Puzzled at Puzzles

This is what puzzles me – why do wives ask husbands for the answers to crossword puzzle questions in the evening while their men are trying to watch TV? In my case, it always happens when I am watching South Park. Anyone who watches this program understands that the plots are very complicated and concentration is the key to understanding the humor. Since my wife is lying on the same bed as I, she surely must know the plot and why Butters is wearing a super hero costume.

I just don’t get it; how many times must I say, “Sorry, darling, I don’t know what the slang term is for butt crack,” or “Sorry, darling, I don’t know what the word is for husbands who watch dumb-ass TV programs.” At least I thought that is what she asked. Wait a minute; are these questions digs to keep me from enhancing my brain with good TV programming? I soon forget the questions and go back to the devil trying to have a Halloween party in South Park. After South Park, I turn the channel to Reno 911, as the wife starts another puzzle and the verbal digs start over again.

What’s the deal with crossword puzzles anyway? Why would anyone wrack their brain with trivia crap that means nothing in the real world? It makes more sense to me that I watch a gay guy on roller skates in tight, and I mean tight, shorts while putting moves on carhop customers during work. It helps knowing whom to avoid if I ever go to a carhop in the future. This is the kind of stuff that has meaning in the real world.

Oh crap, wifey is looking over at me again. Not another stupid question if you please. “Darling, what are you watching now?” she says with a devious smile. I look up at the TV and there is a home improvement program on. “How in the hell did this get on?” I ask perplexed. She replies, “I turned the channel two hours ago while you were sleeping, moron.” She starts to laugh uncontrollably as I get up to use the bathroom and then go to the couch to spend the night.

I don’t have to take this abuse!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Peanut Butter

No pun intended, but Salmonella in my Skippy’s creamy, low fat, peanut butter? I just stuffed down three peanut butter sandwiches and a quart of milk, for God’s sake. What am I supposed to do now, just sit here and wait for the explosion? I have been eating Skippy’s for as long as I can remember and this crap has never happened before. (Sorry, there I go again with the puns.)

Up until the TV news and e-mail warning, I thought Salmonella was a country in Asia. What a surprise it was to learn the truth, it kind of took the edge off my Sunday afternoon snack time. I can assure you peanut butter is off the menu forever, or at least until the craving overtakes me again.

Hold on, wait a minute…my stomach is starting to rumble. Oh, God, please don’t let me get sick. Now I am getting nauseated, my vision is blurring, and my equilibrium is going fast. I need to lie down and try to ride this out. What is that ringing in my ears? It’s getting louder and louder. Hello, it’s my alarm clock and it says it’s Monday morning and time to get up for work. Holy smoley, what a horrible nightmare – first thing this morning, I am throwing away the four jars of unopened peanut butter sitting on the counter where I left them Sunday morning!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

No Real Republican Front Runner?

I beg the difference with the political poles; Sarah is my front runner hands down! It's about time we had someone sexy and crazy in the white house. Lord knows we have had everyone else from A to Z, and their only claim to fame is that they were all just crazy. It's time for someone with a fabulous mouth to talk with, and an equally fabulous body to persuade with, occupy the White House. Even Ben Laden would surrender to put a lip lock on Sarah Palin. How else could he stop her incessant chattering? Don't answer that!

Let the insanity continue with a twist of sexual persuasiveness added in for good measure. One thing is for sure, middle America will continue to be squeezed out of the process until we become just a faint memory. Let’s hire Sarah and at least have a little fun on the way out….

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Miltary Justice

I should stop using the term “Get a rope” when I get upset with others who are just practicing their constitutional right of free speech. There are two sides to every coin, and listening to someone else’s prospective on life is just as important as expounding on mine own.

Of course, there are a few exceptions to the free speech concept. This is where the word civilized comes in to play. Is it OK to speak out against the country that provides you with constitutional rights protecting your free speech, like Jane Fonda did in Vietnam, even though it caused more torture and deaths of American prisoners of war? Her actions were despicable and certainly uncivilized, but she was not prosecuted because of her civil constitutional right of free speech. One consolation is that millions of service men and women hate her guts to this very day. I say, “Get a rope!” Oh, crap, my bad – I promised not to use my right of free speech in this case because it is uncivilized.

