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Winter Storm

12-22-2015 Snowstorm (40 made smaller)

It’s been a bit since last I made a post. Why? I’ve been hit by a winter blizzard of challenges and problems.

The main one consists of my computer slowing down over the past six months to the speed of a drip of molasses running down a kitchen-cabinet door. I did a number of things to try to find the problem, and came up with no real solutions. Finally, I was left with one leap of faith: reformat the hard drive and hope that will remove the problem.

I figured on about two to three days to pull that off. How wrong I was with that prediction! It began smooth and easy enough; hard disk reformatted in a few hours, and the rest of the day I reinstalled Windows. The next day I began updates which took three days. To my chagrin, my computer still ran like a scared clam. Word had one problem after another. Every time I tried to open a document, a window popped up saying that there was a problem. Then it took about a minute or more for the document to appear, and sometimes it didn’t appear at all.

When I could get them to load up, everything was read-only. And even after I figured out how to remove that, once I shut the document down and reopened it the next day, everything I had done was gone. I was so angry I took a day to cool off. I lost the better half of a new chapter in my new book, and several painstakingly written book reviews. It took me another two days, two very long irritating days, before I finally stumbled across the solution: kill the “read only” option by going through properties and then advanced settings.

Now finally done with that, it was now Christmas Eve and Christmas. So of course my computer waited quietly for another three days before I could begin uploading things like Campaign Cartographer 3 and Dragon Naturally Speaking and other programs, all of which requires Word working properly.

But lo, this morning my word programs and other Windows programs were still taking excruciating amounts of time to open. So what did I miss? It took me a while to figure out. Internet Explorer of course! After deleting it, everything began working smoothly. The rest of today will be clean up and a lot of shoveling. Tomorrow I have to begin looking for a new project in book manager. Hopefully this won’t amount to more than a squall and one or two flurries.12-22-2015 Snowstorm (1a altered)

Excerpt From Chapter 2 Atolovus

I find myself with little time today. Between  Atolovus’ edits, writing the beginning of chapter thirteen of the second book,  and continuing  on with chapter two of a third book unrelated to the first two, well, ninty-nine percent unrelated anyway, and a dozen other things poking me in the back of my mind, I have elected to keep this post simple. This is the most updated version of chapter two before our current run of edits, which by the way, should the final. We are still playing with the book cover, and our cover designer has introduced some nice beginning versions, but I’m still looking for the right images to complete it. Anyway, I hope you all have a great week, and thanks for reading!

Chapter 2


“Holy Quorydun, what is that putrid smell?” Druhahn exclaims, glancing about as his hand retreats to his sword handle. He then turns and calls back good-naturedly, “Sarge, you been eating bergin again or what?” The other six soldiers begin laughing quietly as they smile at each other and their leader. Sergeant Sarcius Konstantin and the other five mon catch up to Druhahn and the hair on the back of Sarcius’ neck rises the moment the stench of death reaches his nostrils.

Sarcius forces himself to ignore it as he replies in tandem with shifting and suspicious hazel eyes. “Druhahn, there is nothing I would eat that would make me smell like this—inside or out!” Their leader raises his broad tip spear and motions toward the vegetation around them, his eyes shooting back to his mon. “Stay focused,” he growls, “We need to determine the source of this smell. I reckon this’ll get worse before it gets better.” Sarcius’ mon nod in agreement before they begin looking around.

Each soldier pulls a square piece of green material out from within their armor, quickly wrapping the cloths over the lower half of their faces then tying them off behind their necks. Without further word, they split up in pairs and begin poking about with their spears and swords among the undergrowth to each side of the road while two young mon stand guard back to back in the middle of the road, their quivers uncapped, arrows nocked, and bows drawn.

After a short time and from further into the orange brush, Sarcius comes to an abrupt standstill, all color draining from his face as the red-orange hair on his arms stands up. He starts looking around wildly as panic rises in his chest and neck for just a few moments before his training takes over. “Mon, get over here—now!” All the rangers quickly converge on Sarcius’ location as their imaginations swim. When they finally break through the sudden clearing, even the most seasoned mon stops and gags.


