Monday, October 13, 2014

Dear Bookworms



If you're looking for some guidance in picking your next book to read, perhaps the following reviews will be of assistance.


The Girl Who Fell from the SkyThe Girl Who Fell from the Sky by Heidi W. Durrow
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a beautifully crafted tale by Heidi Durrow. It is about a girl who is haunted by events that shaped her destiny early on without her having much say in the matter. Events that are only vaguely remembered and yet continue to form the fabric of each passing day. A father who has vanished without a trace. A mother who left this world in the splashiest of ways, taking her own life along with those of her other children by leaping from the roof of a building. There is a witness and a survivor, and this book is the latter's story, as well as an examination of race. She is her father's black daughter and also her mother's white daughter. As result her racial identity is both and neither, dependent on how one sees her, or how she chooses to see herself on any given day. She is trapped in a past that won't let go, facing the future with much trepidation, because she already knows that if she takes a leap she will do so without wings. But that does not mean she won't survive, because along with her blackness and her whiteness and her status as one who has been taken in upon being abandoned, like a broken winged bird, she is also a proven survivor. The narrative moves back and forth in time and is told from multiple perspectives, revealing the back story to readers a layer at a time, in as random a manner as the markings of heredity. It is filled with tragedy and longing and loneliness and confusion. Good intentions and poor decisions do battle and cancel each other out. Yet beneath it all there is muted hope that wings may one day sprout.



View all my reviews Doctor Sleep (The Shining #2)Doctor Sleep by Stephen King
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Stephen King hasn't lost a step. A major key to his success is that if you strip away all of the spooky supernatural stuff, you'll find well developed characters who are easy to relate to, expert pacing, and no shortage of intriguing background stories and subplots. The inhuman demons who torment his protagonists may be what King's faithful readers come for, but the terror only works if those being terrorized are likable, and their behavior plausible. That's why it's easy enough for King to take breathers from the creepy and crawly to pen equally engaging stories set completely in our real world. But when he's ready to return to the darkness that resides in his mind, nobody does it better, and nobody can keep up with his pace. Doctor Sleep is a worthy follow-up to the magnificent The Shining.

22 books recommended by Stephen King since he has joined Twitter - http://www.aerogrammestudio.com/2014/...



View all my reviews Juliet, NakedJuliet, Naked by Nick Hornby
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is my favorite of the Nick Hornby books I have read so far, though I should add that I have enjoyed the movie adaptations I've seen more than the books I've read. To date there has been no cross over of those two lists. I haven't read the book versions of the Hornby movies I've seen (High Fidelity, About a Boy, Fever Pitch), and have not seen movie versions of the books I've read (How to be Good, A Long Way Down, and now, Juliet, Naked). Apparently A Long Way Down has been made into a movie, so upon seeing it, at last I'll be able to compare novel to movie. But you're reading this primarily because you're interested in my opinion of Juliet, Naked - so I should get to that. I'm giving it 3-1/2 stars on my personal ratings scale, but since GoodReads does not allow for half stars, I'm rounding down to 3 here. I could have been more generous and gone up to 4, but I've given 4 out of 5 stars to some very impressive literary efforts. 3 stars feels more appropriate for this one. Hornby likes to write about things that people are passionate about in addition to or instead of other people. The obsession could be sports, perhaps a particular team. Or music, perhaps a particular band or artist. That last one describes Juliet, Naked. It gives us the story of a man who is fanatical about a singer/songwriter who has not released an album in 20 years. The last album that Tucker Crowe did release is a musical holy grail to Duncan. He devotes countless hours sharing conspiracy theories about Crowe's life and music with fellow devotees on the internet. Duncan's long time girlfriend appreciates Tucker's music as well, but is more or less along for Duncan's single focus ride. Duncan and Annie are not particularly passionate about each other, and this has been the case since the beginning of their relationship rather than the result of affection dwindling over the ravages of time. They got together because in the small town they live in, they made more sense together than being with anyone else. Over the course of the book Tucker transitions from being a distant object of idolatry to a person that Annie corresponds with via email, and eventually, a flesh and blood person in their actual lives. Duncan has never had feelings for Annie comparable to his intensity of emotional reaction to Tucker's music. Nothing personal against her, as Duncan doesn't seem capable of feeling strongly towards anyone. By the story's end, Annie is perhaps finally ready to form a relationship based on desire rather than convenience of location. As for Tucker, he thinks primarily about himself and the mess he has made of his life while also managing to be a decent father to his youngest child. Towards the end of the book Tucker reflects that a considerable amount of significant events have taken place in a relatively short amount of time, yet he feels mostly unchanged by them. Likewise, I'm feeling unchanged by this book. Yet I have to say that it was an enjoyable and interesting read. Hornby characters think about themselves and others and their circumstances and their obsessions in entertaining fashion. It doesn't much matter what does or does not take place during your visit with them. Either way you're glad you stopped by.



