Book Review: The Debut

The Debut by Anita Brookner
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A middle-aged academic reflects back on her lonely youth, frustrated by family demands. Bittersweet and humorous, this novel follows French literature student Ruth Weiss as she comes of age and attempts to separate from selfish immature parents.

"...she was expected to grow up as fast as she could decently manage it, and to this end was supplied with sad but improving books."

Nurtured for a time by her fraternal grandmother, Ruth discovers competence in the French language. She sets out to pursue an academic career, specializing in the writings of Balzac. Author Brookner shows an acrobatic deftness, gliding from one point-of-view to the next, handing off between characters with a fluid grace.

The imagery is rich, displayed in such passages as where Ruth describes old furniture "in dark woods which looked as if they had absorbed the blood of horses." Or where Ruth interacts with her aging mother, Helen, who "surveyed her daughter with eyes as impassive as those of an animal long in captivity."

In attempting to shape her own life, Ruth suffers a rueful moment of self reflection, wondering if she would always "react in the same way to those who did not want her, trying ever more hopelessly to please, while others, better disposed, went off unregarded?"

Despite a vague sense of time, I thought the characters were well-drawn, the dialogue neatly crafted, and the ending sad and inevitable, but seeded with wit. A satisfying read for those with a love of language and an appreciation for a clever turn-of-phrase.

View all my reviews

A Most Solemn Memorial Day

As a kid, I remember attending a Memorial Day parade in Wisconsin. Featured were men who'd survived the Bataan Death March eighteen years earlier. Bands played, people cheered, and the veterans, most in their forties, strolled down the street and waved. God knows what they thought of the horrendous brutality and starvation they'd undergone, or the absent comrades bayonetted because they'd collapsed with exhaustion. Still, that sunny day, sacrifices were recalled. By their presence, the survivors called to mind the fallen.

Today in the Philippines, there exists the Manilla American Cemetery. Here sits the largest gathering of Americans slain in World War II—a popular war, as such things go—consisting mostly of men killed in New Guinea and the Philippines, including on the Bataan Death March. Interred are 17, 184 dead. Also listed are the names of the missing, to the tune of 36, 286. (Among the dead are a number of Filipino Scouts.)

Here's one name from the roles of the deceased: Private James L. Aaron, U.S. Army, Service Number 14047056. Private Aaron was from Tennessee and served in the 31st Infantry Regiment. The 31st was one of the units that fought for months before finally surrendering to the Japanese. He may well have fought along side some of the men who walked in that parade almost two decades later. Starving, racked with dysentry, Private Aaron may well have been among those force-marched 65 miles from the peninsula of Bataan to San Fernando. Private Aaron may've perished on the Bataan Death March.

Today, Memorial Day seems memorable for being a long weekend and the unofficial start of summer and barbecues. Parades are reserved for winning sports teams, or, perhaps, the 4th of July. ("The dead? You mean like The Walking Dead? Seriously, dude, the dead?')

So today, just for a moment, I elect to remember Private Aaron and all the other Private Aarons who stood in the gap for our country during dark times, in less popular wars, who continue dying today.

May Perpetual Light shine upon them all.

Full Measure with Sharyl Attkisson

Story Du Jour #14

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Brilliant Flash Fiction

"Michel" - by Cody Pease

677 words

Care and sorrow blend in a tale of the inevitable. 

Here's a sample of the writing:

"Days pass without warning, a monotonous routine. I lose myself in all of it. He sleeps past noon. Then I follow him as he ambles throughout the house, spraying the doorknobs and countertops, the stairway railing and armrests, wherever he lays his hands, wherever he breathes. I empty two bottles of cleaning spray within the first nine days since the hospital visit. I cook his meals: gluten-free, sugar-free, free of meat and eggs. I wash his clothes with scent-free detergent. I wash his body with only warm water, once in the morning and again at night. I buy a new bed, a firm bed to support his spine. Instead of wrapping myself around him and breathing in the nape of his neck, I keep two feet between us and hold his hand."

Soon more fiction.

Book Review: The Jack Vance Treasury

The Jack Vance Treasury by Jack Vance
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Grab you dictionary, it's Jack Vance! An old school master of sci-fi and fantasy, the author's Hugo and Nebula-award winning stories are included in this eighteen-tale anthology. Marvel at "The Dragon Masters," where an inquisitive Prince on a far-off world battles to hold his kingdom together in the face of a dragon war, the secretive politics of a powerful aloof race, and an alien invasion intent on enslaving humanity.

