I’m Contraversial

I’m controversial. I suppose that goes without saying. I actually do not have a stated course, or agenda, other than Texas Freedom. Sometimes I will research an article for days before it jells and I know which way I’m going. Good case in point was this weekend where I watched dozens of documentaries, reviewed hundreds of news stories and read the works of Josephus. In addition to that I reviewed James Randi, Aron Ra, and a couple of Rabbis I know over in Jerusalem, all to boil it all down to six hundred words on this morning’s posting. That’s another of my tricks. If I can’t make my point in six hundred words I have to research more.
I fly high above the subject. Trying not to get tied down with useless argument, or commentary, I go for the human understanding we all have. That’s why I call myself a Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin. If a waitress can’t understand what I’m trying to say, I rewrite. I scatter shot, i.e. one day I’ll address the ISIS situation, and the next day will write about my first kiss from Pam Burns back in high school. If there is a common thread in my work I’ve yet to see it. Maybe fifty years after I’m dead some professor will figure me out.
I handle criticism well. Well, I handle it well if the person criticizing me is of note. If it’s some former in-law who can’t compose a grocery list I get pissed off. But if it’s a national talk show host I consider that on the same level as a kiss from Ivana Trump. This simple fact of the matter is that if you only write about polka dots and pink shoe laces no one will ever read you. You never know what will set someone off. I do not deliberately try to offend. On a one to one conversation I never discuss religion. I’ve tried. Always ends with someone sending me to hell.
I’m developing as a writer. At sixty-four I’ve just about got this thing figured out. There’s a girl out in Nolanville who screens my stuff for grammatical errors. Consequently, I make sure I include one in every article. Also, I put one mistake in every one. A little tease to see if someone catches it. I’m crazy like that. I’m a free-lance writer, in that there is no money in blogging, or at least it has eluded me. But, that’s no surprise. I couldn’t sell a condom in a whorehouse. Sales is not my calling.
Sometimes a subject will evade me. This morning I had all intentions of dissecting “Clock Boy.” Even had the picture ready. Then, I looked at this little nerdy kid and thought, “Gonna give him a break.” He’s beginning to figure out his parents are whacked. Kid wants to come back to Texas. I can’t hate that. Buy that boy a Taco. Beef taco!
I hate abortion, black lives mattering, Bruce Gender and Vodka Martinis. I love Gin Martinis, fine cigars, and any girl stupid enough to hang around me. I believe in God, but not religion. Religion is man’s feeble attempt to explain the unexplainable. The reason I believe in God is we still can’t make a leaf. I listened to hours of atheists this weekend trying to find out how to make a leaf, and those idiots didn’t even have a formula for a dry martini.
So, until assassination, I will continue to write. Entertain both myself and the public. Having said that you’ll note I’ve reached six hundred words.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin



One Day at a Time

My decision to migrate from Facebook was based on many factors. First, it’s time consuming. It seems like the entire system is designed to keep you forever digging and posting with very little result. Like one of those bait and switch postings where the lead in is something like “Survive the End,” and you get this “voice!” By the end of this (30 minute) video you will be shown how to live off a banana for a month, and at the end they just try to get your credit card, and it’s always the SAME VOICE! I know that voice and I RUN from it. It’s like a soap opera, and Facebook is FULL of them.

Then there are “groups.” Everybody has a group, or two, or three, or hundreds. The bad ones are the ones based over in India. Now, I’ll be honest with you, all I knew about India was that it was hot, sweaty, and they came up with the Karma Sutra. I didn’t even KNOW they had politics. Well, they DO, and they’re IRRITATED! You’ll run across some chick who’s never been any farther down the street than the local fish market, but on Facebook she’s an AMBASSADOR. She has no informed logic, but she knows if you’re from Texas you simply must be a racist, and I guess I am because I found myself looking at her profile picture to see if she had a dot between her eyes. I’ll be honest, i was hoping she was wearing one of those see-through silk things, but that’s just me. I imagine India as being crowds of people, living in cardboard boxes, all standing shoulder to shoulder, HIV positive, dodging cows who roam the streets at will because Hindus are too STUPID to eat a Big Mac! Unless it’s at a beach party near Oceanside, with wine, groups solve nothing. They’re just as bad as that infomercial, only you really expect something to change. What they do is fill up your inbox with “So and so tagged you in a photo” and you rush over to see a picture of a CAT!

Should you finally bow up and call the girl from India what she really is you find yourself in “Facebook Jail!” Whatever you say is not going anywhere ANYWAY, but Facebook has designed a system to make you yearn for it. The one steadfast rule is that if you state your mind you will eventually wind up in Facebook Jail. You can look through the bars but you can’t reach through them, and the most amazing thing is that when you parole you actually curb your tongue so you don’t go back there again! REAL jail should work that good. There are similarities to real jail, such as random attacks by homosexuals. You still have to put up with that. I’ve been in Facebook Jail for one day, and caught myself acting like everyone else! Post Traumatic Facebook Jail Disorder!

