What makes a professional?

I read a post about what makes a writer a professional writer. Although some attribute lofty requirements, the gist of most, was getting paid. I thought about this a bit. I am paid for my novels and short stories, by the reader, via amazon. Not a lot, though the royalty percentages are good, you still have to sell. Also, there is some expense, so to be a 'professional', must you see a profit? And, is any profit, no matter how marginal, the litmus test of being a professional?

I'm an RN. A member of a profession. There are serious requirements. You must know medications, be aware of the side affects and correct dosing(just because a doctor prescribed it does not relieve you of the responsibility, should it be incorrect). Additionally, you must continually assess your patients, note changes and keep the doctors informed. There is a

long list of things you must know and do, like most professions.

Sometimes, you have to clean butts. I'm paid for this so I suppose you could call me a 'professional butt cleaner'.

I thought I was until I helped an aide with this chore. This person has no degree, just a certificate, but is paid, though if you've ever observed what they do, it's not nearly enough.

I watched this person perform the task quickly, thoroughly and in my eyes, like a master artist. This butt was cleaned gently, powdered, bedding changed and all the while, kept the patient comfortable, warm and at ease.

I felt ashamed and from that point on, made it my goal to be the best 'butt cleaner' I could be. I remain clumsy in this endeavor and will probably never achieve the level of the aide. Still, I aspire.

So, what makes a writer, a 'professional writer'? I really haven't a clue, but I think there must be a level of care and aspiration. As in any profession, a level of knowledge and skill must be applied. And, getting paid isn't bad either.

I may never reach the level of  'butt cleaning' as the professional I witnessed. I may never attain the level of writing as the successful authors I've read. I have errors and bad habits, so ingrained, they most certainly will seep into my work. Yet, I aspire to be better, and I care, for the story, the characters, and the readers.

I guess this makes me just 'a writer'.

THE ORNAMENT IS LIVE ON AMAZON. GET YOUR CRY ON!

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The Ornament is live on Amazon, just 99 cents, click on above link.

THE ORNAMENT LIVE ON AMAZON 12/12/14

The Ornament will go live (He said optimistically) tomorrow, Friday 12/12/14. This was intended to be a short story, but grew, and grew and...well...it's around 65 pages. There's mystery and romance and family. I must say writing it was a revelation for me and I hope for you that read it as well. 

Merry Christmas.

At sixteen, Riley Fowler was

lost, wet and cold.

She sought only shelter,

but found a loving home.

That was four years ago.

Now, she strikes out on her own,

A Christmas ornament stirs memories.

She dreams of the birth of her daughter

and losing her, all in the same day.

A journey begins.

She is determined to take back

what was torn away.

Deceit and danger block the path,

but the quest reveals a wealth

of love standing by her all the while.

She has only to receive it.

THE ORNAMENT: COMING TO AMAZON.COM THIS WEEKEND!

                         At sixteen, Riley Fowler was

lost, wet and cold.

She sought only shelter,

but found a loving home.

That was four years ago.

Now, she strikes out on her own,

A Christmas ornament stirs memories.

She dreams of the birth of her daughter

and losing her, all in the same day.

A journey begins.

She is determined to take back

what was torn away.

Deceit and danger block the path,

but the quest reveals a wealth

of love standing by her all the while.

                                                 She has only to receive it.

Look for my new Novella this weekend on amazon.com.

HOW DO YOU FIGHT YOUR MUSE? DON'T!

: Left-2013 Christmas Story

: Right-2014 Christmas Story
















ABOUT THE ORNAMENT:

I've been on a writing binge for the last three days and I can smell...I mean tell. I've come up for air to play on FB a little The problem is a decision I made last year, after writing a Christmas short story, to publish one each year. Innocent enough, Huh?

Then the monster got loose. Most short stories average between 3-5 thousand words. Last year's story hit 9k. This one is really misbehaving. 17000 words (around 50 pages) and I am only now glimpsing the end. The characters just will not shut up.

And, you know what? I'm through trying to stop them. They and the story deserve not to be stifled.

So, for the few of you that read my work, be patient. It may not go live until Christmas Eve. But they and I (the characters) will rest little until at last, I can type, THE END.

I guess I'll have to change the cover to a '...novella by DREW ADAMS.

HELL, ME? NO PROBLEM, I'VE GOT A RESERVATION!

This actually happened, the names have been changed to protect the guilty.





It was a pretty Sunday and I didn't go to church. I'd started maybe a month earlier. That afternoon I got a call from one of the members.

"Mr Sweet, this is Front Pewzilla. We didn't see you in church today?"

Now, some of you that know me, or have read me, are aware that I am already revving up the restraint.

"Hi, Mrs. Pewzilla, I'm sorry, one of those mornings."

"Well, will we see y'all next Sunday?"

