Monday 16 December 2013

THE GRAND ELOPE

            So, Christmas is only a few days away and it has been an interesting time in my life. December has always been a great month for me. I was born in December and until I was about three always thought people were putting up lights for me. I do remember thinking “why don’t they decorate for the other kids?” I come by my ego naturally!


            I am happy to see that my Post on PTSD got lots of exposure. I think it is important that with the new healthy lifestyle choices a little focus gets turned toward mental health. I was slightly amused that some thought it was a cry for help and sprung into action. I appreciated the calls and if you just posted on Facebook, well that gives me an indication of you concern. I am not really sure how many people saw it on Facebook as I don’t trust their numbers. But suffice to say with over 150000 followers the exposure was large. I have received many private notes and messages from a great deal of people thanking me for having the courage to post such a personal story.
            Facebook. Hmmm, I recently reactivated my personal account for friends only. I had to take it down many months ago as the Facebook police flagged it as a duplicate account. It was right before the IPO, go figure! Anyway I reopened it and hopefully it skates by scrutiny. I don’t post much on it, just things for people that aren’t close by or in touch on a regular basis. I am blessed that most of my friends are in touch regularly and for the most part I see them weekly. I saw a t-shirt that kind of speaks to this. “My wish for you is that one day your life is as good as you say it is on FaceBook”. A more truthful and sad concise statement probably hasn’t been said since the Beatle’s epic “One is the Loneliest Number”. Cluttered life albums with old pictures of partners that don’t matter anymore. I mean sure they were part of your life, so some contextual images that mark a moment, a place, an idea. But single selfy’s? Really? Move the fuck on! Like the shit we buy to impress people we don’t know, and perhaps even dislike, it clutters you. It creates emotional clutter that, forces you to drag it forward. Like the oversized carry on you loaded at the outlet mall, you’re now trying to drag through airport screening! How do you get to Happily ever after, with all the clutter of the “my life sucked” past? Perhaps this is just my perspective. But, I am really at a loss at how to look at it differently. If you’re betting on a game and the team fails to win do you really care what gets said in the locker room after? As the old saying goes “You don’t have a horse in that race.”
            I said this to a friend recently, as we smoked a cigar and talked about life, the universe, and everything. A common topic while herfing (it’s a word) an expensive bit of Cuban Culture. Ever the sensitive sort he put forth a few observations:
“Perhaps it serves as a lesson”
“Perhaps it allows memories of a happier time”
“Perhaps they’re just lazy and don’t edit”
I thought about these while watching the smoke curl and the ashes form. This brought my mind around to a few different thoughts. Does the ash of this cigar serve as a reminder of how good it was previously? I guess in fact it does. However if I don’t leave it in the ashtray it will just drop all over my shirt and make me look like a slob. The lingering smoke, does leave a scent. It is reminiscent of happier times now grown stale with time, and the absence of additional cigars. Smoked cigars left in the ashtray do not grow finer with the passage of time. So the lazy host is condemning his friends to future herfs outdoors in the cold. I guess it is plain to see my mind, once made up is very hard to change. Perhaps a failing, but one thing is very clear with this mindset. I am exactly where I decided to be.

            To other things as we race towards Christmas. Remember even if your friend or partner is not suffering from PTSD or the Christmas Blues Love is the reason for the season. Corny perhaps but when we have the courage to let down our defenses we see the real gifts bestowed on us. Recently I had four friends put their lives on hold, rearrange schedules, and spend time and money to jet to Vegas to be part of my Grand Elope. Considering at this time of year the effort it takes to meet a friend for coffee between mall excursions and the cost with all the gifts to budget for this was quite a demonstration of LOVE. It wasn’t easy for any of them to make this happen and it wouldn’t have been the same event without them. So a public thank-you.