If you think that what you post on your wall flows out to all your friends on Facebook, have I got a bridge for you, and it’s on SALE! Facebook filters, sells, promotes or suppresses whatever it wants just like the corporate conglomerate that it is. I don’t know what the criteria is, but I do know that Mylie Cyrus shaking her butt is more important than a cure for cancer. Oh, that’s another infomercial, “Cancer Will Come!” And all I have to do to save myself is endure thirty minutes of the “voice” and get my credit card out! This is the most irritating part of Facebook for me. If I am “friends” with someone, i.e. said person has voiced an interest in what I have to say, and you have the HUGE servers out in California or someplace, the very least you could do is pass my messages through! But NO! Mark Stupidberg filters or censors at will, as he tries to micromanage every syllable on the planet! This makes Facebook absolutely worthless to a writer. The bottom line of BEING a writer is that your material simply must be available to be read, even for free! Once the flow of information is filtered, even among consenting adults the value of the service is reduced to that of the ingredients on a gum wrapper.

The addiction. Now, this is weird, because I found myself suffering from it. You catch yourself reaching for the iPad, or iPhone, and forgetting the iBrain! You end up hanging on it, believing in your heart that there simply must be something of value there because there’s just so much going on. If you throw a pound of seed in a garden, and nothing grows but chickens what does that tell you? There ain’t nothing THERE! It’s all cotton candy. You find yourself staring at the iPad, slowly reaching for it, maybe, just maybe there will be something, anything there that will change your life forever, then you touch the screen and there it is! CANCER CURE! Get your credit card out! How do you beat an addiction? Any twelve step program will tell you to first stop taking the drug! Facebook is a drug. Once you break the cycle, and take your life back you can do this experiment; don’t even look at Facebook for a weekend, and then, on Monday, do a quick check. You’ll be surprised. Nothing’s changed, nothing happened, and all the people you normally see are still at the feeding trough hoping “Massa” will throw them some slop.

I have decided to basically divorce Facebook. The only contact I will maintain is passing my articles to Doc Greene’s morning show because I promised him that I would, but virtually every other point of reference will wither and die. I like Twitter because it’s short, sweet, and you don’t expect much. This gives me time to write better articles and send them to places that DO matter such as The Dam Good Times, patrioticwarriors.com, teapartytribune.com and ragingelephantsradio.com. Anyone who truly wishes to read what I have to say can find me at @wiiiilbur on Twitter with links that flow back to blogs NOT Facebook. The proof is in the pudding. Instead of fretting over my latest message on Facebook I wrote THIS article when I had basically taken the day off. How bout THAT? One day at a time, folks, one day at a time!

Baptize a Cat

Being a writer and achieving understanding is a little bit like trying to baptize a cat. Nobody that I know of starts out to be a writer unless they’re deluded. Oh, there’s all kinds of college courses you can take to learn the craft. Verily, verily, I say unto thee, you learned all you need to know somewhere back in grammar school. I run into these people all the time, one in particular who will count commas in my articles, and she and her mother roll in each “victory” like a dog in a dead armadillo. All them degrees hanging on the wall . . . can’t write a grocery list!

You have to be able to achieve understanding, no deeper than that. The choice of words is a contract between you and your reader. Words shift change through the years, and understanding is organic. Take the age old “can” and “may” argument. You know the one, “Teacher can I?” You get that lecture about the implications of the two words, but anyone with a frontal lobe will understand the kid wants to go to the bathroom. Agreement of subject and verb can be cute, but anyone with common sense can figure that out. And don’t forget local dialect. British and English is NOT the same language, and Texan isn’t even in the same ball park, yet somehow we all seem to understand each other, mostly.

The art of writing is condensing complicated thought down to a form that MOST people can pick up on. When I use the phrase, “If you believe that, have I got a bridge for YOU,” is a clever way of saying, “That’s . . . stupid!” Apply this to political commentary, and it really takes on feathers. Just ask Hillary about emails. Politicians make their bones twisting words, and when they fall short they hire professional liars called “Press Secretaries.” You KNOW this guy is liar, but it’s become a game seeing how much spin he’ll throw in to make the story cook. That’s where the writer comes in. Forget about journalists, they’re out there a spinning with the press secretary.

I have an evil plan in my writing. I want to keep on keeping on, putting out MY ideas, MY way, hoping that if enough people read me maybe, just maybe, they WON’T give us another Barak Obama. I know, I know, when pigs fly. Oh, wait, can I still say pigs? I guess since the pig is flying that makes it conform to Muslim thought where horses fly. Trying to keep up with the ever evolving political correctness meter is like having lunch with an ex-wife. You’re never gonna be right about anything, so just give it up and eat your burger.

