Whether it’s friends or strangers, they all say the same thing: I’ve always wanted to write. From there it takes a usual turn on two corners. I’m asked if I would like to collaborate or I am asked if I could write the idea they have. The answer is almost always no on both requests.

As someone who writes for a living, meager as it may be, I have several projects in the queue. My projects range from short stories to novels to screenplays and teleplays. I plan out the next five years of projects. My time is accounted for and I cheat myself if I step away from my plans. There are exceptions. I have one writing partner and our writing schedule isn’t mapped out; however, our projects are usually exploratory. Most recently, though, I had to turn him down due to my current writing project. It’s difficult to switch gears from one story to another, especially when writing a book.

So, instead, I give advice. Most want to write a screenplay. It is the rare individual that wants to write a book. But the advice I’m about to give can be used for both.

1. Outline your story. Map it out. Know the beginning, the middle, the end, and all the meaty morsels in between. Outlining will save you from “writer’s block”. It’s, as I said, a map to where you’re going.
2. Research. Yes, I’m sorry to say, but you will need to research. You can never have too much research. You decide how much you need. Research gives you that little extra something something that you’ll only notice, but that your reader, viewer, or whatever will appreciate without really knowing why. Besides, it’ll keep you from looking like an idiot.
3. Outline your story. Hey, you already said that! Yes, I did. After you research, you’ll have notes and scene ideas. Do your outline again.
4. Sit down, shut-up, and write. Quit talking about it and sit down and write the thing. Do not daydream, wish, seek people out to write it for you. Just sit down and write the story. A typical screenplay is about 20,000 words, give or take. If you write 1,000 words a day, you’d have a finished 1st draft in less than a month. A novel is typically 75,000 to 110,000 words. A thousand words a day is not a lot. If you cannot write 1,000 words a day then find something else to do.
5. Read your script or manuscript. After you write it, read it. Read it straight through. Don’t give it to someone else to read. You read it. Then take note of how it makes you feel at the end. You’ll know if it sucks or if it’s worth chasing after.
6. Read your script or manuscript again. This time take notes.
7. Rewrite. Time to fix things! I recommend retyping each page, adding your changes or fixing your problems.
8. Give it to someone you trust. They say that giving it to your friends or family is bad as they won’t tell you the truth. My question is, what kind of relationships do these people have that they can’t speak plainly without flipping out? If you don’t have friends or family that will give you an honest assessment of your writing, then stop what you are doing right now and do a little self-examination. You’re broken.
9. Rewrite. Assuming that you took all the advice from your readers and evaluated it, now is the time to make some more changes. Then after that, you’ll rewrite it again and again until you think it’s perfect.
10. Edit. Edit for content first then typos, spelling, and grammar. Then you’ll proof read and do it again and again. Editing seems to never end. If you’re writing a book, you’ll do this forever and a day. If you can afford a real editor, then do yourself a favor and hire one. If you’re editing a script, it won’t take as long.

Once you are satisfied, you can give it to people to read as a final draft, shop it around, or throw it away. Congratulations, your work has just begun. Since this is a blog about writing and not marketing, I won’t go into that spiderweb of misery and pain. I’ll save that for another blog.

Of course, I give this advice assuming that you know how to write. Not sure if you know how to write? Take some creative writing classes. Learn how to tell a story. Learn about language. I don’t recommend you taking a screenwriting class. The biggest problem I see with screenplays is not that the writer doesn’t know how to write one, but that the writer doesn’t know how to tell a story. You can learn about structure and act breaks with the thousands of books on screenwriting available on the market right now. Make that a thousand and one… two… three… four! There are a lot of books on the craft.

Good luck and write!

So, instead, I’ve decided to gripe and complain about observations I made over the weekend. Here is the sum of my conclusions: everybody has the answer, but no one really knows the question. Pretty good, eh?

Okay, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just a bunch of philosophical nonsense. There’s a lot of that going around lately. It surpasses the supposed SARS epidemic, in my opinion. By the way, and this doesn’t count as one of my complaints, but aren’t we throwing the word “epidemic” around rather loosely? Are we so desperate for some sort of catastrophe in our time that we automatically label something as epidemic? Relax history writers. We’ll have a place in time that some will talk about. Anyway, yes, my conclusion may read like a cheap fortune cookie, but it’s written on good paper.

