tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-94385502023-11-16T05:52:56.408-06:00The WordIn the beginning was The Word.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.comBlogger637125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-85887820504991413512016-08-26T09:38:00.000-05:002016-08-26T09:38:02.120-05:00'Adventures in the Arcane' gets some ink<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfg-eJba0M7SjrrN5CesuSa7JXgQN4qfK7OAKSHaCN4HFQhithfSLCQbfr45NdnMzKFarjQkNOPWDomCcWt5EeBH2hdlwGj0Nl15E6V_rITPYy2X5gOY3nDm0fW7DLS1vudbUYyw/s1600/Anthology_Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfg-eJba0M7SjrrN5CesuSa7JXgQN4qfK7OAKSHaCN4HFQhithfSLCQbfr45NdnMzKFarjQkNOPWDomCcWt5EeBH2hdlwGj0Nl15E6V_rITPYy2X5gOY3nDm0fW7DLS1vudbUYyw/s320/Anthology_Cover.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Adventures in the Arcane</h2>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A Syndicate Publication</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
$5.99 in print</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
$1.99 on Kindle</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Arcane-Mark-Boss-ebook/dp/B01KIN7AHO" target="_blank">Available from Amazon.com</a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This new anthology of four tales and three essays reignites the fire of old-fashioned weird pulp adventure. <a href="http://www.newsherald.com/entertainment/20160824/adventures-in-arcane-remedies-mundane" target="_blank">It was featured today in The News Herald's weekend Entertainer section</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It will make its debut at <a href="http://www.pccreativecon.com/" target="_blank">Panama City Creative Con</a> on Sept. 16-18.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here's the cool book trailer I made:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZiPyfFtH3dc" width="560"></iframe><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<h4 align="left" style="text-align: center;">
Some days the evil loose in the world can’t be beaten by two fists, a trusty sidekick, and a pump shotgun. <br /><br />Some nights reek of deep time, musty tombs, and creatures spawned from beyond the stars. <br /><br />When monsters attack, you need heroes with a strong moral compass...and a little supernatural help. <br /></h4>
Adventures in the Arcane contains four fantastic stories of pulp heroes, werewolves, pirates, and wizards. Prepare to be thrilled! A Syndicate Production featuring the work of <a href="http://www.markboss.net/" target="_blank">Mark Boss</a>, S. Brady Calhoun, <a href="http://www.1492video.com/" target="_blank">Lou Columbus</a>, <a href="http://www.jaysonkretzer.com/" target="_blank">Jayson Kretzer</a> and Tony Simmons. <br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-15241965092282278522016-06-19T10:49:00.000-05:002016-06-19T10:49:01.154-05:00Flashback Father's Day: The Drama of Life<em>(This article originally was published by The News Herald in Panama City on Father's Day, June 18, 2006.)</em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDLcYyOjPBWrQZ7XoZJhtQbL4huWuiR5NSQano67EGvbwsgUR7Ci64Gn0_pHAqvw89YE6jMTFipEYcn0bNjdyC3zMDbB9XCltcKhOZkstz1NCgAWohFuwQO0FSgBL6aWRqjEfuw/s1600/Father-SonPlay005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDLcYyOjPBWrQZ7XoZJhtQbL4huWuiR5NSQano67EGvbwsgUR7Ci64Gn0_pHAqvw89YE6jMTFipEYcn0bNjdyC3zMDbB9XCltcKhOZkstz1NCgAWohFuwQO0FSgBL6aWRqjEfuw/s400/Father-SonPlay005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The drama of life</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">By David Angier</span></div>
<br />
Most parents cringe at the drama their teenagers bring into their lives, but Tony Simmons applauds it. <br />
<br />
Even when his son, Nathan, is engaging in drunken brawls, kissing random women and acting crazy, <br />
<br />
Tony simply smiles and watches - at times from front-row center. <br />
<br />
In the years before Nathan, now 17, discovered acting, the drama he brought into the Simmons' household was nothing to smile about. But next weekend, father will join son on stage for a Shakespeare in the Park production of "Othello," in an activity that has drawn them closer together. <br />
<br />
Admittedly, Tony Simmons' part is a small one - he has a few lines that he says he's struggled to learn - while Nathan takes center stage as the too-trusting and honorable Cassio, the unwitting tool of Iago's complex scheme of treachery and murder. Director Chuck Clay said he picked "Othello" - the tale of a war-weary general who returns home after defeating his enemies abroad, only to find his greatest enemy in his own home - because it seemed relevant to the times. <br />
<br />
"Of all of Shakespeare's plays, 'Othello' is universal," Clay said. "It's something that's going on in our lives today. It has events and themes that we identify with, that we read about every day in the papers." <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Act I, Scene I</span> </div>
<br />
Tall, lanky Nathan Simmons steps on the 25-by-12-foot stage at Gulf Coast Community College's theater lab and stops being Nathan Simmons. He's still dressed in jeans and black Chuck Taylors. His eyes are still nearly obscured by shaggy blond hair, but his mannerisms alter noticeably. He stands taller and speaks with a force that is absent away from the spotlight. <br />
<br />
He's Cassio. <br />
<br />
"Reputation, reputation, reputation," Cassio exclaims. "O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial." <br />
<br />
The only time Nathan Simmons comes out is when he misses a line. He stumbles over his words, smiles, rephrases and exits. Off stage he jumps up and down in frustration, then darts to a chair to study the line. <br />
<br />
Nathan Simmons entered his first theater class during his freshman year at Bay High School. Before then, he describes himself as "pretty anti-social." Nathan's entrance into the theater magnet program coincided with doctors finally determining, after years of misdiagnoses, that he had a seizure problem. <br />
<br />
Doctors initially thought he had an attention deficit condition and put him on medication that aggravated his seizures. Doctors finally realized the problem when Nathan was in eighth grade, but the damage to his reputation was done. Nathan was an outsider. <br />
<br />
"I didn't have a lot of friends," he said. "But theater is a big family, and as I got into it I grew closer to all those people." <br />
<br />
In four years of theater, Nathan has performed in more than 20 plays. He's won awards, acclaim and found a goal for the rest of his life. <br />
<br />
"When mom and dad see me on stage, they're really proud of me, and that makes me feel good," Nathan said. "Before I started high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Now I have a goal to shoot for. I have a plan. I would like to major in theater and go to New York and perform there. If I can't do that, I'd settle for teaching theater." <br />
<br />
He said he enjoys sharing his latest project with his father. <br />
<br />
"We connect a lot more," Nathan said. "Before I joined the theater program I kept to myself a lot. Since then, I've become a nicer person, a happier person. Dad and I, we get along really well. He enjoys watching me on stage. Having him do this show is great because he doesn't have to sit in the audience this time; he can see it from the inside." <br />
<br />
Nathan said it's nice the roles have changed in this aspect of their lives. "He's come up to me a couple of times and asked me, 'What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?'" Nathan said. "I've helped him in memorizing lines, and he's said that this is a lot more difficult than it looks. Dad's been more than willing to learn, and it's nice that he's let me be the teacher for once." <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Act I, Scene II</span> </div>
<br />
Tony Simmons, online editor for The News Herald, is having a hard time "loosening up." He has to remember where to face, what to do and, above all else, what to say - while making it all seem completely natural. At the same time, he's got to project.<br />
<br />
Shakespeare in the Park is a physically demanding endeavor. The actors don't have walls to bounce sound out to the audience, and it's up to the actors to make their voices carry. Simmons doesn't have a problem turning to his son for advice. <br />
<br />
"He's having to teach me how to loosen up," Tony Simmons said. "This is an alien thing to me; these other people are just letting go. There's no sense of self, or self-consciousness, I guess, and that's something I have to learn." <br />
<br />
His only prior acting experience was his senior play in high school 24 years ago. He agreed to do "Othello" — "because they asked me to. They assured me it was a small role. I thought this is something that Nathan and I can do together."<br />
<br />
Tony Simmons isn't the type of father who rolls his eyes or shakes his head when he thinks about his son pursuing a career in acting - a difficult profession to succeed at. He's seen too many positive changes in his son's life occur in four years of theater to be pessimistic about the future. <br />
<br />
"He's got a lot of promise, and I'd just like to see him take it as far as he can go," Simmons said, noting that Nathan has talent as a playwright. For now, Tony Simmons is learning to loosen his control of his son's life as well. <br />
<br />
"I have to be almost less involved than I used to be," he said. "Nathan's found a way to make his own way."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-5283137708724334152016-06-10T11:02:00.000-05:002016-06-10T11:02:42.804-05:00Zen and the art of karaoke survival
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMfgrIjNWvF98UgAs4TfFq4VbI3OxUUra0CLkbhZi-hmWNHMCDcgyveo6uGb6M_MFQMZGtGsCVRkjMOV6U_GIrdSwXPvuNyf5Fq24TMfMkHDZwOpmS3BYtZMon632CXsqRZxpGw/s1600/Dancing+at+the+party.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMfgrIjNWvF98UgAs4TfFq4VbI3OxUUra0CLkbhZi-hmWNHMCDcgyveo6uGb6M_MFQMZGtGsCVRkjMOV6U_GIrdSwXPvuNyf5Fq24TMfMkHDZwOpmS3BYtZMon632CXsqRZxpGw/s320/Dancing+at+the+party.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Folks dancing at the party.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">PANAMA
CITY</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">BEACH</st1:placetype></st1:place>
— I must have spent a good 15 minutes searching Google just now, and couldn’t
discover the average age of first-time karaoke use.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I just experienced my first time. I’m nearly 52. I
wish I could tell you it was magical.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I know singing in your car and singing in the shower
are both considered to be karaoke gateway drugs. And while I’m often guilty of
both of the former activities, I’d never before succumbed to peer pressure to
take the stage. My son is the performer in the family. I just sit and type
stories.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And I pray karaoke is not addictive, because I very
nearly died from trying it just once. Then, either numbed or emboldened, I
tried it a second time. I don’t remember too much after that.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We were at a 1970s-themed engagement party for one
of my wife’s coworkers. The crowd at Hidden Dunes had been dancing to Bee Gees
songs and other appropriately kitschy tunes, like “Lady Marmalade” (the version
by LaBelle, 1974) until DJ Mike announced it was time to sing.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
People dressed in glittery stretch pants and
unbuttoned silk shirts clutched champagne flutes and sang “(Sittin’ on the)
Dock of the Bay” (1967), “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” (1976), and “Annie’s Song
(You Fill Up My Senses)” (1974). And you could tell they were accomplished
cover artists — doing a little dance, playing to the audience, barely watching
the video screen for lyric prompts.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhnrT2iE_XbDZ9LyXGOfazEakB_nwrI-6Ncy7NkTD2wkaE4ebxTHl5m2Efo5e0FRQqPbkcXX2Y_GXUBaryKU4itzVpeFWrHDfX2b7lm_u6UY_1Epl0VbQPynIdYpH7d6KT3qS5Q/s1600/BOWIE+Low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhnrT2iE_XbDZ9LyXGOfazEakB_nwrI-6Ncy7NkTD2wkaE4ebxTHl5m2Efo5e0FRQqPbkcXX2Y_GXUBaryKU4itzVpeFWrHDfX2b7lm_u6UY_1Epl0VbQPynIdYpH7d6KT3qS5Q/s200/BOWIE+Low.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
While most of the crowd had embraced the disco
style, I was wearing a David Bowie T-shirt. The cover to “Low” (1977). Bowie,
who died in January, is my greatest musical idol. I learned to pay attention to
songs after hearing a noisy cassette recording of a <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bowie</st1:place></st1:city> performance taped from an old TV. The
song was “Space Oddity.” The rest is legend.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
What I’m saying is, if I was ever going to sing in
public it would have to be a <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bowie</st1:place></st1:city>
song. Also, I was pretty sure alcohol would have to be applied liberally
beforehand. But I was not drinking and had no intention of taking the mic, just
enjoying the people with more self-confidence who did so.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Then DJ Mike came to our table and asked me what I
was going to sing. I shook my head and grinned. “Nothing,” I said. He returned
to his gear and started a chant of my name. The crowd joined in. My wife gave
me a smile.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Something in my brain snapped. In retrospect, that
might be how horror movies start.</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIY-Gk_cVpFuy69o2vL8cGnSDp22AzwAyqtApwuAZfXXAMPrcazr2SOy5z09uKKva2hDwDg6zcEAq6v6uFeRgHPQjRYqsADsIAt99RggqwkXl8zB0UFRY267cTnEmrBpvmHJOS0w/s1600/The+only+proof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIY-Gk_cVpFuy69o2vL8cGnSDp22AzwAyqtApwuAZfXXAMPrcazr2SOy5z09uKKva2hDwDg6zcEAq6v6uFeRgHPQjRYqsADsIAt99RggqwkXl8zB0UFRY267cTnEmrBpvmHJOS0w/s200/The+only+proof.jpg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like a blurry Bigfoot photo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I opened with “Fame” (1975), my feet shifting
nervously, my hands in my pockets. I saw <st1:city w:st="on">Bowie</st1:city>
do “Fame” twice — the 1987 Glass Spider Tour in <st1:city w:st="on">New Orleans</st1:city>
and the 1990 Sound+Vision Tour in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Pensacola</st1:city></st1:place>.
