Blogging is something one must sustain or the blog goes dry. Reruns or mulligans don't work. I've been focusing too much on writing and proofing and writing and editing. I just haven't written anything new here. Rambling isn't blogging, is it?

Okay, I am trying to push my butt towards at least publishing something. It's been nearly a year and half since I published the last two. It's not that I don't have plenty of stuff to publish, because I do. I'm sitting on top of nearly twenty completed novels. I hope to have The Perfect Spook House published by Halloween. Hoping and doing are not exactly cooperating. Procrastinating is working just fine though. I don't have writer's block and don't think I ever have. It's that drive to promote and sell that has come to a screeching halt. Sadly, that rests on my shoulders as all who self publish are aware. No one pays us to write. No one is out there peddling the goods. It falls squarely on our shoulders. It often makes you feel like a mutation, a cross between a used car salesman and snake oil peddler. It works for a while then it gets sort of old for me and those I'm dogging.

Every author, sounds too strange for me to admit I am, searches for that one break out book, one that makes the world take notice. Unfortunately there are a zillion hungry souls out there chasing the very same dream. You can only go to the well so many times before family and friends cry uncle and band you from the land. People begin avoiding eye contact, crossing to the other side of the street, stop commenting to your babbling on Face Book. Book sales become mercy killings.

I began writing in 2003 while cooped in a hotel three night a week during business travel. I did it for me, not real aspirations to publish. I cranked out a 650 page something called The Lord's Last Acres. Looking back at it now, it needs a tune up and should be sliced and diced, made into a series instead of one book. I wrote The Caregiver's Son for me, my way to overcome grief and depression after losing mama, daddy and granny in 11 months. I did it for me, never ever really expecting to share it with anyone else. Road Rage just came to me after we moved to the beach. I kept a log of near misses, crazy drivers, eye witnessed wrecks for a few weeks and came up with the idea, what if someone was pushed over the edge...and no, I am not a serial killer but I did stay at the Holiday Inn Express. Dark Thirty bubbling in my pea brain after seeing all the senseless bullying in this world. I liked my characters in Road Rage, thus North of the Border evolved and I'm currently winding down the third in the Detective Trudy Wagner series, Tithe and Offerings, with the plot of a forth already stewing, The Low Country Hunt Club.

Lou Who evolved from this crazy brain of mine, a woman suffering from Alzheimer's becomes possessed b a vengeful one hundred year old witch. Alzheimer's finds it way into many of my tales.

Absent on Arrival, a weird tale of something gone terribly wrong at a resort in the Smokey Mountains, a little Steven King sort of...and NO, I'm not comparing myself to the great one.

No Mulligan came to light after watching Tiger Woods life spiral out of control. I put my twist on the story and upped the anti to toss out a murder mystery with my usual twists.

The Perfect Spook House is depicted in Abbeville. Outside the Clique is centered in Calhoun Falls. A group of high school buddies attend a high school reunion many years later. One of the guys has lost touch with the others. Dark secrets exist for the homeboys who never left and he is soon reeled back into the clique where things are not one they seem.

The Tenth Elemental is centered around the world of Gnomes and deities in Maggie Valley.

More bullying exists. Mack, Dark Thirty Continues. Just what happened after the ending in Dark Thirty? I have a series of short stories geared towards young folks, Bully on Board.

I have two more kid's books completed but no published of course. Digging Sea Turtles and Mister Twix ix Missing, A Cat Scene Investigation.

Of course I have my Sasquatch Trilogy, the first two novels complete, (1) Foot (2) Another Foot and the third started, The Final Foot.

Characters from Foot series and Trudy Wager series cross paths in Last Stand on the Grand Strand, something primeval swims in the waters off the coast.

More memoirs:  (1) Cornbread and Buttermilk, Gold Ole Fashion Home Cooked Nostalgic Nonsense, (2) Soppin the Possum, the Second Helping (3) Fostering Four, my time as a foster parent


Have I babble blogged you senseless? How about this, the in progress projects that I am writing...

(1) The Hardwood Walker of Ports Harrelson Road, a tale from Bucksport, SC, based on factual events, with my spin added. (165 pages in the can)
2) Just Who the Heck on the Joneses (another mystery, 78 pages)
3) Raw Ride, a Good Ole Fashion Zombie Apocalyptic Shoot-um Up (44 pages)
4) Potential Novellas or Four stories within in one book titled Love from the Man Cave Perspective with four stories 1) Love from the Dark Side 2) The Longest Hello 3) The Single Guy's Roadmap to Marriage 4) The Widow Magnet
5) The Book Peddler - just what would you do to sell your books?
6) Potential kid's books 1) Walking my Fish 2) Chicken Lovers Inc. 3) Drum Stick and Jack-O-Lantern 4) The Pinecone People

And then MAYBE, the BIG SURPRISE, a nonfiction one might eventually see the light of day.

