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Dreams of Hawaii



Being the only accredited novelist in my town has its detractions. Namely, the fact that I'm the only accredited novelist in my town. You see, I live in a town which was made famous for three days of mud, drugs and music. Globally famous. Historically famous.

The kind of place where people make pilgrimages each year. It's a wonderful opportunity for any town to make money from tourism. Yet, here where I live, well...

Would you believe the town fucked up capitalizing on THAT? No wonder they can't capitalize on the fact that I'm another accomplished author in the same family: my cousin wrote 10 best-selling novels. But that's neither here nor there.

What makes the situation worse is how the town pays lip service with their press releases claiming they support artists.

Of course they do - CON artists.

There are people in this town who would gnaw off their own arms and rip their eyeballs out rather than promote one of their own.

In this loverly town where I live, I have to prove I'm not an impostor. Obviously, I'm full of shit. They - summer residents as well as locals - look at my books and sneer, "Yeah. Right. Author."

You can only imagine the shit I go through dealing with two rare neurological deafness diseases as well as acute glaucoma that make the simplest of tasks an ordeal. Hell, you've no idea what I go through blogging and populating my hub pages with original, okay, semi-original, content.

"Yeah. Right. Disabled."

And you wonder why I'd give my eyeteeth to move? My summer neighbor asked me last year, "If you didn't have your family history of living up here, would you even visit here, let alone move here?"

I responded in a flash. "Fuck no."

My best friend, Bella, just returned from another trip to Hawaii. Her dream is to move there. Even though I have never been there, I told her, "I'll move with you."

I got nothing to lose. I have no ties. Whatever ties I have in this local town were severed three years ago.  {With apologies to my avid repeat readers who know all about this from an earlier blog post.}

The local art center decided to host a featured LOCAL writer festival. Guess what? I'm the only local writer.

Yet, I was denied. The despot of anything artistic to be showcased in this town with a vise-like grip said to me, "You're not local."

My family dates back 120 years. Hers 35 years. But that's not the issue. The issue is that the despot brought in a pig farmer from another state 200 miles away who mimeographed poorly worded Communist tracts in his barn. Do you want to know why?

I'm THE ONLY ACCREDITED PUBLISHED AUTHOR IN THIS COMMUNITY!

Instead, the local art center showcased HIM! We're talking newspapers, radio ads, flyers.

That was three years ago. This year she brought in a relative who self-published blurry pictures that everyone in town snickers over, yet they purchase because they fear the despot and her evil ways. Similar to a tick, she embedded herself deep in every aspect of local business and government, feeding off of us, bloated, evil, dangerous and infectious.

Bella said, "You know what I love the most about Hawaii? You're accepted. You don't have to prove yourself over and over and over the way you have to do here in New York."

She should know. She's famous in her field, yet her clients treat her as if she were starting out and they're doing her a favor by using her products and services.

Continuing her thoughts, "You don't think I know how you have to prove yourself over and over again for a simple sale?" Bella knew me when I was a banker. She knew me while I toiled on my first novel. Then with all the wonderful and positive reviews and awards. She witnessed firsthand the worst mistake of my life: when I moved back to my town.

Now, I'm stuck here, disabled and can't return to Manhattan for the sound alone will kill me. I'm a demonstration of Sartre's Huis Clos {No Exit} and the infamous and oft misinterpreted quote, "L'enfer, c'est les autres."

Repeatedly, she crooned, "Come to Hawaii!"

To start anew without any past, without anyone knowing my family for generations is the siren song of seduction.

Yes, Hawaii!




PS: Three years ago when I was denied (despite my status as the ONLY LOCAL PUBLISHED AUTHOR) to be showcased in a highly publicized festival of authors in a town where there are, outside of me,  0 residents who are authors, I told the despot that I will not support this town or its name. It's true: every interview I highly extol Astoria, Queens. I lived there for ten years and the amount of support I got and continue to receive is mind-blowing. ASTORIA, QUEENS, I LOVE YOU!!



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