An update

I have nothing important to write about tonight, but I do have some small things that I want to throw out there.  My life isn't all that exciting -- that's why I call this the common joe, don't you know.

The big thing in my life right now is my publishing efforts.  Now, that I have finished Fall of Knight I am searching for an agent first and if this doesn't go well I will try to find a publisher.  The thing is an agent can't get my book in front of publisher who do not take unagented submissions which is becoming more and more common these days.  I can't blame them.  Everyone, including me, thinks he or she has written the next great novel.  I'm hoping I'm the one, but we will see if it turns out that way. I think my writing is good.  I'm not sure anyone else will.

The second thing I can talk about is my attempts to get back into some semblance of shape other than round.  I have joined a gym, and currently, I am spending time swimming, walking, and using the exercise bike and tread mill.  I think I have already begun to lose some weight, but I have only just begun.  I'd like to lose 30 or 40 pounds, but I don't know if that's possible or not.

I have spent most of the day grading papers, and I need to do lesson plans for tomorrow but I am having a hard time getting myself geared up again for school work.

I guess I don't need to waste anymore time.  Good night, one and all.

Fall of Knight Novel Excerpt -- what a party

The next person I look for, of course, is Dee.  I walk up and down the river looking for her.  I don’t talk to anyone because I don’t know most of them, and the ones I do know I don’t want to talk to.  I walk again, almost all the way back to Ella’s house.  At this time, I am beginning to freak out.  What if she’s drowned?

I walk back toward the party, and much to my relief, I see her sitting by herself, pulled into nearly a fetal position in front of the fire as if she’s struggling to stay warm.  This isn’t a good sign.  When I look around, I see Roger with a few of his friends standing several feet outside the feeble light of the fire.  I’m sure he has consumed enough “good shit” to be warm enough.  I tuck away my knowledge of his presence at the wildest party I’ve ever been to – of course, it’s the only one I have EVER been to – and wonder how his baseball coach would react if I spilled what I know.  Assuming I survived.  I decide it will be a defensive tool only.  Surely, Roger and the other athletes undergo random drug tests at least occasionally.  It would be quite a revelation for the coach to find out what is really in Roger’s piss.

                I pause, contemplating whether I should tell Dee what Ella and I found in the cave.  I conclude that she needs to know, so I take a deep breath to steel myself.  How am I supposed to say this?  “Hey, Dee, I think our dead father’s body is in the cave where Ella and I went to make out.  By the way; how’s it going with Roger?”

                I sit down beside her, but before I can open my mouth, she says, “Where the fuck have you been?”

                I don’t answer her for a second as I recover from the wrath of her tone.  Then, I say, “Where the fuck have you been?” Tired and certainly pissed at being talked to like a dog, I say.  “I’m going home.”  Then, I get up and walk away.

                My common sense tells me I should stay with her and explain.  My anger tells me that she should go screw herself.  As often the case, common sense does not work well in a bipolar disordered, angst-ridden teen, who might have just found his dead father, supposedly safely buried in the ground lying with a shattered skull dead in a cave, under his girlfriend’s old house that her crazy father tried to burn down.  Needless to say, I am screwed up royally by the time I get home, and all the voices in my head are talking at once.  Don’t worry; voices don’t talk to me in the sense that I can hear them whispering in my ear telling me to worship Satan and kill kittens, but I hear voices – like parts of my personality or something – all talking in my head.  It’s like if you have ten televisions going on in the background.  I hear distinctive voices – or imagine them or create them (hell I don’t know) – but I’m not schizophrenic.  I think one of my shrinks would have told me by now if I’m schizophrenic.  I guess that doesn’t explain why I see my dad sometimes though, does it?  Shit, you know what just occurred to me.  Maybe I have been seeing my dad’s ghost.  Maybe his spirit is restless since he never got buried properly.

