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The Rights of All

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Yesterday I lost my temper. It happens and it’s never pretty.

A woman on Facebook asked her friends to take a moment and say a prayer for the military members who had been lost in Afghanistan this weekend. A supposed friend of hers filled her wall with not one post, but a total of six. The gist of the posts (one after another) was that these men who died had gotten what they deserved, that she didn’t believe in God, and that we as a nation were trying to turn our paid killers into heroes. There was a lot more, but I won’t bother with the rest – I’ll just get mad all over again.

One of my dearest friends, and a man I greatly respect, took the time to make a reasoned response to her posts. He was polite and articulate. I know that he was just as angry as the rest of us, but he stepped up and displayed incredible professionalism. I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of him. Sadly, I doubt his words did any good. People like this woman only listen to themselves.

I, unlike my friend, fell back on my usual string of expletives, once again frustrated by my inability to express myself in a meaningful way. That’s what happens when I get angry. I am not polite, rarely articulate, and I would not have been so professional.

I spent a good bit of my time yesterday trying to figure out exactly why I was so mad. The woman had every right to say the things she said. The right to say your piece is a given in our country and there are more than a few that exercise their rights – no matter how misguided. What was said was certainly nothing that we haven’t seen or heard before. We normally exercise our own freedoms by turning the channel or using that piece of newsprint to line the bottom of the birdcage.

Then it finally hit me. It was because these words were said on someone else’s Facebook post. Some kind soul had asked for prayers for lost warriors and their families, and this other person had filled her friend’s page with something that was the very antithesis of the request. We may all have different opinions and beliefs than our friends, but we don’t disrespect each other in that way. And, we certainly don’t use the death and suffering of others as our weapon of choice. It was an incredibly rude and disrespectful thing to do to someone they claimed was a friend.

I would not do that to someone. However, this blog is my space – my little area of the Internet to express my opinion – so I will take a moment now that I am calm and rational to respond:

Dear Madam,

I, and the people that I hold most dear, got up every day and put on our gear, spent time away from our families, and served in the armpits of the world to defend your rights. We were all volunteers who chose our profession as Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, or Marines. It was an honor for all of us to stand together regardless of faith, color, or creed and defend your rights. There is not a single one of us who, when push came to shove, would not step in front of you to defend your right to freedom of speech. Not a single one of us who would not step in front of you to defend your right to believe or not believe in God.

And, not a single one of us who would not lay down our lives in defense of you and those rights.

The men who died in Afghanistan this weekend did just that.

My friends and I believe that God will accept those brave warriors into a peaceful place. We also believe that God will listen to the prayers of the many and provide the strength and comfort the families of those warriors need. If anyone wants to take issue with those beliefs – have at it. My friends will stand with me, and we can take whatever you throw at us.

You don’t have to like us, anymore than we like you. However, while you abuse us and treat us as though we are the dirt beneath your feet, we will continue to defend your right to express your opinion. It’s okay, you act the ignorant ass – me and mine will do our jobs.

But, lady –when the brave people who make it possible for you to “express yourself” give their lives in the performance of those duties – the least you could do is shut the hell up and show a little damn respect.

Sincerely,
Lynne Scott

Now that I have that out of my system, I can focus on what’s really important. We have lost a lot of good people this month in Afghanistan and Iraq. Every person lost was someone’s child, sibling, spouse, or parent. While the 30 that we lost this weekend comes as a large blow due to its sheer magnitude, my friends and I feel each and every loss. No one death is any less than the other – each is borne with an equal weight of sorrow. Each was a member of our military family. While we take some comfort in the idea that all were doing the jobs they loved – we all would wish it otherwise and they were safe with us.

My thoughts and prayers remain with the families of all the service members whose lives were lost in the performance of their duties.

A Shared Fear Now Available

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“A Shared Fear”

by Lynne Scott.

When genealogist Evie Davis and ATF Agent Joe Graves meet on a flight to Portland, Oregon, each thinks they’ve just become the luckiest people in the world. Both ex-military, they find a common bond in their past vocations as a combat arms instructor and a Marine sniper. Their chance meeting is about to turn their world upside down when they discover Evie is being pursued by a man who is now demanding more than the casual friendship they had – he wants to possess her. Recognizing the danger Evie is in, Joe is ready to protect her, but he has a problem of his own. A contract has been taken out on his life, and the hit man is already waiting in Portland. Thrown together by circumstance, Evie and Joe come to learn they will do whatever it takes to save the other from the dangers that lie ahead.

“A Shared Fear” is available NOW for the Kindle via Amazon.com, and will be available soon for the Nook at BN.com.

Grammar Shmammer!

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For anyone that follows this blog it is no surprise that grammar is not my strong suit. Hello! Read my posts and you should be able to tell which one was edited and which ones weren’t. That one should stand out to anyone with a clue because the tenses all agree and the comma fairy didn’t come by sprinkling a random sampling of unnecessary commas. Well, that’s a lie. The comma fairy came, but Marcia beat her into unconsciousness and tossed her out.

So, who is this comma fairy and where did she come from? The comma fairy is a woman named Lynne (me). I was raised in a military family and I moved a lot as a kid. Each year between the fourth and ninth grade, I attended a different school in a different state. Math and grammar were the real victims of the change in venue. Math proved to be less of an issue over the years. I went back to college, and starting with basic math – I simply took a class each semester until I made it through the higher functions. Easy-peasy.

Sadly, there wasn’t a basic grammar class. I’m a big reader, so when I took the placement tests for college, I was placed in higher level writing classes. I had terrific teachers who were interested enough in my stories and my thoughts that they could overlook the grammar. Looking back now, I realize that the comma fairy wasn’t doing a fly-by in those days. In fact, punctuation was optional. It became a problem when I started “thinking” about what I was doing. She moved in, and I’m still trying to get her to move the hell out.

The rotten little comma fairy usually drops them between the verb and subject or anyplace a verbal pause occurs. Take a breath and a comma comes out. Think about a pause in the rhythm of the sentence and a comma comes out. If I’m not sure how to punctuate the sentence just drop a comma in. Now I’m exercising a new policy that I refer to as “when in doubt – take it out.” I’m pretty sure that’s not really any better than the random comma dropping. However, it’s much easier for my editors to add a comma rather than try to figure out what the heck I meant when I put the comma in the wrong spot. That last sentence might be a prime example. Shouldn’t there be another comma in there somewhere?

I’ve bought the grade school workbooks for home study students and I’m working on the 6th grade book now. Honestly, I’m not sure how much good it’s doing. My punctuation seems to depart completely if I’m excited about what I’m writing. As my friend Arwen told me, “You lose your commas completely when you write sex.” That’s true. I have to add them when I rewrite and self-edit. The only way I see most of them (or the lack of them) is to read the scene backwards sentence by sentence. Otherwise, I sort of get distracted. Sadly, the same thing happens when I write something very violent.

I really am making an effort to improve. As I told my other editor, Marcia, “It’s only grammar, it can’t kill me.” Having said that, I’m not really sure I actually believe it. I think the stress of comma placement will someday cause me to collapse from a heart attack or stroke.

Of course, even if I figure out the damn comma rules, I’m still left with the nagging problem of just what the hell I’m supposed to do with those annoying semi-colons…

Can we just have some fun please?

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One of my friends recently said he was trying to be less of a smart a**. Of course, he said that right after he’d zinged me, and my immediate inclination was to send him an email and call him on his abuse. I didn’t. Instead, I sat down and looked at some of the communications he had mentioned to me. I’ve called him a smarty more than once, but the reality is, that there’s a difference between the teasing of friends and just being an a**.

More than once I have heard (and said myself) that there is no tone in email. The words you type on the screen can be read in a variety of ways and, depending on the reader’s mood, can elicit a variety of responses. My humor level can become non-existent when my caffeine level drops too low. With texting and Tweeting (which I don’t do), and the explosion of Facebook, what you type spreads even faster. When you share something on Facebook, you plan on sharing with your friends, but it also gets shared with others. Your friend posts something and you comment. It’s not a private chat between you and him, it’s between you and all his friends. They see what you wrote and chime in. A teasing jab between old friends now becomes fodder for everyone else. What might have been funny the first time is rarely as humorous when everyone jumps in and the teasing becomes an abusive free-for-all.

I’ve long wished that I had been smart enough to set up two Facebook pages. One for the more polite of my friends and family, and one for the people that I don’t need to censor myself with. I have a friend who finally went through and did separate pages. One gets the family friendly updates and the other one gets the “unvarnished” truth. Those of us that she has friended on that second page expect it to be less than politically correct, bawdy, and direct. I keep the friends on my personal page down to a minimum. No one under eighteen need apply, because my comments often cross the line.

There really are two separate and distinct people inside of me. There’s the more polite woman who likes to stay in touch with relatives, high school friends, folks I worked with before, and genealogy buddies – and then there’s – well me – the darker side. The dark side is often rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. I like a good dirty joke, the foul insults traded by people that have seen and done what I have seen and done, and the dark sense of humor that lives in people who have had to deal with the messier side of life.

But, as I thought about what my friend had said, I realized that he was right. Many people seem to consider commenting on Facebook as some kind of a contest in being a smart a**. Why is every communication now an opportunity for someone to make a smart comment or take a cheap shot? We’ve moved into the area where we have to figure out the difference between those who are teasing and those who are just being a**es. How many times have you seen something really mean followed by an LOL? Or even worse – the smiley face. Most of the time it is meant just that way, but we’ve all seen the line crossed, and no doubt we’ve all crossed it ourselves a few times.

Because of my warped sense of humor, I get friend requests from friends of my friends. I’m pretty picky – I take a hard look at those folks and I do pay attention to who posts what. Those people who live for the opportunity to make a sharp or pointed comment, but are unable to point that comment at themselves, don’t get approved. Neither do those who are only looking for a platform to spout their politics or religion. They are the serial a**es that take the fun out of things.

There have been times when I’ve posted the same responses that I would have made on the phone, but in writing it doesn’t carry the laughing and teasing tone of a longtime friend. They just plain look mean. I’ve deleted more than one post after rereading it, because I worried it didn’t convey the humor I meant it with.

My friends have value and I will continue to tease and abuse them – it’s part of who we are. Most of us are people that recognize a good zinger is like a hug between longtime friends, but being an a** is usually just meanness couched in humor. We could all do with a little more of the first and a little less of the second. However, I will hold back on occasion because I’m not willing to hurt someone or ruin a friendship just to make a witty retort.

The fact of the matter is that we are judged by our friends – and that includes the ones on social sites like Facebook.

A Busy Few Weeks

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This is just a short post to bring everyone up to date. It’s been really busy around here as I finish up several projects.

A Shared Fear – my next stand alone book is almost ready to be released. The final edits are done and Dean is hard at work creating another cool cover. This is a straight-up suspense story – not a vampire in sight! You can find a description of the book on the Single Titles page under the BOOKS tab. I expect to have it out this month.

The Doubter – Blood Link II is working its way through the editorial process now. Hopefully, this one will be published around the end of summer.

The Civilian – Blood Link III and The Damaged – Blood Link IV are in beta read now. I don’t have a schedule for those, but I’m hopeful that we might be able to get them out around the end of the year.

I’m presently working on several other stand alone novels, plus mapping out the next Blood Link books. I’d like to tell you that this is keeping me out of trouble – but we all know that would be a lie…

The Five Stages of Grief and Editing

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I am not the person who originally came up with the concept of this comparison – it’s been around for some time, but this is my take on it.

I openly admit to struggling with the editorial process. Not that I don’t know I need it – hey I’m only mostly perfect – but it can be painful. It doesn’t matter how prepared you are for criticism it’s never a fun process. Your beautiful words are being challenged, and all your hard work and effort is being abused for no good reason. Okay, okay – maybe a good reason – that third hand is definitely a problem unless your character is a mutant.

I opened the edits on a work in progress several months ago and this is how I went through the five stages.

Denial – there is nothing wrong with what I have written. These words are usually followed by a quick scroll to the next page. Nope – I am simply not looking at this!

Anger – Who do you think you are? In my case, this is always followed by a string of expletives. I am nothing if not articulate when it comes to stringing expletives together. Really, I do get mad on the first look and I do swear – right after I deny that there’s a f*$#($* problem.

Bargaining – Well, maybe a few small changes are in order, but I’m not giving up the hug and apology in Chapter Two no matter what you say. I am not a good negotiator. In fact, I’m terrible at it. My idea of negotiating is I say no, and then I pass you your straw and tell you “Suck it up, buttercup.” Then I default back to angry and string more expletives together.

Depression – This is the part where I sit around in the funk that comes when people simply don’t understand me. This is also where I forget that out of 85,000 words, the editor has issues with only about 1,000 of them. All I can see is the 1,000 and it’s crushing. It doesn’t matter that fixing those 1,000 will make this a better book. This is the stage where I’m sure that I should go find something else to obsess about. Maybe I’ll just string some more expletives together as I cry in the corner…

Acceptance – By the next day, I am able to approach these notes in a more rational manner. I’m able to say yay or nay based on something more reasonable than emotion, and I can communicate with my editor in a way that doesn’t make me sound like an inmate in the state asylum.

Almost all of these things happen in private. Almost. I have been known to call Dean and “vent.” Hey, he’s more than just my publisher, he’s my friend, and it comes with the territory. He listens, sympathizes, and in general tries to help me come to a better place. Then, because he’s my friend and my damn publisher, and because he knows me so well, he hands me my straw. I make the needed changes and it’s a better book.