Hiroshima and I

August 6 separated by 69 years.

In 1945, August 6 witnessed the detonation of the first atomic bomb over the Japanese city of Hiroshima. I was always fascinated by the shadows of people left on walls. I'd always heard they were vaporized by the blast, but could never figure out why the wall wasn't vaporized as well.

Wall to Wall

And while a terrible event in a terrible war, more Japanese were killed by a conventional firebombing of Tokyo that March. And who needed bombers? The Japanese army in Nanking, China in 1937 killed around a quarter million Chinese using rifles, bayonets, and swords. (The Japanese used the bombers to sink the gunboat U.S.S. Panay, killing and wounding American sailors, but  later apologized and paid us some money.)

Enough of this grim Second World War stream-of-consciousness.

In 2014, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Just me. Not an entire city. But tragedy involving my life becomes all-consuming. ('But it's ME! How can this happen to ME?')

A year has passed and I'm a man without a prostate, but cancer free. (At a physical examination yesterday, I told the doctor he didn't have to check my prostate anymore—unless he wanted to. He took it in the correct spirit.)

For all my physical gyrations the last twelve months, I'm grateful to be mending and married, as I can't imagine going through this event without the help of my darling wife, as well as family and friends.

And so today some remember a large tragedy and I remember a small one. Life advances inexorably. As for this August 6, say what you will, but both Hiroshima and I are doing better than Detroit.

Medical Billing Muck + 50ZG Update

Ah, the rich life of poor health.

Take this prescription to your pharmacy, go back for a refill, get charged full price, call the health insurance, wither on a phone tree, be shunted to dead ends, check their web site and learn there's no way to ask a question that isn't in the FAQ. Call back, dangle like a Christmas ornament on the phone tree, finally learn that you must obtain a document from your doctor to get a refill on medication. Punt to the doctor's insurance team. They must have a nurse sign off on the request. Check back and learn the nurse has placed said request in the pipeline. Ten days later receive an OK from the insurance.

This is what I face in the morning before writing a single word.

Okay, on to '50 Shades.' With less than a month to go, I have the home stretch in sight. Beta readers are devouring the early chapters. But a big tubby question remains:

Will readers care for a book mocking a best-seller if they aren't familiar with the original?

And who in the name of triangular crackers is Zane Grey?

My wife suggested I write a forward, explain that Grey, King of Western Sagas, wrote last century and left behind an experimental novel exploring psychological disorders, sexual awakening and Indian attacks set in the Old West. I have obtained a copy and ask the reader to note the similarities between this book and E. L. James' 50 Shades of Grey trilogy.

Might be too many elements piled too high for the casual reader.

However, I'm pressing on because it will be my first completed fiction novel. Like any parent, I love my child, even the misshapen ugly ones.

Here's my latest salute to 50 Shades.


h/t: Movieclips