Different Shades Of Reality

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Looking down from a skyscraper in New Your City, the people look so small, as puppets moving on a giant invisible string. The cars, taxis, trucks, and buses crawl along like toys in a make-believe gift set. From this height a small body stops to look into a window filled with miniature pieces. Two bodies emerge from a taxi, met by a doorman, and are ushered into a hotel or ritzy apartment complex. All movements seem surreal from this lofty perch, and I’m all alone up here for my mind to imagine and scheme all sorts of life plots. What if I were higher, unable to see any movements, only able in my quasi-existential being to know that these puppets and toys are there and are continuing their movements? The mind ploy thickens.

We each see the working of our world in different shades of reality. We are similar in ways, dissimilar in others. We believe in a Deity. We are agnostic or claim to be atheist. We like a political party for that or this reason. We are truly who we say we are. We wear masks to hide what really abides inside of us. We contradict ourselves. We say exactly what we mean. We are habitual and predictable. We are wisps in the wind and simply go with the whims of our emotions. We convince ourselves that we are the masters of our own fates. We are filled with doubt and frightening scenarios in our existence… We are all these things, and, more.

From so high a Lofty Perch are our lives being controlled? Are we the puppets on a string? Is each of us performing an act that must play out before we become too obsolete to perform any longer? How can any one of us, any group of us, know with certainty the meaning of our time on this rotating orb we call Earth? We are filled with action to go and do marvelous deeds. We are timid and without any sort of resolve. We are violent and we are peacemakers. We are Saints and we are Satans…

So I awake from this silly dream, this exercise in futility, and find that I need to find for me a point to it all! ‘Cogito ergo sum’ works well enough, but I know somehow that, to keep going, I must keep dreaming, keep believing that something Wonderful got me here and will take me to where it is I’m supposed to go when the time is right. Yes, I am a man of Faith, a man who believes that puppet Master is up there pulling my strings, giving me my role to play out, just as He gives similar and dissimilar roles to us all. Some of us need my kind of role to keep sanity – it is the only role that I can play. For those given other roles, how can I truly say you are playing the bad role? How can you say that I am playing the bad role?

Thus we walk among each other in our different shades of reality.

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The Moonlight Bar

liebsteraward booker-award reality blog award one-lovely-blog very-inspirational-blogger1 Billy Ray Chitwood

It has been a few weeks since I worked on my WIP (“The Reluctant Savage”). Feeling a bit rusty I decided over the weekend to write a short story – actually, a short short story – to check my brain functions as to creating a simple plot, some simple characters, and to allow the readers (if so inclined) to engage some of their own imagining, that is, leaving them room for interpretation. It was to be for me an exercise to shed some of the writing rust gathered over the previous weeks and also an optional exercise for the reader to see how many directions the short story could have gone. It’s obvious to me the short tale could be extended to a full-length novel, and maybe I’ll get around to that. For the most part, the busy schedules of my previous weeks had slowed down my writing – and for good or bad, I like to write. So, I put the brain quickly to work and wrote this improvisational short story. Have to tell you, I enjoyed very much the rather quick project… I hope you enjoy it as well.

The Moonlight Bar

A Short Short Story by Billy Ray Chitwood  

“Eight-ball in the corner pocket and get your money out…” A tap on his shoulder came just before the shot was miscued… “Hey, Mofo, that’s the money ball! What the hell you doing?” The brawny man nicknamed Freepo put his cue stick on the table and stared in confrontational pose at the dignified man in a black suit.

“Sorry, Freepo, I’m paying you for the game as well as your playing partner.” He handed each man at the table a sawbuck, then threw two fifties on the table. “I’ve got a handsome proposition for you both… Are you interested in talking about it in my car outside? It’s too noisy in here.”

Freepo looked at his partner, nicknamed Jersey, for some seconds. Then he turned back to the man in the suit. “You ain’t no sicko talking some kind of sex thing, are you, pal? Cause I just might have to wrap a cue stick ’round your head…”

“No, no!” exclaimed the man. It’s a business proposition that can make you both some really good money. Honest. No ‘sex thing,’ for sure.”