After everything that this country has been through over the last 13 years, I find it hard to believe that there are people out there, and a large portion of people, that believe wholeheartedly in party politics. There are many who stand behind the donkey and the elephant, oblivious to what is spewing from the hind end of those beasts. To them, their party is the answer to America’s problems. Except there’s a minor hiccup: they are exactly alike. Their differences, and even then it’s not real clear, are only brought to our short attention spans during election season, which seems to be all the time, lately. However, once these clowns take office, it’s business as usual with a lot of posturing, grinning quotes, and photo opportunities. How anyone believes a word any of these people say is beyond me.

The tragedy of it all is that we the people gnash our teeth at one another over a bunch of rich people that could care less about us.  

News Flash: no one cares about you except your mother, wife, husband, father, and children. Sometimes, not even those people really care about you. Your friends care about you… for now. But say the wrong thing one day and they’ll split.

Think about all the things that you care about. Is it your family, the poor, minorities, small businesses, gay rights, children, crime, the environment? Any of them? All of them? None?  Now how many of those do you really do anything to show how much you care? Yeah, the list is smaller now. What makes you think government officials care anymore than you? They are concerned about the same things you are. They want to keep their jobs, feed their families, feel important, and be able to take a vacation every year. Whatever it takes to have all four of those things is what they will do. The difference between you and the politician is ambition. Let’s face it. You have to be one ambitious bugger to run for office. Then to stay in office is a whole other level of ambition and it isn’t blind. Unfortunately, in the world of politics, one doesn’t really have to do anything. They just have to make an effort, a speech, a policy bullet point on their website. In the meantime, they just keep raising your taxes, taking away a little freedom here and there, pointing fingers at everyone else but themselves, and collecting more and more power. It’s always the same and you, that is, we keep voting for them.

How do I know that both parties are bags of garbage? Simple. I didn’t create the problems in this country. Did you? No, the Republicans did! No, the Democrats did! You’re both idiots. They’re not teams to root for. They are public servants that are supposed to have your best interests in mind, not their own. We are all sheep being led to the slaughter, thinking that the farmer cares, but all he wants is everything we have, so he can have more.

I am in constant contradiction of myself. Ol’ Walt had the right idea, though. Just accept it. Our thoughts and beliefs change with experience. However, there are some contradictions in this world, particularly from our scientific and governing bodies, that are not acceptable.

In recent headlines, blatant contradictions are unchallenged. Maybe it’s because we see them so often that we now pay little attention to them. Hey, life is busy. We don’t have time to pick apart every little red flag thrown out. I understand. Nevertheless, if we do not challenge these little inconsistencies then they become mainstream thought and, therefore, accepted without question.

WARNING: If you are easily insulted by opposing views, critical thinking, and calling a spade a spade then I suggest that you stop reading right now. I mean to do more than ruffle a few feathers. I plan on plucking them out completely.

Now that I gave you fair warning, let the plucking begin.

Headline: Cleveland man could face aggravated murder charges for allegedly terminating pregnancies

At first glance, this headline gets a “Hell yeah!” from the public. After all, this monster kidnapped three young girls and held them captive for more than 10 years, sexually abusing, beating, and torturing them. He did this under the noses of his neighbors and his family. During the last decade, the monster impregnated one of the girls five times, then starved and beat her to terminate the pregnancies.  The District Attorney, in addition to the kidnapping and rape charges, has stated that he will seek charges for, ”each act of aggravated murder he committed by terminating pregnancies.”

So, what’s the problem? If you haven’t guessed where I’m taking this yet, let me give you one hint, using only one word: abortion.

In my humble opinion, according to the laws of this land, killing a fetus is not a crime. The government has already made it perfectly clear that a fetus is not created equally and does not have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It isn’t a life. It is a choice.

But, Gary, the victim did not choose to have the pregnancy terminated, and, therefore, it is a crime.