"We'll try."
 "You'll have to do more than try, Mr. Sweet."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Okay, I'm off the phone now and quite proud that I had maintained my cool. 

Next Sunday came and I was sitting outside, dressed for church, I'm thinking it was around eight am. I went inside to get the phone.

"Hello," I answered agreeably."

"So, Mr Sweet, are y'all going to be in Church this morning?"

It's a good thing I had not buttoned my top shirt button and tightened my tie. I expect my head would have exploded.

"No, Mrs. Pewzilla, I'm thinking I will be watching the Cowboys and drinkin' a few beers."

There was silence and fear entered my heart. What if I'd given her a coronary?

The quiet was short lived. "You know you're going to hell, don't you?"

Coronary be damned. "Don't worry, Ma'am, I've got a reservation. You on the other hand will have to stand."

I hung up and changed out of from my Sunday go to meetin' clothes.

Thank Jesus for forgiveness, because the smile on my face had to be a sin.

Police called for exhibitionist next door.

This is an old one folks:

The police arrived at the ladies house and followed her to her laundry room.

"Right next door. The man's in his bathroom,fully naked."

The two officers looked out the wash room's window. Next door was indeed a man who appeared to be shaving in his bathroom.

One of them turned to her. "Ma'am, all I can see of him is from the shoulders up."

She gave them a look of consternation, then moved a stepladder in front of the window. "Here, climb up on this and you can see all of him."

HAVE YOU READ SOME DREW TODAY?

TWO NOVELS-TWO SHORT STORIES

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http://tinyurl.com/nm8cx6d

                                                                                                                                  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Posting comments on my blog...try now...fingers crossed that I have it fixed.

Seems most that want to comment on my blog are having difficulty. Spent some time researching on the help forum and I think I have it set. Anyone should be able to post without a problem. Give it a try and let me know.

Happy Veterans Day!

For our freedoms, let us not take them for granted. Dear blood bought these rights that are so often touted as an entitlement. 






I was so young, but I was a husband and I was a father. New to both and particularly new to this military life which had been thrust upon me. I noted in an earlier blog that I was one of those...the last group, I believe, to receive that 'infamous letter' in which the first line said ''Greetings". Now, in the words of the song, "it wasn't me that started that ole crazy Asian war, but I was proud to go and do my patriotic chore." Proud, well that would be a stretch at the time. Scared sh!@less would have been more accurate. Nevertheless, I did it and looking back I wouldn't have missed it and I am proud.

I did my service in the Military District of Washington. Just imagine! But, that is another story.

Fort Ord, California is where I did my basic training. And the day had arrived. We were going to throw our two live grenades.

Wow, what boy in his childhood had not played army and hadn't thrown some make believe grenade.

Okay, I admit, really tossing one of those bad boys is a little intimidating.

The range had a concrete wall from which we would toss our implements of destruction. We were given detailed instructions which I paid close attention to, particularly the part about not releasing the clip once you pull the pin. No second chances here. We were told the unfortunate incident, where a trainee pulled the pin and released the clip...thought oops, I guess, and pressed it back, then taking a throwing stance with the grenade in is hand, next to his ear, and well, you know the rest of the story.

So, there I was, grenade in hand, ready to send it spiraling like Staubach zipped a football. 

Textbook I thought, as I stooped below the wall. (I mentioned the training, did I mention we were suppose to assume a prone position following the toss?) We were and the drill instructor emphasized this forgotten detail with a blow, from his massive forearm to the back of my neck.

I, of course was read the riot act. I wanted to say...hell, the wall is four feet high. Why go all the way to the ground. The thought that on the field of battle, there might not be a four feet concrete wall didn't occur to me at the time. What I did say was "Yes, Drill Instructor!"

Second Grenade, same as the first, and I proudly went to the ground, full prone, snappy, like I meant it.

In the drill instructor's way.

He was yelling at me the whole time, as I ran around the viewing bunker. Once there, one of my comrades said, "Hey Sweet (for those of you who don't know, Drew Adams is my pen name. My given name is Andy Sweet) come check this out. 

They had periscopes back there. I peeked in one. The drill Sgt. was still jumping up and down, filling the air with expletives.

I want to thank this man, whoever he is, or was. At this age I can appreciate the job he did and the real danger he faced daily, trying to teach knuckleheads like me.

Also I'd like the thank all the instructors who teach and train our soldiers. They are most often the reason our loved ones return to us.

Happy Veterans day.

A WRITER?

I'm not sure how old I was, but for a clue there is the fact that I had not yet learned to write in cursive. You guys remember that? Our educators spend considerable time teaching us to print, then one day they say. "Hey, we're not gonna do that anymore. Let's try this." Back to the memory. I wanted an office. I cleaned out my side of the closet, a feat I accomplished, I'm sure, by tossing its contents out onto the floor. Then, I said "MOM!" Ah, the miracle worker appears and I inform her I must have a desk for my new office. She brings me a box which we turn upside down. Presto, I have a desk. Paper and pencil came next and did I mention I hadn't learned cursive yet? Printing is tedious and I have no patience for it, so I just scroll loops...sort of like cursive l s or e s, which I string across the page in unbroken prose. This probably occupied me for all of ten minutes, but the seed had been planted.

