Writer’s Rejection

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Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear,
And I need a job,
So I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

The Beatles, 1966.

Every writer, author or journalist who has submitted work to various places knows all about email and the feelings it provokes. A notification will appear in your inbox from a place you sent your work and your mind takes a wild ride. At first, your spirits go up, way too high up, as your hopes skyrocket. Then you become realistic, remembering just how slim the chance that your writing has actually been selected for publication.

Thoughts of the deck being stacked against you flash through your head. Your hopes plummet, remembering all the times this has happened to you before. Your hands shake as you open the email and you scan it, looking for a few words that might reveal the content of the message. Words like happy, sadly or sorry.

When I first started writing, I got a lot of rejections but as I honed my craft they seem to be fewer and fewer. I have learned that everything I write will not be used and depending on the venue I may only get one out of every twenty pieces published. I have become pretty good at differentiating between someone rejecting my work and rejecting me as a person now. There are millions of reasons why an article doesn’t fit with a magazine, print newspaper or online newspaper and absolutely none of them has to do with me personally.

So, I get another email. Sometimes the message title reveals all I have to know. “We are sorry to inform you ……….” I would like to say I don’t care! There is more than just one outlet for my work, but I do care. This is the part of becoming a writer that sucks. It sucks so much worse than what you see in the movies. I feel my soul sink into a deep hole that feels like there is no escape from. This was something I had spent hours on writing, rewriting and polishing to get it just right until it became like one of my own children and all you can say is “We are sorry to inform you”.

But I’ve learned it’s less about whether people like my work and more about the constant battle to get published, to see my by line. If this particular newspaper had accepted my article, it would have been over. But because they didn’t, it’s time to “shop it around”, to send it to other places, or to possibly find new places to send it to. But I’m once again back at the start again, feeling like I might not be on my way to being a paid, professional journalist.

Rejection is as much a part of being a writer as putting the words onto the page, a completely unpleasant part though. It’s just as much a part of being a writer as the late night and the early morning edits. It is as much a part of being a writer as every proposal, every inquiry letter, and every abstract.

This is the writer’s lot, their baptism by fire, the broken glass and hot coals we have to cross barefoot in order to make a living at this. If it were easy, then everyone would be a writer. Every single kid from your creative writing classes in high school would be a writer. Every single freshman who worked on their school paper would now write for the New York Times. But it’s not easy. There is no easy way. Truth is rejections suck.

But rejections won’t kill you, they may just slow you down temporarily. You have to learn how to keep plugging along. It’s very easy to be a writer when the words flow and your blog rankings spike. It’s easy to be a writer at a party, when people ask you questions about your cool job, about what you are writing about now. It’s not the easy days that differentiate between the weak and the strong, the successful from the wannabes. It’s the days when you feel like packing it all in and quitting. But then a tiny voice in the back of your head tells you to give it just one more try, just one more try.

So we pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off. We send out our work into the world once again. We edit, we rewrite, we inquire and we submit again. No one said that the life of an independent writer was easy, but if you stick with it and you make it through the dark times, it could all be worth it.

Norb has now written 500+ articles, over 90 restaurant reviews, and has been published in the Buffalo News, Lockport Union Sun and Journal, Niagara Falls Gazette, the East Niagara Post, The Lockport Star, The North Tonawanda Extra, the Niagara Reporter, and Artvoice. His work has been published on Press Reader, Good Cookery, the National association for Home Care and Hospice, and Konitono.

Jeans

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I swear that ninety percent of the young people I see are wearing torn, ripped and distressed jeans. Some ripped jeans look as if they’d lost an argument with a giant cheese grater. Others look like the wearer was going to turn their jeans into shorts and got bored with the project. There are the people who look like they had been dressed by Edward Scissorhands and some of them have what looks like mud painted on the jeans.

Levi Strauss is founder of the first factory in the United States for the manufacture of blue jeans in the 1880s. They were called “waist overalls” back then. He died on September 26, 1902 in San Francisco at the age of 73. He is probably rolling over in his grave.

Jeans are made of a tough fabric and it takes a lot to wear them out. This is why they have always been working apparel favored by manual laborers, farmers, and factory workers. They got worn, torn and beat up through overuse and were often associated with blue collar employees. I used to wear jeans at work and every pair was riddled full of holes from welding and being splashed with caustic soda. When I was attending welding school, my worn, frayed jeans actually started on fire.

Then in the mid-1970s, the Ramones burst on the scene wearing torn jeans. We just thought they were broke and couldn’t afford new jeans. But it turned out it was the uniform of the punk movement and later, grunge. A defiant, anti-establishment statement, torn jeans were seen as a sign of rebellion, but today, when everyone and his grandad are wearing them, it’s more a sign of sheep-like conformity.

“He’s really ripped,” used to be a compliment when applied to a taut six-pack upper body. Now, it just means he’s wearing damaged trousers. I’ve been living in jeans since the 1960s when we used to call then dungarees so I suppose it’s not unexpected that we looked for new ways to wear them. And it’s not often you see 1960s bell bottoms any more, unless you are a deadhead. Sensible folk would say, OK, if you want ripped jeans, why not buy an ordinary pair of jeans and cut them up? At least that’s creative.

GQ, the men’s magazine, published a satirical guide on how to rip your jeans yourself. It described three “effects”. Holes, which should not be more than an inch wide. Shreds, where the fabric is torn but threads remain and finally, scrapes, fabric that is lightly grazed like you hit it with sandpaper. But all that is done for you now for a price. You can now buy shredded jeans but twenty percent of them are air.

The designer labels love boldly shredded legs. Balmain has a pair for $1144.59, Dolce & Gabbana’s are a steal at $555.85 and Gucci, instead of confessing it has battered them to oblivion, calls them “pre-loved, with a vintage feel”, all for a paltry $1124.75. (Prices from express.co.uk).

However, unless you’re an anorexic, celery-eating carb-phobic, bits of flesh will bulge through the gaps and some of it should not be seen in public. Often you can see a person’s underwear or worse through the holes. It’s not very flattering. (I apologize if you’re eating.)

Unless you’re in a hip-hop band from Detroit, you have probably progressed from the low-slung jeans that revealed your Calvin Klein boxers to jeans missing some of their fabric. At least we aren’t seeing someone’s butt. If you can afford Calvin Klein boxers maybe you could afford pants that fit or at least a belt. This is another fad I don’t understand. I suppose that this distressed jean fad is just a tad better than that.

I think the clothing fads in my day were much better, like tie dye, miniskirts, bikinis, and girls without bras. God I miss girls without bras. I used to tie dye everything, in fact when I was discharged from the Navy, I tie dyed my dress white uniforms. Another fad of my day was bell bottoms. The Navy also provided me a good supply of bell bottom jeans.

Ripped jeans are popular with both men and women today and it is leaving its mark on wardrobes around the country. Those comfortable shorts and jeans that I own that need a “haircut” every time I wear them are now fashionable to my wife’s chagrin. Fashion is always changing and improving. Just because something wasn’t popular in the past, does not make it trashy in the present.

Granted, there is a time and a place for all fashion trends. Knowing this, it would be not wise to wear ripped jeans to a job interview. Although you may believe that ripped jeans make you look hip and stylish, your prospective employer may have another point of view.

In the name of all that’s holey, (pun intended) haven’t we had enough of this trend? I think the time that we dress like we are wearing worn out or oversized clothes has passed.

Your kids are watching:

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You are in a store and pay for a five dollar purchase with a ten dollar bill. The cashier gives you fifteen dollars in change. You jam the money in your pocket and hustle your family out the door before the mistake is discovered. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them that it is OK to take advantage of someone if they make a mistake. What you didn’t teach them is that this mistake will result in a shortage in the register drawer that could cause the cashier to get fired or make them to have to pay for this shortage out of their pocket. What you taught them is that it is ok to steal. What you didn’t teach them is honesty.

You are driving down the street doing 45 MPH in a 30 MPH zone because you are in a hurry. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them it is OK to ignore the speed limit. You just taught them that your time is worth more than the life of the child that might dart out into the street chasing a ball. What you didn’t teach them is that the speed limits are designed to protect the public safety.

You do drugs, light up a blunt, a dubie, a joint, snort some coke or inject heroin. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them not to worry about the drug laws. What you didn’t teach them was violating these could cause them to go to jail and give them a record that could affect them the rest of their lives. What you didn’t teach them was that they could die from doing drugs.

You cheat on your spouse. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them not to worry about the vows they took, about the promises you make. What you didn’t teach them was about being committed to another person, about being faithful, about being true to your word and keeping a promise.