            The Grand Elope. Inga and I wanted to throw a celebration in the city we were introduced in. So we decided to get married in Vegas. Now I know Vegas sounds like a bit of a tacky place to get married and while I am sure it can be it doesn’t have to be. In fact I really believe having done reams of research that it will give you the most bang for your buck and eliminate a mile of headaches. Take limos as an example. Presidential Limousine probably moves more people in a week than a comparable Vancouver company. This gives the client a level of service that is tried and tested and second to none. Restaurants are used to groups and being slammed is not an excuse for poor food or service. To sum up they are set up to do large celebrations. Ours was no exception, it went off as planned and designed without a hitch with most of the arrangements made on the web, or phone text! I planned the whole thing and trust me it was as easy an experience as a wedding could ever be.

  • 1400sqft Suite for champane and cake after reception reception
  • Chapel, Photogrpaher, video, and officiant.
  • Lamborghini (Inga’s fathers “white horse”)
  • Limo tours and pick up.
  • Reception in the Foundation Room, with the view Inga and I saw on our first date!
  • Russian flower arrangements and Cake decorating
All of these projects arranged and completed without actually talking to a single person! This is the digital age.
            So this is life moving forward and MY life moving forward. It has been a challenge of late to complete writing projects and move the sequel along, but it is. Slowly and more tightly this time that will add to your reading pleasure. Some other large changes loom on the horizon and rest assured I will take you all along for the ride.

            Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Best of the season. Enjoy this time with those you love and those that love you. Whatever your faith, beliefs, or delusions, remember Love is why we are all here and without love we will not be!  
Click here to see the New and Improved Website

Saturday 31 August 2013

A Walk in the Garden with PTSD

Revelation most often comes in my life like an errant snowball right to the junk. This particular snowball was actually a series of photographs that were put together for my fortieth birthday. I didn’t see it then. I did see it eight years later when I played it for a new friend. There in the images of me, as if a magical mirror, I saw it. Rather I saw the absence of it. I saw the absence of joy. I don’t know if my defence system was down, or if I was “just ready” to see it. But like many of the things seen that got me here I knew I would not be able to ignore it. Just as I knew I’d try.


What exactly am I talking about? Fair question and one I don’t think I could have answered three weeks ago. I am talking about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The really weird thing is three weeks ago I would have punched you in the head for even suggesting I had it. I actually never really thought; “Hey my dick isn’t showing up for the game without some serious coaching. Something must be wrong!” Drinking a sixty of vodka a week for the past seven years, you would think, might draw my attention.

Nope! I didn’t have a damn clue. Now before you start doing the judgement thing and trying to convince yourself, in that really loud voice we save for situations just like this. Let me stop you. I have a B.A. from a great University with a minor in Psychology. I also have job specific training to an advanced level in Critical Incident Stress Management, or CISM for short. I’ve worked as a Federal Correctional Officer for twenty five years and get paid to be aware, observe, and react to behavioural issues. But I missed it completely until I saw this old picture and was struck by the absence I saw there.

Even then I really didn’t let myself believe it was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, for short. For short, don’t you just love that? Because somehow when we abbreviate, it doesn’t sound quite so overwhelming, or embarrassing. No, I went for the simple question. Why don’t I look happy? I mulled that one over for quite a bit. I have great friends, a good job. I fly to Vegas three times a year to have fun. I get laid on a regular basis, and enjoy a very good life. Yet the evidence was staring at me like the mirror above the toilet you just puked in.

I came back to this absent stare, adorned with a plastic smile. The answer came when I rephrased the question. Not why but what. What is making me unhappy? I’ve never been a great supporter of A.A. but in this case they’re right. Acceptance is the first step. That answer isn’t the easiest thing to put into words even for a professional author. But what I can do is define what PTSD does and in that provide a better definition. PTSD creates shadows in your soul and steals the light from your eyes. Ok, sure it is a little florid as a definition from a Prison Guard. But, even if it is I think it is the most accurate. Let me explain.