While grammar, punctuation and syntax are not overly important in the world of SMH, LOL, and OMG, delivery is still job one, and you REALLY can’t learn THAT in college. Picking the right moment for the insertion of a hook is something you learn by DOING! The public can be a hot chick that everybody gets to date but you. You have to develop that “feel” to where you know the connection. It’s really quite simple, actually. You re-read your stuff a dozen times, and after that, if it “cooks” you’re good to go. Do the math; if you’re fairly normal at least half the people out there are on somewhat the same sheet of music, and if you’re crazy, well that’s the other half.

And speak your MIND! It’s fine to pick up new ideas and agree, but never lie about what you really think. Now, I’m all PC about Gay Marriage, but really, I think they’re all as crazy as an outhouse rat! Hey, I’m from Texas, you just gotta deal with it. I’m mixed on the border. We will always have people trying to sneak into a better life, but shouldn’t we at least have the CIA declare the cargo on all those 747’s bringing in all that COKE across the border? You see, there’s no doubt where I stand, so when some chick out in India jumps my butt I just blow her off.

And racism? Don’t worry about it. The University of Wisconsin just published a list of things that if you say, or do any one of the above then you’re a racist. My initial response was, “Wisconsin has a university?” Is THAT racist? Writers fall into that trap all the time and resort to phrases like “The ‘N’ Word,” to dilute the real thing, but when you use that it just makes people think the real word. I don’t think we have thought control YET. I’m still allowed to THINK the “N” word.

If you don’t get all tangled up in high English, political correctness, or “N” words you’ll probably pen something that people will read and understand. And that’s the key, understanding. If you rattle off a series of five syllable words and no one understands you, then you have basically said nothing, and there you go. . . baptizing that cat.

How I Really Think

I was being facetious when I said I got my feelings hurt yesterday. You’d have to get up pretty early in the morning to hurt my feelings. I’ve been married five times, been run off so many times that I thought PMS meant “pack my stuff.” What happened was I took off after Al Sharpton yesterday. Now, I’m going to go on record. I think Al Sharpton is a shallow minded, race baiting, lying pimp! He scans the headlines for anything he can inject himself into for a tidy sum, and he hasn’t done one thing to improve the human condition, white or black. Anyway, there were two people who took exception to my article, and that’s fine. Now, they didn’t READ the article, or at least didn’t read it with any comprehension. They leaped, like savage rabbits, and played that rusty old race card! THAT always irritates me. For somebody to read something that I’ve written, completely ignore the foundation, and come back with, “Oh, you just saying that ’cause he’s black!” Nigga please! (Is that racist enough for you, honey?)

So I checked out my two opponents. Frankly, today I don’t even remember their names, but the guy actually went to the University of Texas. Now, I’m an old Texas hard liner so that set me back a bit. Kid went to UT so he HAD to have learned SOMETHING! Then I went and checked out the girl. Cute! That goes a long way with me. (Hmmmmm. I might not be a racist but I AM a Chauvinist!) Anyway she made statements that my article wasn’t even an article for various reasons, and mentioned that I had horse whipped the Muslims a week ago also. She harangued my style, my content, and said that I was arrogant. Now, I’m fixing to get real blunt here, reader’s discretion advised! FYI, my own brother made fun of the title of my last book and I haven’t spoke to him for two years.

I write dozens of articles every day. I’ve written four books, three thousand songs, been in Country music for over forty years, and I’m not about to take criticism from some hula girl with a Facebook account! My writing style is actually contrived. I didn’t just stumble upon it one day in the shower. I use a theory I refer to as “circles.” The human mind reaches for completion. THAT’S why a song will get stuck in your head. Because you mind missed something and struggles to complete it. Fifty cents worth of psychiatric input there. That’s also what makes a song work. Verse, verse, chorus, lead riff, verse, chorus and out. Perfect circle! If you study most of my articles you’ll see that pattern almost every time.

There are two more elements. Humor, and simplicity. There are seven things that will construct humor in the brain. My humor is by comparison. Take a situation, paint mental images, easy to remember, with little Texas catch phrases like, “save your fork,” and “swat them bees,” to cement the prose of the article in the readers mind, compare the two and voila! You have humor. I don’t write ANYTHING by accident! Every line, every word is placed exactly where I intended it to be. I don’t use repetitive “ands” but I do throw in slang, and words like “gonna, ain’t,” and even a sloppy double negative here and there, and I do it for a reason. SIMPLICITY! When I address a complex situation I step back, look at it, and ask myself, “Now what is this guy REALLY saying?” Just like my opinion of Al Sharpton. For everything he’s ever said, or written, it all boils down to, “Give me de money!”

You can never predict my position on any matter, because I don’t know my position on any matter until I write it. I didn’t not agree with George Zimmermans shooting of Trayvon Martin, but frankly, I’d have shot Michael Brown from the car! My logic was simple. For all the MMA crap, Martin could NOT knock Zimmerman out. I, myself, been attacked by not one but THREE black thugs in my own driveway, and I didn’t kill anybody, and it’s not because I have the light of sweet Jesus in my eyes. It’s because when you stick a gun in someone’s mouth they go from thug to PHD in two seconds flat! And, oh yeah, I only did that cause they was black! For the record they embarked on a huge conspiracy to steal my cigarettes!

