Author Archive

I don’t know if anyone out there in the great cosmic universe cares, but that’s never stopped me from blogging. Ha! I thought I’d do a series of writing posts just to stay in touch with everyone and see what’s up. I’m not around much anymore as social media annoys the living shit out of me and I’m hustling daily to make the money to pay the bills.

I used to feel ashamed to say that, but now I don’t because you know what? Unless you’re extremely wealthy, you’re in the same boat as me. I’m currently up to my eyeballs in editing this beast of a book. I have wracked my brain trying to put it together and make it work, when it suddenly dawned on me – I’m trying to write something that should be broken down into smaller pieces. Like a series of smaller books.

God knows I love writing and I also hate it at times. This story prompted my Patreon site and got me the best patrons in the world. But when the day is done and the sun has set, knowing another day is just a few hours away, I realize (once again), that writing is fucking lonely. So much so that I have to lock myself away every night (and sometimes during the day) just to make some progress.

Then I found a wonderful invention – the library! Oh God, how could I have forgotten that? The library, where there are books everywhere you look and tons of places to sit quietly and read or write or play solitaire on your computer. So on the days when I don’t have to go to the office – most days – I grab my notes, pens, pencils, laptop, Kindle, phone and sneak away every afternoon and escape. It’s hard. It’s really hard for me to sit very long and concentrate. I can do it if I’m talking to someone, but it’s a whole different thing when I’m alone with my thoughts (too many of them), pinging around in my head.

I’ve taken to keeping a notebook with me AT ALL TIMES and also jotting down notes in my phone. I find the more that I do that, the more ideas I have. But this story is different because it’s a true story and as I’ve written it, so many other things in my life have popped up. Good things and some really bad things, which I don’t want to think about, let alone write about. But there they are, staring back up at me from the page.

Things that have made me flinch and sometimes cry. Things that have made me smile and pat myself on the back. Things that I wish had never happened and mistake that I’ve made that still make me ashamed and wonder “What in the actual fuck was I thinking?”

Yeah, those things. I’m at the final stage of tearing it apart and putting it all back together again. I’d rather have a root canal without any Novocain. OK, maybe a slight exaggeration but not by much.

I worry all the time that my writing sucks and I’ll never be good enough. I tell myself that I’m full of shit for thinking that, but the thought always lingers, always present if not buried. But it’s there.

To any writers out there, what do you do to push yourself through something you don’t want to do anymore or don’t want to put down of paper? I push myself through it, painful as it is.

I’m not a famous writer. I’m not well known. I go my own way as I see fit. There are a few things I’m “supposed to do” that I don’t do as a writer:

  • Attend writer groups.
  • Hang out with other writers.
  • Talk about my writing. How boring is that?
  • Get feedback. I’m not that interested in feedback. I just say I am to be polite.
  • Read all types of “writing ideas” and tips on how to write, what to write, or how to come up with inspiration. I went down that road and it fucked me up.
  • Outline and plan and plot the story. I just write the damn thing.
  • I don’t follow the “rules of writing” (there aren’t any on my planet) because they are nonsense. They annoy the shit out of me.
  • I don’t rewrite. I write and submit/publish my first draft. When I have tried to rewrite, the work never got done. I’ll scan it a few times, looking for typo’s or awkward sentences. That’s about it.
  • Try to learn how to write. Not possible. You learn by doing it and figuring it out yourself.

I started to write this story based on a very simple and quick thing I saw in the news. It was the London riots back in 2011. I was online a lot at that time – Google Plus, which has since been ruined by Google – and this was all over my stream for days.

I wondered what I would do if that started to happen here in my city. I figured I’d get a gun and sit on the porch and wait. Then I thought if I would protect anyone and that’s how Lena popped into my head.

Guns scare me, but I’m much more prone to protect someone else, so I’d probably do that if riots started happening here.

I believe that all inspiration comes from within and that all fiction has some degree of truth in it. Could be my truth, or your truth, or some truth from a drunk trying to bum money out of me.

Somewhere out there, Lena and Eli exist in some form. I know this to be true. That’s my truth and that’s all I need. I saw the two of them, sitting on a porch with guns, drinking beer and waiting for the assholes to come down the street and cause trouble.

It was as clear in my mind as much as this monitor is in front of me. I let them tell me their story. I listened, struggled, and made it much more complicated than it ever needed to be.