You have a few drinks and get behind the wheel of your car to drive home. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them not to worry about driving drunk because it’s a silly law and you can drive just fine anyway. What you didn’t teach them was the effect driving drunk will have if they are in an accident. How they could permanently disable themselves or someone else. How they could even die or kill another innocent person.

You see someone drop some money and you wait till they are gone to pick it up. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them “Finders keepers, losers weepers.” What you didn’t teach them was the proper thing to do was let that person know they dropped it. They could have needed that money to buy groceries or medicine.

You are running late for a dance recital and come up to a signal as it turns yellow. You “step on it” so you can get thru the intersection before it turns red. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them it’s OK to take chances if you are in a hurry. What you didn’t teach them was how to drive defensibly to avoid an accident

You are in a parking lot and you see a man beating on a woman and you do nothing. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them it is OK to abuse another person. You just taught them it is OK to be violent towards someone else. What you didn’t teach them was that abuse is never right.

You hear someone screaming for help and you ignore it (this is rumored to have happened in New York City in the 70’s). But, your kids are watching. You just taught them it is OK to ignore it when someone needs assistance, after all isn’t what the police are for? What you didn’t teach them was that someday they or even you could require help. That we all should help each other.

You are driving and someone cuts you off. You blow your horn loudly, you give them “the finger”, speed up, pass them and cut them off. But, your kids are watching. You just taught them that “Road rage” is OK. What you didn’t teach them was that this is an inappropriate way to react, to put yourself, your passengers and other people on the roads at risk. You didn’t teach them to just let it go.

It all boils down to showing your children how to live because you can tell them all you want, but your kids are watching what you do and if you don’t follow your own advice, they will ignore what you tell them. It’s a classic case of do what I say, not what I do.

Halloween

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One of my favorite times growing up in Buffalo during the 60’s occurred in late October every year. It was the Halloween season. I always enjoyed the cooler days and nights around this time of the year. Fall represented to me a warm cup of fresh pressed apple cider with a cinnamon stick, homemade pumpkin pie, carving jack o lanterns, caramel apples and the smell of burning leaves.

But best of all was the night we would go trick or treating. Growing up in Buffalo, we went trick-or-treating on October 30th, what we called Beggar’s Night. There was a very good reason they called it “Beggar’s Night.” I would go out knocking on doors and ringing doorbells collecting sweets along the way.

I would hastily eat my dinner that evening and get into my costume that I would have laid out on my bed in anticipation of the night to come. We didn’t have the readily available costumes or a fancy dancy Halloween store in those days so I had to improvise. I had a total of two different costumes back then. The first costume was a ghost. All this outfit took was an old bed sheet that I would cut eye holes in with a pair of scissors.

My other costume was a hobo. This took a bit more effort. I would get one of my father’s old work shirts and roll up the sleeves. I would also wear my worst, worn out pair of jeans. Ones that were frayed on the bottom and had a few holes in them. Sometimes they would have to be rescued from the rag bag. I would bunch up a ball of newspaper, tie it in a bandana and would carry this on a stick thrown over one shoulder. To complete the look, I would char a cork and draw a three day shadow on my chin and face. I thought I looked good.

While my parents were busy partying with their friends, I would go out on my night time candy raids. My treasure collection bag consisted of either an old pillow case or a paper shopping bag with handles that my mother had gotten when she shopped at an upscale store. I didn’t have one of those ornate, preprinted bags designed just for trick or treat or the plastic “T shirt” bags that we all know, the ones you see blowing around on a windy day.

I would return to my house several times during the night when my “loot” bag was getting heavy, pour it out on a newspaper on the dining room floor and head out in a different direction to gather even more swag. It was not uncommon to go five blocks in any direction and collect at least one large shopping bag full of candy and goodies that night.

One night two teenagers (gods to a pre-teen) approached me and said they were participating in a scavenger hunt and asked if I knew where they could find some of the items on their list. The one thing that sticks out in my mind was a burned out light bulb. They came to the right person because I had just acquired one I was going to experiment with.

They followed me to my home on Berkshire Avenue where I helped them fill their list as much as I could. They thanked me, gave me their address and told me to tell the lady who answered the door that I had helped them out and that she should “take care” of me.

It was getting late when I got there as it was about 4 blocks away. I think she gave me all the candy she had left because she turned off her porch light as I was leaving. She was probably happy to get rid of all the extra candy she had.

