The 1st Chapter of Tempest Makers: Book 1 of the Apex Predator Trilogy

Sand the Color of Clay

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Patli heard movement from the mud-covered corpse he found earlier in the day. He looked up from the papers he found in the wreckage and watched the body move its limbs and roll onto its back. The creature opened its mouth, turned on its side, doubled over at the waist and moaned. Patli put down the writing he could not understand and left his place by the fire to walk through ankle-deep sand. He raised an arm to block the setting second sun from view and stood above the body.

"What do we have here? Pity. I thought you were dead." The Melovian scratched the base of the stubby gray horn closest to his eyes, rubbed his chin with the pads of all four claws of the left, and put the claws of both bottom arms on his hips.

Patli's companion called from his place by the fire as he stirred the contents of a pot. "To catch a human alive is rare to begin with, but when they arrive fresh to market you fetch a greater price." He craned his neck and watched the body writhe.

"True, Izel. True. One time after a hunting trip I brought one of their headless corpses to Ansmelder the Old, who was in need of one of their wombs for some Swvri ritual or potion or something. The tissue was so filled with rot, his curses could be heard from the other side of Ol-In… Maybe this fresh one will make amends... Come, Izel. Help me clean it up."

"That squirming thing reeks of soosan, Patli. Twenty larros."

"Twenty larros? Patli's cheeks puffed past his eyes. "I am not the one who rolled it in swamp and animal waste. Are you trying to drain me dry before I get anything—?"

"Oh, none of that. The human is alive." Izel stood to get a better look at the human. "You will easily get fifty larros for it, plus whatever you get for the items you took from the crashed vessel—and I know a vessel is in the sands because those things are not out this far from their hives without one. Do not try to play games. I am as sharp as your hunting bird, if not sharper."

The bird, on cue, stood from its perch, stretched its upper sand-colored wings to their massive length and shook its lower wings. It opened its large curved beak in a yawn and returned to its original state, eyes closed.

"Noigetot." Patli spat on the ground and mumbled, "Swvritotan life drainer."

"'Noigetot' indeed. Who raised you to talk like that?" Izel shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Anymore foul language out of your putrid trap and you will get no help from me, and good luck getting the thing to market.”

"Fine. Twenty larros."

"Another word of advice." Izel looked around to confirm no one else listened. "I would watch my words. I would hate for Vasso Swvrito or one of his minions to catch you using his name like that."

Patli narrowed his reptilian eyes. "Are you saying you are one of his spies?"

"No. Any day not under his notice is a good day. I know those who have disappeared soon after catching his ire. A coincidence not lost on me."

Patli hissed. "Swvrito is a betrayer of our people. Others around the fires use his name as foul language. I think it suits him. He deserves the worst kind of end."

"And I think he will get it and we will all celebrate that day. But until then, quiet." Izel patted his companion on the back. "So. Where did you find it?"

"What?''

"The human."

"Near the swamp, not long after the last storm. It's a good time to hunt for things to sell."

Izel's exhale pitched spittle on the ground and he clinched all four claws. "These storms have become worse since the humans arrived." He kicked the sand. "It seems like a storm comes every day."

"A storm does come every day."

"Every day. Every. Single. Day. What is to be done? Offerings are made and nothing happens." He pointed to the human. "It seems like more of them arrive. Befouling the air and ground."

Patli looked up from his gaze at the sand and whispered, "I do not think the daily offerings to calm the storms are enough."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what have the offerings been? Hmmm? Wine. Bread. Herbs."

Izel narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Yes. Yes. Wine for the water storms. Herbs for the sand storms. Bread for giant winds—"

"Do we know if anyone has offered flesh?"

Izel recoiled from his friend and almost bumped into the bird on its stand. "What are you saying?"

