Scribblings; "The first transport is away!" (without its illos)
random records of scattered thoughts
November 7th, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
excited
Tree House Tales
THT is a collection of my short stories, anecdotes, original art and short extracts from four of my Narenta fantasy novels.
Most of the stories are fantasy. Most of the anecdotes are humorous.
One short story, "Shadow Harper" was previously published in Spencer Hill's "UnConventional, Twenty-Two Tales..."
One anecdote, "Baffled By the Green Door" was previously published in "Stories from the Inkslingers".
Everything else is untouched by human eyes--except the author's eyes, the beta reader's eyes, the editor's eyes...
Here is THT's table of contents -- subject to change.
FANTASY, MOSTLY 9
“Imagination is the one weapon in the war against reality.” -- Jules de Gaultier
I Need A Horse 10
A Sailor’s Tale 12
Sisyphus 15
Circles 19
A Garden Mosaic 22
Daisy & the Paper-Mice 23
The Windowed Door 27
Luckiest Hunter Ever 29
Story Outline. Story-Telling Suggestions.
The Dragon’s Tail Tale 32
No Substitutions 38
Winter’s Season 41
The Smashed Fairy Song Cycle 56
Dream, With Joey 59
A Dream With Bowling 63
The Queen of the Tor Shee 65
Shadow Harper 67
The Pumpkin Smasher 71
Gajit’s Research Expedition 80
Dingle Finish the story challenge. 87
The Last Battle (novelette) 89-114
“This Marks the End of Fantasy Mostly” 115
The Witch’s ORIGINAL Gingerbread House (art) 116-117
NOTE: 12-15 thumbnails of my artwork will be scattered randomly throughout.
REALITY, WHATEVER THAT IS 118
"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." --Philip K Dick
Preteens, Horses, and Aliens 119
Baffled By The Green Door 123
Fandom 101 128
A Fannish Internet Sub-Creation of a 136
Hyperdimensional Pocket Universe
Sherry’s Cake is Major Hit at Coffee Hour! Film at 11! 140
EgoBoogling 142
Catzis #1 (with cat illos) 145
Catzis #2 (with cat illos) 147
Rainstorm Coming 150
Hurricane Hazel 152
Between Worlds (Interwoven Memories of Ocean City New Jersey) 155
END OF REALITY… 157
Extracts from Four Narenta novels: 158
Narenta # 1: Seabird 159
Narenta # 2: Earthbow 162
Narenta # 3: The Gryphon & the Basilisk (forthcoming) 166
Narenta # 1.5: Marooned (forthcoming) 173
How I Write 175
A Smidge of Plot. A Glob of Character
Khiva the Stoah (“stow-hah”) from Earthbow; G and B 176
Bert-and-Marsha-from-Hoboken (Marooned) 176
The End, "elegantly adorned" 178
Tags: anecdotes, december publication date, earthbow, egoboogling, fandom 101, fantasy, humor, hurricane hazel, narenta # 1.5 marooned, narenta tumults, ocean city new jersey, original art, preteens horses and aliens, seabird, sherry thompson, short stories, smashed fairy song cycle(filk lyrics), the gryphon and the basilisk, tree house tales
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May 21st, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
Creeped out just from writing this
Current Music:
The shrieking of violin strings--or raw nerves
I'm a member of "Library Thing" and tonight I was
browsing discussions like
No one had mentioned the actual scariest book so I
did:
Shirley Jackson's "The Haunting of Hill House" is part ghost story & part psychological thriller, blended so thoroughly even a careful reader may wonder what is reality & what is mental illness.
When I was in 6th grade, I plucked a volume of Reader's Digest Condensed Books from a living room shelf. Never steal from your parents. This could happen to you.
Just the first paragraph frightened me, It's also the last paragraph. "...whatever walks there walks alone."
But then there's...
the something knocking on bedroom doors with booms as loud as cannonballs. (never to be seen or described)
The something that isn't there that held Eleanor's hand. (never to be seen or described)
The something in the garden that makes Theo shriek, "Run!" (never to be seen or described).
Jackson knew the secret of creating elemental terror in her v/i/c/t/i/m/s readers. Less is more. Limit description & the reader's imagination will do the rest. And do it better than any author because our imaginations are fine-tuned by our personal experiences.
I didn't sleep for two nights. I pressed my back into one corner of my bedroom and spent the hours staring at the door, hoping that it didn't boom. Staring at each wall in turn, hoping that wallpaper wouldn't appear & then begin sobbing & gibbering to itself...
The Haunting of Hill House
p.s. After reading the book, you may wish to view the film. Be sure it's the 1950-60's(?) B&W version!
See additional commentary at ModernGothic.
Shirley Jackson's "The Haunting of Hill House" is part ghost story & part psychological thriller, blended so thoroughly even a careful reader may wonder what is reality & what is mental illness.
When I was in 6th grade, I plucked a volume of Reader's Digest Condensed Books from a living room shelf. Never steal from your parents. This could happen to you.
Just the first paragraph frightened me, It's also the last paragraph. "...whatever walks there walks alone."
But then there's...
the something knocking on bedroom doors with booms as loud as cannonballs. (never to be seen or described)
The something that isn't there that held Eleanor's hand. (never to be seen or described)
The something in the garden that makes Theo shriek, "Run!" (never to be seen or described).
Jackson knew the secret of creating elemental terror in her v/i/c/t/i/m/s readers. Less is more. Limit description & the reader's imagination will do the rest. And do it better than any author because our imaginations are fine-tuned by our personal experiences.
I didn't sleep for two nights. I pressed my back into one corner of my bedroom and spent the hours staring at the door, hoping that it didn't boom. Staring at each wall in turn, hoping that wallpaper wouldn't appear & then begin sobbing & gibbering to itself...
The Haunting of Hill House
p.s. After reading the book, you may wish to view the film. Be sure it's the 1950-60's(?) B&W version!
See additional commentary at ModernGothic.
Tags: library thing, readers digest condensed books, shirley jackson, the haunting (film), the haunting of hill house
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May 1st, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
Pondering Many Things
Current Music:
Some enchanted evening...
This just suddenly appeared--not unlike a Pern dragon returning
from Between
Come see my author board, "Ima Writerly Writer Who Writes" at Pinterest!
Below are a few of my captions.
They make more sense when you see the pictures, at the link waaaay below.
Poetry art: original poem on found image "woman reading"
Cats, commas and claws
A marvellously detailed B&W portrait by Lukas Holas. Isn’t this
amazing? Aside from photographers with telephoto lens who ever gets close
enough to a bird of prey to see such detail?
Well, people in fantasy tales do...
Well, people in fantasy tales do...
Never wrong a writer. Remember, we know your name--and we know how
to use it.
A friend found the matching shirt for me at a fantasy/SF con
several years ago. We've known each other since just a few years after I began
to write. The shirt "encapulates my personality". Her shirt would
require bunnies.
Being an author can be murder.
1st lines of a micro-story: "We straggle to a stop
within the last sheltering trees & study the cliffside blocking our way.
The slanted crease we thought a passageway is... "
Ooh. This needs to be glued to my forehead....
"Book Living" Great furniture. First rate companions.
Speaking of companions, I found three definite vignettes is the painting.
Possibly two more...
"Open book", by Plum leaves. Those are truly magic
words!
1st lines of a ponder about a picture: "Evocative
painting! See the broken stone arch? Who built it? Why build it in the
midst..."
Tags: authors, books, dragon, dragons unstoppable, fantasy art, pern, pinterest, quotations, seabird necklace, writerly writer board, writing
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March 29th, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
hungry (given lunch this is impossible)
Current Music:
anything Beach Boys
When my family began vacationing in Ocean City, NJ we used to stay
at the Impala Motel on 10th. It's now the Impala
Island, I suppose just in case any visitors thought they were on safari
rather than at the shore.