The Results

Not surprisingly, I survived my first signing. I think there were about fifteen of us in all. In the two hours I was there, I sold two copies—better than none! I had a lot of people asking if I’d created the anthology to which I honestly said no, but that a number of authors locally had stories of their own in it. Most people looked, they flipped through it, read the back cover, and asked me an assortment of questions about it. About a third looked interested enough that I thought they might purchase it. I think the first thing I learned is that most people are looking for a single book produced by one or two authors.

I did meet plenty of people, mostly locals. I also learned that I’m more known than I thought I was. I think that is encouraging. And many of them were asking if this was my first novel before they got a good look at it. I’m betting most of those people have seen me at the local writer’s conference I attend every year. I guess that means the writer’s conferences are doing its job in more than one way.

I’m going to have to jot down some notes about the type of stories in Babyshoes. That was one of the problems that I felt sent people away. The usual question, “What is the book about,” is much trickier for me.”

“It’s about lots of things, perspectives from all the world,” I told them. This isn’t the normal novel spanning a single plot line or just a few. I think that might have attributed to a number of them walking away from it.

I also found out there are two signings per year, and I’m hoping to participate in the one in spring. It wasn’t as bad as I expected, and it wasn’t like people were staring at me as if I were holding a sign on the corner, begging for money, or trying to pass me by uncomfortably as their eyes seek any other object to cling to until they’re past the table. Overall, was a good experience, and I’ll be more prepared next time.

“Think Local-Author First” Book Buzz 11:00am to 1:00pm


Every year Pybus market hosts a two hour book signing  event created by Bookbuzz. This year, it’s being held from 11:00 AM to 1:00 PM Saturday, November 7th. Local authors from all over the area who wish to participate are welcome to attend if they meet the qualifications. Thankfully I do. I also have a local writer who is a part of my writing group attending with me. Her name is Jane Nagler, and she will be signing her memoir titled, By The River. Another member of my writing group, Robbie Scott will be there too. I will be signing our flash fiction anthology, Baby Shoes: 100 Stories by 100 Authors. My story, titled How Many Leaves, can be found on page 200.Janes’ is on page 255.


This will be my first book signing anywhere, and I openly admit I’m rather nervous about it. I’ve never been much of a salesperson mostly because I feel like a hypocrite. Why? Because people trying to push me to buy things I’m not really interested in annoys me. Ironically, I now find myself in a similar situation. I think I’m going to try the Q&A approach, meaning I’m going to try to treat this more like a social event and less like a selling event. I’m hoping there be enough curiosity that I can do that, and in the process, I can sell the rest of the books that I have. I’m coming with twelve copies and Jane has some as well. In fact, there a number of other local authors who also have short-stories featured in our Baby Shoes Anthology. If nothing else, it will be a good experience for me.

If you are another one of Babyshoes authors, I’d be honored to meet you. We can trade signings if you are interested. Should any of you have time to drop by, please do! I hope to see some of you there! Also, if for some reason anyone is interested in my book, or wants your copy you bought signed, but can’t make the signing, my wife and I will be enjoying the wine-walk event downtown afterwards. Feel free to catch me there.

I’ll talk more about the signing Monday when I’ll relate my experiences, and how I felt about it, and what I learned. Have a great weekend!

The Conduit

Winter is coming. George R.R. Martin gave this phrase a life of its own. I’m using it as it has always been used. The mountians above us have been buried in white over the weekend, and is only a matter of time now before it drifts into the valleys. I’ve been trying to catch up on all things I should’ve done over the summer. I’ve done fairly well, I’ve gone through three full lists, and I’m on my fourth. Most of it is remodels to the interior of the house and some yardwork on the side. I’ve only gotten about a third of the fence watersealed, and I still need to touch up areas of the backyard decks.

But that is not what is really on my mind right now. With winter on its way in and all my projects coming to a close whether I like it or not, the new project list contains the seven separate books that I’m working on. The reason my current project’s list brings this up is because I find very often that I spend a great deal of time thinking about what I could be writing in my books. I think about characters. I think about their personalities, I even think about their backgrounds, but what I find myself doing the most is listening to dialogue between them. Unfortunately by the time I get done with what I’m working on, there’s no way for me to remember all of it or even get it written down.