Patli stomped, stood tall and took a step forward. "I am saying this is Melovia and we are Melovians. I am saying we were here first. We have done nothing but pray and defend ourselves. Have you not been listening around the fires?" He shook his claw at the human. "These things are here bringing mutated versions of our own kind to rally against us, and Vasso Swvrito is their creator." He paused to catch his breath, dropping his head to his chest to spit in the sand. "He lies with their females and brings millions of fire-breathing spawn to hatch into even more of the abominations. Swarms of them crawl all over our world, crushing everything in their way. They set fire to all the food and destroy temples." Patli's chest puffed in and out like a bullfrog. "The offspring's' bodies are wider than the humans. They have scales like ours, but smooth like the skin of humans. The horns are three like ours, but sharp as hunting spears. Four arms like our warriors."

"Calm, friend. Talk around the fires is a swill of gossip. I take that information with great distrust. I have run into too much misinformation for my comfort. Be careful what you say around them and the humans."

"I will not. For all they say and do, have you ever heard the humans try to speak our language? It is an insult to the senses."

Izel raised all four claws to silence his friend. "I am not saying I do not trust your words. I am a greater believer in seeing an act versus hearing information passed down by who knows what, before it gets to my ears. Do you know if the talk is fueled by cheap-rock-wine? Granted, I know little of these humans and even less of the abominations—"

"Father says he has seen one and says they are giants. They block the sky."

"Where did he see it?"

"He was at the market in Pla'ao Cele, the Vlaxorian's tent."

"Pla'ao Cele?" Izel's face recoiled as if from a bad smell. "What is your father doing with a Vlaxorian? They came in on the same wind as the humans."

"Vlaxorians are excellent basket weavers. The material Pla'ao uses for her baskets is native to her planet and quite sturdy. Father said he was negotiating a price when he felt the ground shake. He looked everywhere for the source. Quickly the ground shook harder and harder. Then it grew dark. He felt a presence behind him. He turned and looked up as high as he could. In front of him stood the tallest being he had ever seen. It had hands, Izel."

Izel gasped and touched a claw to his chest. "Ancestors protect us."

"It wore clothing much like the human it was with. Father said—" Patli froze, eyes wide. "Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"The ground. I thought I felt the beginning of tremors."

Izel chuckled. "You are quite caught up in your story, Patli. Hiding rock wine I do not know about?"

"I am serious, Izel. Look at my hunting bird. Animals do not lie."

The pair faced the bird as it woke from its nap, tilted its head up and began to screech.

Off in the distance, a dark cloud filled the sky and blew in their direction.

Patli's eyes widened. "Is that another storm?"

A mechanical sound accompanied the cloud and as it moved closer, a metallic object broke clear of its cover.

"Humans."

With no time to hide, Patli and Izel stood motionless knowing those in the craft above must have spotted them.

The sound was like grains of sand blowing around inside Patli's head and forced him to his knees. He covered as much of his head as he could. Despite his clothing, the sand cut across his body. Instinct moved him to grab the strap of his hunting bird as it took flight. A cloud of sand flew up around him such that he could not see Izel. Patli opened his mouth to call out to his friend, but more dust choked him. As soon as he felt the dust begin to settle, he dared to look in the direction of the high-pitched squeal in front of him.

In the distance, a metal craft the color of the sand hovered.

The door to the craft opened and in an instant Patli recognized the abomination with its four arms walk toward him. Another soldier followed within a few footsteps. The craft floated at least fifty steps away and Patli knew the human would tower over him. Their uniforms, also the color of sand, had symbols, moving lights and pictures he did not understand. The confusion froze him. He found it hard to breathe.

Both soldiers had weapons drawn. Patli's eyes watered. The closer the taller one came to him, the more Patli cried. The Melovian dropped from his knees to his side and curled into a ball, to symbolize his submission. Tremors reverberated toward him as the creature came near. The giant stopped in front of him. Patli looked up. The midday sun just behind the soldier comforted him in an odd kind of way.

I deserve this death for doubting the Ancestors’ plan for us. This is just. The offerings are enough. Kin, gone on before me, forgive my doubts and welcome me at your side.

He closed his eyes and laid his head on the ground.