On another planet where everyone wears masks, a methodical official struggles to uncover the identify of a wanted assassin in "The Moon Moth." In "The Last Castle," a collection of spoiled sophisticates discovers the unpleasant truth that the lower orders have plans and goals that don't include the sophisticates.

In addition, several stories appear from Vance's Dying Earth canon. Set in a remote eon when our sun is a red giant, on the verge of guttering out, the selections feature picaresque protagonists afoot in a fragmented society of clannishness, bizarre customs, powerful magic, and sinister monstrosities capable of reason.

This book is best read on Kindle so as to take advantage of the dictionary function. Vance loved the English language, not to mention Old English, Latin and French. Prepare to encounter words such as "helminths," "nacre," and, a personal favorite, "nuncupatory" (obsolete.) Language and communication are themes in several Vance stories. And while the vocabulary can be vexing, it contributes to a depth and sense of place that enriches the author's unique works.

So sample the tales of Jack Vance. Enjoyment will eventuate.

View all my reviews

My Jack Vance obituary.

Story Du Jour #13

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

You decide if it leaves a mark.

Flash Bang Mysteries

"The 4th Amendment" - by John Bowers

731 words

Law clashes with order in a judge's chambers.  

Here's a sample of the writing:

Judge Martin sighed. “Your surveillance proves nothing. A beer party late at night, maybe a poker game. That’s likely all it was.”

 “Facial rec ID’d some of those men, your Honor. 

Known felons, a couple with Mob ties.”

 “Proves nothing. I’m sorry. Is there anything else?” 

 Carpenter stared at the judge in mounting frustration. “You’ve always been stingy with warrants, your Honor, but–” 

 “I believe in the Fourth Amendment. As should you.” 

“I do, of course, or I wouldn’t be asking for a warrant.” Carpenter leaned forward. “Look, your Honor, if Braxton is innocent, the search will only clear him. What’s the harm in that?”

“Nothing. But the Fourth clearly states that a search must be reasonable, with probable cause.”

Carpenter held up the warrant again. “I believe I have probable cause right here.” 

Another story will appear in a post much like this one very soon.

Pandemic Running

hikespeak

Finally, the trails in Griffith Park reopened and I can run somewhere other than around the block. Depression struck hard and I fell off all exercise the last few weeks. But now I'm rejuvenated and ready to build up my mileage once more.

I carry a mask, but don't wear it while running, relying on sunlight and fresh air to check the crafty Wuhan bug.

What will the future of racing be? Nowdays, runners may compete via the honor system in virtual races where they sign up, pay an entrance fee, run on their own, then receive finisher medals in the mail. A rather sterile endeavor. But I can't imagine any old-fashioned road races in the near future. This does dampen, but not extinguish, my marathon plans.

As a general note, I believe yesterday to be the most pre-pandemic day I've experienced since early March. Not only was traffic heavy, but I observed a maskless couple in a BMW zip into a handicapped parking space, run into a liquor store and buy cigarettes.

It's nice to see some of LA returning to normal.

Story Du Jour #12

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Lowlife Literature

All Due Respect

"On the Edge" - by Sharon Diane King

1,228 words

Shrink vs shrink in a seedy motel with plenty of resentments to go around. 

Here's a sample of the writing:

McLeod paused, trying to even out his breath. He stared out the window at the thrashing ocean. The wooden balcony jutted out over the jagged rocks on the beach below. He’d been right to come. The perfect setting....

 “What is it you’d want me to say to you, Sandy?”

 “Truth’d be nice. For once.”

 McLeod grasped his cane and stood up slowly, gazing at the man with his back to him. “Okay, all right. You want the truth? Here’s a start. You were all about getting what you wanted, no matter what it took or who it hurt. From the day you rolled into town.”

 Sandy turned and stared at McLeod.

“You came here with all this hype, big city doctor settling down to a heartland practice. Your beauty pageant wife, your gifted kids. Your guitar, your garage band. Big fancy trips, RVs and motorcycles and new cars. Flashy stuff. Flash in the pan, more like. You used us all, so you could get everything you ever wanted.”


 Sandy smiled thinly. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You done?”

More fun fiction soon.

