Quick Thoughts on Choosing A Firearms Trainer

There's also a lot of talk about how to choose firearms instructors. Most will go through the gunnie version of the old martial arts school lineage. I'm gonna go slightly against the grain. While this is wonderful knowledge, it doesn't take into account certain factors. How much do you know? Do they know more than you? So what if they come from X school, did they fully absorb the material and are they capable of transferring that knowledge? Are they fucking idiots? Is X school full of fucking idiots, and morons, well known for douchebaggery, and possibly dangerous? Does it resemble, at a deep, instinctive level, a personality cult instead of an endeavor focused on giving you the tools you need to survive a hostile encounter? How much do they charge? Are they teaching skills you need, at your current level, applicable to your life? Do they use science, or myth, lore, and false oral history to back up their points?

Avoid anyone who says the following-
"That's all you need!"
"All you gotta do is rack that dang ol thang, and they'll shit their pants and run away!"
"Hip shootin' is all you got time for!"
"A woman cain't handle no more 'n that!"
"If you don't chew Big Red, then fuck you."

Be wary of personality cults and egomaniacal douchebags. Sometimes I think the industry is saturated with them. There is not one way, but many. Anyone that tells you their way is the best, instead of the best for them, might be someone to avoid. Or not necessarily. You might be able to learn a lot from them, but as you progress and build upon your foundations, your eyes will open wider. I can learn from anyone. I might not want to promote everyone's business model. Keep in mind, a lot of this stuff is just different flavors of the same. Some teachers, personalities, teaching styles, click more for some students than others.

Acknowledgements

This was a long work in progress. It started before my first book, And The Rain Came Down, was even published. It's been said that every book is a labor of love. I'm finding that to be true. I owe the following people immeasurable gratitude.
My dear friend and editor Noel Daley, for sticking it out despite my madness, and the long slow march. I can't say enough good things, or thank you enough. If people knew how hard your job is, no one would mistake me for a writer. I hope one day I'll be able to pay you what you're worth. The next one won't take so long, promise. 

Ryan Lavoie, good friend, scholar, Peace Corps vet, card shark, martial artist, and brother from another mother. One of the things I truly cherish most in this life is our long going (decade plus some now) conversation on politics, philosophy, and life.

Lucas Bailey, for inspiration, and being the good brother. Someone had to.

Rocky Clapp, for picking up his slack.

Curtis Watson, for rounding us out, and always managing to anchor us firmly in reality. I couldn't ask for better brothers than you four. Thanks for the inspiration, motivation, and support.

Marcus Wynne, warrior poet and Jedi knight, for early insight, motivation, friendship and support. Because of him, I met a great many people I now call friend, and am most grateful. Thanks.

Rob Krott, warrior poet of some renown. An old school war dog, adventurer, and writer like no other. He went above and beyond the call, of his own accord. There is no telling how much red ink he used on my rough draft. His notes were not only helpful, but hilarious.

Dan Kemp, another warrior-scholar of the first order. A Screaming Eagle with a mind like a steel trap, he may know more about military history and weaponry than anyone I know. That is a tall, tall order. Like Rob, he went above and beyond, of his own accord, and the two of them managed to help unfuck the manuscript in places where my addled mind just wasn't firing on all cylinders.
Lori Pudliner, for also going out of her way, and providing me with an extra set of eyes and some late process proofing, as well as insight on the perceptions someone not from here might have certain local colloquialisms. I hope there's not so much local flavor people can't keep up.

To Laurie Zieber, of She Speaks to Inspire radio show, and for friendship, and encouragement. It is much appreciated.

Dellani Oakes, writer and radio show host, for the same. I feel like I've learned a lot about the craft, industry, and promotion of writing the past couple of years, and much of it came from here. I can't thank you enough.

I have to thank my good friend Caleb Causey, EMT and combat medic par excellent, whose company Lone Star Medics provides first class emergency, tactical, and basic medical training. I can assure you, any and all mistakes are my own.

