J.M. Bush's Blog

As a parent, you become accustomed to the sounds of your children. With our two boys, we have quite a few sounds that frequent the halls of our home. The hysterical laughter that turns into crying because some type of play went too far. The thud followed by silence and then a sad wail that indicates someone was pushed to the ground but isn’t really hurt. The nasal whine at the unfairness of something the other child has done or something he possesses. These, and many more, are familiar to us. We know not to leap into action at hearing them. We try and let the boys settle as many of their own problems as they can before we step in. But there is one sound that is very infrequent in our lives, and yet we know as intimately as our own reflections. It is a sound that requires immediate attention.My wife and I were sitting on the couch this weekend when we heard this particular sound. A blood curdling screech, shrill as a fire alarm, filled with fear. Something was truly wrong. I flew from the couch and dashed towards the room where our sons were playing. My oldest, the eight-year-old, came stumbling out of the room with terror etched on his face. He held his finger up to show me. It was covered in blood. My mind raced at the possibilities… his brother bit him, he fell and snapped it in half, they were playing with some kind of blade and he cut the tip off… but before I could ask what exactly had happened, my son shouted some very scary words. “He’s bleeding!”I rushed into the room and saw what appeared to be a scene from Dexter. The blood splatter specialist and serial killer had apparently been busy in the two-year-old’s bedroom. There was crimson everywhere. I looked to my youngest and his face was pouring blood. I couldn’t tell from where at first, but it was gushing. Scooping him up into my arms, we raced to the bathroom and I found the cut. It was deep. I assumed, and was later proven right, that he had slipped and fell during their favorite game – running around like maniacs (patent pending) – and hit his head on the edge of the bed frame. Luckily, it had missed his eye, but the two-year-old had a gash that wept like waterfall. I knew stitches would be needed. Pressure was applied and arrangements were made for someone to watch the older child, who was now a mess of tears and guilt at fearing he had caused this tragic event. My wife and I reassured him that these things happen and had, in fact, happened to him twice when we lived in China.As we made our way to the hospital, I reflected back on the experience of my older son getting stitches in Shanghai. It was horrific. After visiting two hospitals with a child heavily bleeding from his head, and being rejected by both because they didn’t take kids, I finally went to a place I knew would take him. But they didn’t. They said the pediatrician wasn’t in and so I would need to go elsewhere. I remember telling them that they better call a doctor to come do it now, or call the police to come get me. They called the doctor. When he arrived, he performed the quick operation on my son’s scalp without any local anesthetic at all. My boy’s eyes brimmed with tears and his mouth trembled with pain every single second that bastard sewed him up. So, based on that, I was worried about how things were about to go down with the youngest child. We’re not in China anymore, but Malaysia isn’t that far off, geographically or otherwise.The nurses in the ER were very nice and helped us figure out how to register and where to go. We were put in a regular room, as the pediatric room was already in use. The nurse put some cream on the gash to numb the area, ahead of the shots he would be receiving to truly kill the feeling surrounding the cut. What a relief, right? Well, things went a bit downhill from there. The nurses then brought in a pillowcase and folded it over, then put two safety pins in it. This formed a sort of makeshift straightjacket for my two-year-old. They put his arms in and the pillowcase held them in place behind his back. It did not look comfortable. They placed a sheet on the bed with a wooden board on top. My son was placed on the board and wrapped up like a burrito with the sheet. It was a tight swaddle, highly restricting his movement. Needless to say, he wasn’t very happy with the situation. They then pulled out a roll of special tape and said, “We have to tape his head down, now. Hair sticks to this and it will hurt when we remove it.” There was no question posed to us in this regard, he just wanted us to know that shit was just going to keep getting worse. So they taped my son’s head to the board. He was now fully restrained and could only move his eyes. I’m surprised they hadn’t devised a way to make those static as well. A sheet was then placed over his head, a hole positioned over the wound. I was told that I could not touch the top of the sheet, but could touch the underside. I held it up and locked gazes with my youngest. I told him I was there, he was going to be ok, and that he was being very brave. My wife was down by the feet of the big burrito. She squeezed his feet and asked him, “Can you feel mommy holding your foot?” He sadly tried to nod and croaked a pitiful “yes” in response.The doctor began giving him shots to further numb the area. Every time she did, which was about six times, a renewed and vigorous flow of blood poured out, filling his ear, drenching his