On September 30th, 2009, I attended the book release for the Best of Philadelphia Stories Volume II.  I gave a (brief) reading from the piece, and someone put it on YouTube.  Here it is. 

The book can be ordered from Amazon here: Order Best of Philadelphia Stories II

(Also, my Facebook account is back up and running.  Feel free to send me an add request.)  

The "BEST OF PHILADELPHIA STORIES ANTHOLOGY" is available for pre-order.  As I've previously written, I am extremely honored to have "BJ SCHAFFER IS DEAD" included in the book. 

You can pre-order a copy here

As always, if you get the book and want to have me sign it, just send it to me and I will ship it back to you.  You can reach me at:

Bernard J. Schaffer

PO Box 775

Warrington PA 18976   

*Just another quick note, I caught an episode of "Wide Angle" on PBS last night from their "Time for School Series" and it floored me.  FLOORED ME.  It covers a group of seven kids from around the globe that they followed for 12 years.  I defy you to watch the story of Joab from Kenya and not feel the impact and magnitude of not only how this young man has risen to face the obstacles in his life (and the siblings he is raising alone) but also how we really have it this country. 

If you are an educator, Citizen of the World, or just a really cool human being, I am encouraging you to watch this program and then to go and support one of the organizations who are devoted to providing water, education, and shelter to some of the children struggling out there.  Personally, I picked Unicef, but there are a list of groups who have a more direct impact on the kids featured in the series found here.

Maybe you have a little extra money in your Paypal account, or maybe you can skip out on that cafe mocha latte for a few weeks, or maybe you can hold off on buying yet another pair of shoes.  You can do it.  We all can do it.   

I was notified that "BJ Schaffer is Dead" was selected for the "Best of Philadelphia Stories" Anthology.  It's due out this Fall and should be for sale in fine bookstores nationwide.  I had to fill out my very first "Author Release Form" and send it in.  That was a trip, seeing the words: "Bernard J. Schaffer, Author" in print, written by someone other than myself.

I was also notifed that Conceit Magazine accepted my short story submission "Deadliest Whisper" for publication.  It is scheduled to appear in the November 2009 issue.  It's actually what is technically called a "short-short" which means it clocks in at under 500 words (just a few paragraphs, really).  It was the first time I ever tried my hand at doing a short-short, and it took awhile to find a home for it.  I'm as pleased as punch to have that home be with Conceit. 

You can order single issues (Or subscribe!) online from the Magazine's MySpace page, located here: Conceit Magazine  Tell Perry I sent you.  She seems like a really cool person.

Finally, there have been some fairly major developments with "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror" but I'm not ready to talk about any of them.  Charles Bukowski had a rule that he never discussed what a story was about before it was written, because it "Let the air out of the tires." 

Well, this particular story has the makings of a whopper, but to get where it needs to go it will certainly need gas in the tank, rubber on the road, and a steady hand at the wheel.  I think I've found that steady hand, but I'm not quite willing to discuss it at this point.

In an unrelated matter, but still pertaining to the novel, I will now present, for your reading pleasure, an excerpt from a recent phone conversation:

    "B?  It's Dad."

"Hey.  What's up."

"I was talking to my author buddy.  You remember, him?"

"The one with the Big Time Connections?"

"Right!  He told me something, and I wanted to tell you.  It's about your book."

"...okay."

"This guy's got twenty something books on the New York Times best-seller list, B.  He's the real deal.  You need to pay attention to what tells you, okay?"

"All right, what did he say?"

"He said...let me make sure I get this right.  He said, that the books that are REALLY doing well right now are the ones that can be made into MOVIES."

"...."

"You hear me?  I said, MOVIES.  That's what kind of book you should write."

"Ah.  Well...thanks, Dad.  Listen, I have to go."

"Me too.  Just keep that in mind, okay?"

"Movies.  Got it."

"Good job!"

We all clear now, folks?  Good.  See you next time!

     Someone sent me a link to a page on Wikipedia for "BJ Schaffer" and sure enough, there it is.

     Very strange. 

     I am a frequent user of the site, and rely on it heavily for my writing.  There is even a mention of the story "BJ Schaffer is Dead" on there, but no link to Philadelphia Stories.  Apparently the article is marked for possible deletion, because they can't authenticate it. 

     I really have no idea how to contribute to Wikipedia. or to assist them in authenticating it, but rest assured, if the person who did author it would like me to verify the facts, I will.  Thanks for doing it, I think... at least they didn't put up anything bad. 