View all my reviews Where Monsters DwellWhere Monsters Dwell by Jørgen Brekke
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I was underwhelmed. Perhaps something was lost in the translation but the writing in this book didn't strike me as good enough to make it past form rejection letters from agents/publishers. Yet this didn't stop it from being published and apparently becoming an international best seller. How that happened is a much bigger mystery to me than the one solved between the front and back covers.



President of the Whole Fifth GradePresident of the Whole Fifth Grade by Sherri Winston
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

There is plenty in this book that I found to like. It features an ambitious African American girl who sets no limitations on her future. Those ambitions are not superficial things like being a movie star or pop star, or hoping to marry her favorite movie/pop star. Not only does she have serious entrepreneurial aspirations but also practical plans for how to begin moving towards them. It starts with becoming President of her grade at school. Enter a conniving rival who is willing to stoop as low as necessary to throw a monkey wrench in these plans. Enter an ally who encourages her to put ambition ahead of ethics. Eventually Brianna learns that ambition is as noble as the path one takes to to make their dreams come true. If success comes at the expense of losing loyal friends and losing respect for yourself, can it be considered true success? Brianna Justice's attitude towards education is refreshing. Learning is promoted as interesting and fun rather than imposed drudgery. This is a girl with a good head on her shoulders and eyes firmly set on the prize. I applaud the messages of this story but feel that the execution could have been a little tighter. There was also one too many easily found "deep dark secrets" lying around for convenient plot machination. I'm not the intended audience of this book though. My 8 year old daughter loved it from beginning to end. There's much to be said for satisfying your target reader above and beyond anyone else. #WeNeedDiverseBooks

View all my reviews


Care to enter a contest to win a book?


Goodreads Book Giveaway

Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Patches Of Grey

by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Giveaway ends October 31, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter to win





Although a descendant of Christopher Columbus may attempt to take credit for this discovery, let it be known that I am the one who is informing you that the Kindle edition of PATCHES OF GREY is free at Amazon 10/24 -10-25.




I personally read books like the people depicted below.



And I enjoy reading with the mood set just right and essential props at my disposal.





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Friday, October 10, 2014

LIFE COMES AT YOU FAST

SOMETIMES EVEN THIS HAPPENS:

White US couple sue sperm bank after getting pregnant by black donor

Jennifer Cramblett was five months pregnant when she realized the mistake


My advice...

DEAL WITH IT.



Because no matter what happens and how you handle it, people are going to say ONE THING, or else they're going to say SOMETHING ELSE.  So don't be so easily overwhelmed.  Even Forrest Gump was smart enough to know that life is like a box of chocolates, not a bowl of Cheerios.

Here's my fuller take on this matter in one full blast:

I'm not saying that these women are raving bigots. I'm not saying they don't have a valid lawsuit on their hands, though if they are the ones responsible for this story becoming public, I do hold them accountable for what should have remained a relatively private matter.  Obviously you go to a sperm bank to have a measure of control over what DNA you get, so if a mistake is made, someone should be accountable. BUT, my #1 takeaway from the art of parenting is that no matter what curveballs get thrown your way, you love your kid because it's your kid. Life in general, parenting in particular, is about receiving what you didn't prepare yourself in advance to handle. You didn't prepare for a colicky infant. You didn't prepare for a kid with ADHD. You didn't prepare for a light sleeper,  or a tantrum thrower, or a likes to take off and runner.  So what?  You love your kid because he/she is your kid and you deal with what you have to deal with. Some parenting situations will be easier than others.  Maybe your kid will need extra help with learning ABC 123. Maybe your kid will learn super fast and need to have catered advanced education. Maybe your kid will be allergic to whatever foods happen to be most abundantly around all the time.  You have no idea what you're going to have to deal with as a parent. But whatever you have to learn on the fly, you just do, because you're a parent and that's your job.  You become expert at whatever it is you need to become expert at.  If that's handling a different grade of hair than you're accustomed to, then that's what it is. If you live someplace where people look at you funny (as if some weren't already doing so because you're a same sex couple), well that's what they invented moving vans for.  I don't see this as a story about race tolerance/intolerance so much as a story about whining, which is something I have little tolerance for. If you can't handle the unexpected then don't become parents in the first place. The job requires flexibility, adaptability, and the ability to think outside the box.  Not everybody can do it particularly well.  But everybody seems to be an expert at suing people these days.

 And below is what I had to say in tweet sized outbursts:















Final thought: Since this is a case of accidental interracial sperm donation rather than a less plausible incident of accidental interracial adoption, nobody is saying that Jennifer Cramblett and her partner shouldn't even be parenting a black child in the first place.  The child is black of course because in our society: Black + White = Light Skinned BLACK rather than Both.  Biracial somehow is a concept too complicated for many to grasp.  And Jennifer Cramblett (at this time, but time does sometimes heal stupidity) is a walking billboard for those who say that a person who self identifies as white cannot be a proper parent for someone who is ID'd as black.  To those who see matters that way I have nothing to say except DO NOT GET ME STARTED. ONE LOVE.


