Clint Adams wrote THE SEVENTH RITUAL, MY WATCH DOESN'T TELL TIME, DON'T BE AFRAID OF HEAVEN, FEAR AIN'T ALL THAT and JUST SAY MIKEY for the purpose of helping adults and teens maintain their "I can do anything" attitude, the fearlessness they were born with.
“Come on, you know you wanna.” Oh, the temptations, the peer pressure. I know it’s what everyone else is doing, but, somehow, it just doesn’t feel natural to me. I try to tell myself that it’ll all be OK…once it’s over.
Maybe Lady Gaga’s right…and I was just born this way. She should know. From what I hear, her fingers have been everywhere. Every time I’ve thought about it, you know, putting them “there,” I just get all nervous and sweaty. Will they be the right moves? Will it be fast enough? Will I be able to finish? And…what if my Internet connection goes out while I’m right in the middle of it?
Sometimes they’ve rested there, my fingers, for minutes at a time. Shaking. Trembling. Spell-checking. Yes, my keyboard’s seen it all…and I just know it’s laughing inside at me. “What an idiot!” it’s saying. “Just type the damn words. Press ‘Enter.’ And forget about it. Smoke a cigarette afterwards.” That could be the whole problem come to think of it – I DON’T smoke. I’m man enough to try inhaling a little…as long as I don’t swallow.
I’ve always been a good learner. I’ll just look back at what everyone else has posted; they’ve never had a problem with it, why should I? Scrolling. Yes, that’s the answer. OK, here’s some from Facebook:
• “I’m tird.”
• “I hate my hair.”
• “Hang over!!”
• “Life’s a bitch.”
• “Test tomorow.”
• “The suns shinning.”
Good stuff, right?!? Wow! I bet they never gave it a second thought. I admire their courage; posting things like that to their Wall. I sure wish I could be more like them. My problem is that I want to tell a story, be more personal and somehow make my post, my story, meaningful. Maybe others will be able to identify with what I’m saying and they’ll realize they’re not alone. I LOVE telling stories that mean something.
At my age, I don’t think I’ll ever change. My fingers just don’t work that way. They have a mind of their own and type what they want. The way I see it, life’s short. There’s stories to be told, histories to be shared and lessons to be learned. This is why I created STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR, a teen/young adult storytelling program; inside, these young people, have much more to purge than status updates and comments.
If you have a moment, please take a look at this video: Stories About Facing Fear, teen/young adult storytelling. Soon, it’ll be retitled: ‘Stories About Facing Fear: Danny’s Story’ and will shortly be joined by a second, new video: ‘Stories About Facing Fear: Amy’s Story.’ It’s what I’m all about with regard to my mission to help teens and young adults.
If your fingers are feeling frisky, please feel free to let them press ‘Like’ or leave a comment. Your support, and interest, is most appreciated.
Until we meet in the real world, I wish you all the best, virtually.
To learn more about Clint's most recent occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, his upcoming non-fiction book, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: THE INTERVIEWS and his series of teen novels, please visit his website: Stories About Facing Fear by Clint Adams.
Jimmy Buffett makes me think of margaritas. Do any of you remember his album (and title track), CHANGES IN LATITUDES, CHANGES IF ATTITUDES? Any of you remember Jimmy Buffett? Rather than dragging you all down that tired, now congested path called Memory Lane, I’ll get to my point pronto.
How many of you come back from a vacation feeling different? Changed? Inspired? More positive? I hope each and every one of you can relate to these questions, regardless of where your own personal longitude or latitude’s located. For the past year and a half, I’ve been hanging out @ 51° 30' 0",-0° 4' 0" (London, England), and that’s exactly 15 months longer than I’d expected. Somehow, it’s become home. How’d that happen??? Possible answer: Mini-vacations = changes in attitudes. Can you relate?
I don’t know why, but on my last holiday (travel/s: British-English; Christmas: American-English), I just knew something was going to be different upon my return “home.” Looking back to the start of the New Year, I was right. My attitude’s changed, and as a result, so have my goals. I’m more positive, more fresh. I appreciate and respect where I now am, and I want to make the most of my time here. Cheers, Londoners. I don’t take you for granted.
Cheers to y’all. I’ll always appreciate those of you who follow this blog, whether you choose to read it or not. Its keywords (writing, spirituality, humor) will go unchanged, but the blog title will now become, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: BOOKS. It will continue to be my adult (grown-ups, not pornographic) blog. Now that more of my time’s devoted to my teen storytelling program, I’ll soon be launching a second blog, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: TEENS (http://StoriesAboutFacingFear.blogspot.com/). Also, the URL, www.StoriesAboutFacingFear.com, will now forward to that (blog) site. My primary website (for adults AND teens; related to my books) will remain www.ClintAdams.com.
I’m happy that I’ll get the chance to write in “teen-speak” again. OMG, I can’t wait. It’ll be sooooo chillaxin’.
Adults, my BFFs, you still with me? Or you think I’m bein’ a wanksta? Whatever.
Seriously, I want you to know that I’m with you for life, my friends. My mission hasn’t changed; I’ll continue to write about spiritual stuff in the funniest way possible, exactly the way God intended.
So, until next time, stay positive and KEEP traveling…your head’ll be glad you did.
To learn more about Clint's most recent occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, his upcoming non-fiction book, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: THE (TEEN) INTERVIEWS and his series of teen novels, please visit his website: Stories About Facing Fear by Clint Adams.
Boy, howdy! I may not be no “double-naught” spy, nor do I have the movie-star looks of any Dash Riprock, but sure as shootin’, I got me one fine mess of a story to tell.
As an adult, the letter ‘K’ only represents one word, “karma.” When I was a kid, it stood for my absolute favorite breakfast cereal, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes (of Battle Creek, naturally), the official sponsor of THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES, my most favorite TV show on the planet. Now, it’s hard for me to look at any part of my adult life without connecting it to my childhood family (the Clampetts). It’s all about our life’s lessons, where we come from and making sense of the two combined. I’ve never been no good at math, but I’ll do my best to add them two together. Just like Jethro, let me do myself some cypherin’...
1+1=2. 2+2=4. 4+4=...4+4=, 4+4 is...well, don’t you pay me no nevermind. Math never amounted to no hill o’ beans anyways. It all adds up to where you are now and how many friends you’ve got…online, I reckon…Facebook, MySpace, Twitter and then some…not to mention how many you can fit in your cement pond.
Seriously, I write this blog now for one reason (my first post as a former-writer): it’s all about storytelling, whether it be in the present or via retrospect. I sincerely believe that if we didn’t have a means to story-tell, to “get it ALL out,” we’d all be goners by now. Y’all agree? Well, that’s how I see it. That’s why I started STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR, a student-led, after-school teen-storytelling program (here in the U.K.). Young-ins here, just like anywhere’s else, got somethin’ to say. Otherwise, if they didn’t, would all end up stone squirrely, just like the rest of us.
Their brains, sometimes, is like one big kettle o’ catfish set on high heat just waitin’ to boil over and explode. Instead of expecting to clean up the mess, I say, “Let’s talk.” If only Granny Clampett could have set herself down and chatted with Mrs. Drysdale, rather than takin’ the hickr’y switch to her, they could have been downright neighborly to one other. Don’t ‘cha think?
Just like Granny and Margaret Drysdale, under any and all circumstances, communication’s the key. Even if it’s rather one-sided, I aim the get teens to tell their stories, to give them their turn…so they don’t end up taking the switch to nobody, especially themselves.
My STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR test project begins (at two London secondary schools) in a matter of weeks now. I have high hopes. I aim to pass the possum at the fancy eatin’ table in peace.
I’ll make sure to write again, lettin’ you know how it turned out. Please login once more…
To learn more about Clint's recently-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, his upcoming non-fiction book, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: THE (TEEN) INTERVIEWS and his series of teen novels, please visit his website: Stories About Facing Fear.
It was a starry foreboding night long ago now. Rather than the end being in sight, it was an unanticipated beginning, a miracle chance to start life anew. And I was scared shitless.
After having solved the mystery of my lifetime on December 31, 1991, I’d spent nearly the entirety of 1992 wondering ‘What do I do with this new information I just learned?’ No not a movie, it’s real; a murder (and its "extenuating" circumstances) that had been covered up by a major metropolitan (San Francisco Bay Area) police department. Although the facts should have been the most unnerving, it was the secret itself that left me sleepless. Night after night I realized in some way, shape or form that the truth NEEDED to come out. But how?
