-04:00

In Livingston County, there's usually more than one good route to get from one town to the next. Some rural areas have only a few routes between areas, but much of Livingston County is connected by paved (more or less) two- lane (ish) roads.

The older and more curmudgeonly I get, the less I like the main roads of Livingston County. I don't like driving on Grand River for long stretches between Brighton and Howell. Too many idiots in their fancy cars with their fancy phones distracting them from the overspending they've just done at one of the too many retail centers in the area. I've checked my car and it doesn't appear invisible to my eyes...

So, I'm learning more of the "Back roads." Growing up, I knew there were at least three ways to get into Brighton from points south--Brighton Rd, Brighton Lake Rd, and Rickett Road. Rickett's the most fun since it's completely straight. It's also a deer magnet. And the site of the my impact with said quadraped.

<-Rickett Road

On the back roads, I can relax. I don't have to worry as much about being run over by someone who fails to notice the little car in front of them. I can listen to my music, talk ~~to myself~~ out dialogue for the next story, and just enjoy the drive. There's no rush. I can look at old architecture on the houses and take in the scenery.

And yet, given the opportunity (and excluding peak traffic times) I'd just as soon get on the expressway than wind through most the major roads of the county. I also don't care for dirt roads-- too much sliding of the car.

I don't like spending too much time in the car. But if I'm going to be there, I may as well enjoy the drive, one way or another. Preferrably with some good tunes playing and no other drivers trying to play Monster Truck Rally with me.

How do you like to get about your town?

Teasing

2009-09-24T12:28:00.003-04:00

I know my own ethics... but it's been interesting exploring Bo's. What is she willing to do, how far is she willing to go-- both professionally (if one could call seducing people for profit 'professional') and personally.

Even when I set Bo off to seduce one or more men, like a story I'm currently working on, there's still the question of just what that seduction entails. Do clothes stay on? Is petting and kissing enough? Do clothes start to come off? Which clothes-- and whose?

There's also the issue of what would really happen. I get some women complaining that men don't just make out with a hot women. And it's true that many men won't-- though most men I've talked to about it admit that they might play for awhile, entertaining the idea (and themselves). Can't really blame anyone for that. Hell, if a hot woman tried seducing me, I might play along for a while, too... what?

Like any writer, I sometimes worry about disappointing my readers-- they expect more than Bo gives, maybe she stops before she's (or he's) done. But in the end, the story dictates. The story needs what it needs.

The current short I'm working on-- while trying to find my way back into the novel I had to temporarily abandon-- is giving me trouble. I know it's going to be sexy, but I'm not sure how low Bo's going to go. Or how to resolve the conflict-- after all, there's more to the story than just sex. There's a conflict, a reason for Bo to pull out her sex appeal, a case to be solved.

But I am SO glad that my mind is occupied with story lines and plot problems instead of all the things that previously took over. I miss writing and am glad to be back at it.

Wordless Wednesday: We have a budding Pyromaniac

2009-09-23T08:04:00.003-04:00

Oh, pertty fire...

My Town Monday: Hamburg Elementary

2009-09-20T21:34:00.000-04:00

This post is a little ranty...

Now, economically, things have been rough in Michigan for quite some time. We lead the way into recession years ago.

One of the casualties of the failing economy in Livingston County is the schools. The number of students has been dropping in all the local schools. This compounds another problem, which is that the Livingston County schools get the bare minimum of state funding, in spite of increases in student body and tax-base. It's a political thing... and it's hard on the local schools. We're suburban these days, but the we don't get funded like a suburban school. We get funded like small-town two-cow rural schools. We're totally four-cow towns, at least.

So, the school districts look for places to cut. One of the places was a little elementary school in Hamburg. Hamburg is a tiny town anyway, and the elementary school had about 300 students. That's it. It was the smallest school in the Pinckney school district, but it was also the most cherished. Logically, it made the most sense to close this one elementary and shuffle the students into the other area schools. It's regrettable, because, honestly, this is how an elementary (hell, any school!) should be. The staff knew all the students, there's was an incredible sense of community, and it was an integral part of the community around it.

Now, forgive a little more political ranting, but if Pinckney was a smarter school district, instead of boarding up Hambrug Elementary, they'd have that building making them money. How? Well, they'd open up their own alternative/ adult education program. Pinckney schools hemmorages high school students, most of them heading to another alternative ed program in the county. These students are non-traditional and most of them hate the way that Pinckney High School is run. (I should know... I was one of the students that couldn't fucking leave Pinckney fast enough. I made it 2.5 years of high school.) In other districts, a well run alternative high school program is AT LEAST self- supporting. At best, it can actually make the district money, as, allegedly, the program in Brighton does.

The size of Hamburg Elementary is about perfect for a small alternative school-- or even half the building would suffice. It would put the building to use instead of leaving it boarded up. So far, there's no vandalism, but it's really only a matter of time. Someone will have "fun" trashing the place and then it'll end up like the closed schools in Detroit-- too much money to repair.

Now I'll admit my biases. I think Pinckney schools has a dreadfully mismanaged high school, still. (I think it's an identity thing-- they still act like a small cow-town rural school when they are not. They are a suburban school.) I also work for an alternative high school that is run well and is financially solvent. I also hate to see this wasted opportunity. There are far too many places boarded up in Livingston County, too many casualties of money and poor planning.

I love my county. Really. But it's hard these days. Maybe my students who think that the Great Depression has to do with needing Prozac aren't so far off the mark...

Visit the My Town Monday site for links to other, probably more cheerful and less ranty posts.

Honest Scrap Award

2009-09-17T06:05:00.000-04:00

Jamie Debree has chosen me to as a recipient of the Honest Scraps award. She nominated me in part because I write what I love. Cool.

The rules for receiving the award are simple:
- pass the award on to seven worthy blogs
- list ten honest things about yourself.

Picking other blogs is always the part I hate. I'm not good at choosing. And I always feel bad for leaving people out. But the top blogs that come to mind are:

Travis Erwin-- he's got a skill for telling his stories.