Book Review: Two Western Classics by Elmore Leonard

Elmore Leonard's Western Roundup #3: Valdez is Coming & Hombre by Elmore Leonard
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A pair of novellas courtesy of Leonard, a master of action and the sage of terse economical prose. Back in the day, these tightly-crafted tales were both made into films.

Race, revenge, and romance propel "Valdez," the story of an upright sheriff seeking justice for the wife of a slain man. However, the cruel gunrunner most responsible for the death is uninterested in pleas for compensation from Roberto "Bob" Valdez. The gunrunner's vicious rebuff unleashes a series of violent events that terminates in a showdown with reputations and lives at stake. The narrative is made more complex by racial status and an unsolved murder. Crisp and fast-moving.

"Hombre" is but one of many names carried by John Russell, a Mexican boy stolen by Apaches, rescued and schooled by whites, who returns for a time to live among the Indians on a reservation. During a stage coach journey, Russell is shunned as an outcast by his fellow passengers. But when all lives are menaced by a gang of ruthless outlaws, Russell's warrior skills and knowledge of the desert make him the leader of the passengers, a group roiled by greed and conflicting loyalties. In this taut little saga, Leonard questions the emptiness of racial prejudice as well the tricky nature of who to help and when.

Two well-written compact stories for those catching up on their reading in uncertain times.

View all my reviews

Book Review: Irreal Fiction Focuses on Dreams

The Irreal Reader: Fiction & Essays from The Cafe Irreal by G.S. Evans
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

An anthology of short stories most strange, but that's the nature of irreal. Irreal is defined as "works of fiction in which physical reality reflects psychological reality in a manner that imitates the reality of a dream." Hence, the reader samples fragments both deeply personal and very international in their use of generally recognized symbols.

In these pages you'll encounter a doctor skilled at diagnosing love, the happenings in a town that caught a Minotaur, and a young man who receives a new father courtesy of the CIA.

I missed a great deal of the symbolism. But taken for what they are, the tales are overall intriguing. My main critque was the large number of essays in the back defining irreal, separating it from surreal, allegory or magical realism. While well-written and concise, the essays occupied around a third of the book. Like the literary style they explain, less is definitely more.

View all my reviews

Flash Fiction Hacks

Writing a Story in a Thousand Words or Less

I've got three such tales in the works right now. This two-minute video proved helpful in focusing in on what's important in a tiny tale. 

Melissa R.

The Power of a Single Positive Word

"Concentrated Humanity"

Viennese psychiatrist Viktor Frankl lost his family in the Nazi concentration camps. Later, he wrote a powerful book on his own experiences in Auschwitz and other hellish locales. Entitled Man's Search For Meaning, Frankl theorized that "the desire for meaning is more fundamental to the human experience even than the desire for pleasure or power."

If you're battling the pandemic blues, or shut-in with others who are down in the dumps, here is a six- minute clip with suggestions that could change your day for the better. 

Noetic Films

Story Du Jour #11

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Speculative Fiction

The Colored Lens

"The Memory Jar" - by George Lockett

5,227 words

A married woman discovers that giving someone a piece of your mind can have devastating consequences. 

Here's a sample of the writing:

"That night, Anna slipped out of bed and back into David’s office. She took the jar from its cubbyhole and padded up to the linen closet. If she stooped her head, she could just squeeze herself into the space beneath the bottom shelf. The closet was wholesomely warm, like being enfolded in a thick blanket. She pulled the door to, leaving a crack large enough to admit a shaft of moonlight, then held up the jar and watched the shapes inside.

The movement was faster now, almost eager, the darkest patches of oily blackness pressing up against the glass and spreading like ink before receding into the grey depths. The motion repeated. It reminded her of an octopus she’d once seen in an aquarium. It would climb the glass, then throw itself off the top and drift down the tank. It did this over and over. They could be playful creatures, the staff had said, but it seemed restless to her. Trapped."

More fiction fun soon. How's that?

Kurt Vonnegut's Short Story Hacks

Seven Reader-Centric Thoughts from a Pro

These have been around awhile, but they're always worth reviewing. Curt, witty and to the point.

h/t: GerryJustice

Happy Easter and Virtual Mass

You're Experiencing Technical Difficulties

My wife and I sat down before the computer for virtual mass via Facebook. The camera setting was too slow and the images pixellated, but we're not picky. About 2/3s of the way through, we lost the feed. Facebook uploaded an earlier mass. I slide forward to the interruption point and we finished the ceremony with a different priest.

