Saving Grace

I decided to take the night off and watch what I'd TIVO'd over the past week. A brand new series, Saving Grace,(TNT Network) was first on the list. I've always been a fan of Holly Hunter's grit and spunk that she brings to her characters. This was no exception. Grace is a hard drinkin', hard lovin', hard livin' cop who, deep down, has a heart that yearns to be still and pure. She's soured on life and is fairly certain that redemption doesn't lurk in her living room. All that changes with an angel who's reminiscent to John Travolta’s archangel character in Michael.

It’s a good show, and I was willing to become a fan of this summer replacement except for the fact that Holly and the TNT network felt it perfectly okay to include vivid sex scenes and graphic language on a public access television station. What’s going on here? Is television so eager to shock and titillate that they’re willing to forgo what’s sitting directly in front of them – like great writing? This show has real promise, in my opinion, so why do they need to sell out for the cheap stuff? The mantra that sex sells gives way to a downward spiral to quality and cheapens everything we see and touch. If “the people” want this, fine. But put it where it belongs; on subscription TV like HBO and Cinemax.

As a writer, I prescribe to the ideal of creating scenes that elude to situations rather than shock. It’s a sad day when the merits of a book or movie are judged on whether we saw a couple getting it on and the grittiness of the language. It’s a natural predilection to want to push the envelope – to see what we can get away with. From all appearances, it would seem that we can get away with a great deal. But has anyone stopped long enough to ask whether we should? Is Saving Grace a better, stronger series because we get to see Holly Hunter in the buff banging it up with some guy against a wall? I still have an imagination and am very happy to put it to use.

It takes talent, and, apparently, guts these days to produce something that doesn’t go for pure shock value. Executive producer, Holly Hunter, and TNT took the easy and predictable way out, and seized a piece of our humanity along with it.

Where Faith and Reality Collide

I was reminded of a story I’d heard years ago…

A man was dying of cancer and opted for prayer instead of traditional medical treatments. He ended up dying an ugly, painful death.

When he got to heaven, he asked God one question. “I was a good man, prayed every day, and was faithful to your Word. Why didn’t you answer my prayers?”

God smiled and said, “I did, my son. I sent you doctors with the medical knowledge to help you. It is you who failed to accept my help.”

This poignant story shows the differences between faith and blind faith. The opening chapter in my book highlights the devastating consequences of blind faith through the death a young patient. It’s the source of my main character’s bitterness toward all alternative medicine. Given this tragic experience, I’m sympathetic.

As big a proponent as I am of alternative modalities of healing such as Reiki, biofeedback hypnosis, meditation, etc., in no way am I a believer in its exclusivity. I believe alternatives and allopathic medicine play very nicely together in helping a patient through every phase of their illness, and, yes, even their death. Blind faith presumes that we can control our outcomes if only we believe hard enough or are pious enough. I do agree that the power of our minds can do amazing things, but it can’t cheat death – especially if one stops their medical treatment.

Thanks, bongi.

It’s Just a Phase

Ah, it’s a New Moon today. This explains much. I’m convinced that it has the same crazy-making properties as a full moon. I can always tell by the responses I receive from author rejection notices that occur during my day job.

What’s that? you ask, responses on manuscript rejections?

Yes, yes, you thought there aren’t supposed to be responses to rejections, and you’d be partially right. From time to time I receive very nice, classy little things thanking me for my time, etc. But then there are the other ones that defy explanation – like today.

Saturdays are my day to review manuscript submissions. The office is quiet because everyone is out having a life. I was gratified to have waded through my large pile of email and hard copy submissions, loving a few, rejecting most. Since I no longer give crits to submissions due to occasional author backlash, I felt reasonably shielded from those who felt the need to vent their spleen over a rejection.

Until today.

I received not one, but two, nastygrams from writers who took issue with the fact that I’d rejected them. It’s disconcerting that a writer is willing to reveal that level of negativity about themselves, as if their anonymity serves as a buffer against exposure. I often reflect upon what their lives must be like to release their bilge out across the internet like a leaky discharge to a complete stranger who, for whatever reason, rejected their work.

