It's Thursday!

It's a shame that something as marvelous as the Internet has brought out the worst in people. Pedophiles, cyber-bullies, stalkers...the list goes one. This is one email I received, and whether it actually happened as portrayed or NOT, it really is an eye-opener into how something that seems so innocent can turn deadly.

SHARE THIS WITH PEOPLE, EVEN THOSE WITHOUT KIDS SO THEY CAN SEND IT TO FRIENDS WHO DO HAVE CHILDREN OR GRANDCHILDREN.

After tossing her books on the sofa, she decided to grab a snack and get on-line. She logged on under her screen name ByAngel213. She checked her Buddy List and saw GoTo123 was on. She sent him an instant message:

ByAngel213: Hi. I'm glad you are on! I thought someone was following me home today. It was really weird!

GoTo123: LOL You watch too much TV. Why would someone be following you? Don't you live in a safe neighborhood?


ByAngel213: Of course I do. LOL I guess it was my imagination cuz' I didn't see anybody when I looked out.

GoTo123: Unless you gave your name out on-line. You haven't done that have you?

ByAngel213: Of course not. I'm not stupid you know.

GoTo123: Did you have a softball game after school today?

ByAngel213: Yes and we won!!

GoTo123: That's great! Who did you play?

ByAngel213: We played the Hornets. LOL. Their uniforms are so gross! They look like bees. LOL

GoTo123: What is your team called?

ByAngel213: We are the Canton Cats. We have tiger paws on our uniforms. They are really cool.

GoTo123: Did you pitch?

ByAngel213: No I play second base. I got to go. My homework has to be done before my parents get home. I don't want them mad at me. Bye!

GoTo123: Catch you later. Bye

Meanwhile.......GoTo123 went to the member menu and began to search for her profile. When it came up, he highlighted it and printed it out. He took out a pen and began to write down what he knew about Angel so far.

Her name: Shannon Birthday: Jan. 3, 1985 Age: 13 State where she lived: North Carolina

Hobbies: softball, chorus, skating and going to the mall.. Besides this information, he knew she lived in Canton because she had just told him. He knew she stayed by herself until 6:30 p.m. every afternoon until her parents came home from work. He knew she played softball on Thursday afternoons on the school team, and the team was named the Canton Cats. Her favorite number 7 was printed on her jersey. He knew she was in the eighth grade at the Canton Junior High School She had told him all this in the conversations they had on-line. He had enough information to find her now.

Shannon didn't tell her parents about the incident on the way home from the ballpark that day. She didn't want them to make a scene and stop her from walking home from the softball games. Parents were always overreacting and hers were the worst. It made her wish she was not an only child. Maybe if she had brothers and sisters, her parents wouldn't be so overprotective.

By Thursday, Shannon had forgotten about the footsteps following her..

Her game was in full swing when suddenly she felt someone staring at her. It was then that the memory came back. She glanced up from her second base position to see a man watching her closely.

He was leaning against the fence behind first base and he smiled when she looked at him. He didn't look scary and she quickly dismissed the sudden fear she had felt.

After the game, he sat on a bleacher while she talked to the coach. She noticed his smile once again as she walked past him.. He nodded and she smiled back. He noticed her name on the back of her shirt. He knew he had found her.

Quietly, he walked a safe distance behind her. It was only a few blocks to Shannon 's home, and once he saw where she lived he quickly returned to the park to get his car.

Now he had to wait. He decided to get a bite to eat until the time came to go to Shannon 's house. He drove to a fast food restaurant and sat there until time to make his move.

Shannon was in her room later that evening when she heard voices in the living room..

"Shannon, come here," her father called. He sounded upset and she couldn't imagine why. She went into the room to see the man from the ballpark sitting on the sofa.

"Sit down," her father began, "this man has just told us a most interesting story about you."

Shannon sat back. How could he tell her parents anything? She had never seen him before today!

"Do you know who I am, Shannon ?" the man asked.

"No," Shannon answered.

