FRIDAY FUNNY VIDEO -- THE TWITTER SONG

I just realized, while posting this week's Friday Funny, that it's the 13th. Personally, I've never believed in that bad luck theory. How about you?

This week's video is, again, from Elen Grey. After listening to The Twitter Song -- sung by a guy who appears to live in his parents' basement -- my sweetie realized he doesn't really exist.

And he's cool with that.

Enjoy:

TEASER SCENE

Here, as promised, is the teaser scene I wrote to go in the back of BREAKPOINT, the 4th in the High Risk series, which is scheduled to be in stores July 7th. (Depending on distribution, it may make it out in time for the 4th of July weekend.)

BREAKPOINT is Air Force Combat Controller Dallas O'Halloran's story; this is the opening from the July 2010 book (I'll be announcing the title in my newsletter tomorrow morning), which features sexy Cajun SEAL Sax Douchett.

A full moon floated over the bayou, creating silver ribbons of light and deep purple shadows that appeared to hang from the ancient cypress trees like Spanish moss as Sax Douchett poled the flat-bottomed pirogue through acres of blooming hyacinths that would have been impassible with a motorized boat.

To outsiders, south Louisiana might appear to be an impenetrable maze of dirt roads and waterways.

But to Sax it had always been home.

When he’d been trudging through the snow up a steep Afghan mountainside with bad guys blasting away at him and his SEAL teammates, thoughts of Bayou Elysian had kept him putting one boot in front of another.

When he’d spent another six days all alone on those desolate peaks, wounded, half out of his mind, and presumed dead, mouth-watering aromas of the jambalaya and crawfish gumbo he intended to fill up on when he got back to the bayou had kept him battling the Taliban assassins sent to finish him off.

And during that lost time when he’d been held prisoner in an enemy village, memories of sitting out on the screened-in gallerie, sweat dripping from an icy bottle of Dixie in his hand, while listening to the rain on the tin roof had kept him sane.

“Pretty ironic, eh, Chère?” he asked his companion. “Ending up back in a place named for where fallen heroes spend the afterlife, me.”

Although everyone in town might have insisted on elevating him onto some gleaming marble pedestal, if there was one thing Sax knew he wasn’t, it was a hero.

Just happy to be along for the boat ride, the wolfhound mix he’d named Velcro answered with an enthusiastic thumping of her thick black tail.

But, hero or not, after a few frustrating weeks held prisoner again – this time in Bethesda Naval Hospital – like Odysseus, he’d finally made his way home. Physically healthy and, well, mostly sane.

And determined to put war behind him and get on with his life. Which was turning out to be a lot easier said than done. Especially with this weekend’s Welcome Home parade the town council and local VFW chapter had planned.

“Maybe I’ll get to kiss me a beauty queen,” he said, trying to find something positive about the experience he knew would mean a lot to his parents. Which was the only reason he’d agree to go along with a celebration that, if reports were true, and he feared they were, was threatening to outdo Mardi Gras. “That might be cool.”

It had been an age since Sax had kissed any woman. Let alone a current Miss Bayou Elysian, who’d been crowned during a Fat Tuesday he’d unfortunately had to miss. Being that he’d been tied up. Literally.

In full agreement, as always, Velcro woofed; her sharp bark startled a heron, causing it to take to the sky above the gum and cypress trees with a flurry of wide blue wings.

The house he’d grown up in had taken a hit by Katrina, then given a knock-out blow when Rita had come barreling through. When the second hurricane also leveled Zydeco, his parent’s restaurant and dance hall, Acadia and Lucien Douchett had thrown in the towel and retired. Sort of. Currently they were running a bait shop on the bayou and seemed content with how things had turned out. Mostly, Sax thought, because they were so content with each other.

However, like all Cajuns, they were proud and stubborn. It had taken every ounce of Sax’s considerable powers of persuasion to talk them into accepting the money to build a new house.

Meanwhile, he’d moved into the Douchett family fishing camp, and although he was still toying with the idea, the thought of rebuilding Zyedco was growing more and more appealing. Since there wasn’t much opportunity to go shopping in the places the military sent SEALs, he’d accumulated a nice enough bank account during his years in the navy.

And God knows there were a lot of people in Bayou Elysian who could use the work. Along with the opportunity to eat themselves a good meal, kick up their heels, and have some fun, which seemed to be in short supply these days.

He was still thinking about that as he pulled up to the floating dock and tied the piroque to a wooden post. The dog, moving damn fast for an animal with only three legs, took off like a shot through the woods, probably after a coon or maybe a nutria.

One thing he didn’t have to worry about was her chasing after the gators which could often be found sunning themselves on the front yard, given that she’d lost that front leg in a too-close encounter with an alligator on Bayou Teche.

The camp – a two bedroom cabin with a gallerie and deep sloping tin roof surrounded by ancient oaks, willow, and palmetto trees -- had been built on a piece of raised dry ground surrounded by white shells that glistened like pearls in the moonlight.

In the distance, heat lightening flashed, turning the wind-capped waters of the Gulf a shimmering neon green.

Sax was on his way into the cabin when Velcro, who never ventured far away, came racing back with what appeared to be a bleached-out piece of tree limb in her mouth.

She dropped it at his feet and began wiggling her fuzzy black butt, her canine way of letting him know it was now time to play fetch. Having nothing vital to do at the moment, Sax put the bag of groceries down on a wooden table his great-grandfather had built from logs milled on this property and bent to pick it up.

Then paused.

“Hell,” he muttered.