I tried to keep in mind that he often mixed up lyrics when performing, so I shouldn’t
worry about it.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Then the darkness closed in. All I recall is the
video screen, the words slowly changing color before my eyes as the song
progressed. I had no sense of time or of the rest of the room, or even the
sound of the crowd behind the rumbling in my head.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And then it was over, people applauded, my wife
grinned ear-to-ear, and I started toward our table.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s your second one?” DJ Mike asked. “Golden
Years?”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I froze. The crowd chanted. I realized people had
been dancing while I sang.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
How could I not?</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The music started, a rolling guitar decrescendo that
then built and built into that Carlos Alomar funk. Suddenly, a woman I’d never
seen before grabbed my right arm, pressed herself close and yelled into my face
— something like “I can’t help it! This is my favorite!” — and started singing
along.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
No offense to the lady is intended, but I thought,
“So much for ‘nothing’s gonna touch you in these golden years.’” I lost the
rhythm. I stumbled on lyrics I’ve sung in my car a million times. I remember
looking at my wife and mouthing “Help?” She shook her head. I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was on my own.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I kept waiting for the roadies to peel the woman off
of me like you see at the concerts. They never came, but honestly I was still
experiencing tunnel vision, one misfiring neuron short of an out-of-body
experience.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I soldiered through. There’s a secret I’ve
learned that applies to just about any situation: Give it time, and it will
pass. Find your center, which for me at the moment was a video screen with
color-changing lyrics on it.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
You, too, can survive karaoke.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace</i>.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-46092294500989034022016-04-30T14:21:00.000-05:002016-05-05T14:23:24.813-05:00Books Alive 2016 Photo BlogBooks Alive returned last weekend, expanded to three days and moved to venues in downtown Panama City. Here are some of the moments I managed to record:<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVHRYMKV_Ir6tZ-I6sDWKAJm2hjQa5Hf9MzI5hRKibX3UcAzxDYakT7ewI3p6zbAJruxWNX4zvVK3hEZSwZNlQq83xCLJI7cTPp99cYaONlkK26UzV3bXzIzrsKWzOYxhFvIymg/s1600/IMG_2743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVHRYMKV_Ir6tZ-I6sDWKAJm2hjQa5Hf9MzI5hRKibX3UcAzxDYakT7ewI3p6zbAJruxWNX4zvVK3hEZSwZNlQq83xCLJI7cTPp99cYaONlkK26UzV3bXzIzrsKWzOYxhFvIymg/s320/IMG_2743.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginger Littleton, me, and Cheri Leistner (Books Alive committee members)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhjnD4sJ57tOYhc62cCdVo9-Rrr7AUVnvpGUAYorJx-hQoWNyEo1T3zz1wfFo8nbMk_AdtQcLpMtNQUszwcBPoMUR7CPXkHUhE-xN09RvoLRDSvtp3r5Xf2r4ifSHhcZgrqGZfQ/s1600/IMG_2744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhjnD4sJ57tOYhc62cCdVo9-Rrr7AUVnvpGUAYorJx-hQoWNyEo1T3zz1wfFo8nbMk_AdtQcLpMtNQUszwcBPoMUR7CPXkHUhE-xN09RvoLRDSvtp3r5Xf2r4ifSHhcZgrqGZfQ/s320/IMG_2744.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local authors area at the Civic Center</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-pB5HX8GeTN3l1yTm1__LTQQ4qxtphHpKGlt7oesj01QckHRzOowK4HzNtezTgcXh9NJEUhoqIvaLQuwwuLSEcsuWCJ4cCV9qH4sSgtO7EOC-wixDud14V88uw_1kQlzZ4QbXQ/s1600/IMG_2755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-pB5HX8GeTN3l1yTm1__LTQQ4qxtphHpKGlt7oesj01QckHRzOowK4HzNtezTgcXh9NJEUhoqIvaLQuwwuLSEcsuWCJ4cCV9qH4sSgtO7EOC-wixDud14V88uw_1kQlzZ4QbXQ/s320/IMG_2755.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool projections by Public Eye featured the local authors' work</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xNEjWnNrqg8lQI6enPXgbzIbQbttNjEYlPCzYG2_326zvOqNwGAVooZ7Sc1w5jg-hZP3aeg-tw4rXTfns4Pa7DVW3sShOWEs-ufP3UbmxHfiXZTNSDLrtYLXo_RbcB7dY5PHaA/s1600/IMG_2759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xNEjWnNrqg8lQI6enPXgbzIbQbttNjEYlPCzYG2_326zvOqNwGAVooZ7Sc1w5jg-hZP3aeg-tw4rXTfns4Pa7DVW3sShOWEs-ufP3UbmxHfiXZTNSDLrtYLXo_RbcB7dY5PHaA/s320/IMG_2759.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Angier, me</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-PBFTCS6dia09W1KjRCqqtlFOWQKjlLhOmhwCaqjuyA-HJ3Ul-01CnN40nXLpCQnHiBz5sa6ej2cbeOWouN_83DeBihmf9FIFr7YjL5Hb9yviVTbYhXs7mHlMWiPdG4SvB0AXA/s1600/IMG_2761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-PBFTCS6dia09W1KjRCqqtlFOWQKjlLhOmhwCaqjuyA-HJ3Ul-01CnN40nXLpCQnHiBz5sa6ej2cbeOWouN_83DeBihmf9FIFr7YjL5Hb9yviVTbYhXs7mHlMWiPdG4SvB0AXA/s320/IMG_2761.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with Mary McDonough (Erin Walton)</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgU56PDV1F3Cufb9YfICMP-gYjV_0IX68h4AEaoEx3UKMAItVag8TEhD6nQx2DuTG7lW9wYqwwcFWyCV74Azv37y5RWHscqILVv5IdEAXRIKh7r5AcIKxXsGuGLiy3IuLorVKGw/s1600/Daniels+and+Stephenson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgU56PDV1F3Cufb9YfICMP-gYjV_0IX68h4AEaoEx3UKMAItVag8TEhD6nQx2DuTG7lW9wYqwwcFWyCV74Azv37y5RWHscqILVv5IdEAXRIKh7r5AcIKxXsGuGLiy3IuLorVKGw/s320/Daniels+and+Stephenson.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JD from Public Eye and author Milinda Stephenson</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraQKsd5geyteA6V2AC22JGzHckVfoiQvft7oSNADmANTyjOlVGEOa3RgwPdcRq3ln_dGdOsmqmnnjWeeH51ZrdMQbzO5PpEpYkhhUw9aXqk6XzJd7UDXR8PVaoiQtEWSeQKK03w/s1600/Destin+book+club+with+Rick+Bragg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraQKsd5geyteA6V2AC22JGzHckVfoiQvft7oSNADmANTyjOlVGEOa3RgwPdcRq3ln_dGdOsmqmnnjWeeH51ZrdMQbzO5PpEpYkhhUw9aXqk6XzJd7UDXR8PVaoiQtEWSeQKK03w/s320/Destin+book+club+with+Rick+Bragg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rick Bragg with a Destin book club</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2l6IjHILn6YTbuP9kbbOBNj6s36Q7wIX99jngpNrxPI0fz8_VSYIENh3ubKOavVFmVq6Kf4O9rb59RxoGtr3kPtN5zsCVO5lVBw1B6KuAzxNs00ZkCk6qZJhi0V1cxtfTeZ0vbQ/s1600/Gittard+and+authors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2l6IjHILn6YTbuP9kbbOBNj6s36Q7wIX99jngpNrxPI0fz8_VSYIENh3ubKOavVFmVq6Kf4O9rb59RxoGtr3kPtN5zsCVO5lVBw1B6KuAzxNs00ZkCk6qZJhi0V1cxtfTeZ0vbQ/s320/Gittard+and+authors.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Connie Gittard introduces Ellen Urbani, Annie Quinn & Mary McDonough</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLeCh8Ux6C0Kn5aUmteA02lLHcEVMW9_YQ6P05Ifd7wTniP2p6VQq1QQT3r_-8hVwSiLIR6lu5ttOj8bkIVJimdfB1Rr7SmanN0W3fmV6um8IFi7MSY30j1ZWTmvgBkrMg1MefQ/s1600/Kwame+Alexander+Kathie+Bennett+the+Middlemas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLeCh8Ux6C0Kn5aUmteA02lLHcEVMW9_YQ6P05Ifd7wTniP2p6VQq1QQT3r_-8hVwSiLIR6lu5ttOj8bkIVJimdfB1Rr7SmanN0W3fmV6um8IFi7MSY30j1ZWTmvgBkrMg1MefQ/s320/Kwame+Alexander+Kathie+Bennett+the+Middlemas.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kwame Alexander, Kathie Bennett, and Mr. & Mrs. Middlemas</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_GI9s6uX2-37rZrEzFySVOJVw5Y14z4hGfyw01MgtkIHU7EP9DIgs8rLQfFoDweXZhbnLI-f8E2eYNbc-UY_emDGFyO9dolB4aYkYBiAQKJDfOt767WZKdYrIRKgFOkAdaHeuw/s1600/Kwame+and+fan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_GI9s6uX2-37rZrEzFySVOJVw5Y14z4hGfyw01MgtkIHU7EP9DIgs8rLQfFoDweXZhbnLI-f8E2eYNbc-UY_emDGFyO9dolB4aYkYBiAQKJDfOt767WZKdYrIRKgFOkAdaHeuw/s320/Kwame+and+fan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kwame Alexander meets a young future reader.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7nWQqDKrLCsUN3Gy4JyLp0HeNDbiXKvbebEZedz6kOTHzml_fWjudiFKlVlJgCisdzuLNqFHLH3Widsp9VGtgyLnGvvOBlu9N8Vyf2Q4Tw0etfOagp36qMVcGGKe9Vh-qR-RpQ/s1600/Sandra+Pierce+and+Olivia+Cooley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7nWQqDKrLCsUN3Gy4JyLp0HeNDbiXKvbebEZedz6kOTHzml_fWjudiFKlVlJgCisdzuLNqFHLH3Widsp9VGtgyLnGvvOBlu9N8Vyf2Q4Tw0etfOagp36qMVcGGKe9Vh-qR-RpQ/s320/Sandra+Pierce+and+Olivia+Cooley.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Librarian Sandra Pierce and author Olivia Cooley</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhRKXITeQj0NkQ5XoDSuLOwUeGGl_wAemRxCo83Z-bQqJ3DcADoyRFn85TWUKjV0a6G7bt5M2v4sUC9L1hHlrr_PfGzXkKrj42TFWp7LzBOqMmGNyI7Vh0PUpyMm6pU5VHjVftQ/s1600/sorority.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhRKXITeQj0NkQ5XoDSuLOwUeGGl_wAemRxCo83Z-bQqJ3DcADoyRFn85TWUKjV0a6G7bt5M2v4sUC9L1hHlrr_PfGzXkKrj42TFWp7LzBOqMmGNyI7Vh0PUpyMm6pU5VHjVftQ/s320/sorority.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Refreshments at the library</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyB-nbCeVa4sZPZg-NbQGVWrx1j5o399Pa3EaaMX2mkvqQmNhyphenhyphenFDGcV2FpA0-7P0GSoWhHBzWLWfav_mjcY5z_sHdEO9mDBL3I4wwQtBpf3dzPGDEco0M-esVweQI3LbjLliwQA/s1600/Webster+and+Jones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyB-nbCeVa4sZPZg-NbQGVWrx1j5o399Pa3EaaMX2mkvqQmNhyphenhyphenFDGcV2FpA0-7P0GSoWhHBzWLWfav_mjcY5z_sHdEO9mDBL3I4wwQtBpf3dzPGDEco0M-esVweQI3LbjLliwQA/s320/Webster+and+Jones.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret Webster of Public Eye & Jennifer Jones of Bay Arts Alliance</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-50595063807901710772016-04-29T09:57:00.000-05:002016-04-29T09:57:10.828-05:00Flashback Friday: Doc Savage and 'The River Extraction' <em>(Originally published Sunday, May 6, 2001, in The News Herald)</em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJozAy0w9pHWDDco0X8Z0EVokwCD42LJhyphenhyphen2bRnwGMENTKBeNA2Pm1c3V59gF3k60vSsWjGgKWoE4NnAS04aceSdGmJQvFQ0jvRtDdzr3YUmREjPjcxIXcp_2vIWKkHXI13jNQiw/s1600/200px-Manofbronzebama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJozAy0w9pHWDDco0X8Z0EVokwCD42LJhyphenhyphen2bRnwGMENTKBeNA2Pm1c3V59gF3k60vSsWjGgKWoE4NnAS04aceSdGmJQvFQ0jvRtDdzr3YUmREjPjcxIXcp_2vIWKkHXI13jNQiw/s200/200px-Manofbronzebama.jpg" width="126" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover Art by James Bama</td></tr>
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As a youngster, one of my greatest literary heroes was Clark Savage Jr., better known as "Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze." A millionaire, surgeon and inventor, Doc traveled the planet righting wrongs with the aid of his World War I buddies, Monk, Ham, Johnnie, Renny and Long Tom (and sometimes his cousin Patricia Savage). <br />
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Written by Lester Dent under the pen name "Kenneth Robeson," Doc's adventures were set in the 1930s and featured in pulp magazines of the day. I became familiar with him in the 1970s when Bantam reprinted the serialized stories in the form of paperback novels, Marvel Comics published illustrated tales and Warner Bros. produced a campy movie starring Ron Ely. <br />
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Without doubt, Doc was the template on which other superheroes and adventurers were built. Clark Kent owes more to Clark Savage than a first name. (A "biography" of Doc released in the 1980s linked him by blood with the English nobleman called Tarzan, Sherlock Holmes and Lamont Cranston - "The Shadow.") <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSIMh7eWDT8xp5gf3MIbhvHPeZZ4dKP-H4pR1lJiWeLJsKLVsVao-31LsIPi11qjhvX2j1M7D5JHvr0NGLZr3GHKmtctuKB1vDa8H5BKmC5tne3MNPeZzWhoMu_hrVirxrzUI0A/s1600/200px-Ron_Ely-Doc_Savage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSIMh7eWDT8xp5gf3MIbhvHPeZZ4dKP-H4pR1lJiWeLJsKLVsVao-31LsIPi11qjhvX2j1M7D5JHvr0NGLZr3GHKmtctuKB1vDa8H5BKmC5tne3MNPeZzWhoMu_hrVirxrzUI0A/s200/200px-Ron_Ely-Doc_Savage.jpg" width="147" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ron Ely as "Doc"</td></tr>
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Doc's base was on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, but he also had a secret "Fortress of Solitude" in the Arctic where he exercised his mind and body to the pinnacle of human perfection. Invariably Doc's physical exertions and hand-to-hand battles resulted in his safari clothing being reduced to tatters. (The number of shirts he went through was used to comic effect in the film.) <br />