I do this at other times as well, like when I’m running. It seems like when I’m off doing something else, the keyboard is not in front of me and my recorder is not near, I feel much like an artist staring at a blank canvas. As I think about what to say or what to think or what to explain or describe, it all becomes very clear. Sometimes it’s a lot like watching a movie. I can see the characters, and I watch what they’re doing and listen to their conversations. I can even feel what they feel, but the moment I turn about to pick up the brush, it disappears like a clear dream upon waking. Perhaps it’s true what they say: the best picture is the one never drawn, and the best book is the one never written, or perhaps it’s simpler than that. Maybe when we are not trying, our mind is more open to what we’re being sent.



Catching Up

It’s fall again, and every year I find myself asking what happened to summer a little bit earlier. It was just here a few minutes ago it seems. This time of the year, I find all the half-done projects that I have been putting off or plain forgot about for whatever reason. I compile a list of each one as I find them in the hopes that I won’t forget. One of these years, I’ll simply compile the list as soon as they come up.

I’m currently sanding down the frame to one of the bedroom doors. At the same time, I’m installing shelves for the windowsills in the living room and cutting the trim to go around the outside of the windows, the doorframes, then the floor. Those all have to be water sealed and left to dry before I can do anything further with them. I also have some rock work I need to finish along the east side of the yard between the house and our fence.

In addition, I need to go pick up some large basalt rocks at a quarry 10 or 15 miles away and bring them back to the house. Why? Because the creek in our back yard has been digging underneath the retaining wall that I built years ago when the kids were young and wanted to play in it. I packed a whole bunch of yard waste and pruning’s at the base of it, and dumped a bunch of smaller gravel into that to hold it down until I can add the weight. Each of the big rocks is going to have to weigh somewhere between eighty and hundred pounds to keep the runoff from washing them away.

As if that weren’t enough, I also need to fix one of our gates because the post split where the hinges were bolted into it. To do that, I have to cut the post off where it enters the concrete in the ground, then bore out the rest of the post left in the concrete. After that, I have to shave down the bottom of the new post until it will fit back into the hole left behind by the first one. Oh yes, let’s not forget to water seal the rest of our deck, and three quarters of our fence line!

I often wonder if fall is named for the loss of leaves on the trees, or rather as the result of driving oneself to exhaustion trying to prepare for winter.

My view of The View


My View of The View

Last night my wife mentions something about some television show, called The View, talking trash about nurses. I raised my eyebrow at her and replied, “Really! What seems to be their problem?”

My wife says “It’s on YouTube, I’ll look it up for you. They pissed off a bunch of nurses. They and other medical professionals all over town are griping about it on Facebook.” I continue reading my new copy of Babyshoes flash fiction anthology which I purchased off Amazon recently.

At first, she can’t find it. “Where is it? It’s supposed to be here.” I look over at her. Maybe they pulled it off before they cause more damage than they already have.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she answers, “some of our friends are saying they just watched it…Oh here it is.” She starts playing it, and I lean over toward her to check it out. At first, I’m not very interested. I couldn’t care less about beauty pageants. It’s the same grind every year with new faces. But wait…”oh,” I lean over more, my attention snatched up by a competitor wearing scrubs and a stethoscope. Wow!! Now that is different, I think. We listen to her speech and nod emphatically. She’s got my vote.

Ohh back to The View, “What the fuck?? I can’t believe the crap I hear falling out their mouths as if any of those women know a damn thing about what they are talking about as evidenced by their stethoscope comment among other things! Ok, now I’m pissed, and I start going off. My wife asks, “Are you going to post that?”

“Yea!” I fume,” Damn straight I am!”

So here is my view of the lack of view The View’s muppets possess.

Three generations of women on my wife’s side of the family have been nurses. Most of our friends are connected to one facility or another in one department or another in one medical branch or another.

My wife began as a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) and worked her ass off to get her nursing certification—that is a two year degree after fulfilling prerequisites to enter the program in the first place, which took her about a year and a half. Those chosen for the two year program are on the high end of the grade scale. If at any time you fail a class or for whatever reason cannot finish a course, you must wait until the following year to retake the class. She wasn’t one of those.

I’ll add that up for you four pompous melon-heads just in case the math is confusing: ( 1.5 +2=3.5) That is half a year shy of her bachelors degree to complete the RN (Registered Nurse) program.