Sara who talks about her life and writing, and bravely wrote about her wardrobe makeover.

Keith Rawson-- another crime writer with a sense of humor I enjoy.

Patti Abbott-- my favorite softie who writes crime fiction

And, yeah, that's only four. Some days it feels like I read a whole ton of blogs, spying on other people's lives. Some days it feels like I'm not even scratching the surface and can't possibly keep up with the people that interest me.

Okay, part 2, which is the 10 honest things about myself:

1. When I started writing, the idea of sexing up my stories never even crossed my mind. I was also a virgin. No, literally. Some time after getting married... things changed in my stories. Probably because I was no longer a virgin anymore.

2. I get bored easily. I don't like waiting or sitting around when I could be doing something, particilarly something like writing.

3. I am a completely different person as a teacher than I am the rest of the of time. I'm postive, forgiving, and tolerant of stupid while inside the classroom. The rest of the time, I'm not.

4. I am so square, I could be cubed. I don't speed, drink, and have never even tried any illegal drugs. I don't even jaywalk (small towns without crosswalks not withstanding.) I don't like to do things that could get me in trouble. It's a little pathetic actually.

5. I find human behavior fascinating. I'm watching you. It seems that the whole world thinks and acts differently than me and it's so curious to me. Take for instant text messaging-- not the act, but the cost! I can't justify the cost, but everyone I know texts all the time, adding money to the phone bill.

6. I never know what to say to people. I'm learning, or at least trying to. But because of this, it does get a little lonely in my land sometimes.

7. I hate nearly all cell phone users. I think cell phones are creating this false sense of importance and urgency, which is damaging to people and those around them. If you call my cell phone, I regard it as an invitation to talk-- I may and will decline that invitation. I do not need constant validation and chances are whatever you are calling about can wait.

8. I married the first man I dated. I have only ever had one sexual partner. And, get this, I waited until my wedding night. Yet, I write semi-erotic fiction with a sexy female lead who seduces and sometimes uses men.

9. Apparently my appearance-- long hair, glasses, nerdy, and quiet (or maybe something else about me!) is misleading. People rarely expect me to be the vulgar, foul-mouthed, sex-talking, naughty-book-writing misanthrope that I am. I'm not sure what to make of that, but the shock-value is kind of fun.

10. Nothing in my life ever works out as I planned. Ever. It doesn't all go badly, but it certainly makes me wonder why I bother trying to plan and prepare for events or things. In the end, I realize that I'm doing pretty well-- a nice house, a nice hubby, money in the bank, and a job that I like most days.

Thanks for playing today. I'm still sorting out my schedule (and dealing with a new boss at school... this could get interesting.) But already I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and in that light is a stack of papers just waiting to be filled with story.

Wordless Wednesday: Oh Baby

2009-09-16T18:00:00.002-04:00

Some action outside my window...

My Town Monday: Hamburg Festival and Railroad Days

2009-09-13T20:58:00.005-04:00

Apparently, this was the 8th year for the Festival in the little town of Hamburg, Michigan. This is the first year that I went and I admit, I mainly went for the train.

The Steam Railroading Institute brought out one of their steam engines and there were several rides on Saturday. My ma bought tickets for the one hour excursion train.

The steam engine, Pere Marquette 1225, is the model engine that inspired the train engine used in The Polar Express. It was an impressive piece of machinery, towering above the little people.

The Pere Marquette railway is named for Father Marquette, one of the early Jesuit Missionaries in the Great Lakes area. But, the abbreviation for the Pere Marquette railway was PM, and I actually found in historical records that people used to say that PM (for the railway) stood for 'Poor Management.' The more things change...

Up the hill, there were craft tents, live band, but really the highlight was the train ride. In what there is of Hamburg-- the town consists of a church, two fire stations, a bar, a barber, a closed-up market (sad), a ecclectic home goods store, and the old-library-turned-new-museum. And a handful of houses-- in this part of town, you could see the smoke from the engine billowing up. The train was at the bottom of the hill, past the now-gone Grand Trunk Western railroad line and sitting on the CSX (formerly Pere Marquette) rail road line.

There's no depot in Hamburg anymore, but the conductors were very friendly and helpful for boarding the train.

The train rain about a half-hour south(ish) out of Hambrug towards Ann Arbor. Then came back. The engine was running backwards on the leg out. It was cool watching for the railroad crossings that I'm used to driving over in the car. Took some thinking sometimes to remember where the next crossing would come out.

I could so totally do all my traveling by train. The cars were not fancy, but they had this air of formality and elegance of upscale travel, and of a by-gone era.

There was a dining car and little bathrooms on each car. I think the bathrooms (which I did not use, thought my young nephew made great use of in a mere hour ride...) were much larger than airplane bathrooms.

The aisles and seats were much nicer than any airplane I've been on. Even though they were narrow, it didn't feel cramped, even with my long legs. And I sat opposite my dad, who is the genetic source of my own long limbs.

The Steam Railroad Institute is about to take the Pere Marquette 1225 off the tracks. It's due for it's Federal Inspection, where they have dismantle huge parts of this engine for cleaning and inspection. It's a task that costs over $500,000 and can take two years. So this may be the last year that the Pere Marquette runs the rails, which is quite sad. They do have two other trips planned for the end of a the year-- a fall color train that will run up through Northern Lower Michigan when the leaves change into a full display of reds and oranges, and a Santa train that runs to the "North Pole" where Santa is waiting. I'm saving my pennies and hoping to get to go on another train ride this year.

Visit the My Town Monday site for links to other folk's and their towns. And feel free to join us!

Schedules, Routines and Habits

2009-09-10T10:41:00.004-04:00

I'm not real good at any of those... Oh sure, I have schedules. In a few more days, my entire week will be regimented into approximately 2 hour blocks. The price of being a teacher.

I can barely remember to take my meds every morning, and I've been on those same meds for years now. So much for that "three months and it's routine" stuff.