Vote For "BJ Schaffer is Dead"

Philadelphia Stories is holding an online poll to see which stories should be included in their second anthology.  If you enjoyed the story, please be sure to vote for its inclusion.  

Thanks!  

    As far as I can tell, the Summer 2009 issue of Philadelphia Stories comes out tomorrow.  I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw it on the cover page.  Thank you!!!!!!!

    Available at fine purveyors of books and periodicals all throughout the Phildelphia Region.  Make sure you check out their website for a list of locations.  HERE

    I've already gotten some inquiries about signing copies, so I'll tell you what: Anybody who picks up a copy and wants to get it signed, shoot me an email.  I'll give you an address where to send it to me, and I'll hook you up with a personal message.  Maybe someday you'll make big bucks on Ebay with it. 

    Cheers. 

     So I don't write on The Enemy Blog for weeks, because I am completely focused on getting "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror" finalized, and then so many things happen in a short period of time that I wind up writing twice in one day.

     If I had any doubt that you guys were still out there, they are removed now.  The earlier post today got over a hundred hits.  I am humbled.

    I'm going to back up now, before I get to the good news. 

    It was the mid-90's and I went with my friend Adam to the Philadelphia Comic Book Convention.  I wasn't really keen on the comics back then.  I went just to meet a friend.  Well, we were meeting for the first time, but this was someone I felt I already knew intimately.  Kind of like that girl from Kentucky that you talk to on the internet.  You two have shared everything but the same time zone.  

    Harlan Ellison, mercurial science fiction author and essayist, was coming to the convention.  For a nominal fee you could meet him, have him sign a few books, and hear him lecture.  I spent my early years studying everything the man had written, and knew more details about him than anyone should reasonably know about another human being they are not in a relationship with.  Well, let me scratch that.  I was in a relationship with Harlan.  He just didn't know it. 

    It is probably the same relationship that most writer's share with their readers.  A writer's job is a complicated one, but at the essence of it, we are supposed to break off little pieces of ourselves and present them for our audience's inspection.  Some really gloss it over and leave you with the impression that the author is some sort of holy man imbibed with God's wisdom.  Come to think of it, that might describe Harlan a little. Others not only don't polish it, they purposely leave it crusty and ugly, almost proud of their lesser-nature.  I'm thinking Bukowski. 

    So I waited in line to meet Harlan Ellison, getting more and more nervous the closer I got.  Finally, when it was my turn to approach him, I blurted out the first thing I could think of.  "You're going to read about this someday!" I said. 

    "Call security," he said, over his shoulder. 

    "What I meant to say was, I am a writer, and I'm going to write about meeting you," I said.  

    "Ah," he said, suddenly looking back at me.  For a second our eyes met, as if he were an old gunfighter assessing the young gun across the saloon.  "You're a writer?  What have you published?" 

    And that was the Atom Bomb that Harlan chucked into my lap, folks.  The truth was, I had published nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Not one single person in the whole planet had ever read anything I'd written and said, "You know what?  This kid can write.  Roll the presses!"  

    But rather than lie to Harlan, who I suspected would sniff it out instantly, I said, "Nothing.  Yet." 

    He looked back down at the book I was having him sign and said, "If I had to do it over again, kid, I'd have been a plumber."  He handed me the book, and that was that.  

    It wasn't hard for me to unravel the brilliance of Harlan's question.  What he was telling me was that you can write all day, you can fill up volumes and volumes of the greatest literary feats known to man, but if nobody publishes it, you ain't shit.  And I wasn't shit.  

    "Still ain't shit, stupid!" 

    Ah well, nice to see Aunt Jane is still with us.  

    I told you guys awhile back that I was stepping away from The Enemy Blog in order to pursue a legitimate writing career.  In fact, I have done what I said I would do.  My goal was to attempt to get some solid publishing credits under my belt before trying to sell "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror."  You already know about the "American Police Beat" article, which came out two days ago.  I got more good news today. 

    There I was coaching first base for Enemy Blog Jr.'s little league team, and I happened to check my email on my phone.  It was from "Philadelphia Stories" magazine, telling me they want to run the "BJ Schaffer is Dead" piece.  That's a good week, folks.  The best thing about it is that I'm getting very positive feedback from the people I submit to.  Professional people who have no reason to lie to me one way or the other, but they are telling me that my writing is strong.  They are telling me my work is worthy. 

    As far as the novel goes, there are some interesting things happening on that front as well, but I am in no way ready to talk about them.  All I can ask you to do is cross your fingers and wish me luck.  Blind luck.  The kind of luck that favors children and idiots.  The kind of luck that if you are bold, sends mighty forces to your aid. 

