Tag Archives: Lawman

Five Feet of Heaven in a Pony Tail

I think it is because of the time I grew up in. My grandma used to take me to the Novena at Our Lady of Sorrows Basilica. I think we would go on the bus. I would have to research how far it was from our home, but I won’t. She knew I was obnoxious and fidgety, but she didn’t want to go alone, and I was available.

There was Care, Devotion, a Crush, falling in Love, Crazy about someone, being in Love, Loving, being Loved, being Cherished, Adored, Worshipped, making Love,  Nuts about someone, Obsessed, being the Love of someone’s life, at least for a few weeks. All words tossed about, referring to your  brother’s friend, the guy down the block, someone on a movie screen or a television, a teacher, your boyfriend, your husband, your child, a pet, a painting, a singer, a city. How are you supposed to know what love is? We read a book, I think in college, I think in Philosophy, The Art of Love. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with sex, and, frankly, I have no recollection of a single word of it. But the cover was red.

The only thing I know about love is that, for sure, when we were talking about someone wanting to take someone dear from me, and that dear someone climbed on my lap and I gently circled that tiny, dear, cool, little arm with my hand, the thing I felt in my whole being was Love.





I do not remember when I first heard about blogs and blogging.  I never did much organized writing before that if I could possible avoid it.  But if I had to do a paper on something I cared about, or was writing someone a letter, I would go on and on.  There were even times in my life when I “submitted“.  Of course not successfully, as we well know, or I would probably have several Pulitzers under my belt and a few really good movies playing on your local screen. But I received actual professional encouragement.  Have you?   Anyway,  it became what it is.  A place for me.  A place that people visit.

I have only the vaguest idea of what an algorithm is, and I know there is one on Amazon that is good to me.  But I would really like to know the algorithm that brings visitors to my blog cuz there is definitely no rhyme or reason to it.  I know how to pull a few strings if I start to fall below the horizon, but I get these huge numbers when I have done nothing or think I have nothing.  Well, I am not going to analyze it cuz it is all just kind of fun for me.

Sometimes I really need to let loose with a bunch of stuff that bothers me, but usually I just blather.  As you well know.

There is one thing I am going to pay attention to, though.  I actually worked on my work in progress tonight.  I have been having huge problems with it.  I wrote a bunch of junk just to put words down, which is supposed to be rule number one:  Just Write.  So, tonight, looking at it, some of it was salvageable and some actually useful.  Not “good”.  I have written some stuff that I felt was “good” and I get specific reactions to that, so I can kind of judge myself.  But I wrote.  I edited.  I corrected.  I deleted.  And there are two more things I have to put in it.  I know what they are and I am not worried about that part.  What I always have trouble with is having the person “here” where I wanted them to be and where I put them and getting them to “there” where I want them to be and where they have to be.  So I am making progress there and am starting to think I may actually be able to launch this one last book before I head to the happy hunting grounds.

And this time, I am going to notice if this blog has any influence on what happens after I publish. My blog is now a different entity.

So we shall see.

Not too much keeps the old bird up and running these days.  Now that Delaney uses polysyllabic words and wears big girl pants, I feel it is pretty much all over for me. And I am getting sick of Barney’s incessant wonderfulness.  I do have an idea about a different tangent, and a fun thing I might do to put Amazon through its paces.  So maybe there is life in the old girl yet.


Image Attribution:  smugnom.com



The local library probably has more actual “books” inside their doors than the last “bookstore” you were in.   Still, most of them are now lending e-books and actual e-reading devices,  and I am sure they are not lying awake all night worrying if they are doing the right thing.  Which thing? Take your pick.  This is going to be kind of like those books you buy in the gas station when you are on a long road trip and they fill in the blanks in the story and then you are supposed to laugh or marvel.

Anyway, it is moot.  Libraries run on tax dollars, right?  Not counting the tote bags they sell and the money that they get from over due fines, and from the used book sale and that box in the corner of the hall full of unclassifiables that are twenty five cents a piece.  Oh, no.  Wait.  Now those are free.  They have the unclassifiables shelved and priced now.

