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Who knows what inspires someone to write a novel? Even authors don’t always until much later. My own literary-novel-in-progress, “Flamenco & the Sitting Cat,” seemed merely an experiment, a dive into fiction. Only as it progressed did I see it’s really a love letter to all who believe they’re too old, young, broken, lost, too whatever for love…
So when it comes to producing a novel, there’s deciding to write, then comes writing, and then it’s published. At that point, the author releases their words into the world for book lovers to make of them what they will. Every reader brings themself into the act of sitting with a story.
Here blogger/author Mark Bierman (click here for his site, where you can find his book and contact him) reveals what he’s learned about the writing process and readers. Born and raised on a farm in Ontario, Canada, he merges country life with his adult experiences as a correctional officer and a story teller. You can find more of his guest posts for Happiness Between Tails here and here.
The Hidden Life of “Vanished,” a novel by Mark Bierman
A few weeks ago, I was reading over some of the newer reviews and comments of my novel Vanished. I noticed some understandable trepidation among a few of those who hadn’t read the book. In response, I’ve decided to write this post, explaining the origins of the book, and why I wrote it.
First, though, I wish to thank all of those who took a chance on me, readers who cracked the pages, in spite of the subject matter. I really appreciate you, and I know it couldn’t have been easy to start.
Here’s a quick synopsis
Driven to despair by a shared loss, Americans John Webster and Tyler Montgomery try to self-medicate by embarking on a mission of goodwill to earthquake-ravaged Haiti. The reconstruction of an orphanage transforms into a nightmarish hunt after a young girl is kidnapped.
Unequipped, culturally illiterate, and alone, the pair are forced into alliances with shifty characters, as they delve deeper into the treacherous underbelly of the human trafficking world. Can they survive long enough to keep their promise to the child’s mother?
I want to clarify what is NOT in this book; rape, gore, excessive violence (yes, there is violence, but no more than any other action/thriller), injury or death to animals, pedophilia. You only need to ask someone who’s read the book, I’m confident they will attest to this.
If you asked me, ten years ago, to write a book about human trafficking, I would have declared you insane. Times, and people, change.
The truth is, initially, there was no intention of broaching the subject. I wanted to write about Haiti.
You see, my father, upon whom one of the main characters, John Webster, is loosely based, would volunteer to help build homes, churches, and other projects. I remember well, the photos showing the difficult living conditions. There were also the stories, none of which included human trafficking. There are bits and pieces in the novel that were gleaned from his experiences.
The second main character, Tyler Montgomery, is loosely based on my brother-in-law. The pair actually did make a trip to post-earthquake Haiti, back in October of 2010. I asked if they’d be willing to make a journal of their experiences.
So, here we come to the reasons behind Vanished. Over the years, I’ve been understandably and justifiably questioned as to my choice of topic. In the early days, I always delivered a simple and pat answer about a desire to promote awareness. If a problem is ignored, what hope is there to solve it? At the time, I truly believed my answer to be complete. Cut and dried, no further explanation needed.
I often mention that 50% of the proceeds are donated to help victims of human trafficking, which they are, and I hope I don’t sound like I’m touting my own horn. That is not my intent.
Yes, all of this is true. However, and this may sound strange, I’ve only recently come to realize it’s not the whole truth. Please let me explain.
Those who are familiar with me, know that I’ve spent the last twenty-plus years working as a Correctional Officer in maximum and medium security prisons.
Novelist/blogger Mark Bierman.
The last max. was Kingston Penitentiary, which opened in 1835 and closed in 2013. It’s now a tourist attraction. I was one of the last to work there. Shortly afterwards, I was transferred to a medium level prison.
This blog is not evolving into a prison tale. My career was mentioned because I want to help you understand where I’m coming from. I also want to emphasize that Hollywood and the news are entities that thrive on sensationalism, because it sells.
I’ve encountered many traumatic experiences and looked into the midnight eyes of those who looked through, rather than at you. We called them dead eyes.
Fortunately, these are not the majority of inmates. There are some who’ve led normal lives until something triggered them to act in uncharacteristic ways. What you also had were many cases of psychological and drug addiction issues. Oh, and yes, plenty of the inhabitants had committed unspeakable acts of evil. I’ll spare you the details.