But one of the things that I do try to do, with varying degrees of success, depending on which way my life is imploding, is to write every day. Sometimes, it's just a matter of opening the WIP and reading things over, maybe tweaking a little, rearranging this. At least I've done something that day. I hate when that's all I can accomplish, but having just had a week where watching 'House Hunters' was mentally taxing, I'm reconsidering my position on barely-productive writing days.

The goal I like to set is 500 words. It's a nice managable goal, not too much. I don't beat myself up over not reaching, especially when there are other things in life, like, say, maintaining a relationship with one Husband or working on projects for other jobs. And knowing that I'm going to try to get another 500 words keeps my story writing thoughts more focused. I have a goal to work towards and something to work out. As opposed to starting yet another scrap of a new story. Like the three on my phone... =P

I can't schedule the time. I won't listen to me. I can't punish myself for not getting there nor reward myself for doing it. I still don't listen to me. But I know that the only way to eat that elephant is one bite at a time. The over-confident belief that I'm writing stories that are good and different and deserve someday to be published is enough. That's what gets me through the tough days. That and my love of conquering challenges.

But I'm not going to pretend that what works for me is right for anyone. I always hated those writers who insist (INSIST!) that a dedicated writer will get up before work and write a couple hundred words to start the day. I understand the rational, but really... my brain doesn't engage until sometime after 9am. Anything before that is akin to deciphering slug trails, except it's drool on the keyboard.

To me, the most important this is just making time to work on the writing. Add words, work on the story, and make progress. Morning, noon, night, regularly or in spurts. Every writer needs to find their own way, so long as they write, finish, and get better.

Write on!

Wordless Wednesday: Spying

2009-09-09T20:55:00.001-04:00

Looking through the slats of venetian blinds always makes me feel like a spy.

Writing About Writing

2009-09-08T11:13:00.000-04:00

I have no problem blogging about the process of writing. About adding words, deleting scenes, even about getting stuck.

But for some reason, I can't write about the story itself. I just can't write about the great scene I came up with (other than in generic, nondescript words.) And I can't post great lines I came up with.

I've thought about it many times.

But I can never put those words on the blog. Into the public.

What if the story turns out to be a dud? What if the story takes months to finish because it is difficult? What if that 'great line' has to be cut or edited out (as, sadly, happens far more than I would like)?

I think it's like my reticence regarding future plans. I don't like to talk about my plans for fear that they not work out. And then someone might feel the need to remind me of a failed plan, a mistake.

So, I write about writing. About female characters. And a little bit about life.

Still waiting to write about getting my novel published. In the mean time, I have stories to work on. I've got two short stories to edit before I start submitting them. And a novel to finish.

My Town Monday: McPherson Hospital

2009-09-06T21:50:00.003-04:00

Not really a good topic for Labor Day weekend, but having spent a few hours there this weekend, I decided to do my post on it.

Yes, my little county on the edges of suburbia has it's own hospital. Still. Once upon a time, an area like this might have a small, or two. In fact, like airports, Livingston County has two hospitals. Brighton Hospital has no emergency services, which, admittedly, was completely mind boggling to me for many years. The other hospital is a more traditional, if undersized hospital.

McPherson Hospital is in Howell and it's real easy to find-- just follow the blue H signs. (Now, I'd really appreciate if hospitals also had a few signs leading, oh, say BACK to the major road ways...) McPherson hospital was originally started in 1920, operating out of a house donated by the McPherson family. It had 18 beds.

Later, land was donated for the construction of a proper hospital. It is only three stories tall at the tallest. It's small. And, while still a good hospital, it certainly isn't the same caliber as, say University of Michigan Hospital about 30 miles to the South in Ann Arbor. And not far to to east of UofM Hospital is St. Joesph Mercy Hospital, Ann Arbor (aka St. Joe's.) While sometime it's a toss up between which hospital is closest and which is more high tech etc, I'm partial to the cute little one. It's like miniature hospital...

And, as I found out first hand this weekend, they have some good staff there. In fact, my visits there the other day were each shorter than the visit to urgent care the week before. See... the thing is my cat bit me when I tried to catch him to put flea medicine on his flea riddle body. Bit me bad. Hence the visit to urgent care, which included a lot of scary stuff about cat bites and infection and boogey monsters before they could give me a couple drugs a splint for my finger. Except one of those drugs had it out for me. I think it was paid off... maybe someone doesn't want me to finish the novel.

Since it's been about 8 months since I last developed a new allergy, I guess it was time. Unfortunately, by the time the symptoms manifested themselves in enough severity to conclude something was very wrong, it was late Saturday night. So, I made a field trip to McPherson Hospital... okay, techinically, it's now called St. Joseph Mercy Livingston or some such ghastly moniker, but local yokels call it by the right name, McPherson.

Anyway, I'm doing much better now. Almost have use of all ten fingers again. And the offending medication turned poison in being evicted as I write. Though I don't have any good pictures of the building.

Sitting in the hospital room for a couple hours, waiting, I came to the conclusion that hospitals should get local art students or something to paint "Where's Waldo?" style paintings with a selection of little guys (like 10) to hunt out on the walls while waiting. It's about the mental capacity likely available to anyone who happens to be in the ER... and it would be more interesting than unsuccessfully tying to hear what's going on in the hall.

Visit The My Town Monday site for other towns.

Wordless Wenesday: Supernatural Phenomenon?

2009-09-02T08:17:00.002-04:00

Maybe the sandhill cranes I was trying to photograph used some sort of magic.

I Like 'Em Simple

2009-09-01T22:17:00.000-04:00

So, you're reading along and there all these characters and clues, and the detective wonders off and suddenly nabs the bad guy with a few lines, a few references to things you vaguely remember reading.

And the book ends.

Now, maybe you like that. Maybe you like trying match wits with the author/ detective. I don't. It infuriates me. When I'm reading-- and particularly when I'm reading for fun-- I don't keep close track of clues or characters. I'm not working that hard for my fun. So, I like when the author helps me out a bit.