(Aside)  I used to take a book I owned and had finished reading and put it on that shelf.  Hardcovers 50 cents, paperback, 25 cents.  One day I got “caught”.  You have to put it in a special slot so it can be catalogued.  A person does this, a library employee, paid with your tax money.  Not a volunteer.  I asked her why they decided to do it that money wasting way and were they afraid someone would not put down the quarter or the two quarters that they were charging for books people left off for free? I guess our town is so safe and secure that they do not have a training program at the library for new hires on how to deal with the local anarchist.  I just set my book on the shelf while making a noise that I hope sounded like a wry chuckle and not a threat and left.  She can stick it in the slot herself.

Anyway, I just read another article about how Penguin is determined to crush the world of publishing and reading under their heel, or maybe that is the wrong metaphor.  Maybe Penguin is actually trying to bring the world of publishing to its knees.  Heels, knees, what ever. Now they will not give the author of the book a copy of his own book pre-release, unless he pays  $300. Why did he NOT upload his MS to Adobe Books before he sent it to them? Well, someone said then he is not seeing any of the final edits. Lora Leigh sells like hotcakes, and you would go through two red pencils sitting and editing any of her books just for fun. The same rule applies to the cover art, or the facsimile of the actual cover, or something.  And everyone is ringing in, which is I guess what I am doing here, and wringing their hands about rights and DRM and piracy.

I am small potatoes.  I do no promo and I drop off the map in two or three months.  But I did enough business back in the day when I cared about being a writer to win a spot in someone’s algorithm so if someone buys even one of my titles, my rating jumps way up.  Of course that probably doesn’t mean anything to most of you since you don’t know anything about purchasing one of my titles since you have no experience at that sort of thing. (Yeah. Bitchy.) During one promotion when I was able to offer Sacred Sin for free, I had over 6,000 downloads.  The day after the freebie was over I had eight cash sales (no returns) and shortly thereafter, in one day, which I remember clearly, cuz it never happened again, I had thirty two cash sales of different titles. I have had (few) cash sales in Germany, France, and Italy and I do pretty good in New Zealand for some reason. I am building up to this.  As an Indie I may have had equal or less success than most, but most of the stats I have read state that I have sold more than the average Joe E-pubber.  Well, actually it said I made more money than Joe.  And this is my point.  I am on Pirate sites. Some let you download a PDF for free.  I saw one the other day that was charging more for my Anymore than I do.  I don’t see a cent of that money.  I actually find it flattering.  They go on about DRM which has been a non-issue for at least four years.  You can find how to break DRM in dozens of places on the net.  They talk about having a real publisher, a real agent, a real book.  I net more on a single copy of my book than almost anyone who goes through the traditional method.  Unless it keeps selling for years, like Harry Potter but not like Shades of Gray which is already dropping out of sight.

I cannot understand the furor they are trying to create.  It is like they are screaming from the bottom of a well and there is a hurricane roaring right over head of that well.  I know they have to try.  I know there are firm believers, but how many JKRowlings come along?  Not enough to make more than one publishing house happy. That David Foster Wallace was goopy and he is gone.  Did you read him?  Did you try?  I tried.  I think I checked out a Franzen but returned it unread.  I read this book that knocked my socks off about this guy that was having weird dreams and deja vus and then a missile crashed into his office building and I never saw a review of it and I cannot remember the title much less the author’s name.

Maybe I will never publish another book.  Maybe I am a flop.  Maybe I am jealous.  But that is all about me trying to be an author.  Me being a reader, I have the creds.  And I know these people are barking up the wrong tree.  (That happened just before they fell in that well. )

Did you see that movie Happy Feet? They inserted a huge electronic tracking module into the body of this famous dancing penguin and he was happy. There is surely a metaphor in there somewhere.