The Stingray Motel
Later my grandmother and I stayed at the Stingray, most frequently in June when it was easier for me to get permission to take my vacation. It was also easier to get wet during our annual visits, since OCNJ weather in June is often "unsettled". One vacation week, I believe it rained every day. We kept ourselves occupied. :-D Just being in Ocean City was the point.
(stuph re The Beach Club and its Cafe below)
It's been a very long time since I've visited OCNJ, as regular readers already know.
Since my most recent visit, the Stingray morphed into the Beach Club. I hope the new owners have kept the "Stingray tradition" (?). Whatever that was...
... Oh, I know! Being a motel. Being on the boardwalk. Being in the
"correct" Ocean City aka the one on the N Jersey shore.
Yup, that pretty much covers it. ;-D
The Beach Club entrance next to their parking lot.
If you walked up the street on the right, you would end up on the boardwalk.
Yup, that pretty much covers it. ;-D
The Beach Club entrance next to their parking lot.
If you walked up the street on the right, you would end up on the boardwalk.
The Cafe Beach Club is a bit upscale though I guess not for a
resort town.Actually the various Cafe Beach Club menu contents must total
several 1000 words. This is not quite as impressive as it seems since there's a
lot of mix-and-match involved. As in you can get any of these half dozen
seafood entrees prepared in any of these six ways. Ditto, meat entrees. When
each is described in detail, it eats up lots of words. Please forgive the pun.
The last line on each page of their online menu says
"Full Menu Available for Take Out"
The entire menu? Good idea for our next island-wide shindig!!!
July 31 2014: An update describing my Ocean city New Jersey vacation is long overdue. Sorry about that! There were extenuating circumstances--largely medical issues & "lifestyle" issues keeping me busy for over a month. I WILL post a post-OCNJ vacation up date RSN! Much of the update will be photos.
BTW
This entire blog entry is dedicated to Demaris, as old old work friend & occasional con-going fellow traveller! This will be Demaris' first time in Ocean City, New Jersey.
"Full Menu Available for Take Out"
The entire menu? Good idea for our next island-wide shindig!!!
July 31 2014: An update describing my Ocean city New Jersey vacation is long overdue. Sorry about that! There were extenuating circumstances--largely medical issues & "lifestyle" issues keeping me busy for over a month. I WILL post a post-OCNJ vacation up date RSN! Much of the update will be photos.
BTW
This entire blog entry is dedicated to Demaris, as old old work friend & occasional con-going fellow traveller! This will be Demaris' first time in Ocean City, New Jersey.
Tags: cafe beach club menus, impala island motel, impala motel, ocean city new jersey, ocnj, stingray motel, the beach club motel
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March 17th, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
Mostly cheerful
Current Music:
How Much is That Doggie in the Window?
Mr Mature America Pageant Weekend is just days away!
The Mr. Mature America pageant is the first
in the country to honor men over the age of 60, and takes place at the Music
Pier on March 22, 7 p.m. The pageant will be preceded by a performance by the
Bubba Mac Blues Band. The band is made up entirely of men over the age of 60.
Contestants in the Mr. Maturity pageant will present a talent that
can range from music, stand-up comedy, a hobby, or an organization they have
assisted for the betterment of the community. They will also discuss how life
was, growing up in their particular era....
Dietz and Watson, the major sponsor of Ocean City’s annual Doo
Dah Parade, will present large Dietz and Watson Hams to all the
contestants.
Tickets are $10 with proceeds benefitting the Ocean City Ecumenical
Council Community Food Cupboard and the Philippine Relief Fund. Call
609-525-9300 to order tickets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of the Ocean City Annual Doo Dah Parade:
From the Ocean City
Chamber of Commerce,
"Say goodbye to tax season with this comedy parade complete with over 500 basset hounds. 12 noon on Asbury Ave. from 6th St. – 12th St. and then up to the Boardwalk ending at the Music Pier. Pieasco follows parade – mass pie in the face extravaganza!" Saturday, April 12, 2014 - 12:00 PM
Wikipedia: The original Doo Dah Parade was "...conceived in 1978 by several friends sitting in a bar called "Chromo's" in Pasadena, as an irreverent alternative to the traditional formality of the Rose Parade.
"Say goodbye to tax season with this comedy parade complete with over 500 basset hounds. 12 noon on Asbury Ave. from 6th St. – 12th St. and then up to the Boardwalk ending at the Music Pier. Pieasco follows parade – mass pie in the face extravaganza!" Saturday, April 12, 2014 - 12:00 PM
Wikipedia: The original Doo Dah Parade was "...conceived in 1978 by several friends sitting in a bar called "Chromo's" in Pasadena, as an irreverent alternative to the traditional formality of the Rose Parade.
The OCNJ DooDah Parade's BoardWaddle Brigade 2014
Ocean City, NJ hosts a shore season kick-off event called the Doo
Dah Parade. Tri-State's portion of the parade, called BoardWaddle, is by
far their biggest brigade. The BoardWaddle is a walk-a-thon for
homeless basset hounds. Waddlers collect pledges from everyone
they know (friends, relatives, doctors, well... everyone!) to help the
homeless hounds of New Jersey, eastern Pennsylvania and lower New York.
The resort town of Ocean City, NJ, is the perfect backdrop for this event as
the hounds stroll through the streets and up the boardwalk along the
Atlantic Ocean!
Awards are presented to the top 10 pledge-getters, and basset hounds compete in games such as best trick, best costume, best float, and the basset look-alike contest.
Awards are presented to the top 10 pledge-getters, and basset hounds compete in games such as best trick, best costume, best float, and the basset look-alike contest.
After the Waddle, all are welcome to join us for our picnic on the
practice field behind the Civic Center on 6th street. The picnic features an Arts
& Crafts show, food vendors, rescue groups and area shelters, as well as
Tri-State's merchandise tent. http://www.tristatebassets.org/info/display?PageID=13309
%22&num=100&lr=&hl=en&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=ehgnU4jaHejk0QH194DADw&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAg&biw=1217&bih=865
Calendar of April Events in OCNJ
Doo Dah Parade and Pieasco; Picnic and crafts show April 12
Ocean City NJ Easter Sun Rise Service by the Sea
April 20
Easter Egg Hunts on April 12 & April 19
DO YOU NEED MORE DOO IN YOUR DAH?
Here's more of BOTH from Wikipedia's Doo Dah Parade entry
Here's more of BOTH from Wikipedia's Doo Dah Parade entry
OC's parade is billed as a salute to humor and comedy, featuring impersonators of Groucho Marx, Charlie Chaplin, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, Abbott & Costello and many other classic movie stars. Celebrity comedians and TV stars have served as Grand Marshall in this parade, including Joan Rivers, Joe Franklin, Larry Storch, Mickey Rooney, Soupy Sales, Bill Dana, Captain Noah and many others. After his grand marshall appearance, legendary kids' TV host Soupy Sales became a regular guest at DooDah and following the parade, was honored by presiding over the "Pieasco" in which participants are invited to toss shaving cream pies at each other, just like the ones Soupy got hit with on his classic show. All parade participants receive a free commemorative t-shirt and hot dog courtesy of sponsor Dietz & Watson.
Other parade regulars include "Trash Buster" (played by
chief DooDah organizer Mark Soifer from Ocean City's Community
Affairs department), "Underdog Lady" Suzanne Muldowny, the
"Wizard of Odd", the Pitman NJ Hobo Band, kids radio host Kathy
O'Connell, and hundreds of dogs taking part in the annual Bassett Hound
Waddle as part of the weekend's festivities. Also appearing are the
costume character host and friends of the New York City cable &
Internet TV show "Rapid T. Rabbit and Friends".
The parade recognizes those who support humor and entertainment that
appear in the DooDah Parade by giving out award plaques in a ceremony at
the Music Pier immediately at the conclusion of the march. The "Golden Hot
Dog" award is given to those entertainers from the NJ/PA/NY area. The
"Double Doggy DooDah Glutton-For-Punishment Award" is given to anyone
who appears in the Ocean City Parade after being in any other DooDah
Parade elsewhere in the country. Rapid T. Rabbit was the first such award
recipient in 1995 after having marched in the Pasadena parade in the early
90s, and has also since appeared in the parades at Columbus, Ohio and Illion
NY.
