#IWSG – OCTOBER CHECK IN - “WHEN DO YOU KNOW YOUR STORY IS DONE?”

The awesome co-hosts for the October 5 posting of the IWSG are: 

Beverly Stowe McClure, 

Megan Morgan,

 Madeline Mora-Summonte,

 Angela Wooldridge, and Susan Gourley!

This is a terrific question, but I've written exactly one story, for #StoryTime Bloghop, that is part of a larger opus. You can read it here at: "The Day The Cat Got Out" I had to stop at 1000 words, as it is a flash-fiction type of challenge and the ending for it is perfect, I think. But, I'm not any good at knowing when a story should be done, or if you just edit your way to an ending and hope for the best.

Now, my father loved to read, when he was alive and he was a champion drinker and philosophizer and when he would get to talking about the authors he enjoyed reading, he would come up with some pretty funny stuff. He never tried to write, but he would say things like, “If I were going to write a story, it would be something like this: [There was a man. He lived and died. The end.] I think it lacks something in the detail, though.” He never took the art of trying to create something very seriously, or rather, he had never really thought the process through.

courtesy:youtube.com                                         

My mom, on the other hand, wrote poetry and I believe she was quite good, but for a long time, she wrote only for herself and would never let anyone see what she had written. She eventually had some of her poetry published and won a few competitions and I read some of it, and while I enjoy it, it's the kind of poetry that I envision ladies of a certain era, say the in early '30s, would read at a summer's tea. Rather innocuous and pretty, painting pictures of little forest animals frolicking or something. I rather expect my poetry to evoke feelings of intense emotion; loss, rage, or passion unleashed. Poetry is a perfect art form, at least to me for emotions such as these. Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach" is one of the finest pieces of poetry I've ever read of this type and it just smacks you in the face at the end. It's one of the reasons I love Shakespeare's plays.

My introduction to poetry was not very secure, although it had its hilarious moments - just ask Robert Lee Haycock - and it wasn't until University that I discovered the poetry of D. H. Lawrence. His poem, “Black Snake” was a revelation to me and I fell in love with poetry from then on. But, as per usual I've entirely digressed.

The truth is this; I don't know when my story is done. I haven't become that mature a writer yet. I seem to be quickly getting to that point, but I cannot give anyone any advice on how to end a story gracefully or even badly. I honestly thought we were going to write about “What Music Means to Me”, and where I got that idea from, I don't know, some kind of wish-fever-dream, since it has NOTHING to do with writing! But, I would have a LOT to say about that! Happy #IWSG'ing.

And Don’t Forget the 2016 IWSG Anthology Contest!

Last year’s contest was science fiction — parallel world/alternate history — and the result wasParallels: Felix Was Here. This year, there’s a new theme and all members are invited to submit.

 Eligibility: Any member of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group is encouraged to enter — blogging or Facebook member. The story must be previously unpublished. Entry is free.

 Word count: 3000-6000

Genre: Fantasy

Theme: Hero Lost. It could be about a hero turned villain, a villain’s redemption, a hero’s lack of confidence, a hero’s lack of smarts, etc. It can be about any kind of hero including superheroes, mythological heroes, unexpected or unlikely heroes, or a whole new kind of hero. This theme has plenty of scope and we’re open to pretty much anything along these lines. No erotica, R-rated language, or graphic violence.

 Deadline: November 1st, 2016

How to enter: Send your polished, formatted, previously unpublished story to admin @ insecurewriterssupportgroup.com before the deadline passes. Please include your contact details and if you are part of the Blogging or Facebook IWSG group.

 Judging: The IWSG admins will create a shortlist of the best stories. The shortlist will then be sent to our official judges.

Prizes: The winning stories will be edited and published by Freedom Fox Press next year in the IWSG anthology. Authors will receive royalties on books sold, both print and eBook. The top story will have the honor of giving the anthology its title.

We’re excited to see the creativity and enthusiasm that’s such a part of this group put into action. So don your creative caps and start writing. And spread the word!

#AMWRITING #BLOGGING - THROWBACK THURSDAY - THE HISTORY OF ROAD CONSTRUCTION

GALLNNNN!

Heh. Made ya look!

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Note: This is a new addition I'm going to attempt to add on Thursdays. Facebook keeps barfing up old posts of mine from the dim, dark past of my homeless shelter days and a bit after. I've recently started to re-read some of the stuff I wrote back then, and apparently, I was in some drug-induced haze of inventiveness when I wrote this gem. This is also from around the time my brain took a va-cay and didn't invite my body along, so I think I can be forgiven, if I really don't quite remember writing this. Reading it though I do have to say this; it's my baby!

This was written about the time I started to show really overt signs of my essential tremor and no one had any clue what in the hell I was talking about. It also involves my eyesight, which is another swell thing to deal with.

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When you have something that is not necessarily so definitive, doctors like to sit on fences. All well and good for their malpractice rates, but hell for the patients. I’ve just had enough of the psychoses and all the other little treats that are not so slowly being unveiled. The fourth of October can’t get here fast enough. I’m sure I’ll have to play the kind of game you get to play when you go to the Optometrist.

