Roland Yeomans's Blog, page 30

Why WRITING IN THE CROSSHAIRS? IWSG Post

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Why the title

WRITING IN THE CROSSHAIRS?

All writers I believe write in the crosshairs.

If you have beta readers and have submitted to agents/editors,

you know the feeling of being in the crosshairs of their evaluations.

Ouch. But no pain, no gain.

But I am thinking of the imagery of the hunter.

He fixes his aim at his target, looking through his scope.

The image is hardly crisp at the beginning. He must adjust the lens to achieve crisp clarity and the best chance of hitting his target.


Writers are like that hunter.
 

At first the image of our tale is blurry.

We tighten the focus with revealing dialogue, vibrant characters, engaging crises, and creative descriptions.

Pacing and plot tighten the image even more. Sometimes we get it with dead-on clarity. Most times we don't.

No one but Shakespeare is perfect. If you don't believe me, ask Harold Bloom or any university English professor.


It is a tricky endeavor writing in the crosshairs.


How do we focus quicksilver humans into concrete mental images?


Take flames. They look like objects but are really processes.

Humans are like that as well. No human actually is complete. He or she is in the process of becoming.


But becoming what? We answer that question with our choices.

But there is more to my title than that.


We all write the movie of our lives in the crosshairs.


That endeavor is more tricky. We don't get the luxury of time to reflect, muse, or ponder at leisure.

Life is a harsh mistress. As we struggle, she flashes us that "beauty-queen" smile:

all sharp teeth and no heart. And in her games of chance, the House ultimately wins.


Like Indiana Jones we must make it up as we go along.
 

We plan and prepare.

Life gleefully throws her monkey wrench into our preparations.

We must write our lives in the crosshairs of illness, accidents, dysfunctional humans, and our own inner demons.

We are all in Life's crosshairs, and none of us know when she will pull the trigger. We just know that she will.


This is what my blog is all about:


How to maintain a measure of grace and peace in the crosshairs of Life.

I haven't figured it out yet.

Let me know what helps with you.

I am currently listening to "Follow Me" from the anime Innocence.

The romance of my haunted, undead Texas Ranger, Samuel McCord, and his immortal love, Meilori Shinseen, seem to linger among those lyrics like the ghost traces of a moonbeam.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530302722

Here is a music video I think you may like:

NO CURE WITHOUT A PRICE

 

Richard Blaine finds himself alone, paralyzed, blind, and naked. What else could go wrong he asks.

He should have known better.

ON THE RUN

“You cannot connect the dotslooking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards.”

- Sentient

 

My panic went into overdrive asmy body was sucked like a strand of spaghetti through the lips of some unseengiant.

Ears popping painfully, I sailedthrough really foul-smelling air to tumble roughly across a painfully hardmetal floor.

‘Up! Hold those hard-won handsup! Do not let them hit the floor even slightly, or you will lose them!’

I held them up.

Though I couldn’t feel my numbhands, I certainly could feel my throbbing wrists, so I held those up.

I had a thousand questions forSentient. I didn’t get a chance to ask even one.

Rough, calloused hands jerked meto my feet. I wobbled and weaved, but I managed to stand on my own. I almostcried from the relief of having control of my body once more.

Wiry fingers poked and proddedme. I winced as it felt like needles were attached to those fingers. I jerkedas a dozen stabs plunged into my flesh all along my body.

A stench of burnt fabric filledmy head. The heavy fabric fell from my eyes.

I immediately wanted it back.

One wizened, stunted creaturestonily eyed me with no comprehension at all in its solid black eyes.

Angular, covered with fur, it wasthe strangest creature I had ever seen. Short but amazingly strong to havelifted me so easily. It stood rock-still, but it seemed to vibrate in place.

‘It is … the closest phrase forit is a “Medical Savant.” No intelligence per se, but a phenomenal skill inhealing … all instinctive.’

I opened my mouth to mutterthanks, but Sentient stopped me.

‘Even if it had ears, it wouldnot understand you. You are 413 years from where you once were. The languagespoken here … let us call it … Englysch. Though those who survived theAttrition Wars with enough intellect to cogitate and speak do not think broadlyenough to conceptualize in such a manner.’

