Heath L. Buckmaster's Blog, page 2

Independence Day

Epipremnum aureum. Common names: Pothos, Ceylon creeper, Devil’s Ivy, and many more.

Devil’s Ivy, image of E. aureum from Wikipedia

Derived from the Latin Vulgate meaning that which grows and spreads like wildfire yet can thrive even in dark closets.

This amazing plant has sprung up in every restaurant, airport, hospital, dorm room… everywhere, and the obvious benefits of such a plant are well…obvious!

They add a sparkle of green and yellow to the decor; they easily spread to cover a large area; they can be used to accent not only table tops, but counters, shelves, bookcases, and in ancient times they even put them on either side of the portcullis of a castle.

But what we’re concerned with today are the health benefits of the Pothos. As with any chlorophyll rich foliage, the Pothos is responsible for contributing to our ability to live and breathe and thrive and do all the things we like to do on this planet (and maybe even other planets or moons in the future).

Without the Pothos, oxygen levels would be in serious decline, and in a post apothosalyptical world would be sold on the black market.

This is the point where this journey entry really gets going…

Oxygen. A commodity of rarity. Packaged and produced in bottles, cans, spritzed and non spritzed, and vacuum sealed for your freshness. As a diminishing resource, Oxygen, no longer being substantially produced by the dwindling supply of Pothos, would be the hottest thing on the shelves.

For those on a limited budget, we present Basic O2. A standard level of quality and purity as regulated by the government. Limited additives and preservatives – just your basic breath of air. Not fresh air. Just air.

For those on a diet whether Keto, Atkins, South Beach, East Beach, or Santa Clarita, we offer Diet O2 (also known as O2 Lite, or Zero Carbon O2). Of course if you want full flavour top shelf Oxygen, and are willing to pay for it, you’ll find O1. O1 is all the goodness of O2 without the gassy aftertaste.

And then the marketing really kicks in. New O2, Cinnamon O2, Diet Black Cherry Vanilla O2. Gluten-free O2. Sugar-free O2. Low glycemic index O2. O2 now with no added fat. Cholesterol-free O2. Low sodium O2 now with added B12.

All of this could happen were it not for the Pothos.

Obviously we can’t survive as a species without this precious plant. Today, they are so abundant that their relative value and cost is next to nothing. Any resident of our planet with $5 can go to their neighborhood Target/Wal-Mart/Kmart (well not Kmart unless you live in some remote location where they haven’t gone out of business) and pick up a Pothos.

But just imagine… what if we suddenly ran out of Pothos, or they evolved to only grow in one remote sector of the world.

They’d become as valuable as diamonds, which as we all know are just bits of compressed carbon, which as we all know is the 19th most abundant element on our planet.

Soon you could only buy the rare and endangered Pothos at the DeBeers Exotic Pothos Emporium. But it’s not that easy. You’ve have to first get on a waiting list, and the only way to get on the waiting list would be to call a special phone number at a special time, and hope to not get a busy signal (they do not have call waiting).

Let’s assume you get through to someone at DeBeers, and then let’s further assume that they put you on the waiting list, you would still have to pass the rigorous Pothos Ownership Operating Test. Not only does the POOT have a written exam, but also an oral exam, home inspection, and you’re required to sign a waiver allowing DeBeers to reclaim the plant in the case of neglect.

There are probably those of you out there who think “I’m safe. I already have several Pothos at my house, so I don’t ever have to worry.”

Unfortunately, that former president guy signed an executive order before he left office authorizing the military to enter any personal property and seize any live Pothos on the premises. The law is actually so all-encompassing that they can seize dead Pothos as well, or force you to search your own garbage for any that you may have thrown away.

No one is safe from the existential threat of Pothos extinction.

Except for the very, very rich. Anyone making over $500,000 a year is exempt from the new law, of course. Heaven forbid we deprive the rich from their double half-caf, half-decaf O2 with a twist of lime (oooh I’ll have a twist of lime too!).

