As an author building my brand, I know I shouldn’t post some of the things I do, even though I keep it on my personal page. And I’ve certainly gone against much of my family in my posts, although that is probably par for the course at this point in my life. Posting my opinion and fears made me feel better, despite possible ramifications.

Here’s why. A lot of writers (or anyone in a creative field) are highly emotional people. We live on a rollercoaster of ups and downs, and that’s sometimes DOUBLED because if we’re doing it right, we’re suffering through our character’s woes as well. My mind never stops, and it’s full of about 900 different threads. Some are work related, many are family: my parents; issues between myself and others that have me baffled and hurt; Grace’s daily stuff. At any given time, there’s a conversation going on in my head. It might be something I want to say to a family member but never can, or maybe how I’ll deal with the attorney for my parents tomorrow, or even how to help Grace work through an issue. My point is, it’s all fueled by emotion. And often fear of the unknown is right on its heels. So add in something as volatile as politics and the future of our country, and things become a powder keg.

We see so many terrible things going on, and we read way too much on FB, and we just keep absorbing and absorbing, and then we’ve got to speak.

I probably spoke too much. To all of the family members and friends I offended: I never meant to target you in anger. I never meant to say you personally are racist, anti-semitic, anti-everything but straight, white male. When I wrote those posts, I wrote them with a vary specific subset of Trump supporters in mind, but I probably generalized the posts too much. I’m sad for the divide it’s probably caused with some family members, although the gap was already very established. I’m sad for anyone I made feel badly or targeted by my posts because that’s just another form of hate and fear that so many of us are afraid of for the next four years.

I do stand by the things I said. Putting them on Facebook isn’t the answer, however, because all it does is incite arguments and push-back. Clearly, no Facebook or Twitter status ever swayed a vote. But when you run on emotion like I do, and your life is so full of personal and business responsibilities, you feel like social media is the only way you can make a difference and get your voice heard. And how can we stay silent when we see terrible things happening, and we have so much fear for our future?

Social media isn’t the answer. It’s full of targeted hate and threats. Trying to make any point on whatever platform you choose is probably going to be ignored at best.

So what can I do?  I can donate to the various groups who are willing and able to protect civil rights and the environment. I can keep my eyes open in my community for hate crimes or threats, and I can educate my child that we must be tolerant of others’ opinions even if we don’t agree, but intolerant of bigotry and cruelty. I can teach her that skin color and religious preference don’t matter, and that we stand up to bullying in any form. I can set the best example I can for her and encourage her to do the same for her peers. I can tell her that even though times are scary, we are all going to be okay.

Because I have to believe that’s true.

If you want to donate time and/or money to groups fighting to protecting civil and human rights, click here.

Fear of death is something I struggle with, and it’s a topic I tried to explore with Lucy Kendall. Why am I so afraid? Is it a lack of faith? I don’t think so. I believe in God and some kind of an afterlife, even if I’m not sure any single religion is correct.

I think the real crux of it is the idea that one day, I will be no more on this earth. That my own body will just cease. I will be dead. I go through periods of mild panic attacks, usually in the middle of the night, when for just a very brief, heart stopping moment, the truth fully dawns on me. Dead.

And yet, I am strangely drawn to anything morbid. Research is easy for me. Crime scene photos don’t bother me (unless they’re children). The whole idea of embalming and how long a body can last is fascinating to me.

But I hate funerals. I hate seeing them in the casket, all waxen and usually nowhere close to looking like themselves. Dead people in pictures don’t feel as real. It’s easy to see them as an object, something that’s not going to happen to me. Seeing the reality, surrounded by grief and the powerful scent of funeral flowers, I can no longer pretend.

Like all parents, I don’t want to pass my hangups on to my kid. I’ve been very upfront with Grace about death, and her attending a funeral has been a point of contention between my husband and me. He believed she was too young, I thought she needed to have the experience before someone she knew and loved passed on.

She attended our friend’s funeral. Before we left, I told her what to expect, explaining how people often are embalmed and then we pay our respects. I wanted her to understand that death and the body she may see was nothing to be afraid of. It’s a part of life we can’t dwell on, and we were there to honor him.

Grace handled it well. So did I, once I realized the casket was closed. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see that good man like that, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to calm my daughter’s fears if she got upset, because deep inside, I’m scared too. But she did witness the mourning process, and she understood the gravity of the situation.

I still fear death, and I still don’t know exactly why. But hopefully, by being open and honest with Grace, I won’t pass on the same fears to her.

Some of you may have seen my posts on my Facebook Author Page about how Grace loves watching Cops with me. JAIL: Las Vegas is another favorite. She’s nine, by the way. She also enjoys Bones, and she’d watch The First 48 and Hoarders if her father would allow it. I suppose some would say sitting with my daughter, watching a police officer chase down a drunk after a car chase, is bad parenting. But it’s not like they show any sort of real blood and guts, and it’s an inside look at the real world. It’s a way for her to understand how foolish people look–and how easily drugs and alcohol can pull a good kid right off track.

The First 48 is a different story, because even with the human remains blurred, she’s still hearing about murder and rape and everything bad. I think that’s probably too much at this point, but she’s very interested in why people do these bad things. Aren’t we all?

