A morning in the life

A morning in the life.

Blinded by the Truth

Forever is a long time to wait for you, but if that’s what it takes then that is what I must do.
You are buried deep in my heart, longing for you I know is only the start.
I would gladly stare into the sun to find you, even if it blinded me from what I know is true.
You have moved on and have gone away, but I know someday you will come home to stay.

CHEATINGS MIRROR ON THE SOUL

This is cheating.

The sneaking around, hiding, avoiding. being deflective in your answers. It’s not even the act itself as the manner in which it’s brought about. For a long time now you knew how you felt, convincing yourself that you can do better than what you had, that the proverbial grass was greener on the other side.

It didn’t start out intentional. You got bored. A chance meeting here, a we’re just friends there, What I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me you argued with yourself. Then you heard the siren’s call and abandoned what you once promised to hold most dear. You tossed me aside like an old pair of shoes that no longer fit your purpose and pursued the white-hot flame that would bring you something new, exciting, and not me.

The next step will be the awkward separation. The its not you it’s me phase, Then you’ll tell your friends who will wholeheartedly  agree with you that it is me and they never understood why you were with me in the first place. You wont outwardly feel guilty. In fact you’ll make it a point to show me indifference and then outright hostility. It will become my fault. I caused you to search elsewhere with my mediocre life existence and then in a moment of guilt you’ll tell me that you never intended to hurt me. I’ll hear that you loved me once, but can no longer bring yourself  to be in love with me, or worse yet you’ll get over any remorseful feelings you temporarily have and say you never loved me. You’ll say all kinds of nasty thing to and about me then make your feelings fit your words to get the end result you want. You’ll tell me  I was convenient and now it’s time to find your true love and start living the life you always wanted and deserved, that I held you back from.

Silly me. Why didn’t I see it before? Truth is I did. I had a foreboding feeling, a sixth sense if you will that something wasn’t right. I noticed the avoidance, the change in moods and the feeling of ever-increasing loneliness that crept up in my soul as a sign of my future abandonment by you. I just chose to ignore it, quash It down and chalk it up to that you were going through a rough patch and had to work out some issues.

Sure you threw me a bone here and there to throw me off the scent. My brain didn’t want to register your actions as a sign of the end is near. Self preservation I suppose until I caught you red handed in the act. My world imploded with the force of an atomic bomb and nothing would ever be right again.

You knew I was fragile and you tore me down anyways. It was all part of your mental separation plan. Your own self survival mode conniving you into believing that this is the right way. So you became cold and decided to rip the bandage off quickly admitting everything you should have a long time ago before you made your decision to turn to another. Truth is you couldn’t do the separation without a push from her. She told you it’s her or me and you chose new and exciting believing that it would stay that way forever.

Now my own self doubt takes over. I don’t need you to tear me down, I can do that all on my own. I chastised myself privately for a myriad of flaws that I believed caused you to push me away. I’m to fat, I’m to thin, I spent too much money, I ignored your needs, I smothered you, I relied on you too much, I didn’t rely on you enough, I’m no longer pretty anymore (if I ever was), I’m a no talent hack who is just to stupid to live, I grew old.

This is cheating aftermath.

Eventually I will get over the hurt and build myself back up, slowly at first. I will lick my wounds and feel sorry for myself for while, then I’ll reinvent myself while trying to reinvent the wheel. I’ll go back to school, travel, join a gym, change my hairstyle, buy that car I always wanted you said was a ridiculous waste of money, write a book, maybe even move to another city.

l will survive because even though I appear emotionally fragile on the outside prone to easily to tears, inside I am tough as steel. I will have learned not to ignore my sixth sense and will be wary next time, given there is a next time, that requirement is no longer necessary for me to move on from you. I will appear more confident though that will really be a façade for me just not giving a damn anymore. I will trust no one ever again even though I will smile as if I do.

I will think of you from time to time and the silent anger I still carry will burn like a flickering flame threatening to once again take over my being, but instead I will find a way to snuff it out for a while till the day comes when it no longer ignites. I might even say I have forgiven you, but truth is deep down inside I never will.

 

The Hot Mess

My friend Cindy is what I refer to as a hot mess. In a good, funny, loving way. It was her birthday and she arrived at my work desk with a couple of pictures to show me. Now Cindy works in another department and made the trip special just to share these pictures. It also happened to be Throwback Thursday and if you spend anytime in twittersphere you know what I’m talking about. Her pictures spoke a thousand words of a young, vivacious, svelte, beautiful woman wearing a daring outfit. The other was her baby picture.

The baby picture was cute, but the young hot Cindy in 1984 is what caught your attention. Cindy is now 61 wonderful years and full of stories about her anything but dull life. Even heading into year so called golden years this woman is living a drama filled, but fun life and she loves to tell you about it. Great fodder for a writer! in fact we even based a character on her in our third book The Body Hunters: Dirty Secrets, Naked Truths . To put it simply Cindy is awesome. I could in no way have handled her life or begin to even imagine being as daring as she was and still is.

To the outsider Cindy can be a mental handful. As I stated she loves to talk and if you don’t love to listen to people then she is not the person for you. Her stories make it all worth it. The celebrity encounters she’s had in questionable situations to even current boyfriends make you drop your jaw and shake your head all the while smiling and laughing with her.

The whole picture exchange took less than 3 or 4 minutes and soon we were all back at our respective jobs and I didn’t think anything more of it. That is till the woman who sits on the other side of my cubicle said something to me over the cubicle wall.

“Why do you attract the weirdest people?” she asked.