Tags: area shelters, boardwaddle brigade, doo dah parade, easter sun rise service by the sea, mr mature america pageant, name that fish!, ocean city nj, ocnj april 2014 events, ocnj march 2014 events, philippine relief fund, pieasco, rapid t rabbit, rescue groups, salute to humor & comedy; comedian
imper, the golden hot dog award, tri-state bassets organization for homel
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February 16th, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
contemplative
Current Music:
birdcalls would be nice
I received an email with 33 amazing photographs of birds, most of
which I've never seen before. (Then there's the budgie.) Many of these birds
are so exquisite, so vibrant with colors, that I was delighted and awed
learning that they actually exist.
No species names were provided in the email. Worse, whoever sent it out originally said nothing about whose work they were s/t/e/a/l/i/n/g sharing.
There was one clue--the words, "Color Only God Could Create" just above the first picture. A Google search of those words led me to the photographer's site on Facebook. You'll find the link below.
But first I want to share my favorite bird with you.
Many people I know, if asked if they believe in God --or why do they believe God loves us--will point to the beauties of nature for their proof, following intentionally or not the principle about which Paul wrote in Romans 1:20
"For since the creation of the world his invisible attributes– his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen, because they are understood through what has been made."
As much as I love plants, trees, mammals, sea creatures and birds, it hardly ever occurs to me to point to something in Creation as proof of a loving Creator. I don't know why. I tend to stick to events in my life when offering proof of God's love. But I'm the only one who has experienced those events. (Duh) Better to point to proof of God's existence and His love with examples from nature that everyone can see or hear or feel. We are all touched by nature in countless ways. Literally "countless".
Maybe I've "reformed" and will remember to point to God's handiwork in the future. If I do, I'll have this particular bird--and God!--to thank for reminding me of the infinite variations in color, the intricacy of patterns and the uncountable forms that life has taken under the hand of a Master.
Look at just this bird! If we had never seen this glorious animal in life or in a photo, could we have come up with its overall shape, the feathers' multiple intricate patterns, much less the color combinations on our own? Could any of us envision an utterly original creature without borrowing parts from real animals? (Mythological creatures, like gryphons or dragons, couldn't exist without glue plus selected bits of birds, lions, reptiles and bats.)
Focus just on this bird's back feathers for a minute. Given what you know about birds, could you ever have conceived of just the richly colored, rippling, overlapping pattern of this bird's back feathers? I know I couldn't. I'm still wondering from where many of its back feathers sprout. Some feathers look like they grow at right angles to others! (Or maybe my eyes are crossed.)
That's just the beginning. Assuming you know nothing about this bird species except what you see in the picture, could you extrapolate its internal anatomy, its instinctive behaviors, its diet, much less the details of the ecosystem that "our bird" needs in order to live? How far would you get trying to write down every aspect of our feathered friend's ecosystem? Details which require envisioning a variety of supporting flora and fauna, geological formations, water sources and climate? Just on paper. Okay, on your laptop.
One bird, a world to itself, yet an unthinkably tiny fraction of all of creation. Far beyond our imaginations much less our creative skills just to "invent". A triumph of subcreation* if we are equal to the challenge! But wait. We've neglected the last and most critical step if we are to be successful--the real test of creating something unique would be giving whatever we've envisioned life. Give and sustain just this one life. Yeah, right.That. Maybe if we call up "Big Bang Services, Universal"? Rumor has it that BBSU has a huge staff: neurons, protons, quarks, dark matter, gravity, solar energy, cosmic rays. Great stuff! Dark matter is my personal fave! A toll-free helpline? Sorry! Nothing on BBSU's staff is sentient--or likely to become so. Ever hear of entropy?
Isn't it cool that our bird's creation wasn't beyond everyone? :-D
Neither the email nor the original Khoi Tin Digital Printing Facebook page supply the name of this exquisite creature.
Does anyone know what it is? (I so wish pattern-recognition software were as sophisticated as our senses and brain!)
Click here to visit the Khoi Tin Advertising site Khoi Tin Digital Printing website . It may help if you know Vietnamese.
*J R R Tolkien invented the term, "sub-creation".
No species names were provided in the email. Worse, whoever sent it out originally said nothing about whose work they were s/t/e/a/l/i/n/g sharing.
There was one clue--the words, "Color Only God Could Create" just above the first picture. A Google search of those words led me to the photographer's site on Facebook. You'll find the link below.
But first I want to share my favorite bird with you.
Many people I know, if asked if they believe in God --or why do they believe God loves us--will point to the beauties of nature for their proof, following intentionally or not the principle about which Paul wrote in Romans 1:20
"For since the creation of the world his invisible attributes– his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen, because they are understood through what has been made."
As much as I love plants, trees, mammals, sea creatures and birds, it hardly ever occurs to me to point to something in Creation as proof of a loving Creator. I don't know why. I tend to stick to events in my life when offering proof of God's love. But I'm the only one who has experienced those events. (Duh) Better to point to proof of God's existence and His love with examples from nature that everyone can see or hear or feel. We are all touched by nature in countless ways. Literally "countless".
Maybe I've "reformed" and will remember to point to God's handiwork in the future. If I do, I'll have this particular bird--and God!--to thank for reminding me of the infinite variations in color, the intricacy of patterns and the uncountable forms that life has taken under the hand of a Master.
Look at just this bird! If we had never seen this glorious animal in life or in a photo, could we have come up with its overall shape, the feathers' multiple intricate patterns, much less the color combinations on our own? Could any of us envision an utterly original creature without borrowing parts from real animals? (Mythological creatures, like gryphons or dragons, couldn't exist without glue plus selected bits of birds, lions, reptiles and bats.)
Focus just on this bird's back feathers for a minute. Given what you know about birds, could you ever have conceived of just the richly colored, rippling, overlapping pattern of this bird's back feathers? I know I couldn't. I'm still wondering from where many of its back feathers sprout. Some feathers look like they grow at right angles to others! (Or maybe my eyes are crossed.)
That's just the beginning. Assuming you know nothing about this bird species except what you see in the picture, could you extrapolate its internal anatomy, its instinctive behaviors, its diet, much less the details of the ecosystem that "our bird" needs in order to live? How far would you get trying to write down every aspect of our feathered friend's ecosystem? Details which require envisioning a variety of supporting flora and fauna, geological formations, water sources and climate? Just on paper. Okay, on your laptop.
One bird, a world to itself, yet an unthinkably tiny fraction of all of creation. Far beyond our imaginations much less our creative skills just to "invent". A triumph of subcreation* if we are equal to the challenge! But wait. We've neglected the last and most critical step if we are to be successful--the real test of creating something unique would be giving whatever we've envisioned life. Give and sustain just this one life. Yeah, right.That. Maybe if we call up "Big Bang Services, Universal"? Rumor has it that BBSU has a huge staff: neurons, protons, quarks, dark matter, gravity, solar energy, cosmic rays. Great stuff! Dark matter is my personal fave! A toll-free helpline? Sorry! Nothing on BBSU's staff is sentient--or likely to become so. Ever hear of entropy?
Isn't it cool that our bird's creation wasn't beyond everyone? :-D
Neither the email nor the original Khoi Tin Digital Printing Facebook page supply the name of this exquisite creature.
Does anyone know what it is? (I so wish pattern-recognition software were as sophisticated as our senses and brain!)
Click here to visit the Khoi Tin Advertising site Khoi Tin Digital Printing website . It may help if you know Vietnamese.
*J R R Tolkien invented the term, "sub-creation".
Tags: birds, color only god could create, god as creator, imagination vs creation, khoi tin digital, nature, romans 1:20
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February 13th, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
Sleepy & Dazed, or vice versa
Current Music:
"Let It Snow..." (you're kidding, right?)