And one other project potentially, a collaboration with a talented Abbeville Classmate...

Say shut up...blogged you good, didn't I?

MYRTLE BEACH, SC (WMBF) - The sign at Myrtle Manor Trailer Park has been stolen again. Filming of the third season of TLC's reality show "Welcome to Myrtle Manor" is scheduled to begin at the park on Friday.

The sign was taken from the mobile home park at around 3 p.m. Tuesday, according to Barbara Patrick, the owner.

She and her husband Cecil said a police report has been filed. "Myrtle Manor," also known as Patrick's Mobile Home Park, is located off Highway 15 in Myrtle Beach. 

The Myrtle Manor sign was stolen back in March of 2013, shortly after the reality show premiered on TLC. 

The third season of the show is expected to begin filming on August 8, according to the Myrtle Manor Facebook page.

The reality show features the ‘colorful residents' in the ‘five-star trailer park' of Myrtle Manor, according to its website.

The show first aired March 3, 2013.

Copyright 2014 WMBF News. All rights reserved.

 

Okay, here's my take on this article posted on WMBF News website. I confess. I have watched every episode of Myrtle Manor thus far. I have even driven through the movie set location in Patrick Trailer Park. I live in Myrtle Beach so why wouldn't this intrigue me. This is similar to the perception of Tiger Woods. You either hate it/him or you love it/him, not much wiggle room for in between. I am a wiggler just the same. As mentioned in this article they're about to begin shooting episodes for season number three. Yep, I'll most likely watch them too. One must keep it in perspective. It's like watching wrestling on television. I go into this realizing most of it is staged and fake. Reality TV is not really reality as we live it. My life as a reality show would be canceled after the first episode...boring...that is unless I did stuff to make it more entertaining. Those who know me, know that isn't going to happen because I'm so shy and introverted. Well...I used to be.

Recap...the sign has been stolen for a second time. Souvenir hunter or someone totally embarrassed by the show, there lies the mystery. Possibly it was a publicity stunt or munity on the Myrtle. Some have been real pissed about the show depicting the community and palmetto state as a bunch of dumb ass hicks. Oddly, many of the characters on the show have been northerners. Actually depicting a Myrtle Beach trailer park speckled with northerners (Yankees for those not catching my drift), is probably more accurate. Living here for ten years now in the tourist community, I have realized that I am the minority, an anomaly, as few South Carolinians actually live here.

Be careful how you stereotype grand strand dwellers. Good ole boys don't sound like wise guys when they talk. We like grits, fried chicken, our style pizza and we wave when we meet you, whether we know you or not. We like the ways things are and don't expect the world to change just because we moved here. We're laid back and slow because it is less stressful and that's the way we like it. We're not lazy. We just work smart. Myrtle Manor is just a show. Wrestling isn't real. Make believe and an hour of silly ass entertainment is just that...entertaining.

I don't take it seriously and can remote to any one of a zillion other channels if I don't like it or feel offended. This is America. Right now I have choices. File that one away for another time; change isn't always good. I write this stuff because I like doing it. It's my form of entertainment for those who enjoy reading it and put up with my babbling. If you don't...then don't. I'll sleep well if you don't and you'll sleep better by not allowing it to get all bent out of shape. I write mostly fiction novels. Guess what, it's mostly make believe. Well, the names have been changed to protect the innocent or maybe the guilty.

Myrtle Manor...its just a show looking for ratings and a following. It's your choice to watch it or not. If the ratings suck, it will go away. Third season filming...someone must be watching. Get your own sign and leave theirs alone, how about it? Okay...now go back to whatever you were doing before I reeled you in...that is if you got this far.

Razing and Rulings

From out of bounds, a tale from the Whomper

Golfers like to trash talk or just plane raze their fellow whomping buddies. Rules are only good when the rule helps your score, not your opponents.

The score doesn’t really matter, especially if you’re playing badly.

            When the game turns really ugly, find a happy place and quit keeping score. Declare a practice round and hope you don’t birdie or hole one. If you do, begin rescoring once you make that first acceptable score.  