Conclusion: Lawsuit dismissed. She's free to sue again for negligence and it is certainly negligent in matters of this nature and expense to grab # 330 instead of # 380.
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Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Q and A: #AuthorInterview






Favorite All-Time Read: That has never been an easy question for me to answer.  For now I will cheat and say it is a tie between Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and The World According to Garp by John Irving, with The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz nipping at their heels.

Who do you consider your author crush? See my answer to first question.  If I must pick only one I will say John Irving since he is the only one of the three I have met.  The other major literary hero/crush I have been fortunate enough to stand face to face with is August Wilson.  Two gargantuan talents who were kind and generous to me.

What do you like most about this author? There are a great many things to admire about the prose of John Irving.  I will say his greatest talent is laying out goals for his main characters to strive for in a manner that puts you in their skin, making you feel the urgency and desperation, causing you to share the exhilaration of the moment of triumph upon arrival, if indeed it does arrive.  Otherwise, experience the despair of coming up short as if it was happening to you.

How big of a reader were you, growing up? I was an extremely avid reader as a kid and that habit remains undiminished.  Shortly before Thanksgiving last year I gave #ReaderThanks on Twitter (where I go by the name @authorofpatches) to Beverly Cleary, Donald J. Sobol and Jules Verne for being amongst the first to fuel my fire for stories. 






As an adult reader, what genre do you tend to read the most?
Literary fiction, but I certainly do not restrict myself to it.  I have two rules for myself as a reader.  Read often...Read varied.  This not only keeps things fresh as a lover of stories created by others but is also invaluable to me as a writer.  The influences on my writing come from many sources.  When it comes to reading, what I seek are good books.  This is not technically a genre, but perhaps it should be. 

Do you have to be in a certain mood to write?
I do not.  Certainly there are times when I feel more creative than other occasions.  I am more of a night owl than a morning person and this extends to my pen hand.  But there is no telling when the muse will strike, and if I must summon her I will do so rather than waiting for her to show up.  A writer writes as much as possible.  The more I am writing, the happier I am.  It is also a very effective diet plan because when immersed in writing I tend to neglect getting around to eating.




And do you have an ideal writing space?
Not really.  I have a lovely writing desk in my attic that I have not sat down to write at in ages.  These days I am much more likely to be found writing on my couch, or at my dining table, or on the train to or from work, or at my 9-5 corporate desk, or on a park bench.  One of my favorite writing experiences was scribbling a short story while sitting at a loud and crowded bar.  It happened to be an outdoor bar, but when walls surround me my mind is no more confined than when they do not.




Preference of genre to write in?
The first full length novels to enthrall me were those by Jules Verne.  I rapidly went through 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Around the World in 80 Days.  I have read many more science fiction novels since.  Yet when it comes to stories of my own creation, I am most comfortable writing about people here on earth dealing with situations and emotions we can all relate to.  On any given day depending on who was asked about which story of mine, I suppose it could be called literary fiction, or mainstream, or contemporary, or upmarket commercial, or ethnic/African-American.


How did the inspiration for Patches of Grey come about?
To date the sparks for my novels have come in the form of a question that I felt compelled to fully explore.  With Patches of Grey the question had to do with self identity.  People fit certain descriptions and to varying degrees allow this circumstance to determine how they see themselves.  Of the various descriptors placed on us, race is one that I am especially intrigued by.  We do not choose it.  The ways in which it differentiates us from those of another origin are primarily cosmetic, at least at a glance.  But the ways in which it determines how we view the world and our desires and our prospects are often potent.  These issues are what set me off to writing about a young man coming to terms with how to define himself, and with how others see or fail to see him, regardless of what he does to influence perspective. 


There are times when aspiring authors come face to face with rejection. Do you have any counsel on how they can handle such moments?
Shrug it off. If you are lucky enough to get helpful feedback rather than a form rejection letter with zero personalization to it, consider yourself lucky and be sure to consider the advice.  But you are the final judge so feel free to ignore what does not strike you as being true.  It is your story.  Write it as best as it can be written, which will mean plenty of rewriting, but you alone must declare what readers will get to see.  Rejection of your writing does not mean that it is not any good.  It does not mean your dream has been killed.  It is simply the fork in the road.  Take it. If you do not find this answer sufficient motivation to keep on keeping on, check out my blog post HANDLING REJECTION FOR DUMMIES – I MEAN WRITERS


How do you deal with writer's block?  I write until it goes away, which must mean it was never truly there to begin with.  That uneasy feeling must have merely been garden variety laziness.




Do you have a writing process that you adhere to? Not really.  Unless you call staring at a blank piece of paper or white box on computer screen until my fingers start moving a “process”.  Once they do start moving, the only way I know of to write a novel is to first put down everything that comes to mind, followed by twisting and shaping and reshaping the unwieldy first draft down to its essence.




Shorter works seem to be in vogue more than ever.  Do you think that more and more authors will go that route such as you did with your ebook novella Feeding the Squirrels?
Attention spans are decreasing daily it seems.  The internet has a lot to do with that.  It used to be that publishing a novella was much more difficult than publishing a novel because publishers did not really get to charge much less for a novella in order to turn a profit.  So readers might feel ripped off by paying just as much for considerably less word count.  But we live in a new day, a largely electronic one, and people seem to have less free time than ever even though days continue to be the same 24 hours long.  This has provided an opening for greater receptivity to short stories and novellas.  None of this is why I wrote Feeding the Squirrels or why it was published in e-format.  That is simply how things worked themselves out.  I had no idea I was writing a novella at the time.  I was working on a literary experiment, a series of short stories that each featured the same lead character, and eventually I figured out a way to link them and form a whole.  It is a novella that like life itself, happened while I was busy making other plans.




Is there an aspect of being a published author that you enjoy more than anything else?
I love reading what somebody else (perhaps a reviewer I submitted to, maybe someone who picked my book up and gave it a chance) thought about the result of my hours of toil - most especially when they are enthusiastic about it.  Every so often someone says something that causes me to look at my writing in a new manner and it brings forth a smile from deep within.


A writer's life has its ups, downs and sideways. How can they best deal with those times?
Go and write some more.



Do you think social media and overall web marketing are the most powerful tools in promoting a book?
The most powerful tool in promoting a book continues to be writing a really good one that leads to positive word of mouth that catches on like wildfire.  The author has little control over this process after the writing a really good book part.  Social media and web marketing offer some of that control, so authors would be foolish not to partake.  Unless of course they have already managed to garner positive word of mouth that caught on like wildfire and led to plenty of people buying and reading their books, in which case they can get involved with social media as much or as little as they want.  But just about everybody is embracing facebook/twitter/instagram/whatever these days, including those who seemed to think social media was just a passing fad not so long ago.  If you can't prove them wrong, join in the fun.  There's room enough for everybody.


You've published over 50 short stories in journals and magazines. How do you know when a story is a short story or when it warrants a whole novel?
Do you think that short stories are a good way for writers to hone their craft?
I always have a pretty good idea in advance how long a story is going to be, and that of course determines whether it will be called a novel or a short story.  Today I cannot imagine being a writer who does not work in both formats.  I took on the challenge of novel writing before tackling short stories.  Prior to enrolling in a short story writing course in college I believed that I only had BIG stories inside of me.  A short story seemed nearly impossible.  Confining myself to just a few pages was a daunting task, but I gave it a shot since a grade depended on it, and I got the hang of it.  The best part of writing a tale is finishing it, and this can be done much more quickly and often with a short story than a novel.  It is not like I consider short story writing as practice for writing novels however.  They are very different from each other – and very much the same.  I advise young writers to try anything and everything, and then stick with what they love best.


How can an aspiring author get better at writing, whether the intention is to write a short story or to write entire novels?  This is another question that I addressed at my blog A Line A Day in the posting, Advice to Aspiring Authors.  Truth be told, there is only one way to get any good at writing.  Read a lot, write a lot, repeat steps 1 – 2 over and over and over again.


How can authors better prepare themselves prior to publication?
Read a lot, write a lot, repeat steps 1 – 2 over and over and over again.  Also check out some of the advice that is out there for writers.  There is certainly no shortage of it.  Much is even free.  A lot of it is repetitive and obvious.  But every so often you will discover a nugget that had not occurred to you that may end up being quite helpful.  Then go back to reading a lot and writing a lot.


What are some of the things you wished you had known before you published your first book?
I knew EVERYTHING there was to know, which is to say I knew not only that I wanted to be a writer, but that I had to be a writer because a writer is what I am.  Only thing left was to prove it by writing.  In order to work up the courage to lay my soul on the page for random people to pick over, I needed to believe I had something valuable to say and that there were others who would agree.   I understood some other essential things to be true and have learned a great deal more over the years, but what I knew from day one is what truly mattered.  I had to write.


What are your thoughts on critique groups and beta readers?
I have used both over the years to varying degrees of satisfaction.  It is of great value to let other pairs of eyes read what you have written.  Find some who are unbiased, select one of two who may be partial but are also honest.  But again, it is your story, you are the one with final say on how it ends up being told.  Best of luck with telling it well, and with it catching on like wildfire.