You know the one where they put the combination Wheel-of-Fortune-Darth-Vader-helmet-minus-the-helm doo-dad in front of your eyes and start alternating lenses. Then ask, “Is number one better? Or…is number 2 better?” Frankly, every damned one of those things ever in my entire life was a smeared blur with a light in the distance. They could have painted butter on one lens, motor oil on another, and cheese cake on the rest for all the clarity I ever experienced. I would mumble some kind of response and half an hour later would walk out with a pair of glasses that would take residence under the front seat of my car for the next year, until I received my friendly reminder, telling me it was time for my next eye appointment. I’m so glad I had vision insurance, as well as car insurance.

Driving. Ah, yes, driving. At the beginning of a friend's post, she talks about all of the wonderful construction and how it puts our nation's highway system in some kind of stasis. Yes, it has, for centuries. It has been going on for eternity. Dinosaurs were originally used for Highway Stasis back when the earth was first cooling and it was then that the first roads were laid. These roads were pronounced good and have remained pretty much the same to this day. Oh, there may be talk of road expansion and a bit of hot patch thrown down now and again, but the original roads that brontosaurus and his cousins, backhoasaurus and goldbrickodactyl built are the foundations for all the roads traveled today.

As governments and empires rose and fell, it became necessary to justify huge expenditures of money that had been wrested from the peasantry. The wealthy oligarchs couldn’t continually have festivals and high holy holidays with all their conspicuous consumption, so they came up with public works. If they weren’t building giant eyesores in the name of Whobius Frippus, they were busy paving and re-paving and re-re-paving roads, some of which actually went places. Cue the dawn of an era. One Roman Emperor, Flambius Corpeum Dirge in a confused attempt to meld form and function tried to pave the Apian Way using an entire Circus. This failed miserably when the elephants trampled the midgets and dancing poodles. The only up side was that an idea was born, and the putative Emperor tossed aside the midgets and elephants and had the road paved by the poodles. And people wondered why the Roman Empire died in 479 A.D.

The Dark Ages were really, really dark. I think roads were pretty much optional and were infested with outlaws anyway. You had to practically go to the Holy land or back down around Rome to get a decent road or at least a path during the Dark Ages so, we’ll skip ahead shall we?

Okay, here we are. It’s about 2003, so you know we’ve skipped. I’m still playing between Tampa, Orlando, Melbourne, all over Florida and the Southeast, the roads of which are ALL in some kind of state of construction. If it’s not the magical slowdown for 6 hours, it’s the driving on uneven lanes. There are cones, barrels, construction workers looming up at you, even at night; it's frightening. It’s a mess and it’s constant. It’s been like this since I’ve been touring in the early 90s.

Anyway, one night I’m between Tampa and the Mauseschwitz, driving home after a gig, tired, with so many cones, barrels, uneven lanes and so much odd shit going on. I’m following the cones, like the good driver I am. They keep veering right, veering right, veering right. The lanes are uneven. Then, clunk! I’m not on the road! I’m still following the cones, following the cones…WTF? I find myself with about 45 other bewildered drivers in the middle of some empty field, milling around, driving in confused circles, just milling in circles, kicking up dust, wondering how in the hell we'd all gotten there. It was the Bermuda Triangle on land. We somehow all managed to stagger our way back out of the field AND without benefit of an entrance ramp, nor a flagman, crawled back up onto I-4. WTF? Maybe we were in some kind of bastard Roman Games, in the midst of bear-baiting gladiatorial games and part of chariot races? Clambering back up onto I-4 unscathed with nary a battle-mace in my side-door, which car insurance wouldn't cover, but would look cool on the wall. Time Warp? WTF?  Who knows? This is Florida, after all.

Isn't this the 275 interchange to Nebraska Avenue? Wrong century, dewd.

#AMWRITING #BLOGGING – IT MAY BE TIME FOR THAT REVOLT!

courtesy:pinterest.com     

Other than the most horrible election campaign in forever and the most divisive political and social climate in the USA's history since the pre-war antebellum years (prior to 1860) – at least it seems to me, and I do remember Selma, Alabama - there has really not been much to carp about in my life, until now.

I've been playing again regularly and writing. My life is my own and I have a sweet, sweet man in my life that I adore; the wait was well worth it. I play with computers and fix them and consult with think tanks and am pretty cutting-edge and I keep my skills sharp, and my wit sharper.

I don't let my essential tremor or weird eyesight stop me from doing anything – well, except maybe driving, 'cause no one wants Mary on the road. The 'hood is dangerous around here as it is. So, what is causing me to just want to yearn for the days when I could hop astride my battle-charger, grab my scimitar and lop off heads?

Medicaid. What a benighted, stupid, lazy and useless blight on the landscape. All social entities of this ilk fall under the same judgment, if all of my experiences are anything to go by.

The last time I went into a Defcon 1 state was when Jim was dying and Hospice sent out this Social Worker Manager, who did nothing but check her phone, her jewelry, diss the hard-working nurses and aides, and make eyes at Alex. When I was trying to get her attention to find out just what in the hell was going on, she started talking to me, got two words out, then her phone rang, and she just automatically answered it. She stuck a finger in my face, like "hold one!" and was attempting to plan a meeting. I waited, and then she proceeded to turn her call into a social visit.

