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Sunday, December 25, 2016

My One Resolution

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This is me. I've always been a "wing it" kind of person - very definitely a grasshopper and not an ant. I'm almost 71 and this attitude has served me surprisingly well. I almost accidentally found myself working for local or state government and ended up with a pension and social security enough to live securely, if not luxuriously.

I write in this same style. I don't plan anything out but simply sit down at the computer and start in. I've never had writer's block. The writing part of my brain has never failed me....until now.

For some reason, I haven't finished a book since my son died. I can still write blogs and columns, tasks that take no longer than an hour or two. But the thought of a novel is overwhelming. Contemplating writing a book seems like climbing a mountain. My body feels heavy and my mind feels slow just imagining it. 

I have three books started - the tenth in the Rafe series is about half complete while I have several chapters in the others. I like all of them. I think the plots are interesting and the characters are engaging and the places are appealing. I often flesh out what is going to happen next in a novel when I lay down for a nap. I can mentally write a whole chapter before I fall asleep. 

I can still do this. I have the next several chapters of the Rafe book all written in my head. It's when I sit down at the computer that it all goes haywire. My brain feels foggy; my fingers feel awkward, the words sound clunky. There is no drama. The letters are dead things lying limp on the screen.

John died in 2015. I assumed this would pass with time but it hasn't. It is very disconcerting and irritating. 

Is it depression? I've never been depressed and I don't feel depressed now, at least, what I imagine depression feels like. It doesn't affect other areas of my life. I told my doctor about it and she prescribed a mild anti-depressant. I haven't noticed that they've made any difference.

So, my New Year's Resolution for 2017 is to somehow get myself over and beyond this hump. Maybe I've simply developed a mental block that is holding me back. I have in mind some strategies to try (set a time to write on the book every evening even if it goes slow at first - ignore the flow of it for now and just get the words down, etc.)

I never title my books until they are done but I've titled this next Rafe book - A Different Kind of Man - thinking it might come to life if it had an actual name.

Publishing this book in 2017 is my only resolution. 






Monday, December 12, 2016

Fiction vs. Non-Fiction

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Being a writer is becoming more and more unsettling these days. Back in the day, we had two kinds of writing: fiction and non-fiction and they were clearly labelled as to what they were. There were two separate sections in the library to delineate them. We writers knew in which camp we belonged, sometimes moving from one to the other, but staying within the boundaries of one at a time.

We knew, of course, that some types of writing had to be fleshed out a little. Not every single word in a biography or even a memoir was precisely true. Dialogue naturally had to be made up. We didn't have recorders in the era of Abraham Lincoln. Nevertheless, authors did exhaustive research and tried to stay true to the story they were telling.

In addition to fiction and non-fiction, there is, of course, opinion which is some of each. An opinion isn't a fact but it isn't fiction either. As an opinion writer, you are only saying what you believe to be true. In a recent column, I wrote that I believe America just elected a man who may be our worst president ever. That isn't a fact (though it may turn out to be), it's simply my opinion which readers are free to agree or disagree with.

Again, newspapers make a clear distinction between faithful reporting and opinion, labeling different sections of the paper news or editorial.

Newspapers have had to adapt to the new reality though. In the beginning of the presidential campaign, they were hesitant to call a candidate a flat-out liar. They danced around that label by resorting to euphemisms. Finally, Donald Trump's lies became so egregious that they gave us and simply called a lie a lie.

In the last year or so, social media has been inundated with fake news. Some of the writers of these stories have been interviewed. They freely admit to writing sensational allegations which they present as truthful though they are meant simply as "click bait" (another new term in our vocabulary).

I believe, based on my experience, that conservatives are far more likely to accept fake news as gospel. It seems no web article is to fantastic to be believed. They never seem to say, "now, wait a minute, Hillary running a child porn ring out of the pizza shop? Seriously? That's too crazy even for me to swallow." Or they'll pass on the meme that Michelle Obama is a transvestite without question.

Meanwhile, I have been caught a few times posting phony stories. (Our world has become so crazed, it is hard to tell truth from fictions sometimes). Usually, within minutes, one of my liberal friends has called me on it and I have to go back and apologize. We try to correct conservative stories too but invariably, our right-wing friends continue to insist. (Yes, Hillary is a serial killer who sold arms to ISIS).

So here we are in a world where the the red of fiction mixes with the blue of non-fiction, resulting in a kind of purple shade that leaves neither pure . Of course, it is non-fiction which loses out in this transaction because non-fiction depends on purity while fiction doesn't care.