“Huh?” was my intelligent response.

“These weird people always flock to you, you need to get some normal people in your life.”

Now this woman, let’s call her Mary to protect her not so innocence, is a 40-ish beautiful black woman, single mom with a teenage son. I have been to 1 outing with her and a couple of other friends to of all movies, a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. You know the one where people dress up and yell comments through out the whole movie? yeah that one. One of my friends that went with me that night is my age and a lifelong friend named Barb who is a musical wonder and a talented artist in paints and any other type of medium she gets her hands on. She’s high strung and like all artists of a high caliber, very brilliant and unfortunately lives in her own world. She is also an alcoholic, severely broke after having made an ungodly amount of money and is having trouble facing her new reality and frail physical and psychological  health. She is a real hot mess and not in a good Cindy kind of way.

I will not lie, I prayed Barb would behave on our outing and just for once enjoy herself getting lost in this ridiculous movie. She did for all of 30 minutes and then her addiction and depression struck. She eventually left and found a bar to shoot back a few tequila’s down only coming back at the end of the movie. I was embarrassed for her and for me. Though I am not responsible for her actions, she had begged me take her along wanting the girls night out and I could have said no.

Mary is a former alcoholic. Mary lived a little of Barb’s life and should understand the addiction and what it does to a person. Mary is now sober and a church going upstanding citizen in her own eyes. Mary made several comments about that night and how she could relate to what Barb was going through, felt bad for her ect….which is why it was a shock to me that she made the comments she made.

Back to Cindy. Cindy is not Barb, Cindy holds a job, takes care of her aging mother and tries to make herself fun to be around. Mary’s comment  to me about how I attract the weirdest people struck me as odd. Why was she being so critical? and what is she saying about herself? She after all did hang out with me too. She then said to me she thought Cindy was lying about having any current boyfriends. Cindy being 61 is not the skinny woman she used to be and her body no longer lends itself to dressing like a woman of much younger years. Cindy dresses for work in age appropriate clothes for a person on our meager salary.

I asked Mary why did she think Cindy was lying? What reason does she have to lie? Mary told me it was because she needed to compensate to me for lacking in something that I have that she doesn’t. In other words she told me Cindy was jealous of me.

“Wait, What?”

Jealous of me? I am a living large and in charge kind of gal, in other words fat. My manner of dress is relevant to my size and financial situation. For Christ’s sakes I cut my own hair to save money since my husbands medical bills are so high. Why the hell would anyone be jealous of me?

“Ain’t no woman dresses like her and has a man. You have a long term marriage and she’s jealous of that.” she reiterated again I need normal people in my life.

Ok, who’s jealous of my having a husband? Um….her or you?

I mean how critical can you get? Mary as I have learned is very self critical calling herself things like ugly and fat, even complaining about her dark skin color calling her self Aunt Jemima after the pancake syrup character. Wow! How self loathing can you get? I wanted to cry for her and remember, I’m the living large and in charge gal who cuts her own hair.

I have no time for self loathing, self hatred and internal or outwardly name calling. People will do that for me and to me on a regular basis. I told Mary the reason the off center, kooky, crazy, troubled, weirdo’s (who are just normal human beings getting through life the best way they know how) are attracted to me is because I try not to judge and I listen. In them there are several life lessons to be learned and shared. Everyone has value even if you can’t or refuse to value yourself. For a woman who overcame her own addiction just to constantly put herself and other women down is sad. She is not an Aunt Jemima, Mrs. Butterworth or any other sticky syrupy commercially racist character. She is a beautiful black woman who turns men’s heads wherever she goes. I’m guessing the reason she can’t keep a love interest is beyond her beauty. If you can’t respect and love yourself how are you going to love someone else?  Cindy is not lying about her life or the men in her life. I believe she still attracts men not because she is still the raving beauty of her youth, but because she is still a fun loving, quirky light hearted individual that loves life and has no problem in sharing it.

So here’s to all my weird, wacky, troubled, artistic, fun loving friends. Keep on keeping on. and to Mary, lighten up your heart already, it ain’t that serious!

Heartless

For your reading pleasure, here’s an excerpt from the fourth book in our series, The Body Hunters.  Titled, The Body Hunters: The Lazurus Effect, this is the opening chapter. You can expect it to hit Amazon within the next few months. As always we’ll keep you posted. Enjoy!

”Well, if you’re not willing to send us a payment, Mrs. Avery, we will have no choice than to pursue further legal action; up to and including garnishment of your wages.” Swiveling in her office chair, Jesse faced the backdrop of downtown Savannah. Still talking on her headset, she turned, watching the denizens of the city scurry about like ants.
“But I told you.” The woman on the other end of the phone wailed. “I’ve been out of work for a year and I just started another job two weeks ago. I haven’t received a child support payment from my ex-husband in months. My kids need food. Just work with me.”
Jesse smiled as she soaked in the euphoria of having dominion over her clients. “I truly sympathize with you, Mrs. Avery, but I have a job to do just like you. My hands are tied.”
The desperate woman on the other end unleashed a ragged breath. “I-I guess I could send something. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ll be expecting a payment in the next two days or we’ll be forced to proceed legally.”
“There’s a special place in hell for people like you, you heartless bitch.” The woman told Jesse before clicking off the line.
Smiling contentedly, she pulled the headset off, tousling her long mane of vibrant red hair. She’d rose above the common call center agents several months ago.  Jesse’s debt negotiation skills had afforded her several promotions and a corner office at ACS Collections. Her supervisor had once boasted to his colleagues that she could draw blood from a stone and gave her the moniker of the grim reaper, because she was good at closing accounts.
Her fairly new appointment had also scored her leagues of haters. Most of the catty women at the office couldn’t stand her, though she could care less about what they thought of her. She hurled a scowl at one of the office tramps who strolled by looking at her like she was on display at the zoo.
“Can I help you?” Jesse’s voice confronted the woman.
The tramp kept walking on those stilts she called legs, squinting at Jesse as if the sun was in her eyes.
“You’d better keep walking.” She muttered under her breath.
That distraction out of her face, she returned to the Avery case, leaving detailed notes that the client had promised to pay in two days. There were several avenues Jesse could have taken, other than threatening to garnish the woman’s check, but she didn’t care. The woman accumulated the debt so she had to pay it, besides, the other avenues wouldn’t have helped Jesse’s numbers. This job was about revenue, not coddling customers who couldn’t pay their bills.
Typing up her notes, Jesse glanced down at the framed photo on her desk. The man who was the subject of the photo had no idea the snapshot of him even existed. She’d caught him unawares on the street in the downtown area and took advantage of the photographic opportunity. She sighed, reflecting on his gorgeousness.

