Busted Wing - Update

Here's a photo of my messed up hand. The pins are out, the stitches are out. The finger and joint are swollen still.

They gave me a cute little harness to exercise the finger. They say I can get most of the range of motion back.

The problem is there is something weird happening with the palm of my hand. The tendons of the fingers are drawing. It's scary.

So I worked on the fourth book of Horsewomen of the Zombie Apocalypse - The Healer for a couple hours today. Gave the hand a bit of a workout.

I'm not going to The Arts on Bridge Street this year. I'm just not up for it.

Points To Ponder

As I withdraw from the World of Social Media, I'm feeling less stressed. I've stopped lurking on every writer's site on the web, and I'm getting more active around the house. As a person with an addictive personality, I find that I've been addicted to being online. 

I'm sure that my attempt to liquidate #TheHoard will pull me offline quite a bit. It might be enough to shake it off.

I'm making quite a bit of progress with the latest short story. It's twice as long as what I started with, Mom didn't do dialog. I've centered it in the Harbor, where I believe she intended it to take place.  I've decided NOT to release it via Amazon, Select/Unlimited -- as I have with the recent e-books,

Since Amazon announced changes to it's Select/Unlimited programs, I've taken a long hard look at my results.

Frankly, from where I stand, Amazon is no longer a viable market.

Two days of freebies resulted in 12 d/ls for "Shelter From The Storm" last weekend. Two days for "Character Flaw" gave 2 d/ls, 1 a day.

I can do better than that on both B&N and Apple's iBooks and get a few sales on other e-books after the giveaway.

It's time for me to drop out of Select/Unlimited for good.

Oh, and PS - buy my books. :-)

Free in Australia & US -- Swallow the Moon

I noticed this last night:

Swallow the Moon - Amazon Australia #FREE!

• Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #2,919 Free in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Free in Kindle Store)

• #8 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Literature & Fiction > Horror > Ghosts

And just a few minutes ago, I noticed it was now free in the US!

Swallow the Moon - Amazon US

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #22,267 Free in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Free in Kindle Store)
#42 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Paranormal > Ghosts
#87 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Holidays

So get your copy, now.

And, if you like the story, please leave a review.

Thanks!

Good News!

I've gotten an email from Ashtabula Public Library - they would like me to do a reading and give a short talk about 'Swallow the Moon' - the paranormal set in Ashtabula.

I was planning to return for the Wine and Walleye Festival in August. They want me to come on August 18th. 2014 -- just a few days before the festival.

I hope I can schedule a few more readings at other libraries in the area. Dates and times will follow - I'll post them on Goodreads and Facebook as soon as the dates are set.

Road Trip!

Today marks the 7 day countdown for the Road Trip to Ashtabula and the Beach Glass Festival.

I wish I could say that I'll have copies of 'Swallow the Moon' to take with me. But I can't - the book is still in the proof stage and I doubt I can get copies in time. The project fell through the cracks while Real Life kicked my tush.

Regardless of setbacks (and there have been some doozies!) I've got the truck in the shop to get electric brakes, the tent camper is in the yard, waiting to be packed, and as of today I have a human traveling companion - hubby - as well Trouble for his very first Road Trip.

I called the campground to make sure there will be a space with electric (yep!) and the family has been warned that I'm coming into town, sort of. 

I've got a list of things I need to do - and a week to get them all done.

I didn't want to go by myself - Ashtabula isn't the safest place in the world. Some of my choices of traveling companion wouldn't work for a lot of reasons. The Fort Knox Kentucky area is just more progressive than 'Bula - some of my friends would get culture shock.

Hell, hubby gets culture shock every time we go to 'Bula - he says he's seen 3rd world countries that don't look as worn out and neglected as Main Street the last time we were there.

Speaking of narrow minds and shitty attitudes...some Troll dropped docs on a Face Book forum purporting to be "Open" for some minor lulz. Very minor - I actually sold a book because of him.

I considered opening an Encyclopedia Dramatica account to return the favor, but decided it would take up more time than it was worth.

Since the book isn't ready I didn't contact anyone about putting together a book signing. No book, no signing. But I might see what I can do at a later date. The camper makes going to 'Bula a minor financial project, not a major investment. (But I miss Cahill House! The breakfasts were incredible!)

