Roy L. Pickering Jr.'s Blog, page 10

Doing it for the 'gram

So I finally got around to joining Instagram. And then hackers, apparently thinking that I'm the DNC or perhaps allegedly directed by mischievous President Obama (America's last legitimate prez), worked their way into my account for who knows what reason. Practice and alleviation of boredom are the lead candidates.




It is my third attempt at an Instagram account that is up now and I'm hoping will prove to be the charm. If you find weight loss programs and/or lingerie clad women posted there, it means that hackers have worked their magic once again, and that will probably send me into photo posting retirement. Unless Instagram proves to be too addictive to quit, and so far that is where all signs are pointing.

A few of the pictures I've put up so far can be found below. To see more, feel free to follow me and chances are good that I'll follow back to liven up my feed.  I've just about exhausted the 'gram worthy photos in my phone's photo gallery, so I'm inspired to venture forth in search of all things photogenic. I'd rather do that than bombard voyeurs with selfies. My plan is to capture exhibitions of the beauty of nature and architecture...and bookish stuff. Not only is literature in its printed form food for the soul, but it's often candy for the eyes as well.

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A post shared by Roy Pickering (@roylpickering_author) on Apr 3, 2017 at 2:34pm PDT

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Ava Appelsawse

A post shared by Erin Rogers Pickering (@eringopaint) on Mar 7, 2017 at 11:39am PST

"The spice jars next in line to be used took up space in the kitchen. A great many more were on shelves in the basement, waiting their turn." ~ from The Absolutely Amazing Adventures of Ava Appelsawse (written by Roy L. Pickering Jr., illustrated by Erin Rogers Pickering)



My darling daughter, who turns 11 this year, reintroduced me to the world of children's books. Since I had already entered the world of book blogging, it made sense to merge the two endeavors. In March of 2009 I posted a collection of mini-reviews of books written for miniature people. I began the post with these words: Having a child means getting to experience the wonderful world of children's literature all over again. I've been pleased to find out over the past few years that not only are the old standards as charming as I remembered, but plenty of great new books for little ones were written while I was busy growing up. Reading to my daughter on a daily basis allows me to revisit tales I fondly recall and discover new ones along with her. 

Fast forward to 2017 and these days I don't do much reading aloud to my daughter since she now reads for herself. And yet the world of children's books continued to call out to me.  My daughter's bookshelves are still filled with the books I read to her in her earliest years. They are a constant reminder in our household of a more innocent time and style of prose.

Several years back I wrote what was intended to be a rhyming board book for toddlers and their exasperated parents. It was inspired by the trying experience of finding the right daycare facility for my daughter. It's not half bad in my opinion, but I'm no Dr. Seuss and was not strongly compelled to bring it to the light of day. Some writing projects are destined to remain tucked in a drawer. I put the story/poem away and any career as a children's book writer I might have was put on indefinite hold.

Instead I threw full energy into completion of my second novel, Matters of Convenience . I somewhat improbably continued to write A Line A Day blog posts on an irregular schedule. My daughter changed from my baby girl to a beautiful young lady. Instead of picking her up at daycare with fingers crossed that it was a good day, I'm now a coach of her middle school basketball team hoping she'll work more on her dribble while being impressed by her post game. Still, the siren's song of children's books could be heard in quiet moments. And so it was that one day I set pen (or was it pencil?) down to paper and started to write what would become THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING ADVENTURES OF AVA APPELSAWSE.

It's often been suggested to me that I do a follow-up to a novel or short story I've written. I've resisted the urge because they were meant to be standalone tales, even if ending in a way that makes readers want to know more about the characters down the road. For the first time I am now tackling a sequel. The Absolutely Amazing Adventures of Appelsawse was intended from the start to be a series. My wonderfully talented wife Erin Rogers Pickering is currently working on illustrations for the first installment while I have gotten started on book #2. Two and a half chapters of the first draft are done so far. I'm trying to figure out where the rest of the story is going, or else it will need to inform me. Either way works. 

Do you believe that We Need Diverse Books? I do. Do you believe greater emphasis by the publishing industry on promoting books told in Our Own Voices by writers from various backgrounds is important? I do. But lofty causes aside, ultimately my wife and I are two artists you may not have heard of (yet) with stories to tell through words and illustrations that we believe you and your little ones will connect with.

While I'm crafting the Ava Appelsawse sequel, stay tuned for updates on the first book in the series which is scheduled to publish later this year. If you have kids, or know anyone with kids, or perhaps were once a kid yourself, then this is the book for you. And this time I'm not stopping at just one, not that I have a particular number of them in mind. The older I get the more things I realize I do not know...yet. I have no idea how many books and stories intended for various audiences are stored within me. But as a major milestone birthday approaches I am more determined than ever to put as many tales as possible out into the world and see how far they go. I hope you choose to accompany me on the journey.


























"In a slightly crooked house with the address of 123 Oaktree Lane there lived a seven year old girl named Ava Appelsawse."




"It was excellent tomato sauce, possibly the best in the world, for it was made with love."




"Ava decided the hamster was a girl.  It did not disagree and also did not complain about its name, perhaps because this was the most interesting thing about her."

39/365 #365DaysofArt Hamster. Character sketches for the children's book my husband wrote. It's a family affair! #makemoreart #makearteveryday #draweverydayA post shared by Erin Rogers Pickering (@eringopaint) on Jan 3, 2017 at 9:17am PST

DOG EAT DOG ROMANCE - a short story

Dog Eat Dog Romance
By Roy L. Pickering Jr.  (Author of Patches of Grey)(& Matters of Convenience)


This short story is dedicated to the newest member of my household. Rescued on a cold December day from the unforgiving streets of NYC. Tough as a rattlesnake, cuddly as a newborn bunny, feisty as barrel of monkeys, affectionate as Nana greeting her grandbabies, squirrel obsessed, not quite fully house trained but we'll get there, the best Christmas give ever - the one and only SHADOW.