                My mom is still conked out completely when I go inside.  I don’t even have to tiptoe to get past her without waking her.  Dee will come home and pile up on the couch; she’ll give Mom the excuse that Mom was snoring or she, herself, just couldn’t get comfortable so she slept on the sofa.  I don’t know how anyone can sleep on that living room sofa.  It isn’t comfortable; in fact, the best way to describe it is deformed.  We picked it up one time when we were out looking at yard sales where, along with thrift shops and flea markets, Dee and I get a lot of our clothes.  The sign on the couch said, “Free to a good home.  Just ask.”  We talked the people into delivering it to our house where we used to live, and we buy some other junk from them that we don’t need and probably won’t use.  Everyone’s happy. 

                I lie down and try to go to sleep, but my head spins because of what I have taken or of what I have seen, I’m not sure which.  I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the night and can’t help thinking about the monster sucking down souls and spitting out bones.  Later, about an hour or so, I hear the front door open.  Then, I hear the creaking of the couch springs.  Princess Bitch or Dee is home.

                I contemplate going in there and talking to her, but I’m afraid of what I might say to her, and I have learned that in Dee’s case, when I am pissed at her, it’s always better to cool off a little before I try to talk to her.  Besides, it’s past 2 A.M. and I more interested in sleep at the moment.  I wiggle around in my bed until I am more comfortable, and now, that Dee is home, I do begin to feel a little sleepier.  When I am about to drift off to sleep, a sound drifts to me.  Dee crying so softly, I can barely hear her.  Then the great monster mouth swallows me down into darkness.

Not that I'm an expert or anything, but ...

The writer's job is to make his/her characters live.

I have been thinking a lot about writing, and I'm going to give a few pieces of advice that have seemed to be helpful to me -- relatively speaking.  I mean I've published a few things and made some money, but heaven knows I haven't been able to quit my day job and likely never will -- unless you count retirement.

I think the two most important thing writers can focus on are voice and character.  The saying is true that there are no new stories, just different takes on the old ones.  I believe that.  So what will make you stand out -- besides, that is, basic professionalism.  Every author is an individual so that means every author says thing in a different manner than any other author.  If you have happen to have a voice people like to listen to, then you are one step ahead of everyone else. I read writers who have voice.  I don't like formulaic material. It is only in the last two years that I have been developing my voice.  I'm slightly manic depressive, so I can be a lot of different voices, so I have embraced that.  My characters are not predictable, that's for sure. Who are you?  What is it that makes people like you?  If you can somehow transfer that to the page, you're in good shape.

I'm also convinced that a writer must have fascinating characters.  I don't know about anyone else, but when I remember great movies or great books, I remember people.  Memorable characters would be great in any story.  Huck Finn is one of the greatest characters of all time. Samwise and Frodo, likewise.  I spend some time with my characters, and when they surprise me by what they do in the story, then I know I'm going somewhere.

I also think that it is crucial for writers to write.  I know that sounds stupid, but it's true.  In my life as a teacher, I frequently am faced with tons of paperwork.  There were times when I would not touch a story for days because of all the work I had to do, and of course, when I got back to it, it was like eating a cold, soggy sandwich.  No joy in it.  I slip into zones when I write and experience great joy when I do.  I can crank out 1,000 or 2,000 words a day when I'm in a zone. But I've also discovered that even if I can only write 500 words in one day, I can recapture the zone when I pick my story up again.  I think it is absolutely essential to avoid writer's block.

This leads me to my next point.  I don't think writers should be afraid to explore other genres and forms.  When I'm struggling with something in fiction for instance, I'll try to do it as a scene from a screenplay.  And generally, I'm working on at least two projects at once so that if I stall on one, I can work on the other.  Finally, read and then read some more.  How can you possibly expect to be published if you don't read what already is published?  Reading to me is a source of inspiration.  By reading some of John Green's work, I opened a completely new vein in my own work.

Enough from me about writing.  I'm just happy with what I'm doing and sometimes that happiness bubbles over and I have to share.

Today was a rather uneventful day as is most days in my life.  I have graded papers for a large portion of the day, but I have put them aside.  Later on, I intend to work on my novel.  I am so close to being finished.  It was a beautiful day here in Missouri with temperatures near 60. Temperatures are going to plunge in the next day or two with lows in the single digits Monday night I think.  Missouri weather is like a middle-aged woman going through menopause.  I don't mean anything sexist by that.  If you have lived with a menopausal woman or suffered it yourself, you know exactly what I am talking about.  Well, anyway, I did take advantage of the day and my wife and I went for a walk.  I have joined a gym in my efforts to get myself back in shape.  I will keep you posted on how it goes.

Just a short post to say Hey

Hey.  Whazzup?  I went past the 63,000 mark in my novel.  Dee Knight is gone.  I'm not going to see any more than that.  When I get my three book deal and huge advance and Fall of Knight is published by a huge publisher, you'll just have to buy it to find out exactly what has happened to her and what will happen to Dean.  I think you'll find it delightful.  (In a weird kind of way -- then, again, the novel is about mental illness.)

Tonight is the first night my Composition II class meets.  I have 14 students in it, four of whom I know to one degree or another.  I think it will be an interesting class.  At least I hope so.  I am hoping these people are not afraid to talk.  I am hoping that they can write reasonably well.  I hope ... I hope ... I hope ...

School at North County is going well although I am still looking forward to retirement.  I hope that when I do retire I am in the midst of completing those three books some publisher gives me a contract for.  I have the beginning stirring of ideas for my other two, both of whom just might -- not decided for sure yet -- have Dean Knight as a character also.

I also like to write Middle Grade or Tween humor.  That's what Walt Michaels is a Weenie is about as is Rosetta Stone Diaries.  I wonder how far I would be as a writer if I knew then (30 years ago) what I know now.  Well, I should sign off.

Sorry, not incredibly exciting news.

Another novel excerpt

I almost smile, save my story, and log onto the history module.  I’m doing the Civil Rights movement.  I wonder when crazy people will get civil rights.  You can’t see how I’m different from you.  My problems are definitely more than skin deep.  My pain goes all the way into my soul.  You just look up and see a geek, or a goth, or a cutter, or something.  You never really see me.  I think maybe I ought to write stories about crazy people, get people to understand us a little better.
I answer a 20 question quiz over the Civil Rights Movement and get an 85%, a solid B.  I’m happy with that
“Knight.”
I nearly jump out of my chair. The zookeeper laughs at me.  He shouldn’t be tormenting the animals.  I suddenly get this vision of a monkey in a glass cage and some spoiled, snotty kid tapping the glass to annoy the hell out of him.
“Just got an I.M. from the main building.  Ms. Mack needs to see you in the office.”
“What’d I do?”  I ask, immediately paranoid.
“Nothing that I know of.”
  I sit there.
“Go,” he says.
“Don’t I need some kind of escort?” I ask.
“Why?  You’re not the Prince of Sheba.”
Reluctantly, I walk out the door and up the covered breezeway toward the main building, also prison like, but merely minimum security.  Alternative school is hard time.  I step up to the back door and swipe my student I.D. over the sensor.  The door beeps, and I’m in.  The locked doors and the motel keys ie the student I.D. are supposed to add extra security to the school.  If I’m going to come in and shoot up a bunch of bass, I don’t think I’m going to have much trouble getting around these security measures.
I go into the office where the secretary greets me. Mr. Knight, go on in; they’re expecting you. ‘They’ are the principal and Ms. Mack.
“Do you know why we’ve called you here?”
“What’s wrong with Dee?”
Ms. Mack looks puzzled.  The principal says, “Your sister?  Is she in some kind of trouble?”