So that's how the exercise of faith rolls in pandemic times. Hope all are well and safe.

Palmerdale Methodist Church

Story Du Jour #10

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Flash Fiction Online

"Keeping Time with the Joneses" - by Wendy Nikel

521 words

Trouble on the block after the neighbors splurge on fancy scientific equipment. 

Here's a sample of the writing:

"Initially, no one complained about the Joneses’ extravagant time-themed parties. The machine spun and flashed into all hours of the night as neighborhood couples in flapper dresses and top hats slipped bottles of SKYY vodka into ’20s speakeasies. The binge-watch of the first five Super Bowls was all anyone could talk about for weeks, and even Mrs. Martin herself had to reluctantly admit that Oklahoma! was better with the original cast."

What next? Something. I assure you. Something will be next.

Nina Conti and Monkey in Therapy

Strong Language Warning

A few years old, but pretty funny and a masterpiece of improvisation. Perfect for a break in your pandemic routine.

Nina Conti

Running in a Time of Pandemic

Criminal Profiling

Well. The City of Los Angeles has closed Griffith Park. The City of Pasadena has closed the Rose Bowl. The County of Los Angeles has closed the trails above the JPL labs. With all my favorite routes off-limits, where do I run?

Coming off a lower back injury back in early March, the streets around my place are the most convenient. Alas, most of them feature speeding traffic and go uphill. That means a robust start to any run, followed by a speedy descent that requires managing to avoid stressing my knees. The upside is that I should be a pretty darn strong runner when the pandemic ends.

A small quake-let centered in the San Diego area shook the living room last night, leading me to wonder about the fate of social distancing in a major temblor. I decided not speculate too deeply.

Anyway, we're keeping our spirits up and hoping for better days.

May safety follow you about in these interesting times. 

Short Story Du Jour #9

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Relax and enjoy your flight!

Translunar Travelers Lounge

"Calling on Behalf of the Dark Lord" - by Catherine George

1,639 words

Having difficulty holding down jobs, a young Ottawa woman finds telemarketing has never been  more diabolical. 

Here’s a sample of the writing:

“It’s better than retail,” you mutter, stung. And it is, really. It’s better than selling designer knock-offs at the mall, or records in the cramped vinyl shop on Bank; better than bartending at weddings, or working the night shift at the sketchy 24-hour diner. No, it’s not your dream job, but those are a myth anyway. And it’s not like the Dark Lord Himself is ever going to drop by an office building in an industrial park out east of the Rideau, right? He’s definitely got better things to do than check up on his telemarketers—like, can you even imagine? Does Anna think he’s going to come in and scorch the dropped ceiling with the heat of his Perpetual Flame, or inspect the new wireless headsets with his single glowing Crimson Eye?"

I vacillated for nine days. Less next time. Stay safe!

Story Du Jour #8

"Anxiety at the Highest Level!"

Suspense Magazine 

“The Author” – Stephen Maitland-Lewis 

3607 words

 At a high-end publishing house, we learn that time heals all wounds and uncovers all deeds. Nice forshadowing in this pleasant well-written tale.

Here’s a sample of the writing:

“We would meet up in the kitchen around one, have soup and a chunk of bread I’d warmed up, and then we’d go for a long walk. Sometimes we’d walk for two or three hours. Less in the winter months, as we wanted to be home before it got dark. We’d have simple dinners, usually stews, listen to classical music on the radio, and then go to bed. As I said, we were happy. That is, until Gerald was notified that he’d been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. At that moment, he changed. Life became hell. What should have been a most joyful moment in our lives became an absolute misery.”

Tomorrow: horror? Sci fi? I vacillate.

Short Story Du Jour #7

Branching out into short fiction.

The Dark 

 “The All-Night Horror Show” 

by Orrin Grey 2434 words 

During a home invasion, a washed up old actor finds the best solution lies within. You can see how this one will play out, but nonetheless enjoyable.

 Here’s a sample of the writing:

"That is not the crack-pause-crack of the fireworks one or two streets over. That is the sound of someone knocking on the front door, though it is late now, getting on toward midnight. “The witching hour,” he remembers intoning in his heavily-accented voice on some talk show or another a decade gone now, when people still cared who he was.