            The all inclusive excuse for the bad shot, I’m looking up. A cruise ship golf pro explained that it is physically impossible to look-up in the middle of a shot and demonstrated why this was mere myth. I still think you can look up.

            “You’re going to like it,” he shouts as my ball then rolls into the water or sand hazard or worse. Please refrain from calling my shots good until the ball actually stops rolling!

            “I’ve lost my wedge head cover.” After a quick search with no cover to be found, “Oh well, I have others at home.” Seems that Mr. Obsessive Compulsive keeps an extra set of head covers stashed away. Imagine that!

            The “you were talking while I hit” do-over. This one has been way too prevalent in our group. We all tend to imagine we hear those little voices somewhere that distracted us, prompting another free shot. “You were talking, do-over! I think you moved, do-over. You opened that beer, do-over!” Funny, no one ever calls a do-over when good shots are made, regardless to how much whooping and hollering is going on behind us.

            There is no such thing as a dishonest or unfair foot wedge if you maintain eye contact with your partner while in progress of adjusting the ball’s position. They didn’t see it, it’s fair. Root rules always apply. Trust me, even grass has roots which can justify repositioning your ball.

            Use of chain saws are not permitted, however, you may twist or break that tree branch, or pen it firmly behind another before attempting your shot. Better still; ask one of your cart buddies to hold the tree limb out of your back swing. Remember to ask them not to release it until you have completed the shot and cleared the area.

            Rock hard sand in the hazard: “I can’t hit out of this crap!” he yells. “Crap must be every where” is the proper response. OK so rake the sand thoroughly to fluff it up then replace your ball strategically on an elevated sandy tee. Complain about the wet sand if you still don’t make it out on your first attempt.

            Three attempts and ball is still in trap, however, most of the sand has now been deposited on the green. The proper call, “Are you finished sandblasting with that wedge, now? If so, either pick-up or just place it on the grass.” Counter that sarcastic remark by only counting one bad shot.

            Hit the ball in the water and there’s no drop area on the other side, declare one. Pick your own spot that improves your chances of greening the next shot.

            While removing all pine nettles, pine cones, sticks, pebbles and other debris from around your ball, often requiring that you strategically reposition your ball in the rough afterwards, your playing partner remarks “Do you need a blower or will a rake suffice?” 

            “Let’s plan to go fishing after the round. You’ve certainly dug up enough bait!”

            “Were all those turtles on shore before you hit your three balls in the water?”

            If your ball skips ten or more times across the water, you receive a free drop on the other side even if your ball doesn’t make it to dry land. Seems fare!

            If one whiffs at the ball or digs a trench behind it without making ball contact then a stroke can’t possibly apply. Just declare, “I didn’t hit it then try again!”

            It’s proper to declare a double boggy for that double par if money is not riding on the outcome, however, you will be provided assistance in tallying those strokes when wagers have been made. 

            Funny, your partners will tell you to pick up a five foot down hill putt, but you’ll have to hole that one footer if a buck is on the line.

            One never requests assistance to find your ball when you know it is hopelessly lost. Bend down; declare you found it as you strategically replace it with a new ball. Try to at least use the same name brand. Caution, if you find the first ball, even if shot is better, you must declare you just found an extra ball, not yours.

            It’s OK to hit a fellow partners ball (1) if neither of you have the ball initialed and his is the better of the two (2) he doesn’t know what brand you’re hitting (3) you’re in the trap and he’s not, and you arrive there first, make the switch quickly (4) You put his in your pocket and replace it with yours before partner arrives (5) he’s beating you shamelessly (6) you don’t like him or he’s pissed you off (7) if caught, you’re able to declare you’re intoxicated and thought you hit your own ball (8)  he’s intoxicated and will not know the difference (9) you’re both intoxicated (10) if it helps you brake a 100.

            Remember, it’s ok to trash talk and bend the rules among friends providing the friends can take the razing and dish it back at you and you can take it. If you’re playing with serious golfers, you’re on your own. If you’re bad as me, you have no business playing with real golfers. They really don’t appreciate our natural ability. It is so sad to be so misunderstood. See you in the rough! Bring your foot wedge!

