Last Blog of 2016!

What a crazy year it's been! We've all experienced trials and tribulation: death, new career paths, layoff's, hiring, firing, accidents, surgeries, breakup's, breakdowns, loss of friendships, political bickering, world disharmony, climate change, cold arctic blasts, and a litany of items I haven't listed here.


But here's the cool part--we're still above ground. We're breathing air, we're enjoying the day, and we're approaching the holidays. Yeah, I know it can be a struggle for some, but let's do what we can to make the holidays nice for as many people as possible!


I want to personally wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, as well as thanking each and everyone who has taken the time to read my blogs, purchase and read my books, signed up for my newsletter, or those who simply follow me on social media (God Bless you for that:)).


My wish for everyone is peace, prosperity, and an abundance of love now and forever.  Enjoy yourself, be careful out there, and always live your adventure.


Peace.

Cool it with the racist crap, man!

Every day...every single day...I hop on my computer to see what the world is thinking and doing. Inevitably, all the discussion goes back to race. Do I believe there is a large swath of people who believe folks of a particular skin tone are somehow more intellectually superior to others? Of course those people exist. Let's not sugar coat the discussion, but let's also be honest with one another, okay?

First, the recent election was not a moratorium on minorities in the United States. If you believe that to be the case, you are either a.) stupid (and that has nothing to do with your skin color, or b.) you've bought into the lies perpetuated by a media intent on ratings, rather than truth.

I'm not kidding when I say this: I am sick and tired of hearing people on the right talk about how a certain congressman is intent on overtaking a section of the country for black people. I grow weary of the Mexican take-over of the central southern portion of the country, and I can't take anymore of an unnamed president-elect having views that set racial progression back thirty years.

For a moment, can we all put on our big boy and girl panties and talk like adults? I work with a large, diverse team of folks on a daily basis. Everyone here loves one another, we get our job done, and we go home to our families. I suspect most of us are in the same boat.

So, this begs the question: Why are so many insistent upon racial politics and polarization? I'll tell you why--if they (the elite) can divide us, they can rule us (we plebes). If we shrug off the emotional nonsense and not get caught up in the deluge of racial injustice hyperbole, then we can certainly overcome them (the elite).

Don't get me wrong: I think there are factions, albeit small ones, that want nothing more than chaos and instability, but the vast majority of us (the plebes) just do our thing and go on about our business. Personally, I think we should give every media outlet in the world the collective middle finger then go fishing or bowling.  That'll fix 'em.......

My Fascination with Sports

I spent some time dwelling on my fascination with sports, specifically my favorite sports team(s) that I won't mention here because some will take issue (Roll Tide Roll). It's true that I get caught up in the moment, the hype leading to each game, prior to the season, and sit riveted to the television during games over which I have zero control.



Those last four words of my previous sentence are what drew me into this thought provoking quagmire. No level of superstition, pre-game ritual, attire, or food eaten prior to, or during, the game will change its outcome. Despite my heartfelt prayers, I doubt God has the time or inclination to interfere in the outcome of a game. Naturally, none of this prevents me from exercising my right to conduct each of the aforementioned, but the reality is it's for naught.



My allegiances notwithstanding, why, I wonder, do I get caught up in the emotion of the game? The obvious answer, and one sans analysis, is I grew up with it, played the game(s), and understand them. Why is then that so many who may not have grown up playing sports feel energized while watching them?


The answer to this question, insofar as a group of fans is concerned, is most likely a complex one. People enjoy camaraderie, togetherness, the mass thrill of victory, and the comfort large groups provide in the face of defeat. On a deeper, more personal level, however, I am most fond of four aspects of team sports (individual sports like wrestling, MMA, gymnastics, etc. follow similar levels of respect in my mind, but those are not the focus of this article):

• The acute mental faculties of the players--I.E. their never say die attitude, their willingness to buy into a coach's system, and their game acumen.
• The incredible conditioning they put themselves through to be the best of the best.
• Their unwavering support for their teammates.
• The strategy and chess-like application a coaching staff will put in place in order to be victorious.

For a player to be mentally prepared for the physicality of any sport, he/she must move pain to a different compartment in their brain. I'm not talking about ignoring pain, I mean a honed athlete can compartmentalize pain temporarily, moving it from their mind and locking it in a safe spot until needed, post-game.

The victorious team will have jumped headlong into a coach's system without question. He/she will focus on how to improve their game, be responsible for his/her assignments on the field or court, and will study game strategy and playbooks until they become a part of him/her.

Conditioning is tantamount to experiential achievement on the field. Without fail, what a player does in practice is what he/she will do on the field. Game time is fun, but practice and training make the athlete!