Yes, you are correct. Then charge him with unlawfully terminating a pregnancy, if there is such a law. But, do not charge the monster with aggravated murder. He cannot logically be charged with aggravated murder, for how can one murder that which is not life to begin with? There are no murder victims. There is only a grieving mother-to-be. We, as a society, cannot have it both ways. Either a fetus is a human life or it is not.

Headline: No interest in the gym? It may be genetic

Congratulations fat and lazy people! You now have an excuse for your obesity and laziness. Just so it’s said, I do not think that all obese people are lazy; however, it’s a majority that are.

Yes, Geneticist Molly Bray has discovered a fat and lazy gene, or so she says. After a study that lasted ten years, she and other scientists on her team have pinpointed a genetic sequence that causes people to sit around and get fat. They are calling it the “couch potato gene”.

This is good news for people like me. I love sitting around and doing nothing. It’s so easy. Unfortunately, my life goes to hell if I do, so I don’t. However, now that I have a possible genetic reason to do so, maybe I can convince myself and my family that this is how God made me, that I was born this way, and it is unnatural for me to try and change it. This is me and they should accept me for who I am. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.

But there is a kink in the armor. I’ve been thwarted by a geneticist, a mad scientist who, in my passionate opinion, speaks before thinking!

During the end of the study at the University of Alabama, subjects were told to train for 15 weeks. They were tested, measured, and interviewed. The common factor for those that wanted to quit the study was that the hardest part was just deciding to do it. A-ha! They have the gene! However, every subject continued on in the study and many are still exercising today. This, according to the findings, is proof you can fight and conquer your genes. Dammit!

Now, the contradiction is at hand. For years, we’ve been told about the “gay gene” and that homosexuals are born that way, that they have no choice in who they are, and that to suggest that a homosexual can change is naïve, intolerant, and ignorant. Maybe they’re right; maybe they’re wrong. I don’t know. I don’t care. I would only care if I had to constantly chase gay couples out of my garbage cans every morning. Since I don’t, it doesn’t concern me. There are more pressing issues in life than man love and scissor action. Raccoons, for example, are a problem. 

No, my problem isn’t with the homosexual community. My problem is with the scientific community. Which is it? Can we change who we are, or can’t we? If we can’t, then I’m going to stop going to the gym. Lifting heavy things is hard and it makes me stink. But, if we can change who we are, then I’ll keep up the hard work and continue improving myself. And while I’m at it, are eggs bad for you or are they not?

My guess is that this is all a bunch of nonsense created by people that aren’t smart enough to cure cancer in order to give them some sense of misguided accomplishment. Yeah, don’t cure the world of horrible diseases. Instead, tell the fat and lazy that it’s not their fault. Nice going Alabama.

These are two examples of unacceptable contradictions in our society. Where are the pro-choicers marching on the courthouse steps for Ariel Castro’s rights? Why isn’t the gay community parading down to Alabama for a rainbow reality check? I’ll tell you where they are. They’re home, making soup, watching their favorite television show like good Americans. Because we only speak up when the shit hits the fan. Unfortunately, it’s usually too late when it does.

Reality television has many different genres like scripted television. By the way, I hate the term scripted television, as most reality based programming is equally scripted. How else do you explain all of those unhappy, underpaid reality writers? Anyway, back to the whole genre thing.

In the world of reality television there is Comedy (Gene Simmons Family Jewels, a sitcom if I ever saw one), Drama (Intervention, 48 Hours), Horror (Infested), Romance (The Bachelorette), Action (Cops), Thriller & Suspense (Deadliest Catch), and Game Shows (American Idol, The Voice). Then there are the crossovers like Duck Dynasty, Basketball Wives, The Amazing Race, and Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown, and everything between. My point is, you’re watching one, some, or all of these shows. You watch reality television and there’s nothing wrong with that. Not all of it is trash. Just as it is with “scripted” television, there are good shows and there are bad shows. Stop being a snob.

So, now that we got that out of the way, let’s talk about today’s lesson. Yes, we can all learn something from watching reality television. Whether it’s human behavior, geography, or a how to, there is a lesson to be learned.