hair, and ruining their linens. It was such an awful sight that my wife had to look away. She couldn’t bear to watch. Eventually, the doctor began to stitch him up, and he cringed and roared in disapproval at each touch. All the while, the doctor kept telling us that he could definitely not feel any pain, but that he was just scared. Well, so the fuck was I, to be honest. Six stitches later, and the two-year-old was running around the ER jumping off of all their furniture onto the ground, no cares in the world. Apparently, his grasp of cause and effect is still quite weak.We know that having two boys will never be easy. We also know that there are probably more stitches in our future. With an older brother egging him on, our youngest is more than likely in for his fair share of injuries. Living abroad can be terrifying, rewarding, exciting, and extremely difficult during stressful events such as this. But it’s all part of the adventure, isn’t it? Had this happened back home in America, we would still have freaked out, but the whole situation would have been cleaner, more professional, and faster. Where the hell is the adventure in that? It would also have been a shitload more expensive in the States. We paid nothing. Not even a copay. So, while I would have preferred that this had never happened, these types of events just serve to broaden our experience while living internationally and teach us that there is more than one way to stitch up a kid.

I need a day off from the dwarven factory! I've been writing my dwarven story for close to a month now, and I'm taking a break. But I want to stick to my "write every day" project, and so I've decided the best way to stay motivated is to just write whatever I feel like writing. Today, that is not dwarves and adventure. So, I pulled up a blank word doc and just let the words flow. It's turned out to be a short 500 or so word story about a kid with special needs and his desire to just blend in with the other children his age. I've seen and dealt with so many students like this over the years, as my wife is a Special Needs Teacher. It can heartbreaking to see a rad little kid just absolutely broken down because he or she has been bullied and/or not supported properly by their parents/teachers. So, this little story is for them. I know you want to fit in. We all did at that age. Just keep being you and you will get those friends you want. You will get the support you need. Never give up.All I Want“He’s not even human, you know.” That’s what the kids at school say about me. I pretend like it doesn’t bother me but, in reality, it hurts. A lot. Because I am human. Of course I am. Just because I’m fat doesn’t make me a pig. Just because I’m blind doesn’t make me a monster. But try telling that to a bunch of mean eighth graders.It also doesn’t help that English is my second language. I was born in Brazil. Now we live in Alabama, and my parents only speak Portuguese at home. They say it’s because they want to make sure I can speak my native tongue. But that means I only speak English at school, so it’s really hard to keep up and improve. I listen to TV shows and movies in English all the time, and then repeat what they’re saying, but without someone to talk to, it’s basically impossible to get better. And no one will talk to me at school, unless it’s to call me a freak, a pig, or an illegal alien. The only words I get to practice on a daily basis with kids my age are, “I am not. Leave me alone.”My parents can’t afford to send me to a special school for blind kids, so I’m forced to attend this public school and be a part of their special needs program. I’m pretty smart, I guess. So, I don’t have problems in most classes, other than often having to clarify the vocabulary used by the teacher. I have a laptop with headphones that reads my textbook to me, which helps me keep up with the other kids. But the truth is, I’ll never be as good as them at most of these subjects. I have too many needs that need to be met, and the teachers here honestly don’t know what to do with me.But I know what to do. I have to work as hard as I can just to scrape by. I have to try three times as hard as the other students, just to run at the back of the pack. And that’s what I’ve been doing. The surprising thing is, though… it’s working. My grades are improving bit by bit, and so is my English. Despite it seeming like everyone is against me, or at least not in favor of me, I am gaining ground. I may never reach the honor roll at this school, since I have some difficulties to deal with, but I will reach the middle of the pack. I will be considered just another one of the kids. And that is really all I want. Maybe then, I can make them see that I’m no so different, Maybe then, I can make some friends. Someone to play with at recess. Someone to have sleepovers with, like I hear the other kids do on the weekends. Someone to sit with me at lunch, and quietly tell me what food they are serving. That way I won’t have to be escorted by a teacher and receive a loud menu reading in the middle of the lunch line every day. That’s one of the most embarrassing parts of my day.I don’t care when the doctors and counsellors and teachers and my parents all tell me that I’m special and that I can do whatever I want. I don’t want to be special. And if I have the power to do whatever I want, then I am going to fit in one day. Because that is all I really want.