These teammates will stand by each other no matter what. Support and encouragement are a small part of what teammates do,  but it shouldn't be underestimated. When someone screws up, blows a play, or gets on the coach's bad side, his/her teammates are there to pick him/her up and push them back on the right track.

The strategy a coach employs is critical to victory. How a team adapts and overcomes on the "field of battle" is shaped by the head coach and refined by the coaching staff.

All of these things combined is what draws me to the television or to a live game. The constant push for perfection by a team without consideration for their opponent is the most enviable outcome they can desire.

Relax!

The craziest, nastiest, most disgusting election in American history is over and we the people can get back to getting along now.  I ain't kiddin' either.  It's time for people to drop the hateful rhetoric, the "I know more about how this country works than you do" nonsense, and simply be neighbors and human beings again.

No one cares about your protests and riots, and I don't know a single soul who was moved by a remark you made on social media about a supporter of a particular candidate being a moron.  Our friends and family are a mixed bag of liberals and conservatives and everything in between.  Relax folks!  We're Americans--we don't take anything seriously (except sports).

I am a politically conservative guy and have angered a number of people on the left over the years regarding their position/s in politics, but I like to think I have evolved somewhat in tone.  Diligently (at least I hope so), I work to refrain from personal attacks; there is simply no need for it and I am asking you all to try to do the same.  It's okay to talk politics, but stay on point and leave the emotion out of it.  Can't we all just get along?

There are many friends of mine who have varying political positions, and I am good with it.  We form these over time based upon personal experiences, profession, the people we choose to hang out with, our own national and global perspectives.  This doesn't make us bad people, it makes us thinkers. 

So, let's tone it down a bit, please.  We can disagree and still love one another.  This isn't a difficult thing to accomplish--just take a deep breath and think before you respond.  In fact, it's perfectly acceptable to not fall into their trap by electing to forgo political interaction.  Chances are you will forget about their post or discussion within moments and you can remain friends.  If you must chime in, keep it civil. 

2017--An Ambitious Schedule

     We all have plans, yes? We consider time spent with family, particular holidays, vacations, etc., but I want to take this a step further. When I was younger, I would often listen to my dad talk about wanting to own his own business. God knows he had the head for it, but he did not necessarily have the financial means to pull it off.


     Being blessed and fortunate with some monetary means is a good thing, but being surrounded by positive, influential people is as equally important when considering a business start up. Having good, experienced people to call on for advice is priceless, so for those whose knowledge I shall leverage over the coming months, thanks in advance!  :)


     On top of wanting to kick start a small business, I want to involve myself more so in the broader Okinawan/Japanese martial arts communities. It has been a considerable time since I have felt compelled to go out and train with knowledgeable people. Last year was a wonderful start, and this coming year promises to bring more openness and sharing!


     All of this is wonderful stuff, but Cathy and I are also planning trips abroad. We hope to go and see places together that we have not seen before (and maybe one or two places we have seen but would like to see again). Seeing things beyond your immediate surroundings is essential for cognitive growth and appreciation for what you have! (Note: When I travel, I try to avoid as many of the touristy spots as possible; I am much more interested in seeing how people in different regions of the world actually live. I recommend this to everyone who wants to travel--get outside your comfort zone.)
     Now, I realize that Cathy and I are blessed to be able to travel and do things many cannot. With that, I would say even if you feel trapped in your own neighborhood, try escaping it in order to see what lies beyond. America is the grandest of countries, with a landscape unsurpassed by any other nation, and a cultural diversity that is wholly and completely unparalleled.
     I have written extensively about various areas around our grand country that I love and adore. Feel free to reach out with questions about a specific region and I'll give you my most honest answer, should you feel the need to travel there.
     Back to 2017: I am planning to have at least two non-fiction book projects completed and published, and a third close behind. In addition to these three print projects, I am working on a Bill Evers e-book--a prequel of sorts to the first two. With these works completed, I will work with and schedule meet/greet book signings for those wanting to purchase books, and for whatever reason, have them signed by the author.

     As I said earlier, I plan on venturing out more (again) to train with fellow martial artists of the Okinawan/Japanese traditions. It was with great pleasure that I participated in several such events in 2016, and I fully intend on doing so for as long as I am capable.

     With all this stuff packed into a mere 365 days, I also plan on spending as much time as possible with family and friends. Ultimately, this is the most important aspect in life and living. 

Peace and love to you all!

    

    

    

A Call for Help

The title of this blog may be a little misleading--just a little, but not wholly so. We hear and read a lot about supporting local businesses, rather than the large corporate entities that overshadow acres of concrete and blacktop parking lots. There are people out there, me in fact, trying to make a go of a passion, attempting to bring something good and nice into your life. For that, we ask little.


