Poop On You

When we were at an RV campground recently, we got there ahead of the weekend crowd and watched as the sites filled up one by one. I was outside having a beer and reading a friend’s manuscript. My charmer was watching our baby coconut search out rocks and acorns beside the tow behind that we borrowed from my in-laws.

The parade filing in was a strange mix of senior couples in their brand-new, decked-out RV buses and packs of young families in broke-down campers that hadn’t been fixed since The Bradys toured the Grand Canyon. The retired living the high life of tranquility and the salt of the earth trying to forget about their underpaid, soul-sucking jobs that they’d have to return to in a few days. My baby coconut took time out from her treasure hunt to wave to each camper as they passed by our site, and nearly all were kind enough to smile as they waved back.

But there always has to be one, right? And this particular one was a tall, thin, pasty white, twenty-something a-hole walking his German shepherd. The duo walked behind our camper and didn’t reappear for several moments. I’m no fool. It doesn’t take that long to walk past a thirty foot tow behind camper. I know what man and his best friend had been up to, especially when they scurried past us without making eye contact. I jumped up and ran around to confirm. Yup. There it was. A huge, stinking pile of dog shit on the grass where my baby plays.

I ran back. “Hey, you mind picking up after your animal?” I called out after him.

“It’s not your park.” A-Hole said.

“Park rules say dog owners need to pick up—”

Then it happened. The finger over the shoulder routine. He never looked back. He couldn’t have cared less.

“Nice,” I grumbled. I’ve learned not to make a scene in front of my daughter, and I just let it go. For the moment.

Over the next few days, the piles grew into a little Mount Everest. The dog had chosen our spot as his depository and his master seemed to revel in my quiet seething. Well, I’d had enough of being shit upon. While buying ice cream in the campground store, I overheard him telling the site manager that he was leaving the next day, and so I began plotting my revenge.

I woke up just before dawn and put on my darkest clothes. I grabbed gloves and a bag, then went outside and carefully collected a bag full of poop. I still had my anxiety of meeting up with a black bear, but I swallowed that fear and traipsed over to his shit-free lot and liberally scattered the contents of the bag at the base of his camper steps and around the small yard so there was no way he could get to his truck without stepping in something as he packed up. I considered adding it to his steps but I wouldn’t want to risk him hurting himself—I suppose the bastard didn’t deserve that.

After my task was complete, I went back to our little home and made myself a pot of coffee.

As the sun rose and the campers began to stir, I moved outside, plopped down in a lawn chair, and sipped the hot java. Sure enough, soon after, I heard a “WTF!” shrieked across the campground. From my vantage in the chair, I couldn’t see his lot, but later, as he was leaving and passed by, I was serenaded with an expletive and another middle finger, and I surmised he stepped in a footful of it.

My daughter and I waved goodbye with cheery smiles.

Bear!

We borrowed my in-law’s camper for a weekend getaway and were having such a great time, we asked to keep the camper for the week even though I didn’t have time off from work which meant hauling my ass every morning from bliss to the daily grind.

About 9:30 at night on Wednesday, as I was reading in bed, my charmer came to me and mentioned that water had backed up in the tub.

“You could empty the tank before you leave for work in the morning,” she said.

“Nah, I won’t want to do it in the morning. I’ll take care of it now,” I told her. I get up before the sun rises and have just enough time to get myself out the door and off to work. Plus I remembered seeing in the paper that there had been coyote and bear sightings in the area and I didn’t want to take a chance of lumbering outside half asleep, reaching under the camper, and then feeling a chomp on my arm or leg.

So I put on my shoes, grabbed the flashlight, and opened the door. I took two steps down the camper stairs when I heard a growl that sounded like a demon right out of Hades. I flashed the light around and straight into the eyes of a black bear. I don’t even remember going back up the stairs and back into the camper. Perhaps, all my molecules reversed at once. All said and done, I was inside the camper in a shot, door slammed shut, and my heart pounding cartoon-style out of my chest.

“What was that?!” my charmer asked.

“That be a bear!”

I emptied the tank in the dark of the next morning, happily, without being mauled. Barely (pun intended) an hour later, Denise took this shot of the bear at the garbage bin through the camper window. She wasn’t able to get a clearer picture before it decided to search out some better pickings.

Has anybody else had a bear, or other wild animal, encounter?

BEAT to a PULP: ROUND TWO Is Out!

Smoke 'em if you got 'em, then set your jaw and steel your stance, 'cause BEAT to a PULP: Round Two is here! It's all meat, no filler in this red-raw-and-oozing collection of twenty-nine tales of pure pulp action. You'll find aliens, gangsters, drifters, mountain men, private dicks, gun molls, loners, misfits, drunks, thugs, booze-hounds, and more, all brawling in the pages of Round Two. And that's just for starters.

Seething with left-hooks, uppercuts, kidney shots, and gut-punches aplenty, this powerhouse compilation doles out the genres, from hardboiled crime, western, and noir to sci-fi, fantasy, literary, horror, and more.