It doesn't have to be a whole 'here's what happened' scene like in Monk. But I do so love it when authors drop me little a reminder. A little clue here and there to trigger that one synapse to fire and help me recall who/what/when/where/why/how. A little line.

But more than that, I don't like my mysteries too convoluted. I like to be able to draw a line from crime to criminal through the book, connecting the dots into a lightbulb. Too many twists and turns, too many attempts to throw off the reader, and like I've been bucked from a mechanical bull, I'm sitting on the side going WTF?

I just don't like to think that hard when I'm reading for fun. I don't want to have to take notes just to understand who killed the woman in the flowerbed. Like watching TV... it's entertainment. If I wanted to work, I'd be writing my own stories, not trying to figure out yours.

Nothing wrong with books that make the reader work. I just don't care for 'em that much. I also don't like coconut, cotton candy or romance.

My Town Monday: Name Game

2009-08-30T18:54:00.000-04:00

Livingston County, Michigan is what is knows as a cabinet county. It is one of 10 counties in Michigan named for then- President Andrew Jackson and members of his cabinet. There is a Jackson county.

Livingston County includes a town named Brighton. Many settlers to Michigan in the early 1830s were from New York, searching for new farm land. There is a Brighton, New York. Most likely Brighton, Michigan was named after Brighton, New York, as settlers often named their new towns after some aspect of their former residence. When I google anything for Brighton, I type Brighton mi to ensure I'm reading about the right town.

To the east of Livingston County, there is a city named Novi. There's a cute story behind this name. Apparently, on the Grand River Trail between Detroit and Lansing, Novi was Stagecoach Stop Number 6. That was the only name this place had. It would get written using the shorthand for Number, which is No. and the Roman numerals VI. Get some one with sloppy handwritting, leave out a period and No.VI becomes... Novi.

In the southern part of Livingston County is a little hamlet named Hell. Yep. I live just north of Hell, Michigan. There's several stories about how this town got it's name, but the most common is that the guy who first settled there was approached by state officials asking what the name of the town was. Allegedly, the curmudgeonly old feller replied, "You can call it hell for all I care."

Michigan also boasts such fun town names as Climax, Christmas, Paradise, Parshalville.

What fun town names do you have?

Visit the My Town Monday Blog for more links and to share your own town!

Long and Short

2009-08-27T23:44:00.004-04:00

While stalling on my novel, which is in a bit of overhaul at the moment, I went through my shorts, looking for unpublished, near-finished, and reviewing submissions status. To my surprise, I only have three stories left right now, in a close to finish or finished status. I submitted one. I have to re-query on another. And a third is just kind of an oddball that I don't know whether to revise or submit elsewhere as is.

It has been a very, very long time since I had this few short stories bouncing around my computer, waiting for homes.

Truthfully, I kind of miss the shorts. I miss the form and the instant gratification that comes with the completion. Right now, I don't have any short ideas, oddly. I do, however, have the novel on the forefront of my brain. Thinking and rethinking my pacing and plotting and tension and conflict.

Writing shorts is a whole different mindset than long stories. In many ways, shorts are different structure. It's a much carefuller focus and many ideas just won't fit in the short form. A problem that's compounded by the many zines who are looking for 2500 words and other small amounts. It's like stuffing a fluffy down comforter into milk crate. It just isn't going to fit. A pillow, on the other hand, stuffs quite nicely.

With the novel, I think a lot about the entire thing, the next scene, the last couple scenes, the set up, the pacing, and so on. It makes it harder to juggle between ideas unless I'm already sure of the next part(s) and it's merely a matter of writing them. Those are fun writing days.

Though the current overhaul has been trying. It's trying to piece together where I'm going while cutting out what didn't work, but also keeping the pacing from being too quick through the plot. And to that some screwing formatting issues that are making things harder than they should, and it's just been easier to go watch HGTV with Hubby all evening than work on the revisions.

Man... this was supposed to be a short post. I can't even write short blog posts or emails at the moment.

Wordless Wednesday: Design Flaw or User Error

2009-08-26T01:26:00.000-04:00

Writing Something Else

2009-08-25T09:03:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish I didn't write the way I do. Maybe if I wrote sparkly vampires or happy characters or something I would have an easier time getting publisher (or agented.)

Sometimes, I also wish I was taller. At 5'6.75 inches, I'm a little shorter than I would like to be. And, technically, I'm not quite "tall" in women's clothing-- the magic number we're looking for is 5'7". Too short to be "tall," too tall to be average. (But we'll stay away from that bane of my existence: clothes shopping.)

Neither one is likely to change. For better or for worse.

Aside from the fact that I like writing Bo Fexler stories, I realize that I'm just not that talented of a writer. I can't change voices. I write first person for a character-- Bo-- who is akin to me and my thinking in many ways. Much of her thinking is mine, only exaggerated or bent or such. But she does get to say all the cool lines that I only think of ten minutes after the opportunity has passed. And she's sexy and confident. It's fun.

But I have enough trouble getting into the heads of my minor characters just to portray them well in opposition to Bo. I have to think long and hard about their motivation. Even writing a character who I know is lying to Bo is hard, because I have to keep reminding myself of the character's motivation even for lying.

Now, it's either my writing in general, my storytelling, or my character (who isn't as much fun in PG format), but I'm not cracking into the top, most prestigious mystery fiction markets. Sometimes, I'd like to know why-- when I'm insulating myself, I'll maintain that it's because of Bo's sexy and smart ass female character. But there's always that niggling doubt that I'm just a hack. Hell, I can't even break into the erotica market... which I thought might have been easy with one oft-rejected story.

I haven't given up on Bo. And someone'll be prying my cold dead hands off my keyboard before I stop writing in general. Someday, maybe I'll be a better writer and be able to write a character that's not Bo Fexler. So far, it hasn't happened. Even my attempts last NaNoWriMo to write a new character ended up still feeling like a version of Bo.

