Paige Turner (or ‘Pah-hee-na, as she would rather be called) isn’t your typical Poor Little Rich Girl. She couldn’t care less about clothing. Parties make her sick – literally. And if an eligible bachelor so much as slips an arm across her shoulders, she can’t help screaming bloody blue murder before running a mile.

Because that’s what she is, see… A Runner.

When the going gets rough, she goes and gets overwhelmed; her mind shuts down and she can’t think straight. Or at all, really. And that’s when the dreaded feeling comes over her – the tingling in her spine, the blood pounding in her ears, the hammering of her heart as it crashes against the wall of her chest. And it’s like she’ll die if she doesn’t just get the hell away from it all.

But when her hearty-partying sister is found dead on the sidewalk outside The Gramercy Rose Hotel, Pah-hee-na takes ‘getting away’ to a whole new level. Instead of just shying away from her resulting stress and sadness, she runs away. Far, far away. Pah-hee-na Runs…using a pretty sweet set of wheels, that is.

But Running is more likely to land her in Hell (no, no…not that one) than help her catch a murderer…isn’t it?

With the help of a sexy, mysterious stranger, a jumbo-sized jack-of-all-trades, and an apparition (or possibly two), Pah-hee-na Turner is about to find out. And she’s in for the ride of her life.

A chance encounter with her homeless double
 helps spoiled socialite Geneva Van Cleef 
find her true face.

As the daughter of a dancer, I grew up observing my mother and her friends’ constant obsession with bodily perfection. In their minds, nothing was ever good enough – thighs were too thick, stomachs were too soft and squishy, bottoms were too bulbous.

None of it was true, of course. They were beautiful, all of them, and each one was incredibly talented. And surely, I thought, that was all that mattered. Right?
Wrong.
To be a ballerina, I soon realized, you really did have to be perfect.
You couldn’t be oversized.
Or weak.
Or have any flaws in your physique.
And if you relied on a wheelchair to help you run,
You could bet your dancing days were done.

But I didn’t like that. I didn’t like watching my mother and her friends torturing themselves with grueling exercise regimes, restrictive diets, and self-loathing binges. I didn’t like seeing beautiful, talented people being convinced of the fact that, just because they didn’t fit a certain type of societal mold, they were worthless. I wanted a world where dancers were appreciated for what they could do, not for what they looked like.
And that’s when Olga Dolovich, and the fellow members of The Fat Ballet Company, popped into my head.
Over the years, this story has gone through many revisions and reincarnations, many edits and alterations. The final outcome is fun and flippant, full of bawdy humor and bad language. But the message has stayed the same:

FAT BALLET – Dance Without Discrimination!

It’s not easy being Olga Dolovich. Orphaned at a time when she had only just begun to appreciate her parents, tormented by her beautiful-but-bitchy sex goddess of a sister, and doomed to clean the world’s dirtiest bathroom, Olga doesn’t exactly lead a charmed life. But worst of all, at least in her tortured mind, is the fact that she’s fat. Too fat for comfort. Too fat for beauty. And much, much too fat to be a ballerina.

But ballet, unfortunately, is what Olga lives and breathes for. What’s a poor, plump, bathroom cleaner with artistic ambitions to do? Under normal circumstances, she’d have no choice but to watch as her dreams got washed down the drain. But when Harold Pinsky, the eccentric heir to a toilet paper fortune, dances into her life, circumstances become anything but normal. Harold, like Olga, has the right kind of talent, but the wrong kind of body to be a professional ballet dancer. Unlike Olga, however, he’s not about to let some stupid societal convention stand in the way of their happiness.

With the help of a few equally imperfect friends, plus one extremely unexpected supporter, they start The Fat Ballet Company – a dance troupe dedicated to breaking down barriers, crushing conventionalism, and squashing stereotypes. But is the world ready for such an enlightened art form? And is Olga ready to come to terms with her less-than-flawless self? FAT BALLET – Dance Without Discrimination!

*Please note: this novel contains bad language and bawdy humor*

Now available for pre-order!

    “Well hi, how are you?”
   The perky, put-together, faux-blonde strides over to you confidently, her bright, eager eyes boring into yours insistently, because, as everyone knows, it’s absolutely crucial to make eye contact at all times – even if your target audience has no interest whatsoever in your irises. She extends her arm assuredly and, without waiting for you to accept her offer of physical contact, begins pumping your hand so hard you worry that it’s about to be ripped off.
   “Um…I’m…I’m not so good, actually,” you stammer honestly, squinting to avoid the intensity of her gaze. “I’m just getting over a really bad bout of gastroenteritis, and I’m still not quite-”
   “Oh, really? That’s GREAT!” she chirps cheerfully, flipping her hair over her shoulder and waving to another co-worker over yours. “So, I’ll see you at the office party later, RIGHT? Six-thirty, drinks at Doogan’s?”
   “Well, no, I’m not going. I’m still not really feeling that great and I need to go home and rest…”
   “Ok, GREAT!!! See you there!!!”