“That bitch has a lot of nerve taking my man!” Jessie fumed under her breath.
Earlier that day, Jesse had been following, not stalking like her friends so often pointed out, the man she cherished, Aiden Stone.
She and Aiden’s whirlwind courtship had begun several years ago in Washington D.C. at a nightclub. Sitting at a table with her girlfriends, she’d seen him the moment he walked in.
To say the man was fine wouldn’t do him justice. He was six foot four of raw masculinity and muscle, with stunning blue eyes that could make even the strongest woman swoon. His features were exotic, with traces of Polynesian, African American, and Irish, ancestry blending together in perfect harmony. A native of Hawaii, his skin tone was the soft brown of damp sand on a Hawaiian beach.
Once she saw him, she knew she had to have him. And have him she did. They spent one night together in reckless abandon and it was the best lay of her life. When her eyes opened the next morning, he was gone without leaving any way to contact him. He just seemed to vanish from the face of the earth.
Fate intervened a year ago, when she found him licking his wounds in a bar in Savannah, Georgia, over his ex-girlfriend, Danny. The fact that she went by a boy’s name was a clue that the witch was wrong in the head. Seeing her man in distress, Jesse fed him and provided him shelter in his hour of need.
Her friends told her she was a fool, that he was on the rebound and would go back to his girlfriend given the chance, but they were just jealous. They wanted him for themselves and that wasn’t going to happen. She and Aiden were soul mates.
Things between her and were Aiden fine for a few months, though he couldn’t get him to stop talking about his ex. No matter what she did for him, everything that came out of his mouth was ‘Danny this’ or ‘Danny that’. Jesse’s friends of course had to stick their noses in saying that he wasn’t over his ex, and he was just using her to make the woman jealous, but she wasn’t interested in what they had to say.
Just as her friends had forecast, the day did come when the witch decided that she wanted him back.
Try as she might, Jesse couldn’t break the spell the voodoo witch put on him. Things escalated out of control when Jesse confronted Danny at the wedding of one of her snooty friends. The skank couldn’t even fight her own battles, siccing her blond bimbo of a friend on her while she watched from the sidelines. Two months later Jesse was still sore from that brawl. Worse yet, Danny had gotten the police involved.
After a couple months of laying low and staying away from her beloved, Jesse was back to her previous routine. She made a point of driving by their house at random every day, just hoping to get a glimpse of him. Last night, she got an eyeful.
He and that tramp were apparently just coming back from a date. That viper slithered up to him and practically had her forked tongue down his throat. Seeming for some reason to enjoy it, he swept her into his arms and carried her into the house.
Thankfully, her job as a call center debt collector was there to take her mind off things. There was nothing like a customer begging for mercy to get her out of a funk.
A full day of work behind her, Jesse was ready to call it a night. With a bucket of ice cream to drown her sorrows and some trashy reality TV to take her mind off her man problems, she’d be just fine.
“Jody!” A concerned Jesse called for her roommate as she entered the apartment. Jody was supposed to report to work that afternoon, but never made it. It was out of character for her friend, since she hadn’t even bothered to call in.
Mostly a solitary creature, Jesse had let a down on her luck coworker move in a month ago. She and Jody got along harmoniously since she was quiet and tended not to judge Jesse’s personal life.
Jesse slipped out of her heels at the door, flexing her exhausted feet on the plush carpeting. With only the light from the adjacent living room to guide her, she headed toward the kitchen.
“Jody! Are you okay? Why didn’t you call into work? They were looking for….”
Her bare heel slid on something warm on the linoleum and she smacked her butt on the floor. “Damn it, Jody! Why didn’t you clean up this mess you made?”
Still yelling at her roommate, she washed her hands in the sink.
“What did you drip meat all over the kitchen?” She asked, watching the red swirl down the drain.
Huffing, she swung open the refrigerator door, perusing the shelves. In the center of the fridge was a large glass jar filled to the brim with cloudy red fluid. In the bottom of the container was a large chunk of red meat the size of a fist.
“Jody what the hell did you put in my…”
The door was slammed on the back of her head, knocking her out cold.
Pinpricks of light in a starburst pattern formed behind Jesse’s eyelids as she awakened. The back of her head was aching like it wanted to detach itself from her body and crawl away. Her limbs were heavy for some reason and she wasn’t able to move anything but her neck.
“What the hell are you looking at?” Jesse slurred, drool dribbling down the corner of her jaw. “Stop looking at me.”