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That image came to mind this week when I heard the tale of Ebro dentist John Savage ripping off his clothing as he dived into the Choctawhatchee River to pull a patient out of a sinking car. (Call it an emergency dental extraction.) <br />
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"It was strictly an immediate reaction," Savage said later. "They asked me if the water was cold and I had to say I never even knew if it was cold or not. There was just too much tension and too much tragedy about to happen. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.waltonoutdoors.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/savage11sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.waltonoutdoors.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/savage11sm.jpg" height="200" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Savage, DDS</td></tr>
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"I tried to get my socks off, but there wasn't time to get them off." <br />
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The car had raced out of control and bounded between trees and over a sand bank where Savage's riverside office (and Fortress of Solitude) sits; the driver initially had trouble getting out of the car and then struggled to swim while wearing steel-toe work boots. <br />
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"I'd try to help anybody in that condition," Savage said. "I didn't have time to think about it." <br />
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Once again, "Doc Savage" was the hero of the moment. Now he's back at his day job - fighting for tooth, justice and the American way.<br />
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<em>Peace</em>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-79630054102850492822016-04-22T15:05:00.000-05:002016-04-22T15:05:49.760-05:00Flashback Friday: Digressions in infinite complications <em>(The following was first published in The News Herald on Sunday, April 29, 2001.)</em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUt2shaevgucf9neBfU40HDFViMlL27tTj9iTFGmTwTfg2aRnh544eZS_K8-7WCos98VEjIRLpzlUVVAD3nyAiQAIjkT7Z8Vm7ORMqDkWEj8RjfQ4uAFmwuO2h5mc6hXPhGuVc7A/s1600/Debra+Simmons+5-29birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUt2shaevgucf9neBfU40HDFViMlL27tTj9iTFGmTwTfg2aRnh544eZS_K8-7WCos98VEjIRLpzlUVVAD3nyAiQAIjkT7Z8Vm7ORMqDkWEj8RjfQ4uAFmwuO2h5mc6hXPhGuVc7A/s200/Debra+Simmons+5-29birthday.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
She needed a spoon for her cereal, but none were clean, so she washed all of the dishes, wiped down the counter tops, swept the floor, mopped, noticed dirt on the baseboards and instead of washing them pulled them off the wall and sanded the paint off of them, refinished them, reattached them to the wall, which she suddenly realized needed a new coat of paint in a different color so she went to Wal-Mart, where she bought paint and brushes, and came back home to paint the dining room (and living room and bathroom) walls — never having paused for breakfast. <br />
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<em>Did anybody see where that rabbit ran off to? </em><br />
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She wanted to re-seed bare spots in the lawn, so she bought seed, bags of top soil and cow compost, flowering bedding plants, decorative trimming bricks, and went to find a hoe in the shed, but the shed was in disarray so she pulled everything out of it and stacked boxes and junk for a trip to the dump, and stacked other items for Goodwill, then organized the shed and realized that the hoe was not in the shed at all but rather on the side of the house where our spring garden is usually planted but where pine straw was still heavy on the ground, needing to be raked, so she raked the straw into trashcans that also would be carried to the dump — never having got around to seeding the lawn. <br />
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<em>Could someone help us catch these wild geese? </em><br />
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She wanted to relax before bedtime with the latest Left Behind book, but the dog had gotten hair on the bed, so she stripped the comforter and sheets and started a load of wash and folded clothes that were in the drier and went to put them away, but the drawers were full of winter clothes so she sorted the winter clothes — setting many aside for donation — and put the remainder in a tote that wouldn't fit into the closet until the closet was sorted — setting several items aside, again, for donation — and by this time the comforter and sheets had been washed and dried so she made the bed and went to sleep — never having cracked open the book. <br />
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<em>But I digress. </em><br />
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Getting to the point (if there is one): The walls would not be repainted now if I had run the dishwasher the night before, as I had promised; the shed would not be cleaned if I had put away the hoe; the winter clothes and closets might not be sorted yet, if I had not played with the dog on the bed. <br />
<br />
<em>What would she do without me? </em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-81276367595895593332016-03-16T14:57:00.002-05:002016-03-16T14:57:49.128-05:00‘Be Ye Also Perfect’<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxZZy4e-LqVcjKXquWjP0vwsam41Hk-L7_T1Ple7TavE7HU_lT71qKHZEwOiionUQ3ada3qup6DyYkL9SAT-4IpQ97Td8OwG5f2fO5Phwi8-Ak12OAbauW_6BwFaGkngoiklgRQ/s1600/IMG_1927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxZZy4e-LqVcjKXquWjP0vwsam41Hk-L7_T1Ple7TavE7HU_lT71qKHZEwOiionUQ3ada3qup6DyYkL9SAT-4IpQ97Td8OwG5f2fO5Phwi8-Ak12OAbauW_6BwFaGkngoiklgRQ/s320/IMG_1927.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>'Be Ye Also Perfect' by Robert O. Hodgell</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em>(From the painting by Robert O. Hodgell)</em><br />
<br />
By Tony Simmons<br />
<br />
In the end, naked as the stars and black as the night, the girl knelt before the old woman and waited. The wise woman, holder of the village history, clutched her book of secrets to her shriveled breast — blind eyes focused on the future. Skin ashen with years and etched like bark, limbs like dried reeds, the woman hovered between the girl and her hut. She would almost disappear into the grain pattern of the wooden walls if not for the simple cotton dress she wore, its colors having faded to a uniform yellow, the flower pattern barely discernible.<br />
<br />
The girl, head bowed and hand raised in supplication, caught her breath. For a moment, she thought she smelled the perfume of the flowers on the dress, but then she realized her own bare feet and bended knee crushed the nectar from a hundred night-blooming wildflowers. It was their lifeblood she scented, not the past, not the old woman. She hoped the wise woman had not perceived her confusion, and she bowed deeper, closed her eyes, trembling as the future bloomed and hovered.<br />
<br />
“Have ye learned the words of the book?” the old woman asked.<br />
<br />
“I know them,” said the girl.<br />
<br />
“Are ye frightened of the truth?” the old woman asked.<br />
<br />
“No longer. I am amazed and sorrowful.”<br />
<br />
“Can ye keep a secret?” the old woman asked.<br />
<br />
“If I could, I would not tell you.”<br />
<br />
“Then ye are prepared,” the old woman said, lightly placing one palm on the crown of the girl’s head. “Be ye also perfect.”<br />
<br />
The woman shrugged out of her dress, bent and folded it, and set her book of secrets upon it by <br />
the girl’s bended knee. Her soundless feet treading night flowers, she walked away from the hut and the girl, naked as the stars, into the night and the jungle.<br />
<br />
The girl took the dress and the book. She stood and slipped the dress over herself and stepped into the hut, her head raised, her eyes clear, her future having played out before her.<br />
<br />
<em>The Beginning</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>--</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>(Author's note: This flash fiction arose from an assignment I gave my creative writing students. We meet at the Panama City Centre for the Arts, and I directed them to stroll the gallery and pick out a painting that spoke to them. Then I challenged them to write a short piece based on the story they got from the painting. This is mine.) </em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-68791576667964440752016-03-04T14:24:00.002-06:002016-03-04T14:24:54.752-06:00Flashback Friday: 'Trek' defense doesn'twork, no Bones about it <em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Originally published in The News Herald on Thursday, March 8, 2001, as a "Bay Book" entry; a collection of snippets about the happenings, happenstance and personal experience that lend Bay and nearby counties their special character.)</span></em><br />
<br />
Dr. "Bones" McCoy, whom you may recall was the crotchety Southern medical officer aboard the starship Enterprise way back in the day, had a fallback defense when asked to perform duties outside his realm of expertise.<br />
<br />
"I'm a doctor, not a bricklayer!" he said, for instance, when ordered to repair a wound in the rocky skin of an alien using some kind of space age plaster. <br />
<br />
But then, invariably, he did the work anyway. <br />
<br />
I thought about Bones Sunday as I struggled with two-by-fours and four-by-fours and two-by-sixes and screws and bolts and a level and a drill and sundry other materials to build a backyard play-fort for my kids using a truckload of lumber and a kit we had purchased. <br />
<br />
"I'm a writer, not a carpenter!" I said. <br />
<br />
I had moaned something similar the day before when pressed to install an air conditioner through the wall of my son's bedroom; and a few months ago when faced with replacing a hardwired drop-in range with a freestanding one; and a few months before that... . Well, the list goes on for light years. <br />
<br />
At the risk of mixing allusions, I also recalled a Bill Cosby standup routine in which he said truly smart men purposely mess up these tasks so that, the next time there's work to be done, their wives will not expect them to do it. <br />
<br />
I suspect that's just wishful thinking, as it never quite works for me. Like Bones, all it takes is a look or a word from one of the crew - my kids or my wife - and I roll up my sleeves. And if I mess it up, they just expect me to fix it.<br />
<br />
In fact, the only time the "Cosby defense" worked was the time our central air unit was on the fritz. I argued we ought to call a specialist - "I'm a writer, not an electrician!" - but my wife wouldn't hear of it. It's probably just a reset switch, she said. <br />
<br />
So I turned off the power (I thought), opened the side of the unit, reached in for the reset switch and blinded myself with a burst of electricity that landed me a few feet back from the box. <br />
<br />
McCoy's other famous remark sparkled through my brain: <br />
<br />
"He's dead, Jim." <br />
<br />
But that was just wishful thinking.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-70876704124328088102016-03-04T11:20:00.000-06:002016-03-04T11:20:20.096-06:00Ceramics show a precursor to weekend of sculpture<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5V2Ef8fBy39QL8GvHMPtKtVSKxSqJHkfmPXp7jc51794uuKaHusB3qyPSj5oqyYoVrSeRbmPac9gcl9CKU-b4SVdv3dTMhvwDACxx1gqK4s0QNkmqqsgsIni4fnHi6wc3-iFHQ/s1600/Magda+Gluszek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5V2Ef8fBy39QL8GvHMPtKtVSKxSqJHkfmPXp7jc51794uuKaHusB3qyPSj5oqyYoVrSeRbmPac9gcl9CKU-b4SVdv3dTMhvwDACxx1gqK4s0QNkmqqsgsIni4fnHi6wc3-iFHQ/s320/Magda+Gluszek.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure by Magda Gluszek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">PANAMA CITY — The new art exhibit at Gulf Coast
State College, “Raconteurs,” is a collection that bridges the visual and verbal
worlds. Viewers are challenged to witness how narrative impacts the creation of
physical objects.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The exhibit features work by internationally
recognized artists Ben Carter, Carole Epp, Magda Gluszek and Jill Foote-Hutton.
