For all my readers and my family and friends:
So that’s it for this year. Gonna take another little break here.
Of course Bill Wynn will return.
Look for the original Kitchen Stories to appear before the summer.
Look for The Ferris Wheel, a brand new short story, to appear in installments on the blog beginning right after the New Year break.
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss. Don’t be shy about it. Don’t be hesitant. Don’t put it off. You know, support your unknown writer!
Meanwhile, to all my friends and family, and to all my readers and followers:
A VERY HAPPY, HEALTHY, PROSPEROUS AND SAFE NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOURS.
For all my readers and my family and friends:
I’m gonna take a little holiday break, just a few days. I do expect to post some things next week, probably mid-week. In the meantime, I hope you had a great Hanukkah, and we at my house wish you a joyous holiday season. May all the best and all you wish for come to you.
Thanks for following the blog. I hope you enjoy the writing! Many neat things are planned for next year and a new novel is in progress. As a special treat, I’ll be posting a brand new short story, The Ferris Wheel, right after the new year. It will be in installments since it is too long for one posting. So keep a look out! And if you haven’t already, pick up a copy of my published works here
Meantime, hug your loved ones and cherish their presence.
Peter Weiss and Family
Especially To My Family, Friends, Readers and Followers, and to everyone, a most wonderful and joyous Thanksgiving and best wishes for a safe, healthy and happy holiday season.
The Ghost Writer Rose’s Story: A Look At The Worlds We Hide is now available on Amazon.
Purchase Rose’s Story directly here:
Purchase The Ghost Writer Rose’s Story here
View Peter Weiss’ author page here:
Peter Weiss author page
Rose Friedlander tells her story, a story of murder and depravity, a story about what goes on behind closed doors in the worlds to which we are generally not privy.
Money and privilege have allowed the people in Rose’s life to create their own rules. Worth nearly a hundred million dollars herself, Rose believes her father has killed her twin sisters and her mother. The man she marries has unusual proclivities, a gross understatement. Rose is about to detail how even the most sacred of sacred can be bought and how the weakest and most vulnerable of us are never truly safe.
Rose’s story will open your eyes, hurt your heart and restore your resolve.
Buy it today! Enjoy the read.
“The mother was eleven weeks pregnant when she started to show. The little girl noticed her mother seemed a little flushed in her complexion and that she was rather content. Before the pregnancy there had been an edge to her and several times the girl had heard her parents argue, something she had never heard before, not because her parents didn’t argue but because they never did it where the girl could hear it. When the girl asked her mother, her mother said not to worry about it, that everything was okay.
“The girl asked her father too. He sat her down on her bed one evening and put his arm around her. It seemed to the little girl that her father’s hand brushed her non-existent little breast and she wouldn’t have even noted it if it hadn’t seemed as if her father had taken a little squeeze there. Imagination, she would think later, and she would dismiss it totally as her mind playing tricks on her. The bed bounced, she told herself, and we had a little accident.
“The father said that everything was okay. His hand quickly moved to the girl’s shoulder and stayed there so he could squeeze her to him, side by side, in hugs. He told her that Mommy was really busy with a big society banquet for one of her charities and she hadn’t been feeling quite herself. He told her they didn’t know why yet and couldn’t seem to pin it down on anything, but if she didn’t feel better in a day or two, they’d head off to the doctor. ‘You don’t need to be concerned at all, my sweet,’ Daddy told her. Daddy hugged her to him, caressed her, and then he told her to get ready for bed since it was getting late. He said he would send Evelyn up to help her.
“Evelyn put her to bed that night. Evelyn did not ordinarily put her to bed. That was Mommy’s job, exclusively, though Daddy always came in to kiss her good night before she fell off to sleep. The little girl thought she heard another argument happening, but she wasn’t sure. Evelyn petted her gently and read her a story. Evelyn was always soft-spoken. She smelled like gardenias. The little girl asked Evelyn if her parents were arguing. Evelyn said they were, but that it was okay. Lately her mother and father had both been edgy but she didn’t know why except that they were pregnant and women weren’t always themselves in pregnancy.
“Evelyn kissed the little girl good night and told her not to be concerned. She told her that every marriage had rough spots and that for some reason her parents seemed to be going through one of those. She said she’d seen them before with her parents and she was sure it would pass.
Look for Rose’s Story on Amazon Kindle in a few more days.