Some days, it would be nice to be able to write something that could hit the big time. Some days, I'd really like that sort of validation of my writing ability.

Until then, at least I enjoy what I do.

My Town Monday: Dairy Queen

2009-08-23T20:12:00.003-04:00

There are four Dairy Queen locations in Livingston County.

I grew up about 5 minutes from the one in Hamburg. Unfortunately, since it was on a busy road and this was in the days before the Lakeland trail, so I wasn't allowed to walk or bike there. Curses. This location has always been a Brazier, meaning they sell burgers, chicken, and other things along with their ice cream. (Well, one of my friends maintains that that it's not "ice cream," it's "soft serve." Anyway.)

In downtown Brighton, there's a Dairy Queen near the Mill Pond. When they put in the Tridge and the walkway along the edge of the Mill Pond, they wisely connected the Dairy Queen to the path. This seriously cut down on young folks hopping the cemetery fence to reach the sweet treats. This Dairy Queen has room for about 10 cars in it's parking lot and a drive-through with room for about half that before it starts backing up on Grand River. In the summer, it's best to park by the Mill Pond and walk. And it'll burn off those Blizzard calories.

Hartland has a DQ as well, on the main drag. This is the only local DQ that I have not been to.
Hartland's kind of off on it's own, but that's a separate post.

But, overall, the best Dairy Queen ever is the Howell location. This Dairy Queen is located in an old building on the corner, beside the county Courthouse. The building was constructed in 1889 and may have been a druggists shop. Then later it was a jewelers. Then a druggist again. Then a shoe shop. Some where along the way, it became a Dairy Queen.

Inside is small with just a couple tables. And sitting there, you look out on the lovely streetscape of a historic town. Across the street was Howell's hotel.

As I mentioned last week, the county Courthouse lawn is often home to concerts and other events. Howell's farmer's market is nearby. It's right in the downtown, where the shops, the Howell movie theatre, the opera house, and only a few blocks from the library. It's a popular place.

<< Howell Hotel

But my favorite part is the architecture. In fact, I love the architecture in down town Howell. I mean, look at the sloping ground... I love how the building kind of shifts at ground level to step down the hill! They don't make 'em like that anymore.

Check out the My Town Monday site for more links. And feel free to joins us-- share your town!

Finally!

2009-08-22T19:16:00.002-04:00

New Bo Fexler short story, Hit Women, up today at Beat to a Pulp. The story starts with Bo getting her ass kicked-- so what's she do about it? Check it out.

I wouldn't want to get on her bad side.

And I have to admit, I love the idea of a hit man being a woman...
(Yes, I love the Kill Bill movies.)

Words, words, words

2009-08-20T12:18:00.003-04:00

During the last several weeks while I was finishing grad school, I spent a lot of time reading research reports and studies. They included a lot of graphs, tables, and charts. I realized that I actually hate graphs, tables, and charts. I would find myself searching for that information to be given in my preferred form: words. Just words.

I already knew that I am very, very much a visual learner. If you just say something to me, there's a really, really, high chance that it won't even register. The hardest classes I ever took were ones heavy on lecture. I would have to force myself not to just mentally wander off. Auditory stimuli is easy for me to ignore. Still, it surprised me to realize just how much I prefer reading words to charts. (With a few exceptions, of course.)

Okay, fine.

But then I realized, I dream words. And daydream words. I don't dream pictures-- rarely do I get the "movie-in-your-head" dreams. Nope, I dream words. I think them in my dreams-- not read or hear, just think. Like a narrator, sort of. I might have scenery backdrop to these dreamed words. And in my dreams, I reorder the words to be more aesthetically pleasing, rewriting even my dreams.

In some ways, this is nice. I think it makes it easier to 'translate' the story in my head to the page. I'm already thinking the words. It's just a matter of sending them down to the ends of my fingers, into a keyboard, onto the page. We can debate the quality of said stories another time.

And I'm curious-- what about you? How do you dream? If you're a writer, how do your stories... come to you?

Wordless Wednesday: I Have A Cool Stove...

2009-08-19T09:42:00.002-04:00

The problem is that my stove knows it's cool.

Confidence

2009-08-18T09:55:00.000-04:00

I guess I've lucked out in this regard. From reading posts and comments by other writers, apparently, it's fairly common to cycle between happy with one's writing and unhappy with it. Or more aptly put, to cycle between thinking one is amazing and one should just burn all the pencils and paper in the house to prevent ever putting words to paper again. And delete Word from the computer. And bandage one's hands together so not even the blood from a finger tip could be used to scrawl out a few written words.

I usually like what I write, thus, I'm happy with it.

If I 'm not, I fix it. But I'm no longer as averse to editing as I once was, so if I've written dreck-- perhaps mind-scrapings at the end of a long day just so that I can say I've written something-- I know that I can clean it up later. Usually, there's something that can be salvaged, even in dreck. Except that one story... which will never be spoke of again. What story?

You know, some people go watch those cheesy "horror" movies that have turned the definition of horror from shocking to gore-fest. And people enjoy it. I'm guessing either the makers are complete sellouts, or, more likely, they actually like what they've created and think it's worth watching.

Not everything I write is laugh-out loud/ stare in wonder goodness. But overall, when I completely finish a story (all revised, etc.) then I am happy with it. I think it's good. I like what I have created.

The problem, however, lies in aligning what I like with what publishers are looking for. My husband tells me rather frequently that I'm not like other people. (He says it's why he picked me. I say he better say that or that $100k bounty life insurance policy will be looking mighty nice!) I mean, I liked Pepsi Crystal when it was out!

Maybe this is a problem. Maybe because I like what I've written, I don't see where it's failing. Of course, it doesn't help that there is so little out there-- in books and movies-- that I do actually write. I have particularly tastes. Writing the book I want to read means writing something that I have not yet found anywhere in books or movies. I still like what I've written. Even if it doesn't fit with what others-- what publishers-- want.