    And just for the record, I sent Harlan a message, about fifteen years after the fact, that I finally had an answer to his question.  I am extremely grateful he asked it, because he taught me the difference between the Boys and the Men in that one brief exchange.  Not that I'm any hot item now.  I'm just one of another of thousands of writer's who have managed to get something into print.  But I do not intend to stay that way.

    Everything has a beginning.  I say we see where this thing takes us. 

    On a funny side note:  Adam and I later met another famous author named Neil Gaiman.  Adam was a HUGE fan of the Sandman comic series, and we waited in a long line that snaked around the upper-level of the Willow Grove Mall just for the opportunity to have Neil sign a book. 

    So we get to the front, finally, and Adam walks up to Neil Gaiman, takes one look at him and goes, "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah...."

    And Neil smiles kindly at him.  "You know, you are under no obligation to say anything remotely intelligent when you get to the front of the line." 

    Adam presented his book for Neil's signature, and fled the store so quick that I lost track of him.  I handed Neil my book and said, "I really wish somebody had told me that when I met Harlan Ellison." 

    Neil smiled and said, "I bet we're going easier on you than Harlan did."

    Yep. 

    But Harlan showed me the line of division, and I'll be forever in his debt. 

    "It's Hard to Find the Right Words, But Try We Must" is the new article published in the May 2009 issue of the American Police Beat magazine.  (Pg. 6)

    I only have one issue of the magazine, and am not really sure how to acquire more, so requests for copies should be directed to APB itself.  American Police Beat Magazine

     Thanks to Cynthia, the editor at APB for giving me the opportunity to talk about such an important issue in their fine publication.  I look forward to submitting them again in the near future.

    Look around a minute.  You'll see some changes.  That's a good thing.  Some people don't deal with change well.  It makes them nervous.  Goofy.  Afraid. 

    I am officially retiring The Enemy persona, and with it, many of the rants and raves that were formerly found on this site.  My reasons are pretty simple.  I don't want to be a blogger anymore.  For over a year, I've committed to posting regularly on the EB, and found myself covering a wide array of of topics, ranging from politics to poetry, fiction to historical research. 

    There were benefits, and also negatives, to this.  For one, writing the EB, and finding an audience there, made it easy for me to communicate my ideas in a written manner and get instant feedback.  I'd sit down, start typing, and before you know it, people were reading it.  Compared to the actual process a writer has to go through to get work submitted, approved, and published, it was like a dream come true. 

    But that dream has since gone thin.  You see, if truth be told, I shouldn't be doing a blog.  If truth be told, I'm starting to see the whole thing as kind of masturbatory and self-indulgent.  I want to be a published, professional author.  And to do that, you gotta follow the Big Folks rules, kids.  There's formats, structures, word counts, and genre issues to deal with.  There's also a hell of lot of research and gruntwork that goes into mailing, copying, and following-up submissions.

    In the past week, I've grown serious about getting some real publishing credits.  I submitted five pieces to five different periodicals.  I only heard back from one so far, and they accepted it.  One of my "Way of the Warrior" essays will be appearing in the American Police Beat in an upcoming issue.  The first thing they told me was that it was too long, at 1,500 words.  The second thing they told me was that they normally only give people 450 words.  The third thing they told me was that they are giving me 650 words because, and I quote (Irene can back me up on this), it is "So good."

    And maybe that's what I need to know.  Am I really good?  I can blog all day, and get comments and feedback, and everything is groovy, but can I hang with the big boys?  Can I do this, for real?

    That is exactly what I intend to find out, folks.  I will keep this page as active as I can, always updating it when I have news to report.  God willing, you can read here to see whenever a publication will be carrying something written by Yours Truly.

    It may take some time for me to make the complete transition on this page from "Enemy Blog" to "Official Website," so for now, continue to write to me at BtheEnemy@comcast.net, or add me to your Facebook and message me there. 

    Thanks. 

                                                                                b. 

PS: I just checked the America's Most Wanted website and saw that Philadelphia Police Officer Richard Bowes is now a FINALIST.  That is AWESOME.  Thank you to everyone who voted!  You helped him get there!  Please continue to check the AMW site (Follow the link below) to see when we can vote to help Bowes win the whole thing. 

Richard Bowes AMW 2009 Link

     America's Most Wanted is holding their annual All-Star awards, and I want to ask all of you to click the above link and vote for a cop from our local region who deserves the award, and a community (both law enforcement and public) that desperately needs a little boost. 

