Kenneth Weene: Take Revenge On Aging By Writing!

Everyone's Story welcomes author Kenneth Weene. Ken, with his wife, is a transported New Englander now settled down in the golden land of Arizona sun. But, is life truly brilliant for Ken? Ken, a writer with the background of teaching, psychology, and pastoral counseling, will share a bit of mirth with us readers and writers--and all those who fall in-between--on how to combat the aging process with not only grace but what I consider the panacea to seeing the years slip by. And besides, who can disagree with a man who has the confidence to hold a cuddly teddy bear?

Pill Talk by Kenneth Weene

It wasn’t my recent birthday that got to me; it was my checkup.

I have for some time decided that I would measure my age not by years but by the number of pills I take each day. That was the day that a cholesterol drug had to be added, which brought the number to six including that daily vitamin pill. In a fit of childish stubbornness, I refuse to include the antihistamines I take so often; they are more like a life companion lurking about and awaiting contact with flowers, grass, trees, or dust. Given that list those pink pills have become the uninvited guest in my life.

Two years later a good friend suggested I add a supplement, something to offset side effects of that “statin” drug. I resisted, started, stopped the new pill, re-studied the issue, argued with myself, and eventually raised the number to seven. I was seven pills old. No, I wasn’t going to count the antacids that had joined those antihistamines. Sure I took one every other day, but it was hardly a measure of my aging that food was so often indigestible.

That was enough – seven pills old. I counted myself lucky. Many of my friends were on far more. Better yet, two of the seven were over-the-counter medications. Maybe they shouldn’t count as full pills even if I did take them every morning. Still, seven was clearly older than six. It had been a blow. But over time I had come to live with reality. Seven pills it would be.

I should have known better. I never schedule doctors’ appointments right around my birthday. My ego is fragile enough. I look in the mirror each year and appraise the damage. That’s when I count the pills and breathe a sigh of relief. Seven pills and no more. But this year by a scheduling fluke I ended up in my doc’s office the day after my birthday.

I made the best of it. I even brought him a copy of my newest novel, Tales From the Dew Drop Inne. I was very consciously saying, “See, my mind is still sharp. I’m just fine.”

After a bit of poking and prodding, I obliged the customary urine sample and allowed the resident vampire to suck a couple of vials of blood from my easily available veins. “Piece of cake,” I thought as I headed home.

Two days later his assistant called. “Ken, you’re low on vitamin D. He wants you to take 300 units a day. We’ll draw your blood again in six weeks.”

The pills are tiny; yet they carry so much weight. Vitamin D – isn’t that something you get from sunshine and drinking milk? Isn’t that for strong bones and teeth? Good Lord, is my skeleton melting away? Am I shrinking? Disappearing?

That's when it hit, the great fear and trembling of aging. It isn’t that I have gone from being seven pills old to eight but that I am terrified of disappearing in the sad way the elderly have. It is a shrinking away – no one wants to hear you tell the old stories, nobody want to walk slowly enough to keep you company. The grandchildren no longer want you to play with them – only drop them off at the best hiding trail. Your grown children come to visit and ask in a voice that suggests you are no longer there what they can do for you – what you can no longer do for yourself. You become irrelevant, unnoticed, a frail body propped on a bench until the pigeons notice that you are gone and go elsewhere to look for bits of bread.

No. NO! I cannot accept it. I will do what I must. Not the gym – don’t be silly. I shall begin another book. Until it comes out, I hope that doctor can refrain from adding number nine.

Some Questions for Ken

Ken and Sadie

Your background of teaching, psychology, and pastoral counseling, are all fields where you help others. Now that you're a writer, do you feel a sense that your writing comes to your aid in that it provides you a means to help cope with concerns?

I hope that my writing will help people to understand what life can be like for those who aren’t quite so happily situated. I write about widows, quadriplegics, infertile women, lonely men, people dying of AIDS; and that’s just in Widow’s Walk. Hopefully, I am drawing on my interpersonal sensibilities and knowledge to help readers get a deeper understanding of what it means to cope.

