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Monday, October 3, 2011

what was I thinking?

I owe the writing community, my potential readers, the world in general, and maybe even God an apology. I overlooked some major writing skills in my zeal and enthusiasm to get my historical fiction, THE LAST CHANCE completed and published. That's right, you heard me, I messed up. I failed to add a book that would sell. What was I thinking? I completely forgot to add a vampire, zombie, dragon, Minotaur, unicorn, or knife wielding serial killer with a bad attitude.

I should have jumped to the chance to make my protagonist a crime solving detective with a bad marriage. Maybe he could have been a spy, pathologist, weird scientist with a God complex, or the son of a Greek God. I wasn't thinking I am truly sorry for dropping the ball. My fault.

At the very least I could have made him a sex-craved maniac and added great juicy explicit scenes spattered among the pages of the book. The truth is I know very little about sex-craved maniacs and would be too embarrassed to do the research. My wife probably wouldn't allow me to do the research anyway.

So I apologize for leaving too many of the sure-fire topics for success.

If you are looking for vampire spies, zombie detectives, a Minotaur that cheats on his wife, a unicorn that solves crimes ala CSI Fantasyland, or a super hero knife wielding maniac, I wouldn't waste my time reading this book.

If you are looking for sex, this is not the book for you.

However, if you are looking for a pleasant, clean Historical Fiction that makes you laugh, and tugs at your heart-strings, you might like THE LAST CHANCE. You might be surprised that a book hastily written without the main selling points of today's topics might be enjoyable.

Again I apologize for my zeal, please forgive me.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

August 14, 2011

Many of you have enjoyed my poems, which I have scattered among the ruins of this blog.

Friends have been hounding me for years to publish my poems, I declined because they were too personal.

Just the other day I got another request to publish. So many years have passed and most wounds have healed, after many attempts, and utter failures I found and married my one true love. I am now ready to share my joy and pain.

I doubt I will sell more than a few copies, but those that purchase a copy will also be buying a small piece of my heart.

You can google me for links.......Ramon Ballard

I'm going to repost one of the poems that gets the most requsts:

May your life be full of sunshine,
Even when your skies are gray.
May you find the strength to
go on when you think you've
lost your way.
May the smiles you get from
others be the warm fulfilling kind
May your dreams that you are
dreaming be easier to find.
When you look into your past
may you look without regret
of people, places or things
you would be better to forget.
May you find your happiness
as you pass on through the years
But remember you receive
wisdom when lessons are learned
from your tears.
May the love you find in your
life be the kind you know will last
the kind of love that will free
your heart from the pain of the past.
When it becomes time to look
into that final bright light.
May you look secure in the
knowledge you have loved
and loved right.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

July 20, 2011

I grew up being invisible to all but a very few of my Friends. It is almost as if i invented shy, if I didn't invent it I surely perfected it. I made up fantasy tales in my mind, mostly to compensate for my shyness.As time went by, my tales (to myself, and a few of my friends) became more vivid, while my shyness increased (if that is possible).When I finally married (I was 33 the first time) and we had children I would tell our children made-up bedtime stories, which they enjoyed. My son would tell me I should write them down, which i never did. As the children got older, and the marriage came to an end, I stopped telling the bed time stories. I reverted back to telling them to my number one fan (myself). Many years passed, another marriage failed, and I was still making up fantasy realms and stories for my number one fan (still myself).When I met my current (and greatest) wife, her daughter was 11 at the time, so I started telling her my fantasy stories. My wife and daughter both told me I should write them down, to which I said "Someday, I just might do that"Well life got in the way. We were living in San Diego, and let me tell you that great weather comes with a price, mainly fast living and high costs. Not to mention fires (yes we were evacuated during the 2003 wild fires in San Diego, the fire actually came within a few hundred feet of our house) Finally we had enough of "big city" living, I got a job in a small (actually 3rd largest city in Missouri) town, life slowed down to a comfortable pace. One day we were riding in the car, headed for Branson, and I mentioned I might just start writing a children's book, to which my amazing wife said "Ya I have heard that before, why don't you shut up and do it?"I don't write for the money, I write because I love it.}

Yup, I wrote that. I keep looking back at that post, and I think it is Corney, out of place and somewhat pathetic. I thought that until I read this.

"........unpopular through out my schooldays, I had the lonely child's habit of making up stories and holding conversations with imaginary persons...."
----- George Orwell -----

George reminded me of me, except I am not famous, and I survived 1984.

Rereading my Corney, out of place, somewhat pathetic post, again gave me an epiphany. No matter how Corney this post happened to be, there was no way of denying the truth of that post.

Now that I have mastered the science of time travel, I need to fast forward to September 1, 2008. Place "American Idol" Query Tracker Forum.

