How Do We Know When Justice Is Served?

just (adj): fair, impartial; according to justice; due; deserved; righteous. [The Chambers Dictionary, 2005]

Justice is a concept that fascinates me, mostly because I find it to be nebulous and applied arbitrarily. I write the Cass Elliot crime series and in those books, the bad are not always immediately caught and punished. Which is the way I think life works many times, fairly or unfairly.
 

I've been thinking more about justice lately due to a recent bit of news that hit my slice of redneck heaven (more on that in a minute), and this blog post on why we need books about justice by fellow author Stephen Woodfin, where he said:

The law is nothing but a reflection of the customs and morals a society approves at a snapshot in its history. What the law favors in one decade, it may abhor in the next.

He gives slavery as an example. At one time, it was an acceptable practice under the law. In hindsight, we see slavery for the heinous institution that it is and the law has changed accordingly. To explain why we need books about justice, Stephen says:

...they nudge us toward a higher good. By approaching our society sideways, they demonstrate our blind spots and motivate us to reconsider where we are and where we are going.

Interesting. And true.

Now for the recent bit of news...

The little town nearest our spot of redneck paradise is suddenly struggling with the notion of justice. Seems its most famous killer, Bernie Tiede, might be set free despite receiving a life sentence for murder.

  

In case you aren't familiar with Bernie's famous crime, you can watch the 2012 movie BERNIE starring Jack Black, Matthew McConaughey, and Shirley MacLaine; you can read my blog post about the accuracy of that movie; or if you're short on time, you can read the brief synopsis below:



*Spoiler alert* A rich old man dies, an assistant funeral director (Bernie Tiede) befriends the mean ol' wealthy widow (Marjorie Nugent), she gives him power of attorney over her assets, he spends on her behalf, she drives him crazy, he shoots her in the back four times, stuffs her in the freezer, and then continues spending her money and pretending that she's alive but unavailable. When her body is found about nine months later, Bernie gives a tearful confession, but nobody (except the District Attorney) wants Bernie to go to jail. *Spoiler over*

Bernie was beloved in the community when the murder happened in 1996. Lots of little old ladies were grief-stricken over his confession (not over Mrs. Nugent's murder, mind you, just over the thought that Bernie might go to prison for it). They tried to post bail for Bernie and when that didn't work out, brought treats for him to the county jail.

Bernie has served almost sixteen years of his life sentence for murder, a first degree felony. Why is his case being reexamined? Bernie has opened up about the sexual abuse he suffered at the hand of a relative and how Mrs. Nugent's controlling behavior cracked the protective mental walls he'd built around that trauma. Due to her mental abuse, he snapped and shot her.

A new lawyer believes these factors combined to make Bernie's shooting of Mrs. Nugent a crime of passion rather than premeditated murder. The difference? A crime of passion is a second degree felony with a sentence ranging from two to twenty years. If the court decides that a jury would've convicted Bernie of a second degree felony rather than murder, it is conceivable that he could be released in the near future for time served.

(In his favor, it's hard to find people who speak positively about Mrs. Nugent. By most accounts, she was downright ornery. But does being mean justify murder?)

Regardless of whether Bernie snapped when he shot Mrs. Nugent in the back four times, he cleaned up the crime scene and hid her body in her own freezer. He then continued to spend her money and lie about where she was until her body was found. Some say this is exactly what a child would do when he realizes he's done wrong. But Bernie was 36 when he killed Mrs. Nugent, not a child, and he carried on this charade for nine months. I cannot imagine the pain he experienced as a victim of sexual abuse, but to his credit, Bernie went to college, held a responsible job, and was a respected member of this East Texas community for a long time. In other words, he was a functioning adult.

And here we are back to the notion of justice, what it is and how it applies in this case.

What should happen to Bernie? In a statistically insignificant survey I conducted, 80% of five people questioned thought Bernie should serve his life sentence. One thought he should go free. Back in 1997 when Mrs. Nugent's body was found, most people supported Bernie. Now, rumor has it that most of the town thinks he should stay in jail. (This probably means that most of the little old ladies who so fiercely defended Bernie back in 1997 have died.)

What will happen to Bernie? Only time and the courts will tell. Will justice be served? Perhaps it depends on which crime we're looking at.

I don't think there's any amount of 'time served' that can provide justice for Marjorie Nugent.

Was justice ever served for the sexual abuse Bernie endured as a child? Not to my knowledge.
 
Is it just or fair to try and compensate for the abuse he suffered by shortening his sentence for Mrs. Nugent's murder?

This, to me, is one of those times when justice becomes nebulous and arbitrary. I'll be curious to see what our legal system thinks about it all.

What do you think about justice?

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We All Live in a Four-Inch Long Baking Powder Powered Submarine...

Okay, my title doesn't play as well as The Beatles' lyrics, but this thing is loads of fun. Thanks to friend and fellow author Bert Carson, I am now in possession of my very own diving sub. No muss, no fuss, hours of entertainment for those ages six and up (me included), and it fits quite neatly into one of my mixing bowls. All I need now is the skipper's hat.