You describe your writing as "tragi-comedic" and leaning toward the dark side. Yet, I wonder if a novel truly captures life if it can leave out both the tragic and the comedic side of life? Any further thoughts about this? Who is your target audience?

If we don’t appreciate the tragic-comedic, we end up losing sight of what makes us all “more nearly human than otherwise.” Life is very much like a baby first learning to walk, falling down, perhaps crying for a bit, but then getting up and trying again. Each time that little one lands on his/her bottom we tend to laugh. But, when the child tries again, we cheer and applaud. My characters are very much like that kid. Hopefully readers get that same sense of alternating sympathizing and chuckling. For example, almost every chapter in Tales From the Dew Drop Inne tells us of human foibles and also of the need for these characters, who are barely holding on in the world, to connect to and care about one another.

So, who are my target audience? First, since I love the sound and feel of words, it is people who share that passion for poetic writing. Second, because of my sense of what life is, it is people who feel the “tears of the heart,” an emotional connection that is so uniquely human. 

Here's pushing you a bit against the wall (hope you're not flinching too much): want to share one of your favorite paragraphs from your novels as an example of tragi-comedic?

That’s a bit hard since you really need the entirety to capture the duality of emotion, but I’ll try—not with a single paragraph but a short excerpt: the beginning of Chapter thirty-one from Memoirs From the Asylum. I think it captures the balance between sorrow and comedy that is so essential to life. In this chapter, the narrator, a patient in the hospital, is… Perhaps it is enough to just say that he is. The Marilyn to whom he refers is a catatonic patient whose hallucinatory world forms another of the “memoirs” in this novel. Buford Abrose is the resident physician who treats them both.

So let the madness begin:

“Sanctuary,” we scream. “Sanctuary!” We, the new hunchbacks, the new deformed, we have founded a new church, the cathedral of mental illness. Devoid of God, yet serviced by chaplains – perhaps not chaplains as much as missionaries, missionaries sent by make-believe-caring people who want no contact, caring people who do not care, caring people who donate balaclavas in the heat of summer and shorts for us to wear in winter. 

 “Do not release your huddled masses,” they say, “but give them the leavings of our church bazaars that our consciences might sleep more easily.” 

“Give them the unsolds of our stores that our tax deductions may show love.”

A violent death in the midst of madness. “Keep them locked in. They’ll murder us in our sleep. And here are woolen mittens to wear while they are locked in their secure over-heated wards.”

It is cold – unforgiving cold – the kind of cold that creeps around doors and through windows. Unwelcome, unbidden, it chills not only the body but the spirit as well. The winter rain lashes at the windows and pelts off with the crack of whips. Rivers stream from leaders eroding the gravel and overflowing the sewers. The hospital is under attack from the elements. It is as if the heavens are trying to obliterate it – us. Flush madness into the sea, and what do you have? A sea of madness, a sea in which we are adrift – as if we have ever been safe at anchor. 

It is during this time of complete confinement created by the conspiracy between the particles of death, law, politics, and weather that  Allan washes into our unhappy lives. Allan, the latest bit of detritus to find its way onto our island of the mad, claims to be a philosopher, a searcher after true knowledge. It had, he assured us, only been with that intent that he had been watching through the windows of various women. “Knowledge requires transparency,” he opines with a deferential smirk and a knowing nod, “which means that windows are there for use in both directions.”

Allan takes up a position outside Marilyn’s room, a position from which he can indulge his endless obsession with watching while she lies in catatonic nothingness. It is only with great effort that the aides can remove him from his sentry’s duty and close him out from her care. When she is periodically folded into a geri-chair and placed along the dirt stains of the dayroom wall, he stands by her, resting against the wall witha look of extreme satisfaction. At some point he offers to feed her, and, with no objection from the ever-silent Marilyn, Allan takes over that duty – watching, ever watching as she slowly masticates and swallows.

  

“I am content,” Allan tells Buford Abrose. “Demosthenes searched for a natural – an honest – man, and I have found – in her most primitive – the natural woman. Marilyn is total honesty. I am content.”

“But she’s catatonic. What on earth is natural about that?”

“I am content,” Allan repeats. “Let us talk about something else.”

“Well, what brought you to the hospital?”

“The police car.”

