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Thursday, June 07, 2018

Happy Birthday To Me



I tend to write a birthday post every year. Sort of a State of the Angela Address if you will. Continuing with that tradition because literally tens of people care how I'm doing. Most of them are hoping I close the arc in my sci-fi series.

I'm 53 this year. I see no reason to be coy with my age. That's just a stupid denial of reality I refuse to take part in. I have a husband, four kids, three grandkids, three dogs and two cats. I have a home I love, a truck, a car, and a motorcycle I threaten my husband with death if he doesn't keep it running.

I love my family. We keep growing and hopefully will continue to do so. You can never have too many people poking into your business, wanting to know how you are. Trust me on this.

The writing is going great. I'm learning a lot from other writers who don't treat the profession as if it's a Secret Society like the Bilderburgs or something. I just finished the rough draft for Cautious Cat yesterday and will begin polishing it tomorrow. I'm taking a day to relax. I've already got the rough outline for the next Sci-Fi story and arc. So, the imagination is still working well. Thank God something is.

This last year, with the heart problems (I know! We were all shocked to find I had one, too!) was a trial. It feels like everything hits you at once. I think it hit the kids the hardest. Mom is supposed to be the steel girder that's always there to hold things up. We keep those plates spinning. Suddenly I wasn't and couldn't be. It was a scary time for all of us. I kinda freaked out when I was looking at triple bypass surgery, that was actually solved with one stent.  Someone still wants me around, I guess.

I find myself still in love with this world. The people? Not so much, but the actual planet and other animals on it, hells yeah. We were supposed to visit New Zealand later this year on our anniversary, but due to some health issues, we decided to put it off until next year.

I would still love to see Tigers in the wild, as they are meant to be seen. I don't want to become one of those women who becomes too fragile to even leave the house. Even though I hate leaving my house. I want the option to leave if I want to. You know, like a cat.

So, I'm going to kick back with a good book and listen to STP's Dead and Bloated and laugh, because I'm alive.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

The Long Road

As I write this, I've been up for hours, already writing over 2500 words today on my newest book as well as looking over email and social media. I get most of my work, in fact, most of my thinking, done early the morning. By 10 AM I am ready to take a nap, most days.

When I first started this blog is was mainly about my disgust with the bourgeoisie and the Global Warming BS I was witnessing almost hourly. Some of the friends I made way back then I still have now, regardless of ideological stripe.  I've remained a nobody while many have rocketed into the public eye. Lord Monckton and Mark Stein come immediately to mind.

My fight against the so-called "environmentalism" started in the early 90s, believe it or not, with the recycling craze. I was screaming from the rooftops that there are only two things humans make that can easily and affordably be recycled and that's aluminum and paper. I'm sorry, but it's true. You cannot effectively recycle glass or plastics. You can melt them down to form them into other things that may or may not (as in most cases) be able to be used for something else, but the remade form is never as strong as an original piece and simply does not last or all houses in Mexico and Central America would already be made of plastic.

I have been harping on and on about there being no consensus and no real scientist would make the claims that the Climate Change Alarmists have already been disastrously wrong about. I have actually been calling for the end of the EPA since the early 80s. The ONLY thing that most environmentalists and I agree on is protection of wildlife, but then again, you have that lunatic fringe who go that bit too far.

You see, I've always recognized these loons for the Watermelons they are. Green on the outside, Red on the inside. They see the environment as nothing more than another shackle to enslave people's bodies and minds. Doubt me? Then why aren't African nations allowed to handle their own resources? Because Black people are too stupid to do it themselves, and they need the help of these thieves who siphon off every last resource for themselves, while enslaving the African peoples in the name of "Aid".

Every time I am lambasted for my views on this subject, something comes out shortly after showing I was right all along. For years I argued, as did any sane scientist, that the Sun is the engine of our weather and that solar maximums and minimums have much to do with our climate.  No! They cried. It has to be caused by man because I hate myself! They say. Man is bad!

I can only imagine the pressures on their psyches that caused that degree of self-hatred.

I have raged about the educational system that indoctrinates our children rather than teaching them what they need to get along in life, like their own governmental systems. It's all about how the text writer "feels" it should be. Feels before reals, everyone!

There are times I've felt completely alone out in this rational wilderness. However, over the years I have had the company of Objectivists, like myself, Conservatives and some Liberals who have seen the light and began speaking out. Alex Epstein was great with his defense of fossil fuels and fracking. Yuron Brook was instrumental in my understanding of coerced markets. Once you see the truth, you cannot unsee it. To pretend otherwise is insanity.