What do you have coming up next for readers?
I recently completed my second full length novel – Matters of Convenience.  Snippets from it can befound at the Pinterest board I created and an excerpt posted at my blog A Line A Day during composition of the first draft is located HERE.  Next up will be recording myself reading an excerpt from it.  Yet to be determined is by which method I will bring Matters of Convenience to the light of day.  Perhaps I will land a deal with one of the Big 5 Publishers or a smaller independent publisher.  Maybe I will join a cooperative of independent authors working together as a mini publishing house.  Or once again I may opt to go it alone and simultaneously wear the hats of author, art director, copy editor, publicist, marketing department, mailroom guy, etc. etc.  Going it alone will not be particularly lonely since enlisting the aid of many people will be necessary to help me spread the word.  We shall see.  I also recently completed the first installment in a planned children's book series.  If I end up going the DIY route for them, it will be in collaboration with my extremely talented wife Erin Rogers Pickering who will serve as the illustrator.  No matter how things work themselves out, I am eager to get more of my work out there and I am preparing for all that will entail.  And I am looking forward to hearing what readers have to say.
Kindle edition of Patches of Grey will be available for free 10/24 - 10/25.


If you wish to take a shot at winning a copy of the print edition, enter the contest at Goodreads:


Goodreads Book Giveaway

Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Patches Of Grey

by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Giveaway ends October 31, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter to win

So there is no shortage of opportunities to obtain a copy of Patches of Grey for free in October of 2014.
But if you are one those who has already bought or is planning to spend a little hard earned money to purchase it, you have my deep gratitude.  Happy Reading!







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Sunday, September 21, 2014

DOUBLE FAULT - a short story for tennis fans and beyond

A post shared by Roy Pickering (@roylpickering_author) on



I marveled as yet another backhand stroke took off like a canon blast from my racquet strings. The ball headed directly toward its intended destination, sending my opponent scrambling cross court in vain. He was tiring, each step increasingly labored. Half an hour ago the same shot probably would have been returned, but my rather masterful placement had begun to pay dividends. It was evident to me from our very first match that I was the superior athlete. Strangers would have reached this conclusion strictly at a glance, based on the gut he carried about while my own abdomen is nearly as flat as it was in my teenage years. An accommodating metabolism rather than strict diet and a cardiovascular enhancing work-out regimen bore primary responsibility for this. 

Despite my higher level of fitness, I continued to be winless against Melvin at tennis. This was at least our fiftieth match. As usual, it was two out of three sets to determine the victor. Quite unusually, our latest match had made it to a third set. Even if a win over Melvin was not guaranteed, I had already achieved the moral victory of not being vanquished in straight sets as had happened in each of our previous matches. 

But success of the merely moral variety would be vastly insufficient on this day. I reached this conclusion as soon as I took the second set six games to four. Now that I had Melvin in deep waters, there was no excuse for not stepping up and causing him to drown in a barrage of drop shots and overhead lobs. Either I would secure match point or else cause him to collapse in exhaustion, granting me victory by forfeit. Losing to him after making it this far was unacceptable to my ego. Although our matches are friendly in nature, this being especially critical since we are next door neighbors, this did not change the fact that I am a competitive person and my pride can only take so much battering. 

For this reason, unbeknownst to Melvin, I had been taking private lessons with a former professional for the past couple months. Vlad’s expertise was a rather expensive luxury, but my improved performance against Melvin proved that it was paying off. The brand new racquet I was playing with upon recommendation from Vlad handled beautifully. These factors inspired me to step on to the court brimming with confidence that Melvin’s term of having my number was coming to an end. 

My optimism was dealt a blow when he served to start the match and immediately sent an ace past me. He proceeded to hold me at love for the first game, and the second, and the third. By the time he sent a slice into the net to give me my first point of the day, Melvin was well on his way to taking the first set six games to zero 

My head was hanging low when he double faulted to start the second set. When he sent a forehand wide to give me the next point, my pulse began to quicken just a bit. I then hit a winner down the line to reach forty-love and suddenly the impossible was within reach. Every game I ever took from Melvin in the past had been on my own serve. I had come close on a number of occasions, but never managed to break him. The rally that followed was the longest played between us in all of our matches. He kept going to my backhand, knowing it to be the biggest of my various weaknesses, but I continued to respond and send the ball back to the deepest part of his side of the court. Each of his shots had a little more spin than its predecessor, forcing me lower and lower as the ball dipped with increased pace. My tenth consecutive backhand clipped the net, remained suspended in mid-air for what felt like an eternity or at least the length of the chick flicks my ex-wife liked to rent, and finally fell on Melvin’s side. The point and the game was mine, and even more importantly, the invincible aura of Melvin’s service game had been punctured. 