Image attribution:  Life-Is-But-A-Stage.blogspot.com

Excerpt from LAWMAN

The new addition was completed, and it seemed that everyone had recovered from the break in. The Jackson business seemed totally behind them.  Tim mentioned in what Lily always thought of as his way too casual voice, that the whole case was pretty much wrapped up, and all the indictments, and there were enough of them, were handed down, and the evidence was pure and plentiful, and by the way—here it comes thought Lily—they did get a hit on those cigarette butts found near her property in  Iowa, that for sure it was Jackson stalking her that far back, and it helped screw the whole thing down, and the guy that followed up on it—his name was Redding—yeah, he was watching her face for any reaction, but she was ready for that—and the Bureau had issued him a memorandum for his file for his foresight and cooperation, and,  “I thought maybe I’d go down there and give it to him personally and kind of put a more positive spin on it and maybe give the guy’s career a little boost, cuz otherwise, it’s just a piece of paper and since I’m kind of personally involved and all, and I’ll take the bike tomorrow and why don’t you guys drive down after school and we can make a long weekend of it?”
“And you wanting to check him out personally doesn’t have anything to do with it?”
“So what if it does?  Should I not show an interest–my wife having been nearly murdered and all?”
“This is ancient history, and you know I don’t mean the Jackson thing, but I get the ego thing, like I was avid and anxious when I had to meet Paula at the airport that time, so go ahead.  Just be cool.  He’s a good guy with a beautiful family.”
“Yeah, and so very fucking helpful to you when you really needed it.  . .”
“Could we not just let this be?  Or do you really want me to do the putting my foot down thing?  Go satisfy your curiosity and play big city Fed honcho at the same time.  Didn’t know the ego was feeling so starved, but whatever.”
He left early the next morning, taking the bike, she knew, being  a huge part of the macho thing he had to express to this poor little hick town cop, and the weathered old black biker jacket, and no shave, and those old biker boots, and those crappiest of all black jeans.  He’s so cute.  But wait til he gets a load of Darryl.  I don’t want to have to see that.  No.  On second thought, it might be kind of fun to be a fly on that wall.
Tim had of course checked with the locals in Iowa so he knew Darryl would be at the station, and he told them why he was coming by and insisted this was not to be any kind of ceremony, but he did want to discuss a few loose ends about the case, which was the purest bullshit.  He roared into the parking lot of the little police station and that in itself caught the attention of everyone in the stationhouse and half the neighbors.  The desk sergeant said to the secretary that was busy flirting with him and laying a little unnecessary groundwork, “Who the fuck is this?  Paul Fucking Bunyan?  Blue Ox MC?  And why the fuck would anybody that big have to wear those boots?  Does he honestly think he needs to look any fucking taller?”
“It has something to do with safety and the brake pedals on the bike, I think.”
“Right.  Whatever.  Jeez, huge fucking bike.  I sure as hell hope this guy is here to pay a fucking traffic ticket and not kill us all.”

“Maybe it’s that guy from Chicago to see Darryl.”

“Right.  Like this guy could be FBI?  He’d be driving a fucking Taurus and wearing a cheap, shiny blue suit.”
So when Tim took off the helmet and was shucking the jacket, because, damn, this station house was like a fucking oven, and the desk sergeant got a look at the shaved head and the tats and the grizzled face and the pecs under the tight faded black t-shirt, and Tim did the badge flashing thing and announced who he was, the desk sergeant at least had the grace to give the cute little secretary, who was having a little trouble catching her breath,  a slightly chagrined smile as she went to get Darryl.
In a kind of a shocked state when the guy walked out to meet him, Tim quickly introduced himself and flashed the badge—ID thing and tried not to trip over his tongue.  What kind of vitamins did this guy take?  A fucking red head?  Jesus Christ.  She’s already weird for red heads.  Chiseled face like a fucking Celtic god.  Do I need this?  Six foot two at least.  Well, I’ll give him three, so who cares if he’s as tall as I am, and we’re not going to have to have a pissing contest, and why wouldn’t Lily pick a huge good looking guy.  Jerk probably has his fucking polyester uniform tailored.  Probably has to.  Huge fucking shoulders.  Why would she pass this up for me?  If I was gay I’d be fuckin’ fallin’ in love, maybe am a little, falling in love, that is.  Damnit.  I never should’ve done this.  Fuck.  Tim felt a small unfamiliar shiver of inadequacy which he quickly shook off.  Well, so what if he’s younger; of course, I’m the better man.  After all, I won.  He offered Officer Redding his hand and asked if there was somewhere they could talk.  “It is Officer Redding?  Or would it be deputy?”
“No.  We go by Officer and Chief.  It’s deliberate.  We’re trying to get away from the Barney Fife image.”
“Well, pleased to meet you and I understand you go way back with Lily and her late husband, Ben?”
“Yeah.  Team mates.  Double dates, standing up in weddings, neighbors, the whole nine yards.  Ben was a great guy.  Terrible tragedy.  Wrecks a small town like this for a while.  And Lily is such a doll.  Shouldn’t a happened to a sweety like her.  Cutest thing.  We’d all go skinny dipping out at the quarry, well. . .  I was crazy in love with her, but Ben was my best friend.  And he was that kind a guy, y’know, no one stepped on his toes.  I just had to keep my mouth shut.  Y’know how you never get over that stuff. . .   Did you get to know her at all working on the case?”
“Kinda.   Talked to her about it a little.”
“How is she doing?  Heard she married a Fed.  Hope it’s not some wimp bureaucrat asshole.  She deserves the best.”
And you did your part trying to give it to her, you small town prick.  “That would be me.”
“Sorry, sir?”
“That would be me, the wimp bureaucrat asshole she married?  I’m Senior Special Agent Tim Raia, if you didn’t bother reading my creds when I flashed ‘em for you, and Lily is my wife now and the mother of our year old son.  And she’s fine, she’s doing just fucking fine.  And thanks so much for asking. . .”  Edge on the voice now very apparent.
“Sorry, sir.  Thoughtless of me, sir.  Not thinking you’re FBI, sir.  Don’t look it, sir.  Sorry.  Well, congratulations, sir.  (Am I twelve?) You’ve got yourself a real sweetheart there.  Everyone loves her.  Give her my best.”  Darryl was just glad his voice still worked and wasn’t too sure what he was actually saying.   Stopped himself up short when he realized he was actually backing toward the door.  He knows, he fucking knows.