Over more years than I can count, AKA maybe even more years than I
am old, Delaware has been socked with its biggest snowstorm around Presidents
Day. Last week, a friend said that the worst snow was over for us. I reminded
them of our semi-traditional snowstorm. (It skipped last year) I think I made a
mistake when I brought it up.
To all the snowflakes outside,
"Hey, guys! That wasn't an invitation!"
"Hey, guys! That wasn't an invitation!"
I just posted this at FB:
Get Out Your Calculators, Wilmington, DE!
Feb 13 2014. At 5AM we have 6.9 in so far. (MUCH more than they predicted by this point!)
Feb 13 2014. At 5AM we have 6.9 in so far. (MUCH more than they predicted by this point!)
Prediction: Next 6 hrs = 2-4 more inches. "Heavy snow mixing with sleet/rain beginning about 8AM. " //
"Today" (aka from noon on) Heavy snow mixing with rain,
then changing to rain. 3-5 add'l inches expected. //
"Tonight" (aka Thurs evening to midnight) Rain/snow = 1-3
inches.
Winds mostly NNE betw 20-30MPH throughout.
Winds mostly NNE betw 20-30MPH throughout.
After posting that, I took my own advice & did some totals.
When I added the minimums (2, 3, 1) to the 6.9 inches we already have that
brought our predicted snowfall to 12.9 inches. When I used the maxes (4,
5, 3) instead, the total was 18.9 inches.
Of course, even 18.9 inches is nothing for a Prez Day Storm. I remember one that weighed in--literally--at about 30 inches several decades ago.
Of course, even 18.9 inches is nothing for a Prez Day Storm. I remember one that weighed in--literally--at about 30 inches several decades ago.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
That may have been one of the heaviest snowfalls in February but it wasn't the most m/e/m/o/r/a/b/l/e nightmarish.
Here's a running account "STORMS, SYNOPSES AND CEILINGS" from
February 2003
when I lived in my previous/late/unlamented apartment.
when I lived in my previous/late/unlamented apartment.
I don't think I mentioned this in the emails above but at some point I was frantic enough to call the local fire department. (No. Not via 911.) They actually sent out a ladder truck and someone inspected the roof. I don't remember exactly what they said. It amounted to the snow being to thick for them to identify where the leak was and they were sorry but they couldn't commit the time to shifting it. Someone hazarded a guess that the storm pipes might be clogged with leaves or frozen solid. I was dubious. The ceiling sound and the early leak started long before the snowstorm.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ending with the following, already emailed to many of you
I just got off the phone with a friend who lives in North Dakota .
He said that since early this morning the snow has been nearly waist high and
is still falling. The temperature is 32 below zero and the north wind is
increasing to near gale force. Wind chill is -59. His wife has done nothing but
look through the kitchen window and just stare. He says that if it gets much
worse, he may have to let her in.
Keep warm & safe out there! Don't do anything I wouldn't
do--like venture outside for the next 2-3 days.
i DIDN'T TAKE THE PHOTO ABOVE. I BELIEVE IT WAS IN A NEW YORK NEWSPAPER LAST YEAR.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Last minute update: it's now 7AM & we're up to 9.3 inches.
Tags: "battle of the leak" feb 13-18
2013, "more snow is possible", 2003 bathroom ceiling leak, 2003 snowstorm, ladder truck, president's day snowstorm, wilmington de
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January 17th, 2014
Current Location:
Current Mood:
sad, nostalgic, homesick
Current Music:
Under the Boardwalk (Listening to music with my grandmother)
People are leaving multiple spammish comments after some of my
entries--"Multiple" as in between 6 and 100--forcing me to increase
blog security. Please do respond to my entries anyway! I love
comments! Just sign your comment with a name, avatar handle, etc. LJ's
software notifies me immediately when there's a screened comment. Since I'm on
the computer a lot--sometimes even writing--I approve screened comments
quickly. All comments are approved unless the sender is selling shoes or
something equally embarrassing. Note: People 5+ time zones away from my
corporate headquarters may notice a delay in service.
My "ocean-longing" comes to life in mid-spring and lingers for the next six months. All summer, depending on my degree of homesickness, I either dodge network weather spots given by reporters standing somewhere in Ocean city or else hover by the TV trying to look beyond the reporter to catch any bit of the town. Mostly I walk away from the brief broadcast blinking back tears.
I think about OCNJ all day over the warm months, wondering naively why I'm not there. How can this be? I was supposed to live there! I decided that long ago while still in high school. I would teach math at Ocean City High School. I would grade the papers at the far end of the Music Pier, (see pix)
and use a clam shell to keep the ocean breeze from stealing them away. And I would have a horse, stabled who knows where but not on the island.
Based on dozens of OCNJ photo albums and carefully dated loose pictures, my last visit must have been in the early-mid eighties. How then can it be about three decades since I last visited my beloved Ocean City, my true earthly hometown and the place I was supposed to be living for the rest of my life? On one hand, it’s a puzzlement.
But it does have a rational answer. In the mid-1980’s, I began haunting speculative fiction conferences instead of “visiting home”. Armed with the unpublished author’s essential “One Minute Elevator Pitch”, I s/t/a/l/k/e/d/ searched for either a publisher or literary agent who would take on my Narenta books. I could afford either my yearly visits to Ocean City or annual searches at SpecFic conferences for someone who would publish my books. Not both.
That wasn’t a great trade-off, but it would work out okay in the long run. After 2 or 3 years of persistent A. manuscript submissions by mail, B. attending conference writing workshops and C. “publishing industry-related” panels in pursuit of publication, someone would offer a contract for my books and I could resume visiting my beloved town. Win-Win.
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ABOVE: Millenium Philcon programming summarized
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ABOVE: Millenium Philcon programming summarized
Who knew? If the books brought in enough extra income, maybe I could afford to make my home in Ocean City after all! Maybe I would write drafts of new Narenta novels on the Music Pier. A much better prospect than my original dream of grading high school papers!
Why the abrupt change in my focus? To answer that, we have to back up to the 1970’s when I began writing. I had something I needed to offer to others but especially agnostics like the one I had been before 1970. The direct approach wouldn’t do it. At least proselytizing had worked on me only to the extent I ran from it.
Instead, this scared little agnostic was “infiltrated” by the words of such fantasy authors as C S Lewis, George MacDonald and Charles Williams. I delighted in retelling myself the most meaningful fragments of their stories and eventually what I felt were the best parts of my own stories. Remembering, feeling again with each retelling, the awe at the touch of God's presence--like in Lewis's The Horse and His Boy.* Or being touched by the mere title of Dorothy Sayer’s book, “The Consciousness of Battle”. And learning through sweet experience (and oddly enough my own writings) that Charles Williams had it right when he wrote of the Joy of the Obedience.
Others--like the me I used to be--needed to know about this! Others, wary of argument but open to a subtle hint in a work of fiction, for instance tucked within the camouflage of fantasy. Or as some author named L/o/u/i/s Lewis called this subterfuge,slipping ideas "past watchful dragons".
Even while writing fantasy, I can convey only a hazy glimpse of what it felt to be overpowered with awe at the touch of a Presence. A Presence that I profoundly felt but could neither hear nor see. So filled with awe that to this day I can only characterize it verbally with inadequate and misleading phrases like “overpowered with awe” and “My spirit bowed within me”. There are no words fitting for what cannot be described. “Words are clumsy.”** No easier to communicate is how, years later, I was suddenly surrounded by Love--Love that finally irrevocably cast out my longest fear. A profoundly “real experience” demonstrating within me for all time that the “clumsy words” written down by Julian of Norwich (and later paraphrased by T S Eliot) “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well",*** are true beyond hope. Have always been true.
Evidently, I'm not the only person who knows what it feels like to
be overpowered with awe. (Note that she used the same phrase I did!)
"My spirit bowed as I felt the Holy Presence, and I drank it in ... breathed it in ... and rested."