What about the WikiLeaks and U.S. Army Private Bradley Manning’s case? Let’s agree to at least one point. Private Bradley Manning swore an oath to perform his duties to his country as per the military code of ethics. I can assure you the ethics do not include leaking information of any kind to the media and especially in time of war. Is Private Manning entitled to free speech as spelled out in the Constitution? I think not. His military oath precludes everything, especially free speech. Loose lips sink ships and get people killed. Now, we must assume Bradley Manning is innocent until proven guilty. He does have that right, even in the Army.

There was no doubt of Jane Fonda’s guilt; after all, she flaunted herself in front of North Vietnamese cameras running her mouth the whole time. We so far have not seen any evidence that would indicate Private Manning is guilty of leaking secrete documents to WikiLeak. That revelation will have to wait for his court martial. In the meantime, the controversy will rage on and most of us will be able to say what we want because we have the right to do so. I know I have the right to say, “Get a rope,” but I will refrain from doing so in the future. I wonder if saying “Get a rope” infers that I am a vigilante of some kind; which, by the way, is certainly illegal in our country. Of course I am not a vigilante, and I do not support capital punishment. Now, that subject is for another blog…. I can feel the debate heating up!

I’m just saying,


Mittster

The Zoo At Our House

You should try to write a book while living in the zoo at our house. As I write, Pickles, the Meyer’s parrot, is screeching because he wants to be with me in the office so he can tear up everything in sight and then poop on it for good measure. He took a shower with me this morning, but no, that’s not good enough. I bought the little terror seven years ago for my wife’s birthday, but he bonded to me. She just had to have a parrot, and now I get to be married to both!

Then there is Mittsy the Pomeranian. We bought Mittsy in Michigan fourteen years ago. She is our oldest and is exhibiting some of the same behavior as my mother-in-law. That’s not to say I don’t love them both. I do, but not being able to control your bladder is OK for a human, but not so OK for a dog who thinks every rug in the house is a potty. She is so adorable and loving; it will be hard to see her leave the planet. Perhaps because she is half blind and losing her hearing, Mittsy can’t tell where the outdoors is anymore. Come to think of it, I have days like that too!

Annie is our long-haired Chihuahua – she is about eight years old and the real nutsoid of the family. We sort of rescued her from the vet because one of his customers couldn’t take care of her anymore. She is our Prozac dog and needs her fix two times a day. Without it, she turns into a nightmare with fangs and claws. None of the other dogs are safe when she goes off, especially Mittsy. She sleeps a lot these days, but is still terrified at the sound of rain, wind or thunder, and when she accidently bites herself. She also likes to sit in a corner and look and growl at what must be ghosts in the house. This doesn’t bother me much; I figure they (the ghosts) are too busy with her to bother with us. That works for me….

We do have a well behaved, short-haired, black and tan Chihuahua named Gonzo (named after the ex-baseball player for the Arizona Diamondbacks). We bought him in Arizona about seven years ago. What a little gentleman he is, tough, but always polite with his human pack. His idea of play is to grab a toy and stay just ahead of me, tail wagging, while I sort of run after him saying, “That’s my toy, Gonzo. It’s mine, it’s mine, and I want it right now.” Of course I never quite catch him and eventually he gets under the kitchen table and chews on his toy while I head back to the office to try and get some work done.

Last, but not least, is our white, short-haired Chihuahua named Taco. We rescued him a couple of years ago from a Prescott Valley, Arizona, rescue center. He was abandoned in the dead of winter by some unknown creep (you know who you are!). How he survived that particularly cold winter is anyone’s guess, but the important thing is that he is living with us and we will provide for him until it’s time for him to leave the planet. Taco is a Deer Chihuahua with extremely long legs, and he can run like the wind. He is our miniature sight hound and there is nothing better than watching him run at a dog park. He takes turns sleeping at night under the covers snuggled up to me or wifey, although I must admit he bonded to Sandy from the very beginning, but when she is not home, I get him all to myself.

