The 2016 New Year’s Resolution

New Year. . .New Me. . .New You!

Wait, what?

I never really got that philosophy. It just never made any kind of sense to me. I will be the same sarcastic person at 12:01am January 1st that I was at 11:59pm December 31st.

Yep, you got it in one, Calvin.

So what is the big deal with all the “new” stuff? Honestly if there needs to be a change in your life, attitude, or whatever, do it now. Yes, yes, I understand the new year is supposed to symbolize a new beginning. . .but if it will be that beneficial, why wait? Like I already said - that just doesn’t make any sense.

Personally I just go with the flow and if a change needs to be made or addressed then I handle it then; especially because my Swiss cheese sieve of a brain isn’t necessarily going to remember to do it instantly on January 1st. Not to mention the fix to the problem may be right in front of you the moment you discover it. Better to handle it when it occurs – if something really needs to be done at all.

Truly, how many people plan to do something different with themselves or their lives and then get about 3 days into the new year and say “screw this?” (Rebecca, off to the side, is waving frantically, yelling, “Ooo! Ooo! Pick me, pick me!”) New Year’s resolutions rarely make it past the first month – hell I’d venture to say the first week. True life changes happen immediately, when they arise. Many times these things that need changing cannot wait for a set timetable. They simply cannot be ignored and need attention now.

I get it that for many people change is a scary thing. Whether it’s a big change or a little one, the unknown or new can be frightening to some, especially if they are going it alone. Many people can bolster their courage by attaching the change to coincide with the New Year. It’s a well-intentioned mindset. This works at this time of the year because those who are trying to make a change know they are not the only ones. It’s a herd-like mentality that offers a modicum of comfort.

There is a lot at stake with change, so you need to ask yourself a few questions first. Is this change really to my benefit emotionally, physically, or spiritually? Is this something I want to do or am I doing it for someone else? Will the change make me so different that I lose who I am at the core of my being, or will it compliment me as I am? Should I have done this before?

These are hard questions to answer. And no one can answer them for you. In this case you have to go it alone.

Don’t get me wrong. . .if you are one of those who really needs that “New Year’s Resolution” moniker and mindset to make it work, then by all means go for it! I’m just saying that the really important things don’t wait. They can’t in many cases.

So be brave and try to live a little. Believe it or not, change can be good, and even better, change can be fun! If there are things you want to take on, lose, or change around then do them now! Don’t wait! Don’t cheat yourself out of being a better person.

I will give this one small resolution for all who want to heed it – if nothing else, make a point to approach every single day with the intention of being happy. That alone can set you to begin on the right path. I’m not saying things will be perfect or always stay happy, but it makes dealing with things that go wrong far easier. Grab your life in both hands occasionally and shake the living shit out of it. You never know what will fall out and away to make room for something new and exciting. Take on the adventure and run headlong into 2016 with courage and strength. You just might find yourself in a better place.

Happy New Year to you all, from FarCrutch Productions!

...Rya

Christmas Crazies

It’s the moooooooost….wonderful tiiiiiiiiiiime…of the year...

Well, if you say so, Andy.  It all depends on your point of view, I suppose. 

Consider this:  You could be kicking back with your favorite holiday beverage (mine is currently hot tea with Fireball whiskey), with all of the household lights off and the Christmas lights on, a purring cat in your lap, Christmas tunes on the stereo, and a feeling of general well-being – the cards are sent, the gifts are wrapped, the holiday platters are ordered.  All is calm, all is bright, yadda yadda.

Straight outta Martha Stewart.

OR…

You could be running around in panic because you lost your shopping list, half of the tree’s lights don’t work, someone stole your outdoor Nativity set, the kids have eaten all the cookies (half of which were burned and you simply didn’t care), your shopping isn’t even started, Little Bobby won’t stop shrieking about getting that new Star Wars BB-8 remote-control toy that you refuse to buy for that price, your disgruntled teenaged daughter just destroyed your perfect Christmas cake by feeding it to the dog, who vomited it all over the holiday centerpiece you took hours arranging, the cards aren’t done, and your husband announced his entire family is coming to Christmas dinner.  And now you have to go to Walmart.  On the weekend before Christmas.  Fa la frickin' la!!

Why, God, WHYYYYYY

This is the perfect time for me to shove a shameless plug for our books, which I will, of course, now do.  *clears throat, drinks more Fireball tea, and clears throat again*

Hear ye, oh woebegone Christmas procrastinators!  For those readers on your list – and we know you have them – we proudly offer up our first two books.  You can buy them by clicking on the “Purchase Our Books” button above, and they’ll be delivered right to your door.  Here’s a nice Christmas ad for you, too.

