No you don't, Peter Straub

I was excited when I found a collection of short horror stories by Peter Straub called Houses Without Doors. This was the perfect way to take a reading break from The Earthsea Quartet, which, while beautiful, was growing tiresome. Or maybe I'm lacking the ability to focus right … wha? What was I talking about?

"Blue Rose" was riveting, and horrifying. I already said this, people: Don't let someone hypnotize you. Especially not your sick fuck of an older brother who delights in hurting you. Seems obvious, right?

"The Juniper Tree" is a different story. I had a sinking feeling as I guessed the trajectory of the plot, although I truly wasn't expecting things to go on as they did with "Jimmy." I thought, "He's going to murder him," or "Bet something supernatural will intervene." I know, I know, this is HORROR. Fine. It doesn't have to be something supernatural and good. I so would have taken Satan as an unlikely anti-hero. Damn it, Satan! Can you please claim this creep-o? Drag him to the pits of Hell? But no.

This is a very realistic, very detailed story about pedophilia, exploring the confusion and horror felt by the victim, and then, cooperation, if not acceptance. Followed by the lasting affects into adulthood. There's no rescuer. There's no retribution. No salvation. No … nothing. I feel dirty just thinking about it.

Sorry, Straub. As disgusting and revolting as this is, I do not consider this horror. This is filth. I realize this was written a number of years ago, in a different social climate, but as an adult and a parent and a human fucking being, no thank you. I'm done.

Maybe I'm overreacting. I've read a number of reviews of this book on Amazon and Goodreads, and no one seems as put off as myself. I don't care, though. I wouldn't recommend this book, at least that story, to anyone.

Goodreads: DNF

J. L. Dodd

In Dreams

I woke up this morning, unsettled because I had been dreaming about a friend who committed suicide. Not even a friend really, he was my coworker and acquaintance, and he died four or five years ago. So why now? I dreamed that I was trying to help him get a job at an animal reserve, and I was writing a letter of recommendation for him. The details are foggy already, only hours later. This particular friend's death was especially troubling because of the circumstances. He was younger than me, and took his own life immediately after his wife died on the operating table. I was sad at the time, yes, but more than that, I was deeply disturbed. That feeling stayed with me for some time.

I've said this before: death doesn't usually affect me deeply. Of the people I have lost, I have rarely shed a tear. This is true of this friend, and others. Grandparents. Co-workers. Clients. The only time I remember crying was when my cat was run over and killed when I was 21. At some point I’ve wondered if there was something wrong with me. Am I that well-adjusted? Am I that accepting? Am I incapable of grieving? I won't know until I face a true test, the death of someone in my inner circle. This is something that terrifies me.

It may be that my reaction is one of denial, or perhaps I'm unnaturally unimpressed with the idea, contrary to thousands of years of human tradition. Death? So what. It happens. Sooner or later, it happens. And we are often at its mercy. The only thing I fear for myself is what I will or will not accomplish before it claims me. 

I also recently dreamed of Suzy, my deceased doggie best friend and writing companion. Not bad dreams. But waking up from that was uncomfortable. Jarring even, because it forces home the idea that she isn't here anymore, which I endeavor not to realize most of the time. That feigned ignorance is how I deal with quite a few things in my life. I compartmentalize and refuse to acknowledge  unfortunate truths. I don't see it as denial. It's simple survival, and perhaps I'm really good at that. Yeah, I'm good at that.

Dreams, though, are a writer's paradise. Even more so in fiction. Anything can happen. A husband and wife will be reunited on the other side. And a cherished dog (or a street mutt, like in Coco) can become a spirit guide in the afterlife.

I think I owe that to Suzy.

J. L. Dodd

"As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death." 
- Leonardo da Vinci

Links

https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/leonardo_da_vinci_154282?src=t_death

Nothing, really. I wouldn't even bother reading this if I were you.

(Disclaimer: Over the last two months, I've started but not finished eight blog articles, all of which I feel are important. Except for this one. It's just an uninteresting update. I would add to it, but I'm in a different place now than I was two months ago, and it seems wrong to sully my prior perspective. Not that ya'll care.)

I literally just sat here for 10 minutes and stared at a blank page. I have nothing to say. Wait, wait, no, that can't be right.



Um, so, since I sent my book off to be edited, I've been trying to be productive in the meantime. I used Canva.com to try to create an ebook cover (or at least get an idea of what I wanted). Canva is free and pretty cool if you are going for basic. I worked on my business, on my (ew) Facebook page. God how I loathe Facebook. Haven't worked much on my blog obviously. It would help if I could finish the book I'm reading. I think that's the key. I feel held prisoner by it, but I refuse to quit. The Earthsea Quartet is four beautiful stories of magic and adventure, but riveting it is not.

HFS! I just put two and two together with Miyazaki's "Tales from Earthsea" movie. That movie was kind of a blur when I watched it. Imma have to go see it again. Now.