I am a happily married man. Somehow, the love of my life also fell in love with me and made all of my dreams come true. She is the mother of my children and the final puzzle piece to my heart. I have two sons that mean the world to me. Being their dad is the greatest, hardest, and most frustrating thing I’ve ever done. And I would change none of this. There is not one decision that I or anyone else made during the course of my life that I would risk changing because it might alter this eventual outcome.But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t love before Merissa. She may be the most important woman to ever enter my life, but I would be lying if I said that she was my first infatuation. There were other girls I loved, true… but not women. I feel the need to point out that the other objects of my affection were all during my childhood. Merissa and I fell in love as kids and became adults together, which is part of what makes us such a badass team. But, yes, before she came onto the scene there were others. And one of those was Katie.Katie Hinds was this short and incredibly cute hippie that lived just down the street from my childhood home. We met in high school, both being members of the unofficially dubbed “Not So Cool Kids Club.” This meant we had many of the same friends and so, as luck would have it, we grew closer together. We had such different tastes in everything; music, movies, books, food… just about everything there was to agree about, we disagreed about it. But I loved the shit out of that girl. I can’t explain it. And it’s not the same as the love that we, as adults, have with our partners. It was that teenage super obsessive desire. It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t romantic. It was just a connection, and a hope that the feelings were reciprocated. This hippie was someone that really understood the fat, awkward, asshole I used to be.Katie adored me. Don’t you worry about that. She loved me as much as I love her. But, her love for me was akin to a that of a relative; a brother or maybe a very close cousin. She didn’t want to kiss me underneath the stars, you know? And, while it hurt like hell to know that, I was ok with being her friend. I just loved her that much. I never told her that I wanted her to be mine because I knew with absolute certainty how Katie felt about me. It wouldn’t be fair to trouble her with my teenage boyhood crush when I knew she wasn’t interested in that kind of relationship. I had already made that mistake with another of my crushes. So, I just relegated my self to the role of cool dude and rad friend. It was neither the first nor the last time I would experience unrequited teenage love.But the friendship we developed was fantastic. She used to call me and ask me to sneak out and come to her house. She would meet me in her driveway and we would smoke cigarettes under the stars. She would ask me to dance with her in the street without music. Because she was such a short little lady, Katie would stand on my feet as we slow danced to the silence of the night in the middle the road.Years passed and I watched her make mistakes. But it wasn’t my place to tell her what to do or how to live. I had finally found the one who would be my wife, and we were happy together. But I still worried over Katie and the choices she made. More time went by and I felt like she was finally happy. Marriage, kids, and moving out west seemed to do well for her. We talked sometimes via Facebook. She seemed content.More years passed and I moved out of the country. Katie and I grew further apart both geographically and verbally. Our communication was all but nonexistent for a long time. Then one day, she reached out to me again on Facebook. We started chatting away like the old days. She told me about some rough shit she had gone through, and I could tell just by the tone of her messages that Katie had changed a good deal. This short little giant had struggled for a long time with various substances and bad people, and she had admitted it all to me. But she was still that adorable muppet who wouldn’t think twice about calling you out for being a dick or a liar. Katie still adored the Beatles and Tom Waits unapologetically. And she was still so loveably weird. I was ecstatic to have her as a friend once more.Then I woke up today to the news that Katie passed away just yesterday in Seattle. The news hit me harder than I would have thought. Thinking back on the friendship we’ve had for so long… on the school dances we attended together, the private dances we shared in the moonlight, and the laughter we gave each other… I was devastated. Living abroad has it ups and downs, that is true. But when you lose a friend and cannot be there to be a part of the mourning process and to truly say goodbye, that is when you realize how selfish international living seems. I started looking back at our more recent talks, and saw that the last thing she ever said to me was, “Goodnight, Mikey. Goodnight, moon.” I admit to losing my shit and bawling my eyes out upon reading that. My wife held me as I cried in our kitchen, showing me how much she loved me by letting me weep about another woman, who I once loved when she was only a girl.I’m not sad that Katie and I never got together, as my life has worked out exactly like I wanted. I only hope that Katie also felt the same before she passed on; I hope she felt happy and had little to no regrets. I’ll miss you so much, Doozer. I’ll miss your goofy smile, your unusual sense of humor, your mouth with no filter, and your bad taste in music (wink, wink).Goodnight, Katie. Goodnight, moon.