Riding the high of this unexpected turn of events, I easily held serve to go up two games to none. As I faced the first of his serves in the next game, cockiness was replaced with nervousness. Ordinarily, I was at relative ease when playing Melvin because defeat seemed inevitable each time out. Now that the opportunity to reverse this trend had presented itself, I tensed up with concern that I would blow it. 

Plenty of muscle was put behind the serve to come. The best I could do was to take a lunging stab at the green blur. Yet I somehow managed to get the center of my shockingly expensive racquet in the right place at precisely the right time, returning the ball even faster than it had arrived. Melvin could do nothing but watch it rocket past him for a winner. My nerves instantly settled in realization that from this point on I would be giving as good as I got. Five points later I broke him for the second time to go up three games to nada. Things got a little tougher for me after that as Melvin turned up his game a few notches. But it was too little too late to prevent me from taking the set and removing a tremendous almost literal weight from off my shoulders 

Our first ever third set was an epic seesaw battle. Neither of us could maintain momentum because the other kept snatching it back. After twelve grueling games we were knotted at six apiece. Rather than playing the type of tie breaker used in the pro game, we decided to play one more set to decide the matter. I spun my beautiful new custom strung racquet on the ground. If the letter at the end of the handle came up W, it would be my serve. M would put the ball in Melvin’s hands and the match on his racquet. I had been unable to break his serve in the third set. Unlike previous contests between us, he had not been allowed to casually go through the motions and depend on my unforced errors to give him a substantial number of free points. Each one needed to be earned by performance at maximum capacity. I was dueling with him at his best and ably holding my own 

As the racquet went round and round, I looked closely at my worthy adversary’s face for signs of weakness. What I found was a stone face expression and enough perspiration trickling down it to form a waterfall. He was breathing heavily from our long rallies and my strategy of running him over as much court as possible before finishing off a point. My greater stamina would have to see me through because luck was not on my side. 

The Wilson racquet fell and we both peered to find an upside down W. Melvin came close to fully suppressing a grin, but not quite. He walked back wearily to the service line and prepared to finish me off. I set up to return fire with conflagration, unwilling to concede that I would have to wait for another day to end my losing streak.

His first ace flew millimeters beyond my outstretched racquet. The second went right down the T with such ferocity that I didn’t bother to move for it, conserving my energy for when it might do me some good. His legs may have been shot but there was nothing wrong with his serving motion. When his next serve went into the net, I knew I would have an opportunity to take the next point. Melvin was adept at a few different styles of serve and skillful at unpredictable placement of them. This made dealing with his first serve a formidable challenge. But when it came to his second serve, he was as reliable as the rise and set of the sun. It came with minimal speed and kicked up high, forcing the receiver back deep. It was a safe serve that forced a timid return, leaving the point up for grabs until someone seized hold of it. I did just that to win the point, and the one after followed an identical pattern. 

With the decisive game even at thirty, I watched another first serve ace fly by to set up match point for Melvin. On the next point he needed to go to his second serve again, and after a few shots back and forth I hit a stunning cross court winner for deuce. Advantage next went to Melvin followed by another deuce. The scoring replicated itself nine more times until two consecutive drop shots fell short of his stumbling reach. Advantage was finally in my favor. 

His next serve went blatantly wide. This was it. Match point for me on his second serve. I involuntarily held my breath, but quickly realized that breathing would be far more useful. Be calm, be cool, stay focused, and above all else I reminded myself, keep your eyes on the ball. I took a greatly condensed refresher course of Vlad’s teachings as Melvin went through his routine of bouncing the ball three times before his toss and swing. Yet I knew that reflecting on my instructor’s numerous tips regarding proper form would be useless. I could not will myself to perform with textbook execution. Once the ball was in play things would move too quickly for contemplation. Muscle memory would determine if my strokes were up to the task. Match point could not be treated differently than any other we had played. Succumbing to the pressure of the moment would no doubt cause me to either over or under hit. The final message I recited to myself as Melvin struck the ball was that this was just a game. In the grand scheme of things it would not matter if I won or not. Convincing myself of these lies was a futile effort. 

I was unprepared for what transpired next. Melvin did not fall back on his old faithful second serve. Instead he fearlessly went for broke and blasted the ball down the center of the court. Ninety-five percent of it, maybe even a little higher, fell on the wrong side of the line. But the outermost edge nicked it for an ace, the set back at deuce. At least that’s what I was supposed to confirm for Melvin. Instead I stared at the line for a few seconds before raising a finger to falsely call the ball out. Double fault – game, set, match to me I declared with a single digit, the little piggy that stayed home, pointed things out, and declared my new position in our rivalry as number one. Melvin and I played by the rules of gentlemen. The disbelief that his facial expression shouted was not verbalized. He briefly bowed his head and then trotted to the net. As we shook hands I understood that he knew I had cheated. His eyes spat accusations but other than to weakly congratulate me for a “nice game”, his lips remained pinched shut. I held his gaze and tried to figure out whether it was the intense physical exertion of the past couple hours or a guilty conscience that caused me to suddenly feel overwhelmed by exhaustion rather than euphoric in victory. 