“Okay, but why us? Why me and Jersey? You just walk in this bar dive and start jiving about a business proposition? You nuts or sumthin?”

The two pool players leaned against the table, eyes squinted querulously, while the suited man stood perfectly erect only a few feet away. “Look, I’ll make it all very clear to you in the car. The smoke and noise are too much in here. You’ll both be interested in my proposal, I promise. Can we go now?” The man nodded meekly toward the entrance and tentatively lifted his right palm in that direction. The man truly needed to be out of this unfamiliar dimly lit and smelly atmosphere of tinkling glasses, heavy music, and loud conversations.

Freepo and Jersey followed the man to his car, parked just a few yards down the curb from ‘The Moonlight Bar.’ At this hour, close to midnight, there were no people on the sidewalk and only an occasional car was passing. The two men raised their brows at each other as they saw the man unlock the doors to a silver BMW 750 and requested they get in the back seat.

Seated, looking at the man in the front seat of the BMW, Freepo said, “Nice car, pal! You doing okay for yourself! Now, how’s ’bout telling Jersey here and me how you come to us with a business deal? Again, I’m asking, why us out of anybody else?” Jersey had yet to utter a word.

“Fair question, Freepo…” The man was stopped in mid-sentence.

“So you know my neighborhood name! How ’bout this guy? You know his moniker as well?”

“Yes, I know your friend, Jersey.”

“Okay, okay, that tells me you been gathering some dope on us… So get on with your story and we’ll see where we go from there. Just one thing, pal! You ain’t cops, right? You don’t look like no cop I know.”

“No. No cop… Now, here’s the situation… The word is that you guys know how to get things done and that you also know how to keep a low profile – keep your mouths closed about what you’re doing. That is, you are loyal to the people who hire you to get things done and keep quiet about it. Am I right so far?”

Jersey finally spoke. “Look, Mister, Freepo and I go back a long way. We take care of each other. What I’m wanting to know before we go on is who is spreading ‘the word’ about us? ‘The word’ might very well be accurate, but we would like to know who is doing the talking. You do understand why that might be important to us, right? And, what do we call you? You haven’t given us a name. You apparently know us, but we don’t know you.”

The man in the suit quickly calculated that Jersey was the smarter of the two men and it would be he who would need satisfying on all the details. Jersey dressed himself better, spoke better, and seemed to be much better educated. Freepo was street smart, but Jersey had that plus some school smarts.

“Look, call me Morris, but we don’t need to trade biographies here. You know how it works…people want something done, but they want to remain anonymous — that means…”

Jersey interrupted, “Yeah, we know what ‘anonymous’ means, Morris. Okay, guess you don’t want to say who is spreading ‘the word’ on us or give your real name. That’s okay. You’ve come from wherever it is you come and want to talk about ‘business.’ Okay, tell us about the business…”

Freepo started to light a cigarette… “Please, Freepo, don’t smoke in the car! It’s my health. That’s why I needed to get out of the bar. Can you understand, please?”

Freepo grunted and put his cigarette back in its package. “Yeah, okay. Do your talking.”

“The man who owns ‘The Moonlight Bar’? James Gibbons? You both know him?”

The two men glanced at each other curiously and spoke simultaneously, “Yeah, we know him.”

“Did you know he’s an evil man?”

Jersey spoke, “The world is filled with evil men, Morris. Hell, guess we would be considered by some as evil…”

“Not from the word I get on you two.” Morris held up his hand to stop Freepo from interrupting. “You two do a lot more good than evil.” He paused. “Now, if you knew James Gibbons was doing something bad to children, would you still like him?”

“Who said we liked him? We said we knew him. That doesn’t mean we like him. He won’t do it to us but he puts premium brand labels on bottles of booze and sells them at premium prices. He has his bartenders double up sometimes on drinks when people are running tabs. We go there because it’s close to home and we were going there before James Gibbons bought the bar. But he doesn’t fool around with us or any of our friends. He knows better. Freepo and I have a nice little concrete business and we pour not only the concrete but we pour a lot of money into his bar… The truth is, we don’t like him and he don’t like us. We just like his bar and the people who work for him, and he cheats them and treats them like dirt… Now, his pretty wife…we call her Ms Daisy…she’s a gem, pretty blond gal that smiles and quietly gets along with everyone in the bar.”

