Pat Bertram

January 25, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Today’s guest post about grief and coping with the death of a spouse or a life mate, is by author Pat Bertram (“Light Bringer,” “Daughter Am I,” “More Deaths Than One” “A Spark of Heavenly Fire”) who, I’m happy to say, has stopped by Malcolm’s Round Table several times before for some great discussions.

Pat’s most recent book is “Grief: The Great Yearning.”

The Messy Spiral of Grief

I am no stranger to grief. In December, 2006, I lost my younger brother, and exactly a year later, I lost my mother. I thought I knew what grief was all about, but the grief over those deaths in no way prepared me for the depth and breadth of the grief I experienced after the loss of my life mate/soul mate.

I’d known he was dying, and I’d prepared myself for the inevitable — in fact, at the moment of his death…

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Rubicon Ranch: Necropieces — The Story Continues

January 24, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Rubicon Ranch is a collaborative and innovative crime series set in the desert community of Rubicon Ranch and is being written online by the authors of Second Wind Publishing. Seven authors, including me, are involved in the current story — Rubicon Ranch: Necropieces.

Residents of Rubicon Ranch are finding body parts scattered all over the desert. Who was the victim and why did someone want him so very dead? Everyone in this upscale housing development is hiding something. Everyone has an agenda. Everyone’s life will be different after they have encountered the Rubicon. Rubicon Ranch, that is.

Although some of the characters were introduced in Rubicon Ranch: Riley’s Story, a previous collaboration, Rubicon Ranch: Necropieces is a stand-alone novel. The first chapter will be posted on Monday, June 11, and one chapter will be posted every Monday after that.

We hope you will enjoy seeing the story develop as we write it. Let the mystery continue! Whodunit? No one knows, not even the writers, and we won’t know until the very end!

Chapter 33: Melanie Gray
by Pat Bertram

Morris. Melanie shuddered, remembering her encounter with the famous author and his request for photos of necropieces. Well, now the evil old man was just a bunch of dead body parts himself.

The sheriff seemed to be focused on his driving, but a bird-like tilt of his head gave her the impression he was trying to hear her thoughts. Well, whatever other abilities Seth Bryan might have, she doubted he was clairvoyant. He never seemed to understand her or her point of view.

“I don’t know anything about Morris,” Melanie said. “And I’m not sure there’s much to know. Of all the people I’ve encountered in Rubicon Ranch, he seems the least opaque.”

The sheriff made a small noise that could have been a choke of laughter or a grunt of derision, but other than that, he remained silent.

“I mean, he is a despicable human being,” Melanie continued, “and whoever killed him should probably be given a medal for something . . . saving the earth, perhaps. But Morris doesn’t really hide what he is. He might have feigned Alzheimer’s, but that was simply because he felt like it. All that matters to him are his wants, and since he has the money to indulge himself in his evil fantasies, there is nothing to stop him.”

“Nothing?” Sheriff Bryan said quietly.

“Was nothing to stop him.” Melanie stole a look at the sheriff. Did her simple error in syntax make her seem guilty to him? She had no idea how his mind worked, and his eyes hidden behind those silly mirrored sunglasses gave her no clue.

She considered asking him if he knew who killed Morris, but he’d probably use that as an excuse to interrogate her about her neighbors, and she had nothing to say. She didn’t want to tell him about seeing the supposedly decrepit and curmudgeonly old Eloy Franklin laughing and frolicking with his dog as if he were a man half the age he pretended to be. Nor did she want to talk about the new people she’d seen wandering around the neighborhood as if it were a theme park—Murder World, or some such.

And she certainly didn’t want to talk about herself. She wouldn’t like to give the sheriff any hint of her true strength or deadliness, or he might decide to use the knowledge against her.

She stared out the window at the empty desert they were passing and wondered what he would think if she were to tell him about wrestling a boa constrictor in Costa Rica. The pale tan snake with its brown markings had been almost invisible hidden in the undergrowth, and she had tripped over it. Boas were tree-dwellers, so she wasn’t on the lookout for such a creature on the ground. She had since learned to be aware of everything in her surroundings, but back then, she was still unused to seeing danger lurking in innocent places. She figured out later the boa must have been sick or old or weak, otherwise she’d have been squeezed to death before she could unwrap the beast from around her torso. Still, it had taken all her considerable strength to save herself. And Alexander hadn’t lifted a hand to help. He had simply photographed the episode. Not exactly a knight in shining armor.

What would the sheriff have done in that situation? Kill the poor creature in an attempt to rescue the damsel in distress?

A low rumble that Melanie interpreted as a chuckle came from the man beside her. “I can hear your mental wheels spinning,” Bryan said. “Care to share what you’re thinking?”

“What are you, the thought police?” Realizing that perhaps she’d sounded too harsh for what could conceivably have been a guileless query on his part, she softened her tone. “I was just wondering if you were the knight in shining armor type, is all.”

Seth Bryan tapped the badge pinned to his left shirt pocket. “This is all the armor I need.” Then he smiled at her—a real smile that showed dazzling white teeth and a hint of a dimple. “Well, this badge and a bullet-proof vest.”

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+

Posted in books, fiction, writing. Tags: grief and loss, online novel, Rubicon Ranch, Rubicon Ranch Necropieces, Second Wind Publishing. Leave a Comment »

Are People More Gullible Now Than They Used to Be?

January 23, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I got a notice from my bank telling about some of the latest scams to be aware of. In one such scam, a man claiming to be from the Social Security Administration in Georgia told the old woman that they would be sending her a new social security card. Then he asked for personal and bank information to verify that he was talking to a real person. The woman felt certain it was a scam and hung up the phone.

A friend of mine got a call from a woman claiming to be from the police fraud division, who then told her that her AOL account had been hacked. My friend also hung up, feeling certain it was a scam, but it turned out to be the truth.

Some people think we’re more gullible now, especially on the internet where we tend to take people at face value, but still, most people do have a healthy dose of skepticism when they receive messages such as, “Hi Linda, my name is John. I came across your profile and was taken by your smile. I must confess you are a very beautiful lady….I would love to get to know you please be nice enough to tell me a thing or two about you ok?” Calling me Linda was my first clue that this email wasn’t directed at me personally, but even without that, I knew it wasn’t on the level. If they were truly interested in me, they would have referenced an article I wrote or mentioned one of my ideas. I am much more susceptible to flattery about my writing than I am about my looks! Well, not susceptible. Let’s say appreciative.

I have a hunch it’s not that we’re more gullible now but that the scams are more detailed and often seem as if they could be true. If someone dressed as a cop came to your house and flashed a realistic-looking badge, wouldn’t you assume that he or she really was a cop? We all have a vague idea of what a cop’s shield looks like — we’ve seen thousands of them in movies and TV shows. Many of us have even seen them up close when we had to report a burglary or car accident, but we probably couldn’t tell the difference between a real badge and a fake one, especially if it were dark and we were scared. And chances are the badge wouldn’t be fake anyway — it could have been stolen.

Dick Clark once did a show called TV’s Bloopers & Practical Jokes, where they played tricks on people. I didn’t watch it very often because I truly hated it. I remember one scheme they pulled on Corbin Bernsen that was so elaborately detailed, they got real producers and directors to take him to lunch and make him believe he got a big part. I still remember his blank look when they laughed at him for being gullible. How could he not believe it was the truth? It was exactly the way it would have happened for real. That blank look remained only for a moment, but I remember it more than his good-natured laugh that came afterward.

Whether people are more gullible or not, we authors hope for at least some gullibility. If it weren’t for readers’ ability to believe in things that are not true, we’d be out of a job.

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Posted in culture, internet, life, writing. Tags: Dick Clark, gullible, readers' gullibility, social security phone scam, TV's Bloopers & Practical Jokes. 4 Comments »

Reality and Truth, Fantasy and Lies

January 22, 2013 — Pat Bertram

untitledv Yesterday I proposed the idea that online we are who we say we are, that the truth of us comes out in our writings and postings. This topic is interesting to me because of something else I’ve been thinking about — reality and truth, fantasy and lies. I’ve always wanted to know what is real, but what if nothing really is? Then isn’t fantasy the same as truth?