I did make some very good progress on book two of the Luminesce series. I've got most of the plot outlined, now I just have to do the heavy lifting. Maybe today I'll get some work done.

I don't know. It's Sunday people. The best and worst day of the week. And my head already hurts and it's still morning. I have a lot I want to accomplish, and yet, I've already given up. I think I need some coffee.

Oh, btw, hypnotism is fucking scary shit. Don't do it, and don't let someone do it to you.

J. L. Dodd

HFS! A win for humanity! The Wild Boars are rescued

Thank you Universe. Thank you God. Thank you Allah. Thank you Kuraokami, deity of rain (and snow, well). Thank you Thai Navy Seals. Thank you King Maha Vajiralongkorn Bodindradebayavarangkun (Wow. Just try to pronounce that, I dare you). Thank you to the multitudes of divers and volunteers from all over the world who went to Thailand to help. Thank you to the boys and their coach for not giving up. Thank you to everyone involved.

How Rescuers Pulled Off the Impossible in a Treacherous Thai Cave

Fuck yes!!! I cried when reading this article, even hours after knowing everyone was safe.

From the NYT: “We are not sure if this is a miracle, or science, or what,” the Thai Navy SEALs posted on their Facebook page. “All the 13 Wild Boars are now out of the cave.”

I didn't think it would end like this. Not from the beginning when they were missing. Not from the middle when they were trapped. I don't think I'm much exaggerating when I say the entire world collectively held its breath after the first two children emerged, waiting for something to go wrong. But no. Everything went right!

And the moral of the story is this: Life is unpredictable. Enjoy it, and don't complain, people. In fact, don't complain about a goddamn thing. Whatever you are going through, someone else is worse off. Stop whining and have some fucking compassion.

(Okay, I'm not sure that moral exactly relates to this particular story but I'm not wrong. And so what if I need to take my own advice? I'm trying, people.)

And also, do not go in caves. Like, ever.

J. L. Dodd AKA Random Gurl AKA HM, QOB

P.S. I'm a bit ranty tonight. So what?

Source:

Paddock, Richard C. “How Rescuers Pulled Off the Impossible in a Treacherous Thai Cave.” New York Times, 10 July 2018, a.msn.com/r/2/AAzTwmN?m=en-us&referrerID=InAppShare.

RANDOM AF! The Adventures of Random Gurl on Independence Day

The fourth of July is a big deal in a small town such as mine. Activities deeply rooted in tradition fill the day, and lost relatives from all over the state and the country come into town to experience the nostalgia and drink a crap-ton of beer.

This year I watched the coaster races with my children, took in the parade, and enjoyed the fireworks after dark. It was generally a good day.

In the case of the races, "watched" may not be entirely accurate. I watched and applauded the racers with my inlaws. My children hung out on the second floor of a hotel and may have occasionally looked out the window. One of them fell asleep and the rest lounged in big, overstuffed chairs with their phones. But still. I was proud of myself for getting them out of the house, up to Old Bisbee, parked at the old high school, up a huge hill, down 100 some stairs and across the street to my uncle's hotel before the eight-o-clock start time.

An out-of-town family had rented the entire hotel for their reunion, and when I came downstairs from the second floor, they thought it was odd that someone was there who they didn't know. I assured them I was just watching the races, that I was family to the owner, and they conceded I didn't look suspicious, and that they were only trying to make sure random people weren't walking through. Seriously? It's a hotel. In a historic town. On the fourth of July. Random people are going to come in. Just because you rented every room does not give you the right to police the property, accost and harass me, a person who has every right to be there.

So I was a little miffed.

I got over it. We got to chatting with one of the family members (they were all wearing yellow shirts that read, "Bisbee Wanna-Bees"), and she gave me the nickname "Random Girl."

I'm still a little miffed. Apparently. But I got to thinking I might like this nickname. I am pretty random at times, in my writing especially, but also in general. I certainly fixate on random things, like Cthulu, space cats, orange creme popsicles, synchronicity, bunnies, shopping lists in trash cans, Spirited Away, free Circus tickets, cannibals, impermanence, frozen baby mice, President Trump (okay, not random) and more recently (and also not random), Thai soccer teams trapped in flooded caves. HFS this needs to be resolved. I've been in a constant state of anxiety since they were lost, and every morning and every night I check the news to find out what is happening. I also prayed. More than once. And I don't pray, people. But please, please God or whoever or whatever, keep it from raining in Thailand for a few more days.

I'm out.

R. Gurl

RANDOM AF! It doesn't take much to make me happy

This weekend is a prime example.

