Tag Archives: novels
In my four-part book series, Rising Tide, I have a small furry creature with yellow eyes and the gift of speech. The creature, known as a Nuckta, is the last of its race and goes by the name Seeka. This animal is not a pet, but a character, just as any other in the story.
It sets me thinking of the pets I owned in my younger years.
I first recall a Dachshund we named Bo-Peep. I was but a few years old when we took her in, but a teenager when she passed at a ripe old age.
Living in a rural area, we had our share of strays. That was how we acquired our next mutt I named Ralph, a large breed that resembled a sheepdog. Ralph’s ownership overlapped Bo-Peep’s so there were multiple dogs in our household for a while. Ralph and I were inseparable for quite a few years until heart worms claimed my pal.
Lumpy, Marvin, and Gomer followed with the latter being the sweetest and dumbest dog to walk this earth. All of our family and a portion of our neighbors hit this dog with their cars. Poor Gomer could just not learn to stay out of harm’s way, and as much as we tried to avoid contact, it was not to be. Gomer was more like a cat with nine lives until a stranger zipping down the road in front of our house hit him for the last time.
I kept an odd array of pets, including an alligator (which I think was actually a Caiman), Boa constrictor, numerous lizards, turtles, small rodents, a ferret named Floyd, and the crème de la crème, a Black Widow spider.
I watched the arachnid for many weeks feast upon insects before laying two enormous egg sacks. Upon awakening one morning, I noticed both egg-sacs had hatched. The jar now housed mother and a few thousand babies. It was apparent this glass abode was not adequate to house them all after “Mom’s” delivery. With nothing but a fine mesh cloth covering the square hole cut into the top of the jar for ventilation, the need for something “more” was evident. A can of Raid took care of any residual beasties.
I do believe the last paragraph in this week’s post will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that teenagers have the propensity to display large amounts of stupid. Please learn from my stupidity not to raise deadly arachnids. Nuff said.
Have one great week and may God bless you richly.
Isn’t it fascinating how the interests in our young lives carry over into adulthood? In my case, it was the legendary man from Krypton, A.K.A. Superman. As a youngster, I read his comic books, watched all television shows and inhaled every movie the Man of Steel made, not to mention tying a towel around my neck, extending my arms, and flying around the yard, leaping whatever I could leap in a single bound. Even today, especially with the enhanced special effects we enjoy, I cannot resist a movie centered on my favorite superhero.
Superman being Science Fiction, makes my gravitating toward the same genre as an author a natural occurrence. Although, my novels do not include a man dressed in a blue, a red cape and boots of the same color, there are similarities. There is an abundance of characters that fly and display super human strengths. Furthermore, the majority of battles center around good versus evil, and the power of good wins out in the end.
Sometimes, I believe it would be great to have a Superman in this day and age. Of course, if we take a moment to think, our Superman was nailed to a cross 2000 years ago.
Have a fantastic week and don’t forget today is Memorial Day, a time we pay tribute to all the brave souls that made the ultimate sacrifice that we may enjoy the freedoms we have today.
God bless and I’ll be a speakin’ atcha next week.
My latest novel centers around time travel. There are countless ways a story line can travel when encased in such a vast subject. After penning this manuscript, I came to many conclusions; the most important of which was how happy I am that time travel does not exist. Boy am I glad that time travel doesn’t exist.
Einstein postulated that time was relative and not constant. By my way of thinking, neither one is possible. The problem you run into by traveling temporally are the endless timelines which could contain an endless supply of the same individual seconds apart heading in the same direction.
Add this to the timelines traveling in different directions and you end up with an infinite number of travelers, travel ways all co-existing in a mish-mash so cluttered with stuff it would seem impossible to move.
This in turn would lead to such a temporal traffic jam, the likes of which have never been seen nor ever will be due to the influx of new temporal travelers.
Since this explanation is so tiring, I’ll leave it there and return to my own safe timeline.
The next time you hear the word “time travel,” run! Don’t stop and ponder how interesting a trip through time may be, just do yourself a favor and run!
Have a great week. Don’t plan any unusual trips and may God bless you richly.
