Akting Out

So this lovely little tidbit happens on my phone this morning, and wakes me up stronger than a pot of coffee. This article makes me sick, no other way to put it. The people who voted for this atrocity make me sick. I encountered many of them in small-town Michigan (the only place I’ve ever been referred to as ‘colored’) and replied with many a thing I probably shouldn’t have said. Outward racism is one thing; I can at least deal with it if not tolerate it. The flagrant bigots, the one who despise any human being for no other reason than the color of their skin, sure, they make about as child-molesting preacher, but at least they’re honest. These people, the ones who genuinely believe they’re not racist simply because they’ve never said the word nigger but stand against interracial dating, the self-deluding bigots who have the audacity to say that such a couple cannot become members of their church…this induces as much nausea as the analogy I used earlier.

When I was eleven, I was friends with a white girl in the neighborhood I grew up in; just friends, never anything more. We just enjoyed each other’s company. Her father had once been an accomplished martial artist, so naturally, I gravitated towards him as she told me stories about him. I wanted to meet him and hopefully, learn from him. This idea was shattered the first time she ever took me to her house to meet him.

Now, to be fair, he was completely polite, almost warm. He even showed me around his house and allowed me to hold the sword he was awarded when he achieved his ranking (or so he said). It was only at the end when he told me that he’d rather I not see his daughter ever again.
I didn’t understand the meaning at first; I blew it off, telling him that there wasn’t anything there between the two of us, just a mutual love of video games and competing. Still, he said, he’d rather I never hung out with her ever again. He didn’t want anyone else to get the wrong idea.

What wrong idea?! I contemplated that the entire walk home. I didn’t say anything to either of my parents; mom was always willing to lend an ear, but I never knew what kind of mood dad would be in. I was learning to lay low.

She called me a couple of nights later to apologize for what her father had done; apparently, she and her mother had no idea that her father felt that way. In the background, I heard him scream (not angrily); “I’m half-white, and half-Cherokee, so what am I? I don’t want my little girl to go through that!”

I had no idea how to answer that question then; it made no sense to me. What a silly thought. You’re you, of course.

I know how to answer the question now.

And I have news for people like that.

It doesn’t matter if you’ve never uttered a racial slur, out of hatred or otherwise. It doesn’t matter how many people of another color you have welcomed into your home. It doesn’t matter how many people of another color you call your ‘friends’. If you are against interracial relationships, the idea of two people of different ethnic backgrounds being together on the sole basis that they are of two different ethnic backgrounds, then that is a form of racism. And not only does that make you racist, it also makes you a hypocrite.

If I met the man today, and he posed the question “I’m half-white, and I’m half-Cherokee, what am I?” I would look him in the eye and reply; “You’re human. You’re also a fool, and you have failed your parents. That is who you are.”

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I work in a sales-driven call center; whether or not we want to admit it, we’re all ferociously competitive, and during our down time, we like to aggravate the hell out of each other. Today, I was shooting hoops with a couple of people when I got clowned—hard—about my inability to maintain a relationship (let’s call it what it is, shall we?). From what I posted on Facebook, I appeared to fall hard and get dumped rather quickly (again, let’s call it what it is). I wondered where he got his story from; he knew nothing of the five (six?)-year history I had with my ex. He promptly replied; “That’s what you get for putting your life on blast on Facebook.”

Whoa. Talk about an eye-opener. I didn’t even know he read my facebook.
Earlier today, I was following up on a job interview I’d had last week and learned that one of the reasons why he’d been apprehensive about me was because I’d shut down when he asked me about my past. I had mentioned everything he’d find on background report—he had a right to know that—but I very rarely discuss details. As far as I’m concerned, the past begins five years ago when I left Michigan.

Problem is I’m also a writer aiming at bestseller status (or at least worldwide recognition); part of the reason why I don’t blog that much is because nothing really noteworthy happens to me anymore (Thank you GOD!). Sure, I can tell you how I sold five internets today and only one of them will post, or I can rant and rave about how my job drives me crazy, but in an economy where everyone is struggling for work, bitching about your job gets old quick. So I blog about my writing, and what little I can find around there that interests me (which is why you’ve seen so many film and game reviews lately). Hell, I’m just not that interesting anymore, and I enjoy it. I like my nice, normal, boring life.