Now let’s jump on the religion thing. Yeah, I’m gonna go there, deal with it. I think most religion is silly. Not God, RELIGION! I was a devout Catholic, and before that I was a devout Baptist. Now I’m just a devout ME! I admire people like my friend Doc Greene who can live their faith and not hurt anyone, but when I see Muslims, the Westboro Baptist Church, and sidewalk, soapbox preachers looking forward to the end of the world like Al Sharpton, you damn well better know that I’m gonna express an opinion! If you want to pray five times a day and never eat a ham sandwich, I’m cool with that, but when you blow an old lady’s head off in the street because of the crazy ramblings of some guy who died sixteen hundred years ago we gotta talk! I SAW David Koresh, and NOT on CNN.

As far as acceptance of my writings? Well, I’m sitting here having a very dry martini, a Roosevelt Peter, smoking a Nicaraguan cigar on the porch of one of my three houses. So, to address that young lady from yesterday with a mouth full of opinions, yeah honey, I’m a bit arrogant. Matter of fact I’d like to run a few martins through you and see what pops out the other end. When you get past sixty or so you become pretty much settled in your opinions. You tend to view the world with a pretty jaundiced eye, but mainly you see things and people for what they really are.

I pulled out of Glozens yesterday because I knew that anyone small minded enough to address my articles in such a fashion would probably run to Facebook like a little child and I’d go to Facebook jail (again.) I’ve got books to sell. Martinis and cigars cost MONEY, and I don’t have the gig the REVEREND Al Sharpton has. I have to budget.

Writing in Today’s World

Writing and putting a book out is an MF’r! Oh, I’m sorry, good Sunday morning everyone. Anyway, tying up all the lose ends and getting a book out to the public can be an exhausting experience. When you start one of these things you really don’t intend to finish it, or at least I don’t. Mine usually start as a few lines, maybe a page or two, never anything like a PLAN or anything like that, oh no! When I write a novel I usually write the end first. I write jokes like that, too. Come up with some funny line, and then have to fill in story to support the humor.

I think along about page sixty or so it begins to dawn on me that this thing is a bit more than a grocery list. At that point some sort of direction begins to form, but nothing that’s going to intimidate Hemingway, or anything like that, just several pages that seem to be on the same track, but don’t quote me on that. Then two things happen. First you become inspired, and that’s dangerous. When you become inspired you stop combing your hair. The next is what goes into this particular work becomes restricted. If you’re crazy enough you think you might actually have some kind of “message” for the people, you start being very careful about what you put in. Now this works up to a point because if you’re not too schizophrenic what fits, and what doesn’t fit becomes readily apparent soon enough.

In my latest assault on human intelligence there was this one chapter. Since it was a book of political satire, I had to include this one particular subject, which was about as funny as a birthday party at Auschwitz, so I scanned the Internet and found several news stories to substantiate my views and put them all in. Several things wrong with this. First of all it’s just plain ol’ down home plagiarism. Next it’s the lazy man’s way out. When I see an article with a lot of quotes, figures, and bits and pieces from other sources I simply won’t read it. Anyway, this chapter didn’t fit in any way with the spirit of the book, and it took Amazon, oh, about three hours to pack it in my ear. I ended up replacing it with another article that I had written, which was clever, serious, and had a twist at the end, which was still not funny, makes the reader think, and consider.

You ramble on for a period of time and then one day it looks like this thing may be a book, and could be drawing to a logical end. To show you how stupid I really am, it’s along about this point that I begin to save copies on flash sticks. Up until that point I’m writing on just about anything. I have written a book on a iPhone! It is also long aboutnthis time you begin to think about editing. Now, I’m fixing (how do you like that Texas slang? “Fixing!) anyway, I’m fixing to step off into uncharted territory here that’s going to alienate, oh, about ninety-nine percent of the published world, but I don’t believe in editors. I had one once.

Back in the day, when literacy was the standard, prose, punctuation, syntax, and other things were important. Well, Facebook and texting did away with all that crap. This is good and bad. The bad is that very ignorant people can now have their moment in the sun to a very large portion of the population, who are just as stupid as they are. Stupid people have influence. If you don’t believe that, just look at the White House, but I digress. The good part is that language, English in particular, has been reduced to a level that most people can comprehend. When you’re writing for the boys and girls down at Harvard that’s one thing, but when you’re targeting Texas A&M, and you’re a two-bit blogger, such as myself, you have to communicate in the local vernacular. “Cast your eyes in yon direction” will translate to, “Lookee yonder!” Now, I’m not slandering the Aggies, but . . . Oh, forget that, yes I am, but let’s continue.

If you have any native intelligence at all you will pick up on some of the more basic rules of writing. Past tense, future tense, and all that stuff becomes apparent. You won’t really be able to articulate why it works, you’ll just feel it. You will know when you make mistakes. Sort of like when you meet some girl in a bar, talk with her for fifteen minutes, she goes to the rest room and never comes back. Like that! I throw out bits and pieces here and there, and friends who DID finish high school will point out goofy stuff to me. That’s editing! With this last book I sent copies to a friend of mine down at a radio station in Houston. As it turned out, he liked the articles and the owner of the station was kind enough to run a substantial amount of them on their web page, AND even read them on the air, which is always good. I intended him to read over the finished book and get back with me, but after Amazon had animal sex with me, I realized my friend had already READ most of the book anyway! The most important ingredient was already there, COMMUNICATION! Who is a better editor? A radio talk show host with thousands of listeners, or some old bat in a New York flat catering to a bunch of people who’ll never buy your book ANYWAY? Do the math. (And it’s real simple math, folks,)

Spelling is sort of important, but it’s not a deal killer. I try never to use a word that’s smarter than I am. I level out around three syllables. On occasion I’ll chunk in a four, but that’s rare for me. When Texans see too many four syllable words they will tag you as a Yankee, and that IS a deal killer. I try not to cuss too much. Sometimes it fits. I don’t cater to thin skinned liberals, but I do want to get at least SOME of my ideas across the Red River, and there IS a contingent out there who still don’t know what an S.O.B. is so I have to weigh my options. I write about politics and there ARE some S.O.B.’s out,there, trust me. I use spell check, but I don’t pray to it, especially when I manufacture a word here and there. And auto correct? Oh my God! Remember when I told you about the people who had been schooled on Facebook vernacular? Well, auto correct is for them. I put auto correct in the same basket with that animated paper clip in Word that dances around and tries to tell you about sentence structure. As soon as I realized I was listening to a paper clip I turned that little prick OFF! I don’t CARE if it’s an incomplete sentence. Miss Hornbuckle back at Killeen High School is not grading this paper, ok?

After it’s all over and you push the button depression sets in. Oh yeah. You must understand that all writers are crazy, myself included, and fifty percent are crazier than THAT! After all is said and done, and the book is finally out you will experience a void, but that void is nothing compared to what you feel when you re-read your PUBLISHED work. At this point you seriously consider using a Pen Name. The duration of this depression depends on your basic mental health and medication. A bottle of Jim Beam usually does the trick for me. I try not to get depressed on Sunday because I live in Texas, and Texans never seem to plan ahead on Saturday night.

Don’t watch sales. Therein lies madness! If you get a check, dance in the street. If you don’t get a check, don’t tell anybody. Remember, most people have never written a book, and those who do will never make a dime. It’s not about that. It’s about communicating. If you are not communicating, and make a million bucks, you have failed! If you get a check for six dollars and thousands of people are sharing your blog, then you have touched the essence of what writing is really all about!

On Being Opinionated

by Wilbur Witt

I recently submitted an article to the local newspaper in an effort to see if it would possibly run some of my articles. I don’t like to submit locally, in fact I dodge it like the plague. When I left that garage studio in Harker Heights back in ’84 and went to Austin I never came back. I quickly found out that there’s a REASON places like Austin, L A, and New York turn out more publications than Ding Dong, Texas. But, I submitted, and patiently waited for the rejection. Notice how I knew that was coming. When it came the reason was that I was “opinionated.” What, ME, opinionated? NO!

Well, I AM opinionated. Rejections from local papers don’t affect me. I spoke to the representative and he told me that the paper was looking for a bit more of the mundane. We had a pleasant conversation, and I told him if he ever needed an article in my style please don’t hesitate to give me a ring. He’ll never call. He wants to keep his job. But I don’t hold this against him. Life is like an airplane. Some planes fly under 3,000 feet and others, well, they fly a bit higher.

When I write on any subject I insert what I think. That’s the whole purpose of writing. To communicate ideas to people makes the world connect, and when you have ideas that resound in the human experience that’s that makes the world not only connect, but think. Frankly, I can’t make myself get excited about writing a story about a girl scout cookie sale. Not that I don’t like girl scout cookies, but I simply MUST stay awake while writing.

I’ve made a career out of stating the unstateable. I apply old time Texas rules to modern circumstances. The results are usually good. I’m a little politically correct, but not much. When correctness approaches stupid I do a right turn (and I do mean right) and just tell it like it is. I knew Jodi Arias was going to spit that hook when I saw her stretch in front of that jury full of men. I knew George Zimmerman was going to walk when I saw that poster sized picture of the back of his head, and I’m telling you right now that Ali Baba out on Fort Hood will NEVER be executed for his crime. Why do I know these things? I know these things because I’ve got common sense. That, and I see the underlying issues.

Take for example the local paper here covering the Fort Hood trial. I glanced over the article briefly and all I noticed was how the reporter was very impressed with all the national media coverage. Frankly, he/she was star struck. Myself, I would have cornered one of the people involved in the shooting and got the rest of the story. I think this reporter simply copied the CNN story and went on about all the media trucks in the parking lot. And, yes, I would be “opinionated.” Now look at this story. Religious fanatic murders unarmed people. As I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again, I’m just a simple old boy from Austin . . .what do you think I’d like to do,to him . . .in your “opinion?”