~~ Grace Adolphsen Brame
A decade ago, I asked the leader of the “Written Remains” writers group why she had given it that name. I wish I could quote her answer but, in essence, she said that we authors create characters, emotions and whole scenes in our thoughts but in the end only a collection of keyed-in words on a screen remains.
She was talking about writing fiction in general. About the inevitable frustration authors experience when we try to record even a fraction of our inspiration. We are given visions of evocative settings and histories and cultures, all populated with characters none of whom existed an hour earlier but who now live vibrantly in our thoughts. Past a certain point, we "see" new character details rather than choose them. First, we wonder about our characters' pasts--and then we know, often in more detail that we will never need for our story. Writing fiction resembles pruning more that using Miracle-Gro. Eventually, as she said, we turn to our keyboards to transform whatever we can into mere words. Words are too clumsy.
The limits of language are never more frustrating than when our initial inspiration is mysteriously gifted to us. Gifted with such inspiration, we must use it. Not "must use it" because it's an obligation but "must use it" because we cannot do otherwise. That kind of inspiration fuels creativity to a white heat. So gifted, so burdened, speculative fiction authors in particular don't, or rather can't, stop coming up with new details once characters and plots mature. We may even be drawn to try our hands at the “subcreation”**** of whole worlds. I think, I hope, God smiles at our efforts. Charles Caleb Colton wrote, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."
Yikes! My apologies for straying so far off topic!
"My spirit bowed as I felt the Holy Presence, and I drank it in ... breathed it in ... and rested."
~~ Grace Adolphsen Brame
A decade ago, I asked the leader of the “Written Remains” writers group why she had given it that name. I wish I could quote her answer but, in essence, she said that we authors create characters, emotions and whole scenes in our thoughts but in the end only a collection of keyed-in words on a screen remains.
She was talking about writing fiction in general. About the inevitable frustration authors experience when we try to record even a fraction of our inspiration. We are given visions of evocative settings and histories and cultures, all populated with characters none of whom existed an hour earlier but who now live vibrantly in our thoughts. Past a certain point, we "see" new character details rather than choose them. First, we wonder about our characters' pasts--and then we know, often in more detail that we will never need for our story. Writing fiction resembles pruning more that using Miracle-Gro. Eventually, as she said, we turn to our keyboards to transform whatever we can into mere words. Words are too clumsy.
The limits of language are never more frustrating than when our initial inspiration is mysteriously gifted to us. Gifted with such inspiration, we must use it. Not "must use it" because it's an obligation but "must use it" because we cannot do otherwise. That kind of inspiration fuels creativity to a white heat. So gifted, so burdened, speculative fiction authors in particular don't, or rather can't, stop coming up with new details once characters and plots mature. We may even be drawn to try our hands at the “subcreation”**** of whole worlds. I think, I hope, God smiles at our efforts. Charles Caleb Colton wrote, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."
Yikes! My apologies for straying so far off topic!
Given what I had experienced and its profound ramifications, I feel obligated to “pay forward” whatever I can in the hope of helping a new generation of wary doubters. Not by offering a detailed description of my experiences--I still can’t do that even inside my own head—but by sneaking fragments of those moments into the lives of my characters. Speaking of characters, the peskier ones sometimes "tell me" things about themselves I never would have guessed. In my wip Da Boid da Tree-Rat n da Loser, I suddenly "knew" that a main character had himself experienced awe and delight when he was only seven.
What does this mean? When I reread my work, I find hints of varied experiences tucked into Seabird and Earthbow, and my later WIPs: The Gryphon and the Basilisk, Marooned and Da Boid da Tree-Rat n da Loser. Sometimes, I know I did that bit of tucking after laborious attempts at wording and many revisions. Sometimes, mysteriously sweet, I read a sentence or even a scene and think, When did I write this? or How could I have written that? This happened all the time when I first started writing. Less now but then my output is also less.
I began my first Narenta fantasy novel Seabird in 1979, followed by Earthbow in the very early 80’s. I moved on to The Gryphon and the Basilisk, simultaneously postponing my annual trips to Ocean City until my earlier novels found a publisher. The “finding” didn’t happen until the end of 2006, when David Wood sent me an email beginning, “God is a card sometimes.” Gryphonwood Press published Seabird in 2008 and Earthbow two years later.
It’s now January 17 2014. I stopped attending conferences a couple of years ago. The only attractions they still offer are the nightly bardic circle filksings. Being part of a bardic circle, singing half the night away, is beyond great! I miss the comraderie terribly. But not enough to spend approximately $1500-$2000.
I still haven’t returned to Ocean City. During the decades since my last visit there, convenient public transportation has pretty much evaporated between where I live and my seaside “hometown”. Every year, when the ocean-longing comes on me, I spend days searching the web, looking for a way to get to OCNJ and back without a car (I no longer drive) and without resorting to the nearly $1000 charge to hire a town car for the short trip there and back.
I am after all retired on disability and living on a pension plus social security. For decades, trying to get Seabird and Earthbow published cost me thousands of dollars for conference membership, my hotel room, food and transportation. But I’ve never taken a penny of the novels' meager earnings once they were finally published. Not that I'm above that! I mean, why bother? Neither Seabird nor Earthbow have attracted more than a handful of readers. I’m fairly sure that I’ve purchased at least half of the copies sold—as gifts for friends or acquaintances and what were supposed to be ARCs.
Why so few sales? What's lacking? Any form of useful PR. Pretty covers, great descriptions of my novels, and uniformly good reviews at Amazon mean nothing when potential readers have no idea that my books or even myself exist. If only readers were clairvoyant! Anyway, what’s a few hundred dollars back in royalties, compared to the over fifteen thousand I spent on conferences--to say nothing of the emotional rollercoaster created by those futile decades of effort? Sure I could use the money. Semi-disabled senior citizen on a pension & social security, remember. But all I ever wanted was to be read--actually being given a chance to pay forward to others those same precious hints of love and awe I had been given.
This summer, I will be returning to my seaside hometown. After much worry about my budget compared to all the expenses, I came to the conclusion that I had better go while I can still fully enjoy the visit. I’ve had a balance problem all my life and it seems to be getting worse--to the point that I’m worried for the first time ever about falling on the boardwalk.
I used to bike from one end of OC's 2.5 mile boardwalk to the other and back most mornings, pausing en route only long enough to take pictures. Totally out of the question now. My legs are too weak--to say nothing of the accumulated damage to my knees after decades of falling.
Two years ago, I was diagnosed with AMD (macular degeneration). So far, thank God, my central sight appears to be unchanged! AMD blesses some people with snail pace degeneration like this. Then maybe some time later—or not—that same person’s central vision can deteriorate within months. There’s no way for ophthalmologists to predict what will happen with any given patient. I suspect that others diagnosed with AMD are, like me, praying for advances in stem cell research.
AMD is my real spur for visiting Ocean City now while I can still enjoy it. If nothing else I’d like to still see well enough to search for the little shop in which I discovered my actually-nothing-like-a-seabird-on-a-chain necklace.***** It's a reminder of the days when I would come home from work—open my spiral notebook-- and marvel at what I had written the previous night!
p.s. Funny story. Maybe three months ago now, I had Paratransit take me to a local shopping center so that I could take care of some bank business and shop for shoes. I had built enough time into my schedule to enjoy the semi-rare treat of eating out.
I settled on Boston Market. Not far into the meal, I found a broken rib bone in my "boneless" chicken pieces and then a second bone. These were on my fork—not in my mouth or throat. I mentioned this to the manager who apologized profusely. Only days later did it occur to me that I could have ranted and raved and sued Boston Market. And, perhaps, some time this very year, I might be moving to my true hometown for the first time ever.
Guess I’m not litigious. Or maybe I’m just stupid. ;-D
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FOOTNOTES
*"Who are you?" "Myself" said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook. And again "Myself" loud and clear and gay. Then the third time "Myself" whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all around you as if the leaves rustled with it. Shasta was no longer afraid ... but a new and different sort of trembling came over him.