Despite the considerable amount of time I spend social networking, I’m actually a very private person; for every detail I put on Facebook, there’s a hundred I’m keeping to myself. I do not like a world of people knowing the most intimate details of my life. Hell, I’m barely comfortable with some people knowing my middle name. Things like the past, what I did before I landed in Missouri, those are all but off-limits. I don’t think anyone needs to know that, and to be completely honest, I do worry how people would look at me if they knew everything.

What I encountered today made me wonder if it was just me. It’s not that I have something to hide; I just don’t feel that my past is anyone else’s business unless I choose to share it. Anyone who’s in promotion, or anyone who’s had to turn their lives completely around, how do you deal with it? How do you decide who to tell, what to tell them, and how much?

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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In the aftermath of the breakup, I kept thinking (actually, I still think this); how the hell did I let this happen?! I’m smarter than this!
I mean, I walked right into it, didn’t I? Hadn’t there been a reason why I’d gotten out of that situation in the first place? Seriously, did I have a blonde moment or something?
This isn’t to say my ex isn’t a good person; contrarily, she’s a great person, we’re just not great together, never really have been. I figured that once our lives had settled down, maybe we’d be better for each other. I was wrong. I only wish she’d told me this before I spent all that time and money getting to Texas. When I think of how else I could’ve applied that money, I want to kick myself. But hey, such is life, right?

That is my gift; accurately gauging people and determining the outcome of most interactions. It’s not as accurate as it used to be (because I don’t spend as much time around people as I used too), but it’s still there. I’m passionate, but not emotional (unless we’re discussing anger). So I’m good at reading people, situations, and then figuring out the best outcome. It’s usually the one that gets the job done but leaves a lot of people pissed off.

But this…with Samantha, I wanted this so badly, and that’s where I made my mistake. I try to never want anything so badly that it blinds me. Or this kind of shit happens. And that’s what happened. I allowed myself to be blinded. I feel as though I’ve come a long way in the past four years; no current legal troubles, still have the same job, my writing career is skyrocketing (and plodding), and I have a beautiful place to call home. Sure, I still have anger issues, but I’ve become a lot better at dealing with them. Samantha was the only girl I ever came close to marrying, and in my opinion I hadn’t been worthy of that the first time around because I was such a mess. I figured my being able to be with her again, the epitome of a good girl, symbolized that I was indeed ready for marriage. Because that’s what I want, probably more than I’m comfortable admitting.

So I allowed myself to be blinded by desire and paid the price. At least my life isn’t boring; a friend of mine told me that during the drama of my breakup, she followed me right alongside the Casey Anthony trial.

I’d been trying to figure out the reasoning for why everything had happened since I came home. Here, finally sitting down, slowing down, and reflecting on everything, I think I’ve begun to understand.
I’ve always believed that God brought me to the Midwest so I could calm down. I likened it to exile; there’s very little to do here that I’m interested in, I don’t have a car or a license, so I’m all but restricted to my job and what I can get to by foot. I’ve never really felt an inclination to legally redeem myself until recently. I know I could’ve gotten myself out of legal trouble a long time ago with the money I make. I’ve just been lazy about it.

And yet, now, for some reason, I can’t get the idea of getting my driver’s license back out of my head. I’ve often toyed with the idea of moving back to a larger city (it was either Seattle or Austin), but again, only recently have I found the motivation. It’s as if something in the back of my head has gone off, saying; “Now.”
I don’t get into trouble anymore, hell, I’m almost thirty-five years old. I have had the same job for more than to years, despite my issues with it. I’ve learned to buckle down and bear it. I think, I hope, that I have learned what I needed to learn…and now it’s time to go home.

There is an IGDA chapter in Seattle. It’s much closer to my kids. It’s the west coast. It’s consistently ranked as one of the best cities to live in the United States. Their newspaper actually has a business/technology section. I haven’t seen that in years. There are jobs. The cost of living is a little bit higher, but if I’m meant to be there, then He’ll provide a way for me to do it.

So that’s what I’ve come too; a feeling that closure is near, that it’s about time for me to head back to the culture I know best. Just a little bit more work, and I can go home.

The goal is may of next year, right around the three-year mark with CenturyLink. I already know it’s going to be difficult. Life is difficult. Make it a game. Have fun with it. You only get to play once.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Me: “I’d love to fly one day. Actually break free of Earth’s gravity under my own power and just take off.”

Sam: “We should jump out of a plane someday.”

I’m not a religious person; more of a spiritual one. I believe in karma almost as strongly as I believe in God; every last thing we do, in this life, or the next one, we will answer for. I know this as surely as I’m writing this blog.