Now, take a deep breath.  It's not all so bad, really.  Go find your list, it's probably upstairs by the bed – or make a new one – and stick to it.  Buy fresh cookies, and tell Little Bobby you'll think about the BB-8 toy if he cleans up the dog vomit, finds every piece of your Nativity set, and changes out the tree lights to your satisfaction.  Send your Christmas cards over email.  Send the teenager to Walmart and have her make you a new centerpiece.  Buy several of our books, pop them into gift bags, and voila, you’re all done.  Now, go sit in your chair with your Fireball, pick up your own copy of our book, and relax.  Dinner with the in-laws will be cake after that…and by the way, great cake.

Peace on earth, folks.  Enjoy your holidays.

- Rebecca

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100 Years of Divergent Paths

Hi guys, Rebecca with another dose of Poetry Corner.  This year marks the 100^th anniversary of “The Road Not Taken,” the well-known Robert Frost poem responsible for generating a million Hallmark posters of country roads that hung on college dorm room walls (including mine, natch). 

This poem is the epitome of decision-making – this way, or that way?  The clear way, or the hard way?  And does taking that less-traveled road really make all the difference?  In our case, yes.  We started our story journey back in 1990, on the way to Florida, on the heavily traveled I-95.  We spent many, many years writing cover letters and basically begging for an agent to read our work.  They wanted “published writers.”  So this year, we took that less-traveled road of self-publishing, and this poem took on a whole new meaning, and we won’t go back. 

Without further ado, I give you the marvelous words of Mr. Frost.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Thanksgiving Nut-Case

Ah, "Writer's Block"...two bad words for an author, and also the reason the blog hasn't really been recently updated.  'Becca and I are both suffering from it for the moment, especially with all the running around trying to get ATSBN-2 up before Black Friday.  We've been wracking our brains trying to think of what to write for the Thanksgiving holiday that wasn't a regurgitated Who-hash of smarmy, feel-good, blah, blah, blah.  I'll admit it's not my style.  'Becca does better with that!

Now, all that being said, I'm so ready to eat some bird that I wanted to cook it a week ago!  However, I held off, because by next week I'll be "birded out" with leftovers!  Even with 24 people coming for the holiday there will be leftovers, trust me.  

Yo, Squanto.  Gimme the acorn squash.

If you had read one of my earlier blogs (Autumn), then you know I'm in my element.  Fall, winter, cooking, the holidays - I'm in!!!  And although our beliefs of the first American Thanksgiving are actually pretty off base, the fact is, we have a holiday that brings us together that isn't deeply based in a religion.  Now the concept of Thanksgiving isn't locked up by Americans.  It is actually celebrated in several countries around the world, with most of them not at the same time of the American holiday.  The bulk of them are harvest holidays observed in October.  And don't worry - this is as far as the history lesson goes.  (I can feel my own brain going numb.)

BUT - and that's a big but - we Americans seem to take this holiday like we take all our others, very, very seriously and with the same verocity as eating a pound of smoked maple bacon.  (Mmm, bacon.)  So many are polarized for/against the holiday being folded into and/or overrun by the Christmas season.  For a lot of other places, Christmas follows Halloween so they go from one to the other.  

If they wanna do it, let 'em do it.  Just keep walking.

I don't care either way.  I look at Thanksgiving as the practice feast for Christmas.  I'll serve the turkey with the tree in the background.  It most likely won't be decorated yet, but it will be up.  (My Christmas cards are already written and addressed because if I don't do them before Thanksgiving, I won't have two seconds to do them once Christmas shifts into full gear.)

What I'm trying to say here is take from this holiday the fellowship and the fun.  So what if the neighbors have their Christmas lights up?  That's THEIR business and THEIR preference.  If it's not for you, then just keep your home the way it is.  But don't vilify them for it.  Let everything else hang.  It's not worth stressing over.  There are far worse things in the world that could happen.

Now give me a moment as I will fall into a smarmy feel-good mood (insert Very Special Episode violin music here).  Having spent the bulk of my life in service to others, I will touch on one thing here, and that is to help others around you who may not be able to help themselves.  More people pay attention to this concept at this time of year but it really needs to be in our hearts and minds year round.  Donating time, money, or food can easily be done.  A little bit here and there year round is an easier task than slamming it all into the end of the year...trust me because I have no time at the end of the year.

