re: Flash Fiction: A really Bad Western. By Kevin Hughes


Title: Not a fair fight.

You don’t say much.


Why not?

I am the main character in a really bad Western.

How bad?

Well, the bad guys name is Bart, and he lives in Dry Gulch, His sister: Betty Lou Mary Jo McCalister lives in Sweetwater, she loves me, and he wants me dead.

 Well, that is bad. What are you going to do.

What I was born to do , Mister.

You mean…?

Yep. I am going to shoot anything that moves, fight anything that stands, and screw anything that lays down.”

 The man got right up off the lounge chair, where he had been laying.

Your Right. This is a really bad Western.


Are you back to that one word nonsense?



The Story has started:

 … as he rode into Dry Gulch, his mouth was as dry as the desert he just came from. He was parched. He sat straight and tall in the saddle, because if he leaned to one side or another, those huge blisters he got from his chaps rubbing his thighs raw, would bleed again. He would cry, but he was parched, no water left to leak from his eyes. And…he was the part of the Old West that cut men wide and deep, sometimes with a knife, although a bullet often made a nice furrow too. But not Shame, he would never cry. No sirree, Shame was of the old West where they did cut a man wide and deep, like a canyon.

He was every inch of six foot five. He should know , he measured it himself. He was broad in the shoulder, so broad that his shoulders cast a shadow so wide across that his horse could ride under, and did. He had the arms of a blacksmith. They were tucked neatly in his saddle bag. Living, err…dead proof that he had caught and killed; Black Barney, the renegade blacksmith, who not only stole horses, but doggone if he didn’t go and fix them up a good set of shoes too.

 Oh, so where were we?

 Oh, yes, the wind had died down, everyone had come out to enjoy the night wind, when Shame road in to town. That boy must be every inch of six foot five, thought one old townie. How can you tell? asked another. Well, look at his pants and shirt, must be a hashmark about every inch or so, I count sixty five of them up to his collar, figure his head ought to be about 11 inches or so, that makes him right at six foot five or maybe a bit better.

Wow, you are good at math.

Have to be. I am the undertaker. Measure twice, bury once. Like back when he was a young undertaker over there in that town called: “Headstone.” Where Shame and the Burp bothers had taken out the entire Clarence gang, in that shootout at the everything’s really not quite alright corral. There was a powerful lot of shooting, and a powerful lot of dying, that day. He even got a bonus for making six of the coffins out of ash instead of pine. Of course, if you use Ash, you have to do the design backwards, if you don’t do it ashbackwards, well, you are as good as dead.

A shiver went through the townie, like he had stepped on a ghost. The undertaker had more than a professional smile on his face, in fact, his smile was one of anticipation. If all six foot five of Shame was in town, well, business is looking up.

The undertaker knew a killing machine when he saw one. Even if there hadn’t been a pair of arms sticking out of the saddlebags, he would have pegged Shame for what he was. The main character in a really bad western, which could only be because the smell of powder , the hot stink of metal on leather, and the cries of the wounded and dying as their life’s blood pours into the desert sand- leaving no trace, except a small smear, and in the rainy season a puddle with a rainbow in it, followed Shame like a shadow in the night.

People wonder where the quotation marks, commas, and punctuation is …well, to tell the truth, this is a REALLY BAD WESTERN, and it doesn’t need Grammar, or his wife to tell him he is talking.  His brother was in a comma once, and didn’t wake up for weeks, so, just be thrilled there is the occasional period. Like the Old West, to make it clear for the Reader. For Shame. LOL

to be continued….By Kevin Hughes


re: Invented dialogue …Theme? The Old West…


Aloha Bruce of: the ear for dialogue,

 Those were wonderful quotes, how do you pick them out? I can read a whole play by Shakespeare- and never even notice where the gold glitters like everything, but isn’t.

  Taking liberties, I have decided to write my own dialogue for movies that don’t exist:

 Western Dialogue:

“Storm comin.”


