Thursday, May 31, 2012

Red Hot Sinner Man, 3

From Red Hot Sinner Man

Darrell hated them. He wanted them dead. He knew they laughed at him behind his back. He was the geek. The one with all the pens. The one with stains on his shirt. The one who could fall over his own feet. The one who dropped papers at meetings. The one that had actually passed gas at a company get-together. The one that the bosses would clap on the back at office parties and say good job even as they looked for someone -- anyone -- else for them to foist him off on. When he tried to talk to them, when he tried to explain how the flow of the R327 network was both compartmentalized and yet open and that it kept the hackers out but allowed interactivity as well as intra-activity, the same lame comments started. "Speak English, man." "Watch a lot of Star Trek, don't you?" "Over my head."

He hated them all, but he particularly hated Rachel because her cubicle was next to his. Had been for five years, but she still didn't say hi to him. She would barely nod when he passed, and if he spoke to her, her eyes would glaze immediately.

He had often thought of reporting her to the HR department for violating IT email policies. She used her computer as if she owned it and it was her personal entertainment box. She emailed her mom, her brother, twenty or so girlfriends, a few boyfriends, people she chatted with online and would never be in the same room together, school and college friends and possibly the whole population of her hometown and several small European countries. She sent them jokes and prayer and recipes. She sent them web site links and quotes and pictures. She sent them advice and gossip and opinions. Rachel was a mass media. And her online activity was in direct violation of the restricted personal use policy clearly outlined on page 46 of the Gallant and Sons Company Employee Handbook.

Darrell didn't know why she hadn't got caught. What was IT doing? Did they notice the bandwidth being used whenever Rachel was at her computer? Were they blind? Or simply too stupid?

Darrell would turn her in, but he'd be asked how he knew what she did. He'd be fired as soon as they realized he was exploiting holes in their security ice to ghost her computer. He wasn't a good liar and couldn't think of a plausible story to explain his knowledge.

So he sat in his cubicle and hated them all, but mostly Rachel. Sometimes it was hard for him to focus as he sat there, listening to the faint sound of her voice on the phone to her mom, smelling the damned perfume she drenched herself in. The last year had been worse. He nearly quit every day, but he wasn't good at job searching. Actually he was good at job searching; he wasn't good at job getting. It had taken him nearly two and a half years to find this one, and he didn't want to go back to living with his mom again.

Two months ago, though, he had found something that made it better. Something that helped when he felt his hatred of them choke away his thoughts, when he wanted to scream in frustration and rage, when he wanted to run down the halls like a madman. He would reach into his briefcase and touch it. He would hold it, and he could feel cool and calm again.

Two months ago, Darrell started bringing a gun to work.

Copyright 2012. All rights reserved. No copying without express prior written permission. Thank you for reading.

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Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Red Hot Sinner Man, 2

From Red Hot Sinner Man

Alex met Abby by one of the grossest ways possible: he threw up on her shoes. He had just started on Gleeco, one of the latest, greatest cancer buster drugs. Since his tumor was wrapped around his spine, they couldn't operate without leaving him a cripple at worse or needing Depends at best. Perhaps he would be forced into surgery later, but for now, Dr. Jeremath wanted to try Gleeco.

Most people who were dosed with Gleeco experienced "intermediate episodes of nausea," a medical way of saying that the patient would spew vast amounts of stomach contents in truly Olympic fashion. Gleeco patients easily qualified in distance for the U.S. Puke Team. Alex had already endured a three-day bout following his last dose. This time he was smarter. He scheduled his chemo on a Thursday afternoon so that he would only miss a day and a half of work. Then he stopped eating on Wednesday. He figured nothing in, nothing out. Lying on his bathroom floor, he discovered that dry heaves were worse as he tried to throw up his stomach. He couldn't even keep down the anti-nausea pills. But the worse passed by Sunday night, and he crawled gratefully into his bed and slept deeply.

The next morning, Alex wore with a strange feeling of well-being. It took him a few minutes to realize that he was simply feeling the absence of being sick. He stretched and realized he was hungry and could even think about food without his head swimming. Still cautious, he made do with a bowl of cream of wheat, dry toast, and black coffee. Not exactly the approved cancer diet, but it was food he could face without his stomach wailing.

He showered and went to work. He thought about staying home, but paranoia honed fine by years of surviving the corporate environment urged him on. If you were gone too much -- even for legitimate reasons -- people started to get used to your absences. Projects got reassigned, files got moved. More than one woman had returned from maternity leave to find herself a glorified secretary. Men ended up as assistants or found themselves on under-funded projects that wouldn't survive the next budget. Alex already had a cubicle at the end of a hall. His next move would be outside the building.

His inbox was full, both on his desk and in his email. While picking up a folder, he caught a wisp of perfume. Probably from Rachel. She bathed herself and her cubicle liberally in her favorite scent of the month to the dismay of those close to her. Glenda said Rachel could be tracked through a sewer plant. Alex started to grin, and then it happened. A hot flood rose within him. He whirled in his chair, trying to make it to the restroom down the hall.

He made two steps into the hall, and then the wave hit him so hard that he fell to his knees. He lost his breakfast. More than lost, he expelled his breakfast, shot his breakfast, hurled his breakfast, exploded his breakfast into the far wall. He caught a brief glance of a pair of legs before he was too occupied to see anything but a blur.

After a few eon-long minutes, the spell passed. He slumped against his cubicle doorway, exhausted and horrified by what he had done. Was this going to be his life now? Alex thought he'd rather be dead.

Someone knelt beside him. "Here. Put this on your throat." A wet paper towel was pressed against his skin.

A woman with blue eyes looked steadily at him.

"You're in a bad way, guy," she said after a moment. "Well, let's just see what we can about that."

Copyright 2012. All rights reserved. No copying without express prior written permission. Thank you for reading.

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Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Red Hot Sinner Man, 1

From Red Hot Sinner Man

The first thing Alex learned about cancer was that it scared other people. Oh, they put on a brave face, they plied him with sympathy, they shook their heads regretfully and spouted things like, “We’ll be thinking about you” or “Keep a positive attitude” or “You’ll be in our prayers.” Then they would delicately ask if he smoked or if cancer ran in his family or did he eat too much red meat or had he worked somewhere where he could have been exposed to a terrible chemical that caused the tumor wrapped around his spine. They wanted to know why he had cancer so that they could avoid it or be relieved that they didn’t smoke or eat red meat or do whatever it was that made him sick. They were afraid of this death that worked in the cubicle next to them. After those few words of concern, those muted conversations, they began to avoid him. Nothing overt. Just conversation fading away when he walked up or sat down at the table in the break room. Dead silences that went on so long that he could hear every rustle of paper, every click of a pen, every cough as loud as the Methodist church bell at noon.

When he realized this, he withdrew. He went silent. He retreated into his cubicle and wished for a door. He felt ashamed, almost as if cancer was some sort of STD, like he was sick because he wasn’t a good person, unclean, a leper among the washed. He was a sick person among the healthy, and he didn’t blame them for being squeamish about him. Who wants to be reminded of their own morality? Who wants to hear the ticking of the clock? Who wants to know they won’t live forever? That a disease can strike them down despite all the raw vegetables consumed and all the miles sweated? He had felt the way they felt before Mr. C entered his life. So he understood. He would be quiet. He would die politely. He would make it easy on them since he couldn’t make it easy on himself.

At least that was what he thought he would do at first. Then he met Abby, and everything changed.

Copyright 2012. All rights reserved. No copying without express prior written permission. Thank you for reading.

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Monday, May 28, 2012

Disappointing conclusion

Sometimes I wish my brain would shut up. Today I figured out that someone had lied to me. I wish I had let it alone, but no, my brain has to keep going, keep mulling things over until it presents me with a unpalatable conclusion.

I confirmed it, of course, hoping I was wrong, but I wasn't. Sigh. I would be a much happier person if I was less intelligent. I'd be happier if I could learn to live with the fact that people are often selfish, even those who say they love us the most, and that I won't ever be a priority for some people.