He’d left the Navy and returned to Bayou Elysian fully intending to put death behind him. Only to have feckless fate – and a clingy, ninety-five pound shelter mutt –deposit a human thigh bone on his damn doorstep.

OUR DARLING JESSIE

I'm running a little behind this week because, not only is DST playing havoc with my circadian rhythm, we spent most of yesterday at the dog shelter. Every Sunday morning, while I'm making my cards for soldiers, the local TV news highlights a pet of the week. In January we saw the sweetest little dog, Jessie -- part hound, part dobi, plus maybe some dachshund, they think -- who looked almost like Allie the Wonder Hiker, the hound/springer mix we lost about seven years ago to bone cancer. We seriously considered adopting Jessie, but talked ourselves out of it for all sorts of practical reasons. (Such as we already have two rescued dogs, Toby and Shadow.)

But then yesterday, there she was again! The shelter guy said he had no idea why she hadn't been adopted because she was a perfect little dog. Then he said studies have shown that black dogs are the last to get adopted. And although everyone at the shelter really loved her, she'd been there two months and it was time for her to have a home. She was so sweet. Lying down to get her tummy rubbed, then as if she didn't want people to think she was a lazy girl, sitting up and looking around with great interest, while still being a perfect lady.

Well, needless to say, as any dog lover knows, her being back on our TV was a sign!!

So, we rushed to get ready, then showed up at the shelter an hour before they opened, sitting on a bench outside the door just so we'd be the first in line. (We took our kindles, but were too excited to concentrate on reading.) As a stream of people began to show up, we became more and more worried. What if they wanted our Jessie? Because she WAS ours. I'd already decided that I'd be rude if I had to, and point out that, excuse me, we'd gotten there first. Plus, I'd brought pictures of Allie the Wonder Hiker -- one on Santa's lap and the other hiking in AZ -- to show what super parents we'd be.

Well, fortunately, we didn't have to fight off anyone for her. And after a few hours of meet and greet, form filling out, check writing, watching the required adoption video, etc, and a side trip to PetSmart, we brought our darling Jessie home. Where she was greeted with great joy by Shadow, and lesser enthusiasm by Toby. (The one having the very bad hair day in the above pic.) Though, within a couple minutes they were all romping in the back yard together.

She'd been home ten minutes before she showed that along with knowing sit, come, and down, she also knows other tricks. Like drinking out of toilets and -- yikes! -- opening the door handle that leads into the garage, then the unfenced front yard!! My sweetie just finished installing door knobs that will hopefully be beyond her doggie cleverness.

Here's a picture of her zoning out after her long and eventful day. As you'll see, she's already staked out her fave chair (actually the only one that doesn't already have a dog on it) and seems totally unaware of the drama surrounding Scott Hamilton's ousting on Celebrity Apprentice.

I'm going to try to get the promised teaser that's going into the back of Breakpoint posted here tomorrow. So, check back for sexy Cajun SEAL Sax Douchett!

FRIDAY FUNNY VIDEO -- TWEETING FOR TWITTER

So, last fall, right before my military base signing tour, at the urging of friends, I joined Twitter. But the thing was, I just didn't "get" it. I mean, why would anyone actually want to know I was going downstairs to eat a WW pizza for lunch?

Then a writer friend said, "No, you post news and stuff about your books and writing. People like that." But I was deep in my deadline and c.e. proofing cave, so I missed the opportunity to tweet that Shattered had made the printed NY Times.

Fast forward to February 24th. Being a political junkie who watches all the TV talking head shows, I saw reports of scads of tweets from politicians who were sitting in the chamber during President Obama's State of the Union speech. Although, for some reason, he didn't call it that. (Maybe because the state of the union is just too, too dreary and people would've tuned out and gone channel surfing to find an old episode of Knight Rider?)

Anyway, during the "Address to Congress," many of those politicians were busy tweeting. But some of them had no followers. Which brings up the Zen question: if you twitter and no one hears, is it truly a tweet? There was also the congressman who called Michelle Obama a babe. Which was kind of cute, if you're a frat boy. But I wonder how he explained that to Mrs. Congressman when his tweet showed up all over television.

Then the women of The View talked about Twitter. ( Which, afterwards, apparently caused the twitter website to crash.) I saw it featured on ABC nightly news. And my friend, Elen Grey, sent me a video of Jon Stewart talking -- well, ranting -- about twitter.

THEN, my sweetie shared an article in Newsweek about how this Kogi Korean BBQ taco guy in L.A. uses Twitter to let his customers know where his tandoori taco truck is going to be. And when he's running a few minutes late, a quick Tweet keeps people (often more than 600!) in line waiting for him to arrive. When police chase him away from one corner, the Twitterati quickly suggest another, and kazaam, quicker than you can say sesame-chili salsa roja, everyone's on the move!!! Given that he goes through an amazing 400 pounds of meat a night, this business model is obviously working for him.

So, although the Irish have never been known for being succinct, and I truly doubt I've ever had a thought that can be properly condensed to 140 characters (what, are we all supposed to be thinking in bumper stickers now?), since I've sent back my Breakpoint copy edits, written my teaser scene for the back of the book, and also actually managed to come up with an email to my editor and agent that sorta -- if you close one eye and squint a bit -- looks somewhat like a synopsis, I've stuck my toe back in the twitter pond. For now.

Meanwhile, my e-newsletter will be going out either Monday or Tuesday, with the back cover copy for Breakpoint, and I'll be announcing the title of sexy SEAL Sax Douchett's bayou book.

Plus, I'll be posting that teaser scene here on the blog Monday. (Okay, maybe Tuesday, depending how the weekend goes.)

Finally, enjoy this Friday's Funny video: