Warren Bluhm's Blog, page 7

The Rise of Omicron

© Golfxx | Dreamstime.com

The minion scrambled into the main control room and cowered.

“Boss! They’re still not scared.”

“Hmmm. We need a new variant,” the controller said, stroking a determined chin.

“They weren’t scared of Delta.”

“No, that much is clear. Peasants,” sneered the controller. “What’s a scarier sounding Greek letter?”

“Uh — Omicron? It sounds like an evil Transformer.”

“Good. Good! Omicron it is.”

THE RISE OF OMICRON – Now at theaters everywhere

Chapter 44 — Big Reveal

 © Edhar Yralaits | Dreamstime.com

Layne splintered the door open and strode to the center of the lush office. Fitzsimmons, leaning back in his chair, raised his eyebrows slightly at the intrusion.

“I’m taking you in,” the gumshoe snarled. “Can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.”

“I am innocent of any foolishness you believe,” the CEO said smoothly, leaning forward. “What is it you think you’ve figured out, old man?”

“I followed the money. I found out how you work the b...

A day lost and found

The day had come and gone without his notice. He had buried his face in the everyday and could not say whether the sun had shone all day or if snow had dusted the neighborhood. It was as if he had slept all day, but he remembered waking.

Outside, he knew, there was a cold colder than the coldest cold and a land anxious for spring, but he hadn’t glanced out the window, as far as he could remember, so he couldn’t say if the ground was softer or harder or ice-covered or some lingering grass ...

You’ve got to get up every morning …

… and write something you love, something to live for. — Ray Bradbury

… with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart. — Carole King

… with determination if you’re going to go to bed with satisfaction. — George Horace Lorimer

When there are no words

The wind chimes are playing their random melody so loudly I hear it clearly through the window, so it must be cold and windy this morning. I haven’t paid attention to them in a while, and it shows in the flaccid coolness in my heart. When I listen, when I actually hear them, the chimes soothe the savage, as does almost any tuneful vessel.

Sometimes I will sit feeling empty, sure that I’m missing something, and I’ll put on some music and realize, “Yes. That was it. This is what I need.”

...

A few words about gratitude

This is the day, here in the U.S. of A., where people spend some time talking and writing about how thankful they are, and a few million turkeys are consumed in a grand spirit of gratitude.

I’ve seen several social media friends get caught up in a challenge to write something they’re grateful for for 10 consecutive days or more, notwithstanding that it’s not the fourth Thursday in November.

It’s a healthy thing to be thankful. It’s a healthy thing to express gratitude. Scientific studi...

What to do when the creative flow slows to a trickle

So, yeah, the last six posts were reruns from 10 years ago. Two reasons for that. First, I recently rediscovered the pre-Wordpress edition of this blog, still hanging out there and containing stuff I’m glad I wrote, so I thought it would be fun to re-share and reclaim some of it.

Second, wow, I hit a wall. Wow, the walls you hit sometimes when you write for a living. 

This is an odd one. I’ve been cruising along at the day job, type type typing away and getting ’er done, but sit me dow...

Listening: I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times

 Brian Wilson © Dwong19 | Dreamstime.com

“I keep looking for a place to fit where I can speak my mind…”

The mark of a great artist is that she puts words or images to a thought or feeling that is inside many people but hasn’t been expressed in a way that most of us will understand. 

Brian Wilson is a great artist.

In the song “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times” back in 1966, Wilson puts words and music to the awkward feeling that each and every one of us feels when we recognize ther...

A ride on the time machine

(from my blog, Nov. 22, 2011; I adjusted the number of years that have gone by)

We had a substitute teacher that day. She was much older than our regular fifth-grade teacher at Elementary School No. 1 in Little Falls, N.J.

A little after 1:30 the principal, Mr. Laux, unexpectedly poked his nose into the room and announced that President Kennedy had been fatally shot in Dallas.

Everything went kind of numb then. The substitute teacher was sad and upset, but she told the story of when...

The debt conundrum

The car is starting to squeak a lot more than it used to, the suspension may be shot soon, and it’s overdue for a transmission flush — but I have to make the monthly payments first. I should be saving up to buy the car that will replace this one — and the computer that will replace this one — and the lawn tractor that will replace the one I bought five years ago — but instead I am spending hundreds of dollars a month to pay the balances on the car loan and the credit cards that I haven’t use...