{I ask myself, am I the singer from American Idol that just can't sing? You know the ones, the ones that think they are sooooo good, but when they open their mouths crap comes out.They have no idea they can't sing. They are shocked when Randy or Simon tell them how pathetic they are. They actually thought they were the best singer in the world. Every viewer and the judges knew otherwise.Am I the terrible singer, and are the literary agents Randy and Simon?}

Yup I wrote that one too, but it did generate some marvelous responses.

"Can I not write?"
"If you truly love what you do"
"Can you walk away?"
"I have to write."

are a paraphrases of a few of the responses, and on September 1 my answers to theses responses would have been.

"No,I don't need to write."
"Yes, I do love what I do"
"Yes I can walk away, in a heart beat"
"I do not now, or will I ever need to write"

Fast forward to the time of my unfortunate, flattened by the reality driven steam-roller accident.

Being ran over by reality leaves one heck of a side-affect, namely clear vision. I know now why I write.

Years of living in oblivion and invisibility has its advantages, it defined who and what I am.

I was not born to write. My childhood set me on the path to writing. My life led me down that path. I have not been able to leave that path, no matter how hard I have tried.

My journey down that path came to an end August 28, 2007, when I came face to face with the only outcome my childhood would allow. There I was face to face with myself, a writer. Yes me, a writer, forged with years of failure, success, good times and bad times.

I had no choice. I had to write. It is what my childhood chose for me.

"The only reason for being a writer is that you just can't help it"
---Leon Rotsen---

Writing is not a job. It's not a hobby. It's a drive, a journey. It's something within us that needs to be released.

My journey down the path ended abruptly, but I am now on my way on a new path. I can't give up. I need to write, I love writing, I can never walk away from writing.

I am not the person that can't sing on American Idol. (new ending. I am not the person that can't sing, I might be the one that got tired of waiting in the crowd and went home, but by damn I can sing)

Saturday, June 18, 2011

June 17, 2011

Let me end by introducing me, any author needs a little chaos in their life. The foolish failures and accidental triumphs in my life define who I am.

I grew up invisible in Salt Lake City, Utah. Invisibility has definite advantages, especially when combined with a vivid imagination. I spent my youth on a raft floating down the Mississippi with my friends Tom, Huck, and Jim. I stood next to George and his rag-tag troops in Valley Forge. I chased windmills with Don Quixote. I spent summers in Europe, winters in Alaska. Anywhere my imagination could take me. I created magical, fantasy worlds with magical inhabitants.

Time does not stand still. Fantasy worlds evolve into mundane, everyday life. As I grew older my whimsical travels to far off places diminished and my invisibility slowly faded into visibility. All foolish realms were forgotten, pushed into the furthest regions of my mind. I grew up, but a small part of my mind, the part stuffed to overflowing with imaginary worlds, refused to get older. I must have a Peter Pan soul.

Years passed. One failed marriage became two. (Including one wife with multiple personalities, scary huh?)
I found and married my one true love and began my happily ever after. Happiness has certain side effects, my creativity yearned to shine. The imaginary world refused to be silenced; they demanded to be heard.
OK now, let’s read the last four words together. They will play a big part at the end of this short blog.
I am coming up on the fourth anniversary of when I started writing my first seldom to be read novel. The novel is about a thirteen year old girl whose mother is kidnapped. It’s a great story It has been well received by every beta reader who has read it. At first the novel had 107,000 words, but I was told that is too many words for a first tine author. My beta readers, not being professional writers apparently didn’t know, or could care less that I had too many words, they loved it. I revised my great story, revised it again, and then again for good measure. The story was now similar to my original story. To my surprise my beta readers still loved my story. Unfortunately literary agents have not shared the same enthusiasm as my common folk readers. I am to the point in believing that in order to become an agent you need to have all common folk tendencies vacuumed out of your senses.
I am a bit dense at times. I never let sleeping dogs lie, I have been known to run with scissors and count my chickens before they hatch. I should have taken the hint. My novel was not literary worthy, no matter who loved it. I should have let sleeping novels lie. I started counting my novels before they hatched. Not me, I figured if I wrote another novel that agents would beat a path to my door. I wrote another novel, this time it was a historical fiction spanning the twentieth century. It was another great story. My beta readers loved the story. Some read it more than once. I was excited again. Literary Agents would stand in line to represent me. I was sure I would sell this book. And the book would coat-tail my original story into worldwide fame as a bonus. Wrong, Once again my beta readers don’t know a good book from a hole in the ground. My queried Literary Agents have shown me the error of my ways. My book, books, etc, are crap, no matter what my beta readers say.
I’ve learned my lesson. Well any sane person should have learned some kind of lesson. Not me, I foolishly write a third book. Yup, I know, what am I thinking? The book is about me selling my soul to the devil in order to get just one of my seldom read books published. Once again my beta readers love the book, even though I have sent rough draft versions so far. The book is still rough draft. Everybody loves the query. I am not in a hurry to write finished draft, I am leery. Are my beta readers still have no idea what a good book looks like. I am afraid that literary agents will bring me back to my senses.
When I began this journey into literary hell I thought all you needed was a good story. I was a dreamer, a fool, a wisher. I have learned one lesson. I have learned how to give up. I give up every other day. I give up, then try again. I dream less, and doubt myself more.
I still believe that all three books are great stories and read worthy. One day I might find a common folk agent.
We now come to the end of my blog. Do you remember the last four words I asked you to remember? They demanded to be heard. Well, I should have told them to shut up.