My wife is a big fan of The Voice. She loves that show. I often hear her laughing, clapping, and sometimes, complaining. She likes the judges, first. Then she picks her favorite contestants. Hearing her laugh makes me go downstairs to watch. I’m not hip on the game shows. I like Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown. Not only is he a witty host, but you get to experience exotic locations through him. Back to game shows.

I’m watching The Voice with my lovely wife last night and I see something happen that I often see happen in these type of talent competition shows. I see a contestant that is very good at singing in a certain genre of music. In fact, he would probably sell records. He is a soul singer with a unique voice that’s missing in today’s music world. The dude has pipes. Last night, this guy is in a knockout round with a girl that was saved from elimination by one of the judges in an earlier episode. As far as I’m concerned, this girl is toast. There is no way she’s beating soul man. Then it happens. Soul man tells his mentor that he wants to show another side of his talent and sing a pop/rock song; that he’s not all about soul all the time. I turned to my wife and said, “He’s going home.”

How could I be so sure? Easy. Soul man was attempting to do something that he’s not known and well-liked for. The judges loved him because of his soulfulness. The crowd loved him for the same. And, guess what? America loved him for the same reason! So the knockout round began and the girl sang her heart out. She was good. She had passion. But most importantly, she stuck to her known talent. Soul man raped the song he performed. It was horrendous. Adios, partner. Yep, he went home, even though, in my humble opinion, he was and is the better singer in the long run.

So, what’s the lesson?

Whether you’re an artist, carpenter, athlete, or salesman, stick to what you’re good at doing. Just because you know of some things, may have dabbled a bit in them, or would one day like to aspire to do, doesn’t mean you should go balls out for the whole world to prove this other side. Michael Jordan, one of the greatest basketball players in the history of the NBA, retired from basketball to play minor league baseball. Guess what happened? He sucked and was a punchline for many people. He came back to the NBA and ended his legendary career like a mouse. Stephen King tried to direct a film. It sucked. Elvis tried to act. Bruce Willis put out an album. So did Eddie Murphy! Sucked. Sucked. Sucked. If you are really good at one thing then do that one thing and show the world who’s king! Otherwise, you’ll just end up looking like a joker.

If soul man would have just rode that wave of success he was having with his soul music, he would’ve ended up in the finals, battling it out for numero uno. Instead, he’s back home now watching reruns of his 15 minutes, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar, and having fits of uncontrollable weeping.

Now, I know what you are thinking. You’re saying to yourself, “Well, what about Clint Eastwood, Jennifer Hudson, Magic Johnson, Leonardo da Vinci?” First, let me say that you’re most likely not like any of those people. Those are the rare individuals who possess multiple talents. If you’re thinking to yourself right now, “Eastwood? He sucks as an actor!” I’m not talking about his acting/directing. Clint Eastwood is a helluva jazz artist and composer, as well as an Oscar winning director. And Magic Johnson went from NBA star, to HIV star, to high power billionaire business star. Hudson can sing the moon into an adjusted orbit and she’s an Oscar winning actress! And da Vinci is still making waves with his lunacy. These people and those like them are exceptions and they work hard at being an exception. So, if you want to be an exception to the rule, you better start working your tail off. It’s not going to be easy. Or, you can find something you’re really good at and do that one thing and show the world who’s king. What’s it going to be?

If you’re a creative writer and want to write for a newspaper, try getting a gig as a columnist and not a reporter. Otherwise, don’t spend too long in the journalistic trenches.

Comedian Kathleen Madigan recording TV special in Royal Oak – theoaklandpress.com.

This world has become one giant soft spot on a baby’s head. We’re so sensitive that we can’t even rely on common sense or common decency. Our laws and corporate regulations have forced us into this weariness and hyperbole. We spend our time worrying about things that will never happen to us, because “they” tell us to worry. Oh sure, they also tell us to go on living our normal lives, be productive, contribute to the common good, but why should we? Why should we contribute to the common good when we can’t even use our common sense? It’s all around us. Everywhere you look, there is a warning, a rule, a regulation that is unwarranted.