As contemporary makers with the wealth of history and materials at their
disposal, each artist is actively engaged in mining their daily experience to
generate narratives.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“Even in our most primitive state, we see a
compulsion to record our history and call forth the future through visual
narrative,” said Foote-Hutton. “Recording our history anchors us as individuals
while also placing us within a tribe. The narrative of our journey makes us
visible to ourselves. Fables and mythologies are catalysts, expanding our
definitions of self and the world we populate.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The exhibit will run through the weekend of April
15-17, when GCSC will host its second annual Ceramics Symposium featuring Carter,
Epp, Gluszek and Foote-Hutton as presenters. The theme for this year is “Word
and Object.” </span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“This is a great opportunity for attendees to learn
from a diverse group of professional artists,” said Pavel G. Amromin, assistant
professor and gallery director in the Division of Visual and Performing Arts at
GCSC. “Together, they will share the ways story impacts and informs their
creative process, studio output and their efforts to capture the contemporary
story of American Ceramics.”</span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVbIFZt3ZcB-RCWNQymGO2twaJ86jecRaq9yPkhBfRDCvXAVOnsIZcdgwjmKz5DIqfoylgxhQ_8cBjk3ozhVqRUfT6uQN3ZmF6Qfw6phs7VX0Uo8DrSLN28azINSiwxLET6Qagg/s1600/01CAROLE+EPP+_guilt+trip_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVbIFZt3ZcB-RCWNQymGO2twaJ86jecRaq9yPkhBfRDCvXAVOnsIZcdgwjmKz5DIqfoylgxhQ_8cBjk3ozhVqRUfT6uQN3ZmF6Qfw6phs7VX0Uo8DrSLN28azINSiwxLET6Qagg/s200/01CAROLE+EPP+_guilt+trip_.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by Carole Epp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The symposium will be in GCSC’s Amelia Tapper
Center, 5230 West U.S. 98, Panama City, and will consist of interactive
workshops, lectures, panel topic discussions and demonstrations.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">During the artist demos, the audience will see a variety
of construction methods while panelists cover topics including narrative as a
leaping-off point for form and decoration; the power of the frozen moment in
sculpture; the vessel as a format for stories in the round; and development of
character iconography.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“I reference symbols of my native Virginian
identity, such as the dogwood flower, white picket fence and whitewashed
brick,” said Carter, who creates utilitarian wares that commemorate and
continue family traditions. “These nostalgic decorative motifs are familiar and
accessible, conveying the graciousness of Southern hospitality. Through the act
of use, my forms serve a commemorative role, highlighting the cultural
importance of communal dining on the family structure.”</span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEZQbVK6U1U67IBJK6i5wyL3Buud35P1iuQuwv-4miMxkAlFGyY9-VDyXDRJ8O754n10F9bKJC9EHHGQRJLTOgkVgc_TYFaGAQQf5OlEVSWmZxe3YWRY08yc31hXH4nXztrS-kg/s1600/Ben+Carter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEZQbVK6U1U67IBJK6i5wyL3Buud35P1iuQuwv-4miMxkAlFGyY9-VDyXDRJ8O754n10F9bKJC9EHHGQRJLTOgkVgc_TYFaGAQQf5OlEVSWmZxe3YWRY08yc31hXH4nXztrS-kg/s200/Ben+Carter.jpg" width="145" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flask by Ben Carter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Epp’s work demonstrates celebration and query. Her
frozen moment vignettes present “humanity through a subversion of our utopic
projections of ourselves,” she said. Pairing religious icons, news headlines,
pop culture and kitsch, she lures viewers into a mirror reflecting an uncomfortable
reality. She shows how to “investigate the things that are wrong and appreciate
the things that are really right.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“Beyond the work in the exhibition, there would be a
void without addressing the role of storyteller both Carole and Ben take on
outside of their visual art practice,” Foote-Hutton said. “Since 2012, Ben has
produced and hosted the podcast ‘Tales of a Red Clay Rambler,’ featuring
interviews with artists and culture makers from around the world. Carole has
hosted the blog ‘Musing About Mud’ since 2005, where she provides a platform to
showcase contemporary ceramic activity.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gluszek employs the figure to examine a collective
sense of self. Her work pushes the viewer away with uncomfortable stares and
awkward postures, while simultaneously pulling the viewer in to her projected
stories with a candied palette.</span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVpnqY2FDkZdzT0ey0YFu_pJE33O_tewhMG1XLkUY7SLuudzUhDaBYOuTEwkllhXffE7yuhYkIKau0XBmXmF2PULgjZH_jbXyZpdNg-iu6xhitr9Z1Tx4fdkjtOccFaCqkQu8hNw/s1600/2015+symposium2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVpnqY2FDkZdzT0ey0YFu_pJE33O_tewhMG1XLkUY7SLuudzUhDaBYOuTEwkllhXffE7yuhYkIKau0XBmXmF2PULgjZH_jbXyZpdNg-iu6xhitr9Z1Tx4fdkjtOccFaCqkQu8hNw/s200/2015+symposium2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Symposium 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“The figures are experimenting with different modes
of self-representation,” Gluszek said. “They alternate between appearing
submissive and threatening. It is indistinguishable whether they make these
alterations for a self-serving purpose or for the pleasure of the viewer.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Foote-Hutton’s work is a contemporary exploration of
the power of personal narratives and collective mythologies. She employs the
concept of the Monster (or Other) to engage a conversation about the
disparities of what we think and what we do, about the distance between two
human beings, and the nature of lightness and darkness.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“Monsters embody empathy for our own human
frailties,” Foote-Hutton said. “Their literary history makes them the perfect
vehicle to coax new stories from hearts and imaginations.”</span></div>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span> </div>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">---</span></div>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span> </div>
<ul>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘RACONTEURS’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</li>
<li><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Where:</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Amelia Center Main Gallery, Gulf Coast State College, 5230 West U.S. 98, Panama City</span></li>
<li><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">When:</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Opens March 7, runs through April 17; gallery hours are 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Thursday, and 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Friday</span></li>
<li><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Admission:</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Free and open to the public</span></li>
<li><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Details:</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> GulfCoast.edu/arts</span></li>
</ul>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-72693363539035087772016-03-03T11:07:00.001-06:002016-03-03T11:07:51.820-06:00A view of home after the storm<span style="font-size: x-small;">CENTURY — We parked on Church Street and walked,
viewing up close the recovery effort as locals repaired or salvaged what they
could after an EF-3 tornado skipped through the town two weeks ago.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The buzz of distant chainsaws carving fallen trees
carried on a light breeze, alongside the scent of wood dust and smoke. Debris
was mounded in piles along the streets and in yards. Roofers replaced shingles
and plywood on one house while heavy equipment left deep ruts in yards to shove
fallen trees aside.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Trees still standing were coated in fiberglass
flocking and sparkled with twisted vinyl and aluminum sheets. Blue and brown tarps
draped the roofs of houses and public buildings, and plywood covered missing windows.</span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-sEzI1g_0cLazBEbwscp6Oe1W_upmHpSxN7OE2Zm5MmlqxMyNqru5VX6hEU4KHpYpev-18DQOPmneYExHnhFGB9drFPGCVdhbFR_LEmtGc45N1b45fju4tOc65iojmW7UNLOJ_A/s1600/Mayo+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-sEzI1g_0cLazBEbwscp6Oe1W_upmHpSxN7OE2Zm5MmlqxMyNqru5VX6hEU4KHpYpev-18DQOPmneYExHnhFGB9drFPGCVdhbFR_LEmtGc45N1b45fju4tOc65iojmW7UNLOJ_A/s320/Mayo+street.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view down Mayo to Front Street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A stillness settled in, under warm sunshine and a
cloudless blue sky.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I grew up in Century, and everywhere I looked last
weekend, my memories collided with the devastation. Here was the place I went
to high school. There, a shop I worked one summer. Over there, the hospital
where my grandmother built her career. The church where I was baptized. The
remains of a house my friend grew up in. The streets where we rode our bikes.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">My cousin’s house. My aunt and uncle’s house. The
Health Department. The pharmacy.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Some of them sustained only slight damage. Some were
reduced to piles of kindling.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Baptist church where we had parked showed little
damage beyond some missing vinyl siding that exposed old tongue-and-groove wood
walls and cracked paint on its bell tower. Pastor David Boyd greeted us in the
gravel lot, explaining how the church was being used as a base of operations
for volunteers from the First Baptist Church of Holt, who were helping to clean
up and restore order in the area.</span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9EIIZsLP38vq1kpzJZjmhAHpaV8MB7C1RiOad36GYX8qKqnAHaYlHtnYR6U-im80jPHXOhk0y0_EJOwIB_N2qgWRjrm5XFQ4QNMwUVZfq2odkHgL2Q7MkEH-VwRKXHTFiSz6JA/s1600/Churches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9EIIZsLP38vq1kpzJZjmhAHpaV8MB7C1RiOad36GYX8qKqnAHaYlHtnYR6U-im80jPHXOhk0y0_EJOwIB_N2qgWRjrm5XFQ4QNMwUVZfq2odkHgL2Q7MkEH-VwRKXHTFiSz6JA/s320/Churches.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Century Methodist Church</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“They’ve been over at the Blair house on Front
Street this morning,” Boyd said. “Mr. Blair was at work when the tornado came,
but his teenage kids were home. The wind picked up the house, moved it over 12
feet and set it down again. It’s a miracle nobody was hurt.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Right next door, the 114-year-old Methodist church
leaned precariously, having been shifted off its brick foundation pilings, bent
and broken. Braces nailed against the exterior walls kept it from collapse
until interior relics could be salvaged, as well as pews and stained glass
windows. The future looked uncertain for the historic structure, built with the
aid of the original lumber company that established the mill town in 1901.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">As we walked back toward our car, a voice called
out, “You hungry?”</span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHbo2moPj7N4pNLOqp0-cxo2uJiLSJMVu-5ItNlMNC5464UKzD1H-LABYK_Q4Pz_r2z_iFZAxpvouWt4hBFyTVYpo-0HLXnFdZSlBlHBePis53XSDIpJyksC5CNseNcgdZh8T4w/s1600/Volunteers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHbo2moPj7N4pNLOqp0-cxo2uJiLSJMVu-5ItNlMNC5464UKzD1H-LABYK_Q4Pz_r2z_iFZAxpvouWt4hBFyTVYpo-0HLXnFdZSlBlHBePis53XSDIpJyksC5CNseNcgdZh8T4w/s320/Volunteers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volunteers from Pineview, Ala.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A car and a pickup truck were stopped on the street,
and people from the vehicles knocked on the doors of wood frame houses across
from the churches. A man in a Red Sox ball cap repeated his call to us.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">They were from Liberty Baptist Church in Pineview,
he explained, a tiny community about 13 miles north in Alabama. They’d cooked
300 meals of smoked ribs and chicken, and gathered a carload of cleansers,
paper supplies and other household needs that they were passing out.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“The Lord has led us to help these people out,” said
Howard Hoomes. “We’re going door-to-door. Even the people that works, we want
them to get free food.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pastor Boyd spoke with the group as they passed,
thanking them for their gifts to the people struggling through the recovery. He
clapped me on my shoulder and said, “Wouldn’t this make a good story?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I nodded. Yes, it would.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Peace</span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-63833501503439703502015-11-26T10:22:00.000-06:002015-11-26T10:22:00.409-06:00Throwback Thursday: Christmas Tree Lane could still earn its name<em>(This article originally published Wednesday, Dec. 6, 2000, in <a href="http://www.newsherald.com/" target="_blank">The News Herald's</a> "Bay Book" column.)</em><br />
<br />
<br />
PANAMA CITY BEACH — Christmas Tree Lane, a meandering paved trail on the western reaches of Panama City Beach (Laguna Beach), is lined by everything but what you might expect, given the name. <br />
<br />
More oleanders and palms grow here than spruce and cedar, more scrub oaks than even scraggly <em>Charlie Brown</em>-style pine saplings. <br />
<br />
There's no snow to frolic in, either — an early morning frost is the most one might hope for. Ground cover consists of sand, red clay, weeds and one yard given over to white marble rock and gravel. <br />