Chasing The Brass Ring

I don’t have explosive outbursts of temper. I go into a slow burn as my mind considers the event that attracted my attention. So it was with the Sunday morning call I got. Over the last 48 hours, as I analyzed the content of said call I slowly, meticulously began to make decisions. The final choice was to distance myself from my two main antagonists. Over the years I’ve received no support, no advice, nothing from these people but berating, hate, and joy when I would stumble or fall. As with this last time, the very fact that I not only survived, but came out the other side better seemed to anger them.

While I never intrude into their lives it seems my life is a major topic of conversation. I don’t think either one of them has ever read a single article I’ve ever written, and never mind that I have several albums for sale on practically every download service in the world, published by my own label and several others, these two ignore that and ask me about Social Security. I never want to retreat to that! Even a small success in the entertainment industry beats that purgatory. And I know I’m on the right track because I watch my friends such as Ramona Myong, and Crystal Drument working toward the same thing.

My political views have been refined by conversations with my son, Master Chief Wilbur Witt III and the gentlemen at the Cigarbox. My two detractors couldn’t even tell you what political party I affiliate with. One does not need this. I realized years ago that if I wrote “normal” no one would read a word. My style is what it is. I try to be as politically correct as possible while mixing in a distinctive Texas slant. I try to say what a lot of people want to say but just can’t find the words.

I’m moving soon to the Texas coast. I would have preferred SoCal, but I was raised in Texas, and that gives me a proximity to Austin, which is important for a host of reasons. Using my blogs and music I try to direct attention to my books. Selling a book is hard. To be a writer you have to write tons! When the formula works it’s like a jet whose wheels just left the ground. You may labor for years with no real return, and then, in a moment of time, you find that one thing that works just for you. We live in an age of enormous access to media and public review. Back in the day this was controlled by a very small, select group of people. In the music business you quickly understood that writing a good song was hard, recording it was even harder, but distribution was the key. In one of my songs I wrote, “Well they didn’t sell worth a doodly squat, but I learn fast and do you know what, I got a use for a record that just won’t sell. Yeah, I put em in the oven and I turn on the gas, and they’ll shrivel up like a baboon’s ass, then you turn em into ashtrays and sell em to the cheap motels!” Folks, I’ve made a LOT of ashtrays!

People who long for retirement do not understand the creative mind that never rests. I’ve noticed that as I get older I get better. My two naysayers have always measured the value of their lives by the hour. One hour of their life is worth this much, or that much, and in the end they desperately cling to the fragments left by a mundane existence. Now we need people like that. Not everyone can be a writer, but don’t shoot down those of us who will swing at every baseball until we get a home run.

My one supporter is my son, the chief. He has seen me swing at those baseballs, and he’s seen me strike out, but he’s also heard my music in bars all around the world, and if I die without ever achieving a big success he will not be disappointed. This was one of the problems I had in SoCal. Wilbur tried his level best to provide me a perfect life. Only problem was I sat there in the perfect world with things left to do. Wine and cheese are all very fine but whiskey in a studio in Austin is much better.

Wilbur’s ideas mirror mine. He has served honorably in the Navy and will retire in a couple of years. He is not someone who is going to sit in the yard and check his blood pressure. He has received his Real Estate license in California and will leap into the market without a second thought. I don’t think he ever considered that he may retire from the Navy. He was my bass player at twelve years old. I think the Navy tricked him. He prefers California over Texas, but there’s medicine for that. He believes in progression of generations. I have a high school education, but it’s from Texas so that don’t count. Wilbur has a college degree. His daughter will one day be Dr. Kylie Witt! Her daughter, should she have one, will be president!

But I AM Weird Wilbur! I endured Roy Acuff and when he died artists like myself, and Rodney Carrington finally had a venue for our product. I got so sick and tired of corn pone country I wanted to puke! Now, I DO sell a few records. I do sell books, and people do read my blogs. If you’re a writer you understand that this is enough. If you are like my two experts it will pass way over your head.

People are People are People

by Wilbur Witt

Back in the day, when I first came upon Facebook, if you could follow it you were lucky. The entire idea of a “wall” was confusing. I pictured it as a sort of cyber graffiti where everything hung in limbo and you could pick and choose as you read. I even went down and bought a book (which I never read) about an inch thick instructing me as to how to explore this new site, and ran straight back to MySpace.

Time and tears went by, and I collected dust. My YouTube channel got properly hacked, causing me to rebuild, but that wasn’t necessity a bad thing. It was sort of like having a garage you always meant to clear out, but never did, and then one day the house burns down and you say, “That’ll work!” all that, and I can’t even remember my MySpace password anymore. (Is there still a MySpace?) I drifted back to Facebook and to my surprise it had began to make sense. Maybe it was my understanding, I don’t know, but communication was actually possible.