Lately, I've been doing my 100 Day Project on short stories. I'm sure you've heard me talk about it. Well, today was a long day and I didn't get around to writing one of my dwarven stories. So, as I sat here drinking wine at ludicrous speed, I contemplated just skipping it today. But forget that noise! I made a commitment to myself, and I aim to stay true, y'all. What follows is the insane sci-fi story that fell out of me like a toilet baby. I hope you love it, but I'm sure you'll just think it's super weird. I sure do.The Canadians are Dead?Earth’s entire Royal Space Navy surrounded the small planetoid, led by the best ship in the fleet. The mid-sized cruiser dubbedJack’s Bootknifewasn’t the biggest in ship around, nor was she the fastest. Other starships in the armada held far better records of service, and were armed to the teeth with much more cutting edge weaponry. But none of that mattered, honestly. What made this particular vessel so unique was the captain and crew; they were the only humans left in Earth’s military.Androids made up the remainder of the Royal Navy, as they didn’t require pay, used almost no resources, never slept, and did exactly as the Planetary Leaders advised. And those idiots on the Planetary Leaders Committee did whatever the King asked them to do, regardless if it was wrong or not. And that is exactly whyJack’s Bootknifeand her crew were best suited for any jobs that required an experienced mind and a set of balls the size of Uranus.Findley Fortuna, the captain of this reckless crew of badasses, gazed at the odd satellite that had been orbiting Earth’s moon for the past three days without any offering any communication whatsoever. She straddled the captain’s chair in her normal attire for such dire situations; grey sweatpants, a black t-shirt that read “Eat A Dick” and a pair of black framed glasses with no lenses.“Hail the rock again, Jed,” she ordered the communication officer.“Why, Findley? Them fuckers haven’t responded yet. Let’s just fucking shoot ‘em in the face. Well, I mean, like, the face of their stupid ass ship-rock-thing,” the hillbilly from Columbus, GA said in a thick southern drawl.“Just do what I said, you dick,” the captain snapped back.“Fine, but you know they ain’t gonna say shit,” he replied with a sigh, then punched a few buttons and adjusted sound levels for this transmission. This time, he went off script, as the the message crafted by the Planetary Leaders had not elicited a single response from whomever was inside this big grey ball made of some unknown rock from who-knows-where. “Dear shit-heads from space," he began, "we know you’re in there. Open the fuck up or we’ll beat down you’r front door with a gotdamn nuclear blast. Sincerely, The People Who Are Gonna Kick You’re Asses.”“Real professional, Jed,” the captain said and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she hated his guts, but the man was damn useful on her crew. Jed spoke every language on Earth, including ones not used for centuries, like Vietnamese, Spanish, and the dialect of English that Canadians used back when they were still alive.“Just doin’ my duty, ma’am,” Jed replied with a grin.“Azman, can you please tell me that we’ve determined the chemical make-up of that rock? Or that our scanners have penetrated the surface to find if there is actually anyone in there listening to Jed’s stupid mouth?”Jed flipped his captain the middle finger and went to use the toilet.Azman, the science officer, smiled wide at Findley and looked very excited. Azman hailed from the Earth’s most wealthy and affluent country, The Peoples Republic of India, which had engulfed most of Asia, including China, many decades ago. His family was so rich that Azman could buy his own fucking destruction class starship, but the truth was he just wanted to smoke weed and make testable observations in space.“Findley, you will be very pleased to know that I have discovered the chemical compounds that make up this planetoid. The initial problem was the outer layer of this rock is completely alien. Some kind of dust from a galaxy far, far, away.”“If you want to make jokes about a star war, get the fuck off my bridge,” Findley barked at the man.“Ok, ok. But truthfully, the first dozen feet of that thing’s surface is nothing but space dust. Just leftovers from the primordial beginnings of our universe,” Azman said while making hisI Have A Surpriseface.“I hope there is a but coming,” Findley said testily.“Butts don’t cum, stupid,” Jed added as he glided back into the room wearing a nasty smirk on his face.“Oh, for fucks sake, Jed, would you keep that shit to yourself, please?” the captain replied, throwing an unopened protein bar at the communication officer.