“Is he dead.”

“Might be. He ain’t moved since Wednesday.”

“This Wednesday, or last Wednesday?’

“Why? Does it make a difference.”

“Yep, this Wednesday, and he could just be drunk.”

“I didn’t start the fight.”

“Well, it will finish with you.”

“Mister, you look like you could use a bath, a girl, and a drink.”

“Mighty obliged, but the only one I would use is the girl, the other two I need.”

“It was so dry that for the first time in its life, the desert was thirsty.”

“Why do you keep sharpening that knife?”

“Because I don’t like questions.”

“Don’t you think I am pretty?”

“Ma’am, I think rattlesnakes, and mountain lions are pretty too. But, you won’t see me trying to kiss them either.”

“He looks like he cut the river wide, the canyon deep, and mountains sharp.”

“I agree. That is why I hired him. He will either kill McSlade, or die trying. Folks like him don’t know the difference between surrender, giving up, and quitting. You have to kill them dead, and kill them again forin they stop.”

“He liked the feel of her skin against his face. Like lace curtains blowing through a window.”

“That’s pretty.”

“Nope, that’s what got him killed. Everyone knows out in the West, you don’t stand in windows.”

“Why you taking your clothes off?”

“I don’t like blood on them. To hard to get out.”

“There isn’t any blood on them.”

“I know, that’s because I ain’t killed anyone yet.”

“But there’s six of us!”

“I know, that is why I set them up on the cupboard. The bloods going to be pretty deep down here.”

“You trying to scare me, mister?”

“Nope, your Momma did that the first time she spanked you.”

“You coming back?”


” I want you too.”

“I know, that’s why its a mite.”

“Put the gun away, drop your belt, and turn around a walk a way.”

” I can’t, people will call me a coward.”

“Well, young fella, if’n you don’t they will call you: dead.”

His eyes blazed. His guns blazed. His hands flickered like rattlers. When the smoke cleared, his eyes cooled, his hands cooled. Seven men lay frozen in death, in the heat of the sun.

It was the first time he smiled.

She let her dress fall, one shoulder exposed, the swell of her breast luring him like sweet water after a trail ride. She leaned over the rail, letting one hand signal her figure by smoothing her skirt.

“A fine looking filly,” he thought: ” but she should fix that dress.”

” Howdy cowboy. Made any money you’d like to part with for a taste of paradise?”

“You don’t get to paradise through pretty. You get there by saying “no” a lot.”

It was a town, the same way he was a man, because someone put up a sign saying so.

Okay, off for a walk. Smiles, Kevin of the Western dialogues…


re: “What’s wrong?” Indeed. Have we become the New Romans? Give them bread and entertainment? Keep the minds little? ( and yes, this happened because of TV in the gym, again.LOL)

Okay Gang,

I cried. Tears fell from my face to splash on the gym floor. I couldn’t control it. Several people came over to see what was wrong, and one lady rubbed my back: “What’s wrong?” her voice filled with concern and dripping with empathy.

I point up to the big screen TV.

“I just saw a man choked to death, in real time.”

They all look up, as the video is played in slow motion so that the talking heads can point out that the guy being choked was trying to “tap out” by the time he got to the ground. “Tap out, ” is a sports gesture on wrestling, judo, karate, MMA, mats, world wide. It means: “Stop!” Immediately. “I concede.” When I was a kid, we just said: “Uncle.” The same thing, it was universally understood that you stopped when you heard “Uncle.” Or, later in life: “Tapped out.”

One of the women looks up, sees the video and says: “Oh that. That didn’t happen today! That is from a week ago. They are deciding who to press charges against. It is okay. It didn’t happen today.”  I left the gym. I never said another word. The front desk girl came over and walked me to the door, like the other kind lady, just putting a hand lightly on my shoulder and asking me if I would be okay.  I told her that I just watched a man be choked to death. “I saw his last moments, before it even registered that they were his last moments. Why was that on? Don’t they care about his family? Are you telling me his Mom and Dad, or his wife and kids, or his brother’s and sisters , have to watch him die in slow motion, and somehow that is okay?”