The ground shifted by his head.

"Elder. Elder, are you all right?"

Oh, the deed has been done. I did not feel a thing. Thank you, Ancestors, for being just and welcoming.

"Elder… Do you need aid in rising?"

Patli opened his eyes and looked at the Earth Melovian. The kneeling soldier attached his weapon to his side and removed his helmet. The upper pair of arms saluted Patli. The left hand clinched while the right draped over it, raised to the top of the brow line. The lower pair lay still on its lower limbs. Rounded stumps a shade lighter than his bright green skin took the place of sharp horns.

I still live… Noigetotan, swvri luck.

Patli turned his head and looked at the soldier. Disarmed by the pageantry, he said, "I am no Elder. Ancestors and High Leaders do not hunt." Mindless abomination. Not a scrap of brain in its head. I am not surprised.

The Earth Melovian opened his mouth to speak, closed it and turned to his silent companion. The two exchanged words in the human language. The soldier stood and held out his still hands to help Patli to his feet. "I mean no disrespect—"

Patli heard the hunting bird struggle behind him and realized he no longer held the strap. The soldier called to his companion and pointed to the bird. The smaller soldier ran to restrain the animal before it took flight.

The soldier tripped on something in the sand and pitched forward. He jumped up almost as soon as he fell and stood to take hold of the strap. Izel sat up and gasped for air, all arms at the side where the soldier tripped over him. The soldier spoke to Izel in Human, handing the hunting bird's strap to him.

"Are you all right? Do not worry," the Earth Melovian said to Izel. "We mean no harm." He looked back at Patli. "May I address you as sir?"

Patli nodded.

"Thank you. Sir, we do not know your station and wish to be respectful. Are you and your friend in need of water or medicine?"

Patli shook his head. "Izel are you in need of aid?"

"I think this great moving sand pile broke every bone in my body."

"Izel." Patli almost stopped breathing and said just loud enough for the giant to hear, "He is fine."

"I am glad, sir. My name is Ropotonishkul Mjodon."

Why is that family name so familiar?

"This is Marcus Walkins." Mjodon gestured to the soldier who pulled off his helmet and repeated Mjodon's salutation.

The human had smooth dark skin, no horns, but tiny flaps on both sides of its head.

What are those things on its head? Ill-formed wings? He looks burnt all over yet does not look in pain. Ancestors. I'm surrounded by mutants. Patli returned his attention to Mjodon.

"We are searching for an officer – human, female. She was with another officer on patrol. We found the wreckage of their ship and the body of her partner not far from here."

Oh no. The human. Where is it? Everything was under a layer of sand from the ship's arrival.

"Our ship's sensors detected life in this direction. Have you seen a human with that description, sir?"

***

The heat of the sun warmed the back of Ropotonishkul Mjodon's scale-covered head. He watched the tiny Melovian tremble as he spoke to him. The old male must have been three feet tall. Mjodon could only guess at his age. The gray of his skin aged him around fifty human years. Since he was a hunter, and thus low borne, the gray male and his companion were the worst treated class of Melovians. Tears followed the tracks on the only clean part of his face. Mjodon wanted to comfort him, but knew the missing officer had little time left, if she still lived.

"Mjodon, snap out of it," Walkins said. "You can hug it out with your kin later."

Mjodon glared at Walkins and opened his mouth to reply when he saw the ground shift past Walkins.

"Behind you."

Walkins turned and sprinted to the movement in the sand. He dropped to his knees and swept sand away in a small area and leaned forward. Mjodon watched his companion's lips move. Walkins looked at him.

"It's Baaski. She's alive." He swept more of the sand away from her. Walkins pressed a button to activate a scanner in the palm of his glove and swept it over her body. He pressed more buttons on the wrist and looked up at his partner. "The body and distress sensors in her suit are missing." He glared at Patli. "We need to leave. Now." A door on the side of the ship opened and a gurney emerged and floated in Walkins' direction, stopped within inches of him and hovered. He guided the gurney next to the injured officer's side.