“You fucking red heads, with that fucking blushing, blinking on and off like a fucking Christmas tree. . .”  He was kind of talking with his teeth gritted.  I hope what you did give her was at least your best, god damn it.  I never should’ve come down here.  “Actually, I’m kind of ill at ease here, Darryl,” Tim said, white-knuckled, his hands gripping the back of the thankfully bolted down metal interrogation room chair, “putting bits and pieces of what I’ve heard from Lily about you helping her out  back then, together with tying up the loose ends of this nasty case.  You are not at all what I was expecting, and this is apparently an Alpha dog situation, since I am pretty good at sizing up people, and we both know Alpha dogs don’t sniff each others’ butts.  They go nose to nose, and one of us is going to have to back down and this time, I’m just guessing here, it’s going to have to be me because I don’t want the fucking roof flying off this cute little stationhouse you have here in your cute little home town.  Just make goddamn sure I don’t hear your name from my wife’s lips, ever again.  No, actually, I never heard your name from her lips, and we best make sure we fucking keep it that way.”  Or maybe I should just go ahead and rip your fucking head off your fucking shoulders right now.  And he slammed the tan envelope with the now forgotten letter of commendation down on the desk and stalked out of the office and the little brick building and roared out to the farmhouse and poured himself a stiff drink.

“Jesus, Darryl.  Did he know you fucked her?  You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Nobody’s   s’pose to know that,  Ned.”
“Everybody fucking knows it, Darryl.”
“Yeah?  Well, I better not find out who told him.”
“He’s Bureau, Redding.  He didn’t get where he is not being able to add two and two, now, did he?  And y’know we’re supposed to think those FIBs are a bunch of pansy ass detectives?  I’d steer clear of that one for a while.  Lay low a little.  They’re out at the farm house every couple weeks.  God help us you run into ‘em at fucking Pizza Hut or something.”
Hours later, Lily and the boys drove up to find a slightly stiff Tim waiting for them on the front steps.  The lawn was mowed, the storm windows up, the pond closed down for the winter, the gutters cleaned, the furnace cleaned and tuned up for the coming winter, the floors mopped and dinner was simmering on the stove all within a very few hours fraught with anger and nervous energy.  He got up and walked across the yard and grabbed her in a little bit too hearty of a hug and planted a little too wet and serious kind of kiss on her and said, “Don’t say a word about him.  Don’t dare ask me anything.  Fucking bastard told me to send you his best?  I shoulda shot him right then and there.  Fucking small town ass-hole trying to play big city detective with his fucking sniffer dog and his fucking DNA lab.  Don’t say another word.”
Lily was still smiling about it in the morning when she got up to fix breakfast even though Timmy hadn’t let her do much sleeping.  It was a nice weekend anyway.  Gorgeous weather for this time of year.



Actually, my blog is basically always ephemera if you go for the strict definition.

Anyone using the word ephemera in their blog for the next week will be subjected to my derision.