He rises from his chair and it is like rising from a coffin. His arms and legs feel heavy, bound in chains, as he was in The Secret Door. He can feel them dragging along behind him as he struggles across the hardwood floor, into the narrow hall. On the TV at his back, he is walking the other way, up a set of stairs cast in chiaroscuro."

Monday might be time for a little mystery.

Short Story Du Jour #6

"Childish, but not for children."

Space Squid 

“Old Habits” by Frances Pauli 

3429 words 

There’s no life like the afterlife, but there are some things only the living can offer. A wry tale of what could lay beyond this mortal coil.

Here’s a sample of the writing:

"The cowboy crossed in the open, an old habit, not any more necessary than the twin revolvers hanging low around his hips. He only kept them for the memories. One hand still hovered over each polished butt, and he still imagined his spurs jangling as he moved, heard the faint echo of a lifetime of chink, chink, chink in his steps. 

This particular saloon wasn't much. He spat again before pushing through swinging doors that were just a hair off kilter. Even the conversations inside were muted, the voices somehow subdued by the ominous and continuous presence of death. Not too different from the old days to be honest, but the afterlife carried a depressing and lackluster aura with it, a cheap facsimile only simulating real life."

I'm not sure what tomorrow will be other than later on.

St. Patrick's Day Greeting

(The Michael O'Donoghue version.)

May the road rise up to meet you. 

May the wind be always at your back. 

May the sun shine warm upon your face; 

the rains fall soft upon your fields 

and until we meet again, 

may God hold you in the palm of His hand

and squeeze your head until the piss runs out your ears.  

I would wish a more pleasant outcome, nonetheless, Happy St. Paddy's Day!

The Gospel Heard

Short Story Du Jour #5

East of the Web – Short Stories – Romance, 

“Return to Paradise” by Eliza Riley

 996 Words 

An unhappy woman on the brink of divorce returns to the scene of her marriage only to rediscover hope. A number of typos marred this simple story as did the narrator’s long backstory dump. But rewarding enough in its own way.

Here’s a sample of the writing:

"The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn't take his eyes of the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water's edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something - or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the colour of the sea itself. It wasn't her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could meet.”

The first romance story I’ve ever read. (It’s only the biggest genre category out there.) Tomorrow, something much different.

Short Story Du Jour #4

Andis Reinbergs

 Beneath Ceaseless Skies

“The Sniper and I” by Rich Larson 

3,439 words 

 Intriguing military sci-fi that examines the result of a smart weapon becoming too clever. Some initially confusing pronoun use, but turns out not to be an affect, but germane to the story. 

 Here’s a sample of the writing: 

 “On the way back to camp, we wound between the birds’ crumpled bodies. I stepped on one by accident, and its bones made a noise under my boot like ice crust breaking. The sniper turned back to look at me, reproachful, either for the noise or for the trespass. A little farther on, the sniper found an immaculate corpse. It had fallen with the others, but somehow its feathers were snow white, untouched by the smog. They crouched down and picked it up, turning it over in their hands, extending one delicate wing and then the other.” 

My fourth short story, chosen at random, and I’ve yet to locate an American author. I’ll find one. You just wait. Tomorrow, a change of pace.

Indochina History Break Revisited

Check upper left hand corner. World Atlas

Fourteen Years Later, Procrastination Wins Again

Back in the day, to avoid arduous writing tasks, as well as training for a marathon, I took a break to write up a brief history of the battle of Dien Bien Phu, it being March 13 and the anniversary of the opening salvos. Here is what I jotted down then:

Today marks the 52nd anniversary of the Viet Minh attack on the French garrison at Dien Bien Phu — a remote valley in northern Vietnam near the border with Laos. The Viet Minh were an umbrella group of Vietnamese nationalists under the leadership of communist Ho Chi Minh. They had been fighting the colonial French, and other Vietnamese nationalist groups, since 1946.

The French viewed their position in a flat valley surrounded by hills as an offensive base. From there they would venture out and cut the Viet Minh supply lines, preempting an attack on Laos. As a result of this outlook, the garrison never outposted the hills. They'd be attacking and, besides, it was impossible for the Vietnamese to haul any significantt artillery up there.

Unaware of French opinion, the Vietnameses went ahead and hauled heavy artillery up onto the hills along with daunting amounts of anti-aircraft guns. On March 13, they let loose a barrage, followed by a human wave attack that engulfed a French strongpoint manned by crack Foreign Legionnaires. The fight was on.