I figured that part of my karma was watching people all around me settle down in permanent relationships. I’ve always thought it was the most awesome thing in the world; to have someone know all of the worst things about you, and love you anyway.

Samantha once told me that she loved me because of my faults; they made me who I am.

And then I’m reminded; almost nothing is unforgivable, and everyone deserves a second chance. We just have to earn it.

Samantha and I met six years ago; despite being, well, whatever I was, with no fixed address, I still thought I had what it took to be a husband and father. Anyway, we were states apart when we met by chance, but that first conversation we had was epic; we chatted for nearly four hours (which is funny, because I can’t talk to anyone for four hours) about everything ranging from our favorite football teams (she’s a diehard Packers fan) to our unifying faith in God. A deeply religious good-girl with a wild streak and weakness for bad boys, Samantha had a smile that was visible from across the world and eyes that see straight through you. Those eyes scared the hell out of me, back then; all of those walls I had spent years building up had come crashing down in a single day.

Keeping Sam at a distance wasn’t as easy as I made it out to be, even across the country. Nothing about me frightened her; I told her the worst thing I had ever done in my life and she didn’t even blink. I wanted to scream at her; CAN’T YOU SEE HOW BROKEN I AM?! RUN! GET AWAY! GET AWAY NOW!
But she didn’t. No matter what I said, no matter what I did…she was right there, never further than an email or phone call away. I honestly think that was the first time in my life I had known complete and total acceptance from the opposite sex. Yeah, I had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Although we didn’t become a couple for years, we managed to stay friends. Finally, three years ago, unable to stay in Michigan without getting arrested and having burned everyone I was close too, we finally met.
The first night we met, she cooked for me; sour cream chicken. We stared up at the stars and asked each other what we wanted out of life.
And although the circumstances were all wrong back then, we decided to give being a couple a shot.

Things were not all bad, nor entirely our fault; Samantha has a beautiful daughter I quickly bonded with, and she spoke to my kids over the phone. But the beginning of our relationship marked my going straight; I had no idea how difficult the adjustment would be. Plus, the rug was yanked from under her after her family fell apart and her mother, decided to leave the state. I was working overnights, she was working during the day, we barely saw each other on the weekends, and when we did, we usually took the chaos of our lives out on each other. But our fights were never hateful; we never called each other any names…just two very intelligent, very passionate people with similar beliefs and different pathways battling it out.

Still, the good times were awesome, although I couldn’t see it back then. Sam’s humor was very G-rated (I likened it to Disney) and it used to grate on me. She could meet someone once and years later, they’d still remember her. I didn’t like it because I wished I could connect with people like she did. I rode the emotional roller-coaster harder with her than anyone else, even becoming engaged for a moment.

She was the only woman I ever came that close to marrying.

Still, in the end, with us unable to come to any common ground, we reluctantly called it quits.
And then, something amazing happened; we got ourselves together.
She moved to Texas, continuing to raise her daughter and pursue the same dream she’s been after as long as I’ve known her. She lost weight. Her confidence went through the roof. She gained the ability to see the world through other’s eyes.

And me, well, I (somewhat) got over myself.
Put all the anger away. Made peace with my family. Saw my kids. Began resolving my diabetes. Figured out what I wanted to do in life. Even *gasp* maintained employment at the same job for more than two years.
When my last relationship collapsed (which was more my fault than I’d like to admit), I reached out to Sam, just to see what was up; I hadn’t talked to her in over a year.

Occasional conversations turned into an every-night thing (Skype rocks) as we filled each other in the happenings of our lives. To be completely honest, it didn’t take long for old feelings to reach the surface again. So when she made plans to come up here to visit old friends, I offered to let her stay at my place. The rest is history.

Samantha is crazy and she’ll be the first person to tell you that. She’s stubborn, hard-headed, a little too intelligent for her own good, extremely driven with an unshakable faith in God that guides everything she does. Plus, she doesn’t realize it yet, but she really doesn’t believe in fear or excuses. And don’t ever, ever lie to her. Trust me on this, please?

I honestly didn’t think I’d ever get a second chance with this woman; after everything, I didn’t think I deserved one. And with us living, once again, states apart, nothing is guaranteed and we both know that. We also both believe in earning what you want, so I look at it as God throwing down the gauntlet and asking me; “How badly do you want this?”

