In Memorium

Tabatha Leigh (Piszczyk) Johnson (1971-2013)

If you're reading this, it's because you either knew my wife or know me, which means, at least in some way, you know her.  That being the case, you've been made a better person.  Not by me, but by Tabby.  There are all different types of people in the world.  Selfish, selfless, kind or mean, but only the rarest of people make you better simply by virtue of having known them.  They are the type of people who make you proud of yourself, who give you a warm feeling whenever you enter their presence, whose laugh can brighten an otherwise dismal day.  Tabby was such a person.

If you never had the pleasure of meeting her in person, I grieve for you.  You never got to experience her laugh, her smile, her passion.  You never got to be hugged by her (and let me just say that even at the end, she was one of the best huggers on the planet).  You never got to feel was it was like to have your soul fed with love in the way that only she could.  Her friends were lifelong, and fiercely loyal, and for good reason.

Tabby never turned anyone away.  Never.  Misfits as, I'm sure, we all were when we met her, she greeted us all with a smile and a warm hug and treated us all as family.  Everyone, celebrities and normal people alike, remembered her.  Everyone loved her.

If you came to our house, there were always a few things you could depend on.  First, no one ever went away from our house hungry.  We might've not had much, but Tabby loved to cook and would cook up a storm for anyone who had emptiness in their tummies.  When we married, I weighed 142 pounds soaking wet and had 6% body fat.  I like to blame my weight gain on her cooking, but it was more than that.  It was contentment.  It was love.  It was comfort.

I tell the story often, to anyone who will listen, but I'm telling it again.  I first met Tabby in Junior High School.  I was dating her best friend at the time.  I lost track of her for about a decade, but found her again in Junior College.  I asked her out, and she turned me down flat.  At the time, she had a boyfriend.  It took me a whole year to get up the nerve to ask her out again, and that time she said yes.  Our first date was on Halloween, 1992.  I dressed as a drag queen (I make an ugly woman), she as a (beautiful) rodeo queen.  We were never apart after that.  By Thanksgiving of that same year, I'd asked her to marry me.  By Christmas, we told her parents, and by April, we were married.  Less than six months after our first date together, we were married.  And despite what many thought, we stood the test of time.  Twenty years we had.  Were they all great?  I'd be lying if I said they were.  But I would not change a single moment.  I wouldn't rewrite a single second.  Not one.  Not those times.

She is survived by our beautiful daughters, Anna and Zoe, her brothers Cameron and Aaron, her mom and dad Ruth and Don, her sister Althea, and by me.  To say that we are all devastated is an understatement.  To say that I will never fully recover would be laughable, were it not so true.

Whatever your faith, chances are you have some idea of an afterlife.  For Christians, it's Heaven.  For Pagans, it's Summerland.  Some call it Elysium, and others call it by names that do not fall easily from the lips.  No matter what your belief, wherever Tabatha is, it is paradise.  Not because our religion says so, or because of some prejudiced idea of where she would go, but simply by virtue of her being there.  No matter where she is, just because she is there, it becomes paradise.  She did it here on Earth.  I have no reason to believe she'd do otherwise elsewhere.

Look around and realize the truth of this statement:  Because you knew her, you are today a better person.  She made me a better person.  She believed in me, made me see myself as someone worth loving, and gave me the confidence and strength to do whatever I set my mind to.  Because I knew her, I am a better person.  I will always be grateful to her for making me into the man I am today.

Goodnight, Tabby.  I love you so very much.  I do not grieve for you, but for myself and for the rest of us who are left behind.  There is a great hole in my life where you were, an empty chair at my table.  I will not get over you.  I will always miss you.  And I envy those who you meet in the afterlife.  Even they will be made better people for having known you.

SAJ

20 Years

 Today is a very special day for me, made even more so by recent circumstances.  Twenty years ago today, I stood in front of a crowd of friends and family and waited until the most beautiful, wonderful woman I've ever known in my life walked down the aisle, took my hand, and said "I do."  Twenty years.  Tabatha has made my life wonderful, made me a better person, and has been my inspiration for twenty years.

Think about that number for a moment.  Think about how many people my age (and no, I'm not telling how old I am) that get to say they found the true love of their lives, and stayed together for twenty years.  Not many.  Not many at all.

Through ups and downs, hard times and good times, and health and sickness, Tabby and I have stuck together.  I would never rewrite a single moment.  Not one.  Every moment with her is precious to me.

To my wife, my love, my best friend:  Thank you.  I love you.

For everyone else, I leave you with a few photos of us, taken at various times during our life together.  Hope you like them.

Horror Realm convention in Pittsburgh PA.

Halloween a few years ago.  The reaper and the witch. 

River and The Doctor.  Where would the Doctor be without his wife? 

I know it's tough to see, but that shock of red hair is my lovely Tabby, dancing with me among a horde of zombies.  Actually, it's quite an appropriate image for our whole relationship.  To us, the world could burn and go to hell, so long as we had each other.  

May you all find your lifelong love, and may you have a lifetime of happiness. 

SAJ

A Break from the Gloom and Doom

I know the posts have been a bit... dark lately.  There's good reason behind that, but that's not all there is to our lives.  Tabby isn't gone yet, and we still manage to get out and have some fun occasionally.  So, to that end, I wanted to post a few pictures of my gal.  Tabby's sister (Althea), her husband (Vincent), and their kids (Hallie and Kaia) came for a visit, along with Tabby's mom (Ruth).  We decided that being cooped up in the house wasn't a good idea, so we went to Greune (pronounced "green."  Don't ask).  We managed to get there just in time for "Market Days," which a chaotic mix of local artisans, great food, and live music.  I just wanted to give a little joy with some photos we took from the day.

So here's Ruth (Tabby's Mom) with Tabby in Mamacita's restaurant.

And here's Tabby enjoying some sunlight. 

Tabby with my wonderfully goofy daughter Zoe.

Front Row:  Zoe, Hallie, Kaia.  Back row: Althea, Tabby, Ruth

Tabby and Zoe, and some random weirdo who happened to be passing by...