French troops entrenched. ThoughtCo

For the next several months, while peace talks droned on in Geneva, the Vietnamese strangled the French. All French supplies had to come by parachute. The planes—many flown by American contract pilots— braved intense flak dropping their cargo. As the garrison was compressed, the drop zone grew smaller. Food and ammunition ran short. Meanwhile, generous supplies from nearby communist China—including American ordinance captured in Korea— enabled the Viet Minh to bombard their opponents at will.

Despite horrendous casualties, the Viet Minh seized one French strongpoint after another. Finally, on May 7, 1954, it ended. The French surrendered. Over 10,000 men marched into captivity, many of whom died in Viet Minh prison camps. French colonial rule in Vietnam and Laos ended. In 1955, Vietnam was partitioned into a communist north and a non-communist south along the 17th parallel.

Now back to running and writing stuff.

Sixty-six years have now passed and the valley appears to be something of a tourist stop. For a better short summary of the battle, try here. And while I'm considering another marathon, much writing awaits my hand today. 

And yet, I repost. 

C'est la guerre.

Short Story Du Jour #3

Screw Amazon. Try Raw Dog.

Café Irreal, “Manuscript Found by a Stoplight After a Grave Accident” by Osvaldo Gonzalez Real 1,035 words 

 Here’s a droll little tail from a quarterly webzine seeking “fantastic fiction infrequently published in English . . . described[ed] as irreal . . . resembl[ing] the work of writers such as Franz Kafka, Kobo Abe, Clarice Lispector and Jorge Luis Borges."  A dead man looks back on his last day and realizes he’s not as unique as he thinks. 

Funny, fast, with a nice twist at the end. And it certainly lived up to “irreal.” Here’s a sample of the writing: 

 “Patiently, I gathered all the possible data regarding fatal traffic accidents of the past five years. I investigated—with the help of an astronomer—the periodical variations of solar flares, eclipses, and the strontium levels found in fluvial precipitations. I consulted experts on ecology and numismatics. Finally, using a bell-curve graph—the result of my erudite and tedious investigations—I honed in on the N260 and N300 bus lines. From that moment onwards I felt more assured of accomplishing my goal: math was on my side.” 

 On Monday, I’ll be exploring Beneath Ceaseless Skies.

Short Story Du Jour

bracken VI

bracken 

"Ocean" 

by Su-Yee Lin

933 words

Continuing with yesterday’s offering of things happening in China—other than Wuhan virus and dissident beatings—comes this flash fiction piece from Pushcart Prize-winning author Su-Yee Lin. A magical realism tale of loss and memory, a young woman reacts to a sound that she shouldn’t be hearing. There may’ve been other deeper elements but, as usual, I missed them. 


Once again, a mother is involved. Here is a sample of the writing: 

 “And despite the chatter of everyday life, I can still hear the ocean. No one else seems to notice, or maybe they're just used to it. It's like the way you can get used to anything—having the ocean in your backyard, white hum of electricity in a room, an illness that comes and goes, a disappearance of a person you love. You get used to it all in time.”

 Tomorrow, I’ll read a short story not involving China.

Today's Short Story Recommendation

"Time Reveals the Heart"

As I'm reading more short stories to better my own, I've decided to share my discoveries with the

Clarkesworld Sci Fi and Fantasy

half-dozen regular readers of this blog.

Today's offering hails from Clarkesworld: "Time Reveals the Heart" by Derek Kunsken. (His name contains an umlaut over the u, but I can't figure out how to add one.)

Here's the opening paragraph of this science fiction tale:

"Guo Lěi mounted the stairs to his mother’s apartment at seven in the morning. He hadn’t visited in two weeks; he never knew what he would find. It was early, but he had a launch today, maybe several, and no matter what, he tried to see his mother before every launch, just in case. When silence answered his knocks, he used his key."

That's pretty nifty writing. You've got your foreshadowing, the knowledge that the protagonist's work is dangerous, and that his mother's health is an issue all bundled in the action of knocking on the door. It'd take me a page and half to get all that out. 

A story exploring time travel, addiction, the dangers of altered perception, and the worth of reality, this is a quick read, not too heavy on dialogue with nice descriptive touches such as "His voice sounded like falling drops of water, shapeless, wobbling in free fall, transparent."