When I was done collecting my yearly booty, I would start the job of sorting out my loot. My parents would have me throw out all unwrapped candy, the small bags of homemade popcorn and the apples I had collected lest they were tampered with by the insertion of pins, needles or razor blades. Why someone would do this to a kid is beyond me. I was only permitted to keep the factory sealed items.

I would then start trading things with my brother and sister, swapping what I didn’t want for something I wanted from them.

Ah, those were the good old days, a period of better times. A time that I believe was better, simpler and more wholesome than the current period. But then I think my memory of them is a bit rosier than it actually was.

Times have changed, gone are the days you could let your children run around the neighborhood, unsupervised, late at night. Gone are the days that we used to have a hundred or more children visiting our front door. We now have maybe thirty five or forty kids that come on our porch, dressed in store bought costumes carrying store bought bags gathering their annual spoils. But I still enjoy watching the kids come on my porch and hearing the gleeful sounds of “Trick or Treat”.

Norb is a writer and blogger from Lockport, New York. You can write him at nrug@juno.com or follow his blog at whywny.home.blog

Cheap Junk

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No matter what anybody says, the decline of American manufacturing won’t be reversed by tariffs on steel and aluminum. I think there is more to this issue than just industrial metals. Possibly the largest economic problem America faces is the decades long onslaught of cheap crap. The reason we don’t have nice things in America in 2018 is that we don’t buy them. We want whatever we want for the cheapest price possible, quality be dammed.

Consider the last pair of socks you bought. They were most likely made overseas. Getting them on your feet was a difficult as it is to grasp a shadow and then you couldn’t get over the sensation that your socks were painted on. They most likely got a hole in them after being worn a few times. But who could refuse a deal like 12 pairs of socks for $12 with free shipping?

It is almost impossible to buy a pair of jeans made in this country, and the ones that are made in the United States are made with foreign made denim. The last American denim mill, Cone Mills’s White Oak Plant in Greensboro, North Carolina shut down in December 31, 2017. This was the last denim mill in the United States.

Most $30 jeans won’t last very long. It is ridiculous that this happens in the country that produced blue jeans for the world. Levi Strauss is rolling over in his grave. Denim jeans were invented when a woman asked Jacob W. Davis, a tailor from Nevada for a pair of durable and strong pants for her husband to chop wood. When Davis was finishing up making the denim jeans, he spied some small copper rivets that were lying on a table He used the rivets to attach the pockets.

In Michigan a small business that was building guitars according to old-fashioned methods, by hand was recently bought by a group of venture capitalists. The new owners fired most of the workers and instructed that their “handmade” guitars were to be built with computer controlled machinery. They spent several million dollars converting the factory into a tourist “experience” and connected with Rolling Stone LLC to, and I quote, “incorporate a wealth of music and pop culture into the renovation,” whatever that means. Heritage Guitar used to be a place where skilled tradesmen made beautiful objects. Now it’s going to be one more destination where tourists can watch screen exhibits, eat bad overpriced meals and buy officially licensed T-shirts.

Examples like this are all over. Appliances can now do 100 different things. They tell you what time it is, glow a luminous blue, allow you to write downloadable shopping lists into them, everything except what they are meant to do. Try to figure out how to make coffee after the LED screen goes out on an expensive coffee maker and you will be glad you own an old-fashioned percolator. Yes, it does not play music or give you the current sports scores but it makes a damn good cup of coffee. It will serve for as long as I need.

Most Americans seem to prefer to have junk. When they are given a choice between buying a few slightly expensive items and buying replaceable crap and getting free shipping, people frequently go the free shipping route. Spending a bit more money initially the only way to avoid the cheap stuff problem. I always advise people to buy the most expensive things they can. Buying cheap stuff over and over that breaks ultimately costs more than buying quality products.

It might be hard to buy jeans that will last very long, but you can get five of them today for about the same percentage of your wages that one pair would have cost in 1950. Just because cheap goods are constructed of inexpensive material by people in Southeast Asia who are paid slave wages is none of your concern.

I think the initial step to resolve this problem is to discontinue the agreements where it’s easy for companies to utilize cheap foreign labor. This doesn’t automatically mean tariffs. If legislation was written that required American corporations doing business overseas adhere to the exact same labor standards they have to if they were manufacturing things here, companies could decide that having a unionized workforce in Ohio is not really a bad thing after all.

