Stupid Internal Voices...

I sometimes wonder if there's a way we can judge or "score" our decision making skills.
When it comes to the old classic "what's for dinner", the obvious choice is of course, "pizza!"
But there's this little debate on the inside of our noodles.  One where this one voice says "hey, no dishes is nice, not standing over a hot stove is nice, no oven needed and that's gotta be nice, I mean it's like ninety degrees in the shade tonight..."
And another voice that says "jeeze, pizza is not so friendly to my thighs, the cost is the equivalent to almost five home cooked meals, my kids are gettin' too fat from sittin' on the couch staring at their devices and eating crap food all the time..."

And I don't so much wonder who wins these little internal arguments.  I wonder why they win and how often.
Could we possibs find a way to "measure" our ability to make decisions and if so, could we also find a way to measure our abilities to make what most people would consider "the right decision".
Because the pizza makers of the world want us to order their food.  The delivery drivers want to bring us that food so we can stay on our couches and look at our devices more.  They really want the little extra "tip" too right.

So this weekend, Memorial Day, a holiday, found my wife and son sittin' on the couch, bein' bored, lookin' at their devices.
The sun was shining and we had a full tank of gas, the possibs were endless right.
We discussed "things we could do" and how we needed to be outside more, how we need to get more exercise and this conversation is not a new one.
The beach was brought up followed by the checking of the water temperatures.  
My internal voice says "hey wait a minute, the beach, on a national holiday, on one of the first really hot days of the season..."
And my external voice says "hey, you know it might be busy at the beach.  Like, really busy..."
And my son's voice which is always the most sincere and "innocent" because well, he's still a bit of a child inside, says "oh hey daddy, they have Pronto pups, you could have your first Pronto dog..."

Now, for those of you that don't know, a "Pronto dog" is an especially delicious (so I'm told) corn dog only sold on the beach "strip" of Grand Haven (it's in Michigan).
There's a little "stand" and no place to sit, no bathrooms because hey, corn dog consumption doesn't need bathrooms.
But it's the beach and its a motivator for walking, you burn some calories, you get a Pronto pup, everybody's happy.

So I consent and soon the fam is piled into the ole wagon, headin' west into the brightly shining sun.
After a half hour or so, we're "there" and, it's busy.  Not the kind of busy where you've cut yourself and have to rush to the emergency room only to see not a single empty chair in the waiting room.
No this is the kind of busy where the streets of Manhattan look calm during rush hour.  People "everywhere", sidewalks overflowing, bodies walking so condensed that during a whole intersection light relay, not a single car advanced.
So after sitting in the road pretty much indefinitely, I took the first opening I saw and bolted for a parking space.  It wasn't really a parking space, more like a rapidly filling field of abandoned grass.

We weren't really anywhere "near" the beach or the Pronto Pups but that was okay.  We had accepted that there would be "some" walking so we set out on our mission, ignoring the press of bodies we were soon enveloped in.
I brought my bottle of water, the wife and son had their tea.  Sunglasses on, sunscreen covering, we walked.   And walked.  And...  walked.
When we could finally see the Pronto sign on the horizon, much joy was had.  I mean, my first ever Pronto pup right, this was to be an occasion never to be forgotten and the torturous journey only making it even more memorable.

When the crowd parted, we then saw "the line".  And I don't mean to exaggerate, no one likes to read a story with too much "fiction" huh.
Fifteen minutes later, we reached the end of the line and when I say "the end", I don't mean we got to tell the people in the stand what we wanted.  I mean, we fought through the bodies to discover where others were "lining up" for their hopeful pups.
Then, if you couldn't imagine it already, we waited.  And we waited.  And guess what, we waited some more, occasionally taking a couple of awkward steps forward and trying not to smell the neck of the person in front of you while not allowing the person behind to smell your own.

And I think around this phase, I forgot all concepts of "time".  Life seemed to gellify and ooze around my melting shoes like a child's dropped ice cream cone.
We waited, and we talked about waiting and we tried to keep our eye on the prize.  Or, prizes, you know, Pronto pup prizes.
My son insisted that one hour worth of standing was the equivalent of twenty minutes of walking and I conceded.  Praps he was right.