I intend to post some pictures here from the Beach Glass Festival. It should be fun.

Stay tuned!

The Ashtabula Horror

I snagged a link to this video today because it is a great introduction to one of Ashtabula's greatest disasters. This is also as good a way as any to start talking about the second book in the Dark Harbor series.

So don't be surprised to see some links about Ashtabula here as I start collecting the background I need for the Dark Harbor series. 

All this ties together with my experiment with Kindle Select this way: the money from this month's sales are going to finance my trip(s) back to Ashtabula to do research.

I've got a camera, video equipment, a scanner, my laptop and a basic understanding of what happened. I'm going to need to take a look at the area so I can describe it later.

I'm going to need a place to stay and money to live on. As much as I would LOVE to stay at Cahill House in the Harbor, I don't think I can afford it. I'm going to have to camp out somewhere cheap.

Austinburg might be a good place to stay for a week or two. However, knowing what I do about Ashtabula's weather, I might want to do better than live in a tent. 

I'll give this more thought as time goes on.

Raven Arrives in the Harbor

Van Man Go - Custom Painting

Van Man Go dropped the last pieces of his airbrush into the cleaning solvent. It was time for a beer and a smoke. He dipped his hands in solvent and scrubbed them off with a rag. He grabbed a beer before he sat down in wooden chair.

Not bad, he thought as he looked over his latest work. It was another tribute bike – this one was desert camouflage background and scenes from Iraq. The work was detailed and lifelike – all premo – just like all his work.

He looked around – it was 2 am – the bars on Bridge Street were closing down. There weren't as many bars as there had been, back in the Harbor's heyday of the 1980s. Not that he cared. So what if the street was turning into a tourist trap? His business did just fine – there were plenty of people who were willing to pay very well for his work.

There was a breeze off the lake – bringing in the smell of fish and faint whiff of storm sewer. A sleek black Camry pulled up, the engine raced once before it shut down.

He took a drag off his cigarette – no need for a pack – he had them whenever he wanted them; a perk, one of many, from his Bargain.

The Camry door opened, a man stepped out, young, arrogant with surfer looks and tourist's clothing. He sauntered across the parking lot, looking around with a slight curl on his lip. The Harbor was old, well over a hundred fifty years, and time had not been kind.

Van sneered, he knew trouble when it landed on his doorstep. This young pup had come from elsewhere, thinking to mark out some turf. Thinking it would be easy to make a name for himself in a small town. He wanted to be the big dog on the block. All well and good – but age and cunning would always win over youth and enthusiasm.

This should be entertaining.

"Hello," the newcomer said with a broad smile. "Jeff Raven, new in town." He took one look at Van's paint stained hands didn't offer to shake hands.

"Call me Van," he took a deep drag, and waited.

"Quaint place," Raven said. "I see that you're an artist." He approached the finished bike, whistling with appreciation.

"I dabble." Van hid his smile behind his cigarette.

"I'm a teacher." Raven studied the bike. "I'm teaching Humanities, Social Studies and Phys Ed, for the new High School."

"Is that what they call it, these days?"

"What?" Raven stood up, gave Van a narrow look. He looked down at himself, checked his hands for jewelry.

"I've been around long enough to know my own kind." Van snorted. "Have a seat, there's beer in the cooler." He pointed to the cooler, the chair moved from the shadows next to him, as if lifted by invisible hands. Raven paused for a moment, looking from the chair to Van.

"Great trick."

"I've got a million of them." Van gave him a dry chuckle. "What brings you to my turf, kid?"

Raven's cocky attitude came back. He grabbed the beer, straddled the chair, resting his hands on the back. "I wasn't aware this area was claimed."

"I've been around a long time." Van grinned. "Surely you've heard of me."

"Of course." Raven took a long swig of beer. "But you aren't taking advantage of the situation. A place like this has a lot to offer."

"Do tell?" Van took another drag. "I always appreciate an outsider's view of things."

"Poor town, lot's of young blood wanting what they can't have, and willing to Bargain to get it." Raven flashed a smile. "All those young girls yearning for love. Or ambitious enough to trade sex for good grades. Surely you can remember back that far?"

"Dropped out when I was sixteen." Van shrugged. "I learned how to make money and keep books, that was all I needed."

"Sure it was." Raven drank more beer. "You have what you want – I'm just looking for stray bits that might fall in my lap."

"Bullshit." Van flipped his cigarette at Raven's feet. "You're kind doesn't pull up stakes unless it's something really important."

Raven shrugged, eyeing Van for a moment.

"I lost something that belongs to me," he said. "I've tracked her here and I'm going to get her back."

"A woman?" Van took a deep pull on his beer. "It's always women with you young pups."

"She's a very special woman," Raven finished off his beer.

"Aren't they all?" Van laughed.

Free e-Book - 'Impressive Bravado'

Cover

When sales get slow - common wisdom says it's time to do a giveaway.
'Impressive Bravado' is a short story (7k words) about Dr. Katie McCarty DVM. She's a young veterinarian, fresh out of Ohio State University. She gets an early morning all call from Deputy Sheriff Shallamon concerning the unauthorized gelding (neutering) of a show horse named "Impressive Bravado."

Katie and Shallamon go to Hopkins' Stables. They encounter a 'horse whisperer' who calls herself 'Aquitania' and claims she can talk to horses. They also discover unsafe practices that have put the young girls at the barn in danger.

Katie looks into the incident - discovering a deep divide in horse show cliques that could explain the 'attack' on Bravado. However, Katie ends up wrestling with a berserk stallion - barely getting the animal under control after he kicks his owner, shattering her leg.

You can get a free copy at Barnes & Nobel : http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/impressive-bravado-k-a-jordan/1102629807

Or Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/60392

But the story is $.99 at Amazon US, UK, DE and FR: http://www.amazon.com/Impressive-Bravado-ebook/dp/B0053HA1LI

How Times Have Changed

The Fate of the LA Cafe

There was a time when Bridge Street was known as the Barbary Coast of the Great Lakes. The yacht club posted a sign: "Do Not Go On Bridge St. After Dark!"

Which was back in the days when there were 10 or 11 bars - and a couple of little shops - and Bridge Street was the Skid Row of Ashtabula.

How times have changed.

Now Bridge Street is the center of Ashtabula's commerce and tourist trade. The Harbor is only vital area in a dying city.

The LA Cafe` is one of the last bastions of the 'Old Harbor.' In the 80's it was the Circle J - with the same reputation it has now - the rowdiest bar on Bridge Street. Trouble flowed from there like water from a sewer - the Saturday Night Fights featured knives, tire irons and chains as blood feuds played out on the sidewalk and into the street.

So you can imagine my amusement at the video above.

It has taken 100 years for Bridge Street to shed it's unsavory reputation.

I'm very glad to see this.

But I still think it's hilarious.

Jobs And The Economy - A Rant

The sad fact is that America has the best government money can buy. And buying it is getting easier and easier all the time. As the limits on corporate campaign spending are shunted aside, the 'We-are-people' corporate Frankenstein monsters are dumping barrels of cash into the political system.

More and more often, I'm seeing things like this – Big Corporations whining for tax breaks on billions of dollars made elsewhere. Click here for the latest. This is money they want to pay to the top-tier executives – billions in bonus money – but can't because they would have to declare this money as earnings and pay taxes.

(Insert violin music here.)

The manufacturing boom of the 20^th Century was a one-time-deal.

Sorry to say it, but it's the truth. The Age of Steel is over. As the national economy continues to unravel, and it will, people are going to have to go back more than 100 years to rebuild our crumbling nation.

Detroit, Ashtabula and Braddock are three population centers who illustrate this best. Braddock has been abandoned and is falling down. Ashtabula is getting there, fast.

Detroit has hundreds of square miles of abandoned buildings. Neighborhoods were torn down, a 'Green Belt' of sorts is struggling to emerge from the ruins. Most importantly, a core group of people are going into business for themselves.

Let that be a lesson for all of us.

At one time (1800's) the American Dream was to come to America and open a shop of some kind. Breweries, clothing stores, tailor shops, butcher shops, grocery stores, hot dog stands, mercantiles, cabinet shops, boat builders and that's just off the top of my head.