The middle class should just learn to be happy with their SunDollars O2 Au Lait, right? For those of you who aren’t bilingual, Au Lait means with milk. That’s French. Which means that if you travelled to France and wanted to have some O2 with milk, you’d have to say “Au Lait” instead of “with milk” otherwise they wouldn’t understand you, because no one in France is bilingual. Be careful about using this term in other countries such as Mexico or Spain, or they might send a bull charging after you, because Au Lait is surprisingly similar in sound to O’le! (I learned this the hard way.)

Unfortunately, there are no Pothos in France so I don’t know why anyone would go there anyway. Except maybe to see La Toure Eiffel, which means Eiffel Tower. But you can see pictures of that online, so again I ask what’s the point? I’d much rather go somewhere and see something that no one has ever seen or taken a picture of.

For instance, a remote cave in the middle of a vast line of underground caverns that maybe hasn’t even been discovered, and maybe contains a vast cache of Pothos growing wildly and abundantly, creating so much O2 that if it ever escaped from the cave it would throw off the balance of the entire global O2 market sending O2 stocks crashing down and ensuring quality breathing air for anyone on our planet, turning billionaires and other rich folks into ordinary middle class citizens within minutes. (this reminds me of the Great Chopsticks Incident of 2004)

It could happen…

* This commentary is based on the Award-Winning Best-Selling Novel by the same author, and in no way supports or defames the holiday of Independence Day, because it has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Email Address:

Subscribe

Words

As you may know, I’m a huge fan of words. Actually, I’m more than just a fan; I’m an addict. I’m hopelessly, needlessly, obsessively addicted to words. I use them constantly…every day…without pause. Sometimes I think that there’s nothing else I can do but use words.

When I wake up in the morning, I use words.

Oh my god not another day of this.

Turn off the alarm!

Is it Friday yet? (I don’t say this one as often since I’ve retired.)

When I take a shower, I use words.

Did you use up ALL of the shampoo?

What happened to the hot water?

When I’m driving somewhere, anywhere really, I’m constantly using words.

GET OUT OF MY WAY!

GET OFF THE PHONE AND DRIVE!

@#&%(&@#%(*&@!!!!!)

And when I used to work in a corporate office, my gosh the words just wouldn’t stop!

Moving forward, we need to recognize that a paradigm shift is needed for the right engagement. In today’s world, we have a need for a robust escalation process that will provide accountability and ownership to the ratifying body, namely the MRC. The culture of tomorrow will have to migrate toward a sustainable corporate ecosystem, whereby the employee resources will be empowered to define, address, and solve problems as they arise, enabling a versatile risk valuing dynamic.

There are so many words I use at home too, even when I’m the only one in the house.

Why is there cat vomit all over my keyboard?

Hi sweetie are you hungry? Want something for lunch? Oh you’re such a good girl. (Doesn’t matter which cat I’m talking to, they both get the same questions.)

Good grief it’s cold / hot in here.

It’s like the words are sitting there on every shelf and every table just waiting for me to notice them and use them. And when I’ve been away from home, they are there as soon as I open the door. And it just doesn’t ever stop. You’d think that maybe while I’m eating dinner or trying to relax there would be some type of reprieve.

You’d be thinking wrong.

I thought I told you that I was trying to watch my carb intake…I can’t eat all this bread.

I don’t like feta in my Merlot.

What is this? Why are we watching this? Can you fast forward?

And so very tired of the words I go upstairs and crawl in bed, perhaps to read or have some quiet time before sleep. But they just don’t stop. Ever. There are more WORDS!

There are words in the book, there are words in the news feed, there are words on social media, there are words words words words everywhere. So I put away the books and I put away the technology thinking FINALLY I can get away from the words. But no. The words invade and get stuck inside my head and they Just. Won’t. Stop.

Sleep brings words that form strange sentences and paragraphs that no one understands, especially me.

Peas porridge hot. Cold pigs fly. Why oh why oh why oh why. The bell rang again today as I dreamed of Manderlay. Unfortunately, the can on the stove was boiling and I was unable to clean the litter box again. I cried for what seemed like napkins, and still I cried some more. Did I leave the gas on or was that the doorbell? Wait…wait…MELON LIQUOR!