I told someone I would post this chapter for their consideration but it was some time ago, so it is probably useless at this time.  Feel free to skip it since you are already in the counter*.  It is the first chapter of Lawman, and I had to check if Select allowed it and they do.  Frankly, I like the last chapter better.  And I am tired of people saying my characters are promiscuous when they sleep with maybe two or three different people in their fictional life frames. And always for the best  and most non-casual reasons.

by Virginia Llorca
Kindle Press Edition
Chapter One
“Called on the carpet.  Monday morning.  Ruin the whole week for me why don’cha?  Probably getting the axe.  Hope it’s budget and I didn’t goof up.  Stop, Lily.  No point in wild conjecture.  Not wild.  Gotta be the axe.”  She tried to talk herself out of the worst case scenarios as she walked toward the States Attorney’s  office.
Shoulda found my own job.  Stop it, Lily.  Not the end of the world.  You already survived that.  Chin up.  Paste on the smile.   Hi, Kelly!”  as she walked in.
“Hey, Lily!  How are ya doing?”
“Do I look as scared as I feel?”
“Wait til you see the crowd waiting on you!  Seriously, don’t worry.  It’s all good, hon.”
“Just have to tough my way through it.”

“And we all know that’s your strong point.  You’ll be fine, hon.   Lily’s here, sir,” she said to the intercom.
Lily had never seen so many people in Don’s office.  “Fire code violation,” she thought.  “Terminate me, I’ll retaliate!”. . .trying to buoy herself up.
“Lily, darlin’!  You brighten my day!”
Whoa,” she thought, “aren’t we cooling the family stuff at work anymore?
“Let me introduce you around, darling.  Lily, this is Max Davidson.  Midwest Regional Director for the FBI.  Mr. Davidson, Mrs. Scofeldt.”
“How do you do, Mr. Davidson.  I’m honored to meet you.”    (“Crap.  What did I do?  Regional Director?  Crap. . .”)  Two more FBI associates.  Someone from the governor’s office, the mayor’s office, and two ADA’s she already knew.
 “I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about, darling.”
 (“Please stop calling me darling in front of the brass, Don!” she was screaming in her brain.)
“I can only imagine I’m being terminated.  And I’m hoping it’s budget related and not because of some horrible error I am blissfully unaware of.  But all the brass. . .   I mean. . . . Well. . . ”

 “No, honey.  We have no intention of terminating your service.  We’re very pleased with your performance.  Especially liaising this difficult case.  Actually, Celeste was saying the boys are both going to be full day at school now, and we were thinking of asking you if you could come in the other two days.  Of course, we’ll still make sure you get home in time for the bus.”

“Oh, that would be so great, Don, er. . .  I mean, Mr. Solomon.  I was gonna ask about it.  Yeah.  Thanks.   I would like that.”
“Ahem. . .” coughed Mr. Davidson.
“Yes.  We’re getting sidetracked.   Down to the business at hand, Lily.  I’m afraid the subject we have to discuss may strike you as a bit more awkward  than being terminated.  You know how difficult it is to keep our personal lives out of the office, especially in this town.  And you know how serious this case is.  We just need to establish a few facts because we’re planning to hand down the indictment Wednesday a.m.”
“Yes, sir.  And I’m really glad we’ve finally reached that point.”
“We all are.  It’s been difficult.  Hon, there has been a kind of persistent undercurrent of gossip lately, and normally, giving it credence would only exacerbate the issues. But because of what’s at stake. . .” he paused to let Mr. Davidson jump in. 

“This is of a personal nature, and you are, of course, free to choose not to answer. We have to tell you though, that choice may affect our decisions.  We feel we must ask you at this time, Mrs. Scofeldt, if you did have or if you are having a personal relationship with Special Agent Raia.”
Lily was rocked back on her heels, but, of course, only figuratively, although it was apparent to everyone that she began to blush furiously and took a slightly deeper breath than usual.  Being taken completely unaware, and naturally tending toward being a bit outspoken, she blurted, unthinking, “Not yet!”  The sound of several chuckles being muffled was all that was heard for a few seconds too long.  “I mean, it seems. . .  I mean, I’ve heard. . .  I take this job very seriously, and I’m sure Special Agent Raia does also.  And, well, no.  I mean, I’ve never even had a personal conversation with him.  Well, wait, once he called me into his office for a conversation about an error, but I understand those instances have to be documented.”
The director spoke up to Don, chuckling, “That would be the now famous ‘tiny, arrogant, expletive deleted, small-town prom queen with attitude’ document?”
“I do believe that is the incident she is referring to,” Don laughed.   “And I believe since he insisted that be in her file, we will have to give her an opportunity to respond.”
“Perhaps in writing would be the best venue, although, if she insists, we could have a hearing,” the Director went on, with more than a hint of unprofessional sarcasm in his voice.