<br />
You'll find no igloos or enchanted elf castles on Christmas Tree Lane. Instead, lines of mobile homes give way to abandoned houses, old tourist properties for sale or rent, and empty lots. <br />
<br />
But sprinkled among these are pockets of brightness, houses where people have planted roots (and grass). One such place is a modest home that, despite being situated about halfway along the lane, is labeled "The Rhodes End" by a sign at its entrance. <br />
<br />
In the front yard stands a brightly-painted 3-foot-tall wooden Santa Claus and a similar snowman that may or may not represent good ol' Frosty. <br />
<br />
Homeowner Richard Rhodes, 65, has lived on the lane since 1987, and he said the Christmas spirit has always moved him to decorate. <br />
<br />
"I came here from Colorado," he said. "I bought a little hotdog stand on the beach, and I've been working on the beach ever since." <br />
<br />
When Rhodes first moved onto the lane, none of his neighbors did any holiday decorating. <br />
<br />
"I've always done that all my life," he said. "My wife died four years ago and my son died two years ago on Christmas Eve, so last year was the only year I didn't do any decorating." <br />
<br />
He's gotten back into the spirit this year — a toy train runs around the Christmas tree inside the home, much to the delight of his two grandchildren — and he has plans for an even bigger display for Christmas 2001. <br />
<br />
"I want to plant a Christmas tree in the front yard in January so I'll have one to decorate next year," he said. <br />
<br />
And finally, Christmas Tree Lane could live up to its name. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-5023780714935580942015-11-20T15:09:00.000-06:002015-11-20T15:09:25.805-06:00Childhood dreams sometimes come true — a generation later
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(This is my “Undercurrents” column for The News Herald this week.)</span></em></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuytvlsy995BrcVIZxGcVtaM5HrWTKkqTOUe0BR69ZmjXh9ggEfxOA5A5kDcmb9HYk7SinT8fOPdLgLHH7b2bp71alugMXU3oXqmAw90Wzu5nD0VEakr4RtCHsuDfd1-DMC2qsyQ/s1600/The+offer+lineup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuytvlsy995BrcVIZxGcVtaM5HrWTKkqTOUe0BR69ZmjXh9ggEfxOA5A5kDcmb9HYk7SinT8fOPdLgLHH7b2bp71alugMXU3oXqmAw90Wzu5nD0VEakr4RtCHsuDfd1-DMC2qsyQ/s320/The+offer+lineup.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Offer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
PANAMA CITY BEACH — If you claim you never stood in
front of a mirror and played air guitar or lip-synced into a hairbrush, pen or
other object, then I’m going to (generously) suggest that you might be fibbing.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
If you grew up in rock ’n’ roll age, that kind of
activity is a given.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Me, I’ve wanted to be a rock star since before David
Cassidy had a TV series. That’s a long, long time. However, I also have the
good sense to keep away from karaoke machines, because no matter how long a
time has passed, my singing skills have not improved.</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuMcZ63MTaVvlQgBys4OSa3znXhP8gQ_ElwMDEp9d9p-KwtenKBrTCBuDXbtip-mzzO7_T8YqWn44zQ_vJTZuDWtOsGnDPESaWaN0E6Ksx51M-p01sb-EwifAvDg2E9f0oyUV9Q/s1600/cover+art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuMcZ63MTaVvlQgBys4OSa3znXhP8gQ_ElwMDEp9d9p-KwtenKBrTCBuDXbtip-mzzO7_T8YqWn44zQ_vJTZuDWtOsGnDPESaWaN0E6Ksx51M-p01sb-EwifAvDg2E9f0oyUV9Q/s320/cover+art.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Adrift"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So it comes as something of a sense of pride to say
my son is a rock star. At least, that’s what I tell him, and anyone else who
will listen. He’s the vocalist and co-writer of songs for “The Offer,” a band
that released its second CD (this time a 5-song EP titled “Adrift”) just last
weekend.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The other band members are Mike Jordan (guitar),
Mikhail Cintgran (bass/vocals), Tristan Reynolds (guitar), and Chase Hopkins
(drums). The band has experienced a couple of lineup changes over the past few
years, but has maintained its music and style (which they tell me is rock/post
hardcore), as even a casual listen shows.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Listening to the new EP, particularly a song that
references <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Doctor Who</i> and “writing in
her journal of impossible things,” my brain took an unexpected leap: I wondered
how or if my life choices had reflected my father’s childhood dreams.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It’s a reasonable question, and one I think fathers
and sons (and mothers and daughters) have mulled since time began. I’m sure
it’s a question that occurs regularly to people in middle age, able to look at
the generations before and after them simultaneously.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dad didn’t want me to be a writer. He wanted me to
be an electrician or a chemist, get a job in manufacturing, make a living wage.
When I was bringing home Ray Bradbury novels from the middle school library, he
was supplying me with Radio Shack electrical kits and chemistry sets from Kmart
and giving me reading assignments in science texts. </div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
(I remember debates with my son over his choice of
study in high school and college — Theatre — and whether he could make a living
wage with that kind of degree.* Sometimes, “living” is less about the wage and
more about the life; that’s a lesson with which I’m still coming to grips.)</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And yet, much later on, after I had established what
became my career and started writing novels and short stories on the side, Dad
started writing a regular history column for his local paper, The Tri-City
Ledger in Flomaton, Ala., and wrote or co-wrote books on local history. He
liked to joke that he was going to be me when he grew up.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I can say with certainty that I am not going to be a
rockstar when I grow up. Still, I wondered if Dad had ever fantasized about
being a writer in his youth — typed an air typewriter in front of the mirror,
or lip-synced an interview into a tape recorder.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Probably not, now that I put it that way.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace</i>.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
---</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">* And let’s
not forget how upset my daughter became after a career counselor at her school
noted her high scores in aptitude tests and suggested she might pursue a career
in journalism. I think she still cries when she thinks about that.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-75442734858464050342015-11-06T16:27:00.000-06:002015-11-06T16:27:00.044-06:00The view from the back seat<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>(This is my Undercurrents column for The News Herald this week.)</em></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
PANAMA CITY BEACH — It has been a week of highs and
lows, as life tends to be — and pretty clearly illustrated, at least in part,
by the perspectives attained according to where I sat in a moving vehicle.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Buckle up.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Saturday, my wife and I drove to Tallahassee to be
with our daughter for her birthday, then traveled with her and her boyfriend to
Thomasville, Ga., for a daytrip. The old downtown has been revitalized with
boutiques, restaurants, a theater, a bookstore, a record shop — even a
cupcakery and a fudge shop. We strolled the brick and concrete walks, sampled
the local flavors, admired the old architecture. We laughed a lot.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I rode in the front passenger’s seat with my teeth
clenched as my daughter’s boyfriend drove like he was auditioning for “Fast
& Furious 8.” At one point, a piece of brown cardboard blown into the
highway from the right caused him to swerve — I had seen it coming, but he
thought it was an animal.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sunday, we attended the wedding of my son’s best
friend in Jacksonville; it took place at a waterside venue, by an old Florida woodframe
house under oak trees strung with white lights. Bride and groom were funny and
beautiful, and the event felt like a family reunion — everyone was genuinely
happy to see everyone else. Afterward came dining, dancing (yes, even me),
speeches, and tears of joy all around. My son caught the garter.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I drove most of the way there, but was relegated to
the back seat for the trip home, sleeping the sleep of the just, the exhausted,
the old. I’m not built for snoozing in a Corolla, but I managed. Pulling back
into Tallahassee near midnight was like rolling into a dream — the streets were
vaguely familiar, just turned the wrong ways and strangely lit, and even my
daughter had trouble recognizing them.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’ve never come into town from this direction at
night,” she explained.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We next jaunted to Pensacola, where I visited my
father in the hospital and then traveled with him to Atmore, Ala., where he was
moving for physical therapy. On that trip, I took the back seat again as my
wife drove and Dad perched in the front passenger seat. I joked about being the
backseat driver, then tried to give my wife directions. Dad chuckled and looked
out the window.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
That’s when it finally struck me and the mental
airbags deployed.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I thought of my own children, of their years in the
back seat, looking forward and reading my temper or humor by the bulge of a
grinning cheek, set of a clenched jaw, or crinkle of the skin at the corner of
my eye. Watching my hairline recede from the center outward.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I couldn’t tell you how many thousands of roadtrips
I’ve taken with my father over the decades, covering hundreds of thousands of
miles. Short hops to the grocery store, to church, to school, to Grandma’s<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>house and a million other places. Longer
slogs to Orlando, or Cleveland, or Stone Mountain or wherever.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And I couldn’t begin to guess how often I saw him
from a similar angle as I was growing up — sitting in the back seat and
watching him scan the road as he drove or rode shotgun with someone else. Yet,
I had never seen him from quite this perspective ever before. Exhausted, weak,
at the mercy of a body and brain suffering from brutal and random tribulation.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Memories and that moment in time collided, the
weight of those intervening decades like a yoke on my back, and I wondered what
it must be like for him, relegated for a time to being a backseat passenger in
his own life.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My advice is to take the wheel while you can, but
from time to time, be willing to occupy a back seat and view the world from
that perspective. Remind yourself how it feels to follow, to have to trust
another’s ability to navigate the miles of rough road ahead.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And don’t forget to buckle up.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace</i>.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-69498286506647467772015-11-05T16:25:00.000-06:002015-11-05T16:25:16.778-06:00Throwback Thursday: Not Fade Away(This column originally published in The News Herald on Sunday, November 14, 2010)<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Not fade away: Connecting across time and space</h3>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Surrounded and bolstered by kindred spirits on Thursday night, Wewahitchka-based author Michael Lister talked about the sacred calling of the storyteller. He used the word “shaman” to convey the mystical connection between the teller and the listener.<br />
<br />Like an alchemical equation seeking balance, the work birthed in the act of creating art can’t reach maturity until the work is interpreted. Otherwise creation is the silence in the forest when a tree falls and no one is there to hear it.<br />
<br />It’s the sound of one hand clapping.<br />
<br />Michael’s words, as usual, started me thinking. In particular, I recalled a few events of the past week where the things people said (or wrote) and the things I heard (or read) connected with memory to<br />create new meaning. You never know what people will say, or how the things they say will stick with you and bubble to the surface of your thoughts.<br />
<br />A couple of examples:<br />
I visited the set of “A Doll’s House” on the Amelia Center Theater stage at Gulf Coast Community College this week. Decorated for Christmas, the lights and baubles stood in stark contrast to the dull walls and furnishings in shades of brown. It looked like a scene out of “A Christmas Story.”<br />
<br />The play is set in 1950s Chicago, and the short sequence I viewed made me think about those folks on our Squall Line who want their country back — one of whom even went so far this week to type on his or her computer that “The 1950s was a better time.”<br />
<br />On stage, the husband teased his wife with $10 bills that she greedily snatched from him, one by one, and promised to spend wisely. He called her pet names and spoke in soothing tones, making sure she understood her place and function in his world.<br />