People didn't come to America to work for someone else.

They came to work for themselves.

How times have changed, eh?

Now people in America haven't a clue how to operate a business.

They just want a JOB.

ANY job will do.

My beef with the current mentality is that ONLY a big corporation counts as 'a person' and gets pampered and petted. People don't really count any more. We just get higher taxes and higher medical costs (when the toxic waste of Corporate America had a hand in making us sick.)

The GOP touts their helping 'Job Creators' but what they mean are people rich enough to afford a nanny, a housekeeper, a gardener and maybe a poolboy to help keep their McMansion looking good.

That's not going to change. Congress and the Senate have been bought and are smart enough to STAY bought. They will not betray their corporate Masters. State level government is the same, just a smaller scale.

So, we are looking at a nation in decay. Infrastructure, like roads, bridges, power lines, sewers, rail road tracks, schools  and hospitals are only used by humans. The non-breathing corporations (click here for explanation) who run the country don't need anything except a post office box in the Bahamas.

Now, before you jump either off a bridge, or into a bottle – Listen Up!

For the last 50 years, there's been something else going on, under everyone's radar. Lately, it's sprung up in the shape of windmills and solar power, visible for the first time on TV. Google Farmer's Markets to see one of the areas of the economy that has gone GREAT guns because of the Tobacco Death Tax.

AND if you are a writer or part of the writer's support industry, an Indie publisher, vendor, editor, cover artist, marketing guru or even someone who bought and read an Indie book, guess what?

YOU ARE PART OF THE REVOLUTION, TOO.

As much as the Brain-Washed Scions of the Trade Publishing (paper) Industry are screaming about the un-washed rabble at the door, Indie books are selling. There was a pent-up demand for fresh stories, and back-list books. Indies are scouring the Internet for help with editing, cover art, marketing and production.

Things have changed and will change some more.

Fasten your seat-belt.

Another Opportunity Wasted

Restaurant owners sour on county over big fee for sewer "hookup" fees for existing service.

There is nothing like investing $750k in your business then getting hit with another $50k for something that isn't going to change.

The Kustalas planned to open Lure at Coffee Creek Estate by this fall, but Nicholas said the reuse-fee issue has delayed its opening and put on hold 15 to 25 new jobs. Nicholas Kustala has taken the issue to U.S. Rep. Steven LaTourette, R-Bainbridge, and is working with the county commissioners to find a solution. The topic came up at a commissioners’ work session earlier this week, and Commissioners Board President Daniel Claypool said it shows one issue of county and municipal sewer treatment systems: unreasonably high tap-in fees that discourage new business.

We all know how 'cliquish' small towns are - is this just the latest example of how backwards Ashtabula county really is?

There is the story of the people who purchased siding, for a building on Main Street, but couldn't put it up because no one told them it had to be a certain gage.

There are the hundreds of abandoned homes that 'can't' be taken over by the city and resold. Commerical buildings that have been vacant for years. And the Carlisle building that is literally condemned and can't be be torn down.

This is the same county that insists on finding a 'fairy Godfather' super-plant that will employ every person in town - instead of growing small and micro-businesses.

In the land of 'Go Big or Go Home' is it any wonder why business choose the 2nd option?

"Dark Harbor" – Paranormal Pulp Fiction

As Launch Day gets closer and closer – I can't help but think about the reaction to my paranormal pulp fiction "Swallow the Moon" once word reaches 'back home' about the book. This is a case where Face Book is not my friend. I'm hooked into a discussion group with people from 'Bula, some of whom may be offended with my description of the city.

The "Dark Harbor" paranormal series takes place in a very real, very dysfunctional Rust Belt city, my birthplace, Ashtabula, Ohio. I call it a "God-forsaken place" – it is a place where the fabric between the Earth and Hell has become tattered and 'things' are breaking through.

I suppose that's enough to piss some people off right there.

Of course, if the series catches on, there are going to be even more people laughing their asses off. Some people in the Harbor are going to love it, others – well a sense of humor is a rare thing in parts of 'Bula.