“That’ great. I got it,” Morris cut him off, “you don’t like him, but you like his wife… Good! I don’t like the man, either, because he hurt someone I love very much…” Morris was silent for a few seconds.

“So, this business you mentioned?” Freepo talking. “It must concern Gibbons, right?”

“Not really, just don’t like the guy. Noticed he wasn’t here tonight. He usually here?”

“Yeah, come to think of it, haven’t seen him in a couple of days, though. Hell, nobody misses him. It’s a lot better place when he’s not there. You sure I can’t smoke back here?” asked Freepo.

“Rather you didn’t. Hey, just a few more minutes and we’re finished. Can you guys pour a foundation for me tomorrow? I’m adding on to my storage shed — gathering too damned much stuff. Small job, but have to get it done by Friday when I’m moving the stuff from the Bronx, and this is Wednesday.”

“That’s the business! We could have told you ‘no’ in the bar… We have schedules, man. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Jersey sounded annoyed.

“But, it’s just a small job! I’ll pay you ten grand for the pour. Easy money. You can do it before your first scheduled job. The pour area is 6′ X 8′ with depth of one foot, re-bar in and footings set.”

“Ten thousand big ones for an easy pour! C’mon, Jersey,” pleaded Freepo, “we can knock it out in no time. Man, that’s too good to pass up.”

“Can’t argue with that… This all legit, Morris? And, by the way, what’s the last name?”

“O’Fallon. And, yes, it’s legit. Google me, Morris O’Fallon, Principal, Friedland Capital and get all the information you need. I’ll pay you in the morning as soon as you pour. I’m asking at the last minute. I figure you guys deserve some extra bucks for the consideration… Here’s the address, and phone number if needed. What time you figuring on being there?”

“We’ll be there by 7:15 AM.” Jersey said.

The three men shook hands on the deal, smiled at each other, and parted company. Morris drove away while, Freepo and Jersey went back into The Moonlight Bar for one last frosty brew


Some weeks later, Detectives Corman Jones and Eli Whitsell were interviewing Freepo Gabetti and Jersey Grimaldi in the office of GG Concrete. There were only three chairs in the sparse office, one metal file cabinet with three drawers, a framed license on one grubby wall, an old scarred desk, cracked tile floor, and Freepo sat on a wooden crate at the end of the desk.

Jones looked from Jersey at the desk to Freepo. “So, you haven’t seen James Gibbons in several weeks, that your recollection, too, Freepo?”

“Yeah, right! And, we had the talk with Morris O’Fallon and did the early morning concrete pour. That’s it! We finished here? We got another pour this afternoon.” Freepo was showing his business side.

“Just a couple of more questions, guys, and we’re outta here,” Whitsell now talking. “Did this fella, O’Fallon, seem like an okay guy to you two?”

“Yeah, sure,” responded Jersey while Freepo nodded, “He was just adding a section to his storage area and wanted us to do a pour.”

“Nothing more interesting than that in your conversation with him?” asked Jones.

Jersey answered, “Hey, we didn’t even know the bar owner was missing til you told us. We mentioned O’Fallon ’cause you asked if anyone didn’t like the guy. Like we told you, he came to the bar and offered us a pouring job. While we were talking he mentioned that Gibbons was a dirt bag, like, he hurt little kids, and we agreed that the man was not too honest in the way he ran his business. Otherwise, this guy O’Fallon seemed like a nice upstanding person…”

Jones continued with the questions. “And it never occurred to you two that O’Fallon was giving you some big bucks for a really quick job?”

“Well, hell yes, man, it occurred to us, but it just seemed he had finished the prep work sooner than he expected and wanted to get it done. The guy drove a Beamer, obviously had lots of dough, and we thought it was a good thing for us… What are you dicks suggesting, anyway? That this O’Fallon guy had us pour concrete on top of Gibbons? You thinking that? Cheez!” Freepo stood and leaned on the desk. “Look, we don’t know nothing ’bout the missing bar man. The O’Fallon guy looked good to us, and, yeah, the money looked good… That’s all we know. Now, we gotta haul ass to get the pouring job done.”