America leaving the Paris Accords was a great move. Once that agreement was shown the light of day it quickly withered and died as more countries left. That was a start. The Kyoto Accords must be nuked from orbit and the UN must be totally disbanded. The harm that one body does in mind-boggling. That we allow it in our name is astounding.

So, I am going to go research space crafts fighting one another in space and try to get a real feel for Jinking and the Kessler Effect as I write my fiction. It still doesn't beat the fiction that is Global Warming.

Wednesday, May 02, 2018

Words For My Friend

It's taken me a few days to write this post. I'm not sure I can do the subject justice, but I shall endeavor to do a good job.

I awakened Sunday morning to find that a very good, long-time friend had died. It wasn't completely unexpected, he'd had health problems the past 10 years, heart attacks and such, but it was a blow. A major blow.

Reg was one of my first friends on AOL. We met in a chatroom, traveled through many together and with our little cohort. We even had a little private room for us when things got crazy in the political chats. To me, he was the king of the NewsRoom. He was there most evenings. If I am not mistaken, my sister introduced us. For the past 20-odd years, I had spoken to Reg on nearly a daily basis.

About 15 years ago, Reg had a heart attack. At that point we had a daily email thread with many of us from AOL and we all got worried when we couldn't contact him. We finally found out that he'd been hospitalized and was in serious danger. Until that point, none of us had any idea of his health problems.

Reg worked for the parks department in the city where he lived.He had funny stories to tell about goings on in the parks he oversaw. But, more than that, Reg saw the moral rot at the bottom of the Progressivism taking over Canadian Politics.

He had a clear view of the East vs West dichotomy in Canadian Politics. After we invaded Iraq after 9-11, he sent me an Op-Ed from the Edmonton paper wherein the author of the piece begged President Bush to invade Alberta, they had oil, too. Making fun of the Left's argument for the only reason we went to Iraq.

He was good at spotting stuff like that in his daily read of the paper. A few years earlier he had sent me a tribute to a photojournalist who had just died. I can't remember the guy's name and I wish I could because it was a beautiful piece. The photojournalist had received a ton of flack for his pictures of Soviet Russia. His editors were angry that everything looked so famously shabby and frankly, awful.

The man told his editors that he could not pretend he didn't see what he had actually seen with his own eyes. His editors were angry that they could not force him to not tell the truth about what he'd seen. The story was published with his pictures and extreme prejudice of the editing pencil.

That was Reg, in a nutshell. He could never imagine not explaining what he'd seen with his own eyes as something other than what he'd actually seen. He was a straight shooter. The best one.

As a friend, Reg was the same. He talked to me through a bad divorce and came to visit me after I'd remarried. He stayed with us and we ordered in pizza and watched cheesy movies and it was fun. So much fun. He bravely slept on our sofa bed and my girls liked him. Anyone who buys them pizza is well-liked.

I never got to see him again. Life happens. I finally got him on Facebook and I was friends with his niece because I didn't want the horror of him disappearing again. It's funny that I discovered his death through a mutual friend rather than his family I was friends with. I will admit, I shut down when I read the announcement. Simply put, I never thought, even with all the foreshadowing, that I would ever live in a world without Reg in it. We spoke nearly daily.

Reg was my touchstone. I would discuss things with him to make sure my head was right. Sometimes he agreed with me, other times he didn't. When he didn't he would sent me links to stories that would show me where my thinking went wrong. He was a a rock when I lost my son and understood when I didn't talk to anyone for months. I couldn't. He was there when I could, welcoming me back with his understanding.

My husband thought he was nice, but, in typical fashioned, side-eyed him because he was another male I held great affection for. But, I think his visit helped to show him, we were great friends, the best.

I often joked that I would sponsor him to move to America, knowing he never would. He was a proud Canadian. You can tell by his posts online that he was. Nobody could be disgusted with something to that degree without loving it first, and foremost. He wanted better for Canada than Canadians wanted for themselves. He railed against the numerous separatist movements from Quebec, against the creeping progressivism of the government, the speech codes and ultimately, the election of Baby Trudeau as PM a few years back.

I think, until the past year, he always thought Canada would find its way back to normalcy. The piling on of Jordan Peterson, the ridiculousness of Trudeau, especially overseas, recently showed him that perhaps he was wrong.

I would send him links to Molson's old "I Am Canadian" beer commercials. We both laughed hard at them. Our biggest joke in chats was asking about Office Glen. He had a wild sense of humor. I will miss it. I don't get down often, but he usually always pulled me out. The only failure being my depression after losing my son.