   If you’re anything like me, you’ve had this kind of conversation more times than you can count. The world, it seems, is jam-packed full of people who are simply wild about “small talk” – mindless little chats about nothing that one can just smile and nod along to without actually taking in a single word of what the other person is saying. They’re meaningless interactions, based on convention rather than care, and this strikes me as being extremely problematic.
   Why, you ask?
   Because if everybody’s busy making small talk, is anyone actually listening?

       As human beings, we like to really settle in. To develop a routine and stick to it. To hunker down in our rut and get comfortable. To grow some roots.

       Change, as most people see it, is a bad thing.

       But is it? Is it really?

       A change, as the old saying goes, is as good as a rest. And for our brains, which have evolved to adapt to new and challenging situations, this is certainly true. Changes – even small ones – stimulate us; they encourage us to think about what we are doing, rather than simply “going through the motions” and living our lives on autopilot. Change is exciting, invigorating, and instrumental to the maintenance of happiness. 

       So, the next time you spot a weed in your garden of life, don’t just give it a trim and wait for it to grow tall again.

       Pull it up by the roots.

       When I read a book, I want to get lost in it. To be transported to another time, another place, and – occasionally – another dimension. I want to lose track of the hour, to walk around corners with my nose glued to the words, to miss my stop on the subway. In short, I want an unbelievably awesome, uninterrupted cerebro-sensory experience.
And I don’t want to be reminded what page I’m on.
Page numbers pique me. I simply don’t see the point of them. They are a blemish on something beautiful, a reminder of reality. Who needs that when engrossed in a fantastic world of fiction? In ebooks, they are irrelevant, as the number of pages fluctuates depending on the type of e-reader used. And in print, many people (including myself) prefer a bookmark for the purpose of keeping their place.
Page numbers…phooey! I close the book on them.

       I’m a pedestrian. I walk when others ride; I amble while their engines idle.

      When I’m in a huge hurry, I take public transportation – the bus, the train, the occasional ferry.

      It’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s cold. Sometimes it’s hot. Sometimes, it can even be a little dangerous.

      But I do it anyway.

      “For the love of chocolate…WHY???” I can almost hear you shouting (yes, you, in the Chevy Suburban). “Why would you subject yourself to such torture? Are you some freakish, granola-munching, hippie environmentalist? Or, are you simply too destitute to afford a decent set of wheels?”

       The answer, my friends, is ‘yes.’ And, it’s also ‘no.’

        I’m a pedestrian because walking is beautiful thing. It’s great for the planet, of course. But, it’s also great for your body and – more specifically – your brain.

       Walking helps you think; the very movement gets those neuronal muscles all fired up and ready to go. Literally.

       If you’ve got a problem, take a walk. When work wears you down, have a stroll. Creative juices in the crapper? Don’t worry, just wander.

        And, for the love of chocolate, keep the car at home.       

Ah, 2014.

My old soul is flabbergasted about being given the privilege of living for so long. I’m extremely excited about this new year, and all that it will bring. It is, after all, a “lucky seven” year, (if you add up the number values in the date, i.e: 2+0+1+4, it adds up to seven!) and in many cultures, seven is the number most closely associated with good fortune.

So, what’s not to love about that?

There are tons of new projects fermenting in the T-Brain at the moment, and hopefully, some of them will come into fruition in 2014. Of course, there are novels aplenty to be written, but also several short stories and – if all goes according to plan – the co-authoring of a comic book/web comic! 

Old ideas with a new twist; old plans, finally acknowledged in the New Year. Isn’t it mahvelous dahlings?

Old stuff – it’s what’s new!

Happy New Year, All!

   Ladies and Gentlemen….THE BUCK PASS has finally seen the light of Cyberspace (with print editions coming soon…)!!!

   The BUCK PASS began as a tiny itch of an idea, a whisper in the back of my brain that began – of all places – at work. Tired of my fellow co-workers’ reluctance to accept even the slightest amount of responsibility for problems that they didn’t want to deal with, I began shouting the phrase “BUCK PASS!!!” at them. Well…ok, so the shouting may have been of the silent variety. You know, the kind that happens within the confines of your own head. But, whatever. It worked as a really great coping mechanism, something that made me smile in addition to helping me deal with my frustration in a professional manner.

   And then, I began to think.

   What if, I thought, a buck pass could be a good thing? What if a common, everyday object, such as a single dollar bill, could pass through people’s lives and bring them joy rather than an unwanted burden?

   And so, THE BUCK PASS – the story of an ordinary dollar that passes through the hands of six strangers and helps them change their lives for the better – was born.

When Times Are Tough

When The Truth Feels Untrue

And The Sunshine Of Life Has Grown Shady

Hold Your Head Way Up High

Put A Sparkle In Your Eye

And Remember That You Are

A Lady