“Okay, Freepo, you and Jersey do your pouring job, but, before you go, give us the address of this O’Fallon guy. Look, we’re just checking out a missing person’s report. We’re not here to hassle you. Just getting information. We’re talking to all the regulars who frequent The Moonlight Bar. It just seems a bit strange this guy needs a concrete pouring job so quickly…but we’ll check out all the angles…”


The detectives had several long conversations with Morris O’Fallon and his wife. While the persistent impression of the childless couple seemed positive, there was intense pressure being applied by the wife of James Gibbons to find her husband. Daisy Gibbons was convinced someone had done him in, and she was running the bar the best she could but felt she was being robbed by the staff working there.

After talking to bar customers and other people who knew Gibbons it was clear he was not a likable and trustworthy kind of guy. Finally it was legally determined that the recently poured O’Fallon storage foundation addition could be broken up and removed to see if Gibbons body was indeed in the ground… Strangely, there was little resistance from Morris O’Fallon. There were also so many unanswered questions. Why did O’Fallon choose GG Concrete to do the pour? Why so quickly? Why not a concrete pour from a company closer to the residence in question?

So, in July, on a beautiful sunny day in a most lovely residential section between the Bronx and Yonkers, the O’Fallon residence became a busy and very noisy place. The storage area in the lush backyard was the focal point, that new section of concrete that had already been walled in. The drillers made an ugly staccato sound that had nearby neighbors scurrying to close open windows and doors to at least muffle the sounds.

By the end of the day a pile of broken up concrete lay in heaps on the lovely lawn.

After a thorough search beneath all the removed concrete no body was found in the big hole, and Mr. James Gibbons stayed missing. Morris O’Fallon was given the city’s apology and thanks. Indeed, his record was clean and his business dealings were exemplary.


A few days later, Freepo and Jersey were shooting pool in The Moonlight Bar, pausing now and then to tell jokes and tall tales among themselves and other regular bar buddies who had joined them around their common tables.

It was Jersey who saw him first. Morris O’Fallon was striding toward them in his tailored suit, his shiny black shoes, and just a hint of a smile on his face. Jersey poked Freepo in the ribs and nodded toward O’Fallon.

“Hi, fellas, you got a couple of minutes to spare outside? It won’t take long, I promise.”

Freepo and Jersey placed their cue sticks on the pool table, and Jersey spoke. “Sure, Mr. O’Fallon…be right back, you hoodlums, just leave the money on the table!” He smirked. The group smirked back.

On the curb, Morris spoke, “No need to get in the car. Just wanted to see if you could do another pour for me? Don’t know if you heard but the police came and drilled out all that fine concrete you poured previously. I’m still scratching my head over that. You go through life doing the right thing and something like that happens… You guys know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, we know,” Freepo offered. “The fuzz came and talked to all the bar regulars, including us. We did mention you, Mr. O’Fallon, but only in the best of light. You understand we had to talk to them?”

“Sure, that’s fine, guys. You’re good citizens. There’s no problem at all. What I want is for you to re-pour that big hole the cops left in my backyard. Can you do that for me? I’ll pay you, of course.” O’Fallon stood erect, hands in his pockets.

“Sure, we’ll pour,” said Jersey. “When do you want us?”

“Is early tomorrow morning good for you? Just like before?”

“Sure, we can accommodate you, Mr. O’Fallon,” Jersey responded.

“Can I ask a question, Mr. O’Fallon?” Freepo blurted.

“Sure, Freepo, ask away.”

“How much you figure on paying us?” He almost looked sheepish in the asking.

“Same as before, if that’s okay with you two. Is it okay?”

Freepo and Jersey looked at each other, trying very hard to appear serious in their demeanors. It was Jersey who spoke, “Sure, that’s fine, Mr. O’Fallon.”

A few more pleasantries and the men parted. Morris O’Fallon got in his car and went wherever it was he was going. Freepo and Jersey jubilantly returned to their buddies inside The Moonlight Bar.


One month later, Daisy Gibbons sat and talked to Freepo and Jersey.

