Just Cuz

I love it when rich people tell us that it’s “the other rich people” who are treating the poor badly, not them. But there are a lot of people who for idealogical reasons will refuse to admit that the sky is blue, “just cause.” Like in a court of law, simply opening your mouth and saying something does not make it true. Liberals hate having to prove what they say.

As Trump peels back all this corruption, it’s shocking not what Obama got away with, but how easily those on the left bought it. That’s embarrassing and pitiful.

Admitting you made a mistake, that you were wrong, and apologizing for it, shows a hint of character. Doing otherwise labels you as fool, much like an avowed racist, an old person stuck in their ways or a hermit who hides from reality.

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Writer’s block doesn’t exist here

Thank God I’ve never had a problem with writer’s block. When I taught English composition at the college level I motivated my students to start writing within seconds by offering to pay the one writer who wrote the most words. The words didn’t even have to make sense even though in most cases a writer automatically writes things that approximated making sense. Just the fact that we are alive, just the fact that we have eyes and experience the world around us makes it impossible to not be able to write about an infinite number of subjects. Granted if you want to be a writer who is read and rewarded monetarily in the writing field then of course you have to organize your thoughts better than just splashing them out on the paper. But I never have understood how someone could gaze off into the distance trying to write the perfect sentence and continue that on to creating the perfect paragraph or the perfect essay or book and become blocked due to their own preoccupation or fetish with having everything they write be perfect. It simply doesn’t have to be and it never will be. Even the great writers have moments when they’re writing is either so so or downright bad.

Perfection in writing like in other things in life is simply unattainable. It should never stand in the way of you being able to put your thoughts down on paper. As you continue to write over the years you will get better at it, you will get better at expressing yourself and having your reader know exactly what you mean and even in some cases read between the lines. But you’ll never get to that point if you simply stare at a blank sheet of paper waiting for perfection to spew forth from your brain and travel down your arm to your fingers and allow you to type the perfect words. Just start writing.

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Who’s Your Favorite Liberal?

In order not to become stale nor myopic, you need to have a friend who thinks differently than you. It keeps you humble. It helps you to grow. And they need you just as much as you need them.

I’m conservative. I would like to think that my arguments are the best in the world. I watch Fox News because I like what they say on there. I like the way they report the news. But no one would believe that Fox News is fair. I happen to think they are but again they’re heavily weighted on the conservative side. I get it. To not admit that is being blind. The other major news reporting channels are very liberal. I’ve watched them, I know.

But I’m wise enough in my old age to know that in order to still grow as we get older you have to surround yourself by people who might not think the same way you do. It keeps you fresh. It keeps you honest. And it mentally challenges you.

So my favorite Liberals are Kirsten Powers, one of the greatest writers on the planet. I so hated to see her leave Fox and still miss her. And Bob Beckel. Who could not like Bob? Geraldo Rivera. What I like about Geraldo is at least he will admit when he’s wrong. He’s friends with the people with whom he debates.

Yes we should all have friends who don’t think like us. In this day and age when people are becoming more intolerant of any disagreement I think it’s vitally important to keep friends around you who have different viewpoints on all the issues. It goes back to my Christian faith and the tenant of remaining humble throughout your life. None of us have all the answers. Only by discussing the issues with people who have a different way of looking at the issues do we remain humble. And humility in discourse is a virtue.

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Imaginary Wife

By
Tim Daughtry

“Last night was great,” Jason said to his wife Anne. She was just rolling over and waking up to his words which reminded her of their amorous lovemaking the night before.
“Yes it was,” she smiled agreeing with him.
Jason didn’t want to get out of bed. Waking up in the arms of his beautiful wife on a cool, fall morning in southern California, with sounds of the Pacific Ocean just outside their window, made him want to stay in bed with her all day. When you’re in love, there’s no one else on the planet. No one else matters. Nothing else matters. Activities become meaningless unless your lover accompanies you. But this morning, Jason wanted to stay in bed with Anne. And do what? Talk?

Anne responded to Jason’s compliment by pulling him in closer to her. For women the idea of staying in bed all day with their man, being the center of his attention, was a dream come true. They thought about it often. But part of the problem was getting their man to agree to it. Right before lovemaking they would agree to anything. But you can’t make love all the time. And staying in bed all day is irresponsible. You have things to get done. Or at least this is how men think.

Women on the other hand, can take a break from responsibility and enjoy their lover for a whole day, especially when they are in love. And that’s the key- when they are in love.