Storytelling.
Having never had any interest in reading or writing while growing up, I knew telling my story myself was the only option, a last resort of sorts. The discovery of the truth represented its central plot. A book. Fiction? Or non-? Didn’t matter. This story NEEDED to be told. The truth needed to come out. I felt wholeheartedly as if my life depended on it. On that symbolic day, July 04, 2009, THE SEVENTH RITUAL was released as a novel for adults, my fifth book.
### ### ### THE END ### ### ###
I don’t write anymore. I’ve told my story; it’s not locked up inside me now. As a writer I was able to turn my own horror into fiction. But it was those other four books that changed my life, those teen novels. It was through that process that I discovered my purpose in life, my destiny.
After having finally told the story of my lifetime on July 04, 2009, I’d spent nearly the next year wondering ‘Now what do I do?’
Storytelling.
I’d now like to share with you me new true passion (that also happens to exist as a portion of my Business Plan’s Executive Summary):
***
As a socially-driven (on-site) after-school service to students, Stories About Facing Fear gets the ball rolling so that teens can solve their own problems, by themselves, together. Collectively, these students listen and speak to one another, via personal storytelling.
Across the United Kingdom two debilitating maladies dominate school life: bullying and Social Anxiety Disorder, two mutations of the same virus, fear. Also prevalent amongst U.K. teens: self-harm, self injury and suicide. The statistics for teen depression within the U.K. are staggering. According to the charity Depression Alliance, at least 19,000 U.K. children attempt suicide annually (one every half hour) whilst more than 2 million children attend medical surgeries with some kind of psychological or emotional problem; suicide is now the number one cause of death for 18-24-year-old males.
Stories About Facing Fear was primarily created to give teens an outlet, a means for the expulsion of their own stress, anxiety, anger and fear within a familiar, safe and peer-supportive environment. Rather than internalizing these destructive forces, students are encouraged not only to share but to “get it all out.” Storytelling possesses the power to heal. At any age it’s cathartic, clearing the path for all things positive.
As well as being a venue, a method, a means for storytelling that liberates, Stories About Facing Fear aims to remind teens of the fearlessness they were born with, the ability to live life fearlessly; while at the same time instilling an objective of remaining fearless forever. Within our blueprint (for success) is one core principal: the majority of all fears are learned; only a small percentage being natural.
Thankfully, many resources are available to U.K. teens. Most come in the form on on-line assistance and seem to address the standard issues affecting teen life: sex, drugs, drinking, bullying, depression, not fitting in, not being accepted, unsupportive parents, peer pressure, etc. Stories About Facing Fear has found that teens, many times, aren’t immediately comfortable addressing such weighty issues in the midst of strangers; they prefer to start out slowly, with less (judgmental) consequences attached. S.A.F.F. welcomes this approach.
Several (U.K.) teen-issue websites are for parents only. Several after-school venues are off-site and focus on childcare, not necessarily on interaction or problem solving. Stories About Facing Fear is the only after-school organization offering storytelling as its foremost goal. This unique ingredient features prominently in S.A.F.F.’s marketing strategy while seeking the attention of partner schools.
As a non-profit social enterprise, Stories About Facing Fear, is not a franchise business. It is a service offered to schools, with the bulk of the service provided prior to, and during, the first on-site S.A.F.F. group meeting. Beyond this point, students and school staff are responsible for keeping the group independent, student-led and successful.
Stories About Facing Fear is owned and managed by Clint Adams. Clint is a published author of four teen novels that share one common theme: 'life begins again when you have no fear.' Clint possesses a master’s degree in marketing, owns and operates his own publishing imprint, Credo Italia, and successfully promoted his novels and facilitated their accompanying No Time For Fear (teen) workshops internationally. All S.A.F.F. services/training will be provided by Clint.
Overall, Stories About Facing Fear is a simply-run organization with a potent message. If communication is the key to success for basically all relationships, why should storytelling be exempt from this process? Storytelling has existed since the beginning of life, at a time when it wasn’t called entertainment. It solved everyone’s problems then; now should be no different. In the present, statistics prove that teens are starved for a way to purge…in the least violent most therapeutic way possible. S.A.F.F. = a safe haven, a place for young people to be free.
***
To say, “thanks” properly to those that have supported me in my writing is a blog in itself. Next time, I promise. For now, I hope you’ll accept and appreciate my newest venture; the reason I’m here. Until next time, as the late-, great Red Skelton (and my eternal childhood hero) said, “Good night and may God bless.”
To learn more about Clint's recently-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, his upcoming non-fiction book, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: THE INTERVIEWS and his series of teen novels, please visit his website: Stories About Facing Fear.
“Hey, Holger, why don’t you read one of my books sometime,” I suggested innocently. “No, I don’t zink zo…too deprezzing.” “What are you talkin’ about? No, not depressing. Inspirational. And, they’re actually kinda funny.” Holger shook his head from side-to-side and we went back to guzzling, I mean, zipping our Augustiner Bräu in the comfort of the open-aired Biergarten with only heaven above us.
What was Holger so afraid of? Heaven only knows. Oh, well. No problem. Whatever. He’s not alone though. Come to think of it, nearly everyone’s got an issue with that particular one. It’s sorta like the “Lord/God/King” of all fears; the fear of dying. That’s why I wanted to write the teen novel, DON’T BE AFRAID OF HEAVEN (2005). I wrote it as a tribute to my cat, Samantha, for having to put up with me for ten years. She taught me to be unafraid of heaven. I’ll never forget Samantha. I will never forget creating DBAOH and the unique writing process that went with it. “Yippie-yi-yo-k…(well, you know the rest).” Yes, just me, the tumbleweeds, the sagebrush and the Silver Terrace Cemetery in Virginia City, Nevada.
Every day, just as the Pony Express traversed its way through the Carson Pass, so did I. I had work to do, people to talk to…except most of the time they never answered back. Nearly every one of them checked out about a hundred years earlier. That’s OK by me, I didn’t pay ‘em no nevermind. Back, back, back I went…searching for the most tucked away, secluded gravesite I could find. Right there, on the outskirts, I made a new friend. Meghan Fitzsimmons, my new writing partner, but she never knew it. Luckily there was a bench right next to where Meghan was buried. In the spring and summer of 2003, I’d sit there and write my (handwritten) 10 pages a day. I loved every minute of it. Just me and my buddy Meghan.
On my trek to, and back from, the wooden-gated entrance of the cemetery, with a metal sign hanging above that read,
Stop and read as you pass by, As you are now, once was I, As I am now, You will be, Prepare for death and follow me,
I’d stop to look at the various headstones contained within. As a writer, I paid particular attention to these words scripted in the 1800’s; beautiful poems, tributes in verse. Who wrote them? These words? And, would it be OK to borrow a few? It wasn’t my intention to plagiarize; I was looking to add a bit of authenticity to my fiction.
Months passed as I moved onto drafts two, three, four and so forth. More and more I began to realize that I’d included a variety of original epitaphs in my manuscript, listing real people and the dates they were born and died. Oh, crap. I had to figure out once and for all who, exactly, owns the rights to headstone text. Hallmark? :-) I let this dilemma slip outside my head for a moment, and began to do what I always did whenever I needed to solve a problem. I went for a walk along the paths of Lake Tahoe’s east shore, where I was living.
As I was strutting my way through the woods, a couple came up from behind me. No, not stalkers. They asked where the trail ended. I told them. Then, I don’t know what came over me, it just came out of my mouth, “I’m so confused. Do you have any idea who writes what appears on headstones? Who in the world owns the rights to stuff like that?” Answer: “My goodness. I’m a copyright lawyer.” Spooky sh--, right? Explanation: It doesn’t matter who wrote it or where the copyright was registered, if it was at all; it was written too long ago (1850’s-60’s)…public domain now. Whew!
When a writer paraphrases, no concern. But, when a writer uses text verbatim, make sure your bases are covered. In this lawsuit-happy world where copyright infringement violations occur daily, look after your a--. I’m not at all keen on this sometimes fear-inducing phrase, but, “Better safe, than sorry.”
