Lies Writers Tell

Remember when David Letterman had his top ten list?



Tahlequah, Oklahoma’s claim to fame is being the home office of Letterman’s top ten list. (Besides being the home of Carrie Underwood and Mr. Ed, that is.) So, seeing as how I live in Tahlequah, I decided to make my own top ten list.

top ten


  1. My book is so good it will sell itself.

Books do not sell themselves. You have to market and market and market because like it or not, you not only created the ‘ho but you have to pimp the ‘ho.

  1. I have writer’s block.

This is an excuse writers use when they don’t have to write to make a living.

  1. A ton of people showed up at my book reading/signing.

Yeah, a ton of people if you’re counting pounds and not heads.

  1. I support and love my fellow writers.

Hanging out with other writers is akin to sleeping in a snake pit and thinking you won’t get bit.

  1. My current book is almost finished.

Didn’t you say the same thing months (or years) ago?

  1. I’m only on Facebook to promote my book.

And look at pictures of kittens. And puppies. And rant about the guy in the movie theatre, the telemarketer, or the woman in the checkout line. I also thought you might like a photo of what I had for lunch.

  1. I don’t read my reviews.

Hahahahaha. Writers read their reviews. And even if they won’t admit it, here’s what they believe: All good reviews are true. All bad reviews are wrong. It’s that simple.

  1. I dont need an editer.

That sentence is self-explanatory.

  1. I do it for the art, not the money.

If this was true you wouldn’t be selling your book, now would you?

  1. You aren’t in my book.

Everybody who has ever pissed off a writer is in their book. They’re probably the one who got killed, slapped, shot, hit on the head, knifed, etc.

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Don’t Yuck Up My Yum

It’s astounding how many tragic events I’ve lived through in the past twenty years. I’ve witnessed 9/11, the OKC bombing, Columbine, The Boston Marathon bombing, countless other school shootings, Hurricane Katrina, the L.A. Riots, The 6.8 earthquake in L.A., yesterday’s shooting in S.C., tons of earthquakes around the world… the list of world tragedies goes on and on.

I have not witnessed each and every one personally. Meaning, I was not at each location as the events unfolded. But I did see them on the TV. And on Facebook.

I wonder sometimes how I am still functioning. How am I not crazy by now? I have lived vicariously through these things and I’m not a slobbering mess in a straitjacket?

TV was fun when I was growing up. Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley, The Love Boat. Families used to sit around the TV and laugh together. Then somewhere along the line TV became angry, competitive, and had these reality shows that made fun of people and hurt people. News became 24 hours and you could watch people die in a bombing over and over and over.

Facebook also used to be fun. It was a way to connect socially with like-minded people, find old acquaintances and share some laughs. However, recently, it has become a place to rant. I read long rants by people who don’t like what somebody did in a movie theatre, or a line at the P.O. or a what telemarketer said, or that a writer of Lesfic had made a typo in their book. God forbid, a writer post a promo about their newest book in a FB group that says they want promos. And I won’t even talk about the pictures of abused dogs and cats.

I turned off my TV five years ago and haven’t turned it back on.

I don’t sign on to FB now for days at a time.

I can’t handle the tragedy, drama, stress, and anxiety those two mediums bring.

In other words, today’s media is yucking up my yum.

I wake up in the morning and I’m happy. I look out my window and see what a beautiful world I live in. I smile at my neighbors and they smile back. I do what I can to make the world a better place. I raise my daughter to be kind to everyone – regardless of gender, race, religion, sexual orientation or whatever. I write comedy and try to bring a smile to people’s faces. It might not be much, but it’s what I can do.

Knowing about world events is one thing. Wallowing in them is another. I don’t think it’s good for a person mentally or emotionally. I don’t think it’s a good thing to spend hours staring at a TV screen or a computer screen watching horror after horror after horror.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m too soft-hearted or empathic or something. But if you’re feeling depressed or stressed or anxious, maybe you should consider spending less time on FB or watching TV. Maybe you should take a walk and look at the beauty around you. Maybe you should talk to your neighbor or the person sitting next to you on the bus. Maybe you should try reading a book and being grateful that the world has these books for you.

Maybe you can do something to add some yum of your own to the world’s yuck.

I’m choosing to be happy today. I hope you do, too.

Here’s a yummy book!


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A Day In The Life With Saxon

Yesterday, Saxon received new flip flops in a UPS box. She put them on her feet first thing. Then she began to play with the packing paper. She wadded the paper into two balls and shoved them in her bra. “I always wondered what it would be like to have big tits,” she said.

“They look a little crinkly,” I said.

She gave me the finger.

About half an hour later, we decided to go to Tahlequah Lumber and buy a wheelbarrow. On the way there, we stopped at a drive-thru snowcone store. Saxon ordered blue raspberry.

As I pulled back into traffic she spilled half the cone in her lap.

When we got to the store we couldn’t find the wheelbarrows. Saxon complained loudly that nobody was helping her.

I had this moment where I looked across the store at my beloved as somebody who didn’t know her. She had extremely large crinkly tits that crackled as she moved, her crotch was soaking wet and her lips were blue.

I did the only thing I could do under those circumstances. I walked up to her and said, “I love you. You’re weird and I love you.”

She smiled. Her teeth were blue.

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Who Is Margo?

My mother is one of the smartest women I know. My whole life I have looked up to her. She’s beautiful, creative, talented, and smart. But… sometimes I have to wonder what the hell she’s thinking. Last night was one of those times.

I get a phone call. I look at the number on the ID and it’s my mom. Here’s how the conversation went –

Me: Hi, Mom. What’s up?