**“…I can still
remember it as it once was. I do not need my own words. Words are clumsy
things. In my mind I can return earlier, to the first place, my first
experience, as perhaps Adam could recall lost Eden…” --- John Fowles,
The Art of Fiction No. 109, The Paris Review 1989.
***The 20th-century
poet T.S. Eliot incorporated the Julian of Norwich’s saying that "…All
shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be
well", into "Little Gidding", the fourth of his Four Quartets
poems:
" ...And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
By the purification of the motive
In the ground of our beseeching.”
****a term coined by J R R
Tolkien. ("As a Christian, Tolkien could view sub-creation as a form of worship, a way for creatures
to express the divine image in them by becoming creators").
*****“She felt drawn to one case in particular, where a necklace with a frosty silver pendant like a soaring osprey glimmered. … Wow, the necklace was huge. The distance between one wing tip and the other must be four, five inches. Cool how the chain was fastened to the wings.” ( SEABIRD (paperback) / Seabird (kindle) Chapter One--An Invitation, p.22.)
*****“She felt drawn to one case in particular, where a necklace with a frosty silver pendant like a soaring osprey glimmered. … Wow, the necklace was huge. The distance between one wing tip and the other must be four, five inches. Cool how the chain was fastened to the wings.” ( SEABIRD (paperback) / Seabird (kindle) Chapter One--An Invitation, p.22.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BTW, I suspect a shorter version of "Ocean-Longing" will appear in my Tree House Tales collection, coming out some time in 2014
Speaking of Tree House Tales, here are the last few stanzas of my
"Between Worlds" (Interwoven Memories of Ocean City New Jersey)
Distant thunder-rumbles.
The sound. The scent. The chilled skin.
The beloved heartbeat.
I gaze down at the slow throbs,
Mistily visible in their turn
On an always shifting stage.
Humble, each flees before the next
Wishing to take its rest.
Life in black silk rises,
Is lace-crowned, and falls,
Stitching crest to crest.
Shhh… shhh… shhh…
Froth voicing its last note
In the moonlit dance.
A pause longer than a breath drawn in,
The shallow builds its height.
The moon tugs. It tumbles,
Hissing a warning, shhh to younger siblings.
The shy foam dithers,
Caught between demanding swells,
Makes itself small.
Makes itself gone.
A longer crest creeps closer.
Still bright in scar-mooned lace,
Giving shapely life to the turbulence beneath.
Ceaseless motion alive.
Faithful, patient, unending,
Dark water gives freely wave on wave.
Bright and dark together
Shifting beneath the orb glow.
Foam-garbed this way.
Dark-mantled that.
Shifting, shifting, shifting.
Hair tugs sideways,
Coolness on my neck and back.
The water bows to wind’s wishes.
Lesser the light now.
The moon pulls its grey mantle close.
Voices of Sirens call me landward
With fractures of broken chants.
Notes windswept to me
From a hundred open mouths.
Called by bright songs,
Sweet cacophony,
I turn. I gaze.
I shake my head at no one.
Too soon to join the two-way flow.
Down a secret path I go,
Eager for unbound toes
To touch the sand.
To touch the sea.
Tags: agnostics, all will be well, amd, awe, between worlds, boston market, c s lewis, camouflage of fantasy, charles williams, chicken bones, consciousness of battle, conventions, david wood, earthbow, george macdonald, god is a card sometimes, gryphonwood press, j r r tolkien, john fowles, joy of the obedience, literary agents, love, macular degeneration, manuscript submission, ocean city new jersey, one minute elevator pitch, publishers, seabird, specfic conferences, subcreation, t s eliot, the art of fiction, tree house tales, words are clumsy
·
December 29th, 2013
Current Location:
Current Mood:
accomplished, having given Mike his due as best I can
Current Music:
Cloverton’s Christmas Hallelujah
Once upon a Wednesday, I hurried into the local Panera's
bakery-restaurant to meet with my local authors manuscript review group.
Frankly, I was a bit of a mess both inside and outside. Half-asleep and a touch
grumpy. Dressed like a frump, having dressed in haste. Worrying that my hurried
reviews may not have done justice to my fellow authors' submissions.
Those who arrived before me were parked at the front window. (Damage to fenders & glass was minimal.) They had already added another four-person table to the original tables, and they were chatting about books, readings & writing while waiting for late comers. Everything was as it should be. With one exception. A man, definitely not a group member, was sitting with his back to me as I approached. He was intent on whatever he was doing on his laptop and seemingly oblivious to the people rapidly filling up spaces at the doubled table. Was he so engrossed in his work, he hadn't noticed them? Us. Or was he fully aware of us and stubbornly hanging on to his spot because he had arrived first?
Mike turned toward me. I knew who he was at once even without the chorus of gleeful voices from the other authors. After all, he looked just like his picture...
Those who arrived before me were parked at the front window. (Damage to fenders & glass was minimal.) They had already added another four-person table to the original tables, and they were chatting about books, readings & writing while waiting for late comers. Everything was as it should be. With one exception. A man, definitely not a group member, was sitting with his back to me as I approached. He was intent on whatever he was doing on his laptop and seemingly oblivious to the people rapidly filling up spaces at the doubled table. Was he so engrossed in his work, he hadn't noticed them? Us. Or was he fully aware of us and stubbornly hanging on to his spot because he had arrived first?
Mike turned toward me. I knew who he was at once even without the chorus of gleeful voices from the other authors. After all, he looked just like his picture...
The soccer goal? Wedged between his end of the table and the
nearest window.
The other members assured us that they could get along without me for a few minutes. Mike and I took advantage of those precious minutes catching up as swiftly as we could, chiefly with stuph we had never been able to wedge into our emails. Mike also solved the mystery of his unexpected appearance. He sometimes traveled north from the home office to update the more far-flung employees with the latest changes in tech. MD has neither confirmed nor denied his role (if any) in flanging employees from the deep south to the Mid-Atlantic states so he'd have an e/x/c/u/s/e duty to head north.
This time, they sent him out in our general direction. Yippee! While he was with us but not in Panera's, Mike had a chance to take in a local soccer match. I assume the players welcomed him, since he was carrying around one of their goals.
We've never had a second chance to meet. Mike consistently works well over 40 hours a week at just one job, and at one time he had a hugely long commute right on out of his state to reach his job. As for me, I don't travel well anymore not unlike r/i/p/e/ c/h/e/e/s/e a creme brule souffle. I treasure our few minutes even more, and I believe Mike does as well.
Mike Dunne and I have been writer-friends for about twelve years now. So far as I can remember, we met at the "Critters" site created by Aburt as a place for authors to exchange crits of their works. I joined the Critters Writers Workshop not long before retiring from the university. I'm not sure when Mike became a member but by 2002 Mike had already critted a half dozen chapters of Seabird.
Mike, help! Correct me if I'm wrong in any of this! My brain is slowly altering into r/i/p/e/ c/h/e/e/s/e. Okay, honestly, overripe cheese.
MD is one of the hardest-working Christian writers that I've ever met. He's also a caring husband (wife Nance), caring dad (sons Conor and Shane), and caring puppy stepdad (white German shepherd, Abby). Mike also cares greatly about the welfare of the people of Haiti. If I remember correctly, as part of various church group teams, Mike has labored to make at least a few things right in Haiti three times now. While there, he and the teams to which he's belonged offer their help in any way they can. In one of his Haiti blog entries, he mentioned being teamed with others to work on a stubbornly non-functioning vehicle. None of them were auto mechanics but they did their best together.
Reading about their challenge reminded me of a "The Hitchhiker's Guide" conversation. Three of the main characters have just "strolled off with" the Formula One equivalent of a spaceship. The conversation goes, "Can you fly this? No. Can you? No. How about you? No. Great! We'll do it together!" And they did! In Haiti that is. Not so much the HHG characters.