She just made sympathetic sounds and told me that several guests had requested that channel be put on the screens because they were “very interested in the proceedings” , and couldn’t wait for the “trial.”  OH…MY….GOD.

Bring in the lions, get some Christians, fill the stands with a mob. Oh, and offer bread and fast food, and drinks, too.

The TV is now the new Colosseum. Watching death is entertainment? “Let’s go see what they are offering today?”

I couldn’t tell my Kathy about it, because she considers it negative, especially with my strong emotions that surface. Yet, she goes and reads about those same stories. She says: ‘I chose to read, and what I want to read. Nobody forces it on me, and nobody tells me about it.” I guess she has a point. But where do I vent? Who do I tell? How can I get folks to understand that watching babies die, or men being strangled to death, or people being blown up, isn’t good for your mental health? That in a gym, your thoughts should be about health,strength, fitness, and getting stronger , healthier,faster more limber. Yet I am a small voice. In fact, the manager says I am the only vocal one. He said most of the complaints about the TV’s come from the fact that they don’t show only FOXNews, they put on four different news channels, trying to please everyone. The FOXNews watchers are adamant about their opinions of those other channels, and that is the only complaint he normally gets. Never once, except for me, did he ever have complaints about to many TV’s or content. Death and gossip are entertaining. OH. MY. GOD.

We are a nation filling the Colosseum…and just like Rome, we are forced to make it more and more “exciting.”  As one guy told me in the gym: “Murder is passe. Unless you gun down thirty kids, you won’t even make the evening news on a busy day with just a plane shooting of another person.” What? When I relayed that to my group email friends, most wrote back saying: “Sad but true. It has to be spectacular in either number or gore, to make it to the news now.”

Hail Rome! Hail Cesar! Hail TV, the new Colosseum! If you can’t find lions or Christians, bake a baby in a car, or choke a man to death… the masses will eat it up! Hail Cesar the TV! Keep the masses dumb, feed them crap, and they will learn to love it. Distract them from real love, real life, and real issues. Bring in the comment section of Youtube, show them their power! Hail Cesar! Hail TV. Hail TV!!!


re: A little bit about writing, specifically: What grammar had to say. LOL


Aloha Bruce of the immaculate positioning of words, and punctuation,

 What a fun read. Period. Don’t you just love it, when the word, and the punctuation mark – agree?!

  Here, in my own words, with my own idea of grammatically correct sentence structure; is a brief history of punctuation.  Before I begin, however, let me say that writing in a formal setting, like a Corporate report, legal brief, or Thesis, should- and often does- hold itself to a higher standard. One that cannot, in most cases, be read, or understood, by the average reader. Notice my use of the “oxford comma” in that last sentence. Nowadays, which, by the way, was NOT a word when I was a child, most folks in common usage, skip the comma. In fact, the average sentence now days, has only five words. And in a paragraph, there may only be five punctuation marks, and all of them periods. LOL

  So let us go back to the Original Greek, Latin, Sanskrit, Germanic, French, and Anglo-Saxon, that make up the majority of our language. English is a hybrid, and fairly new. The first King of England to speak it as his native tongue, I believe, was Henry the VI…so even in its native country, it wasn’t a native language. It was, in fact, the language of commoners. Beneath the language of Royalty and Educated folk of the time. Let us go back even before that, to the Romans, and Greeks. They had no punctuation. In fact, in Latin, one of the problems is pronouns, plurals, and adjectives, as you well know. It is why there are so many “Translations” of Latin and Greek texts…nobody knows how close we really are to what they meant.