"I am a police officer and your online friend, GoTo123."

Shannon was stunned. "That's impossible! GoTo is a kid my age! He's 14. And he lives in Michigan!"

The man smiled. "I know I told you all that, but it wasn't true. You see, Shannon , there are people on-line who pretend to be kids; I was one of them. But while others do it to injure kids and hurt them, I belong to a group of parents who do it to protect kids from predators. I came here to find you to teach you how dangerous it is to talk to people on-line. You told me enough about yourself to make it easy for me to find you. You named the school you went to, the name of your ball team and the position you played. The number and name on your jersey just made finding you a breeze."

Shannon was stunned. "You mean you don't live in Michigan ?"

He laughed. "No, I live in Raleigh It made you feel safe to think I was so far away, didn't it?"

She nodded.

"I had a friend whose daughter was like you. Only she wasn't as lucky. The guy found her and murdered her while she was home alone. Kids are taught not to tell anyone when they are alone, yet they do it all the time on-line. The wrong people trick you into giving out information a little here and there on-line. Before you know it, you have told them enough for them to find you without even realizing you have done it. I hope you've learned a lesson from this and won't do it again. Tell others about this so they will be safe too?"

"It's a promise!"

That night Shannon and her Dad and Mom all knelt down together and thanked God for protecting Shannon from what could have been a tragic situation.

NOTE: My EPPIE 2009 nominated book, Embezzled Love, deals with a real life story of someone who thought she found love on the Internet, but instead got a ticket for the worst roller coaster ride she's ever experienced. It happens every day, even to those who think they are exempt.

Wednesday's Wisdom

Another wonderful email I received and have to share. So true, so true. About the only good think about growing old is that it beats the alternative. :)

SPECIAL POEM FOR OLDER FOLKS

A row of bottles on my shelf
Caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze..
The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know..........
Is what tells each one where to go!

There's always a lot to be thankful for if you take time to look for it. For example I am sitting here right now thinking how nice it is that wrinkles don't hurt.

Rules? What Rules?

Oh, if only there was one set of rules to follow...a lesson you could study and know it all. I've been writing fiction since 2002, and I learn some new 'rule' every day. It eventually becomes so frustrating you wonder why you want to be an author in the first place. At least I do. I'm surprised I still have hair.

I recently reclaimed the rights to White Heart, Lakota Spirit, which I wrote in 2005. Our last camping trip was so uncomfortably hot, I pulled out my copy and read it...this time as a reader. I couldn't believe how differently I would have written it today, so rather than renew my contract, I asked to have the rights revert back to me so I could redo the story. I've spent nearly three weeks, eliminating instances such as:

*Describing a person's voice before they spoke. I've learned that tags should follow the dialogue, especially when you're saying something like, 'Her voice quivered.' Unless she speaks, how would you know how she sounded?

*Using a character's name far too many times, especially when only two people were having the conversation. Example: "Did you have a nice day, John?"
Yes, Steve, I did. And you, John?"
Get the picture?

*Over explaining (RUE = Resist the urge to explain). For example, if an author does a good job of setting the scene, there is no need to write, 'She widened her eyes in disbelief.' The reader will know why SHE widened her eyes. "Her heart pounded with fright." If I've SHOWN my reader the scene, hopefully, her/his heart will pound and they'll know the reason. *smile*

*Using words that didn't exist during the era. I only found a few, but I'm surprised they slipped by without notice. I've become much more proficient in using my Online Etymology Dictionary

*Overdone words. Starting too many sentences with "Oh," and "Well." Honestly, what was I thinking? Was my editor snoozing? I've rewritten many of the paragraphs simply to improve the flow.

*Action before reaction. Sometimes you have to stop and think about how you can word the sentence so that you are showing the reader what happened before you show the character's reaction. You can't have someone jump before the gun fires...well you can, but it isn't correct, or so I'm told.