And for fun: You're originally a New Englander but now live in Arizona. Do you have any funny incident that shows you can't take the New Englander out of you?

First, let me note that I have spent more of my life in the mid-Atlantic states, New York and New Jersey, than I have in New England. Still, I call myself a New Englander not only because of my accent, which people catch almost at once, but also because of a certain sensibility — a sense of roots.

Since there aren’t many “native” Arizonans compared to the vast numbers of “new-comers,” especially not in the Phoenix-Scottsdale area, I am always particularly glad to meet natives. They, on the other hand, are less thrilled to meet me. I guess there’s a conflict for them: on the one hand wanting the economic development that growth provides and on the other wanting to hang on to a world of open spaces, horses, and six-guns. They assume that I can’t imagine that world; after all I’m from the East, the world of crowded cities.

Having done quite a bit of my own growing up in small town environments, I am aware of a very different distinction. In New England we assumed that there was a shared, community basis for life. Decisions were made at town meetings and while sitting around the soda fountain. In Arizona I find much more emphasis on the individual, on an attitude of “I’ll do what I damn well please.”

Given that libertarian bent — some might call it more an oppositional turn of mind — it seems inevitable that people here will simply ignore rules. Every summer we have a period of short, heavy rainstorms. Gullies turn into raging torrents and dry riverbeds become floods. And every year vehicles get washed down stream. Who is driving those cars and pickups — especially pickups? Not the unsuspecting tourist, not the new comer, no it is the native.

I guess their sense of liberty means you are free to make a fool of yourself. We New Englanders would never set ourselves up to be laughed at. 

Ken looks forward to hearing from you, especially on your take about revenging the aging process.

Author Bio:

Life itches and torments Kenneth Weene like pesky flies. Annoyed, he picks up a pile of paper to slap at the buzzing and often whacks himself on the head. Each whack is another story. At least having half-blinded himself, he has learned to not wave the pencil.

A New Englander by upbringing and inclination, Kenneth Weene is a teacher, psychologist and pastoral counselor by education. He is a writer by passion.

Ken’s short stories and poetry have appeared in numerous publications including Sol, Spirits, Palo Verde Pages, Vox Poetica, Clutching at Straws, The Word Place, Legendary, The New Flesh Magazine, The Santa Fe Literary Review, Bewildering Stories, A Word With You Press, Mirror Dance, The Aurorean, Stymie, and Empirical. Ken’s novels, Widow’s Walk and Memoirs From the Asylum, and Tales From the Dew Drop Inne, are published by All Things That Matter Press.

To learn more about Ken’s writing visit: http://www.authorkenweene.com 

You can also find Ken at:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=books&field-author=Kenneth%20Weene

http://www.twitter.com/Ken_Weene

And, if you'd like to listen to Ken read one of his short stories:

http://soundcloud.com/kenneth-weene/bender  

     

Pat Hatt: A Man, A Cat, and a Rhyme

Welcome Pat Hatt to Everyone's Story! I met Pat on Twitter when I was transported away from my everyday life of frenzy and concerns to a land of fun: cats, mischief, suspended belief . . . what more can a gal want? Okay, lots more, but for now I want to have some fun and invite you to enjoy as well. Pat has an amazing talent that I want to showcase for you this week--he creates these awesome rhymes, as you will see. A man of many talents, he also writes children's books and adult fiction full of mixed genres and plenty of fun stuff like blends of sci-fi, zombies, and romance.

Pat looks forward to hearing from you, whether you'd like to try a rhyme or just say a hi.

A Special Rhyme For Everyone's Story by Pat Hatt

A long, long time ago, as Elaine is far, far ahead in scheduled posts at her show, she asked the cat to pay a visit to her blog mat. The cat could not refuse another chance to confuse. So here he is once more spreading his rhymes from Elaine's shore. But I hear it is more G, so the cat will have to tone it down a notch so none will flee. I am a guest after all and so I will give more of an inspirational cat call.

Time for an inspirational embrace.

Bringing forth feelings of Amazing Grace.

I hear it is a sweet sound.

Unless of course you sound like a hound.

But if one can't carry a tune in a bucket.

Don't bother to duck it.

