Too Powerful

            I have worked a recent string of lethal car accidents involving expensive exotic cars.  It got me thinking about having too much power. The car as in 0-60 in three-ish seconds with an engine of five hundred hoarse power or more. The driver as in someone who ignores the law because his or her shirts are tailor made.

            We don’t let ten year olds drive. They are too small in so many ways. Its one thing not to be able to reach the controls, another not to be able to reach for the wisdom needed to navigate traffic.  Some people turn ten when they get into a sports car. I so often see privileged people getting into accidents for no other reason they feel the laws of mankind don’t apply to them. Physics has something to say about this. So does Darwin.  I have never known of an Ferrari winning and argument with a trash truck or abutment. I’m not picking on Ferrari, Maserati or McLaren will do. Okay fine you’re a GT freak or perhaps you will only allow a Bugatti into your dreams. Just pick a super car and stick with me. Gads I can hear the snidely voices of the read about it type, cant even afford the floor mats, snot nosed wussburger getting all flabbergasted at me. Blow the aghast out your nose, wipe up and lets move on.

            A special investigative team will sometimes come out to an accident and record every piece of evidence. The position of vehicles and strewn parts is meticulously recorded with the help of a laser based robotic Total Station. One can also see these amazing machines on construction sites. This device will give the nearly exact position with elevation of every bit they decide to record. Later all the rocket science of weight and velocity is computed by someone that knows what they are doing. Glad it’s not me because a five-hour on scene time turns into three days or so of calculating and weeks of interviews. Photos taken at the scene are included into a remodeling of the accident.

            I photograph things important to the investigator, every side of the vehicles and details of some parts. I am sometimes amazed at what blood will be found on. Pieces of front bumper or headlight with some human matter painted on says body contact even too an amateur like me. It’s the ability to play the scene backward that starts the narrowing of the investigators concentration. They are tested and exhaustively reviewed in continuing education. Glad I just take the photos mostly done on manual. Program is only used for close ups with flash set to TTL. I go back and forth between the settings.

            No million-dollar car is safe with defective parts like say a loose nut behind the wheel. Before you admire someone in a tailored shirt without a tie wreaking perfume, imagine him in an expensive go-cart becoming road coating. That will take the shine off the rims.

Finish your Novel; Finish what you start

            That’s my dad talking. It was his favorite rant. This line was the only thing I inherited from him besides high cholesterol and back hair. TMI? That’s your problem.  BTW this is the first blog entry I ever wrote that has two titles, it is also the only one with S/A acronyms.

            Let’s press on. No really we need to keep going.

            The big fat tips for finishing your novel are:

            

    Your going to type one hundred and ten thousand words over and over again so just get to love it. Fall in love with the process of writing.  Some days your best friend will be a WIP that means work in progress. Keep progressing.

            

    Environment matters. I have sincere ADD and I have to keep my surroundings undistracted. I do this by going to the same place with nothing to grab my fickle attention. I can stare at a blank page and my ADD will become antsy for something to do then suddenly my fingers start tickling the keyboard and whoop-dee-doo words start flying out of me like lies from congress.  I do not need it quiet nor does the space have to be devoid of design or nice things. Just has to be the same for maximum effect. I get bored of a scene in about forty seconds. My favorite spot is a corner of the room with curtains drawn.

           

   Keep your ego out of the way. It’s a lying little bastard telling you your not good enough to publish. This is true at first but not last. I went to Toastmasters for a year and began to win more than seventy percent of the contests I was in because I left that idiot ego out of the room before I practiced or listened to a single critique.  I have more than twenty awards for public speaking based on one simple idea. Keep your ego out of it.

             

   Keep an open mind. Let it all in. Notice during critiques people will tell you specific things about craft or general comments about how your writing affected them. This feedback is priceless if you learn to channel it. Your ego will toss up a wall at this time. Crash that wall and toss the little bastard out of the room on the spot without apology. You will get back to your environment with your notes and rediscover the process that you fell in love with.

            Most importantly keep writing. Your first draft is supposed to be the brain dump of all time. Edit later. Keep major ideas clumped together, call those chapters for now. Get that 80 to 100k words DONE and forget how you’re supposed to do it, just do it.