It's just so discouraging. I don't think I'm alone in wanting someone to really be on my side. I always say it's easy to find critics, but so much harder to find true supporters. I don't know why that is so, but it is.

Anyway, I'm going to have a cup of tea and do other things and try not to think of it. The nice thing is that I don't have to confront this lie. I can let it rest. If I can. And I'm going to try.

The truth does set up free, but sometimes it sets us free to be disappointed.

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Friday, May 25, 2012

Lies and more lies

There's a certain logic behind some lies. By that, I mean a person who lies for advancement or profit or protection has an understandable motive. You may disapprove, but you can understand why the person lied. Perhaps even in certain situations be willing to lie yourself for whatever reason you deem sufficient.

But what about someone who just lies all the time? Lies as easily as talking. Lies upon lies. So many that you begin to wonder if the person really knows what the truth is. Pathological lying. So many lies that the person hadn't keep them straight, and neither can anyone else. And the motives are unfathomable by anyone, perhaps even by the person telling them.

In times past, people would say a "lying spirit" had taken the person. That the person had lost hold on reality. That they had gone mad. Such people would be put away quietly to be studied by doctors and professors.

Now we elect them to Congress.

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Sunday, May 20, 2012

Still here

Not much to report, really, but here it is.

Still on the low carb diet. Some days I do really well. Some days not as good, but still not bad. I've adapted to this, apparently. 

Still working on the Christian devotion book with my friend. (It has a name now: On Target.)

Still doing a few things for the writers group anthology. We have a book signing June 7, which should be the last thing I help them do with this book.

Still working on Murder by the Mile. Slowly the story is coming together. Plot holes are being filled, but dang, it's taking me forever. Also, it's a dark story. Maybe too dark for my cozy audience.

Sold several copies of Murder by Dewey Decimal and Murder by the Acre (Second Edition) online. I'll have a little royalty check come August. Every bit helps. Been thinking I will do a second edition for MBDD, too. I'd like a new cover. Also, I would fix a nagging one word error that bothers me every time I read it. And I'll fix the sex of Obsidian, Lisa's cat. No one has ever mentioned those two errors to me, but both of them bother me.

Went to my niece's graduation last Friday night. She's amazing, beautiful, charming, and a true brainic. Received  $102,000 dollars in academic scholarship money. She'll need it. She plans to be a doctor. Saw all my nieces and nephew and my siblings and their spouses. Nice visit, but short.

And that's all I have to report. Have a great week!

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Friday, May 18, 2012

What really happened

"She's at the cottage," the little man said. "She'll be easy to find. She'll be singing as she does her chores, and all the birds and animals will be listening because they love her. All the animals in the Enchanted Forest love her!" He shuddered. "Filthy fowl and diseased ridden vermin. She even lets mice in the kitchen!"

He smiled grimly. "Enough is enough. We'll be gone all day. She'll be alone. Defenseless. Finish her!"

The witched queen smiled and walked away.

Grumpy headed back to the cottage and began to plan the deaths of the other dwarfs. He almost laughed, but fortunately was able to resist until the impulse passed.

Copyright 2012 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without express prior written permission. Thank you for reading.

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Thursday, May 17, 2012

What I did

Since I didn't really write today, I have no reason not to blog, other than the fact that I didn't do much. Well, nothing interesting. After you've fought off a pack of howling killer clowns a few times, you realize that people get tired of hearing you talk about it: "Blah blah blah killer clowns blah blah blah." Since I don't want to subject you to that, I'm trying to figure out something interesting to tell you.

Let's see. Hmm. Well, I have a new neighbor. She's a vampire, but nice. A bit pale and there's a general sense of doom and decay around her, but as Mrs. Simmons said, we already have a bank officer on our block so we can surely stand a vampire as long as we remember to eat our garlic and never invite her into our houses, which is going to be a problem for block parties, but it can't be helped.

And I'm being kind to the Mormon missionaries who wander by our street. When I see them, I think of the other Mormons I've known, such as my roomie, Jolene, and Kent. Despite that, I haven't released the hounds. They're nice young men and so brave to visit here again after that unfortunate incident with the tuba, the goat, and Widow Jacobsen.