Me with my brother-in-law, Vincent.  I swear, there was something interesting up there.  No really...

And me, with the look I usually have on my face.  

So, there.  We enjoyed being out of the house.  Tabby was able to walk around for a couple of hours, then had to go home.  She was wiped out for the rest of the day (and most of the next one), but it was good to see her smile and laugh.  

So let this post be a warm fuzzy to you all.  

Love to you. 

Update on Tabby - March 20, 2013

This is a difficult entry to post.  So much has happened since the last update, and much of it within the last 24 hours.  I'm not sure where to begin, but I suppose it should be with Tabby, and an explanation of the image to the left.

We saw Tabby's doctor yesterday to get the results of the CT scan she had on Monday.  The results were that the cancer has grown.  The new treatment did nothing.  Tabby's mother was with us when we heard the news.

The doctor told us it was time to consider hospice care.  For those who don't know, hospice is either a nursing home or in-home care for the terminally ill.  The purpose is to treat the symptoms that come along with dying to make the patient as comfortable as possible until the inevitable happens. What we've known all along just hit us like the proverbial ton of bricks.  There will be no more chemotherapy.  There is no more chance of survival.

I cannot begin to relate to you what it is like, the terrible knowledge that I'm going to lose the other half of my soul.  I cannot begin to fathom the deep ache that Ruth, Tabby's mother, is feeling at the impending loss of a child.  I can't even begin to imagine what is coming for our children at the loss of their mother at such a young age.

Out of this, came a small moment of happiness.  Because of Tabby's condition, she can't actually work. She's been out of work for a year, which means we halved our income and (due to medical bills) we doubled our output.  The point of this isn't to complain, so bear with me.  The home we're living in now, well, to borrow a political phrase, the rent's too damned high.  We can't really afford to live there anymore.  So yesterday, while I was out getting another round of medication for Tabby from our local supermarket, I took a detour through a neighborhood near Plum Creek.  I don't know why I did, other than I kept wondering what was back there, so today my curious nature got the best of me.  As I drove around the tiny subdivision (seriously, there are a total of four streets), I found a house, just one, that was for sale.  A one-story house (Tabby can no longer climb stairs very well...) with a larger square footage than the one we're currently in.  I called the relator and made an offer.  The owner accepted, with VERY little down and payments nearly $200 lower than what I'm paying now.  The house has a beautiful tree in the back yard under which Tabby can sit, and she loves the house.  To make a long story short, if I can get the financing together (I think I can), we're moving.  Tabby won't be doing any of the lifting or anything... That'll be me and whomever I can bribe with beer and pizza.  But the house will be a quiet, serene place for her.  That's the point.  That's what has to happen.  My youngest will stay at her same school, see her friends, and is generally thrilled.  The house is what we've been hoping for.

I am, beyond a doubt, devastated.  Tabby is heart-broken.  I don't know how long I have left with her, but we intend to make the best of it.

Love to all of you.

SAJ

Update on Tabby: 2-6-2013

Before I get too far into this, I need to say something.  Thank you to everyone who reads these, comments on them, shares them, etc.  There's not a whole lot, at this point, I can do or that anyone can do, but it is appreciated.

Yesterday, we went back to Austin to visit with Tabby's doctor and get the results of her latest CT scan.  We expected everything to be stable.  Our expectations were not met.  The tumors have grown.  Significantly.  What that means is that the last year of chemotherapy Tabby has endured has done nothing more than hold it at bay.  It hasn't ben successful in fighting it.  We are all very disappointed.

So what does that mean?  First, back into chemotherapy for Tabby, but this time without the "hooded nightmare" cisplaten, or the torture-drug nulasta.  She's using a drug called Taxol, and will be infused with it once a week for, likely, the rest of her life. In two weeks, we look again to see if there needs to be adjustments made on the dosage, if she's allergic to it, or if it is having any effect whatsoever.  This new drug does have a lower success rate than the first.  If this one fails, there's one other, and it has a lower percentage still.

The doctor was very clear:  She told Tabby that there would come a point where Tabby would have to make a decision.  People who are not in chemotherapy do tend to feel better than those who are not, but they live longer.  Tabby nodded her head and said "Okay.  Let's fight."

Define "tenacity."  Look it up in any dictionary, and you should find a photo of my wife.

There's not much else for me to say at this point.  I continue to watch over her, try to provide comfort for her and my girls, and keep doing what I do because the world, in general, doesn't give a damn.  No matter what happens, the world will keep turning, bills will still need to be paid, and people will still expect things to get done.  And someone has to do them.  So I'm doing them.

I was asked what effect this had on our day to day lives.  I can't even begin to answer that question without sounding like whining, so I won't.  I'll just say there's been a huge impact, the likes of which I hope no one I know will ever endure.  Emotionally, financially, psychologically...  Cancer doesn't just claim one person.  It claims families.  It claims friends.  Those of us that must, do what we must.

Tabby doesn't have an expiration date.  She's planning on fighting until she can't anymore.  How long that will be is anyone's guess.  And I'll be the guy in her corner screaming at her to get back up and fight.  Because I love her.  And because that's what we do.

SAJ

Personal Fitness and Health

Most often, I use this blog to talk about whatever strikes my fancy.  Recently, it's been a way to keep all you good folks updated on what's happening with Tabby's fight against cervical cancer.  And while that is currently the most important thing going on in my life, I got inspired to do a short-ish entry on my personal battle with weight loss.  Why?  Because it's my blog and I can.  Also, because the last few entries have been damned depressing (rightfully so) and I wanted to put something positive up.