Once I knocked off my nonsense, I got to work and finished the story that I had started years before.

That’s my new thing – finishing what I started and getting it out there and hope for the best.

To me, this story is about two women who had nothing in common, each with their own demons, who somehow found a way to tame them together.

The story of two women who can’t be more dissimilar and yet form a friendship that defies all the odds until the day death drove them apart.

I capped it out at 15,000 words, but it could easily be longer. Maybe I’ll do that someday.

But for now, I want people to read it and take something from it. I write for me, first, and then for anyone who wants to read it. I write the stories I want to read and put it out into the cosmic universe and go onto the next one.

I hope you’ll check it out and never give me your feedback. Seriously. Unless you like it. You can tell me that.

Here’s the link for my site. $2.00 a month is all. Skip a cup of coffee this month and toss it over to me. You’ll not regret it.

My fabulous Patreon site

images

I had the pleasure of talking with a young man yesterday. He’s a friend of a friend and came into the office. Let’s call him Gary, OK?

Gary has been in the United States for 9 years. Prior to immigrating here, he was an attorney in his home land. He has no intention of being an attorney here but is still passionate about human rights.

He told me a story of working for someone here in the US. The man underpaid his employees and was a criminal. Gary, very intelligent and fluent in English, caught-on very quickly what illegal things this man was doing and that he was taking advantage of his employees, many of whom didn’t understand English and did not know their rights.

Gary tried, several times, to get the man to change his ways, but he refused. Gary watched as the employees worked hard yet didn’t know they weren’t even being paid minimum wage.

Gary played a little dumb (smart!) and told the man he would sue. The man laughed at him and blew him off.

Gary then started a class action suit against him. He gathered up all the employees, made sure they understood, took care of them and sued.

And they won. $2,000,000.00 of which Gary took very little from.

For you see, like me, he doesn’t give a crap about money. He just wants people to do well.

I asked him “As someone who has come from another country, what do you think about the US?”

With no hesitation, he said “You know why this is the greatest country in the world? Because we can all come here, be protected, and live our lives. You know there are so many people who want to kill all of you? You know that most of us don’t and that we love you, your government and your Constitution and will die to protect it? Each and every one of us are proud to be an American.”

I choked up, got up and hugged him. I thanked him for being here, for caring about people. He hugged me back.

He talked about our history and I was beyond impressed.

“You guys are rebels and you flipped off those that sought to control you, tell you what to think, what to believe, and how to live. You told them to go to hell, broke all the rules and opened your hearts to the foundation and basis of your country – freedom of religion and that’s why we’re here.”

Remember that our system works. It may not be perfect, but it works.

You just need to be more intelligent on how to use it.

When you rant, rave, share degrading meme’s and pictures of the President of the United States, YOU HURT YOUR CAUSE! You are doing so much more damage and personally, I’m sick of your shit.

I don’t give a flying fuck what you think because you are being an out-of-control idiot and will never get your message across. Those of us who you might have had a conversation with and might have gotten some help, you are immediately muted and written off as stupid.

Here’s some advice from someone who has had 40 years of success in getting people to act:

  • Speak intelligently and talk to each person as if they are important, because they are.
  • SIMPLY state ONE objection and be very specific in that ONE objection.
  • Answer people’s questions AND LISTEN TO WHAT THEY SAY.
  • Give them ONE THING to do and help them do that.
  • Rinse and repeat.

Carry on and get your emotions under control. You’re hurting your cause when you react.

/done

 

 

Oh the outrage! Holy hell, Colin didn’t stand for the national anthem! Let’s burn his jersey and condemn him because he’s mean and not respecting our flag.

Well…that would be fine if it wasn’t so hypocritical.

What about these guys? http://www.arrestrecords.com/the-15-worst-crimes-committed-by-nfl-players/

Where’s the outrage for them?

And how about  my favorite, Michael Vick? Do I really need to rehash that?

Apparently I do. Here, take a look at one of his dogs:

vick

Not only did he fight dogs, he took his 2 family dogs (that his kids adored) and threw them into the fighting pit and laughed as they were torn apart. He has admitted that he got off on it, loved the horror that he created, and never would have stopped if he hadn’t been caught. Yes, it’s true. Go check out YouTube, but I warn you..it’s beyond disturbing.