If you got mauled by a dog and after, when a dog barked, your hands shook and you dribbled pee, it wouldn’t take a psychologist to figure out what your malfunction was. Sure you could develop PTSD from a serious dog mauling, but that’s not my point. My point is that this break down is insidious. For me it was slow and spanned several years. In this lies the real bitch of the bunch for diagnosis. Because we live in cycles, sometimes up sometimes down, how do you know it is a psychological issue and not just a mood? Because past all the overt signs of emotional dysfunction and inappropriate self medicating coping skills, it does something else. It causes brain damage. Images of the brain actually show physical changes inside the sticky parts of your bean. This damage seems to install a worthless filter. You look at things without the “light” of positivity. It also installs “shadows” that echo and cast doubt at the very core of your personality. So while fancy I think this is for me the best place to start.

I say start because from here the choice is to deal with it or say fuck it and carry on. I’ve been functional for a long time with this problem. I am lucky to have genes that allow me to drink, and a job where is a little antisocial behaviour is acceptable. So do I accept that this is just what happens to us? Do I accept that these traumas are going to influence me for the rest of my life?

I went to school for sixteen years and hated ninety five percent of it. But I did it so I could get a job I liked and have a good life. I didn’t hit that goal and knock it out of the park either, but it’s been ok. I’d like to have a retirement that kind of makes up for it. I can’t do that suffering from PTSD. So this is something I can choose to do or continue thinking things like: “Well if I were to get killed today at work I’d be ok with it as I’ve done enough of my bucket list!”

So this is a story; A walk in the Garden of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is most certainly not a self help book. I hate those and to be honest generally loath the people that read them. It’s just a story of one guy trying to fix all the shit that fucked him up. My hope is that by telling it you get hit by a snowball, right in the junk!

I guess the best place to begin is at the end. For me it was sitting with a drink in hand, staring into a box of things that used to mean something, and grasping at the vapours of why. Now in my case it really was a box. But it doesn’t have to be. It can be a journal, an old car you use to like to restore, or your golf game. The”it” of the box really doesn’t matter. The lack of interest is the important bit, along with the trying to discover what happened. If you’re depressed you might not want to go pull wrenches on the 69 Cutlass. However, if you are asking yourself why it is sitting in the garage, and why you ever tossed cash at it? You might want to look a little closer. If you’re Tiger Woods and your game is off do you blame the grass, or your emotional state?

I could go into a few comparisons here, actually I did, and all of them would have got me sued by Wood’s legal team. So I am left and you by default, with my examples. The melodramatic Scott might say a drink in one hand, gun in the other. In fact I believe I did write that exactly to my x-wife. But in reality the survivor mentality was so entrenched at this point suicide was never a solution. Life was going to come along and do it for me at any time. Normal people, when faced with the likely probability of death, react rather poorly. Sure, we hear the stories about the ones that championed above and overcame the odds. We hear about those for the same reason we read about heroes in books and not the stable boy that died under the horse. In reality people don’t do well with the impending doom scenario. I was cool with it, so long as I lived up to the challenge and went out swinging; part of me welcomed it.

The strange part of this for me is that I believe suicide is weak. A coward’s way out. I’ve had three friends do this over the years and I view each one of them as pathetic for doing so. By friends I don’t mean I knew them on Facebook. I am talking friendship like you could show up at their door, drunk, with a hooker in tow at three in the morning. They’d open the door and even though their wife’s mother was over and they were both in their cycle, he’d let you in. After calling a cab for the prostitute, let’s not be unrealistic.

A caveat, I think suicide is an ok option if you have a horrible debilitating disease that can’t be treated, is only going to get worse, and will take you anyway. Then it is like a “fuck-you” to death itself. I get to kill me before you do! PTSD is all of these things with one difference. If you’re aware of it you can fix it. Awareness!

I know I am going on about this being the hook in the Virus that changes it from benign flu, to the Shepherd's crook that spells Ebola. I want to err on the side of caution and say if you’ve been in a first responder or Emergency services position for longer than six months you should find and do one of the many PTSD checklists available. BE HONEST! We can lie to ourselves about everything but in this one case attempt to be honest. Your life and happiness depends on it.