Just hand out ear plugs,

Or complementary coffee mugs.

That will bring an Oh Happy Day.

Could even throw is some sway.

Just don't throw a hip.

For a curse certainly could slip.

That would break the G,

Which won't be done by little old me.

For with a simple task,

One can pull back the mask.

Revealing there is another way,

One just has to de-focus their display.

Opening their sight,

Bringing forth day from night.

Then like a simple breeze,

Or the cat's ridding himself of fleas,

The discouraging things will fly,

Leaving you with clear sky.

Of course you could visit a bay,

Or go Down To The River To Pray.

But only if you're able to swim,

Otherwise falling in would be grim.

But as a whole,

Don't hold yourself in parole.

Free your caged soul,

And go for that goal.

Now the cat has to go get something to eat or open the fridge for a tasty treat. So I will turn it over to Pat, who can't really rhyme like that cat. So thanks for reading each lad and lass. Now I bid adieu to all with my little rhyming ummm bum.

An Interview With Pat:

Pat, I am so happy that I connected to your blog It's Rhyme Time. You live in Nova Scotia and adore cats, two things I love. Your rhymes are light (well, sometimes with a serious point but still, tone wise, full of fun) and adventurous. But, you have a serious side as well, as seen in your NOT SO series. Would you describe your novels as speculative, adventure, sci-fi, or a hybrid? Please tell us about these books.

Yeah, sometimes it takes a step back to see what a wonderful place this part of the world is, but so are many. Even though there is not a whole lot going on, it's a great place to settle in. Always loved cats and the my blog came about because of the antics of my Savannah Cat, Orlin, i.e. the cat. He has quite the personality and that is what I captured from the start. My other cat, Cassie, is more prissy but boded to me like no other. That said, I am both person, as I like dogs too, just can't have them in a crummy apartment.

The rhymes can pretty much be anything, as I hold nothing back and will rant or just poke fun at almost anything. Almost always is a more humorous tone though, no sense on dwelling on things too harshly as that will just cause one not to enjoy life. But all I need is one word and away the rhymes will flow. That is, I mean all that the cat needs.


As for the NOT SO series of books, I have 12 planned for that series and all are written in my head, just need to be able to get them down. I find it hard to really classify them though as I'm a big movie buff, so I have many ideas across all genres and work them in. The only thing that remains in pretty much everything I do is the humor. The books go from action, adventure, romance and sci-fi. I've also worked in my own version of vampires, zombies and all the other creepy crawlies. And there is always a plan, even my most subtle remark in one book can lead to a whole issue in another book. I adapt to the changes as the characters take over, but the main story will not change from beginning to end. Always have an ending in mind for sure is what I stick with, unlike say umm Lost. 

You also write children's books. Please share.

Children's books come naturally to me. I guess that probably is because I am a tad childish most times. But within a few hours I can have one done with ease. I just can't draw, but have found others who can. I have six out now. More in the pipeline.

As for how I write them, I always try to write them so everyone can enjoy

them. I find that balance is when the moral of the story is there, but it is not shoved down the reader’s throat. Also I take into account parents are going to be reading them a lot of the time, so I write them so adults can enjoy the stories too. At the same time I don’t dumb them down, like so many cartoons or kids books of today, because there has to be a sense of wonder there. Just force feeding kids a tale from point A to point B isn’t something I go for. I find that boring and like having kids think a bit. So they are pretty relatable to most any reader. Plus I have my little bit of humor mixed in, enough that kids and parents can get a laugh without being off color, like the blog sometimes can be. For instance the bush with the tush in The Bizarre Superstar book. Basically, just little things that are fun and spur the imagination.

What endeavors do you and your cats, Orlin and Cassie, hope to achieve in the near future?

Well, it would be nice if Pat Hatt could rival Dr. Seuss quit the work grind, and just write, staying home with Orlin and Cassie. But until then, Pat just plans on plugging away each and every day. The cat, Orlin just plans on rhyming about whatever comes to mind and wiggling his little rhyming behind. Plus, he'll probably continue to chew toilet paper, splash around in the bathtub (yes he likes water), open cupboards, doors, the fridge, meow his head off all day and knock over everything in sight. While Cassie will rule the roost and keep everyone in line day and night. Life's adventures will continue to ensue and we're all sure much more will come due.