It doesn’t matter so much what they say, because it all boils down to one thing; they can’t handle rejection and must have the last word. Normally, in my world, the last word is, “Thank you for reviewing my submission.” But these types have to attack in order to feel good about themselves and pretend that my rejection didn’t hurt. I understand hurt, but the nature of publishing, and life, for that matter, doesn’t guarantee a pain-free existence.

These writers make me think about people, in general, who can’t handle rejection or hearing the word, “No.” I’m never cruel, and my rejection notices always wish them the best of luck, but still they lash out in sometimes the most rude fashions. Has the internet, with it faceless neural net of bytes and pings, altered our definition of humanity? Are we now freer to be rude and insulting because there’s no face on the other end? Just once I’d love to see half these writers talk like this to my face. Would their bravado fail them? I wonder.

I guess I’ll turn my computer off for today and go stare at the moon that isn’t there and hope those who are adversely affected by its phases do no further damage.

Who needs scientific wizardry? Just ask me about the rejection responses.

Fill In the Caption

For some reason this photo has always cracked me up, and I've wanted a great caption to go with it.

Socialized Medicine – the Great Savior

Name two places where you’d rather have your teeth pulled with a rusty set of pliers than step inside their establishment. My hot buttons are the DMV and the Post Office. Nowhere can I be guaranteed less efficiency and a disproportionate serving of malaise and disinterest at premium prices.

Conversely, if I go to a supermarket and dislike their service or prices, I can go across the street. I can do this because I live in a (relatively) free market where competition and choice control quality and pricing.

Monopolies offer zero incentive to offer efficient services at competitive prices because all choice has been eliminated. And this is what socialized medicine does. And they want to dip into your pocket to make it happen.

Who do you want controlling your healthcare?

• During the heat wave in France when 13,000 people died, the hospitals were overwhelmed and stopped answering their phones. Ambulance drivers told victims they were on their own and had to take care of themselves.

• The Canadians don’t want us to emulate them because they’ll have nowhere to go for their own medical care.

• And speaking of our friends to the north, I have a Canadian friend who suffered a serious heart attack while visiting us. His insurance company refused to allow the hospital to treat him (he needed an immediate angioplasty). Our docs were only allowed to stabilize him and slap him on a plane bound for Canada. I was furious and asked the caring Canadian insurance agent what he’d do if my friend died en route. Ah, c’est la vie. Life is cheap in Canada, and so is their insurance program.
  

Michael Moore, you are welcome to pack your little bags and your lovely little ideas and move to France or Canada where you can live the dream. As for me, I want my choice of supermarkets.

Why, yes, of course I'm important...

One of our books, The War of the Rosens by Janice Eidus is being reviewed by the NY Times. Our company, Behler Publications, is still in the Little Spud category, so this is pretty cool news. Sure, we’ve received reviews from the big trade magazines, but it’s not on a consistent level. Yet.

But the NY Times? Talk about surreal.

Our office is at home. We’re lucky, we have a big house with a huge office that overlooks our neighborhood. With our editors and marketing people spread out all over, it makes good sense. It's also great fun when I’m in a snoopy mood. I can tell you if my neighbor has busted her diet and when Junior from across the street really came home.

So it was no big deal when the mobile pet groomer arrived at our house the other day. I was busy plugging her extension cord into our garage wall while she was off trying to corral my dog. The business line rang - it was the assistant to the editor of the NY Times. The NY Freaking Times! She was falling all over herself asking who to contact about getting an ARC of the book because her editor wanted to read it. Meanwhile, in the background, you can hear the groomer chasing my dog down: "Mae West, come here, sweetie, ready for your groommie?" along with the requisite kissey sounds.

I nearly laughed up a lung at the dichotomy. I cleared my throat and gave the editor's assistant a very professional, "I can help you with that."

Gawd, if they only knew what unglamorous lives we lead.

Who’s an Old Fart?

There’s something about turning another year older that always makes me reflect on my life – where it’s been and where it’s going.