“Yes, well, there is a but,” Azman said, and Findley stared daggers at Jed, daring him to make another stupid comment. “You see, under all that space dust is something shocking.” Hitting some keys on his controls, Azman brought an image onto the main display.The entire crew of Jack’s Bootknife stared in confusion at the oddly familiar picture.“Are those McDonald’s hamburger wrappers?” the captain whispered.“Yes, Captain. The entire planetoid is composed of rubbish from fast food restaurants. It’s incredible,” the Indian science officer replied in awe.“Why is that incredible?” Jed asked. “Half of the fuckers are probably mine. I always eject my leftovers from drive-thru out into the black. What’s the big deal, y’all?”“Well, I suppose the big deal is that this giant fucking ball of Earth garbage is covered in a dozen feet of space dust from the beginning of our universe,” Findley said. “How could that even be possible, Azman?”“I don’t know, Captain. This is where my information on the planetoid ends, for now. I will continue to scan it and search for more,” he said, just before going nose-deep back into his work.“Jed, hail the Planetary Leaders. I need to tell them this isn’t hostile and we can just drag it out to the new trash belt beyond Neptune,” Findley ordered.“Aye, aye, Cap…” was all Jed was able to get out before the communications app on his console suddenly lit up. “Uh, captain… the big ass ball of hamburger wrappers is hailing us. Want me to answer?”A fearful and confused silence filled the deck. Finally, after several heartbeats, Findley nodded her head. Upon the screen, seated in a large chair made entirely of Burger King’s whoppers boxes, was a being with dark brown and pebbly skin. It’s eyes were bright yellow, and the creature had a wine-dark mouth. When it spoke, the voice sounded like the gurgling end of your soda, as you try desperately to suck the last few drops into your straw. This message, Findley noted, was being broadcast to the entire human race via a supercharged and completely unblockable transmission.“Humans of Earth, I bring you ill tidings. I have traveled here, alone, to give you a message. My people are from a universe which is parallel to this one. We have been hunted almost to extinction by your equivalents on our Earth. As such, our remaining fleet of ships fled that horrible place and have been searching for a new home. With our advanced spacefaring technology, I found a way into your universe. My leaders sent me through to test the gateway, and to recon this version of Earth. I have found you to be just as vile and contemptuous as our humans, back home. But I have not located a single member of our race on your planet. Tell me, have you killed the all of the Fleisch in this universe?”“Uh, hi there, Meat Man,” Findley said, suppressing the urge to laugh. “We,fortunately, do not have sentient hamburgers on this version of Earth. I’m sorry that the humans in your universe have done this to you. Is there anyway that we can help you and your people?”“Yes,” the talking burger patty answered with hatred in its sickly yellow eyes. “You can DIE!”All of the inter-dimensional dust suddenly shook free from the ball of fast food trash hovering in space. Two immense cannons forced their way outwards at an incredible speed. The force of those large weapons firing sent a shockwave through the dark void, rattling the entire cruiser and knocking the crew off their feet.Then the massive barrage of french fried potatoes splattered uselessly against the hull of Jack’s Bootknife.With a big roll of her eyes and a sigh to match, Findley opened a channel to the rest of the fleet and muttered, “Open fire. Give Meat Man the whole arsenal.” Within seconds, the strange encounter was but a memory, as was the planetoid made of hamburger wrappers and french fry containers. “Ok, good job. Return to your scheduled duties,” the captain added.“Us too, Captain?” Aliz, the French navigation officer asked while lighting a cigarette.“No, let’s hang out just in case the rest of those idiots decide to show up,” Findley told her, and then added, “Man, the Multiverse is one weird and fucked up place, isn’t it?”“Shit yeah!” Jed shouted happily. “You remember that giant basset hound the size of Jupiter?”“Nope,” the captain responded.“Oh, come on! The one that only spoke in pig latin and bled constantly for no reason? Tell me you remember that.” Jed begged.“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry,” Findley answered, suppressing her laughter, the rest of the bridge crew following along with her ruse.“Fuck y’all, man,” Jed grunted. “I know you remember. How could you forget a thing like that. Especially when it happened twice, gotdammit!”