Thanks!

Authors Bios:

Pat Hatt can be found in the East Coast of Canada. He dabbles in a little of this and a little of that, not afraid to

attempt the new. He is owned by two cats, one of whom has his own bog, It's Rhyme Time. Yeah, a rhyming cat, who knew? He is also quite the movie and TV buff. As you can probably tell he does not take himself seriously and has more stuff in his head than is needed.

Orlin, the cat, and host of the blog It's Rhyme Time

 Cassie, the peacekeeper between Pat & Orlin



  


Pat can be found on the web at:

http://rhymetime24.blogspot.com

http://www.pathattbooks.com/

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=pat+hatt

https://twitter.com/PatHatt24

https://twitter.com/Rhymetime24

http://youtu.be/hNMcKKNaM3I

Marion Stroud--Stepping Out In Faith

If a blog can beam with pleasure, then Everyone's Story is definitely smiling widely with the introduction of author Marion Stroud. Marion journeyed all the way from her UK home a couple of years ago to attend the ACFW conference and we were roomies. She's a sweet, gracious woman with a big heart; someone who really takes extra time to offer her supportive shoulders.

In her new non-fticion release, IT'S JUST YOU AND ME, LORD, Marion will inspire and uplift women (and I'm sure men too) in prayer. A woman who has spent a lot of time on the mission field and as a guest speaker in various countries, Marion has put her many experiences and insights into her work.  This week, Marion shares with us a prayer excerpt from the her new release, plus a story. So, cuddle up with your cat, pup, a warm mug of cider and enjoy!

Book Giveaway Special:

There’s a lot to be said about women and their relationships, responsibilities, and concerns. It’s Just You and Me, Lord addresses many of these everyday issues and challenges through practical prayers that inspire and encourage women of all ages. Discover how you can draw closer to God, have heartfelt talks with Him, and build and maintain an honest, genuine prayer life. A perfect gift to share with the women in your life.

Marion is graciously offering one copy of IT'S JUST YOU AND ME, LORD to one randomly chosen commenter. The winner will be announced on October 5th between 4-5 EST.

Something Beautiful for God by Marion Stroud

What if … I obey God’s prompting, and step out in faith, but nothing seems to happen as a result? I saw a beautiful example of the kind of dogged determination that ‘keeps on keeping on and gives up giving up’ when I was in Bulgaria last year. It moved me so much that I wrote about it in the form of a prayer for my new book ‘It’s just You and Me God’ published by Discovery House in a few weeks time.

Huddled against the early April chill

she sat there in the doorway of that little church

muffled in gloves and scarf,

her shabby winter coat was barely thick enough

to keep her warm.

And yet she sat there in the early morning chill

pulling the rope that reached the bell tower,

so that the single bell tolled out its message,

‘The church is here

God is waiting

Come and worship’.

The building has survived dear Lord

throughout the years

that  aetheistic forces ruled the land.

But now perhaps God seems quite unfamiliar

and  church attendance,

is deemed both dull and out of date,

 to those who’d never known you.

For though I watched her for at least an hour,

as far as I could tell from where I sat ….,

no one came.

The Bulgarian church that inspired Marion

Did her arms ache, dear Lord

and was her heart discouraged?

Feeling perhaps

 that it was hardly worth enduring

the cold, the early rising,

the tuneless clanging

of that solitary bell,

when no one came?

For Lord you couldn’t say it was a lovely sound.

Unlike the joyous peals that thunder out

from churches and cathedrals,

created by a team of eager ‘campanologists’,

a thing of beauty in and of itself,

Especially when in this small village

 no one came.

And little seemed to happen

to reward her work.

And yet Lord

when you whispered to my heart

“You don’t see what is going on

 within the hearts of those who hear”

I realised 

that at the very least

she had an audience

of two.

You, Lord, who saw her sacrifice of love

and treasured it.

And me,

to whom you spoke so clearly.

So thank you Lord

for all the hidden people,

who faithfully rise early

and labour late,

doing the little things you’ve called them to,

in spite of difficulties and disappointments.

