Archives for category: Criminal Attack

10.18.17.3.ATHENA.IN.BOX_NEW

About Me
I’ve published eleven novels including Summer of Love, a Philip K. Dick Award Finalist and San Francisco Recommended Book of the Year, The Gilded Age, a New York Times Notable Book and a New York Public Library Recommended Book, a collection of previously published fiction, Strange Ladies: 7 Stories, three screenplays, and forty stories and novellas in magazines and anthologies worldwide. My Omni story, “Tomorrow’s Child”, sold outright as a feature film in 2001 to Universal Pictures. But that sale occurred eighteen years ago. Will the movie ever happen? Who knows? I’m working on a new screenplay for it.
I live in the San Francisco Bay area with my artist husband, Tom Robinson, and our Siamese-Angora cat (a breed otherwise known as a rag doll). Athena.
CHROME is my new speculative fiction novel.
Why Patreon?
Books take me years to research and write. Stories, even, may take months. If I try to rush, the result never comes out good.
I wish I could have written hundreds of books and stories like some other authors. But I can’t. I have too much respect for you, the reader, and for the work itself. The work is my legacy. The work will last long after I’m gone.
When a writer sells a book to a traditional publisher, typically that writer signs up for a modest advance against which a miniscule percentage of earnings are charged before the publisher pays out a royalty—every six months. When a writer, rebelling against the System as so many traditionally published writers have, goes to publish independently, there’s a huge personal investment in production, distribution, and promotion.
But I’m not on Patreon to complain that the lives of writers and artists is difficult. You can read such complaints anywhere. And they’re legitimate complaints—that’s why Patreon exists.
No, I’m on Patreon because something terrible and unexpected happened to me.
On July 11, 2018, I was walking around Lake Merritt on a sunny afternoon, with the dog-walkers, the moms and baby strollers, the bicyclists and joggers, as I’ve done virtually every day since 1996—rain or shine, hot or cold, summer or winter, three and a half miles—when a man jumped out of the bushes and confronted me on the sidewalk.
He tried to beat me up, I fended him off, then he shoved me into two lanes of oncoming traffic on the street. To avoid plunging into the traffic, I backpedaled with my feet, and fell on the concrete curb.
The police apprehended him after he assaulted several other people around lake. From the back of an ambulance, I identified him.
Then I went off in the ambulance to a big urban hospital where I underwent three hours of surgery under general anesthetic for a fractured hip and a broken thigh.
Now it’s a year later and I can’t walk like I did before. Half a mile to the market and back takes nearly an hour. I can’t walk three miles daily to my publishing office, where I earned a good salary. I can no longer walk around the lake, which I miss terribly. The Attack has inflicted me—a former ballet dancer, a swimmer, and an athlete—with a partial disability, daily pain, a nasty limp, and nastier scars. Other health complications may be ensuing.
That’s why Patreon.
I’m prepared to give you, my wonderful Patrons, in exchange for your Sustenance, my best efforts on a monthly basis.
For the September 2019 Tier One, Essential Sustenance, I posted a tribute to my late friend and Japanese translator, Yoshio Kobayashi, my recipe for California Spicy Rice, and my movie review of “Can You Ever Forgive Me?
For Tier Two, Vital Sustenance, I posted a delightful urban fantasy, “Crawl Space,” a spin-off story from my novel, The Garden of Abracadabra, an Introduction to the story, and Afterword about the extensive research I undertook for this 4,000-word story, and the September Writer’s Tip about inadvertent repetition in your writing. (August 2019 was a lovely cat fantasy, “Crazy Chimera Lady.”)
On Tier Three, Necessary Sustenance, I posted Excerpt 2 from my new SF novel, CHROME. (August 2019 was Excerpt 1.) Also I posted to the public the first five-star review.
I’m making changes to Tier Four, Nutritious Sustenance, and adding Tier Five, Delicious Sustenance. I’ll tell you about that tomorrow or the next day.
Join my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/bePatron?u=23011206 and support me while I recover from the Attack. I’ve got lots of goodies for you there with more on the way.
Donate from your PayPal account to lisasmason@aol.com. Even a tiny tip will help!
Visit me at www.lisamason.com for all my books, ebooks, stories, and screenplays, worldwide links, covers, reviews, interviews, blogs, round-tables, adorable cat pictures, forthcoming works, fine art and bespoke jewelry by my husband Tom Robinson, and more!