I can see they have no idea what I’m talking about.  This relieves me.
“No ... I just thought... never mind.  Why do you need me?”
“Well, when you went into the hospital,” Ms. Mack begins, “I sent a message to the educational coordinator there – she’s my niece – to keep a close eye on you and to get you to write something for her.”
“Something suitable,” the principal says.
“And apparently you did,” Ms. Mack says. “She submitted it to a children’s book publisher – a small press, so your advance won’t be high – but your royalties may bring in a lot more.”
“No shit,” I say before I can stop myself.
“No shit,” Ms. Mack says.
“I’m sorry.  It slipped.”
The principal looks at me with one of those, I want you to think about something, looks. Her eyes narrow and her brow wrinkles.  I am afraid to say anything else.
“I want you to think about something, Dean,” the principal begins, and I almost laugh because I’m feeling just a little bit giddy, like I do when I’m in manic overdrive.  Only this time my happiness is real, not some kind of brain misfire. “Think about what this means.  Despite all of the odds stacked against you, you are able to overcome.”
I frown a little because I don’t know where this is going.
Ms. Mack says, “You know the stigma people – especially teens – with mental illness have to endure.”
If anyone does, I do, but I still don’t know where this is going.
The principal says, “You are a shining example that those with mental problems are just as valuable to society as anyone else.  You have battled the battle and you have won the victory. Do you know what kind of role model you could be for kids with mental illness?”
I feel myself getting mad.  I don’t want to be some kind of poster child for the insane, but then Ms. Mack says, “Can you imagine how your life would have been different if you had been able to talk to someone just like you, someone who overcame and could tell you that hell yeah, life is worth living.  Did you know that the third leading cause of death for teenagers is suicide?  The rate for teens who are bullied is even higher.  And the rate for teens with mental disorders – well, you can imagine.”
“I’m not sure I can do this kind of thing,” I say, being honest.
“You are incredibly intelligent.  In four weeks of independent work at the hospital, you increased two grade levels in English, Math, and History.  You read on the graduate degree level, and I’m not talking about high school graduate.”

Relaxation without guilt.

I am sitting sipping on a cup of hot coffee and munching on the dwindling supply of leftover peanut butter fudge from Christmas.  It's still delicious.  Later, I intend to write.  As long as I am in the zone and don't have a lot of schoolwork to do, I'm going to write.  And write some more.  There will come a time -- I will predict somewhere around the beginning of February when the walls will once again close in, stifling my creativity.  I have about 10,000 words to go.  Today I started re-reading the first draft and fixing some minor issues.  It's about to blow up in my character's face -- in the proverbial tree so to speak with people loading up on rocks.

My character's world is going to crumble and take him down too.

I am trying very hard to write a realistic YA novel, and sometimes it gets to me even as I write it.  I am sure other writers have had difficulty writing their novels because the topic is so intense.  Mental illness is about as tense as it can get, especially when it strikes a kid.

I don't have any interesting new happening in my life. Classes start up again for MaC next week.  I only have one class this semester.  With 13 students last I checked, it has already made.  Comp 2.  Why do I do it to myself.

I need to read another good book.

Milestone

I am sure I have stupidly built up my expectations for the coming year; I have been known to entertain thoughts that some people consider delusions.  I have always striven for the self-actualization phase of Maslow's hierarchy of needs.  In some way I have touched upon it, but I don't know that I have ever achieved it.  I think the problem is the "self" actualization phase.  As long as a person is focused on self, I don't think h/she will ever be completely satisfied.  I have had periods of my life when my faith was especially strong, when matters of the family have been wonderful, when professionally, I have been at the top of my game.  I have had periods too of intense creativity -- which may have been fueled by the flames of mania to which I am prone.  Of course, with all good times, there are bad times.  The past year was one of those bad times.  The end of 2011 and most of 2012 have not been great years for me.  My creativity has sputtered and in some cases nearly died away.  When my mother died, I questioned the meaning of everything.  My daughter got married and left the nest for good.  She married a good man, but it still doesn't take the sting out of her being gone. I have sputtered and stumbled professionally often falling prey to periods of depression and feelings of uselessness.  Sometimes, I feel as if I am too old to be doing what I'm doing, as if the times have passed me by, and I'm a teacher still stuck in the 80's.

Things began to turn around a little for me though the last few months of 2012.  Part of that is because my spring semester at school is going to be easier and I won't feel as if the walls are closing in on me all the time. Part of that is my novel which I have immersed myself into, and I still believe it is the best thing I have ever done.  I am giving myself one more chance to have the kind of publishing experience I have always longed for.  If Fall of Knight does not find itself a publisher, I am not going to beat my head against the wall anymore.  I am going to retire in a few years, and I want to enjoy it.  I've also decided that unless I get canned I am going to forgo finding any other teaching job.  I'll retire at North County unless MAC walks up to me and offers me a full time position.  I'll wait for grandkids to come along so that I can spoil them.