<br />I was reminded of an early Saturday morning recently, when an older man joked about spending his entire “allowance” on yard sales. He circled among some tables stacked with colorful trinkets and clothing, asking silly questions and flirting with the ladies at the sale. Suddenly, he grew quiet.<br />
<br />“I was married three times,” this total stranger said to me, his breath misting in the morning cold. “I left the first one, the second one left me, and the third died. She was the only one who ever said she loved me. She was the only one I ever loved.”<br />
<br />He cleared a lump in his throat and pointed at a coffee maker designed for one person.<br />
<br />“Is that real or a toy?” he said, and I told him I believed that it was real.<br />
<br />
He bought it and drove away alone.<br />
<em>Peace</em>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-86676953824448951772015-10-29T14:13:00.000-05:002015-10-29T14:13:00.521-05:00Throwback Thursday: Best ‘witches’ for the happy birthday ghoul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53GWx3jSnABMioY_oeXsbHVyieOJ2wScAbbOJ8DrrPK9gMdo297OuYSgTTHtflhIvWbaR1CZ6xdzbhYijw7IxSveULXY67ox_jVU7r9nHkz4P4U3REuZ_ocdg2sSobV1EOlAInA/s1600/Jessimakeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53GWx3jSnABMioY_oeXsbHVyieOJ2wScAbbOJ8DrrPK9gMdo297OuYSgTTHtflhIvWbaR1CZ6xdzbhYijw7IxSveULXY67ox_jVU7r9nHkz4P4U3REuZ_ocdg2sSobV1EOlAInA/s320/Jessimakeup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><em>(Originally published Sunday, October 31, 2010 in The News Herald.)</em><br />
<br />
She arrived squalling in the dark and early hours of a Halloween morning, an absolute treat after a frightening and tricky delivery, our own tiny gremlin. Later that day, a boy dressed as the Flash gave her a kiss — through his face mask — before zooming off to trick-or-treat.<br />
<br />
She has worn many costumes in the 19 (all too short) years since then: baby pumpkin, fairy-tale princess, pink Power Ranger, witch, Indian princess, police officer, Dorothy Gale, gangster moll and many more. She’s even been known to create a costume and makeup out of boredom (see above).<br />
<br />
She won a prize in a sci-fi convention costume contest one year for the <em>Star Trek</em> outfit we dressed her in — mostly because she was an awfully cute 4-year-old at the time. The grownups in their expensive “uniforms” were not amused.<br />
<br />
Over the years, we developed a tradition of taking the birthday ghoul out to eat before going trick-or-treating; the whole family would wear costumes to whatever restaurant she chose. That came to an end the year I wore a <em>Star Trek</em> costume and everyone in the joint came by the table to make jokes. <br />
<br />
<br />
She absolutely refused to let me wear a Mr. Fantastic outfit a couple of years back, but that might have had more to do with the way my gut stretched the fabric.<br />
<br />
I suppose there’s only so much humiliation a young woman will endure from her father.<br />
<br />
For the last few years, she has wandered the neighborhoods of the Hammocks in Lynn Haven with her friends and has hauled home loads of candy — so we’re a little disappointed that she has finally decided she’s “too old” for trick-or-treating. Looks like we’ll have to hit the after-Halloween sales on All Souls Day.<br />
<br /><br />
All this is to say that, no matter what outward outfit she wears or how many Halloweens she has seen, she’ll always be our little monster under the surface.<br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Happy Halloween!</em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-89233561611388717742015-10-27T15:01:00.000-05:002015-10-28T15:04:52.213-05:00Behind the Writing (Part 3): Refilling the Creative Well<em>The following is the last in a three-part series about the craft of writing, specifically characters and situations, why we write stories, and how to refill the creative well. These conversations took place in early October 2015 with author Mark Boss and myself.</em><br />
<br />
>><a href="http://tonysimmons.blogspot.com/2015/10/behind-writing-part-1-characters-or.html" target="_blank">Click here to read the first installment</a><<<br />
>><a href="http://tonysimmons.blogspot.com/2015/10/behind-writing-part-2-why-do-we-write.html" target="_blank">Or here to read the second one</a><<<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xft1/v/t1.0-9/10380761_738983722875798_1515527027755264527_n.jpg?oh=4ff7184615956875bd11ccc753b876cb&oe=56C20602" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xft1/v/t1.0-9/10380761_738983722875798_1515527027755264527_n.jpg?oh=4ff7184615956875bd11ccc753b876cb&oe=56C20602" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Boss, our friend Carole, and me at Books Alive 2015.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Mark: One last thought. I’ve been thinking about this one a lot lately. I’m convinced — you’re torn so many different ways. You’re expected to blog, you’re expected to tweet and Facebook and all these different things. But every time you do that during the day, I think you use up a little bit of creative energy. Maybe not a lot, but a little bit. And then you have to wonder, is there any left over when you actually go to write? So my question is not whether that’s worthwhile or not — because it’s probably necessary — but rather, how do you refill the well after you’re tapped out, after a long week or a month, or even when you finish a long project? Because with a book, you might be committing to a year or two’s worth or work.<br />
<br />
Tony: And that last push leaves you with the thousand-yard stare.<br />
<br />
Mark: And by the end, you’re a zombie. How to you refill the well? What goes into that to bring the water level back up? ... I find that I do a flurry a reading as soon as I’m done (writing) a book. All the stuff that’s been piling up on the Kindle or in stacks, and not just fiction, a lot of non-fiction. When I’m working, I might be reading about 50/50. But afterward, man, I’ve got to fill my brain back up. There’s wanting to catch up on all the TV shows you missed and all the movies you didn’t see. So, for like a month, I go nuts. But then, pretty soon, there’s that itch like, man, I’ve got to write something. You can’t wait until you feel full again to start writing.<br />
<br />
Tony: For me, there’s a couple of things. One is, I give myself permission not to be obsessed or upset that I’m not writing. I didn’t always do that. I don’t really do a lot of reading while I’m in the middle of a project. I’ll read a comic book, or magazine articles, watch TV for an hour or two — during the writing process. After the writing, I want to go somewhere.<br />
Mark: A change of scenery, literally, to refresh the brain.<br />
<br />
Tony: Clear the palate, yeah, and I think that’s why going up to visit Birmingham even jumpstarted that (steampunk novel) idea. I was in the middle of a project, and it was driving me crazy trying to finish it so I could start the new one. I was writing notes on one and working on the other. That’s one thing I do, even if it’s just taking a day, me and my wife going to Apalachicola (about a 90-minute drive from home) and walking around. Just something to change the surroundings for a few hours and get your head out of the space it’s been in.<br />
<br />
Mark: Get away from the computer. Plus, you bring up the point: Even though you have anew idea in your head, the discipline — the part that’s the difference between being a professional and not — is that you finish the project you’re on. And then you start the next one. You don’t get distracted and start something else. It’s a small point, but important for other writers out there, and readers.<br />
<br />
Tony: Yeah, there’s really only two rules: (/<em>Holds up one finger</em>/) Sit your ass in the chair and write. (/<em>Holds up second finger</em>/) Finish what you start. Even if that means just getting to a stopping point. I spent too many years dropping a project and starting something new, just to drop that too.<br />
<br />
Mark: I think that happens a lot.<br />
<br />
Tony: Somebody said it’s like being in love. You’re committed to this project, and all of a sudden you see this nice shiny new idea over there. And you’re like, this project is just not as pretty as I thought she was. She makes me work too hard. But this idea is exciting. I think I’ll go play with this one a while.<br />
<br />
Mark: I think it’s fear. I think people fear finishing. When you’re done, the dream is over. Now it’s time to let go. I really do think fear plays a big part in that. It’s easier to tinker than to finish.<br />
<br />
Tony: Today, that fear goes even further. I can submit to all these (traditional publishers) and if they say no, then in the old days that was the end of the story. Now you can publish yourself so fairly easily that you don’t have any excuse to keep it hidden away in a drawer.<br />
<br />
Mark: You can’t say, “Well, they kept me out. I never got my shot. I never had a chance.” Now, your baby has to get out there and compete, and it might get beat up on the playground. Those are my deep thoughts I had recently.<br />
<br />
Tony: I appreciate it, because I had no deep thoughts to bring to the table.<br />
<br />
Mark: You’re good at spontaneous deep thinking.<br />
<br />
Tony: Or bullshitting.<br />
<br />
Mark: It’s a craft.<br />
<br />
Tony: It can be learned.<br />
<br />
>><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mark-Boss/e/B004VFT58I/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #888888;">Check out Mark’s stories, available in ebook and paperback at Amazon</span></a>.<<Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-89894498268270151692015-10-23T15:06:00.000-05:002015-10-23T15:06:27.042-05:00Former narcotics agent begins third chapter
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6VbwFZ3iIyoJptsjxIFjxAuAaKL7d1WUZVgEuCdI9vS-zyWvKwO2GqczjPVi03tQ5hLgWWgQyqKME1k7xkbYIZg2UzI6cDG2l5POlfQO8oYSRO6i3cOeANTcbXj6fS7V2iCaHUQ/s1600/With+Shemar+Moore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6VbwFZ3iIyoJptsjxIFjxAuAaKL7d1WUZVgEuCdI9vS-zyWvKwO2GqczjPVi03tQ5hLgWWgQyqKME1k7xkbYIZg2UzI6cDG2l5POlfQO8oYSRO6i3cOeANTcbXj6fS7V2iCaHUQ/s200/With+Shemar+Moore.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Merle & Judy with actor Shemar Moore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
MEET THE AUTHOR<br />
<ul>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Who: Merle Sheppard, author of “Ghostly Shade of Pale”</div>
</li>
<li></li>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Where and When: Sundog Books in Seaside 10 a.m. to noon Saturday, and Hidden Lantern Bookstore in Rosemary Beach 2-6 p.m. Saturday</div>
</li>
<li></li>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Details: MerleTemple.com and Facebook.com/Merle.Temple.1</div>
</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
SEASIDE — Merle Temple, at age 67, has begun a new
career as a novelist — a third career, after retiring from the law enforcement
and communications. He has worked for the FBI, the Mississippi Bureau of
Narcotics, and BellSouth. Now, he’s a successful author.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I caught up to him by telephone this week as he
relaxed in Destin with his wife, Judy. They had been out birding, and he had
recently spoken to a class at a Destin elementary school. He mused upon his new
life and how it reflected in those youngsters, just starting their lives.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“These books have opened up a whole new world for us
in our retirement years,” he said. “I didn’t know if anyone other than friends
and loved ones would want to read them. ... I am so grateful that I lived long
enough and survived so much tragedy to know who and what never mattered, and
Who always will.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His debut novel, “A Ghostly Shade of Pale”
introduced the character of Michael Parker, which is based on Merle. Parker
leaves Ole Miss in the early 1970s to enter America’s “War on Drugs.” He is
kidnapped by heroin dealers and held hostage while working solo undercover.
Later, he’s ambushed near Memphis by contract killers hired by the Dixie Mafia.
When he becomes a captain, he and his men are ambushed in a heroin deal near
Columbus by a sniper.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Only the dramatic intervention of God saves the
lives of agents that day,” Merle said, adding, “All these things and more
really happened.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Merle, originally from Tupelo, Miss., claims to have
crossed paths with many of the iconic figures of the 20th century, including
Margaret Thatcher, Charlton Heston, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, J. Edgar
Hoover, Newt Gingrich, Dennis Hastert, and countless other senators,
congressmen, governors and celebrities.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I pull the curtain back to allow people to see
Washington as it really is, and it is not a pretty sight — where everyone and
everything is for sale,” he said. </div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The second book in the trilogy, “A Rented Love,”
follows Parker into the corporate world and high-level politics. There, he
finds that the organized crime figures who tried to kill him are choir boys
compared to the political criminals he encounters in what Merle calls “the
unholy trinity of crime, politics and business.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Merle is currently at work on the final book in the
trilogy, “The Redeemed,” in which Parker — a would-be dragonslayer — pays the
price for his crusades and for opposing the power brokers. The treachery runs
all the way to the White House, Merle hints.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So many I
have known in politics love only power and money, but beyond that, so many of
them refuse to surrender power even in old age and infirmity,” Merle said.