Epilogue: It had been years since I last visited Virginia City and the cemetery there. In 2005, I became a European citizen, but I went back to the U.S. for a visit in 2007. What did I miss most? Lake Tahoe, duh. While staying in nearby Reno during the late-fall to see a Go-Go’s concert, I began driving to Mt. Rose to go to the lake, but an early, hazardous snowfall made me detour to a lower elevation. Instead of heading southwest, I headed southeast. To Virginia City.
Wouldn’t that be nice? To walk through that cemetery once more. So I did it. No one else was there. A little eerie. I tried to find that one spot I always went to. In the far distance I could see the bench. As I approached, I read the headstone I had seen so many times before. Meghan Fitzsimmons, a young mother who had died in her early-thirties on October 06, details I hadn’t really noticed before. Oh, my God. I had to look at my BlackBerry to double-check. Yes, today’s date: October 06.
Without flinching, I knew to thank Meghan right then and there, for letting me sit on her bench all those times. Meghan’s site was in disarray at this point, appearing as if no one had visited her in years. I tidied it up the best I could. I will never ever forget Meghan Fitzsimmons. It was always soothing and tranquil when I sat next to her. Meghan reaffirmed to me that the process of writing is the gift itself; what happens thereafter is gravy.
To learn more about Clint's recently-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, his upcoming non-fiction book, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: THE INTERVIEWS and his series of teen novels, please visit his website: Stories About Facing Fear.
Let’s rewind the clock a bit, shall we? When I was 17, AT SEVENTEEN by Janis Ian was the #1 hit song on U.S. radio. The coolest people then had it “goin’ on” and disco was just about to be born. Tons of vivid memories flood my mind when I look back to my senior year at (San Francisco) East Bay’s Dublin High: losing 70 pounds, gaining a newly-acquired sense of self-confidence and, more than all else, an eagerness to be free, on my own and away from home. At 17, I was fearless.
Great while it lasted. At 17, star-gazing gregariousness and a desire to fit in took over while reality was pushed to the back burner. As a hotel/restaurant-majoring freshman at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, my studies and classroom visits soon became few and far between. Chatting up Shirley MacLaine at the Riviera gift shop, telling Cindy Williams (Laverne & Shirley) at the MGM Grand lobby that she “looks a lot like Linda Ronstadt,” and sharing quiet time on a Caesars Palace balcony with an un-made up Raquel Welch, took precedence. (At 18), being kicked out of UNLV and a day in jail shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone.
At 17, I wish I’d been more like Cady. She’s got it all figured out. Cady Nutt, a high school senior from New Port Richey, Florida is my first in a series of interviews having to do with STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR. I’m thrilled and grateful to have met her. Cady’d commented on a guest blog I’d done on a teen reader website and she impressed me on the spot. Going off to college/university is HUGE for a teen, for anyone at any age, but I’m certain Cady’ll do it all effortlessly. I wish her the best.
Everyone experiences fear from time to time, some people all the time. I think Cady’s answers speak for themselves. During the process of our correspondence regarding this interview, Cady’s shown me nothing but respect and dignity and it’s MUCH appreciated. She’s a winner. If you happen to be a teen, have a child who’s a teenager or know a teen, please share this interview with them. I hope so much that Cady’s words will inspire you/them as much as they did me.
***
First off, why don’t you tell everyone why/how you were selected for this interview.
I won through Jen Wardip’s Teens Read Too online blog with interviews from authors! There was a prize (this and a one-of-a-kind signed book from Mr. Adams) offered at random and I just happened to be so lucky to win.
I know only a few things about you; you’re a teen in high school, you like to read, you’re now preparing to go to university and your grandmother’s Irish. What else would you like folks to know about you?
I’ve coined myself as the “walking paradox.” I’m not a wishy-washy kind of person and I definitely take a dedicated stand on every opinion I have, but there are a lot of contradictions in my views/actions. I tend to see each situation/belief as completely separate from anything else which is how I’m able to believe, for example, that the world is way too overpopulated and needs to have less people in general and yet be a firm advocate for human rights in every sense. It’s a bit confusing to explain how my mind works to other people, but as long as I keep my own head straight, I’m in good shape. I also use my face too much – I tease that I’ll have the wrinkled face of a 60 year old by the time I’m 30. I like to put my emotions right on my face and it always reflects whatever I’m feeling which means it’s always twisted into a grimace, stretched for a smile or scrunched in confusion.
It’s rare to meet anyone who’s COMPLETELY fearless. Do you feel you are? Why?/Why not?
I’d say I’m in the opposite of someone who completely fearless - my life is filled with fears. I think it’s a positive kind of fear though, and it keeps me analytical and pragmatic so I don’t impulsively jump into things. My fear doesn’t debilitate me from important decisions; it gives that perfect amount of hesitation that I think a lot of people lack today. It’s looked down on in today’s society to be nervous or wary when doing anything, but I think acting impulsively is even worse than acting in a more skeptical manner.
What are some of the things you’re feeling right now as you prepare for your brand new life in college?
I think every day about how the decisions in these next couple of years could very well define the rest of my life. People tell me all the time to not think about it in such an intimidating manner, but how could I not? These decisions carry weight in my life and are so vitally important that it’s only reasonable to put significant thought and effort into making them. The scariest thing about the future right now is deciding what I want to study and make my career out of - I have an abundance of options laid out in front of me and I have to sift through them to pick just one. They all look so appealing to learn about, but each time I try to make a definitive decision about an area of study, my stomach drops and I panic. I think to myself, what if I like the subject but it doesn’t offer an interesting career? I mean, I would love to study psychology because the subject is just so fascinating, but I couldn’t listen to people with problems all day long or diagnose anyone (it would be too heartbreaking for me). I’ve decided to just jump head first into college and learn to swim along the way
I’ve met many teens that have experienced huge stress as they take placement exams, strive for high GPA’s and apply to colleges. It seems like a difficult time for them. Some have support systems, some don’t. Do you? If so, how do they make this time better for you? Do they help take your fears away (if you have any)?
Right now, my life is consumed with wrapping up my high school years while setting up my college years to come. It’s extremely difficult at this point to keep everything together and stay on the right time schedule so that everything is accomplished when it’s supposed to be (like this interview!). However, I would not be able to continue so assiduously without the help of my family and friends. They honestly just keep me sane while I deal with stressful situations; while my family gives me unconditional love and constructive criticism, my friends keep me grounded and cheerful. My wonderful friends are a constant reminder that I’m not the only one struggling to keep up and that my problems shouldn’t be overdramatized because there’s always a way to get through it. With all the headache of keeping up my GPA, finishing homework every night, studying for exams, and keeping my parent’s happy, I can get pretty frustrated or depressed with the work load I have. I have people in every area of my life who are more than willing to help me and I love them all so dearly.
I really appreciated it when you told me that you can relate to my “quirky” sense of humor. Why is that? (Do you have one as well? Know someone else who does?)
My entire family (hopefully including myself) has the oddest sense of humor I can think of; I mean that as a complete compliment too. Many people have no idea that we’re making jokes sometimes, even when we laugh at our own silliness. We always joke that you couldn’t find a serious bone in our bodies, but that we wouldn’t be surprised if there we more than a couple “humerus” ones in there. I tease with my friends that I’m going to have multiple wrinkles smothering my face by the time I’m 30 because I poke fun at nearly everything. Humor is one of the most important aspects that people never mention on their “life lists;” most people simply search for love and strong family as a way to fulfill their lives. I, on the other hand, need humor to keep me going; otherwise, the world is just too cynical to be of any benefit to me.
When I was a teen, I felt lots of pressure to fit in. Do you think this still exists today? Do any of your friends in school feel this way? If so, what advice would give them?
It’s still hard to fit in no matter what age you’re age; but people don’t acknowledge the struggle anymore, even when it’s about themselves. People ignore it because we feel that we’re “better” than those kinds of behaviors. What I mean is that, it’s not so much about “fitting in,” it never really has been; it’s always been about people excluding others or making it more difficult to be a part of groups or cliques. When someone is shy, they can still have friends around them because there are always people who will make the effort to include them. Then there are the types of people who will pick out an individual who may not be as socially fluent as they are; it then becomes their hobby to “rally the troops” against that person and before you know it, no one wants to caught dead hanging out with that person. Sometimes, I must admit, the kid who is ostracized in class brings it upon themselves; it’s not hard to understand why people don’t want to hang around someone who is constantly rude, ignorant or exceedingly loud. I’m lucky enough to have never had a problem with making and keeping my friends; I grew up in a family where respect was always something that I applied to every situation, no matter whether I liked the person or not; surprisingly enough, people respond when you treat them kindly and they’ll reflect it in their own actions. My advice to people who think that they don’t fit in or feel that they don’t have any friends is this: find that balance within your life that allows you to prosper and people will come to you; be happy and confident within yourself – people will recognize this and they’ll want to know you; recognize when someone is trying to reach out and be your friend. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen or heard people say that nobody likes them or that they’re just too weird to be around people when it’s perfectly not true! People want to be your friend, but nobody is going to come right out and say it, so be ready when those subtle signs start popping up.