The next day arrives, and the cycle begins anew. It’s a crisis.

I’ve been to the doctor numerous times about the problem, unfortunately, she seems to be afflicted as well, because she just can’t stop using words. Different words, yes, because she has to use all that doctor jargon like “delusional” and “mental instability” and “psychotic episode“. But who understands those doctor words anyway except doctors…so she couldn’t help me really, although she prescribed me some sort of pill that’s supposed to reduce the number of words I have…it’s called “valium” or “Demerol” or something like that, but again, doctor words, so I just ignore them.

I long for the day when the words take a break, even if just for a moment, so that I can have some peace and quiet and listen to the birds chirp, and the crickets crick, and the bees buzz, and the moths moth, and the fish gurgle, and the diet pepsi fizz, and the phone ring, and the cats meow, and the refrigerator hum, and the fan whirl, and the vacuum cleaner inhale, and the stairs creak, and the champagne cork pop, and the pill bottle whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

* Disclaimer: If you dislike what I write, there is a wonderful set of words I’d like to introduce you to. [censored]. You.

PS. There are 804 words in this post. Thought you’d want to know.

Email Address:

Subscribe

Music Makes a People

I originally wrote this in 2003, at a time when it felt like the world was going astray. Now in 2022 we have far surpassed those days and are in uncharted territories of madness and mayhem and muck. And so what is there to do but turn to music to bring us together. I present a slightly cleaned up and updated journal entry, Music Makes a People.

I feel that during this critical time in our country, when separation is becoming the norm instead of inclusion, it might be time to remind everyone that Music Makes a People Come Together. Because look around…everywhere you turn it’s heartache, it’s everywhere that you go…

Ma ma se, Ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa (Mama-say mama-sah ma-ma-coo-sah). Some of the most expressive words ever put to music (note: these words should not be mistaken for mecca lecca hi mecca hiney ho, which were expressive, yet never put to music only a dramatic cadence).

I want to spend a little time discussing the meaning of this phrase, this poetry in motion as it were and if you will, and the very critical place it holds in the balance of our universe. (for the unenlightened, this phrase comes from the great Michael Jackson, although borrowed from previous music samples)

As I am fond of doing, let me first consult the book. I am, of course, referring to the Alpha and Omega of books…Merriam-Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary (I am sure there will be those of you who are sons of preacher men, and will wanna be startin’ somethin’ with me for referring to this as “The Book”, but nothing you could say could tear me away from my god, my god, because literally, if god was one of us, or if god is a DJ and life is a dance floor, I think he/she/it would be OK with me making reference to multiple sources of lyrics).

Additionally, I find it valuable for us to slightly condense and/or modify this set of words, to help clarify the denotation for you the reader. What we would come up with as a more apropos representation of the phonetic is “mama say, mama SA, ma ma coo ça.” While the difference is subtle, it will allow us a more cohesive representation of the true meaning of the phrase.

Those of you who have mothers will be familiar with the first word of the phrase, and so this is the term we will begin with. Mama. While technically slang or baby talk, as seen in the definition below, mama is a perfectly acceptable replacement for the colloquial mother (not the mother superior, who is a nun and not typically an actual mother).

Main Entry: ma·ma
Variant(s): or mam·ma /’mä-m&, chiefly British m&-‘m[a’]/
Function: noun
Etymology: baby talk
Date: 1579
1 : MOTHER

Who could dispute that some of the most important words of our time would include a reference to the holy and wonderful mother of creation, the mother earth? No one, that’s who. And if they did, then they obviously don’t believe in life after love and aren’t a part of this great and wonderful boogie rhythm nation that we call the United States. Because we’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy. (the attentive reader will notice that mama is a noun, and we all know that a noun’s a special kind of word, it’s any name you’ve ever heard, and you might find it quite interesting, a noun’s a person place or thing.)

Next, let’s schlemiel and schlimazel our way over to the word “say”. While you may think you know what this word means (“Why yes, I do! It’s the present tense of the action verb to say, meaning to verbalize thought through the mouth!”), you really don’t. The book defines say as:

Main Entry: say
Pronunciation: ‘sA, Southern also ‘se
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): said /’sed, esp when subject follows s&d/; say·ing /’sA-i[ng]/; says /’sez, sometimes ‘sAz, esp when subject follows s&z/
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English secgan; akin to Old High German sagEn to say, Lithuanian sakyti, Greek ennepein to speak, tell
Date: before 12th century
transitive senses
1 a : to express in words b : to state as opinion or belief

You will notice, no doubt, that this verb stems from numerous languages and is therefore an important word in the world. Expressions and beliefs are some of the founding notions of our information society. The first amendment of our constitution provides for the ability to freely express our beliefs without retaliation or condemnation, no matter how divergent those beliefs may be – it’s an up thing. Kinda makes you think…Baby, I’m the lucky one. Obviously, society has found the great value and importance of the verb, say.

Next we see that the reference to the holy and wonderful mother of creation is so important, our phrase repeats it again. That brings us up to Mama say Mama.

So next up is “sa”. If you were to capitalize both letters to “SA” and give it emphasis, you might wind up with the city code for San Antonio, Texas. You may be asking yourself at this point, Who’s Johnny? Or you may ask yourself, what does our phrase have to do with Texas, being that we’re talking about words of IMPORTANCE here? If you were to ask yourself these things you’d be talking to yourself, quite possibly sharing the secrets that you keep while you’re talking in your sleep, which is a sign of insanity, and you obviously have too much free time and are probably sitting around on the beach drawing circles in the sand. But what else could these two letters mean or represent? Again, let us look to the book.

Main Entry: SA
Function: abbreviation
Latin sine anno without year, without date (everlasting, eternal)

Well of course! The holy and wonderful mama, who speaks and expresses thought and belief and understanding and compassion without judgment, does so without end. World without end. Everlasting and eternal beliefs. Everlasting and eternal creation. The meaning is so obvious if it were a one eyed one horned flying purple people eater it might have … eaten us.

Next we come to the doublet of ma’s. While you may be tempted to attribute this to the contracted slang for mama, please don’t. (at this point you probably wish you could turn back time and not give into the temptations, but you can’t, so you’re just going to have to face the music and hope that love will save the day). This word has rich meaning in and of itself. Once again, let us consult the book.

Main Entry: ma
Pronunciation: m[a’]
Usage: foreign term
Etymology: French
: my

This is truly a very interesting word to be incorporated into our phrase. My. Clearly what we see here is that use of a foreign language is critical in identifying that our phrase is for ALL people, not just for those of us who speak English as a primary language (obviously our phrase is encouraging us to go west, and shake our groove thing all across the world).

Additionally, by selecting French as the language of choice our phrase adds a touch of class and refinement to its meaning. Additionally, on top of the previous additionally, the word “my” represents ownership, belonging, membership, self realization. As we all know, self awareness is one of the key factors to determining life, as defined by Star Trek, so let’s go Star Trekkin’ across the universe, boldly going forward ’cause we can’t find reverse. The ability to be aware of one’s self, and one’s place in the universe created by the holy and wonderful mama is critical to the understanding of our phrase. And if you’re wondering where we are, we’re at Mama say, Mama sa, ma ma.

Next we come to one of the more interesting words in our phrase, “coo.” Let’s consult.

Main Entry: coo
Pronunciation: ‘kü
Function: intransitive verb
Etymology: imitative
Date: 1670
1 : to make the low soft cry of a dove (which is representative of love and peace)
2 : to talk fondly, amorously (a love profusion)

You may have initially thought that this was a contracted form of cool, cootie, or Hacoona Matatta (what a wonderful phrase). It is not, so don’t. This word is big, it’s beautiful, and you’re gonna love it! Representative of peace, love, care and fondness, one should not be surprised that the holy and wonderful mama who eternally speaks of compassion and non-judgement would be juxtaposed with this word. (And in case you didn’t know, mother earth’s love is better than chocolate)

This word is not dissimilar to a ray of light, cutting through the darkness of the world, and illuminating us with a higher love. Love is a many splendored thing. Love, lifts us up where we belong, all we need is love. You should already see that all things just keep getting better in our magical phrase.

And so finally we come to the final word.

Main Entry: ça
Pronunciation: s[a’]
Usage: foreign term
Etymology: French
: it

You will note the diacritical mark on the first letter of this word, as again, we note the use of a foreign language to remind us of the worldly nature of our phrase. Also you will note that the word is again in French, reminding us that the French are very important in the world (Voulez-vous danser avec moi?).

A phrase can never be complete without a blend of both first and third person. As we noted before with “ma” translated to “my”, there is a word which represents the self, the oneness that we feel when we look at the man in the mirror and see ourselves staring back at us with the look of love. Here we are seeing the inclusion of the third person “it“, which represents not the masculine, not the feminine, but the neutral.

In the eyes of the loving and wonderful mama we are all equal; we are family. Not created differently than anyone else but created from one and the same. The use of the word “it” reminds us all that despite our differences, we are all uniquely unique in our uniqueness. (at this point you probably wish you could take one moment in time to ponder this paradox, but you can’t, so keep reading)

And so, we complete our journey through this wonderful phrase. Powerful stuff isn’t it?

And so again, accepting this phrase as exceptional, meaningful and the whole truth and nothing but the truth (would I lie to you?), let us take a brief moment to explore some of the other musical ramifications on life. Not all music is positive and happy. While the phrase that we have recently analyzed gives us a sense of peace, life, meaning, goodness and grace, there are those bits of word put to music, which fall into the “e-ville” category.

Darkness falls across the land, the midnight hour is close at hand, creatures crawl in search of blood, to terrorize ya’lls neighborhood. And whosoever shall be found, without the soul for getting down, must stand and face the hounds of hell, and rot inside a corpse shell. The foul stench is in the air, the funk of 40,000 years, and grisly ghouls from every tomb are closing in to seal your doom. And though you fight to stay alive, your body starts to shiver, for no known mortal can resist, the evil of the Thriller.

OK…what the H-E-double hockey sticks is THAT?! Calgon, take me away!
(Interjections HEY show excitement YEAH and emotion WOW, they’re generally set apart from a sentence by an exclamation point, or by a comma when the feeling’s not as strong: ignore for a moment that the above lyrics are from one of the best songs of all time and stay within the world of “e” with me a bit longer)

I’m sorry, but that’s just plain SCARY! I hear those words and I’m no longer one of the shiny happy people. I’m in the world of terror, pain, fright, death, and am screaming lonely in my nightmare. When Thriller first came out on video I was in my middle school days of roller-skating-mania. Every free weekend a group of kids would go over to SportsWorld (which several years later was converted to an ice rink and renamed to the Ice House, which is also a brand of really cheap and repulsive beer, but anyway), and spend several hours spinning right round baby, right round like a record baby right round round round.

Sometimes the DJ would stop the music, tell everyone to don’t turn around (Oh!Oh! der Kommissar’s in town Oh!Oh!), and skate in “reverse”. This was often a good thing to balance the blisters we were burning on the inside of our ankles. Down in one corner of the skating rink was a huge movie screen that would descend from the rafters like Deus ex Machina whenever they decided to play a video. Additionally, there was a huge shiny disco ball hanging in the middle of the rink with little white lights pointed towards it to provide a glittering light show on the floor. (there was also an ultra-cool snack bar that sold hot dogs, burgers, dirty pop, and cotton candy, but this isn’t really integral to the story, so I won’t mention it)

Being that Michael Jackson was mega-popular with the middle school crowd of the 80’s, it’s no wonder that the management at SportsWorld capitalized on the captive audience they had and played the video as often as they possibly could. And this wasn’t the stripped down video, this was the full length mega-video. In case you weren’t aware, Thriller was the first music video to actually incorporate a plot and spoken story line into the production. In fact the video starts off with MJ and his girlfriend (this may have been Billy Jean, or Valerie, who later turned into a bad girl toot toot beep beep talkin’ bout the sad girl, but we don’t know for sure) taking a little stroll and coming across a very scary place…a graveyard with zombies and ghouls from every tomb, closing in to seal their doom, (notice how the e-ville creeps into everything, even my commentary) and having nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

The video was amazing. Everyone on the skate floor would stop to watch the hero of the movie suddenly grow fangs and start moon walking across the tombstones. Little did we know that very early in our young lives we were being introduced to the influence of “e” on the musical industry.

