Time of the Season

Throughout my life I have been a questioner. My favorite question has always been, Why?

The life of an undercover is a lonely life. I learned that early on. I also learned that all my attention and concentration had to be directed at the investigation. I can’t afford to be thinking about home.

Maybe it would have been different if I had had children, but her “operation” put the kibosh on that. I noticed when reading her obit that she went on to have children. Then there are the rumors, but officially I never had children.

My last divorce took place because of abandonment. She was absent nine years out of 12. When my father passed, I was alone. When I had my arm operated on, I was alone. When I had my heart attack, I was alone.  When my mother passed, I was alone.Five different times I had a pet die, I was alone.  When I fell off the wagon, I was alone.

When I think back over my life’s work I was alone for most of it. Part of the time by choice, part of the time by circumstance and part of time due to abandonment. I realize that her abandonment of me was mostly my fault since that is probably how she felt when my work took me away for extended times. She was just doing to me what I had done to her.

Prior to my heart attack I think I would have classified myself as an “A-type” personality. I lived for work, the action and adrenalin of the job.  It took a couple of years after the heart attack for me to actually slow down and come to grips with the fact that some where along the line I got old.

Not just old but sentimental and  pensive. I find myself crying at TV shows, commercials, sappy e-mails, the sight of Old Glory, hearing Taps, babies and puppies. A man who went through a gory war, stepped across bodies, who visited a multitude of fatal crime scenes, and autopsies with nary a flinch, now can’t seem to go a day without the water works. Is it just age or it is that I have finally come to the point where I realize man is not supposed to be alone. Are the tears sentimentality or a manifestation of loneliness?

I have no answers. I am still asking … Why?

Paper Boats

I have decided to cross some of my poems from Author’s Den to this site. I hope you enjoy them. Please feel free to comment, critique or ask questions.

PAPER BOATS

There’s a great way to traverse the entire universe
Paper boats will transport you wherever you please
Next door, across the galaxy, places quite diverse
Foreign lands or adventure on the seven seas.

Covered pennings that paint pictures in your mind
Creations that enlighten the mind and the soul
Tales from the past, present and future of mankind
Talking leaves that you experience and control.

Paper boats floating along a river of dreams
Offering other realities and new places
Myriads of concepts with a bounty of themes
Printed syllabary erecting knowledge’s staircases.

Open the binding, live the words and take a trip
Journey wondrous word ways aboard a paper boat
Steer a masterly course sailing the author’s ship
Guided by the talking leaves so lovingly wrote.

Growing Up Weird

I am not going to go into specifics as to why I have to write this. 

I started working early in life, paper routes, and summer jobs. My childhood ended early. As a military brat I moved around a lot. I was forever leaving friends behind. Eventually I avoided making friends. In many ways I matured early, and in others I never grew up. I remember being taunted by other kids for being “quiet”. I learned to stand my ground. I got beat up a lot, but I also got some licks in of my own. Eventually I became a danger in a fight because I just didn’t give a fig. I learned to avoid physical altercations if at all possible because I learned I could do  serious damage, maim and even kill. I spent a lot of time reading. It was my escape, my salvation.  I was able to communicate with adults but not with others my own age.  Regardless of my intelligence or my ability to communicate I was in many ways socially awkward. 

Even today the people around me would consider me quiet, but I am finding out the hard way that people I have known 40 to 50 years still consider me weird.  Part of it could be the nature of my career. A job which changed daily. I moved fluidly between my roles as criminal investigator, undercover investigator, bodyguard,  security consultant, intelligence analyst, and soldier. I learned to play my cards close to my chest. I learned to move in the shadows. I kept my own counsel.  Because of my job and a few personal situations in which I got severely burned, I became very cynical and distrusting.  I never opened up completely to anyone.  I was quite comfortable being someone else when working undercover. It was always easier than being me.