*Internal thoughts. This story was fraught with way too many. I've since learned that most publishers prefer having very few internal thoughts and instead prefer using dialogue or just posing questions for the reader. Instead of This can't be happening. I have the worst luck. I'd now write, Luck wasn't with her. How could this be happening again? Or something like that. It's almost 4:00 a.m. and I'm wondering what in heck I'm doing blogging. *smile*

*Telling instead of showing. This is a biggie. "She opened the door. It was heavy," is telling. Okay, so that's an amateur example, but wouldn't you rather read, "Clare tugged the massive oak door open." of "After twenty jumping jacks, her breathing was heavy. She told John she was out of shape." Doesn't this work better? Clare completed the last of fifty jumping jacks. Sweat dripped into her eyes and her breath came in ragged gasps. "I'm out of shape." She looked at John and stated the obvious.

*Starting sentences with "It". I've discovered using a pronoun as the subject often weakens the writing. Readers don't always remember what "it" is. Better to identify. "It bothered him." Really....what was it? A rash? Tight jockey shorts? A nagging wife? See what I mean?

*Removing needless phrases at the end of sentences that are inferred. "To him, for her, at him..." The list goes on and on.
Honestly, there are so many instances where these phrases add nothing. For instance...If John and Mary are playing tennis, and you've set the scene with them on opposite sides of the net, why would you need to tell the reader she hit the ball "to him." Who else is she going to hit the ball to?

*Eliminating unnecessary instances of "that." This has been a hard habit for me to break. I feel THAT it's much better to explain THAT my bad habits may result in a poor presentation, than to admit THAT I just forget sometimes. If you take out the capitalized "THATs", the thought remains the same. *lol*

I'm sure there are changes I've made, but the story already reads so much better. I'm hoping I can sell White Heart, Lakota Spirit again, because the story is really a good one. I just didn't do a very good job of promoting. Bad, bad girl!

I'm pretty sure that if I am successful in selling it, buy the time the manuscript becomes a novel again, I will have learned many more rules of fiction writing that I'll wish I had known. Being an author is like riding a Merry Go Round...and endless circle that sometimes make you sick to your stomach. *rofl*

P.S. Can you tell I love Cartoon Clipart?

Sunday Snicker

George and Harriet decided to celebrate their 40th Wedding Anniversary with a trip to Las Vegas .. When they entered the hotel/casino and registered, a sweet young woman dressed in a very short skirt became very friendly. George brushed her off.

Harriet objected, "George, that young woman was nice, and you were so rude."

"Harriet, she's a prostitute."

"I don't believe you. That sweet young thing?"

"Let's go up to our room and I'll prove it."

In their room, George called down to the desk and asked for 'Bambi' to come to Room 217. "Now," he said, "you hide in the bathroom with the door open just enough to hear us, OK?"

Soon, there was a knock on the door. George opened it and Bambi walked in, swinging her hips provocatively.


George asked, "How much do you charge?"
"$125 basic rate, $100 tips for special services.."

Even George was taken aback. "$125? I was thinking more in the range of $25."

Bambi laughed derisively. "You must really be a hick if you think you can buy sex for that price."

"Well," said George, "I guess we can't do business.. Goodbye."

After she left, Harriet came out of the bathroom. She said, "I just can't believe it!"

George said, "Let's forget it. We'll go have a drink, then eat dinner."

At the bar, as they sipped their cocktails, Bambi came up behind George, pointed slyly at Harriet, and said, "See what you get for $25?"

Writing & Marketing Humor

Writing humor is often perceived as being difficult, but it doesn’t have to be. It is not that you write something that is fall on the floor funny, but it is that you take a fresh perspective on old things. For example, I wrote "Red Hot Scooter Mama" after going to the grocery store and encountering little demon kids from alien planets with non-existent parents. The article begins with a bow to the width of my feet. I could have just said, my feet are really wide, and because of that I have to ride a scooter around the grocery store.