I’m not self-destructing this time. I’m not falling back into the same patterns that cost me everyone else. So here’s hoping.

And for now, I’m glad I got a second chance at The One That Got Away. J

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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This is a story about how words—perhaps the most devastating weapon in the human arsenal—ruined what could’ve been a wonderful friendship. It illustrates the ability to bring people to their knees without raising a single finger.

Immediately following the end of my relationship, I promised myself that I wouldn’t become seriously involved with anyone until I got my own issues resolved; figured out who I was, what I wanted from someone, and most importantly, what I wanted from myself.

About one month ago, I was invited to go out with a group of people I work with. Aside from a great time, I met a woman that I seemed to click with on every level that mattered. I wound up spending most of the night talking to her alone. From faith, to spiritual beliefs, to creativity, to even being mutual fans of video games, Batman comics, and Robot Chicken, day one all but promised months of decent conversation. Plus, it was really good to know that finally, I wasn’t alone with my interests.

I want to take this point to stress that not once, on any occasion, did anything ever happen between myself and this woman. We made it clear from the outset; I was fresh out of a relationship, and she was involved with someone. I honestly believed, with us having that out and on the table, that things would go well. (At this point, I should’ve learned; things rarely go well when I expect them too.)

We first began hearing rumors that we were dating shortly after we hung out together for the first time, alone, at Chili’s. To a few friends—people I trust—I had said that I was very interested in this woman, and that if I had been in a position too, I would’ve gladly pursued a relationship with her. I don’t know if I should’ve said that, but the rumors it generated stressed why I’m such a private person.

When she asked me about it, I told her what I had said. We reiterated where we stood with one another, life went on, things became great again. Wars across the world ended, the budget crisis was solved, and if you look out your window right now, you’ll see a winged pig going by.

We hung out one more time, at my house, where we made pizza and plans to begin hooking up every week for coffee and reading at Barnes & Noble.
I’m actually starting to let guards down at this point; in the light of the breakup and the inevitable depression that follows, I was really beginning to draw strength from this friendship. An attractive woman who had her head on straight, knew most of what she wanted out of life, and I could talk to her about anything, plus there was no pressure that came with pre-dating; if she’s into me, does she really like me, and all that nonsense.

But the rumors persisted; this time, it was really rattling her. Impulsively, recklessly, I fell on my sword, telling her I’d have no further contact with her (no contact, no rumors, right? I know, not my finest moment). She didn’t like the idea, but didn’t fight me on it, either.
Moments later, I ‘came to my senses’ and said I’d fight it out, hoping she’d believe me. But the damage was done, the awkward conversation had set in, where you’re talking to be polite, but holding back. It made me angry, and thoughtless.

A few days later (the longest we had gone without speaking since the day we met) I asked for the items I had loaned her back (which I still haven’t received). After that, through a series of harshly-worded text messages, the friendship ended.

Writing about this now, it seems like such a waste. A bunch of he-said-she-said nonsense bringing something very beautiful to ruin. This isn’t about placing blame, because there are no right parties in this whole debacle; I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve thought the situation through, not been so reckless. Whoever instigated this never should’ve done it, because they went into it knowing they were wrong. She should’ve thought better of me.

I’ve done a lot of bad things in my time, but I can honestly say that I’ve never once set out to harm someone just because I wanted too. Then again, maybe whoever did this thought I’d wronged them somehow.

I don’t understand why people find it so difficult to be so straightforward with one another. Granted, I can be a little extreme, but what is gained by taking an issue you have with one person and discussing it negatively with someone it has nothing to do with? Even if you don’t like someone, for the sake of peace, wouldn’t it be easier to simply leave them alone, live and let live, rather than tearing them down? Such acts do nothing but weigh down those who perpetuate them.

One truth may be ugly at times, but it will always be better than a thousand lies. I look forward to the day when the lie no longer holds power.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Today, I was leaving my work with a group of friends. It was a regular day, punctuated by us going on and on about how much we despise our jobs and how we’d do anything short of selling our souls to not have to return. I’m usually the one out in front on these sorts of things. I have no head for corporate America. That selling-our-souls part is negotiable.
Across the street, in the awning of a local bank, a homeless man stands with everything he owns stuffed into garbage bags. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s dressed for the cold; it’s supposed to rain soon, and getting into the Salvation Army here is tricky. Chances are he’ll be on his own tonight.
I’m the only one who sees this man, and doing so silences any protest about my job. I looked at him and saw myself ten years ago, although he was much older than I am now. I gave him the spare cash I had on me—six bucks—in hopes of appeasing my conscience, which was railing me. How dare you be so ungrateful.