Weighing in at 5804 words, "Time Reveals the Heart" is available online and as a podcast at the Clarkesword site. 

When John Wick and The Equalizer Collide

More cold-blooded.

Reading a book the other day and channel surfing. I found myself alternating between the first John Wick and the film version of The Equalizer. Both films featured protagonists who were widowers with awesome killing skills battling cruel Russian foes who are heavily tattooed. As a general note: if your loved one is a cruel, heavily-tattooed Russian mobster, encourage him to avoid widowers. You just never know.

As a story-telling rule, Russian mobsters are way past their diabolical shelf-life. What's wrong with exploring vicious Chinese Communists as villains? Ah, that's right. Hollywood simply won't bite the hand that feeds them, no matter how many dissident organs are harvested. That's show biz.

More helpful to the general public.

n

3 Days Left for Free eBooks

All kinds of ebooks, not just about shoes!

They wait, these eBooks, for eyes to fall upon the words within. Let them be your eyes. What's it cost? Nothing but the time spent reading, always time well spent. That's how Smashwords rolls with their March Read an eBook promotion. Least you think this some manner of public service announcement, my books and essays are also available. (For free, until Saturday, that is.)

Oh, fine, all the books in this Smashword promotion are not  free. Some are steeply discounted, others less so. But that is the way of commerce.

Also, you don't have to wear high heels to avail yourself of the service. This just happened to be the last unused promotional banner. Let your footwear reflect you as you indulge your reading tastes at crazy old Smashwords Read an eBook extravaganza.

FREE eBOOKS THIS WEEK! FREE FOR YOU, I SAY!! 

(OR DISCOUNTED DOWN TO PLEASING LEVELS. EXCEPT FOR MY BOOKS . . . FREE UNTIL SATURDAY!)

नो बुक्स अरे अवेलेबल इन थिस 

(None of my books below are available in the above language.)

Read this short true essay!

Experience Condensed Enlightenment!

Romance, adventure, geese!

Smashwords Spring Sale - Free eBooks!!

Check out the Sales Promotion page beginning March 1. 

Three of my eBooks will be free along with many others not to mention discounts galore. Starting this Sunday to next Saturday, glut yourself on the electronic word. Read on your phone, your Kindle or Nook, your tablet or laptop. But read, read, I say.

Smashwords Sales Promo Page.

Grizzly Golfer

Griffith Park Wilson-Harding Golf Course

Surreal experience today at Griffith Park.

First off, excellent seven mile-run this afternoon on the bridal trails that encircle the golf course. Relaxed, practicing my various chi running focuses, finished strong. Then I begin my post-run stretches.

To better understand matters, there is a grassy area where I was stretching. Then a low concrete rail fence. Beyond that, the dirt bridle trail. Then a six-foot chain-link fence. On the other side of the chain-link fence is the golf course.

Golf balls occasionally drop into the grassy area. Not often, but occasionally, a golfer will ask you if you could bring over his ball. A polite request always results in a returned ball.

Today, there was a golf ball behind me as I lengthened various muscle groups. Something told me to kick it into the ivy. "What nonsense," I thought.

So on I stretched, working this muscle group and that. A voice sounded behind me from the golf course. "There it is. Behind that guy. Hey! Hey, you." Then "Hell-ooo" with a mocking lilt. "Right behind you. Get my ball."

Wow. It's like I was this guy's caddy. (He lost me on the 'hell-ooo.') But before I could brush him off, he erupted into non-stop profanity, cursing me for not quickly fetching his golf ball. My back was to Foul Mouth Duffer and I continued stretching, tossing off a curse or two of my own.

Back he came with his golfing partner. They hailed a woman walking past on the bridlepath. She was asked—politely I might add—to retrieve the cursed ball. Throughout, Foul Mouth Duffer stayed on his side of the chain-link fence and kept up a barrage of bile toward me involving the sexual act, the sexual act with my mother, me being fat and old, and, after I hoped he didn't have a heart attack, wished me death by heart attack while running.

At one point, he stormed over to his golf cart and threatened me with a golf club. When I didn't run, he grabbed his putter and stomped off, still cursing and swearing. I've known a few rageaholics in my day—been one myself a time or two—and realized this guy was in his own special land.