“They made a Faustian deal to rule in hell on earth, rather than to serve
eternally in heaven. They equate retirement with death, and they are terrified
to stand before their maker. They know what they’ve done, and they know that
the road is running out.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The novels are being considered for adaptation into
TV series by various Hollywood producers, which took Merle and Judy to the West
Coast for meetings. They watched the filming of “Criminal Minds,” signed books
for actors Joe Mantegna and Shemar Moore. The series writer-producer Jim
Clemente is pitching “Ghostly” for Merle.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I have written all my life in the public and
private sector — speeches, technical papers,” he said. “People told me, ‘you
have a gift of writing,’ but I found out fiction is difficult. It’s tricky to
speak in other voices. It has so many threads in it, it’s so complex. It has
been a real learning process.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Merle also believes that what he writes and how he
presents it is important. His work, placed in the public eye, is equivalent to
the epitaph on his tombstone, he said, in that it’s how he will be remembered.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My novels, written as fiction but drawn from my
life, have no profanity or graphic intimacy,” he said. “They are written as
literature to endure, and people love them for that reason. ... People are
hungry right now for that, even if they’re gritty books, but behind it is a
message that’s uplifting.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace</i>.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-30576874573540776982015-10-22T13:32:00.000-05:002015-10-22T13:32:30.183-05:00Throwback Thursday: Don't wait for Godot's great pumpkin<em>(Originally published October 30, 2005 in The News Herald)</em><br />
<br />
As you read this, it's the morning after my daughter's first-ever hosted multi-guest sleepover party.<br />
<br />
If all went according to plan, she had youngsters traipsing through the halls in Halloween costumes, eating snacks and birthday cake, half-watching scary movies, staying up to all hours, and dancing to music at a volume that probably was turned down over and over again by weary grownups. <br />
<br />
Pray for them. <br />
<br />
Bad enough that I can be grouchy on the best of mornings. Worse that my daughter is even more grouchy than me. But that's not really what this is all about. <br />
<br />
It's about The Great Pumpkin, and the girl who came to us on a Halloween morning 14 years ago,<br />
and the lessons she teaches.<br />
<br />
The Great Pumpkin, like Godot, never arrives. It's the anticipation of his arrival, and our loneliness in the waiting, that matters. Linus sends letters that are never answered; he waits in the patch all night and never sees a sign. He believes in things the rest of us find laughable. <br />
<br />
For many years, despite requests from our own "peanuts" gallery, somehow we seldom had a jack-o'- lantern on the doorstep. This year, we got a great pumpkin. We chose it from the patch off State 77 in Lynn Haven and brought it home to lovingly mutilate. It wasn't huge by any means, but it had a good shape and size. And it was ours. <br />
<br />
We went to get the pumpkin because our Hallowed Eve princess wanted it, of course, and because her mother's insistence overcame my considerable inertia. And after a few days of having the pumpkin sitting patiently unmolested by the front door, for much the same reason, we took it into the backyard to carve.<br />
<br />
As her mother watched, I showed the spooky little girl how to trim off the top and dig out the guts — or brains, if you prefer — to stick to the gourd-as-head analogy. I skimmed seeds out of the fibrous orange mucous and put them into one bowl to be cleaned and roasted. The brains and inner meat went into another, to be made into pumpkin pie or something else Mom might decide to make.<br />
<br />
Then daughter and I drew the face, and I helped her cut the holes. She outlined the holes with red paint to increase the daytime scariness. We have since placed the candle inside and shined the light, and it is one formidable jack-o'-lantern. <br />
<br />
But there was a moment in between those steps, a moment when I was up to my elbows in pumpkin brains, fingers coated in goo, when I realized my place in all of this. The role I had taken, though active in these final steps, was not the role that had put the gourd on its journey to the front porch. <br />
<br />
"This is cool," said the Halloween girl. "Thanks, Mom." <br />
<br />
<em>Peace.</em> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-43951823586532467562015-10-20T14:52:00.000-05:002015-10-28T14:55:38.335-05:00Behind the Writing (Part 2): Why do we write?<em>The following is the second in a three-part series about the craft of writing, specifically characters and situations, why we write stories, and how to refill the creative well. These conversations took place in early October 2015 with author Mark Boss and myself.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>>><a href="http://tonysimmons.blogspot.com/2015/10/behind-writing-part-1-characters-or.html" target="_blank">Click here to read the first installment.</a><<</em><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/A1uqdveoptL._UX250_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/A1uqdveoptL._UX250_.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Boss</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mark: That brings me to my second question: What is it in us that demands that storytelling? I think you go to your caveman, and other people (with him) like stories but there’s probably only one person in the tribe or village that’s a storyteller, and he’s probably a shaman or he’s painting on the walls — “Oh, that was the best hunt ever!” (The number of storytellers is) probably a bigger percentage of the population now because the tools are available to write, but telling stories has always (come from) a small part of the population. I think it only feels big now because there’s so many people publishing. Why is it a small part, and why are people like us driven to tell stories?<br />
<br />
Tony: If you strip all the publishing away from it and get down to storytelling, I think everybody tells stories. Every conversation we have with our loved ones, we’re telling stories. If my Mom calls and tells me about an uncle that’s not doing well, she’s storytelling. As a people, a species, we developed language and writing — well, in part to keep track of what we were telling —<br />
<br />
Mark: To give it permanence, because we wanted to give stories multi-generations.<br />
<br />
Tony: But in those days, and up until recently, most people couldn’t read and write, but everybody would go down to the square to hear the town crier tell what happened in the court, or gather around their radio to listen to serials.<br />
<br />
Mark: My grandfather told stories on the porch, and neighbors would come over to listen.<br />
<br />
Tony: When it comes to writing, I think the difference between most people and people like you and me is the difference between a child drawing a picture with crayons and the artist painting a landscape or portrait. We found something in us that felt fulfilled and we were drawn further to continue filling that empty hole in our hearts.<br />
<br />
Mark: You’re so driven, you spend years learning the technical skills, just like a painter. You take it way beyond what most people would do because you spent all these years developing it. If everyone else did that, you’d have a lot more people who were writers. They’d end up at the same place.<br />
<br />
Tony: It is a craft, and it can be taught. It can be learned. Those of us who felt drawn to it also had to learn it —<br />
<br />
Mark: Over a long period of time —<br />
<br />
Tony: With a lot of trial and error. … If I turn away from it for too long, as you do from time to time, I actually feel heartsick, like there’s something missing. That ‘something’ is telling those stories. At least, for me it is.<br />
<br />
Mark: Sometimes it’s the only way I can cheer myself up. If I sit down and start writing, within an hour or two I’m smiling and happy again. It’s unreal. It’s weird how sometimes you purposely turn away from it, then you think, “What the heck was I thinking? Why am I not doing that?”<br />
<br />
Tony: What are we hoping to do is to write something that’s going to affect somebody. That they’re going to carry with them, share with other people, and it’s going to make their world a better world, and it’s going to go on beyond you, after you’re long gone. Or, we could just be writing stories to have fun with. If we’re lucky, we’ll be like H. Rider Haggard and a hundred years after we’re gone people will still be making movies out of our stories.<br />
<br />
<em>In the next post, we’ll talk about how writers and readers can refill the creative well.</em><br />
<br />
>><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mark-Boss/e/B004VFT58I/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1" target="_blank">Check out Mark’s stories, available in ebook and paperback at Amazon</a>.<<<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-57310502918669361542015-10-16T12:22:00.000-05:002015-10-16T12:22:00.950-05:00Get your write on this NaNoWriMo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE4kYhoFkAAMWlKNelSdy46jXOm_lRDlASsg0HJbzHUPwGPodkxDi6A5ihLOgMznDSFs5bAH3gn53lWKV1v70Xx2alb2B3Y7rTBtSr-nRJvepcbSoguK-s9M_T5WNRnH9aEPTqEg/s1600/NaNoWriMo+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE4kYhoFkAAMWlKNelSdy46jXOm_lRDlASsg0HJbzHUPwGPodkxDi6A5ihLOgMznDSFs5bAH3gn53lWKV1v70Xx2alb2B3Y7rTBtSr-nRJvepcbSoguK-s9M_T5WNRnH9aEPTqEg/s320/NaNoWriMo+logo.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">NaNoWriMo Kick-Off Party<o:p></o:p></b><br />
<ul>
<li></li>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
What: Tips and tricks for writers; light refreshments</div>
</li>
<li></li>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When: 5:30-7 p.m. Monday, Oct. 19</div>
</li>
<li></li>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Where: Bay County Public Library, at 898 W. 11th St., Panama City</div>
</li>
<li></li>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Details: nanowrimo.org or call 850-522-2120</div>
</li>
</ul>
PANAMA CITY — Writers, it’s time to limber up those
typing or scribing fingers, bulk up the brain muscles (or whatever) and get
ready for the best month of the year.<br />
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
November is just around the corner, and that means
you’re invited (in fact, encouraged — nay, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">required!</i>)
to set your mind to writing a novel during the 30 days of National Novel
Writing Month, or “NaNoWriMo.”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“NaNoWriMo challenges people to write 50,000 words
of a novel in the 30 days of November,” said Regina Burgess, Community
Relations and Marketing Coordinator for the Northwest Regional Library System.
“Crazy? Yes. Doable? Absolutely!”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My recent novel of zombie survival, “This Mortal
Flesh,” began as a NaNoWriMo project. I’m planning to write the bulk of a new
steampunk novel in November.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As Regina notes, more than 250 NaNoWriMo novels have
been traditionally published, including Sara Gruen’s “Water for Elephants,”
Erin Morgenstern’s “The Night Circus,” and many more. Last year, NaNoWriMo
welcomed 351,142 writers from around the world. Of those participants, 58,917
hit their goals, completing a 50,000-word draft of a novel in November 2014.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
If you’ve always said you wanted to do so too, then
now’s the time. </div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
To help locals get the ink flowing, the Bay County
Public Library will host a NaNoWriMo Kick-Off Party from 5-7:30 p.m. on
Tuesday, Oct. 19. I will join local authors Michael Lister, Sharman Ramsey and
others during that period to share some helpful writing tips and prompts.