Jack Clemons, the “Dubstep Viking” his own damn self. Got some real good advice on a couple of points I wasn't sure about. It's nice having friends who keep the same vampire hours I do. It is much appreciated.

Greg Ellifritz, “Beefcake,” police officer, tactical trainer, and voracious reader. For encouragement, and checking my six. I was afraid I was stepping way out of my tactical depth, and it was comforting knowing the things I was worried about didn't set off any bells and whistles from someone more knowledgeable than myself.

Jerry Hossom, master knife maker, for support, and honesty. I appreciate that.

Christian D. Orr, for friendship, and unparallelled support. I can't thank you enough.

Montie Guthrie, for friendship, support, and saving my bacon on some of the finer points of the law and police work. Your nitpicking helped add depth I wouldn't have been able to achieve. I hope I put it to good use.

Sherman House, Morgan Atwood, Taylor Mock, Chris Sanchez, and Aaron Little, for, each in their way, inspiration, support, and motivation. Super special thanks to Aaron, for a term coined, and stolen; and to Chris for hard advice and honesty on something, and not being afraid to go against the grain. I appreciate that to no end.

Eric Cashion of Confederate Forge, for the same. And for forging the fine rebel steel, and being his own damn self. Too few live unreconstructed.

Mike Blackgrave, SEAMOK founder and master, for wielding it, and passing on the knowledge.

Ed Lawrence, for being himself.

Brian Tindle, good friend, boon docking companion on countless nights, and walking encyclopedia of DFW, trains, Texas Country music, and terminal ballistics. My most reliable sounding board, and occasional thorn in my side. Thank you so much, for everything.

Ellen Fagala, for friendship, motivation, and maybe a little insight. I hope you know it's appreciated.

The late, great Paul Gomez. Friend and mentor, the nicest compliment I ever got was a look that said I should know better. There is a Bowie fight in this book that plagued me for years. Rewrite, after rewrite after rewrite. “Uncle Paul” fixed that.

Uncle Paul fixed a lot of things. It's what he did. I know of no person more dedicated to advancing the art and science of self defense, in a responsible, methodical, well thought out manner, than Paul Gomez. I met nothing but quality people through him, most of whom I now consider to be good friends. The world is a far lesser place without his presence, and he is missed dearly. 

To Birdshot, With Love

I'm have to take a moment and brag. Just got off the phone with my broham Caleb Causey, of Lone Star Medics (that's right, you saw him in SWAT magazine. I'm friends with famous people). Had an excellent conversation listening to a story of how he managed to get a couple of oblivious people, neither with any knowledge, or training about guns, self defense, or personal safety to speak of, to open their eyes.

The story he told was not of bumper stickers and snark.
The story he told was not of taking the tough guy approach.
It was not of bluster, ego stroking, and wholly unwarranted chest beating.
It was a story of gentle guidance.
Of logic, and reason.
Of a firm, steady hand as they walked along what for so many people is a harsh road of self discovery. There is nothing on this earth as harrowing as a mother's recognition of the fact that she ill-prepared to save her children.

Hearing herself, in frustration, say the words,
 "Well, I guess then I'll just die."
 "And what about your son?"
 "I guess he'll just go to heaven with me."

The shock, the embarrassment, sheer horror of the price of her obliviousness.
The look on her husband's face, the great weight of his complete impotence crushing.

The cold realization that high ideals, sensitive natures, true hearts, and the very best of intentions are not enough to keep evil men from doing what they wish with your family.

That whatever platitudes people argue about picking up whatever household item their tactically ignorant, incompetent minds prefer, out of the irrational fear of a gun, is never anything but complete bullshit.

That whatever idiocy they draped over them about pacifism being a strong, or even noble virtue was never anything but a lie they told themselves. That the people who taught her this did her no favors.

