"The Night I Died" - Upcoming Non-fiction Work

This is something I have struggled with sharing since January 6, 1992. That was the night that changed me forever; the night I SHOULD have died and didn't, at least not physically. Some call it an attempted suicide. I don't. I call it surviving suicide. It was no cry for help. It wasn't born in depressions. I wasn't afraid of living. I certainly wasn't afraid of dying. I had every intention of dying, and the means to accomplish my goal.

I've heard people say time and again, "Suicide is the coward's way out," or "Suicide is the most selfish action anyone can take." Of course. they probably don't know the taste of gun oil on the barrel of a Taurus 9MM. I doubt they've ever pulled the trigger. I am positive they never heard the hammer hit the firing pin. I have. That's the story I've never told - nor the story of the abuse by a priest that I carry the blame for and shame of to this very day. Recent events in Pennsylvania brought it back again in all it's sordid glory.

I am done being a victim. I am done protecting the reputation of a dead man who stole my faith from me. A man I had to look in the eyes at my father's funeral. I wanted to kill him then and there. Even though I've never told him, my brother Steve stopped me. I know he doesn't know it; at least I believe he doesn't. Maybe he knew more than I thought, or maybe it was just pure instinct to protect his brother. Either way, I will thank him.

This book will come fast and furious when I finally begin. I won't be able to stop or I'll never have the courage to do it again.

Robert.

Life’s Little Surprises

There is nothing novel in saying life is full of surprises. In fact, life would totally suck without them.

Kim and I are getting settled into Central Wisconsin. I should say, Kim is as I am far from settled. It has a lot to do with Hurricane Harvey and what I left behind. Kim is encouraging me to take a trip down there this fall to see how far they’ve come in a year. I might.

To be honest, I’m about to give up this blogging thing. I keep hearing how important it is to a writer to have a good blog. It takes a lot of time to keep one up, time I could be spending writing, rather than “blogging”. The word itself is absurd. Blogging? WTF?

Okay, it’s settled. This is my last blog and then I am shutting this mother down. One last chance to catch me off-guard; saying whatever crosses my mind. I am officially taking the filters off –

First: Trump is, in my opinion, the worst president of my lifetime. Why, you may ask. I guess it’s the fact he’s a racist, misogynistic, school-yard bully with a vocabulary to match, among other things. He isn’t paranoid; he just thinks he’s above the law. Okay, he’s paranoid. His foreign policies are a joke. He calls North Koreas Kim “Little Rocket Man”. Where are we; the 5^th grade?

I generally keep my peace when it comes to politics. I’m a Libertarian/Independent/Fiscal Conservative. John Noonan, a friend once told me I missed my generation. I would have been a Bull Moose with Teddy Roosevelt. I may very well have.

When President Obama was elected, I walked into a lumber yard in Altoona, Iowa to touch base with their sales staff. This was one of several locations of my best customer, volume and people wise, with the exception of Altoona and one significant asshole in Marion. He made a comment about my wife at a retirement party for the outgoing manager that about got me sent to jail. The only reason I didn’t was I walked away. (FYI – he’s on my bucket list.)

I walked in to the Altoona yard to hear the following. “Yeah, some of my friends down in Florida are already getting their rifles sited to take out the nigger president.” I walked away. I had to. One thing I have always hated about sales was the “no religion, no politics” requirements of the position.  Not if you are like me, anyway, and have a family to feed. (He’s on my bucket list, too.)

Speaking of bucket lists; I am kidding about those two. They aren’t worth the cost of a steel-cased 9mm round. I am however, putting one together at the behest of my wife. No, I won’t discuss why. Don’t ask.

There isn’t much to put on it. I have lived quite an interesting, if not sometimes unusual life. To many, I have lived outside the acceptable social boundaries. I have. I don’t apologize. I have never EVER been an innocent bystander in life. Have I made choices with negative consequences, fuck yes I have. Do I regret them – fuck no. Choices are just that; choices. Some work out quite well while others leave you flat on your face.

I can’t regret the choices I’ve made because they brought me to where I am today. They helped shape me as well, for better or worse, a very subjective evaluation. I was talking to Kim about it two days ago, Memorial Day, actually. I had gone to get a fishing license and ended up in one of THOSE lines at the checkout.

The cashier was a bubbly older woman – late fifties – early sixties, and she had one of those voices that can make nails on a chalkboard sound like Mozart. The gentleman two ahead couldn’t figure out his ATM card. She nursed him through it. However, it was very busy and I could feel the tension building around me; eyes rolling, heads shaking, shoulder shrugging and people bolting to other lines.

She got him out. The next one didn’t go any better; she was out of fives and he was pissed about getting 10 ones. The guy behind me, who looked like the sort of guy who’d be real comfortable with a motorcycle chain for an accoutrement, was getting down right edgy; muttering to himself.