Of course, it wasn’t all bad. I’ve worked with some great staff and have had my share of laughs. I appreciated the strong bonds that developed between my peers. It’s inevitable when you place your life in someone’s hands, and they put theirs in yours.
I apologize if I’m rambling, but it was necessary to give some background into what made my brain tick when I wrote this book.
It took a diagnosis of PTSD, months of treatment, support, and deep reflection, to unravel the ‘other’ reasons for the birth of Vanished.
I have come to grasp the fact that it was also a product of a mind that sought to survive and heal. To find a state of homeostasis and make sense of the tragic and unfathomable.
The famous line from the movie, Saving Private Ryan, often comes to mind. Captain Millar and the Sergeant are discussing the personal cost of getting Ryan home. One of them says: “Someday, we might look back on this, and decide that saving Private Ryan was the one decent thing we were able to pull out of this whole Godawful, shitty mess.”
I’m not comparing myself to these brave warriors, but these are my sentiments, exactly.
The brain is extremely powerful, and I believe that it sensed something was wrong all those years ago, though my conscious mind was oblivious. It’s the frog in a boiling pot analogy. I was being cooked alive, and I didn’t even realize.
The characters do represent, superficially, my family members. At a deeper level, they are avatars of my hope. Hope for something better, for this world, myself, and my loved ones.
Spoiler alert, Tyler struggles with mental health issues. The issue was approached from a Stephen King angle because I grew up reading his work.
At the time, I thought it was just a nod to the famous writer, but it’s become clear that my subconscious had put out a 911 call for help. In some ways, I’m Tyler.
Right now, more than ever, the world is hurting. I don’t know your personal stories, but I can sense from many of the comments, that anxiety and a sense of hopelessness rule the day.
Let me tell you, there is always hope. I want to assure you that you are not alone. I, along with many others, have been where you are. I’m on the mend, and my family is getting there, too. I cannot reiterate this enough: there is always hope.
Whenever a crisis arises, there are always those who step up and perform selfless acts. I refer to those as helpers. Look around, you’ll find them everywhere. You know what? Look in the mirror and you’ll see one up close.
Don’t believe me? Listen, if you’ve ever retweeted a post, shared a kind word on a blog, shared a blog, hosted, bought a book, read, and reviewed, made someone laugh or provided information, beta read… you get the picture, then you are a helper.
Yes, those dedicated people who work in the healthcare industry certainly fall into this category. There are so many others, unsung, and unnoticed. They go about the business of helping.
John and Tyler are much more than characters in a book, and the plot is deeper and broader than human trafficking. There is an ugly side to it, just as there is in life, but there is also a positive message. It’s about becoming a helper, doing whatever is within your capacity to make a positive impact, even if it’s just one person.
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Sensuality! Passion! Fun! As writers (here’s about the novel I’m writing) and readers, only good can come of finding what sets us afire. Figuring out how to unlock the shackles of cultural conditioning can be tricky, though. Learning about groundbreaking artists and their work can helps.
For instance, take how Emma Thompson has done it again — she’s the English actress who forever reaches further and further. By this, I’m not merely referring to the storyline of “Good Luck to You, Leo Grande.” In it, a 50ish recently widowed woman decides that, once and for all, she’s going to have good sex. She hires a twenty-something male prostitute.
What’s beyond incredible is the fact that we’ve never before seen this story on-screen — and why not? Why are post-menopausal woman who desire sex seen as aberrant, laughable, and even despicable?
Check out the film’s equally ground-breaking humanizing of a male sex worker who, moreover, isn’t repulsed by older women.
“Vladimir,” by Julia May Jonas, (which I recently finished in audiobook format and to which Rebecca Lowman lent a superb narration) offers a reckoning of sexuality. That of everyone, including love and relationships, both public and private. Aren’t the title and cover great, especially as it’s a literary novel, not the saucy romance genre implied?
The protagonist is a college prof in her 50s who has an open marriage with her college prof husband. We enter the story when he’s accused of overstepping his authority because he used to have trysts with students. Even though the rendezvous were with consenting women in their twenties and older, and they occurred before the college had instituted regulations against it, he’s about to lose his job. So there’s that.