‘What?’

‘To think I missed conversingwith your limited intellect.’

‘I missed you, too.’

The galling part of that sentencewas that I meant it.

‘People who spoke Old English didnot call it that. They called it Ænglisc. Chaucer and his peers did notcall the language they spoke "Middle English", they called it Inglissh.’

‘If it is so primitive here, whybring me to this time?’

‘Because this edifice still containedthe advanced technology of the Attrition Wars without the wholesale slaughterand butchery of that conflict exploding all around it.’

‘You mean you saved my hands?’

‘That was beyond me. Your handsand the fingers attached to them still remained clenched around the triggerhandles when I took you here.’

‘Then, what is attached to mythrobbing wrists?’

I looked down at my heavybandages in the shape of hands. Strange looking wrappings though.

‘The latest and last advancementin Intelligent Prosthesis. An amazing prototype actually.’

‘Super. The last prototype costme my hands.’

‘Your perverse, stubbornstupidity cost you your hands!’

The Savant shrugged absently and shambledthrough the wall.

‘And you are welcome, by the way.’

‘I didn’t thank you.’

‘You never do.’

The wall directly in front of mestarted to glow a strange sort of blue.

 ‘Ah, it can’t get back in?’

‘It does not want to. In fact, itis scurrying far, far away. No, the lone remaining Harvester wants in. Wants invery badly.’

I asked though I had a sinkingfeeling just what crop it wanted to harvest.

“Harvest what?’

‘Your over-sized thymus … atleast for these times … and your distinctive medulla oblongata … though nonenow live who could benefit from their transplanting.’

‘How did that … Harvester evenknow I was here?’

‘As soon as you emerged from …oh, talking to your limited awareness is so inconvenient … let us just call itan advancement in Hyperbaric Chambers … it was notified of your body’s ripecondition for harvesting.’

The wall had gone to dull red andnow was rapidly becoming cherry red. I could feel the heat of it a dozen feetaway.

‘Ah, “away” would be agood place to be, don’t you think?’

‘Say “please.”’

‘Please!’

‘I did not like your tone.Politeness is to an intelligent nature what warmth is to wax.’

I clenched my new fingers andimmediately regretted it. I found out I could feel pain in my artificial hands.Good news: at least, I could move them.

‘Please. Pretty please … with bothmy burned off hands on top.’

‘Must you always be a smart-ass?’

‘No. Sometimes I sleep.’

And with that, we were gone …elsewhere.

 

NOT VAHALLA

 

Choosing to risk his own life rather than order one of his Spartans to almost certainly lose their hands, if not their own life,

Richard Blaine fires a prototype Laser Cannon from the future to save his men and the wounded soldiers from Operation Tiger.

As the ghost of Mark Twain could have told him: no good deed goes unpunished. Blaine collapses from the pain.

NOT VAHALLA

“No one is so brave that he isnot disturbed by something unexpected.”

– Julius Caesar

 

That I woke up not dead was thefirst surprise.

The second surprise followedclose on the heels of the first: I was blind.

A heartbeat stab of cold panic. Then,I felt the heavy, strange fabric covering my eyes.

I heaved a sigh of relief. If myeyes were covered, it hinted that there was a chance I would be able to seeagain.

My eyes were covered for a reason.

I reflected on the purity of all humanmotivations, and the panic was back.

Eyesight is not just about seeing.

It's about truly experiencing theworld around us.

Our eyesight is a gift thatallows us to see the beauty and wonder of life, to navigate around the bumpsand potholes of life.

To have good eyesight is to havea window into the soul of the world, into the souls of those around us revealedin their eyes.

The truth of eyes lies not onlyin their color and shape, but also in the stories they tell or don’t tell.

Without my sight, I was naked againstthe night, against those who dwelled in the night of the soul whether it wasday or dark.

That thought led to the third surprise:I was naked.

It’s said clothes make the man. Isuppose so. As Mark Twain wrote: Naked men have little to no influence on society.

In a strange way clothes are onus to expose us -- to advertise why we wear them to conceal. Take a raven tyingpeacock feathers to his wings.