I think writing must start with reading. Many moons ago, probably kindergarten, there was the reading hour, I expect, just before napping hour. The teacher would read from a book. I loved it. A couple of years later I came across one of my favorites she'd read and stuck my own nose in a book. I tried to find out who wrote it, but failed. The book was titled "Chris" and was about a boy who earned money hunting crows and other animals that bounties were paid for. You see, at the time this book was written some animals were considered pest. The animals, not the boy. Mom (you know, the miracle worker) noticed me reading and that lead to Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Tom Swift SR. and Tom Swift JR. and so on. Let's not forget comic books.

So I became a reader. When did I become a writer? Fifth grade, maybe fourth,we were assigned an essay to write. The idea of writing something intrigued me. At home I began constructing my masterpiece. I remember little of it, except it compared forests to cities, and the woodland creatures to city dwellers. I turned it in and waited breathlessly for my review.

F- COPIED!

There must be some mistake, I thought. After my fellow students had filed out of the classroom, I confronted her. She seemed perturbed that I would question her judgement. "I just don't believe you wrote this. I showed it to other teachers and they agreed someone your age couldn't have written it."

She showed it? I'm already thinking like a writer. That elation lasted only seconds. I wasn't old enough to realize my very character was being assaulted, but I knew it was bad. "Do you mean I read it somewhere?" I asked.

She sighed and gave me a stern look. "I mean, you didn't write it."

So there it was, branded a plagiarist and I didn't even know what that meant. I took the paper home and handed it to mom. We had some pretty good storms in Texas, but I'd never seen anything like her reaction to the ugly red F-COPIED. (I have another blog about the 'Power of Mama' you might want to check out.)

I wasn't privy to their meeting, but the paper was regraded, the F-COPIED removed and replaced with an A. I think someone else graded it though, because for the rest of the year I received nothing but the evil eye from that teacher.

So, was I a writer then? No, but the seed now had sprouted.

I think the first time I considered MYSELF a writer was when I read something I'd written, and it read like I hadn't tried to write it. Some of you will relate to this, for the rest, I cannot explain it further. Am I a good one. Who decides this? Certainly not me, for I am far to biased. I'd like to think I am, but ultimately it's in the hands of the reader. Where it began.

LOOKING GLASS,a sneak peak into A PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVEL BY DREW ADAMS.

Okay, I'm dipping my toes into the romance genre and I hope to have it out early next year. Though I'm stepping out of my skin, so to speak, remember, I don't just march to the beat of a different drummer, I drive him/her crazy. Enjoy this sneak peek and please comment and share.

This excerpt is subject to change, based on my mood, muse, hangover, or just because I can. 

Copyright © 2014 by Andy H. Sweet writing as

 Drew Adams

 Looking Glass

Chapter 1

June 1970

The first time it happened, Audrey Whorley had just turned eight years old. A cake, centered on a redwood picnic table, had her name on it along with eight candles. Her friends surrounded her, all with puffed faces, aiming their breaths toward the glowing flames.

Audrey wasn't there. Her body stood motionless staring off past the candles, past her home, past her young life.

She was in a room. A room like Memaw was in before the angels took her. Memaw wasn't in the bed. A man was, with tubes in his nose and something in his mouth, arms bandaged, one held up in the air by strings like a puppet. Audrey looked hard at the man, didn't know his face, yet emotion rose in her and bubbled to the surface as tears.

“Audrey...baby.” The voice was next to her. Her mom was staring at her through reddened eyes. Tears ran down her face. Audrey was eye level with the woman. What happened to your hair, Mama. It was dull with lots of gray. The words were in her mind, but never left her lips. Instead she heard a strange, but familiar voice.

“Oh Mama, I can't stand it. I can't live without him.” The voice was her own, she knew it, but it sounded wrong—older. The woman, her mother, hugged her tight and whispered in her ear.

“Honey...I know. I wished I could make it go away, make it better, but I can't. You've got to let him go.”

Mama always makes it better. Now she felt and heard sobs break loose from her body. Not mine! Not mine! But the sobs continued, racking her body, nose running and she felt a torrent of tears wash down her face. A woman, with a stethoscope around her neck walked past them, her uniform was turquoise, like mama's ring.

“We've given him morphine. Once we take him off the ventilator, his breathing will slow. It could happen fast, or it might take a little bit.” Audrey knew this woman was a nurse. Why she was just as tall and why did she feel so sad?