And then there’s how the wife is judged because she neither sides against him nor divorces him. Not that anyone knows it, she’s had extra-marital relationships with men of all ages. Then there’s how their adult lesbian daughter judges the parents. There are also the students, the faculty… And in walks beefy Vladimir, who throws the protag into lust overdrive.
My review for Amazon and Goodreads (by the way, do you use Goodreads or anything like it?):
Julia May Jonas takes risk after risk with this novel and beckons us to — ooh lala — dare I say it? — think!
What do you think about how older women are portrayed?
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Consider me two weeks behind in everything, including the story I’ll begin with below. I’ve just finished jury duty, so in terms of everything from blogging and novel writing to general life stuff plus venturing into a podcast version of Happiness Between Tails.
Thank you Infidel753 for generously guest posting here today! Before we get to him, indulge me in a recount of Part 1 of my recent civic experience. Find Pt 2 here and find Pt 3 here.
Jury duty. Duty. Justice.
Justice, doing one’s duty can be inconvenient. Same with voting, giving blood, and such. How far we’ll put ourselves out to work for the greater good is no body else’s business. I only hope we’re all thoughtful and kind about our choices, soul-searchingly aware that our only hope is if we know we’re all in this together. Each of us is a potential everyday hero for each other, all of us breathing the same air, if you get what I mean.
Friday before last, I started my service. Is jury duty the same all over the United States? All I know is California. Strike that. All I only know Los Angeles County.
A cousin in the UK reports jurors there rioted over crummy sandwiches they got for lunch. Lunch?! Believe me, here we’d be overjoyed to be offered anything other than tap water from the building’s fountains. The cafe in the basement charges for food. And it closed daily at 12:30 (maybe because of COVID restrictions?) even though lunch breaks were usually noon to 1:30.
Parking where I served, the Spring Street Courthouse, was a little over half a mile away and included a shuttle ride. Loving exercise, I didn’t mind jogging instead. The garage was beneath the Walt Disney Concert Hall, which is quite something to see as it’s one of Frank Gehry’s architectural marvels.
Let me rewind to before I got there.
The way jury duty works here, for a week, every night one calls to see if they’ll be needed the following day. I’d heard that if you’re not needed by Thursday morning, you’re home free.
Not so, Nay, nay, nay. Thursday night, they instructed me to go in — to a location much further than originally promised.
Along the drive there, on the 710, a busy freeway favored by semi-trucks, my engine blew, stalled, went caput. After $2,000 and another week, I’m hoping I’ll be able to drive it again. It happened on the lane second from the fastest as vehicles wizzed by. Mercifully, on that section of road, there was a safety shoulder to coast onto. After several deep breaths to calm myself and to count my lucky stars, I called AAA for a tow. They told me to sit tight for an hour. Then I phoned the courthouse, expecting they’d excuse me, but they wanted me to call them back later.
Within ten minutes, a Metro angel tow truck pulled up behind and rescued me!
If you ever break down on a Los Angeles freeway, call 511. For no charge, they’ll come out faster than anyone else can and help you get your car running (i.e., jump start, tire change, gallon of gas, radiator water, etc.) or tow you to the nearest exit.
From there, AAA took me to my mechanic, where my husband met me (whew! he was working from home that day). It was 12:15 when I arrived home. When I phoned the courthouse, they asked me to get there ASAP.
I inhaled lunch and darted through confusing one-way streets of downtown in search of jury for parking. No one said it would be far from the actual site… Fortunately, I didn’t run anyone over as I dialed the jury room…
At 2:15, soaked from running downhill and uphill as well as roaming the courthouse, I got there. An hour later, I became a juror for the first time.
Wait! Surely you’re curious about how the trial went? Check back soon for that tale, dear readers. In the meantime, here’s a photo of how our tomatoes (first introduced here) are coming along…
The best tomatoes are home grown!