Speaking of Widow Jacobsen, I want to say again how wonderful she is! Such a kind, sweet, intelligent, lovely woman who would NEVER think about suing a neighbor. She's a saint on earth, she is. Really. I hear her recovery is progressing nicely and was told yesterday that she's able to eat soft food now. Sure wish we could have found her teeth.

The weather was really nice today. Sunshine, warm temperatures, a few white clouds in the sky with only the occasional alien visitation. (But no probing. I've made a firm rule about no probing.) I took a brief walk around the neighborhood and spoke with a few neighbors or poked them with sharp pointed sticks, depending on what they enjoy. It's days like these that make you glad you're alive or undead or a car salesman as the case may be.

I spent the rest of the day doing housework, surfing the net, marketing my books, reading, filing, etc. The usual. I hope you had a good day, and I hope to see you here tomorrow -- unless, of course, I write a whole bunch or win a lot of money or both. Of course, if I win a bunch of money, I'm heading for the nearest beautiful island and will be making a new home for me there. I'll send a postcard because I will think of you and want you to be jealous. That's just how I roll.

Good night!

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Tuesday, May 08, 2012

Automatic

The other day I was going to lunch with a friend. I pulled out and "woke up" a few minutes later to discover I was on the way to the gym. I was thinking about other things, and since I usually go to the gym that way, my mind was automatically driving me there.

Made me think about my life in general. How much I do while in automatic mode thinking about other things. In some ways, this is good because there are chores that don't require much attention: vacuuming, dusting, washing dishes, laundry, etc. It's good that my mind can find a way to make the time pass more interestingly or at least not as boring.

Still, other things shouldn't be on automatic. Relationships with our family and friends. Don't they deserve our undivided attention and love? And in particular, our relationship with God. I thought about the many times I've tuned out the choir singing -- even while singing along -- and the many times my prayers were recited by rote rather than in a true conversation with someone who loves me more than anyone else in my life. Being in automatic means I didn't grow, didn't learn anything, didn't do anything except wait until church was over so that I could get to what I had planned for the rest of day.

We have to live a mindful life. We have to pay attention. There's so much in this world for us to see and to hear and to experience. But if we're in automatic, all those wondrous things will pass us by, leaving us untouched and small in the most basic ways.

Let's choose -- and I mean this especially for me -- to be awake and aware in this life. To drink deeply from all God has for us and to rejoice in living a mindful, fulfilled life.

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Monday, May 07, 2012

Can't fault the years

Can't Fault The Years

Can't fault the years for piling up,
or the sorrows for increasing,
or the tears for falling.

None of those things
'cause the joys accumulate,
and the smiles increase.

But the goodbyes keep coming,
no matter how we struggle,
one after another, endless.

Friends move away,
our loved family dies,
goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

No wonder our eyes strain
toward the unseen shore
looking for loves lost.

We struggle for survival,
simple as an oak cane,
and as blindly necessary.

But the tears still fall,
the sorrows increase,
and years pile up

Until that time we smile
and say with finality
goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

Copyright 2012 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.

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Thursday, May 03, 2012

Book signing scheduled

ADA -- The members of Ada Writers will sign copies of their new anthololgy, "Creations 2012," on Thursday, June 7, 4-6 p.m., at the Ada Public Library, 124 S. Rennie. The anthology will be available for purchase at the special hometown price of $10, regularly $12.

Readers can enjoy short stories, poems, essays, memoirs, articles, and book excerpts in the anthology, said Ken Lewis, president of Ada Writers. "We have science fiction, mysteries, ghost stories, vampires -- everyone can find a work that speaks to his or her tastes." For more about the anthology, including brief excerpts, and to buy online, visit www.creations2012.blogspot.com.

Lewis said the mission of Ada Writers is to provide education and support to writers in any stage of their development. The group meets the second and fourth Saturday of each month at 11 a.m. upstairs at the library.