Score Card Rules

Tales from the Whomper

OK, I concede that there should be rules on the golf course but what I don’t understand is why they must reference U.S.G.A. Rules on the score cards. U.S.G.A. rules shall govern all play. U.S.G.A. rules apply.  U.S.G.A. rules govern play. U.S.G.A. rules govern play except where modified by local rules. U.S.G.A. rules govern all play unless amended by local rule. Hey, we’re Whompers. Most of us don’t even know the meaning of the acronym.  Heck most of us don’t know the definition of acronym. And besides the touring professional, who really carries a U.S.G.A. Rule Book; certainly not the average guy?

As if we didn’t have enough to deal with, each golf course tosses in its own little list of rules that may or may not comply with U.S.G.A. These typically include an assortment of out of bounds rules. We must contend with the meaning of the white stakes, yellow stakes, red stakes or that confusing water hazard flag that is not marking the hole on the green. Let’s not forget the environmentally sensitive areas that will require referring to Rule 26/1 if you’re unfortunate enough to whack your ball in the swamp land.

Oh yeah, the roads are out of bounds to the right of #1 and to the left of #18. I’m not even going to mention those shots that slam a condo, house or barbeque grill. Is it acceptable to retrieve your ball if no one is in the yard or comes outside after you rattle their siding? And don’t play from their flower beds as you must take a drop and seek relief not nearer to hole. My buddies do relieve themselves in the flowers whether their ball landed in the bed or not. One is specifically attracted to azaleas.

Rake bunkers, repair ball marks, and fill divots with sand provided on your cart. Look, there’s enough sand on the golf course without us having to haul it around on the cart. I’m proud of those divots, especially the ones that could sub for a hair rug. 

Each operator of golf cart must be at least 16 years of age. Trust me, age shouldn’t be considered as a requirement. We have members in our group that are triple that age and we won’t let them drive the cart but then again, that too is another story.

Please keep pace of play in mind. We always keep this in mind especially when the group ahead is going too slow. The most bazaar rule appeared on a score card in the Dominican Republic: We believe a round of golf should take no longer than 4:20. Do not waste time. Be ready to make a shot when it is your turn to play and don’t be afraid to shoot out of turn if doing so will contribute importantly to the progress of your group. All players are expected to keep up with the group in front. Golf ranger has full authority on the golf course to maintain rules and speed of play. Now doesn’t that make you feel warm and fuzzy? I passed on printing my foursome’s most colorful commentary for this rule.

Proper golf attire required. Now here’s where we could probably use another rule book. I’ll devote a segment on golf trending in a future article. Keep the rule simple; no jeans allowed, collared shirt and shoes required. Non-metal spike facility appeared on one card. I didn’t know they still made metal spikes?

The most un-American rule: Coolers Not Allowed. Trust me, there are many counters to this rule; all of which I will cover in another segment also. The newer golf bags are wondrous inventions as are the creative minds of the Whomper. 

The listings of ball drop areas are a good thing even though many that we select are not always listed on the card. For those rules not governed by the U.S.G.A. or local course you must consult your foursome or just go out on a limb and make that call yourself.

We do have our own rules too. Rock and root rules, improving a lie, proper usage of a mulligan, when is a ball really out of bounds, rake use other than in bunkers and when to call a do-over are an intricate part of the round just to mention a few. Pencil these in if needed or just fluff them like we do. Fair ways are fair plays; the jury of your peers will decide.

Rules, sort of reminds me of that one about not removing that tag from a mattress. Who really knows or cares if you follow them or not unless you’re in tournament play or it means something to your golfing buddies. When you shoot in triple digits, rules are the least of your problems. Oops, I said I’d keep this under 800 words. Darn, I’m at 812. 



Okay, I get it. Headlines are supposed to grab your attention. When reading the news on line I gravitate to the ones that have some punch. Sadly too often the headlines are just that and the story doesn't tell you much more than what just hooked you. What gets my goat is when the headline is deceiving and has nothing to do with what you thought you were about to read. Truth, how about people and give us something worth opening it. What if I would have started this blog entry with Miracle Cure Break Through and then when you assessed it I rambled about how I now publish books and it's miracle to cure your boredom in other ho-hum authors. The headlines below are good examples, either no further information or too little to be worth reading. Hooked me just the same...


Connecticut man arrested after stabbing watermelon
Snake knocks out power for some homes in Horry County
Battle over Confederate flag license plate rages on
Invasive pythons hatching throughout southwest Florida

Okay, you get it. I'm done.

From the fairways of Whomping the Golf Ball, another adventure:

The Coon Whisperer 

Whomping along the Grand Strand seems I encounter more wild life than what I am accustomed to in the Upstate of South Carolina. These encounters happen much more frequent and can vary from comical, to annoying, to potentially deadly. There are some wondrous creatures along these marshes and waterways for sure.