“You two guys are the best customers James and I have…” She looked a bit wistful in mentioning her husband. “With James gone to parts unknown, I’m going to sell ‘Moonlight.’ I’ve got Power of Attorney to do it, and I can’t see any reason to stick around if he’s not here. The Moonlight Bar was his idea anyhow… Guess he just got tired of it – and, me – and wanted to move on…” She looked away for a wistful moment. “Anyway, you guys seem to love this place. You’ve been coming here forever, so I thought I would offer it first to you before putting it on the market…”

“WOW!” squealed Freepo. “Jersey and me, owning The Moonlight Bar! Wow!”

“Hold on, hotshot, let’s hear the lady out… Whatta you got in mind, Ms Daisy?”

Daisy Gibbons made Freepo and Jersey a deal they could not refuse, and they bought the bar.


Around the same time The Moonlight Bar was being sold to Freepo Gabetti and Jersey Grimaldi, a divorce was finalized between Morris and Geraldine O’Fallon.


“Any regrets, Daisy?”

Morris sipped a margarita and gazed at the lovely bikini-clad blond in the beach chair beside him. The bright yellow in the bikini made her tanned skin and cameo face all the more breathtaking to him. The sapphire blue of her eyes matched the soft powdery blue waves that lazily washed ashore. Strands from her long blond hair fell across one moist cheek and down to an amply exposed breast. She smiled sweetly up at him, an invitation on her lush full lips. He suddenly felt a now familiar craving for her that bordered on bestial desire. and his matching yellow jockey shorts were becoming uncomfortably tight.

“Not here! Not now! Not in these moments with you… When the thoughts come I push them aside… Will they eventually destroy us, these thoughts?” There came a quaint sadness to her dazzling face, mixing with the remarkable sexiness of her lips.

“Thoughts will not destroy us, Daisy, not if our love stays strong… You did what you had to do. We must never allow ourselves to become bored with each other… And, right now, this moment, I’m horny as hell and coming after you…”

With that he pushed away from the beach chair and chased a squealing Daisy across the white sand toward a lovely villa surrounded by palms…

The End

You can follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and on facebook.com/billyray.chitwood. If you like this short short story, please take a look at my nine books, some mystery novels, a romance novel, and a couple of memoirs at the following sites:

http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA  (IAN: Short bio sketch and preview my nine books) 


http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (Can preview my books on the Home page and push the blog button for my posts)


https://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (View my current and archived posts)



A Fanciful Thought

liebsteraward booker-award reality blog award beautiful-blogger-award very-inspirational-blogger1 one-lovely-blog Bill SSMT Dove_Flying_By_A_Heart_Royalty_Free_Clipart_Picture_090118-231278-482048

Two Americans who know how to speak only one language, English, sit at a small sidewalk cafe in Paris, France, sipping latte, watching the people pass and listening to a musical language which they can now miraculously understand. Birds are chirping, dropping momentarily from their flitting maneuvers to pick up a crumb of food. The sun is shining in a clear lucid sky and there are smiles on the faces of the people. Happiness abounds.

A waiter appears at the small sidewalk table and speaks a few words in French: “Do you care for more latte or do you care for a menu?”

“No,” says one of the Americans, glancing at his watch, “we must be going. We’re meeting friends at the ‘Arc de Triomphe’ along the Champs-Elysees in twenty minutes.” After directions are confirmed the Americans pay their tab and leave the lovely cafe.

There was no confusion, no doubt, in the language exchange while neither of the Americans spoke French and the waiter spoke no English.

How can this be? A Frenchman and Americans having a dialogue, understanding every word that is spoken? Where has the world gotten?

Finally, we have in many ways made all the brilliant technology pay off. There is now a chip worn in an attractive wrist band. The chip is activated by a small square pen-like device that is clipped to a shirt pocket or to the inside of a coat. On the pen is a menu of languages spoken all over the world. In France, the two Americans chose French from the menu, spoke in their native tongue, and the words were perfectly understood by the waiter – and, of course, any French person they should meet. The words of the Americans are spoken in English but come out in French, and, likewise, the waiter responds in his native tongue and it comes out in English. One small chip on a wrist band controls the conversation.