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8.14.19.SKULL.1

This is my memoir-in-progress about a man’s violent criminal attack on me on a sunny summer afternoon, the most terrible thing ever to have happened to me. Bast Books will publish the finished book; this is a work in progress. After I woke up from three hours of surgery, I received a blazing vision of this book. I wanted to write what I had to say in a month. I worked out an extensive outline with paper and pencil on a clipboard while recuperating in bed. I had my husband bring in and hook up my laptop so I could continue writing, also in bed. As soon as I was barely able, I got out of bed, sat down at my Internet computer, and did much research.
Now it is over a year later, and I’m still sorting out my thoughts, my research, my reactions. Other people’s reactions, too. There are many facts—controversial facts—that may figure into my story.
This will be difficult for me. But I’m working the writing out exclusively on Patreon, with introductory blogs on WordPress. When the memoir is finished and polished, I will give you, my Patrons on Tier Four, the ebook of the memoir (and all of the rest of posts on the Tiers, of course.) And then I’ll start something new.
And so….
Sticks and Stones Will Break My Bones
Copyright 2019 by Lisa Mason
After the Attacker shoved me into the street in front of two lanes of oncoming traffic, and I shuffled my feet to prevent myself from crashing into a car, and I fell on the concrete street curb on my hip. Heard my scream strangely echoing.
After all that, I calmly sat up, saw my cap and sunglasses from where they’d fallen in the gutter, and picked them up.
In retrospect, I’m amazed how calm and rational I was. In retrospect, too, when I looked at the videos that the police took with their body cameras and the still photos, I’m screaming in pain and clearly in shock.
It’s odd that I don’t remember that at all. Other than my strangely echoing scream, I remember being calm and rational. I don’t remember the pain.
Three bicyclists immediately surrounded me with their bikes, shielding me from the Attacker. (Later, I saw the bicyclists standing around the scene on the police videotapes, so I didn’t imagine that.) I looked to my left and saw the Attacker striding down the sidewalk along Lake Merritt Boulevard, still yelling. He rushed at another woman with long, dark hair. She’d been approaching me on the sidewalk, witnessed the Attack, and backed away from him in a hurry.
Then he advanced on a young white man with blond hair holding a skateboard to his chest. The white man brandished his skateboard defensively, and they exchanged yells. I couldn’t see much of the confrontation, because the Attacker had his back turned to me at that point, but the white man shouted, “Give me back my skateboard.” I saw the Attacker run down the switchback, holding the skateboard, toward the lake.
Two women rushed over to me with their cellphones. One called 911, summoning the police and an ambulance. The other called my husband, who was just getting home. He ran outside, intending to jog around the lake to the crime scene, which I described to him. Luckily a neighbor was just pulling out of her driveway and drove him in two minutes to where I lay in the street.
Meanwhile, a kindly man knelt behind me, offered me water, and advised me to lean against his chest. He said he lived at 1200 Lakeshore, and I told him it was beautiful building.
I tried to stand up again, could not. My legs were like water, and the right leg lay at that tell-tale odd angle.
We waited for what seemed like a long time—it was rush hour and the police and ambulances were busy with car accidents on the freeways, I suppose.
Finally, a police car pulled up, a tall handsome black-haired officer climbed out, and took my story as fast as I could tell it. He immediately got back in his car and sped away. We all looked at one another like, “What was that?” and in another minute, police cars were speeding around the lake with their sirens on.
Another police car stopped next to the scene of the Attack, another white police officer got out, and took my full story. He asked for my name, address, phone, and email, asked did I have an ID.
I carry a little card case stocked with Author’s business cards in my jogging bag (you never know when you may connect with a new reader!) and gave the police officer several cards so I wouldn’t have to repeat the information.
Much later, I found out that the police officer had been videotaping me. He took my business card, with a nice little photo of me and the legend “Author”, clipped the card to his clipboard on a report that said, “Victim # 1.”
Several police cars and an SUV pulled up. I saw a police officer interviewed the woman with long, dark hair. She was pointing toward the bushy hill where the Attacker had been standing.
At last an ambulance arrived. My husband got in the front with the driver. Two emergency medical technicians lifted me, screaming in pain (there’s a nice police photo op of that), onto a gurney and loaded me inside. They closed the rear doors.
An EMT, a tough older man, quizzed me about my prior health conditions (none), my allergies (none), my smoking and drug use (none). When I tried to prop my right leg up, he said, “Forget it.”
In the interval, the police had apprehended the man who Attacked me on the other side of the lake and asked if I wanted to identify him.
“He can’t see you,” the EMT assured me. (Did you know that ambulances have one-way mirrors on the rear windows? You can see out, but the Attacker can’t see IN.) A police officer brought the Attacker, handcuffed and struggling, to the ambulance doors.
“That’s him,” I said at once. I had no doubt whatsoever that was him. The EMT told me the man had also accosted a police officer in the course of the arrest (actually, the EMT told me the man had bitten the police officer). That information remained hearsay until later when I verified through the District Attorney the man had accosted several other victims, including a police officer.
To the Hospital
* * *
For the rest of Excerpt 2 from Sticks & Stones Will Break My Bones, join Tier Four of my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/bePatron?u=23011206. You’ll have access to all the posts on the previous Tiers.
Donate from your PayPal account to
lisasmason@aol.com to help support me while I recover.
Visit me at www.lisamason.com for all my books, ebooks, stories, and screenplays, reviews, interviews, blogs, roundtables, adorable cat pictures, forthcoming works, fine art and bespoke jewelry by my husband Tom Robinson, worldwide links, and more!