Friday, June 10, 2011


This is an old love song I wrote years ago, Mrs. Raballard and I are great. I just like the song, maybe someone can add music to it

Can't get over losing you song

They say time heals all wounds of a broken heart.
Sounds real good to me, so when does the healing start?

Because time has stood still since you went away.
And my heart's not getting better, I don't care what others say.

When you left my side, you asked me if I'd wait.
Well the waitings getting harder, and I feel it's getting late.

I keep asking myself if you still feel the same.
And do you hear me late at night when I whisper your name.

I stopped and talked to an old friend, we used to know.
The tears started down my cheeks, so I turned around to go.

There you stood, with someone new.
I tried to smile and say hello. But there was nothing I could do.

I've tried everything I know to get you off of my mind.
I guess you're going to stay there till the end of time

So here I sit too damn blind to see.
That no matter what my heart says you're not coming back to me.

I wonder if you know what you’ve put me through?
And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop loving you.

So give me a call, and tell me how you are.
Or tell me to come running, it doesn't matter how far.

Well I guess I have nothing more to say.
Except I still miss you every second every day.

I've tried everything I know to get you off of my mind.
I guess you're going to stay there till the end of time.
Yes, I've tried everything I know to keep you off of my mind.
But I guess I'm going to love you till the end of time.

Sunday, May 22, 2011


I waited yesterday, May 21, 2011 for the promised rapture. I sat comfortably waiting in my easy chair chomping on popcorn and guzzling diet Mtn Dew like there was no tomorrow. Of course technically there was not going to be a tomorrow. Imagine my surprise when midnight came around. I had not been rapt, then I remembered only the good would benefit from rapture. Obviously my lifestyle precludes any kind of rapture.

I checked with FaceBook, Twitter, Skype, and a few bingo sites I hangout in. Not one person ended up benefitting from rapture. The masses still wrote their status’, tweets flowed, and I still lost my butt in bingo.
What went wrong? Where was my rapture? It dawned on me that maybe my rapture had been postponed, to be rapt at a later date. I did what any disappointed red-blooded American would do. I googled “THE END OF THE WORLD”. Imagine my shock when I read that I have survived 119 predicted ENDS OF THE WORLD, and I am only 62.
Here are a few of what I will refer to close brushes with death.

In 1953 a book came out predicting that the world would end in August of 1953. I was only five at the time, so I didn’t pay attention.

A pastor from California predicted that sometime between April 16 and 23, 1957 that Armageddon would sweep the world! Millions of people would parish. I was nine at the time, and didn’t keep up on current events, but I am sure my parents would have told me if there had been any wide spread perishing.

In the 1970’s a religious fanatic predicted Haley’s comet would end life as we know it. At about the same time a group called The True Light Church of Christ forecasted the return of Jesus Christ. Many from the Church quit their jobs and waited for the blessed event. I suppose they were upset to learn that they couldn’t get unemployment. Waiting for the return of the Messiah is not a sufficient enough excuse for quitting your job.

1981 could be renamed the year of rapture. There were two predicted dates for rapture. One predicted that the rapture would occur on December 31. The prediction was a concoction of Christian prophesies astronomy, and a whole lot of fatalism. A church of fanatics, goof-balls and most likely aliens predicted rapture would take place on June 28, when June 28 passed they sent a news release they had miscalculated, the new date was August 7, both were wrong. I was a newlywed in 1981, the marriage was bad from the start, I would have welcomed any kind of world ending scenario.

The planets aligned in 1982, creating magnetic forces and Armageddon.
Also in 1982 a group called the Tara Center took out a full-page ad claiming that Christ second coming was scheduled for the April 24-25 weekend. At that time I only read the sports-page. Either I missed it, or it didn’t happen.