Friday, November 25, 2016

On The Hunt For Ideas


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I recently tried to come up with a rough estimate of how many columns I’ve written. For many years, I wrote four a week, with maybe an additional stand-alone for a newspaper like USA Today. Some years I wrote two a week and other years just one. I may be wildly off the mark but as near as I can figure, that comes to over 3,500 columns and that is over 2,000,000 words.

Over time, writing columns has become a basic element of my life. I’ve never taken a “writing” vacation. If I actually go on vacation, I write about it. If something momentous happens, like my husband’s death, I simply describe about how that affected me. After all these years, I see life itself through a prism of the words that can illustrate it.

The most difficult part of column writing is coming up with new ideas. Once I know what I’m going to write about, putting 700 or so words together is easy. I used to tell my writing class students that I could write 1,000 words about a crumpled up candy bar wrapper if I had to. Then I challenged them to write a few paragraphs about some every day, unimportant thing and to try to make it seem interesting.. (Of course, Andy Rooney was the master of this style).

Sometimes, events occur that are natural subjects for a column. I’m grateful when I can say, “ah, well, that takes care of this week.”

It was always a standing joke with my family that every week I asked Mom and John for column ideas. Mom always pretended to think, then she'd say the same thing every time – “what about the weather?” Actually, sometimes I do write about the weather but if Mom had been dictating the subject matter for my columns, it would have been about the weather 50 weeks out of every 52. Indiana weather is changeable but it isn’t that changeable!

John sometimes came up with ideas but he spent so much time taking college courses that his columns would be more like intellectually-deep, peer-reviewed abstracts that only nine people would have understood or enjoyed.

I can’t use some of my best stuff because of embarrassing my friends. They will pull some particularly foolish stunt and immediately beg me not to write about it. Part of the risk of being friends with a writer always searching for column ideas is that your most humiliating moments will end up in the pages of a newspaper for all the world to see. I try to honor their pleas unless I get really, really desperate.

Often people I don’t even know give me suggestions for columns. My all-time favorite was when George and Donna Russell of Roann, gave me access to family letters they’d discovered that were written during the Civil War.

I wrote three columns incorporating the correspondence John and Andrew Scott had with their family back home in Niconza (Miami County) and barely scratched the surface of what they told about being soldiers in the Civil War. I fell in love with those boys and so did my readers.

Different readers, I’ve found, like different columns. Some get off on good old partisan political debates while others resent them. Some love the history columns and others think those are boring.  I had a reader tell me once that his eyes glazed over as soon as he realized a column was about the past.

I’d say the human interest or humorous columns are the ones a majority of readers like best and therefore, they are what I do the most of.  Sometimes you have to dig to get a column’s worth of information about people. Most of us don’t think our lives have been especially interesting but that’s not my experience. I’ve always thought I could get 1,000 fascinating words from anyone if they’d be willing to talk to me for a while.

Most people who write do it to touch others (only journal writing is for one’s self alone and even then perhaps most journal writers are looking toward posterity). You want to make readers smile or laugh or maybe, shed a tear. You want them to see a picture from an angle they’ve never seen it before. You may want simply to share information or even better, provoke someone to action, whether that’s to vote or write a letter to the editor or adopt a pet…

If no one is touched in some way by what you do, then you’re wasting your time. Some columns aren’t as amusing or interesting as you’d hoped but you have to be philosophical. Writing is like baseball. Sometimes, you get on base, sometimes you strike, out but you live for those occasional home runs.


Over two million words later, I still believe I reach some people, some times, and so the search for ideas continues.

Monday, October 24, 2016

Our Downhill Slide


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I wrote a column recently about being given a packet of letters written by two boys fighting in the Civil War back to their family here in Indiana. Remembering those letters made me recall how impressed I was with the education those boys seemed to have received despite having attended small rural schools in Indiana. And that made me think of a book I bought once at an auction for $1. I went looking for it and found it. This book, an Indiana State Series, Fourth Grade Reader, was owned by a little girl named Minnie Gaskill who went to elementary school in Markle sometime around the turn of the century...the last century.

It is approximately 125 years since the Indiana School Book Company published Minnie’s little book and we, as a country, are currently engaged in great controversy and debate about our how school system should be administered. No Child Left Behind....Charter schools....funding....for-profit schools...extreme testing. Here in Indiana, the governor and the Republican-dominated legislature are at odds with most educators and many parents.

In light of all this, it is curious to look back to see what was expected of a typical fourth grader in the late 1800’s. I don’t remember what my books were like then but I know Minnie’s lessons strike me as a lot farther advanced than what I was taught at that age. Her first reading lesson consisted of a four-page, illustrated story on the life of Benjamin Franklin. Afterwards, her teacher questioned students on the leading facts of the piece. For their “written expression” they were expected to compose from memory a selected portion of the story.