8.14.19.SKULL.1

This is my memoir-in-progress about the violent criminal attack on me on a sunny summer afternoon, the most terrible thing ever to have happened to me. Bast Books will publish the finished book; this is a work in progress. After I woke up from three hours of surgery, I received a blazing vision of this book. I wanted to write what I had to say in a month. I worked out an extensive outline with paper and pencil on a clipboard while recuperating in bed. I had my husband bring in and hook up my laptop so I could continue writing, also in bed. As soon as I was barely able, I got out of bed, sat down at my Internet computer, and did much research.
Now it is over a year later, and I’m still sorting out my thoughts, my research, my reactions. Other people’s reactions, too. There are many facts—controversial facts—that figure into my story.
This will be difficult for me. But I’m working the writing out exclusively on Patreon, with introductory blogs on WordPress. When the memoir is finished and polished, I will give you, Patrons on Tier Four, the ebook of the memoir. And then I’ll start something new.
And so….
Sticks & Stones Will Break My Bones
Copyright 2019 by Lisa Mason
The Attack, Part 1
At 5 p.m. on a sunny summer day—July 11, 2018—I was walking around Lake Merritt in Oakland, California as I’ve done just about every day since 1996. Rain or shine, hot or cold, summer or winter. Three and a half miles. When it was raining, I would put on my L.L. Bean hooded rain jacket over my jogging clothes, my British rubber rain boots, and I would go for my lake walk. When it was winter-cold and dark, I put on a sweater over my jogging clothes, my L.L Bean parka, sometimes leather gloves, and I would go for my lake walk. When it was blazing hot, I put on a tank top and linen shorts, and I would go for my lake walk.
I was never afraid, even when I saw mentally disturbed people. I would simply cross the street. Even when in the winter it was dark at five o’clock in the evening, the Art Deco lamps of the Necklace of Lights looked beautiful, made wonderful reflections in the lake’s water.
I was never ever afraid of walking around the lake for twenty-plus years. There was always plenty of traffic on the street, police cars went by, plenty of people exercising or coming home from work.
July 11, 2018 started out as a lovely day. It was the thirty-eighth anniversary of my husband Tom’s and my first date. We first met on July 4th at a party that my neighbors and I held, opening up our penthouse apartments in Noe Valley. (That’s another story).
And I was planning a special anniversary dinner, movies, maybe some romance. I was going to bake homemade pizza.
The dog-walkers, moms with their baby-strollers and babies, bicyclists, joggers were out in full force. I felt mellow and safe. I was walking about halfway around the lake, walking past the complex intersection of Lake Shore Avenue, the newly built bridge over Lake Merritt Boulevard, and East Twelfth Street. A switchback angles around the side of 1200 Lake Shore, a luxury midcentury high-rise apartment building, and leads down to the lake and the jogging path. A gentle slope with flowering vines and bushes lies between the boulevard and the switchback. I often saw Monarchs, painted ladies, tiger swallowtails, birds and hummingbirds sipping the flowers on the slope.
But as I was walking past the slope on Lake Merritt Boulevard, past the pedestrian intersection at East Twelfth, suddenly I heard yelling. Inarticulate yelling. I couldn’t discern words, or a language. It was just hateful, enraged yelling.
Startled, I looked to my left and saw a man standing on the slope, his eyes like white-hot blazing coals. Blazing with pure hatred.
I’d never seen a look in anyone’s eyes like that in my life. I was shocked. For a second, I thought he needed help. I hesitated for that second.
And in that second, he sprinted up the slope and confronted me on the sidewalk.
For the rest of this excerpt, join me on my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/bePatron?u=23011206.
Donate from your PayPal account to lisasmason@aol.com.
Visit me at www.lisamason.com for all my books, ebooks, stories, and screenplays, reviews, interviews, blogs, roundtables, adorable cat pictures, forthcoming works, fine art and bespoke jewelry by my husband Tom Robinson, worldwide links, and more!