Now, it’s my turn; just in time for a money drop and some fives. It takes a couple of minutes. The cashier gets things squared away and turns to me and apologizes. There are tears in the corner of her eyes. “I’m so very, very sorry you had to wait sir.” She said to me, to which I replied. “Take your time, sweetie, I’ll be just fine. I didn’t make it through three hurricanes to keel over dead in a Fleet-Farm checkout line.”

The guy behind me started shaking his head, and then he laughed. The two guys behind him and the cashier started laughing, too.

That’s what I do. That’s very much a part of who I am. Most of my life I was a “mediator” of sorts. If you don’t think sales qualify, you’re an idiot. I also spent 7 years as head of security in various nightclubs in Dallas and Ft. Worth. I know, skinny ole me as head of the bouncers. Not one fight ever broke out when I was the first one in; ever. No matter how bad they wanted to fight, I talked them out of it. I reasoned with drunks, and if that failed, I threatened their lives. Hey, I’m skinny and hate to fight, but I am quite respectable with a handgun at 25 yards and deadly at 10 feet.

I’m done mediating. It cost me too much. I stood by in Montana and let my mother-in-law beat my wife’s spirit into the ground. I tried to “mediate” to keep the peace when I should have stood up for Kim and whatever the cost. That, my friends, is as close to regret as I have. In spite of her mother, Kim was able to give her step-dad 6 months of love before he passed. Something her mother was unable or unwilling to give.

Now, about that bucket list; yes, I am working on one and I will be embarking on fulfillment of said list later this year. I have lived on borrowed time since January 6, 1992 when I survived a suicide attempt. I have lived on borrowed time since the specialists at Iowa City determined I had Lupus.

Since November 11, 2007 all I have ever wanted was one another day; one more day with Kim. I think I got that covered in spades.

Live, laugh, love; give peace to those who seek it; solace to those who need it; justice to those that deserve it; truth is truth.

Unexpected Compliments

As some of you know, my first novel "Evolution of a Killer" was released the first week in March. It was a long time in the works. I started the first draft about 2 years before it was published. Yes, I ended up going with Kindle Direct Press and Ingram Spark, though not because I don't believe I can get an agent to represent me. I simply don't need one.

Let me explain. It isn't because I think I am a great writer and that I couldn't benefit from the help of an experienced agent. I have zero doubts that an agent would be good for me. The reason I went ahead and became an "Indie-author" was simple. I wasn't concerned with making money. Yes, I am getting royalties from Amazon, and quite frankly, it ain't half bad, considering the volume of copies sold. I have also sold 10 copies here in Stevens Point to co-workers at Lowe's, and the profit from that is 4 times the royalty amount. Regardless, financial gain wasn't my motivation. Self-fulfillment, definitely.

I have been writing off and on since high-school. I have published several essays and short stories under a pseudonym and some were well received and others, not so much. My poetry that I published in "Life and Death in a Single Breath" was done primarily because I promised my mom and my daughter that someday I would. It has been far from a big seller - to say the least. Such is the way of poetry anyway. Who knows? Maybe when I'm dead I'll become a good poet, or at least a better one.

Publishing my novel was something I did for myself. It isn't for fame or fortune, (that's an understatement), it was simply to see if I was capable of writing an interesting novel with a unique perspective. Maybe it isn't unique, I really don't know. I do know that I successfully created the man I set out to create - a dichotomy of personalities; as capable of kindness as he is violence.

One thing I did not expect, and it has been quite humbling to me was some of the compliments my book has received. One reviewer compared Lazarus Solaris to Lee Child's Jack Reacher. Another review put my name in the same sentence as James Patterson. There is little doubt that for any artist of any type, we will always be our own harshest critics. Unless, of course, you are simply a mega-maniacal narcissist with an ego the size of Jupiter. Hell, then you'd be president right now...

Yes, I took a political shot there. I can. I voted for Gary Johnson.

All in all, it truly has been far more humbling than rewarding to hear compliments like those. I don't see myself in that class of writers and probably never will. I do know this. I don't suck. I can write an interesting story and develop characters with only my mind to develop them. That's all I wanted to see when I first started writing Evolution of a Killer - although that wasn't the original title. It started out as "The Lazarus Chronicles, Book One: Changes in the Wind." I like what I ended up with. I also like that I created my own cover, set my own print and developed my own ad campaigns.

I am working on two novels right now and another book of poetry. The second of the Lazarus Chronicles was about half finished when Hurricane Harvey hit. I haven't touched it since. Too many of the places I used as settings for the first installment were damaged or destroyed by the storm. It pains me to think about them. I will get over it, someday.

Until then, you have "The (not-so) Grim Reaper" headed your way. I guarantee it will make you laugh in spite of yourself; probably offend some of you, too. I kind of hope so, offend some that is, since some people have zero sense of humor when it comes to God....

That's your teaser. Give me a couple months and you can read it. Maybe three. We'll see.
Peace to those who need it.
Love to all who deserve it.
Robert