My shitty car broke. Again.I really miss the public transport in Shanghai. Taxis, public buses, uber, but most importantly I miss the metro. You don’t know what you got, ‘till it’s gone.Upon moving to Penang, Malaysia I bought an old beater; a 2001 Perodua Kembara. I loved the freedom, and was thankful to be away from public transport. The old SUV was perfect for our needs, which was to take Merissa and Lucas to school and back. Oh, and for me to go buy groceries. Then we added taking Jonas to daycare and back to the daily trip list.We took it on a road trip to Bukit Merah, about an hour and a half drive from Penang. It almost didn’t make it. But it did, and we made it back home. Barely. So I took the hunk of junk to a mechanic. New engine mounts and universal joints later, it drove like a charm. A new car, it seemed!And then today, visiting the campus of Segi University in pursuit of continuing education, I found myself unable toleave. The car was dead in it’s tracks. A nice man offered to lend me his jumper cables and the use of his car for a jump start. It did not work. So now, here I sit at a small roadside coffee shop awaiting the arrival of a foreman that Uncle called for me. Uncle is what you call a man older than you as a term for respect, much like “Sir” back home. And the foreman, well, I’m hoping that’s a mechanic. They said he was bringing a new battery. We’ll see if that fixes the nightmare on four wheels.Oh, and it’s hot in Malaysia. Did I mention that?Like, really really really hot. So I’ll just sit out here and die, I guess.UPDATE:Uncle Foreman Mechanic showed up and threw a new battery in my car and I killed him. And by killed him, I mean paid him 200 ringgit ($50 bucks) for that new battery. That seemed steep to me, but who am I to question my Uncle? Plus, I would have paid double that to get back into a functioning car with the air conditioning all the way up.

My wife is the best. She really is. Every time I think that I am hip to what is going on, she punches me in the face with some real knowledge. Last year's NaNoWriMo triumph, resulting in a whole new book written in one month? Yeah, that's because she told me about it. And now? Well, she has set me on another arduous adventure!The 100 Day Project is probably nothing new to most people on the interwebz. But for me, the man who pays attention to literally nothing... ever... I was surprised at it's existence; surprised andintrigued. The story, as I remember it, goes something like this...ME: derp derp derp, beer beer beer, writing nerd stuff, boobs.WIFE: Hey, gorgeous and amazing husband of mine, there is this cool project where you create something new everyday for 100 days. You should totally do it. I am doing mandalas. Lucas is doing lego spaceships.ME: Tell me more.WIFE: No, that's pretty much it.ME: Excellent.Eeeeeeeeeend scene.So, based on another of my loving and beautiful wife's suggestions, I have decided to write one story a day for 100 days straight. I'm doing all the stories over onWattpad, which is this incredible website for writers and readers alike, you should really check it out. (FREE BOOKS!!!) So you can head over, sign up, follow me, and read each new story as soon as I post it. FOR FREE. I love it.Because I am such a super nerd, and because I love dwarves above all other fantasy races, I have decided to create a collection of intertwined short stories all involving the dwarves on the planet of Asa-thor, in the dwarven kingdom of Kelgrond. Some stories will be adventure heavy, others will be dialogue driven, and others still will be straight up weird. But they will all feature dwarves and dwarven things, so my heart is happy. Write what you want to read, amirite?So anyway, you can find my awesome short story collection,The Gods That Keep Them, righthere. Please take a look and let me know what you think. Share with your friends and family, too! And don't forget, I'm doing this thing for ONE HUNDRED DAYS. I am more than likely going to need your support and encouragement to achieve this goal. Feel free to leave positive comments on the stories and be plentiful with the "atta boys" and "go get ems" ok? Thank you for being afriend.P.S. Don't forget to follow me onTwitterandFacebook, too! So many adventures on so much social media. You don't want to miss any of it, really. It's all going to be fun-filled frolic.