I would like to be a fly on the wall when some innocent tourist walks into the Iroquois Club and asks the bartender if s/he ever heard of a book called "Swallow the Moon" and are there really rooms for rent upstairs? (evil cackles)

You know, this is the kind of thing where I'm going to have to take the book to Create Space just so I can go down to Bridge Street and have a book signing in the metaphysical shop. I'll hope that the ghosts of Harborites past will join me.

I know they will appreciate it.

PA Ghost Town Revival

This is the story of a town that is actually worse off than Ashtabula.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33450516/ns/us_news-giving/ the link is to a story that I believe everyone should read.

Braddock Pennsylvania is one of the Rust Belt towns that was truly dead in the water.

I quote the article word for word off MSNBC here: "In the 1920s, the height of the Industrial Revolution, Braddock — about 10 miles from Pittsburgh — was a thriving suburban metropolis of 20,000 with a density similar to that of Brooklyn. Today, the population has hollowed out to under 3,000."

Here's another quote, one that should make you shake in your shoes: "Residents are preparing to welcome a film crew that will soon start shooting the movie version of writer Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic novel 'The Road,' using Braddock's forlorn streets as a backdrop.

"Even Hollywood knows where to find good post-apocalyptic America," says Fetterman.

Yet, even in this tangled horror story there is an interesting development. Even the tiny faltering population of 3,000 people needs to eat. Braddock Farms was founded in 2007, vacant lots turned into an urban farm. The plan for the 2009 growing season was 75 jobs. This would have been a mighty uptick in a population of 3,000 people.

Unfortunately, I was not able to find data on the project for this year.

As a writer, I'm interested in stories, all kinds of stories, the stories of cities and people – of growth and change – not just fiction, not just romance. This country is in transition, people like Fetterman are devoting their lives to renewing and restoring.

It's an uphill battle.

Hollowing out the Middle – a book review

The entire country is becoming more and more polarized to the seacoasts and the big cities. This is not the figment of our collective imagination. "Hollowing out the Middle" is a book that explores the plight of the small towns in America's Heartland.

Written by Patrick J. Carr and Maria J. Kefalas, "Hollowing out the Middle" discusses a phenomenon called 'Rural Brain Drain' where the Achievers, the best and brightest of a given class, are groomed by their teachers to leave home, never to return. The others are Stayers and Seekers. Stayers are mostly ignored, though the future of the small town actually rests with them. The Seekers are self-motivated to flee the crushing grip of small town sameness, many of them join the Military. (There is a class of 'Returners', but most of them are Achievers who don't make it in the big world.)

What I liked about this book is their honest assessment that this sorting process plays out in high school. That validation should make many of us sigh with relief. We weren't hallucinating, high school WAS rigged! The whole community operates in the favor of the 'Achiever' class, grooming them to leave home. As these people do leave and never return, they take all those resources with them, weakening the community left behind.

For a town like Ashtabula the result is clear – the Achievers leave – the Stayers stay – completely unprepared to handle the problems of their home town. So things get worse because the people who stay behind are brainwashed into believing 'they will never amount to anything.' They are not educated to take on the roles most needed in their communities. There are no 'Stayer' doctors, lawyers, dentists, engineers or politicians. The Stayer students are left to rot – the compost heap that provides the next generation of High School students.

I wish this book would be useful to solve the problems of Ashtabula. It may not be possible for that beleaguered city to turn around. Main Street is a ghost town, with weeds growing in the cracks of the road. Like the rest of the country – the Brain Drain coupled with the weak economy has put many a small town or city on death row.

It appears that Ashtabula did one thing right – they rebuilt the school system. It was an effort to attract a big manufacturing plant that would put the unskilled Stayers to work. Unfortunately 'elephant hunting' as the authors call it, is not the answer.

Most towns and small cities are content with trying to attract the 'Returners,' those who miss their small town safety net. The real solution is twofold. First to encourage immigration – which means a small town would have to open itself up to strangers. Not likely to happen without a fight. The second is to cultivate what is already there – the Stayers are the town's most precious resource.

Even if the sorting process stopped tomorrow (not very likely since this has been going on for 20 years) there is little left of the middle class anywhere in rural America, let alone in Ashtabula. The poor (for the most part single mothers and their children) are well and truly damned by the dysfunctional system that offers no hope from cradle to grave.