A little history:  When Tabby and I got married, I weighed 142 pounds and has six percent body fat.  Six.  As in "almost none."  I was very lean, could eat anything I wanted, and still fit in a pair of pants with a 27-inch waist.  Those were the days.  Over the years, (19 of them, in fact), I saw a gradual increase in weight brought on by a multitude of factors, the biggest one being I simply love food and didn't exercise self-control.  I like to blame Tabby's cooking, but if I'm being honest, I did it to myself.  I packed on about 100 pounds of shame.  That's right, at my biggest, I weighed in at 240 pounds.  For a guy that's only (slightly under) 5'7" that's a whole 'nother person.  I came to a monumental decision that is still affecting my life, but in a positive way.  I needed to be more healthy.  In light of current circumstances, I really needed to be more healthy.  So I took a few steps.

First, I quit smoking.  It's been close to three years now, and I'm not picking it back up.  I did, however, substitute food for cigarettes, which resulted in the afore-mentioned ballooning of my weight.  Then I decided it was time to make things better.

Step one:  Gym membership.  The university for which I work (AKA:  "The Day Job") has a "wellness program" that allows employees to take 30 minutes of their day for personal wellness or fitness requirements.  My boss was kind enough to allow me to add those 30 minutes to my lunch hour, which allowed me an hour and a half to walk to the Student Recreation Center (which is the most kick-ass gym a guy could want), work out, shower, and get back.

Step two:  The workout.  For me, it's strict cardio for now.  The elliptical is both my best friend and my most hated instrument of torture.  Every day, I walk to the gym, follow the "fat burning" setting, and flat-out run for 35 minutes.  By the time I'm done, my shirt is soaked, my lungs burn, and my legs ache, but that's a good thing.  I think.  I follow it up with about 10 minutes of intense stretching of my legs.

Step three:  Bonus workout.  To begin with, I still am the assistant coach of the Texas State University Karate Team.  I'm a 4th degree black belt in Kajukenbo, and have the reputation of being somewhat of a sadist where workouts are concerned.  When I show up for class, it's all business, and I work the students until I'm sure they'll be sore in the morning.  I do the same workout they do, putting my body through the ringer until I, like they, are soaked with sweat.  On days when I don't go to the gym (because it's in another town), I try to get out and walk two or three miles through my neighborhood.

Step four:  Calorie counting.  It's a well-known, but often despised, fact of weight loss that, in order to lose weight, a person has to expend more calories than he is taking in.  If there's another way of doing it, someone please tell me what it is.  To that end, I downloaded a calorie tracker on my phone and enter in EVERYTHING I eat every day.  I also add in my exercises.

So how's that working out for me, you ask?  Starting from a weight of 240 lbs, I'm now down to 200 lbs, with an end goal of 180 lbs.  I've dropped several inches in my waist, my kilts fit better, and I can now walk across campus without getting winded.  I can also now out work (almost) every kid in the karate class, which, considering I'm going to be 42 years old in two months, is no small feat.  There are other benefits that I didn't count on.

• Food actually tastes better.  Not sure if that's from not smoking, the weight loss, or a combination of the two. 
• I have a better mental outlook.
• My knees and hips don't hurt as often as they used to.
• My back doesn't hurt as often or as much as it used to. 
• I have so much more energy. 

I guess my point here isn't to preach or say that everyone needs to get on the fitness bandwagon.  I'm saying I did what was right for me.  My body, though far from perfect, is still a work in progress.  And if this little blog entry inspires just one person to maybe get up and try to improve their physical health, then I'm glad to have provided that service.  

I wish everyone who reads this long life and good health!  

Update on Tabby - 12/31/2012 Taking a Break

We went in to see the doctor today with a great deal of trepidation.  Tabby's body has taken as much abuse as a human body can, and it's starting to wear on her.  Apparently, most people can't take two full batteries of cisplaten-laced chemotherapy, and Tabby's done that and smiled through it.  But recently, her body has begun showing signs of wear.  Constant vomiting, constant fatigue, bone loss, muscle loss...  It's a fight.  A serious fight for her life.

Often, Tabby's doctor has offered to give her a break.  Every other time, Tabby's said she could handle it.  This time, however, we recognized that she needed a break.  Her body stopped recovering between chemotherapy sessions, and I wasn't sure if the cure was hurting her worse than the disease.  So this time, she said she needed the break.  The doctor agreed.  She needs to recover.

So here's the long and the short of what's happening for now:  First, no round 14.  Chemo stops now.  No more nulasta, no more cisplaten, no more beating her to death with this stuff...For now.  Tabby will go back for another CT scan in February to see if the tumors have grown or stayed the same, and we'll figure out what to do from there.

The good news is, she will have time to recover, to purge the poison from her body.  She'll rest, regain some of her strength, and maybe her appetite again.  There will be no three-to-four days of hell while nulasta makes her bones ache.  We might be able to get somewhat caught up on the mounting medical bills.  But there is a down side.  First, we don't know what stopping treatment, even for a month, will do.  It could do nothing.  It could spiral out of control.  It could do a number of things that I don't want to think about.

So here we are...About to begin the new year.  In fact, it's the last day of 2012, and we're looking forward with uncertainty.  We don't know what 2013 will bring, only that with uncertainty comes even a glimmer of hope.

Again, and again and again, thank you to everyone who has wished Tabby well, sent gifts, bought copies of DROPLETS, and kept us in your thoughts and prayers.  Every message she receives, every card, gives her strength and courage.   I'll let you know what happens in February.  Until then, please keep her and our girls in your thoughts. Make no mistake, this is stage 4-b cancer.  This literally is a fight for her life.  The odds are long and stacked against her.  But she's going to keep fighting.

2013 - Goals and 2012 - Accomplishments

Every year around this time, people start putting together a list of "resolutions" for the new year.  Not me.  Not that I don't plan on doing things in the new year, I just don't believe in resolutions.  If I'm going to make a change, I make it for good at the time I need it.  That's not to say resolutions are a bad thing, just not for me.  I had a look back at my list of things I wanted to do this year (I called them goals), and it really only boiled down to a couple of things.  I wanted to lose weight (because I felt like a fat slob) and publish more.  Everything else seemed to be an offshoot of those two things.  So since there were really only two things I wanted to accomplish this past year, let's tackle that list first.