But by increasing labor costs, prices would go up, people will buy fewer things. If you’re purchasing fewer socks that will last longer, or you’re buying a toaster that costs slightly more, you’re going to insist on quality. Companies will have to deliver.

Finally, I feel it’s absolutely necessary to boycott corporations whose business model depends on a strategy of planned obsolescence. There is no reason that a telephone could not be manufactured to last 15 or 20 years. The corded landline in my house works fine. Our great-grandchildren will say thank you when they do not inhabit a world that looks like Pixar’s Wall-E because we felt the need to throw our “outdated” gadgets in the landfills every other year.

Lovin spoonful: The Dockside Bar and Grill.

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Another Saturday night out for my wife Donna, my buddy Ed and I. This time we went to The Dockside Bar and Grill. This is a historic building right along the Erie Canal that has been converted into a casual dining restaurant. It is near the Gateway Harbor area of North Tonawanda. They have ample parking in a lot across the street from the restaurant.

Built in 1890 it was once used by the New York State Canal Authority to unload barges and store mule feed. According to their website, the dining-room has the original floor but is the only thing that is old fashioned about the place.

I understand that where we dined was a two story addition to the original building completed in 2015. I would call the décor steam punk industrial. From the newel posts on the stairway that were made of 4X4 square tubing to the railing which was made up of steel channel with re-rod spindles the place looked old yet modern. The wall lighting was made up of pipe fittings, the restroom had dimpled steel plate in the walls. The ceiling fans were unlike anything I have ever seen.

The canal side of the building is built entirely of glass doors that open up to the patio. They all fold up at one end. Three quarters of the wall was open to the outside. This brought the outside in. Even though we sat on the side of the restaurant farthest from the opening, we received a nice breeze. The second floor looks like it has the same floor plan as the first floor but has a balcony vs a covered deck. The impressive thing was the lack of insects. I don’t know if it was due to the season or not. Bugs are the main reason I hate dining outdoors.

On to the menu. The appetizers run the gauntlet from Chips & Salsa, featuring House fried Corn Tortilla Chips & served with Pico de Gallo (6.00) to Chicken 20 Wings (15.00) featuring your choice of Hot, Medium, Mild, BBQ, Sesame Soy or Garlic Parmesan to 12 raw clams (12.00). They also serve a fish fry daily.

Our server, Yllka was tableside quickly to take our order. Donna and I selected the Cornmeal Fried Catfish that was served with Garlic Spinach & Creole Fried Rice (18.00). Ed selected a special, a Bourbon Glazed Salmon with crisped kale, grilled potatoes and onions.

When our orders arrived my mind was blown. They were plated beautifully. This showed me that the chef takes care with every meal that leaves their kitchen. My compliments to the chef. Donna’s and my dinner had a decent sized piece of fish on top of the rice and spinach. It was extremely moist and tender with an excellent taste. The rice was very flavorful with what tasted like bits of sausage in it. The garlic spinach had the perfect amount of garlic. Donna pronounced her meal the best she has had in a long time. I have to agree.

Ed’s salmon was perfectly cooked, not raw but not over cooked either. It had the fatty fish flavor that a dish like this should have. Salmon is one of my favorite fishes and properly cooked is a bit of gastronomic heaven. The potatoes and onions were delicious but I just don’t understand the mystique surrounding kale. He said his meal was first-rate and we agreed, before we even left the table, that we just had to return.

My only problem was the noise, oh the noise. It was very difficult to converse without shouting due to high noise level. I realize that it is next to impossible to control the noise level in a place like this but if you wanted to have a conversation while eating this wasn’t the place to be on this particular Saturday night.

I give it a 9 out of 10 spoons but only because of the noise level.

The Dockside Bar and Grill
153 Sweeney St.
North Tonawanda
716-693-3600

Kitchen Hours: Bar Hours:
Monday: 3pm-11pm Monday: 3pm-1am
Tuesday – Thursday: 11am – 11pm Tuesday – Thursday: 11am – 1am Friday-Saturday: 11am-1am Friday-Saturday: 11am-2am
Sunday: 12pm-11pm Sunday: 12pm-1am

Words of love, so soft and tender, won’t win a girls heart anymore: The Mamas And The Papas (1966)

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When I was in the service, I would try to write my wife as often as I could, relating where I was and what I was doing. These usually contained expressions of my love for her but the envelope, oh the envelope, I would adorn it with the number 143. That was my code for the number of letters in the words I love you. One cruise she was pregnant with my daughter and I wrote the 143 vertically and put a smaller 143 inside the 4. This represented my wife carrying my child.