So many of us still love men or women who are dead. For all practical purposes — since they are not here on Earth and do not respond to our attempts at having a relationship or even just a simple conversation — what is the difference between that and someone creating a fantasy lover for oneself? Or a reader getting immersed in the fantasy of a romance novel? Or a writer falling in love with her hero?

Yes, I know there is a difference on a cosmic level, assuming the person still exists somehow. And even if there is nothing beyond this, there is the difference that they once were real while a fantasy never was. But here, now, in an everyday sense — is there a difference?

The other day I watched the Goldie Hawn/Steve Martin movie Housesitter, and though it gets silly in spots, the story of a woman who created a fantasy life that became real intrigues me.

Hawn’s character changed herself all the time, which made me wonder, do we have to be ourselves, or can we recreate ourselves on whim? And if we do recreate ourselves — recreate the story we tell ourselves of our past, our backgrounds, our way of acting — is it a lie or just a pre-truth?

A corollary to my question is how much truth do we owe people? If we lie to con them or cheat them, of course that is wrong, but is it the lie that is wrong or simply the con that is wrong? If you recreate yourself because it seems like fun or because you’ve come to hate yourself, if the game goes beyond a certain point, do you owe people the truth? But by that time, what is the truth? What if you’ve become the person you were pretending to be?

Sometimes I get the impression that life is eternally elastic, a kaleidoscope of ever dizzying permutations that we rein back with our collective fantasy of life here on earth. If it were possible to break out of that collective fantasy, what then can we become?

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Posted in culture, life, relationships, writing. Tags: do we owe the truth, fantasy and lies, Housesitter, lie and cheat, living a fantasy, reality and truth. 7 Comments »

Being Real Online: The Truth of Me

January 21, 2013 — Pat Bertram

shadow In a recent blog interview, someone asked me what I would do differently if I were invisible for a day, and I responded that for all practical purposes I am invisible. “Practical purposes” meaning “offline.” Some people responded that I was very visible, and they are right. I am visible online, but they (and you) don’t know if I’m visible offline, so basically, nothing would change if I were. I’d still be the same person — whoever that is.

I started out online with a certain persona — not fake exactly, but not entirely me. More of a slightly idealized version of me. The odd thing is that over the years, I have grown into that persona, so I don’t know which is the real me any more, but I think the fake one is the real one.

There’s been a lot of talk online lately about the truth of what we hear and see on the Internet, mostly because of Manti Te’o’s story. To be honest, I haven’t a clue he is or what is story is, but it did make me wonder if the people I meet are real.

I tend to take people at face value online, even though I suspect some of them are not who they say they are. For example, there are a few authors portraying themselves as hulking men with biceps and tattoos that I suspect are really women who are using not only pseudonymous names but also pseudonymous personas, but it doesn’t matter as long as they add a bit of color to otherwise staid discussions. And if they really are those men, that doesn’t that matter, either.

If the people who comment frequently on this blog — the ones I have come to think of as online friends — turn out to be not who they say they are, it wouldn’t change anything. Their insights add depth to the conversation and make me think. That is real even if they are not. But I would be willing to bet they are exactly as they seem.

I have met several people offline that I first became friends with online, and they were who and what I expected. In most cases, there wasn’t even a moment of uncomfortableness — we just continued our online relationship offline.

Of course, online we talked about books and writing, ideas and dreams, and that is hard to fake. I mean, if you don’t have ideas it’s hard to pretend that you do, or if you haven’t read books, it’s hard to make an intelligent remark about literary matters.

Maybe the point is that online we are who we say we are. Offline, we get so used to being what we’re not so that we don’t get in fights or so people don’t get angry with us or to get our way or so we can get a promotion or for any number of reasons, but online, what we are really doing is stream-of-consciousness writing, and that taps into the inner us.