Whether a person is an artist painting on large canvasses, a musician standing on stage singing and playing, or a writer putting his/her soul into a manuscript he/she hopes to one day see published, without those who enjoy such things there is little reason to create.


I been working on three separate writing projects--each, I believe, has something for a lot of people. That said (or written in this case), writers/authors will never be successful without readers, and more importantly repeat, loyal readers.


I have been so fortunate to have a loyal following, and have received considerable praise for my Bill Evers novels. In no possible way will I ever be able to express my sincerest appreciation to you all!


So, here's your call to action, dear reader--when you read a book, go to Amazon and Goodreads in order to write a product review. Notice I did not say "if you enjoy a book," because honest reviews are tantamount in allowing other readers to know about books you did or did not enjoy. Be descriptive in your opinion of the story or read so others can make decisions whether or not to spend money on the book.  Don't concern yourself with your command of the English language when you write a review--we (the authors) simply want to understand whether you enjoyed the book or not, and what we can do to improve upon our own writing style to better the next story.


I cannot stress how crucial writing reviews is for authors, nor can I downplay the importance of word of mouth and how telling others you know who love good books about one you recently read. This is how the small time author competes with the big boys and girls! 


Please, take a couple of moments and review those books; you now have an idea about how much the author appreciates it!


~HU


www.howardupton.com

Obi the Uber Driver

Cathy turned me on to Uber over the past few months. Admittedly, at first the notion of riding in someone's car to an airport not driving a yellow cab with the funny little light on the roof was a little unnerving. I'm not really sure how to explain it other than to say I am a creature of habit and am accustomed to hopping in a taxi to my final destination.


After a long week in Toronto, Canada, I was looking forward to getting to my apartment, re-packing my backpack and driving the two hours to Green Acres--a.k.a. our Alabama house. Despite the wonderful folks in Ontario and the laughs many of us shared while there, to sleep in my own bed after a week away was something I longed for, and wanted to do as quickly as possible.


I ordered up an Uber on my new-fangled Uber app I downloaded a couple weeks prior. Notification was given that my driver, Obi, would pick me up in his black Hyundai four door car. He threw my bag in the trunk and I plopped my pack next to it, jumped into his Hyundai then clicked my seatbelt (safety first!).


Obi asked me about my flight and where I was returning from; the usual idle chit-chat between two strangers attempting to pass time until they part. I told him I had been in Toronto and was happy to be back in the United States as he nodded his head in the affirmative.


"Yes, there's no place like the U.S. It is the best country in the world."


His accent was smooth and fluid, not quite Caribbean, not entirely British, and certainly not French. His remarks made my ears perk up so I asked where he was from originally. "Nigeria," he replied.


I told him about my fascination with the African continent and how I wanted to spend a lot of time there. Obi explained how much the people of Nigeria loved visitors and how they open their homes to foreigners.


Our discussion drifted to how he came to America; he won a government sanctioned lottery that allows fifty thousand aliens to acquire green cards and work toward citizenship. The amazing thing? There were millions of applications and Obi was one of the chosen few--a golden ticket winner!


I asked him about Nigeria and he told me about the beauty of its people and the staggering corruption of the government. "We have oil and other resources, but the president and politicians keep da' money for themselves. They do not care about the people. In America, the government cares about its citizens, and that is why I am here.


"There is so much in America. We have all da' resources and the opportunity to succeed if you work hard. I just bought my own car and I work hard to send my mom and siblings a little money so they can eat.


"In Nigeria, the children are lucky to get one meal a day. They work all day instead of going to school, and that is sad because there are so many very smart people there."


Naturally, our conversation drifted to politics, but my mind was on what he told me about his home country. He asked who I was supporting for president and was quick to point out how adept the U.S. government was and how the American people took care of one another.

As he spoke, I continued to think about his mom, brothers, and sisters Obi left behind in Nigeria. I wondered how much food they had each day and whether or not he was able to send enough money to give them a second meal each day.

When our conversation (and ride) ended, I was so happy to have met such a gracious man. Some day I hope to run into him again, but in the meantime I allow my mind to drift to Africa...

Just Stop and Breathe

This world is upside down.  People are hysterical over things that do and do not impact them personally.  With so much that truly threatens we Americans, our way of life, and our personal freedoms, why are we concerned with circumstances beyond our immediate control?


I'll tell you why--"news" stations that do not report news, but focus on ratings.  Ratings are driven by viewership, which is fueled, these days anyway, by emotion.  Guess what else feeds off emotion?  Social media!  When you see an event televised and posted on Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social media, ask yourself what the intent of the "story" is, and what emotion it invokes in you.  If you are angered, the story has done its job and will take a life of its own, as tens of thousands of people will share it again and again.


Oftentimes, I see people post things like, "don't be a sheep," or "lead, rather than follow."  No one seems to understand what this means (most especially those posting it).  I guess the take-away from recent events is to "love one another."  Like my friend Garry Parker asked, "Where's the love?"  Right on, I say!


Here's another question you should ask yourself, "Am I my brother's keeper?" 


I suppose when everything is said and done, one simple emotion is all your really need.  The one you choose, however, is up to you.


As for me--man, I love all y'all. 


So go out into this big old nasty world today and make a positive difference.  I'll leave the how's and what's to you.  How and what you do to impact someone's life in a positive manner is the only emotional choice you should make.  We all have the power to destroy and maim, but we also have a greater power--to heal and love.


Make your choice. 

When We Vacation (Or Go On Holiday)

We have all done it--we go somewhere on vacation, some incredibly beautiful paradise, then decide we will quit our jobs and move immediately. This is natural for most people, Cathy and I included, to begin brainstorming creative job opportunities in order to expedite our move to a beach front community.

Cathy and I have attempted to temper our purchasing resolve in St. Augustine, Florida, but planned on looking at houses while here (in advance of our trip) to potentially make an investment purchase. I would be lying if I said the beach bug had not bitten us shortly after looking at the first three homes, but we elected to take a deep breath and talk about what we want to accomplish in the short and long term.  (Sometimes acting like adults is a terrible thing.)

With that, I have made it no secret how much I adore this small town, The Old City, the Castillo de San Marcos, the Fountain of Youth, and the very unique lighthouse that stands proudly on the west side of Anastasia Island. The residents of the town are wonderful, and we found ourselves hanging out with some regularity at Isabela's Cigar and Wine Shop. I was fortunate enough to have met Isabela, a wonderful Cuban immigrant who claims to be the only American female cigar shop owner, several years ago and was blessed to enjoy her company once again.  

Just walking around town, you get a sense of the centuries old history of the area. The Minorcan Indian tribe that resided there before the Spanish Conquistadors arrived are an integral part of the city's feel. Brick and cobblestone line the Old City's roads and mom and pop shops keep the local economy vibrant and consistent.

On Anastasia Island, hidden bars tout "locals" hanging out, and it is clear that it is true in many cases. Smiles, a slow pace, couples young and old holding hands as they walk along the gorgeous beaches are all part of the reason we want to own a place here. 

The truth is I have always wanted to be a pirate and love the pirate lifestyle; well, I would have to shower more frequently, but still, would it not be very Jimmy Buffet-esque to sail the St. Augustine Sound, fishing and singing about tourists covered in oil?

To sail the Atlantic off the coast of Saint Augustine is my dream.  Maybe one day...

Our Passions Become Us

In halls far and wide people gather to train, sweat, and sometimes bleed. It is difficult to articulate to the non-martial arts practitioner what drives us to engage in the violent arts, but for those of us driven to learn budo (lit. warrior way) it is as natural and understandable as breathing.

For those who do not understand why multitudes of people get together in their white pajamas and inflict pain on one another with great regularity, let me not attempt to explain, but rather un-explain what we do.

The traditional arts of Okinawa and Japan were not intended for "cowards," as I have sometimes heard some ignorantly state. In fact, the older military arts of Japan were developed by and for the bushi (lit. warrior). After the Meiji Restoration of the late nineteenth century in Japan, the samurai were no longer the ruling class and the arts moved to a more mainstream arena offered to those not of the samurai class, or of samurai lineage.

In Okinawa, Te (lit. hand) was brought from mainland China and developed into what we now know as karate, or karate-do. Different family systems were created and passed down to the sons of those early masters. Eventually, western soldiers were allowed to train in the Okinawan and Japanese arts, which resulted in their propagation in the western world.

As with anything and any association, politics rears its head and system members leave and train alone. Karate is no different than other organized activities and multiple factions were created in the fifty plus years after its migration from the far east.

I was privileged to be a part of a reunification of sorts; a coming together of brothers and sisters originating from Dr. Tsuyoshi Chitose's Chito Ryu.  Family members sharing this lineage piled into a hall at General Butler State Park in Kentucky for four days to learn and train with one of the last great students of Dr. Chitose, Masaru Inomoto.

For decades Inomoto sensei lived next door to Dr. Chitose and trained in his brand of karate. He kept intact what he learned from his teacher and shared openly with those of us fortunate enough to attend "the gathering."