Throughout the book are poems which pupils were required to memorize and recite in class. The first poem is the 23-line, Love of Country, by Walter Scott. Even in my childhood, memorizing verse was in vogue. I still remember a large part of this very poem. (Breathes there a man with soul so dead, that never to himself has said: “This is my own, my native land”?)

As the lessons progress, Minnie was required to memorize much longer poems. She was given vocal training as well. Her book admonished her: “”Learn the vowel sounds and diacritical marks. A knowledge of these sounds and their notations will enable you to find out by yourself the correct pronunciation of the worlds from the dictionary.”

Minnie’s reader was stuffed with history, health, science and geography. Before the year was over, she learned about Andrew Jackson, George Washington, the Romans, the Battle of Bunker Hill, Nathaniel Hawthorne, the most useful metals, the Sahara Desert and much more.

The book was not backward about using readings as a springboard for debating moral conclusions. In illustrating right from wrong, it drew from poems, stories, the Bible, “Poor Richard’s Sayings” and “Aesop’s Fables”.

At the end of each lesson, the students were expected to learn word definitions. Many of them would be difficult for adults in 2013. Here are a selection at the end of one story: patriarchal, adjoining, primeval, solitary, armorial, sonorous, wan, wane, zenith. From the same lesson, the spelling list included: reigns, balmy, twofold, icicles, heirloom, anise-seed, initials and zenith.

After reading a story about Daniel Webster, Markle’s fourth graders were given instructions to: write from memory a short sketch of Webster, dividing their subject into 1) his date and state of birth and residence as a man, 2) his characteristics as a boy, 3) his chief distinctions as a man and 4) any anecdote you have heard of him.


I have not had a child in the public school system for decades but studying the reader leads to the conclusion that over the last century, we have required less of each succeeding generation of American students. Am I wrong? 

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Trying To Get Rid Of Books



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I’ve been sorting books for the last few weeks. I’ve finally decided to do something about them so someone else doesn’t have to handle a thousand pounds of books when I die. First, I’d get rid of all those books I knew I’d never read again and replace them with those I might re-read. (I hardly ever do read books twice but...).

The 10 bookcases in this house range from old to new and so do the books within them. Looking at them is like taking a journey through the looking glass of my life. I still have all the Little Colonel books, beloved of the pre-teen me. I remember moving to California and telling people I was from Kentucky rather than Indiana and trying to talk with a southern accent, like the Little Colonel announcing – “lettah foah you, fathah deah.” And the Saga of Billy the Kid in which Billy was romanticized into a dashing hero on horseback. I read several more realistic books about Billy’s sad, short life later but it was this incarnation that captured my heart. Animals were always a big part of my reading world, including  the Collies of Sunnybrook Farm and The Black Stallion series.

I went through a stage of idealizing farm life and there are many volumes that reflect that. I still have my autographed copies of Rachel Peden’s books about her farm in southern Indiana and the wonderful narrations about life at Stillmeadow Farm by Gladys Taber.  I think I must have been way more optimistic then about obtaining such a life for myself and those authors were more optimistic too as nothing ever seemed to go wrong in their books. The roses were always blooming and the air always smelled of new-mown hay.

There are an abundance of books about religion, all kinds of religion, from my period of searching for something to believe in. They range from denominations of Christianity to Buddhism to spiritualism and beyond. I could get rid of all of them. None of them convinced me.

I have oodles of books about writing and marketing what you write. I’ll probably pass them on. I learned some helpful things from all of them but in my older age, I’m convinced that the path that took one person directly to success won’t necessarily work for another and we all have to blaze our own trail. I will keep the books of columns by authors I most admired – among them, Molly Ivins and Ellen Goodman and Lewis Grizzard. If my writing has a “style”, there are dribs and drabs of all of theirs in it.

I have practically every book ever written about Vietnam, both fiction and non-fiction, many of them signed by the men who wrote them. I’ll hold on to them even though I don’t think I could bear the heart-hurt of ever reading them again.

You could track the trail of American politics in the last 50 years by my bookshelves. There are books about Kennedy and Johnson, Carter and Reagan, Clinton and Bush and Obama. I’m not into politics so much anymore. Maybe we see the past through rose-colored glasses as we age but politics seems a lot meaner than it used to be. I disagreed with practically everything Ronald Reagan ever did but I never doubted his sincerity, his patriotism or his love for America. I even thought Iran-Contra merited the title “high crimes and misdemeanors but I still wasn’t up for impeaching him.

I mostly read fiction now but I’ve lost my taste for Pollyanna stories. That poor girl would never make it in today’s world of gritty realism. I like my stories harsh and graphic and my heroes flawed and perverse. Maybe I like my fiction black because in comparison, it makes reality seem a little lighter although living humans seem to be able to top the worst that writers can even imagine.