Ironically, there are those who believe that just because the former-archangel Lucifer was the former-angel of music (just call me angel, of the morning angel), that he has a direct influence on our lives by making music inherently e-ville, but that’s just a big load of malarkey and the only people who believe that are people who obviously got a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day, never lose a minute of sleeping worrying about the way that things might have been if the devil had a blue dress on…oops, I did it again and got a little carried away there…back to our phrase…

By now it should be clear that the human population should rightly hold our phrase as the new mantra of celebration and unity (and while we’re at it, we might as well take a holiday and celebrate). We may not be movie stars, but when it comes to being happy, we are, and a day should never pass that we fail to kneel in front of our crosses, pentagrams, tetragrams, octograms (not to be confused with an octagon which would represent a stop in the name of love sign), polymorphic shrines, a father figure of a squatting Buddha, or any other icon which is representative of our own personal beliefs and gives praise to the new moon on blue monday.

I encourage all of you to get up offa that thang, reach up for the sunrise, jump for your love, and sing with me now (try to avoid singing this out loud at work, because voices carry) …

The world goes round and round but some things never change…the joy of living, joy of life, joy of laughing, joy of sight, the joy of Pepsi in your life, the joy of bubbles, joy of fun, the joy of Pepsi on your tongue, the greatest taste sensation under the sun. La la la la la, la la la la la…

All musical references are used as parody, sarcasm, or whatnots in order to enhance your enjoyment of this story. Don’t sue me. I have nothing.

Email Address:

Subscribe

Writing Companion Books and Other Stuff

I’m working on a companion book in the TeraNor series (a romance-ish novel called The Courting of Moonbeam). If you are new to my world, the TeraNor series starts with The Guardian of TeraMagoria, a young adult book (which is completely suitable for adults) that was published back in 2016.

Just as the Princess Carrina series takes place in three different kingdoms, the TeraNor series also takes place across three different kingdoms. There seems to be some sort of theme going on here.

In the Princess Carrina series (which is available in paperback and Kindle), the two other kingdoms we visit are nowhere near the main Kingdom and they require a very special mode of transport in order to reach them. Box of Hair takes place in Underbrook, The Venus Diary takes place in Brazenwood (formerly known as Acadia), and The Dragons of Tarnack takes place in the aptly named kingdom of Tarnack which is now known as Westerling. Confused? Let me clarify for you…

The three kingdoms in the Princess Carrina series are: Tarnack, Avash, and Sariya. However due to things and situations, they are currently named Westerling, Acadia, and Underbrook. And also due to things and situations, Acadia was temporarily known as Brazenwood before reverting back to its second name. Wow…just rehashing this in my mind makes me wonder what in the heck I was thinking when I wrote those books…anyway.

In the TeraNor series, the three Kingdoms aren’t detached from each other in any way other than basic geography. We have TeraMagoria, TeraBella, and TeraDonna. In the first book of the series the second two kingdoms only serve as location shoots for some specific events in the story. Although I’ve planned future stories in these kingdoms, I haven’t yet decided whether we’re moving forward in time such as in a sequel, or whether we’ll explore the origins of the kingdoms in some sort of prequel.

The Courting of Moonbeam (the companion book I’m currently writing) is more of a tangential story and not specifically a prequel, and here’s how it came about.

Bertha

In The Guardian of TeraMagoria in a chapter called Antidote (oooooh some foreshadowing there perhaps?), our protagonist Bertha is in the library of the castle having a cup of tea while she’s doing some research. She happens across what is described as “a historical romance novel about the great witch Moonbeam Maybelle Mason,” and since she’s got other priorities at that moment, Bertha tosses the book aside.