Attempting to move, Jessie found that her hands and feet were bound to the bed. Her arms were almost painfully stretched above her head.
Her head listed to the side, Jesse’s focus was on the woman with the dark eyes who was blatantly ogling her. For some odd reason the woman was in Jesse’s room, hiding in a corner that was filled with shadows.
“I wouldn’t worry about her.” A man’s voice entered the room.
Dressed in black, he grabbed the staring woman by the hair and brought her face out to the light. Her brown eyes were lifeless, a jagged red streak across her pale throat. The young woman was devoid of a shirt or bra a gaping black hole had been opened below her ribcage.
“J-Jody! What did you do to Jody?”
He threw her back into the corner like an old rag doll. “If it’s any consolation, I regret having to dispatch your roommate. You were the intended target after all.”
Jesse’s anger bubbled to the surface. “You’d better get me out of here you sick son of a ….”
The man continued talking as if she hadn’t uttered a word. “But your roommate did give me a chance to perfect my method.”
He proudly held up the jar that had been in her fridge and thumped a finger against it like it was an aquarium. Sitting in the bottom of the jar was Jody’s heart.
Jessie’s eyes registered pure horror. “Oh my God! Help somebody help me! This psycho is going to kill me!”
Irritably shaking his head, the man covered her mouth with duct tape.
“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted; when I tried to remove the heart from my first victims, it took more time than I was comfortable with and of course the noise from the saw attracted too much attention. I finally realized what I was doing wrong; the secret is to make an incision here.”
The man pointed to where his diaphragm would be. “And reach upward. That way you avoid the ribcage and you retrieve an undamaged specimen in mere seconds.”
Mascara streamed down Jessie’s face as she begged for mercy behind the tape.
He paid her no mind. “Now your friend’s heart, I’ll be adding to my collection. Your heart on the other hand I’m going to give as a gift.”
Reaching into a duffel bag, he extracted a syringe filled with a clear fluid and a pair of scissors.

“I’m giving you a local anesthesia so you won’t feel a thing.” He told her before stabbing the needle into her abdomen.
Her howl was muffled, sobs wracking her body.
“Now, now. It will all be over soon.” He soothed. “You should be honored. I think your heart will be the perfect present for her.”
While the pain killer snaked its way through her veins, the man used the scissors to cut through Jessie’s blouse and bra at the same time. Once he made his symmetrical cut through the material, he ripped it apart, exposing her naked ribcage. Going back to his duffel bag, he brought a sinister looking blade to the bed.
“This isn’t really personal.” He said over Jessie’s weeping as he made his first incision. “I’m just a man who believes in symbolism.”
Not satisfied with the way the blade was cutting he dipped his blood soaked hands into the bag and pulled out a knife with a serrated edge.
He got back into his gruesome work, sawing through her torso. “The girls I killed. They’re symbols of what she did to me. Oh, she hurt me, she really did; the pain was excruciating. She practically ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it. Now I wouldn’t stomp on a perfectly good heart, but you get what I’m saying. Giving her your heart is my way of showing her how I really feel.”
After carving a hole big enough for his hand to slip through, the man reached into the cavity. Jessie thrashed on the bed as he reached upward.
“Ah, here we are.” He whispered, biting his lip.
He grabbed the still beating organ and twisted. Her brain still functioning, the last thing Jessie saw was her heart beating in his hand. Whether from delirium or her approaching death, she found it humorous that she really was a heartless bitch after all.

I Hate Rom-Com’s

I hate romantic comedies. Other than a select few most of them are predictable.

The couple meets in some cute way, most times with the desperate and single woman doing something to look like a complete idiot. Maybe she knocks over an entire table of food at a restaurant and he helps her clean up the mess. Or she gets her dress caught in the door of a cab and has to run along the side of it until the hero swoops in and saves the day.
After the cute meet the couple starts to date and all the woman’s flaws and insecurities come to the surface while most times the hero remains as clever and attractive as ever. Everything is fine until some conflict either internal or external threatens to break them up for good. One of the two has an epiphany and realizes they can’t live without their soul mate and by the end of the story everything is neatly tied in a pretty little pink bow and the happy couple lives happily ever after.

No wonder audiences have been staying away from romantic comedies in droves. Who wants to watch a story that’s that predictable? As a reader, it’s a tired formula I’ve seen repeated over and over again in a number of romance novels and it’s the reason I don’t read those types of books anymore.

As a writer, especially with a series, making things unpredictable is something you have to consider, especially when your story has romantic elements. Though the reader may say they want the heroine and her love interest to be happily married with kids, don’t believe them.

I can testify that I’ve thought the same thing with the TV series Castle. As soon as Detective Beckett and Richard Castle got together I was done. That was last season and I haven’t watched it since. After watching two characters who have been pining for each other for years finally get together, it’s boring now that we have what we wanted.
What keeps your reader interested is the tension between the couple. Move their relationship forward slowly. If you put them together as a couple, tear them apart soon after and have them find their way back to each other all over again. Introduce that best friend who’s been yearning after the hero since they were kids. Maybe one of them has an unforgiveable secret? What if her jealous best friend is a liar and spreads a nasty lie that breaks them apart. Unbeknownst to the hero, maybe his lady love has been replaced with her crazed, long thought dead twin sister. The longer you can keep your couple from that happily ever after the more the reader is pulled in. Make them wait!

Just because you’re following the romance formula doesn’t mean you have to play it by the book.

Pimping Yourself For Fame

The opinions in this post is mine and mine alone. Agree, disagree I don’t care. I just felt it had to be said.

I saw a picture posted by a barely 18 year old on a news story on the internet, and when I say barely 18 I mean she’s not even a month into supposed adulthood. Kendall Jenner made news this week with a picture of her in a black fishnet type shirt with no bra and leaving nothing to the imagination. It was extremely see thru much to the delight I’m sure of many males both young and old.

Now I’m not a prude, I am not above writing the love story that gets physical, but the books we write are for grown adults not YA. My issue with the picture of Kendall Jenner’s nips is this. She wasted no time in sexualizing herself the minute she turned 18 and it’s now reported that her father, Bruce Jenner, is supporting her decision to instagram this picture to 7 million followers and now millions more thanks to the power of the internet. She might as well get it over with and make the sex tape and post the completely nude photo announcing her new found self depreciation and degradation into an object to be lusted over.

Where is the self respect? Yes she is technically an adult and in this country can do what she wants, but the fact that she did it so quickly after turning the magic adult number tells me that she has been thinking about this for a while way before she turned that magic age. Face it she didn’t wake up from innocence the morning of her birthday and convert to sluthood that same day, she had role models.

I understand the Kardashian/Jenner motive is to strictly whore yourself out for money. What is nonsense is the man who is supposed to be her moral compass,  her protector, her father, basically gave his tramp stamp of approval and has solidified her place in the Kardashian world of being slutty equals money. This approval by her father and no doubt her mother who’s every move is about the almighty dollar, sends a dangerous message to the followers of this young lady that dressing like anything goes is OK and consequences be damned.

Till something goes horribly wrong.

Normal everyday girls do not have Kardashian/Jenner money to protect them when things go wrong.  We read stories several times a week where there is a rape, gang rape, abuse, molestation and incest of women and young girls, some are so young they are barely out of diapers. We are shocked and appalled when this happens and before you scream at me, I’m in no way defending the men or boys or even saying the girls deserved it, but I am railing at the collective lack of consciousness that allows the celebrity to be our moral compass and give way to the anything goes attitude. How can we cry foul when the image of the willing wanton slut is shoved in our faces on a regular daily basis. When we individually or as a society, applaud, imitate and condone the behavior of the wannabe celebrity or musician that ‘twerks’ onstage provocatively and glorifies the use of drugs and sex. The message is clear, all women if they are showing it off or not are fair game.

Justin Bieber was just reported as having a party where strippers were hired to be naked at this party. The comment continued that the other women or girls at this party felt ‘out of place’ and pressured into also disrobing and parading nude for the enjoyment of many male celebrities that attended. The lure of being able to say you partied with the male celebs and had money rain down on you overrode any modesty and moral decency, allowing the girls collective debasement and lack of self respect to take hold. Partygoers were made to sign confidentiality agreements that they would not disclose anything that happened while attending said party or face a fine of 5 million dollars. Yes, I said 5 million.  Now who is that for? It doesn’t take a genius (or maybe it does) to know it was for the further intimidation of the girls, especially if something untoward was actually done to them while in their state of disrobement. To protect the male celebrity against being charged with whatever illegal activity happened whether it was sex she didn’t consent to or the slew of illicit drugs that were consumed that night.  May I also remind my readers who say it was The Bieb’s right to throw such a debauched party that he is not yet even 21.

Where are the parents? Where is dad to drag his daughter away and say I love you too much to let you debase yourself like this, or is dad to busy ogling young Kendall Jenner on his laptop or phone.

Where dad to teach his son that objectifying and disrespecting women and girls is wrong. Where are Bieber’s parents to reign in this kid and help him stop his path of self destruction we see happening to so many young celebs these days?

 Where are the mothers to advise and counsel their daughters on being self respecting, strong young ladies that don’t need to parade her nakedness to get attention. That the kind of attention she gets by putting it all out there is not the loving attention she is actually seeking.

We’ve all seen pictures of very young girls trying to be older than they are, wanting to show skin and appear sexy way before their time. We rail against this holding our hands up decrying the situation while we are buying her the Halloween costume of the slutty celebrity she emulates and call it cute. We enter her in the beauty contest shoving her little feet into high heels and have her practice her smile and call it investing in her confidence.

All because society and celebrity told us this is the way to be accepted.

There is some truth in the statement “little girls marry their fathers.” What she grows up with and see’s she will carry with her into adulthood and pass on to her own daughter in an endless cycle. It is proven that a girl who witnesses abuse by men in her home will more than likely end up with an abuser at some point before hopefully the cycle is broken.  If she is brought up with low self esteem and little respect, she will not magically obtain it when she turns 18.

A final thought. If we wouldn’t want our own young daughters, granddaughters, nieces to be emblazoned on instagram in a see thru top showing her nips to the world, or would die of shame to know our precious girls paraded around at a party butt naked to be used, objectified and reduced to the level of sex toy, then we need to stand up and let our objections be heard. We need to talk to and educate our boys on respect for women and how to be proper gentlemen. We need to educate and promote self respect and self esteem with our girls. We need to kill this celebrity worship and stop rewarding bad behavior.

If we don’t we all must look in the mirror and wag a finger at ourselves the next time we are shocked and appalled when our girls and women suffer with our indifference at the hands of bad men.

Superheroes Aren’t Just for Geeks

Last weekend, I went to the theater to see Thor. I grew up with my father reading his Silver Surfer and Spiderman comics, which got me somewhat interested in the genre. Its been decades since I’ve picked up a comic, probably around the last time I picked up a She-ra doll, but I’m very familiar with the characters. I may not read the comics anymore, but I like to watch them on the big screen.

It being the first week of release of this particular movie, I decided to get my seat early. Sitting there I had a ringside seat as the other film goers found their seat. I was quite surprised to find that probably half or over half of the patrons were women. True, some of them may have randomly picked Thor, but for the most part I think Chris Hemsworth and Idris Elba were the big draw. That would explain the gratuitous shirtless scene in the movie with Thor. That scene definitely wasn’t for the fan boys, it was a shout out for the ladies.

Going back over the super hero movies that have been released recently, the common factor is that most of them are attractive men. You’ve got Chris Evans, Hugh Jackman, and Henry Cavill as leading men. All of them good looking actors playing superheroes, all of them with a female fan base.

I for one have watched just about anything Chris Evans was in, years before he ever played Captain America. I happen to think he’s good eye candy. Anyone remember Cellular?

And the buzz with the Man of Steel from the ladies over the summer wasn’t about the action scenes, but how well Mr. Cavill looked in that Superman suit. I for one enjoyed the shirtless scenes with the manly facial scruff. ; )

My own mother practically swoons every time The Dark Knight Rises is on TV and she hears Bane’s distinctive voice. She was so crushed when I told her he wouldn’t be in the next Batman reboot.

The trend even spreads outside of the superhero movie genre. I wasn’t interested in The Fast and the Furious until they announced that The Rock would be appearing in Fast Five. As long as he’s in the franchise I’ll park my butt in the seat for every installment. Though Fast Six should be called The Fast and the Furious: Sexy, Sweaty Bald Men in Tank Tops.

I’m glad to see that film makers are paying attention to what women want when it comes to movies. We don’t all want the same predictable rom-com’s and period pieces. Sometimes we just want mindless action and a good looking man saving the day. And speaking of the Rock, he was also the only reason I went to see that awful GI Joe sequel and if he’s in the next one they can go ahead and take my money right now.

The Body Hunters: Dirty Secrets, Naked Truth Excerpt-Alistair Brogan’s Murder

Enjoy a sneak peek at the first chapter in the third book in The Body Hunters series. The Body Hunters: Dirty Secrets, Naked Truths by Raven Newcastle http://amazon.com/dp/B00GOZ7ULC/ …

Alistair Brogan’s eyelids cracked open a little after one in the morning. Through sheer stubbornness he continued to lay there, willing himself to fall back to sleep. After nearly an hour of watching the digital digits on his alarm clock mark the passing time, Alistair gave it up. At the moment sleep wasn’t going to allow him to escape the mess of his creation.

He forced himself to sit up. He ran a hand through his tousled grey hair, which stood straight up like muddy icicles.  The space in the king size bed beside him was empty; a few blond hairs on the pillow the only trace of the high priced call girl with whom he’d spent part of the evening.  Obviously his meter had run out and she’d gone off in pursuit of the next paying client.

Alistair winced as the soles of his feet touched the frigid bedroom floor, the wood cut from some rare tree from the Amazon.  He slipped into a pair of handcrafted silk slippers, monogrammed with his initials.  He was considering not even bothering with a shower, until his own body funk assailed him.

Alistair shuffled to the bathroom with its heated tile floors, his worries heavy on his shoulders.  He gazed at his nude form in the bathroom mirror.  He didn’t look too bad for a chap well beyond the half century mark.  His eye sight had been corrected with laser surgery so he no longer required the grandfatherly glasses he used to wear.  His hair was expertly cut by a stylist known to have clipped the hairs of U.S. Presidents and heads of state.  His fingers pinched his waist, finding no trace of the love handles that had plagued him for years, his belly flat and taut like a fashion model half his age.  His unforgiving personal trainer had seen to that and the man’s exorbitant fee had been money well spent.

A personal shopper made sure that his walk in closet was overflowing with fine garments and shoes that befitted a man of his wealth and stature.  A fleet of fine automobiles filled the garage of his mansion, while a handful of servants waited on his every beck and call.  When Alistair talked, people paid attention.  Everywhere he went people knew him and wanted to be around him.  To the outside world Alistair Brogan was the picture of power and influence, but why did he feel so hollow inside?

When Alistair looked at himself in the mirror all he saw was staring back at him was the face of a con man and a thief.  Alistair Brogan, CEO of Capital Securities Associates or C.S.A. was guilty of running a Ponzi scheme.  He’d duped corporations, charities, middle class workers, and little old ladies out of billions of dollars.  Over the years, he kept telling himself that he’d go on the straight and narrow and clean up the mess he’d started, but as the years went by he only got deeper and deeper in the tar pit of his own making.

Just a few months ago, Alistair had developed a plan that would allow him to pay off all his investors back in full. The plan would take time to pay off, precious time he no longer had. Unfortunately, there was no more sand in his hour glass and two weeks ago the whole house of cards came crashing down.

A legion of FBI agents in their windbreakers descended on C.S.A.’s headquarters in Savannah in search of a paper trail.  The SEC had been investigating him for years and finally had gathered enough evidence for a warrant.  Like buzzards swooping down on a carcass, the media was all over the story.  Cameras and microphones were shoved into the faces of clueless C.S.A. employees and Alistair’s equally clueless friends and family.

Alistair was exiled from his circle of friends as soon as the news broke.  He’d gone from a VIP to the most hated man in America in mere days.  His victims now paraded outside the gate of his mansion with their torches and pitchforks, calling for the head of the monster.  His former friends treated him like he was poisonous, avoiding any contact with him.  Alistair felt like he didn’t have an ally in the world.

The arraignment was mercifully quick and his hot shot lawyer was able to get Alistair released on bond and put on house arrest.  Thankfully he was able to avoid wearing one of those awful tethers, since the lawyer negotiated the surrender of his passports.  Alistair was now confined to his luxurious seven bed room, Savannah, Georgia mansion.  With the house empty since he fired his staff, the mansion was even more like a prison.  Save for the occasional call girl, Alistair was in solitary confinement with no other human contact.

As he stood in the shower letting the steaming jets of nearly scalding water work over his exhausted muscles, Alistair reminisced over his past transgressions and his pitiful existence.

He’d never been much of a husband or father. He knew now that he was never worthy of his first wife, his one true love, Cindy Good.  She was truly a saint who’d put up with his lying and cheating for years, but even saints have their limitations.  She’d taken their children and had been living happily ever after for years.

Wife number two was a conniving temptress who was only after his money.  She’d abandoned him as soon as she’d gotten word of the charges against him and the possibility of losing everything of which she’d grown accustomed.

The disappointment in his eldest son’s face whenever he looked at him was enough to kill him. It was a wonder that Alistair Jr. didn’t change his name to avoid all association with his fallen father. Luckily he was spared the judgment of his daughter who lived in Europe with her husband and children. It was one thing to be a bad father, another to be publicly branded a crook.

How ironic that the one child he could truly lean on at this time was his problem child, his youngest son Carl, by his second wife.  It was Carl, the former drug addict, who comforted Alistair with words of wisdom and encouragement. While he was never charged with anything as serious as running a Ponzi scheme, Carl had seen the inside of a jail cell on several occasions in his relatively short life and knew what they were up against.

Ceasing the ruminations on his children and turning off the punishing spray of water using the digital touch screen panel, Alistair stepped out of the glass enclosed shower.  The scent of his musky imported body wash and shampoo lingered on his skin.  Donning just his silk bathrobe, he headed downstairs, taking in the things he’d accumulated over the years.

As he passed the baby grand piano in the living room, he reminisced on the items he’d acquired.  There was the antique Persian rug he’d acquired in Morocco, the antique vase from Malaysia, a collection of hand blown glass ornaments from Italy.  These items he cherished would soon be auctioned to the highest bidder to cover the losses that his clientele had suffered because of his schemes.  His bank accounts were already frozen and it was only a matter of time before his property was seized.

His breath caught in his throat as if he could feel the walls of justice closing in on him.  His lawyer insisted on pleading not guilty, but Alistair knew that his days were numbered.  He was guilty as sin and he was going to spend the rest of his earthly existence and part of the afterlife in a federal prison.

Trying to shake off the stress, Alistair arrived at the room containing his indoor pool.  The combination of the chlorine and the heated water made the room hot and the air hard to breathe.  Shrugging out of his robe, he stepped into the warm waters.  He swam laps around the pool until his arms and legs felt like they’d been injected with lead.  The dull pain helped to lower his anxiety level.

“Nice day for a swim, huh?”  A masked figure dressed in black emerged from the shadows, a gun gleaming in its hand.

“Wh-who are you?”  In near panic, Alistair quickly cinched the robe around his waist.

The intruder never answered, letting the sound of the gunshot speak for him. A jet of red black blood sprayed like a fountain from Alistair’s perfectly tanned neck.  He fell to his knees, his hands around his own throat, desperately attempting to stop the bleeding as his life flowed through his fingers.  Alistair’s voice was replaced by thick garbled static, the blood in his throat nearly gagging him.

The dark figure stood less than a foot from Alistair’s crouching form and pulled the trigger again.  Grey matter and blood spatter made a mess of the white tile.   Alistair collapsed in a heap.   Death overrode any modesty as his robe fell open, leaving his naked body fully exposed.  The intruder fired two more rounds into Alistair’s skull before kicking the dead man into the pool.

A murky red cloud surrounded Alistair as he floated on top of the water like an overfed goldfish.  Satisfied with their handiwork, the intruder fled the room, carefully avoiding the blood on the floor.

Susan Tepes-Ghost Therapist

Susan Tepes arrived home after a long day of shooting her reality show ‘The Ghost Therapist’.  She hated the name, but for the money they were paying her she could have cared less what they called it.  Flicking on the lights to her spacious L.A. apartment, she realized she was not alone. From the corner of the room a vase flew past her, aimed at her head. It ricocheted off the wall behind her. After having just about all her dishes and vases broken by angry spirits, she only used plastic ones  “Missed me!” She yelled.

A large roar filled the empty space and her body was slammed into the living room wall. His body pinned her with his icy breath chilling her neck sending shivers down her spine. Sometimes being a contact psychic was a harrowing. She could touch the spirits and they could touch her, a fact that many deceased male predators relished and sought out those like her for that reason. The chose not to show himself to her, but she could feel his hands sliding down her body and his engorged ethereal member press into her hips.

“Not today” She said out loud. His growling rang in her ears as he punched her in the stomach.  “Stop it!” She commanded as he knocked to her knees. Reaching blindly at the space in front of her she felt his energy and pulled. A thud reverberated throughout her apartment. “Show yourself now!”

“You don’t tell me what to do! I tell you!” His voice distorted with each word.

Placing her hands on her temples she pushed back on his energy force causing shock waves to reveal his teenaged form to her. He was barely sixteen from the looks of him. “You’re just a kid!” 

“I’m man enough!” He roared back. “Just ask my many girlfriends.” 

Susan walked to her kitchen grabbing a stick of sage from the counter. “You mean the women you raped?”

“They asked for it.”

She continued her questioning, lighting the sage. “How did you die?”

Still leering at her he lifted off the ground and flew forward stopping in mid air as the smoke from the sage hit his ghostly form. “What the fuck is that?” 

She smiled, continuing to wave the smoke in circles around him. “Sage. It will make you tell me the truth and keep you from harming me.”

“Bitch!” He barked.

She ignored the insult. “Tell me your name.”

“Joseph.”

“Joseph what?”

“Joseph Kirby.” He spat on her.

“That’s gross!” She said wiped the ectoplasm off her face with a towel. She shoved his form over to a chair at her dining table.

“Ghosts don’t need to sit stupid.”

“That’s true but I do. I see you acknowledge you’re a ghost so we are halfway there.”

“Halfway to what?”

“Moving you on Joseph. So first things first, tell me how you died.” She said placing herself across from him at the table.

He materialized fully in front of her. “I shot myself, you wanna see?” He turned and parted his hair to show her the massive exit wound in the back of his head where his skull should have been, bloody brain matter hung out of the hole. “I stuck the pistol right in my mouth and pulled. My brains splattered everywhere, I can imagine my bitch mother having to pick pieces of my skull and brain out of the rug.” He laughed with an evil twinkle in his ghostly eye.

“Hmm. That’s a pretty violent ending, Suicide actually tells me you must have felt guilt over what you’ve done.” She commented.”That will work in your favor.”

His angry stare failed to move her. He waved his hand, slamming her cabinet doors in a telekinetic fit. “Why aren’t you scared?”

“Don’t make me relight this sage.” She said. “Don’t you think I’ve seen this for years? You’re not the first one to come to me. Ask yourself Joseph, why were you drawn to me?”

“I…I don’t know I just found myself here.” His eyes downcast he stopped the door slamming.

“You found yourself here because today is November 1^st,  The Day of the Dead and even though you can’t see them, there are five others in this apartment waiting patiently for me to attend to them.”

“There are?” He looked around not seeing any other specters. “You’re lying I don’t see anyone else.”

“You don’t because of your guilt and how you died. Joseph, the loneliness that you feel is part of your punishment to get you to repent. You have to accept your guilt, show remorse and move on.”

“Move on to hell you mean? No!”

Susan removed herself from the table walking towards her bedroom with Joseph following close behind.

“Yeah this is more like it! Time to get busy.” He tried to grab her but felt a shock that sent pain through his energy making him kneel to the floor.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the sage acts as positive energy to your negative energy, it also puts a shield around me. You can’t touch me till it wears off and by then you’ll be long gone.” She smiled and grabbed a large antique book from her nightstand.

“It’s a little late to save me.” He said meekly.

“It’s not for you it’s for your victims. I have to forgive you in their stead then you can move on to the next plane. Joseph don’t you wonder why you didn’t immediately go to hell? Why you are still here?” She returned to the kitchen table opening the large book.

“I guess I didn’t think about it.” He peered over her shoulder. “I thought this was a bible?” 

“It’s a different type of book that’s been in my family for centuries. I have our family bible too don’t worry. ”

“What language is that?”

Susan swatted him away. “Romanian, now sit down.”

He did as he was told. She ran her fingers down the old text page after page until she found the words she was looking for. Reading aloud she recited the foreign words, once she finished they sat in silence for a second.

“What did you say?” He asked.

Susan sighed taking on a pensive look. “I asked the elders to search your victim’s heart to see if they are open to forgiving you.”

“Well? What happens now?”

“We wait, if the answer is yes then you are forgiven, in the meantime I want to read to you from the book of Matthew  passage 6: 14-15 and 1 John 1:9,  the last one I’ll read is Acts 3:19 about repenting which even though your actions say different I can tell you want to. Open your heart to it Joseph and accept the words.”

As she read the passages his ethereal form started to disappear. “What’s happening to me?” His frightened face started to fade.

“It’s okay Joseph, just accept the embrace.”

“Am I going to hell?” He asked in a child like voice.

Smiling sweetly she answered. “No, you’re going to the next plane where you have to finish the lessons you needed to learn here before you cut your life short and accept what you have done. It’s a good place don’t worry, once you finish your lessons you’ll move on to what we call heaven and be ready to accept God’s love and forgiveness.”

“I’m scared.” He whispered as his form was now almost a wisp of smoke.

“I know Joseph, Look in front of you do you see a man?”

“Yes.”

“He is an elder and will lead you on your path, trust him he is there to assist you till your ready for heaven. Goodbye Joseph.”

“Thank you.” She faintly heard from afar.

Loud banging rattled her doors jolting her from her chair.

“I know you’re in there you hippie freak, open up!”

Rolling her eyes Susan adjusted her tie dyed bohemian skirt and for fun wrapped a matching scarf around her head in a turban. “Yes Mr. Armstrong” She addressed her heavyset, balding neighbor. “Come for a reading? Let me get my crystal ball.”

“Listen I don’t care if you are the Ghost Doctor….”

“Ghost Therapist.” She corrected.

“I don’t care if you’re the fucking ghost proctologist! I’m warning you for the last time to stop burning that damned weed, it’s stinking up the building!” He yelled, veins road mapping on his forehead.

Susan looked beyond him and nodded. “Your grandmother wants me to tell you to lay off the potato chips and soda. You’re heading for a heart attack.”

He huffed as he walked away. “Tell the old bat to mind her own fucking business.”

Susan rolled her eyes at him and shut her door. Turning to the ethereal crowd in her living room she sighed. “Next.”