“I am confident enough in my standing on the issues he brought up that I don’t think it’s necessary for me to respond in any way.  And, since this isn’t vaudeville, I think we can stop the ‘schtick’ at my expense for now.”  Lily’s self assuredness quickly overcame the feeling that all this brass might be a little intimidating.
“Sorry, ADA Scofeldt,” said the Director, with an actual humble note in his tone.  “Sometimes we can act a little unprofessionally as we wind down these difficult cases. We’re probably all just a little too comfortable with one another after so long.”
“Okay, hon.  We can see clearly where you stand on this matter,” said Don.  “And we do seriously appreciate your candor.  We’ve already interviewed SA Raia, and we’re satisfied that we can go ahead with our plans.  SA Raia’s plans. . .  Well, probably not appropriate to comment on that in this venue.”  He rose from his desk and stood at Lily’s side as she shook everyone’s hand and walked to the door.  He put his arm around her shoulder so all would see she had his complete support, and he walked her past reception into the hall.  He figured they already knew he was her godfather and uncle, anyway.  And didn’t really care what they thought at this stage of his life. “Baby.  I’m so sorry to have put you through this, but you handled it beautifully.”
“Foot in mouth.”

“Nothing they weren’t already too aware of, babe.  And, honey, I don’t want to scare you, but this Tim, this Agent Raia?   I sat in on the interview, and he’s as straight arrow as they come. But we had to ask him some very direct questions, and Lily, as far as you are concerned, this is a bull in a pen, pawing at the ground.”
“Don.  Yikes.  I mean, Celeste already gave me the big sister talk and I can’t help but be aware of the tension in the room when he’s around.  But, yikes.  I mean.  I’m not disinterested, but you’re scaring me a little.”
“You’re ready for a little fun, babe.  Ben’s been gone two years now.  You know you’re ready to move on.  Just don’t make any hasty decisions.  Gotta get back.  Love you, darlin’.  You’ll be fine.”  And he didn’t care who saw him give her that affectionate smooch.  There were certain advantages in being the big gun in a small town.

Well, the guy is a fox,” she was thinking.  “Tim?”  All she had ever heard was SA Raia.  “Timmy?  Cute.  Well, I’d give him a second glance for sure.  Guess I already have.  But, heck,  his job is over in this town on Wednesday.  And that starts my two weeks off.  Bobby starting first grade.  Really a way bigger deal than Agent Raia’s potential.  But, yeow.  Everyone can feel what’s going on when he’s in the same room I am.  Might be fun.  Well, we’ll see.  The ball is in his court. Anyway, who knows where he even lives.  I’m not even gonna ask Celeste.  Any information goes out as quick as it comes in with her.  Last thing he needs to hear is me making inquiries.”
But Celeste was calling before Lily even got half way home.  “I heard you were interrogated by the big brass.”
“Not exactly interrogated, Celeste.  Everything is cool.”
“No.  It’s not cool, babe.  This is anything but cool.  How many months did you work together?  Four?  Five?  That’s a lot of foreplay.”
“Don’t be gross, Cece.”
“The weird thing is he’s actually asked a couple of people if you’ve said anything about him.  I don’t know if that’s adolescent or stalkerish.  Kinda creepy.”
“The last thing I read off this vibe is creepy.”
“What’s the first?”

“C’mon, Cece.  Give me a break here.  I’m practically a novice at this.”
“And he’s been divorced eight years!  Fireworks, Lily!  Even the Director made a remark about it.  Something about fireproof sheets when the two of you get together.  And he talks to Raia all the time.  Wow, love to be the fly on that wall.”
“That would border on sexual harassment if I heard it, I think.”
“Well, it would have to be Agent Raia to bring charges and who knows who started that conversation.  I just get the trickle down from Don. You know guys are utterly gross about that stuff.  But Don did emphasize the fact that the word was whenyou get together, not if. ”
 “Like I’m not going to have anything to say about it?  Too bad they don’t have something a little more professional to discuss. Anyway he’ll probably be on a plane Wednesday night.”
“No, baby.  Lots of people are laying money on this one.”
“Nice.  Small town mentality.  Nothing else to talk about.”
“You’re our star, honey.  You’re everyone’s darling.   But I kind of get the feeling your goose is cooked.”
“Speaking of cooking, gotta fix dinner, sweetie.  Let it rest.  Love you.”