At the beginning of a relationship, either when sparks initiated the attraction or when it just felt like something was happening, love is at its peak. Sustaining that level of attraction for your lover is a whole different feeling. Anne still loved Jason more than she did herself. She would admit that she was a better person having met and fallen for him. They had been married for eight years.

Jason had never met a woman like Anne in his life. He was blind to women around him who would have previously turned his head, once he met and committed to Anne. He changed as a person when they started dating. And it wasn’t anything he tried to change; it just happened.

“Is there anything that could ever make you stop loving me?” Jason asked Anne. She had to laugh before answering. Boy could he kill the mood.
“Well, asking me questions like that right after agreeing to spend the whole day in bed with me might do it,” she half-joked.

But Jason wouldn’t give up. He figured that between all the fooling around they would do today there would be a lot of time to talk. And unlike most men he was a talker. He knew he was also facing several chick flicks throughout the course of the day and while he was okay with those kind of movies he had already put on his thinking cap and Anne could see more deep questions forming in his inquisitive head. She also anticipated that his line of questioning would at times result in him getting answers he didn’t really want. That always happened with men who loved to talk. He might ask something about a past boyfriend or get her to admit that she had had a life before him. Then he would go in to a blue funk, but just temporarily, until she jumped in and saved him. She would assure him that she meant nothing by telling the truth and if she had to she would adjust the truth to make him happy once again.

“So are you going to answer my question?” he insisted again.
“Well of course you cheating on me would kill my love for you.”
“Not that, of course we all agree on that. But is there anything else?” he asked in a way that implied he might be at risk of doing it someday.
“Well let me think.” Anne had drawn a blank. So she tried to distract him by putting her thigh on his. Nothing like a little sensuality to take a man’s mind off the rational world. He caressed her knee but still looked like he wanted an answer. Knowing how much he loved her body, her mind, her jokes, her moods, even her stubborn moments, Anne could not come up with anything other than infidelity that would cease her loving him. But there had to be something. Now he had her brain working. It was actually a very good question….
“Yes, there is one thing that would kill it for me. Really kill it.”
“Well what is it?” Jason insisted.
“I’ll tell you at the end of the day.”
“WHAT? The end of the day! What the hell, tell me now!” (See, never ask a question you might not want the answer to.)
“Anne, it’s a simple question. What’s the one thing other than infidelity that could kill the love for you?”
“Check back with me when we go to bed.” She laughed, knowing her answers were pissing Jason off to no end.
“We’re already in bed.”
“Exactly.” Anne answered.
“Exactly? Anne you’re not making sense.” Guys are such easy targets for stupidity.

“You’ll understand later dear” Anne replied in her calming voice. “Now where’s that massage you promised me?”
(Unfinished)

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Hit Replay- It’s Christmas

By

Tim Daughtry

I love Christmas; but then who doesn’t. Peyton and I had just finished watching Groundhog Day, when her mom, my ex-wife Beth, came into the room with a festive platter of Christmas snacks. I was most interested in the heavily spiked egg nog, but the divinity, the fudge and the homemade jalapeno cheese sticks were way too tempting to resist. Christmas is not a time to be on a diet; one can suffer through the misery of dieting the rest of the year, but not on Christmas.

“What ya’ll watching?” Beth inquired.

“Groundhog Day,” Peyton, our fourteen year-old daughter answered.

“Oh, that’s a cute movie.”

“Yeah, it is. But why Groundhog Day? Why not pick a better holiday to replay over and over? Why not Christmas, the best holiday of the year?” I chimed in. No one needed to answer. I mean really is there ever a better holiday than Christmas? No holiday holds a candle to all the lights, smells, surprises and emotions found under the tree. If you don’t like Christmas, I don’t want to know you.

No sooner had Peyton switched the channel over to the Kardashian marathon than my idea of a never-ending Christmas started to percolate in the intoxicating egg nog I was working on. I thought my idea was a good one. But like too many of my creations, this one too didn’t seem serious. My problem though, throughout my whole life, was that most of my creative bursts of energy ran out of steam way too early. Blame it on my astrological sign (Aries) or genetic attention deficit. But it had always been challenging for me to carry through and finish my creative beginnings. (Unfinished)

NOTES

What’s the conflict going to be? Maybe someone who doesn’t like Christmas?
Conclusion…remember to try and repeat the opening message of your story in the conclusion to bring the whole story together.