Saturday, the six of us spent most of the day together, more or less. I was content to clean and do laundry and become completely entrenched in The Staircase, a true-crime series about a man falsely convicted of his wife's murder. It was fascinating. Besides the emotional rollercoaster of the documentary, I was quite satisfied with the day. I was productive, but not too productive (that happens when I drink too much coffee). I was surrounded by my family, and even though the kids mostly ignored me (my daughter did once ask me where her phone charger was), at least we were all under the same roof. The boys played PubG. The girls played Overwatch. The dog and the husband were close by my side. It was a good day.

And today, Tyler Joseph's so-called "suicide day," I enjoyed some time outside. I wrote. I watched more TV. You may say, "That sounds boring as fuck." And I will say, "Exactly. And stop cussing. Shame on you."

I know there is a whole world outside that I have never seen. Sometimes I lament the fact that I may never get to see Machu Picchu, or visit the Isle of Sky, or go all those awesome places that appear on my laptop's screensaver. But most times, this is enough for me. My beautiful family. My home, haphazard and full of dog hair (Where does it all come from? My dog should have been bald 100x over!). My backyard, with its sad little flowers and random volunteer dill plants. My job, with co-workers I adore. My city, quirky and full of characters. My life, mundane as it is. I am so very fortunate to have this much.

I know change is coming. Change is inevitable. But my 40-year-old self has learned to appreciate what I can today. I will appreciate this very moment, and this one, and the happiness I find in each. I will deal with change as it comes.

J. L. Dodd

“To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter... to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring — these are some of the rewards of the simple life.”
― John Burroughs, Leaf and Tendril

Links:

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/simple-life

RANDOM AF! Ease off the prez

I had an epiphany. It was in the shower, of course. That's when most of my epiphanies come. It must have something to do with my phthalate-free shampoo. (Wow, that word is weird. Phthalate.)

Anywhoo, this is it: cut Trump some slack, people.

I mean, you have to feel sorry for the guy. He's in way over his head. I truly think he's trying to do a good job, but he doesn't know how. Being the president isn't easy, not for the most intelligent, educated, and experienced of people, and Trump is none of those things. So he just keeps fucking up, and by now, he's pissed off most of the world (there may be some indigenous tribes in Paupa New Guinea that he hasn't pissed off yet). This latest issue with separating undocumented immigrants from their children is the fuck-up of all fuck-ups.

Trump was great at reality TV. His personality is ideal for creating drama. The producers of The Apprentice probably didn't even have to manufacture any of the strife and discontent on that show. But those "talents" don't translate well to the presidency, as we've all been witness to in the last year and a half.

Don't you think there've been multiple times that he's thought, "Hey, this has gone too far. I want out?" No doubt. Although I'm sure every POTUS has had that exact same thought at one point or another. I cannot fathom how disheartening it is to have every single thing you do or say scrutinized by the whole nation. Trump's life, as well as that of his family, is basically a trial by fire, 24/7. You mean people actually sign up for this shit? If they weren't batshit to start, I bet they are on the other side. I bet every former president is secretly in therapy.

And Trump faces unique challenges, I think. First of all, Twitter. Also, he's too stubborn to listen to advice from those around him. Also, and this may be the heart of it, he's such a flaming narcissist that he can't ever admit when he's wrong, and places blame on everything and everyone else. AND HE GETS AWAY WITH IT. Well, kinda. How many lies has he told? CNN says over 3,000 since taking office. But you know, CNN, that's fake news. Of course. I'm glad that someone is keeping track, but still, have there been any consequences? None that I know of. And that being the case, it's unlikely he'll ever change his ways. This dog is too old to learn new tricks. For that, he should be pitied.

We are all fallible. The older I get, the more I realize that I'm human. I make mistakes. Sometimes it's hard to accept, and harder yet to admit. But I am well aware of my own capacity to be in the wrong. In fact, I'm starting to first assume I'm wrong before I jump to conclusions. I've jumped, and oft continue to jump in the wrong direction. And even with a million shades of gray between black and white, I still manage to be wrong often.

But the important thing is that I recognize my limitations. With 40 years of experience, I'm no expert on life, and now I understand I may never be. I'm still learning. I'm still adapting. I am working to accept things I couldn't before. Recently, for example, I'm working to reconcile my will with the will of my children. I can yet try to control their actions, but I can't control what they think, nor make them listen. Trust me, having four teenagers, you realize in full the harsh conundrum of parenthood.

We can't control Trump either. But this isn't entirely his fault. It is what it is. Trump is who he is.

Seriously, as a nation, let's show him some compassion. Ease up on the criticism, and maybe he'll react differently. And if not, let's just hope he doesn't start a world war before we have the chance to not re-elect him. I honestly think he would appreciate the out. You know he'll spin it this way or that. His personality demands it. Conspiracy. Voter fraud. Evil Democrats. Obama had a hand in it, or Mueller, or Comey, or crooked Hillary. But secretly, he'll be relieved.

J. L. Dodd

Links:

https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/01/politics/donald-trump-3000/index.html