To clarify, I received my diving sub for agreeing to be the captain of Bert's blogging team. Now that I've played with the sub, I think I got the better end of this deal. (I'm still waiting on the decoder ring, but maybe Bert's having trouble decoding it.)

How can a toy requiring no batteries generate fun? Watch and learn:

A tiny sub, a little baking powder, and a deep bowl. Too cool.

Still confused? It's all about the imagination, folks. I spent a great deal of my childhood obsessing over decoder rings, solving imaginary mysteries, and making mud bowling balls to roll down the swing-set slide. What a glorious addition a baking powder sub would've been.

Those were the days, eh? Wooden blocks became castles. Mud pies formed majestic feasts. A stick and a piece of wood made a fine sword and shield, and empty boxes built fabulous forts.

I kind of feel sorry for the kids whose toys are all battery powered or require charging, but I'll bet if the batteries ran out and the charging stations ran dry, even those kids could enjoy a baking powder powered submarine.

Is it just me, or does anybody else remember a time when toys required imagination-power?

 
(Sorry the video is so cloudy - that's the natural gas bubbles in our water. Yes, you can set the water that comes out of our tap on fire. Guess that comes from living in a part of the country where natural gas wells and pipelines are everywhere and fracking is ever present. But that's another blog post.)

A Girl Called Gus - The Art of Naming Characters

I've always been fascinated by names. Probably because Gae-Lynn is so uncommon. But having a weird first name isn't enough for my family. I'm also blessed with an unusual nickname. Seems my paternal grandfather held me as a howling, red-faced newborn and said, "She looks like a Gus."

And that was that.
 
Family and friends call me Gus, I'm Auntie Gus to my nieces and nephews, and my husband calls me 'Gus the Destroyer' because it ain't been built that I can't break. In fact, Gus is the one word I hear in any circumstance. (Watching people react to a girl called Gus is pretty humorous.)

My name and nickname are part of who I am, how I define myself, and perhaps how others define me. If I had to choose which name, Gae-Lynn or Gus, suited me best, I'd struggle. Both are me.

Names are important, aren't they? Parents agonize over what to call their offspring. Some believe that a name influences their child's personality and future success and happiness. Some delay naming their kids until after birth. In certain families, the naming of a child can divide loyalties or guarantee inheritances.

Sid and her first calf

[We have no kids and there's no money hanging in the balance, but the name game affects us, too. Our cows have names, usually influenced by their personalities. Sid Vicious has a quiff and an erratic personality like the late punk rocker. Sweet One simply is. Our bull is Elvis because of the peculiar way his lip curls when he's chasing the ladies.]


Just as in 'real' life, choosing a name for your characters is important. It's heady stuff, bestowing a name that will live on as long as someone is reading your books.

Rightly or wrongly, names paint an image of a character's physical or emotional characteristics in my mind. Because this imagery is so powerful for me (and possibly for others), I let it influence my character names. For example:

Scott Truman - an honest, loyal, hardworking young cop

Judge Shackleford - a tough minded judge

Hugo Petchard - a distasteful cop who relies on his daddy's money to buy influence (he also isn't huge, which bothers him greatly)

I try to pick names that don't look or sound alike, unless it doesn't matter that they do. The Cass Elliot Crime Series includes teenaged twins, Matt and Mark Grove. They're always together, always in trouble, and it doesn't really matter who is who.

In cases where it does matter, I like unique names. It helps me set the stage for 'who' a character is and what he's about, both for myself and for the reader. Names are one way to give characters an identity, and they're an easy touchstone to help the reader stay focused.
 
The name thing matters so much to me that I've abandoned books if I can't keep the characters straight. I'm about to shut down a story now because two characters have names so similar I get confused: Mark and Marcus. Their roles are also similar (police / security guys) and that makes it even harder to keep them straight.
 
What about you? Do names resonate with you? Have you ever stopped reading because the names were so similar you couldn't keep them straight? Is naming an important part of your writing process?


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Crumbleocity - A New Word for the #Farming Vernacular

crumbleocity (crum-bull-ah-ce-tee): the degree to which a cow patty breaks apart and the distance it travels when kicked.

Our Manure Machines

There is a reason we rednecks are referred to as sh*t kickers, and it's not just because city folks think we're big and dumb. (In fairness, anybody who spends time around cattle or other livestock could be called a sh*t kicker. You kick loads of manure, whether you intend to or not - the stuff is everywhere.)

No, I believe the phrase arises from the jealousy city folks feel over our traditional redneck pastime of kicking cow patties around the pasture. In addition to the hilarity caused when watching someone line up for a cow patty kick, there's quite a bit of value in kicking poo, including the benefits of manure spread as fertilizer; the reduction of unsightly cow patty mounds that linger in the pasture for ages (which the fire ants love and the cows won't graze near); and the increase in heart elevation and muscle tone due to the exercise.