  The next point I would like to bring up, is ALL punctuation, is so that the reader could know when to breathe. Yep. That’s all. Back in the day, the town crier would have to read aloud, since most folk couldn’t read at all. And a sentence like this with no stops pauses or anything to let the reader know that another subject was coming up in just a moment or a new sentence or a new subject made it incredibly difficult to pinpoint the message and make it understandable to the human ear as we pause to take a breath in these sentences they didn’t know where or when to stop. Add to that, they didn’t leave any spaces between words! Which, come to think of it, makes the space between words, the first punctuation! Pretty cool.

  Well, do you come to a full stop, and let people digest what you just said, or are you taking a breathing pause? Hence, the period in the first case, and the comma in the latter. But wait! There are more problems, which you alluded to in your lovely letter. Languages. Yep. English is a bastard. We have so many parents that even our spelling is subject to the rules of another language. If it has a “u” in say “colour”, it is wrong here, perfect in England. If it has an ent ending, or ant…it is French, and must agree with their rules of grammar, if it has a “us”, or “a” at the end, it is Latin…and so on. So, to write English properly, you technically should call it :”Grammars.” Hence the subject bar. LOL

You also brought up another salient point: does your writing communicate what you thought you said? Sometimes grammar obfuscates the story, as does jargon. Writing is just organized speech, and therefore should convey what you wanted to say, or tell, the other person. Grammar , in most cases, insures that the message sent, was the one received. If grammar inhibits the story from being told, then it hinders communication. Grammarians, hate adverbs, most of us ordinary people, sadly, use them well,usually. LOL

  In the old days, the Nuns would have given Einstein an “F” for they way he wrote his: “Special Theory of Relativity.” Content, falls secondary to structure. When that happens, you lose the story. The communication. “He died.” Is a perfect sentence. Quotations, with the punctuation inside. Yet it isn’t enough. So (and starting the sentence with a preposition is a no no- yet, it makes the conversation flow) if one were to write: “He died horribly.” Again, the punctuation is correct, but a grammarian would argue over the adverb. Yet, the reader would be piqued, and want more detail: “He died horribly from repeated blows of Strunk and White’s: “Elements of Style,” in hardback.”

   I think grammar, like language, is in a flux right now. I agree with you, that grammar is a dying skill set amongst the general population. It ( See that? I should have used “grammar” and not “it”, as to make the subject perfectly clear, instead of assuming the reader knows what “it” means in the sentence. LOL)  also does play a major part in upward mobility, especially in the board rooms of America, and across the globe.

  Yet, I still hold to the belief, that good writing, even great writing, communicates the author’s story to the reader. Bad writing, simply loses the story line, and makes the reader question why he ever read the damn thing. Our friend  has immaculate grammatical structure, and his books have holes the size of the Hoover Dam in them. Nothing “wrong” with the writing- as far as grammar goes; lots wrong as far as telling a believable story goes.

  As we have discussed before, I think you need a story, good characters, the gift of dialogue, plot, and interest , to move a reader, and, of course- good grammar.

 Smiles, Kevin of the lowbrow


Re: I love you. How many times can you say that, to how many people, and mean it? I , for one, have changed my mind. True love is rare.

When I was younger, I thought that you could learn to love anyone, given enough time, enough in common, and close environs. Now, some sixty years on in life, I have changed my mind. True love, Romantic/Lasting/Deep love, is rare. It does take time, chemistry, and experiences, both bad, and good, to cement the foundation of love, to the scaffolding of life, and time. I have said: I love you, to two women in my life. Kathy , has been in my life for 34 years. Had she left after two years, I would have still loved her, I just wouldn’t have been with her anymore. My first love, well, is the reason I had a second love, I learned how to love.