The male pulled away from Ropo and refused to look the Earth Melovian in the face. If Ropo had time, he would have interrogated him and his friend according to procedure, but the injured officer's life took priority. Mjodon smiled and reached for his front pocket. The old male in front of him flinched and closed his eyes so tight Mjodon knew the Melovian expected to be struck, or worse.

Ropo made sure Walkins was preoccupied stabilizing Baaski. The Earth Melovian leaned down next to the male's ear and whispered, "Sir. On behalf of the Human Federation, we apologize for any discomfort and ask that you and your companion please accept this token toward your well-being. May you always be wise."

Mjodon placed two pouches of coins on the ground, stood, jogged past the other Melovian and helped Walkins place Baaski on the gurney. She screamed. Her torso stiffened and arched before she collapsed. The gurney lifted to its original height and carried her onto the ship with Walkins close behind. Mjodon turned to look at the two males staring at them. He gave them another slow salute, waved his left hands and climbed aboard the ship.

***

Izel shielded his face as the vessel rose into the air, flew toward the second setting sun and disappeared. He looked at Patli.

"It did not look like he could breathe fire."

Patli shrugged and shook his head. "He said his family name is Mjodon."

Izel's mouth fell open and his eyes widened. "If that is true, then he is capable of much worse."

Taking Impefect Action

So last night, I'm talking to my coaching teacher, crying because, for one a few reasons, I feel like I'm suffocating because things are not getting done.

But that's not officially true. As I explained to her, things are happening, but they are happening so slowly (due to finite amount of time, money, sanity) that my momentum is sporadic and my tendency has been to do things half-assed [(or as I eloquently explained to her "at half-measure") (potato-potato)].

One of the examples I gave was self-publishing Tempest Makers. The last real hurdle was creating a great cover and then the promotion before releasing it into the interwebs.

And then a revelation hit me: Why does it need a pretty cover? To draw the eye yes, but I can still self-publish it now, and a add freaking lovely cover to it later.

Promotion. Okay, that's important, but I'm thinking something that a ninja would give a respectful nod to.

Crazy? Sort of, but I don't think is entirely nuts. It feels really, Really, REALLY liberating. It feels a hell of a lot more fun that making sure everything has to be "just so."

I feel this monster weight is gone.

I'm going to self-publish Tempest Makers in the next 2 weeks and it's going to be okay. I'm going to reach out to trusted writer friends for their $1.44 of advice and see what happens.

This feels like guerrilla publishing. J

Outright Call to Action, Self-Published Authors:

What tips would you give if you were in my shoes?

P.S., if you are a self-published friend of mine and you've been screaming for a long time what I'm about to do from the roof tops and I haven't been listening, deep apologies. I've been busy trying to be perfect.

Selective Linear Thinking and Where I am on a Journey

I apologize for it being a while since my last post, but I'm going to get into why I've been out of the blogosphere for so long and then get into the main reason for this post; picking up where I left off with the status of Tempest Makers.

To be honest, I flaked out.

3 things happened.

One, I wanted to promote and self-publish by a certain date last year, and when that didn't happen I turned into a great big princess, took my toys and went home. I should have been looking at it from the perspective of an author and not attached to when and how it was published instead of purely (well, 98%) from the perspective of a tax write-off.

There's no passion in taxes.

All I had in my head were the words of the accountant. "If you have income from your writing, you can write off writing expenses." Writing income didn't show up and so no writing expenses to write off. After I stopped internally pouting and stomping I added up my writing expenses. They weren't really that high (Hell, they didn't even total $800).

So I got over myself.

Two, I reconnected with my writer friends at ConNooga this year. I have spent the last 3 years or so figuring out what I was going to do and how I was going to go about it. Between the 1^st year of recovering from the tons of information from the literary panels to finding a place within myself to do the work to be published, I appreciated that I understood the writers I admire had been where I am/was and were incredibly nice in answering my questions and giving advice. So this year I've recovered from my princess-drama wounds and I go to ConNooga. By the time the last day of Con rolls around I am reenergized and ready to self publish. Sitting in on panels and talking to a few writers, I have decided to speed up how I share this trilogy's universe to readers in simple and sincere ways.

The last thing that happened was during a conversation with my coaching accountability partner (I'm also a life and business coach). We were having a conversation about linear thinking. I felt rather boastful as I remarked how I just seem to not be stopped by things not happening a certain way because I've gotten use to things not happening in a 1-2-3 fashion. After the call, I realized I'd done the very thing I'd said I didn't do. But I don't come undone like that all the time.

I have selective linear thinking.

If I'm kind of neither-here-nor-there on something, and it's going 2-3-4-6 instead of 1-2-3-4-5, I'm not even fazed. But if it's something I've committed to, especially financially (I'm coming out of an ugly-bang phase with finances) or feel incredibly passionate about something and it take too long to get to 1 or the pace of going from 1 to 2 is "too slow" I tend to shut down.

I get it. I'm excited and I create this perfect scenario in my mind. But even I have to realize the Excitement Trains run on time to the Imagination Station of writing and not so much in the real world.

So after I got clear and re-energized, here we are.

And now to pick up where I left off.

The Apex Predatory Trilogy exists in an alternate-near-future universe. 

The first story, Tempest Makers, is set in the year 2030. Not only have we discovered we are not alone, but Earth has been inhabited by a race of beings known as Melovians for thousands of years. TM takes place after Earthlings and Melovians have discovered and returned to the Melovians' native planet. Think of Tempest Makers as if the characters and technology of James Cameron's Avatar landed on a less-hierarchical version of Arrakis (Frank Herbert's version of Dune not David Lynch's).

Michio Kaku's Physics of the Future heavily influenced what is going on technologically in trilogy. I also emailed my college Astronomy teacher, Physics professor Robert Marlowe at UT Chattanooga for questions on gravity, mass and other Astrophysics-type issues. I've never been committed to hard science, but I do want to have plausible suspension of disbelief with what I am writing.

Characters

I had a lot of fun coming up with names for my non-human characters. I have had the name "Ropo" on my brain since the 3^rd story in the trilogy was originally the 1^st story. As I began to flesh out TM as an anthology piece did Ropo (pronounced "Roh-poh") morph in Ropotoniskul ("Roh-poh-Tah-nish-kuhl) Mjodon (Myow-don).

Ropo was born and raised on Earth. Earth Melovian's physiology is different because of the difference in gravity, air quality and vegetation between the 2 planets (Melovia is a larger planet and has greater gravity). Ropo and his native Melovian kin have a reptilian appearance and both have 4 arms (Earth Melovians have hands. Native Melovians have claws.).

I would say that Ropo is learned but naïve.

Marcus Walkins is Ropo's human partner. Marcus is a little closer to being a warrior type to Ropo's paladin/knight. Marcus's fuse is shorter than Ropo's. The two have been on Melovia together for the past six months when the story begins.

I knew with a different world and how I wanted to pace the overall story arc, that this story would be relatively short. I've expanded it a little bit by adding 2 extra scenes (I'm working on the second one now).

My intention is to give you something to think about and I've always been a fan of thinking.

Have you had a "selective linear thinking" moment? What did you learn from it? Please leave a comment below.

Back Up 10 and Punt, Or, Bow to Your Shadow and Your Shadow Bows Back

November was a rough month. For a couple of reasons, I've decided to find a publishing house for the Apex Predator Trilogy.

I am the only one responsible for the path I walk and how I walk it.

I feel a mix of the typical huge-load-off-my-shoulders and the replenished energy that comes with it. The residual, weird defeat-guilt mix is going away, but I know I needed to feel how I was feeling so I could move forward.

I have so many stories rattling around in my brain, I can self-publish other stories later if I want to and I know other hybrid authors; authors who self publish and publish through a House, so I continue to have the support I need.