Whether at home, work, church, or in Haiti Mike evidently believes that 12 hour work days can't hold all the work that needs doing, so he tops off the days and weeks with fiction-writing, blog-writing, review-writing, freelance technical-writing, Sunday School teaching, serving as sous chef to his wife Nance and ever-vigilant & caring father to Shane & Conor. Oh and playmate to Abby of course. And ...maybe...plumber.
For an extra added challenge this mid-December, Mike battled a fearsome cold sometimes out on the streets of Harvest Alabama, but mostly at home. The cold, or the cough anyway, may have developed from cheering for Manchester United. Or acting out all the characters' lines from the latest New Kingdoms scenes, before keying them in.
More about "New Kingdoms" in a bit.
Back when our friendship was young--and neither of us were published--Mike was writing what would be his first "lightly-published" story, "The Fire of Iblis". Mike Dunne worked in Dubai and other Middle Eastern, African & European countries for about 12 years. Actually, he and his wife met in a not-the-US country. Beats me which one right now. During part of that time, he learned about pre-Islamic Middle Eastern culture. "The Fire of Iblis" reflects his knowledge accumulated over a decade. He plans to write a series of stories similar to Iblis. Each one will echo the ancient culture of the region but all will be set in--how shall I say this--Mike's fantasy universe of a newly imagined ancient Persia? I hope that's close!
Recently Iblis became Mike's first PUBLISHED story, revised but still named "The Fire of Iblis" and now to be found in Someone Wicked, a PG13-ish horror anthology produced by Weldon Burge's newish fiction publishing company, Smart Rhino. Go here to read Mike Dunne's Smart Rhino "bio page".
Midway between the two publication dates for "Iblis" (2003 & 2013), my fantasy novel "Seabird" came out. Mike kindly offered a blurb for its back cover. He mentioned the lightly-published version his story at the end of his blub, I suspect to give himself author street cred in the eyes of the casual reader. Given the plot of "The Fire of Iblis", plus the gripping (and slightly gruesome) early chapters of "Night's Edge", Mike had already made his literary bones.
I look forward to the day successive volumes of his New Kingdoms fantasy series--Night's Edge, Dawn's Light and Sunset's Fire--begin to appear on Amazon, B & N, Smashwords, or wherever else he and his publisher choose to place it.
(Hm. Sunset's Fire. Fire of Iblis. The fiery prologue of Night's Edge. What is it with Mike and fire?)
Let's move along to Mike Dunne's own blog and website URLs. Please
take the time to visit them!
Mike's original blog. "Stream of Consciousness: Writing, random thoughts, football (soccer), and more...
http://xanthorpe.blogspot.com/
His current focus here are reviews of other stories in the Someone Wicked anthology. In the past, sports and faith have been common subjects. (I used to be mentioned in August but I went away. :-( )
A few months ago, his Haiti Diary entries took over.
Beginning with http://xanthorpe.blogspot.com/2013/07/haiti-2013-day-1.html
and ending here: http://xanthorpe.blogspot.com/2013/07/haiti-2013-day-8.html
Mike Dunne in Haiti October 2010
Be sure to check out a second picture taken in Haiti, at:
https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/eRDSchp1uQ76jji50Sp9zLuPEOThCSmHIFx5AuCNwi0
https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/eRDSchp1uQ76jji50Sp9zLuPEOThCSmHIFx5AuCNwi0
Mike created a new website within the last month(?) More or less.
Welcome to Michael Dunne Writes!
http://michaeldunne.weebly.com/
“Thank you for visiting my web home. Here you will find information on
my published works,
notes on upcoming projects, and
informative blogs and reviews. “
(Me: This site has pages for New Kingdoms, a wip short story "Night of the Assassins" and another book review or two. With regard to the "Night of the Assassins" page, here we discover that Mike’s pre-Islam Arabian story, “Fire of Iblis” was only the first of many! Yippee!
(Mike: Do I remember another "Arabian" story that takes place in a secret passage like the kind within pyramids? If there is no such story, please write it! Yes. Now.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've never interviewed Mike, unless the brief visit at Panera's counts.
Here* instead is a pseudo-interview based on stuph Mike wrote for Forbes (Dec 11 2013).
Q&A
What I'm Currently Addicted To...
Writing
This Is Helping Me Create...
Collaborating with other authors.
Can't Do Without
God, family, writing, music...and money helps too.
My Secret Ambition
Quit my day job and make a living writing.
I'm Known For...
...being a great writer, teacher, and speaker.
My Current Project
Night's Edge - book 1 of New Kingdoms. Night of the Assassins - short story
My Greatest Achievement
Achievements do not make one great.
My Biggest Regret
Not listening to my high school English teacher.
Where I'd Like To Be 10 Years From Now
Standing in the middle of Alamut or Petra researching a novel.
* The pseudo-interview will stay here until either Forbes or Mike tell me to cease and desist.
"I may not always be right, but I always write."--Mike
Dunne
NOTE
Since June, some Scribblings entries have been bombarded with dozens of spammish comments, necessitating higher security.
When leaving a comment, please sign your name, the handle of your avatar, or whatever you've got. If your response fails to appear, not to worry! It's being held for my approval. Thanks!
Since June, some Scribblings entries have been bombarded with dozens of spammish comments, necessitating higher security.
When leaving a comment, please sign your name, the handle of your avatar, or whatever you've got. If your response fails to appear, not to worry! It's being held for my approval. Thanks!
Tags: christian, critters, dawns light, faith, fire of iblis, forbes, haiti, manchester united, mike dunne, new kingdoms, night of the assassins, nights edge, panera's, soccer, someone wicked, sunsets fire, writing buddies, xanthorpe
·
December 25th, 2013
Current Location:
Current Mood:
Content and Blessed
Current Music:
Nothing yet, but that's about to change. :-D
The following extract is courtesy of the Gutenberg Project:
ebooks13,1306331h,html,Wallace,Lew,Ben-Hur
ebooks13,1306331h,html,Wallace,Lew,Ben-Hur
http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks13/1306331h.html#book1
Lew Wallace served in the Civil War. After the war he moved west & served as a judge and governor of the New Mexico territory. He wrote Ben-Hur during this period. The historical novel is considered to be, "the most influential Christian book of the 19th century". It has never been out of print. Eight years later, his Boyhood of Christ was published.
(Some information given above is drawn from the Gutenberg Project and Wikipedia.)
Lew Wallace served in the Civil War. After the war he moved west & served as a judge and governor of the New Mexico territory. He wrote Ben-Hur during this period. The historical novel is considered to be, "the most influential Christian book of the 19th century". It has never been out of print. Eight years later, his Boyhood of Christ was published.
(Some information given above is drawn from the Gutenberg Project and Wikipedia.)
The Ben-Hur edition, shown above, has the alternate title: Ben-Hur:
an Epic Tale of Revenge and Redemption
Ben-Hur; A Tale of the Christ
by Lew Wallace (1880)
Book One -- II. Meeting of the Wise Men
II. — MEETING OF THE WISE MEN
The man as now revealed was of admirable proportions, not so tall
as powerful. Loosening the silken rope which held the kufiyeh on his head, he
brushed the fringed folds back until his face was bare—a strong face, almost
negro in color; yet the low, broad forehead, aquiline nose, the outer corners
of the eyes turned slightly upward, the hair profuse, straight, harsh, of
metallic lustre, and falling to the shoulder in many plaits, were signs of
origin impossible to disguise. So looked the Pharaohs and the later Ptolemies;
so looked Mizraim, father of the Egyptian race. He wore the kamis, a white
cotton shirt tight-sleeved, open in front, extending to the ankles and
embroidered down the collar and breast, over which was thrown a brown woollen
cloak, now, as in all probability it was then, called the aba, an outer garment
with long skirt and short sleeves, lined inside with stuff of mixed cotton and
silk, edged all round with a margin of clouded yellow. His feet were protected
by sandals, attached by thongs of soft leather. A sash held the kamis to his
waist. What was very noticeable, considering he was alone, and that the desert
was the haunt of leopards and lions, and men quite as wild, he carried no arms,
not even the crooked stick used for guiding camels; wherefore we may at least
infer his errand peaceful, and that he was either uncommonly bold or under
extraordinary protection.