     On September 23, 2008, Ofc. Richard Bowes responded to Patrick McDonald's request for backup on a car stop.  Before Bowes got there, McDonald was murdered by the subject he was stopping.  The gunman was attempting to flee, when Bowes arrived and began to chase him down.  

    Bowes got shot in the pelvis, and the scumbag came back, standing over Bowes and reloading his weapon to take a second cop's life that night.  But Richard Bowes, shot, bleeding, still had some fight left in him.  He pumped five rounds into that piece of shit and put him in hell for all eternity.  

    Richard Bowes is still out of work.  He was Officer of the Year in 2006, and Officer of the Month on fifteen separate occasions. 

    Now, I want us to help him receive this award as well.  Start voting, and do it every day.  I'll appreciate it, the cops will appreciate it, and we can help make honor a cop who more than deserves it.  Deadline is April 1st, but we can vote every day. 

    Thanks for voting, and thank you, Officer Bowes. 

    Vote For Richard Bowes 2009 AMW All-Star 

    It's been a little while since I wrote to you directly.  There's a reason.  I've been sorting some things out lately.  Trying to fit the pieces together.  Trying to get a grip on what is happening. 

    But the truth is, I'm not the one who needs the grip.  My grip is pretty good, to be honest. 

    It's like I'm a mountain climber, making my way up toward the top of the mountain, and all around me, I see dear, beloved friends and family who are also making the same climb.  My spikes are set.  My ropes are tight.  And I'm looking over at them yelling "You are going to fall!!!!!!!"  Because they are.  For a multitude of reasons.  And they look back at me and shrug.  They know it too. 

    I really am at a loss to explain it, but for some reason, a majority of the older men in my life who I have spent a long time looking up and emulating have really gone off the deep end.  I am stunned to be watching them crash and burn, waiting for them to pull out of their nose dives, and it just isn't happening.

    So what do I do?

    And please, spare me the platitudes.  Don't write me any bullshit like, "Just be a good listener."  I know that.  I did that.  I listened until my head was spinning.  I tried to offer advice to people who I should be asking for advice from.  I tried to give counsel.  Want to try something odd on for size?  Have your male role model breakdown in front of you and tell him to knock it off and act like a man.  Or, even better, just sit there in despair and bitterly wish it. 

    One thing about me is I don't like celebrities.  I don't want to meet the people whose work I admire.  I don't particularly want to hang out with them. I know in my heart of hearts they are just like I am.  They might play guitar better than anyone else on the planet, but after 24-Hours of being in the same room with them, I'm ready to throttle them just like anybody. 

    It's probably a result of being exposed to so many famous people as a kid.  I saw lots and lots and lots of celebrities and politicians and artists.  I saw their hangers-on.  I saw the makeup people they bossed around.  I saw the screaming fans.  I saw it all, and it just seemed ridiculous. 

    Now, don't get me wrong.  I have people I admire.  I admire the President a whole lot.  I would buy him a beer any day.  I admire a wide variety of artists and authors and actors and writers and founding father's and more.  But they aren't my "hero's."  I don't have any.  I don't want any.  Call it a result of my job.  I can tell you with all certainty that any person on the planet is capable of anything you can imagine, as long as they are given two things: The opportunity, and the motivation. 

    And the list of those possible things runs deep and wide, folks.  Very deep.  Very wide. 

    I had a conversation with my sister last night, which is noteworthy because she and I are not on speaking terms.  We've talked twice on the phone in the past year.  I saw her once, at a funeral, and we didn't say more than three words.  It's stupid, I know, but it is a reality. 

    So she called me and asked me what I thought about someone we both know, one of the people I am talking about here.  She asked me if it were possible that this person would ever do anything so foolish as to hurt themselves, or someone else.  And you know what I told her? 

    Hope not.  

    I hope not, and I've talked about it with that person, and they've assured me it won't happen, but you know what?  I can't say for certain.  It is out of my control.  It is beyond my reach.  Furthermore, at the end of the day, it is not my responsibility to chase after that person to get help, make ammends, stay healthy, come home, or what have you.  It's on them.    

    I get into this conversation alot with Agent Provocateur.  She's one of those people who assumes jurisdiction over every person's well-being who is in her life.  If you are close to her, and you have a cold, you can bet she is running to your house with a box of tissues.  She takes it further than that as well.  She is one of those people who will become physically ill with guilt that she didn't "Do Enough" to help someone if they are on a downward spiral.  