            If you want the best website to start and live at for a while I can recommend:

http://blog.janicehardy.com/

Anxiety

            My dear old nervous friend how have you been?  I know some people you have been pestering lately and I will forewarn you that they are about to hear what I have to say about our relationship. That always wakes up and scares the old bastard.   Anxiety is the one confused state we get into which no longer applies to modern life. You heard me, it’s a nearly useless pile of energy that can cause a rash, tunnel vision, stomach pain, muscle cramps and in extreme cases change how we look permanently.

            Feel free to look up the symptoms and you will quit somatizing or go nuts. Let’s just kick old Mr Anxiety in the nuts so you can feel free shall we?

            Physiologically Anxiety cannot last. You need to know this when peak episodes perk up. It is largely felt as a rush of adrenalin in really pronounced cases or as mild to moderate irritants most of the time. Some of us are prone to having it. One thing you can do right now is look at the feelings and thoughts and just say louder than they are; “I have a life, you’re in the way.” Then force yourself into any kind of exercise you can do right their. If it’s a busy desk then have something you can crush repeatedly in your hands or stomp with your feet. You cannot walk and or run and have anxiety at the same time it is physiologically impossible.

            Triggers that set off an episode are many. I have sudden thoughts or an allergy reaction. The years of practice have made me dismissive of idiot random anxiety thoughts but the allergies need to be dealt with. First drink water. Dehydration has sent people to the hospital with false heart attack symptoms. Second check the environment. Is it dry after a wet spell? Is their construction or digging going on nearby?  After Thirty many people who could ignore allergies become suddenly crippled by them. A quick test can rule out many allergies, I have a bizarre one; I’m allergic to strong smells… not kidding.

            Things that help besides exercise are fish oil, Quercitin Bromeline, and good old fashioned water.

            It was a dry day during a cancer scare that I just stopped my anxiety in its tracks and said; “If you are within me than I am bigger.”  It was the beginning of the end of a relationship I had with the only constant companion throughout my life. Not that it ever pops up but I now know how to make anxiety my bitch when work needs to get done.

Writing about Law Enforcement

            Pet peeve and red button time!  I have been stepping over bodies and visiting celebrities in their freshly burglared homes for about nine years.  I work as a crime scene photographer for the Los Angeles Police Department.  To say that I have seen it all seems somewhat redundant.

            So here is the thing that is stuck in my craw:  People who write about crime without any people in it frosts over my will to continue reading.  WHAT!?  You heard me; stop writing as though anyone who carries a gun and a badge is devoid of personality.  I work with FBI agents who have a better sense of humor over life and its lessons than the DMV-styled officious maunder that is today’s attempt at getting a reader behind the yellow tape.  By the way, the LAPD invented that stuff to keep politicians and other ilk from trampling over evidence.

            Example:  PIII Juarez led XA-21 mission ready as always.

            Result:  I am going to find where you live and…. 

            Let us see this more clearly shall we?  A PIII has been with the department for a while, approximately five years.  They can stay at that level, many choose to do so, or promote to detectives or administration by way of Sergeant.  A PIII is a Police Officer III.  Everything has a rank.  I am Photographer III, which is right below supervisor, who could also be ranked at various levels.

            It begins at the academy where an officer is either a boot or field trainee.  After graduation, they are sent out into the field and are become another officer’s partner.  On duty, a partner is like a ventricle; you cannot pull one out and have a functioning heart.

            Rank is important.  I have been on scene where two Detective III’s had to fight over who was in charge, and it came down to date of hire.  Oh, the poor fellow who graduated first.

            XA-21 is a Unit.  Basically, two officers patrolling anywhere in the area designated as 21.  It is somewhat of a mouthy insider; do not  use.

            Avoid power words like maximum or turbo.  Relate the relatable like an officer who sees their first dead child and it looks like their cousin.

            Tensions rise on scene when brass shows up.  It gets worse when politicians are involved.  Once, the District Attorney got me on the phone to tell me directly what to photograph.

            We all have our own method of writing.  Just think about the heart behind the badge that covers it.

            Some insider things you should know.  Bulletproof vests are never comfortable.  In the summer, they do not breathe and will make a hot day even more hellish.  In the winter, they are dense, causing the cold to come straight through.  They also bunch up when you sit down.

            A car is called a unit or shop; some still call them radio cars.

            SWAT stands for Special Weapons and Tactics and it saves more lives by less than lethal means.  Less than lethal are stuff like tasers, water cannons, ladders, so on and so forth.  They go the extra mile to stop someone from hurting themselves, but primarily anyone else.  Shootouts are nowhere near as common as you are led to believe.  The people in SWAT are extraordinary; they are in amazing shape and practice safe takedowns constantly. They are not the biggest badasses on the department.

            Special units and, in our case, Metro cops are far more likely to get into a nasty fight than anyone else.  They are also some of the nicest people I know.  Funny how true badasses know they are the 600 lb gorilla and do not need to flex.

            Officers cry.  I was shocked the first time I witnessed it.  I always let them know it is okay around me.

            Please, let us connect with the human being first before you start taking us into the world of your creation.  Detectives have been single moms needing a solid job or fresh out of the military with no idea of what to do with their lives.  It is true that all of us behind the thin blue line go into a mode when it is time, but we also have to go to the bathroom and find chow if we are stuck on a long scene.

           

A future

            I am buoyed quite often by my dreams of what lies ahead.  Like many are apt to do when thinking about their future, I focus beyond the scene in front of me.  For most of you, it is retirement; for me, it is my writing.  

            I became engrossed with this blog knowing it was read by so many around the world.  (Hello Finland!)  It never would have continued if it were not for one, adorable ankle-biter who has helped me mature as a writer.

            The other day I was working a long FTC.  (Fatal Traffic Collision.)  Two young people died.  The excitement of a new, powerful car took over the driver’s sensibilities; he lost control, killing himself and the passenger.

            Many on the scene had become quite grouchy.  It may have been the combination of the tension caused by City budget problems or the overwhelming media presence.  Perhaps the scene was somehow gnawing on their insides; sometimes, the job just gets to you.  In this case, it was truly an unnecessary loss of young lives. I felt blessed to have my writing to think about.

            This blog has been a wonderful safety valve for me and a saving grace; I have enjoyed writing every word of it.

            My future has already begun with the completion of my first novel, which is currently in the hands of beta readers.  It took more than nine intense months of rewrites and revisions to complete.  I am a changed man because of the experience, which has proved to be humbling, heartbreaking, and challenging to say the least.  I am so grateful the ‘whirlwind of a process’ did not ruin my loving relationship.

            Although my posts may not be updated as often, this blog will continue.  An expanded version will be published in an E-book format very soon.  Many of the questions I have been asked throughout my career will be properly answered, and I intend to announce the title here first.

            Allow yourselves to dream about the future you desire.  Better yet, dream with somebody else.  Like me, the future you imagine today could very well become the life you live tomorrow. 

Unrequited

When what you do for others is not returned in kind or reciprocated, it is considered unrequited.  Not a day goes by nor a crime scene worked where this does not apply to what I see.

Occasionally, I’ve had to listen to a few suspects.  If an investigation goes to trial, a suspect becomes known as the perpetrator or “perp”.  Somewhere between drivel and well thought-out scenario is a thread of unrequited emotions and actions that I just can’t seem to understand.

Some time ago, I began to excise toxic people from my life.  Most people understand this as keeping their boundaries intact.  Many children are never taught that it’s okay to say “no” to those who violate their sense of security or body.  They grow up, not mature, into someone who figures it’s their turn to violate the boundaries of others.  In the midst of their quest to grow up, they falsely latch on to the idea of gaining respect no matter who pays.

In the deeper section of the southern-most division of LAPD, I took a call for a 187.  That’s code for murder.  A 664 / 187 is attempted murder.  It can get a little weird when an “ADW” gets thrown in.  That would be code for assault with a deadly weapon.  

Keep your sharpened pencil to paper my fellow psychotic writers.  Sorry for the flourish and divergence, but according to a study conducted by the Karolinska Institute in Sweden, writers are highly likely to become unhinged.  And here I thought I was immersed in beneficial therapy.