I knew at that point I wanted to further explore the story that Bertha so carelessly ignored (even though she really was busy doing something much more important). And so I started outlining a companion story that takes place in the same universe as TeraMagoria. It is not completely detached from the main storyline in Guardian, and there may be some sort of foreshadowing of events to come as we learn more about Moonbeam and her life. But that’s part of the magic that has yet to unfold because I’m currently at around 26,000 words and that’s maybe only halfway there.

Here’s a little tiny snippet from the book. I don’t like giving too much away so it’s completely out of context but what the heck…

“Good evening, Kingston. I have just left the party that is still in full swing,” Ildrid said. “As you know, I would never leave a party full of teenagers unless there was something important to attend to, and I believe this is most important.” She pushed Sunny toward Mr. Mason, keeping her hands on the young girl’s shoulders. “Take in a deep breath, won’t you? I believe you will smell a strong stench of mead on your daughter’s breath. Your daughter, I might remind you, who is much too young to drink anything other than strawberry punch at the Strawberry Festival.”

Within Moonbeam, I am also repeating a theme by making casual reference to another book. This one is called Strange and Unusual Diseases of the Mind by a doctor named Listing Fay Maudrin II, and it’s described as containing “delicate pages…sketched images of faces, eyes, and brains.” It makes me want to write a fantasy-themed medical reference book that can then be a companion to a companion.

I might be developing a new way of creating a book series. Just make reference to another book within the book and start down the rabbit hole. The only downside is that by the nature of a reference like that you’re always moving backward in time to a point when that referenced book could have been written, unless we want to throw in a temporal vortex somewhere that takes us out of time. (Don’t tempt me.)

Readers who have been with me for a while are saying to themselves, “Hey didn’t you make reference to The Venus Diary from within Box of Hair: a Fairy Tale, and didn’t The Venus Diary then become the second book in the Princess Carrina series?” Why yes. Yes I did and it did. But as we all know, The Venus Diary plays a much more significant role in the Princess Carrina series than just being a child’s diary.

If you haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about then it’s time to catch up.

Check out The Magical Adventures of Princess Carrina (three book compilation) in paperback and for Kindle. You can also get the individual books but there’s no point in that when I’ve nicely packaged them for you.

And then look for The Guardian of TeraMagoria. It’s available exclusively in digital format on Amazon Books (get it for your Kindle app or reader). It’s FREE if you’re a Kindle Unlimited subscriber, and only a few dollars if you aren’t. Suitable for young and adult readers who enjoy magical adventure stories with witches, ghosts, and talking fish.

I’d love to hear what you think about the books – so if you’re inclined you can write a review on Amazon to help other people find them as well!

Enjoying the journal? Feel free to subscribe, and share it with other book readers you know.

Email Address:

Subscribe

From the Archives: The One Who Makes Me Smile

During my first year of college I dated a girl who lived upstairs from me in the dorms. She inspired some sappy poetry. Here’s something I wrote on September 11, 1991. I still have the original copy, so apparently she gave it back to me at some point or I may have just read it to her and kept it. Either way, I signed my name in big flowing letters at the bottom of the paper so it’s odd that I didn’t give her the physical copy. Who knows?

The One Who Makes Me Smile

Karing Karen kalls my name
kalling softly, I am lame.
I kall out to her soft lips,
take her dancing, dance with dips.

Emotion lacks, but hatred fails
moving across the monorails,
please let it work, don’t make it hurt,
or let her find a guy named Bert.

Does she like me does she not,
will it last or will it rot,
fill it with formaldehyde,
let it last till morning tide.

Karen, have me as your love,
and I will all your pleasure prove,
my deepest love I can devote,
come to Swenson’s for blueberry compote.

I drew your blood, it made you laugh,
please don’t forget to take a bath.
Love me now and love me true,
make your choice, I trust in you!

Take your time, do what you will,
I’ll be sitting on the window sill,
watching as you’re walking by,
hoping to catch your sparkling eye.