Mom: Help! You have to help me!

Me: (Panicked) What’s wrong?

Mom: My kindle is screwy! I’m going to throw this damn thing in the trash!

Me: (Relieved nobody’s dying or hurt) Define screwy.

Mom: I’m trying to watch Breaking Bad on Netflix and my Kindle won’t play. I’m so mad I could spit.

Me: What’s it doing?

Mom: Nothing! That’s why I’m calling you! It’s doing nothing.

Me: First… calm down. Breathe. Don’t throw it away. Let’s start at the beginning.

(I walk her through some steps to narrow down what is wrong with her Kindle. After a lot of cussing on her part I figure out that it is indeed functioning properly except for the Netflix app. This takes a good twenty minutes.)

Me: Okay, here’s my diagnosis… I think you may have set up some parental controls and you can’t watch any adult videos.

(Mom doesn’t say a word.)

Me: Does that sound familiar to you? Parental controls? Through your Free Time app?

Mom: (Tiny voice) Maybe.

Me: Did you or did you not set up parental controls?

Mom: I maybe could have.

Me: Seriously, Mom? Why would you do that? You don’t have small children in the house.

Mom: I didn’t mean to. The Kindle made me do it.

Me: (Sighing heavily) Open up your Kindle Free Time app and tell me what it says.

Mom: I can’t. Margo won’t let me.

Me: Who?

Mom: Margo.

Me: Who’s Margo?

Mom: She’s the profile on the Free Time app.

Me: Let me see if I understand. You went into your Kindle Free Time app and set up a fake profile for a child that you don’t have which you named Margo and now you are mad because the Kindle won’t let Margo watch Breaking Bad?

Mom: Maybe.

Me: I don’t know if I can help you.

Mom: Why?!

Me: Who is this Margo person? Is she the daughter you always wanted? I wasn’t good enough for you so you have to create a fictional daughter? And you actually named her Margo?

Mom: The Kindle asked me for a name. So I made one up. It’s the Kindle’s fault. I didn’t know it was going to bring Margo to life and not let her watch my programs!

Me: Uh huh, I see. Well, I have to go now. I have to make supper for my real family. Bye bye.

(I hang up. Thirty seconds go by. My phone rings. I pick it up.)

Me: Hello, Margo speaking.

Mom: Margo, it’s your mother. Would you like to watch Breaking Bad on my Kindle?

Me: Sure, Mom.

Mom: Okay, but you’re going to have to delete the parental controls on it first.

Me: Not a problem. Go the pull-down menu on the top. Click on Settings…

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The Haunted Ring

Listen closely and ye shall hear the tale of the haunted ring.

The haunted ring is a beautiful ruby ring that has been in my family for generations. It became a part of my family back during the Depression in the 1930s. My grandpa was working at a gas station in Big Cabin, Oklahoma. Money was tight, but not as bad as the western part that came to be known as the Dust Bowl.

One day while he was pumping gas, a car pulled up. A man got out and said he was trying to get to Texas to be with his wife and children. But, (isn’t there always a but in these kind of stories?) his car was out of gas and he didn’t have any money. He did have a ruby ring, though. He told my Grandpa (who wasn’t my Grandpa yet. He was a young man, not even a father) that he would sell him the ruby ring for $400.

My Grandpa got the price down to $150 and a tank of gas.

I’d like to be able to tell you that the ring had magical powers. But it didn’t. My Grandpa wore it sometimes as a pinky ring. But mostly it stayed in a saucer on top of his dresser.

After my Grandpa passed, the ring became my mother’s. She wore it every day. And here’s where the haunted part comes in.

I had just moved from Los Angeles to Tahlequah, Oklahoma. One day while my mom was driving me from her house in Miami, Ok., to my new house in Tahlequah, I remarked on her ruby ring. I told her that someday I wanted to wear the ring. She gave me the ring and I tried it on. (this part is important – you’ll need to remember this later.)

We got to my house and prepared for bed. Mom was staying in my guest room. She took off her ruby ring and put it on the tall dresser like she did every night at her own house.

That was when I told Mom that my new house was haunted. But not to worry because it was only my Grandparents who were doing the haunting. I only halfway believed this. I had heard my Grandmother calling my name a few times. A couple of times, I had seen what I thought was a ghost out of the corner of my eye. And I ‘felt’ a presence in the guest room.

The night passed without incident and the next morning my mother said, “Very funny, Layce. Now give me back the ruby ring.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Daddy’s ruby ring is gone. I put it on the dresser before I went to sleep and now it’s gone,” she said.

“I didn’t take it.”

We thought maybe two year-old Emma had taken it. But she wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of that dresser.

We scoured the house, top to bottom. No ruby ring.

Later, my mother called my father. He was still at their house in Miami, Ok. She told him about the missing ruby ring.

“It’s here,” he replied.

My mother couldn’t believe it. “It’s there?”

“I’m looking right at it,” he said. “It’s on the kitchen counter.”

When she hung up, she was pale and shaking. And remember that part I told you was important? The part of the story where we were in the car, driving, and I tried on the ruby ring? That’s right. I know for a fact that the ring came to Tahlequah with us because I not only saw the ring, but I tried it on. This isn’t a story about a woman who was a little crazy and left her ring back home while she went on a trip. This is a story about how a ruby ring transported itself from one location to another location ninety miles away.

My mother stayed in my house another couple of nights. And she told me that her mother’s ghost appeared to her each night, sitting on the bed next to her. She said it wasn’t scary; it was comforting.

And whatever happened to the haunted ruby ring?

I’m now wearing it.



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