Actually, bookcases are beginning to seem anachronistic now that e-readers have been invented. Most of the most recent “books” I’ve bought are sent instantly to my Kindle, which can hold, I think, something like 3,500 volumes. I used to stress about what I would do to keep myself in reading material if ever I had to go to a nursing home but thank heavens, that’s one worry off my mind. Now I’m more concerned about whether I’ll live long enough to read all my Kindle purchases.

Getting rid of my books isn’t really that difficult. It’s saying good-bye to the memories that go along with them that is the hard part.



Sunday, September 18, 2016

When Your Writing Makes A Difference




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I have had magical things happen because of my writing – columns printed in college textbooks; awards; appearing on numerous t.v. programs; testifying before the Senate as a guest of Senator Edward Kennedy.....

All those were wonderful experiences but I think getting to know John and Andrew Scott would top my list of treasured writing memories.

I received a call from the Russell’s, who’d found a bundle of letters in their garage attic – letters that had been forgotten by the family since the early days of the Civil War. There were 50 or so of them, in excellent condition, spanning the years 1861 through 1864.

The first letters were between John Calvin Scott, 18 years old, and his mother, Mary Ann Adams. John had gone to live with relatives and attend school in Ohio. In a letter to his younger brother, Andrew, he makes the first mention of the civil war, “there are 2700 men in Mansfield now. They have marching orders next Tuesday.”

On August 25, 1862, John writes the letter his mother must have dreaded. He has joined the Army, although he’d promised her he wouldn’t. He makes an impassioned plea for understanding.

“We are all conscious that our glorious government is in danger of being overthrown by the most wicked set of men that ever existed on the face of the Globe...” John said that if Americans did not rally to the cause, it would be said that “Liberty rose and here Liberty fell in the short space of 86 years.”

It is difficult to believe that John is the product of a rural schoolhouse in Somerset, Indiana. His spelling is perfect, as is his grammar, and his penmanship is elegant, even when writing beside a campfire.

On October 22, 1862, he wrote that they just gotten paid – a $50 township bounty and $27 from the federal government. 

John spent his 20th birthday in the Vanburens Hospital in Louisiana. By now, war had lost its allure. “It is possible, Mother, that I have spent twenty years in this vile, this sinful world?...Perhaps I shall never live to see another birthday.”

That was the last letter from John but in September Mary Ann hears from her sister-in-law in Ohio – “sorry to hear that Andrew had volunteered to go help put down this wicked rebellion and was sick. Well, poor fellow, he had better die at home as away thare among strangers as did his dear brother.”

Now the communications from Andrew begin. He has always seemed to be the more carefree brother and Mary Ann seems to worry more that he will be led into wickedness by the temptations of camp life.

He writes from “a camp near Granville, Tenn” and tells his stepfather about going to a field of corn husks and taking it to the mill and grinding it to make mush which they eat without salt or milk.

Later, Andrew is in the Cumberland Gap and is sick with the ague. By January of 1864, he’s in the “hospittle” in Knoxville, Tenn. “I have had the diarrhea so long that I am weak and poor as a snake.”

Andrew  died there on February 8, 1864. John had died on June 28, 1863 in the Jeffersonville (MO) Barracks.

I fell in love with these two boys through their letters. They were smart and sweet and funny. When I discovered where the Niconza Baptist Church was, the minister there was kind enough to let me research their old records. I was able to locate both the Scott boys’ worn headstones.


The Historical Society later erected a monument to recognize them as a result of my columns. John and Andrew’s lives had been obliterated by time. Helping to resurrect their memories is one of my most satisfying achievements as a writer.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

The Mysteriousness of Characters

I just finished reading, The Girl On The Train" which is a best seller by Paula Hawkins. It didn't sound like my cup of tea but a friend bought it and loaned it to me so I read it. I struggled to finish it because it lacks the absolute basic ingredient I have to have to love a book and that is engaging characters. I have to be enthralled by them. It doesn't even have to be in a good way. They can be worthless or evil but they must intrigue me. None of the characters in The Girl On the Train did that.

The plot was convoluted and interesting. I never did guess who dun it until almost the very end but then I really didn't care very much either because the people involved in the plot weren't able to make me care. The girl who finally turned out to be the heroine was lackluster. The other two female characters had hardly any depth. The three male characters were all losers but not really in a dramatic fashion, they were simply bland losers. Everyone in the book was extremely foolish.

So, for me, characters make or break a book. If the people in a novel don't grab readers, it is a failure. It doesn't matter how intricate the plotting. It doesn't matter how sparkling the descriptions. It doesn't matter how accurate the history. By contrast, I can overlook weaknesses in all these other areas if I am compelled by the characters.