Then the window!  I could not quite believe it but the blast of air conditioning coming from inside only confirmed it.  We had made it!
I calmly wiped the sweat from my dripping forehead and asked the nice young lady inside for three Pronto pups.  I even added a "please" at the end of my request, you know, you have to try to be friendly to people that are making your food huh.
The lady smiled and asked for my five dollars and change and I handed her my card.
She looked at my card a little funny then said, "um, we're cash only".
I accepted my card feeling a little embarrassed for handing it to her in the first place.  I mean, the sign was clearly posted, right next to the little window.  In big red letters, it read "CASH ONLY" huh.

So I ever so calmly opened my wallet, praying to the small bills gods that I would have enough to cover it...
And nopes.  Two one dollar bills were my only other possessions.
To the wife's purse and, nopes.  She left her purse in the vehicle because she thought it would not be needed.
My head drooped and the people behind us in line grunted their understanding.
My son was quick to pipe up with his optimistic, "but you can get one pup daddy, you have enough to try one..."
But his voice was drowned out by that little voice inside my head from a couple of hours ago.  The one that said "hey, holiday weekend, it might be busy..."

I walked away from the pup stand, no Pronto dog in hand.
My wife and son followed and it was a fairly quiet walk back to our vehicle.
Wait, actually, there was some talk concerning how our water was gone, our tea was consumed and we were thirsty.  But that was about all.

I won't mention how we sat in a couple of highway traffic jams on the way home.  Or how we really had to use a bathroom from all the drinking we had done.
I will mention that whatever skill or talent that is, to be able to make "the right decision" when everyone else around you is encouraging the "other" decision...
I will say that I wish mine were better.  I wish I could just "know" the best decision and make it, even if I chose not to on some occasions.

It's not that I don't want to hear that other voice, the one with the "not so good" decision.
That voice is occasionally right, it was a memorable trip.
I will never forget, the time I almost ate a Pronto pup.

The Write Time...

Friends..!
The Black Bishop has written a book!
I feel a little bit weird, typin' about it here.  In truth, it has been my dirty little secret for some time now.
I'm not a very "proud" person but I don't know how it (the pride) can be measured.  How do I know if I'm a "proud" person..?
I don't like creating "hype", I'm not a marketer and I seem to have a problem with drawing attention to myself.
I suppose if nothing else, I learned some things about myself during this "experiment" so mabes I can share some thoughts, mabes you can learn some stuff about you, too huh.

They say "type what you know" and I think I know "feelings of failure".  I must have created this perspective of myself when I was younger.
I can remember my dad leaving my mom, younger siblings and I when I was about fifteen and "the event" seemed to scar me in ways.
I had always been taught, by my father, to be the best I could be.  He helped me learn to read at an early age, he played with me constantly, he was my whole world and I can remember wanting to be just like him.
I was always good at school (possibs because I had some caring parents at home who took the time to know what I was accomplishing, or not accomplishing)...
So I grew up with this feeling of being "talented" or "gifted".  I was the smart kid, the creative, the imaginative.  I was the dungeon master in role playing games with my friends because I was quick on my feet, lightning fast with my mind and tongue.
I had that thing that we like to label kids with, "potential".
Then the divorce and the pain of losing what you think is reality.  The withdrawing from emotions, the disappointment, the sadness turning to anger.
I rebelled, I didn't want anything to do with my mom or my dad because if they hurt me with their decisions, well I was gonna do my share of hurting back eh.
I started smoking just to piss them off, I ran away from home countless times, just wanting to be away, wanting to be left alone.
Ah the stories I could tell...

In short, I became the bad kid.  The one that people saw as a bad apple because I took all of my potential and held it hostage, demanding a ransom that I didn't really care about receiving.
And ever since, I thought that I was no longer creative, not imaginative.  Not smart.
I drowned myself in drugs and later, alcohol, numbing all the negative emotions.  And the positive ones...

So, ever so slowly, over the years, I've been tryin' to accept that my creative side is still in there.  It's been ignored and neglected for a long time but it's in there, somewhere, I can feel it sometimes.
Now that it's officially "out" there, on a screen, well it conflicts me, inside.
I know I want to feel some sort of pride but...

Wait, I have to back up a bit, where is that rewind button...
I thought, back when I was crankin' out page after murderous page, that when it was "done", when I had given it my all...
That a big church bell would 'gong' all loud and clear and I'd know, deep inside, that I was "done", that I had done it, finished it even.
But there it was, sittin' on my hard drive, lookin' at me funny as I looked at it funny.
What are you doing there little story, I would ask it.
The same thing you are Bishop, it would say.  Nothing.

And that sorta bugged me for a bit, I'm not sure why.  Perhappers it was the lack of the church bell sound...
So I waited a while, expecting the bell sound at any moment.  Yeps, any minute now.  Whenever you're ready big bell, I'm here, I'm ready.
Aren't I..?

I had to accept that there was to be no bell sound.  No finish line.
And that if I was wanting to share my story with anyone, anyone at all, that I would have to find a way to put it into a readable format.  I can't just give out flash drives (these are like little storage devices, similar in use to an old DVD, remember those..?)
A real live book with paper seemed desirable, mabes a fancy cover, you know.  But that would take a publisher, an "investment" and dollar signs.  I should probs try to find a proofreader, an editor of some sort, you know, the things authors do before calling their book "done".
But the more I looked, the more I learned and investigated, the more I saw just how much more was required.
Writing a story wasn't the easy part.  I mean, all of us are writers right.
The whole "getting it out there" became the hard part.  And I struggled, oh how I struggled.
I tried to learn a whole industry when learning new stuff might not be a positive trait in my character make up any more.

And in the end, having no resources and finding no help, I succumbed to the only option left.  I submitted my story to the giant Amazon Kindle self publish people.
I haphazardly threw together a cover, it's black and white and extremely plain.
I filled out the required boxes, clicked "permission granted" and named a price (five bucks or about three and a half pounds for my British friends).
But still, no bell.

A weird thing happens to us when we're reluctant to do something.  We know we "have to" and it's not something we really want to do and we try to make excuses, we try to rationalize, justify...
And it seems like there's a really grey line between positive and negative perspectives sometimes.
How do I feel, how should I feel and who really cares how I feel in the end anyway.  Do I care?

Well, yes.  Yes I might care.  But it's in the labeling my care, that I seem to get stuck.
If a consequence just up and "happens", must we identify it before moving on?

Let's say I accidentally knock a woman up.  For my feminist friends, this is the derogatory phrase meaning, "I've impregnated a woman with my baby making seed" (no offense intended, it's humor huh).
If I don't think the world is a great place for a new baby to live in, I can identify my feelings as "horrible".  Praps "guilty" or "worried", mabes a whole slew of others but "negative" sure, undeniable.
If I think the world is a wondrous place and a new life will surely enjoy every second of it's time here, then blamo, my feelings can be all positive, full of "hope" and "aspirations".  I can instill in my child the same "gifted" curse my father imprinted in me right (don't tell me that's not positive!)
Or sometimes, there might be a third option.  Perhaps that baby making episode was so insanely awesome that no consequence was too good or bad, that orgasm (or three) was worth it huh.

So it has become with my first literary baby.  I don't know if I should be happy, proud and positive.  I mean, not everyone can describe the same "somethings" for more than sixty thousand words eh.
I don't know if I should be sad, angry and negative.  I mean, I could have done so much "more", couldn't I..?  I should have, I could have...
I don't know, I've asked myself that for quite some time now.  What else could I do...
I'm aiming for the third option because that one feels easiest to me.  Not angry, not happy, just...

An explosion of emotional quaking and vomiting on my screen.  An orgasm of sorts, one that left me numb and a little exhausted.
But one that was well worth it.
I had ignored the beast in it's cage inside me for too long.  I didn't mean to let it out, at least, not on purpose...
I must have, at some point, dropped a hack saw within reach and just sorta turned my back while it sawed at it's bars.

I hope to work on a sequel in the near future.  There are some plot holes I left on purpose, that I want to fill in "someday".
If you are curious or compelled, I will leave the link.  There's a "free sample", I think it's like the first five pages and if you like it, hey it's not all that expensive.  It might be worth it...
Do leave a review if you're able, I'm won't ask for favors, if you didn't like it, that's okay and share your thoughts and criticisms freely.
I think I'm a huge criticizer of others so it just wouldn't be fair if I didn't accept (an encourage) others to criticize me.

Here's my cover in case you're "unsure" and hey, thanks for readin' you know..!

the Black Bishop's first book..!