My Town Monday: The County Courthouse

2009-08-16T20:46:00.002-04:00

It used to be called Livingston Centre. Now, the city is called Howell. It's small, for a city, but still the largest town in the county. Howell is halfway between Michigan's largest city-- Detroit-- and the state capital in Lansing.

It is also the county seat. In the vicinity of Howell is the Livingston County Sheriff's Department, the Livingston County Jail (LCJ for the wiggers who think they're tough after spending a few hours or days in there) and the county courthouse.

The courthouse was originally constructed in 1847. Before that, court was held at the Eagle Tavern, which also housed a bar (obviously), the post office, a grocery store, and the other important county functions. Legend has it, the drunks would be ecorted out in the morning to make way for court session.

The first court house constructed was a wooden building. When constructed, it was not only the courthouse, but housed the jail and sheriff's residence on the main floor. Also, it served as a religous buildings for, as it says in the Howell Bicentenniel, "all but the Presbyterians who had their own building." County and jury rooms were on the second floor. It was replaced several times.

In 1889, the wooden courthouse was deemed unsound. A proposal was submitted to build a new courthouse, at the cost of $30,000. By this point a new jail and sheriff's residence had already been constructed. The new building was constructed on the same land as the old, sitting one block east of the center of downtown Howell (formerly Division and Grand River, now Michigan Ave and Grand River. Howell doesn't have a "Main Street.")

The county courthouse is a grand and imposing building. Those doors really are ginormous. I'm thinking 10 feet tall, maybe.

<< Back view of the courthouse. The cars are parked right next to the building.

The courthouse is on the National Register of Historic Places. It was restored in 1979, with a narrow majority voting to keep the old building instead of tear it down for a new and "better" building, which was the trend at the time.

Beside the courthouse is an open air amphitheater. More county offices are houses int he building next door, as the 1890 structure isn't quite sufficient in size. Though, you can't quite compare with the grandeur of walking into the County Courthouse.

The courthouse lawn is often used for outdoor concerts and other events. And right on the corner is a Dairy Queen.

<< Courthouse on the right. View of Grand River, Howell, 1908. The trees were smaller then.

I've only been in the courthouse once. That was to get my marriage license. I could have spent all day nosing around that building, which is as spectatular inside as it is outside. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of the inside. It is still used today and hopefully will continue to be used in the future.

They just don't build them like this anymore.

Click here for more My Town Monday posts!

New Toy

2009-08-13T21:50:00.005-04:00

As my consolation prize for finishing grad school, I got myself a new phone. It's been quite a few years since I got a cell phone-- never did buy into that "upgrade your phone" every two years bullshit. The old phone was at least 6 years old and was a very basic phone.

I decided to "splurge" on a new phone. This time, I decided to go with a fancy one. Actually, I decided to go with one that had MS Word on it. Yeah, I know. I barted my principals for the chance to poke a few sentences out on a short story while sitting at the doctor's office. But what are princiapals for, if not for bartering?

No, I did not get an iPhone. I'm a PC, not a Mac. I have more than enough trouble with my two computer nemesis-- QuickTime and iTunes. We do not get along, these programs and me. Funny that the two programs I have the most trouble with on my computer just happen to be the two Apple products. Maybe they sense that I only have the programs in protest.

So, my new phone is a "smartphone" that runs Windows. It's not that smart... it still only does what it thinks I'm telling it to do. If it was really smart, it would know what I want without me telling it. ;-) (Insert your own "husband/wife" joke there-- as a writer, I make DAMN sure my husband really, clearly and without mistake knows what I am communicating. As a writer, it's my responsibility to convey my ideas.)

Back to the phone... thought I bought one of them fancy phones, I cheaped out in every other way. I bought the refurbished LG Incite and skipped the data plan. In fact, I got one of the only smartphones that does NOT require the purcahse of that pure-profit-for-the-phone-companies $30/mo data plans. I can use the internet I already pay for at home, thanks.

So far, I like my little phone. It's pertty. And I already have a thousand words poked out on a new short story. One sentence at a time. I'm gonna like having the ability to type wherever I go. Especially now that I'm done with grad school, I'll have my life and my time back. Time to get back on writing short stories and littering them across the internet like watermelon seeds on the backporch after a summer bar-b-q.

A Social Networking Quandry

2009-08-11T22:21:00.002-04:00

I do many different things with my time in a desperate attempt to make a few dollars. Amongst the long list is teaching alternative high school kids. Though if you ask the little darlings, they think they're all grown up. They also think I'm old, even though I'm not quite 30.

Anyway, a slight dilemma has come up of late and I'm still mulling over what to do about it. As the title suggests-- "suggests" like a pair of furry handcuffs "suggests" night time entertainment-- the issue is related to social networking. It does happen, on occasion, that I make a connection with one or more students in my class. And one of them will ask if I'm on myspace (or, less frequently, on Facebook.) While I'm not currently on myspace, I have considered putting up a page as a marketing/ networking tool. Facebook is not as bad as I thought it would be. Let's just not talk about those damn games on Facebook...

I'm not opposed to "friending" my students. Thinking about it, I've tentatively decided that I would wait until the student was no longer in my class. Avoid the appearance of impropriety. Okay, fine, fine.

But my social networking includes quite a bit of overlap from my writing life. For example, my Facebook profile has my blog posts set up in a feed, which does allow readers who visit Facebook but not this blog to still read my writings. Great.

But-- another but-- not all my writing is... "school appropriate." Now, if I wait until the students are graduated, 18+, etc, then technically, there's nothing inappropriate. But something just seems a little weird about that. While the public scandal and controversy would likely do well for getting my name out there, an eternal challenge for new writers, it could, however, seriously jeopardize my high school teaching career.

Though, I think I gotta be doing something write if kids who "hate school" want to friend their teacher on a social networking site. I just don't know how to handle it. Right now, I'm going with the indecision as a decision making technique-- do nothing and hope I can figure it out later.