Friends of the Bay County Public Libraries will supply light refreshments.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Attendees may also enter a drawing for three gift
boxes, each of which includes goodies and the book that started it all: “No
Plot, No Problem: A Low-Stress High-Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30
Days” by NaNoWriMo founder Chris Baty.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The library will also host “Come Write In” sessions
5-7 p.m. each Monday in November, with library staff on hand for support and
encouragement; participants are welcome to bring their own refreshments.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Finally, the library will have a “Thank God It’s
Over” party 5-7:30 p.m. on Dec. 7 to celebrate finishing (or at least
attempting to finish) your novels. Again, Friends of the Bay County Public
Libraries will supply light refreshments.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We have some
staff members who are going to participate in NaNoWriMo this year,” Regina
said. “I’m one of them, and I am both looking forward to it and scared out of
my wits! So far, I have no idea what I’m going to write about or even what
genre I’ll attempt. But the unknown is half the fun!”</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In writing, it’s about the journey as much as the
destination. Come with us into the trackless unknown.</div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace</i>.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-63744966897365225692015-10-15T19:30:00.000-05:002015-10-15T19:30:00.072-05:00FOUR books of mine for FREE!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpcMruwNqxUP7nNQunRfD94Y3PWeSlqhuJ3XES0FrLX9yatgs2YLu5gLvXoQ2JtL_Sfxl6FKxf9qeQOOIX7c507RDxJQjPeNFYWEvvwMb5nzwi-WvIUWZvVYhoxS9jhAIhoaOeA/s1600/event+banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpcMruwNqxUP7nNQunRfD94Y3PWeSlqhuJ3XES0FrLX9yatgs2YLu5gLvXoQ2JtL_Sfxl6FKxf9qeQOOIX7c507RDxJQjPeNFYWEvvwMb5nzwi-WvIUWZvVYhoxS9jhAIhoaOeA/s640/event+banner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Have you ever wondered if you'd like to try my books? Now's your best opportunity:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Three of my novels and a short story collection will be available for FREE via Kindle from Oct. 16-20 leading up to my signing event at Arena Comics on Oct. 21. As always, you don't have to own a Kindle device to read them, as the Kindle app is also FREE to download for your smartphone, laptop or desktop. Here are the books I'm giving away:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00CCZ18RA…" target="_blank">THE BOOK OF GABRIEL</a> (An Endtimes Fable) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FQ744OU…" target="_blank">TALES OF THE AWAKENING DEAD</a> (zombie short stories)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00HMNHZBK…" target="_blank">DRAGON RISING</a> (Book 1 of The Shadow War)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00HMNHZBK…" target="_blank">THIS MORTAL FLESH</a> (A Novel of the Awakening Dead)</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 14px/20.84px helvetica, arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
And if you're looking for more details, just check out >><a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/477773259063832/" target="_blank">this Facebook event page</a><< and watch for updates there.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-73405335552102296902015-10-15T10:54:00.000-05:002015-10-15T10:54:34.513-05:00Throwback Thursday: Some leave monuments when they go <em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(This column originally appeared in The News Herald on Sunday, October 23, 2005.) </span></em><br />
<br />
Hugs all around, and smiles, and some laughs. <br />
<br />
We compare bald spots, and aches and pains like the guys on <em>Jaws</em> comparing their scars. We brag about our children, their grades and accomplishments, bestow compliments and accept them. <br />
<br />
(We live through our children, after all. We put our arms around them and hang on for dear life. The future is there. Here is the past, we say to the child as we brag to our forefathers about the living future.) <br />
<br />
So many faces in the crowd. We don't see them any more, except at family reunions, or weddings or funerals. We don't have family reunions any more, and those of us who were once considered the kids of the family are now at that intermediate age when it seems like nobody's getting married. <br />
<br />
I guess you know what that leaves. <br />
<br />
I'm thinking it's a shame that it has been so long since I saw so many of these people, and I'm thinking Bobby would be glad to see so many of them gathered up in one place. He'd have something inappropriate and hilarious to say about it. <br />
<br />
There are pictures and flowers, as there always are. And tears. But there are inordinate amounts of smiles. Bobby would have appreciated that — it's what he brought into rooms. <br />
<br />
Later, after the service at the Flomaton Funeral Home and another one on the green hill overlooking the town, we gather at his house. We are greeted there by a wooden sculpture Roland Hockett might have conceived on a whim. <br />
<br />
Bobby built the monument to the recent hurricanes Ivan and Dennis after they dropped trees — twice — on his house. The second time, after repairs from the first time had been significantly completed. <br />
<br />
The freeform sculpture stands at the end of the walkway that leads from the street to the front door of the home. It's made of pieces cut from the trees as they were removed from the house, as well as various other debris. <br />
<br />
Maybe it's a warning of what can happen if you fight the forces of nature, I thought. Maybe it's a kind of pine ju-ju meant to appease the hurricane gods. Most likely, it's just a typical joke — Bobby's way of saying he's not going to let something like a one-two punch from Mother Nature get him down. <br />
<br />
Some people leave memories. Some leave legacies. Some leave monuments. <br />
<br />
I snap a picture, and wonder. <br />
<br />
<em>Peace</em>. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-68739291975062773092015-10-13T15:24:00.000-05:002015-10-13T15:24:06.554-05:00Behind the Writing: PART 1: Characters or Situations?<em>The following is the first in a three-part series about the craft of writing, specifically characters and situations, why we write stories, and how to refill the creative well. These conversations took place in early October 2015 with author Mark Boss and myself.</em><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevq_JNX3rMEO8K9RYxzIQSItLUei049AMJFtD9x5APzrl47y28DrXVDLyFeAz4fpg-n03fg8FPW5mdZrP4C7k4-NL6y4WATK4cOdI2G7hK_P7Smh5jpBnGpeYeBi7UJN67U6SSw/s1600/mark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevq_JNX3rMEO8K9RYxzIQSItLUei049AMJFtD9x5APzrl47y28DrXVDLyFeAz4fpg-n03fg8FPW5mdZrP4C7k4-NL6y4WATK4cOdI2G7hK_P7Smh5jpBnGpeYeBi7UJN67U6SSw/s320/mark.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Boss at PC Creative Con 2K15</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mark: We were talking the other day about characters. You read Stephen King’s “On Writing,” and he says he always starts with a situation; I started thinking, how predominant is that? How many authors start with a situation versus starting with a character? When you told me about your Alabama trip, it seemed like the seed of it, the germ was the character first. What triggered that idea, and then did you build the situation around that character?<br />
<br />
Tony: I think that story came out of inundating — immersing myself in a bunch of unrelated ideas. I’m in Birmingham, and there’s a lot of stuff about the Confederacy, it’s an iron town — that whole blacksmithy, iron works, steam era feel to it. And I’m reading a lot of steampunk. All of those things fed into the mulcher, and then, driving home, seeing those old Southern city names —<br />
<br />
Mark: Specifically, Jemison and Thorsby. Were they in that order?<br />
<br />
Tony: Yes.<br />
<br />
Mark: Because you might not have thought of it (if they were in the reverse order).<br />
<br />
Tony: Right. That came from character first, from a mixture of the names and a time period I had floating around in my head. So in a way, the situation was kind of already there. I was primed to find a story that was steeped in the Old South.<br />
<br />
Mark: Which is quite a departure, because I’d say most steampunk, maybe 90 percent of it, is Victorian England. At best, they cross the Channel to France. So Steampunk-USA is a departure.<br />
<br />
Tony: With my Caliban stories, it definitely came out of character first. I was 14 years old and wanted to write Doctor Strange. Before I knew it, I wasn’t writing about the wizard, I was writing about the kid he trained and the development of his potential as a magic-user. Over the years, both of those characters kind of developed in the back of my head. — So, how about you, Mark? Character or situation?<br />
<br />
Mark: Looking at the last few books, I realize I’m going more ‘situation.’ My thing was a “what-if.” What if all these bad things happened at the same time? I love zombie things, and zombies were very big at the time. And yet I thought, okay, what if we ramped it up? Because one apocalypse is not enough for me. That’s just too slow. I want to see us get devastated. So you throw in aliens — the classic thing of alien invasion — and then you throw in a robot uprising, and then we’re starting to get it boiling. We’ve brought it up to temperature. Then I started thinking, everyone is going to be caught in this, but we don’t want to follow the people who just sit in their basement and wait for it to stop. We want to follow people out there actually doing things. The books jump around a fair amount to different characters. Even so, I tried to focus on the excitement: Let’s go look for the most important things happening or the most fun things happening. That was more a situation thing, but I had never thought hard about it until recently.<br />
<br />
<em>In the next post, we’ll address the question: Why do we make up stories?</em><br />
<br />
Check out Mark's blog "<a href="http://www.chimpwithpencil.com/" target="_blank">Chimp With Pencil"<<</a><br />
<a href="http://markboss.net/" target="_blank">Mark's website<<</a><br />
and his <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mark-Boss/e/B004VFT58I/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1" target="_blank">Amazon author page</a><<Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-82220098490035212572015-10-09T12:28:00.000-05:002015-10-09T12:28:00.089-05:00Undercurrents: Honoring Rosie, establishing a legacy<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRS8n2A2-9-YhwJclLEk6l_lgdr7smho039TCO-Z_AOrS9NVGJWfWGR0g52Smm7F3t1X1hgkJpmCt3DWVVQyHt8Pc482Prl99oW9bm9Hg1n3-TrZ5aAtL-SWT6wQvP86mHXqNLHw/s1600/Roemarie+O%2527Bourke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRS8n2A2-9-YhwJclLEk6l_lgdr7smho039TCO-Z_AOrS9NVGJWfWGR0g52Smm7F3t1X1hgkJpmCt3DWVVQyHt8Pc482Prl99oW9bm9Hg1n3-TrZ5aAtL-SWT6wQvP86mHXqNLHw/s200/Roemarie+O%2527Bourke.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Amelia Center Honors: Rosemarie O’Bourke<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">When:</b> 7:30 p.m. Oct. 17</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Where:</b> Amelia G. Tapper Center for the Arts, Gulf Coast State College, 5230 W. U.S. 98, Panama City</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tickets:</b> Free admission; online reservations at GulfCoast.edu/Arts suggested to guarantee seating</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Details:</b> Call 850-872-3887 or email jhedden@gulfcoast.edu</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">PANAMA CITY — I first met Rosemarie O’Bourke, or
“Rosie,” many years ago, when I started reporting on education for The News
Herald and the Gulf Coast State College theatre was undergoing a massive
renovation. But I finally got to know her when my son entered the college’s
Performing Arts track.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Next week, Oct. 17, the college will celebrate
Rosie’s career and legacy following her recent retirement as chairwoman of the
Visual and Performing Arts Division — a department that started when she first
arrived at the college, about 30 years ago.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“The Amelia Center Honors is an event celebrating
the numerous contributions Rosie O’Bourke has made to arts and education in
this community and the positive impact she has had on so many students during
her career,” said Jason Hedden, who assumed his role as chairman of the GCSC
Visual and Performing Arts Division upon Rosie’s retirement. “The entire
community is invited to share in this exiting evening of entertainment.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The special ceremony will feature performances and
tributes by students, alumni, colleagues and community members. NYC-based
performer and alumnus Matthew Holtzclaw will serve as guest emcee. Formal
attire is requested.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Amelia Center Honors, as it goes into the
future, will become an event to honor others who contribute extraordinary value
to the area’s cultural life.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">In 2013, I sat down with Rosie in her office, which
was decorated with University of Florida and Gator items, and we talked about
her life and career.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Born in Cuba, she came to the U.S. in 1961 at age 13
as one of the “Peter Pan” children. The Miami Catholic churches had arranged
passage for Cuban children and placed them in foster homes and orphanages to
get them out of Castro’s regime.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“I didn’t speak any English or any such thing,” she
said. “My brother and I went to live with a family we knew, friends of our
parents. We were lucky.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rosie completed high school and college in St.
Petersburg, graduated from UF with a master’s in music, took a second master’s
degree in theater from St. Louis University, worked in a playhouse in Cleveland
while getting her MFA, married and had three kids.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The first show she produced at GCSC (still
“Community” College at the time), was “Bye Bye Birdie,” with choreography by
her longtime collaborator and friend Jenny Freed. The last one she directed, a
career-long dream, was “Les Miserables.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">But retirement doesn’t mean she’s far from the
footlights. She plans to spend more time at a family cabin in North Carolina,
but also to work with children, teaching and producing children’s theater and
choral performances. Arts education is as important to her now as ever.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“My soapbox is keeping the arts in our schools,” she
said. “Kids really need it, and research shows they do better in all the other
subjects if they’re (exposed to) the arts. My students have gotten so much from
the arts — self concept, energy, compassion. They had to learn to be team
players, to accept other people, and no matter what field you go into, you have
to be a team player.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">As the team gets together next weekend to honor its
coach, mentor, and fellow player, they’ve had occasion to reflect on how they
got where they are — and who helped guide them along the path.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“Rosie has had a profound impact on my life and
career,” Hedden said. “For over 20 years, she has believed in me, more than I
believed in myself. That unwavering support has given me a confidence that has
led to many of the personal and professional successes in my life.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">That’s a legacy anyone would be proud to count.
Congrats, Rosie, for a career well spent, and best wishes for many years of
creativity and inspiration to come.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Bodycopyjustified" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace</i>.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9438550.post-66047985518729252362015-10-08T11:48:00.000-05:002015-10-08T11:48:26.980-05:00Throwback Thursday: On the road — I remember the warrior<em>(The following originally was published in the Sunday edition of The News Herald, October 16, 2005.)</em><br />
<br />
I remember a time of chaos, ruined dreams, this wasted land. Most of all, I remember the man we called Max, the road warrior. <br />
<br />
Here, the signs stripped of numbers, the bags over the nozzles. There, cars backed up 10 deep and into the street with a police officer directing the lines and watching for drive-offs as the last drops are drained of premium. <br />
<br />
And finally, cars following a tanker as it drives from the Chevron terminal on St. Andrew Bay to deliver thousands of gallons to a station on U.S. 231. There, the lines form again, and only hours later the underground tanks again are dry. <br />
<br />
There's desperation in the eyes of those who sat at the ends of the lines, those who did not get a taste of the golden juice, those whose needles rest on the red "E." <br />
<br />
Without fuel they were nothing. They'd built a house of straw. Suddenly their machines sputtered and stopped. Their leaders talked and talked and talked, but nothing could stem the avalanche. Their world crumbled. <br />
<br />
I was one of the lucky ones during the recent shortage who found gasoline — enough to make a trip out of town — and there I found gasoline enough to make it back home again. It was a worrisome thing to do. <br />
<br />
You become afraid to travel. If you give any thought to the ready availability of fuel, then you do. Can you get from here to there? And if you make it one way, can you get back home again? <br />
<br />
Traveling last weekend, we passed any number of gas stations with empty signs and bagged nozzles in Walton, Okaloosa, Santa Rosa and Escambia counties. We paid more to travel one way to the old homestead and back again than it would have cost to drive three times that far a year ago. <br />
<br />
Abandoned cars sat on roadsides, more than I've ever seen on that journey, and I wondered how many of them simply were out of petrol. <br />
<br />
We'd been making Road Warrior jokes for weeks around the office because of the shortage, and now I was facing the images for real and wondering: Where was Lord Humungus? Where was the lawman, Max? How far were we from feral children roaming the wasteland with boomerangs? <br />
<br />
To understand who he was we have to go back to the other time. When the world was powered by the black fuel, and the desert sprung great cities of pipe and steel. Gone now, swept away. <br />
<br />
Strangely enough, AMC's "A One and A Two" (in which the cable network plays a movie and its sequel as a double feature) on Wednesday night showed <em>Max Max</em> followed by <em>The Road Warrior</em>. <br />
<br />
And Thursday, the prices on the convenience store signs began to fall. I wondered if there was some karmic connection. <br />
<br />
"You want to get out of here? You talk to me." <br />
<br />
Here he would learn, amid the dark wreckage, that the fire which burns in the heart of man, will endure. Hope survives. <br />
<br />
<em>Peace. </em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03840994724307982728noreply@blogger.com0