As soon as he was out-of-sight, I left. The whole incident reminded me of the that scene in Werner Herzog's documentary Grizzly Man in which subject Timothy Treadwell erupted in a fiery rant against absent Fish and Wildlife agents. I'll let Werner Herzog take it from here.

 h/t: Lionsgate at Home

Note: Thu. Feb. 20: I'm not normally so serene in the face of provocation. But after running over an hour and twenty minutes, my body was awash in yummy endorphins. Stretching out provided more. Were I paying my taxes, it might've been me chasing the feral golfer with a club.
      

Orson Welles vs Robert Blake

When a simple pun is not enough.

h/t: Johnny Carson

My Own Private Kanban

Well, not so private. I'm posting on the Web. But given my traffic, it's nearly exclusive. If you skimmed my original kanban post, you'll recall me bemoaning my sloth in not taking a picture. Now I have.  

Note My SEO-Free Heading!

Strange to loath search engine optimization when it attracts viewers. I must have a desire to failure, though it comes wrapped in fantasies of wild success. Still, my board lists the immediate, which consists heavily of updating all my old books, garnering reviews, new artwork, etc. Each day, I strive to write at least one page of a short story and a longer work that may end up a novella. Progress, consistency, and a visual record of achievement. 

In the right of frame, you'll note a section of my running/exercise calendar. Last month on top and current month on the bottom for comparison. As of now, I'm doing better with running than writing, but that's only because writing is more difficult, especially when mixed with the many marketing chores facing the indie author. You can write what you like, but then it's up to you to sell it. 

Lo, a Birds of Prey Pitch Meeting

Loads o' Spoilers

Screen Rant

Did I see the movie? No. But I enjoyed the pitch.

Kanban Boards Organizes Work Flow

Atlassian

Japanese Word for "Stinking Mess"

Little yellow Post-Its proliferate: lining my computer screen, on the desk, on the calendar, reminding me of writing matters and indie author marketing. Also, there are piles of scrap paper suggesting I upload an ebook to Draft2Digital, or buy a new eBook cover and send it to my niece as she builds me a Squarespace web page.  But in a recent quest for organizational help, I came across concept of the kanban board. 

Actually, kanban means "visual signal." An organizing system, it can be as simple as three columns with the headings To-Do, Doing, Done, or broken down further to a more granular level. I like seeing a cohesive lists of tasks. So I used half a piece of foam core and divided it into three sections with duct tape. 

Like Ordering from Pizza Hut

Order a pepperoni and mushroom pizza online and Pizza Hut uses little icons to show your order received, cooked, and en route to your dwelling. Basically, that's the kanban system. My first section I call the Bullpen. Contained within are all my short story drafts, novellas, a finished short story that needs to be sent out, and two novel drafts. Those little yellow Post-Its come in handing for listing projects. In addition, there are marketing tasks such as obtaining reviews, updating back matter, updating cover photos, formatting manuscripts for softcover conversion, etc.

In the second section, Doing, I transfer a small amount of Bullpen material. I further divide Doing into Pending and Ongoing. Pending pertains to projects like sending out a story where I have no control over the time. Ongoing contains stories that I'm currently writing or rewriting. Sell a story and it moves to the third column.

Done is Done. I have two projects up there: a pair of recently purchased new books overs. Like the pizza, the goal is to move a Post-It along to its final destination. Seeing progress where you normally see nothing until a story is sold or a book published helps with focus and moral. Like "Dr. Strangelove," there is a big board and I can see it.

I'm a Poor Bloglord

Cell phone photos depicting all the above would be nice, but I'm writing this while watching John

PI

Walsh on Investigation Discovery guide me through the murder of a South Carolina women by her drunken former live-in boyfriend. I'd need to visit my office with the cell phone, well, you know the rest. Not that I won't. But it won't be this post.  More t/k on the kanban board.

Pasadena 5K Results

As mentioned a few weeks back, my wife Joy and I tackled the Pasadena 5k. A very chilly morning, I  felt cold throughout. Finishing up inside the fabled Rose Bowl, I was passed in the last 40 yards by a woman pushing a double stroller, an 11-year-old boy and his mother, and got picked off at the finish line by a young woman. Nevertheless, it was a successful run. I finished in 33:48, a high ten minutes per mile, my best 5k time in over a decade. 

This week, I travel down to Santa Monica for an all-day workshop with Danny Dryer, the founder of Chi Running. Hopefully, I can straighten out any problems with my form and pick up a few tips for better performance. Should be fun.