Who do you feel is more fearless? Adults or teens? Please explain.
Teens for two reasons: one, I am a teen, how could I not root for my own team? And two (to tear us down now) because teens don’t think about reasons or consequences most of the time and I think that adds to fearlessness (in the more negative connotation). They’re rash and spontaneous as compared to adults who, with more experiences and time to understand the importance of forethought, generally act with more caution (which I honestly equate with fear). Fear is helpful and necessary; if it overpowers you then, obviously, it’s not something to be desired. Moderation is the key to everything in life which is exactly why fear exists: to battle out instant gratification and impetuous actions that can lead to hurtful consequences.
When I used to conduct my NO TIME FOR FEAR workshops in schools, I’d ask students, “Do you think you can do anything?” What’s your answer to this question?
It’s hard to not be cynical when I think about this question. In the “grand scheme of things,” what can I really do that’s going to accomplish much more than personal satisfaction or some minor effect? For example, if I vote in some election, will my one vote really change the outcome? The retort to this is always “well, what if everyone felt this way?” But that’s just the point: not everyone feels this way; there will always be someone to vote, to rebel, to donate, to speak out and to “make a difference.” The lingering fact about this overpopulated humanity is that it truly robs individual characteristics that we strive to believe in; we push the thought of ’uniqueness’ into everyone’s mind when in reality, we can’t really achieve any sense of it. Of course, there are people who have huge influences and honestly change the world that we live in, but these people are rare so what are the chances of me being one of them in all actuality?
Over the years I’ve heard many different antonyms for the word ‘fear.’ What’s yours? Why’d you pick that one?
The opposite of fear is simple apathy. I think that every emotion finds its antonym in apathy because apathy is the lack of any feeling at all. When you have the right amount of fear, you take things cautiously and with more forethought; when you have too much, you become stagnant and immovable; too little and you’ll do anything regardless of logic or reason. However, when you’re not afraid at all, then you must not feel anything at all; fear is so natural to the human psyche that when people fail to recognize it or believe they don’t have it, they become callous and irrational. To be honest, I couldn’t think of a better way to describe the opposite of fear; dictionaries describe the antonym as being either “bravery, courage, or heroism.” but just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean you can’t be a hero or save the day.
It’s my belief that ALL fear is learned; none of it is natural and no one was born fearful of anything. What’s your opinion about this? Do you agree? Disagree?
I agree with that statement completely; fear is just an idea that man has created (without thought nothing exists to begin with). Perhaps overtime, we’ve adapted to the idea and our survival instincts have kicked in which is why we’ve become accustomed to fearing certain things – snakes, spiders, etc. Overall, all intangible concepts are just products of man’s own imagination.
What if it was your absolute dream/ambition in life to become an actress, dancer or writer, but your parents didn’t want you to follow this path. Would you pursue it anyway? Why?/Why not?
This is a hard one to answer for me. I have very strong family ties and I think it would be difficult to disobey my parents in such a great respect; yet, at the same time, I’m a very independent person and I’ve very fond of making my own decisions and pursuing them regardless of other people’s complaints. In the end, I think I would have to follow my own heart in this instance; my parents would eventually understand just how much my decision meant to me and they would grow custom to it over time.
What if you wanted to become an actress, dancer or writer and no one else believed in you, your dreams or your abilities but you. Would that matter? Why/Why not?
It would matter to me because I’m the type of person who needs encouragement to really succeed. No matter how virtuous I may want to make myself sound, I’m still just a slightly insecure, teenage girl who needs people to tell her that she means something. I get so distraught sometimes when I feel like nobody understands me; it must be a hundred times worse to have nobody support you. I’d like to believe that I’d always pursue my dreams even if no one else believed in me – in fact, it would make me work harder not only to accept their challenge, but to prove them wrong. I’ve always been a very stubborn person, so, all in all, I think I would be headstrong and refuse to let anyone change my mind.
In fiction, the words ‘protagonist’ and ‘hero/heroine’ are often times interchangeable. Who’s the hero in your favorite novel? Did they begin their journey (in the book) fearlessly? Did they change as the story progressed? How were they different on the very last page?
My favorite book is George Orwell’s 1984, which means the “hero” is Winston. Winston is not necessarily my favorite character and he certainly doesn’t start out fearless – in fact if you’ve read the book, then you know that this entire book is a satire about fear. I guess you could say that Winston is brave as he does defy the Party by writing his dangerous thoughts in the diary, but his life is still racked with fear at every step. By the end of the novel, which has a one of the most depressing endings I’ve read, Winston has become (not really by choice) the anti-hero as he is conformed to what the Party and Big Brother want him to be; he no longer loves his Julia anymore, he no longer thinks the way he used to. The very last lines are as follows: “He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.” These lines have always stuck with me mostly because I think they resemble the conflict within everyone; the need for someone else to pick the winning side sometimes becomes a palpable desire and forces us into a state of completely unguarded thought patterns.
Tell us about your favorite teacher in school. Did/do they believe in you? Encourage you to do your best and aim high? How did their behavior toward you influence the way you view life?
My favorite teacher is definitely my AP Psychology teacher from last year, Mr. Burnes. I’m his Teacher’s Assistant this year through my Exploratory Teaching class so I have the opportunity to spend more time in his classroom. Mr. Burnes is honestly one of the most intelligent and personable teacher I’ve ever met, even though he thinks he’s unsociable. He always encourages me to try my hardest and he frequently asks about my classes, test, future plans, and stress load. He went to the same college that I’ll be attending next year so he gives me inside tips on how to stay focused, where the best places to study are, etc. He treats all his students as respectable people and he has a very comfortable personality. I think what has inspired me the most about learning from Mr. Burnes is his amazing versatility and flexibility I would show up after school or during lunch to go over a test and he’d have no problem taking it out and going over it with me to help me understand where I messed up and where I could improve. I sincerely hope that I’ll be able to encompass some of his wonderful attributes into my life.
What do you feel is your best quality? The one you are most confident about? (Feel free to share the quality you are least confident about, if you’d like to share that one as well).
My best quality is my adaptability; it’s very easy for me to take each new situation and quickly analyze it to see what needs to be done. I work independently and often get things done without any delay because of my ability to understand what an assignment is asking me to do and what it’s not. I suppose my worst quality is my overemotional nature whether it’s getting too angry, too passionate or too excited. I overdramatize my own emotions frequently because I express myself so openly – my friends always say that they know whatever I’m feeling the moment I feel it because it’s right on my face. Even mid-conversation, you can follow my fluctuating emotions because my face will shift with every shift in topic.
What are your dreams, Cady?
I want to live a meaningful life; I haven’t quite figured out whether that involves making a name for myself somehow or just living out my life the way I want to. I want to be loved and live life boldly, whether that’s through a challenging and high pace career or through an exciting lifestyle in my free-time. The only way I can think of myself in the future is as ambiguously as possible; I don’t want to plan out specifics and micro-manage my life. I think that I’ll take one decision at a time and just plan out the things that need to be taken care of – like finances. I’m not very relaxed in the sense that I don’t enjoy organization or structure; I just don’t like making definite decisions until they’re ready to be carried out.
How long do you think it will take to achieve them?
Because my previous answer is so vague, I guess this one will have to be too. I don’t know how long it’ll take to make my dreams a reality because I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Whether I can equate my indecision with lack of experience or youthful naivety is debatable, but I’ll know it when I’m there I suppose.
What if you encounter a few obstacles along the way? Will you continue?
Absolutely. There’s nothing I loathe more than giving up and I’ll work as hard as I can to make sure that I keep living my life however I feel like living it. Now, my life’s direction may change a million times along the way, but that doesn’t mean I’m “giving up” that one part of my life; no, all that symbolizes is me progressing and moving forward to a new and exciting chapter.