I jerked that phone out of her hand and hung up on her caller. Karen (they're always a Karen, or a Kristen, or some goddamned preppy name, said “But I was planning Wednesday's Staff meeting!” I glared at her and said, “Lady? I don't give a fuck if you were planning the fate of the Free World with the U. N. You're with ME, now, bitch!” THAT got her attention.

When one is disabled and has to fight with this kind of thing CONSTANTLY, you learn to get militant in a hurry. Nice does not cut it. These people do not go into these fields to help people. They are not the “best and the brightest” of anything. They do so because they really aren't much good at doing anything else and they really aren't held to any "real" standards to prove that they are of exceptional worth.

This was brought home to me with a resounding thud last week, when, after careful planning by myself, and what I thought were my supplemental Insurance company, Medicare and Medicaid, I went ahead and had all of my upper teeth removed, and two lower ones. That was the easy part. As a matter of fact, the doctor was astonished. I have an enormously high pain threshold; maybe abnormally so. Between the time the administered the locals and pulled 17 teeth, I was in the chair, maybe 45 minutes, 15 of those jabbering at the Dental Assistant.

But, before I could have that done, Medicaid, as usual, threw me a curve ball. I had to pay for the entire thing UP FRONT. At first, I thought it would just be my “Share of Cost” which is the most goddamned stupid term in the entire universe. My share of cost is just 200.00 less than I get paid each month on my SSDI check. Now, how in the fuck am I supposed to live on that, if I can't meet my “share of cost”, even if it's one penny less?

I bit the bullet and paid. I've been suffering for a while. We Scots have horrible dentition anyway. My mom lost a child due to her rotten teeth. My dad had to have an upper plate when he was 57. I'm 60 and got this far. But, I've had abscess after abscess and as I've had congestive heart failure, that's asking for trouble. One of my medications I take for my breathing - COPD, which I barely feel - is also hard on dentition, too and there's no way around it, now matter how much you rinse after you use it. It's been getting harder and harder to eat, and that's an issue for me. I have trouble keeping weight on. So, the uppers had to go.

Anyway, I called Medicaid, and uploaded my bills and did what they told me to do. Today, I got a letter of denial from Medicaid. I think a picture says 1,000 words, so I'm just gonna post the bills and Medicaid's response, along with my response to Medicaid. I can't upload my response to them just now, because they use some fuckin' JAVA bullshit, but one way or another, this is gonna be a short ride for them, because I refuse to truckle with idiots.

    

Okay, this bill has my name on it.

Page 2 shows my signature and where I paid. To be fair, when I sent this to Medicaid, I had NOT signed this. I WILL be sending the SIGNED copy, if they can get their collective rectal craniotomies performed and fix their fucking JAVA. 

THIS. . . is what the fine folks at Medicaid sent back to me. I immediately lost it. I just cannot fucking believe that anyone there took a look at my bills. I wrote back, the following, attached as a note in that cute little red and yellow box up there as a note: 

ARE YOU KIDDING????? Before you send me another rejection, beware! This kind of shoddy treatment on the behalf of the State of Florida, Department of Children and Families will bring unwarranted attention! I went OUT of my way to ensure this very thing did not happen. I not only paid YOUR (reimbursable to ME, which is fucking LAME) portion out of pocket, I paid MY insurance cap's portion out of pocket.  I have another Dental Appointment for a deep cleaning on 9/26/2016 and am expecting to have an upper plate made. I have horrible dentition due to the medication I take for my COPD. I have had congestive heart failure, in the past and now suffer from essential tremor and am legally blind. I have a failure to thrive, partially due to being unable to chew properly and this is a medical necessity! What is wrong with you people? 

I live on a fixed income and am approximately 15.00 from going hungry and being homeless AGAIN, because you nameless gorms cannot look at paperwork and do your jobs. IF! IF I see one more rejection of this type, I am marching my ass down to the nearest TV station and showing them this whole debacle. I will also contact my State Senator, your supervisors and you will wish that you had at least learned to follow directions.

Am I clear on this? I certainly hope so, because I will not write another missive of this kind. I will act.

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Oh, Hi! Me again! I then fired off an email to State Senator Bill Nelson. My next step, if this is not settled to my satisfaction will be to call the local news station, Channel 8, and present them with this whole mess for their "8 On Your Side" Series. I got too much to do and I really, really don't need the aggravation right now, or ever, really. There was a time in this country when people didn't have to monkey around with this kind of horseshit and all I'm doing is doing the goddamned State Agencies' jobs for them. They are all leeches on society and this right here is one reason why the country has gone to hell and everything sucks!

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ADDENDUM: According to my treatment plan laid out by my Dentist I was to get my remaining teeth cleaned and two small fillings on the bottom. We got the cleaning done, but because the insurance is STILL showing up in the system as Preventative ONLY and not TOTAL care, which is what the card is showing that I have in my hand, I have to wait on that. It just gets worse and worse and I gave up my 24 transportation vouchers, which led to ANOTHER hassle for this! Stay tuned!