So we have the first and second A’s in our program; Awareness and Acceptance. The final start to this road to recovery is Adaptation. We learn as Emergency personal to adapt everything we know to overcome the issue we find ourselves faced with. I remember in Staff College being told how this or that is policy or procedures based on best practices, but wait ‘till you get to the Joint. Then the real learning begins. Those instructors understood that they couldn’t teach us how to overcome each challenge we’d face, because the nature of our businesses is people and people are unpredictable. This normal unpredictability gets all the more interesting when coupled with substance and mental health issues. This described many of the offenders I worked with over the course of twenty five years!

I remember one afternoon working in the unit of a maximum security jail when a convict came down to the office just after my partner had finished a tier walk. He came to the door and said that we’d better do another round. My partner asked why and the convict, wanting to remain solid (not a tattletale or rat) replied, “Just do another fucking round”.

We both got up and did another round finding an inmate had cut the tip of his penis off with a homemade knife fashioned out of a tin can. There was a great deal of blood and the Inmate was very pale and sweaty. Seems the inmate had converted to Judaism and been denied the surgery to remove his foreskin. Taking matters into his own hands had proved, on application, to be a little more difficult that it first seemed. My partner, being much more senior to me, reacted and told the inmate just how stupid this was and that he’d better squeeze as hard as he could or he’d bleed out.

The inmate was walked to the jail’s infirmary and a doctor was called. I, being the rookie, was tasked with staying with the whimpering convict while the doctor made the thirty minute drive to the jail. The doctor was an elderly man, having done many years as a military doctor before contracting with the Correctional Service.

He attended the isolation cell inside the hospital wing and asked the inmate; “What in Christ’s name would make you do that to yourself?” The inmate mumbled something about wanting to be Jewish and the old doctor just laughed. The nurse prepared the inmate for surgery as the old doctor went and washed his hands, and I just watched the blood ooze from his decapitated dick. I was not accustomed to looking at other men’s penises, yet couldn’t look away. The soon to be coined car wreak syndrome.

The doctor returned and before slipping on gloves to my amazement pulled out a pouch of Black Cat tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette. The nurse helped him slip on his gloves and then paused to light his smoke. With smoke curling past his head he set to stitching this inmate’s penis together. The inmate cried out and I held him down as he yelled. “Aren’t you gonna freeze it first Doc!”

I remember very clearly what the doctor said and the look he gave the inmate, as I struggled to secure the violent convict. “Did you freeze it before you did this?” He said pulling the hand rolled smoke from his ruddy face, blue grey eyes fixed on the convict’s.

“No.” Whimpered the convict, shrinking under the old surgeon’s steely gaze. As if the man was more Medusa than doctor. Putting the cigarette back into his mouth he mumbled. “Didn’t think so.”

Then with adamant protest from the convict he continued the delicate task. The inmate picked up the tempo of his complaints and the nickname Half Cap for his trouble.

I didn’t know it at the time but I passed my first line screw test. I had stayed and did my job. I had adapted and overcame the rather disturbing incident, and had done so without complaint. My reward was to be invited to the Legion after work for drinks. I was the first of my group of new fish to be extended this privilege, and I blew it.

The Legion was the only place you could drink in Uniform and not run afoul of the Code of Conduct. It was close to the jail and basically on the way home for almost everyone. As such it collected an assortment of Officers, or as they called themselves back then. Line Screws, Guards, and Digger Pigs. I was proud to be asked to attend and listened as the tale of the headless hammer was told. My mistake was commenting on the incident in an emotional manner. I really don’t remember how I put my words, but suffice that they all landed in my mouth sideways.