The sober discussion after.
After they've gathered themselves.
After they've come to grips with who they are.
After they've glimpsed the path ahead.
The sober discussion of where to go, and how to get there.

To change, at a very fundamental level, who they are.

This is the story of a golden moment.
All too often we forget ourselves.
We withdraw into echo chambers and listen to people who think and act and view the world just like we do.
We stop viewing people as individuals.
We tell them the way it is, and when they disagree, we either berate them, or we shut off.

We forget that if someone asks us our opinion, it's because they want to hear it, and why.
If we can show them, instead of tell them. Help them along their path, instead of regaling them with tales of glory along our own. Use logic and reason instead of snark, shock, and dark humor.

And view them as individuals who are seeking knowledge, then I believe we make a difference.

Well done, Caleb.
 Much love, and great respect.

The Gnome would be proud.

Fuck You, Fuck Grossman, Fuck Everyone Like You

Laid down, couldn't sleep. Got back up. Caught a bit of Grossman hawking his idiocy on Fox News. I can't fucking stand it. The world we wake up to this morning is the current pinnacle of human evolution. The time live in is the most peaceful time in the history of mankind. This is so, despite a bewildering array of violent media. Books, comics, cartoons, and his personal favorite, video games. The most peaceful time in the history of all humanity, yet we are constantly "desensitized" to violence. It's a goddamn cultural epidemic, right? The fact is, we're much safer in decadent First World countries with schoolhouses full of spoiled, snotty kids who play first person shooters 8 hours a goddamn day than probably anywhere you can find on a map where that is not common place. The cognitive dissonance here is a hunchback swinging from the rope of a church bell. Stop parroting this idiotic drivel. It does nothing but feed the hysteria and fuel the fire. It does not add to the discourse. It does not help. If you identify yourself as a sheepdog, you're probably a fucking sheep. Your shepard is Grossman. He's going to fleece you, and then maybe sell you to the butcher.

I wasn't going to say anything else on the subject today. In fact, as soon as my jeans get done on the dryer, I'm out the door on some quick errands. So, before I say what I'm about to say, which might possibly offend, alienate, or shock who knows how many people, you might want to check my earlier status and the lengthy discussion there. You know, the one about Grossman being a douche, video games not being a problem, and this being the least violent time in the history of the world? Yeah, go look at that, because if you argue a point that has already been covered I will ignore you. Just sayin'. Not, on to what I have to say at the moment.

Has it ever occurred to any of you mush brained anti-gun morons that if and when you get your way, if it were to actually happen, what that will mean? You fuckers who froth at the mouths like a bunch of jacked off, rabid dogs at the thought of government enforcing your will. You silly fucks couldn't even stomach the conversation of secession a few weeks ago. You wailed, and moaned, criticized and belittled, the mere discussion of it! Holy fuck, how I hate you sniveling little wretches. And here you are, after an event, that while tragic and horrifying, is still a pretty rare event. I do not call it a rare event to try to lesson the gravity of it. But to highlight the short sighted, narrow minded callousness of those who just can't "let this tragedy go to waste." Violent crime decreases. Violence world wide decreases. Violence in areas where people are disarmed increases, despite these general decrease. Noticeable uptick in school shootings since the Federal Law declaring schools Gun Free Zones. Just how fucking stubborn, useless, stupid, and narrow minded must you be? 

We ask government to tell us what we can and can't do with our bodies, with disastrous consequences. We ask government to tell us who we can and can't marry, with disastrous consequences. We follow these laws to the degree each of us can live with ourselves doing. We know it's wrong. We know it nurtures the worst of our nature, and stunts the best. 

But we do it anyway. We get along, to get along. Or whatever. As far as I'm concerned, this is over. As far as I'm concerned, any attempt to ban guns or disarm the American people should be considered what it is. An act of war. Fuck you. Fuck your bully state. Fuck your delicate sensibilities. Stop telling me to be reasonable, when you are anything but. Go fuck yourself.