If someone five years ago had told me that I’d:

• Publish a book with a scam publisher
• Sue to get the rights back
• Open up a publishing company with hubby
• Have said scam publishing company try to frighten and intimidate me
• Grow said publishing company into a respected name that respected agents are submitting to
• See our books hit store shelves and garner wonderful reviews
• AND become an award-winning author

I’d have said that person had ingested some great drugs.

But it happened. With the birth of two lively characters and a plot that centers around the alternative medicine controversy, an entire chapter of my own life was written. The initial begining affected many people around us and has continued to explode at a prodigious rate.

I’m a big fan of karma. You live your life to screw people and that’s what you’re going to attract. I feel this element is what defines my previous “publisher.” He’s a mean, terrible little man who went out of his way to publicly humiliate me, along with ruining my book. Publishers just don’t do this. Not the honest ones. They’re too busy selling books. I know because I do this every day of my life.

This is a story that I’ve kept under my hat for a number of years. I was too embarrassed for anyone to know that I’d been an idiot and got sucked into a scam. But rather than let it destroy me (and my writing) like it did a number of other people I know, I transcended that experience into a positive. Good fortune was on our side time and time again as insiders helped us along the way.

All my friends have been working at their jobs for many years, and they’re looking at retirement in the not-so-distant future. We’re just starting out anew. Am I mad? Maybe so, but I’m having the time of my life.

So while there’s an added candle on my cake and it takes more wind to blow the little bastards out, I also have a recaptured novel that has gone on to light up a lot of people’s lives, a burgeoning publishing company that is starting to kick some serious ass, and more fun than anyone has a right to. So, thank you, skank publisher. Without you, I wouldn't be having the time of my life.

I guess turning another year older wasn’t so bad after all.

Mesmerizing

This has nothing to do with writing, but it is art. And it's very cool.

Ingenuity Abounds

Okay, how come I wasn’t issued one of these babies when I was in NY?

thanks, Janet, for the link

Does It Get Better Than This?

Yep. It felt good. Reeeal good. But not in the swelled head sense of, “I rule and you drool.” Well, um, okay, there may have been a teensy bit of that going on. But I got my due when a NY cabbie saw fit to spray me with New York’s finest muddy drain water.

What made this whole award taste so sweet is the subject matter. This panel of distinguished judges deemed my book that details both sides of the integrative issue worthy of being labeled the best. What a fabulous message to send out to anyone who’s ever been told, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can medically do for you.”

Thank you, Jim Barnes and IPPY judges.

Angels On My Shoulder

I’ve already admitted my hopeless addiction to med blogs. I read them for many reasons – filling my basic Peeping Tom needs, to have a great laugh, to hear about the ever-changing and politicizing of medical care, and to learn.

Their technical information has no rival, and I depend on this to keep my own characters real. Face it, watching Grey’s Anatomy for medical authenticity would be as big a disservice to my writing as my giving up eating Twinkies would be to the Hostess’ bottom line. I depend on these good docs’ stories to prevent me from looking like an idiot – a feat I can accomplish with my eyes closed.

When I sit down to write, my med blog buddies are little angels on my shoulder. Sid is the doc to go to when you need to know how to do an operation or what it feels like to hold an organ in your hand. From the laying of knife on skin to the poetry of a surgeon’s thoughts when opening up a patient – Sid’s your man. In fact, I have a folder in my writing folder labeled “Sid’s Tomes,” and it consists of bits and pieces of his blog I don’t want to forget when I’m writing.

Panda…a very intelligent man and a wonderful writer. I’ve told him that should the doc thing fail to work out for him he’d better become a writer. He’s an interesting mix. His anti-integrative medicine position is of particular value in helping me validate one of my main characters, but his refusal to open his mind a squidge frustrates me as well. Such is life, right? I admire him nonetheless. Panda’s a straight-shooter and his insights to the ever-growing political arena of medicine are of great value to my plot development.

Fingers is a wonderful angel whose stories of the ED at Crack City Hospital are beyond belief. Fingers is adept at showing extreme irony, humor, abject anger, and frustration. I’ll miss him greatly if he ever closes his blog. In fact, I’ll probably yank out a black armband and play dirges all day long.

I found M.D.O.D. fairly recently, and they’re fast becoming a major angel on my shoulder as well. They’re great for writing about the inane and amazing.

Medblog Addict. Okay, she offers zippo to my writing. She simply makes me laugh my fool head off. This helps a great deal when I have a tough scene to write. I’d love to have a pitcher of margaritas with her. She’s as crazy as I am.

They and others sit on my shoulder and whisper gently in my ear when I’m writing a scene. “No, Lynn, the patient wouldn’t be conscious if you’ve got his chest cracked open.” Okay, even I’m not that big of an idiot to write a scene like that. It’s the subtle things, like when my main character talks to a group of med students about what it’s like to do the initial incision. These angels help give my characters a soul, and I adore each and every one of them.

Serious Schmerious

I’ve had a couple really good posts started regarding the integrative medicine debate, but I’m feeling too saucy right now to finish them. Talking about serious issues requires serious thoughts, and I’m not in the mood for serious. For the first time in my little life, I’m an award-winning author. Despite how this must sound – like an ego driven scud – I’m savoring the moment because a group of important people decided my work was the best, and, damn, it feels real nice.

But it’s more than the accolades over my style, dialog and plot. It’s knowing that this story will be read and people will have the opportunity to think about medicine in a whole different way. I wrote it, but it’s Kim’s and Erik’s story. Sure, they’re fictional, though any writer will tell you they feel as real as your best friend, but the idea of them is very real and being played out in hospitals all over America.

So I’m going to go to New York and accept my gold medal. I have a fancy schmancy new outfit that even my 20 yr.-old daughter approves of. I’m going to hug my hubby and my two kids, accept the back-slapping "atta-girl" from our company's distributor, drink some champagne and have a great time. And after the long week of showing at the BEA is over, I’m going to come home and finish Book 2.

Final Results for the IPPYs

Wow. Just plain wow. I won an IPPY.

Donovan’s Paradigm won an IPPY.

The IPPYs are the big kahuna of the independent publisher’s award competitions, and I won the Gold in my category of Visionary Fiction. I’m still in shock about it all. When I think of the journey this book and I have taken and the crap I took to get to this point, I get a little faint. From scam publisher, to fighting for my rights, to rewriting it, to republishing it, to an IPPY – this book has done it all. And it’s all Mom’s fault. She’s the one who told me I should write a book.
Ma, sorry it wasn’t the book you thought I’d write, but I think we did okay. J I’m drinkin’ to Kim and Erik tonight!

What the hell Visionary Fiction? “Visionary fiction” is fiction in which the expansion of the human mind drives the plot.

What’s really cool is that these guys throw the very best parties to boot – first class all the way. New York, here I come.

Integrative Medicine - Quakery or Viable Inclusion?

Playing devil’s advocate in a work of fiction is a luxury because you can allow your characters to assume all kinds of biases. This luxury is also a double-edged sword because there’s always the risk of the writer’s personal bias to sneak inside. I kept that in mind when I read Panda Bear M.D.’s blog about integrative medicine. Reading his words, I thrust my arm in the air and yelled, “Yes! I so got the part of my character right.” I was thrilled. I’d nailed the arguments against integrative medicine perfectly. I wanted a controversial and substantive plot and couldn’t have chosen a better subject than integrative modality’s advance into allopathic medicine.

But then I lowered my arm and sobered up. Panda’s words cut into me like a knife, and I felt like he was calling me a fraud and nutjob. I’ll accept that I may be a nutjob, but I won’t accept that I’m a fraud. I respect the hell out of Panda’s vast intelligence, his writing skills, and his thorough treatment of every subject he discusses. Reading his blog is one of the highlights of my day. I’m not upset that he hates integrative medicine –that’s his right, and I’d never try to dissuade him or anyone else.