Of course, not all readers are the same, for which we writers should thank God. Evidently, lots of people did not find the same lack in The Girl On The Train as I did. It's sold a heck of a lot more copies than any book I've ever written.

My own books all start with a character. In the beginning, I have a name. From that name, the rest of the book flows. Once I know the name, I know the person and once I know the person, I know what is going to happen in his or her life.

I wonder sometimes where they come from. I am a plump, gray-haired, 70-year-old Grandma type. My characters are mostly male. They are usually more anti-hero than hero. My series character, Rafe Vincennes, has been called a sociopath, conscienceless, an autistic savant. That's nothing like me. I'm a bleeding heart liberal. He is a killer. I hate killing bugs. He is cold-blooded. I'm an empath. So, where does Rafe come from? All I know is that he lives somewhere inside my head.

Developing a plot is an intellectual exercise. Describing a place is usually based on finding words for something real. If a place in a book isn't an actual place, it is probably based on actual places.

But characters are mysterious, seeming to spring up out of nowhere. The writer had no idea they were there until they appear.  And that is what I find so fascinating about characters.

  

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Heave Ho!

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This would be the equivalent of a writer whose words stay in the computer in a draft file. They're safe from judgment but they are never going to take you on any exciting journeys.

I've taught many writing classes and when my students asked me what the one most valuable piece of advice I can give aspiring writers, it is: "be brave." The main reason 999 out of every 1000 writers (or whatever the stat may be) are never published in any form is because they lack courage.

I've had students who wrote novels and students who wrote poetry and students who wrote comedy and students who wrote non-fiction. For many of them, it was all they could do to bring themselves to read in class before an audience of 20...and some of them never did. I knew they would never end up being published.

My course included the mandatory assignment to submit a manuscript somewhere, anywhere, whether to a book publisher, a newspaper, magazine, a poetry editor. I showed them how to find the most likely markets for their type of writing. I told them not to expect success their first time out. Rather, they would most likely get a rejection letter....or no acknowledgment at all.

I told them rejection went with the territory. Even the most popular and praised authors have felt its sting many times. I told them about writers who were rejected 10, 20, 30 times before they found a publisher for books that ended up going to the top of the best seller list. Those authors believed in their work and didn't allow themselves to become discouraged. They persevered until it paid off.

I would estimate that at least half of my students never submitted a manuscript. In some cases, it might have been lack of motivation but I'm convinced, more often than not, it was lack of confidence.

I understand how hard it is to send your precious baby off into the cold, cruel world where it might get kicked around by callous editors and come back to you stained and torn (not so much now that everything is done on-line but the feeling is the same). I've been through it. It never occurred to me to think that my writing wasn't good enough. I blamed it on publishers not wise enough to see its value. Every successful writer has to be a little arrogant!

You can take classes and go to conferences. They are bound to help you. You'll find encouragement and understanding there, but in the final analysis, no one is going to stand over your shoulder and force you to raise the anchor on your ship. You have to find the courage to set out on your own.


Sunday, August 21, 2016

You Be STUNNED If You Read This Blog!!!!

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Sometimes, I feel that I'm drowning in exaggeration.....and I actually like exaggeration. A writing course instructor told me one time that the best way to write humor was to exaggerate and over the years, I've found that to be true. For instance, I wrote about my new pocket hose - "on the commercials, they show a woman holding it up with her little finger and that's true....when it's empty. Full of water, it weighs more like 845 pounds". That's exaggeration for effect.

But today, we live in a world of hyperbole. I've begun to hate the word awesome. (NASCAR is especially terrible for over-use of this word - the tracks are all awesome, the tires are awesome, the pit stops are awesome, etc, etc, etc.) NO! To truly be awesome, something must be, if not totally unique, at least extremely rare. Niagara Falls is awesome; the Grand Canyon is awesome, oceans are awesome...like that.

Your new car is not awesome unless it is the highest end Ferrari or Lamborghini. If it is a Chevy, Ford or Toyota...no, it's simply one like a million others.

We see these promises on t.v. Hamburgers the size of breadboxes. Medicines that fix your erectile dysfunction or allow you to control your bladder (so if there are medicines to control bladder leakage, why are there also all those ads for adult diapers?). Online courses that make your child a genius.

Incredible claims are constantly being made on Facebook.

"Use this cream on your face and your wrinkles will DISAPPEAR OVERNIGHT!"

"Take this collection of herbs and your diabetes will be CURED!"

"Use this trick that credit cards companies don't want you to know and ELIMINATE your debt!"

"He bought an old house and you'll be STUNNED by what he found in the basement!" (After you click through 452 "next pages", of course. Oops, see it's catching!)

