Life in progress



I just finished NaNoWriMo! 😀

For the record the novel did, indeed, end with a bang. Did everyone die? You’ll have to read it to find out.

*cue evil laughter*

Okay, time for a happy dance!



Na – Nooooooo!

Is it a good sign that I want to blow up everyone in my NaNoWriMo novel? I’m thinking a nice gas explosion would come in handy right about now. Unfortunately that would mean killing off the narrator. I doubt that would go over well in most literary circles.

I think the most creative way I’ve written for anyone to die has to be my story of the unluckiest man alive:

What’s yours?


My Short Story

In case anyone is interested, and because I promised I’d post it, I thought I’d let you know that the short story I wrote for my course is up on The Community Storyboard.

It’s the story of a man who lives an alternate lifestyle, who is faced with suddenly having to look after his ailing parent.

I received a 26/28 for the unedited version – what you’ll see is the edited version, which I submitted to my professor today for my final mark. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.



Never a dull moment, they say. And here, in my life, it’s true.

I just walked into the room which houses my main household computer to find a hole in the wall. My autistic son has learned not to put his fist through the window, it seems. That was so two years ago. And now there is one more thing to add to the list of repairs on my house.

We’ve been through the behavioural training. I’ve been told over and over again to ignore the behaviour I don’t like and pay attention and praise the behaviour I wish to continue. But I can’t be with him all the time. This is what happens, apparently, when I ignore the yelling. Most of the time it actually works. Once in a while, I pay the consequences.

It’s an ongoing struggle. I’m sad to think that I might not always be able to take care of him on my own, but it’s a fact I have to face. He needs the influence of a man in his life – he’s eighteen years old. I don’t have one for him, and his father not only lives elsewhere, but that elsewhere is now hours away instead of across town where he lived up until this summer.

Sometimes I feel like I do nothing. I can spend hours some days, just writing. Other days I’m completely overwhelmed. Least of all is the stress of not knowing what’s coming next.

Such is life with an autistic child…. adult.


Legends of Windemere: Allure of the Gypsies Cover Reveal!


Cover art – Jason Pedersen

Book Title–  Legends of Windemere: Allure of the Gypsies

Book BlurbThe epic adventures of Luke Callindor and Nyx continue after their journey down the L’Dandrin River in Legends of Windemere: Prodigy of Rainbow Tower.

Reeling from his failures in their previous adventure, Luke leads his surviving friends to his hometown.  With his mind frayed and his confidence fractured, Luke must face the family and fiancée he left behind.  It is a brief homecoming when the vampire Kalam attacks the village, forcing Luke and Nyx to break into his lair for the key to resurrecting a fallen warrior.  It is a quest that will force both young heroes to reach new heights of strength and power that they never knew they had.

 Can Luke and Nyx escape the lair of Kalam?  And, what role will the orphaned gypsy Sari play in their looming destiny?

Release Date–  December 1st, 2013

Previous Books

Beginning of a Hero-

Prodigy of Rainbow Tower-

Cover Artist Info–  Jason Pedersen

Author Bio – Charles Yallowitz was born and raised on Long Island, NY, but he has spent most of his life wandering his own imagination in a blissful haze. Occasionally, he would return from this world for the necessities such as food, showers, and Saturday morning cartoons. One day he returned from his imagination and decided he would share his stories with the world. After his wife decided that she was tired of hearing the same stories repeatedly, she convinced him that it would make more sense to follow his dream of being a fantasy author. So, locked within the house under orders to shut up and get to work, Charles brings you Legends of Windemere. He looks forward to sharing all of his stories with you and his wife is happy he finally has someone else to play with.

Go to Charles Yallowitz’s blog:


The Healing Power of Vitamin C

Every once in a while I come across an opinion piece in the newspaper or on the internet, stating the importance of Vitamin C in preventing and even curing illnesses. By far the most astounding account of it is this:

in which Vitamin C was apparently proven to cure leukemia in a child. The data is actually quite convincing.

I stumbled across the concept by accident years ago, when I realized that if someone else in the house had a cold, or if I felt the beginnings of one in myself, if I took at least a 1,000mg (1 gram) pill, I could avoid the cold altogether. This didn’t work, however, when we all had H1N1, but then again, according to the article, maybe I just didn’t take enough.

It seems to me that there’s enough evidence that Vitamin C works, that it brings up once again the subject of the big pharmaceutical companies having the monopoly over the market, and that doctors are perpetrating their hold on our wallets.