It's Not Personal

2009-08-06T12:26:00.003-04:00

All writers get rejected. There are several publications that I have never, and perhaps will never crack. At least not while I'm writing Bo Fexler stories as I currently do. I have some theories, some that are more salve than based on any facts, since I know nothing about the rejections other than the ubiquitous 'not right for us.'

I don't mind. I wholly accept that what I write and how I write it will not be to everyone's liking. The fact that I *do* get published-- and sometimes even paid-- are signs to me that I'm doing something write.

It surprises me, then, when I encounter other writers who take rejection very personally.

It's as if they think everyone should eat coconut and wear capris-- (two things that I loathe with a passion matched only by my love of writing).

I admit, I used to take rejection personally. But it was always that plaintive cry-- that desperate longing to know what was I doing wrong. If it wasn't good enough, then it must be me. Sometimes it is me-- sometimes the story doesn't quite work.

Sometimes, though, it must be you. Not that you're wrong. You have every right to hate my story as much as I hate [Insert current bubble-gum pop star with pseudo-serious lyrics.] You're not wrong, and I'm not right. Just different.

The world already has too much homogeony in flavor, I think. Too many Wal-mart-attired people going to McDonald's for their grease-flavored meal. Too many people who watch the same shows because that's what everyone is talking about or that one book that's So GREAT! Too many sheeple.

So, anyway, if we think for ourselves and develop our own tastes, everyone will have slightly different flavors. I'm not a standard flavor. There are plenty of people who don't care for my acerbic commentary and cynicism towards the wasteland of thoughtlessness that pervades too many in American culture. That's fine. If I see your sunshine and rainbows, I'm going to play Emperor Palpatine with the Force Lightning.

A well written story can suck if it's not interesting to the reader. I read Lord of the Rings. The books were very well written. It took me over a year to slog through them. I just didn't get into the story. And it's me. My taste, my preferences that were the "problem."

I mean, some people don't like Star Wars. Okay, well, them I can't forgive. That's just wrong and we should exile them to someplace, like downtown Detroit.

But for everything else-- it's not you, it's not me. It's taste. It's us being different. Which means at least one of us doesn't require regular sheering... the jury's still out on you. ;-)

It's Been Awhile

2009-08-03T21:18:00.001-04:00

Things got rather quiet around here. Not just here, but also in my head. Second time in a year-- the only two times in my life-- I unable to even think about thinking about fiction. Last time was because of my allergies. This time was Attack of the Giant Grad School Course.

This course has consumed me with readings and writings, none of which are fictional and few of which are nearly as much fun as writing a snarky, innuendo-laced scene with my favorite fictional female. Luckily, the end is in site. The hurricane is moving off shore. And, hopefully, within the next week, I hope to return to the fiction that got tossed aside like storm debris.

I have a novel waiting for the climatic ending. And a couple short stories in the works.

The hard part will be trying to pick off where I left off. I'm not so concerned about trying too hard to remember what I had originally been planning to do. However, I do want the story to make sense and not take some silly turn in the middle because I don't remember what I was setting up later.

Also, in the coming weeks, we should see the publication of brand new Bo Fexler short story. If I can finish the novel, I'll call this a successful summer.

Wordless Wednesday: This Is Not How I Roll...

2009-07-29T02:25:00.001-04:00

Like a Girl...

2009-07-23T12:54:00.000-04:00

Sandra Seamans posted the link to this article, by Bev Vincent called "Apparently I write Like a Girl" (Bev is not a girl, inspite of how he might write.)

Great article. Biases fascinate me. The idea that a certain gender writer can or cannot write a certain gender character convincingly is such a curious concept. To me, it's not the gender, but the writing.

I've read books with female characters that didn't strike me as being very real. I chalked it up to stereotypes and lack of character development. Not author gender. Having balls or boobs does not make one able to write convincing characters of the same gender. A male writer can buy into all the stereotypes of how men area supposed to act just as they could of how women are supposed to act. Neither set of stereotypes works terribly well in fiction or in real life, IMNHO. And I know far too many people of both gender who act largely according to a particular set of gender stereotypes.

While it's a little surprising (and disappointing) that there are still people who make assumptions based merely on gender, it's even more disappointing that those assumptions become expectations. And it's hard to break free from expectations. Hard for someone who sees sex as primarily physical to write emotion into the act, even if it is expected. Hard to write a "real" female character if one's definition of "real" doesn't include enough of the expected characteristics.

After all, in fiction, the bottom line is this: it doesn't matter if it's true, the reader has to believe it.

Wordless Wednesday: The Part I Just Couldn't Handle

2009-07-22T01:47:00.000-04:00

My couch... blocking the shortest path from kitchen to upstairs.
More unacceptable than the deluge from the leaking roof that caused the couch migration.

Why I Write Mysteries

2009-07-21T09:19:00.000-04:00

I started writing mysteries because it was the first genre that I could plot. It made sense-- and it was easier, for me, to figure out the plot. Simply put-- there was a crime and the resolution was the solving of that crime.

Before that, I'd always struggled with coming up with conflict. Or at least with conflict that was important enough to make a story about. Or I'd have a conflict, but could never figure out how to solve it.

But mysteries came easy to me.

It was how I cut my teeth, gnawing on the edges of fairly simple investigations.

I still write mysteries, but I think I've also scooted over a bit to straddle the line with crime stories. Some of the stories don't have anything to do with the solving of a crime-- the conflict comes from something else. Lately, because of a sadistic trend in my writing, the conflict has involved sticking Bo in some difficult situation and trying for her to talk, fight, or, um, sex, her way out of it.

Maybe I'm getting better at this writing thing. Maybe someday I'll be able to write other genres successfully. Maybe it doesn't matter, because mysteries are where my heart is. There's something in the detection-- and, in many detective stores, the lack of personal involvement (I get tired of angst. ;-)-- that appeals to me.

But, it's still nice to think that I'm improving in this writing thing. Even if I "only" ever write mysteries and crime stories.