Writing this and thinking about the years I'd known him helped a lot. Many memories came up that I'd stowed away in some mental closet somewhere. They all brought a smile and some sadness. I will never, ever have those moments with him again. But, I do have the memories. They are good memories.

I will miss you, Reg. You were someone very much worth knowing.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

What I Notice When I'm Pissed Off

I am sickened by the latest school shooting. The loss of those young lives is felt keenly by everyone whose lives they touched. At each one of these things we are all shocked, horrified and finally helpless because, what the hell can we do? It's so random, so chaotic there is no way to predict who will do what where.

Except for this latest one in Florida.  This one act brought several things into sharp contrast for me. Between being sent a link for video that I needed to look at to noticing certain things happen at certain times. The thing that hit me the most was the frustration from the Sheriff's office where this happened. I get that frustration. I get why the Sheriff said what he did. He's hit by this. He probably knew several students, their parents, and he tried to get the FBI to listen to him and they didn't.

I am going to try to stay as focused as I can here and cite my beef as accurately as I an. Because I'm angry. I'm angry that people are out there trying to make political bones off the deaths of 17 people who should have never been in danger.

The first item I would like to address is a video posted as the shootings were happening. This is a YouTube video that James Allsup took issue with because of the timing and the message as all of this was happening. I made the remark that it was as if they knew it was going to happen. This is not the only happening that showed certain people had amazing precognitive abilities during the shooting.


Then there is Senator Chris Murphy (D-Conn) who hit the floor of the Senate WHILE THE SHOOTINGS WERE STILL HAPPENING. How did he know? The Cruz kid was still shooting people inside the school? How did he know? This is a guy from Connecticut. It's not like constituents were blowing up his phone to let him know what was happening. The police were not even at the building yet. Let that sink in for a moment.

And, now we come to the crux of all of this. The FBI KNEW about this kid and did nothing and the lame excuses they are throwing out today stick of bullshit.

One kid who had seen the Cruz kid's skreed online notified the FBI who had an agent call him and appeared to take it seriously at first, then told the kid they could not identify who had posted what was reported. The guy gave him Cruz's name and information but nothing was done by the FBI. The Sheriff had contacted the FBI because of what he was posting on social media and was being reported by citizens. He was told they couldn't identify the kid and he, like the guy earlier, was ignored.

You want to know what I think? I think Christopher Wray has a lot of explaining to do to not just the parents and families of those killed in yesterday's murders, but to the families of the victims of the Orlando nightclub shooting and the Boston Marathon bombing.

Perhaps the FBI was too busy holding their dicks in their hands, turning in circles looking for Russia Collusion that never happened with Trump, but rather with his electoral opponent but agents were to fucking busy looking for ghosts to properly investigate the reports that appear to have flooded in about this kid. Now I no longer think it's just the top of the FBI that stinks, but it appears that the rank and file agents are no better than their bosses. Lazy and all too willing to overlook anything that is politically non-expedient for them. Christopher Wray needs to be fired. Immediately.

Now. to hit this where it needs to be hit. The Media. Who, as it happens, appear to have been waiting just down the block when the shooting started and had their news vans there before the police showed up, and were grabbing kids running from the building to interview them. How did they know?

Cruz was 19 and legally purchased the firearm he used in the shooting. He was able to buy the gun because the FBI did not do their damned job. As you will see in James Allsup's video, Cruz was posting, prolifically, his picture of torturing animals, dressed up in Antifa gear, balaklava and all, and his Socialist leanings.

Everyone knew this kid was going to do this. They tried to warn authorities and were ignored, including the Sheriff of the county where this happened. I don't blame guns. This one I lay at the feet of the FBI. If they had done their damned jobs this kid would never have been able to buy a gun, and might have been locked up after a 71 hour mental hold showed he was clearly psychotic.

This is what happens when children are indoctrinated. This is what happens when the cognitive dissonance becomes so bad because what the kid is told and what he witnesses are so at odds with each other. This is what happens when Progressives get your kids.

So, stop with the "Take away all the guns and this will never happen again!" stupidity. A guy called into the Rush Limbaugh show today and made a very salient point. The next school shooter already has his gun or knows how to get a hold of it easily. I wish that one of those teachers there had been carrying and taken that malignant stain out. I really do. Perhaps we would not have so many grieving people today. Perhaps we would not be grieving anyone but celebrating how a good guy with a gun stopped a bad guy with a gun.

People who want to perpetrate evil will always find a way to do so. This Cruz kid did.

Tuesday, February 06, 2018

An Open Letter To Theresa May

To Theresa May, Prime Minister of Great Britain

IN RE: Brexit

I'm American, so I think it might be best if you imagine the Marjorie Dawes reading this to you. It works best for me, as well.