I was immediately told that this incident was hardly of note and if it weren’t for the fact the guy sliced his “Johnson” it hardly would have been brought up. Then I was regaled with three stories, each worse than the next further entrenching the idea that today was a pretty easy day. So began my career and the first stroll in the garden with PTSD. Staff College had offered little if any training in dealing with stress. My peer group had been through far worse and admonished my feelings as trivial and weak. I adapted, and pushed them deep down next to the childhood terrors instilled by McCammon and Lovecraft, and nurtured by yours truly.

While my peer’s condemnation at the time had been harsh I came to understand how very true it was. But before those of you first responders reading this drop into that comfortable old rusty armour of “You don’t know what bad is” let me assure you, I’ve seen bad. I’ve seen a guy hit with a bat so hard his head popped and one of his eyes came out. I’ve seen men open their forearms like gutted salmon and bleed out. I’ve got between men bent on killing one another, tackling one to prevent him from stomping an already ruined head into mush. I’ve witnessed the despondent slash his throat, and bleed into a flushing toilet in order to hide his act. His whimper chasing tears “ratting” him out and drawing my attention. I lived through riots, hostage takings, and the proverbial catch all, “isolated incidents”. I survived them all. I never went to counselling. I didn’t need it. Everything just rolled off my back with no impact.

Or so I believed right up to my revelation. Then even after that memorable snowball I tried to ignore it as I really didn’t know how to fix it and I was well adapted to ignoring things. Divorce, death, destructive practices and hobbies, I had ignored the lot! I most certainly wasn’t prepared to bring them to the surface with a professional. Besides, what help could an arm chair observer provide? How was navel gazing and discussing my feelings going to make this new reality ice-cream and rainbows? I understand, believe, and support getting professional help. I also know Officers and know it has to be almost insurmountable before we do. I believe this is because at a core level we need to believe we can adapt to overcome any challenge. We after all have lived and corrected the worst offenders in Canada. Eaten lunch and drank our coffee in societies worst neighbourhoods. We do it every day, come home and tell our partners nothing happened. We’d adapted to our environment. Became a product of that adaptation and were comfortable in it.

So we know my revelations are painful. My epiphanies are even worse! I figured I should do the test and stop drinking for a couple of months. Follow some general advice and talk to someone, to try and get this life back on track. I had arrived at the awareness level and had basically come to terms with the acceptance side of the equation. Professional navel gazing sessions helped to take the “basically” out of the last statement.

So what was left was adaptation. Having proved that despite drinking copious amounts of Vodka for a very long time I was not an alcoholic I filled a flask, dug out a cigar and figured it was time to do some hard thinking. I like doing this type of therapy alone and preferably by the sea. I like the rhythmic crashing of waves and the small feeling I get staring out at the vastness of our coast. Cigar alight, and flask open I basically set my mind to drift on things. Attention deficit hyper active disorder is a large obstacle to overcome and I was quickly entranced by a bird. The wind was scything onto the shore tossing huge waves into the grey rocks. The dark water chased the white surf toward me, while this bird pitched and rolled in the air above. It was caught by a hard gust and driven harder still into the rocks about eight meters to my left disappearing for a second in the debris that littered the area just above the surf line. I heard it make a sound. It was a sound in-between a chirp and a squeak and not very pleasant. I jumped to my feet thinking one thing and forgetting one crucial item.

I thought that this was a very traumatic event for the bird and it may be hurt. I forgot I hadn’t had a cigar or a drink in several weeks. The rocks pitched under my feet, and I followed them forward. I landed chin first on a large and thankfully barnacle free rock, my teeth grinding together threatening to break. Instinctively I had saved the vodka and cigar, tossing my arms out in a cross fashion and failing to get my elbows down prior to my chin. The bird jumped up onto a rock of its own, looked over at me, chirped, and opened its wings to the gale. It had adapted, and I had my epiphany along with the burnt chalk taste of chipped teeth.