This means, EVERY town needs implement alternative education in order to survive and thrive. Get the people who missed out on education the first time an opportunity to upgrade their education to a skilled trade. That means GEDs for the dropouts and then true education can take place. Not a second sorting meant to send others off into the world, a chance for people to become who the town needs them to be – the parents of the next generation AND the leaders and developers of the local economy.

Education is the answer – though Schools are the source of the problem.

Ironic, isn't it?   

Love is the Drug - Dark Harbor

The Iroquois Club

He stands on the stage at the Iroquois Club - belting out a Doors cover with all the sass and sex appeal he's got. He's got a lot. He's lean, wide shouldered and slim of hip, with dark, tousled, rock-star hair, blue eyes and a young man's chiseled features.

The young woman across from me is all but drooling. She wouldn't get a second glance from him, in spite of the bright blond hair, she's got 'mouse' written all over her. She sips her Morgan and Coke, talking softly during the break, but her eyes never leave him.

"His name is Teddy; he just got back from three years in Iraq." She sighs, her name is Kaylynn. She was National Guard and served with Teddy. "He swore up and down he wasn't coming back here, but - you see where he is."

He moves to the bar, flirting with every female in range and downs some shots. I wonder how much booze he can take before he can't sing standing up. It looks like he's pushing his luck. Teddy has an easy smile as well as a roving eye. He is well liked, I can tell by the indulgent way the bartender is pouring shots.

His band mates don't look happy with the way he's knocking back shots. The lead guitarist makes a cut off gesture that Teddy ignores.

"I work down the street, day shift at the restaurant," Kaylynn smiles. "He comes in at noon for breakfast."

"We are friends, during the day. At night, he's like this, I hardly know him." She bites her lip. "He was my best friend in Iraq. I don't understand why he's like this now."

"He wanted to go active duty, make a career out of the Army or go into the Air Force. But he's wasting his life drinking and drugging, playing rock star and screwing everything that walks."

What she isn't saying is pretty clear - she's in love with him.

There is a collective pause, and heads turn. The woman walking into the bar is a stunner. Black hair to her hips, scantily dressed in a red leather mini-skirt, she's either some biker's wet dream or a dominatrix escaped from a brothel.

My money is on the brothel. She's not a young woman and she's got a hard look to her that should send any smart man running for home.

"Destiny," the name is said with distain. "Well, we know who Teddy's going home with tonight. He sings that song to her, you know."

Teddy plants a lip-lock on Destiny that makes my companion's eyes fill with tears. The break is over; he is hip-to-hip with the woman as they walk to the stage. He mounts the stage giving her smoldering looks that should have caught the ceiling on fire.

Destiny wanders over to the pillar next to us, leaning on it as Teddy wails out a Roxy Music cover 'Love is the Drug' as if she is the only woman in the crowded room. This close to her, I get a look at the tattoo on her shoulder, an upside-down pentagram. There are a couple more tattoos, roses, thorns and bleeding hearts. Her earrings are dragons. She's thin, always has been, being thin is a good thing when you're a cougar - hunting after young bloods.

Destiny is mighty attractive for a woman pushing fifty. Yeah, I know her age, as well as what she did to keep her figure. The signs of aging are muted at night; I wonder what she looks like in the harsh light of day. A lifetime of taking speed and snorting coke can be covered by makeup and hair-color, but to really look young takes more drastic measures. You've got to sell your soul, either to a plastic surgeon or to Satan himself.

Destiny doesn't have money for a plastic surgeon.

"That song is posted on Create Space," Kaylynn dries her eyes. "People are downloading it like crazy. They are getting a lot of attention, and good reviews. Enough to where they are putting together an album."

"Cory and Tony are working really hard on the album, but Teddy blows them off. He won't lay down the vocal tracks." Kaylynn shakes her head. "I don't know what's wrong with Teddy. He won't make up his mind to do anything. Not the Air Force, not the album, he's just partying with her and her creepy friends."

"You know who I'm talking about." Kaylynn takes her eyes off Teddy to look at me for the first time. "That creepy artist - Van Man Go. Teddy is over there all the time." She shudders. "What a skank! But Teddy acts like Van and him are best friends - all the time he's screwing her, and she's been with Van for years."

I have to smother a laugh. Van Man Go’s name has popped up once again. I give the girl some encouragement before I get up to leave. As I walk passed Destiny we make eye contact.

“Kitty, how’s it going?”

“Good band, hot singer.” I smile at her, raising my eyebrows. “Cindy’s son, isn’t he?” We partied with Cindy, before Cindy departed to places unknown. She came back with Teddy, stories of a groupie’s life and AIDS; without money for healthcare, Cindy lasted only a few years. Nobody knows who Teddy’s father is.

Destiny doesn’t like to be reminded of the fact that we go back many years, that I know the age she carefully denies. Her eyes sweep over me, I’ve been on the straight and narrow for more than 20 years; that knowledge bugs her, too. She takes a drag off her cigarette and blows the smoke at me. I smile and walk away.

There is a couple sitting in the corner, a long lean man in a sport bike leather jacket and a slim woman with long dark hair, Eric and June. As Teddy announces “Lights” by Journey, Eric takes June’s hand, inviting her to dance.

They take over the dance floor. Teddy’s voice is pure and soulful as Eric gathers June to him with a tenderness that glows in the smoky light.

Destiny rolls her eyes in disgust. What is between those two is very real, and she can’t stand being in the same room with that kind of love. She brushes passed me. Teddy’s watching the couple dancing. There is a longing in his eyes that comes out through his voice.

Kaylynn has her eyes closed, pretending that Teddy is singing to her, no doubt.

I take that image with me – thick smoke, neon lights – a singer silhouetted in red and blue crooning to a couple, slow dancing their way to falling in love; in a bar, in the Harbor, in Ashtabula.

Yeah.

==========================
Barnes & Noble: 'Swallow the Moon


Smashwords: 'Swallow the Moon'


Amazon US: Amazon US: Swallow the Moon - Dark Harbor

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Swallow-Moon-Dark-Harbor-ebook/dp/B005CX8OKS

Amazon DE: http://www.amazon.co.de/Swallow-Moon-Dark-Harbor-ebook/dp/B005CX8OKS

Amazon FR: http://www.amazon.co.fr/Swallow-Moon-Dark-Harbor-ebook/dp/B005CX8OKS

Astabula Harbor - Part I

The District that Refused to Die

I've always loved the Harbor; it flips the rest of the dying city 'the bird' and continues on. There were more shops on Bridge Street than I've ever seen before (all but three of the bars are gone.) The Harbor refuses to die – it appears to survive by defying the rest of the city, as stubborn and defiant as any Finn who ever walked the cobbled streets.

Carlisle's Home in the Harbor is the remnant of a very old business. They got their start in the Harbor in the 1800's – and thrived for years in a four-story building on Main Street. The store moved to the Ashtabula Mall in the 1990's – where it faltered, unable to compete with Wal-Mart and Kmart, both only yards away.

Now it is a tiny boutique on Bridge Street.

The fact that Carlisle's store is now in the same building it left so long ago is ironic; a tasty morsel for my twisted sense of humor.

Back in the 1970's there was something to hit town called "Urban Renewal." I recall, perhaps in error, that it was a two-part program. Part one was to put a parking garage on Main Street, turning the center of town into a 'walking mall.' The second part of the plan was to bulldoze the empty, eyesore, skid row, buildings of West 5th Street on the Harbor.

What they planned to do with the resulting open space was never mentioned.

My mother had just purchased two buildings on what was West 5th Street at the time. A widow – in economic times worse even than the present – she was frantic to keep us from starvation while the auto industry factories of Ashtabula closed one by one. There was one industry that would continue make money even if all the factories closed.

She bought a bar.

To Be Continued

Back at Jordan's Croft

We are back at Jordan's Croft. I wasn't able to find everyone I wanted to see. However I was able to have quality time with more people than I expected to see.

I came home with a full heart. Full of connections, full of news from dear friends, long lost family and acquaintances thought long dead. I also felt sorrow for those who struggled, with a dash of hope.

Life is hard in Ashtabula. There are so many people, places and things that can distract and derail the unwary. A single bad decision can put a person into the depths of poverty, never to regain their footing.