I want to read more books, listen to more music, watch more movies, and travel to more places.  I want to get myself back into shape -- I gained 8 pounds over the holidays.  I want to watch my health and sharpen my mind.  I don't want to get older; I want to get better.

The title of this blog today is Milestone.  I have only a hand full of views to go before I hit 10,000.  I never thought so many people would want to read anything I have written.  Thanks to all of you who are fans of my boring -- and yes, satirical Facebook updates, my crossbytes which sometimes come pretty easily, my novel excerpts and my blog.  I hope in some small way I may have inspired you, made you think, or made you mad.  Until later.  Aloha.

Out of the Hospital, but Better? New novel excerpt

After Fall of Knight is published and the movie rights optioned to it, I want Catherine Zeta Jones to play Dean's mother.  First, she is one of the most beautiful women alive, and second, she knows about mental illness.

                 

                  Dr. Adams smiles, "You seem better, Dean."

                “I am … much.  Uh, can I ask you something?  I mean if it none of my business let me know.”

                “I will.  What’s on your mind?”

                “Is Rocky – I mean, Roxanne – okay?”

                “She’s better than okay, Dean.  She’s been discharged.  In fact, she’s on her way home this very moment.”

Chapter 24

                I play the game.  I’ve been in their hospitals and group therapy rooms before.  I know what they want from me and I give it.  I “accept” my disability.  I talk about my lousy childhood and how I never got the love from my dad I needed.  I cry when I talk about how Mom resents me – that I am the one left alive and her husband is dead.  I talk about my sister and how she’s looking for love in all the wrong places.  I tell them a little about the beast, but not that I know it’s after me and people like me.  It would eat Rocky too.

                I do my school work, and I do it well.  If I understand it, I ace it.  If I don’t understand it, I bullshit it. I catch up to grade level in math, I even do a couple of speeches without dying, and I complete my creative writing project – a children’s story if you can believe it.  My teacher keeps it and tells me it’s good enough to get published.  She knows some publishers.  Empty promises.  Lies. I get through it. 

                And more than that, I take my meds.  I take this crap that I can’t pronounce, one tablet a day.  Two hits of Depakote, one hit of Prozac, and the occasional bite of xanax as the need arises.  I pretend like I sleep at night though I don’t, and I try eating my fruits and vegetables, but I nearly puke with each bit of food I take.

                I survive.  I do everything right – for four weeks -- well, 29 days, 8 hours and 33 minutes to be exact..  I’m sitting in Dr. King’s office for my final, “We’re proud of you, Son, go back out in the world, but be careful out there speech.”  I don’t get it.  Instead, Dr. King looks at me and speaks honestly.

                “Since Day one, I’ve told you I’m not a bull shitter, Dean.  Since Day one, I’ve thought you were.  I hope I’m wrong.  I hope you have truly realized the gravity of your illness.  I hope you go on; you get married, and you have perfectly normal children who grow up to be perfectly smart-assed teenagers with a life full of surprise and promise.  I want that for you.  If I’m not wrong, I will see you again: in here, in jail, or in a funeral home.”

                He stands and extends his hand. “It’s a warm sunny day.  Surprisingly so for November.”  We shake; I make sure my grip is firm and confident.  “I want you to spend some time being thankful with the holidays coming up.”

                “I am,” I say.  Thankful to be out of this shit-hole.

                “Your mom will be here shortly.  Come on.  I’ll walk you to the parking lot.”

                I pass Marcus, Dr. Adams, and a couple of my teachers on the way out.  Then, I  see John.  We haven’t exactly become friends in my time at the hospital, but we talk.  He’s pretty happy with his Abby – almost like Roxanne never existed. She stands beside him, her hand in his. I shake his free hand.

                “Good luck, Dude,” John says.

                “I’ll look up Rocky on Facebook, and tell her you said hi.”  I say, thinking that only douchebags call people dude anymore.

                “Sure,” he says.  “Go after her, dude.  I think she likes you.”

                “Might do that,” I say though I know I won’t.  She’s always going to be a part of my life that I connect with the hospital.  I don’t want to think about this part once I leave it.

Saturday's all right

It has been a good day for the most part although I don't like the way that the Green Bay Packers are kicking the Vikings around.  I figured the Vikings would at least put up a good fight.  I like the Packers, but I tend to root for the underdogs in playoff games.  I think we all like to see the Davids defeat the Goliaths occasionally.  To be perfectly honest, I don't really care who winds up in the Super Bowl this year.  To be even more perfectly honest, I couldn't even tell you all the teams who are in the playoffs this year.  I enjoyed watching the Rams, but I didn't reall follow anyone else.

I'm more interested in other things.  For instance, pitchers and catchers report for spring training in February.  I prefer baseball over football most of the time.  Also, Downton Abbey comes back on tomorrow.  Yes, I am more interested in that than football.  Does that make me a girlyman.  I just like to watch the character interaction in that show.

You know what's a shame?  I've not seen the Hobbit yet.  I want to watch the new -- is it 48 fps -- film version in 3-D.  One of my students said it gave her a headache to watch it.  I think it's one of those new techniques that will eventually revolutionize the movie industry when they know how to harness it correctly.  I admire Peter Jackson for experimenting with it.  He's not afraid of trying new things.

I'm afraid my laptop is dying on me.  I was trying to type on my novel and it froze up on me three different times.  I think it was because I was trying to download some music at the same time. I don't know, but it really annoyed the heck out of me.  I've done over 56,,500 words. I need to revise a lot but I do love the story, and I do believe it is the best thing I have ever done.  Tomorrow, if time allows, I will put up another excerpt.  I have gotten to the point in the story where Dean has been released from the mental hospital and he's in alternative school until he can hack it in the regular classroom.  Something is wrong with his sister Dee, but he has no clue what it is.  I'm actually on page 203.

I should get off this computer and do something constructive.  I have a book I'm reading, another YA novel called Stotan by Chris Krucher.  It's pretty good but it lacks the depth I have found in some other YA literature.  I also have Life of Pi that I started, but I've put on hold until I catch up on some other stuff.  My lit course is going to be reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and I'll also re-read it.  Hmmm.  Sounds like I have enough to keep me busy

Thank God's It's Friday

I have continued working on my Young Adult novel, The Fall of Knight.  Today, I passed the 55,500 word mark.  I think it will be about 70,000 words by the time it is all over.  The climax of the novel is approaching fast.   I hope I can keep myself within the haze of creativity which I have been in lately.  I have discovered an important lesson in the writing of this novel.  I've learned it's very important to not let a day go by without working on a project.  It's like the scent that a blood hound follows.  If you let it go for too long without following it, you lose all interest in it.  That has always been my problem with my writing.  I would have periods -- generally the summer time and during long vacations from school when I would really be inspired, but then when school got busy, I would not write, and the story would go cold on me.  It's hard to keep up the flow if you hesitate too much.

I am still eating on the leftover candy from the Christmas season.  So there's at least one resolution I have not been working on very hard in 2013 yet.  I don't really have too many others except for the one about being more consistent in my writing.  I have so far done that.  I have to do 2 or 3 thousand words a week at least.  If I can keep at it, I want to write every day as I have been.  I am not going to have to work as hard this semester because I have fewer students.  This will be a great relief.

I don't have any sports to watch for a while.  I don't care for basketball until it gets to the March madness season, and then I watch some of the games.  I haven't watched much college football this year either.  The Tigers did not have a great season so that didn't help.  The Rams were interesting.  They finished 7-8-1.  I think they'll win 9 or 10 games next year depending on who they pick up in the draft.  They are still not the same class as the elite teams, but they are at least talented enough to where they can win on any given Sunday.

As far as the baseball Cardinals go, I don't have any idea how they will do this year.  I think they will have a great pitching staff.  I don't think they will have enough hitting, and I think their defense will bit them in the rear a lot too.

I am getting ready to start another book.  My literature course is going to be assigned One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest which is one of my favorite books.  I'll read the occasional young adult novel as interesting ones comes available.  I love to read.

Lately, I have been listening to a lot more mellow music.  I do and have always liked groups with good harmony.  Lately I've picked up on Nickel Creek, Milk Carton Kids, the Civil Wars, Clannad and some others.  I took a chance on a group called the Lumineers.  I read about them.  I've kind of gotten to where I like a genre that I can only describe as alternative folk.  Weird, huh?

Well, I guess I need to be signing off.  I plan on posting another novel excerpt some time this weekend.  I really need some feedback now that I am getting close to being finished with the novel.

Fall of Knight Excerpt: New Girl in Dean's Life?

          

This Young Lady would be perfect to play the part of Roxanne in Fall of Knight

As I am about to finish my milk like a good patient who has been called a danger to self and others, I look up to see Rocky coming into the dining area.  John walks up to her, but she brushes past him and walks in my direction.  If looks could kill – John would be going up on murder charges – and I would be worm food.  In Hamlet – don’t ask me why I have suddenly thought of Hamlet – Hamlet talks about the worm who has “et” if I recall correctly of the rich man and how that worm could be put on the hook of a poor fisherman to catch the fish that the poor fisherman eats for supper and thus the rich man passes through the guts of the beggar.  I totally get this scene.  Of course, Hamlet is nuts at this time and has just murdered Polonius for reasons I can never understand.  At least I had a reason for nearly killing Jerret.

            Rocky sits beside me. John leaves the room, and only Rocky and I remain at the table.

“I’ll tell you about my beast if you tell me about yours,” she says, and I feel as if I’m a kid who’s just been asked to play doctor with the neighbor girl.  She puts her hand on my leg and I feel myself stiffen – in more ways than one. 

“Who was it?”  I ask.  I think I know the kind of beast Rocky is battling.

            She jerks her hand away – which is what I want and don’t want at the same time.  “My mother’s boyfriends.”

            “Friends?”

            Rocky looks down in shame.  “I had a friend once who told me he got together with this girl because her mom was such a great cook.  Stupid bastard.  My mom’s friends got together with her because it made it easy for them to get together with me.  Repeatedly.”

            I want to tell her how sorry I am, but most of us who are crazy, know saying you’re sorry is pretty lame.  It’s like telling someone who’s being burned alive that you’ll get them a glass of water. I feel a helpless kind of rage inside me because I know there’s nothing I can do to put out Rocky’s fire.  Meds will damper it, but she’ll never be all right.  She’ll never be cool.

            “I’ve never told anyone this,” she says.

            “They think you have clinical depression.  The suicide attempts.  They don’t know the real reason?”

            “And they never will.”

            “But why?  The bastards who did this to you–“

            “Will get away with it because I'm not telling. If I do,  I’ll be the dirty bitch forever.  The one banged by all her stepfathers.”

            I don’t argue with her because I know it’s true.  People will feel sorry for you but say you asked for it behind your back.

            “Your mom?”

            “She’s on number six now.  She says he’s nice.”

            “Maybe he is,” I say.

            A young woman in a clean white coat comes into the dining area.  She must be the relief.

            “I’m just now eating, Dr. Adams,” Rocky says.

            Dr. Adams looks at me.

            “I’m new here.  I’m not sure where to go next.”

            “You’re Dean, right?”

            “Correct,” I say.

            “You need to come with me.  Usually at 6, we do group with one of the night crew, or we do follow up visits to deal with the day’s events.  I need to visit with you for a few minutes, Dean. Rocky, you’ve had a bad day, according to Dr. King.  You need to go to your group.”  Two orderlies come in. “Make sure Rocky makes it to the group meeting.  Come along, Dean.”

             “She thinks I’m going to kill myself on the way,” Rocky says.

            “I don’t risk anything with desperate people,” Dr. Adams says.