Last November I finally undertook the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge, which is to write a novel during the month of November that is at least 50,000 words in length. And I completed that challenge about a week and a half before the deadline. The novel ended up being around 60k words, and I was super excited about it."Fight Without a Sword" is the story of two dwarves, one a burly warrior with two mighty hammers and the other a young sorcerer who holds the most powerful spell in the world within him. The book opens on them saving their kingdom in a last ditch battle at the end of a long war with a race of creatures called the Helvete Faen. On the long march back to their kingdom's capitol in the mountain, these two dwarven males fall in love with each other. Same sex relationships are strictly forbidden in dwarven society, and though they just saved the entire race of dwarves on planet Brenna, the king has no choice but to banish these two heroes for going against the laws of the ancestors.The book deals with being an outsider for no reason other than the archaic beliefs of other people. Braka and Strond, the two lovers, go on an adventure that has them meeting others who also have been exiled by their own people; some humans from Earth, and an oddly familiar looking creature from a planet even closer to Brenna. Using an ancient form of transport that takes them to the stars and beyond, Braka and Strond find a strange kind of family in these new friends, but then are forced to return home and make a very hard choice... do they save the dwarven homeland again? Or do they let them fend for themselves after the way they treated the two heroes before?I'm totally in love with this story, and it is SO MUCH DAMN FUN. But I've been struggling with the last three chapters. I have them done, but I don't like them. I can't seem to motivate myself to fix them, either. I won't let a single beta reader touch it until I'm happy. Call me stubborn, but that's my rule. So, here I sit, cursing my government for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement. Wait, that's just song lyrics... but really, I sit here staring at the file while trying to think of a way to fix these chapters. Meanwhile, I have two book ideas that are trying desperately to claw their way out of my head,  a short story / novella that I already started writing (and it is freaking cool), and I need to get busy on the sequel forStorm in Shanghai,my first published book (buy ithere!)Anyway, that is where I'm at right now. Just hearing a harmonica play a sad blues riff every time I think about the book that NaNoWriMo motivated me to create, and how guilty I feel for it still not being "done."

Yes, that is a Legoland selfie fail brought to you by the magical fingers of J.M. Bush - author extraordinaire, blogger, beer enthusiast, sci-fi fantasy geek, and selfie master.The problem having so many vacations here in Malaysia is that we just can't afford to jet set around the world as much anymore because 1) we have an extra seat to buy now with Jonas having turned 2 years old, and 2) we get paid much less in this country. Which is fine most of the time, as things here are cheap, but that means international travel is pretty much a once a year thing... or maybe twice a year. So this most recent break, the April break, Easter break, Qingming Jie... whatever you feel like calling it... we decided to keep it local. We took a short 1 hour flight down to Johor Bahru, just across the causeway from Singapore but still in Malaysia, and visited LEGOLAND! Of course, this was way more costly than if we had just taken the train to Thailand for a week, but we're not that smart financially, regardless of our situation. Plus, the kids wanted to go so badly that we just had to make it happen.So, we dropped the big cash, got a deluxe pirate suite with a separate room for the boys, which included a bunkbed and a treasure chest that required the solving of some puzzles to open. Such a very cool adventure for us and the kids. The rides were fun, and there is a waterpark onsite as well, so we got to take part in the water slides, wave pool, and lazy river. We saw a live action Ninjago lego show, and watched a 4D Lego Movie short film with the villain being Lord Business's brother, Risky - who was voiced by Patton Oswalt.The onsite restaurant was pretty amazing but super expensive. It was a great buffet with incredible choices from Asia and back home. Plus, it was one of the few times I got to have some beer at Legoland, as it is a family resort in a Muslim country, so beer is not plentiful. The real winner on that buffet was the chili crab. I ate so much of it that afterward I grew an exoskeleton and tasted delicious when licked. Wait, what? Never mind.Overall it was a great trip and I regret nothing! We can be rich in our next life. As for this one, I want to adventure and have fun with my family.P.S. Malaysia is hot. We know this. We live here. But DAAAAAAANG it was hot at Legoland. 128 degrees fahrenheit!

I’m going to jail.Well, I will probably go to jail, that is. Clarification is important when talking about time served behind bars. You see, I haven’t done anything wrong yet. I’m following the examples set forth by the people of Malaysia. I am a guest in their country, and as such feel that it is my responsibility to do and act in a way similar to their own. In this way, I show respect for their culture, and prove that I’m not just here to visit. I’m here to become one of them, if not forever then at least for the time that I remain within these borders.So, when I drive my car down the left side of the road, and with my steering wheel on the right side of the car (both opposite from how I’ve driven for 20 years), I match the… skills… shown to me by the native people of my new city and country.We drive on the middle of the line, no matter what. Multiple lanes? Middle of the line. Only one lane? Middle of the line. Scooter comes flying by us, we move towards it. Car tries to pass us, we move towards it. We fly at mach speeds around cliffs and winding roads, and putter to an almost stop at straightaways. Is there a narrow, tiny, almost imperceptible break in traffic? We drive through it to go down the wrong side of the road just to enter a parking lot. Is someone pushing a large corrugated metal roof with four wheeled posts down the middle of the road in order to cover their street market stall? We drive under it, we don’t wait for them to get across the street.So, when I come back to America, borrow my dad’s truck, and drive like this... forgetting everything I ever learned in America about driving safely…I’m going to jail.

It was Deepavali, or Diwali, this week! My family and I went down to Little India in George Town, the UNESCO World Heritage Site here in Penang, Malaysia. Little India here really is… LITTLE! Consisting of only three roads; Lebuh Queen, Lebuh Chulia, and Lebuh Pasar (sometimes referred to as Jalan Pasar, or Market Street). The streets were lined with people, stalls, decorations, sweet treats, and delicious samosas.Now, according to my seven year old who learned about the holiday during his Bahasa Malaysia class, Deepavali is the Hindu festival of lights.  A time to celebrate the goddess of wealth and prosperity, Lakshmi, and her husband Lord Vishnu. Traditionally, people clean their homes and workspaces during the day of Deepavali, and then at night light candles in and around the home while wearing new and fancy outfits, then pray to Lakshmi. Not Padme from Top Chef, but since I’m not Hindu, that’s who I thought fondly of. Pretty lady.So anyway, we wandered down the three bustling avenues of Little India in our new city, and the smells took me away, reminding me of my dream to one day live in India. I’m fascinated by the culture of India; more so than any other Asian country. I know it’s considered crowded, dirty, hot, and smoggy. I don’t care. The music, the food, the movies, the clothes, and the language… every single aspect of it fills me with interest and excitement. I’ll admit it; I’m a little obsessed.It’s going to happen for me one day. I will go there, and I will live in India. I’m the type of person that sets a goal and goes for it. Take for example the NaNoWriMo Challenge; to write a 50k word novel during the month of November. A year ago, I would have said it was impossible. No way. I don’t have enough thoughts in my head to fill a book!Well, in March of this year, I decided to pursue writing. I sat down and wrote a book. I wrote it four damn times, to be precise. It’s now a 101k word urban fantasy about magic users in China, a thousand year old magical terrorist, and the law enforcement agency of mages and wizards that must find the villain, and put an end to his murderous rampage.Then, I wrote a 63k word novel set in Alabama in the not too distant future, about two people falling in love, the hardships they face, a global corporation trying to ruin their lives and take everything they have, and automatons, too.After accomplishing those two monstrous feats, I felt a sense of pride… and a growing collection of stories in my subconscious mind waiting to be unleashed. I put pen to paper and began jotting down story ideas like crazy. I’ve got loads of books to write, y’all. It’s insane to me, still.So when I heard aboutNaNoWriMo, I knew that it was not going to be a problem for me. I mean, I wrote two big books in eight months, surely I can write a smaller book in one month? Right?Well, we’re 11 days into the challenge, and I’ve got 36k words written. Yep, I’m almost done. Of course, my mind doesn’t work well with limits, so I know this story is going so ZOOM past 50k words and keep on going.The book I’m currently working on deals with two of my favorite subjects: space travel and dwarves with battle hammers. I never said I was Hemingway, y’all. I write nerdy shit, and I love it. I’m still trying to get my first book represented by a literary agent, and some beta readers are reading the second one as I type this. Soon, I’ll be sending that one off to agents everywhere, too.Someday soon, my books will be available for everyone. I wish they were available right now, but I can wait. I’m patient.Until then,Day day up, y’all.