She could feel herself nod and blot her eyes with a tissue. With her mother steadying her she approached the bed and took the man's free hand. It was warm, limp. Across the bed stood an older boy and a girl. Audrey guessed she might be twelve. The girl looked a lot like her older cousin Shannon. They were crying too. The girl looked at her and spoke. “Mommy”, she managed.

Audrey heard the voice like hers answer. “It's okay sweetie. It'll be okay.” The last word came out like a croak.

The nurse took loose the straps holding the thing attached to the man's face and pulled. A tube was attached and to Audrey's horror had been down the man's throat. The machine started beeping. she watched as the woman went to a machine and flipped a switch. The man took a deep breath, opened his gray eyes and looked right at her. The terror in his eyes made her turn away

Tears blinded her and she could feel the clutch of supporting hands. The sadness overwhelmed, yet she could not understand it.

***

June 1978

Corpus Christi TX, was always magical to Audrey, but this year, it was even more so. She turned sixteen this week and the families' annual sojourn to the gulf coast city was moved up to make her birthday special. That wasn't even the best part. Her parents let her boyfriend join them.

Sometimes, I think they like him better than me.

“Come on,” she jeered. “It's not that heavy.”

Kevin's head peeked around the trunk he carried on his broad shoulders. “No? Well, here...catch.” He pumped the case as if to toss it toward her. A smile rarely left his face and it was beaming at her.

That and his steel gray eyes always captured her heart and made it race. “Hey...you drop it and you're toast.” She backed into the room, her hands motioning him forward, then she pointed and he eased the trunk to the floor. With the quickness of a panther, he rushed and gathered her in his arms. His lips found hers and crushed against them.

“I can't wait to see you on the beach in a bikini.” He raised her into the air, smiling, gray eyes twinkling, her heart melting.

“Fat chance. It's a one piece and if my dad catches us like this, you won't be able to see anything.”

He lowered her to the ground and released her. Not a moment too soon. Donald Whorley entered the room, hangers holding her clothes draped over one shoulder, a satchel under that arm and a duffel bag in the other. She ran to him and took the satchel clutched precariously to his armpit. “Hey...you two carry my stuff like it's bags of potatoes. Dad, this has my looking glass in it.” Audrey never went anywhere without out the mirror. It was a bridge to her. Her secret gateway. With care she placed it on top of the trunk.

“Well, I sure wouldn't want to break that. Don't believe I could deal with seven years of bad luck.”

It would be worse than that. It's my only way to figure things out. Only chance to stop it.

The mirror was a gift from her Memaw for Audrey's eighth birthday. Wrapped eight months before her birthday; Eight months before the angels visited. The note her grandmother had left said it had been handed down to the first grandchild for three generations.

She smiled at her father. “It's okay, why are you unloading my things?”

“Last in, first out. Your junk is in the way.”

“Junk...Junk...my stuff is not junk, Father!

“If you say so. You two help your mother, I'm gonna get the charcoal burning.”

“We got it, Mr Whorley.” Kevin herded her out of the room.

Donald followed behind and crossed the bungalow's living room to the patio doors. Outside he raised the lid of the grill, finding it clean and ready, with grilling accouterments hanging from a bar on the side. He removed the grate and dumped charcoal into its basin and began stacking them into a pyramid.

I wished Evelyn had never given her that damned mirror.

His thoughts drifted back eight years. Another birthday, the beginning of trouble for his daughter. She had found the gift and opened it before returning to the party outside. No one noticed her trance-like state until she started crying inconsolably. The mirror was in her hand, clutched so tight they had trouble removing it from her grasp.

And now she's obsessed with it. Worse than any blanky, she thinks she sees things in it.

At least she had. Multiple trips to doctors and therapist, all of them saying the same thing. Get rid of it. Divert her attention. Neither he or his wife could do it. It was a treasured heirloom and when they took it away, she became morose and refused to eat. It had been three years since Audrey had mentioned any visions from it. They hoped the problem had resolved itself.

I think she just got tired of the therapist. I know she still uses it. But what can I do?

He lit the briquettes and gazed into the flames. Lilly had suggested bringing Kevin along. Both liked the kid. They'd known him since moving to their pleasant suburb community. He had even been present during that eighth birthday party. His parents were close friends, though the two children moved on to different friends and clicks. A couple of years ago, Kevin and Audrey reconnected and though worrisome, they trusted both of them.

Well, almost.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Lilly stood next to him. He hadn't noticed her approach.

He smiled at her. His wife considered the subject over and closed. “I was thinking that I love our daughter, but I'd sure like to have you here alone.” His smile turned mischievous and he raised his eyebrows.

“ You better enjoy her while you can. Won't be long and you'll be counting the hours, hoping to see her. Besides, if you can control your volume, we can have some...special time.” Her eyebrows raised as well and her smile just as mischievous.

“Me...you're the one that got the cops called on us. Remember?”

“Hey, those neighbors were always nosy. I'll bet she was lurking outside our window.”