My memories of High School and before are fragmented and disjointed. I am not sure how much is age related or how much is due to head injuries.  There also was a period of time in my life when I abused the heck out of alcohol. For what ever reason my memories of that time of my life are not as sharp as I wish they were. I have reconnected with a few of my High School acquaintances.  Some have mellowed over the years, for others High School was their peak. They have for the most part lead interesting lives but I sense their bemusement when I mention people I have known and places I have been and historical events  where I was there or on the periphery.  To many of them I am still that awkward weird guy from High School.

I have asked that they read my writings, either the poetry or short stories posted at Author’s Den. If they have, there are no indications either verbal or written that they have.  I know that my writing is insightful and that it gives the reader a window to my soul, so either they chose not to look in that window or they really have no desire to actually know me.

I write political articles over at Fort Hard Knox. The articles are from a conservative viewpoint. They are not for everyone, but you would think out of over 500 friends on Face Book and Twitter that when I post about a new article that at least a few people would click on my links and read. Instead my articles get read by strangers; people using search engines. 

So what do I glean from all of this? Most of my friends and acquaintances really have no desire to know me or to read my writings, either fiction or non-fiction.  I know I have a few dedicated friends in OK, NS and SA and I will be eternally grateful to them.

I have always felt a bit out of step. Perhaps I am a hold over from the past or maybe a harbinger of things to come. Perhaps someone in the future will come across my writings and recognize their depth. I don’t write for monetary reward. I write for the same reason I served my Country for thirty-two years, to gain a little respect.  My achievements for my Country are now locked away in some super secret bunker and my writings… well they languish away mostly unread in a world where there are few readers and even fewer thinkers.

Most men leave behind progeny, I leave some writings, some written thoughts.  I am almost positive that as a person I will be forgotten before the ink is dry on my death certificate because I am unknown by those around me.

Stepping Out

Those who are close to me know that I am a recovering alcoholic. I kept this fact hidden for many years. I started drinking at a young age but at that time it wasn’t a problem. It became a problem when I was in my early twenties and continues to be problem even though at this time I no longer drink.

For many years after I quit drinking I was a dry drunk. I tried to “cure” myself without help but kept slipping. I finally found my way to A.A. While in A.A. I became acquainted with the 12 Steps and I learned the hard way that these “Steps” were not just a list to be accomplished once and then forgotten. They are a life style one in which you must constantly practice the steps.

I have performed the steps many times and will continue to do so. The reason for my writing this may seem strange to many but hopefully I can elucidate well enough that all may understand.

I began drinking heavily due to a traumatic event in my life and from that point on I abused alcohol to lessen any pain I was feeling. Step 8 of the 12 steps says:

Make a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

I have done this many times but prior to now I have always limited my list to those I hurt after alcohol took control of my life. Now I would like to apologize for the event that started me down the road of alcoholism.

For a long time I blamed everyone else involved except myself. I have come to realize that the blame was only mine. When broached about my actions I failed to take responsibility for them, instead I tried to shift the blame. This was wrong of me.

Step 9 says:

Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

This precludes me from explaining exactly who and what my offense involved. The other people involved do not need me digging up things better left buried. As best I can tell from observation they are happy now and a direct amend would only harm them.

Step 10 says:

Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

This step is the reason I am writing this entry. While taking a personal inventory I realized how my cowardice affected the others involved. Regardless of the risks I took afterwards, regardless of any acts of heroism I performed, regardless of my good deeds; my life has been defined by that single act of spinelessness.

I was wrong. I should have stood up and claimed responsibility for my actions. By not doing so I probably deprived myself of true love and that is something I deeply regret.

Motivation

When I wrote my first novel, Ghost Ranger, I had several people around me that I could bounce ideas, words, phrases and characters off, but sadly I have become more reclusive since then.

I also write occasional articles for another blog that primarily deals with politics although even my writing there has slacked off. It seems from reviewing the analytics that it is my older articles that become active. I was normally three to six months of the news curve. While that fact should be personally rewarding, it gives me very little motivation. My writing garners few if any comments. I do not know if the readers agree or disagree with me. I do not know if the readers even understand what I have written.