To be changed but must keep the theme that the story began with.

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Writing Sense Into Nonsense

I’m not sure what to write when I have no clear idea where I’m going. I do know that it’s more important to keep writing, to keep my pen in motion- even when I don’t have a plan. Otherwise I’ll get bogged down before even starting in the unrealistic goal to make every sentence perfect.

Half of writing is overcoming the impulse to be perfect in what you put down on paper. If your goal becomes simply perfection, your writing suffers.

Writing is sharing, sharing your life and your experiences with strangers in a way that will interest them. That’s a challenge. Imagine sharing your life with a stranger in a way that makes them become interested in your life. Believe me, not many of us are that interesting. At least not to total strangers.

Or maybe in our similarities we actually are appealing to one another. We can learn from each other. We can share mistakes and not-so-happy times and share our vulnerabilities. Or we can share successes and ecstatic times and recreate the same together or inspire one another to new successes.

Like not being certain where my writing will take me, it’s just as important to know when it’s time to stop. And then maybe by writing when I have no ideas and stopping soon after I start, I actually am able to create a moment of sense out of nonsense.

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Bringing Her Home

By

Timothy Daughtry

Chapter 1

Jennylyn was asleep. Again. She always went to sleep when she didn’t understand life. Paul on the other hand was wide awake. Like Voltaire, he maintained that he would get all the sleep he needed when he died. There was too much living to do to waste it away sleeping.

So while Jennylyn slept, Paul sat in silence enveloped in the huge arms of the luxurious hotel’s sink-into easy chair and propped his feet up on the burgundy ottoman. He couldn’t sleep. He was too excited.

Paul looked lovingly over at Jennylyn as she slept on the bed. He had to admit, she made sleeping look appealing. The full moon lit the hotel room through the open curtains with a combination of subdued lighting and shadow accents. Through the shadows Paul could see that Jennylyn had fallen asleep with her makeup on again. Her hair was up in a bun and she hugged one pillow while she slept on the other. Paul assumed that the pillow she held so tightly was the perfect guy she had yet to find but dreamt about often. He was right.

Although he was glad he was still awake since there was so much to sort out and filter through his thoughts, he was equally glad that she was asleep. She needed her sleep as much as he needed to be awake. These two people, unlikely partners, had first become friends and then something more. No, not lovers, not married companions, but something equally as lasting. Early in their relationship they gave up on trying to describe what kind of relationship they really had. They would have dated, and probably even gotten married, but one thing was for sure they would be together for life, even if it might not be as long as they would have liked. One would never leave the other. After over a year of sharing the same hotel room simply because they were too tired to get another room, since their workday together usually lasted into the wee hours of the night, Jennylyn had always taken the bed and Paul the chair. Jennylyn somehow managed to get close to eight hours sleep every night. Paul on the other hand preferred to sleep only three to four hours a night.

These two unique friends mirrored each other and complemented each other in their differences. Isn’t that what all lasting friends do? They were just enough alike and just enough different to keep creating new adventures to share. They were different in ways where at times it was impossible for them to compromise. But they did just that because their reciprocal affection for one another was more important than being right or winning arguments. They rarely argued, come to think about it. Their conversations instead were honest and always meant to raise the other person to the best they could be.

But they were also different in one way that they had no control over- Paul was 55, Jennalyn was 25. Paul would maintain until his dying day that this was the only obstacle to them becoming a member of that unique club where people got married once and stayed married forever. Jennalyn agreed but never told Paul. Something that precious and yet unattainable was best left in her imagination. Otherwise, missing that would have been unnecessarily sad. And if anything these two were the happiest couple in the room. They avoided sadness by being together. They were nourished by all the happiness that many other people missed even though it was right in front of them. They kept each other happy especially when one wanted to wander off into sadness. That’s why they needed each other so much. That’s why they would always be together.

But every story has a twist, a turn, a change of events where things don’t go as planned. And this story will not break that tradition. So far so good though huh? The two sound like an interesting couple, a couple from whom we might even learn a few things about life. So stay with me. This is not a story you’ll soon forget. It might be one you want to go out and copy. It will inspire you, of course entertain you and stick with you for awhile after you’ve turned the last page. What more can you ask from a story that takes you away from the routines of daily life to a place where we all hope to arrive someday.

Paul has cancer but has written songs some 40 years ago and was in a band that never made it. He went looking for a singer to bring his songs to life before he gives up his own life.

(Unfinished)

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