The anthology features the work of the following Ada area authors: 

Stephen B. Bagley wrote "Murder by Dewey Decimal" and "Murder by the Acre," both in the Measurements of Murder™ series. "Murder by the Mile," the third in the series, will be published in 2012. Available now is "Floozy and Other Stories," a collection of his humorous essays. His poetry has appeared in Byline, Prairie Songs, Free Star, and other print and online journals.

Arlene Aren Howell, who writes fantasy and science fiction, lives in Ada with her peaceful Chihuahua Missy and protective Sheltie. Her novel, "Tears of the Dreamer," is expected to be completed this summer. She currently serves as vice-president of Ada Writers.

Mel Hutt and his wife have been married for more than sixty years and have three children, eight grandchildren, and seven great grandchildren. When his father died in 1945, he entered the Navy and served more than three years in the Pacific, including Operation Crossroads of the atomic bomb experiments at Bikini. He shares his memories in memoirs.

Ken Lewis has written several articles and short stories of different genres. His interests lie mostly in the paranormal and science fiction genres, but he enjoys exploring other avenues of the art. He’s currently a student of the Longridge Writer’s Group, where he continues to hone the writing craft. He’s a firm believer in “Life is learning.”

Rick Litchfield has a handful of poetry published in globally distributed anthologies. Most notably, The Choice in "The International Who’s Who in Poetry" from 2005. And Shibboleth in "The Best Poems and Poets of 2007."

Martha Rhynes, a retired teacher, began her writing career by researching the lives of American authors and writing biographies and analyses of their work for inclusion in literary encyclopedias. Her book-length biographies include: "I, Too, Sing America, The Story of Langston Hughes"; "Gwendolyn Brooks, Poet from Chicago"; "Ralph Ellison: Author of Invisible Man"; "Jack London: Writer of Adventure"; and "Ray Bradbury: An Illustrated Life." Her works of fiction include numerous short stories and three novels: "The Secret of the Pack Rat’s Nest," "The War Bride," and "Man on First." 

L. D. Robb writes novels and short stories inspired by the challenges of everyday life enjoying a near wilderness and rustic farm life. She lives without many modern conveniences, seeking a self-sustainable way of life, which allows self-introspection and acceptance of the natural processes of existence. She enjoys science fiction and uses that genre to build allegorical stories based on real life events and beliefs. She has so far written two novels in the Apex One series: "Volume One, Epochs in Time" and "Volume Two, Stratégie Royal, War and Honor." The third titled, "Volume Three, The Brothers of The Libertane/ Origins of the Commonwealth," is underway. 

Steve Robb lives with his wife in rural Oklahoma. He is a career ‘Over the Road’ truck driver and is an avid reader. He does little in the way of writing himself, preferring to encourage others in the development of their skills. He has found the written word to be a source of inspiration and solace through the difficult times in his life.

Jeri Elise Tilman lives on a small private farm in central Oklahoma, off the power grid, in a home powered by solar and wind. Jeri writes poetry, short stories, and essays on social and cultural awareness, as well as How To’s on organic gardening, animal husbandry, and natural living. Jeri lectures for women’s groups on recovery from abuse, volunteers time as a lay counselor for mental health and social support groups online and in person, and works as an advocate for acceptance of ‘self’ within the spectrum of human existence.

Joanne Verbridge was born in Oakland, California, spending her life experiences in Northern California. Family brought her to Oklahoma where she enjoys taking time to write about those experiences. She is trying to inspire her young nieces to take an interest in story telling and writing.

Gail Wood has written all her life. “It is as natural to me as breathing. I love the written word, all the nuances, the connotations, the music. I write for a living, but it is in the perverted world of grants, reports, and strategic plans – the bureaucratic graveyard for words," she says. "Besides writing, I have a passion for Zumba® even though I will always be a back row dancer. I love the outdoors and all things natural. The best part of my life is yet to come.”

Tom Yarbrough is the author of three books and numerous articles focusing on helping people improve themselves. He is currently writing two non-fiction works being considered by outside readers and publishers. After a long career in counseling and education, he now spends his time with full time writing, family concerns, and hobbies like Rendezvous (an 1840 living history camp) and making bookmarks called Shepherd Staffs.

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