Need I go on? The results are easily googleable. It is likely that there will be many predicted raptures between now and the real end of the world, December 21, 2012.
Until then live your life like there is no tomorrow, who knows how many close calls we can endure.

Friday, May 20, 2011

May 20

It's been over a month since I posted, thought I would add a little ditty I wrote for my parents. Growing up I seldom saw them do anything but argue.

I have finished my "sell my soul to the devil book" I am considering adding my book "THE LAST CHANCE" to kindle. Bypassing publication all together. I have started another round of queries for my middle grade fantasy.

I am fighting myself, part of me wants to stop writing books that will never see the light of day. I am told all my books are great, too bad the right agent does not share the views of my handful of fans.

Small House
It’s a small house, we both know it.
There isn't much room for us to be.
Maybe that’s why you’re not home much.
Or could that lonely reason just be me?
I give you everything, but seldom
get anything in return.
What can I do?
Or is it that fire will never again burn?
Yes, it’s a small house, but it seems
to be filled up with tears.
It’s a small house, but there’s more than enough room for
us to be lonely through our years.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

April 6, 2011


To dream the impossibe dream
To fight the unbeatable deadline
To wait with unbearable sorrow
Cause you queried where the brave dare not go

To write the unwriteable sequel
To become better than you actualiy are
To type when your arms are to weary
To reach the unreachable word

This is my quest, to follow that agent
No matter how hopeless, it has been so far
To be willing to write till there's no more to give
To be willing to try so that honor and royalties may live

To question my sanity without question or pause
To be willing to write about hell for a heavenly cause

And I know if my query is true in my glorious quest
That the query wil not lie in a slush pile when I'm laid to my rest

And the world will read better for this
That one man, form rejected, leaving scars
Still strove with his last edited query
To reach the unreachable agent

PS I love the song, The Imopssible Dream, I have not asked for the rights to the song. I might get sued, or worse yet end up in prison.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

March 26. 2001

Parenthood 101

Some children grow up in spite of their parents while some grow up despite their parents. But no matter how they grow up, there are far too many that forsake their parents guidance.
There are no incantations or magic spells that can prevent your child from running headlong into a brick wall. There is no amount of love that can stop them from ruining their life. It doesn’t matter to a child that you once journeyed down the same path they travel today. They could care less that you made similar mistakes in your life. They can’t conceive that you were once their age, and it wouldn’t matter if they could.
Trying to tell them that have a future, beyond tomorrow is futile. You might as well try to teach a pig to sing. All they see is today. Telling a daughter hell bent on destruction that school is more important than love falls on deaf ears. You can’t make them see that their new love destroyed her lifelong dream. You might as well hold your breath. They have lost all sight.
No there is no way of preventing your child from ruining her live. I wish that there was. All you can do is watching them self destruct. It is hard, but a parent must silently watch from the sidelines tosses way all values, morals, and teachings.
Take it from me before it’s too late for you. Let your child fall on their face. I tried to keep her upright, and only got abuse, hate, and hours upon hours of wondering where I failed.
There are no incantations or magic spells that can prevent your child from running headlong into destruction. You need to keep silent, while it breaks your heart into a million pieces.

Monday, March 14, 2011

March 14, 2011


When you left, it was no big deal thing.
Life still goes on, I knew it would.
The wounds will heal; it's just a matter of time.
But I don't believe in forever anymore.
Love is a play; you really know your part.
You had me believing all your lines were true.
Like the one where you'd be mine forever.
It won't take long to forget all about you.
I don’t believe in forever anymore.
Yes, the pain will end.
But I will never believe in forever again

Sunday, February 6, 2011

February 6, 2011

A short poem for the week.

True to my Word

I promised myself, the night that you left, I wouldn't fall apart.
True to my word and in spite of myself, it only broke my heart.

The sun came up the very next morning I didn't think it would.
I still got up and went off to work, although I didn't think I could.

The world still turns, with or without you but I don’t know where to start.
So......No.......It wasn't the end of the world just the end of my heart.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

January 23, 2011

poem for the week. It was written when sometime after my divorce

Not for me

I must admit, sometimes I miss someone to hold.
But I can usually chalk it up to having a very bad cold.

Once when I thought I should start over with someone new,
I was relieved when the doctor said "You'll survive, it's just the flu"

I keep my heart, safe and secure, untarnished upon a shelf.
That way if for any reason my heart gets broken, I have no one to blame but myself.

I've been hurt so many times, by love I thought would be true.
I'm sure by now I'm listed in the heart-broken book of "Who's Who".

This experience has left me to believe that love is for the very foolish,
or better left in the capable hands of the very ghoulish.

Think about it, to give yourself to something you can't see.
Well as far as I'm concerned, you can have love. It's not for me!