As a family we have many ways of expressing our love for each other. If we happen to be holding hands, 3 gentle squeezes mean I love you. This will be followed by 4 gentle squeezes in response meaning I love you too. Another way we express our love for each other is by flashing the ILY a sign from American Sign Language which means I love you. The sign originated among deaf schoolchildren using American Sign Language to create a sign from a combination of the signs for the letters I, L and Y and is our personal “gang” hand sign.

Another way we say I love you is by saying “Owie”. This developed from a daughter who as a very young child and was just learning to talk responding “owie” every time we said I love you to her. Again this is a family specific way to let each other know how we feel about each other without yelling I love you in a crowded room.

One time I used a label maker to put I love you on the lid of the wash machine so every time my wife did laundry she would see it. This had a very humorous side effect one day when my furniture was in storage at my parent’s house after I got out of the Navy. A repairman showed up to fix the damage the moving company caused to the washer and when he opened the lid he said “I love you”. My mother was aghast until the repairman explained he was just reading the lid.

When I worked, I used to call my wife in the middle of the day to chat and tell her I loved her. There are many ways to say I love you and we say it to each other frequently. I tell my wife I love you several times a day and she says it to me but I also try to have fresh flowers in the house because she likes them and it is my way of saying I love you. She on the other hand, always ensures I have clean clothes. I frequently remark on my magic underwear drawer that seems to fill itself up whenever it gets low. She always makes me delicious meals and desserts. This is part of the reason I have gained 90 pounds since we married 48 years ago. That’s 90 pounds of love she gave me.

When my wife had a minivan I found some red rubbery hearts that I stuck on her rear view mirror. Every time she looked at it, it was like I was telling her I love you. When I bought her the new minivan this was one of the first things I transferred.

The love we show has spilled over to our grandchildren and they will frequently end a text to either Nana or me with a 143. We have several paper hearts that our granddaughter made sprinkled throughout our house. She stuck them on the bathroom mirror, the television in our bed room and many other places. Every time we see them we know we are loved.

We recently watched an 11 year old for a month this summer. We watched her from the time she was 7 weeks old until her family moved to North Carolina. One day she left me a note saying”Love Ya” on my end table. This is now taped inside my laptop where it reminds me of her every day.

It is easy to let someone know you love them. Write on the bathroom mirror with a small amount of hand soap on your finger and when the mirror steams up you will leave a little love message! On your way out in the morning, draw a heart in the snow. Telling someone you love them doesn’t have to be a grandiose gesture. It can be as small as a squeeze, a word, or just doing something nice for a person.

The Mamas And The Papas got it all wrong. Words of love will win a girls heart.

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Blogging

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Someone asked me why I have a blog. I do it because writing a blog helps me to express my thoughts in front of the world. Blogging helps me to stay up to date on current events about because I have to do research for my articles. It also helps me to learn new things. I have always liked learning and in fact I have attended 2 on-line colleges and the University of Buffalo on Main Street, Buffalo in the 60s.

I think writing a blog helps me to think clearly and deeply about my life, world events, society etc. Blogging helps make me confident about writing and helps me express myself and my opinions. It helps me become unafraid of making a mistake. Any time I get a date wrong or a fact wrong, people let me know. I now understand the adage “Cite a number or a date but not both.”

Having a blog where I can document and share my life adventures, ideas and struggles is a great way to stay connected with my family and friends some of who are hundreds of miles away.

I blog to write about the people and places that have made me happy throughout my life-like growing up in Buffalo. When I write, it is to share, with anyone that is interested, my thoughts and knowledge about a particular subject. I have so many wonderful fans that write to me about how much they like my articles. It is a great feeling to know that the articles I write can have a beneficial effect on someone’s life.

I don’t make any money out of writing my blog yet. This is not why I blog at this point. I also post articles as a guest on other online newspapers and websites like Art Voice. I do this to both garner new eyes for my blog and to help them out with content. Plus I also enjoy seeing my byline on articles I write. Some of these people make a living from this and I am glad to help out.

The more I write, the easier it gets and the better I think I become at it. Most professional bloggers write on a regular basis. I run my articles thru a spell checker, grammar checker and two plagiarism checkers. I even get feedback from readers, some good some bad. This helps me become a better writer.

Being a good writer is not required to a successful blogger. In fact many very high-profile bloggers are self-proclaimed lousy writers. Part of their success might be credited to their message of “If I can do it, anyone can”.

Most people start out with just one blog but as they gain experience and they sooner or later come up with other ideas for blogs. I am now on my third blog. What I have learned from my previous blogs will assist me in growing the readership of my current blog and blogs I may yet write.

Meanwhile, by cultivating my own online network of readers has created its own benefits, like gaining access to seminars, product unveilings, and other events. I wrote an article on being color blind that appeared in Buffalo Rising and was read by someone in California.

They contacted me and asked if I would be interested in trying out their glasses that help people like me with a color perception problem. They ended up sending me $700 worth of glasses to try out for free. In fact I am wearing them now. Not too bad for writing a 900 word article on the difficulties I have being colorblind.

I also received a call from the owner of a restaurant I had reviewed. I had cited a few problems and the owner said he couldn’t have paid to get such an honest assessment of his restaurant. He sent me a $25.00 gift card even though I told him I wasn’t going to change the review.

Blogging is a great way for me to build up my writing portfolio. I get published a few times a week in local newspapers but blogging has enabled me to get readers from Maine to California. I have notebooks with my articles that have been published in local newspapers but by showcasing my writing skills on a blog, I can grow my exposure and possibly find a way to start getting paid for writing.

As the internet and technology become more ingrained in our day-to-day lives, the benefits of blogging become impossible to ignore. Gone are the days that I needed to program in HTML like I did when I wrote my first website, ten years ago. Websites such as WordPress.org or Blogger.com have made it relatively easy to set up a blog in 15 minutes or less.

Blogging makes me think about newsworthy topics and the world around me. A blog keeps my mind focused and sharper. I believe in the adage “use it or lose it” and at seventy I am still able to write two or three fairly lucid articles a week.

Apart from all the benefits of blogging I mentioned above, my blog might someday become a source of income for me when it achieves enough subscribers. I have not yet made any money off any of my blogs so far, but I just might.

“In the Navy. Yes you can sail the seven seas.” (Village People)

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The U. S. Navy says 13 October, is the anniversary of its official founding. The Second Continental Congress passed a resolution that formed the Continental Navy under President George Washington. Dangers to American merchant shipping by Barbary pirates from four North African States, in the Mediterranean, led to the Naval Act, which created a permanent standing U.S. Navy.

I celebrate the Navy’s anniversary and recognize all the brave men and women who have served, now serve and will serve our country. Today it’s the largest and most capable navy in the world, with the highest combined battle fleet tonnage. The Navy also boasts the world’s largest aircraft carrier fleet, over 300,000 active personnel, and nearly 100,000 in the Reserve.

I enlisted in Buffalo in 1967 and spent 4 years of my life in the Navy during the Vietnam War.

One of my greatest pleasures during that time was messing with the career Navy personnel by not using Navy speak. I will give you an example. I would say something like “I was walking from the round end of the boat to the pointed end of the boat by going down the hallway and due to the floor being recently mopped, it was slippery. Someone suddenly opened the door to the bath room causing me to run into the wall. As I continued walking, I noticed a light out on the ceiling. I went down a set of stairs, into the cafeteria and had a drink of Kool-Aid. I then exited thru a door to the outside. I went to the front of the boat and threw a rope into the water to measure the depth of the water. When I got a measurement I called up to the driver in the front seat and told him the water was 100 feet deep. The driver then turned left and I went back into the boat, went to my bedroom and lay down in my bed. “

I will now convert the above paragraph to Navy speak. I was walking from the “stern” of the “ship” to the “bow” of the “ship” down the “passageway” and due to the “deck” being recently “swabbed”, it was slippery. Someone suddenly opened the “hatch” to the “head” causing me to run into the “bulkhead”. As I continued walking, I noticed a light out on the “overhead”. I went down a “ladder”, across the “mess deck” and had a drink of “bug juice” I then exited thru a “hatch” to the “main deck”. I went to the “bow” of the “ship” and threw a ‘line” into the water to “take a depth sounding”. When I got a measurement I called the “pilot” on the “bridge” and told him the water was “600 fathoms” deep. The “pilot” then turned to the “port” and I went back into the “ship”, went to my “quarters” and lay down in my “rack”……. There was no rule that said you had to use Navy talk.