Back to Infidel753, whose courage and conviction amaze me. Definitely check out his site. His Sunday posts are especially popular. That’s when he offers tons of funny and sober links. Here’s a picture from one of his links that still makes me laugh, particularly since this guy resembles my dear K-D doggie (who surely regrets being cared for by me who doesn’t eat meat).
Here Infidel753 recounts the period of time when he stuck his neck out as a “pro-choice escort”…
A small contribution to the fight for freedom by Infidel753
For about a year, starting in late 2003, I volunteered as a “pro-choice escort” at an abortion clinic here in Portland.The anti-choice protesters gathered there every Saturday morning to harass the clinic’s clients, so Saturday mornings were when I and the other escorts had to be there.
Most of the volunteers came as often as they could — on any given morning there were three to six of us there.The only ones who were there every Saturday were S and W, the informal leaders of the team.We were always careful to avoid mentioning full names or identifying information — in at least one case, the anti-choicers had managed to identify one escort and started sending him threats through the mail.S was a woman, W a man.The escorts generally were about 50-50 male and female.
Theoretically, the escorts’ main job was to be on the alert for protesters harassing the clinic’s clients on their way to and from the building, and intervene to shield them.In practice, such cases seldom arose.Most clients parked in a lot at the back to which the protesters had no access, and even when some did use the front door, the protesters rarely approached them.But if there had been no escorts present and ready to intervene, I’m quite sure the anti-choicers would have approached and harassed them much more often than they did.Our presence served as a deterrent.
Aside from that, both sides were engaged in more of a kind of psychological warfare.The enemy’s goal was intimidation — making the clinic’s staff and clients feel isolated and surrounded by hostile forces.Our purpose as escorts was to provide a positive presence to counter this negativity, so that clients would not feel they were in completely hostile territory.
Most of the protesters were regulars, and we knew their habits.Some just stood around holding signs.Some engaged in ostentatious religious chanting and praying.Some stood as close to the clinic as the law allowed and performed long, bellowing diatribes which always seemed to be more about God and the Bible than about abortion as such.There was one protester who always wore a gun, which I was told he had a permit for.Due to some previous incident, there was a standing court order prohibiting him from being on our side of the street, so he stood across the street and scowled at us.Another protester had a personal fixation on S; he had once said to her, “Women like you deserve to be raped”.I once heard a protester shout at a man who was accompanying a woman into the clinic, “Why are you letting that woman kill your baby?Be dominant, sir!Be a man!”Yes, he really said that.
I never saw any actual violence, but the situation was often tense, especially when there was a new person among the protesters, since anyone new to us was by definition unpredictable.We all knew about cases in other parts of the country where clinics had been bombed or doctors murdered by the fanatics, and in at least one case an escort had been killed.So we were always alert for any sign of danger.
The escorts had varied motives for being there.I hold individual freedom to be among the highest values, and if someone else can infringe on your absolute freedom to decide what happens inside your own body, then what freedom can you securely lay claim to?S had strong feminist convictions, and W was a libertarian who opposed the anti-choicers’ goal of forcing others to abide by their own religious taboos.Most of the other escorts, as best I could tell, had some combination of similar motives.
Confronting religious fanaticism face-to-face is very different from reading about it in books.Ever since that year, I’ve had a much deeper sense of what these people’s mentality is really like.They will not be satisfied until the lives of the rest of us are dictated by the taboos of their own religion, backed up by the force of law, as in Iran or Saudi Arabia.
The clinic was in a residential neighborhood, and local people would often stop and chat with the escorts, bringing us hot drinks on cold mornings or otherwise offering encouragement.On one occasion an elderly woman approached me and said, “I don’t agree with abortion, but I’m glad to see a man standing up for women’s right to make their own decisions.”And that’s what it was really about — the right of all of us to make our own decisions, not have them made for us by somebody else’s religion.
Tragic times, including this COVID-19 era of death, illness, fear, misconception, and bigotry — can bring out the worst in us — and the best. The shadowed and the illuminated, the ugly and the beautiful, the narrow-minded and the caring…
The devastation of COVID-19 inspired artist Connie D.K. Lane to create an installation where viewers are coaxed to feel and think. Amid the sad emptiness of the quarantined Glendale Central Library, she invited volunteers to help her fill the space with color and movement to honor Los Angeles County residents who’ve passed away from the virus.