Most chemistry type loves, end rather quickly, as soon as the passion wears off, it is over. Other loves fade once the kids come, or the careers come, or change comes. Think back to your “best friends” , a prerequisite for true love , by the way. If the one you love, isn’t also one of your best friends, your love is fragile, no matter how long it has lasted. Brittle. It can shatter in a moment. Without that best friendship, love is strong, but not flexible. So how many of you even have a best friend? Not a recent friend, not a work friend, not a church friend, but a friend , more than that, a best friend. One who knows all about you and likes you anyway. Not many of us have lifetime friends. They tend to be situational, locational, or occupational. Not best friends, they stay that way for life. If you haven’t seen them in 15 years, and you sit down to talk, it is like no time has passed since you last saw each other. That is how powerful best friendships are…the physics of time, space and duration, do not apply. I have a best friend. I have had him for more than 50 years. My wife IS my best friend, and I love her romantically too. I was given two loves in my life. A very lucky man. Some folks never even find one. And some, never even find a best friend. Some lucky people have two, or even three…after that, the circle of intimacy is to wide to support true best friends, I think. Unless those friendships have all kinds of attachments and limitation.

I call my best friend once a week, and have for decades. We never run out of things to talk about, and both our spouses are amazed, as He is not a talker, and I don’t have many new stories. Yet, we talk. Yep. We have a blast, and when we hang up , our spouses say: “What did you two talk about?”  “Stuff.” We really don’t remember, or we have plausible deniability. LOL So how many friends do you have? How many would you consider Best Friends? I thought I had two best friends a couple decades back…until an unfortunate disagreement over War, of all things, ended it. When he came to visit, and that was the visit that ended our friendship, my daughter said something truly profound, and she was only a new teen at the time. Here is what she said:

“Dad, are you sure he is your best friend of eighteen years, or was he your best friend eighteen years ago?” It turned out to be the latter. Yet, the women I loved, I still love. My best friend, is still my best friend. I have five close friends, and two of them, in my mind, could easily grow into true Best friends. The only thing my five close friends have in common, is that they all like me, just the way I am. So, not counting family, and children, and in laws; I have three true best friends, five close friends, and many good friends. My inner circle is one, than two, than five. Almost a fibonacci sequence. LOL I couldn’t handle more , I don’t think. Not and give them the love, attention and time, necessary to build the friendship, or love, to the point where time, attention, and love are no longer necessary. They have formed a black hole, and once you enter that loving inner circle, you are there for ever.

Love is rare, loving is not. Embrace love in all its forms. Make friends, for you never know when they may get sucked into that inner circle that never lets go…and always loves. Peace. Kevin

Flash fiction…a line a minute. Yep. I set up a timer, and at the end of a minute…taa daa…done. So here are a few minutes worth. LOL

Oh he was focused all right, like the eyes of a teen age boy, on the first button being undone on his sweetheart’s blouse.

The earth wanted to ramble, he wanted to run, neither happened, they both fell.

She kissed him once, softly , slowly, and drank his ego in, a sip at a time… a moment later, there was no time.

The little girl held a flower, stymied, she didn’t know how to put it back in the ground…something whispered from her hair, and that is where the flower went…

He was a strong young boy, pulling a red wagon, it was uphill, and his red hair and freckles hinted at an Irish background, as did his stubborn little steps up the hill.

The gun rested lightly on the table, a small flame around it, the heated barrel had set the varnish on fire, she never noticed. What she saw were the five holes in his chest, staring back at her.

He let his arm find its way around her back, having no idea, it was her idea.

The two men wrestled in the water, neither of them gay, but very close friends, it was a straight male way of saying: “I love you buddy.”

As he pounded into her flesh, she made the right noises to keep both his member and his ego up, but to pass the time, she watched her hands talk to each other behind his back.

The sky screamed in pain, as the rock tore oxygen from its roots, soon, it would bring disaster on a scale unheard of in human history, and human history would remain, unheard.

She liked church, but not church people. She liked the Bible, but not Bible thumpers. She liked people who acted like Christians, but didn’t talk like Christians. Jesus would have loved her.

The car spun , twirled, rolled , and tumbled, and the last thoughts of the kids in the back seat were- if this were  a ride, it would be epic.

When their eyes met, it was a surprise to both of them, I mean really, shouldn’t your eyes stay in their sockets, so all of you can meet?

He would have been late , if had understood time at all, he didn’t, and therefore wasn’t.