• Lose Weight/Get Healthier - Check, and check!  2012 marks the 2-year anniversary of my quitting smoking, and by the end of the year I've dropped 40 lbs.  You read that right.  I no longer weigh in at 240 pounds, I can now outrun most of my Kajukenbo students, and my pants fit better.  I've worked hard to get this way, and I'm planning on keeping the weight off.
• Publish More - I don't know if this counts as "more," but I did have two books come out this year.  The first one, ECTOSTORM, was the third of the "Stanley Cooper Chronicles."  The second, DROPLETS, was bittersweet because, while it was a collection of all my short stories, the proceeds helped to fund my wife's fight against cancer.  Nice of the publisher, sad that the situation arose where I'd need such help. 

So what's on tap for next year?  Lessee....

• More Weight Loss - I'm planning on getting down to 180 pounds.  That's twenty more pounds to go.  Yes, I can do this.  Yes, I will do this. 
• Publish - Really, this is more up to my agent than me, so I think this should actually read "write quality things that publishers will pick up."
• Write More - I've been a bit distracted this year, and the writing has taken a back seat.  With all the garbage going on in my personal life, it's easy to get bogged down.  And that's just what I've done.  But I'm getting back to it.  I have ideas for not one, but three books, and I'm going to try to finish two of them this year.  

I'll spare you the depressing wants for next year.  I'm sure, if you follow this blog, you can guess what they are.  What I will say is that I look forward to the new year with a considerable amount of trepidation, a bit of uncertainty, and not a small amount of dread of things that might come to pass.  But also, hope.  I have, and will continue to have hope.  I am not, by nature, an optimist.  I'm more a pessimist or (as I prefer to think of myself) a realist.  I have no illusions, but hope springs eternal.

And now, a challenge for you.  Are you up to it?  I hope so.  Over the course of the new year, make a life change.  I don't mean resolve to exercise and give it up after a month, make some real life changes.  Things that irrevocably alter your vision of the world.  Things that make you a better person.  Stuck for examples?  Glad you asked. 

• Exercise - I don't care if it's walking around the block or running a marathon.  Take up exercise. Get healthy.  Do it now.  Don't wait until your health fails you because you failed it. 
• Try New Foods - My wife once made this horrifyingly putrid-looking substance she called "football dip."  For the record, it's made of cream cheese blended with picante sauce.  It looked awful, but she made me try it.  I need to tell you that this stuff is like food crack.  It's addictive, bad for me, and wonderful.  Try new food.  You never know what you'll get.  
• Get Into the World - Have a new experience.  Expand your experience.  Something you've always wanted to do?  Now.  Do it now.  Something that terrifies you that you've never done?  Try it.  You might like it.  
• Adopt an Animal - Maybe I'm having a case of missing my dearly departed pup, Bogie, but it's a good thing to do.  Go to a shelter and adopt a dog or cat, puppy or kitten.  Adopt a creature that wouldn't have a chance to survive without you.  I can tell you, honestly, it's one of the best things I've ever done, and you'll get a friend for life. 

The last thing I have to say may fall into a "no shit, Sherlock" moment, but I'm saying it anyway.  Tell someone how much you love them.  Your wife, husband, partner, children, mom, dad... Tell them.  Even if you've said it, say it again.  You never get those moments back.  You can never say it enough.  Let them know that they're loved.  Don't let it ever be too late. 

See you in the new year. 

SAJ

Stasis... An Update on Tabby - 12-05-2012

Round number twelve began yesterday with a CT scan and a gentle probing and visual exam by her doctor.  Incidentally, if you're ever diagnosed with cancer (and believe me, I hope you're not), Texas Oncology is the place to go.  They're the folks taking care of Tabby and keeping her alive.

Back to the narrative:  The CT scan came back and everything was... The same.  Stable was the word they used.  I took a look at the report and it showed all the tumors were within .01 cm of what they were last month (either give or take) or exactly the same.  So what does that mean?

I'm not sure.

On the one hand, it means she's not getting any worse.  We've managed to stop the progression of the cancer so there's that.  On the other hand, it means she's not getting any better, which points to the reason for the title of this blog entry.  Stasis.  Nothing has changed.  She is unable to move forward or back.  We are all just pulling in, trying to support one another, and trying to keep hope alive.  I choose to take this as a good thing because it means I still get to have her around. Yes, it's selfish.  Sue me.

The medication is beating the hell out of her.  The "hooded nightmare," Cisplaten, is a brutal drug that appears to be doing its job, but it's taking its toll on her.  She's constantly tired, weak and her daily bouts of nausea are becoming routine.  It's almost like morning sickness, but it happens morning, noon and night.  She's currently on more than a dozen different prescriptions, including two for the nausea (which don't appear to be working...), magnesium boosters, bone strengtheners, blood pressure medication, and a host of other things pills that equal a handful and a mountain of empty pill bottles in our kitchen.  The Nulasta is one of the worst drugs ever to be necessary.

And yet, through it all, every time the doctor asks her if she can continue, she smiles and says "yes."  Doctor Smith has given her an out multiple times, asking her if she needs a break.  Tabby's determination has never wavered.  Her spirit continues to be indomitable.

This week, in addition to everything else Tabby is going through, she had to go through the pain of losing her father.  Walter Piszczyk was a gentle giant bear of a man who once threatened to break my legs if I broke his daughter's heart.  That's the man I choose to remember.  The man who, along with her stepfather, walked Tabby down the aisle.  His passing hit her hard at a time when she was already beaten down.  And still, she does not waver.

Consider that for a moment.  Think about your worst day.  Think about having those worst days for an entire year.  Think about the strength that it takes to hold your head up and continue to fight.  That's Tabby.  That's my girl.  If you ever had a doubt, it should be gone now.

