It is with a heavy heart that I sit at the keyboard today and write this blog. I want to be witty and wry, keeping my blog topic on death, blood ‘n guts, bad guys or writing the perfect murder but I’m having difficulty focusing on witticisms and the macabre when my heart is breaking. You see my oldest son, apple of my eye, the one who makes me laugh, who is a naughty brat, and who loves his mama’s cooking is leaving me. He’s going away. Far, far away. Over 1700 miles away. To a place he’s never seen, to people he’s never meant, to strange and unfamiliar territory. He’s going to college. And while the college part isn’t the mystery; he’s been at a local JC here in California for the last year and half, it’s different now. He’s off to a small private college, a college that wants him to play football, a college that is willing to cough up a scholarship for him to do just that, a college where he’ll get an excellent education.
It’s all happened so fast. He wants to go, I know he needs to go, but my heart strings are wavering. I want to hold him tight and protect him from the world, but as I think that, and smile through the tears, I realize it’s the world that may need protecting from him. He’s a good boy, a smart boy, a charming mischievous boy with an infectious laugh a Hollywood smile, and a big heart. He’s my guy, my dude, the over protective one. He’s one of my greatest accomplishments, and I’m going to miss him so much.
A part of me will go with him, but a part of me will be gone when he leaves. I know I will survive this, and so will he. We’ll both be better and stronger for it. It just hurts.
He’s the first of the four to go away to college. It’s not the same as just moving out and staying in the same town, or even going to the next town. My oldest daughter has been out of the house for years, but I see her every Sunday and we chat during the week. We’re 30 minutes from each other. My second daughter is dug in, she probably won’t leave until she marries, and my youngest son still has high school to get through.
Saturday morning father and son are heading east, the Suburban packed to the hilt with all that my boy will need for life on campus. And when my husband returns Tuesday night he will be empty handed. A part of him now missing. He will have left our son to his own devices, into the care of strangers, in a strange land, but also in God’s hands.
I’ll wonder what he’s doing during the day, if he’s made friends, if he’s doing his homework and hopefully washing his towels and linens at least once a month (We don’t call his room here The Cave for nothing).
I’m sure every time he comes home during school breaks I’ll see more of man each time.
I look forward to those visits even before he’s gone. I hope each time he has to return to school it will be easier, but I don’t know. We are a close knit bunch us Tabke’s and when one of the team is down or out we may lose our balance, our synergy may be off, and we may falter in our step, but we always pull together as one and overcome. Jeff will be gone but not out, and we will miss him but rejoice in his good fortune and wish him the best, and as a family we will be stronger.

On that note, I will say ciao for now. I promise next Friday to write on writing.

It seems that the press love to attach monikers to serial killers. In my upcoming book The Hunt(Ballantine, February 2006), the press dubbed the man who tortures, rapes and hunts women in the wilderness as The Bozeman Butcher. But my killer is fictional . . . and as they say, truth is stranger than fiction . . .

Most nicknames seem to fade away after the killer is apprehended . . . for example, I never knew until recently that Jeffrey Dahmer had been called the “Milwaukee Cannibal.” Some killers are better known by their moniker, such as “Son of Sam” David Berkowitz and the “Hillside Stranglers” Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono. And some names are downright dumb: whoever thought up “The Plainfield Ghoul,” “Mad Beast,” or “Moon Maniac” was having an off day.

So I’m hosting a contest. Match the serial killer with his press-assigned moniker and win an early copy of The Hunt.

Don’t google these guys (or gals), just give it your best guess. If you don’t know one, skip it. The winner is going to be randomly chosen so whether you have the right answers or not isn’t important. The rules? Everyone who comments on this post by midnight Pacific time Saturday 1/7/06 will be entered. I’ll post the correct answers with some background information on the crimes . . . and the winner . . . on Sunday.

What famous serial killers are known by the following nicknames?

“Sunset Slayer”
“Stocking Strangler”
“Demon of the Belfry”
“Lonely Heart Killers”
“Gainesville Ripper”
“Pied Piper of Tucson”

What were the nicknames of these serial killers?

John Wayne Gacy
Richard Chase
Richard Ramirez
Albert Fish
Paul John Knowles
William Bonin

Remember, just post a comment and, right or wrong, you’ll be entered into the contest. (Only one entry, though, no matter how many posts!)

Stay tuned for chilling — and true — stories on Sunday.

For more fascinating and truly terrifying information about serial killers, check out The Serial Killer Files by Harold Schechter.

I have good news to share . . . I posted on my personal blog tonight that my debut novel, The Prey, hit the USA Today list at #88.

I am thrilled and humbled. Thank you to everyone who bought The Prey and especially to everyone who recommended it to a friend.

So I was surfing the Internet and came across some hilarious stories I thought I’d share with all of you.

From a site called “Globe Rider“:

A woman was reporting her car as stolen, and mentioned that there was a car phone in it. The policeman taking the report called the phone and told the guy that answered that he had read the ad in the newspaper and wanted to buy the car. They arranged to meet, and the thief was arrested.

Some people complain that California’s popular “Three Strikes” law is unfair because the third strike doesn’t have to be a felony. Well, here’s a story that shows how well it works:

SANTA BARBARA, California – A career criminal was sentenced to 25 years to life in prison under California’s three-strikes law for stealing $11 worth of wine, lip balm and breath freshener.Superior Court Judge Frank Ochoa called Ronald Herrera, 57, one of the worst criminals to pass through his courtroom, and prosecutor Darryl Perlin said: “He’s what the three-strikes law is all about.” Herrera’s record lists 17 serious felonies, including a 1971 home-invasion robbery and rape of a woman and her 15-year-old daughter, the shooting of a police dispatcher, and six armed robberies in Virginia.He was sentenced Thursday for burglary and petty theft at a supermarket. At trial, his lawyer said Herrera has a brain injury that made him forget to pay for the items.

I may be the only person in America who hasn’t heard this story, but it’s hilarious. It’s so stupid, and so funny, I’m wondering if it’s an urban myth . . . but it’s worth reading:

San Francisco: It seems a man, wanting to rob a downtown Bank of America, walked into the branch and wrote, “This iz a stikkup. Put all your muny in this bag.” While standing in line, waiting to give his note to the teller, he began to worry that someone had seen him write the note and might call the police before he reached the teller window. So he left the Bank of America and crossed the street to Wells Fargo. After waiting a few minutes in line, he handed his note to the Wells Fargo teller. She read it and, surmising from his spelling errors that he was not the brightest light in the harbour, told him that she could not accept his stick up note because it was written on a Bank of America deposit slip and that he would either have to fill out a Wells Fargo deposit slip or go back to Bank of America. Looking somewhat defeated, the man said “OK” and left. The Wells Fargo teller then called the police who seized the man as he waited a the back of the line at Bank of America.

And this one is just weird . . .

If you’re dissatisfied with the service when you’re out to lunch, don’t call the police because they don’t want to hear about it. Thirty-year old Sharita Williams of Houma (LA) allegedly dialed 9-1-1 to complain about her cold onion rings. She told the operator that the waiter at the Malt-N-Burger in Thibodaux refused to replace them. The police showed up, but it was to arrest Williams for wasting police resources. She is due in court next month.

In 2006, I think it’s time for common sense to start taking precedence over rules, regulations and bureaucracy.

I ended 2005 reading this article in my local newspaper. Here’s the scoop: A mom is getting ready to leave, puts the baby in his car seat, tosses in her cell phone and then she remembers that she left something in the house. She runs back in.

A scum-sucking thug steals the car with the baby inside.

Mom panics, calls the police, who immediately put out an Amber Alert. Then the parents realize that their cell phone is in the car and it has GPS tracking. The parents and the police detective call the cell phone company. They ask them to activate the GPS tracking to tell them where the phone is, which will lead to the car and the baby.

The cell phone company says, “Sorry we can’t do that. You’ll need a subpoena.”

The parents and detective plead with the company. “Please, it’s an emergency; the baby’s life is at stake!”

“Sorry, we must protect our client’s privacy.” WTF? EXCUSE ME BOTH CLIENTS ARE ON THE PHONE WITH YOU, BEGGING YOU TO SAVE THEIR BABY’S LIFE! WHOSE PRIVACY ARE YOU PROTECTING HERE? But apparently they have a slightly looser company policy for urgent circumstances and say, “What we can do is have you come in, sign some forms and pay us $25.00 then we’ll activate the GPS system.”

According the newspaper article, the parents and police detective continued to plead with the company but to no avail. Because, and this is a direct quote “We protect our customers’ privacy above all else in these situations.”

The good news is that an alert driver had seen the Amber Alert and spotted the car parked along side the road. The baby was still strapped in his car seat and perfectly safe. A happy ending due to a Good Samaritan being both observant and caring.

But the folks at the cell phone company? They defended their actions, once again citing their policies to protect customers’ privacy.

Oh good, because I am much more concerned about my privacy than the life of my baby. And by the way, Idiot Cell Phone Company, both the customers GAVE YOU PERMISSION. Yes it was on the phone, but gosh, they were pretty darn busy trying to find their carjacked/kidnapped baby. You might want to cut them a little slack.

This article made me furious. What kind of people “stick to the rules” when the consequences could be the life of a baby? I’m actually a big believer in rules, but I’m also a dedicated fan of Common Sense. If I had been on the employee of the cell phone company taking the call from two desperate and distraught parents and a police detective, all of which the cell phone company appeared to be able to verify, I hope I would thought, “screw the rules” and done everything I could to help find that child.

To the Idiot Cell Phone Company, this situation you find yourself in is called a Public Relations Nightmare. If you had done the right thing—you’d be called Heroes. You might want to consider that the next time a baby’s life is interfering with your rules on protecting your customer’s privacy!

Well there it is, folks…my first rant of 2006! Stay tuned, I’m sure there will be more!