Love is born in a moment, shared for a lifetime, and ended by nothing…except choice.

Well, there you go. A minute a line, and a minute to think while writing…it is fun to do this, give it a try! Smiles, Kevin

re: Off the Grid, and going fast…

I believe I shall be down to just email by my birthday. Perhaps, not even that. I guess I just need to talk, and that is becoming increasingly difficult.

I have discovered that the algorithms are more pervasive, invasive, and “intelligent” than I am. I can’t read a single story on the internet, without getting targeted adds sent to me, even in the middle of a story. I find searching for things , over time, to be more difficult, because the search engines “decide ” for me where to search. Because my wife’s friends at work, and her church friends, all tend to watch a certain News Channel, there  is an awful lot of horrible  stories and emotional polemics, plus a lot of shouting, and political shenanigans …and people (celebrity type) . All Kathy wants is to see posts by her family, and pictures of said family. Instead you have to scroll down through many post that are drivel…do you really think I care that you rolled over in bed, and the sheets got tangled” Or that you ate a bowl of cornflakes, putting an extra spoon of sugar in it, and now, well, you are having pangs of guilt?

I think it is time for me to remove myself from all this electronic filtering. My wife used to get her facts from a certain source, but because of the way the search engines respond to filtering, they filtered out any liberal friends, news, or stories…only because I was stupid enough to answer just three of the posts put up by her family and co workers…and that was enough to shift the adds, change the kinds of stories that show up on her page, or on my browser. I look up a pretty house …just to see it: boom ! Real estate adds clutter up my entire page, both sides, the top, even pop up boxes, and I have block pop up windows checked. LOL

My phone is pretty useless now, except as a camera, and to post instagrams for my kids. Since I no longer work, or seek work, no agents, comics, or clients call. It isn’t necessary anymore. I find out from another friend, that my movements, as long as my phone is on my person, are tracked. That when I call someone, or look up something, as many as 300 sites are tracking me- without my knowledge, or permission. That paranoia, is built in. LOL

Almost every conversation I have heard, or over heard…is directly related to some TV show, Reality Show, horrible headline, or they are simply looking down at their phones, or Ipads, or screens. I think moving so fast into the future, has become an addiction. We are busy , but not productive. We are fast, but going nowhere. We have more connections than ever, and few are connected, except at a very superficial level. A tweet, can be a major story, with millions of opinions within seconds, violent language, disgusting insults, slurs, are all common place in the comment section of any video, or on twitter.  I guess I was more lucky than I thought, to travel for a living, to be around people who were living their own lives, connecting with strangers, and avoiding TV, News, Newspapers, and Entertainment that wasn’t “live.” Where stories were personal, or fresh, or examples of differences without judging those very differences. Where a simple statement:”Oh, we don’t do it like that where I am from,” does not mean you should do it that way. It is a simple statement of fact, followed by: “Teach me your way.” Tolerance, of any one, any idea, or any thing is unacceptable, pick a side. Now.

Having the time to see the patterns, some of which I fell for, including the idea that if I google Belgium,  is the same as Being to Belgium, which a lot of folks can’t seem to tell; are different experiences. Where a single tweet, can make you famous, or infamous, in seconds. When it is over, in a nanosecond, the damage to the individual lasts their lifetime. A world of online trolls are relentless in their hate mongering, they moves on to the next “story”, never erasing that single moment of misjudgment , to be brought up years, or even decades later, it is as if all of  life, every moment -just happened.Now. This moment. Posted and permanent.  Even getting people to see when the webpage was posted, or the story updated seems to be to much effort. One guy quoted me some Health Statistics, he said they were accurate. I said they used to be. He gets out his Ipad to prove to me how good his sources are. It was a good source. In fact, at the time, it was a leading edge story…in 2003. Yep. He never noticed that on that entire page, only one “new” website/article had been posted in THIS decade. Some research is moving so fast, that by the time the paper is published, the research is out of date. LOL

I think, I may have to shift to reading again. I may even have lived long enough to read Oscar Wilde, in awe. LOL

Smiles, Kevin of the going back to paper soon.

