It's in YOUR hands, folks

So, someone recently told me there're only two constants in life--death and taxes. I wondered how "death" could be considered a constant in life? Seems like an oxymoron to me. But I digress.

There're also two other constants. Good and bad. There will always be children and perverts. Which sorta' coinicides with the two most popular genres of fiction writing--children's literature and erotica. So, I've decided to accept fate when it's gob-smacking me in the face. I have two choices. I can either fully embrace my inner child and write children's books or jump on the pervy bandwagon, make a load of cash, and delve into erotica.

I put the vote up to you, my brethren.

Shall I next write:

"Mr. Possum's Sore Tooth;"

or,

"Fifty Pockets Of Porn?"

It's up to you. Discuss. Deliberate. Vote.

The Da' Stinky Code

Well, call me the Indiana Jones spelunker of cracking television procedurals.

I've developed a formula for these shows so you don't have to watch 'em. Trust me, this is good for you. I can save you valuable time. It's not highly scientific, but we'll take that approach to lend me some credence amongst the high-falutin' scientific community. We'll call it the "Da Stinky Code."

Ready?

Murder + initial discovery + totally non-assuming character tossed in + at least 30 minutes of red herrings - 30 minutes of red herrings - three false arrests x "name" guest stars = THE CULPRIT.

Case example: We watched an episode of "Castle" last night. Man dies. The heroes discover the crime. A very "nice guy" shows up for two minutes, then vanishes. Attractive women show up under suspicion, only to be discarded after thirty minutes. False arrests made. Surprise! It's the "nice guy" who had two minutes face-time in the beginning.

Okay, no "name actor" this time. But the rest is true. Always.

Oh! And there's ALWAYS a secondary detective character who walks in while the main characters are positing a theory, waving necessary expository evidence in his hand. Set to "plinkity-plonkity" music. Man, I hate that. Once you guys hear it, you'll never let it go. Or forgive me.

I'm looking to extend y'all's lives. Just go do something else during the middle half of the show.

Professor of Television, Dr. Stuart R. West

Wake-up Call

So, last night my wife punched me in the shoulder at 3 a.m. and said "you ran right through that stop sign." Well, no, I didn't. HELLO! Sleeping.

But dreams are a funny thing, aren't they? A couple weeks ago, I had a dream about a tiger race of people/animals. There were three brothers, all pilots, preparing for war against an intruding force. They're all born of royalty, but one was a traitor. Fine. If I ever write a fantasy, I'm set. Thanks to spicy nachos and restless sleep.

When people ask where ideas for your books come from, dreams are a good deal. I need to start keeping a dream journal. Along with a stun gun if my wife gets violent again.

So, fellow writers, keep a dream journal handy. It's the best tool along with perseverance. And the afore-mentioned stun gun. You never know.

Dear Dog Of Destruction

(A personal note to my dog, but y'all are welcome to eavesdrop):

What did we ever do to you? Didn't my wife snatch you from one of her students who found you pillaging in their trash? Didn't we take you into our house and offer you food, love and shelter? Haven't we set you up with a heated doggy pillow? So why do you repay us with such obvious disdain?

Okay, you're not allowed on the sofas. I'm only allowed on them after a shower. Doesn't give you human rights. You gotta stop ripping the crap outta' the sofa when the mailman comes. Yes, he brings bills and fliers about hair removal. But you can't know that. Even if you did understand "humanese," it's still not a reason to tear up the house.

One time you were so pissed at the mailman, you put your paw through a glass picture frame. Who was there to rush you to the doggy doctor, sick at the sight of all the blood? And who had to put up with the questions and nervous looks as to why I had blood stains all over the back seat? I was nearly branded a serial killer, thanks to you, my fine, furious, furry friend. But I've stayed with you through thick and tics.

And what's the deal with trying to sniff my crotch when I wake up? I've never tried it, but I can guarantee it ain't purty. I never promised you a rose garden. So cut it out!

But when I look into your golden eyes, angry at you when you've destroyed another piece of furniture? I melt. You had me at your expert facial licking.

P.S., chocolate's not good for you. It's like toxic lima beans. Only deadlier.

Your playpal,

Stuart

The Ultimate Blow-out: Chicken Vs. Turkey!

I'm from Kansas and apparently quite a dumb Kansan at that.

You'd think I'd know the distinction between a turkey and a chicken since I live in the midwest. You'd be wrong. I mean, okay, everything I taste is formulated around the ground zero of chicken. It's like six degrees of Kevin Bacon, minus the actor, minus the bacon, add the chicken. Very complex equation (but if you add a side of bacon in again, you might have something. Hold the Kevin.).

So, my wife brings home a turkey, cooks it up. Tastes great. I like turkey "drumsticks." Anyway, I've eaten two of the drumsticks outta' the refrigerator and then I find another. And yet another. From the same turkey!  THE SAME TURKEY, YOU GUYS! Four drumsticks!

What?

Did this turkey grow up by a chemical waste plant or something? I asked my wife why our turkey has four legs. After much eye-rolling, pantomiming and frustration, I sorta' intuited the answer.

I guess the turkey is the stronger of our fowl brethren with buffed-up, muscular upper arms that I mistook for bonus drumsticks. And it gets even stranger. The turkey apparently has many more bones in its legs than chickens do. New one on me! Why in the world would a turkey have more bones in its legs then a chicken? Do they bully the barnyard? Are they bad-ass fowls with thighs of thunder? Femurs of fury?

Edible nature sure can be kooky.

Tex, The Witch Boy Has Landed!

And he didn't even land on a broom. Come on. He ain't that kinda' witch.

Well, heck and hollah, had I paid more attention to my emails, I would've found out my first book came out two days ago! Which sorta' proves my wife right that I don't pay attention.

Here's the link, guys: http://tinyurl.com/texthewitchboy
A little background. It's a YA thriller, murder mystery, lightly paranormal, comedic, dramatic, romantic mash-up about high school bullying. My main character's just an ordinary kid trying to survive extraordinary circumstances. Bullying, sadistic gym teachers, DODGEBALL, finding out he's a witch (not even a warlock!), and...someone killing the bullies at his high school. A lot of this book is based on my high school life, combined with my daughter's recent soujourn into the hallways of heck. Except we didn't know serial killers (um, at least that we know about).

It was a hard book to write. Just because the issue of bullying is tough. But I lived through it. So can you guys. If my book can help anyone out there going through bullying survive, then it made it all worth while. Read it, hate it, love it, just pass the word on.

2012. Seriously. You guys remember that year?

Well, 2012 came and passed much to the sound of nothing. I racked my juvenile brain for highlights. Here's what I came up with:

*We're still here! I'm glad the Mayans are a buncha' liars.

*"Bieber Fever" gave way to "One Direction Indigestion."

*Lindsay Lohan's still in trouble (yawn).

*Is Grey's Anatomy still on?

*It was the year the world fell in love with Honey Boo Boo and her mother (no, wait. I meant Channing Tatum. I always get them mixed up. Honey and her mother are two of the horsemen of the apocalypse).

*The election! I know I shouldn't get into politics, but HOOZAH! Now, if we can only get congress on board. (And just 'cause I live in Kansas, PLEASE don't hold me responsible for a lotta' these midwesterner politician's beliefs).

*Hurricane Sandy was horrific. My sympathy for all the East Coasters and everyone else touched by it.

*These random acts of violence on people need to stop. Everyone, look out for your neighbor, both mentally and physically. If someone seems depressed, despondent, whatever--no matter how odd they seem--take time out to ask 'em if they're okay. It's becoming a scarier world and it's up to us to make it less frightening. 2013's gotta be better for us, our children, and future generations.