“It’s perfect.  Absolutely perfect.”
“I know.”
“We could look for a million years and not find another place half as nice as this in our price range.  Hhardwood floors, beautiful moldings, floor to ceiling windows, a river view, a backyard, a fireplace even.  And look at all this space.”
“I know,” I repeat, for what else is there to say?  Claire is right.  This place is perfect for us.
“Are you sure they wouldn’t be willing to bend their rule about …”
“I’m positive, Claire.”
“So we either give him up to move in here, or else we keep looking.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Would you willing to find another home for him, Adam?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“It’s easier to ask than to answer, isn’t it?”
“Maybe we should flip a coin,” I suggest.
“Over something as important as this?”
“A coin is the fairest judge there is, Claire. No matter how big or small the issue is.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”
I pull a quarter from the change pocket of my jeans.  
“Heads we give him up and move in here, tails we find a place that will let us keep Max Two.”
I toss the quarter into the air.  My eyes widen along with Claire's as we watch it rotate – George Washington’s head on top, then the eagle spreading its majestic wings, back to gorgeous George’s profile, the stoic bird of freedom once more.  The quarter hits the floor, bounces up and does its final spin, then settles in place.  We crouch to learn what our decision will be.
The sequence of events leading up to this moment began nearly a year ago.  That was when my best friend Leon went away for the weekend on a business trip.  While out of town, he needed someone to feed and walk his dog, Max.   
By no means was I what you would call a dog person.  As a kid I’d once been chased by a particularly nasty Nazi Shepard for half a block before making a narrow escape from his salivating clutches.  Also, a deceptively timid looking Chihuahua once bit me on the toe, proving that his bite was much bigger than his bark.  I had not been especially fond of dogs or open toed sandals ever since.
I'd spent enough time around him to know Max was well behaved, but this did not make me relish the idea of picking up after him when he did his business on the sidewalk.  Leon loved to go on about how smart his dog was, but if Max was truly intelligent, why couldn’t he be toilet trained?  Him flipping down the lid and flushing his waste away would have impressed me considerably more than his ability to sit, fetch, roll over, play dead, and bark on command.
Yet I agreed to be Max’ caretaker.  My motivation was not exactly selfless.  Leon lived in a one bedroom apartment on the upper west side of Manhattan while I resided in a studio apartment in the middle of a nondescript neighborhood way out on the outer edges of Queens.  Although I would have preferred not to have a furry four-legged roommate, I was looking forward to spending a weekend in the city.  I was still two or three pay raises away from being able to afford rent on an apartment in a desirable part of Manhattan.  Every penny I could get my hands on was being saved for the glamorous future I envisioned for myself.  It dumbfounded me that Leon was actually moving out the following weekend.  He had bought a condo in Westchester that his longtime girlfriend would also be moving into.  Leon had reached a stage where being with Iris seven days a week, cozily nestled in a suburban neighborhood, was more appealing to him than having a bachelor pad in the heart of the greatest city on earth.  To each his own.  My own stage of life was far less advanced.  I didn’t even have a girlfriend, much less plans to cohabitate.
There was a park just two blocks from Leon’s apartment with a fenced in area where people let their dogs run free.  Saturday turned out to be beautiful, sunny and warm without being oppressively humid as August days in New York can be.  I was a little hung over from Friday night revelry with a group of friends I knew from college.  Just like back in our years as undergrads, the pitchers of beers and failed attempts to charm girls too sober for our own good had been plentiful.  Time outside to let the remnants of alcohol in my system evaporate in unobstructed sunlight would do me good.
When I arrived at the dog’s private section of park, there were maybe a dozen people there and roughly the same amount of canines.  But from the moment I took notice of those sea green eyes, her taut showcased abdomen, hip hugging shorts over the shapeliest bronze legs designed by a most benevolent Creator, I only had eyes for Claire.  As luck would have it, Max got all excited over the mutt attached to the leash in Claire’s hand.  Soon our leashes were entangled, giving me a tailor made opportunity to start up a conversation.  I learned her name, that her smile could light up one’s life, and that her laughter was the catchiest tune you ever did hear.  I really liked this girl.  The feeling was instant and irrevocable.  But she was short on time.  She had to go.  Precious minutes after making her acquaintance, Claire was gone.  I had not mustered the courage to ask for her phone number.  Everything had moved too quickly for decisive action on my part.  One minute I’m being tugged down the street by my friend’s dog, the next I behold a vision, hyper dogs knot us to each other, while untangling we speak inconsequential words at a volume not much louder than my pounding heart, and then I am watching her walk away, tragically aware that in all likelihood I will never see her again.
As the days passed I figured I would forget about Claire.  Instead she grew increasingly vivid in my mind’s eye.  I had to see her again.  If we could somehow run into each other and take up where we’d left off, I’d know soon enough if the spark I’d sensed between us had the strength to burst into flame. For sure, I was not the smoothest talking guy.  More often than not, the presence of a beautiful girl would act as Novocaine injected into my tongue.  Somewhere between expressing how I felt and trying to play it cool, my thoughts and words would trip over themselves.  The more I longed to impress, the worse of an impression I made. 
But talking to Claire had been different, easy as getting wet in the rain.  If we spoke a second time, I knew I’d say the right things.  I’d get her number, and I’d call her, and I would take her out, and from there the most wonderful of things would become possible and plausible.  In a city of millions of strangers in countless nooks and crannies, there was only one place I could think of to run into Claire again.
My plan was impetuously drawn up.  I would ask to borrow Max for a while the following weekend and show up with him at the dog park.  No, scratch that.  I remembered that Leon was moving to Westchester in a couple days.  By Saturday he and Max would no longer reside in the city.  I could show up without a dog in tow, but that would make me look a little desperate, make that a lot desperate, stalker-like even.  There was only one reasonable reason for me to show up in that dog park.  I needed to have a dog by my side.  And not just any dog.  I remembered that when Claire had commented on how cute Max was, I grinned and agreed without bothering to explain that he was not in fact mine.  She seemed attracted to the notion that I was a dog owner, so why dispel it?  When she commented that “they really do grow on you”, I moronically responded that “my Max is almost like a son to me, a son with really bad breath.”  This succeeded in making Claire laugh while further perpetuating my little white lie.  I had to have Max with me, or a close enough facsimile. 
The next day I strode into a pet store in my neighborhood, my fourth pet store visit of the day, and walked out after spending a ridiculous amount of money with a carbon copy of Max.  Two days after that …
“Hi, Claire.”
“Hi, Adam.  Hey, Max.”
Max Two strained at his leash, anxious to romp with the other pooches.         
“I was hoping I’d run into you again,” I said.
“Me too.”
Things were going extremely well so far.
“Sit up and beg, Max,” Claire requested.  Max and I had showed off a couple of his tricks to impress her the prior weekend.  Max Two didn’t have a single one in his repertoire, of course.  Not unless I counted peeing throughout my apartment and chewing my Air Jordans to shreds as tricks. 
“Max was performing all morning,” I said.  “He’s tricked out for the day.”  A lame excuse, but the best I could come up with on the fly.  Claire ran her fingers through his thick mane.  I could not have been more jealous of him.
“He’s so cute.  I love Chows.”
“Yeah, Chows are the best.  I’m thinking of getting a second one.”
“No actually, that’s a Chow,” said Claire while pointing at a dog sauntering past us.  “Max is a Keeshond.  I always mix those two breeds up.”  She then looked at me curiously, understandably so, no doubt wondering just how low my IQ was.  “Why did you agree with me when I mistook him for a Chow?” she asked.
“Uh.”  I realized that more than one incoherent syllable would be required here, but a multitude of alternatives were not rushing to occur to me.  “I didn’t realize you were talking about Max.  I thought you said ‘I love cows’.”  Clearly I was not the world’s quickest thinker on my feet.
“What?”
“I’m just being silly.  Thought maybe I could earn another one of your lovely smiles.” 
Against all odds my predicament was salvaged as Claire granted my wish.
I undid Max Two’s leash to let him join his fellow beasts before Claire figured out that he was an impostor, much like his new master.  Max Two had tested the limits of my patience during his brief time in my care.  I knew nothing at all about house training a dog, much less getting one to sit up and beg or roll over and play dead.  But Max Two was certainly expert at finding trouble to get into, and at putting me into a state of panic every twenty minutes or so.  And man could he shed.  On every dark item of clothing and piece of furniture I owned was evidence that I was now a pet owner.  Within hours of bringing him home I was convinced that I’d made a huge mistake.  This feeling persisted until I saw Claire again she said “me too” and the genius of my plan was confirmed.
“So where’s Daisy today?”  Daisy was Claire’s Pomeranian.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?  Daisy is my friend’s dog.  I was only watching her for the afternoon last weekend.”
So there I stood, new owner of faux Max, solely to impress a girl who for all I knew cared about man’s best friend as little as I did.
Then a logical question occurred to me.  If Claire did not own a dog and was not even watching one today, what was she doing here in the dog park?  This is just what I asked her, to which she replied – “Like I said, I was hoping to run into you again.”
We’ve been together ever since.
One year later Claire and I stand in an amazing rent controlled apartment, staring down at the head of a quarter.  In case you don’t recall, heads means we’re going to take the apartment.  It’s been a month since we decided to move in together.  A big step, but one we’re both ecstatic to be making.  She still lives with her parents and my place is much too small for two people.  So this is where we’ve decided to hang our hats, a great steal thanks to an inside tip from my friend the realtor, who currently lives in Westchester with his girlfriend and their dog, Max.  I'm not getting out of Queens, but with Claire agreeing to move into it with me this is a non-issue. 
As for Max Two, he’s out of luck.  No pets allowed in this palace.  Claire and I turn towards one another and it’s immediately clear what we must do.  Max Two has grown on both of us over this past year, not to mention that he is largely responsible for getting us together in the first place. 
I revealed to Claire long ago that Max Two was a look-alike of the real deal.  Since then I’ve managed to mostly house train him, failed in all attempts to teach him any tricks, and have been through multiple pairs of sneakers, Max Two’s favorite chew toy.  I’ve also embarked on the greatest love affair of my life.
“Two out of three?” I ask.
Claire replies – “Two out of three.”