‘Tolling’  their particular bell,

so that the people all around them,

whether they seem to listen and respond

or not,

can know that God is here.

They faithfully repeat the news

He loves and values them

And waits with arms outstretched

For them to find their way back home,

To worship.

What If … God speaks to Individuals today? by Marion Stroud

Some people would say that ‘voices in your mind’ require prompt medical attention! Others would call it wishful thinking or an overly vivid imagination. But I had been arguing with God about what He seemed to have said to me, all summer long.

It was Ethel’s fault. A young mum, who had expected to go to Africa as a missionary nurse, she was frustrated by life in suburbia with three under fives.

She had suggested that we hold a coffee morning for our friends who would never go to church. We could have a talk about something of interest, but the speaker would be speaking from a Christian worldview. Initially I thought it was a good idea. Then Ethel dropped her bombshell. “We could have it at your house,” she suggested. “You have a sitting room and a room we could use for a crèche”

Now that was entirely different. My neighbours knew that I went to church but a coffee morning with a speaker … that was rather too public a step of faith. With three children under five, lots of church activities and the beginning of a writing career to nurture, I had plenty to do. “We’d have to wait till the autumn “I said looking at my 3 month old daughter cooing happily in her pram.  I hoped that Ethel would have forgotten by then, and she may have done so. But God did not…

 “Who would come Father?” I prayed. “Most people think that God-talk belongs in church.

“What did Jesus do?” God whispered

I thought about that. Jesus often taught in homes , and had one of his most life changing encounters with a woman while he was just sitting by a well when his disciples went shopping. We don’t have any wells where I live but there are supermarkets where women gather. I shuddered. A coffee morning sounded easier.

“But Father,” I said. “Who would I ask? And what would I say?”

“Trust Me. I’ll point you to the people and give you the words.”

“But Father, we have 6 children under 5 years old between us. What if they get sick? We’d have to cancel.”

“Trust Me.”

The summer slipped by and I kept pushing all thoughts of coffee mornings to the back of my mind. Then, one Sunday morning, the sermon was on the call of Moses. As I listened to Moses’ reasons for not confronting Pharaoh, I heard my own voice. I squirmed as Moses pleaded ‘Lord please! Send anyone else!’

“Ok! I get the message,” I prayed rather ungraciously. “But You’ll have to do it Lord, because I can’t see how it will work.”

And so the adventure with God began. For two years we jogged along happily, meeting fortnightly during term time. But nothing obvious HAPPENED spiritually until Doreen came to speak to us. She had come to faith eight years after she was married and her husband was not happy. She told us about the ways this had impacted her marriage, and her audience bombarded  her with questions afterwards.

“What do you do about the children?” asked one.

“I’d love to have a faith but I’m afraid of what it would do to my marriage!” said another.

“What do you do about going to church when he wants to go out for the day?”

On and on the questions flowed, until finally I asked the assembled company "Isn’t there a book that looks at marriage from this perspective?’

“Oh no!” they assured me. “All the books on marriage we’ve seen, assume that you share your faith.”

“You write a book for these women,” God whispered.

“How can I?” I protested, not really believing what I was hearing. “Gordon and I were both Christians when we got married. What do I know about such a challenging situation? Anyway I write fiction for children, not adult non-fiction.”

“Step out in faith and I will help you.”

It was another ‘I am sending you to Pharaoh’ moment. I wriggled and struggled but this time I wasn’t quite so slow to respond, and wrote a book that changed the course of my life!

Author Bio:
Marion is married to Gordon, a retired dentist. They have five adult children and sixteen grandchildren, ranging in age from 19 to 2 years old. One of the joys of living in a town that many races call home, is the sheer variety of cultures and lifestyles that they see every day. Marion enjoys entertaining, walking, going to concerts and the theatre, reading and travel. With her husband, they lead a small group from church, where together they learn more about applying their faith to every day life. 

Marion, who has also lived in the Far East as a child, is a cross-cultural trainer for Media Associates Int.     
You can find Marion on the web at:

www.marionstroud.com and http://marionstroud.blogspot.com