As usual, if you're wondering what you can do...  At this point, not much.  I'm so thankful for all the messages from you all.  All the visits help her outlook.  My parents, my brother and sister-in-law, my Mother-in-Law, our friends...All of you have helped more than you know.  Our children continue to help and be morale boosters.  At this time of year, money's tight, as always.  Those of you who bought Droplets, you're the reason why we're able to have a Christmas this year, so thank you.  So I guess for now, all you can do is wait, hope, and call in any favors you might have owed you by any deity in which you believe.  Light a candle and spare a thought for Tabby.  She feels it.  I feel it too.

Love to all of you.

SAJ

Tabby Update: 10-25-2012

I'm running out of clever pictures to put at the top of these posts...

Tabby did round 10 of chemo this week, followed by Nulasta (the evil, evil drug) on Friday, more lab work, and more hydration next week.  She's been very ill lately, with severe migraines and nausea beating her into the ground.  Last week, the migraines got the worst they'd ever been, to the point that Tab did something she didn't want to do...  She took liquid morphine.  Yes, the doctor prescribed it specifically for her headaches, but because it's so addictive, Tab was wary about taking it.  After three days of being unable to tolerate even the dimmest light, she took a dose.

No effect.

One hour later (as per the instructions), she took a second dose.  The result was the best nine hours of sleep Tabby's had in years.  She woke up without a headache, without nausea, and feeling almost like her old self again.

Tuesday, she saw the doctor, who said her kidneys are functioning perfectly, which is wonderful.  When she asked if Tabby felt strong enough for another round of chemotherapy, I half expected her to say no.  I've sat up with her many nights and heard her say that she's tired of feeling like shit and watched her cuddle Rudy (her little stuffed elephant I bought for her at the circus) and Cthulhu (big stuffed plushie from our friends Ward and Nikki), and it's obvious she's miserable.  But she said yes.  She said she was strong enough.  Later when I asked her why, she said this:  "I want this shit out of me.   I'm not quitting."

That's my girl. And that's why I love her.

Again, thanks to everyone for all your love and support.  Tabby needs to hear how loved she is.  Your messages give her strength.

As an aside, I'm sure everyone is aware of all the pink running amok in our country, as it is "Breast Cancer Awareness" month.  I have nothing against it... I'm quite fond of ta-tas in all their many shapes and sizes.  But I don't wear a pink ribbon.  I don't wear a pink gum-bracelet either.  I wear an enameled teal and white ribbon pin and bracelet.  Those are the colors of cervical cancer awareness.  I'm all for breast cancer awareness and education, but why is the month only dedicated to the one specific type?

On the campus where I work, there are many folks who mean well and who are selling pink ribbons and gum bracelets.  One of them approached me, and in her snottiest possible voice informed me that I was wearing the "wrong colors" and I needed to swap out my ribbon and bracelet for the pink ones that they were selling.  I, of course, bristled at miss Hairbow, and calmly explained to her that I didn't want to exchange them.  She asked why.  I replied "because breast cancer isn't what's trying to kill my wife."  The look on her face, though priceless, was indicative to me that, while breast cancer is terrible, people should be reminded that it's not all there is.  There are people suffering from every kind of cancer, and their voices deserve to be heard.

So here's the obligatory plug for DROPLETS, the short story collection which is helping to pay for my wife's medical expenses.  If you've bought one, thank you.  If you haven't and you want to, thanks.  And if you don't want to, don't buy it.  Thanks for just reading this far.  And for those who wish to show support for a victim of cancer of any type, head over to choose hope for ribbons, pins, and all other forms of stuff.  The good thing is, these people actually do donate enormous sums from their sales to research for finding a cure.

Again, thanks for reading.  Love you guys.

TABBY UPDATE - 10-03-2012

Yesterday, we got the results of Tabby's latest CT scan, and it showed shrinkage in almost all of the tumors!  The ones that didn't shrink were stable, so we're very happy.  Some shrank by only .1 centimeter, other shrank by a whole centimeter.  The point is, they're getting smaller.  And that's a good thing.  There is hope, and we will continue to move forward.

It's been taking her longer and longer to recover between treatments.  The Nulasta is the bane of her existence, as it is one of the most brutal drugs I've every seen.  And now, as a side effect, it seems to be leeching the calcium out of her body, which has resulted in horrific migraines and extended bouts with vomiting.  The pain, the exhaustion, the nausea, all makes it hard for her to keep chipper, but she tries.

We'd like to thank everyone who has offered assistance.  Our insurance is holding and helping.  The co-payments and our end of the treatments are expensive, and they are slowly building, but at this time, everything is manageable.  I need to send thank-you's to my parents, who have been helping on chemo days by keeping Zoe and sending dinner home; to my daughter Anna for driving when I can't; to Ruth (Tabby's mom) who comes down whenever Tabby needs her; to my brother and his family for their assistance whenever we ask; and to all of our friends for understanding why we haven't seen them for so long.  To everyone who has bought a copy of DROPLETS, you have no idea the difference you've made in helping pay our medical bills.  And to everyone else who has sent love, care packages, good thoughts and vibes, sent e-mails or called, thank you very much.  You are helping to keep our spirits alive and you are as much a part of the healing and recovery process as the chemotherapy.

We love you guys very much.

Thanks.

If anyone would like to purchase a copy of DROPLETS, it is still available.  Also, for those wishing to show support for ANY cancer victim, you can do so at Choose Hope.

Big Thank You, And an Update!

I just wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone who has read these blogs and who bought a copy of Droplets to help pay for Tabby's medical costs.  While we're not out of the woods yet, and we have a long way to go, your support and love and help have meant so much to us both.  I can't possibly name everyone who has given their time, bought a book, lit a candle, prayed or sent gifts, but you know who you are.  You know what you did, and for that, I thank you from the bottom of my black little heart.

Now, on with the update.

First off, Tabby's last CT scan showed shrinkage.  This'll probably be the only time I ever say "shrinkage is a good thing," but in this case it is.  What that means, I hope, is that we're over the hump.  Since April, we've been told "no change" and "no growth," but it hadn't gotten smaller either.  Now, the tumors have shrunk.  Not much, but enough that there is a glimmer of hope.