Well, there you have it – a writer’s nightmare it would seem. The truth is that I couldn’t write without the zoo in our house. I can’t imagine living without our pets, and in fact, we both require their companionship and love. They force us to stay home much of the time, but in today’s world, that isn’t such a bad idea. I do miss wifey not going on long distance book signings with me, but we both understand the commitment pets require and we lovingly succumb to that commitment.

Write on,

Mittster

See No Evil

What is it with women now-a-days? It’s like no matter how hard a guy tries to please them, they get bored and want to move on to something more exciting. Look at Sally in the picture; she just had to have Marvin, but now she is bored out of her skull and can’t wait to dump the poor slob. I don’t really feel too sorry for Marvin though; he knew full well the risk he was taking when they hooked up.

Now, I’m not saying that a makeover wouldn’t help to save Marvin’s relationship – you know, some dental work, possibly have the ears pinned back, maybe a manicure and pedicure, along with clothes around the private parts. All this and more could, but probably won’t, save the big ape from some lonely days and nights in the near future. The look on Sally’s face tells me Marvin is doomed.

Oh, well, it’s no skin off my footpads; perhaps Marvin could find someone else who shares his interests, like picking off bugs, licking private parts and swinging in trees. Having something in common with your partner really does help in the real world. I can see on Marvin’s face that the lovemaking was great, but only for him. Perhaps he should see a therapist and learn some restraint. He will need it in the coming months of being without a partner.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Two years ago the bottom fell out of our economy. I know, tell me something you don’t know. My thought then was that this would be an opportune time to write a novel. I ended up writing two novels and two e-books because the recession lasted longer than anyone could predict or even imagine.

I looked around at the devastation the recession was causing middle and poor America, with homes being foreclosed on at record rates and jobs disappearing at even faster rates, I wondered how in the world people were going to pay their rent, utilities, car payments, or even feed their children. I remember in my younger years going though recessions when construction was D.O.A. in Arizona, but I was able to travel to other states to keep my family fed and a roof over their heads. This time was different indeed; there were no construction jobs anywhere in the country.

While writing my books, I kept up to date on job prospects through Monster.com and other Websites. After about eighteen months, I started to notice more and more construction jobs offered on line. In fact, there were even more construction jobs offered in the Phoenix newspapers, which had been devoid of any real opportunities and the few companies who did offer jobs were inundated with resumes.

Recently, I was offered a consulting position with an out-of-state contractor who wants to expand into Arizona. Now this was the sign I was looking for, not just because it meant employment for me, but also because I believe we are coming back from the brink of a depression!

No, I am by no means an expert on the subject of recessions, but I am an expert on how to survive hard times in the construction industry. I know the signs of recovery when I see them and that is exactly what I am seeing. In any case, my optimism should encourage everyone to be positive and start looking for work opportunities again in earnest. In the meantime, I will blog any news about constructions positions as I hear of them.

Write on,



Mittster

Grey Hair Rules

I ask myself, “Are you ready for your 50th high school reunion in May?” I talk about being able to look into the mirror and like what you see on my blogs, but the mirror I will be looking into at the class reunion has bright, natural lighting. Everyone there will be a reflection of me—and there will be no denying that we are all pushing 70 like a bulldozer on steroids.

This whole reflection thing started yesterday after I broke down and finally booked a hotel room for the festivities, knowing that if I didn’t, there would be a possibility of sleeping in my truck. I sat there afterwards reflecting on the Internet picture of Escondido High School. It brought back a flood of memories; some good, some not so good, but wonderful memories nonetheless.

Last night I dreamt that I was at the reunion having a ball with all my classmates, even the ones who have passed, and we were all the same age as when we graduated. It was a wonderful dream and it all seemed so natural and real, until I awoke and reality flooded in where fantasy had been. It’s OK though as everyone there was happy and old high school rivalries, jealousies and grudges were conspicuously absent. Perhaps there is a message in the dream?

I am hoping that when the remainder of The Class of ’61 meets we can travel back in time and be joyous in the knowledge that we made it to this point in time with dignity, love and happiness. What a life it has been, and I for one look forward to celebrating my life with the lives of my classmates. They all have stories to tell and I can’t wait to hear all about them.