That would tell you much aboutthat particular raven.

We put clothes on to propagate thelies of our lives and back them up.

The lack of clothes led me to thefourth surprise: I was floating.

Like Dorothy before me, I realizedI was no longer in Kansas. In the America of the 1940’s, floating patients wasreserved for Magic Acts.

Cold air currents flowed over memaking my body one big goose bump.

Cold?

Well, that ruled out Hell …unless I was on the lowest level. But then, what had Dante known?

And the smell of those aircurrents was all off. It smelled stale but neutral. No stench of burnt fleshfrom my charred palms.

 I was getting creeped out by all thesesurprises.

Nothing is more memorable than asmell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up achildhood summer beside a lake in the mountains.

Sometimes life takes you onunexpected paths. But this was ridiculous. I understood that those paths aren'talways in the same direction.

Still, I hate it when lifedecides to tug me in opposing directions to see if it can break me.

The fifth surprise was that Icouldn’t feet my hands, but my wrists hurt like hell.

Was I in Hell?

If so, then the custodians hadtaken my clothes. Out of meanness, out of a lousy sense of humor?

Enough was enough.

Apparently, not. My nose startedto itch. I tried to scratch it with my right throbbing wrist.

I couldn’t move.

Now, I was beginning to panic.

At St. Marok’s I had seen newarrivals at the orphanage panic. It always ended badly for them.

Panic implies that there is norational solution to the pressing problem.

But with a working mind … and mymind was one of the few things I had that was still working … you could alwaysfind some remedy to the situation.

Not a perfect remedy, mind you, butthen this is an imperfect world.

You worked with what you had.

I had a mind, so I would usethat.

A single event can awaken withinus a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born. I certainlyfelt as ignorant and helpless as a new-born.

So, what did a new-born baby dowhen it was scared?

It cried.

‘All right, Sentient. Where am I?Where are you?’

No answer. Long, long minutes ofno answer.

All right. Maybe now was the timeto panic.

A little.

HOW CAN MAN DIE BETTER?

 

One lone futuristic Higgins boat finds itself the sole protection for the trapped convoy of WWII's Operation Tiger.

A major with no knowledge of how to lead finds himself the unwilling host to an ancient entity, Sentient.

He must find it within himself to be more than what he believes he can be or soldiers who trust in him will pay a terrible price.

HOW CAN MAN DIE BETTER?

“We're born alone, we live alone,we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusionfor the moment that we're not alone.”

- Orson Welles

 

I fixed my face into stone. I woulddo what I could until I figured the rest out.

St. Marok's taught me:

Real life is nasty. It's cruel.It doesn't fight fair.

It doesn't care about heroes andhappy endings and the way things ought to be. In real life, bad things happen.People die. Fights are lost. Evil often wins.

But until it did, you kept swingingwith all you had.

And sometimes, miracles happened.Not very damn often … but enough times to keep you trying.

“We’ll slip in between those twonew E-Boats. Each team has one last Stinger. When we fire, we’ll hurl the Argonbatteries into them as we pass. Then, we head to those drowning soldiers andpick them up.”

“Just how the hell do we do that?”barked Reese. “Throw a fishing line over those damn high bulkheads?”

In desperation, I hurled mythoughts at Sentient. ‘What he said.’

‘I do not have the time to explain,nor you the mental capacity to understand the permeable dialectic structure ofreality. Just tell that pest “A futuristic form of Osmosis.”’

So, I did.

Reese snorted, “That don’t makeno sense.”

Sgt. Savalas snapped, “Shoot now.Bitch later. Much later!”

I took a deep breath, “This iswhere we hold them! This is where we fight! This is where they die! Rememberthis day, for it will be yours for all time.”

We sailed between the strangelooking E-Boats. We fired. We might as well have launched fireworks at them. TheArgon batteries did a bit better, starting fires and killing a few Nazis on thedecks.

Cloverfield swung his Sig Spearover his shoulder, took aim, and killed a few more. Reese and Wilson did the same.Sgt. Savalas followed a heartbeat later.