At 38, I have been thinking about the last 20 years of my life. Aside from big life events, the next 20 years will look roughly the same if I don't publish my stories. Don't get me wrong, I love my life and don't regret any of it because it's made me the awesome Empress Goddess Warrior before you.

I need to take larger leaps. I hallucinated the shackles on my feet.

I have learned and continue to learn many, priceless lessons.

I am ready for the next phase of my life.

In my next blog posts, I'm going to talk about the two major characters from Tempest Makers, give you some ideas of the universe I created and my thoughts on mixing magic and machines.

Let's have some fun, people.

Death Dealers

So one of my current bathroom reads is Talk of the Devil by Riccardo Orizio about his interviews with 7 dictators. My main motivation to read it is to help me breathe a bit more life into all of my antagonists, not just the ones in Tempest Makers.

Sometimes, when a story begins, the bad guy doesn't always start out as a bad guy.

I know you know this.

My interest in the evolution of a proper bad guy lie in the evolution of the character's psychology, whether it's the antagonist in question or the influenced society, environment, or universe the antagonist affects. Rumors and misinformation are huge catalysts to this evolution. This progression fascinates me because it's as subtle and varied as being born on a winter's day at sunrise in Buffalo, New York versus being born at sunset in the middle of a heatwave in Phoenix, Arizona. 

How many times has history sorted out and revealed just how "bad" or "not that bad" someone is. But it took time, and the distance of it to give us more of an unemotional look, when we're not hindered so much by what society thinks while the wound is still fresh and when, most, if not all, the "players" are either dead or politically impotent.

Sometimes you have to take a step back and take a deep breath.

On the other side of that same coin, I do so love a bad guy when you have no idea why he is So. Damn. Bad. An excellent example is Javier Bardem's character Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men. You don't have time to wonder what happened in his life as to why he's so bad. There's no room or time for sympathy. He's just, flat out, unapologetic, and perfect at being bad.

We. Are. Superheroes. OR, How I Channel My Rage

I'm self-publishing Tempest Makers this year. I have a date in my head, but it's not set in stone until I can officially sort out the cover design, formatting, marketing, and finish with final editing.

But the point is I will self-publish a story by the end of the year.

When I realized I'd publish soon, the first emotion I felt was joy, followed by nausea, then relief (not relief from throwing up, because I didn't). The sense of knowing I'm so close to transferring my energy from this story to the next is invigorating.

It's said when you publish the first story, the rest fall out of your head and onto paper.

Yeah. I get that now.

DUH, I'm a little nervous, but I'm happy/surprised I'm taking this all so well. I'm pretty sure it's because I have a great source of writers who've successfully self-published and are happy to help me.

My choice to self-publish came after a lot of thought, but the reason most important to me was that I wanted to see if I could do it. I dated a guy several years ago, and he said he thought I was brilliant because instead of not knowing the answer to a question and going on with life not finding out the answer, I look for the answer. I was flattered because, 1, this guy was not one to freely give out ego boosters like that, and 2, I care about the Answer, whatever it is. I'm curious about it. I'd like to know________. When I know, I'll either look more into it, or tuck it away in the Random Crap File and maybe bring it up at a party, Gathering, or interview (Not as unprofessional as you may think.).

I guess I don't see a reason in slowing down my momentum or deciding now is a good time to put on rose-tinted glasses.

I understand being tired, and falling out of love with your writing, and getting into fights with it, and having an ugly cry because it hates you because you've read and/or edited the same line that feels like a zillion times, and you 2 take a break to "see other people," to come back and fall in love all over again.

If I do decide to publish with a House, I'll know what I'm doing. I'll understand the "guts" of promotion and working with others as a writer with an editor's perspective and if there is an issue with or question about promotions, formatting, cover design, etc., I'll be able to verbalize my needs in an intelligent way.

Is what I'm doing nuts? …Relative to what?

Is what I'm doing easy? Things are easier when you're prepared to be flexible. We didn't go to the moon because it was easy, and look at how much we know now. Look at how much is possible.