Yes, we will all be young at heart again, dancing to rock & roll music, and just plain acting kooky, just like when we were teenagers. Elvis Presley will be there along with Ricky Nelson and Chuck Berry, just to name a few, singing again to the squealing delight of all the classmates. To the young we will look like a bunch of silly old folks, but to us we will look and feel like the teenagers that still live in our hearts. I wonder if I will be able to dance to rock & rock at our 60th reunion? Not to worry—I’m sure by that time science will have bionic body parts to replace our old ones. Let’s rock!

Write on,

My Bad

I owe the person who texted my wife asking who she was and what state she lived in an apology. I ridiculed this unknown person in my last blog. It turns out that I am the idiot and that fact verifies what my wife has been saying for years.

I had no clue that when you move and keep your current phone number that it also includes your area code. The person who called could have moved from the Verde Valley, Arizona, to Texas and kept their Arizona area code. They in turn would not necessarily know if we had or had not done the same.

The turn of events opens a real can of worms – now we really have no clue where the obnoxious, irritating calls really come from...only the CIA has that ability.

“What, me worry?” I only have an outdated phone that is devoid of bells and whistles. My wife and her fancy phone are now on their own!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Star Trek Phones

My wife recently purchased a new fangled cell phone that enables her to go on line, receive text messages, and about a hundred other functions. She actually has learned quite a bit about the phone and manages to keep in touch through texting. She even gets the weather reports while we are traveling. These phones are a marvel of technology and even though my wife was worried about all the functions, she is starting to master the art of using her intergalactic communicator. There is only one problem; you can’t control the idiots on the other end of the signal.

While returning home from Quartzsite, Arizona, yesterday, wifey received a text signal. “Oh great, I bet it’s Chris from Michigan!” she exclaimed. “I bet he is buried up to his butt in snow,” was my reply. As my wife pushed buttons and changed screens with a swish of her finger, a perplexed look came over her face. “I don’t believe this; the message reads, ‘Hey, who is this?’” she announced. I remarked, “Ask them, who in the hell are you?” She typed in, “Who are you?” While we were waiting for an answer, I was thinking, don’t you just hate it when someone calls you and asks who is this? I always reply, “This is me, who are you?”

After a minute or so, the phone again announced that another text message had arrived. It read, “I have your number in my phone, but no name. I need to know your name and what state you’re in.” “That’s enough of that,” my wife said to me as she put her phone back in her purse.

After a couple of minutes passed and we were discussing the virtues of not being an idiot like the person texting us, the phone rang again. With trepidation, my wife retrieved her phone and read the following text. “Are you the Simpsons from Houston, Texas?” Now under normal circumstances, that may be a valid question. But, consider this; the caller had a 928-301 number, which is a cell phone from the Verde Valley, Arizona, area, and the call was sent to our 928-821 number, which is also a Verde Valley, Arizona, cell number. How can this idiot not know we are from Arizona and what has Houston, Texas got to do with anything? The answer is simple; you can’t fix stupid!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

The Clown is Down!

I think humans are losing the ability to laugh at themselves. We still do well at laughing at the afflictions of others, but looking in the mirror and having a good laugh at what we see is non-existent these days.

While I look in the mirror and wonder where all the years have gone, I also laugh at all the fun I had along the way. Regrets, sure, but all in all it has been a fun ride. I certainly don’t laugh at the mistakes that caused others pain, but I do laugh at the stupidity of those mistakes.

I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to laugh at our opinions concerning animals of supposedly lower orders. It is becoming abundantly clear that intelligence is not measured by the size of a brain, but rather how the brain is used. I have proved many times in my life that my brain must be the size of a pea, yet some birds with a brain the size of a pea are operating at genius level.

One thing I am not seeing in the mirror anymore is my past arrogance that we humans are the best thing since sliced bread. That’s a real laugh if you think about it; we can’t even get along with each other, let alone our partners who share the planet. After all, if you study life on Earth you learn that everything is in just one big partnership. What happens to one species eventually happens to all species. Can’t see it? Well, that’s the arrogance I speak about.

If you are one of the thirteen or so people who read my blogs and are now bummed out, not to worry. Go to the mirror for an exercise in humility. Look closely at the reflection – now isn’t that just about the funniest thing you have ever seen? Image of God, really? My God reflects the whole universe and all living things, not just one funny looking species with no humor.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Party Harty!

With young people today it's all party and play, with no thought to the future. Getting old is inevitable and all you young whipper snappers are heading there like a runaway freight train. I prepared myself years ago for this day, as the last picture on this blog will attest! Just call me way cool, and know that the gals love me!

Where is the Remote?

I don’t think there is a wife or girlfriend on the planet that hasn’t had to look for their man’s TV remote control at one time or another. Men losing stuff they had in their hands a few moments before is not confined to just remotes either. The list includes keys, glasses, gloves, etc. The list is endless and the hunt exasperating. This is not to say that women don’t lose stuff too; they do, but it’s just that women handle the situation way better while we men go ballistic.

I thought when we started using a motor home for vacations that the horrible “losing game” would stop. The square footage of a motor home is minuscule compared to a house and there are fewer places for the stuff to hide. WRONG! Square footage has nothing to do with the art of physical things escaping human possession.

“Darling, have you seen my keys?” “They are probably right where you left them, dear.” “I can’t find them anywhere!” “Did you look in the truck?” “I would never leave them in the truck, wifey!!” After ten minutes of both of us looking, while I rant and rave, my wife would find them on the floorboard of the truck right where I left them. I then storm off to the hardware store, while she takes a couple of migraine headache pills and retreats to a dark closet.

And, what about glasses? I happen to know on good authority that eye glasses are supernatural in nature. It all started when Ben Franklin invented the darn things while belonging to the Free Masons, who in turn belonged to the Knights Templar, who in turn stole the Holy Grail and hid it in America. It all makes perfect sense if you think about it. Glasses where born to hide, and hide well. I just know when I lose mine that they are with the Holy Grail – find the glasses and you find the Grail.

I think my brother, Walt, has the answer. He carries a man-purse the size of Texas. His whole life’s accumulation of stuff is in that purse. It’s so big that it’s impossible to lose anything. Of course, someday he will be too old to carry it and that will be the time when he also will join the rest of us in the “losing game.” Until then, I’ll be damned if I am going to carry a purse! Let the hunt begin….

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Saddle Up!

While I was selling my murder mysteries, Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker, at Reader's Oasis Books in Quartzsite, Arizona, yesterday, I met a fellow author who is 83 years old. He is a spry gentleman, very opinionated, and still tough as nails. As a WWII vet, which is becoming a rare species indeed, he has seen and heard just about everything under the sun.

We started talking about the weather and soon we hit on politics. I mentioned in passing that we shouldn’t talk about politics or religion. We then proceeded to talk about both in earnest. Of course, he thought the world had gone to hell in a hand basket, which it has, and that the Holy Bible was his co-pilot, which is OK with me.

Our conversation finally rested on John Wayne and Ronald Reagan. “If those two men were president and vice president we could get something done in Washington,” my new friend declared. I nodded in agreement while pondering the possibilities. I wondered outloud which one would be president. “Why that’s simple,” he said. “They would arm wrestle for the honor!” I’m seeing both men, in my mind’s eye, arm wrestling on national TV for the honor of being President of the United States of America. “Who do you think would win?” I asked. “The Duke would, hands down,” was the answer. I let the subject go for fear of having to arm wrestle my author friend right then and there to settle the question. It would be embarrassing to be whipped by an 83 year old in front of everyone and their mothers.

The conversation then turned to the young people of America. My friend spoke up loudly, “Damn kids today are lazy. They need to get off their fat butts and 'saddle up' just like the Duke would have.” I immediately thought of the “old man” on Pawn Stars telling Chumlee to get to work. No sense saying anything to my new friend; I was sure he didn’t watch the program, so I nodded in agreement.