I’m thirty-four years old now. I never thought I’d see thirty. I never thought I’d have a relationship with my kids, never thought I’d live on my own anyplace nice, never thought I’d have a career that didn’t involve crime or violence. Never thought I’d be any sort of role model. But here I am.

We take so much in our day-to-day life for granted. It’s easy to become complacent; we gripe about rising gas prices while forgetting we have cars that get us to and from where we need to be. I bitch about a job that doesn’t treat me well, but I wouldn’t be where I was today without it.

The secret of (my) success is simple; never take anything for granted. A simple set of circumstances can take you from where you are to the worst place you can imagine. Live in each moment, while being aware of the future. Don’t sit and waste precious time pondering your future; go get it. If you fail, you fail. So what? Learn from what you did before and try again. Keep trying till you get it right. You either will, or learn a hell of a lot on the way.

All of this was inspired by a homeless man I crossed paths with today. I like to think that the next time I want to bitch about something, I’ll remember the big picture, smile, and go on with my day.

I hope you do too.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Let’s end this!!”
Adamantium tears through metal sheaths on the back of X-23′s hands (at least, I think they’re metal sheaths. I’m not too up on my Marvel these days). Her elbows are tucked at her sides, her knees bent, her eyes ablaze, she looks like Wolverine-Lite. Capcom got this right.
She slides as though on grease towards her hapless opponent (in this case, Spencer of Bionic Commando fame) and with a flurry of extremely-painful looking slashes dealt from her hands and feet, because she has claws on her feet too, she utterly decimates poor Spencer, capitalizing the knockout blow by leaping and descending with two slash marks meant to resemble an “X” as ominous sound effects signal the end of Spencer and the arrival of the new victim.
I can’t help but think when I play these games and read these comics; this would never fly in the real world. I try to imagine how a real-life Wolverine would survive today, and I always get the same answer; however he wants. I confess; even at thirty-four, I still sometimes look down at my hands and wonder how much simpler life would be if I had STEEL CLAWS. I know there are greater powers to dream about, but the idea of watching someone piss themselves when metal knives shoot out of the back of my hands? Priceless.

You have to take joy in the little things.
I remember praying at the beginning of the year; I wanted to make some changes. I wanted to be done with diabetes, I didn’t want to be afraid of anything anymore, and I wanted to have my legal troubles resolved. A little secret about God; eventually, you learn what to ask for, and how to ask for it, in order to receive it. But it always comes with a trial.
I really don’t have much to complain about these days, I certainly have it easier than a lot of people, and for that, I’m grateful. I have a good place to live in a nice part of town (although I have a hard time thinking of any area of Jefferson City as bad, when you stack it against north side Saginaw, east Oakland, Jersey City, or a hundred other ghettos out there), I have food in the fridge, I’ve got all the materialistic things that make me happy, I have a very good job that I am very good at, and very good at bitching about, I have people who care about me and I’m learning not to push them away. Even now, I sit in my living room, Law and Order: SVU is paused, and I’m writing this from my laptop as I take in the morning coffee and hope it has its usual effect. Even the writing is going really, really well.

As writers, we can’t afford the luxury of fear. It’s easy to hide behind being afraid and tell yourself that you’re not good enough, that no one else will ever like what you do. Then, when you choose inaction, in your own mind, it’s justified. You suck, right? So why bother trying? And to be honest, it’s not a bad way to think. Chances are no one will ever develop the same attachment to your characters and worlds that you have. Chances are even greater that some people will hate your work simply because they have nothing better to do. Others may not like and offer constructive criticism (and we’d be wise to take it), but that’s just the way it goes. The fact is; you never know how good, or bad, you may be until you try.

Someone may hate your work. Someone else may love it and recommend it to others. These others may want to help you advance. But you won’t know until you put yourself out there.
This is philosophy with which I try to live my life; take the chance. Yes, you might suck, but at least by trying, you know. On the other end, what if you’re really, really good, and someone’s just waiting to discover you?