Soon after, she went back to school while working full time as an RN to get her BSN (Bachelor of Science in Nursing) which she completed in the two years expected: (2+3.5=5.5) That is five and a half years of intensive education in science and medical knowledge. That puts her just shy of a Master’s degree in most other fields, and then she worked for eleven years as a nurse and educator in our local hospital.

Then she went back and got her master’s degree as an NP (Nurse Practitioner). That was another two years: (5.5 plus 2=7.5). That is half-a-year-shy of a doctorate in any other field. Maybe you four blithering idiots would like to discuss the level of education you need to sit in front of a camera and talk smack about people and facts you know nothing about.

I wonder, have you four uneducated loudmouths gotten called in at 2:30 in the morning because your staffing didn’t look ahead and now they have an influx of people the usual staff can’t handle? For the next four to six hours, after your previous 12 hour shift which ended at 7 pm the night before, you clean up urine, feces, and puke while putting up with verbal and sometimes physical abuse while you try to make your patients comfortable and relieve them of their suffering, their fears, and their illnesses.

Many of your patients are ungrateful human beings that think you are there to serve them as their maid, but many more are not. Many others have no idea that you are taking care of six or seven different patients with a vast variety of different problems. But that is just one facet of your job.

You also have to keep their medical charts up to date, which is more time consuming than the patients, and wake up doctors during early morning hours to discuss problems with their patient’s care or to call them in to look over the patient themselves. That is often not a pleasant discussion for nursing staff who are sometimes met with verbal abuse by angry doctors. And, another thing I feel you four should be educated on. Not all nurses are women. The nursing field is quickly balancing out the gap between female and male nurses.

I have brothers and sisters in every branch of health care that work long hours; many of whom are single parents. They are often on call and juggle multiple children. They come to work knowing they will be caring for people just like yourselves, who look down on them as below your station.

To be a nurse means you have to actually care about humanity. If you don’t, you won’t be one long. In order to provide your patients with the care they need, you’ll have to leap into mires of disease, mental illness, drug addiction, criminality, and all manner of human suffering in order to pull them out of their nightmare, and return to them some manner of happiness, dignity, and health. Many of those people will return again and again, and you will take care of them again and again.

Oh, a stethoscope is as important to nurses as that little microphone you hide in your fashionable clothing is to your show…. Ahhhh….. Got You!!!

No, it not as important as your mic, it’s ten thousand times more important because they have to actually listen and evaluate a variety of physical conditions based on rhythms, math, and sounds. In your job, you just need to read a possible script and push hot air across your larynx to provide unfounded opinions to the public.

Nurses save lives—they pull people back from the brink of despair, the brink of death, the brink of insanity. Nurses are veritable angels seeking to help us lift ourselves out of the dark places we find ourselves in most often by our own decisions and own hands. Unfortunately, even nurses sometimes can’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again. But at least they try. I wonder if any of you four blowhards can? No?

Can you detect a heart arrhythmia? No? Do you even know what one is? No? Can you suture a four-inch gash in someone’s arm while they slowly bleed to death? No?

Imagine you were put in a room alone with a war vet whose family has long since disappeared because of a mental state he received while protecting our country. He knows he will be dying in the next few days—of that there is no doubt. His lungs are filling, and he’ll drown in his own bodily fluids. There isn’t anything you can do but watch as his life fades to black. Your job is to heal but now you are as helpless as he. How would you calm him? How would you make him comfortable? What would you tell him?

That nurse you looked down your nose at could and does on a daily basis. She has more heart, more soul, and more courage than any of you on the stupid show.

So out of curiously, while you still have your nose in the air, exactly what is it that Your View offers humanity other than scalding words of disgust, judgement, and mirth at other peoples’ expense? When has your show done any really benevolent service for this country or humanity as a whole or in part for anyone other than your Id?

Now, here is my view, I think if The Views’ directors have any balls at all, they’ll fire all four of you immediately. In place of you twits, I challenge them to provide a different view. Here’s what you need.

Go out and find one homeless man from the US, Asia, The Middle East, Central or South America, and Africa. Bring them all here, give them fine clothing and food. Put them up in penthouses in whatever city The View is produced, and provide them with the same kind of subject matter you’ve been giving to those four idiots, and let’s hear something that provides meaning and reflection to our daily lives.