 I'm going to say this again, for maybe the 900th time in the past three days. I don't want anyone to ever touch a gun that does not choose to do so for themselves. The simplest and best, most immediate way to effectively protect children in schools from a madman, is to do away with Gun Free Zones. Allow those teachers who have licenses to carry at work just like they do everywhere else. 

That's it. 

Some Quick Thoughts On Secession

I don't necessarily think secession is a good idea, but that it is a conversation that needs to happen. Do not make whiny, twatwafflingly snide remarks about this, that, or the other. I have honestly never before in my life seen such blatant, unhinged, narrow minded behavior by people who seem don't seem to fully understand the concept of a democratic republic, just the club of democracy, as I have in response to the proposition of a discussion. The Democrats move further to the left, and the Republicans keep moving to the center. The Republicans nominate someone who might as well be a Democrat, two elections in a row, and that's not enough. That, in essence, is the problem with the left. It's not so much that they're tolerant, because if they were, they wouldn't insist that the right keep moving to the left. I'm not even a Republican and I see this. Anyway, I'm passing this along for the following reasons -
1. Because it is a discussion that needs to be had. I think the reaction to it is telling.
2. I think it should always be a possibility. What I want out of the discussion, is that the Republican part resets itself more Libertarian, so much so that Libertarians come into the fold instead of sitting in dark corners masturbating to texts on Austrian economics. I want America to be more of the Republic is was intended to be. And I would love for the discussion to cause the Democratic party to reflect and reset. Except for some places in the south where there might be some hold out, old school Blue Dogs, I have less hope of this happening than I do the Republican party bringing more Libertarians in.
3. The left has this real hypocritical, "My Country Right or Wrong But Only When We're in Power" streak I find loathsome on many levels. Preach about coming together, still blame and hate Bush for everything. Fuck you.
4. Why shouldn't the people of a state be able to discuss, vote, and leave the union if they see fit. "It's not going to happen," is not an answer. Neither is, "You're racist." Or, "You'll be at the mercy of Mexico, Russian, China, whoever." Would that be any worse than being at the mercy of our own out of control government? Or those who would disarm a people? Maybe we can deal with them. Maybe they'll honor the arrangements better  than our current government.

If the government fails to hold up it's end of the bargain. If it becomes tyrannical, ruins our money, becomes so infested with corruption that it is taken for granted, wages war on it's own citizens, systematically disarms them and uses government agencies to set the stage for the vindication of doing so, and grows in size, scope, and power to the point that the very system of government morphs and mutates to the point that one cannot tell where the corporations end and the government begins, why not?

Where I'm at, where I'm looking to go

It won't be much longer now.

I was hoping to give my grandmother another Christmas in her home.

Two, if we were really lucky.

It's almost Thanksgiving, and it's obvious she needs more than I can give her.

If Christmas is even possible, it will take work and coordination that may be out of our grasps.

Truth be told, she should be somewhere now.

And I hate this.

Words alone will never be able to adequately describe just exactly how much I hate this.

She's lived here since 1959. My mother's family spent a year in Chicago and came running back.

She does better when one of her children, my mother, her sister or brother, are here.

Me, I'm just a punk kid at 33.

The family fuck up.

The nutty vet not right with the world.

I'm in a real strange place.

For those who care, yes, I'm still waiting on cover art for book 2. If I don't have something in the next few days, I'll figure something else out. So, there's that.

Anyway, other than writing, and in some ways in conjunction with writing, I have some opportunities and possibilities on the horizon.

I don't really want to give too much away right now.

I'm trying to figure out best how to synthesize and synergize, and maybe stream line.

I'm still waiting on Austin to get back to me with a class date to get licensed to teach CHL.

I still need to take the NRA instructor's courses. Mostly this is formality, and paying dues, and having a piece of paper to show people who don't know much about guns.