It seems to me, like the bird, first responders’ have to work in what is at times a hostile environment. But it isn’t like that all the time. In fact most days are pretty much just average days. Other days are really good, and a few are really bad. If we allow ourselves to focus on just the bad days then they start to feel like forever. But if we adapt and allow the situation to just be as it is and choose to instead focus on the good days it doesn’t seem so hard. The malevolent storm that slams you into the ground in an attempt to kill you is just a wind that picks you up when you’re down. Nothing has any real type of meaning until we assign it one. If we allow ourselves to continually assign a negative meaning to the events we are forced to deal with then that bleeds into our regular life and spoils it. Fortunately for the bird this is hardwired into its brain. As humans we need to be aware of the issue, be able to put aside our pride and bravado to accept it. Then with a firm understanding, or a resounding kick in the teeth, adapt and work out coping skills that allow us to put it all into a better perspective.

Wednesday 28 August 2013

Project August update and Challenge

Hey! Ok this is going to be a short little update blog. A tease for something larger, a virtual “Coming Soon” to a blog you read. I have been working with a very talented new web designer and tech. The added traffic that was going to my two websites I had with GoDaddy made it a nice victim for a hijack. It got corrupted by a Belgium Malware company. When I contacted Godaddy they tried to sell me a site protection plan. I didn't do any SQL commands or data on the site so for me it was pretty obvious the site had been hacked and not by any failure on my part so why should I pay more money to have it protected? This didn't make any real sense from a consumer level. I get it makes sense from a corporate level. SO now GoDaddy will have to use someone else’s money to make those sexy ads. The site is hosted on much faster servers and is now cross platform compatible so it will work on all the devices that go to my site. Speaking of the site I reactivated my Facebook account and my author page now has over 15,000 "Likes". The things that happen when you’re not paying attention! I also got involved in KC Dyer's #ProjectAugust. Getting involved in the last week! Hey I like pressure! So my #ProjectAugust goal was to get a new server farm and website migrated and up to a new secure place. So that goal is achieved and done. The second part of that goal was to publish a blog about Post traumatic Stress Disorder for Canadian First Responders. So will I make this goal? If I do KC has generously committed to donating one of her wonderful books to a devastated library! So I have to do my best, and I will! I have after all a title. A Walk in the Garden with PTSD.

Tuesday 11 June 2013

Robots, Crop Circles, and Russians, OH MY!