The mother of all headaches kicked in about an hour and a half later. Unlike my ex-wife Sheila, who I hate to reference but find it unavoidable on occasion, I do not suffer from migraines. What I do find myself incapacitated by from time to time are brutal tension headaches. During the final six months of our marriage and the ugly divorce proceedings, the frequency of my headaches dramatically increased. Thank God we had no kids to fight over or else my head probably would have exploded. With lawyers on both sides who were adept at dragging matters out to their fullest possible length, it often seemed that no end was in sight. Then one day it was officially over. Every “i” had been dotted, every “t” crossed, every applicable line signed on. I was a free man who did not even have to move from my house because Sheila had latched on to a new guy, a wealthy one whose mansion-like home was more to her liking than our humble three bedroom Dutch Colonial. So I bought her out and began the next phase of my life. During this period the biggest changes in my day-to-day have been that my headaches went away, and I developed an enormous passion for the sport of tennis that is shared by my next door neighbor. 

I consider myself to be an honest man, perhaps even a good one. Granted, an application for sainthood won’t be filed on my behalf any time soon. I have my fair share of flaws and vices. For a full list of them with considerable embellishment, ask Sheila. Just keep in mind that her application will be even further down in the pile than mine. It was her actions that set the demise of our marriage in full speed motion and placed her towards the top of Santa’s naughty list. I freely admit that I did not live up to the potential she first saw in me, either squandering opportunities or else failing to pursue them aggressively enough. For this perceived sin, Sheila betrayed me. Sometimes I wonder if she would have stepped out on me with another man even if my career and bank account had reached greater heights. But I tend to swiftly change the subject from such useless thoughts. There is no impartial review of the instant replay in life. It works out as it does whether fair to you or not, and that’s all there is to it. 

The four aspirin I took earlier have failed to make a dent in my headache. Only coming clean will accomplish this feat. I pick up the phone and ask Melvin to come over for a minute, explaining that I have something to tell him that needs to be said face to face. In a desperate moment of weakness I listened to the devil perched on my shoulder whispering in my ear. I temporarily forgot that there is no shame in defeat and no honor in deceit. In order to maintain self respect, I must make my foyer a confessional. The doorbell summons my moment of truth. “What’s up?” Melvin asks when I open the door but do not invite him in. Our chat will be a brief one. “You said you have something to tell me. I suspected you might, even made a little wager with Claire about it. She won though because you took a half hour longer than I guessed.” 

The look on his face is the very definition of smug. Melvin’s air of superiority over me has been inflated well beyond what another mere victory at tennis would have resulted in. 

“I do have a few confessions to make.” 

“A few? I was only expecting one.” 

“Well, you’re going to get three,” I inform him. “Do you remember about six months ago when your Sunday newspaper was not delivered?” 

“Not really.” 

“Trust me, it happened. I know because I’m the one who snatched your New York Times that day. I should have denied the impulse, but I didn’t. I apologize for it.” 

“Oh, okay. That isn’t such a big deal. I’m glad you told me if it makes you feel better to get it off your chest.” 

“It does. My second confession is for something I did about four months ago. Remember the dent you discovered in your car?” 

“That was you?” 

“I’m afraid so. Once again, my sincerest apology. The driveway had a thin coating of ice, my car got away from me for a few seconds, and your car took the hit. I didn’t want my insurance to go up. Ordinarily I would have offered to reimburse you for the repair charge. But I was consumed with how much money the divorce was costing me. I knew it was a jerk move on my part, but then it turned out you have a cousin who is a mechanic and you got it taken care of for free. So I figured all is well that ends well and kept my mouth shut.” 

“Until now.” 

“Yes, until now.” 

“What’s so special about today?” Melvin asks, anxious for me to get to the confession he has been expecting 

“Just felt a need to put my accounts in order, which leads me to confession number three.” 

Melvin smiles like a little boy coming downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing a big gift wrapped box that he was certain contained what he wanted most out of everything in the world. It is not until this moment that I realize just how much he must have enjoyed beating me at tennis all those times. He never gloated, never bragged, yet he had become spoiled, taken domination of me for granted. That is, up until today when I made the call that awarded bitter victory to me. Only I can reverse it and restore the natural shape of our rivalry, with him back on top as the undefeated one. I want to smack the satisfied grin off his face but instead speak my piece. 

