I have now finished my seventh book.  I’ve even done the first edit on the darn thing.  The first is the one I do where I go back and try to catch any typos I might have made, I guarantee that I will have missed a few, as well as flesh the book out and change anything that I might not be happy with.  This is also where I try to correct any words that I might have spelled wrong.  No not misspelled but wrongly spelled.  These are those words that a lot of the time your spell check might not catch.  You know what I mean.  Words like their, there, they’re as well as your or you’re.  The ones I really hate are the its or it’s.  No matter how right you get it with that last one spell check more often than not gets that one wrong.  So it isn’t that they’re misspelled but wrongly spelled.
Now this book became somewhat problematic.  I started out with the lead character supposed to be a young woman being the lead character but when these guys started talking they had a whole different idea who should take the lead in this one.  Good old George stood up and said ‘oh hell no’ and promptly tool point.  From there on out it was his way or the highway.  This shouldn’t have surprised me because the person who inspired this character is the same way.  Oh yes someone inspired this guy big time.
When I say inspired I honestly didn’t mean for this guy to be a written representation of the real George.  By the way, the real guy’s name is George.  Yes they both had the same calling in life.  But that’s where I meant for the parallels between the real George and the fictional George to end.  So what is the nightmare?  The real George is reading the story of the fictional George right now.  George is already a tough audience so I can only assume he will be even more critical of this book because of who is the lead in this one.  This is also the same person who pointed out that I was no Steven King after reading my first book.  I must point out that when I finished my first book it was a hot mess but needed that first edit but I was a little overly enthusiastic about him reading it.  I never repeated that mistake again.  Now I can’t honestly say if George has read any of the rest although he has copies of all of them.  I know this because I gave him copies of all the finished books with my signature I might add.
I know that my real George is going to come back and tell me he wouldn’t say this or he wouldn’t do that and with some of that it’s OK.  When it comes to the professional side of the fictional George I need that but as for the fictional guy’s personality that’s a whole different kettle of fish.  I’ve known the real George all my life and I mean all of it.  He’s been a part of my life since the day I was born.  That’s kind of how it is when you share biological parents and the real George and I do.  He’s my older brother.  Not a bad one I might add except when it comes to someone’s books.  The thing is I may have known him all my life but that doesn’t mean I know everything this guy is thinking or how he might personally respond to it if he were suddenly faced with the same things in real life that my fictional George does in the book.  The one thing I can say about the real George is that he, like the rest of us nut cases who came out of the pairing of two certain people, are all crazier than bat crap.  Hey we’re a large family and you can’t be raised with four other siblings and not be.  I certainly have no idea what his opinion of morgues are because the two of us have never discussed morgues.  Come to think of it I do find the idea of the real George and the fictional one feeling the same way about them a hoot.
Oh the part about me being Steven King doesn’t upset me too bad because he says about the same thing about anyone who isn’t Steven King.  The real George is a huge Steven King fan.  Another words if he puts me in with all the authors that I’ve heard him say the same thing about then I’m gold and OK with it.  My absolute favorite horror writer good old George doesn’t even read his work I don’t think and if he throws me in with him, I’m honored.  Anyway, waiting to get the real George’s feedback is a bit nerve racking and I’ve been having bad dreams, nightmares, and mad dreams ever since I sent the darn thing to him.  That been three days ago.  I know how fast this guy reads so my best guess is there’s more red ink on the thing now than black.  Oh well, I’ll deal with that when the time comes.
So real George take it easy on the fictional George and your sweet, darling, adorable, endearing baby sister.  Also real George as you read that last sentence think of me looking up at you with great big doe eyes and giving you one of my sweet little innocent smiles.  I love you.

When I was a kid one of my favorite cartons was of course Bugs Bunny.  I used to laugh at old Elmer Fudd because that silly rabbit always got the best of him.  Come on a rabbit outsmarting a human?  No way.  Boy was I wrong.
My daughter and her feller are out of town for a week.  They have two dogs, a cat, and when they left town on Saturday seven bunnies.  Yes I said seven bunnies.  Now two of these hopping little fur balls as you might have guessed are of breeding age and they certainly did.  Enter into the whole funhouse of animals five little additions who aren’t quite full size.  What does Mom get to do?  I get to watch, I refuse call watching anything with more than two legs babysitting, all these hopping, running, jumping, scratching, noisy little critters for a week.
The bunnies are outside in a huge very fancy cage/shelter that if it were gaged the same way human dwelling were would be sitting in a posh ares that you would have to be a part of the one percenters to own.  All I have to do with them is make sure they have water, food, and generally check on them once a day.  Not a problem.  Right.
One of these little buggers gets out.  Babatie is his name.  No I didn’t leave the cage open, no not even a little crack.  This little bugger just managed to find its own way out.  So what am I to do?  Well I spent all day yesterday chasing that little asshat all over creation.  Here’s the thing.  He’s managed to upgrade himself to a large, and to him maybe a more secure and weather proof residence in the form of a metal toolshed.  He comes out plays in the yard but the minute I make any attempt to put him back where he belongs he’s bouncing all over the place like a Mexican jumping bean daring me to catch him.  It didn’t happen.
Now remember the two dogs?  One I’m not too worried about, he’s a small dog and afraid of his own shadow.  The other however, hates rabbits.  Guess what happens if she manages to do what I haven’t been able to do?
So now I’ve put up wire fencing around that shed.  Fixed it a place for both water and food and it is now homesteading.  The point is I wore myself out yesterday first chasing then doing everything I could to protect it and now there isn’t a muscle in my body that isn’t sore.  Don’t understand how that can be?  Tell you what, you get you a bunny and turn that little asshole loose and then try to catch it.  Oh and you can’t use a gun either.  Let’s see how well you do.
So whoever came up with poor Elmer, my bet is this came from personal experience and really was never a joke.  My apologies to Mr. Fudd.
Oh I also have to stand guard now to protect the little uppity asshole when I let the dogs out.