As a kid, I remember watching police shows with my dad, and it definitely paved the way for my interests today. Grace is smart and inquisitive, and if we can watch the bad things together and talk about why these things are happening and what we can do to keep ourselves safe, is that really a bad thing? If we can talk about the mental illness of hoarding with compassion and understanding, isn’t that teaching her vital skills for life? And at the end of the day, it’s really about communication. She and I are doing something together, and we’re both getting something out of it. We’re bonding, and as she gets older, that is probably going to happen less and less. So I suppose I cling to it, no matter the subject.

What about you? What shows do you watch with  your kids and why? Are there any you absolutely forbid?

For every family like my own, who struggled with infertility, there are dozens of unwanted children born to parents who are either unwilling or incapable of caring for them. Most states have safe haven laws (known in some states as Baby Moses Law) where a child can be left safely at a fire station without the repercussion of criminal charges. Many desperate parents choose to use this life-saving options.

Others kill. And the justice system can’t see fit to treat them equally.

Kathryn Burton

In 1997 in Marysville, Ohio, 23-year-old Kathryn Burton delivered her third child, a boy, in a rusting bathtub of her small home. She told investigators the baby came quickly and she made no noise during the birth. The newborn wiggled his fingers and toes, and then Burton killed him. Police believe she struck his head against the tub.

Burton hid the baby under the bathroom sink while she dug a hole in the backyard and then buried the infant.

Burton was caught because she eventually had to go to the doctor for her bleeding and it was obvious she’d given birth. She finally confessed and told investigators where she buried the baby, but when they searched her yard, the infant was gone.

A second confession came: Roger took the baby. A married man, Roger Long lived across the street and allegedly only had sex with Burton once. He claimed she tried to hide the pregnancy but he was suspicious.

He found out what Burton had done three days after the baby boy was killed. He dug up the child, put him in a 2-gallon plastic bucket, and brought him home.

Long told investigators he reburied his son in the countryside. He led them to the spot, and sure enough, there was the pale skinned infant.

Kathryn has a low I.Q. and an eighth-grade education. She lived in squalor with relatives, including her two previous children. Some claim she was a victim, citing her low I.Q. and dire circumstances, and a part of me agrees. The woman and her living children clearly needed help.

Burton was sentenced to 15 years to life. Her first parole hearing was this month, and she was denied. She’ll stay in jail until at least 2020. Long was sentenced to 18 months in jail for obstruction of justice and tampering with evidence.

Should Kathryn be in prison for life? The harsh part of me says yes, she killed a child. How can there be any extenuating circumstances? But surely Roger Long should have more culpability than he’s been given. He knew what he was doing when he had sex with her, and if he thought she was pregnant, he should have stepped up. Instead, he left her alone, in deplorable conditions, and did nothing. At age 38, Kathryn could be released under orders to become sterilized, for she isn’t a threat to anyone else in society. But will justice have been done?

Melissa Drexler

Labeled “The Prom Mom” by the media, 18-year-old Melissa Drexler delivered her baby in a restroom stall at her high school prom on June 6, 1997. She pulled the baby out of the water, cut the cord on the serrated edge of the sanitary napkin dispenser, wrapped the baby in garbage sacks and threw it away. Then she returned to the dance.

One student later noted that Melissa seemed to be enjoying herself at the prom.

A janitor responded to reports of blood in the restroom and then found the trash bag. Emergency workers spent two hours trying to resuscitate the infant, but it was too late. The autopsy determined Melissa had choked the baby and smothered him either with her hands or with the plastic bag.

No one at Lacey Township High School in Forked River, New Jersey knew Melissa was pregnant. I’m not sure how a five foot seven inch, 130 pound high school girl does that, but it’s apparently possible.

Drexler plead guilty to aggravated manslaughter on August 20, 1998 and was sentenced to fifteen years in prison, the maximum sentence. Melissa read the following statement to the court at the time of her sentencing:

“I knew I was pregnant.
I concealed the pregnancy from everyone.
On the morning of the prom my water broke.

While I was in the car on the way to the prom, I began to have cramps. I went to the prom and I went into the bathroom and delivered the baby.

The baby was born alive. I knowingly took the baby out the toilet and wrapped a series of garbage bags around the baby. I then placed the baby in another garbage bag, knotted it closed and threw it in the trash can.

I was aware of what I was doing at the time when I placed the baby in the bag. And I was further aware that what I did would most certainly result in the death of the baby.”

Melissa Drexler was released on parole after serving just over three years.

Now, how is it that a legally consenting adult, with no apparent disabilities, who admits she knew what she was doing and clearly had time to change her course of action, only serves three years while someone like Kathryn Burton is still in prison?

I’ve no doubt both women knew what they were doing was wrong, but what Drexler did is every bit as deplorable as Kathryn’s actions. I’m appalled this woman was released after just three years. Her case, in my opinion, screams of pure selfishness.

What do you think? Should Melissa Drexler have served more time? Is Kathryn Burton serving too much? Should there be a universal law regarding infanticide?

Kathryn Burton – source.
Melissa Drexler – source and source.
Thanks to Catie Rhodes for the topic.