He never served one minute of time for what he did to the dogs. He’s never paid one cent to the thousands of people who took his dogs in, rehabilitated them and gave them homes. By the way, there’s not been one incident of aggression in any of the dogs. They are all doing well and are a beautiful testament to the kindness and loyalty of the breed.

Yet one man decides to not stand for the anthem and everyone loses their shit?

OK, then stop supporting the NFL. Stop watching their games and buying their merchandise. You may not like what Colin is doing, but it’s not illegal (see above) and he is a man of color, so all you white people need to stand down.

I don’t care if someone stands during the anthem or not. I care about the guy down the street that is molesting kids or the woman who is being beaten by her husband or the child that goes to bed hungry or the dog fights that I am sure are in my neighborhood.

Save your outage and actions for shit that matters.

Not for some athlete that hasn’t harmed you, his family, friends or co-workers.

Chapter 8 – Andrea

Posted: September 14, 2016 in Uncategorized
Tags:

and

She sat in the dark at the kitchen table. Everyone was asleep. It had been a long day, but she wasn’t sleepy. She was never sleepy yet always tired. Tired for as far back as she could remember. She didn’t sleep so much as pass out for a few hours every couple of days. The meth kept her awake and the Valium helped her to relax  in the mid-morning when business slowed down as the men went to work or back to their homes.

But today, she was clean. Today she only drank coffee and soda. She would resume her habits tomorrow, but for tonight, she needed to be alert and ignore the overwhelming craving to numb her thoughts, her pain, and the endless images of nameless men who bought her for the hour or two that day. The images faded as long as she kept moving. She knew if she ever stopped moving, she would die.

She looked at the lit candle on top of the cupcake that she placed in the middle of the table. She purchased 6 cupcakes from the store the day before, but she only needed one, so she tossed the others in the garbage as she left the store. She wrapped the remaining one in a napkin and carefully put it in her purse. She was careful not to crush it as she walked home. She hid it in the back of the top shelf of the pantry behind a canister of flour. No one had ever touched the flour or even the top shelf in the 3 years she had been living in the house, so she was certain it was safe.

After everyone was asleep, she had gotten up and retrieved the cupcake and placed the candle on top of it. She lit it in the dark and sat back and quietly cried.

She never got to meet the child she had lost, but she knew it had been a girl.

To read the rest of the story, please join my patrons and supporters on my Patreon site. Only $2.00 a month. The best deal you’ll get all week!  https://www.patreon.com/SusanLewis

Bankruptcy

What do you do when you find out your husband, the man you trusted your entire life to, has not only been cheating on you, but then cleans out all your accounts and leaves you broke and destitute?

If you’re like me, you get busy and make plans to take the son-of-a-bitch out. Quickly.

Seeing the look on the bank teller’s face as I waited for her to post my check made my stomach turn into a knot. It’s automatic as you see them look at your account, frown, do a ever-so-slight head tilt, and then look up at you with a plastered smile. That smile that they make them practice to give an air of calmness while waiting for the incoming screaming that they were afraid would happen.

“I’m sorry Ms. Caldwell, but your accounts have a zero balance,” she said. Her smile grew wider and stiffer.

I blinked. I blinked again and then did my own head tilt. “That’s impossible. There was plenty of money in there the other day. Are you sure you have the right account?” I asked and leaned over the counter to look. She quickly moved the monitor screen away from me.

She rattled off my information. It was correct. She had the right account but there was no way my checking and savings accounts were empty. A thought began to form in the back of my mind. I pushed it away quickly.

“What the fuck happened to my money?” I asked. “Where did it go?” I knew I shouldn’t have sworn and I knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but this was the worst news I could have heard. I had managed to haul myself out of bed, get dressed, which was a stretch for me that day, and drive down to the bank. The fact that I had even put on a bra was a huge accomplishment for me with the way I was feeling and the shit my life had turned into.

She looked around the bank quickly and then signaled someone to come over. Her smile was back. She said I should talk to the Branch Manager. Another woman walked over with the same smile and said she could help me. She said “I can help you. Come with me and have a seat and I’ll get him for you,” but it sounded like “Oh-please-don’t-make-a-scene-and-be-a-psychotic-bitch-so-just-come-with-me-and-shut-the-fuck-up.”