But that wouldn't have been near as effective as, "Some woman are blessed with slender feet. Not me. Mine are as wide as the Mississippi, and have never sported an arch as lovely and delicate as the one in St. Louis." Immediately, you get a visual image with a spot of humor about my feet. But, by gosh and by golly, who even CARES about my feet? Yet, this article garnered more hits and comments than most of my other posts. Not only that, but it was taken off the blog and posted about on the different groups as a lively conversation ensued.

All about feet and little bratty kids!

The point is, humorous writing can be about anything. You may be thinking, I'm not Erma Bombeck. Exactly. You're who you are, and you write humor with your own bent.

Is there even a market for humor? The answer is a resounding "yes!" For about a year, I wrote a humor column for our local newspaper. If you're willing to write for free, most of the smaller newspapers are open to publishing humor written by local authors. You can post your humor on your blog, or personal website. Additionally, your humor column can grace almost any others website. Google "humor columns" and you'll see where others have marketed their humor.

Some people are under the impression that to be humorous, you have to be a Jay Leno or David Letterman. No, you don't have to tell jokes, you don't have to write cartoons. All you have to do is write about something that is humorous from your point of view. Perhaps about a trip where you lost one of your kids? How about the family cat that got caught in the tree? Or a baby who is just beginning to walk? Humor can be about anything! And once published, you'll find that a lot of people are interested in that spot of humor, too.

So dispel the myth that you cannot write humor. If you find something funny, chances are someone else will find it funny, too.

Tomorrow's Tourist

Help me welcome, Katie Hines. She and I met through a publishing association, and she'll be here tomorrow to share details about an upcoming release. I'm happy she agreed to grace my blog, and I 'pirated" this from hers:

Although I've been writing for as long as I can remember, I didn't get serious about it until I decided to write a memoir. That's when I realized I didn't know what I was doing. So I started researching and learning about writing do's and don'ts. I wrote quite a few newspaper pieces, and then completed a middle grade novel.

You can find find her at Walking on Water. Gotta love her blog title.

There Oughta Be a Law

You already read the good part of this trip, but get a cup of coffee and pull up a chair. If I don't blog about the injustice of how Kelly was treated, I'm going to explode. *smile*

When we moved to TN in 2004, jobs were hard to come by. The community we moved to had already been stripped bare by businesses moving to Mexico or Europe in order to keep operating. That problem has continued and even worsened. There is really only one industry that offers hope for the unemployed, and that's the trucking industry. Unfortunately, the games they play with people are just downright cruel.

Before my husband could become a truck driver, he had to graduate from a truck-driving school. The cost: $5995. If you have cash, they'll discount it, but if not, they finance it for you so you actually end up paying another couple thousand. If you are unemployed, don't have a healthy savings, then what other choice do you have? Of course, they promise the trucking company who hires you at the completion of your training will pay a portion of the loan back.

So, Kelly took the training, we incurred the cost, and he went to work for Werner. The twenty-six cents a mile you earn is great as long as your wheels are turning, but they don't tell you about all the time you'll sit in desolate lots, bad neighborhoods, or truck stops, waiting to be dispatched. You don't earn anything at all, and that's where my husband spent most of his time. He quit several times, but the inability to find other work, drove him back. The last time, after spending ten hours broken down on the side of the road because a bad load shifted, then being penalized for driving the truck to a safe spot off the freeway for the night, was the final straw. Our check that week...$17.57. Our monthly payment for the school...$175.00. Luckily, he landed something local.

For the last 2 1/2 years, he's worked at a local distribution company, delivering goods to Kentucky, Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee. But the economy has closed so many stores his employer had to lay off over one half of the work force. Imagine our surprise to discover that most big trucking companies don't recognize his current experience as over-the-road because he came home every night. So. we're back to trying to find him a job in an industry that is still hiring. President Obama's stimulus package is providing new infrastructure jobs, but my husband isn't qualified for any of them. Nice to know we'll have new bridges to empty buildings. *lol* Oops...that remark should have gone on my other blog. Sorry!

Let's dissect that experience theory. Hubby went to work, got in a 'day-cab' but pulled at 53 foot trailer on the roadway , but because he parked it in the company lot at night and came home...he's lacking experience needed for several companies. I'm confused. Are you?