Basically I’m a writer. Forty-two years in music, three novels, and scores of articles, a couple of TV shows, I’m pretty much settled into this writing thing. Strangely, for years I didn’t refer to myself as a writer. When I was in Nashville my agent told me never to tell my neighbors that I was a country music writer. The locals considered that trashy. It was better to let them think you were a dope pusher, anything but a writer because that was a blatant admission to being unemployed! So, I still had that frozen in my mind and almost never told anyone that I was really a writer, but that’s what I am. When you see what I call income it’s almost always a royally on something I’ve written.

The net result of this is I churn out articles. I pick a topic and expound on it. I’ve very recently discovered blogging and that is fascinating. I was disappointed with Facebook because almost no one was reading anything I wrote. By this time I was confident. If no one was reading my stuff it simply couldn’t be my fault, Facebook was falling behind in MY expectations. Couldn’t be anything else. I considered trashing the whole Facebook thing again, but I came upon a concept and noticed something. It wasn’t like YouTube, where you counted the pennies until the check rolled in, it was “organic.” The ebb and flow of Facebook was driven by PEOPLE!

YouTube is commercially oriented. When you turn a country music comedian loose in a situation like that what you have is the proverbial fox in the hen house. In no time at all I’d figured out where Youtube’s jugular was and I had viral videos. I thought Facebook was the same but it wasn’t. Facebook people READ! The rule of thumb with YouTube was two minutes and fifty five seconds. Get it in, get it on, get it done, and get on out. Use the right loading format, make it hard and fast, mix in a little music (even if you steal it) and the ads will come, and that’s what you were really after, the ads.

I liked blogs because of their perpetuating nature. You could always improve on a blog. Unlike a video, or song, if you had a second thought you could improve on an existing work, even contradict it if need be. You can’t really re-record a song, nobody will buy it, but if you add to a blog people will follow you like a soap opera and each new entry feeds new life into the blog. Than I discovered something else. You can post the links to Facebook. Ok, now here comes the readers from WordPress, and BlogSpot, and people from Facebook clicking the links and your readers increase, which is a good thing. Add Google + and Twitter and you’re off and running. That, and it’s awfully nice if you really have something to say.

Then you find people. At first I friended almost no one. I was a firm believer in the premise that if you make a better hamburger people will come. I equated self promotion as a form of prostitution. Well, I changed. As other bloggers became aware of me and I noticed that Facebook was making suggestions on my news feed about people who may want to friend me based on mutual friends I began to do The math. Couldn’t hurt. All they can do is ignore me. I began to offer friendship based on these suggestions. I didn’t like the sterile nature of Facebook friends, however, so whenever someone accepted my offer I thanked them and actually looked at their page, learned a bit about them and began to follow what they said.

You can’t possibly know everything about everyone, but you can get the drift of your followers and frankly, write what you believe your audience will read. I mean, don’t lie, but tell it like it is in a way that they’ll like to hear. It also helps that I use an iPad so that I can’t write any faster than I can think. That, and a little Texas common sense, which is like the garlic on a good steak. Say the things that people want to say, but can’t, or don’t know how, so you say it for them. Like yesterday. I jumped all over Islamic fanatics. Now I did this because I don’t like Islamic fanatics. They’re stupid. They are running a three legged race with our government, but people dodge writing about it because a) it’s politically incorrect and b) they don’t wanna get blown the f#%k UP! But it needs to be said, and I have Muslim friends who tell me THEY don’t like them either. People are generally tired of all that crap. And, like most people, I’m tired of having the TSO reach in my pants because 1% of 1% of the world’s population can’t properly read the Qu’ran! Now there are exceptions to everything. If a twenty year old FEMALE TSO officer wants to screen me I’m cool with that, but it’s always a fat guy with a burr haircut. Not cool! Makes you almost want to say, “Please be careful, I just applied my medication.”

I try not to insult anyone’s religion. Frankly I don’t care what god someone prays to. I’ve been married five times, been in country music for forty-two years, and thought PMS meant “pack my shit,” so you’d be SURPRISED what I believe and I don’t share it here! I’m not here to convert people, I’m here to make them THINK! Suffice to say I don’t dodge a subject just because someone may get their shorts in a knot. I look a topic squarely in the face and tell it like it is from the slant of an Austin songwriter.

My aim is to entertain, and perhaps in the process, make a point. Sometimes I’m wrong. I do try to check out my facts a bit these days so my neck doesn’t look so red, but when I see something in the news such as the radical mother of two idiots who killed an eight year old boy trying to come to America to visit her scumbag surviving son in a prison hospital . . .OMFG! Don’t get me started! And she’s an ugly bitch, too, and that’s just unforgivable.

People are people are people. Once you realize that you can generally communicate and get along you have the basic understanding needed for this new world. That, and re-reading your posts helps. If your post doesn’t entertain you then it won’t entertain anyone else. It all boils down to communication. It doesn’t matter if everyone on the planet agrees with you so long as they understand you. I read it all. I try not to personally attack anyone. I stay calm (my doctor tells me I’ll live longer that way) and rest firm in the knowledge that when in do read a bad article, or blog, I know that after a big plate of bullshit there’s nothing like a good cigar!