Free on Amazon from February 1st to 5th of 2017: Kindle edition of MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE

Book trailer for MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE

Drum roll please....................................





Kindle edition of MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE will be FREE at Amazon from February 1st to February 5th. Seemed as fine a way for me to kick off Black History Month as any.

4 of 5 stars to Matters of Convenience by Roy L. Pickering Jr. https://t.co/AxqjZe22e5— Read In Colour (@ReadInColour) February 9, 2017

Book trailer of MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE

Drum roll please....................................

My 2¢ on BOOK DIVERSITY

See below for musings that were kick started by tweets that caught my attention on Twitter.

What's going on in S.E. Hinton's mentions? A bunch of outsiders are invading it. #SeeWhatIDidThere— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

#ThingsIWontApologizeFor I am a heterosexual writer writing about heterosexual characters. Being attacked for being heterosexual.— S. E. Hinton (@se4realhinton) January 5, 2017

Okay. Why would she be attacked for being straight and writing straight characters? I don't think she invented that.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I have no prob w/ authors writing what they know, i.e. characters similar in lifestyle to them. A writer should write what they want 2 write— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I have no prob w/ authors writing characters who are different from them. We all share humanity. Writers should write what they want 2 write— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Maybe some writers sometimes come up with a character 1st and then figure out what story to put them in. Other way around prbly > common.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I come up with story & then figure out who makes sense be in it. Maybe a Black man. Maybe an Asian woman. Maybe a lactose intolerant Samoan.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I might have 2 do a little digging if I go with lactose intolerant Samoan dwarf b/c I don't know any. But I do know what being human is like— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Introverts write extroverts. Even if same race/gender/sexuality/religion as author, people created from thin air require work/imagination.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

No need 2 walk every step in other shoes 4 character who differs from u. Blk straight man & gay wht woman feel hunger 4 sandwich in same way— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Don't demand that an author write different characters than what they do b/c it's what you want. Just read an author who meets your needs.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

If an author threw in diversity to meet customer demand rather than their own desire, cardboard cut-out characters may result. Insincere.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Appreciate authors for what it is they do, and if you want something else, venture elsewhere. No shortage of books/authors out here.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I wouldn't demand that Jonathan Franzen write Walter Mosley characters any more than pushing for vice versa. They'd prbly both do a shit job— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Appreciate the way with words & stories 4 their own sake. If you want > diversity of characters, read > diversity of authors. Simple.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

If that means you sometimes need to venture beyond the Big 5 Publishers to find what you want, by all means go forth and venture.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I feel we're entering a weird area where readers want to dictate what writers offer. No. Readers learn what they want when authors provide.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

You didn't know you wanted sparkly vampires until Meyers provided. Didn't know you wanted a wizard school until JK said "here you go".— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

I guarantee that if you read a nice wide range of authors/genres you'll find what you want & what you didn't know u wanted until u read it.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Maybe you'll learn you want to read about Dominican Republic fuku, or Swedish detectives, or the art theft underworld, or who knows what.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Keep reading all kinds of books from all kinds of authors and you'll find all kinds of diversity. I promise.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

What I won't promise is that editors & lit agents will realize value of diversity. They wait for surprise hits & sign copycats until next 1.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) January 5, 2017

Perhaps Matters of Convenience https://t.co/hwcoNKKYFA https://t.co/3aqk63Q4b8— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 29, 2016

Below are book reviews I wrote in 2016. I'm a bit embarrassed by the low number (especially after having seen goodreads annual report totals for some other people) but I'm an admittedly slow reader plus much of my book time last year was spent WRITING the final drafts of my own rather than reading others. Hopefully I'll do plenty of reading AND writing in 2017. A children's book series awaits (more on that later), the plot of novel #3 surely waits around the corner for me to outline and get to work on a first draft, and I've resolved to spend less time in 2017 staring at screens (either TV or computer or tablet or phone) and more of it with eyes glued to a page.  As for the list of books I managed to get to and through in 2016, I suppose it could have been more diverse. It could have been less diverse too. It is what it is. I don't read according to any rules but simply read the most intriguing book I get my hands on and then move on to the next one...and then the next after that...and so on...and so forth.



NOS4A2 by Joe Hill
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book delivered and proved the old adage that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Stephen King's son has proven capable of giving his old man a run for his money. Taking the merriest of holidays and turning ho ho ho's into a tale of horror was a stroke of genius. Hear Jingle Bells in late November or December and it brings smiles to the faces of those who celebrate Christmas on December 25th. Heard in June and it's straight up creepy because it so obviously does not belong. I wouldn't be surprised if it was this particular event that planted the seed which became NOS4A2. Regardless, Joe Hill's novel is a well executed tale inhabited by characters who are easy to relate to. It features a protagonist who is able to conjure up a bridge with her mind that can take her wherever she wishes to go. We all wish at some point that we had a super power, whether it be invisibility or x ray vision or superhuman strength or the ability to take flight. In NOS4A2 we meet a woman who can find whatever is missing, wherever it may be. But taking too many trips in search of lost things comes at the risk of losing her mind. Or having everyone believe that is what's happening to her. This spooky, inventive story has me anxious to read more of Joe Hill's work, and to take down my Christmas decorations ASAP. Anybody can make Halloween scary but Mr. Hill appears capable of freaking out readers 365 days a year.

View all my reviews American Gods by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Intriguing premise. The various gods who have been worshiped by mankind over the centuries are real. When belief of them is at its height, when they are being prayed to and sacrifices are regularly made in their honor, their powers are at peak. As the years pass into modern times and memories of the old gods fade, they become shadows of their former selves. New gods are continually created because there are always new things that men believe in and live for and sometimes kill for. But plenty of the old gods, usually masked as common people walking among us, are still around. If enough of them band together, perhaps the ancient gods can vanquish the newer ones in a war. A man named Shadow, who toes the line between the world of man and gods, is enlisted in the cause. There are many books I've greatly enjoyed that I no longer recall many details about. Something tells me that American Gods is one of those books that for reasons I scarcely understand will stick with me.

View all my reviews Ruby by Cynthia Bond
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a devastating book, a relentless series of gut punches that batter the soul. The title character is put through a hell that the most evil of people would not wish upon their greatest enemy. What somehow fails to kill Ruby does manage to annihilate her spirit and make her incapable of respecting, much less loving herself. If you can't self love then another person has little chance of earning it. But despite the many horrors witnessed and cruelties visited upon Ruby, she has just enough strength to care for her spiritual children while living a shell of a life perched on the edge of madness. And this keeps her going. Her body is used and abused at the whim of men who take advantage because there is no resistance. But one man is different - a man whose love for Ruby gets him to stand up for her and himself rather than mutely accepting what is handed to him. Ephram shows Ruby that in spite of all that has been done to her and by her, she can still be viewed with tenderness, adoration even. But the world is harsh, atrocities abundant, the devil ever present, people judgmental when not being indifferent. So love is not a big enough miracle to save Ruby. Sometimes the only person who can save you is the one found in the mirror. This is not a gentle read, but it is a fantastic one.

View all my reviews Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

"I looked up to you, Atticus, like I never looked up to anybody in my life and never will again. If you had only given me some hint, if you had only broken your word with me a couple of times, if you had been bad-tempered or impatient with me---if you had been a lesser man, maybe I could have taken what I saw you doing. If once or twice you'd let me catch you doing something vile, then I would have understood yesterday. Then I'd have said that's just His Way, that's My Old Man, because I'd have been prepared for it somewhere along the line."