    Tonight, she and I were talking about drunks at bars.  She was saying how she raced after a friend who was trying to leave a bar, trying to stop this person from driving drunk.  It was a whole big scene, with flocks of people trying to prevent this person from doing something that would harm them, or someone else.  I just laughed.  I promise you, you will not see me doing this.  I might beat your ass to stop you from driving.  I might take your keys and chuck them into the woods.  I might call the cops and tell them where you went.  I might give you a ride home.  I might do a whole lot of things to help you if you are open to it, but I guarantee you that I am not taking responsibility for your stupid ass.  That's on you.  

    And if you don't believe me, you can ask my son.  

    When Enemy Blog Jr. was five years old he was running down a gravel driveway at his pre-school.  I told him EVERY day not to do it.  Every day he didn't listen to me.  Every day I raced after him to grab him and keep him from falling.  One day, he took off on me, and I said, "Whoa!  Stop!"

    And he didn't. 

    "You're going to-"

    POW! he went face down into the stones, and all I heard was shrieking.  I ran over to him, picked him up, and saw his lip was busted up and there were stones in his face.  All the mom's and teachers came running over to us.  All of them were saying, "Oh my god" and "Awww, poor thing," and you know what I said?  I said, "Serves you right, dummy."

    I caught SO MUCH FLAK over that, let me tell you, but to THIS DAY when I tell him to stop something and he doesn't listen, I say, "Okay.  See what happens."  And you know what?  He stops. 

    My boy suffers for the simple fact that he is a boy.  I expect him to be tough.  I expect him to be strong.  My widdle biddy baby girl is a different story.  Her, I baby.  Of course, I plan on teaching her the fine art of combat with edged weapons as soon as she is old enough to hold one, but that's really just for when she starts dating.  That being said, those are the two people I love wholly and unconditionally.  No matter what.  I would risk life and limb for either of them without hesitation, and destroy anyone or anything if need be. 

    But all the rest of you motherf***ers are on a conditional basis. 

    Even those who I've gone into battle with.  Even those who brought me into this world.  I love you all to death, but goddamn, if you're going to act in a way thats an embarassment to the both of us, don't expect to hear much from me.  I'll call at Christmas.  Vaya con Dios, muchacho.

    You see, I don't believe in pity parties.  I don't believe in whining.  I don't believe in rolling over and showing your belly and hoping someone takes mercy.  And I don't believe that people who set the events of their own demise in motion, and are too entrenched in their own chaos to knock it off will come out of it any other way than if they decide to.  No matter how much I ask them to.  No matter how much I wish it were so. 

    And I'm not going down with that ship. 

    I can trace my bloodline all the way back to the Merovingian Kings.  To Aethelwulf.  To Fulk the Red.  To freaking King Charlemagne.  And to some of you who are reading this, I can probably trace yours along the same exact line as well.  Maybe it's time you took a good look in the mirror at how you stack up to that noble lineage and what you'll say to them when we go to sit in that Great Hall.  Do you really want to tell them how you laid down and gave up?  I would hope not.  We come from warriors and kings.  I'll never be anything less than that.  If you choose to turn your back on who you are, I can't help you.

    I won't help you.  

    I'll tell you that you are about to fall.  I'll extend my hand and say, "I've got you while you refasten the riggings."  I'll listen to what you have to say and give you my thoughts.  But, if none of that works, and you plummet to your doom, or you crash and burn, or you self-destruct, guess what? 

    You did it to yourself.   Serves you right, dummy. 

the sun sets on some distant ocean

a clock ticks, timeless on a wall

a diamond mine's cruel reality claims a worker's limbs

multiple dangers loom upon us all

somewhere, someone loses

someone undeservedly wins

somewhere, somethings are less complicated

and sometimes it's just better before it actually begins

odds are we will not succeed

odds are our engines will stall and fail

odds are before it is all said and done

someone will turn and tuck their tail

but

if that's always the case

what really makes a difference in the end

between the ones who somehow pull it off

and the ones who never contend

and take

no risk?

the moon is full and high

somewhere it drives men strange

hidden weapons zero in

and you never know when you are down range

somewhere, someone good dies

someone unworthy lives

somewhere, somethings are not what they should be

and some people you just cannot forgive

odds are the plan will not work

odds are we'll be caught and tried

odds are someone is watching closer than we thought

and not all of us will survive

but what

if we stayed home

and the resistance never arose

and the forces standing firm

never found themselves opposed

because we took

no risk?