            On the Upstate courses it’s not unusual to see turkey strutting their stuff, the occasional wandering deer and squirrels squiring either and there. Squirrels along the coast can never be trusted as they will forge from your cart ever opportune moment.         Spring does enhance your chances on snake encounters as they’re out doing the dirty in the peak of mating season. Typically these encounters catch both you and the snake by surprise sending each in opposite directions.

            Crows and the hunting birds of prey are mainstays along the upstate courses. The marsh lands have their egrets, cranes and heron. Canadian Geese and their droppings are prevalent every where.

            Fire ants are probably the fiercest foes we have to worry with in the upstate and they lurk on the beach links too. These little buggers will attack in masses when their mounds are disturbed and will cause you to peel out of your golf apparel and dance like you’re trying to bring on a rain storm.  Mosquitoes can swarm in great numbers along the wetlands and will send you in to that Macarena dance, slapping and covering ever inch of the exposed body.

            Did I mention alligators? Too many courses have gators on the Strand, especially inland. Heck, all we had to worry about in the upstate was a frantic chameleon falling into your draft beer.

            OK, I think you have the picture now. Playing with three of my whomping buddies at the Wild Wing course, beach breezes blowing and humidity melting us like the witch in Oz, we plundered along making the best of another wonderful after work experience. Only a few holes into the round, something was up. Have you ever had that strange feeling that you’re either being watched or worse, followed? We did.

            Soon we spotted a masked bandit flanking our every move from the rough along the fairway. Fortunately for me, I made this observation from the fairway instead of from the rough where I am accustomed to playing. We maintained a watchful eye on our adversary, knowing how sneaky those little fox squirrels could be, we could only imagine the havoc this larger version could wreck.

            Becoming bolder, the coon skin cap wantabe left the cover of the brush and shadows advancing closer to our carts. Being the animal lover than I am, I tossed it a handful of pistachios and its boney little hands methodically made easy work of the shelled goodies, partaking of the bounty.   

            Leaving him in our wake, we completed the hole and advanced to the next tee box. Our little friend had now tasted the rewards of good fortune, knowing a short cut through the woods separating the fairways, lurked a couple of hundred yards out waiting for our tee shot. He didn’t know who he was messing with; I can’t hit it 200 yards. The game, however, was on with the masked ranger!

            As we approached our fairway shot, he advanced to check the cart’s menu. I tossed him more pistachios to keep him busy while the four of his advance our shots. Making quick work, he again continued his hot pursuit. Short cuts, he obviously knew them all.

            This time he waited patiently as we arrived at the tee box, a 170 yard par 3 across the water hazard. Gerald, tiring of this little meddler, decided to send him packing.  Frantically waving his nine iron, yelling obscenities, he charged the bandit and confused by the hospitality gone bad, it scurried into the under brush.

            Gerald, strutted proudly back toward the tee, mission accomplished. He had conquered the wild beast showing the loathly raccoon that man still ruled. Gerald with his back now to the forest, a bit of spontaneity kicked in and I figured this would be a great time for me to point behind him and yell “COON!” This brainstorm far exceeded my wildest expectations.

            Gerald, certain that the quarry has returned with vengeance, never glancing over his shoulder, tucked ass and began high stepping it toward the tee box. His arms were now flailing in some sort of defensive manner, club no longer the weapon it had once been. The remainder of our foursome joined in and pointed, confirming Gerald’s belief that the coon now chomped at his heals. Made you feel like screaming, “Run, Forest, Run!” Alas, we were all belly aching with laughter, all except Gerald who had yet to turn and see how close the critter might be.

            Finally, he mustered the courage to locate the predator and of course, no creature was stirring, not even a mouse. He had been had!  Being true whompers, re relived the moment for the remainder of the round, busting a gut along the way.

            E-mails erupted the nest work day as the Coon Whisper chapter had been added to Whomper history. Gerald, now the new found leader of the coon clan, drew notoriety where he would have least expected it. For many rounds thereafter, one of us would break in to the coon dance, bringing the house down. The Whisperer would never be forgotten, even though we never saw our little masked buddy on the course again; too embarrassed I suppose to be caught dead on the same fairway with Gerald. Whompers rule!

See you later alligator...fairway surprise from the tee box @ Oyster Bay Golf Course in Sunset Beach, N.C.