No matter how you celebrate - or when, for our non-American friends and fans - the fact is you are having a gathering with friends and family in homage to all the good things in your life.  Being happy is a matter of choice, perspective, and belief.  Look for the positive even when things turn to shit and you will find it easier to cope.  So grab a giant piece of homemade pumpkin pie with a massive blob of whipped cream, sit back and relax...and HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

- Rya

Things That Go Bump In the Night

Samhain.  When the walls between the worlds grow thin, and spirits of the Underworld walk the earth.  It’s the best time of year for those with a love of eating pounds of candy and being scared out of one’s gourd.

I love Halloween.  I love the costumes and the chill, I love black cats and Jack-o’-lanterns and trick-or-treating, and I will happily consume miniature Butterfinger bars by the truckload if I could.  But horror movies?  Horror stories? The paranormal?  

Hell no.  

Preach it, Wonder Woman.

I have an extraordinarily hyperactive, incredibly overactive imagination.  It's the main reason I love to write, and why I'm good at it.  I can write scary shit like nobody's business - I'll freak you out in a minute - but overall, I simply don’t do scary shit.  I’m a composite wuss, if you will.  I am a firm believer in the existence of the Closet Monster, the Creature Under the Bed, and the Magic Blanket – ah, that heroic bed cover that must be draped over at least one buttock in 90-degree weather or securely tucked around one’s toes in the cold…because no one in their right mind would sleep with an exposed body on TOP of a mattress in the dark, am I right?  Even the slightest sound in a black hallway will flare into Something That Goes Bump in the Night and I will lie there with my blood pressure increasing, my heart pounding, and my imagination going haywire.  Did I lock the door?  Because, you know – something is out there.  (Especially if you live in an old, creaky house.  Like me.)  Nothing will make me go to a haunted house or haunted forest because I will piss myself in 2 seconds and will be one of those people that screams until someone slaps them.  Disney’s Haunted Mansion is my limit, and I was 13 years old before I would even consider going in there.  (Okay, okay, I was pretty much dragged in there, if you really need to know.)

What scares me the most about horror movies and horror stories is that I can’t stop watching or reading.  It’s like a train wreck – I can’t look away.  Years ago, I was subjected to “The Shining,” with the crazy Jack Nicholson.  Yeah, right.  I didn’t sleep for a goddamn week.  I refused to go up the stairs for fear of running into those chopped-up twin girls ("Come play with us, Danny!") at the end of the hallway, so I always made someone else go first.  

Get out of my hallway, you little brats.

Then there was “The Amityville Horror,” which made me close the bedroom curtains for weeks so I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night and see those glowing pig eyes looking in the window across from me.  

Stupid glowing red-eyed pig!  I'll make you into goddamn bacon if you come in here!

On New Year’s Eve, my father made me record this movie for him while he, my mother, and my sister went out for the evening.  (I was certain I was being punished for not going with them.)  As a result, I had every light in the house turned on, the stereo was blasting loud Christmas Muzak, the TV over the refrigerator was blaring a Perry Como holiday special – anything, anything to keep me from hearing that horrible theme music coming from the VCR in the basement.  Why do horror movies always showcase little children singing?  GAAH!

The Blair Witch.  The Exorcist.  The Grudge.  Paranormal Activity.  All of you, BITE ME.  Oh, wait, don’t.  I’ll freak out, beat the bloody shit out of you, and then probably fall down the stairs and break my own leg in my mad urge to escape.

Reading is just as bad.  Stephen King’s prose, for example, is just so fabulous that you are sucked into the horror in a Clockwork-Orange-ian, eyes-held-open-with-a-wire-speculum kind of suckage.  You read until you can't take any more, slowly put the book down, and try turning off the light, and you lie there with your eyes still wide open, bloodshot and burning, afraid to blink because Annie Wilkes from “Misery” might be standing by your bed with a fucking sledgehammer, calling you a dirty bird.  

This is what a psycho wacknut looks like.

Or that cat in “The Cat from Hell” might be sitting there, grinning, ready to pounce and force itself down your throat.  Really, it’ll be best to just turn the TV on and watch “Big Bang Theory” reruns until 3 in the morning.  You can sleep at your desk.