I’m looking at a bottle of bleach right now and it says on the back, “Harmful if swallowed. Do not get in eyes.” Listen, if you’re dowsing your baby blues with bleach to get the redness out then you deserve everything you get in life. If you’re gargling a mouthful of toilet bowl cleaner to help fight gingivitis then you shouldn’t be missed when you’re gone. And just so you know, shampoo burns your eyes, gasoline is flammable, and a bomber doesn’t go around blurting out the word “bomb” before he blows something up.

Despite popular belief, if someone is going to kill you, or a hundred people, or thousands, they are not going to warn you first. Life isn’t a comic book. It isn’t an action movie. The villain doesn’t monologue before he dumps you into a tank full of sharks. No, instead, the bad guys just pull the trigger, press the detonation button, or light the fuse. The Boston bombers did not yell out bomb before setting them off and a terrorist boarding a plane will not confide in a stranger that he has a bomb before take off. And for the record, he’s not going to confess that he has a bomb when the TSA shlub with the rubber glove asks if he has any weapons. Stop asking!

Point is, the word bomb is not a threat. A bomb is a threat. In the meantime, we let jackasses like Richard Falk go around saying whatever he wants in the U.N. I’ll save that rant for another time. Until then, don’t let “them” tell you how to think. Use your noggin. Be an individual. For the love of everything good and pure, have some dignity.

So, I started to park and what did I see? I saw a grocery cart in the space. It was in the mother-lovin parking space sitting up against the metal post of the corral! Some mouth breathing, wedgie picking slob of a human being was too lazy to walk two feet and deposit the cart into the corral! Two feet! Immediately, the blood vessels in my head started to throb, my throat tightened, and I felt a fire rising up in me. I turned to my son and said, “You have got to be kidding me! Pay attention to this, son. This is a great lesson in human behavior. Most people are monkeys and through pure initiative and purpose, you can rule the monkeys.”

I hate the monkeys. Not the band. They’re all right. Not bad for a couple actors forced to become an American version of The Beatles. They didn’t quite make it, but everybody still knows who they are… were. Some are dead. One is dead. Anyway, the monkeys I’m referring to are the kind I just railed against above. The world is full of them. Unfortunately for the rest of us that are trying to live a happy and fulfilling life on this planet, technology and modern medicine has allowed these cousin-lovers to go on living. If we lived during the Stone Age, nature would have selected the monkeys to go bye-bye. So, how do you spot a monkey? Or better yet, how do you tell if you’re a monkey or not? Here are a few to get you started.

The Let Everybody In Traffic Monkey

This is the guy who is always five car lengths short of the light, waving everybody to cut in or across oncoming traffic. He’s the guy that will stay stopped even after the light turns green in order to allow EVERYBODY to join the fun! This is also the guy that causes more traffic accidents than a cellphone.

The Bluetooth Monkey

Speaking of cellphone… This is the guy who talks to thin air in the middle of a restaurant. He feels that he must talk loud, because he has a dull understanding of modern phone technology. This guy is worse than a jukebox stuck on Right Said Fred’s I’m Too Sexy. If you spot a bluetooth monkey, do everyone in the immediate area a solid. Walk up to his table and start talking as loud as you can to the invisible person next to him. He’ll get the picture.

The It’s Not Mine So I Don’t Have To Care About It Monkey

This guy is the worst of all the other monkeys. He takes no responsibility for anything. He is basically ignoring the rules of society and is only out for numero uno. He’s the guy at the gym who doesn’t put the weights away or wipe off the bench. He’s the guy at the store that changes his mind about buying butter then stuffs it on the canned goods shelf. He’s the guy that tosses his trash out the window, who puts his feet on the chair at the movie theater, who cuts you off in traffic. He’s everyone’s nemesis and must be stopped before something terrible happens.

There are many more monkeys, but I don’t have the time or the patience to list through them all. It boils my nuts. So, to all you monkeys and would be monkeys, please, whatever it is that you are doing, take a moment to realize that you are part of a large group of people known as the human race. We depend on each other. The rest of us are pulling our weight and yours. It won’t last long, though. Sooner or later, the rest of us are going to let go of the rope. Then you’re going to be neck deep in your own feces wondering what the hell just happened.

