my name isn't Noah

On Thursday, April 5th, I awoke to the sound of water below my bedroom; I said to myself that someone was taking a shower in the bathroom below me. The problem with that thought is NOBODY USES THE BATHROOM BELOW ME. I ran downstairs to find a swimming pool in our basement (ok a swimming pool for small insects and such as the depth was no more than 2 inches) a pipe in the toilet had burst, spewing water like a miniature Niagara Falls.
Update

The final casualties for last week’s flood is in. 60 of our grandson's stuffed animals lost their life as they valiantly kept him safe from water as he slept. (We were told we shouldn't save them as most were soaking wet) Every single one of his books drowned, they didn't know what hit them, and we are waiting to see the condition of the three easy chairs. They stood stoic as the waves lashed against their legs. Their companion tables are so lost as they sit in a corner of our living room. The poor tables miss their easy chair companions.
The pipe that burst was one of those pipes that had a lifetime guarantee against burstability. I took out my dictionary to see if I had the right definition of LIFETIME.
We have yet to hear from FEMA.

happy birthday mom

Happy birthday mom, you would have turned 87 today. I thought you might want an update on what you have missed in the thirteen years since you went home.
I married Kathe a little over a month after your passing. I know you never really met her; after all she refused to come see you in the hospital. You were right mom; she was not the right girl for me. I wonder how you knew. She was abusive and I was too blind to see until it was too late. She also refused to go to your funeral and got mad when I went.
I stayed with her for almost two years. Come to think about it I am glad you weren’t here to see me during that part of my life. I don’t remember if I told you that Kathe had multiple personalities. Talk about a life experience. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I had her arrested on spousal abuse, but like a fool I would always forgive her.
I finally got to the breaking point after she threw a full glass of milk at me after one of her one-sided arguments. (She was great a picking me apart regardless of what I did or didn’t do.) Anyway one of her personalities got upset and threw the milk at me, hitting me in the head. I waited until she was asleep and I grabbed what I could fit in my car and left her. The biggest problem was you were no longer there to tell me everything would work out. I had no place to go to. Nobody to heal my soul, for the first time in my life I had to heal my broken-heart by myself.
The world as we know it changed for good on a peaceful day in September of 2001 when terrorist crashed airplanes into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and a field in Pennsylvania. We all watched in horror as the towers crumbled down. Well I can’t actually say all of us. Kathe was in a minor accident that morning. (About the same time as the towers) That is really what the argument was about. She couldn’t understand why I paid more attention to her minor accident.
Salt Lake City finally got to host their Olympics in the winter of 2002. It was a big deal for the city, not such a big deal for me. I remember watching the opening ceremony thinking how cold it was. It was at that moment I knew I had to leave Salt Lake City for a warmer climate. I couldn’t stay there any longer. It didn’t help that I was living in the same apartment complex as Kathe. You know me once I decide to move somewhere else there is nothing that will stop me. I moved away from Utah the day after the closing ceremony. I ended up in Anaheim California a few blocks from Disneyland.
My life changed forever while there. I found true love. Oh, not in Anaheim but San Diego. Mom I met the perfect lady in a chat room on AOL (I know you told me to stay away from the internet) you would like her mom, and I wish you could have met her.
The first thing she told me was, “I will never leave San Diego,” how’s that for funny? I guess my wanderlust shows in my eyes. She had even thought about canceling our first date, but she decided that one date with me couldn’t hurt. Boy was she wrong. We married a little over a year later. She is what had been missing in my life. I also became dad to her daughter Allison, who became my sunshine.
I now live in Springfield Missouri, yah, I know my true love stated she would never leave San Diego, I guess wanderlust is contagious.
We have been on a cruise to Mexico, Disneyworld, Washington DC, Philadelphia, and we went to New York City to see Phantom on Broadway. I know you loved Phantom of the opera, you would love seeing it on Broadway, there is no substitute,
Do you remember how I said that I would write a book? Well, guess what. I have written three books.
Mom, I need to go. I am sure you are busy talking to Mozart or playing Pinochle with my brother Bill. I just wanted to let you know I am happy and miss you.
Happy Birthday.

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.

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.

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)

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.


.

Ouch

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.