I guess if he'd driven a sleeper cab and bunked in the parking lot, it might have made a difference in his eligibility to drive. Some how, I doubt it.

BUT...I haven't even got to the meat of this post. The driving schools are like 'puppy mills'. They turn out thousands of students to various companies every week. New orientations and hiring start usually on each Monday. That's because so many people wash out or discover they can't handle the stress. Trust me, I know there is tons of stress because I rode with my husband on several occasions. Bad directions is one of them. Dispatch sent us in the wrong direction so many times, I couldn't count them. You can't just whip a u-turn in one of those over-sized monsters..and you have to be sure you aren't on a truck-restricted road or approaching a low bridge. See...I'm off track again.

Anyhow...with no work in our area of Tennessee...or anywhere nearby, my husband applied via internet to C.R. England. You work through a "Recruiter," and if you're lucky, you get one who actually returns your emails and keeps you informed. I won't tell you which he got. :) Anyhow...the recruiter is charged with checking your DMV and DAC reports and making sure you are hire worthy.

After three weeks, Kelly was given instructions on what to bring and provided with a confirmation number for a glorious 15-hour Greyhound bus ride to Gary, Indiana. Upon his arrival, he was shuttled to an old, but fairly decent motel. During the day, he underwent a physical ($35.00 charge), a drug test, and a road test. The next day was spent filling out forms (application all over again, insurance forms, tax forms, bank information for automatic deposit...you get the drift. Wouldn't you think this indicated you were a GO? Shouldn't all nasty secrets have come out BEFORE they sent you to orientation? All around him, people were being disqualified. Some for reasons they clearly indicated on their applications via recruiter, and others for reasons he didn't know. One guy just disappeared, left his belongings, and never was seen again. And...if you are DQed, you have to foot the bill for your own way home. Hard to do for some of those he met there...they couldn't even afford to bring food with them for the days required.

On the third day, after being grilled for one entire session with persuasions about signing up to lease a truck rather than be a company driver, Kelly made it through the orientation with hair still on his head. He was transferred to another motel, this one supposedly easier for trainers to pick up their new teammates. Since Kelly hadn't drive OTR for the past 2 1/2 years, he was required to ride with a trainer for ten days before he could be assigned to his own truck with a teammate. C.R. England only allows solo driving if you are a lease-owner. Okay...he was fine with that.

The money he thought he would receive for orientation turned out to be a farce. The REAL earning was supposed to begin the moment he stepped toe into his trainer's truck. The recruiter said he must have misunderstood her.

Of course, the holiday weekend interfered in the worst way. He was told, unless he heard by 4:00 in the afternoon on Thursday, he would be expected to lay around the flea-bag they delivered him to until Monday sometime. Now mind you, Kelly uses a CPAP machine for his sleep apnea, and it's something he had to declare to remain DOT compliant. He told the woman who arranges the trainers...not once, but THREE times, that he needed to be assigned to someone with a converter installed to handle it. I believe him...he tells me the same things over and over. *lol*

So...the motel was horrible. People checking out at the desk were scratching and complaining of being bitten, rumors were flying about crabs being discovered (and not the kind you order in a good restaurant), and Kelly said his room smelled putrid...a combination of bug spray and body odor. The shower bottom was brown (white tub...not supposed to be), and the accommodations were more suited to...well, not anyone human with taste.

Shortly after check-in and avoiding his room at all costs, he received a phone call...at the same time, realized he'd been bitten by something on his forearm. While he talked, he scratched, and watched his arm swell. The trainer was on his way to pick Kelly up.

Now remember, these people are supposed to train new drivers. Most without a lot of experience. Kelly's needs are more in learning the paperwork and qualcom (computer in the truck) than actually road experience. The trainer mentioned he was a lease operator and in order to make his payments, needed to run hard and fast. He drove a dedicated Walmart run and averaged 6500 miles per week, which would require them to each drive a full eleven hours per day. When Kelly asked when training would take place, the guy suggested Kelly would have to sacrifice some of his sleeping time and ride passenger and study, etc. In the end...he had no converter, so the point was moot.