He had to admit there were nose prints on the neighbors window screens.

“Dad, Mom, we're going for a walk on the beach. Okay?”

His daughter, boyfriend in tow, danced up to them. Lilly and he had moved in close to one another and jumped like teenagers caught in the backseat. Both of the kids had on their swimming suits. He'd fought for the one piece, but it still revealed more than he would have liked.

“Hey..I'm cooking here.” His daughter managed to get his wife's blue eyes and startling red hair. Kevin was tall and muscular, his blond hair swept just over his left eye.

Fine looking couple. Hey watch it...you're the father here.

“Dad, it'll be half an hour before those coals are ready. We won't be long.”

He looked to his wife, who looked off, covering a chuckle with her hand.

“Alright...half hour...got it?” He pointed the spatula at them. They giggled and ran toward the beach.

His gaze followed until they were out of sight, then returned to his wife. “Whose idea was this anyway?

“Yours.”

“Oh...right.”

It had been his idea. He hoped it worked. If Kevin Saunder wasn't a good enough diversion, he couldn't imagine what would be.

***

Audrey stooped to pick up a shell. She turned it over, studying the intricacies of its design. “So beautiful, yet not alive. Do you suppose that is its purpose, to live so it may produce such wonder after its death?”

Kevin had been watching her. He did that a lot. “That is just the shell. They live as most animals do. To eat and reproduce.” He reached out and pulled her close. “Like us.”

She stared into his eyes. Gray and beautiful, but they haunted her. Is he the one? She would look into her grandmother's mirror often. Most of the time all she saw was her reflection. Three years ago it took her away again. She was in a living room that seemed familiar, but felt foreign. From a partial view of the foyer she could see two men, one whose face was toward her, the other faced away. The man's face she could see was pitted and cracked, and the eyes, the eyes were dark and intense. She could only hear murmuring, then a phrase uttered in anger.

“You will be sorry!” The craggy man spit out, grabbing the shirt of the man whose face she could not see. “You will be sorry.” He released his hold, turned and stormed out the door. Audrey felt herself stand up. She was walking towards the foyer. The man turned and somehow she knew this was her husband. His eyes were not gray, worse, feelings of derision, almost hatred rose to her throat.

“Hey...where did you go?” Kevin had released her. His face showed worry.

Audrey wanted to tell him. Wanted to tell him everything. But what if it wasn't him. Only the eyes. That was all she had and it wasn't enough. “ I was just dreaming—of you.”

He took her in his arms again.

***

“You two like cutting it close, don't you?” Donald was putting delicious looking burgers on a plate. Kevin liked the man. He loved his father, but he liked Audrey's dad. They were friends, or so he felt. His own father wasn't his buddy and likely would never be. He respected him and would always, but he'd never had a relationship with him. The man was just too busy.

Mr. Worley treated him like an equal. Really listened to him. Sure, he had to be a dad and he made sure Kevin understood that, but it wasn't a big deal. We understand each other. He's her dad and if I hurt her he'll break my legs. Kevin wouldn't ever hurt her. Not a possibility. He knew he was too young, knew they both were inexperienced. But he knew beyond a certainty he was in love with her.

“Sorry, Mr. Whorley, the beach was great, the sun shinning low across the water. We lost track of time.”

“Don...Kevin...when it's just you and me, call me, Don.”

“Don...I know...it's just kinda hard.”

“It's okay, but don't think I'm buying that beach crap, I was your age once. Hey, open the door for me, will you?”

Kevin laughed, did as he was told and followed the man into the house. Audrey's mom had the bar separating the dining area filled with condiments. He placed the burgers on it and rubbed his hands together. “Okay...y'all dig in while they're hot.”

He handed Kevin a plate and stepped aside. The big man could cook, Kevin would give him that. He could see a bit of red onion peeking out of the meat. Everyone lined up behind him and in little time, they were sitting at the table. It was round, Audrey's parents next to one another. For old people, they appeared young and Kevin noted the many glances and smiles darting between them.

“Hey, look what I found on the beach.” Audrey held up the small conch shell.

“Audrey! Put that down and wash your hands again. Those things can carry some nasty bacteria. Put it in a cup of bleach water later.”

“Oh, Mom...you worry too much,” but she jumped up and ran to the sink. “I never have to worry about anything, cause you do enough for the both of us.”

“You know, those things don't seem to wash ashore much anymore. Pretty good find Audrey.” Mr. Worley took another bite of his burger. “We'll have to do some beach combing tomorrow.”

Kevin watched the dynamics. Donald leaned over and whispered something into his wife's ear. She giggled and smiled at him. Audrey appeared between them, giving both kisses on their cheeks. He had a good family, just not as good. Neither of his parents showed a lot of affection to him or each other. It amazed him how these two ancients acted.