"You'll NEVER BELIEVE what he caught in the ocean, discovered in a cave, found in an old chest."

Yeah, you're constantly being stunned and amazed and flabbergasted on Facebook.

Every recipe is mouth-watering; every bit of news is mind-blowing. Every puppy, kitten, baby is indisputably cute and they may all make you smile but none of them are not the MOST precious you've ever seen.

This is the political season and over-blown rhetoric is the norm. We've lived through seven years of Barack Obama and we've heard him called a Kenyan Muslim communist/fascist/socialist, who wants to take all our guns, prior to instituting Sharia Law.

Hillary (or Shrillary or Killery, if you prefer), we hear, is a corrupt pathological liar who literally KILLS her opponents. For some reason, she's in league with Obama to give over America to the Muslims. There must be money in it for her and Bill because we know they only do what they do for money. I'm not sure why the right is worried about her, really, because she's practically on her deathbed anyway and probably won't even live until the election.

America will be destroyed if she becomes president.

Donald Trump is a narcissistic megalomaniac - a racist and bigot who wants to unloose nuclear weapons on our enemies.

America won't survive if he becomes president.

Now, I admit that I'm a liberal Democrat so I find more credence in the claims made again the Donald than I do Hillary but still, I expect that even if he got elected America would still exist when his term was over (well, unless he really did decide to use those nukes). Probably even the Republican party would still be around to frustrate those of us on the left.

According to his worshipful devotees, the only prayer the U.S. had is if we had recognized the vast moral superiority of Bernie Sanders, the only PURE candidate in the race, the only candidate who had our best interests at heart.

The problem with all this over-magnification of the mundane is that we then don't recognize the outstanding when we actually see it. Scientists and historians and even regular people have found some amazing things, such as chests of old letters and tombs of dead kings and new species of birds and fish and butterflies. There are places in this world that are breathtakingly magnificent. There are talents that are so incredible all you can do is shake your head in wonder. We've just seen some of it during the Olympics.

As a bit of a wordsmith myself, I hate all this over-exaggeration. I think it lessens the power of words into a vast battering ram of blather.  



  







Sunday, July 17, 2016

What To Read During Droughtlander.....

 

For those of us who are sick of the ugliness of our current politics and heartsick because the Outlander season is over, let me suggest Kerry Lynne's books about The Pirate Captain. 

Someone on my Heughn's Heughligans  ( a fan community for Outlander, and more specifically, Sam Heughn) recommended Kerry Lynne's books about Nathanael J. E. Blackthorne, Captain of the Ciara Morganse. 

Like Outlander itself, I initially didn't think it sounded like my usual cup of reading tea. I normally like very graphic, hard-edged, gritty books about espionage and assassins and serial killers (much like my own books). But I'd learned from the Outlander series to sometimes trust the judgment of others. So I ordered the first book and fell in love.

Like Outlander, The Pirate Captain, features a strong female heroine, Cate. She is captured by pirates but then she captures them with her courage and independence and kindness. And, of course, she captures the Captain's heart and he hers because this is a romance,  after all. 

But it isn't simply the romance of a man and woman but also a romance of a man for his ship and for the sea itself. The descriptions of Blackthorne's love affair with The Ciara Morganse are beautifully written. The ship is close to being a living being, willing to give her all for her Captain, as he is willing to give his all for her. 

Just as we learned about Scottish history from Outlander, we learn about sailing from The Pirate Captain. Just as we learned about the Gaelic language from Outlander, we learn the language of those who ply the ocean from The Pirate Captain. 

I don't see how anyone who fell in love with Jamie, wouldn't also be charmed by Nathan Blackthorne. He is a man of mystery, a legend in his own time, although he never tells the same story twice. The superstitious seamen believe he is protected by Calypso, the goddess of the sea. Like Jamie, he's been shot, stabbed and branded, always emerging whole from his travails, his myth larger than ever. 

He wears his hair in long black braids with bells and ribbons woven through his hair and mustache. He is much tattooed with every tattoo having a story behind it. He is witty and clever and courageous. The dialogue sparkles whether between Nathan and Cate or the Captain and his men or with his best friend, Thomas, another character who enchants us. Even his talent for inventive cursing is colorful and humorous.

As soon as I started the first book and realized how much I was enjoying it, I ordered the second two so I'd have them when I was ready. Yes, The Pirate Captain is escapism in a way but it isn't shallow or superficial. The characters are people you fall in love with and their world is one you want to spend more time in. A strong heroine, a dashing Pirate Captain, a beautiful black ship, blue water and bluer skies and lush tropical islands. 

Five stars for The Pirate Captain. 