If we are creatures made of stardust and electrons, if all our thoughts are particle waves or energy or whatever, maybe it’s easier to plug in to the essential spirit of people online since the Internet is an electronic medium. Online, you get a feel for people, for who they really are, not how they look or what they do for a living. Online, you’re not obese or crippled or ugly. Online, you don’t repel people with your awful smell or your terrible disease. Online, you’re just you.

Sometimes people take the freedom of the internet too far and, hiding behind fake personas, spew invective at the world. But that is true, too. It’s who they are. It’s the real people who are bogus, pretending to be affable when in fact, they are filled with anger and hate.

Are you wondering if I am real? You already know the answer. Whether I’m visible or invisible, fake or real, it’s my words that matter. My words tell you the truth of me.

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Posted in being me, culture, internet, writing. Tags: being invisible, believing what you see onlne, blog interview, internet, offline friends, onlne friends, what is real online. 9 Comments »

Sharp Writ Book Awards Winner!

January 20, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Last night I was notified that Grief: The Great Yearning has been awarded 2nd Place in the 2012 Sharp Writ Book Awards Memoirs / Biography category. They said I’ll be getting a Certificate of Achievement and gold foil ribbon labels stating “Sharp Writ Book Awards Winner” that can be affixed to book covers, but today I got an email telling me it was a mistake, and I’ve been awarded 3rd place, which leaves me feeling ambivalent about the whole thing.

To be honest, I was already feeling ambivalent about winning an award for a book that I wish I’d never had occasion to write in the first place. Still, it’s an important book, and I’m pleased to see it getting any sort of recognition. More than that, I hope the increased visibility for Grief: The Great Yearning will help people find it when they need it. Grief is such an isolating experience, we need to know that whatever we feel, others have felt. Whatever seemingly crazy thing we do to bring ourselves comfort, others have done. And, as impossible as it is to imagine at the beginning, we do survive.

A fellow author and sister in sadness wrote: “Grief: The Great Yearning by Pat Bertram is a book of empathic understanding. How many recently bereft have looked to society’s guidelines for grieving and found these “norms” did not correspond to what they were feeling? How many were left confused and even more depressed because they were not “progressing” like the experts said they should? Bertram’s book is a comfort to those of us tossed into the grief whirlwind of disbelief and agony. The entire book is raw and real. Grief: The Great Yearning is a companion guide from someone who has already been there. It is a forever love letter.” —J J Dare, author of False Positive and False World.

A staunch supporter who works with the bereft wrote: “The grief journey is one of unbelievable pain to the psyche, to every part of our being. It’s a journey of missing the individual; spewing at the injustice of death, our powerlessness over death, our absolute lack of knowing what exists beyond death (despite claims to the contrary); replaying over and over our relationship with the deceased. All the while trying desperately to function in a world forever changed.

“If people were to ask me for an example of how grief can be faced in order for the healthiest outcome I would refer them to Grief: The Great Yearning, which should be the grief process bible. Pat Bertram’s willingness to confront grief head on combined with her openness to change is the epitome of good mental health.” —Leesa Healy, Consultant in Emotional-Mental Health.

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Posted in books, culture, life, writing. Tags: Grief: The Great Yearning, memoir, Sharp Writ Book Awards Winner, the grief journey, the grief process bible. Leave a Comment »

Interview at the Writer’s Chateau

January 19, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I am chatting with Lisette Brodey at her Writer’s Chateau blog about my latest book, my writing, and even a bit about me. I hope you will stop by to visit.

Here are a few teasers from the interview:

How often do your characters surprise you by doing or saying something totally unexpected?

Never. When a story flows, when everything is motivated, it makes sense that some ideas, emotions and themes and even dialogue show up that aren’t planned. If the characters are true, it has to happen. I am not saying that the characters do things that I don’t plan. Their actions are completely planned. But some underlying truths could emerge that I didn’t purposely put there.

Some writers edit excessively as they write; others wait until a novel is finished to do the bulk of the editing. How about you?