In one word, the most powerful, and misunderstood human emotion. The one that makes relationships last, and people human: Just one word. Think about it, the tell me a story with it in it:


It isn’t the heat , it is the humidity. Yep.


Aloha Everyone,

 I wish I had taken pictures when we got back from our little bike ride. The air was “thick”, and the analogy of being covered with a “wet blanket” was invented on a day like today. Earlier it was “only” 89 Degrees (31.6 C) but because of the Humidity it felt like 100 Degrees! (37.7 C) and…it got hotter and muggier. If I had taken that picture, you would not have seen two human beings, you would have seen upright puddles covered in clothes. Or perhaps, we may have appeared to be two drowned rats. LOL

 We drank copious amounts of water on our ride, and when we got home, well, we drank almost as much water as Thor did in his little bet with Loki- although we didn’t have that famous horn connected to the sea, we did lower the sea levels of the Earth , I think. LOL Then we ate a small lunch, Kathy and I took showers. Not together. Those days are gone, there isn’t enough room in there for both of us! LOL Then, well, a small nap. Which turned into a longer nap. When we both awoke, we said: “Just ten more minutes.” Now, more than a hour later, I am awake and typing this, and Kathy is stirring a bit, no longer a drowned rat, but a cute little mouse nestled in the sheets.

  I am ravishingly hungry, and I am sure she will be. So, here is a weight loss plan…ride your bike in overwhelming humidity. Drink copious amounts of water. Then…nap. For most of the day, it is just to doggone hot to eat. When you finally get enough strength to eat, you will only nibble! I think a week or so of this, and you will be much thinner. Which means, those old romantic shower days, where your partner does your back, because if they do your front, the tub becomes a dangerous slippery place – LOL- may just be possible again. If your good knee, and your one hip, hold out. LOL Oh, and if you remember to put your teeth in.

 Kevin and Kathy, who can both testify: “It isn’t the heat, it is the humidity!)


re: A friend asked me: “Don’t you miss performing on stage?” And this is my reply:


 Onto performing…you know, I don’t miss it a bit. Not the way I thought I would. What I do miss,my friend, are a couple of things: meeting so many creative people, People with multiple talents (Like you) who see life- as an adventure. I hate the TV parrots who think being alive means knowing what reality star puked on her lover. LOL I have never owned a TV, and I am coming to hate them. The other thing I miss, is this: whenever we did a show: I mean every Entertainer I ever worked with, and myself, we affected people. For an hour, or ninety minutes, or a seven minute TV set, we brought people escape, or at least, a distraction. In your case, and most of the good acts, we actually helped people heal. We bring back memories, and usually good ones, or we make grief a little more tolerable, for just a few minutes, or even moments. How many times after a show, has someone told you:

” I haven’t had such a good time since my husband passed on.” Or,” I am fighting cancer, and tonight, watching your show, I felt great!”  Or,” You know, I wasn’t feeling that good, I am kinda depressed, well, for the hour you were on stage, man, I just dove into your world and surfed!”

   I miss that, my friend, that ability to move folks into another place for a bit. So they can find peace, or happiness, or escape, or entertainment, or just a momentary glimpse of a world outside their day to day routine. I think that is the most important part of our “job.”  We don’t need the validation, or accolades after a while (although, they always feel great to get) because we know we are good. Confidence comes from succeeding even when failing; we get that. We know we bring it , every time, even when it doesn’t work, the audience leaves knowing we left it all out there for them. Once you grow enough as a performer to realize – humbly- how good you are, it becomes about what we can give the audience, not what they can give us. And, that, my friend, is what I miss.

 If this email gets any longer, you will miss your flight!

Stay well, hugs from Kevin and Kathy

On Jul 7, 2014, at 6:08 PM, Greg Bonham wrote: