Growing up, I was raised from a small and rural town in Wyoming. It was not at all like the movies, set at the base of a snow capped mountain, with lush pastures and ranches full of plump livestock and sumptuous horses.  Nor was there a winding river near the outskirts of town, where young boys parked their butts on the shore to test their luck as amateur fishermen.Work release programsHowever, what we did have, were jobs. Lots of jobs, especially for those willing to pack up what few belongings they had as well as scraping together enough money to hop on a bus or a train out to the vast plains. Many of these wanderers were the men from my town, some of them even appearing with a woman around their arms. But mostly, they were young or middle aged men, coming to pursue a steady source of income at the oil fields. One summer, while still in my teens, my best friend’s father got us jobs working on an oil rig, which paid us as much money as a union grocery worker makes today. Each rig had a small dressing room, known as the doghouse (God knows why), where the workers changed from street clothes into their dirty oil soaked jeans and coveralls. I vividly recall one man, fresh on a crew, had LA COUNTY JAIL stamped on his underwear in big black stencils, adding to the gloomy atmosphere of the oil fields.Money changes everythingThe town I grew up in, Gillette, because of the oil and coal industries, now boasts one of the most thriving economies in the country. It has a wonderful school district with low student to teacher ratios that would make parents in California drool with envy.  Facilities and healthcare for the elderly are among the best anywhere. Services for women are also available and law enforcement is there to support women at the drop of a hard hat. But this isn’t the town that I spent my childhood in. This is where I found my inspiration to write and pursue being an author.Even during my earlier years as a young boy, I witnessed the surrealness of alcohol and drugs . The victims from the temptation of drinking were often battered women, some even being friends of my family.  Unfortunately, this was something no one ever discussed openly, making it an epidemic around town. I recall seeing a man running from a bar, bolting down main street and then jumping on the hood of a woman’s car in broad daylight. Fearing for her life, the woman shifted the car in reverse, and a moment later, slammed on the brakes while cranking the steering wheel, ala Steve McQueen inBullet, sending the man sailing off of the car. The children in the backseat watched in horror as the man lay in the dirty street, screamed drunkenly for her to stop the damn car.  As she drove off, those who witnessed the ordeal simply went about his or her business as if nothing had happened.You could say I was greatly influenced by what I saw as a young child in Gillette, Wyoming in writing the character Ileana inThose Crazy Notions of Otherwise Intelligent People. Some of it I thank for shaping who I am, but other parts, I wish to forget. The parts I wish to forget, however,  gave me the idea for the character, Ileana, who is dedicated to helping battered women. I like to think of the impact that Ileana could have made if she was around in Wyoming the same time I was a young boy, but if nothing else, hopefully our story will shed some light on a problem that still exist in too many places all over the world.