You see, the only way these people can keep up with their $500 weekly truck payments and expenses is to run pedal to the metal and get the best routes by being an owner-operator. They get ninety cents per mile and pay their trainees ten cents per mile during their time on the truck. And anyone can be a trainer. That's why, after the ten days or thirty in some cases, you have to return to the orientation site (and the flea-bag motel) and test out to assure that you received proper training. This is another point where you can be DQed as was the young lady Kelly met in the motel. She was on her way out because she couldn't parallel park her big rig. question one!!! Why didn't her trainer teach her...and number two...when would you need to parallel park a truck that big? Kelly learned to jacknife his cab to park the trailer at school, but C.R. England evidently wanted the whole shebang parked. Of course this is just her word...she may have failed for an entirely different reason, but just to show that after all that time, you still aren't safe.

Back to reality and facing three days in hell. His arm continued to swell, redden, and itch. The employees for C.R. England had left for the holiday weekend, and Kelly had no resources for medical help. Hell, there wasn't even any eating establishments nearby, and calling for delivery cost an arm and a leg. Most of the fellows there were stone broke, starving, and desperate. But for the Grace of God, Kelly wasn't in that predicament...yet!

After we talked on the phone, I gave him two solutions...move to another motel and pay for it, or come home. He hadn't told me about the bite on his arm yet, but my preference was still the later. If an employer treats you like this before they hire you, you really can't expect much better, can you?

So...another fifteen hour bus home, this time on our dime. Kelly left a message for the lady in charge, telling her he had an emergency and needed to go home. Not a lie. His arm looked horrible when he arrived. Of course too late on Friday to get into a doctor, but he went today. The doc suspected a bite (big shock), but because of the huge knot, prescribed an antibiotic. In the meantime, Kelly's ear started hurting. One ear is severely infected, and the other has a foreign object in it. (are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yuk) Kelly has to see a specialist to have whatever it is removed. In the meantime, I'm cringing, thinking what it might be after he spent so much time in crummy, nasty areas...and that includes the Greyhound depots. I've never seen such filth in my life. Their new slogan should be...Go Greyhound, get infected!

Is he going back? No way. My husband deserves to be treated a whole lot better, and we've written to C.R. England and told them so. He's not turning down employment, rather stating what happened and telling them if they can pick him up in Nashville, put him on a qualified truck so that he doesn't violate DOT regs, then he'll be happy to become their employee. Something tells me it ain't happnin'. He's just one drop in a great big bucket.

Oh, and I also wrote to 20/20 and Sixty Minutes to ask them to investigate what kind of kickbacks the companies get from the government that allows them to shove lease options down people's throats and then watch them fail. We've heard rumors about it, and I would truly like to know. Like my title said...There Oughta Be a Law against companies who treat people in need like they're dirt.

I guess we should have believed what we read on the trucker's forum where drivers report bad companies. C.R. England had pages and pages of entries, and none of them good. So...It's not like we weren't warned. We just gave a family owned and operated company the benefit of the doubt. Wrong call on our part.

I guess what I'm trying to stress with this post, is "driver beware." Ask tons of questions, make sure you don't "misunderstand" the payment terms, and listen when someone warns you. You know that saying you've seen on tee shirts: My folks went to Disneyland and all I got with this crummy shirt. We're getting one for Kelly that says: I went to C.R. England for Orientation and all I got was a big doctor bill. Office call, antibiotics...and Forty dollars for eardrops....pahlease!

Thankfully, because orientation wasn't paid and Kelly never actually WAS hired, then he didn't forfeit his unemployment. Think of all those who did. Now what do they do? I discovered a new-found respect for truckers when Kelly started the first time, but now, I really, really respect those who can wade through the B.S.and actually make the grade. You guys and gals rock!