BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

What with this being Memorial Day and all, I thought I would blog on a subject over which I have been ruminating for a few weeks now.

Every year, both my publicist and I receive numerous requests for donations from events nationwide. A huge number of these events are Pagan Pride Day celebrations, some are gatherings with less global ties, some are “friends of library X” type of things, and still others are speculative fiction type conventions. Now, the donations solicited are customarily autographed copies of my books, for the express purpose of them being placed in raffles or to be used as door prizes. Usually this is done to A) Give attendees a shot at winning something nice and/or B) To raise money (in the case of raffles) to help finance the event.

Monthly, my publicist and I sort through these requests and cull out the obvious scams (yes, there are plenty of those), the places I have already sent donations more than once (sorry, but I have to be fair to everyone), and those who flat out demand a donation. Yes, believe it or not some of these people don’t politely ask for a donation, they actually send emails or letters which state things like “since we as a community support you by buying your books you owe it to us to donate to XYZ event” (that is paraphrased a bit, and actually even toned down, but you get the idea.) And, yes, I will readily admit that I take a dim view of this tactic, meaning, if you demand a donation from me I would suggest you not wait by the mailbox because you are just going to be disappointed.

Anyway, once we have the list pared down, we select events to which we will send a stack of autographed books. Unfortunately, yes, there has to be a selection process because as I have noted before, just because I wrote the books doesn’t mean I get unlimited free copies or something of that sort. I have to purchase the books I send out as donations, and contrary to popular belief I’m not made of money.

So, yearly I end up sending out several hundred dollars worth of books and spend a ton on postage/shipping to get them where they are going. I’m not complaining about that, I’m happy to do it. I am merely stating facts so that I can put this in perspective. Anyway, on with the story… Out of the 50 or so events to which I donate books each year, if five of them even bother to acknowledge receving the books, I am doing good. If one or two of them actually say “thank you,” then we are talking about a banner year.

No. I am NOT kidding about the above statistics.

Which brings me to Memorial Day. Over the past few years I have also donated boxes of books to groups who were ostensibly shipping items to deployed pagan soldiers. These groups requested books, etc, and I happily obliged. While I am wholly against the war, I am all about our troops, and will do whatever I can to support them. Anyway, the above “support groups” fell right into the same category as all the other events. Not a peep. Not even an acknowledgement of receipt.

So…After having met with a huge number of soldiers at Fort Hood earlier this year while at the Ostara Fest in Texas, I obtained the APO’s for two different Open Circle groups in Iraq. When I arrived home I boxed up books, along with a note, and shipped them DIRECTLY to these APO’s instead of through the support groups.

Guess what happened…

I received thank you’s. Not only did I receive thank you’s, but BOTH of these groups took the time to pass a card around and have EVERYONE sign it before mailing it to me. This is something that could have easily been done by email, but no, they took the time to individually sign and snail mail, from Iraq, thank you cards for the donated books.

So, I have to wonder about this…

On the one hand we have the groups here at home who sit on their asses, safe and secure, make demands of people they don’t even know, and then don’t even bother to drop a quick email thank you to that person who has sent a donation.

Then, on the other, we have the men and women who have been sent across the ocean, living in a big nasty sandbox, far away from their families, getting shot at and risking their lives on a daily basis, who make it a point to take the time to send a personal, signed, thank you card expressing their appreciation.

Can you guess which of the two made a positive impression on me?

Happy Memorial Day – especially to those of you in uniform who earned it.

More to come…

Murv

Well, actually, I have been, but that’s a different story.

So, why do I want to be on TV? For the fame? The glory? The hot chicks?

To be honest, none of the above.

Let’s step back for a minute. Not to TV land, but to early last week in Murvland. For reasons that don’t bear exploring at this juncture I had to make a mad dash to the hardware store during a downpour. For yet still other reasons that don’t bear exploring, while in the parking lot of said store I fell. I fell hard. I fell hard three times. Onto concrete. Wet concrete. Hard, wet, concrete.

Okay, you get the idea.

Anyhow, I was bruised. I have a purple hip and a purple stomach where I fell on top of the item I was carrying, (yeah, for a dyed in the wool Browncoat to have a “purple belly” it really sucks). I also have shattered cartilage in one knee, and a lot of achey muscles. I’m not as bad off as I was last week, but I’m still a bit sore here and there.

Now, this incident didn’t stop me from going on with my life. I didn’t end up in the hospital or anything that drastic. However, at 46 and some change one does not just get up, brush off, and go on as if nothing happened. No, that is reserved for the 20 year olds… So, while I was still moving about, it was slow going, with a lot of pain. Yes, I groaned, moaned, and even whined a bit.

What in the name of Pete does this have to do with being on TV, you ask…

No, there weren’t any cameras in the parking lot filming me… Well, actually I don’t know if there were or not. Maybe there were and I just haven’t seen the Youtube video just yet. But, that’s neither here nor there… I fell, I hurt, I moved slow…

Now, on TV it is a different story. I watched the season finales of Bones and House the other night and discovered that the world inside the tube is radically different. People almost completely heal within hours or even minutes. For the truly horrid injuries it might take a couple of days, but that’s just for the REALLY life threatening stuff.

For instance – On Bones one of the main characters took a penetrating round from a revolver. I didn’t get a good enough look at it to say what caliber, but it was at a minimum a .38. Moreover, the wound was in his right chest. He wasn’t wearing body armor or a bullet proof vest either. He bled a lot. He passed out. We didn’t know whether or not he would survive. Something on the order of one week later (maybe even less) he was not only up moving around, but tackling bad guys and waving his arms about. The only evidence of the wound was that he was wearing a bandaid. Other than that, he was just fine and dandy. Now, I won’t even go into the rest of the stupidity that tried to pass for a storyline in that episode, but suffice it to say, unless Patrick Duffy shows up in a shower at the beginning of the first episode next season, they’ve lost me as a viewer.

On House we had yet another semi-miracle. Of course, Hugh and the crew perform those weekly, but this one was really cool (in some ways, literally). A patient who had been severely injured in a bus crash, then purposely put into hypothermia, including filling her lungs with slurry, is warmed up and re-awakened (basically so they can tell her she is dead as soon as they turn off the bypass machine or in a few hours, whichever comes first). She lays on the bed and carries on a clear and coherent conversation with her boyfriend so they can say goodbye. The fun part about this (besides the enormous technical inaccuracies that a layman could spot) was the fact that this two part episode only spanned something like 24 hours in TV time. What I found really amazing about this is how clear, coherent, and without pain she was. You see, when my appendix burst several years ago I spent a week in the hospital. I won’t go into the gory details, but I wasn’t clear and coherent for at least 3 days. I wasn’t without pain for better than a week. After what she endured, and with the limited time frame, I’m thinking maybe a handful of “ouches” and an “I forgot what I was saying, sorry about that,” or two would have been in order.

So, you see… That’s why I want to be on TV. It obviously doesn’t hurt as much when you get injured, and apparently it doesn’t hurt anywhere near as long. I could definitely do with the not hurting.

But, even if I don’t get to be on TV, I suppose I will never write for it either. Why? Because, in my mind if I write something it has to make sense. Sure, even I have elements to my stories that require suspension of disbelief, but you are only allowed just so much of that before suspension turns into “you’ve gotta be effing kidding me…”

You see, suspending it is one thing. Shooting it in the head, burying it in the back yard, and forgetting you ever saw it is completely different. It’s also not very nice.

More to come…

Murv