I also loved to paint my shop and the things in it. I painted murals on the walls and drawers. One locker I painted a black light “rising sun” on it and a set of drawers had a black light Jesus Christ Super Star on it. I also had a wooden chair with vertical slats in my shop. I painted the horizontal piece of the back rest blue with white stars and the vertical slats I painted red and white. I did the same with the metal trash can I had. The top was painted blue with white stars and the bottom was striped red and white. This was not a problem for the people on my ship as they understood me. It was a problem one day though when we were the second ship out from the pier and I had to carry the garbage across this ship. The “lifer” (career Navy person) on the quarter deck took offense to the garbage can and called my commanding officer demanding I repaint it.

He said I was being disrespectful towards the flag. Not wanting to cause a fuss (yeah right). I did repaint the trash can. We had 2 shades of grey a light grey called “haze grey” that the hull was painted with and a “deck grey” that we painted the …well…decks with. The trash can now had a dark grey band on top with light grey stars and the ribs of the can alternated between light and dark grey. No more disrespect to the flag now, just a nice pattern.

I ended up moving my “rack” (bed) into my shop suspended by ropes that I could use to pull it up to the “overhead” (ceiling) when I was not sleeping. Suffice to say Navy life and I didn’t get along too well together. I don’t know who was happier when I got out, me or them.

The Navy did do a few things for me though, despite my best efforts. I got to travel the world, they gave me a level of maturity that I think would have taken me several more years for me to achieve if I wasn’t in the service and both of my daughters were born during my enlistment for only $25.00 each. As I look back on those years now, I realize they taught me how to be independent which is probably one of the best life lessons I could have learned.

Domestic Violence

woman with eye makeup — Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

Recently, someone I know was the victim of domestic violence. I decided to do an article on it and in doing my research I have found quite a bit of disturbing information on domestic violence and abuse. The statistics are staggering.

Domestic violence or intimate partner violence is more prevalent than most people realize. According to what I have read, it is estimated over one million women are victims of physical assault by an intimate partner each year this includes hitting, choking, pushing, burning, stabbing, shooting and other forms of assaults. More than 1 in 3 women and more than 1 in 4 men in the U.S. experience domestic violence some time in their lifetime. Historically, females have been most often victimized by someone they knew with 85% of domestic violence victims being women. Females who are 18-24 years of age are at the greatest risk of nonfatal intimate partner violence which includes rape. Also, over 30 percent of all women who are murdered in the United States are killed by a current or former male partner according to The Center for American Progress.

Most cases of domestic violence are never reported to the police. There are many reasons for this, some of which are related to the embarrassment victims feel like fear of retribution, fear of additional abuser violence resulting from disclosure, lack of resources and the feeling they deserved it. Those who have experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner or stranger report being concerned about their own and their family’s safety if the incident is disclosed. A restraining order does not always work with person having to violate it before anything can be done.

Victims often need health care and often miss at least one day of work or school. Nearly half of all women in U.S. have experienced at least one form of psychological aggression by an intimate partner during their lifetime including some form of expressive aggression like their partner acting angry in a way that seemed dangerous and telling them they are a loser or a failure or insulting or humiliating them. The majority of women who have experienced intimate partner violence said it was by one partner, while over a quarter were victimized by two or more partners.

The most common age when intimate partner violence is first experienced by women is age 18-24, followed by age 11-17, then age 25-44 and age over 45 being the least victimized. For men the most common age is age 18-24, followed by age 25-34, then age 11-17, followed by age 35-44 and then over age 45. Among victims of intimate partner violence, 84% of female victims and 61% of male victims disclosed their victimization to someone, primarily a friend or family member. Only 21% of female victims and 6% of male victims disclosed their victimization to a doctor, nurse or the police at some point in their lifetime. It is estimated over one million women are victims of physical assault by an intimate partner each year.

As I look around I see I have three children and six grandchildren. I also have a sister and a few cousins. It worries me as to which of these could be subject to abuse or domestic violence.

Society needs to remove the stigma associated with domestic violence and abuse and the courts have to provide stiffer penalties to the abusers. Fortunately the perpetrator in the case that prompted this article was arrested and is stood trial. Hopefully the victim I cited in the beginning can recover and go on with their life without any permanent damage.

Help for victims of domestic abuse is available at the Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233