According to the old and forgotten, the folks we hide away in our nursing homes and back rooms, gray-haired prisoners to medieval racks called hospital beds, it was once obtainable and is out there somewhere. Terms like bootstraps, hard work, putting your back against the wind fall on deaf ears, retarded by the years of noise from D.C., Hollywood, and talking heads we call journalists, but who bear little resemblance to truth seekers glorified in overpriced universities across this nation of ours.

Yes, the American Dream is nothing but a daydream now. It’s wishful thinking, a resurrection waiting to happen. But the three days prophesied by the true American believers have a tiny problem. The tomb is not empty. The bones of saints, patriots, mom and pop businesses, rights, and liberties are piled high and dry. The stone has been rolled away, but not because the dream has risen, but because the tomb is overflowing and stinks.

Death is all around. It’s in our cities, our homes, our dreams, and our future. Our brain’s short memory, and inability to read and understand history, believes it started on September 11, 2001. That was the apex, not the beginning. Our moral decline, as well as our pursuit of happiness met its demise long before we even took notice. It started during the Great Depression, the era of when the American Dream was at its highest. It was at that time, the moment of when the Dream was no longer a philosophy of life here in these United States, but it became a mantra, propaganda for the political machine to dust over the weariness of the people. It was a time of when the answer to America’s problems was war and not change. And it is a mantra we continue to this day.

We no longer fight wars to protect the freedom of the American people, but we fight wars to spread the mantra, to protect our economic interests, and to raise our flag on foreign soil as a testament to that mantra. All the while, back at home, we sit silently by, sacrificing not our lifestyles, but our freedom, our liberty, the very thing our leaders claim our boys and girls are fighting and dying for in the wastelands of prehistoric nations.  We argue about speeches and bullet points. We foam at the mouth and seethe and gnash our teeth at our neighbor because they are gay, Christian, black, white, men, or women. We want to be left alone, allowed to grow fat and weary at the same time. All the while, we post photos of flag draped coffins, empty boots, and weeping families with the words “Support Our Troops” in bold letters above them. Yet, our support is empty, because it has no meaning. We’ve been duped into believing that our children die for our freedom. But if that were true, the frontline of our moral wars of liberation would be among the monuments of D.C., at the steps of the Capitol Building, White House, and Supreme Court. However, we’ve become house pets, dogs that receive pats on the head for good behavior. Only if we would wake up, our leaders would fear the dog, not because of the roar of its bark, but because of the pain of its bite. But, they know better. They know that the dog is on a tight leash called money, behind a fence called contentment, in a yard called apathy.

Yes, the American Dream is nothing but the American Daydream, because daydreamers never act. They stare with sweet sorrow out the window of discontent and think only of what if. They are “C” students who only want enough money to buy entertainment, all the while crying for more, but never really doing anything about it. And the dog gets its scraps, thinking it is a part of the family, but never really given a seat at the table. Its master rests comfortably on a bed strewn with silk sheets and soft pillows, because he knows that the dog is in the yard. He knows that the dog will always be in the yard, because a dog never bites the hand that feeds it. And so, the Dream is dead and the only thing that can pull it from the cold grip of its leaderless grave is a miracle or for the dogs of discontent to break from the leash, jump the fence, leaving the comfort of the yard and dig up those dried old bones, and finally reclaim that which is theirs – the American Dream.

Gone are the days when bully meant a good time. Of course, I’m of the age where the word bully never meant having a good time. However, I read enough and have seen enough period films to know this vintage meaning. Like many words, though, bully has been hijacked and now means the exact opposite of having a good time. If you are having a bully of a time, right now, you’re usually in the worst way.

I hate bullies. I’ve always hated them. Every fist fight I’ve ever gotten into as a kid was because of a bully. Up until 10th grade, I usually got a good ass whooping by a bully. That all changed half way through high school for a couple of reasons. I’ll get to those reasons in a minute.

Bullies take on many forms. For children, it’s usually a physical bully. However, there are social bullies, too. At least the physical bully just kicks your ass. The social bully, though, makes his or her victim feel like a pariah. The social bully is one of the worst kinds of bullies, in my opinion.

Another kind of bully is the emotional bully. This is the bully who manipulates people through shame or guilt in order to get their own way. I hate them, too. Most politicians are emotional bullies, as well as cult leaders, some religious leaders, and some celebrities.

Bullies exist for two reasons.

1. They are insecure, wasted meat-bags, who think by making other people miserable somehow validates their existence.
2. They are hardly put in their place and taught the proper rules of a civil society.

Bullies never go away. They are just reinvented. As you grow older, you meet bullies of all ages (see number two above). Most are not of the physical nature, but are of the emotional and social nature. However, all bullies can be handled the same way – by confronting them.

While in high school during my 10th and 11th year, I participated in quite a few altercations, of which I was the victor. I had come to a point in my life where I wasn’t going to be intimidated any longer by anyone. I spent, what seemed like a lifetime, being pushed around by knuckleheads. I remember the day of my unholy decision to kick ass and take names later. It was on a kid that wasn’t bullying me, but was beating down another kid. It was the beginning of the end for those that thought they could pick on me. I spent those two years fighting some of my own battles, but many battles that belonged to others. They were a crazy two years.

Then in my senior year, I switched schools. By this time, my confidence level was very high. I no longer needed to throw fists to prove a point. I carried myself differently. I no longer walked with my head down, but with my shoulders back and my chin held high. I was not arrogant. I was confident. On my first day in the new school, I was challenged by a bully. He wanted to fight me in the worst way. I spoke boldly and held of an ass beating I’m sure I would have received. He was a big kid. We became friends later. Not good friends or best friends, but friends, nonetheless.

In the military, bullies were still very physical. There were a lot of brawls during those days. Good time, bar stool breaking brawls that my friends and I would laugh about the next day while driving to the doctor to get something fixed. Running into a bully in those days was looked upon as an opportunity and not a curse. We had a lot of pent up energy and, of course, liquid courage to egg us on. They were the best of times and the worst of times. I have a chipped tooth and flat knuckles to show for it.

Now that I’m in my forties, I no longer run into the bully looking for a physical fight. Yeah, there are a few of those lingering around in the shadows, but they are just sad, pitiful men that I ignore. No, most bullies these days, for me, are social or emotional. They are handled just the same as in the good old wild days of my youth. I give them a good ass beating, but with my words, rather than my fists.

So, how do you handle a bully? You confront them on their terms.

If you are young enough to handle a punch then kick that bully’s ass. Give him or her a good beating, kids. Who cares if you lose the fight? No one likes to get bit by a Chihuahua just the same as a Pitbull. They both hurt even if it doesn’t kill you. Let bullies know that the dog bites, for crying out loud.

If the bully is of the social or emotional kind, confront them verbally. However, when you do, make sure it is in front of other people. You can either kill them with kindness or by setting the record straight. Either way, you’re going to make them look foolish in the eyes of those watching and they won’t be able to change the story later for other people. You have witnesses.

One last note and disclaimer. There are now virtual bullies in our midst. Of course, these are the nameless and faceless cowards of the internet. Here’s a way to handle them. Block, ignore, or merely delete your profile on the boards these taints occupy. So what you don’t get to chat about the latest fill in the blank! These type of bullies are the easiest to get rid of. You just simply hit a button. Click, done and gone. Not every encounter with a bully needs to be confrontational. Use your head and realize the path of least resistance can be a wise choice sometimes.

How do you deal with a bully?

Available in print and Kindle today!

No! I am not going to review my own book. That’s crazy! If I did, I’d write a really short review: it’s great. Of course, I wrote it. To say anything else is equally crazy. However, I will talk (write), whatever, about it.

Today is the day! Yes, today is the official release of my new novel, The Final Round. I wanted to write about the release, because you never really hear from authors on the day of a release. You read interviews conducted weeks in advance, hear soundbites from publishers and critics, and maybe get a tweet or Facebook status announcing the release, but no one ever really tells you anything about the day. Well, your wait is over. I’m going to tell you about the day.