One of the most important reasons to publish at all was brought on by the catalyst of rage. Pure, bright, white, molten hot light of Rage. I'm not going to go into the origin story for the Rage. I'm focusing on what I did with it. To be fair and honest, I'm human (shocked, I know), and it took about 2 days to process the situation to where I was able to focus, but I knew in the early stages of the rage I needed—it was imperative—that I channel it in a positive way. My awareness was raised enough to know, the rage wasn't going to go away and I needed to do something with it. I reasoned with myself. I told myself, if I physically act on this rage, I'll end up arrested or dead. I had stories to publish, so getting arrested or dying would mess that up all to hell. Eventually, I calmed down, tweaked a scene, and it was a defining moment that added the right amount of conflict to Tempest Makers. The story went from "bubblegum" to "Yes. Yes, I just went there," especially compared to the next 2 stories where, now that I think about it, I'm going to have to make sure lighter scenes are added because of what has to be in those stories to allow for flow.

One foot in front of the other.

You are More Than a Vessel for Bad Pate´, OR, Brain Deconstructed

Full disclosure: You may have done, or are still doing, stupid stuff, but deep down, you are a smart person. Everyone has the potential to build a super collider, but some of us choose to put a paperclip in an electrical outlet.

***

Quite a lot has happened since my last post. The short version is I think I had a mental break down/upgrade/low-grade epiphany/self-exorcism kind of thing occur. While my brain reassembled, and writing struggled to come to me, it gave me time to get a more holistic view of what is going on in the world.

Wow. My timing is, and continues to be, impeccable.

This isn't my first trip Being Undone, so I feel a bit seasoned when it comes to falling apart and then coming back together again. It's just my version of picking myself up after falling. Everyone has their version. Some of us are professionals. The point is to Come Back Together [comments about Enlightenment redacted].

But I'm rambling.

I've noticed recently people seem to be overwhelmed (more so than usual). We're bombarded with so much information. Unless you know what is and isn't crap, you're getting it too fast powered by too much emotion to process it properly. Domino Effect- 40. Mob mentality-30. Common sense-15. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I've begun to actively seek information from sources that do not rely on over stimulating the senses to get attention. I've noticed the subtly of that tactic.

A large chunk of the beauty of what is emerging is that we are figuring things out. We are sorting out for ourselves what we do and do not deem okay, and we are getting there, not really on our own but On Our Own. You see someone touch a hot skillet, you learn that touching a hot skillet may not be a wise choice. You see another way to pick up a hot skillet. Hark! An oven mitt!

The key is education, and it's very simple. Everything has a history to give us context. Most of the time, the history is fascinating. For example, rarely does a war begin out of the blue with the first shot. A series of things led to the first blast.

If you had to place a label on my household, it is liberal [comments on the current political system redacted]. My husband read two biographies, one about Richard Nixon and the other on Barry Goldwater written by Rick Perlstein. My husband read the biographies because he wanted to understand the origins of the modern Republican Party so when he watches/reads/listens to the news he has a better idea of what the hell is going on with a portion of our political system. He's done this with other political, religious, social, etc. topics. My husband is a quiet, technological, hermit genius. He's cool like that.

One of the best things I've ever learned about not believing in something I learned from the 1st true nonconformist I'd ever met. He said (and I'm paraphrasing because it's been at least 15 years), 'I believe if you're not going to believe in something, you should read and understand why you don't believe in something before you choose not to believe in it. The same goes for believing in something.'

Watching all the beauty and horror in the world has helped me have an angle of perspective I didn't have a few weeks ago. Solutions show up in my consciousness. I think the joy and challenge for me, as it has been for other writers, is to take the clay and work it into stories for people who want to have a conversation and let the talk go where the talk goes. Sometimes the truth of reality is too much and to place it in a palatable medium of fiction makes the fact of real life easier to deal with when we're bombarded with "reality" TV [comments on Reality TV redacted].

More thoughts are sure to follow.