 
"Outlander" Pirate Edition, Amazing, Fifty Shades of a Pirate Captain, Make a Great Movie, Got to read it Again, Hurry with the Sequel!




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                                  The PIRATE CAPTAIN, Chronicles of a Legend

By Kerry Lynne         
                                 Historical Pirate Fiction with a love story! 
                                "Seriously, it's like Outlander with Pirates!"                                        
    During the year of 1753, I was sailing the West Indies, minding the oars in me own ship, pursuing me purpose in life, to disrupt the unholy alliance of two corrupt men and destroy their lives as they destroyed mine. I mistakenly kidnapped Catherine Mackenzie - wrong person,easy mistake, you understand - and me life went arsey . . . turvey. Having lost hearth and heart to the Jacobite War, and wanted by King Georgie's courts. Cate has lived many years destitute and alone. She desires but one thing: a place to belong. How could I deny that? Alas, if it were only that simply.
It's a story of scarred people, blinded by defenses.
It's the story of trust or rater the lack of.
It's the story of loss of faith and heart.
It's the story of a Captain's life. 
"Have you the courage to join us?"

              Nathanael J. E. Blackthorne

              Captain of the Ciara Morganse
 
The Pirate Captain, Chronicles of a Legend's series; Listed in the Top Paid 100 Bestsellers, Amazon's US & UK Kindle Historical Caribbean Fiction for the past year. On, Dec. 24 and Nov. 1, ranking for the books were #25 & 26 (Christmas Eve and National Author's Day) in the US.
 
The Pirate Captain, Chronicles of a Legend,  Nor Silver
From UK - 5 stars Brilliant, By Malteaser88,
Anyone who enjoys anything to do with sailing and pirates in general will love this book. The characters are well thought out and you find yourself deeply engaged from the get go and often find yourself rooting for characters you previously were unsure of. A good length of a book full of rich details. I was devastated when I finished as now I'll have to wait until the follow up! Highly recommended!
 
The Pirate Captain: Nor Gold 
From US - 5 stars Unforgettable Characters, By Borgia,
Lynne's characters, main as well as supporting, are complex and well developed through her descriptive writing. Nor Gold is a page turner of pirate adventures and relationships with an exciting plot that keeps you wanting more straight through to the end, and even then you can't believe it's over! This is the type of story that when you have finished reading the characters stay with you, and you miss them; by no means is this a take off of the "Pirates of the Caribbean"  
5.0 out of 5 stars Unforgettable Characters, November 3, 2014
Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Nor Gold: The Pirate Captain, Chronicles of a Legend (Kindle Edition)
Nor Gold is the second book in the Pirate Captain series by Kerry Lynne. Her characters, main as well as supporting, are complex and well developed through her descriptive writing. Nor Gold is a page turner of pirate adventures and relationships with an exciting plot that keeps you wanting more straight through to the end, and even then you can't believe it's over! This is the type of story that when you are done reading the characters stay with you, and you miss them.
5.0 out of 5 stars Unforgettable Characters, November 3, 2014
Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Nor Gold: The Pirate Captain, Chronicles of a Legend (Kindle Edition)
Nor Gold is the second book in the Pirate Captain series by Kerry Lynne. Her characters, main as well as supporting, are complex and well developed through her descriptive writing. Nor Gold is a page turner of pirate adventures and relationships with an exciting plot that keeps you wanting more straight through to the end, and even then you can't believe it's over! This is the type of story that when you are done reading the characters stay with you, and you miss them.
 
5.0 out of 5 stars Unforgettable Characters, November 3, 2014
Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Nor Gold: The Pirate Captain, Chronicles of a Legend (Kindle Edition)
Nor Gold is the second book in the Pirate Captain series by Kerry Lynne. Her characters, main as well as supporting, are complex and well developed through her descriptive writing. Nor Gold is a page turner of pirate adventures and relationships with an exciting plot that keeps you wanting more straight through to the end, and even then you can't believe it's over! This is the type of story that when you are done reading the characters stay with you, and you miss them.
5.0 out of 5 stars Unforgettable Characters, November 3, 2014
 
 
 
The Price of Victory by Kerry Lynne
"The Pirate Captain"
 

Copyright 2016 PIRATE CAPTAIN ™

Monday, July 04, 2016

I Miss The Carottles

Image result for old women cartoons       I was thrilled when I sent for my DNA analysis to see just who I was in terms of ethnicity. I knew one long-time family question would be answered. My Gram's maiden name was Nussbaum and we always figured we had some Jewish blood. She denied it but well, you might if you lived in a town called New Berlin, Illinois, in the late 1800's, mightn't you?