Tabby has, as a result of all this mess, developed diabetes.  Likely, it'll resolve itself when her pancreas starts working on its own again, but we don't know that.  Also, because her white bloodcell count was very low, the doctors put her on something called "Nulasta," which forces her body to overproduce white blood cells.  Sounds good, until you realize how your body does such a thing.  White blood cells come from bone marrow, which means that, when she's injected with this stuff, every bone in her body aches.  Literally.  Every.  Bone.  She's a tough lady, but it's hard to know she's in that kind of pain.

The chemo makes her very tired, but she's keeping her spirits up.  It's that positive attitude that is a testament to her strength, and is helping her fight.  And one of the big things that's keeping her spirits up is you.

So to everyone who reads this, thank you.

Just a reminder, if anyone is still interested in buying a copy of Droplets (all proceeds go to paying Tab's medical bills), you can do so by visiting The American Horror Writer Bookstore.

Out of Print

It's a sad day in a writer's life when a book goes out of print.  No longer is that book part of the market, no longer is it "in the wild" or "out there."  It has lived its life and is now, sadly, gone.  This past week, I saw not one, but four of my books go out of print.  That's right, four.  The books in question are Deadlands, City of Demons, and the first two books of the Stanley Cooper Chronicles, Vermin and Pages.  Has it really been that long?  Yes.  Really, it has.

Deadlands first saw print in 2005.  It was my second book, way back before the whole "zombie" craze, about a post-apocalyptic world where the walking dead wondered the Earth, and normal folk were forced to live in underground cities like ants.  When the original publisher, Harbor House Books, closed up shop, the book was given new life by Dr. Pus at Library of the Living Dead, and I'll be forever grateful to him for picking it up.  It's a quirky little book that holds a special place in my heart.



City of Demons was my first attempt at noir.  A supernatural thriller that dealt with police, religious cults, murder, mayhem, and depravity, COD was my love-letter to Micky Spillane and Dashiell Hammett, and to the tough guys they wrote.  It was also, at the time, the most brutal story I'd ever written.

Which leads us to Vermin and Pages.  Before you start thinking The Stanley Cooper Chronicles are done, let me dispel that rumor.  Stanley Cooper is alive and well, and his story is far from over.  Right now, Vermin and Pages rest in the most capable hands possible:  Those belonging to my agent.  We're looking for a larger home for Stanley.  And while Ectostorm is still available, I'm working hard on writing the fourth book, Birthright.  In fact, I could be happy writing the adventures of Stanley Cooper for the rest of my life, provided he finds a home.  So if you want to see more Stanley Cooper, keep your fingers crossed.  Larger press or not, there will be more to his story.  But I'd really love for him to find a larger audience.

So, to date, that makes my back catalogue of thirteen books down to only five.  Out of print is An American Haunting, Deadlands, Cane River:  A Ghost Story, Deadlands (reprint), City of Demons, The Mayor's Guide:  The Stately Ghosts of Augusta, and Vermin and Pages.  Remaining out there for folks to read are Ectostorm, Ghosts of San Antonio, Haunted Austin Texas, The Journal of Edwin Grey, and, of course, Droplets.  Sure, you can still find copies of all of them, but once those are gone, there'll be no more left.  I may self-pub Deadlands and  City of Demons, but chances are, that'll be it.

That's not the end for my writing career, though.  There's more coming.  Just watch me run.

SAJ

Benefit for Tabby

Take a look at the picture on the left.  For those who have never met her, that's Tabby, my wife.  We've been married for nineteen years, and through everything, she's been my best friend, my partner in crime, and my world.

By now, everyone knows.  We kept it quiet for a while, but there's really no point now.  Tabby was diagnosed with advanced stage cancer back in April, and it's particularly aggressive.  Since April, she's been enduring chemotherapy, losing weight and her hair, and fighting with everything she's got.  Tabby has made a life out of beating the odds, and she's still fighting these.  She's very weak and can't actually work.  As her husband, I've been sitting beside her, watching her go through this horrendous nightmare, and wracking my brain to try to figure out what I can do to help.

 I figured that the only thing I can do is write, and since I'm not the type to beg for help, I spoke to Owen, the publisher who put out my short story collection, Droplets, and he agreed to donate all the proceeds from DROPLETS to help pay for Tabby's medical care.  This is huge, not only because I feel like I'm helping, but also because it keeps Tabby from feeling like a charity case.  Your "donation" gets you a copy of the book.  The truth is, the medical bills are piling up, so we figured this is the best solution.

WHAT YOU CAN DO:
Buy a copy of DROPLETS.  That's it.  One copy.  Owen at CLB Publications has agreed to take no profit from the book, and forward it all for paying Tabby's medical bills.  Pretty generous.  If you're inclined to help out, we'd be forever grateful.  If you already own a copy, Owen will be forwarding the proceeds of that one to me as well.  If you already own one, write a review on Amazon.  Reviews sell books.  Like I said, we're not asking for handouts.  If you want to buy a copy, please do by following this link.  If you don't, we understand.  Either way, keep Tabby in your thoughts.

We can't handle a bunch of phone calls, but e-mails are always appreciated.  Facebook messages are always appreciated for her.  Post your well-wishings on her wall.  I can't promise we'll be able to answer all of them, but I promise she'll read them all.  Tabby means everything in the world to me.  If you've met her, you know what I mean.  Everyone who has ever met her loves her.  If you haven't met her, and have met me, you know what she means to me.   Thank you for your consideration.  

Retreat! RETREAT!!!

Writing is, as I've said before, largely a solitary process.  At the end of the day, it is the writer, alone, in front of his keyboard, typing until his fingers cramp and eyes bleed.  Those who are not like us don't understand, can never understand, why it is that we shun the light or the company of our fellow humans.  But (and believe me, I am loathe to admit this), we do occasionally need human contact.  We do need the validation and camaraderie that comes with being amongst those of our kind, to step out of the "normal world" and into the crossfire of absurdity that only occurs when a room full of creative people are together with the goal of pushing each other to greatness.  And thus was born the concept of the "writer's retreat."