Marvelous! you say, and marvelous it is. Any person on the planet can now own this ‘Language Chip Band’ for a pittance. People can travel the world and never again be troubled by a language barrier, whether it be France, Bulgaria, Mexico, Russia, Spain, Switzerland, you name the country.

Now, perhaps Love can spread! Now, perhaps Wars can be no more! Now, perhaps a real world community can exist. Now, perhaps Peace in all parts of the world can flourish.

Not so fast, you say!

Yes, of course, you’re right. Not so fast! There will still be power-hungry people. There will still be greed. There will still be mayhem, murder, and evil. And, is this technology possible? My personal belief does not matter so much, but I do believe there are so many wonderful human advancement possibilities that we have and really know nothing about… ‘smart pills’ (I just took one – yuck, yuck!), new energies, new medical breakthroughs… Think about it, really! We put people on the moon. We can identify anyone anywhere with a satellite positioning itself. Our Mathematicians, our Scientists and Technologists of all kinds know so much, our Governments, all know so much more than we can ever believe they know…

So, why are some technological secrets kept from us? (If, of course, you choose to believe there are secrets…) Because of that power and greed and selfishness and, most of all, because of Trust. Love cannot come without Trust and Faith! Faith, Love, and Trust can come, but it seems to me must come when we on this globe can at least communicate with each other, cannot lose each other in translation. Faith, Love, and Trust can come when we begin to let go of our prejudices, when we begin to know and understand that we are not just one person or just a few elites…we can never reach the glory that is out there for us unless we try to eliminate bias, hatred, ignorance, selfishness, and evil from the world…

This is all a fanciful exercise, but can it not come to pass? Can we not all see that a global union of bodies can achieve Faith, Love, and Trust, that our world can be the promised Nirvana, that promise that just maybe got us all started on this orbital journey?

Who knows but the chicken and egg conundrum Maker, our God, that Designer of all our myths and truths!


twitter (@brchitwood)  and http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood



http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (IAN) (short bio and my books)





Fifteen Great Bloggers

vliebsterawardbooker-awardreality blog awardone-lovely-blogbeautiful-blogger-awardvery-inspirational-blogger1Billy Ray Chitwood

I’ve been honored with a nomination for the ‘Very Inspiring Blogger Award’ by Mr. Francis Baraan IV (@MrFrancisBaraan on Twitter) for which I would like to most sincerely thank him. it’s always a pleasure to receive these award nominees but it’s also a bit tedious and time-consuming in fulfilling the requirements that are attached to them. I have been honored with a few of these awards, and, while it takes some time away from my writing and/or maintenance chores of the social networks, it is always gratifying. An ‘Award’ nomination makes one feel validated in some sense for her/his blog observations, for her/his writing in general, makes one feel that there is in her/his possession some talent that is recognized by others. In fact, it might come to a person that this nomination may be the only recognition they will ever get in their writing. If I appear somewhat ‘tongue in cheek,’ forgive me, for it truly is an honor to receive such an award.

Mr. Francis Baraan has a truly lovely blog site and he was also awarded the ‘Very Inspiring Blogger Award.’ It’s my hope that you will visit http://mrfrancisbaraanivblog.wordpress.com. (Please note that the lovely library room in the background of this site is already spoken for by me.) There is a most noble title to this post: THE BIBLIOPHILE CHRONICLES: MOSTLY A LITERARY BLOG — FRANCIS BARAAN ON BOOKS, READING, WRITING, WRITERS, AUTHORS, AND LA DOLCE VITA. Please visit this most worthy wordpress blog and prepare to be impressed. That was my experience, and I’m sure it will be yours.
As with most awards there are some mechanics that go with with acceptance of the nomination. The nominee is to acknowledge the nominator in the most kindest of words, momentarily forgetting the possible disdain he or she is feeling at having to navigate through the laundry list of chores. The nominee is to enumerate seven facts about herself/himself heretofore not necessarily known by the social network community, perhaps even the world. The nominee is also to nominate fifteen other people for the award — again, understanding that any friendships developed with those nominees over the preceding years are likely to go through some sort of purgatorial-like status before amity can return.
I would like to state that my dear friend, Jhobell Kristyl, also nominated me sometime back for this and two other awards, ‘The Reality Blog Award’ and “One Lovely Blog Award.” So, I hope I’m not stepping on the protocols but I’ll handle these generous and wonderful awards together. Please let this be okay with my friends, Francis and JK. I sincerely thank them both for the Award(s).
Also, relative to protocols, I’m changing my nominees format. Since I’m doing the nominating, it seems only proper that I set the requirements. HERE ARE THE REQUIREMENTS FOR MY FIFTEEN NOMINEES: 1) You may or may not acknowledge and thank me for the nomination; 2) You do need in accepting to show the award on your blog; 3) You must reveal seven things about yourselves that heretofore have not seen daylight; 4) THAT’S IT! You may if you wish nominate others for the award (in any number) but it is not mandatory. To recap, thank me if you like, show the Award on your blogs, and reveal in a specific post seven things about yourselves that have not heretofore been known. Simple enough?
Here are the seven revelations about myself, some shameful, some which never should have been revealed:
1) I’m an emotional cripple…not necessarily big news to the people who know me: I cry at heart-rending, death-disease-pending, and maltreated animal books and movies; ergo, I try to stay away from these books and movies. What makes this confession rather ridiculous is that, in some of the books I write (nay, all the books that I write), there are sections where I cried while writing them – and I cry when I re-read them. Guess it stands to reason that an emotional cripple will cry when he’s writing emotional scenes. Know what? That’s not embarrassing to me. In fact, I’m thankful for it. And, instead of blaming my age, I can say that it has always been that way for me.
2) In some ways I’m a Jekyl/Hyde kind of guy – particularly when it comes to the internet and the functions I must perform on it. First of all, an anachronism like me perhaps should not be on the internet. There are so many things I do not know, that HTML stuff, all the widgets, settings, and interneteze. I’m basically a humble guy with a tender heart (as you already know) but there are times when I rage, rant, rave, and come fairly close at times to throwing this laptop into my beautiful Canterra fireplace in front of which I sit posing as a author… Mostly, though, you can rely on my being a sweet, decent, law-abiding human being. (My wife is now looking over my shoulder and laughing full-throttle – at a safe distance, of course!). 🙂
3) I love ‘thin’ milkshakes, not the thick stuff that you need a spoon to drink it (make that, eat it!). However, the milkshake has to have a slow-moving texture, thick enough to know there is ice cream within the ice. What kind, you ask? Thin, Chocolate milkshakes I crave most earnestly in the hot months particularly – made with vanilla ice cream (home-made if possible) and Hershey syrup. (At this point, as she reads these words, I’m giving Julie, my wife, that over my shoulder boyish smile with flickering eye countenance, and she’s not looking too pleased as she goes to the kitchen to pull the blender from the cupboard.)
4) Okay, Julie is not looking over the shoulder at the moment, so I can write this (Oh, sure, I’ll get her ire later!), but here’s the thing: even here in Twilight, a pretty lady, bursting out all over in that itsy bitsy teeny weeny polka dot bikini can still get the old motor running. Now, it’s of course a totally different kind of experience from the ‘young buck’ days – if you get my drift… Naturally, I love to pieces this lovely wife of mine, but, gee whiz, some of the damsels out there in the world today! Whooee! Please understand that this is only a thought process!