I get a great deal of enjoyment from writing. It’s an excellent way to immerse oneself into never before seen worlds, good and bad; meet a plethora of different creatures, also, good and bad; plus, create fantastic situations giving the bipeds, tripeds, and quadrupeds a place to exist. There is no limit to the exotic flora and fauna one can experience between the pages of a novel full of science fiction and fantasy.
I wrote what I would consider my first serious story in the ninth grade. It was a short story about a family in the Midwest and the horrific ordeal they endured at the hands of a tornado. It got rave reviews from my English teacher, but I never took my fledgling talent for writing any further.
It was years later, after I purchased my first computer, that I started penning short stories for enjoyment.
It all began when I received a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. Then, two months later, the pharmaceutical company where I was employed abolished my department. During a father and son fishing trip, my son suggested I try writing for a living. It was then I commenced to write in earnest.
It can make you wonder how one thing can lead to another; even what begins as bad may turn to good in the end. There is no need to wonder when you realize God is on his throne.
Have a great week! See you next Monday!
I live in a part of the country where we normally get snow each year, but the amount rarely exceeds 6 inches at a time. This week we have experienced one of those unusual occurrences. Some parts of the state (Virginia) received as much as twenty inches.
I’m not much for playing in the snow, but have several grandchildren that it is right up their alley. One in particular, when he sees snow, he runs through the house screaming, “It’s snowballing! It’s snowballing!”
I remember being his age and waking to an overnight snowfall. The first revelation was a day out of school. Then, there were snowball fights, sleigh rides, snow men and anything else you could think of to do in the frozen slush.
Nowadays, I set back in my mahogany covered library, surrounded by books and write novel after novel, occasionally gazing through a picture window at the beautiful snowfall outside. . . . if the truth be known I sit in my bedroom with my computer, monitor and a flat screen mounted on the wall. There are also 4 three-way Kenwood speakers mounted on the wall so I can lose myself in some loud rock n roll – preferably the power trio, RUSH. Believe me when I say, I can rattle the walls on our sizable abode. Keeps me on my toes when I’m not making snow angels.
The topic of my blog post this week is something I swore I would never do, if for no other reason than I loathe the subject matter. My favorite genres when I write are science fiction, fantasy, and action adventure. When it comes to fantasy I avoid kings, queens, knights, castles, dragons, damsels in distress and unicorns with extreme prejudice!
Well, it looks like the old saying rings true once again, never say never. And I mean never ever say never because you can bet it will return to chomp unmercifully upon your major gluteus muscles, as just happened to me. I made the mistake of asking a female (my newly acquired daughter) her opinion on the theme of my next blog. “Unicorns,” she said. So here is my offering, even though it manifested into a negative presentation. I’m forming a fact-finding blue ribbon commission to study the feasibility of changing the unicorn name to “Unihorn.” Of course, we could always replace the horn with an ear of corn and keep the name as is. Think about it and just imagine – we’d finally have something (though a bit ridiculous) that actually makes sense.
If you’re wondering about “my newly acquired daughter”, that’s fodder for another blog, but the story is quite a sweet one.
Until next week, Happy Trails!
If I Had my Druthers, Would I Want to be Considered Among the Great Writers? … Probably Not, Most of Them are Dead
Have you ever paid much attention to the writing styles of other authors, both classic and modern? I’ll have to say; I’ve given it a thought a time or two.
The time or two I’m speaking of would come about after reading an author such as Stephen King and then directly to Earnest Hemingway.
Hemingway, an author I carry a great deal of respect for, can take a single act and describe the action in two sentences.
Stephen King, being one of my favorites, can take the same bit of action and describe it using two pages.
H.G. Wells, another great author, would sum up the segment in two chapters.
How can there be such a vast difference in style, between three authors with such immense talent, writing an identical scene?
Well, each author would view their work with a different perspective. It seems (and this is the literary world according to me) Hemingway concerned himself with telling a story without all the unnecessary fluff. He was a “get to the point” type of writer. Perhaps, this came about from his journalistic career earlier in life.
Stephen King was interested in conveying more than just the facts. He felt it necessary to accessorize the basics with a certain amount of pizzazz (once again the world according to Lynn).