“When I found out that Sheila was cheating on me, I did not confront her right away. I decided to take the payback route. There’s this woman in the neighborhood who had made it clear on more than one occasion that she was willing and able whenever I was. She said her husband did not know how to please her. I knew I wasn’t the first guy she had propositioned like this because two others told me she made them the same offer, and they both took her up on it repeatedly. After I found out what Sheila was up to, I took my place in this woman’s line, also repeatedly. We did everything I could think of that I never would have suggested to my wife, but nothing was too kinky or degraded for this woman. She gave new meaning to freakiness, at least in my own personal sexual dictionary.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Melvin asks, clearly intrigued by what I’m saying yet still impatient for what he had come to hear. “What the heck does it have to do with me?” 

“Think about it, Melvin. Tell Claire that me and the fellas say hello.” 

I close the door with rude quickness in case he is faster at releasing a punch than at figuring things out. It is beyond debate that I ventured well across the line. This is a shame, perhaps to eventually blossom into a regret. 

After all, well matched tennis competition is hard to find.
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Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Crime and Punishment or Lack Thereof





The world of sports has been enduring a rather bumpy ride of late, and no one is dealing (quite poorly) with more turbulence than NFL commissioner Roger Goodell.  If his league received any positive publicity regarding gay rights when all eyes were on Michael Sam during the draft, it has quickly been squandered one controversy after another.  As appetizer, the Washington Redskins are under more heat than ever before to change their racist name.  Had the league pressured the team to comply, Goodell could have placed it on the right side of history.  Instead the issue remains a case of team owner Dan Snyder refusing to cater to people’s racial sensitivities while the league looks away.







Squabbling over a team name is nothing compared to what took place next.  Ray Rice was somewhat improbably forgiven by his girlfriend for punching her into a state of unconsciousness.  Now Janay is Mrs. Ray Rice and the two of them are a united front against those declaring that something needs to be done to discourage domestic violence.  Roger Goodell was in as nearly a forgiving mood as Janay, suspending Ray for a mere two games.  That was before TMZ showed us the rest of the tape, the portion showing not just Ray dragging Janay’s body out of the elevator in nonchalant fashion, but the punch that preceded it.  Goodell tried some too little too late maneuvering by declaring that future domestic violence offenses will result in no less than a 6-game suspension.  Eventually he did a 360 and suspended Ray Rice indefinitely.  He thought we would accept his claim that he had never seen the entire video tape prior to TMZ’s public release of it, so that’s why his initial punishment was so lenient.  Nobody bought it.




We weren’t over being angry at Roger for completely mishandling Ray Rice’s transgressions when Adrian Peterson went and got himself indicted for abusing one of his kids.  Did AP possibly think it was an acceptable form of discipline to whip a 4 year old with a switch so severely that it left the back of child's legs looking like he was on the set of 12 Years a Slave?  Oh yes he did.  Reggie Bush chiming in that if necessary he’ll harshly discipline his own 1 year old daughter because tough love is what it’s all about certainly didn’t help matters.  In their infinite wisdom the Minnesota Vikings decided that since Peterson hasn’t been convicted of a crime yet, he could continue playing and not miss so much as a single game.  After public outcry and major corporate sponsors threatening to jump ship, they thought better of it.  Goodell has barely made a peep about Adrian Peterson, still licking his wounds while an investigation is underway regarding his bungling of Ray Rice.  Add names such as Greg Hardy and Ray McDonald and Jonathan Dwyer to the pile of problems that Goodell should be taking care of rather than hiding under his desk.  Agreement on a new drug policy is certainly not the cure to what ails him.  It’s barely window dressing on a gaping wound.



Ray Rice is appealing his suspension. Punishing him sufficiently in the first place would have made life much easier for Roger Goodell. 6 to 8 games probably would have been satisfactory to many who rightfully felt 2 games was ridiculous.  It remains to be seen how lawyers will advise Adrian Peterson to counter.  Since he hasn’t plead guilty or been convicted of a crime, he may have a strong case down the line.  Roger Goodell just wants it to all go away.  But the only way for that to happen may be for him to go away, leaving the NFL commissioner job in somebody else’s hands.

If Goodell is replaced, the new guy/gal may want to study the playbook of NBA commissioner Adam Silver.  Hit with drama almost immediately after taking over for David Stern, Silver has fared well as the new sheriff in town.  I was surprised by how harshly he dealt with Donald Sterling and thought it might blow up in his face, but Silver stood his ground and Sterling tearfully slunk away looking like a crazy old bigot best quickly forgotten.  Perhaps Silver has simply been lucky so far.  Or it could be he’s the smarter commissioner who knows the best way to deal with a troublesome situation is to confront and strongly impose your moral code upon it.    




There were plenty who disagreed with how Goodell handled the Saints in their Bounty-gate scandal, felt his reaction was too severe, but at least Roger came off as a man of conviction with intolerance of violence not so long ago.  Once upon a time Roger Goodell was the tough love guy in charge.  Now he looks like a guy who is in way over his head.  





But when it comes to being lenient on cash cow athletes, he is certainly not alone.





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