You're not doing very well, are you? I mean, the referendum was pretty clear, you got your MP stripes, as it were, and then what? Oh dear, lots and lots of dithering. You love you some dithering, don't you. You've dithered so much that you had to form a coalition to keep your digs at 10 Downing Street, right?

That does not bode well at all.

It's almost like people you see you and Saddiq Khan in the same light, yeah? God knows, he's not a popular man about town.

I'll be honest, I've never liked you. Even though you were elected PM of Great Britain and all, you have the stick of The Swamp all over you. I've sat back for years now and watched as you bulloxed up something that should have been pretty straightforward. The fact is, leaving the EU is really easy. Really easy. You just tell the EU to go pound sand and watch as they crumble. The fact that you haven't, that you have drawn it out shows everyone that you don't really want to leave and are, in point of fact, disenfranchising each person in England who voted to leave.

I'll be honest, I don't know if you're buying into the migrant clap-trap or you've realized that unless you change your ways the NHS collapses in about ten years, if it can heave itself along that long.

I will tell you the most dangerous mindset in the whole of this planet. And that is to continue to do something that is not working because that's the way it's always been done. If you're so stupid as to believe that you can go against the will of your voters, then I would suggest that Jacob Rees-Mogg might be a better replacement. He appears to at least listen to what the people are saying, which is more than you have been doing since you moved into Downing Street.

If you will allow me to make a suggestion, from a former colony, you know, the one you don't bend knee to as you do the rest of them... Yes, I get we beat your butts in our little Revolution... but, I feel it incumbent upon me to point out to you that they don't just happen on our side of the pond. They can happen on your little island as well. And knowing our current president, odds are, there is not much help coming your way from this side of the Atlantic if you do get into a spot of trouble.

I get it. You're scared right now. Scared of losing the power you perceive yourself to have. You only have that power because of your social contract that you accepted when you were elected. You promised to promote the best interest of the people in your nation who voted to leave the EU. It was a lot of people, Mrs. May. I'm assuming you're a missus, although you do look like a dues paying member of NOW.

Many people voted to leave the EU. Many people won't be happy if it doesn't happen and soon. You've spent enough time dithering, madam. DO YOUR DAMNED JOB.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Modern Day Secession, Same Reasons

I think, if we went back to, maybe, 1860, and looked at the headlines in the newspapers, we would see that the Democrats aren't any different then, in their protection of slavery, than they are today in their protection of... slavery.

Except, the slaves are no longer just black, they are brown, incredibly impoverished, and lured here by the promise of "a better way of life", instead of being kidnapped by neighboring tribes, sold on the Slave Coast and then brought to America to work forever as well as their children, because there is nothing that Democrats love more than Chattel Slavery.

Lately, there has been a lot of discussion of sanctuary cities, states rights. This time the Democrats are looking for new forms of slavery, and they found it in Central and South American poverty. Sure, sure, they have to pay them a little bit and let them live in a corner of the basement, but slavery made them pay for the food, clothing and shelter of their slaves, this is actually cheaper. And there is nothing more that Democrats love than cheap slavery.

Doubt me? Take a walk in a New York City Park. Note the nannies taking care of the white children in that bastion of Progressive wonderment.

These proud Democrats proudly hire illegal immigrants, basically imprison them, forcing them to clean up after them and give them a few bucks a week with an hour off, and call themselves "caring".

In every single Sanctuary City there is a huge need for nannies and lawn maintenance. Why should Democrats have to pay a decent price for these services? Can't you see how hard they're working knitting Pussy Hats? Exactly what kind of Simon Legree are you?

They proudly screamed for $15/hr minimum wage where they live, and then realized they don't want to afford that price. Therefore they need a workforce they can exploit. Enter the illegal aliens who were put to work in their homes and sweatshops, producing their clothing that they can sell for outrageous prices to people just as stupid as they are in their trendier than thou boutiques.

All of a sudden California is all about the Tenth Amendment.

Think on that for a moment.

Friday, December 15, 2017

Serious Thoughts on Writing Romance



When I was in school I minored in psychology, quite by accident on my part, and high hopes on my advisor’s part. Trust me, psychology is nothing more than manipulating people through learned behaviors and that kind of power in my hands is not a good thing. It was good thing I did when I refused to take the three or four credit hours I needed for the double major.

