"If you're going to be crazy..."


Okay, well it's been a long weekend, and it's not ending at this point. Real Life is again kicking me in the ass, but that's kind of how we're going to have to go for some time. Just in case you wonder, my eyesight has gotten to the point that I cannot see what I'm typing here, unless I go with a font and color that I can see only one of.

Shades of my migraines.

Well, it's going to be an interesting fall. Work at the Radio PA Network goes apace, and with the usual madness of an election season I wish would just fucking end.

More on that in a second.

Writing-wise, I had a good weekend. Friday, I joined fellow Sunbury Press authors and quite a few more in Carlisle at Bosler Memorial Library for a celebration of the book. Sat around, and mostly talked with people, fellow authors, but it was good stuff.

Carlisle is a lovely little town. If you have not visited, do. Charles Kuralt would have felt at home there. Cornered away from Dickinson College, the Bosler is a really interesting, quirky facility. Nice people, good time.

Saturday, I did my second appearance at the Midtown Scholar Bookstore to promote "A Moment in the Sun." Tied my mark of two years ago for three sales, shared the day with Matty Dalrymple, who writes mysteries of a sort, really nice lady, and her husband's a very cool guy.

Fun. What I have to do to engage and get out there.

Now...what is going on?

I am waiting for the proofer to get "Live from the Cafe," my next book on Sunbury, and to tell me what she thinks. It's pretty much ready, apart from edits. I have to put together a teaser for it, and we'll see what else transpires.

Been writing this other weird thing, "Legend of the Black Swan." That is getting better with the rewrites. You can go see stuff at www.behance.net/torygates for more.

Wrote a new scene for the first book of the "Sweet Dreams Series." This long, drawn-out series of time travel, ya fiction, and the power of music is still expanding. The thing is...it's so not ready, and there's so much more to do.

There was one scene that just didn't work, and I'd been concerned about that from the first time I wrote the rough draft ten years ago. This is a transition scene, that ties together threads a little bit better.

Hint...here's the song that inspired it. Hope Kenny Neal approves:

Great song. Evokes so many things, thoughts, ideas...that is how I work.

We must consider so many things in the next few months, and as usual my energies are everywhere but where they need to be. On the writing, the work.

I have in mind the person who can help tie things together, and manage me a bit...let's see what we can do on that front.

I am also considering that thing that is an issue. We have to make these projects work, you know. They need to sell, and they need a bigger platform, or else this just doesn't work, and it becomes an expensive hobby.

It's been that way, but I have no regrets about it at all. I don't actually care about the money, because if I didn't do this, I'd be sitting around like too many people talking about shit, and getting nothing done.

I marvel sometimes at how much I have written, but not for bragging. I've done all right; I've written, created, accomplished, etc. I have more to do. Not done yet, by a long fucking shot.

That said...

...we were talking about the election. I am appalled, and yet unsurprised at the negativity, the vitriol, and the outright hatred spewed by fellow beings at one another.

Social Media...and write this down, it's an original thought:

"Social Media has allowed the dark, kinky, dirty underbelly of our being to come out and be seen. We would never say these things to other people's faces, but behind our keyboards we feel invisible. Then we remember, our screen name is our real name."

Well, in most cases.

We all become Internet Tough Guys when hiding behind our keyboards, and instead of not thinking before speaking, we don't think before he hit "enter."

Over everything: religion, sports, and politics especially we attack one another with a carpet-bombing mania that seeks to eviscerate the competition like we're playing a video game. Only those enemies don't die; they're still there.

If you don't believe 100% what your "friend" is saying, that friendship is tossed as poorly as we did it on the playground in 3rd grade (sorry to 3rd graders who were better than that). Friends unfollowed become people you won't even look at, at work, on the street, anywhere.

There are no friends anymore. There are only acquaintances that too many people can now only hate, because you didn't vote for so-and-so, no matter what party they're in.

When you don't agree?

You are assaulted verbally with name-calling once confined to the schoolyard. Zingers that attack your patriotism, your allegiance, your faith, your political affiliation, your religion, your race, your loyalty.

I watch too many people screw themselves into the ground with their hate. They act like bullies, running around the yard, screaming, making threats, then hiding behind the big kid or the teacher.

Were these friends ever really our friends? I wonder do we have any left at all?

I guess I'm still willing to give people benefit of the doubt and hope that our emotional transgressions are overdone and that we can eventually grow up.

But I kind of doubt it at times.

This election has been the worst. Blinded by hatred, zealotry, prejudice, racism, and out right fear (which is the root of it all), too many lash out at everyone and everything different from us.

Too many states are like separate nations. Where I live, a friend (he still is, I'm pretty sure) and colleague often liked to say, "They still think Kennedy is president."

Yes. 1962, Camelot (even though they hated Kennedy) is in force, gays are in the closet and blacks know their place. As do Jews. Out of sight, out of mind.

The world has changed. And they ain't liking it.

I'm watching the entitled mass suddenly realize they're not really in charge anymore, and that passing the torch (which their predecessors did) is not something they want to do.

They want it till they die, and for several years thereafter.

They can't trust the next generation, because maybe they now understand that they didn't train the next one right. They didn't learn themselves.

Generations brought up on a fantasy that didn't exist, have now been morphed into a drooling, snarling, slobbering society of creatures. The few sharks are now festooned with remora, who detach only long enough to scarf up the crumbs which they think are theirs, and then reattach to be kept fed with reality shows, hate-talk radio, leering TV hosts and constant sports.

They bitch about the high salaries players make, but care nothing for the brain damage, injuries and short shelf-life o