Connie’s “15,000 and More: A Plethora of Light and Darkness” employs over 15,000 Chinese joss paper ingots. Hanging from the ceiling, the ingots form a constellation evoking the overwhelming number of Angelenos who’ve passed away from COVID-19. Watch multi-media journalist Aziza Shuler report on it for Spectrum News1…
Does Connie look familiar? I featured one of her art shows here and a sneak preview to another here that I took part in, and that show here with a video, and a video of another I also participated in here.
Has Covid-19 inspired you in a surprising way?
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(Note: an audio/podcast version of this blog post is H-E-R-E.)
“Even if my marriage is falling apart and my children are unhappy, there is still a part of me that says, ‘God, this is fascinating!’” — Ernest Hemingway
Noé Socha is a musician who’s life is absolutely not falling apart due to his being blind — and goddesses, his life is fascinating!
Got writing blues? Covid blues? The “when will the world learn that fear and hate aren’t the answers” blues? A couple of minutes with Noé’s guitar and harmonica will color them into rainbows.
CBS New York news interviewed him a couple of weeks ago.
I first learned of Noé thanks to Kenya Greaves, a friend I met through her work as an online writing tutor. She’s a great help with editing my novels. Watch Noé’s video below (one of many at his YouTube Blind Selfie channel) for Kenya’s appearance as a backup dancer.
Noé grew up in Carpi, Italy (a lovely place, which like my Los Angeles, knows earthquakes). Now he’s based out of Brooklyn, New York, where Covid first walloped the United States.
Even Mastercard has added him and his music to their “Something Priceless” roster.
Read on for his thoughts in his words about living creatively through Covid…
My Experience as a Blind Musician During Covid by Noé Socha
The beginning of Covid was very strange for me. I’m from Italy, so I saw all my friends going in full lockdown a couple of weeks before the states, but I still had performances every day until March 15. It was hard to stay focused, knowing how everything would have changed in a very short matter of time. I was questioning myself; I felt selfish taking all these chances, but I also felt like I couldn’t do any different.
I came back to NYC from PA on Monday, March 16, and I’ll never forget the feeling of seeing Times Square deserted at 9 PM. It didn’t seem real.
The next month or so was very challenging for me, I didn’t have any inspiration to play, people were dying and getting sick, it felt wrong to post music. All my musician friends were doing online streams, but nobody was making any money from them. Teaching guitar online was hard, I don’t feel I can help people very much without being able to touch their hands, and I can’t have close-up shots of myself. I also live alone, so I would go thirty plus days without seeing anyone.
I decided to start posting again when I realized I was losing my chops on the instruments, I couldn’t let all the work I put into it go to waste, and I needed something to look forward to artistically. I take selfies with my phone. The shots may not be very good, but I thought it would be interesting and different to have a blind person videotaping himself. George Floyd’s homicide and all the people that spoke out and told their stories after that gave me even more motivation to use my artistry to stand in solidarity and support.
In the summer, the gigs came back, sort of. I was playing outside bars, on the sidewalks, for tips. It was very nice to see how eager people were for live music, but it was also stressful trying to respect social distancing. I found myself hesitating when I needed help getting places; I wasn’t sure how to get people’s attention without getting close to them, and I didn’t want to make anybody uncomfortable. I am fortunate to be able to use Access-A-Ride, so I didn’t have to take public transportation.
Now we’re back in lockdown, and it feels like we’re in March again. I keep posting my videos, hoping to increase my followers and inspire people. I’ve realized that it’s important to have something to keep us motivated, even if we don’t see many results. Persistence is key. If I get somewhere with the videos, I want to show that all the work and struggle we’re going through will be rewarded someday, in ways we didn’t necessarily predict.
Has Covid impacted your creativity?
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At the time, he was only somewhat uncomfortable. Quickly thereafter, he got really ill.
Very very very fortunately, just this month he’d found employment that provides excellent health insurance. Moreover, only a couple of days earlier, the health plan started offering monoclonal antibodies treatments to “patients who qualify.” Lucky him, he got sick sick sick enough to qualify.