The indictment went down without a hitch on Wednesday.  Senior Special Agent Raia and the Director, along with State’s Attorney Solomon, handled the press conference.  Lily was so far down on the totem pole she didn’t even have to hang around for that.  Of course her absence was noted.  “I wanted to give a special thank you to our newest ADA, Lily Scofeldt for the great job she did for us, but apparently she has already left.”
Someone spoke out, “We’re sure you’re going to be able to deliver that thank you personally, Tim.”
“I hope the mikes are off.  You guys really need to get a life.”
“Right now it’s your life we’re talking about, Raia.  And Lily’s. Don’t forget this entire town thinks she’s under its protection,” said Don, trying to sound a bit protective and fatherly, despite the huge smile on his face.
And Lily was driving home thinking Agent Raia might have at least made an effort to say good bye to her after all the hype.  But mostly she was thinking about Friday being the first day of school for Bobby.  Only a half day, but so exciting for him to go on the big kid’s bus.  Still, she admitted she felt a little let down.  And it turned out the whole weekend seemed kind of long.  Maybe being away from work for two whole weeks with the kids gone all day wasn’t such a good idea.  And weather unseasonably warm for this late in the summer was promised. Of course there were plenty of projects around the house that needed attention, especially the yard which was showing signs of neglect and needed an end of summer clean up.

End of chapter one.
*Speaking of counters–my blog site shows counters with three differing opinions.  They must be opinions since they so widely vary.  Well, maybe not widely.  It just goes to show me I shouldn’t be concerned with them, right?



Considering Blogness



I am so stuck.  Inside my head is an old phonograph.  There is a recording on it playing at medium volume. It is “Rags to Riches”.  I think it might be Tony Bennet singing.  It is stuck in the groove  and keeps saying,  “My fate is up to. . . My fate is up to. . . My fate is up to.. .”

There is this thing about money.  I have lived the kind of life that has taught me to enjoy money when you have it and don’t worry about it when you don’t.  This lesson, learned  by having the information shoved brutally down my throat, has not over ridden my natural tendency to be conservative, even in madness.  But sometimes I wish I had enough money to fool around with.  I would use it to help me figure stuff out.  That would be why I would have it, the reason for having it. It would be frivolous, like buying a new winter parka when you already have a winter parka because I can figure stuff out on my own.  But sometimes I don’t want to bother.  That is where the money would come in handy–when I want to know something right away and don’t have the patience or the desire to figure it out myself.  I would pay someone to figure it out for me.

I do not remember what set me off when I started to write my first novel.  I do know I was manic and needed to be distracted from some stuff that was going on around me in my life, stuff I couldn’t dodge or hide. I don’t know why my attempts to distract myself took the form of writing. But one person somewhere said, “Crazy good read” about my first effort, and it was a male reading a kind of chick-lit type story, and that was it.  I was sunk.  I couldn’t stop. I can’t stop.  But the needle is kind of stuck on that old phonograph record.  It just needs a little nudge.

I seem to have taken on something that I cannot comprehend.  I was unprepared for this and I cannot understand it.  Maybe I don’t want to.  I used to struggle to post on my blog.  I used to blog surf just to see what was going on.  I don’t remember why I started to blog or how I first heard there was such a thing, but this thing has taken on a life.  Lately I have been feeling like all I have to do is walk by its cage every few days and throw it a piece of raw meat. Still, it is flattering.  It is addicting.  “Stats” are addictive.  I just wish I knew what happened.  Maybe I could transfer the knowledge to my Kindle works.

There was a certain blog that used to send me so many hits.  Then they started to taper off.  I knew why it was happening.  I was down in the corner of her home page along with my picture and my link, saying I liked her blog and apparently she got lots of traffic.  That started to taper off and I was a little worried.  I even checked, and I was still down there in the corner.  So maybe her traffic slowed down, but my blog traffic grew instead of dropping off. 

Someone else I used to visit with blog-wise recently wondered who all these people are that follow her on twitter.  I don’t know who these people are visiting my blog, but, hey, you guys, feel free to say hi and to come back when ever you want.  I just kind of wish you were part of the book buying crowd. 

Thanks for stopping by.  Really!

Attribution of photo:  Posted on razzarsharp.com by Doug B.