"Now, honey, don't slip on the snow!" I hear my mother speak and understand for the first time. "Hold my hand tight, and don't slip on the snow!" Her voice is tinged with the constant worry of a mother over her first child. She grasps my hand firmly and guides me down the staircase leading down to the first story of the apartment building. As I get half-way down, I realize it is the white, crusty-hard stuff she is speaking about. For all its iciness, my mother decided to dress me in a horribly scratchy woolen dress and black patent-leather shoes; the only thing she didn't put on me were tights. I look down at the snow and the realization hits me like a freight train:

"So, THAT'S what's blowing up my dress freezing my butt off?" I have hated snow ever since.

(This is my true first conscious thought.)

MDF is the fact that I have no filters. I mean none whatsoever. That means I'll say anything, especially the harshest, most bald truth about something others would never say. And, what's worse, is that I never even realized it before someone on social media pointed it out to me: "I love reading your posts! You have no filters at all!" Of course by that time, I'd already unwittingly smashed every positive relationship I had. You can call it a flaw, a defective personality, whatever you like to call it.

I call it "unfiltered coffee." Too strong and gritty. Most people don't like it, no matter what they say...

The appearance of being true or real.

‘the detail gives the novel some verisimilitude’

The above sentence, my friends, is the best definition of my favorite word I could find. And it's the closest to my own definition. Since I write near-future sci-fi I have to constantly be aware of the need for verisimilitude in my books. Otherwise, I think, people will not be able to relate to characters if they are not realistic. Therefore my settings are paramount as is the level of technology which evolves almost daily in the real world. As long as the story setting is given verisimilitude, readers can get into the world that is like their own or could be their own. And that's why it's my favorite word.

I decided one early workday evening to go to the top of the Capital Records building in Hollywood and survey my worldly accomplishment. I climbed the last stairwell up above the penthouse floor and opened the door. I peeked over the edge of a waist-high cement wall that circled the round building. In the burning dusk of sundown, the city glowed its blinking eyes making a three-dimensional panorama. I spun around--a 360-degree view--opened my arms to welcome it and realized I'd made my dream come true! All the focus, all the learning, all the mingling led up to this moment. Since I was seven years old & saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, I knew what I desired...and this was it. Most of my idols were on the artists' roster and I got to meet a lot of them. All the sacrifice, all the intensity, had not gone for nothing. I flung my arms out again with sheer joy and excitement and wanted to point to the city shining in the last shards of dusk toward the sea in the west...but like the mermaid story, I looked and there was no one there. No friend, mate, co-worker there to share my thrill. There was no one to look when I pointed at the sea or the hills in the north. No one to agree with me when I said when I said it was magnificent and no one to share the sense of accomplishment. In that one moment, I understood the song "Lonely at the Top" with Randy Newman's sad and sardonic rendition. The sorrow was palpable and I choked back tears. I walked to the circular wall again and this time didn't peek. I leaned over and wondered when they found me, if they would know it was suicide or just a sense of utter loneliness. Or both.

Finally, the vertigo passed, and I stood up straight. It didn't matter. I'd done it. By myself and without anyone's help. I'd done it. I did what I wanted to do and would never have

been satisfied with anything less. Nothing could have satisfied me more than standing on the top of that that tower and surveying my kingdom. I could say to myself that I did it against all the odds; I did it. And that matteredI decided one early workday evening to go to the top of the Capital Records building in Hollywood and survey my worldly accomplishment. I walked up the last stairwell up above the penthouse floor and opened the door. I peeked over the edge of a waist-high cement wall that circled the round building. In the burning dusk of sundown the city glowed it's blinking eyes making a three dimentional panarama. I spun around--a 360 degree view--opened my arms to welcome it and realized I'd made my dream come true! All the focus, all the learning, all the mingling led up to this moment. Since I was seven years old & saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, I knew what I desired...and this was it. Most of my idols were on the artists' roster and I got to meet a lot of them. All the sacrifice, all the intensity, had not gone for nothing. I flung my arms out again with sheer joy and excitement and wanted to point to the city shining in the last shards of dusk toward the sea in the west...but like the mermaid story, I looked and there was no one there. No friend, mate, co-worker there to share my thrill. There was no one to look when I pointed at the sea or the hills in the north. No one to agree with me when I said when I said it was magnificent and no one to share the sense of accomplishment. In that one moment, I understood the song "Lonely at the Top" with Randy Newman's sad and sardonic rendition. The sorrow was palpable and I choked back tears. I walked to the circular wall again and this time didn't peek. I leaned over over and wondered when they found me, if they would know it was suicide or just a sense of utter lonliness. Or both.

Finally, the vertigo passed, and I stood up straight. It didn't matter. I'd done it. By myself and without anyone's help. I'd done it. I did what I wanted to do and would never have

been satisfied with anything less. Nothing could have satisfied me more than standing on the top of that that tower and surveying my kingdom. I could say to myself that I did it against all the odds; I did it. And that mattered.

Space station. Pictures of Earth from Space Station. Seeing the same thing about all stars: orbital or round. Ending at the same place you were when you started traveling. Going extreme south or north: weather temperatures. Those are some basics. People might have their worlds rocked but I doubt it.

Uh oh. Awake and trying hard to gauge the urgency of the situation. Switching to AI: "Overload input to circuitry stacking fast and heating systems. Shut down to avoid crash--" Pause. "Disregard previous warning. Heating of systems due to excess organic material gases invading surrounding area & causing temperature rising."

You know, your priorities have always been a little skewed off the path. Whether you got that from your parents or never learned it in the first place doesn't matter now. Everyone loves you for the prayers and favors you do, but those who really do love you...let's just say you let down when they needed you most. Like your sister. When she needed you most, you couldn't think of asking others for what she needed. No, you half-heartedly searched for clinical trials but couldn't find any. Never crossed your mind to ask those who you helped and only found out nearly a year later that some of them participated & were both healed and knew where to find them. Go ahead, make excuses for yourself: "I was too shocked to think correctly" etc. Go ahead and tell me "maybe it was her time" and watch as I laugh hysterically at your remission of sin by yourelf for yourself. You know what the truth is, you're just chickens**t to admit it. I'd guess I'd be too if I was in your shoes. Go ahead, swallow them up, all your excuses. It's just a little too late.