I also have a list of people I want to train to actually learn from. People I want to seek out for skills and knowledge and perspective. A lot of this shit, despite what people will tell you, isn't really that goddamn difficult. People have been cracking each other over the head with rocks since fire was considered magical. What interests me isn't just the pursuit of knowledge, but the ability to relate that information to others in the most economical way possible.

That's one of the things I despise the most about the training and self defense industry. It's filled with faux macho would be Alpha males who live to do little more than assuage their own personal egos.

I know what I want to offer as a teacher. What I feel comfortable in both skill and knowledge being able to charge for, and where I want to be able to grow as a teacher.

I should say something about figuring out my brand, but the truth is, I don't give any more of a fuck about that than I ever have.

I'm out there. I'm me. I'm as open as can be. For better or worse. Good or bad. Love me or hate me.

I am just exactly who I am

I know I'm ready.

I'm excited.

I'm ashamed of all the time I wasted being a sad sack drunk.

When I published my first book, and first entered the world of social media, I was in many ways a different person. I was certainly in a much different place.

Believe it or not, I have reservations about just how much I put out there.

Sometimes living without filters feels like reality tv, only it's not as lucrative, and somehow maybe more sad, pathetic, and melancholy.

I know a lot of the readers I first collected read my writing because of that. The depression, the addiction, the struggle. All that drama.

So, I don't know.

I don't know exactly what's next.

I don't know where I'll be in a year's time.

I do know, when I'm 35, I want to be exponentially further from here than I am from where I was at 30.

I'm tired of wasting time.

I'm tired of wasting life.

And potential.

Maybe watching my grandmother's decline has sharpened my focus.

I don't know.

I barely even drink anymore, and when I do, it's rarely very much. When I drink and stay up, I feel sluggish and wish I hadn't.

When I go days without drink, it is no longer cause for celebration.

It's notice is but an after thought.

It's strange.

To go so long feeling like you're on the precipice.

A few years ago, I had one of the top agents in the country.

I was meeting famous people.

I thought I was a contenda, as it were.

But my book didn't get picked up.

I didn't get famous, or rich, or even really make any money to speak of.

I'm sure, the place I was then, the hope of greatness probably meant more to me than greatness itself.

Coming out of that dark place. Still shy of the light.

I'll always write.

I don't have a choice in that matter.

But I can't any promises.

I'm trying to organize my life, and schedule, and to instill discipline to my work.

Please understand, I beg you, I despise ritualized discipline.

I knew too many people in the army who worshiped it.

Also, that I do real well not to hate myself.

Those who have never dealt with severe depression will never understand.

I am not inserting this to use as an excuse.

Simply stating a fact.

And that I deal with it everyday the best I can.

Some days are better than others.

And even at my worst now, is so much better than my best then.

The other night, I lay in bed. I was sober, and staring in the darkness, and just thinking.

Before the bottle, this had been my favorite time.

When I realized the moment, something hard to describe washed over me.

That I can enjoy it once again seems like a foreign idea.

I actually prefer being sober to drunk, and am no longer surprised by it.

You don't know that when you're there, in that dark place.

You can only see it looking back.

Tough love doesn't work.

And all the hope and possibility I can see forming on the horizon, I would trade for a few good months for my grandmother.

I would trade my soul, fester in mud spackled obscurity forever, to give her back her mind.

The ravages of dementia are no gentle thing.

The madness I enjoyed before was itself self obsessed, frivolous, and childish. 

It was trifling twatwafflery. 

I guess that's what I get for trying to end this on a positive note.

Update of sorts on book 2, and stuff. Part 1, maybe

.OK, so, I still suck at blogging. I'm not even sure what I want to blog about right now. I keep telling myself if I ever want to make it as a writer, I've got to up my output. I get lost in my head sometimes, and I can't find my way out.