While Main Street was a ghost town, complete with weeds growing in the streets, the Harbor is still trying to grow. Bridge Street has a Sunday Farmer's Market. Yes, it was tiny, four vendors – Maple syrup and sugar, artisan bread, two tables with farm fresh vegetables. But I saw people walking away laden with goods.

In my mind the Farmer's Market is a great step forward for the Harbor.

Why? Because only small-scale, value added products like bread, maple syrup and vegetables – will turn that economy around. Micro-businesses enmeshed in each other; trading money and services will help people survive, maybe in thrive in time.

There has to be money coming into the county that stays in the county. Grocery stores take more money out than they put in. All that food money comes in but there are only a handful of employees. Unless the owner of the store lives in town, the bulk of the money goes elsewhere.

In a small-scale economy the farmer grows food, takes food to market, person buys food. The farmer reinvests that money the next year (maybe to hire help) to grow more food. The person gets fresh food and better health in return. The farmer is the basis for all economies. Everybody has to eat. When the farmer prospers, the county prospers.

Ashtabula will never be an industrial center again. Never, ever - not even if they hold their breath until they turn blue. The lake is all they have to offer in tourism – the Harbor is it. Seasonal work, seasonal money – making enough in the summer to survive over the winter.

I hated living like that; it sucked in 1980's, it sucks now.

But for the citizen of Ashtabula – that's all there is.

School Days Revisited

My High School Reunion was very interesting. There were the former cheerleaders running the show. About 60 people, including spouses, were there drinking local wine and exchanging gossip. They featured a local band that used to play in the Harbor when I was writing for the Harbor Journal.

Many of my classmates still live in 'Bula. I wonder how they survive.

My husband and I are staying in the Harbor – a cute little bohemian district of little shops and restaurants, Victorian houses and fabulous lakeside homes. I have always loved the Harbor, it has its quirks and characters; it quietly thrives (for the moment) while 'uptown' has gone to rack and ruin.

Main street is a ghost town, there is literally nothing in the old shops, and weeds grow in the street. It is appallingly poor, in a shocking state of disrepair. If I get the chance I will go back and take pictures. It looks like the Harbor did in 1970 before my mother opened her business there.

The class reunion was okay – interesting like I said. But I've been able to hook up with some dear old friends (from my wasted youth) and relatives.

We've had a great time.

Greetings from Ashtabula Harbor

Yes, we arrived at the Harbor today – checked into a Cahill House Bed & Breakfast, went to Walnut Beach and ate Capo's Pizza. Everything we could want is in walking distance – restaurants, little shops, bars, the beach, a museum and a library.

We are in a bay window of a house well over a hundred years old. The sounds of the docks, the trains, traffic down the cobbled streets are so familiar that the hair on my arms is standing up. The breeze off the lake is sweet and cool. There is no whiff of the river, or the storm drains as there is on Bridge Street, only two blocks down.

Has the Harbor changed much from the days of my 'wasted youth'? Some of the buildings are gone, most have changed hands; I hear there is a gang war going on – to be sure to have everything locked down tight. So no, not really, the Harbor was always an odd place, as beautiful and treacherous as Lake Erie herself. This is the perfect setting for characters like Van Man Go and Iris Winston.

In case you are curious this is the site for Cahill House: www.cahillbb.com as you will see it is a lovely old house.

Later!

Somewhere Out There

I've been gone from Ohio for 18 years. There were no jobs and no hope of ever having a descent life if I stayed. Here in Kentucky, we are comfortable, and I can have my horses and my farm without taking us to the poorhouse.

Yet, there was a trade off to escaping from abject poverty. This time of year, I think of far-flung familly, and wonder where they are.

I have a half-sister out there somewhere. I haven't seen or heard from her for 30 years. The last I knew, she was moving to Arizona. Her son, my nephew, vanished without a trace at the same time.

My sister's two sons have been lost in the shuffle of moving and divorce. Nevada was the last I heard. That was also 30 years ago.

I've also got a number of cousins that I've completely lost contact with. They never reply to Christmas cards, though I still send them out every year. Futile as it may be.

It's far to easy to lose the ones we care about, when "life" gets in the way. Google can get you an address, but nothing can give you contact with those who never reply.