Email Address:

Subscribe

Homecoming

I lose track of dates and times when it comes to things I’ve written. Recently I made myself aware that something I thought I had written only a few years ago was actually written when I was a kid. This is due in part to my mother saving nearly every single notebook or paper that I ever put pen to.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a teacher. But I found creative expression through writing poetry and short stories.

When I was an adult I went to college, worked in high-tech and broadcast media and marketing and business development and project management and the list goes on and on. But I found creative expression through writing short stories and novels and blogs.

Still as an adult who has recently experienced a homecoming (moving back to where I’m from after being away for 25 years), I am finding that writing continues to call to me even though it has been a while since I’ve put pen to paper in any form other than marketing copy for clients.

Over the past year or so there has been a nagging in me to finish the endless list of works-in-progress, or to make an attempt at starting the stories that have been outlined…or even stories that just have a title and a potential character name and nothing more.

But I’ve felt held back. I don’t know if it was the stress of moving across the country (again) or whether it has been a bit of imposter syndrome weighing me down. I want to fix that.

I’m working myself up emotionally to get back to it. To pick up the forgotten story and see what’s been happening to it while I was away. The answer to that is of course NOTHING. A story doesn’t write itself, it just sits there unfinished and waiting for someone to care about it again.

And so I’m prepping a little area of the sunporch to be a new space to care. A creative area where the cats can snooze or stare at me while I’m clicking away on the keyboard. It’s time to get back to it and start churning out these things that I can’t get out of my head.

I welcome you along the journey. There will be some archives that we pour through on here – some of the things I wrote when I was a kid deserve to be shared and laughed at. Plus it’s a great way for me to go through all these boxes that no longer clutter my parents’ attic but now clutter my own.

I set no expectations…you get what you get. Maybe you’ll enjoy it. Want to find out?

Email Address:

Subscribe

Alien Nursery Rhyme

Zxang Khor to ke ta do’R

ke so te vo tuant ez kor

Zhen kel mon gof gof helln

O nam ko ka mo nen.

Ez zhurd ko tha cheq tu

tu to tu vo uhl kel’nnu

ko to cri na ja key so na

eh jaqk te voch za fa.

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: nonsense, poem, Poetry

Flimsy the Frog King

Flimsy Flotsom Filtreet, herald he,

a frog that sits on yonder tree,

a frog of strength, and might words

a frog who speaks to men and birds.

This frog you see, a king is he,

of royal blood, and stately steed,

a frog to rise above the heavens

but if you prick him, does he not bleed?

But one may ask of this tall tale

how this frog was known so well,

and how of all the names that he,

would wind up called, the King Flimsy.

The story thus is short and sweet,

his mother’s name was Flim Filtreet,

and marrying thus to Sy the Bleak

he came to be known Flimsy Flotsom Filtreet.

Filed under: Shorts Tagged: Poetry

The Beast

I duck under cover

as the beast comes around,

I breathe very soft

and make hardly a sound

but his powerful smell

and his wandering eyes

will certainly find me

under soft starlit skies.

He’s got furry brown hair,

and his teeth razor sharp

and his claws bent so fine

like the strings on a harp,

and he watches and waits

letting no one come near

is he scared of the dark

or perhaps of my fear?

So I watch and I wait,

for his breathing to slow

and his eyelids to close

blocking out falling snow

For it’s hard to be brave

with something so rare

but I’m protected tonight

by my soft teddy bear.

Filed under: Shorts Tagged: Poetry

Ailing Frail Old Mom and Her Son the Peeping Tom

Big boys bottom boxers bought a big ball.

And the ball was round and rather red and rolled on down the hall.

Halfway down the hall it hit the switch that runs the light.

And the light lit up to illuminate the landing, bright and white.

And while I watched the window I could see a peeping Tom,

who had taken time to telephone his ailing frail old mom.

She pondered who had called from somewhere sounding out of doors,

with the sound of cars and birds and crickets making lots of noise.

But Tom was sly and stealth and quick and told his mom a lie,

so she left it alone, logged off the phone, and drank until she died.

Filed under: Shorts Tagged: Poetry, Ridiculous