This past week, it was my honor to teach at Seton Hill University as an adjunct professor in their MFA in Writing Popular Fiction program.  I've been doing it for a while, and I always enjoy it, but this time was one of those times I particularly enjoyed because every June, the alumni of the program come together for the In Your Write Mind retreat.  Guest speakers in the industry, pitch sessions, workshops, all that is fine and dandy, and what the retreat is about.  But there is another thing that cannot be overstated in importance:  The participants themselves.  I admit, I'm a bit biased because many of the writers at the retreat are former students of mine, and I consider them no longer students, but colleagues and dear friends.  But the very presence, the interaction, is something all writers need.  In a way, it's validation.  We learn from each other, feed off each others' creative vibe, pick each others' brains, toss around ideas and recharge ourselves from the year's burnout of going through the daily grind.  It's one part support system, one part dysfunctional family.

I go to writing workshops all the time, and I have yet to find one that is as tight-knit as the In Your Write Mind retreat.

And while we're on the subject, I'd like to mention the root of the retreat, the WPF program itself.  You want to be a writer?  You want to write horror, or sci-fi, or romance, or YA, or any of a dozen other "genres" at which the literary community scoff?  Did you think you'd never get an MFA because your tastes run darker than those of the bearded academics who feel that authors like Barker and Lovecraft have no place in the learned world?  Guess what.  Seton Hill has the WPF program that awards an MFA on graduates, and there are two notable differences between this program and every other MFA that I've seen.  First off, students are not handed theory by people who have degrees but have never published, or who have published, but only in an academic or literary environment.  The teachers in the Seton Hill program are WORKING WRITERS.  I should know.  I am one.  Students are taught how to build a novel from the ground up in the genre of their choice by people who actually do that.  They're also paired with one of these writers so as to get real mentoring from one of them.  Go back and read that line again.  Do you realize what a wonderful opportunity that is?  Go look if you don't believe me.  Second, the goal of the program, the "thesis" if you will, is to complete a market-ready manuscript.  To date, five of my former "mentees" have sold their theses to publishers.  And I can't even count the number of novels that come from the program.

So here's my challenge to you:  If you want to be a writer, write your little shriveled heart out all year long, but make time to be around your fellow crazies.  Step into that crossfire of absurdity once in a while where the ideas fly and people actually want you to succeed.  You never know who you will meet.  This past weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting Michael Knost, whose book Writers Workshop of Horror I frequently assign to students.  The man is a bundle of laughs and good will.  I met agents, publishers, and, most importantly, other authors.  I met up with my old friends and we laugh about what a hardass I was to them.  It was a week needed, and I feel reborn.

If you don't believe in magic, go to a writers retreat and watch the sparks fly.  Watch the creative muse dance around our heads, and see the creations that come out of our collaborations.  Watch what happens when a group of writers get into a single room together and are left to their own devices.  And you will believe in magic.

Ray Bradbury (1920-2012)

We lost one of the great luminaries of our time, a man whose prolific works and blinding imagination provided with my generation, as well as many others, with visions of Mars, dystopian futures, demented carnivals and Halloween trees.  He took us to space and beyond, showed us the strange and macabre here on earth, and delved into the mysterious and weird with devilish glee.  His name was Ray Bradbury.

If you've never read Ray Bradbury's work, you can officially consider yourself ignorant.  Whether it was Fahrenheit 451 in high school, or Something Wicked This Way Comes as a child, his work introduced me to wonderful worlds and fantastic characters that stick with me to this day.

I don't believe I'm overstating his worth when I say we would not be where we are, as a society, without this man's imagination.  He gave us our vision of Martians.  He warned us of the dangers of book-burning and censorship.  He gave us stories in which tattoos told stories and made us fear the sound of thunder and wish for an ice-cream suit.  If you've ever been afraid to be taken to into Dark's Carnival, or watched the Twillight Zone, or wished for an electric grandmother, you've been touched by Ray's genius.

I first encountered Ray's work with the movie adaptation of his novel Something Wicked This Way Comes (Jason Robards, Jonathan Pryce 1983) when I was twelve years old.  I was fascinated and terrified by Mr. Dark and his nefarious circus, but when I came home, my brother suggested I try reading the book.  At the time, I wasn't much of a reader, but I sat down in a comfy chair and read it.  Cover to cover.  His writing style spoke to me, his characters stood in the same room, behind the chair and loomed over my tiny body, and I felt the little giggle of nervous fear bubble inside of me with every word.  After that, I sought out his work at our pitiful local library and read The Illustrated Man and The Martian Chronicles.  Anything with his name attached to it, I read, saw, watched, and absorbed.  The man was a literary giant to me.  Still is, and will be for the rest of my life.

For those who have not read much of his work, there is a lot of it to read.  Do yourself a favor and dive into his catalogue of work.  You won't be disappointed.

Good night sir.  May flights of Martians fly you into the stars to your rest.

The Human Condition

Those of you who know me know, by now, that my wife has cancer.  No, this isn't a cry for help or anything... Stick with me because this does have a point, I swear.

A few weeks ago, Tabby lost her hair to chemotherapy.  We knew it was going to happen, and Tabby's got a marvelous attitude about the whole thing.  But we weren't quite ready for how fast it would happen. One day, she had a full head of hair.  Two days later, it was all gone.  Skin bald.  I did what many other husbands have done in similar situations:  I shaved my head.  Anyone who knows me knows how much I like having long hair...I'm a little obsessive about it.  But there was no way I was going to let my Tabby go through being bald on her own, so off the hair went.  She means that much to me.