Dropbox

2009-07-16T10:54:00.000-04:00

Sometime after settling into my new home (one I hope to live in for the next half-century or so), I started to think about potentially losing this home. I don't know why this thought never occurred before in the several places I've lived, but it came up now.

I'm good about backing up my important files (which is pretty much all of them ;-) on a regular basis. Being a teacher certainly helps in that regard, since at the end of the semester, I go through my ritual of clearing out and backing up last semester's files. I burn the previous semester's worth of school materials on to a CD, and while I'm burning CD's I also burn my writing onto a CD and everything else I've stored up. (Okay, technically, it's several CD's.)

But then it occurred to me, on the tails of the aforementioned worry of losing the house, that if something catastrophic happened to my house-- fire, tornado, sink hole-- then all those lovely back up CD's that sit in a box NEXT to my computer would be just as screwed as my computer. Hmm.

Then, the internet revealed the answer for me. (Well, Absolute Write WaterCooler and the collection of crazy people over there.) Dropbox.

Dropbox provides off site storage. You download the application. It sets up a folder on your computer during the install process. (Or perhaps more accurately, a box on your computer? Ha ha?) Any file copied or moved into the Dropbox file will be uploaded to Dropbox. You can log into your dropbox account on the internet and access your files. Any files updated are synchronized.

Anyway, I like it. I stuck my Writing folder in there and when I make big changes to a file, I copy them into the Dropbox folder. It's nice knowing that I have a safe back up.

Just in case.

Oh, and I do realize that this active imagination is good for fiction, not so good for real life. This same imagination means I've been sleeping with a nightlight for, oh, twenty-eight years. Now, if I could just make some money off it...

Wordless Wednesday: Upgrade

2009-07-15T00:20:00.000-04:00

Old and Busted...

New Hotness!

Finally!

Where to Start

2009-07-14T10:19:00.000-04:00

When starting a series of books, there are two ways to start. With, say, a detective, like Bo is, the series could start with Bo becoming a private investigator. First cases, that sort of thing. Or, the series could start after she's established.

On a related note, I've happened across what may be a trend in book series starting with some very personal change or event in the main character's life. This seems to be more common than something like "The Big Sleep" where the book is just another case, another day. No earth-shattering, life-changing event.

So, when I look at the first book for Bo's novel series, I have to decide to start in the beginning or not. Start with something personal or not. I'm thinking that something personal may be non-negotiable. Seems to me that readers tend to prefer something personal, some reason to root for the character, beyond just another day at work.

The idea of starting a story at the beginning is curious to me. I remember my first days at work, as much as I've tried to block them from my mind. First days, first weeks, hell, with some jobs, it's the first years, are not very good. I don't see anything enjoyable about writing or reading a character fumbling around, screwing up, and otherwise being a newbie on the job. I read to escape, not to be reminded of myself.

Not surprisingly, I started her series later. Past those awkward first days of being a private eye, past screwing up, getting evicted for non-payment of rent, and other problems. Part of Bo's character and appeal-- for me at least-- is her confidence. Confidence is sexy...

But how to reconcile this starting later point with the personal life-changing event thing?

Well, that worked itself out quite nicely, actually. When I first started writing Bo, I always wanted to put her in Michigan. I'm kind of fond my Mitten-shaped state. But Michigan law requires a private investigator to be 25. And have several years of experience. So I sent her to Ohio, which worked out because it is harder to trace a person across state lines. That means I can write Bo's return to Michigan as the life changing event. With some traumatic backstory and some hard decisions.

Only problem was that I didn't realize this trend/ tendency for personal stuff in the first novel until after I had written the first Bo Fexler novel... Luckily, I'm versatile if nothing else. I'll fix this problem.

(Actually, I was in the process of fixing it when my grad school course turned into a Time Sucking Black Hole. =/ Well, break's over. Back to homework.)

My Town Monday: Field Trip! Sleeping Bear Dunes

2009-07-12T17:02:00.004-04:00

Field Trip! These summer months are great for seeing the sites around Michigan. So today's field trip is to the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lake Shore.

The Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lake Shore is located up here... the fingertips of Michigan. Right about here.

Or for those of you not used to using your hand as a map, here.

The Dunes are ever changing because of the wind that comes of Lake Michigan. Then, as plants take root, they hold the sand down, for a while, evolving into a different type of landscape. If sand buries the plants, it may become sand dune again, rather than supporting growth.

Here's a web album from my trip with Hubby (June 2006, our five year anniversary.)

If you don't like tear-jerker stories, then you totally don't want to know the story of why it's called Sleeping Bear Dunes. I'm no softy, but this story traumatized me... It's the italicized part, for easy skipping.

The Legend of Sleeping Bear Dunes:
A long time a go, there was a fire in Wisconsin. A mama bear and her two cubs were forced from the forest. They got to the edge of Lake Michigan. They would have to swim. Mama and the cubs began swimming. It was a long swim. They swam for hours and hours.

Finally, Mama Bear reached the shore of Michigan. She looked back into the water and she couldn't see her cubs. She lay down on the shores of the lake and watched. But the baby bears never came. They had gotten too tired and drowned.

But the Mama bear kept waiting. She was certain her babies would come. Eventually, she fell asleep. Sand swept over Mama Bear, burying her on the shore where she waits to this day. The Great Spirit was impressed with the Mama Bears determination and faith. The Great Spirit raised two island, North and South Manitou Islands, to commemorate the cubs.

Here's a nice Aeriel shot of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lake Shore and North and South Manitou Islands.

You can take a ferry to the islands. And Empire Michigan, the town nestled along the National Lake Shore, is only a short distance from Traverse City. Well, "short" in "upper Michigan" vernacular, which is a little bit longer than "short" in busy places. It's worse in the U.P., where us foreigners read a sign that says "Museum Just Ahead" and not realize it's "just" ten miles. I was ready to admit I'd missed the turn...

Visit the new My Town Monday site for links to other posters.