H.G. Wells chose to pen his manuscript (War of the Worlds) in an extremely descriptive style (for the last time just my Op Ed in the literary newspaper, “The Lynn Tribune.”)
If I were to use an analogy to describe my writing style, I would title it after the Who’s song, “Pinball Wizard,” cause it bounces all over the place.
I hope I’ve stepped on no one’s toes for I hold each of these writers in the highest of esteem, but I’ll have to admit it was fun playing literary critic. Even if my performance was substandard, my nose was in no way aimed toward the ceiling. In fact, I had to clean a few dust bunnies off the hair on my upper lip from staying too close to the floor.
Have a great week, see ya next Monday!
Have you ever read a book, a bedtime story or the directions to put a bicycle together on Christmas Eve? Once again, the answer is most likely yes, although it is remotely possible that one of these may have required the use of a bail bondsman. As far as I know, most states frown upon repeatedly chucking a bicycle into on-coming traffic until there are more parts spread over the road than what you originally dumped from the box–and throwing up all over a police officer does not a good defense make.
The point I’m trying to make by using these analogies is that frequently it takes many small pieces to amass one large object which in turn is much more beneficial than the sum of its parts.
There is one possible exception, and that being the removal of vomit from a police officer’s buttons, badge and other intricate details of the soiled uniform. …Enough said about puke, less we digress.
Back to my point before we found ourselves sliding down Ralph’s road…oops, I said I wouldn’t go there again; please pardon.
When you’re writing a story, you’re bringing many bits of information, and let’s not forget characters, together to form a conclusion or bring about a startling revelation at the end of the book.
When you’re reading a story, even though you did not actually pen the words, you’re still pulling the points together to present an ending.
Now people, listen closely…I really need you to understand for if you don’t, who’s going to explain it to me?
I’m at the grocery store picking up ingredients to make a basil pesto. Having plenty of basil in my garden at home, I continue to shop for the remaining necessities (lemon juice, olive oil, garlic, and pine nuts…I also like a touch of anchovy and a little Parmesan cheese).
As I carefully peruse my list, I notice much to my delight that all the ingredients required are already tucked safely away in my cupboards, pantry, and refrigerator at home. I toss the crumpled the list over my shoulder and skip home ready to concoct a culinary delight never before passing through the lips and across the taste buds of any human being.
I remove my food processor from the hardly ever used section of my kitchen cabinets, locate my shears, and walk out to the garden. Obviously, every herbivore on the planet has taken a nibble out of my basil leaving nothing but dead stems. Whatever shall I do? The plant beside the basil is full of pretty green leaves and loaded with a small round orange vegetable. This should do nicely. I uproot the entire plant and move back inside.
I snip off the roots and feed everything that remains into my food processor. As it grinds away, I retrieve the rest of the necessary ingredients. After a methodical search, it appears as though I may have been mistaken concerning a few items I claimed to already have in my possession. No bother, I’ll make substitutions just as I did for the basil. Instead of lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and pine nuts, I add to the light brown mixture still swirling in the processor, orange juice, shortening, horseradish and jelly beans, all perfectly acceptable substitutions.
Then in a stroke of genius, I replace the hint of anchovy and the smidge of Parmesan with a can of sardines (in olive oil, mind you) and a new product I found in the refrigerator, head cheese. I continue the blending process adding the additional ingredients. A strange word keeps popping into my head. Strange yes, but even more unusual this word seems menacingly close…like hot breath on the back of my neck.
Hob.…hobby. No, no that’s not it.….Hob-o-near….Hobanarow….I know!….Habanero…… Never heard of it. I wave my hand over my nose. Something burning…I can hardly breathe. Must be the motor in the food processor. I’ll pick up another one tomorrow.
I believe my heavenly pesto is ready. I scoop up a heaping tablespoon full.
Now do you see how simple ingredients (just as words and phrases) in the end, unite in perfect harmony.
I slide the spoon into my mouth, enjoying the silken texture. I swallow. My stomach begins to gurgle. Seconds later my head explodes. Fire shoots no less than 30 feet from my mouth. My stomach gurgles again this time signifying the ensuing geyser.
I know I promised not to say it again as I run down the hall toward the bathroom, but there’s no way around it, because here it comes.
Gravy and grits baby, gravy and grits!