Grammie was a character. She stood at an apple-shaped 4'10. She never had on a pair of slacks in her life, nor had she ever cut her iron gray hair which she wound in a bun on the back of her head. She wore dresses that she made herself and you almost never saw her without an apron. She was our family cook until she got sick. When we kids came home from school, it was generally to the delicious scent of baking yeast rolls. She wasn't a lovable Grandma. We weren't allowed in her room unless invited and that happened rarely.

She'd had a rough life. My grandfather was the Indian Agent on the Caddo Reservation in Oklahoma. When she had her first child, Grandpa rode for the doctor but by the time, they got back, she'd already had the baby, cleaned it up and buried the afterbirth. Later, another child would die out there while her husband was gone so she dug her son's gave herself. (Her last words before she died were - "oh, look, there's my sweet Charley", which was the baby she'd lost.)

Anyway, when I got my DNA back, evidently she'd told the truth. It doesn't show a drop of Jewish blood. (Nor Native American, nor Black, nor Oriental - we are the most boring of Western Europeans - mostly British with some dashes of German, French, Nordic and Irish thrown in).

Still, Grammie almost had her own language and those words sounded Yiddish, though perhaps they were simply a form of pidgen German.

For instance, when you set something on the back of the stove, you just let it brutzle back there. Brutzling is slower than a boil, slightly faster than a simmer. Grammie just about always had beans or soup or stew brutzling on the stove. If you were going to give the kitchen a lick and a promise with the broom, you swintzled it. And if you half-assed ironed clothes without taking much care, you roshpelled them. Have you noticed a pattern here of less than sterling housekeepery?

Shoes were dopas and your favorite raggy robe was an old drunzel. Your head was your copsha. I can hear Grammie now, pulling me into her lap, patting her shoulder and saying, "lay copsha now and go to sleep".

An unruly child was a holabock and a messy one was a sloppahoness.

If you came home tipsy, you were pahsoofa.

To eat was to fress. When dinner was ready, she'd call out - "come ca fressa."

If she doubted your word, she'd say with contempt - "ah, du bees ferecht!" which meant, "you're crazy".

The Nussbaum family was large and argumentative. They were always feuding but they also couldn't stand not to know what was going on with one another so the arguments ended when someone inevitably said, "I wonder what the Nussbaum smacht?" (What the Nussbaum's are "up to".)

My father's generation of the family called themselves the Carottles. I have no idea why and now that I'm curious enough to want to know, anyone I could have asked is gone.

Isn't that the way of it. So often we're not interested in our family history until it's too late.

Did your family use any special words that were unique to them?

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Feminist Sexist?

                                                 Image result for outlander jamie

I have admitted with sad awareness in my old age that I have always been something of a sexist. It's not that I don't have wonderful women friends whom I love because I do. It's not that I haven't written and protested and carried signs for women's rights, because I have. It's not that I'm not supportive of women's causes because I am. I'm a full-fledged Hillary Clinton fan. I can't wait to see a woman in the White House as president.

But, having said all that, my heroes have always been males. When I was young, I wanted the main characters of the books I read to be male. I wanted the leads in the movies I saw to be men. Even now, the only t.v. program I watch is Outlander. I admire the Diana Gabaldon for having created a strong, fearless, intelligent female character - Claire. I respect the producers for accentuating her strengths. But, nevertheless, I doubt if I would watch if it wasn't for Jamie, her husband and lover. He's the one who draws me in so that that Saturday night hour is inviolate, no matter what else may be going on.

When I go to the library to pick out books, I read author's names rather than titles....and I mostly pass by female authors. I read the blurbs and if the protagonist is a woman, I usually put it back on the shelf.

Now I write books myself. I've written 13 novels and only one features a female main character and femininity wasn't her strong suit. I relate more to men than I do to women.

I wonder if that is cultural? I'm 69. When I was a girl, only boys played "real sports". Cowboys were all men though they might have a wife, like Dale Rogers, as a helpmate. Superheroes were all men until Wonder Woman came along. It goes without saying that all presidents were men, and most congresspeople too. Courageous soldiers were men. Even most breadwinners were men then....as were most inventors and scientists and doctors and college professors and pilots. In the beginning, all astronauts were men. So were police officers and firemen. And don't forget Supreme Court Justices.

So, where else were you to look but at the men to find your heroes other than the occasional Madame Curie or Amelia Earhart or Florence Nightingale?

Perhaps I'm a case of arrested development because be they actors, musicians, book charactors or athletes, my most loved are men - Johnny Depp and Sam Heughn, Jack Reacher and Gabriel Allon, Jimmie Johnson and Peyton Manning, David Garrett and Prince. I can't think of a list of similar females although I like some of them well enough.

Do you suppose it is possible to be both a feminist and a sexist?