Three mornings, he spent hours getting to the hospital, having his blood tested, taking medications including steroids, and sitting with an IV drip. The first day he felt the worst of his life, could hardly stand to get out of bed, and could barely eat or drink. By days two and three, he was markedly improved. It’s been a few days since, and he’s not entirely over it, but he’s definitely (knock on wood) out of the woods. Now he wishes the pounds he initially lost on the “COVID diet” weren’t creeping back. Thank goodness his sense of humor is returning.
As for me, the first day he fell sick, I felt crummy too, but mine passed within a couple of hours. I hoped it meant my body had faced down the nasty bug. A few days later, still feeling fine, hi ho hurrah, I tested negative. Then a few days later, woe is me, positive results of a retest came in shortly after I became feverish and headachy and yucky and… (okay, I’ll stick with keeping things polite) and it didn’t go away. I’m still not entirely great, but I hope I’m done with the worst of it.
How fortunate I am to have decent health insurance, a nurturing husband, and the generosity of dear people.
Now indulge me a moment on my soapbox:
Know anyone who’s anti-immigration? Invite them to find a predominantly white hospital and tell them good luck with that. The medical professionals who’ve helped my husband and me were overwhelmingly first and later generation immigrants. I’d rather not contemplate where we’d be without their hard work, dedication, care, bravery, and on and on…
Definitely, if everyone wore masks, neither my husband nor I would have gotten COVID-19. Wishing you and yours excellent health.
Have you ever changed a bigot’s mind? At least I can be one less person who allows them to think it’s okay to spread hate and divisiveness…
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Gentle and cruel, personal and universal — writer/novelist/artist/actor/personality Truman Capote captured the holiday season to a “T”-ruman in his “A Christmas Memory.”
A lifelong bestie of another of my beloved authors, Harper Lee of “To Kill a Mockingbird” renown, Truman grew up queer during times when that wasn’t allowed. Hell, it’s still not allowed, not really despite the two-steps-forward/one-step-back strides that humanity has been making lately.
Truman Capote at 23, thanks to Wikipedia.
I happened upon Truman’s “A Christmas Memory” by chance. It’s part of his book, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s: a Short Novel and Three Short Stories,” the whole volume of which is mind-blowing. His print version of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is nothing less than enchanting for how it captures the heartbreaking nuances of love and friendship, particularly between a gay man and a straight woman. (Incidentally, another book I adore along those same lines is “The Object of My Affection,” by Stephen McCauley. That novel as well is much more profound in print than in the film.)
Poster for “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” from Wikipedia.
Please don’t judge “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by its movie version. It’s stunning because of Audrey Hepburn, her iconic dress by Hubert de Givenchy in the movie poster above, and so forth — but its racism toward Asians is deplorable. Moreover, it’s nowhere near as deep as the fabulous book. Unfortunately, Truman seems to have actively prostituted his masterpiece novella to Hollywood. Why? Was it due to his tragic and increasingly alcoholic life?
Truman Capote, four years before he passed away. Thank you Wikipedia.
The story in its p.r.i.n.t.e.d. form reminds me of how this whole pandemic situation has upended our holiday season, yet in some ways “righted” them. This year I’m extra thrilled that my dear ones are in good health. I’m happier for the smaller gestures. Living “sheltered-in-place,” I’m reminded that even though we can feel alone, we never really are.
No matter how poorly we feel and badly we are treated, one kindred face can make all the difference. Here in this vintage video, Truman doesn’t tell us this — his story enables us to feel it…
How are your holidays unique this year?
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Stephen Hawking, in this April 10, 2018 interview for Smithsonian Channel. It was one of the last times he appeared on-camera. His message was that we (Earthlings) need to colonize another planet.
What do you think about, regarding whether we’ve got roommates on this galaxy other than our fellow Earthlings? Not that I contemplate extraterrestrial folk often, but when I do… I don’t give them much thought…
On the other hand, theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking maintains that I should — and so should you! He advised that some might be hostile — and that we need to start our planning sooner than later.