    Wow it’s been quite a while since I’ve had time to update my blog. I’m seeing a common theme here, and in truth a troublesome character arc. But I have bored you with enough excuses already over the years so I shall just pretend like I haven’t let anyone down and go forward with what’s been new and going on in my world. I have moved once again and downsized in a 1st step in a continuum of downsizing to the point that I can either start work on the manuscript,  Left Turn No Fixed Address", or get the travel bug out of my system for a couple of years.
    Some good news I have actually been working quite diligently on the  next instalment of Grey Redemption. It had really died on the vine earlier and I was having difficulty restarting and remembering which reality, in which world, we are actually working in and that creates a lot of continuing issues in continuity. I think once a writer becomes an author one of the hardest things or challenges that this new reality brings is trying to guard your time. Between promotion and marketing, doing various dog and pony shows, attempting to get exposure in new markets and give attention to old markets, the beginning author can really get overwhelmed. I thought it was just me and that I was poor at managing time. But like most things in life when we think where the solitary person afflicted with the problem, in reality, it is hardly the case.  I watched a good friend do the exact same thing for his 1st year as a published author. However, the difference being he ignored, for the most part, the marketing promotion dog and pony show and continued on what he does best which is  write. Subsequently, he has his 2nd novel coming out published by a small but very well respected  horror publisher. So let me take this opportunity to congratulate Mark  Fuson on his 2nd book.
    Some of you know I use dictation software instead of typing manually just for the speed and break it gives me. Being  dyslexic provides a few challenges when typing and sometimes when my ideas rolling faster than my hands can keep up  I find it challenging and frustrating. So I’ve always found it easier to use new technology to adapt and overcome some of the disabilities, yes I said disabilities, not challenges. Challenges are what you give yourself if you want to be an Olympic athlete. If by nature, nurture, or damage things become harder it is not correct To say: a challenge. It is by its very nature a disability. So yes I know the PC police will cry foul, and I’ll get a series of e-mails about how this person or that  overcame their disabilities because they didn’t see them as disabilities but challenges.   Great,  hurrah for the special  class. This is my blog and I see it as disability. 
 It can also be incredibly amusing. Using dictation software and reading  when it  types what it thinks you said can be more than a little  funny. It also helps you work on your antonyms and synonyms because quite often you will say something and not quite articulate it correctly, and it will put down something completely absurd. But it’s  a robot and like the computers that run them, they are prone to do stupid things. I think the idea that we are all on the cusp of a Utopian society aided and helped by our electronic  toys/tools is about as far fetched as Hollywood coming out with something new and fresh in the movie.
     A great example of this is my  Roomba. I picked one of these up a few weeks ago as I like  the house being cleaned on a daily basis and I know I’m not going to do it. So this little round disc does an admirable job of rolling about the house picking up various pieces of  debris, entertaining the  Cat, while at the same time picking up his  hair. But, it is far from perfect and it is in that imperfection;  bloody hilarious. You see IKEA  Poang  chairs are the international nemesis of  these robotic cleaners. The legs are about 3 1/2 inches wide and so the robot sees this as a transition between perhaps carpeted and hardwood floor. Confused it tries to climb over the transition onto the carpet and then back over the transition onto the carpet, and then thoroughly confused it centres itself like some oddly round Jeep and  cries for help. This means I have to run to its rescue or rescue it when I get home.  It has of late been doing odd things. Perhaps growing tired of the molestation from The Piker. For example, the other day it was stuck underneath the chase lounge despite having more than enough clearance to go in or out. I also found it stuck underneath the leather theatre seating. How it got under the theatre seats I have no idea. Perhaps drawn to its prison by popcorn or perhaps hiding from the aforementioned evil creature. I know this sounds slightly paranoid, but in truth this little robot does seem to try and avoid any interaction with the cat  after it was attacked, viciously so, when it decided to "spot clean" near his food dish. Not knowing that the kibbles on the floor upset the robot as much as the robot upset the cat lingering far too long near his food supply. A happy medium is perhaps too much to ask for. I see artificial intelligence trying its best to be malicious. This is evidenced by the concentric circles in the  living room. The robot is obviously going around and around and around in an attempt to make the cat  ill, Or it has been possessed by alien technology and is doing crop circles. Which in itself may not be that funny however what is funny is thinking that any alien technology who would develop some sort of highly advanced engineering mode of travel and in doing so probably depleting many resources on their own planet. Would then travel through the vastness of space using navigational technology that we have yet to even conceive of, only to land on blue planet,  to push down some fucking corn. but I guess it works as a joke.
    Also new on the agenda for me is learning Russian. Yes I mean the Russian language. Now this is actually a challenge, the language having no easily recognisable characters in English and being quite foreign sounding is providing a new level of frustration. However difficult this is, it was significantly less difficult than working with the customer support section of Rosetta Stone. That was a experience not too unlike  conducting a deaf orchestra in a rousing rendition of “There’s a hole in my  bucket”. However, that challenges now been overcome I am slowly learning how to speak the Russian tongue.  Why, might this be important? Well, I guess you’ll just have to stay tuned for the sporadic, erratic, and less than scheduled posts to learn more.

Sunday 28 April 2013

Dreaming about VEGAS


    Musing on Vegas is like daydreaming in Technicolor. Rarely does it happen, and when it does you really believe you should seek therapy. So can Sin City be therapeutic? Well,  I believe it can. I love Vegas, been many times, and it can be anything you need it to be. Like a good shrink it can challenge your heartfelt beliefs and shake your overconfidence, in a heartbeat. It can be the cruel Schoolmaster you need but never knew you did, or it can be a gentle caring Muse. Made garish and cheap with neon, but beautiful more in your ability to see past this distraction. Life is as such made up of these moments. The moments between the dashes, as I have heard it said. Scott D. Covey Born 1965----.