Men and women sweat, banged around on each other, broke bread, laughed, and toasted Inomoto sensei as a group sharing a common understanding of a karate system in dire need of unity. We are a strange bunch--those who share combative and lethal techniques then talk about how proud we are to brandish bruises and bloody knuckles.

I look forward to other gatherings and sharing of information, history, and combative techniques--for these are the things that drive the budoka (lit. person who studies the warrior way).

Banzai!

                                                                      

Our Homeless

I work in Atlanta, Georgia and see homelessness every day on my ride into the city.  Naturally, I've born witness to poverty all over the world, and always feel a strong sense of remorse for not being able to help folks who have found themselves, for whatever reason, in such a terrible position in life.


Of course, as with anything else, there are scammers out there who make a fanciful living begging for money on street corners or at intersections.  I recall one such instance when I would see the same guy at the same intersection each day when I lived and worked in Chicago.  One day, as I approached the intersection, the young man was hopping around and smiling, presumably listening to music on a phone or iPod.  As soon as the light turned red and the cars were forced to stop, his body position changed to some sort of slumped over, malnourished being .  His face contorted into one so pitiful, had I not just witnessed the transition, I would have thought him truly unhappy, without family, and homeless.  This guy was gaming people and most likely making a fair living working the street.


A few years ago, I wrote about a homeless guy panhandling in the street while I was in Raleigh, North Carolina.  This guy was amazing, and as I stood there talking to him, he on his two prosthetic legs in the middle of the road, a guy stopped and handed him a dollar.  The man, he referred to himself as Everyman (I'll never forget that), handed me the dollar and told me to donate it to my church.  What a guy!  Of course, I handed him his dollar...but can you imagine that?


There is this one unfortunate gentleman who begs for change with regularity not far from where I now work.  I had my doubts about his homeless status, and figured he lived in some government paid housing not far from the area.  I say that to repeat what our moms taught us long ago--don't assume anything.


On my way home one day, I crossed under Interstate Twenty, making my usual left turn to drive up the on-ramp.  As I sat at the red light awaiting my turn, something caught my attention from the corner of my eye--movement directly under the interstate and above the steep concrete wall.  There in the small area created by the top of the wall and the bottom of the highway lay a man.  He rested on his side in the sweltering heat and I recognized him immediately.  He had on the same ratty white t-shirt and jeans I had seen that morning on my way into work.  I can't even begin to tell you how bad I felt for him and how upset with myself I was for thinking he was scamming people out of their money.


The next day, as I exited the interstate, I saw him.  He would put his hands together in a prayerful motion and bow to each car that passed him by.  I stopped and handed him five dollars and he looked up at me with his rheumy eyes and a blank face. 


"Thank you so much, sir.  God Bless you and please pray for me."  That's what he said to me.


Now, I don't know what he did that five dollars, and to be honest, I don't really care.  Did I enable more bad behavior?  I don't know, but what I realized was I gave a poor person a moment of relief.  Whether he bought food, cheap wine, or a hit of crack was irrelevant to me, because for just a brief second we were both part of the same stratosphere, and for just a second this guy was given notice by another human being. 

It's Time to Take a Stand!

Like most people, I grumble and gripe about things my government does or doesn't do.  More often than not I post sarcastic and snide remarks about their candid disregard for laws and the American Constitution.  Yeah, I'm that guy, but there comes a point where the grumbling must stop and action must begin.

Let me say, first and foremost, we are still a nation of laws and relative peace.  While I support the people's right to rebel against our government, I am an avid supporter of peaceful protest and insisting our voices be heard by our elected officials.


It has recently been reported that the Obama administration, and more specifically the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (ATF) have begun illegally collecting names and addresses of legal firearm owners.  This database is not only immoral, it's illegal! 


My fellow Americans: I'm asking you to take this step--sign the petition below, and continue sharing it (not just once...not just twice) until President Barrack Obama is forced to respond and destroy this illegal list of law abiding citizens who happily and legally exercise their right to keep and bear arms.  Your help is needed, and I cannot stress enough how important it is to make our voices heard.  Send this to your elected officials; let them know we will not sit idly by while they continue to shred the very paper upon which our rights were promised by the Founders of this greatest country in the world!

Sign the Petition demanding the illegal ATF list of legal firearm owners be destroyed!

Another Project (or Three) on the Horizon

People who know me know my mind works a million miles per hour.  I can't help it--it's the way I'm wired. Perhaps I don't see things differently than most, but I tend to notice subtleties, or nuances about peculiar things.  As a result of the way my mind processes details, I'm rarely without bizarre thoughts and speculation.  I like to think of this mindset, if you will,  as hyper-awareness of the rather mundane.