We both sat at our tables feeling the warm sun hit our faces while looking up at a beautiful blue sky. I had no way of really knowing what my friend was thinking during our silence, but I am sure he was thinking about how things used to be. Personally, I was thinking about how I would vote for my new author friend to be president in a heart beat!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

The Chicken and the Egg

Question: Where do your ideas come from? This is a common question from readers who want to start their own blog or write a book.

Answer: For my blogs, I usually depend on Google. I Google cartoons or maybe a catch phrase like “dirty laundry.” Something interesting always pops up and I just go from there. It’s a great tool for finding the spark that ignites the writing fire. If I think of an original idea, I still Google it just to be better informed about the premise. By the way, humor is always a good idea for blogs. I like to alternate between informative and whacky humor. It’s OK to try and pass on things you have learned, but occasionally humor goes a long way in the teaching process.

Writing books is not quite as easy. Picking a genre is most important. It’s not wise to write about something that only a very small part of the population is interested in. When you decide on what you want to write about, it needs to fit a large audience. I picked murder mysteries because they are popular and lots of folks like a good mystery. The same could be said about romance novels, but they are not my kind of books. My passion is “who done it” murder mysteries.

Speaking of passion, without passion your journey is finished before it begins. Writing without passion is like eating food without spice; you soon tire of mush – and so does everyone else. If your passion is biology, don’t write a book about the subject. There are more than enough text books concerning biology. Instead, write about the biology of dogs and cats, with a splash of humor injected throughout. Many people love dogs and cats and will read anything interesting and humorous about their pets.

I like writing B & B (blogs and books), and I am hooked on both equally. I have noticed that when I tire of working on my current murder mystery, The Phoenix Code, I can be just as satisfied writing a blog. Blogs are like little mini-books and they get published just like a novel. It’s the best of both worlds!

Write on,

Mittster

X-ray Vision!

I was sitting at the kitchen table working on the laptop this morning, minding my own business, when my mind went on safari, which is typical of the man brain. I hate it when this happens because I am at the age when you would think these kinds of thoughts were a thing of the past. To make it worse, my wife and I are celebrating our sixteenth wedding anniversary today, and she always proofs my blogs. Happy anniversary, darling….

Earlier, I had looked up from the laptop and stared at a Betty Boop doll that was lying on the couch. For some unknown man reason, I wished I had X-ray vision. It was just one of those flashes from the brain that cause embarrassing moments. I was grateful that no one but I was aware of what had just happened. The problem is now I can’t help but write about it. This is also typical of the man brain; why not shoot myself in the foot with an elephant gun on our anniversary!

Of course, after some research, it was inevitable that I would discover that X-ray vision is no different than going to the doctor for a look-see at a broken bone. I realized that Superman could have not seen Lois Lane’s blue panties anymore than I could see Betty’s pink ones; of course I am only assuming Betty has pink ones.

In any case, the whole X-ray blog thing was an exercise in futility, but I still finished the blog. My wife proofed it and had only one comment--again, “Mitt, you’re an idiot!”

No doubt,

Mittster

Imagination Rules!

I was raised in Escondido, California, which is a very conservative community even today. My battles with the powers that be started in the first grade and lasted until I moved away in 1968. My twin brother and I were considered outcasts and we had a very difficult time in high school. “Watch out for the twins; they are so different!”

The first class reunion I attended was in 2001. It took me forty years to understand that it was OK to be liberal in my thinking and actions! The crazy part is that I voted conservative and loved Ronald Regan, who is still my hero. Just following in my parents' footsteps, I suspect.

My twin and I went on to have successful careers in the construction industry, marry, and have families in Tucson, Arizona, which was the city we were born in and migrated back to. My brother still lives there, while I moved on to northern Arizona. My wife and I live in the very small community of Camp Verde, which happens to also be very conservative.

Two years ago, I decided (with the blessing of my wife) to write a murder mystery called Evil in the Mirror. Three months later the work was finished and we then began the proofing, editing and publishing process. While that was going on, I wrote a sequel called Day Stalker. Consequently, both books have been published and let out into the wild. I am now working on the last book of the trilogy, The Phoenix Code, and hope to have it published this summer.