After having answered these questions, what advice would you give to a friend or peer who only knows fear and is virtually paralyzed by it?
Fear is just something you have to learn to live with. Everyone is scared or nervous when they approach something new or attempt something they’re uncomfortable with, but if we let fear hold us back, then where would we be? We can’t progress unless we learn to push aside our fears sometimes and just try. Whether we succeed or fail isn’t really important; the important part is that we keep trying and creating. So take a ‘leap of faith’ and go for it!
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Yes, Cady's got it goin' on. Don't you think? She's on the path to great things, I can just tell.
Please come back when someone else takes their turn. There's a million stories out there about facing fear and there's something to be learned from each and every one. Until next time...
To learn more about Clint's recently-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, his upcoming non-fiction book, STORIES ABOUT FACING FEAR: THE INTERVIEWS and his series of teen novels, please visit his website: Stories About Facing Fear.
Please fill in the blanks. Which fraction did you come up with?
The traditional 1/2? A third? Two-thirds? 100%? A perfect 10? Well, the last two aren’t really fractions, but you catch my drift. This is a great saying and I think its answer s/b (should be) well thought out. There’s no doubt any solution offered stems from each respondent’s corresponding expectation(s).
A couple of years ago I was standing, waiting at the corner of Broadway & Columbus in San Francisco’s (Italian/Chinese) North Beach district. The traffic signal there was flashing a brilliant bright red. STOP! I was accompanying an old friend of mine about to celebrate her 50th birthday. By that time, in the spring of ’07, we’d already known each other about 40 years. We were headed to the House of Nanking on Kearny St. to party, mostly because it was recommended by a mutual childhood friend as being a Rachel Ray favorite. (After having lived outside the U.S. for several years prior) I honestly asked, “Who’s Rachel Ray?” Needless to say, I was momentarily shunned as a result of my culinary naïveté.
Still on that well-trafficked multi-cultural corner, we waited. Next to us came a stranger. A man who purposefully engaged my friend in conversation. I watched. What the stranger had to say can’t necessarily be repeated in a blog whose recipients may be under 18 years. I didn’t interrupt or defend, instead I watched. My friend was diplomatic and dignified. She fought through her impatience and did her best to tolerate the red signal. After turning green, we crossed the street and I smiled at my friend. I was proud of her. Her patience, her compassion…
…until she said, “Why don’t those people just get jobs?” She was referring to that man, one of the many, many homeless people in San Francisco. One of the many in nearly any urban American city. My heart sank. Although I still loved my friend, I felt as if I didn’t know her anymore. She didn’t get it, and after time, I never should have expected her to. Her response was as ignorant as racism.
Most homeless people don’t have the (mental) capacity to function, to have a job, to have ANY kind of job. Most people choose not to know or accept this. They’re ignorant. They haven’t been there. During my time in San Francisco, I chose not to give money to people who asked for it; I needed it myself. But, I did something else, I listened. I could afford this, and I was grateful to lend my ear and my voice when I was able. It was a sincere gift.
Now in 2010, I try to show up at least ½ the time. I take more chances. Maybe I believe in my own abilities a little bit more than I used to, but one thing remains; I expect nothing from no one. I never expect anyone to appreciate or understand who I am, where I am or where I’ve been. Only I can do that. I hope you feel the same about your own journey. “Keep going” is my best advice. There’s only one hero in any story and you’re it. Only you can create its happy ending.
To learn more about Clint's newly-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, please visit his website: Clint Adams : Stories About Facing Fear.
Keep asking why. You know why? Because that’s why we’re here. OK, enough with the question words. Yes, over and over and over again, this theme seems to repeat itself, much akin to history (for those who haven’t yet learned from it, because they never asked, "w--?") In my opinion, history’s just old news unless we’ve chosen to learn a little something from it.
How many of you have heard the quote, “The unexamined life is not worth living?” My hope is lots. It happens to be my favorite quote of all time. For years, I never actually knew who said it; Aristotle, a bible, Sigmund Freud or Joan Rivers. As it turns out it was Socrates, a real stand-up, olive-eating Greek guy. He’s known for saying some other real smart stuff, too.
There’s so many wise folks out there that have so much to share. It amazes me. Different insights, strategies and instruments to help others change, grow, become happy and create success. They’re all providing such valuable services by fulfilling their true purposes in life…helping others with the gifts they’ve been given.
We’ve all received one priceless gift though, our own unique life, the best teacher of all. The lives we’ve been given allow us to ask, why?, nearly every freakin’ day. Not questions like, “Why didn't Tiger Woods use a condom?” or “Why is Paris Hilton still in the news?” No, these are too sophisticated, multi-layered and complex…and they’re not about YOU.
If you begin 2010 by asking ‘why?’ after something’s happened to you, I guarantee you’ll have an answer soon after you ask. EVERY answer will also come with this same attachment (please scan prior to opening): [(XYZ happened)…because you were supposed to learn from it. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s one of your lessons. That’s why you’re here].pdf.
Happy New Year, y’all!!! And, after having thrown up on your partner’s black silk shirt at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, ask yourself the next morning why. Maybe you need to learn compassion…next time aim for the closest toilet, sink or potted palm.
To learn more about Clint's newly-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, please visit his website: Clint Adams : No Time For Fear.
If you agree that ancient cavemen had a sense of humor, here’s a little something they may have said to one another, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” Answer, “Because it had never been done before.” OK, it’s not a belly laugh. It may not even warrant a chiseled-on-a-stone-tablet LOL or :-), but that’s beside the point. Back in the day when everyone was named either Flintstone or Rubble, everything was being done for the first time.
Let’s face it, innovation rocks. So, does that mean we’ve all gotta gather at the Water Buffalo Lodge? Move to Bedrock? Work at a quarry? Party hearty in Rock Vegas? No…too far. Too unnecessary. Why not be an innovator in your own hometown. That’s why my hometown will forever and always be San Francisco, the city that thrives on innovation. Did you know that at one time EVERYONE believed that the Golden Gate Bridge could never be built? Everyone except Joseph Strauss. Against all odds, the bridge was constructed and continues to carry over 100,000 travelers a day. It also carries the distinction of being the most photographed man-made object in the world. Even more than Madonna.
In life, there are leaders and there are followers. Oops, wait a minute. That’s not life, that’s Twitter (strangely enough, headquartered in San Fran. along with Google and other weird words). Where do you live? Where do you come from? And, most important, where are you going? Do you plan to follow a blueprint made by someone else? Or are you going to draw your own? If you need to borrow a pencil, I’ve got plenty to share. Just ask.
I miss the Bay Area; I’m in London now. Despite the constant rain, darkness and gloom, I’m happy with my decision to move here…especially when I invest in a six-pack at the end of the day. I’ve met a lot of interesting, intelligent and inspired people. I socialize more. I network more. Sometimes I even socially network (a phrase most likely coined in S.F.). There are many events here led by professionals who really know their stuff. They’re passionate, they’ve helped a ton of folks and (in my opinion) they’re fulfilling their purpose in life.
In the U.S., I never attended a personal development event before, nor had I ever heard the term NLP. I still don’t know what the word paradigm means and I’ve never seen THE SECRET. Instead, I write. I like to create, not follow. I seek change by making it happen. Not to discount what works well for others; instead, I applaud any and all techniques that help. Again, these teachers are experts and I respect and admire them.
I also respect and admire the people I meet in these events, the change-seekers. It takes courage to seek out new ways of living. At the same time, it takes courage to be yourself. Copying’s easy; it takes little to no imagination. Although we’re created equal, it’s our uniqueness that gives us something new and different to offer. This is what gives us our desire to learn, as well as our desire to teach.
Whether you’re a Flintstone, a Rubble, or even a Slaghoople (Wilma’s maiden name), absorb and appreciate what you feel is helpful and useful, but at the end of the day…do it your way. Invent a brand new solution. Be innovative. Be yourself.
Yabba-dabba-doo, y’all. P.S. Please post a comment if you happen to know where the (pictured) Flintstone House is located.
To learn more about Clint's newly-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, please visit his website: Clint Adams : No Time For Fear.
A few years back, on a bright, sunshiny day, someone knocked on my front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and living in a rural mountainous area, it was seldom I had any visitors. Although solitude suits me, I was eager to greet my mystery guest. Who would it be? And why didn’t they just e-mail me?
After a few hellos, how are yous and nervous smiles, I greeted two men carrying books and brochures in their hands. The more confident of the two spoke first. “Wouldn’t you love to be living in a world where you, and everyone around you, were happy all the time?” Not being disrespectful of them or their presumptions, I said in all honesty, “Hell, no.” My response left them speechless. Their faces were frozen. Since I felt the need to elaborate, I said, “If I were happy all the time, that means I’d never learn a (damn) thing. And, after all, isn’t that why were here? To learn something from life? From the lessons we’ve been given?”
Those two guys turned out being quite nice. I invited them in, they took a seat, and I gave them some water to drink. They talked, I listened. I talked, they listened. I was curious to know what they were all about; looking at their faces close up made me realize how young they were. They believed that life’s answers came from inside the books they were toting. Several times they offered me a copy, several times I graciously declined. “I’ve worked hard to make sense of the life I’ve been given. I’ve come a long way. Every second of it happened for a reason, and I feel grateful that I’ve chosen to learn from it all.”
They left peacefully, realizing that I was “unconvinceable.” I think they even appreciated the loyalty I showed to my unique brand of spirituality. I must have scored points by having thrown in the G-word where appropriate.
While the two men/boys walked away, I again noticed the books in their hands. It struck me only then that we shared something significant, the belief that books possess the capacity to change lives. My selections may be as unique as my spirituality though; for me, the darker, the better. Only when the protagonist struggles has my (reading) time been invested well.
As a writer, I make an effort to include humor, happiness, success and love, but if I don’t acknowledge the flip-side, I have learned nothing and have nothing worth writing about.
To learn more about Clint's newly-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, please visit his website: Clint Adams : No Time For Fear.
There are probably a million-and-one reasons a person chooses to become a writer. To express their creativity. Their love of the written word. The desire to contribute something meaningful to society. Do any of these apply to you? Brava/o if they do.
Whenever someone asks me why I wanted to become a writer, my answer’s always the same, “I never wanted to be one. I HAD to get a (very particular) story out, the truth, the only way possible, the only way I knew how.” Disappointed? Eek, I’d love to say that I eat, live and breathe reading and writing, but sadly that’s not possible. I learned the craft of writing because it was the only means available to me.
Have you ever been asked, “Why do writers write?” My response would again be related to the above, “Because there’s a story within them that MUST come out.” They were born to tell their story. THE SEVENTH RITUAL was my story, fictionalized of course. Now that this novel’s been out for a couple of months, I can understand why it took so long to complete; to transform it into something funny, shocking, thought-provoking, tolerable, and most important, put it in the hands of someone else. It’s no longer inside me anymore. All my collective lives can now say, “Whew!”
Since telling that story, along with a few others, I no longer feel this compelling NEED. Five novels have taught me something though: books possess the power to change lives. I don’t think anyone could dispute that. What’s your mission? Your purpose in life? Have you ever thought about this? My books reminded me that I like to help people and my desire to reach them, via my message(s), hasn’t vanished. At this point in the game, non-fiction’s better. More direct, hands-on, applicable and to the point for any prospective reader.
Public speaking’s next on the agenda, and what better aide is there for your audience than an accompanying book to go with your presentation. Lots and lots of fine-tuning’s in order, but it seems like the next logical step. Have you ever thought about this transition? This addition to your marketing mix?
If you’re still reading this, and you’re not a writer, perhaps you’ll see speaking and non-fiction writing as the vehicles you’ve been looking for. Writers and non-, only you can get your message across, right? No one’s going to do it for you, or me. I can’t wait to begin and give it my best shot. See you onstage.
To learn more about Clint's newly-released occult crime novel for adults, THE SEVENTH RITUAL, please visit his website: Clint Adams : No Time For Fear.
I never thought much about Monica Seles until she got stabbed. In the early-90s, my absolute favorite tennis players were Arantxa Sánchez Vicario (nicknamed “The Barcelona Bumblebee”) and Martina Navratilova (no nickname needed). They owned my loyalty. Quickly after turning pro, Monica turned Arantxa, Martina and the rest of the competition into underdogs. I like underdogs. Much more than Number #1s.
Are you still with me? Are you thinking, ‘What do Monica Seles and/or tennis have to do with a writer’s blog?’ ‘GETTING A GRIP: On My Body, My Mind, My Self,’ that’s what. Although Monica Seles was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame last month, it’s Monica Seles, the person, that makes me smile. As a player, she had the strongest mind/strongest will on the court; now that she’s retired, she’s conquered even more…the tremendous odds of overcoming a very public tragedy.
You don’t have to be a tennis fan to read GETTING A GRIP. You don’t even need to know who Monica Seles is. If you can take yourself out of your own body for a moment, and picture what it would be like, as one of the most famous athletes around, to be stabbed in front of the world; If you can imagine what it would be like to lose your father to cancer at an early age; If you’ve ever developed a sudden weight problem and wondered how it happened; If you’re a Type-A American (even if you’re NOT American) and have missed the bigger picture life has to offer, you should be able to relate to Monica’s words well.
I have a weight problem. I’m Type-A. I eat when I can’t control everything. I rarely stop to smell the flowers. I guess I should have figured, upon my move to London two weeks ago, that my by-the-book calculations and plans would break down. Within my first days here, my computer crashed, I had no Internet access and I caught a very, very nasty flu (I’d call it swine, but I’m really trying to cut back on my pork intake). All I could do was stay home and read GETTING A GRIP. I’d say it was meant to be, but (most) people hate hearing that.
I can relate to Monica on so many levels; making justice from injustice, striving for balance, seeking answers on the inside, discovering peace, finally being able to love yourself. How about you? Can you relate to any of these?
Monica Seles is a winner. She always has been. I wish I’d realized this before she was stabbed. Although she’ll never be an underdog, she’ll forever be my all-time favorite. Maybe I do like Number #1s after all.
I hope everyone continues to be healthy, wealthy and wise. Thanks a bunch to those of you who have read The Seventh Ritual; more than anything, I’m thrilled that you continue talking to me and that our friendship remains in tact. Whew! This had worried me mucho. Again, this book ain’t nothin’ like my novels that are intended for teens.
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Yesterday, this review was posted on amazon.com:
5.0 out of 5 stars.Not for the faint of heart...July 28, 2009 by Led “Zepplin”
“First let me say, this book is for ADULTS ONLY. This is the true story of a man who suffered horrendous abuses at the hands of those he trusted the most. In this brutally honest novel, you will feel the horror of a small child who survived unimaginable cruelty during Satanic rituals. The author sugar coats nothing and bravely writes with graphic language and detail. However, he also shows his witty sense of humor, something he no doubt had to develop in order to deal with the gruesome abuse he suffered as a child. In the end this novel is a tale of triumph. The main character rises above victimhood and finds that divine quality, forgiveness.”
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For those of you that may not know, the TSR cover copy reads:
The Seventh Ritual: a race for survival, a novel for adults based on a true story, is a remarkable journey through fear, grit, discovery, forgiveness and triumph... with a few laughs in between.
"You must discover the cause of your unhappiness by the end of this year...or you will not live to see the next." Disgusted and disbelieving, 34-year old Paul Jacobson dismisses what he's told by a Greenwich Village psychic. Only days later, while running in the New York City Marathon, Paul's mind positions him back to a past he's never known. This journey begins the race for his life.
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Recently, I’d read in a message that my friend Eva, a fellow writer, had come to a decision as to which voice to use throughout her novel. She called the process difficult. In my opinion, it should be. I’m happy Eva gave this so much thought. To me, voice will always remain a top priority. The Seventh Ritual includes two ongoing plots; one told by 34-year old Paul, the other by 2-year-old Pauly. In a previous blog, I’d posted an excerpt told in the voice of adult Paul. Now, it’s Pauly’s turn. If he could speak with words, as a sort of prayer to God, I believe this is what he’d have to say:
(The Seventh Ritual / MILE SIX excerpt)
“Dear Maker, Billy Graham from his television show calls you that. Is that Your nickname, by the way?
He said that if people talk to You, stuff gets better. Really? I don’t seem to understand any of this too good. You know what I mean? After all, I’m just a baby, and I’m not the smartest person on earth by a long shot. Pretty soon Mommy’s going to get off the phone, so I gotta hurry. But, I want to tell You for sure, ‘Please take care of Fluffy.’ Sometimes she never had too much to eat, and sometimes she ran out of fresh water from our drainage ditch. But, Maker, even though we were mostly strangers, I loved Fluffy a whole bunch.
I want her to know this. Can You please tell her. I know You’re like me and You don’t need to speak any of the languages that people talk. You just do it without knowing the words. By the way, kitties do it the same, in case You didn’t know that already. And, like the kitties in the park told me, they don’t have names neither. They’re all unanimous. You know, without being called nothing, just like the bad guys on Dragnet.
Anyway, Fluffy’s not a bad guy. She’s the one that went up above last night. Just so You can keep track. Please love her and take care of her. And, more than anything else in this whole wide world, please tell Fluffy that she’ll never be forgotten by me. And, one more thing, please tell her that someday I’m going to make up for this. Someday, I’m going to make this whole thing right. I’m going to turn it all around. They may be my mommy and daddy, but someday. Just You wait and see.
So, for now, bye, Fluffy. I love you a bunch. The same goes for You too, Maker. I’m sure I’d like You if I knew You better. Amen, Pauly.”
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Stay well, be happy and enjoy your summer. Until next time… Clint
Rather than take up your time, I'd instead like to share this with you: the first book review of THE SEVENTH RITUAL, a race for survival along with its accompanying first chapter. Many thanks again to you all for the interest you've shown and your continued support. You've kept me motivated and I'll always be grateful for that. Enjoy your summer!!!
THE SEVENTH RITUAL (review)
"Definitely a page-turner. This book arrived when I had a lot of work to get done. However, once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down! I read it cover-to-cover in one sitting until midnight. This compelling and haunting story unfolds through two parallel voices which skillfully spin a dramatic and hardcore reality hitting both light and deep notes. One to remember..." -- HC, Barcelona, July 2009
THE SEVENTH RITUAL (excerpt)
THE STARTING LINE
I was so overly eager that even my fingertips got hard. The plastic, painted-over doorbell I’d intentionally passed by so many times on the corner of Bleecker and Seventh was finally staring me in the face. The time had approached to press it. What was she going to look like? What was she going to say? How much was she going to charge me? This was my first time. Perhaps it’s only natural to feel a little afraid.
The crimson curtains behind the angelically glass-stained windows had opened and closed without me even being able to see who’s in back of them. With no sneak peek at my destiny, the door flung open and there she was. How normal and unadorned-looking, not at all what I was expecting. She still displayed an exotic kind of beauty, yet her expression appeared a little tired and worn. “I rewind. My husband return,” was her greeting to me while she carried her cordless phone with her right hand and an unlit, unfiltered Camel in her left.
“What? Excuse me,” I said at the same time as I popped a Velamint into my mouth to cover up the oniony gyro I’d just scarfed down.
“No, I talk to the Blockbuster. You come in.”
I stepped in and looked everywhere I could for any other living soul, but I somehow knew that she and I were alone.
As I questioned with my hands where I should place the warm winter jacket I had just taken off, the late-twenty-something woman asked, “Upstairs or down?”
“What?”
“Where you want to do this?”
“May I look up—”
Seeming as if she’d worked this room more than a few times before, the woman said, “Sure, sure. Everybody like to get it upstairs.”
I could tell that continuing the conversation with the video store was vitally important to her. Forgetting to rewind certainly does come with its price. Walking up the stylish metallic spiral staircase with its period 70’s shag-covered lemon yellow steps was like entering a scene from Shaft. But as soon as I heard Don’t Wanna Lose You by Gloria Estefan, I knew our encounter wasn’t necessarily going to be as mystical and other-worldly as I’d first imagined. Easy listening had always been like an aphrodisiac to me. The upstairs, composed of three posh black leather couches, red satin pillows, a few chairs and a multi-woofered Bang & Olufsen sound system was more than tantalizing.
As she came nearer to me, wearing baggy gray flannel sweat pants and a shoulder-length, dishwater-blond braided pony tail, I told her, “This is fine. Let’s do it here.”
“Sure. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“So, you got the problem with your video worked out?”
“They always do this. Tell me I don’t rewind Die Hard 2. I hate that. My husband watch it after I rewind, then he don’t rewind. Is not my fault. Is my husband problem. Why—”
Not having much spare cash on hand, I didn’t want to waste time with small talk, so I interrupted her by asking, “How much is this going to cost?”
“What you want?”
“Gosh, I don’t really know. What do you have?”
“Psychic reading is twenty. Aura is thirty. Tarot is fifty.”
“Well, I think a psychic reading is fine. May we just do that?”
Without further delay I made myself as comfortable as possible in the middle of Lower Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. I took a deep breath as my fingers clenched the arms of the red velour-covered seat I was in, while my unclenched butt felt as if it was getting ready for a Loew’s bargain matinee to begin.
“What is your God name?”
“My God name? I’m not really relig—”
“No. Just tell me your name.”
“Paul Anthony Jacobson.”
“Born?”
“October twenty-eighth. Sunday was my thirty-fourth birthday. Oakland, California. But now I live in San Francisco.”
“Just date. Don’t tell me rest of story.”
“Sorry.”
Hearing my brief bio. made the woman’s eyes shut deliberately. This gave me time to study her up-too-late movie-watching face in depth. But, as soon as I began concentrating on her dangly plastic purple crucifix earrings that looked like they might have been fashioned for extra credit by a home ec. freshman, the phone began ringing. I thought the Blockbuster-rewind problem had already been solved. What’s up now? Her eyes remained closed. Someone else answered the phone.
“You are good person. What do you think of when I say the initial J?”
“J?”
“Yes, who is this person that make you so sad?”
I was beyond startled. How did she know such a thing? That’s Justin. We…well, I decided not to—”
“Don’t need to know that either. This man make you very unhappy for the past two weeks.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. How did you—”
“I know these things, I am fifth-generation psychic. You have been thinking about him and that make you unhappy.” Then, looking as if she’d heard it broadcast by Tom Brokaw on The Nightly News the woman opened her eyes widely and said, “You have always been like this. Extremely sad on inside.”
Oops, first mistake, I thought. “Well, I don’t know about that. I only want to know if Justin and I are ever going to get back together.”
Immediately, without needing time to ponder, she said, “Juspin will come back to you, but it will be your choice. You will decide if you will be friends or more than that.” Then, the instantly-absentminded woman appeared to run out of words for a second or two. “Who is this person who is extremely jealous of you? M?” she said, with a sour wrinkled-up face.
“Jealous? M? I have no idea.”
“This person meditates against you daily. Extremely jealous.”
How in the world could I even respond to that? How absurd. “Michael?” I wondered out loud.
“No. A woman.”
“Mom?”
“Let me concentrate better.”
“Well, maybe we should just get back to Justin.”
“No, nothing will happen with him…until you can get rid of this negative.”
“How about acting? I’m thinking of giving it up and maybe doing something else.”
“You are good at this. You are creative and you like to help people,” she told me while looking even more strained and constipated.
“So, I will be doing something else? I will quit acting?”
“I’m not seeing this. I see no future,” she answered with a blank expression.
“Well, maybe you’re still thinking about Die Hard 2. Perhaps if you concentrated a bit more.”
“No, nothing will change. As long as this negative is in your life. Nothing.” Then, in an instant, it’s like this woman with her dangling crucifixes below her holy earlobes and what looked like leftover muesli from breakfast still stuck in between her braces, gave up. “Nothing. I’m not seeing it.” After these words, in her white Keds with candy cane-striped shoelaces, she bolted straight up.
“But, I’m not finished. I have a few more questions.”
“Nothing will change. Everything you know is false. You must change. And you must do this very quickly.”
“Change? Oh, but I am changing. I started going to therapy.”
“No. Who is M? Nothing will change. Nothing good.” After a pause, Madame X. said, “I will find who this person is, so you can do something about it. I am very, very busy. But for you, I meditate on this for days, weeks if I need to. You’re good person. I do this for you.”
“Well, thanks. Because, right now, I have no idea.”
“It is much work. But for being nice person, the cost for you only is five hundred dollar.”
In a flash, whatever fear, anxiety or apprehension I may have been feeling had vanished and instead I became completely enraged. Furious. I realized I was being scammed, robbed. I couldn’t even reply. I just stared at this woman with my normally optimistic clear brown eyes now only being able to see nothing but negative. “No. I don’t have five hundred dollars. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“But you must do this.”
“That’ll be my decision. I’m done now. Thank you,” I said as I reached into my pocket to give the woman her twenty dollars for my first-time reading.