Gangs are organized in somewhat of a military fashion.  They have a command structure that tapers down in rank, ending with foot soldiers.  Two of these foot soldiers were having an argument about whose gang was better.  Both gangs were designated by the street numbers they were formed on.  Only a few numbers separated them; their blocks of origin within walking distance.

I took overalls in a small apartment with some close-ups of a blood soaked couch on one end.  After I had completed the ‘hurry up’ aspect, it was now time for me to wait.  In this job, I spend a lot of time waiting.  Gang detectives arrived from another division and soon began to discuss, at length, the birth, relationships, and now death of the gang member who sat on the shabby couch and verbally violated the boundaries of another.  

If reputation is life and death, then it had been considered justice in the eyes of the shooter.  I’ve learned to let a lot of things go in my life, including excoriation later exonerated.  Yes, I allow a person who lies about me to get their comeuppance when their time is due.  This young man could not.  Barely in his early teens, he shot dead his teen cousin for something he said.

I try to place things into perspective when it comes to wants.  I’ve seen enough people in their last weeks and days of life to know one thing.  When you are lying at death’s doorstep, the thought of that fast car you never bought or the big house you could never afford isn’t one you contemplate.

Life is much shorter than we think.  I know that much.  If I am fortunate enough to go gently into that dark night, I will be grateful for holding on to the same thoughts and values that were as important in my life as they were in my death.  Needless to say, I do my best to let ‘unrequited’ go.

Angel In The Alley

Days of triple digit temperatures are no time to put on a bulletproof vest, but that’s exactly what I was instructed to do by the detective.

The detective was wearing a windbreaker and slacks in weather not even being completely naked would make comfortable.  Not only was he sweating from the heat, but also from a strange nervousness.  I’ve worked with this detective before, so I could tell something was off.  The heat combined with the task at hand was not making me happy.  A few minutes after putting on my vest, sweat ran down my back and soon it appeared as though I had lost control over my bowels.  Now, I’m cranky.

The job was to photograph a body in an alley located in the heart of East Los Angeles. This is the part of town where no one raves about living in the City of the Angels.  At the time, the population of Southern California had quickly grown with migrant workers who lived in overcrowded conditions.  So many of the homeless were a product of a lack of floor space anywhere.  There had been quite a number of people dying where they slept.  

It was obvious that this particular body had been moved.  The detective informed me the body had come from a nearby building packed with vagrants, and that they would have to secure it before we could proceed.  Now I understood why he appeared nervous.  Police presence was growing rapidly and squad cars were coming in from neighboring areas to secure the scene and make it safe.

Two hours passed before I was finally able to begin.  I left my vest in the truck, which had become relatively comfortable with the AC running at full blast.  The coroner had been called and we started in the building.  I only took photographs of the lower floor.  The building was located on a corner and the body was placed in an alley behind a parking lot.  

The lower floor was decorated with over-used furniture and a makeshift chapel that could be quickly folded away to allow shoulder-to-shoulder sleeping along the concrete floor.  The smell of disinfectant and old urine was nearly strong enough for me to use my mask.  The kitchen contained three refrigerators and a stove that I assumed to be in some working condition.  I had to admit, my garage was cleaner.  

The occupants were asked to line up against a wall under the bright sunlight.  They were going to be photographed for ID purposes.  From the looks of discomfort on their faces, it appeared as though the sunlight was killing them.  There was only one woman amongst the handful of men.  I allowed her a moment to smooth out her hair and work up the best smile she could.  I could feel the tension slowly melting around me.

The coroner arrived and I completed my overalls.  I took shots up to a partially rolled-up carpet in an upright position against a chain link fence and utility pole.  A thin man with no shirt had been wrapped inside of it.  I could see that his body was malnourished.  Sometimes with alcohol as the main source of calories, the body will rob muscle and bone tissue for nutrients.  His head rested peacefully against his clasped hands.  He looked as though he were in the middle of prayer when suddenly he was called home to heaven.

Along with the carpet, his story began to unfold.  He had been a drug counselor who made the decision to stay and work in the place that saved his own life.  Rescuing similarly situated individuals became somewhat of a calling for him.  When he died, the residents became nervous and took him outside.  With as much dignity and respect as they could muster, they placed him in such a way that forever memorialized him as the angel in the alley.