When I was a kid, my parents gave me “Alfred Hitchcock’s Haunted Houseful,” a compendium of ghost stories for kids.  While I now cherish it – it’s a collector’s item, very rare and very hard to find in good condition – I used to hide this thing under the living room sofa cushions.  My mother always found it and returned it to my bedroom - at first my imagination made me think that it floated up the hall in the middle of the night and slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y inserted itself into its place on my bookshelf.  (Aw, shit - *shudder*)  What scared me?  The artwork inside the front cover!  I mean, look at this…

Look at that ghostly seaweed woman!  (Actually, it’s “The Water Ghost of Harrowby Hall” – a terrific story, by the way.)  This dead kelp-covered chick is one of the reasons I couldn’t keep the bedroom door open because I thought she was in the hallway at night.  The damn moon has an eye.  An EYE.  The tree has FINGERS.  And that stick-man on the water!  Who makes artwork like this in a book for impressionable, easily-spooked children?  (Oh, shut up.  I told you I was a wuss, didn't I?)  

Anyhow, I’m bringing up the Alfred Hitchcock book because I wanted to use his opening words in this book for my ending salvo.  So I leave you with the prose of the Master of Suspense. 

First find a room where you can be alone.  Next, turn the light down low.  I know; plenty of light is better for the eyes.  However, it is death to ghosts and we should always think of others.  Now, concentrate on the printed page…

What’s that? You hear a strange noise?  I’m sure it’s just a shutter banging in the wind.  You don’t have shutters?  Good!  Your attitude indicates you have completed your reading readiness and we are all set.  

You may begin wandering through our little tract of haunted houses. 

No, I’m not coming with you.  

This is as far as I go.

Me too, Al.  Now I'll just go see if "Big Bang Theory" is on...

Happy Halloween, all.  

--Rebecca

Pass the Nyquil, Please

Cough, cough, cough.  Sniffle.  Sniff, hack.  Wheeze.

Yep, autumn is here – my lovely, colorful, ginger-scented and pumpkin-spiced autumn.  Rya isn’t the only one who loves it.  I’ve waited all sweltering, dripping, bug-infested summer for autumn’s sharp, crisp mornings and warmth-infused afternoons.  Beautiful quilted patterns in the multi-colored trees.  Huge pots of puffy chrysanthemums, grinning scarecrows, bundles of endless corn shocks and hay bales.  Cinnamon tea and gingersnaps and that first burst of dusty, oil-scented air from the grumbly ancient furnace.  Personal heaters in the old bedrooms to boost the snap and watery rumble of hot-water heat rising through the old baseboards.  I love it all.

Well, except for one thing.  (Sniffle.)

Without fail, every gold-frosted autumn brings with it a small demon in the form of a bacterium with more facets than a bag of Dungeons & Dragons polyhedral dice.  My immune system, which unfortunately has a pink neon sign flashing “C’MON IN!” and readable to every microscopic bug and germ in the known world, has already thrown out the free-lodging red carpet to the first cold bug of the season.  It has burrowed down into my sinus cavity and has gleefully began tossing out its coded messages to my respiratory system, which is now trying to drown me in my own thickening juices.

I feel ya, Cameron.

Snort.  Hack, hack, sniff.

I know to start pumping up the Vitamin C when the folks at the office start coming in armed with their own boxes of Kleenex and stand at the secretary’s counter, red-eyed and pitiful, claiming they’re sick (really?) and they “just had to come in.”  This is the signal for me to repeatedly scrub my hands, close my office door, and ward off every sniffler coming my way with a large can of Lysol.  Sadly, one of those resilient little demons crossed the Valley of Antibacterial Hand Gel, fought its way through the Lysol Cloud of Death, and slid unseen under my door, where it was welcomed happily by my dumb-assed immune system, which wouldn’t know a bacterium from a Basset hound.  Eventually, it will remember its real duty and kick the cold out on its ear, and I can head back to the office…only to probably pick up yet another strain from a loo-la who “just had to come in.”  Stay home, dammit!  That’s what sick leave is for! 

Cough, cough.  SnorHHooooork.  (Sorry, that was gross.)

The good news is I can drink all the hot tea I want.  Lots and lots of tea.  I can stay home and catch up on all of the shows I recorded last week.  I can work on story stuff.  Or, I can just sleep.  Ah, Nyquil-induced sleep is the best.  No weird dreams, no aches, just deep, peaceful sleep – as long as I remember to turn off my phone, or Telemarketer Bob will be asking me if I want to donate my kidneys to the Lady of Perpetual Back Pain shriner’s convention.

In the meantime, pass the Nyquil please.  Good health to all.  And wash your hands.

--Rebecca