The four of them followed the curving path to the beach. The sun perched just above the ocean, sending a radiating pink glow across the sky and reflected in the water. Audrey and Kevin were in front of them, holding hands, leaning toward each other frequently. Lilly looked up at her tall husband. Seventeen years ago they married and nine months after, to the day, Audrey came into their lives. The timing wasn't important. She knew when her daughter was conceived and it was before the honeymoon. He still gave her the same look and it always sent her heart into a flutter. Jet black hair, broad shoulders, he was a far cry from the man she'd fallen in love with and married. He was pretty much a lanky- goofy looking nerd, but so smart and so funny and that smile. The smile hadn't changed.

The kids ran out into the waves, splashing each other and laughing. She fought the urge to remind them of the 'man-of-wars'. Audrey was right. She worried too much. For some reason, the relationship her daughter was in didn't bother her a bit and she was sure Don felt the same. Hell, he's practically adopted the kid. That brought another smile and she wasn't surprised to find her husband eying her.

“They're a great looking couple, huh?”

She felt his arm slide around her waist. “Yes, but so young.”

He pulled her close. “Not so young. We were barely eighteen.”

“Come on, Donald. There's a big difference between sixteen and eighteen. We had other relationships and at least a little time to grow. I trust them, I really do, but how can they hold off long enough to make it right? To make it work?”

“Hold off? Come on, two years isn't all that long.”

“It's a lifetime to them. Remember?”

He smiled that smile again. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I just want her to have a good life. Be happy. Is that so wrong?”

He hugged her. “No...it's not wrong. I'd like to see both of them finish college before facing the real world, but...” he glanced out at them “...because I remember, I sure ain't going to hold my breath.”

Lilly allowed herself to fall back against his chest. It wasn't just their age. Her mind drifted back six years. Audrey was ten and had interrupted her reading.

“Mommy?”

Lilly put the book down and and made room for her daughter to sit in the chair with her. “What, sweetie?”

“Will my husband die?”

A sense of dread formed deep in her core. It was there still, festering and haunting her.

Will my husband die?

A shutter shot through her body, bringing her back to the present. Don held her, much like she had held her daughter that day. The sun dipped into the sea, Audrey and Kevin ran up to them. It would be dark soon.

***

There was another cake and balloons hung from just about everywhere. Chicken was on the grill throwing an irresistible aroma into the air. Audrey was in her room, clutching the looking glass. She had quit trying for the visions all the time. Just on her birthday. That's when she had them. The last, three years ago. Part of her wanted them, the other part was terrified. What if it was Kevin. She would have to break up with him. Maybe that would stop this terrible thing.

It was so confusing. She had seen her children. What would that mean to them? Would they never exist? Her gaze lowered to her hands cradling the mirror. She loved it. It was part of her Memaw...but sometimes she wanted to break it. A deep breath, a slow gasp of air releasing and she picked up the heirloom and gazed into it.

The stiff dress flowed to the ground. She recognized two of the girls in the room. Her friends, Molly and Kaylee. Kaylee moved in close, black curls swirling around her brown eyes. “You ready, girl.”

She heard her voice, nervous and shaky. “Y-yes?”

“Okay then.” Her best friend reached above her sight and a net lowered in front of her vision. The freckles of her friend accented her high cheekbones.

“She heard her voice again. “You're so beautiful.”

Kaylee laughed. “Stop that Audie, this day is about you.”

The girls lined up. All wearing pink gowns. She heard the familiar tune playing on an organ and her knees almost buckled. Her father was outside the door and offered an arm. There was something about his eyes, almost sad—no—worried. They followed the girls, stepping on rose petals the two children ahead of them were throwing. She couldn't look up or to the side, fear was clutching at her heart. Why won't she look at him. Please...I have to know.

At last her gaze lifted. She could see him, but the veil and distance blurred his features. Her heart sank as she moved closer. It wasn't Kevin. She could see his eyes now. They were a dark blue. 

Stop it. What about your children?

Her father took her hand and offered it to the stranger. He was smiling. She didn't like his-- smile.

The minister started to speak. She heard the words but didn't listen. Oh no! This is so wrong. Somebody help me! There was nothing she could do. She was a voyeur. Audrey's confusion grew. She had prayed for this moment. Wanted to know and was preparing to make the sacrifice. Now, it appeared the decision had been made for her. If it wasn't Kevin who fathered her children and glared at her with frightened, confused, gray eyes, who was it?

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Audrey screamed. She screamed with all of her might.

***

Kevin was the first to bust into her room. The scream still rang in the air.

“Audrey...what is it? Are you alright?”

She was rocking to and fro on the bed, the mirror clutched so hard, her knuckles were white.

The Worleys were next to him in a second.

“Audrey, honey...what is it?” Lilly started stroking her hair.

“Come on, baby...snap out of it...we're here. Donald's voice trembled. He sat on the bed next to her and put his arm around his rocking child. “Please sweetie...it's okay...Daddy's here.”