Nevertheless, I urge anyone who hasn’t already to try taking 500 – 1,500mg per day, in the case of the common cold. You can’t, from what I understand, overdose on Vitamin C, though it is thought best to be taken throughout the day rather than in one large dose, as anything more than is necessary for your weight and size will just go straight through.

It’s cheap and it works. On what, we have to trust the “experts.”


Nature vs Nurture in Fiction

Twins. Part of the plot in my NaNoWriMo project required a case of mistaken identity, so instead of having one protagonist, I’m writing one and a half. I call the twins “one and a half” protagonists because I’m writing in the first person – so I’m getting all of what one of them thinks and only half of what the other does. They’re both good guys, Marcel and Max are. Decent men from a good family – very much the same in many ways.

As usual, something happened in real life which made me contemplate the differences between siblings. In this case it was a  conversation with the lady who manages the dry cleaner on my paper route.  She has two granddaughters who she loves to talk about. She was telling me how unalike they are, even though they’re very close in age. This is a subject (among many) that has always fascinated me, being an only child. My own children didn’t grow up as siblings usually do, since they all have such physical differences,  so it’s something I must study from a distance.

The difficulty I’m experiencing in my novel is that the twins, Marcel and Max, sound the same when they speak. It makes sense to me that they should, but they end up coming out like these guys:


Not all that polite mind you, but they speak exactly alike.

Once NaNo is done and I can put some thought into it, I’ll work on finding something unique about the two, which will come out in their speech. But in the meantime, I’m wondering what about their natures, and not their nurture, can help my readers to tell them apart.

Have you ever written siblings and come across this problem? Let’s learn from each other!


What’s in your Main Character’s Fridge?

I’ve been seriously thinking about how much my own tastes influence my fiction. The other day, my characters were in a restaurant and I purposely made them order something I, personally, wouldn’t eat.

It occurred to me that maybe I’m thinking about this too much – micromanaging my story. But the fact is, they’ve gotta eat. And I find it boring and not really credible that they’d like ALL the same things I do. If for no other reason than every character in every story I ever write always eats the same group of foods, I feel like I have to change it up once in a while.

Is this something you’ve put any thought to? If you’re a vegetarian, do you ever have your characters eating a nice juicy steak?

How else do your characters not reflect your tastes?  (Human characters, that is.)


The Trust of a Child

I read once, when my kids were very young, that a baby who laughs when it is startled is a baby who trusts his or her mother. It’s something that I found followed through to their toddler years and beyond. I joked with my kids that I was going to do horrible things with them; cook them and eat them for dinner for instance. They’d laugh, knowing I would never do such a thing, because they trusted me.

There was one instance that I will never forget and I try not to regret for the simple reason that it taught me something.

I was leaving the pool where Alex was, at the time, doing physiotherapy. He wasn’t walking yet at the time, so he must have been less than five years old. I carried him out of the building, loaded with purse, swimming clothes and Alex all in my arms. I remember it was cold. I put him down on the curb in front of the car but to the side where I could see him, so I could wrestle my car keys out of my coat pocket. Had a car come, I was prepared to stand in front of it to prevent him being hurt. I proceeded open the doors and put the bags in. Then I waved goodbye to him and pretended to get into the car, expecting him to laugh. He knew I would never leave him there by myself. But instead of laughing, he smiled at me and waved back.

Whether he didn’t understand the joke or not, the vision of that tiny little boy sitting bundled against the cold, waving goodbye to me with a trusting smile on his beautiful, innocent face, still brings a tear to my eye.

Our children live in the world we construct for them. Whether they are healthy or sick, they can learn to be happy from us as parents because they trust what they see – the example we set. Alex spent the first eight months of his life in the hospital. All he has ever known, from birth, is pain. To this day he wakes up almost every morning with reflux, trying to vomit past an operation he had at six months of age called a fundoplication – basically, a knot was tied in his esophagus to prevent anything coming up. And yet he is the happiest child I’ve ever met. Other people observe this and ask me if he’s ever unhappy. It’s all he’s ever known. He sees me deal with his morning time retching with ease and he is reassured that it’s normal.

One day I know he will find out that it’s not. Will he stop trusting me at that point? I have no idea. It’s for sure that I’ll have the task of assuring him that even if it’s not something everyone experiences, it’s just the way he is, and that’s okay.

The point I’m trying to make I suppose, is that our children are our sponges. They take from us what we show them, and whatever that is, they trust it, because from the very beginning, we are all they know. I hope, for my own part, to preserve that for as long as their personal experiences away from me will allow. And that they will continue to laugh all their lives.


What the heck, Word Press?

I just typed three words into a new post. I saved it. It counted two words. This post counts twenty eight. There are actually twenty nine. Check it out.