Fear is a test; you can let it cripple you, or you can look at it logically and overcome it. Heights; it’s not the height itself that will kill you, it’s not even the fall. It’s the frakkin landing. Hence, don’t put yourself in a position to fall, sit back, and enjoy the view. Snakes, spiders, bugs, and the like, same thing; it’s not the critters themselves that will harm you. It’s the bite, or sting, or squeeze or whatever. If you don’t put yourself in a position where these things can happen to you, you have nothing to be afraid of. Or, if you get stung enough times, you get used to it. Some people around the world are bitten so often that their body builds immunity to the poison. True story.

I’m past all of the materialistic fears; heights, snakes, spiders, and all that stuff. I’m afraid of being successful because I don’t know what it feels like, and I’m afraid if it happens, I’ll lose it all and end up at rock bottom again. I’m afraid that I can’t make it on my own on a professional level. I’m really afraid of personal relationships (but who isn’t?)

Universal Warrior: Atherean Defenders has a publisher. The announcement will be coming in about one month. So that’s beginning my dealing with the fear of success.
My relationship ended not too long ago. Rather than throwing myself into something else quickly (as has been my habit), I’m feeling this. It sucks. She’s going through something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, something that had nothing to do with us. We still talk, we’re cordial, and I like to think we’ve both been very accommodating. It still sucks, but it’ll pass.

I’ve been on the same performance-based schedule-changing job for the past two years now. I’m afraid that with the new system we’re learning, I won’t be able to keep up. I won’t be able to use the same tricks that got me this far. In my heart, where God resides, I know that things will be okay. They always are.

I have one less warrant in the state of Michigan.

This is set to be a difficult year. But a good one.

Thanks for reading, I wish you all of the best in your endeavors, and thank you for sticking with Life As I Play It thus far.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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My mother starting teaching me how to cook when I was five; I made my first breakfast when I was eight. When I was eleven, I learned an entirely different lesson; a mother’s will is absolute.

My mother worked harder than the rest of us; she was always up at five to water the garden in the backyard and feed the dogs. Then she would make sure her family was up, and by the time we were dressed, breakfast was ready—every day. After all of us were off to work or school, mom would run the day’s errands, which often took up to four hours. By noon, mom would be sitting down to her first meal of the day and still had dinner to make for the rest of us. I still don’t know how she did it, all those years.

I was eleven years old, home from school for a holiday (I remember it was a holiday because if I had been in trouble, I would’ve been doing chores all day). Mom is sitting down to a dinner of cold fried chicken breast, leftover from the previous nights’ dinner, with plain Lays on the side. In the meantime, I’m getting hungry, but I can take care of myself.
I first ask my mom if I can have some leftover chicken. She tells me that I can have what’s left.
A few moments later, I ask my mom if I can have some tomatoes and green onions. Sure, just don’t eat all of them.
Yet again, I ask my mother for more food; this time it’s tortilla shells.

Exasperated and eternally polite, my mother finally turns to me and tells me that I can have anything I want to eat, as long as I leave enough for everyone else. I apologize for bothering her and return to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, I join her at the table with three soft-shell chicken tacos, garnished with tomatoes, green onions, and red taco sauce.

My mother looked at her plate, then my plate, then her plate, and my plate yet again.

Without a word, and faster than I expected, mom switched the two plates as if playing a shell game.

I open my mouth to protest, and my mother holds up That Finger (we’ve all gotten That Finger from our moms). “Boy, I was in labor with you for eighteen hours, do not cross me.”

I enjoyed my cold chicken breast and chips for lunch.

I spent a lot of time coming to terms with my childhood, which wasn’t ideal, but it had its bright spots. If it wasn’t for my mother, I wouldn’t be alive today, and no matter what happens, I’m glad we all buried the hatchet and made peace.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I look at life as an adventurous learning journey, that begins the moment we first open our eyes and ends the day we close them forever. I’ve never believed life was meant to be suffered through. Sure, things get hard from time to time, but I think we experience hard times not only to better appreciate easy ones, but also so we can emerge stronger for the experience on the other side. As we get older, learn more, the trials get harder, and the test becomes to survive the trial without sacrificing who you are. You refine who you are, over and over, until you become satisfied with the person you are and how you fit into the world.

I think I’ve made almost every mistake someone my age can make. I fought with my parents as a child, even cut them out of my life for a little while. I was away from my children for seven years. I’ve been arrested more times than I can count, I’ve destroyed marriages, I solved my problems violently, and I’ve pushed away people who tried to love me. I have screwed up a lot in my life.