My imagination runs rampant with possibilities; hence my appetite for writing.  I don't proclaim to be masterful in story-telling--on the contrary, I'm most likely quite ordinary.  But I want to believe (hope?) that I can bring forth stories that are entertaining, a little educational, and very speculative.  If I can accomplish this, and you the reader enjoy what I've written, then my mission has been accomplished.

I don't write for accolades or ceremony.  Writing has always been a passion of mine, but pouring my heart into a project then throwing it to the proverbial literary wolves to be devoured makes me nervous.  We all know what happens when something is taken into the human body, yes?  It's processed and used to nourish the body, or it sickens the body and finds its way from one or both orifices.  I pray the former, rather than the latter, is what readers gain from my trysts.

With a hectic 2015 and an even more hectic first half of 2016, I was forced to dabble in my writing, although I wanted to immerse myself in it.  Life changing events brought me endless days and short nights with which to jot down thoughts or lines I thought might fit into a particular work.  And as suddenly as the craziness started, it slowed to a drizzle--like a light rain in early April that covers the greening grass with a fine mist, only to quickly give way to an early morning sun.

And so a project I began last year is in process--something much different than my two previous fictional tales.  This is a work of passion--stories told by those having faced tremendous odds and how they have dealt with adversity through their lives.  You're going to love this book: for it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you, and people you know and love. 

Another project I've begun working on is a labor of love.  This treatise is a compilation of traditional budo (Jp. lit. warrior way) masters outside of Okinawa and Japan that have spent their lives dedicated to their respective art.  Even for the non-martial artist, I believe you will enjoy these stories.

Lastly, Bill Evers is making his long awaited return!  His newest adventure will take you, once again, to far away lands as he searches for someone or something intent on bringing great harm to humanity.  He is my unfortunate hero, and one I've hated to love and loved to hate.  A man with without a conscience in search of his soul. 

So there it is, my friends.  This is where I've been...where my mind has taken me, and where it will keep me for some time. 

As always, please feel free to comment below, share these blog posts, and most importantly live your own adventure!

Life is Unforgiving

This year has been tough. Two friends lost to cancer, another move, albeit a short one, and unbelievable work stress. Sometimes I ask myself if it's all worth it--you know, life, the universe, and everything. Then I remember Douglass Adams was brilliant and already answered my question. Did I mention Mr. Adams was my age when he checked out with a massive heart attack?

I digress....

I have alluded to my current writing project a couple of times. It promises to be a work of hope and inspiration; my first ever attempt at non-fiction. Here's what I didn't tell you: this is the hardest thing I have ever written. In.My.Life

When you are attempting to capture the human spirit in the written form, it's difficult. Pulling this off while coupled with the stories of those who have overcome insurmountable odds is beyond the pale. In other words, I find myself immersed in their words, their stories, the bravery they faced against odds many of us can't begin to imagine.

Sometimes this work leaves me depressed without compare. My own maladies fall by the wayside and my emotions run hot. This is life--something we are forced to face when we move away from youth and into a more mature state. Some of our friends pass away, others wish they had passed away when a loved one died. Others, still, press on in the face of adversity--a middle finger salute to karmic gods who attempted with great futility to repress and slay them.

This is your story, this thing I am writing. It is about you, your neighbor, your spouse, your parent, or your child. On more than one occasion I've wiped away a tear as I have read the compilation given to me in trust. We never know what our neighbors have faced until we develop a particular level of intimacy with them.

The writing comes in spurts. There are times when I cannot force myself to the keyboard because I know other's demons await me. Still, there is that need, that push, to tell the tale--an albatross of sorts, I suppose--because I have collected their stories and promised to publish them in hopes that others will draw a certain strength from them.

Understand Bill Evers fans--Bill will return in time. His adventures have not ended, at least until my time on earth is finished. But there is something larger than Bill that must be told in the interim, and soon I will get to share it with you.

Project Rejuvination

I was on a roll--a book a year was being written and published by my wonderful publisher Kaizen Quest Publishing. Then it happened...life took a strange twist and my passion was forced into the passenger's seat.

Last year I embarked on another writing journey, one that challenged me mentally and emotionally. I love writing fictional novels with an admittedly strange enhancement of out there, or beyond reason.  That form of creativity fulfills me and makes me happy, which is why I was shocked at my own desire to attempt something a little different.

A particular setback in life catapulted me into the world of non-fiction, and forced me to look inward to the real Howard. Who was this guy, and could he sustain something he felt momentously catastrophic? Things were shaky at best, and downright scary at worst.

It was then that a thought crept into my mind and a curious desire to understand emotional catastrophe. This self imposed inquisition has lead me down the path on a project that I believe is so important, so relevant, and poignant that I honestly feel unworthy to partake in it.