I do edit as I go along, but not excessively. Since I’m not a writer who can sit down and let the words flow out of me, I have to choose every word I put on the paper, each one building on the last. If I take a wrong turning, I have to go back and find that wrong turning so I can continue building, otherwise the whole project stalls. Most of the editing is done after I’m finished, though.

Every day brings forth new changes and shifts in the world of publishing. Any predictions about the future?

I don’t know enough about technology to predict changes, but I do know that changes and shifts in technology will be reflected in the world of publishing. For example, people will be reading more on their phones, e-books will eventually become multi-media –- comprising video, social networking, and other elements.

If you could be invisible for a day, what would you do?

My life wouldn’t change much. For all practical purposes, I’m invisible now.

Click here for Lisette Brodey’s CHAT WITH PAT BERTRAM

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Posted in blogging, writing. Tags: Lisette Brodey, predictions about publishing, the future of publishing, when to edit, Writer's Chateau. Leave a Comment »

Seven by Seven by Seven

January 18, 2013 — Pat Bertram

A fellow author tagged me in a game on Facebook the other day where authors were supposed to “Go to either page 7 or 77 of your manuscript. Count down 7 lines, then copy the next 7 lines to your status. Then tag 7 other writers.”

I don’t like tagging people because it seems rude to include them in a game they didn’t ask to play, but still, all those sevens caught my attention, so I thought I’d play out the game here. Feel free to tag along!

A SPARK OF HEAVENLY FIRE

He ushered her toward a battered red Honda Accord that looked as if it could have been one of the first models off the assembly line.

“It has close to two hundred thousand miles on it,” he said proudly, opening the door for her.

To her relief, the heater worked.

They headed down the long sweeping driveway.

MORE DEATHS THAN ONE

“Then he met you,” Kerry murmured, “and found contentment once again.”

Bob swallowed. “Yes. After he finished telling me the story of the figurines, he said a consortium of Japanese executives had approached him. They wanted The Lotus Room for a conference center, and he decided to sell it to them. He said his dreams of looking for the gold Buddha had faded, but he wanted to find the remains of his wife and child, and give them a proper burial.”

LIGHT BRINGER

“We were inept.” He clamped his mouth shut. The challenging assignments in exotic locales he’d expected when he transferred to Teodora Zaroff’s unit had not materialized, and now it looked as though they never would. He’d have been better off staying in Identification; the work was as elementary, but at least he’d be back in the real world where things made sense most of the time.

DAUGHTER AM I

Once inside, they could barely move around. A folded rollaway bed, a shallow wooden cabinet, a metal desk and chair took up most of the available space.

“A secret room,” Mary breathed. “It’s like something out of Nancy Drew or the Hardy boys.”

“It’s a storage area,” Bill said.

“Then where’s the door?”

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Posted in fiction, internet, writing. Tags: A Spark of Heavenly Fire excerpt, Daughter Am I exerpt, Facebook, Light Bringer excerpt, More Deaths Than One excerpt, page 7 line 7. 3 Comments »

Why Can’t I Plagiarize Myself?

January 17, 2013 — Pat Bertram

twins Yesterday I got spammed by someone trying to sell me software to help me keep from plagiarizing myself. Huh? What’s the big deal? Why can’t I plagiarize myself? Who’s going to sue me if I do so — me?

Coincidentally, I’ve been planning to write a facetious post about plagiarizing myself, thinking to be clever — I mean, really. Self-plagiarism? Is there such a thing? I did a bit of research, and it turns out there is an epidemic of self-plagiarism going on. Successful authors who combine bits and pieces from different articles or previous books into one supposedly new article without citing the original sources. Fiction writers who copy and paste descriptions of characters and places from one novel to the next. Academics who use sections of old papers for new ones. (Called double-dipping.) Researchers who recycle old research into new documents. (Called salami-slicing.) Bloggers who repurpose old posts.

If someone is paying for new articles or new books, either as an editor or a reader, and they get recycled hash, there is a matter of ethics involved. But blogging? Who even cares?

A couple of times I have recycled old posts, and that’s what my facetious confession was supposed to be about — going back to some of my early posts that got a few views when they were first published and none since, updating or adding to them, and posting them as new. Why should my old writings go to waste? I wrote some good pieces that no one read. Why should I have to let such treasures get lost in the depths of the blogging garbage dump? They were my words. I should be able to dig them out and recycle them if I wish.

Sometimes I cut and paste a paragraph or so from a previous post to maintain consistency from post to post, especially if I’m writing about how I felt back then. I’d trust my blog posts more than I’d trust my memory. Is that self-plagiarism?

Occasionally, I’ve sent other bloggers an old post to use as a guest post (they knew it was an old post — in some cases they chose the article themselves). Is that self-plagiarism, too?

In my novels, I have been very careful not to reuse any part of one book in another (except in the case of Light Bringer where I paid homage to More Deaths Than One by letting Bob Stark appear briefly). Readers pick up echoes in books — if writers repeat themselves within a novel, readers sense the echo even if they are not consciously aware of it. And readers can pick up echoes from one novel to the next, which is why I don’t like series — too often, the writers recycle bits from one book to the next and the echoes are deafening.

But blogging? Does anyone really care? There are a handful of people who have read almost all 1111 of my posts, but most people who have stopped by read only a few. So who, besides me, would ever even notice if I repeat a section of a previous post for consistency’s sake or rework one of my first bloggeries?

Still, now that I’m aware of the problem, if ever I rewrite an old post, I will either link to it or mention that it’s a revision. You never know — someday I could get litigious and decide to sue myself, and I couldn’t afford the lawyers since I’d have to foot the bills for both sides of the case.

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Posted in blogging, culture, internet, writing. Tags: double-dipping, plagiarizing myself, recycling blogs, repurposing blogs, salami-slicing, self-plagiarization. 19 Comments »

The Sad Song of Grief

January 16, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Music I started crying at the grocery store yesterday.

The last time I cried in public was a year and a half ago at that very supermarket, which reminds me of where my deceased life mate/soul mate and I used shop. I don’t often go to this store, but it’s the only place I can get the salad dressing I use. After I picked up the salad dressing bottle, I looked for some other flavors in that same store brand, wondering if I should try something new, and I saw a dressing he liked. It struck me as being unbearably sad, and right there, in the salad dressing aisle, I started to weep.

The tearfulness caught me by surprise, but I should have expected the flare-up because I’ve been struggling with sorrow for the past two weeks. This year was the third New Year since his death, and inexplicably it began with tears. Grief had been leaving me alone, and I hadn’t had a strong upsurge for a long time — I thought I was through with grief, to be honest — but when the calendar rolled over from 2012 to 2013, grief came calling once again.

This new phase of grief is different from all the others. There is no great pain, no bewilderment, no shattered heart, but sorrow is always with me like a sad song playing in the background of my life. I don’t notice it all the time or pay much attention to it, but still, it’s there.

Last night I watched A League of Their Own (the version he taped, where he cut out the bickering between the two sisters to make it more of a baseball movie) and it affected me more than I thought it would. When one girl got a telegram about her husband dying in the war, I realized that never again would I have to deal with the horrendous shock and sorrow of seeing my mate die, and when Bill Pullman came back from the war, I realized never again in this life would I have such a reunion with my mate. And Madonna’s “Playground” at the end about tore me up.

This used to be our playground (used to be)
This used to be our childhood dream
This used to be the place we ran to
I wish you were standing here with me

It dawned on me then that this latest version of grief feels like sorrow for the end of childhood. I am a long way past childhood, but there was an innocence to our relationship, a belief that no matter how bad things got, we would survive because we had each other. As I discovered though, my love for him couldn’t make him well, couldn’t take away a moment of his pain, couldn’t keep him from dying. The innocent belief that love conquers all, the belief in “us,” is destroyed forever, and I will never get it back, not until I’m dead, too.

It’s ironic — so much was destroyed by his death, but the one thing I thought would be destroyed (me) is still going strong. Sad, but strong.

I got through everything else grief has thrown at me, and I’ll get through this sad song, too. Just, apparently, not yet.

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