I followed her into an office. She asked if I wanted anything to drink.

“Yes, gin if you have it. If not, vodka will do,” I said and sat down.

She chuckled “Oh that’s funny….”

“You think I’m kidding? Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“No.”

“Well?” I asked.

“I can get you some coffee or water…”

“Water, please,” I said and waited while she got it.

The office wasn’t very big but it was like every other bank office I had been in. Immaculate, efficient, and sparsely decorated with one oil painting and a few brochures on the table.

The branch manager came in within a few minutes, shook my hand, and sat down. “It’s nice to see you again, Susan. How have you been?”

I didn’t feel like smiling, but I couldn’t help it. Brad had been our banker at work since day one. Most of the employee’s, including myself, banked here and he was always willing to help.

“Not so good, Brad. Long story short, my husband and I split up and now I find out that all my money is missing. That’s how I’m doing,” I said. I could feel the tears coming but I refused to cry anymore. I had cried for 3 days. Enough was enough.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. All of it. Well, let me take a look at your account,” he said. I gave him all the information and prayed that while he looked, my money would magically appear and we would laugh about the mistake and how stupid computers were.

He frowned. We weren’t going to be laughing after all.

“Yes, I’m afraid that it’s true,” he said and moved the monitor so I could see it. He pointed to the transactions. One in my checking and one in my savings. Both accounts had been cleared out 2 days ago.

“Someone must have forged my signature!” I said. I knew that someone hadn’t, but I had to say it.

“No, I don’t think so. Look at this. This is the record of each transaction. Sam came in and cashed out each one. Here, right here, are his signatures. You see those?” he asked. His voice was full of sympathy and pity. That made me feel worse.

After going back and forth with Brad, I knew it was true. Sam had cleaned out everything and it was perfectly legal. It wasn’t right but it was legal. He was a co-signer on both accounts. He had taken all my money. He didn’t even leave me $1.00. It was insult added to injury.

To read the rest of the story, please join my patrons and supporters on my Patreon site. Only $2.00 a month. The best deal you’ll get all week!  https://www.patreon.com/SusanLewis

 

 

rail

There are many angels among us. The underground railroad still exits. It’s primary use is salvaging women from the men who hurt them, beat them, kill them and exploit them. Jane is on the run, scared and only knows to go to her pimp. After all, it’s what she was raised to do.

Only 3 people knew where the shelter was and Robert was not one of them. He would call his mother and set up a time and place for the woman to arrive. She would be whisked away and no one knew where. Getting the woman was only a small part of the process. Once she was put in a car, she would be driven to several points in which, each time, she was moved to another car for a minimum of 5 stops. Not one of the drivers knew anything other than where to pick the woman up and where to drop her off. Disposable cell phones were used and the route changed frequently. Before getting into the first car, the woman handed over her cell phone. The battery was taken out and the phone disposed of. She wasn’t just running from an abusive man; she was running from and leaving behind her life.

Now he had to call her and tell her Jane had run. She would be upset and somewhat angry at him even though it wasn’t his fault.

He sighed and dialed her number.

“Robert, where is she?” she asked. She didn’t even bother with “Hello.”

“Mom, I’m sorry, but she ran,” he said. He was a grown man but now felt like a petulant child that his mom was scolding. “I made sure she had cab fare and the sergeant had the address to give the cab driver, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“What do you mean the sergeant had the address? Why didn’t you make sure she got in the cab? I had someone waiting for her all afternoon. Not until the sun began to set did I have her leave the coffee shop. What was so important that you couldn’t talk to her yourself?”

Robert couldn’t help but chuckle. After all these years, his mother still believed that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. She had instilled in him that failure wasn’t an option or a choice. She also didn’t understand that a judge cannot be talking with defendant’s or becoming too familiar with them.

“Well, Mom, it’s a bit of a long story…”

“Robert, it always is. You know damn well how skittish and scared these women are. Promise me the next time, you get her to me.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” he said because chances were, Jane would be back in a courtroom again. They always came back unless they died. From what he had seen of her, she would surely be dead soon. He prayed that she offended again and he could get her to safety before her pimp or the streets murdered her. It was a waiting game of which would happen first.

The rest of the chapter continues on my Patreon site. I do hope you’ll join in. It’s $2.00 a month. An amazing deal! https://www.patreon.com/SusanLewis