Reflections on a Good Cigar

by Wilbur Witt

It has been one hell of a week. Not one, but two tragedies. Now the conspiracy grinders pour out their theories, and we all have to sit through that nonsense. In the midst of all this I finally managed to get a good night’s sleep last night. Woke up,this morning and went to my back porch, poured a cup of coffee, lit a Cuban seed cigar, and read the news.

This time of year in Texas is nice. Temperature is about seventy-five degrees, low humidity, a lot like California. Texas only has two seasons, too damn cold and too damn hot, but for a period of about thirty days between the two it is actually very nice. The Yankees call it Spring, I think.

The cigar and a good cup,of coffee makes me think, and when I think, I write. I have this expansive back porch, like you’d see on a hotel in the old west, really like the porch Judge Roy Bean had, that I have my mornings on. Leads to the pool, and a playground area. Actually quite nice. I was just prejudiced because my condo in SoCal had a view of the desert and Mount San Jacinto, while I have a view of the main drag in beautiful downtown Killeen here, but my area is nice, and the fire trucks and police provide a lot of entertainment.

I got off cigarettes. Got on them out in Cali and let me tell you, when you quit cigarettes, and go back to premium cigars it’s like you quit smoking! With cigarettes you concentrate on inhaling because there’s no flavor and the damn things only last about three minutes, so it’s like having sex with a girl in her twenties. You know it’s not going to last that long so you make it as hot as fast as you can and hope to God she’s impressed. Now a good cigar! Half the battle is keeping it lit. You might need to relight here and there, but it lasts a long time. And there is flavor. You don’t lunge into inhaling, letting the aroma drift over your nose and mouth, and the cigar is never quite completely smoked. Somewhere along the band you set it down and let it die with dignity, rather than crushing it out and breaking its neck like a cigarette. All this, and you can still relight it should you refill your coffee and wish a few more minutes.

My cigars smell so good that when I was going through my last divorce and living alone at Berry Creek, my soon to be ex came by and accused me of having a woman in the house. I had this guilty look all over my face because I had been smoking in the house and what she thought was a woman’s perfume was the lovely lavender smell left by a box of Cubans my son had smuggled to me.

This house belongs to my husband in law. He’s married to my ex. They live in what used to be my house about two miles from here and I keep this place up for them. I also sideline as day care for five of my grandchildren, all under seven, and we grill on the porch every night. I have the alarm set on my iPhone to go off at 5:00 PM. It’s that buzzer alarm sound, and when it goes off the kids think it’s saying, “EAT, EAT, EAT!” They run to the porch and dance around the grill like wild Indians.

All this gives me time to concentrate on writing and selling what I’ve written. What’s held me back for so many years is the fact that I had to work to live and the writing was always secondary. Now I can write and develop, and finally just come out of the closet and admit I am a writer. That freaks my sister out, I think. How a writer makes money is always a mystery to the uninitiated. I’ve made money writing. Ask the IRS.

I’ve got to finish my fourth novel, CenterVille, by October. Going to visit my son in SoCal for his retirement party, and while there I’m going to try to sell it. Then I’m going to write a book called, Solutions. The blogging thing has been kind to me. I didn’t take it seriously at first, but so many bloggers out there have helped me, and it did a lot of good to “mix with the crowd,” that I have developed more, if that were possible. When you’re a songwriter you work in the dark recesses of some studio somewhere, usually alone, and there is little or no interaction with others. This new medium is social, and that’s a good thing, I think.

I’ve decided to stay on Facebook. I’ve noticed that there are a lot of people that prefer that format, and they like to read what I write, so the click of one key doesn’t tax me much and it keeps old friends happy. I don’t worry so much about quantity anymore, opting for quality. I would rather have one person understand what I write than ten thousand hits that ultimately go nowhere.

I’m caving into pressure to see a doctor. Not a damn thing wrong with me, but my ex, and my husband in law, with all of their health issues, simply cannot imagine that anyone can be sixty-one and doing fine. They thought I was losing too much weight. No, since Cali I’ve just been eating right and I weigh what I SHOULD weigh. They worry about my prostate. Nope, works just fine, I have a nineteen year old girl friend. Of course they don’t like my martinis and cigar, well, pardon me for being a man! That, and my people tend to live into their nineties, and I think genetics might have something to do with that. But, to pacify them I will get a check up. Then I’ll just go back to living.

I don’t feel as if this is the final chapter of my life. I feel that I’ve just graduated from the school of life and the best is yet to come. I grew up in the sixties so I’m unimpressed by all this talk about Obama being a communist Muslim. How’d anyone come up with that? Aren’t communists supposed to be atheist? I’m just a simple old boy from Austin so these things are way over my head. I’ll just keep writing, trying to blend in a little west Texas common sense, and make sure, “EAT, EAT, EAT” happens on time every night.