The Final Round is the result of three and a half years of hard work. It originally started out as a screenplay. I’m not sure how many novels start out as screenplays, but I’m betting it’s not a lot. I will say, though, that the great thing about having a screenplay, is that it’s like having a very detailed outline. That’s not to say there isn’t a lot of work involved, but it’s still extremely helpful.

Three and a half years ago, my good friend, Chuck Grady, approached me about writing a screenplay. Chuck is a film director. He’s had a successful run on the festival circuit with a couple of short films he made and was ready for a feature. The problem, of course, is that Chuck did not have a script, and he can’t write. Well, he can write. He just can’t write good–well! I meant well.

I told Chuck I would love to write a script for him and asked if he had anything in mind. He didn’t know, but said he’d let me know when he did. A couple months later and Chuck called me.

“Hey, look up Billy Miske,” he said.

I typed the name Billy Miske into Google and discovered a great story that no one really knew anything about. I called Chuck back.

“That’s a movie,” I said.

“Let’s do it,” he responded.

So, we met for lunch to discuss the idea, agreed on a theme and a plot, then I went to work. Initial research lasted three months and then it wasn’t long after that, I had a first draft. It was pretty good. But, as we all know, first drafts are never good enough. It was a starting point. The first draft shows that you actually have a story worth telling. Over the next two years, after more research, Chuck speaking with Miske family members, buying books with excerpts about Billy, finding every bit of information we could on this shadow from the 1920′s, I wrote the twenty-fourth and final draft. Whew!

It was great! We had a table read with actors and they openly wept, accused me of breaking their hearts, begged for parts in the film. I was satisfied. It was a big difference from the first table read on an earlier draft. When that one was through, I wanted to jump off a building. Anyway, the script was finished and now Chuck needed to raise the funds to get it made. Big things are in the mix, but it’s a long process. In the meantime, I decided that it would make a great novel. So, I wrote the book and today is the day.

Writing the book was fun, exciting, and a lot of work. I had to do even more research on the era and expand on subplots. In the movie world, you get an Art Director to fill in the blanks during production and subplots are slashed or shortened for time. However, in the world of prose, I have only the limit of the blank page, as well as, the disparity of the blank page. Now it was up to me to paint the picture and tell the story. That’s what I mean by fun and hard (that’s what she said).

I based the Final Round on the true story of Billy Miske, a heavyweight prizefighter from the early 20th century. This is a novel and not a biography. There’s a bio out there called Billy Miske: The St. Paul Thunderbolt, written by Clay Moyle. It covers Billy’s fighting career rather well; however, his personal life is still a shadow. Chuck spoke with Mr. Moyle during our research. The Final Round isn’t about Billy’s fighting career, although I cover the big fights like Dempsey and Battling Levinsky. My book is a dramatic retelling of a man’s journey from obscurity to legend. It truly is an incredible and inspiring story.

What is today like? I’m filled with relief. This project has consumed my life for three and a half years. I’m excited to see how it’s received. It’s a fine novel, full of blood, sweat, and tears, both literally and figuratively. If you don’t know anything about Billy Miske, the ending will surprise you. If you do know about him, I hope you’ll find my interpretation satisfying.

So, what now? Well, for you, go buy the book. It’s available in print and Kindle. For me, I’m starting a new book today. It’s a thriller called, The Scarlet. It’s creeping me out just thinking about it. I think it’s going to be rather good. I’ll chime in now-and-then here on the blog and let you know how it’s going. I may be sporadic in my posts, though. Writing a book tends to eat up all my time. Thanks for understanding.

One last thing. Each month, I’m giving away a signed copy of The Final Round. What? How do I get one? That’s amazing, Gary! You’re so generous, kind, and loving. And might I add, good looking, too? Yes, you may. Sorry.

What was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. Free stuff with my signature. The only way you can win a signed copy of my book is by becoming a fan of my Facebook page. Each month, a name is actually drawn from a hat and I send that lucky individual a book. Go to www.facebook.com/gwallisonjr and get in the game! This month’s winner is Joan Verla! Hooray, Joan!

That’s it. Gotta go. I have some work to do. Thanks for reading!