Sales of Ghost Ranger have been in a word, dismal. Two years of effort, re-writes, and editing and I am still searching for validation. People have said that they like the book. Some who haven’t even read it. I know this because I track sales. They are so few it is easy to track. A few close friends bought autographed copies and from discussions I know they read the book but I still am unsure about how they would rate it. Non-paid reviewers gave the book good reviews. A professional writer also liked the book.  That’s three people.

I have over 90 poems, and several short stories posted on Author’s Den but few comments. I have less than 10 followers there. Author’s Den analytics show that my work has been read many times but I have no idea what or who is reading it. 

My motivation in writing is not to get rich, although that would be nice. My aim is to entertain or inform, but without feedback I have no way of knowing whether I am accomplishing anything.

 I believe this is the reason that my second novel has not made it from my mind to paper. Why should I sweat, slave and worry about something that is meaningless to readers.

I have no progeny, no heirs to take pride in their ancestors. My activities in service to this Country will never really be known due to security classifications. Any contributions I have made are just redacted footnotes in some dossier.

So now I sit and wonder, “Why bother?”

Why I Write About Guns

In my first novel, Ghost Ranger, I frequently mention firearms. In the appendix of that novel I also list details about those weapons. It is not a fascination with firearms but a technical respect for them that causes me to mention them.

Throughout my law enforcement career I carried and used many different types of firearms.  Firearms were a tool of the trade and as a tool I had to know their capabilities and limitations.  Like in any other trade your chances of success will improve if you have the best tools and know how to properly use them.

There is always a big debate in gun circles as to which is best, a revolver or a semi-automatic. Then also there is the argument about which caliber is the best. In reality the best caliber means nothing if you can’t hit what you are aiming at. 

Whether you prefer a semi-automatic or a wheel gun (revolver) you have to be comfortable with that particular tool. If going into a situation where the odds are five to one and I know every antagonist there will be armed it only makes sense for me to carry a semi-automatic since they are capable in most cases of holding more ammunition and of being reloaded quickly. I have gone into situations with only a two shot derringer because that’s what the situation required. I wasn’t going in looking for a gun fight but I was going in with self preservation my primary concern.

Bullets come in many types. There are full metal jacketed, lead round nosed, lead wad cutters, semi-wad cutters, hollow point, frangible,  inverted wad cutters, semi- jacketed, solid copper,  jacketed soft point, armor piercing,  and shot shells. They each have their own pros and cons. Ammunition can be either sub-sonic, sonic or THV (tres haute vitesse, “very high speed). If using a silencer or suppressor it is best to use a sub-sonic round. Sub-sonic is less that 1000 feet per second muzzle velocity.

Like weapons and ammunitions there is a large debate about holsters. There are owb (outside waistband), iwb (inside waistband), mob (middle of back), belly band, shoulder holsters, ankle holsters, pancake, pocket holsters, groin holsters, chest holsters, thigh holsters, and duty holsters. They are made from nylon, kydex, leather, and cloth.

No matter which type of holster you use, you must practice extensively with it so drawing the weapon becomes second nature. (Always practice with a thrice checked UNLOADED weapon). When I change holsters or type of firearm I try to practice for at least a couple of hours for several days in a row. After that I continue dry practice for a couple of times a week.

In my writing I write what I know. This gem of knowledge has been passed down through every writing course I have studied and I believe it is key to a believable story.  I include guns in my stories because they are an integral tool of my protagonists. Personally I support and will defend our 2d Amendment rights and encourage every citizen to do so.

Even if you are not comfortable around guns I urge you to support either the NRA, the GOA or other 2d Amendment Rights groups. I also would also advise every citizen whether they own a gun or not to take a gun safety course and at least familiarize themselves with all aspects of gun operation and safety.