5) I’m basically a shy guy but get me around a group of fun-oriented people and I sorta have to show off! It might take a heavily laced drink to get me started (one is about all I can handle these days), but look out, I just might put on a one-man show: sing a few songs I’ve written, dramatize a few moments from the pages of my books… It’s all okay. I might overdo it once in a while, but, usually, the performance is in front of friends who know anyway that I’m going to make an ass out of myself. You see, it’s just me crying for attention! And, I get the attention, but the next day brings some remorse… The way I figure it, like, if I’m lying on the soiled and overused leather sofa of the shrink, I’m getting rid of some junk piled up there in this ego of mine… No real harm done, I’m thinking.
6) I was once a woman-chaser of the worst kind… You will find all of this if you read my memoirs. It’s all rather shameful, I suppose, but I’ve made it this far and just might as well lay it all out so people can decide to hate me, love me, maybe, at least, read me – that is, read my books. Hell, that’s why I wrote them, trying to find pieces of myself that could make some sense of me. The truth is the truth and it’s not going to set me free, but it helps me live a lot better within myself. Women-chasing is frowned upon, but I gotta tell you, I had me some times back in the day… (Oops! Julie’s back with my chocolate milkshake and I gotta get it from her before she pours it all over this graying head of mine!) Love that woman, and I didn’t spill a drop! She loves me. That’s the most warming thought this old mind and body needs to have.
7) This one is not so pretty but might as well put it out there. My mortality is something that lingers a spell now and then. It’s not so much I fear death. Hell, there are times when I would almost welcome it, particularly when this or that body part is not working or at some point has needed to be replaced. It’s the ‘legacy’ thing more than anything. I would like the people I’ve loved, my Mom, my wife, my kids, grand kids, greats, grandparents, my good friends, even my Dad and including some of those women I chased once upon a time, that they really were loved and they meant a lot to me. There was no cheapness in my love affairs. They all had worth. There were mountains I could have, should have, climbed and did not. There was so much more I could have given the world. There was much too much selfishness in my living, not enough giving of myself, not enough accomplishments that would match whatever talents I was supposed to have… So there it is. It all did not get done. BUT, there are nine books, a tenth being written (very slowly, he says), and maybe they will count for something. Maybe someone can benefit from them. MAYBE I have been able to see me better with the books I’ve written. SO, mortality, death, does not scare me… I just wish that I could have given the world more and maybe not taken so much from it… It was likely all ordained, so it is is what it is! I continue to enjoy life. I’ve got family who love me, friends who care about me. GUESS when I think about it, I have a pretty good legacy as it is… AND,a big plus! I have my faith! It has undergone some altering since my Appalachian days of youth, but it is there. Yes, God, it is there! After all these orbits, You await…
Okay, that’s over!
Here are my fifteen nominees for ‘The Very Inspiring Blogger Award.’ You are all beautiful in your blogs and deserve this award. I’m just hopeful you won’t send me ‘hate mail’ and become too unruly over all of this. 🙂 Actually, it’s good to network… You just might find a viral track for a book or two.  Although it is not incumbent on you to list fifteen people for the Award (you can list any number, or, none at all), I am listing here fifteen deserving people, and, again, all they need to do is display the Award on their blogs and reveal seven things about themselves in a post — acknowledge me in your post if you like. Just remember, I’m an emotional ‘dude’ and would appreciate your mention of me.
1) John Dolan – @JohnDolanAuthor (Twitter) – http://johndolanwriter.blogspot.com
2) James McCallister – @jumeirajames (Twitter) – http://i-nation.me
3) Linda Howard Urbach – @LindaUrbach (Twitter) – http://www.madamebovarysdaugher.com
4) Eden Baylee – @edenbaylee (Twitter) – edenbaylee.com
5) Diane Strong – @DianeIStrong (Twitter) – http://dianestrong.wordpress.com
6) Cameron Garriepy – @camerongarriepy (Twitter) – http://camerondgarriepy.com
7) Dianne Gray – @Zigotide (Twitter) – http://diannegray.au.com
8) Mary Meddlemore – @MaryMeddlemore (Twitter) – marymeddlemore1.wordpress.com
9) Rick Mallery – @RickMallery (Twitter) – rickmallery.wordpress.com
10) Sheris Bessi (Eternally Me) – @sherisbessi (Twitter) – theothersideofugly.com
11) Seumas Gallacher – @seumasgallacher (Twitter) – seumasgallacher.wordpress.com
12) Dianne Harman – @DianneDHarman (Twitter) – http://www.DianneHarmon.com
13) Katherine L. Logan – @KathyLLogan (Twitter) – http://www.katherinellogan.com
14) Virginia Lee – @dagonsblood (Twitter) – https//dagonsblood.wordpress.com
15) Arthur Crandon – @arthurcrandon (Twitter) – http://www.bit.ly/TfzLl2
If you would like to know more about me, here are some links:
http://www.amazon.com (billy ray chitwood)
http://www.amazon.co.uk (billy ray chitwood)