    I guess for me the most rewarding experiences or moments between the dashes are those we don’t expect, or see past the distracting obvious. I have had a great deal of obvious distractions. It is the reason I keep apologising for not keeping up with my blog. Life just gets in the way.  Perhaps more honestly the choices one makes end up getting in the way. When these choices end up getting in the way of experiences life takes a back seat to the reality of this choice.

    So amidst the ringing of bells and the cacophony of humanity the mind is forced to focus and in that focus, one can often discover an enlightened perspective impossible to find in normal life. Unless, I guess, you devote years to meditation and reflection. The plane ticket is easier or as I like to say more modernly efficient. But a warning is in order here, two to be precise. Within these Zen like and alcohol  enhanced states care should be applied in order to insure you don’t walk toward where you think you need to be; or get hit by a car along the way. So powerful are some revelations that they put you at grave risk whilst you roll about in them.
Vegas is a place where time doesn’t exist, in the same form, as it does everywhere else. It is a reflection of this time between the dashes. Scott D. Covey flight 287 arriving 1310---. But unlike life you know when the dash ends, your flight home.

    So within this reflection of life’s mirror and these musing about a fantasy oasis, we see a parallel. Some go to it to acquire money, while the wise go for the experiences, and wisdom she can share.   

Friday 15 February 2013

Canadian Authors and the Tax system!


    I just wanted to blog up something quick. My intention is to generate comments and dialogue about Authors and taxation in Canada. I just sat through A very informative session with my tax pro only to learn that I've been doing things wrong for three years. Really? This despite doing a ton of research and engaging with various tax "pros". Some of them with certifications. I've said it before and I'll reiterate it again. This should be a must attend workshop at any writers conference. The Surrey International Writers Conference should break ground and do this. They break ground fearlessly on so many workshops already and I believe it would be a great addition. I'll even go so far as to offer to help do it! It is such an important part of the craft and ignored by many! The pitfalls and forms are so many that I doubt most of us are doing it correctly. 
    So what do you you all think? Post up here or email me directly and privately. 

 

Wednesday 2 January 2013

The New Year

    The Christmas holiday season has come and gone, unless your Russian. It is hard enough to find the time to write and more difficult making the time to write. I've said it before being a storyteller is more about discipline than anything else! Four hours a day, everyday, each week, and month! It helps if you have some creativity, something to say, and a little writing skills. Well how little skills is enough is I guess my true claim to fame!

    So what has been going on in my world. Not enough discipline! My personal SELF discipline to sit and write each day has been lacking. It has been quite a while since I have made the time to update my blog and my typing speed and accuracy is to say a little frustrating. Usually my odd typing style and keyboard awkwardness pair well with the flow of ideas and mesh in a totally disabled and workable way. Not so anymore. The backspace and edit is being employed far more ofter than it should. This screams loud and clear my absence from the keyboard is as obvious as the extra notch in my belt that I need to do a few things differently!! Yes I know double exclamations provides more insight in to my lack of proper writing skills. But I wanted to shout loudly and lack the fonts! Wouldn't that be a great new invention? Fonts that show tone, emotion, and inflection? It would sure clear up a great deal of issues with Texting. "Great Book" written in bookman, or in sarcastic, would now be totally clear!

    I mention this as my Twitter followers just went over 29k and keeping up is one thing, but understanding what someone meant  in so few characters without a selective font can be a challenge. So too can be what I should say. With so many followers it behoves me, I feel, to tweet something interesting! "Making bacon wrapped egg rolls  with fresh scallions" just wont cut it anymore. I guess my guerrilla marketing and getting a few press mentions creates its own issues.


   Thanks for reading and sharing this experience with me. I will be writing more and attempting to keep my blog interesting and up to date. I'll work on the tweets as well! LOL! All the best to all of you for this year.