“She was six,” Rose said. “A little girl, innocent, happy, born to wealthy parents who seemed so normal. She went to school in Bayside, in the best school district in New York City, which is why her parents didn’t immediately send her off to private school. They lived in Bayside Manor with their own boat dock on the bay.
“She was a good student. She got up and dressed herself every day, got herself ready for school, sat quietly and ate breakfast prepared by the housekeeper. Evelyn wasn’t a nanny although she served in that capacity when the girl’s mother was exceptionally busy with her work. Mommy was a socialite who did an extraordinary amount of charity work. That work kept her happy and busy and the girl would grow up to do the same, but not before becoming a stunning young lady, a debutante brought out at the debutante’s ball.
“Every day the girl came home from school and did the little homework a first-grader had and then she ate a snack. After the snack either her mother or Evelyn would take her out to her playground to play.
“ ‘One day you’ll have little brothers and sisters to play with,’ the girl’s mother had been saying for awhile. Then, one day the little girl saw the bulge, very small at first, but she knew her mother was pregnant and understood that her words about brothers and sisters had been designed to prepare her for the day that was coming.”
Rose poured coffee for herself and after returning the coffee pot to the kitchen she sat down to drink it. Today she was wearing a simple cotton dress and sandals and Murph could see she had not put on any makeup. “I’m going to show you my panties in a few moments, so don’t be shocked. And I’m going to ask you to touch me. Don’t get scared. It’s not sexual.”
Murph didn’t say anything. He was thinking about what Rose had told him so far—nothing much of anything—but he sensed where it was going though of course he had nothing but a gut feeling.
Look for Rose’s Story on Amazon Kindle this week.
Social Darwinism! Murph had written about Social Darwinism not too long ago saying that Social Security, Medicare and all the social welfare programs, programs like Food Stamps, ADC, TANF, WIC, and especially the protective agencies like CPS, were begun with the best of intentions, the true desire to help the ill, the helpless and the needy. But their intentions and desires were perverted over time, superseded by the need to survive, the first premise of evolution. At the precise moment this occurred, these programs started becoming detrimental to their clientele, to society and to the taxpayers who ultimately funded them. The reason: Social Darwinism, in this case, agency evolution, the survival of the fittest agencies through funding, funding because money was the agencies’ representative manifestation of strength and power.
Murph had written that Child Protective Services (CPS) perfectly demonstrated this evolution. The goal of CPS should only be assisting its clientele in accordance with the purpose for the organization. But its evolution suggested that its primary goal had become its own survival. It justified its existence by keeping a healthy number of kids in its control, thus maintaining funding (and quite neatly, he thought) somewhat like an agent or even a record company does, by collecting commissions and royalties on each property handled.
Goddamn, he thought. He sat back in his desk chair and sipped his coffee. DFCS and all the CPS agencies have made caring for kids a byproduct. What they do is shuffle them around like chattel and collect royalties on them, all by maintaining the number of kids with the revolving door.
His friend, a lawyer, had fought DYFS in Jersey and he’d dealt with ACS in New York while at the BOE. DYFS was like every other bureaucracy and government agency, city, state or the big boy Federal, just like the BOE in New York where he worked for a quarter century. Most of the on-the-line workers, the combat troops as he liked to think of them, were just normal, regular people who wanted to do good, to do their jobs well and help the people they were supposed to help. Then there were the ones who were lazy and didn’t do much but collect the paycheck, the not-so-competent ones who tried but didn’t get much done, and finally the jaded, corrupt ones, the ones involved in what Rose Friedlander was alluding to in regard to what both her husband and her father had been involved in, in asking Murph to look into that Georgia Senator circa 2010 who had done a report on the corruption and child trafficking in the Georgia CPS system.
That Senator was killed, Murph thought, and then he thought if you believed otherwise, that she was the victim in a murder-suicide by her distraught husband, then you believed the check was in the mail and you believed that the protesters started the riots at the demonstration where he was arrested eons ago. Not. Sergeant Hopkins, the cop who arrested him, was just one of the jaded corrupt following the orders of the FBI, who actually started the riots, who was following the orders of President Nixon. No one wants to believe these things, Murph thought, the clandestine conspiracies our fiction and cinematography are saturated by, yet we all believe them on some level and stay quiet because… because of suppression, because the suppression is much more diabolical in the United States, Murph thought, because here they maintain the illusion of freedom and democracy. They don’t’ kill you, he thought. They kill your life.