What emerged from these books were very dark, disturbing and scary stories. There is graphic sex and violence, which I maintain is the catalyst for most real life murder stories. My books are not in the genre of Stephen King, but instead, more akin to real life horror stories like Ted Bundy, only worse. They are not for the faint of heart or conservative of mind.

Which brings me to my point; some people can’t or won’t read my books. At first, I took this negative response personally, but now I have come full circle in the realization that the reason my twin and I were shunned was because of our incredible imaginations. We were light-years ahead of everyone else and that fact scared teachers and students alike. In our school days, there was only one way and that was the conservative way!

What I now understand is that we were not alone; there were many kids in our school who had the same problems. Many of them have responded with enthusiasm toward my work. One, a bestselling author, has deemed my work brilliant. It doesn’t get any better than that! Actually, her work is very brilliant also and I am proud to know her.

Well, I am now poised to attend my 50th class reunion in May. I look forward to seeing old friends and making new ones after all these years. I might even sell a few books.

Write on,

Mittster

If I am lying, I'm dying

My wife and I arrived back in Quartzsite, Arizona, yesterday to promote my murder mystery books, Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker. As you know, we have been here many times in the past, but this time our visit started out weird from the get go. Click on the title of this blog and you will start to understand.

I did not believe in zombies when we started visiting Quartzsite eleven years ago. It was obvious very strange people did indeed migrate to this part of the lower desert for the winter, but I just thought they were from California or possibly Canada. How was I to know that a herd of zombies had a reunion here every year that numbered close to a half million of the crusty critters from all over the country?

The scary part is that every year I get older, I am looking and acting more like the zombies I see mulling around vendors' tents and RV shows. Are zombies contagious? Am I unwittingly turning into a slow driving gawker, barely able to see over the steering wheel? Will I start huddling around a barbeque with other zombies, screeching and snarling while waiting for rare, almost raw meat? And, what about the place where the largest herd gathers? It’s called the Senior Citizen Center. I find myself wanting to go there for cheap pig meat and over easy eggs this visit!

I think I see a pattern here – and it isn’t good. Excuse me while I go look in the mirror; I must know the truth. Oh, my God, it’s true, I am a zombie now! What am I to do? I am now the walking dead and there is no going back! Oh, well, I might as well walk over to the ice cream tent and pig out on a black cherry waffle cone. You have to make the best of life’s little disappointments, you know.

I’m just drooling,

Mittster

Bernie Has Left The Building

Holy cow, can it be true? There seems to be more construction want ads on Monster.com in Arizona. In fact, there are more ads in the newspapers too. I judge the economical health of our state by the health of its construction industry.

After Bernie ripped off America for billions and billions and billions of dollars, even custom home building in Sedona, Arizona, disappeared, never to be seen again by the eyes of man. All the rich folks who wanted to live in the most beautiful place in Arizona suddenly found themselves poor right along with the rest of us that exist lower on the food chain. The impact hurt all of us.

Well, I am here to tell you that things are improving. Again there is opportunity in the industry that I have been a part of for over forty years. I have been through many recessions, although never quite like this one, and I am familiar with the signs of recovery. In fact, a construction opportunity has knocked on my door recently. No, I can’t discuss it, but trust in the fact that it is true. All I can say is that there are people with money looking at the low cost of properties with a hungry eye.

If my fortunes improve, you can bet I will share the wealth with other construction workers who need work desperately to feed their families and pay their bills. For some, this recovery comes too late to save their homes and credit, but it is never too late to rebuild lives, hopes and dreams.
And what about my authoring career? Not to worry, my murder mystery fans, I need to write as much as you need to have the pants scared off you!

Writing on,

Mittster

The Phoenix Code

While I am finishing my newest murder mystery, The Phoenix Code, I was hoping my fans would help me decide on a cover design. Since the book is about the Phoenix rising from the ashes, what do you think about the picture posted on this blog? The cover will still be similar to Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker, but this time a picture of the Phoenix bird will be centered on the cover.

I thought some color other than white with red blood drops would be a nice change of pace. What do you think?

I’m just asking,

Mittster