But cow patties differ in their suitability for kicking. Therefore, there is an art to kicking poo, as follows:

Weather: the freeze / thaw cycle works wonders on the creation of crumbleocity, so there's good kicking to be had in winter. Regardless of the time of year, choose dry days when the temperature is between approximately 45 and 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

Too Wet

If the day is too wet, you're likely to slip while taking aim and letting loose with your kick. 

Too much colder than 45 F and the cow patty will tend toward frozen, hurting your foot when you kick it. (They're hard as bricks when they're frozen - yes, we've learned that the hard way.)

Much hotter than 90 F and the dang things crust over quickly, fooling you into thinking they have the potential for good crumbleocity but instead smearing all over your foot.

Wellies

Footwear: you can kick cow patties in your bare feet or sandals, but I don't recommend it. (Icky between the toes. Enough said.) Cowboy boots work fine, but I prefer wellies because they're easily rinsed off. If you're inclined to kick when the weather is cold, choose wellies with steel-toes to protect your toes.

Too Dry

 
Patty selection: this is where the true art comes in. Wet cow patties don't crumble well at all, and they don't travel any distance when kicked. Cow patties that are too dry might fly a fair distance, but don't crumble. (They are an excellent choice for that other traditional redneck pastime, the cow chip flip.)

Just Right

The perfect cow patty to provide good crumble and distance / spread when kicked is only slightly moist and still well mounded. It's dark in color or is starting to turn a lighter brown in places and has lost that 'new poo' sheen.

Good Crumbleocity

When you kick a cow patty with solid crumbleocity, it spreads in a "V" from the point of origin, fanning out to six feet or more. Delightfully satisfying.





This, I believe, is the origin of the phrase 'sh*t kicker'. If the label has been slapped upon you, wear it with pride and know that those city folks are really hoping to join in, and wondering if Prada makes a wellie suitable for patty kicking...

It's Time for Torture #amwriting

Time is the perfect element for torture. It's silent, stealthy, and leaves no marks of its own accord, although those suffering from a bout of torturous time may show signs of wear. It's an arbitrary beast. Have you noticed? And if you're in the market for a way to torture your characters, time can play a role, becoming a character in and of itself.

Just so we're clear, I'm not talking about the science fiction working your way through a worm hole type of arbitrary. I'm talking about your everyday garden variety type of arbitrary. Take, for example, time spent waiting for a subway train. Like those that run on the London Underground, where most of my subway experience has occurred.

There are electronic signs that tell you which train is coming next and how long you'll have to wait until that train makes it to the station. But if you pay attention, you might notice that the number of minutes you actually wait bears no resemblance to the number on the sign. You might also notice that the numbers count down the minutes until the train is due to arrive, but the numbers don't always move in 60 second increments.


A three minute wait for a train might actually take thirty seconds, or could stretch into twenty-two minutes. All the while, the sign reassures you that it'll only be three Underground minutes until the train arrives. This lack of reliability used to drive me crazy when I lived in London and I can imagine a similar wait causing untold damage to the psyche of a character who's in a hurry.

 
 Hospitals and doctor's offices are places where time warps, usually expanded into a mind-numbing slowness. Could an illness lurk in the wings for one of my Forney County characters, forcing them to twiddle their thumbs or watch inane daytime television in a doctor's office or medical waiting room, testing their powers of perseverance?

I've noticed another truism about time. The older I get, the faster time passes. When I was a kid, summers lasted f o r e v e r. Remember that? When I once moaned about time passing quickly, my 96 year old grandmother told me to wait until I reached her age. The years literally whipped past. It's as if we're born into the outer edges of a whirlpool, making wide, lazy circles around a massive drain. As we age, we draw nearer to the drain plug, spinning faster and faster toward our final destination.

 
(Sorry. Didn't mean to get morbid. But this aspect of time might be relevant to one of my characters as they age, driving them to behaviors and decisions they might otherwise not have made.)

 



To add a more unique twist to this whole discussion about time, let me tell you about a friend. She was the pedestrian victim of a hit and run accident several years ago, and nearly died. Although she's lost the use of her right arm, she's able to walk short distances using a walker and she has regained her ability to paint. Her mental capacity, however, has changed significantly. Her doctors estimate that her short term memory lasts about 45 seconds. Think about that. In about the same amount of time it takes to sing 'Happy Birthday' three times, her most recent memories are gone. When we see each other, we have the same conversation over and over and over and over. "Your sweater is so pretty. I love that shade of brown. And it looks warm." Pause for about 20 seconds. "I love that sweater. That shade of brown is gorgeous, so earthy, and it looks really nice on you." (Is it troublesome, having basically the same conversation again and again? Given her sweet, funny, resilient personality, absolutely not. In some ways, it makes me love her more.)

Maybe it's time that one of my characters experience an event that impacts their memory, altering their sense of time. That could wreak some havoc for a detective, a criminal, or a witness to a crime.

What do you think about the 'reality' of time? Do you use it and its many deviations from our 'real' reality to torture your characters? To increase the tension in your stories?


 


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