The words above are spoken to Atticus by his daughter Scout towards the end of Go Set a Watchman. They basically sum up the entire book. As you may already know, or in case you didn't until landing upon this review, Go Set a Watchman features many of the characters from To Kill a Mockingbird quite a few years later. Jean Louise (aka Scout) is now a grown woman contemplating marriage to Henry, whom she has known since childhood. Henry has remained in their hometown of Maycomb, Alabama and followed the footsteps of Atticus into the law profession. If Scout wishes to marry a father figure, she's all set. Yet apparently she wants more out of life than Maycomb has to offer, because she now lives in New York City, which is about as different from the small southern town she grew up in as a planet in another galaxy. Maycomb holds many ties on her though. The narrative of Go Set a Watchman takes place during a visit to the place where her identity was formed in the earliest of her 26 years.

Much has changed in America from the years Mockingbird are set in to the 1950's. A considerable amount of the change has to do with race relations. People who were once blatant bigots continue to be so. Some things never change. But those who were closet bigots with enough good manners not to let it show in polite society now feel free to express hostility openly. Turns out they were only able to give the appearance of open minded respect for their fellow man when scales of opportunity were tilted heavily in their favor. As the scales became more balanced, the truth beneath southern hospitality was revealed. Count Henry and even our hero Atticus among those in Maycomb more willing to hear out the KKK than the NAACP. Changing times to them means time to put up a more aggressive fight against progress.

Amazingly Scout has been clueless about her father's true social/political views until he is about 70 years old. Once she is finally in the know, of course she feels betrayed. Her father was a lie. Her childhood was a lie. Her life has been a giant deception and she must get through the devastation and figure out how to come to terms with this.

I did not like Go Set a Watchman much. Not enough happening in the plot (no cool subplot like the one Boo Radley presented in Mockingbird). Too many long speeches that did not ring true to how people speak off the page of a novel. A domestic violence scene (I realize this was a far different time than 2016 but still) that was jarring and felt unnecessary and plain weird to me. Last but not least, I just didn't buy that it would take an intelligent woman so long to obtain an inkling of how the people closest to her feel about topics of such importance to her. It's not as if anybody was trying to hide anything from her. But somehow she only saw nobility in her father without catching a whiff of the stench of the rotten core that lay beneath his principles. Those of us who read To Kill a Mockingbird and/or saw the movie adaptation were also duped. This isn't the Atticus we thought we knew. How had that guy actually been this guy all along? Did we not read the book closely enough, all subtext going over our head? Or was Atticus given a complete personality transplant, which means not only did Atticus betray Scout, but Harper Lee betrayed us?

I could choose to contemplate Watchman in a vacuum, pretending I have no awareness of Mockingbird, that I'm meeting these characters and examining their motives for the very first time. If I do, I don't think it changes my opinions much. I still see the same flaws regarding lack of an attention holding plot, too many wandering speeches, etc. Sense of betrayal would be lessened, but I would still find it odd that it took Scout so long to finally wander into a room and learn what type of people she has been surrounded by her entire life.

Maybe that last part is unfair of me. After all, I know a thing or two about racist views remaining undetectable for a long period of time until the right situation brings them out from hiding. I've known parents who showed no overt sign of bigotry until their child became romantically involved with someone of another race. Prior to then, from their words and deeds and even choice of friends, few if any clues of intolerance were given.

There are things we don't know about those who are closest to us. There are things we don't yet know about ourselves because the circumstances to unearth them still lay in the future. There are cowards who believe they are brave, timid people who don't realize their potential to be adventurers, and friends who do not yet know that they consider you to be their enemy.

Unintentional deception is an intriguing premise for a novel. I don't feel that Go Set a Watchman examined it particularly well, but merely brushed up against the surface. I suppose that's why Lee's editor advised her to put Watchman aside and craft a new book based on an incident referenced in what turned out to be a first draft several decades before emerging as a sequel. That sound piece of advice (or so the legend goes) led to the creation of the vastly superior To Kill a Mockingbird.

Then again, perhaps the beloved Atticus Finch of the time tested Mockingbird is simply too good to be true. Maybe Atticus of Watchman is the more realistic depiction of a flesh and blood man, because the fact that he is a hypocrite is made plain. The shattering of illusions we depended on always goes down hard.

http://lineaday.blogspot.com/2015/07/...

View all my reviews The Given Day by Dennis Lehane
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

What an incredibly eventful time period to read about. Somehow in one city in one year there is The Great Molasses Flood, the early growth stage of the NAACP in a racist climate, a Spanish Influenza pandemic, unions gaining a foothold to combat unfair labor practices and absurdly low wages, the Boston Police Strike of 1919 and resulting riots, the start of Prohibition, a relentless hunt for violent radicals who sow seeds of fear, and Babe Ruth being traded from the Red Sox to the NY Yankees where a dynasty will result. This action packed period of time in history was fascinating to learn about, with a multi-plotted page turner Dennis Lehane story line thrown into the middle of it as bonus. The more things change the more they stay the same was the thought that repeatedly came to mind as I read The Given Day. In 2016 we call the violent radicals Islamic terrorists; the medical crisis du jour is the Zika virus; protests follow questionable shootings with riots sometimes resulting when activists from the newbie #BlackLivesMatter movement face off against police officers with #BlueLivesMatter mindsets; and Kevin Durant has left Oklahoma City to form a super team in the Golden State. What's the modern day equivalent to the molasses flood? Donald Trump's presidential candidacy perhaps. Both certainly created enormous messes to deal with.

View all my reviews The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Sometimes it's necessary to carefully arrange a system of beliefs to explain the unexplainable. People love a good mystery provided it gets solved in the end. Unresolved we are left with questions that can haunt us. Religion serves the purpose of providing answers without needing to bear the burden of proof. By accepting the influence and omnipotence of a higher power, rather than wrestling with questions, people accept explanations that cannot be disproved. But even the most strongly constructed belief system can be vulnerable to harsh doses of reality and cruel twists of fate. The Loney is a place where people come to seek miracles, a private Lourdes. Maybe the miracles are gifts from God. Maybe they come from elsewhere. If you find what you seek, does the source matter? If you learn the truth, was the miracle worth the lesson? I recommend giving Andrew Michael Hurley's atmospheric debut novel a read. I've done my best to review it spoiler free. Like high tide on a desolate beach, this novel will pull you in and hold on fast.

View all my reviews Youngblood by Matt Gallagher
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is a fine book of place, if not plot which this novel is rather light on. Matt Gallagher effortlessly (which of course likely means he took great effort) pulls us into an Army unit in Iraq and gives us a taste of what modern warfare is like for members of an occupying force. It isn't a tale of heroism so much as of following orders and doing what it takes to make it from one day to the next, hopefully without abandoning too much of one's conscience along the way. There is a bit of detective story thrown into the narrative, a bit of star crossed love story too. There are threats to the narrator Jack Porter from within his own unit that are as ominous as bombs and bullets coming from the official enemy. There is sand and heat and scorpions and falafels and brokered deals and needless death and unhelpful remorse and the biding of time. I feel somewhat knowledgeable about the day-to-day existence of a 21st century soldier stationed in an ancient land after having read this book. But I'm wise enough to know that reading what it's like is one thing, living it as Mr. Gallagher did and admirably documented, quite another.

View all my reviews Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A fine piece of literary historical fiction. I've always been fascinated by the Jazz Age and the artists who gave it its reputation. Especially the American writers who took a break from our shores to live in Paris and join the future icons from Europe in wine, cheese and debauchery. Therese Anne Fowler did an exemplary job of bringing familiar names and reputations from literature anthologies to life, skillfully transporting us to romanticized days. Reading this novel I felt like Owen Wilson's character in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, suddenly thrust into a world where each day was filled to the brim with an excess of genius, celebration, and elegant style. In the middle of this story we find Zelda Fitzgerald, a woman who on the one hand was perfectly emblematic of this time, yet on the other could not fit in the way she truly yearned to because she was a woman/wife/mother in a man's world. Zelda was a person of bursting talent and ambition that could not be fully exploited and showcased because of her role as Mrs. Fitzgerald. Fowler explores the great passion that brought and somehow held the Fitzgeralds together over the course of their tempestuous marriage. The reader knows before turning to the first page that greatness is in store for them, most especially for F. Scott, but Zelda is more of a mystery to us. As the pages are turned and the narrative unfolds, we learn that there is more to Zelda than her reputation. We watch her try to be a good wife as the time period defined this term to the man she loved, while also trying to be a woman ahead of her time who hoped to carve out her own place in the history books. We watch her desires nearly destroy her as her husband's vices wreak havoc on their roller coaster marriage and his health. Various famous names flit in and out of their lives. Ernest Hemingway plays a major role in expanding F. Scott Fitzgerald's insecurities and loosening the bonds of his devotion to Zelda. There is plenty of glamour and globetrotting and name dropping and a Great War and eventually another one. In the center of it all is a fun loving southern belle who decides to take a chance on a cocky northern soldier that her daddy does not approve of. She chooses to defy conventions and expectations, and tries to discover herself along the way rather than meekly accepting who society says she is supposed to be. F. Scott Fitzgerald casts a great shadow. Seeking light nearly destroyed Zelda, but she was a formidable woman who could withstand everything but the literal flames that consumed her on her final day. With able assistance from Therese Anne Fowler, Zelda has risen from the ashes and assumed her place as an icon from a magical time.

View all my reviews

2016 Recap

A lot happened in 2016, like with every year to precede it, yet perhaps a bit EXTRA it seemed. For example, who saw the end of Vine coming? Below is a recap of the year's highlights and lowlights. Since I wrote about many of these events along the way, you can click on hyperlinks in text or accompanying photos for additional details as you take a stroll down Memory Lane.


Every year features some pointless leisure activities. Previous ones have given us acts such as planking and dabbing. 2016 gave us water bottle flips and mannequin challenges.

We got the whole crew together and took the #MannequinChallenge to new heights #Proxima pic.twitter.com/vlOglQ3lEh— Thomas Pesquet (@Thom_astro) December 29, 2016

The US Treasury agreed with me and many others that Harriet Tubman is most deserving to grace the $20 bill. I continue to be baffled that anybody bothered to voice a tepid rebuttal and suppose that kudos must be given to Andrew Jackson for his impressive run.

So Harriet Tubman doesn't only symbolize resistance. She also symbolizes the best of all of humanity in the worst of times.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) May 14, 2015

The stature of Beyoncé and devotion of the Beyhive expanded to unprecedented size as she invented (or if not invented, certainly perfected) something called a visual album, causing countless minions to stand in formation while sipping lemonade.






Donald Trump’s inexplicable rise to power morphed from easy jokes material to genuine fear that common sense would not eventually prevail and send him back to Reality TV Land.



OJ Simpson recaptured our collective imagination and fascinationwithout stepping one foot out of jail yet.  At this point he is probably more beloved than Bill Cosby since at least Juice is paying his dues.



We got a Roots miniseries reboot.  Less compelling than the O.J. soap opera but still pretty of good stuff.



We lost a Prince. #TheDayTheRealMusicDied



Then we lost The Greatest – Muhammad Ali.  And the count of VIP R.I.P.’s would continue to grow at a relentless pace throughout the year. 

:-( R.I.P. https://t.co/w8QkYmac49 pic.twitter.com/jEW5ojYBi2— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) September 24, 2016

Iconic Star Wars actress Carrie Fisher dies at 60 https://t.co/N6gM9k2FfU pic.twitter.com/jEjJNeNTDo— People Magazine (@people) December 27, 2016

Premier NBA legends called it a career. Tim Duncan left quietly but memorably in true Tim Duncan fashion. The far flashier Kobe Bryant went out as you would expect, shooting nearly every time he touched the ball until they turned out the lights in the building. 





The Olympics happened and provided many inspiring moments, one act of entitled American swimmers gone stupid in the host country followed by folly on US soil, and one awesome moment of frustration over lame excuses captured in a magical GIF.

Two great faces - my darling daughter and our Olympic hero @IbtihajMuhammad pic.twitter.com/TblZPRRvPj— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) September 10, 2016

2 016's Best GIF. This matter is beyond dispute. pic.twitter.com/6fUvTFR9L9— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 20, 2016

After a bitter battle with so called “Bernie Bros”, the inevitability of Hillary Clinton breaking the Oval Office’s glass ceiling was reluctantly accepted by many (but not enough) of her detractors.

It's true. My wife made stickers for us because our polling place didn't provide them. As result, #MyStickerIsCoolerThanYours pic.twitter.com/gJeCPkTwNf— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 8, 2016

Trump didn't expand the GOP base, nor did he lose any of it despite being Trump. Hillary failed to energize her own more fickle base.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 26, 2016

Way too many unarmed black people were gunned down by cops. One tragic hashtag bled into the next.



Domestic terrorists without badges also committed horrific acts. Makes you wonder who people capable of such monstrous acts idolize. Gun regulations continued to yawn at the possibility of anything being done to strengthen them.

Sporadic mass shootings by lunatics aren't the main reason why I want gun control. Daily gang violence in inner cities is primary reason.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 18, 2015

@AuthorofPatches At the end of the day, the Democrats use gun control to rally their voters but they’re not willing to put skin in the game.— Robert Crump (@robertecrump) August 27, 2015

A Line A Day: GUN CONTROL is an agenda that I had hoped Obama would/could do more about. Not to be. https://t.co/djxnbjOvtX— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 27, 2016

Cops in 2016 were twice as likely to be shot in states that don’t require background checks on all handgun sales. https://t.co/XLXMeeHclE— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 27, 2016

The year of #OscarsSoWhite was supposed to be replaced by a year cinematically dominated by Birth of a Nation. But a not so funny thing happenedon the way to the forum of glory.






Colin Kaepernick repeatedly took a knee and transformed from a once promising quarterback to a lightning rod freedom fighter.





There was plenty of talk about the need for more diversity of perspective in literature, pleas for brighter light to be shed on “our own voices”. Or so was the case in my social media timeline anyway. I didn’t see much change in the book publishing landscape as result but am able to state that I did try to make a difference - no matter how small. 






Diversity of representation did make some inroads though. After presenting a black Star Wars movie lead the previous year, 2016 teased us with the idea of a black James Bond on screen and gave us a black Hermione Granger on stage, black mall Santa, and a predominantly minority cast of Hamilton, the Broadway hit that earned all kinds of acclaim and awards.  The usual suspects lost their minds and threatened to boycott everything in sight of their trailer parks. 

 

August Wilson’s brilliant work finally made its big screen debut. Tyler Perry movies hold an insurmountable lead, but nevertheless, still cause to celebrate literacy.

August Wilson is indeed a great American writer & among playwrights of the stature of Arthur Miller & Tennessee Williams. https://t.co/QjW9Sm4NzK— Joyce Carol Oates (@JoyceCarolOates) December 27, 2016

August Wilson gets my vote for GOAT American playwright. Ekes out win over T Williams, A Miller & N Simon in a very competitive race.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 27, 2016

Some songwriter named Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for Literature but didn’t bother to show up to receive it.  Book writers remain accustomed to being snubbed. Or is that just me?

The 10 All-Time Best Bob Dylan Lyrics – Flavorwire @flavorwire https://t.co/7prthwSAZq— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) October 13, 2016

ADELE - 'Make You Feel My Love' https://t.co/O3BBmo7k2N via @YouTube Written by Bob Dylan— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) October 13, 2016

Give Vine the Nobel prize that Bob Dylan is snubbing. https://t.co/YcJOgwIQRC— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) October 28, 2016

People got faux infuriated over a completely inoffensive Gap ad because EVERYTHING continues to somehow in some way be about racial oppression rather than just the things that actually are about racial oppression.

Controversial think piece inspiring Gap kids ad got me to google Benetton ads & sure enough - racist headrest found pic.twitter.com/rSNnpWiwjM— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) April 3, 2016

Athletes got in trouble for various infractions, including neglecting to read the banned substances list. Yes I’m looking at you – Maria Sharapova.




While not a great year in sports for the teams I root for (Jets have been trash, Knicks are mediocre with potential as shaky as Derrick Rose’s health and luck in winning rape lawsuits), 2016 is notable for being the year that THE CUBS WON THE WORLD SERIES.




The unthinkable took place and we now have to deal with it for at least four years. Or until impeachment for grabbing what isn’t meant to be grabbed, which is far more likely to happen than that much discussed wall being built. I tried to make sense of it. I probably failed.






Final year of the coolest presidency in my lifetime. Here’s a look back(I’m just not ready to look ahead yet) at how it began.

No. Nor should it be a reason to over-criticize him b/c of expectation that he'd be civil rights leader > POTUS. https://t.co/sR216lQaCI— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 27, 2016

Everyone elected POTUS is burdened with expectations that probably can't be met, none > Obama. Overall he was the Prez I wanted/expected.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 27, 2016

Our next black president should have a different, less contentious landscape to work in. He/she will have Obama in part to thank for that.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) December 27, 2016

Matters of Convenience was published!!! Time to come up with a plot for novel #3.



Oh, I almost forgot that one of my tweets went viral in 2016. That was cool.

Twitter makes TV look so slow even when it's live TV. CNN is building a case against a guy that Twitter has already exonerated.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) July 8, 2016

And now let us joyfully welcome 2017 because even when it's raining that doesn't mean you can't dance and sing.

Debbie Reynolds was SO great. This scene from Singing In the Rain alone: https://t.co/GAq8regGsv— Heather & Jessica (@fuggirls) December 29, 2016

Good Tidings

I'm thrilled to have published my novel MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE and cannot wait to hear what readers have to say about it. Reviews left at Amazon, or goodreads, or any other web site that caters to avid readers, or written at your blogs or spoken on your YouTube channels will be greatly appreciated. The price to purchase a copy of either the print or Kindle edition certainly isn't prohibitive, but I'll be hosting giveaways from time to time just because.  There happens to be one going on at goodreads right now, with a winner to be chosen 12/24/2016. Below you'll find a link to where you can enter the giveaway along with reviews of the last couple books I've read. 'Tis the season of too much to do and not enough time to do it in, so I'm keeping this post brief.  It's also the season of gift giving, and surely some of your favorite people are book lovers. If so, MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE is custom built to fit snugly in a Christmas stocking. And there's certainly no sin in self gifting.

At long last, publication day is here for Matters of Convenience. If you check it out, penny for your thoughts. https://t.co/njTw7AqNYl pic.twitter.com/ir1YjURzL5— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 15, 2016

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Goodreads Book Giveaway Matters of Convenience by Roy L. Pickering Jr. Giveaway ends December 24, 2016.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway

Youngblood by Matt Gallagher
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is a fine book of place, if not plot which this novel is rather light on. Matt Gallagher effortlessly (which of course likely means he took great effort) pulls us into an Army unit in Iraq and gives us a taste of what modern warfare is like for members of an occupying force. It isn't a tale of heroism so much as of following orders and doing what it takes to make it from one day to the next, hopefully without abandoning too much of one's conscience along the way. There is a bit of detective story thrown into the narrative, a bit of star crossed love story too. There are threats to the narrator Jack Porter from within his own unit that are as ominous as bombs and bullets coming from the official enemy. There is sand and heat and scorpions and falafels and brokered deals and needless death and unhelpful remorse and the biding of time. I feel somewhat knowledgeable about the day-to-day existence of a 21st century soldier stationed in an ancient land after having read this book. But I'm wise enough to know that reading what it's like is one thing, living it as Mr. Gallagher did and admirably documented, quite another.

View all my reviews

Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A fine piece of literary historical fiction. I've always been fascinated by the Jazz Age and the artists who gave it its reputation. Especially the American writers who took a break from our shores to live in Paris and join the future icons from Europe in wine, cheese and debauchery. Therese Anne Fowler did an exemplary job of bringing familiar names and reputations from literature anthologies to life, skillfully transporting us to romanticized days. Reading this novel I felt like Owen Wilson's character in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, suddenly thrust into a world where each day was filled to the brim with an excess of genius, celebration, and elegant style. In the middle of this story we find Zelda Fitzgerald, a woman who on the one hand was perfectly emblematic of this time, yet on the other could not fit in the way she truly yearned to because she was a woman/wife/mother in a man's world. Zelda was a person of bursting talent and ambition that could not be fully exploited and showcased because of her role as Mrs. Fitzgerald. Fowler explores the great passion that brought and somehow held the Fitzgeralds together over the course of their tempestuous marriage. The reader knows before turning to the first page that greatness is in store for them, most especially for F. Scott, but Zelda is more of a mystery to us. As the pages are turned and the narrative unfolds, we learn that there is more to Zelda than her reputation. We watch her try to be a good wife as the time period defined this term to the man she loved, while also trying to be a woman ahead of her time who hoped to carve out her own place in the history books. We watch her desires nearly destroy her as her husband's vices wreak havoc on their roller coaster marriage and his health. Various famous names flit in and out of their lives. Ernest Hemingway plays a major role in expanding F. Scott Fitzgerald's insecurities and loosening the bonds of his devotion to Zelda. There is plenty of glamour and globetrotting and name dropping and a Great War and eventually another one. In the center of it all is a fun loving southern belle who decides to take a chance on a cocky northern soldier that her daddy does not approve of. She chooses to defy conventions and expectations, and tries to discover herself along the way rather than meekly accepting who society says she is supposed to be. F. Scott Fitzgerald casts a great shadow. Seeking light nearly destroyed Zelda, but she was a formidable woman who could withstand everything but the literal flames that consumed her on her final day. With able assistance from Therese Anne Fowler, Zelda has risen from the ashes and assumed her place as an icon from a magical time.

View all my reviews

"...what was happiness but the vast terrain between ecstasy and agony? Was this too small an ambition?" https://t.co/aD9pfnUaDh— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) September 20, 2016

"Nothing felt better to him than the act of waiting for her. As long as he believed it wasn’t in vain, he was able to justify his presence."— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) September 17, 2016

Matters of Convenience https://t.co/oaqxA63D9f https://t.co/rJxhLPuZpL #goodreads #giveaway pic.twitter.com/UkRxIfQKeL— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 26, 2016

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As always, HAPPY READING

HOW DID WE GET HERE?

Removes "cake" from list of favorite foods. https://t.co/DnE88eZdW7— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 9, 2016

that it wasn't just the radicalism of the GOP, but deep hatred in a large segment of the population. How do we move forward? 2/— Paul Krugman (@paulkrugman) November 9, 2016

Dear America,

“I can't believe what you say, because I see what you do.”

― James Baldwin— Desiree Adaway (@desireeadaway) November 9, 2016

Going from Mr. Obama to Trump will be like going from...like from Obama to Trump. I can't think of an equally ludicrous comparison scenario.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 9, 2016

There are 2 bald eagles trapped in a Florida sewer drain. This is more allegory than I can handle right now. pic.twitter.com/5f6YPHv7rB— Justin Brannan (@JustinBrannan) November 10, 2016

Least satisfying tweet ever https://t.co/jH2YeVzjlI— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

There are > people who oppose Trump than the amount whom he speaks to/for. But thanks in large part to antiquated electoral college system..— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

Calling protesters pros incited by media rather than Americans you serve & must make peace with is a real bad start https://t.co/e9ofntfmpc— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

I'm not going to call out names but I'm watching some "you gotta EARN my vote, Hillary" people now FINALLY afraid of a Trump presidency.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 9, 2016

I know the election is over, but still wondering about the "she needs to EARN my vote", people. Did Hillary manage to earn it or nah?— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

If Hillary didn't earn your vote, or if you convinced any weak minded people that she hadn't earned it, well, no need to say what result is.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

This guy's mindset IMHO is what led to Trump win. Obama didn't push him over the edge. Audacity of #BLM movement did https://t.co/6rDbKLYOFt— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

The presence of Obama in the White for 2 terms provided fuel for #BLM to get started, I grant that. But Obama could have won a 3rd term.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

Obama backlash would have made him a 1 term president so this isn't that. #BlackLivesMatter movement backlash? Argument can be made I'd say— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 9, 2016

There is a fine but critical line of distinction between righteous indignation & anger. Movements thrive on former, fall flat on latter.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

You know who doesn't give a sh*t whose lives you think matter? Our next president, that's who. He'll look out for him & his. #VotingMatters— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 9, 2016

People saying Trump performing well indicates bigots fighting back vs Obama fail to see there were just as many bigots 4 and 8 years ago.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 9, 2016

Majority of people simply do not want to be called privileged, which in 2016 is practical a curse/slur. They feel they earned what they got.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

When Hillary called them deplorables, which basically meant not even a teensy bit ashamed of their privilege, that was final straw.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

So many folks got pissed and Trump fed them just the right food they craved. None of the other GOP candidates were feeding their hunger.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

Trump shares 1 quality with Obama. He was seen by many as a symbol & literal CHANGE. Hillary, despite gender, was portrayed as more of same.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

Change to move forward and change to go back are different from each other in direction but similar in appeal and impact.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

if mlk and the suffragettes had just marched to feel good and raise awareness, blacks and women wouldnt have the vote— Oliver Willis (@owillis) November 10, 2016

A rally/march to make statement & create visual is a fine start. Hashtivism isn't a bad thing. But 2 win the fight so much more must be done— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

Too many young people think gathering together for a cause (easier than ever to arrange in social media era) is the be all end all.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

Only vital that he's booting Muslims, making wall, rejecting gays & flipping Roe v Wade. ps #bluelivesandgunsmatter https://t.co/xZVYIvX7Ho— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

We can play this game all day. They don't care if he dodges military service, taxes & lawsuits. They don't care. https://t.co/X1iVjre19i— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

At some point we'll realize that the things being exposed about Trump don't matter AT ALL to those who voted for him.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

#MyWishForTheFuture is simple, clear, tangible, achievable. I simply want no more US presidents who the KKK rooted for & endorsed. Dassit!— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

How can this be if people realized the urgency of what was at stake? Or did people somehow fail to grasp it? How? https://t.co/gcJKnBsMWm— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

Trump laid waste to the Republican and Democratic Party establishment. The same holds for the black political class. Let's get to work.— Eddie S. Glaude Jr. (@esglaude) November 11, 2016

The next 4 years will probably not have a shortage of things to fight for or against. To win you'll need to sweat & get your hands dirty.— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 10, 2016

Time for us to get to work! pic.twitter.com/TWxHjcYRwL— Roy L. Pickering Jr. (@AuthorofPatches) November 11, 2016

MESSAGE TO TRUMP SUPPORTERS WHO ARE NOW ACTING SHOCKED AND DISMAYED THAT PEOPLE ARE UPSET AND HAVE CHOSEN TO PROTEST HIS ELECTION, NOT THAT PROTESTING IT WILL CHANGE THE ELECTION RESULT, BUT PERHAPS MR. TRUMP WILL RECOGNIZE THAT THE WIND HE HAS STIRRED UP DOES NOT BLOW IN ONLY ONE DIRECTION.

Why are there people upset at those who are upset that Trump was elected president? Those people have CLEARLY given their reasons - because of the many well documented abhorrent things Trump has said and done over the years. Even if you believe he's bluffing about deporting and wall building, or locker room bantering about stuff like groping women, there are still terrible things that are beyond dispute such as him belittling people verbally and profiling African Americans so they couldn't rent apartments in his building. Why be bothered by people who are angry and disrespectful towards a single person (no matter how important a job he now has, Trump's still just one very flawed man), but you were never upset about millions/billions of people that he apparently sees as lesser humans? This amounts to co-signing that you feel some people are inherently inferior to others. Can't you see that? If not, why not? For the love of God, the man's election is being celebrated by the Klu Klux Klan. How can you not understand why this would be upsetting to people? You are familiar with what the KKK represents, right? I'm not saying Trump's a member, but he barely bothered to disavow David Duke so if the hood fits. Why does this not bother YOU? Because Trump is soon to be THE PRESIDENT? If so then why weren't you upset when he falsely accused the sitting president of being a foreign born Muslim no matter how much evidence to the contrary was presented. Could it be that the office of president was no big deal to you for the past 8 years, but suddenly it's prestigious again now that Trump has been elected? I certainly don't co-sign outlandish statements such as calls to assassinate. Of course that's ridiculous. But why should protests and facebook statuses upset you? They're not about YOU. They're about this man who has been elected president of the entire United States of America who has been incredibly disrespectful towards a large % of its citizens. Or could it be that you're upset because you do co-sign his disrespect and superiority complex towards others of other races/religions/gender? Please tell me that isn't so. If it isn't, then respect the rights of others to be very bothered by Trump's election just as citizens of this nation have always used their freedom of speech to express dismay over various matters that have troubled them about this country. The Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964, Loving vs State of Virginia ruling was in 1967. Not exactly ancient history. So of course people have the right to be very worried that certain inalienable rights are suddenly very much in danger of being revoked as result of the 2016 elections. You don't have to be worried or upset yourself. I won't insist that you feel empathy. But you can at least understand why others are troubled. This country was founded on the concept of protest after all.


                         MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE

DECISIONS - A Short Story

                                          
                             DECISIONS

BY ROY L. PICKERING JR.

Mike stared at the ebony liquid which had formed the shape of the glass in his hands.  'Should I or shouldn't I?' was the quandary playing tennis in his head.  It had been over an hour since he first sat down and posed this question to himself. He had not moved an inch closer to resolution.       "It's not a television, it's a drink.  It won't do nothing till you pour it down your throat."       Mike turned towards the voice that had derailed his train of thought.  Its owner was a dapper looking man in his sixties.  Dapper wasn't a word utilized with great frequency in Mike's vocabulary, but in this case it seemed a perfect fit.  How else would a man in a tweed three piece suit, a bow tie encasing his neck, a derby upon his head, and a walking stick in hand be described?  All that was missing was the British accent.       "I was just thinking," Mike said in explanation of his meditative pose.       "That's what libraries are for.  Bars are for drinking, not thinking."       "How about thinking about drinking?"       "Are we composing a nursery rhyme?"       "It looks that way."       "The name's Dave."       "Hello, Dave.  I'm Mike."       Dave ordered himself a beer.  "What has you thinking so hard, Mike?  If you don't mind my asking."       "I was supposed to be getting married tomorrow.  But now I'm not.  My girlfriend pulled out.  Out of the marriage, out of the relationship, out of my life.  One minute I'm all settled, everything mapped out nice and neat.  Next minute I'm here, wondering what happens next."       "She give you a reason?"       "Two.  She doesn't love me and she does love someone else."       "Pretty good reasons."       "They are," Mike admitted.  "I don't blame her.  Truth is, I don't think I'm in love with her either.  I'd been thinking about breaking things off for the longest time. But I was never able to convince myself totally that it was the wise thing to do.  So I kept waiting for some kind of sign."       "Why get married then?  If you don't mind my asking."       "We were together five years, lived together for the last two.  What else was left?  Our families, our friends, hell, people we hardly even knew kept asking us the same question over and over. When are you two getting married?  We got tired of answering it."       "So you lost a woman you had already grown tired of?"       "Something like that.  You get used to a person.  You get comfortable, like a child with his favorite blanket or his thumb in his mouth.  It's tough to let go of your security.  Don't believe me, just ask all the buck tooth people walking around."         "That's as good a reason to get loaded as any I've heard."  Dave lifted his glass to toast.  Mike didn't return the gesture.       "I need to drink to get loaded and I'm not drinking.  I'm just thinking about it."       "You're starting to lose me, Mike.  What's to think about?"       "I'm an alcoholic.  Or I was.  Or I might have been.  It all depends on how you look at it."       "You haven't found me yet, Mike."       "I used to have a drinking problem.  Well, I don't know if it was a problem.  It didn't cause me any difficulties.  I functioned as well as the next guy.  It was just a habit of mine and when alcohol becomes a habit, society tends to see that as a problem."       "Society holds many a warped view on many a subject that's none of its damn business."  Dave took a swig of his beer as exclamation point to the statement.       "Anyway, I decided to quit one day, so that's what I did.  No AA meeting or any psychological mumbo jumbo.  Once I make a decision, I stick with it.  If I'd been an official drunk I wouldn't have been able to stop cold turkey like that."       "Maybe.  If it makes sense to you, what else matters?  So what made you quit, if you don't mind ..."       "I don't mind.  I got out of bed one morning, grabbed a brew from the fridge, and sat down to drink it.  About halfway through I realized there was something terribly wrong.  I couldn't recall when, or why, or how I had switched from Wheaties to a cold one.  What made me go from the breakfast of champions to the breakfast of bums?"       "It sure sneaks up on you, don't it?"  Dave motioned to the bartender for a refill.       "Actually, it landed on my head like a piano.  The moment I remembered the last person I'd seen having beer in the morning, I knew I would never touch the stuff again."       "Who would that be?"       "My dad.  No way I was turning into him.  Now he was a world class drunk.  And a world class jerk.  Not the footsteps I intended to follow."       "Let me tell you something, Mike.  I've drunk some powerful concoctions in my time.  Once had me some hundred and eighty proof Tennessee moonshine that could have launched a space shuttle.  But I never had anything that could turn me into another person."       "No need for the lecture.  I figured it out on my own.  I also found out that my dad had more valid reasons than thirst for his drinking."       "Every reason is valid, Dave.  The second you start judging is the second you start playing God, and I believe that job is taken."       Mike looked down into his glass, swirling its contents with a swizzle stick.  Some people may have seen it as completely not empty, others as entirely full.  But one fact remained undisputed.  He had yet to consume a drop.       "I have another question for you, Mike.  If being an alcoholic isn't your problem, and turning into your father isn't the problem, then what is?"       "He's got a brain in his head, that's all."       The gravelly voice entering the conversation from Mike's immediate right belonged to another gentleman in his sixties.  The man’s face was covered with a three quarters salt, one quarter pepper beard.  His rumpled attire was considerably less formal than that of his counterpart.       "Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation," he continued.  "The name's Lou.  Mike, your reservations are well worth heeding.  You have explained away every reason for not drinking, yet you still haven't taken a sip.  Your gut is telling you that having a drink is a step you're not ready to take.  I'll take gut instinct over hedonistic intellectualizing any day."       "Who died and made you his conscience?" asked Dave.       "Who made you the serpent in the garden?" Lou asked in reply.       "Relax guys," Mike refereed.  "What's the big deal?  I either get tanked or I don't.  The world keeps spinning either way."       "It is a big deal," said Lou.  "You don't want to be a drunk. No matter how fancy he may dress himself up, a drunk is still nothing but a drunk."       "And a self-important, holier than thou, propaganda spouting, weak willed nosy body is still nothing but a guy named Lou," Dave rebutted.       Mike couldn't believe that his dilemma was serving as the catalyst for a senior citizen bar room brawl.  "If I do decide to drink, that won't make me an alcoholic," he said, hoping his logic would defuse the situation.  “Not if I have just the one.”       "But you're not a hundred percent sure of that or else you'd be drunk already," said Lou.  "Gary, I'll have my usual," he said to the bartender.       "Yeah, I guess you could say that," Mike had to admit.       "Seltzer," Dave practically spat in disdain as Lou's drink arrived.  "Let me guess your line, old timer.  You're a former drunk.  Got saved by AA so now you want to return the favor by converting the world."       "I haven't touched a drop of liquor in eight years.  But I'm not a former drunk, Dave.  I'm a drunk, same as you.  Only difference is I'm fighting the demon, you're succumbing to it."       "A day at a time, right Lou?"       "Damn straight."       "Well I'm a former AA member too.  My wife told me to get sober or get out.  So I got sober.  Stayed that way for three years.  I was a die hard just like you, praying to the great dry God."       "But you were weak and you failed.  That's your problem.  Helping to push this young man over the edge will just make one more ruined life you're responsible for."       "Hey Lou, have a little respect.  This is mystory, I'll tell it.  My wife and I got divorced anyway.  Not because I was drinking, but because it wasn't meant to be.  And the last three years were the worst because I was sober every day of them."       "Is there a moral to this tale?" Dave asked.       "Moral is you want to be sober, be sober.  You want to get drunk, drink up.  But a man needs to make that choice, not let that glass do it for him.  If Mike doesn't drink because he's not thirsty, or because he’s not in the mood to get a little light headed, then fine.  But if he doesn't drink because he's afraid, because he thinks the content of that glass is stronger than his free will, then that makes him prisoner to the booze just the same as any drunk on skid row suckling a flask like it was mother’s milk.  A sober prisoner is no better off than a drunk one, Lou.  He’s worse off, actually.  At least a drunk prisoner might be having a good time.  You probably wouldn’t know one of those if it walked up and bit you on the nose."       Mike cleared his still dry throat.  "I have to admit, I'm afraid of what might happen if I start drinking again.  Maybe it won't be as easy to quit next time.  Maybe I'll screw up my life.  But is a screwed up life better than one lived in fear?"       "Of course not," said Dave.       "Hell yes," answered Lou simultaneously.  “Nothing wrong with a little fear.  Nothing wrong with humility.  You do know what excessive pride leads to, don’t you?”       Mike picked up the glass.  "I miss Angela already.  It doesn't matter that we don't love each other anymore.  I got used to waking up and seeing her there beside me.  I guess I'm just a creature of habit."       And with this toast said, Mike closed his eyes, brought the glass to his lips, tipped back his head and began pouring the liquid down his throat.  When he placed the now half empty glass down, Lou had already risen from his seat.       "I'm a creature of habit too, Mike.  That's why I'm here.  Even after I stopped drinking, bars were the only place I ever felt comfortable.  So I'll probably be seeing you around.  Maybe I'll even see you sober again someday."         Lou walked away, disappointment registering in his every step.       "I'd love to stay," said Dave, who had also risen from his seat.  "But I have an appointment to make.  Some other time perhaps.  Good meeting you, young fella.""Same here."  Mike shook Dave's hand and then watched him walk out of the bar, every bit the sophisticated, gentlemanly drunk.  Taking in a deep breath, Mike again lifted the glass to his lips and finished it off in one gulp.  He placed the glass on the bar and then walked to the pub's jukebox, removing quarters from his pocket.  He was good and ready to select some "my baby done me wrong" music to accompany his melancholy mood.  Problem was, there were so many top quality sorrowful tunes to choose from.  Whichever he selected would wipe away an equally good alternative, and he had neither enough time nor enough change to listen to all of them.  That was the thing about choices.  The moment you made one, you also threw another one away.  Dave put the coins back into his pocket and returned to his seat at the bar.          "I'll have another one, please."       "Pepsi, right?"       "You got it."       Mike held his newly filled glass before him, staring intently at the soda, wondering if he would eventually switch to something stronger.  If he did, would it be his downfall?  Would that make him just like his father?  If he refrained, did that make him any better off?  Or was abstinence synonymous with lack of belief in his powers of self-control?  He simply didn't know which scenario would make him more pathetic.       Maybe Angela had a valid point when she said that the end of their relationship was ultimately caused by his ambivalence towards practically every aspect of life.  But what did she know?       After all, he had firmly chosen Pepsi over Coke. 
Now available at Amazon - MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE
PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST - AKA ME (by Bill Gallo)

MADE UP YOUR MIND YET?