My sorrow stems from the fact that he refuses to entertain the notion that integrative care could have some validity, and he lumps virtually all integrative approaches into the same basket – which I’ll also grant is his right. But is it correct to do so? Are all forms of integrative medicine bad or are some modalities actually good? Many docs’ opinions are that none of these types of healers make a difference and therein lies what I see as a gaping hole in medicine. Is there no wiggle room to be had?

I know my fictional character of Erik Behler offered zero wiggle room in his views and took every opportunity to ridicule integrative medicine into the ground. His lack of respect was something I needed (and knew existed) to maintain balance in my story about two passionate docs who have vastly differing opinions about medicine.

My own beliefs are that anything leaning too far to any particular side excludes potentially important and legitimate arguments. How can medicine deal in absolutes when we don’t have all the answers? Should we blithely agree that docs and scientists have a totalitarian view with respect to healing and no one else is allowed a viable opinion? And if so, who decides what’s viable? Do docs really have all the unimpeachable answers on how and why the body heals? Are we convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that the mind plays no role whatsoever in healing? If not, how do we know this? Just because we can’t measure it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. If that’s the case, how does this compare to what cardiologists have been saying for years – stress kills. Is that not a mind/body connection?

And what of those cases when medicine loses the fight and the patient should have died, was supposed to die, and didn’t? One of my doc friends calls those BTFOOM cases (Beats The Fuck Out Of Me). Is it fair to assume that there are no other factors other than medicine at play in terms of healing? A few of my doc friends admit that a patient’s strong family ties or that inexplicable will to live help supersede death’s best efforts – they simply didn’t have the answers. They agreed that there are times when remission happens and isn’t because of anything they’ve done. Cardiovascular surgeon, Dr. Mehmet Oz, wrote Healing From the Heart , and it talks about these enigmatic aspects of healing.

Most scientists’ derision about integrative care is that it can’t be tested under a microscope, and they’re right. Is it unreasonable to require this? After all, medicine has these standards, so why shouldn’t integrative medicine shoulder the same burden? My answer is that you’re dealing with something intangible, like love. The only way to quantify its benefits (or lack thereof) is in patient results. But because it can’t be measured, does this make the treatment any the less potent or practical? Does this mean the possibility of healing through holistics doesn’t exist? It’s like being patriotic. You can’t do a CAT scan and say, “Yep, there it is, unequivocal proof that patriotism exists…it’s right next to the diaphragm.” There are some things we accept on faith because enough people experience the feeling. It’s part of our paradigm. But what if the paradigm needs to be updated to ponder and possibly accept previously ridiculed ideas?

I can’t argue on the same level with Panda because he’s a scientist and I’m a writer. Sure, I’ve done a ton of research and, in fact, came into researching integrative medicine with anything but an open mind. My skepticism was the fulcrum to both sides of the integrative seesaw. It was never my goal to write an agenda story, but to present two compelling arguments and allow the reader to make up their own minds. That I wrapped the whole thing up inside two appealing characters was icing on the cake. I sought out the most strange, weird ass integrative modality I could find, and this led me to Reiki – I can see Panda rolling his eyes now – and I came out so impressed with it that I ended up studying it into Mastership.

After a few Reiki sessions (if I was going to write about it, I had to experience it), I found that I couldn’t tolerate my medications. This was like flipping a light switch. Within a month of those sessions, I was off my meds. Blood tests proved that I was fine. Seven years later, I’m still fine and off meds.

My doc’s reaction? “BTFOOM.”

Docs ask for proof, as they wisely should. I have none to offer other than I’m healthier than I was before and am off all meds. In fact, I have nothing of persuasive value other than I feel better than I’ve ever felt before. If I get sick, the first place I go is my doc. I’d never give up going to doctors. If I needed surgery, I’d have it. My beliefs are that of true integration. I think it’s important for patients to have a participatory hand in their healing.

So many times people get really sick and they’re whisked off to chemo or radiation. The docs are busy concentrating on the tumor. But who’s concentrating on the patient? Patients need to have a participatory role regarding their convalescence, and this is where integrative medicine comes into play. Have the chemo, the radiation. But also have the Reiki, hypnotherapy, biofeedback or green tea. In order to have a healthy body you have to have a healthy mind. I’d like to think that given these parameters, even Panda could find some wiggle room.

I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind. My sole intent is to offer what I hope is a balanced response to a controversial issue.

IPPY Semi-Finalist? Moi?

I just found out my book is a semi-finalist in the IPPYs. I entered several of our stronger new titles ages ago, one of which is also a semi-finalist (Body Trauma), and tossed mine in at the last moment on a lark. Wow. I think I'll go howl at the moon, drink some wine and hug my husband. He's the one who would take a dirty dish out of my hand or take over the laundry and tell me to go write.

This is a thought-provoking book as well as controversial, and it was always my hope that people would be enlightened as well as entertained. But it's a long thing - 454 pages - and I never dreamed it would catch the notice of a group of judges. When I got the notice yesterday, I sat back and ran my fingers along the book cover and thanked my two characters. Kim, Erik, even though you two are always at each other's throats, you guys rock.

The One That Didn't Get Away

Tomorrow is our anniversary. I know, Cinqo de Drinko…that’s what everybody tells me. When we set our wedding date 28 years ago, I had no idea it was anything special other than my father-in-law’s birthday. Hubby figured he’d never forget our anniversary that way. Smart man - he never has. I, on the other hand, have been caught with my synapses misfiring more than once. You know how hard it is to fake like you haven’t forgotten your anniversary? It’s not like I can accuse the dog of eating my anniversary card because hubby knows the dog would deposit it on his side of the bed.

People seem genuinely shocked that we’ve been married this long. I simply reply that the man is habit forming. Actually, it was an arranged marriage. By my dad. In Saudi Arabia. Okay, not really. In a prior lifetime hubby worked for my dad in Saudi Arabia back in the oil heyday. I came over for the summer, dad introduced us. Seemed pretty goofy to fly 10,000 miles to meet a guy from Long Beach – thirty miles from where I grew up. Anyway, we got married ten months later. I shudder when I think of the giant leap of faith I was taking. After all, three of those ten months then-boyfriend was still in The Land of Sand. But I figured my dad would never introduce me to an idiot.

I’ve blessed my dad’s interference with my love life for 28 years – he picked me a good ‘un. Hubby has always believed in me, respected my opinions and encouraged me to follow my dreams. He learned early on that I was missing the domestic goddess gene and could burn water at the drop of a hat. He’s made me laugh and made me think. I’m a better person for being married to this guy. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

Happy anniversary, Fredster. You rock.

Gee, guess my mind wasn’t blank after all.

There Are Times When Fiction Can’t Compete With Reality

I work very hard at insuring my writing is clever and realistic and understand there are some things that medicine simply cannot do – like a complete brain transplant. I leave the brain transplants to my science fiction writer friends. But every now and then reality dares to slam up against stuff that makes one roll their eyes and say, “Uh huh, yeah. Sure. Do I look like an idiot?”

Case in point: I was reading M.D.O.D.’s medblog today and he has this post about a benign ovarian tumor the size of a small car. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but not by much. What impressed me is that the woman had no idea this extra passenger was on board. I mean, come on, I can tell when I’ve eaten one too many Twinkies, so how does one miss a 65 pound tumor? It’s one of those nagging questions that haunt me at 2 am.

I’m not a doc, so I have the luxury of grossing out at the thought of massive amounts of blood and flotsam surrounding me. But I will admit to being damned intrigued as to how surgeons remove a behemoth like that. Do they use cherry pickers? I can see it now:

Dr. Cutsalot: “Okay, Bart, y’all back up that thar cherry picker…come on, boy, don’t be shy, it ain’t gonna jump out and beg to marry your next ‘o kin.”

I’m in awe of the human body’s tolerance levels that can allow such an invasion of something that clearly has no business being there. I’m equally in awe of docs who can remove it. But, boyo, I’d give my stash of Twinkies to hear their conversation.

"Why Do You Write?"

It was an interesting question that someone asked me the other day as she bought my book. She was standing in front of me at the checkout line at the bookstore and had my book in her arm. While reading the back of the cover, she happened to look back at me. Getting an eyeful, she knit her eyebrows and looked back at the book. While she did the double take, I tried very hard not to wet my pants. I mean, come on, how many of us have that kind of thing happen? I'm not John Lescroart (my hero) or anything. It was a huge honor, and all I could think about doing is rushing home to call my mother.

My immediate thought to her question was to get all self-important and hand out some esoteric pile of dribble. But then I stopped because I could see she really wanted to know – not in a challenging way – but a, “I really want to know what drives someone to sit on their butterks for hours on end and bang out a story.”

I told her the truth – that I had a story burning inside me that wouldn’t go away, much like the tax man. But I went home and really thought about it. Why do I write? And why do I write what I write?

I had the basic groundwork for my first book for about ten years. Why did I chose docs, especially surgeons? I have no flipping idea. I know it’s an admiration thing since docs have this mystique thing going on by the merits of their jobs. To this day, it still boggles my mind to think that a surgeon can open someone up, rummage around, cut and snip a few things and close the person back up. And they live! I mean, I always have left-over pieces when I finish a project, don’t you? I’d be the type that would close up and discover I forgot to put the liver back in.

It’s a noble profession. Despite patients who hurl invectives that would peel paint off the wall, docs still go in and do the job. I have to admit that in my day job, if a submitting writer is a total snot bag to me, I have the luxury of finding a rejection slip pretty darn fast. So this world of walking dichotomies intrigued me, and I wanted to get inside their heads to see what they feel – if they feel. I’ve been very pleasantly surprised and honored to be allowed into their world to see their vulnerabilities, their fears, their heartbreaks, and their triumphs. Because of their openness, I was able to create a foundation upon which to build the story that had been burning inside for a long time.

Gee, I suppose in retrospect it would have been easier to simply point the woman in the bookstore to my blog, huh?

Photo: Special thanks to Dave Page, M.D., author of Body Trauma: The Writer’s Guide to Wounds and Injuries. He returns all the body parts where they belong, too.

Keep Your Calculator Off My Stethoscope

“People need to take a close look at why this physician is frustrated if they want to understand the major threats to quality medical care in the US.”

I saw this comment on my blog, and it really jarred me. Of course, I knew this to be true – that docs are growing more and more frustrated every day – but when I took this simple remark down to its lowest common denominator it scared the crap out of me. We are the most powerful nation in the world, and our lives are being eroded by the bureaucracy – those bean counters with calculators in their pockets and accounting degrees on their walls.

I’m not a doc, but I write at great length about them, their lives, their vulnerabilities, what makes them tick. Because of this, I have a great affinity for their ability to tuck their uphill battles in their front pockets and get on with the job of helping people. But it shouldn’t be any great surprise that at some point those front pockets get too stuffed, and the frustrations come pouring out. What is the next move; continue on or quit? It’s an idea I’ve given thought about inflicting on one of my main characters because its social relevance affects us all.

Charity Doc, in his goodbye post (though I’m beyond giddy that he’s resumed posting again) said that he’d had it with being told how to treat his patients. If this is going to continue, and there’s no reason to believe that it won’t, what’s to become of the quality of our medical care? Will this be a case where only the clinically insane decide to become doctors while the truly smart ones opt for occupations that allow for more autonomy?

And what of us? The patients? Are we destined to be butchered or misdiagnosed by those with fewer firing synapses? From where I’m sitting, those who have their fingers on the carotid artery of health care are tying docs’ hands and forcing them out of their jobs. Those of us who have viable brain cells understand that the future picture is growing bleak. You cannot continuously kill the cash cow and expect it to continue to give milk.

At any rate, after I finish Book 3, I’m going to revisit this idea. And you know what saddens me the most? I’ll have a very ripe research pool.

Brevity At Its Best

As writers, we’re always told that an economy of words is most effective. This highlights what I mean:

A college class was told they had to write a short story using as few words as possible. The story had to contain the following criteria:

1. Religion
2. Sexuality
3. Mystery

The A+ student out of the entire class wrote:

“Good God, I’m pregnant; I wonder who did it.”

Classic.