Round Two covers all-new ground with offerings from a gang of tried-and-true heavyweights and inspired up-and-comers, all savvy purveyors of pulp at the top of their game. Haymakers include a Hemingway pastiche by famed mystery author Bill Pronzini, a stunning Chandler homage by Hard Case Crime kingpin Charles Ardai, a post-war tale with a twist from James Reasoner, a zombie-horror nightmare by Bill Crider, and even more blows to the temple from such hotshots as Glenn Gray, Patricia Abbott, Chris F. Holm, Vicki Hendricks, Sean Chercover, the legendary Vin Packer, and more, more, more!

Feel up to it? Then climb back in the ring. No lines, no waiting if you order your copy of BEAT to a PULP: Round Two NOW through CreateSpace and Amazon. Kindle eBook to follow shortly.

The Proof is in the Box

Have you ever had that sensation of extreme exhilaration? The kind that doesn't go away for days? That's how I feel when a proof of a new book arrives in the mail. Seeing that book, picking it up and leafing through it for the first time--I imagine it's comparable to my daughter's pride in completing a task on her very own and her joy in seeing the cat and squealing "m-ow" for the umpteenth time.

Anyway, here's the arrival of BEAT to a PULP: ROUND TWO proof. Over the next few days, we'll be going through it one last time.

In The City of Brotherly Love

We took I-81 S to I-476 E, bound for The City of Brotherly Love. “We” consisted of me, my charmers and my sister who had a surgery appointment at the Wills Eye Institute, one of the top hospitals in the area for that specialty. I was glad to lend a helping hand to my sister, and I was also excited to be in Philly again after all these years. Excited, but apprehensive. Last time I was there, about ten years ago, I had to fight my way out hanging onto a runaway semi truck ... but that made-up tale is for another time.

We arrived the day before the surgery, and had booked rooms at the Holiday Inn Express on Walnut Street. As I steered the car into the parking garage, I hear, “STOP!” An older black gentleman was running after me. I’ve learned to obey when someone yells at me, so I braked. He looked a little upset and I don’t blame him. Turns out I tried to go the wrong way on the ramp, but he also needed to know how long we’d be staying so he could tell me to park on Level 5.

I thanked him, and we went on our way.

We checked in and carried our bags to the 17th floor of the 20 story building. Ava was fascinated by altitude and the cityscape surrounding us—the buildings towering above us, the surrounding neighbors and birds at eye level, and the cars and people shuffling below like tiny bugs.

Little d reminded me how much she enjoys cities, and I agree. To a point. Nice to get anything you want whenever, etc. But I’m more of a slower pace of life kinda guy.

Tired as we were, we managed to publish the latest Pulp of the Week at BEAT to a PULP while my daughter kept busy pulling out every tissue from the dispenser in the sink vanity then “organizing” them on the floor.

For the two days we were there, we walked the four blocks between the hotel and the eye center. It was a small slice of Philly but we enjoyed the few sights we saw and also interacting with the people. Motorcycle Lady in the elevator, Cashier Girl at Five Guys who suggested Ava should be in baby magazines, Best Bedside Manner Doctor and Nurse Nice at the hospital, Hotel Front Desk Clerk, etc.

If I had based my view of this majestic city on the first visit I would have ranked it rather low but—and here I go with my infamous analogies—Abraham Lincoln once said, “I don't like that man. I must get to know him better.” Switch man for city and him for it and those are my thoughts on Philly. I got to know the city a little better and I’m a fan.

Have you been to Philadelphia? Your thoughts? Or what city would you recommend?

Something Missing

It's six at night and I'm setting the alarm clock for 4:30 a.m. I should be writing but nothing is flowing--not even shoddy stuff. I call my charmers, who are visiting Denise's parents, and they are doing well. Little d puts me on the speaker phone and I talk to Ava for a few prized minutes, enough to say the bedtime prayer that my mom taught me: In my little bed I lie. Heavenly Father hear my cry. Lord protect Ava Elyse through the night. Bring her safe to morning light. Amen. God bless everybody. A few more words then I say goodnight.

Damn, I miss them.

I order season three of ARCHER on my Kindle Fire and watch the episode with Burt Reynolds. Funny as H-E-double-hockey-sticks. After, I read a chapter of Charles Bukowski's WOMEN but I don't feel like reading. Not Hank's fault, I'm just read out for the day. A magazine on the stand features Rihanna on the cover. I like her. Pretty face and a helluva voice. Looks like she's starring in a movie and I wonder why so many singers try their hand at acting? The natural evolution of pop stardom?

I haven't checked my book sales in awhile. Is there a chance I've sold a few zillion titles and can pack it in and travel to my girls?

Nope. 

I've sold a little over a thousand in twenty-one days. Not bad but considering I get thirty-five cents a book, I'll keep the day job. No complaints, mind you. Just reality.

Maybe I'll watch another episode of Archer.

I hope your weekend is going well. I'd love to hear what everybody is doing.

With Them

No matter what else is going on, everything is better when I'm with them.