Kevin fought back tears. He expected to find some creep in the room with here. The scream...man...I've never heard anything like it...anguish...pain...I don't know. Somewhere, the back of his mind maybe, there were thoughts, feelings. It was like she was always holding back. Not sex, or anything like that. It was just a feeling he got, that a part of her was in reserve, staying in the shadows.

Mr. Worley started to shake his daughter. Then he raised his hand.

“Don't! You hit her and I'll kick you so hard in the crotch you'll be squeaking for a month.” Mrs. Worely's admonished her husband. Kevin couldn't believe what she said.

Donald's eyes revealed the hurt. “Aren't you suppose to slap someone in shock?”

“I don't know, but we're not going to.”

He lowered his hand, but continued to shake her gently. “I think we should call 911.”

***

The ER waiting room only had two seats empty, but Kevin didn't care. He wanted to pace and you couldn't do that from a chair. The words Audrey had said when she came out of the trance kept playing in his head, like a skipping CD. “He didn't have gray eyes Kevin. I can't marry you.”

Sure, marriage had crossed his mind, but he wasn't stupid. They were too young. He wanted college and a career and knew she did too. If the subject came up, he'd planned to tell her just that. It would be a good test of their love. Who am I kidding. If she wanted to marry me tomorrow, I'd do it. I'd try to talk her out of it, but I'd do it. Of course,  he would have the Worleys as allies.

“He didn't have gray eyes Kevin. I can't marry you."

Her dad had glanced up at him then. The expression on his face wasn't disapproval. It was more like an apology.

She had shunned the touch of all three of them. Her eyes darted around like a trapped animal and she babbled continuously. Most of it had been nonsensical. “My children, my children, what about my children?” and “I don't like his smile mama. Don't make me do it. I don't like his smile.”

He stubbed his toe on the carpet and almost tripped. No one noticed. At first several of the patrons kept a leery eye on him. His pacing must have appeared panicked and that was an accurate assessment, but after a while no one paid attention. He was wearing a trail on the carpet and still no closer to an answer. Then again, he really didn't know the question.

All the while, he kept an eye on the door leading to the working part of the ER. There was so much to consider. They would both be juniors next year. He had a pretty good chance at winning the starting quarterback position. She was already a cheerleader, maybe head cheerleader next year. Now, none of that seemed important. Should it be? Kevin didn't really care. Everything could just pucker up and kiss his ass.

He saw Audrey's dad walking up and he rushed toward him, almost not stopping in time to avoid a collision.

“Is she alright? Can I see her? What happened? Why did she scream like that?”

Donald took hold of his shoulders. “Son...son...hold on...listen to me.”

Kevin took a deep breath and nodded. They were eye to eye. He didn't like what he saw there. The man was about to spill bad news.

“They sedated her. She's asleep now. They are going to run some test and probably keep her overnight. Look...we're staying with her. I don't feel comfortable with you being alone at the bungalow.”

“What? No way...I'm not leaving.”

“Kevin, we're pushing it, just me and Lilly staying in the room. You'd have to stay in a waiting room. I called your parents. They'll be here in a few hours.”

“No...no...I can't leave. I won't. Call them back. No, I'll do it.” He reached for his cell phone.

“Calm down Kevin. No body is leaving. You can all stay at the beach house. Please son...” Donald's voice cracked. Kevin felt a rush of sympathy.

“I'm sorry Mr. Worley. I wasn't thinking about you guys. I couldn't sleep though...I want to be here when she wakes up.”

There were tears in Donald Worley's eyes. “Kevin...she doesn't want to see you...ever again.”

If it looks like a duck...

I like ducks alright enough, but these two seem to like to nest in my boat. I'm easy going and don't want to hurt them, but anyone out there have good recipe for duck?

SCIZO BY DREW ADAMS

http://tinyurl.com/m5qy96t scizo



.

Short story by Drew Adams available on amazon.com

A creepy short story which crept from my creepy brain. Only 99 cents on amazon. Just click on the website below.




















http://tinyurl.com/m622h36

Refuse Resistance

Prologue:

I am gathering my wits

sharpening my intellect

and girding all the perseverance I possess.

It will happen soon,

that which will test

the very soul of my purpose and

challenge not just my senses,

but my absolute existence.

To all of you I bid fond farewells and

fervent wishes to return from this journey

The time is now, the task is at hand.

I will take the garbage to the dumpster. Alas...life is so short.

***

Before me, the desolation looms

and I fight against the dread encompassing me.

Then, with courage mustered, I step toward the fray.

I mount the battlements, swinging bags against swarms

of black, attacking flies, brushing them aside

as stench assails me with such strength

I fear I shall faint.

I toss them, those insidious abominations

of olfactory senses, then

stumbling back I careen to my vehicle door,

open it and clamor inside.