The traveller's limbs were numb, for the ride had been long and
wearisome; so he rubbed his hands and stamped his feet, and walked round the
faithful servant, whose lustrous eyes were closing in calm content with the cud
he had already found. Often, while making the circuit, he paused, and, shading
his eyes with his hands, examined the desert to the extremest verge of vision;
and always, when the survey was ended, his face clouded with disappointment,
slight, but enough to advise a shrewd spectator that he was there expecting
company, if not by appointment; at the same time, the spectator would have been
conscious of a sharpening of the curiosity to learn what the business could be
that required transaction in a place so far from civilized abode.
However disappointed, there could be little doubt of the stranger's
confidence in the coming of the expected company. In token thereof, he went
first to the litter, and, from the cot or box opposite the one he had occupied
in coming, produced a sponge and a small gurglet of water, with which he washed
the eyes, face, and nostrils of the camel; that done, from the same depository
he drew a circular cloth, red-and white-striped, a bundle of rods, and a stout
cane. The latter, after some manipulation, proved to be a cunning device of
lesser joints, one within another, which, when united together, formed a centre
pole higher than his head. When the pole was planted, and the rods set around
it, he spread the cloth over them, and was literally at home—a home much
smaller than the habitations of emir and sheik, yet their counterpart in all
other respects. From the litter again he brought a carpet or square rug, and
covered the floor of the tent on the side from the sun. That done, he went out,
and once more, and with greater care and more eager eyes, swept the encircling
country. Except a distant jackal, galloping across the plain, and an eagle
flying towards the Gulf of Akaba, the waste below, like the blue above it, was
lifeless.
He turned to the camel, saying low, and in a tongue strange to the
desert, "We are far from home, O racer with the swiftest winds—we are far
from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient."
Then he took some beans from a pocket in the saddle, and put them
in a bag made to hang below the animal's nose; and when he saw the relish with
which the good servant took to the food, he turned and again scanned the world
of sand, dim with the glow of the vertical sun.
"They will come," he said, calmly. "He that led me
is leading them. I will make ready."
From the pouches which lined the interior of the cot, and from a
willow basket which was part of its furniture, he brought forth materials for a
meal: platters close-woven of the fibres of palms; wine in small gurglets of
skin; mutton dried and smoked; stoneless shami, or Syrian pomegranates; dates
of El Shelebi, wondrous rich and grown in the nakhil, or palm orchards, of
Central Arabia; cheese, like David's "slices of milk;" and leavened
bread from the city bakery—all which he carried and set upon the carpet under
the tent. As the final preparation, about the provisions he laid three pieces
of silk cloth, used among refined people of the East to cover the knees of
guests while at table—a circumstance significant of the number of persons who
were to partake of his entertainment—the number he was awaiting.
All was now ready. He stepped out: lo! in the east a dark speck on
the face of the desert. He stood as if rooted to the ground; his eyes dilated;
his flesh crept chilly, as if touched by something supernatural. The speck
grew; became large as a hand; at length assumed defined proportions. A little
later, full into view swung a duplication of his own dromedary, tall and white,
and bearing a houdah, the travelling litter of Hindostan. Then the Egyptian
crossed his hands upon his breast, and looked to heaven.
"God only is great!" he exclaimed, his eyes full of
tears, his soul in awe.
The stranger drew nigh—at last stopped. Then he, too, seemed just
waking. He beheld the kneeling camel, the tent, and the man standing
prayerfully at the door. He crossed his hands, bent his head, and prayed
silently; after which, in a little while, he stepped from his camel's neck to
the sand, and advanced towards the Egyptian, as did the Egyptian towards him. A
moment they looked at each other; then they embraced—that is, each threw his
right arm over the other's shoulder, and the left round the side, placing his
chin first upon the left, then upon the right breast.
"Peace be with thee, O servant of the true God!" the
stranger said.
"And to thee, O brother of the true faith!—to thee peace and
welcome," the Egyptian replied, with fervor.
The new-comer was tall and gaunt, with lean face, sunken eyes,
white hair and beard, and a complexion between the hue of cinnamon and bronze.
He, too, was unarmed. His costume was Hindostani; over the skull-cap a shawl
was wound in great folds, forming a turban; his body garments were in the style
of the Egyptian's, except that the aba was shorter, exposing wide flowing
breeches gathered at the ankles. In place of sandals, his feet were clad in
half-slippers of red leather, pointed at the toes. Save the slippers, the
costume from head to foot was of white linen. The air of the man was high,
stately, severe. Visvamitra, the greatest of the ascetic heroes of the Iliad of
the East, had in him a perfect representative. He might have been called a Life
drenched with the wisdom of Brahma—Devotion Incarnate. Only in his eyes was
there proof of humanity; when he lifted his face from the Egyptian's breast,
they were glistening with tears.
"God only is great!" he exclaimed, when the embrace was
finished.
"And blessed are they that serve him!" the Egyptian
answered, wondering at the paraphrase of his own exclamation. "But let us
wait," he added, "let us wait; for see, the other comes yonder!"
They looked to the north, where, already plain to view, a third
camel, of the whiteness of the others, came careening like a ship. They waited,
standing together—waited until the new-comer arrived, dismounted, and advanced
towards them.
"Peace to you, O my brother!" he said, while embracing
the Hindoo.
And the Hindoo answered, "God's will be done!"
The last comer was all unlike his friends: his frame was slighter;
his complexion white; a mass of waving light hair was a perfect crown for his
small but beautiful head; the warmth of his dark-blue eyes certified a delicate
mind, and a cordial, brave nature. He was bareheaded and unarmed. Under the
folds of the Tyrian blanket which he wore with unconscious grace appeared a
tunic, short-sleeved and low-necked, gathered to the waist by a band, and
reaching nearly to the knee; leaving the neck, arms, and legs bare. Sandals
guarded his feet. Fifty years, probably more, had spent themselves upon him, with
no other effect, apparently, than to tinge his demeanor with gravity and temper
his words with forethought. The physical organization and the brightness of
soul were untouched. No need to tell the student from what kindred he was
sprung; if he came not himself from the groves of Athene', his ancestry did.
When his arms fell from the Egyptian, the latter said, with a
tremulous voice, "The Spirit brought me first; wherefore I know myself
chosen to be the servant of my brethren. The tent is set, and the bread is
ready for the breaking. Let me perform my office."
Taking each by the hand, he led them within, and removed their
sandals and washed their feet, and he poured water upon their hands, and dried
them with napkins.
Then, when he had laved his own hands, he said, "Let us take
care of ourselves, brethren, as our service requires, and eat, that we may be
strong for what remains of the day's duty. While we eat, we will each learn who
the others are, and whence they come, and how they are called."
He took them to the repast, and seated them so that they faced each
other. Simultaneously their heads bent forward, their hands crossed upon their
breasts, and, speaking together, they said aloud this simple grace:
"Father of all—God!—what we have here is of thee; take our
thanks and bless us, that we may continue to do thy will."
With the last word they raised their eyes, and looked at each other
in wonder. Each had spoken in a language never before heard by the others; yet
each understood perfectly what was said. Their souls thrilled with divine
emotion; for by the miracle they recognized the Divine Presence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My father and I saw the 1959 film adaptation of Wallace's novel at the old theatre on Main Street, Newark, Delaware. I was a young teenager at that time. We were both greatly affected by the story.
In time, I read Wallace's original novel--something of a feat of patience for a 16 year old. The novel includes beautiful scenes--like the extract above--but it is very long and written in the discursive style favored at that time. You may wish to try it some day. In my mind, it's well-worth the effort.
A Merry* and Meaningful Christmas to all of you!
SherryT (aka TreeLady)
* "merry" was once synonymous with "blessed"
Tags: a tale of the christ, ben-hur, governor, lew wallace, meeting of the wise men, new mexico territory, project gutenberg
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