Anyway, book 2, The Lines We Cross, is with the editor/ proofers. I'm waiting on them and on cover art. That's it. Don't worry, I'm fucking done. I promise. Sometimes I have a spark of genius, something I need to go back over and check, some piece of dialogue I need to add or take out, but I'm fucking done.

I can beg your forgiveness for my tardiness, or I can just do the fucking work, and putting the fucking thing out there.

Maybe it's true of all second books. I don't know. I do know, this one was much harder than the first. I touched on deeper subjects, some of them political, and I tried to do so without trivializing or completely disrespecting people whose opinions might differ from my own.

Not that the book is really all that political. I don't think it is really more political than it needs to be to be relevant and reveal a snap shot of the world in which we live right now.

I believe if you're going to enter into a political discourse, or use the issues of the day as touchstones, you have a responsibility to show the world the way it is, not what you think it is or want it to be. You do not have all the answers, shut the fuck up.

To do otherwise, I think that it is the definition of hubris. I'm a four star fuck up. What fucking answers do I have for anyone?

I read a lot. Well, OK, I used to read a lot. Mostly detective fiction. This may surprise you, might I never really got into Men's Action/ Adventure. Didn't like pulp until my mid to late twenties. The writers I liked were the ones who lifted the genre into the literary realm. Most of these writers were liberals.

They provided much joy, entertainment, and in some cases, heroes for me to look up to. I learned a lot of from them. I learned the power of words, what they can mean when woven together correctly. A well written novel will expand both your mind and knowledge base, give you information you didn't have, and show you different ways of looking at the world and the people in it. Food, single malt scotch, weaponry, philosophy, survival and preparedness, women, music, poetry. These are all passions of mine that were either celebrated, show cased, or utilized in ways that fermented in my young mind, and often led me down wonderful rabbits holes looking for knowledge.

They made me think!

But sometimes I go back and read the same stories, and I realize just how completely one sided many of them are. The complicated, multifaceted, often conflicted characters I'd thought of as heroes really aren't always that intelligent or insightful. Like their creators, their complexities are very often nothing more than shallow concessions, brightly colored vestments, draped over extremely narrow world views, often held by people who have never considered themselves wrong in anything. Their view of the issues largely romantic dogmatism, their treatment of opposing viewpoints rarely meaningful, honest, or deep.

Simply put, they love the smell of their own farts, and look down on you for not doing so as well.

Anyone that tells you they have all the answers, deserves to get punched in the fucking throat.

Hard.

This is probably not the proper tact one should take as a struggling writer. If I really wanted to get out there, and make a name for myself, and make some money, the thing to do would be to choose a side, and defend it, right or wrong, come hell or high water. To tow a party line. To speak solely in idiotic bumper sticker slogans and bullshit euphemisms that do absolutely nothing but alienate people who don't agree with you, while galvanizing sycophantic followers into a rabid cult with literally nothing of substance to offer the world.

I don't say this because I'm a poor, pissed off, hack indie with a very narrow base. As much as I would really like for book 2 to be some sort of breakout work, to have steady, real money coming in, and the validation writers yearn for, my work on the shelf, I'm not going to do that. Despite the usual pretensions writers suffer, or indulge ourselves, I know my I'm not ever going to be a literary dynamo. I'll never be the cool kid, A list, whatever. I don't care. I don't care if New York likes me. I don't care if a bunch of tenured liberal college professors who write the same story over and over again, ever recognize my work. Men soft of hand, weak of heart, limp of dick. I don't give a fuck. I just don't care. I did for a long time. I wanted to be a part of that world. I thought, for a short while, I was on my way. To what? To associate with people who hate everything I believe in? Maybe be the token conservative, despite the fact that I'm obviously not a fucking conservative?

Fuck them.

My readers are veterans. Gun nuts. Welders and diesel mechanics. The occasional lost house wife. Alcoholics, and addicts and broken people. I have a strong suspicion a good portion of my reader base doesn't actually read all that much. Which kind of makes it even more of an honor that they read my work.