Yesterday, we went to the grocery store.  Tabby scooted along in front of me in a little electric cart (GET OUT OF THE WAY!  SHE'S CRAZY!  SHE'LL RUN OVER YOU!  I SWEAR!) while I pushed the main shopping cart behind.  As we moved down the aisle, I heard someone call me from behind.  "Sir?"  I turned around to see a man, a complete stranger, with huge tears in his eyes.  He took my hand and shook it and said "You've gotta be strong, brother."  Then he hugged me.  It took me a moment to figure out how he knew, but it was the hair, or lack thereof.  I don't know why the sight of the two of us made him cry.  I don't know what happened in that man's life, but I can tell you this much:  He made me feel loved.  He made me feel a little less alone.  He let me know that he knew something of what I was going through, and that made all the difference.

Here's the point:  That man embodied, to me, in that moment, the very best of what humankind can be.  He saw two people struggling and empathized with them.  Nothing mattered, but to give me a hug and to let me know that he'd been where I am, to offer encouragement, and to make that positive connection.  That man made me proud to be human, and with all the atrocities we visit upon each other, that's saying quite a lot.

I still don't know who that man was.  I don't know if I'll ever see him again (it's possible...That's my neighborhood grocery store, and odds are good he lives in the area).  But I can tell you this...That one random act of kindness, that one momentary connection, made a real impression on me.  I'm not suggesting everyone run out and hug a bald kid/person, but what I am saying is this:  We all have similar conditions.  We all have feelings, and we all want to feel connected to the rest of our species.  And while people like me neither want nor need your sympathy, everyone needs your empathy.

To that man, thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  You made a real difference with such a simple act.  To me, sir, you are the best of humanity.

ECTOSTORM: Book Three of the Stanley Cooper Chronicles

It's out!  It's finally out!  ECTOSTORM:  Book Three of the Stanley Cooper Chronicles is finally available on Amazon!  For those of you who are fans of my reluctant clairvoyant, Stanley Cooper has returned in the third installment, and is he in for a ride this time.

ECTOSTORM begins with Stanley discovering a group of people who, like himself, suffered near-death experiences and returned to tell the tale.  After a meeting with them, and a renewed sense that he might not be the weirdest guy on the planet, Stanley goes back to Maggie and Andi.  The next morning, the police are at his door.  Someone from the group has been murdered, and the killer wrote Stanley's name on the wall in blood.  The killer also wrote a message that only Stanley could see, and signed it with an evergreen.  It's up to Stanley to find out who the killer is, what he wants, and to stop him before more people get killed.

This book is also very special to me because it was sponsored by you, the fans.  I put up a project on KICKSTARTER to see if anyone was even interested in the further adventures of Stanley Cooper.  To my delight and surprise, people were interested.  This book was funded by a group of supporters from Kickstarter, and their names appear at the front of the book in a special thanks section.  Now that it's out, those people (the ones that donated at a particular level) will get a signed copy of the book, and a couple even got characters named after themselves.  Those characters died horribly.  It's just my way of saying thanks.

So anyway, ECTOSTORM is out.  If you're interested, you can pick up a copy at the AmericanHorrorWriter Bookstore.  And while you're there, you could also pick up a copy of my brand new short story collection, Droplets. Hell, if you go to the main page, you can pick up copies of all my books!

Thanks very much to all of you for supporting me and my work.  And thank you for reading.  There's more to come!

DROPLETS: A Short Story Collection

It is with great pleasure and pride that I announce the release of DROPLETS:  A Short Story Collection!  In this book are twenty-three short stories that span the length of my writing career.  From my first published pieces (Chained to the Pel, The Drowning Pool, and Mimes) to short stories never before seen in print, this collection documents my growth as a writer and shows the weird prism through which I view the world.  

If you'd like a preview, you can download the free sneak-peek, the short story MIMES, in which a guy beats up a mime in Central Park with terrifying results. 

And I haven't forgotten about Kindle users.  DROPLETS will be available on Kindle as soon as they finish checking the format.  

Here's the Table of Contents:

• Chained to the Pel
• Childhood Fears
• Closet Boy
• Death Around the Corner
• The Dinner Party
• The Drowning Pool
• Duwalli?
• Epaphany
• Family Business
• The Freakshow
• The Girl Next Door
• Heaven on Earth
• Jock Itch
• Mimes
• monotony
• Of Moss and Bullfrogs
• one Night in New Orleans
• Ouija
• Rakshasa
• Rats
• Snapshot
• Stalker
• The Wrong House

Just Have to Brag...

...And not about myself, for once!  I know, right?

It's no secret, I teach in a low-residency MFA program at Seton Hill University.  In addition to teaching "modules" (that's classes to most folk), we faculty are assigned a few students each semester to "Mentor" through their thesis, which, in theory, becomes a market-worthy manuscript.  Typically, I have between five and seven "mentees."  What does this have to do with anything?  Because two of my former mentees, Kristin Dearborn and David Day, have sold their manuscripts!

David's book, Tearstone, is a fantastic horror yarn that got picked up by Balefire Press.  You want messed up?  David's got you covered.  It's a story about an ancient artifact which, when unearthed, causes a sleepy little town to go completely mad.  Think "Our Town" on meth.  That oughta bring up some interesting images.  Brutal murder, rape, devils, monsters... It's a cornucopia of horror!

Kristin's book, Trinity, will be coming from Dark Fuse Press.  It's a fantastic story that includes aliens, government conspiracies, death, mayhem, and...  Wait for it...  A space puma.  Actually, I don't know if the Space Puma made it in to the final draft, but it was there when I read it.  What I can tell you about this story is that the imagery is remarkable, the characters are strong, and it has a wonderful grungy feel to it that will make any sci-fi fan sit up and take notice.

So why am I throwing this out there?  Because I'm proud.  And let me be perfectly clear, I take no credit for anything having to do with their success or their work.  All the work they did, they did on their own and they are succeeding because they're both brilliant writers.  No, I'm bragging because I'm proud to have worked with them.  I consider both of them no longer "mentees," or even students.  If I had to categorize them as anything it would be, at worst, colleagues, at best, friends.  I love both of these folks dearly, and I can't wait to see the hard copies.  I remember when my first novel got published, how proud I was.  It's a feeling that never gets old.  May these two writers have many more moments of success through their careers.