Several times a year some old school friends and I get together in a chat room and catch up, and we always have a December get together. End of year sort of thing. We’ve lost a few members through death or disinterest, but the five core members of our little group have remained. The others in our group all graduated from medical school, except one, who didn’t like the pressure and went into pharmaceuticals, I think. I was the only one in an “allied field” as it’s become known, as I majored in biology, molecular biology to make that point as fine as possible. I was very good at microbiology and was fascinated with the mitochondrion since I discovered it as age eleven.

I’m the only one who doesn’t work in science at all. I left the field over twenty years ago, in pure disgust over the environmentalists ruining peer review and grant begging. I made the observation that if you wanted to get your grant money just add, “…and its effect on the environment.” To the end of any abstract. It’s now called global warming.

I received a fair amount of ribbing when I began writing romance books. I read them in college in between science texts and trade journals. I’ve been listening to jokes about my bodice rippers for over thirty years. I can take a joke. However, when I dived into the pool of people who wrote them, that brought my friends up short. For the first time, I heard, from them, that I was throwing my education away, and didn’t I feel guilt for not using my education for the betterment of mankind. I know, I laughed that they really didn’t know me if they could say that with a straight face.

So, I explained. I had already had two glasses of scotch and some Christmas cookies, so I completely did everything off the cuff from vague memories of Dr. William’s and Dr. Cadwalder’s lectures on abnormal psychology and psychological paradigms.
I have re-read the logs and this is what I have managed to put together to justify my use of my education while writing what they consider trivial chick lit.

Every genre of literature has an archetypal hero/antihero/villain. All of these archetypes are based on innate fears we bring into the world with us. Infants show fear of spiders and snakes before exposure to those creatures, showing that fear is not a learned behavior, but an innate one. That is why a fear of spiders can rarely be allayed, because it’s part of our genetic makeup.

When we look back on evolution and evolutionary psychology, humans have an innate fear of cat-snake-bird. This is our genetic fear of things that hunt in trees that primates learn to identify and avoid. Our eyesight is developed to be able to discern their markings in a tree so that our primate ancestors could identify and thereby avoid predators.
The cat-snake-bird that breathes fire is a dragon, a symbol, a representation of all of our fears as early man developed. The ultimate predator. So, we need a warrior, a gladiatorial archetype to defend us against this ultimate danger, a protector and thus was born the romantic archetype in Chivalry, which is still present in our literature today.

The dragon was also the ultimate antihero in that it’s job, in our mythology was the protector of virgins and treasure. Dragons are a symbol that are found worldwide.

You can go back to Marduk, the Babylonian god who has a dragon he’d made into a pet. Marduk had faced the danger, protected the world and tamed the cat-snake-bird that breathed fire. He was the hero who slew Tiamat, and used the pieces of her body to create heaven and earth. Tiamat had created the dragons and monsters of the world before Marduk killed her. He is therefore the savior or humanity, a hero.

So, the archetypes we use in romance writing for our protagonists and antagonist go back sixty-million years. Much longer than literature itself.

Without even realizing what we are doing while we’re reading we are identifying danger and protection through the imagery of the words. If you doubt me, you’ve never read Byron.

In the past few years there has been a veritable gold rush in the genre of paranormal romance. You cannot swing a dead cat without hitting someone who is writing about vampires, werewolves or dragons.

Vampires, werewolves and dragons are all literary devices which all hearken back to the cat-snake-bird because they are the ultimate predators and therefore an extraordinary hero is needed to vanquish them. And so, we created the Knight Errant.

It was at this point I was basically in pure bullshit mode and pulling things out of my ass from long forgotten lectures and books read on evolutionary psychology and the thimble of knowledge I have on anthropology. I had to throw in the Babylonian mythology because it was something I’d recently read and it fit. I was literally putting this together as I wrote.

All of my scholarship, bogus and real, garnered one response. “Wow. You’ve really given this some thought.”

Yes, I had thought long and hard before I sat down to begin writing down the stories that had inhabited my brain for far too long. I never begin any endeavor without giving it a great deal of thought and trying to figure out all the angles, because I’ve spread myself very thing several times over my life and I don’t want to get back into that place.

It may seem frivolous to many that some people choose to write about magic, space travel, other worlds, but for many of us this is serious business. I don’t write my stories for the money. I think my royalty statements prove that. I write because I have characters and plots in my head trying to get out. There are several writers I know who tell me their characters speak to them, demanding their story be written. Now. I get that, I really do.

Yes, I write romance books. I write interesting stories that I think tell good stories. Just because they seem silly to some, does not mean they are silly at the basic root of the tale. As with all human stories, they are cautionary tales to teach people to beware of the dangers of the cat-snake-birds in our midst, how to identify and avoid them. I can’t think of anything more important than that.