I like to think I’ve learned from all of my mistakes, though. I managed to re-build a relationship with my parents and children (I keep photos of them on my desk at work), I haven’t been arrested in two years, I avoid fighting (but the desire is still there), and I’m working, very slowly, on coming out of my shell. I’ve even learned to stop working from places of resentment and animosity, to working from love and happiness. Instead of doing my job because I believe I’m too good to be fired, I do it because I love the people I work with and the numerous things I learn every day. I do it because it fuels my dreams.

I say this to say that if I can come back from the bottom, utter destitution with only the clothes on my back to two successful careers, than anyone can.

I also believe one of life’s little perks is the ability to pass on what we’ve learned to willing listeners, and this is one of my favorite parts of this game we play every day. I love to listen to different perspectives on life, different experiences, and random conversations. Doing this has allowed me to become friends with people from all walks of life; geeks, jocks, mechanics, martial artists, fighters, writers, salespeople, teachers…human beings playing the game.

Life is a beautiful, wondrous gift that we are given a very short time to enjoy. Life As I Play It is about filling my life with as many diverse experiences as I can, laughing every day, and passing on what I know to anyone who will listen. If I can learn something new, teach something new, and make someone smile, then I’ve done what I’m supposed to do.

That is Life As I Play It. Be Happy. Every day that you can be. Don’t sweat the little things because they’ll pass and you’ll be better for them. Learn from your mistakes, celebrate your victories, and never quit believing in yourself—even (especially) if you think no one does.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I was twelve years old when I first became aware of the Ghost of the Santa Rosa Toys R’ Us. The legend had it that it had been a farmer who had refused to sell his land to Toys R’ Us, despite their persistence. He left no heir upon his death, and Toys R’ Us was able to seize the land and build another location.

Every so often, the morning crew would enter the store to find it vandalized; sometimes select items would be knocked over, more times it would be half the store. But no one had ever broken in. Whoever had been doing this was still inside when the doors were locked.

Or…they never left at all, even after death.

Legends like this spread quickly amongst imaginative kids, and soon, we wanted proof. More like, we wanted to be the ones who finally nabbed proof of this thing. So we bought disposable cameras and convinced the only friend we had to drive us down there one night. It would be a night none of us would ever forget, or speak of for years.

It was myself and three others, including the driver. Knowing nothing of Santa Rosa, we drove around aimlessly until finally happening upon the Toys R Us in question. The lot was completely empty, the store darkened inside. We were here, and most importantly, we were alone.
We pulled up in front of the store and waited. And waited some more. After two hours of nothing, it was suggested that we start taking turns sleeping and rouse the others if there was any sighting. I took first watch. Nothing happened; disappointed, I awoke my friend, who took over.

It was nearly four in the morning before we finally found what we were looking for. And we needed no
one to rouse us.

With a BAM sounded like something had been thrown against a wall, we were all forced from sleep. We rushed to the window, eager to see what we came for.
It came from the left, as if insulted by the irony; a ghostbuster proton pack was sent flying—struck—from the topmost shelf. But nothing hit it.
And then the pack after that one. And the pack after that one.
We then realized that this invisible force was making its way towards the entrance of the store.

Get the camera! Get the camera! We urge. A full-blown invisible maelstrom has commenced in the store, toys now flying indiscriminately at opposite ends of the store, as if a gang of burglars is having a field day. But we’re all acutely aware that we’re the only living people there. We know what we’re seeing, as the store is destroyed from the inside. But no one wants to say it out loud.

An action figure I don’t recognize—one with black eyes—is hurled against the glass in front of us, where it impacts flatly and falls to the floor.

We’ve seen enough. Let’s get the hell out of here…
We don’t say anything on the way home…except…we got it all on film!!
Newfound heroes we think we are, the next day turning it over t Walgreens and talking about what we’ll do with all of the millions, no, billions of dollars we’ll get when we sell these to the national whoever. Not the least of which, is drop out and nuke the school.

We’re all euphoric and giddy as if hopped up on pixie sticks when the call comes in. The film is ready.

We foot-race to Walgreens to pick up our winning lotto-ticket in photographic form…only to learn that there’s a problem. We don’t understand what until the pimple-faced clerk gives us our finished photos.

Not one photo, not a single one, developed.
We passed them around to each other, and only then did it really sink in what we had seen that night, one week ago.

We swore we’d never tell anyone, never speak of it again. We were afraid that we had angered it, and somehow it would break free of the Toys R Us and find us all in our sleep.

Blessedly, it never did.

From that day forth, although we never talked about it, we all believed in ghosts.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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