Some experts argue that that we have no reason to worry that the other inhabitants of the heavens might make slaves, indentured servants, mincemeat, or whatnot of us. This authority says we should double our efforts to contact them…
Never mind all that. Forget about Star Wars (SW fans, see this post)… There’s no need for nonsense such as science, neither astronomy nor guesses and such, any longer! Thanks to the infinite reach of the blogsphere, now we can peer into the day-to-days of the aliens (and why don’t we care if they’re the legal type?) on Alien Resort via their transmitter/cartoonist/blogger, David Davis. The lives (often comical, always humorous and clever) of the immigrants is told in the form of comics. The E.T.’s website, Dans Cartoons to the Rescue, includes a developing story homepage with blog post updates. Moreover, an on-site Alien Resort Museum displays the stranded voyagers when they’re published in local (meaning on Earth) newspapers.
The little (I think) guys of Alien Resort have a now-defunct “GoFundMe forcefield’ to wage against their nemesis, Beacons of the Night.
A preface from Alien Resort blog-lord David Davis:
I was a character in the early days of the story when, in about 2017, I reached out to Coy and the others through Craigslist for help in making my comics. I was arrested in 2019 for the offense of hiring illegal aliens and imprisoned on the mainland. I am still in jail, awaiting trial. The residents of Alien Resort taught themselves to make the comics on their own, thanks to the organizational capabilities of Captain Plucky and the humor of resident comedians Deadpan and Lmao. And it is true that due to the decline in the newspaper business, they no longer sell as many comics as they used to, but they’re doing okay thanks to the benevolence of their landlord, the king of the archipelago. If anyone’s in charge, it’s Coy.
Alien Nation cartoonist David Davis.
Onward to the real story, direct from the mouth(?)(s?) of the residents of Alien Nation:
My name is Coy. I crash-landed my spaceship over three hundred years ago on an island in the North Pacific Ocean. Eventually, Plucky came to rescue me, but she got stranded too. Along with two comedians, also extraterrestrials, we are the residents of Alien Resort.
A picture of Coy, spokes-alien for Alien Nation.
We knew nothing about Earth when we first arrived. We didn’t know if Earth was inhabited until we began picking up radio signals. Our next big step was when Plucky built an internet transceiver. We found out that our island was owned by a king; we contacted him, and he’s been very good to us ever since.
The residents of Alien Nation offer an interesting perspective of life on Earth.
A few years ago, we got a job. An Earthling by the name of David Davis writes comics for newspapers. He proposed to send us scripts, which we would rehearse and assemble into the final form to send to editors.
Everything went well until a group called the Beacons of Night protested that we shouldn’t be allowed to make comics for newspapers. They say we’re stealing jobs from Earthlings. Their slogan is Earthlings Unite, and they’re continually trying to figure out ways to undermine us.
Alien Nation’s residents are multi-cultural — they come from a variety of planets!
Up until the coronavirus outbreak, we were conducting an Alien Resort Island excursion for a cruise line. I was the guide, which was hard at first because I have issues that make it hard for me to speak in public.
The folks of Alien Resort are colorful, to say the least.
One of the comedians, Deadpan, is in a relationship with Plucky. They both have issues too, which are shared in the blog posts. Readers can participate in the comments section and converse directly with us. Except with Lmao, that is. He’s the other comedian, and he’s usually off climbing a tree or polishing his nails.
Dive in — share your ideas about extraterrestrials…
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Everyone seems distracted these days. I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with someone outside of my home that wasn’t 80% about COVID19… How about you? No — before you answer that — more importantly, my arty friends, how do you keep your creative juices flowing lately?
Kid-lover and child-free-by-choice as I am, these days, my heart goes out to my friends with families. Now more than ever, it’s become a challenge for many to attend to the emotional as well as financial needs of their flock. (Here and here and here and here and here and here and here are a few of my posts that I hope will help you cope with the current crisis.)
To lighten everyone’s hearts, enter novelist/mystery writer/blogger Mike Befeler! He’s been our guest at Happiness Between Tails before — when he presented his engaging geezer-lit mysteries here and his delightful paranormal geezer-lit mysteries here. A proud grandfather, he’s using this quarantine to apply his imagination to a younger crowd. His brand-new uplifting and humorous short story about the Coronavirus pandemic is free to all who act quickly. Read on for how to get it for free!…
Author/blogger Mike Befeler with his family — and Mickey!
Writing a Short Story during the Coronavirus Pandemic by Mike Befeler
Like so many people, I have been hunkered down at home during the Coronavirus pandemic. My last writer activity before self-quarantining was the ill-fated Left Coast Crime Conference in March. I arrived in San Diego, had a full day of conference activity, and then the remainder of the conference was canceled.
My main activity since then has been taking care of our four-year-old grandson during the workweek. Since we weren’t getting together with anyone in-person except our immediate family, I started phoning old friends around the county to check in with them. In addition, we held Zoom calls with our kids in other parts of the country and even with one of the neighborhood friends of our grandson.
Mike Befeler writes for all ages, including his charming grandson!
At first, I did no new writing. Then an idea struck me. Since I have another grandson who is in middle school, what would it be like for a boy his age to be an only child at home with his parents? The idea grabbed me, and I began writing a journal from my fictional boy’s point of view. I tend to be an outliner, but in this case, I operated as more of a seat-of-the-pantster. I had no idea where his journal would go. I sprinkled in some of the things going on in the news and how a boy would handle being bored and not able to see his friends. As I wrote, a whole new plot developed. My protagonist, Tad, made an unexpected discovery that changed his life. The result was a story titled, “Coronavirus Daze,” which I have just published as an e-book on Kindle. My goal was to provide an inspiring and humorous story that would give a positive diversion for readers struggling with being homebound.
A little by Mike about his short story, “Coronavirus Pandemic”…
The uplifting and humorous story is about a boy keeping a journal during the Coronavirus outbreak. A middle school student in Southern California, Tad must deal with the boredom of being stuck at home with his parents during the Coronavirus pandemic. He has a life-transforming experience when he makes an unexpected discovery. Readers may shed a tear and will undoubtedly have some chuckles as Tad recounts his adventures in a time of chaos and uncertainty.
You can get it for free! Email Mike at mikebef@aol.com for a copy. If you enjoy the story, pass it along to your family and friends.
About Mike Befeler: he is the author of seventeen books, including mysteries, a thriller, and a biography of a World War II veteran. Two of his mystery novels have been finalists for the Lefty Award for best humorous mystery. He began writing later in life and lives with his wife Wendy in Lakewood, CA. He played competitive tennis as a kid and in college and now enjoys pickleball (when the pickleball courts open again).
My arty friends, how are you keeping your creative juices flowing?…
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Communication is not easy. Whether I’m listening, reading, looking… all my interactions are colored by my perspective that’s shaped by my present and past. Sometimes my simplest, most straight-forward conversations are with my dear doggie.
Who do you interact with most easily? Blogger/writer Bryan Wagner presents workshops on Zen, Tao, and Shamanism. Here’s his take on relationships…
Bryan Wagner and a friend spending quality time together.
Communion is creating and embracing an emotional, spiritual, sharing of each other.
We can enter a state of communion if we are present and each of us has the desire, openness, and willingness to remain so.
We can also use that willingness of communication to build a more intimate exchange that leaves traces of each participant within the other. That is the act of communion. Communion is not just language and sharing. Communion is a process further than language, it is the art of complete communication in the moment. Genuine communion happens when things move between those in relationship that is grounded in the awareness of the moment.
I believe that the sharing of emotional content is important to the state of being in communion. That means to express emotional, non-verbal content, and then allow the receiver to process it in whatever form that action takes.
Communion happens inter-species because spoken language is only a very small part of communion. Some of my happiest moments are in communion with animals. I think in part because they are aware and painfully honest in how they respond. Being with animals has the effect of clearing the detritus and fog from my thinking and reference frame on life. I engage in the state of love so readily with animals!
I honor and value those that I commune with and actively seek out building those relationships that offer that place of intimacy. I encourage people to embrace the idea of communing with others and seek those relationships out in their own lives.
Today I will spend some time communing with Spike and P’nut and a horse named Anastasia. I can’t think of a better way to share life. – Bryan Wagner
Who do you interact with most easily?
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Happiness Between Tails by da-AL 