“You’re not understanding what I’m telling you,” the woman told me with a fierce sincerity exuding from her bloodshot, baby-blue soothseers.
“I said I don’t have five hundred dollars.”
“Money for you, in future, is never going to be problem. You can give this to me. I will meditate for as long as I have to, no matter how tired it make me, to help you.”
“No. I’ve got to go.”
All the woman could do was watch as I disappeared towards my downward spiral. She disgusted me. I thought, how could my closest friend, Jenna, have recommended this far from reputable crank? Someone who’s such a blatant con?
To my incredible disbelief, the woman followed me down the stairs, almost chasing me. Then, calling me by name she said, “Paul Anthony, you’ve got to. You must to discover the cause of your unhappiness before the end of this year…or you will not live to see the next. I’m not seeing future. 1992 is almost here. Less than two months remain…you must to hurry.”
What amazed me more than this latest outlandish prognostication was the look on her face as she uttered my death sentence. Unpredictably, she looked to be genuine, concerned. Even tugging at my arm tightly, jerking me back, preventing me from going down any further. For a moment, while I took my last step before touching ground, my new New Balance running shoes began to lose theirs. The woman’s behavior and kind look shocked me. If I had closed my eyes and pretended this woman was not a psychic scam-artist, I maybe would have felt like she was a confidante of mine, someone who’s actually trying to help me, someone who really cared.
From one well-seasoned actor to another, I told her with Richard Burton stage presence and my own best diction, “I’ll think about it,” and I waved my hand goodbye. Of course I was never going to think about it. How absolutely ridiculous.
###
Although it would be one of the shortest and easiest of my training, my two-mile run through fall-foliaged Central Park was turning out to be one of the most challenging. Every little uphill incline was like a Swiss Matterhorn climb for me and my legs. It wasn’t the physical discomfort I was feeling, it was everything extraneous filtering down from my brain. The training I had done for my past marathons went smoothly on every occasion. I always knew I would finish each one well, based on the by-the-book preparations I had accomplished with little problem beforehand.
Who is this M? What garbage. Why did I have to hear all this weirdness just two days before the marathon? And the date. Why before December thirty-first? Absolute nonsense. In addition to my crammed-full head, I was also developing a headache. The timing of everything couldn’t have been worse.
If only I could begin focusing on something entirely different, everything would become clear, I thought. Nature’s brief oasis amid the manmade mayhem intrigued me, although the humidity lingering outside wasn’t doing my straight-acting brown wavy hair any favors.
The hyperactive and most likely horny squirrels running around on the ground as fast as possible then back up the trees again. The other runners, many of whom I could tell would be chasing each other in the marathon now only two days away. So much was out there to occupy my mind. And, like radar, my sensitive ears began picking up every single baby’s cry in the park. I had passed by several in strollers, while others were being held lovingly in their mother’s arms. Each one of them screaming as if they were all in intolerable pain. I guess teething does that to a person.
Just as my mind reverted back to the peculiar expression on the lady’s face when she delivered her proclamation of doom, I was almost knocked down to the pavement by a dread-locked redhead roller-blader. “Sorr—, mahn,” was all he was able to offer in a nearly incomprehensible voice. Then, he whisked away from me with no regard for my feelings whatsoever.
It’s ridiculous to believe I deserved to have some sort of accident or fatal misfortune coming my way. Perhaps I should just be more careful, I thought. Look both ways. “Better safe, than sorry,” my mom had always told me.
###
A hot, generically-priced Walgreen’s-brand bubble bath had worked every time for me and whatever mood I was in. Everything was in perfect order, all planned out. I could tell my mind would get back to normal once I had finished my most favorite ritual of all.
Just having scrubbed off the hardened Queen Helene’sMint Julip masque from my freshly-exfoliated face, I grabbed for my custom-ordered and super-sized Keanu Reeves mug filled with Chamomile tea, milk and honey, and I carried it to my bath. The water temperature wasn’t too cold nor too hot, it was ‘just right,’ perfect should Goldilocks pay a surprise visit.
Staying for free in my friend Tracy’s apartment in Astoria while she was away in Iowa directing a play was such a money-saver. Although a closet fag hag, Tracy’s a natural nurturer to both gays and straights alike. Being two Cal theatre alums, Tracy was the only one sensible enough to remain offstage after graduating. She loved Manhattan, but couldn’t afford its prices apparently. Since I’d never known that much about Queens, specifically, the borough of Queens, my stay ended up being a very Italian-American learning experience.
While glancing at my handy-dandy day planner atop Tracy’s unkempt desk full of playbills, to see which step comes next, I discovered that I’d dutifully accomplished all that was on my list for the day. Everything checked off.
Putting my newly, lightly-pedicured big toe, with its allover tan, into my makeshift spa as a test, was a success. A well-deserved A for effort. Transporting myself into such needed tranquility was going to be heavenly. Total relaxation. Total abandonment. At a time when I needed it most. My closed eyes felt like they were meant to. Alone. Quiet. At peace. Then the phone rang.
Not wanting to drench the bone-dry floor, I did my best to take it slow while still hurrying to get to the phone in time. I wasn’t expecting a call from Tracy for another hour or so. Why was she calling me so early?
After picking up the receiver, hoping I wouldn’t become electrocuted to death by the ‘stepping out of the shower-touching anything electric’ myth, I caught my breath and said, “Hello.”
“So, how are your training runs coming along?” my mother Barbara asked, while I knew she was picking at her face needlessly with her right thumb and left forefinger.
“They’re OK, Mom.”
“Don’t forget to eat three bananas right after. If your legs cramp too often, you’ll wind up with varicose veins.”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”
“I’ve told everyone I know to watch the race on TV. I’m so proud of you. Did you get the Oakland A’s tee-shirt I sent you? Canseco on the back? That’s how they’ll be able to tell it’s you.”
There’s no way in a million years I’d ever wear that. Well, only if Jose Canseco’s bulges came with it.
“Yes, I did. Thanks. I still want to wear something I’m familiar with though. Worn in.”
“It’s just a thought.”
“Mom, I don’t think anyone’ll be able to see me. There’s nearly thirty-five thousand runners.” Not really being able to understand her reasoning, I still appreciated my mother’s support.
“Well, at least promise to call me after you’ve finished, hon. I want to know how you did. After all, I’m your biggest fan. I’m always thinking about you.”
###
Never in a million years would I ever admit to anyone that the TV show that made me laugh the most was Mama’s Family. It’s just too dumb. But, it’s one I could watch over and over again if only to hear Mama, Thelma Harper, say, “Well, what the…?” as she smacked her son Vint senseless with a folded-up copy of the Raytown Bugle. I loved every easily-predictable second of it.
Just as I became deeply engrossed in the plot’s bittersweet climax, Mama with a slight limp, returning home from the Raytown National Bank after having slipped on a roll of pennies, my phone rang.
“Jenna?”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess.”
Hearing my petite five-foot-one best friend’s voice say, “I just wanted to wish you well, Paul,” meant the world to me.
“I’m glad you called. I’m a little nervous. So much has been on my mind.”
With her two dogs that flunked out of obedience school barking uncontrollably in the background, Jenna asked enthusiastically, “What about that psychic I recommended? Did you go? Are you and Justin getting back together?”
“Jenna. Are you kidding? That woman was a joke. Why’d you send me there?” I asked while internally scrutinizing the paradox that lives inside her, her great intelligence combined with her faithful belief in this crap.
“Why do you say that?”
“She was nuts. She told me that I needed to get rid of my negativity, to figure out why I was so unhappy, by the end of the year…or I was going to die. Before January first.”
“And…”
“You’re not surprised? And what? She told me Justin would come back to me, but it’s my choice if I want him in my life or not, or something like that.”
“And…”
“Jenna. What? It was laughable. OK. And, she told me that someone named M was meditating against me daily, someone who’s extremely jealous of me.”
“You didn’t tell her you knew me, did you? You never mentioned my name?”
“No. Why?”
“When I was there she’d told me the same story. Someone constantly thinking negative thoughts about me. She told me the jealous woman was my mother.”
Live & Learn: A Retiree's Guide to Keep Going is spiritual self-help for near-retirees who'll soon be asking, "What's next?" Written in an easy-to-read, conversational style, L & L aims to add worth to any senior seeking their true purpose (lessons learned).