I catch my breath,fight to regain my composure

as I view the carnage, now safe in my truck.

A surge of triumph swells

knowing I have defeated my nemesis

and lived to fight again.

I oblige you my brethren,

heed not the danger and

rise from your couchly entrapments,

cast away from redundant video and

join me in this struggle for freedom from waste.

Aid this diversion I urge you.

Rescue mankind from oblivion,

steady a world on the brink of a precipice and

know the power and peace of victory.

For I know well in my pace-maker driven heart,

encased behind my breasts, that in all of you

dwells a gladiator, a fearless defender of the faith.

I know...

...that you too can take out the garbage.

Epilogue:

Perhaps I do have too much time on my hands.

But, I'm loving it.

Ebola virus, a nurses perspective.

http://dtolar.wordpress.com/2014/10/01/ebola-a-nurses-perspective/


Interesting information. I can't confirm any of this, but at least this person is not espousing the party line. My gut feeling is it is more contagious than reported.http://dtolar.wordpress.com/2014/10/01/ebola-a-nurses-perspective/

An excerpt from "CLICKING THINGS"!

An excerpt from my new "creepy" short story available this week on Amazon.

 A rustle stirred underneath the hammock. I steadied my precariously balanced bed and peered down. Beneath me all was black, dark, but in that light-less void a deeper shadow resided.

Get a grip, now you're seeing boogeymen under your bed.

My fire, which earlier had cast flickering illumination on the surrounding trees was now just pitiful glowing embers, yet gave some miniscule relief from the gloom. I fixated on it, willing the glow to dispel the oppression closing in on me.

Click, Click, Click.

I sat up with such abruptness I nearly capsized my hammock.

Click, Click, Click.

Closer now, advancing.

What if I sprang from my perch and dived into the creek? Perhaps they don't like water.

Click, Click.

Two cadences, underneath me.

Click.

A countdown?

My hammock spun, turning so I faced the ground. I saw them, deep yellow eyes, following my fall.

Conspiracy theory? Nah.

We all know there's a health care crisis. I'm speaking monetarily. Not many can afford it and those that can certainly don't want to. 
Who's at fault?
Obamacare?
For sure it's a mess, and the least our government could have done was to read it. What I want to discuss is why we needed to address health care in the first place.

Number one on my list of suspects has to be health care itself. It's just out of control and it didn't happen overnight folks. The monster has been growing for sometime. Who feeds it? No matter how you dice it, we do. Joe Public.

I had a stress test a few years back. That bad boy cost $5,000. You have a couple of employees wire you up, a cardiologist reviews the results, but hey, I did all the work. 5,000 dollars.

Now  what about a couple of days in the hospital. What? 30,000, 40,000? I'm a nurse and some of you may think...yeah...that's where that price tag came from. Okay...I went through "hell on earth U" for that degree and I can assure you I wouldn't have done it for $10 an hour...but let's take a look. 24 hours times 2 at let's say at 25 an hour...um...let me take my shoes off...that's somewhere in the neighborhood of 1200 bucks. Oh...and let's not forget that those nurses are caring for 4-6 patients, usually the latter, but I wont do the math...I think you see my point.

Now I'm aware that a hospital requires people to run. Maintenance, housekeeping, ect. I know it all adds up and I'm aware a lot of hospitals struggle to stay in the black. But then again, check out the salaries of some of the CEOs.  Some of them approach or surpass seven figures.

So, let's forget all that. In a nutshell, medical costs are so high because, with a little negotiating, they know they can get most of it. 

Now, what about pharmaceuticals? Some of those pills are ridiculous. I know, they have expenses too. Research?

Hey, I've got a new can opener for sale. The price is 
$10,000 dollars because of all the research I had to do to invent it. You wouldn't buy it unless you had to. Right?

Last but not least is insurance companies. They exist because most people can't afford health care. Health care can inflate the prices because the insurance will pay. I mean, they couldn't charge all that if Joe Public had to pay from his pocket. It's just not that deep and even if it was, it's mostly empty.

Summing it up. Health insurance is justified by high medical cost and high medical cost is feasible because of health insurance. Now our leaders have made having health insurance a requirement. Boy, talk about giving the insurance boys the combination to the vault. 

Somebody get me off this merry-go-round, I'm getting dizzy.

Conspiracy theory?

Clicking Things...first draft complete

Hey! Clicking Things is finished...got to edit...then upload to amazon kindle.
Warning: This story will invoke gruesome and graphic images.
Reader discretion is advised!

THINGS THAT GO CLICK IN THE WOODS

COMING THIS MONTH

A

SHORT STORY

BY

DREW ADAMS

Jim Batcher is careless.

He could care less about people.

He could care less about what they think of him.

He's a survivalist.

And.

He's alone in the woods.

There are things that go click in the woods.

And they care about him.

They want him.

They get him.

Now, what does he care about?