Without giving much away, let me say this: this book is the hardest thing I've ever written, but not in the contextual sense of the word. Grammatically, it isn't challenging, nor does it push me from a creative perspective. What it does do is gut check me every time I sit down to write. Emotionally, this project is draining. Let me say this--when I finish this book, it will be my proudest moment. To bring you a work of monumental strife, hope, and faith will make me the happiest man ever.

This is going to touch you......that I promise.

The How's and Why's of the Craft

The topic comes up time and again: where did you get the ideas for your books?  Each time I'm asked this, honesty forces the answer from my mouth like raw beef through a meat grinder--"Man, I have no idea."

Ironically, no one ever asks some of the more pressing questions like, "How did you develop your writing style?" or "What drives you to write?"  The second question is a little easier to answer, the first not so much.

Writing for me is simply a creative outlet in a life surrounded by normalcy and ordinary.  That's not to say I don't live an exciting life; on a certain level I do, and am fortunate to have a beautifully funny family that keeps me on my toes.  What does it mean, however, to wont for a creative outlet?  Let me take you back to my high school years for a possible answer, or in the least, some insight...

I grew up in the eighties, a decade of decadence filled with big hair, heavy metal, space shuttles, a Cold War, Miami Vice, sports, and girls.  Yeah, man, it was the eighties and we were strangely happy, undivided, and morally curious.  As teenagers we questioned authority, but rarely defied it.  On a subconscious level my generation needed and appreciated the structure those in authority provided; after all, we were the product of the Baby Boomer generation and didn't want to repeat their mistakes.

As for me, I was a jock--an athlete.  Sports afforded me the opportunity to take out my aggressions (I was an inwardly and outwardly aggressive youth) in a controlled, legal manner.  Did I get in trouble from time-to-time?  Oh yeah.  But for the most part I think I was a relatively good kid.*

On the flip side, I had a creative urge-a need to build something from nothing, to make something pleasing to the eye or ear.  I couldn't sing, so my desire to be the lead singer in a band was out.  Art class it was, then.  You read that correctly...art class.  My ability to draw was never something that was going to pay the bills, but it gave me focus, and with a lot of direction, positive reinforcement, and constructive feedback from Mr. Freeman (my art teacher), I managed to put together a few pieces that I was proud of (one piece, as far as I know, still hangs in my old high school library). 

Now, for those who don't know me, this may not sound as though it's a big deal--yeah, yeah, a kid can draw a stick man.  Keep in mind any seventeen year old male with enough mental fortitude to remain focused long enough to sketch out a desert montage without allowing his thoughts to drift to what color panties his girlfriend might be wearing that day is a win by most people's standards!  Yes, I'm Back in Black!

I haven't picked up a pencil in years, but that tickling in the back of my mind to create never subsided.  It wouldn't go away--it gnawed at me like that strange parasite nibbling away on a person's retina, never full, always hungry, and forever unsatisfied.

In the 90's, I wrote a few martial arts related articles and submitted them to magazines.  You can't imagine how excited I was to not only see them in print, but to be paid for them.  The first article garnered me fifty bucks and the second a whopping one hundred twenty-five.  Don't get me wrong, money was not the driving factor when it came to my writing.  On the contrary, it (writing) became for me a winding avenue paved years earlier by a pencil and paper.

As far as question two is concerned--practice, my brothers and sisters.  Find your rhythm like Brett Michaels did in Unskinny Bop.....Bop, Bop.  If you want to write, write, man.  Go with the feel, with the flow.  Write baby, write.

Writing style is developed over time.  Use of the language comes with practice, patience, and an eye for things that strike a nerve or culminate some emotion from the reader, but more importantly, writing should fulfill an emptiness the writer can't shake.

I tell people to practice the craft, not only when the mood strikes or the time is at hand, but when they don't feel like writing at all.  Sometimes the words come naturally, like a swift moving river spilling into a welcoming reservoir.  Other times there is a struggle, as though you were a quadriplegic attempting to play basketball on the edge of a steep cliff.** 

You must decide what message you want to convey then work diligently at crafting those words so as to entertain, inform, and engage.  If it feels good, write it.

*Hey, everything is relative, right?
**Sometimes, you'll write something others deem offensive, but you can't please everyone all the time.

Meeting You-February 27th!

Ah, writing.  The process of developing, creating, writing, re-writing, editing, and finally watching a work come to fruition is a beautiful thing.  Attempting to bring to life images that roll through your head and effectively infecting your computer with the virus of your mind is the only way a cure for this thing we call creativity can be administered.

To breath deeply of a lonely forest rife with decomposing boughs and rotting leaves from the previous year's Fall, aptly described by someone hoping to share with you the sights and scents a writer, tucked away in the confines of his office, experience, or thought he experienced, or one he wants to experience, is a glorious thing when written with words (but seen in the mind's imaginary pictures). 

As an example I give you this little gem from the recesses of my mind:

"Rex, an eleven pound minature greyhound, was a happy-go-lucky rescue that found enjoyment at throwing pieces of dried dog food from his bowl then chasing the piece around the kitchen floor.  Not long after filling his little belly with a protein enhanced diet, Rex would spend time grooming himself, primarily by licking his butt, and an empty area that once contained his doggy masculinity.  A short time later he would hop in his owners lap then lick his owner's face--one laughing and happy to have such a wonderful animal in his house, the other seeking retribution for allowing someone else to emasculate him."

Describing a scene, as morbidly funny as it may be, in hopes that a reader can somehow relate is the ultimate goal of the writer.  When you, the reader sends emails or messages telling the author how much you enjoyed what was written in a particular passage, a large smile will pass across his face (his, generally speaking my female author friends).

February 27th from 9:00AM-2:00PM, I will be sipping some glorious coffee at JaMoka's Coffee Shop in Boaz, Alabama.  Access is easy, the ambiance perfect.  The environment is cozy, a little tiki-ish, warm, and inviting.  While I sip coffee, I'll be signing my books for you, the constant reader. 

This is a time we can sit and discuss our dreams, our creativity, and our desire to relate to someone we've never met but share some strange cosmic commonality.  Come see me, grab a book...and let's chat. 

Celebrating My 100th Blog Post--I Laugh and Laugh!

Just over four years ago I wrote my first blog.  I had no idea about what subjects I would discuss or write about, nor was there a clear indication of direction that my writing would take.  My blog was an open slate on which I would share my thoughts, wants, opinions, desires, tirades, political rants, tell stories, discuss future projects and goals--it would simply serve as an outlet for my mind that sometimes runs at 200 MPH. 

As I scrolled through the hodge-podge of posts since November 2011, I realized there is still no direction here, and more importantly I like it that way.  Some will engage with a particular post, others with and entirely different one.  What excites me most about That Reminds Me of a Time is that some love my writing, others hate it, some enjoy my rambling witticisms, while others consider me a hack.  Regardless of your opinion of me and what I share, I enjoy hearing from each of you--all of you!  For you are what drives me to write, consider the world, constantly evaluate my own self-worth (or lack thereof), and share what little I know of each.

In a world gone awry and in a country that has lost its moral way, I have chosen to embark upon any subject I find interesting or funny--no matter the topic.  Sports, politics, religion, spirituality, science, sexuality, and gender: all of these topics are within my grasp when I write.  Deep down I think most folks want to engage in many of these subjects, but most fear some retribution from a "friend" who thinks differently.  What separates me from many is that I don't mind if folks get upset over something I've written.  My opinion is just that--mine AND and an opinion.  It isn't intended to insult necessarily, but what I write is intended to make you think, laugh, or roll your eyes.  Perhaps I'll even illicit a combination of the aforementioned.

With this 100th post, an overly simplistic milestone, but a milestone nonetheless, I want to thank you, each of you, who take the time to read my drivel.  And for those of you who occasionally smile when I write something you find funny, I appreciate that the most!

Have fun, love lots, live much, and for God's sake--don't take yourself so seriously.  :)

What Color Is Your Soul? A Birthday Request

The last few years in American history have been interesting and unsettling to watch develop and unfold.  It's not uncommon for people, generally, to point to race, gender, ethnicity, financial class, desires, motivations, or country of origin as reasons for their own malfeasances or caustic personal situations.  This is human nature, right, wrong, or somewhere in between.  Typically, in my opinion, most people will move beyond these rash generalizations and become more rational as they calm down and think. 

My opinions about our current political leadership notwithstanding, or the copious injustices perpetrated against us by those sworn to eliminate our very way of life, I call into question our own perspective of what lies within each of us and what color we are once we shed the tissue by which we judge others.

The racial divide, or at least the attempt to create a mortal chasm between us by a disgusting media and questionable political machine, is further fueled by a populace unwilling to accept an exisential truism--beneath the epidural layer, our sinewy and blood-coursing being is only separated by our height and clouded misjudgments. 

Throw your religious beliefs, or lack thereof, to the side for a moment and stare inward and introspectively for a reflective amount of time, then consider this: how different are we, truly? 

Today, on my birthday, I would only want folks to love each other--if only for a few seconds.  Oh, and bring me presents.  I like presents.