Then, we were past them, quicklyturning towards the floundering soldiers. The salty sea spray burned my eyes aswe moved at a fantastic speed.

Some of those soldiers sank evenas we neared them. The Rocinante rocked violently as a torpedo from oneof the new E-Boats scored a direct hit.

“Hey!” yelped Porkins. “I thoughtwe was protected from their torpedoes.”

“I-I have an enemy in New Orleans.And he is more intelligent than humanly possible. He sent these ships to killme.”

Reese twisted about in his seatto glare at me. “So, we die because you made a bad enemy? They ain’tdying like you just claimed they would. But because of you, we will!”

The Rabbi met him glare forglare. “Remind us again how Rick saved you in Calcutta.”

Reese’s hot eyes never left mine.“That was then. This is now.”

The Rocinante rockedviolently again from another direct hit.

“H-How many hits like that can wetake, Major?” quavered Porkins.

Reese answered for me. “Not too damnmany more and that’s for sure, Franklin.”

A huge hatch beneath Theo and meopened, and a familiar voice called out, “Well, you guys sure know how to showa girl a good time.”

Sgt. Savalas added his glare to Reese’s.“Damn you, Rick, you brought Rachel out here?”

I was about to tell my friendthat I had no memory of bringing the nurse here, but he angrily snapped. “Save it, Blaine! Idon’t believe in that Dark Passenger of yours anymore. Not if it puts Rachelin jeopardy!”

Blaine, was it? I sighed. I hadlost another friend to Sentient.

As the rest of my Spartans rushedout of the enormous hatch, Rachel grabbed Theo by both arms. “Oh, don’t be thatway! I made him promise to keep mum.”

“Doc” Tennyson walked hurriedlyto me as I slid from my seat. “My God, Major! The medicines, splints, and otheraides in that chamber. And all of them with simple self-explanatory directions.We could deal with a full-fledged disaster.”

Rachel was literally dancingaround my former friend. “We will be able to save ever so many of even the worstof the wounded. Oooh!”

A wave of frigid water washedover our ankles as three dozen wounded soldiers tumbled through thebulkheads at our feet.

Theo glared at me and said low, “Ihate you for putting Rachel at risk like this.”

She grabbed a tiny fistful of hisjacket.

“Stow that kind of talk, Mister!I huddled scared out of my wits all during the Blitz, praying for a chance to getback at those bloody Nazis. And this, Sgt. Savalas, is the answer to thatprayer!”

The Rocinante lurched terriblyas two torpedoes hit us at once.

‘That Reese is correct. We shall sinkif hit with too many more torpedoes. But if Morton cheats, then so will I.’

A sibilant jinking of metaljoints drew my eyes to the bow of Rocinante. A strange jutting cannon rosegleaming and deadly in the full moonlight. It was as if that Martian Death Rayfrom H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds had been given life … or should I sayDeath.

Stairs formed beneath it to take someoneto fire it.

‘Have that malcontent Reese shootit. He owes you for Calcutta.’

I didn’t like the tone to Sentient’swords. ‘Why?’

‘It is a prototype from 310 yearsfrom now. To shoot it for long will cost the person his hands. But the gloves Ihave tucked in his belt will help somewhat with the pain.’

‘What? No! I am not a generalthat I will order someone to maim themselves doing a job that I can.’

‘You will not!”

The stairs melted back into thebulkhead.

‘Watch me.’

I raced to Reese and snatched thegloves from under his belt as Rachel watched with a frown. “I’ll take these.”

“Hey! I didn’t even know I hadthose.”

“Then, you won’t miss them, willyou?”

Running up to the Martian DeathRay, I grabbed Cloverfield by the left upper arm. “James, I need a boost.”

His brows furrowed at my use ofhis first name. “Why?”

“Because Theo is too mad to do itright now. And we have no time for him to cool off. I don’t act now; you allwill die.”

His eyes narrowed even more. “Whydon’t I go up there instead of you?”

Rachel was suddenly at my side asI said, “Whoever shoots that gun will lose his hands.”

“No!” they both yelled.

“James, I am not a general toorder someone to maim themselves. The rank is mine. So, is this task.”

Rocinante rocked from another torpedohit. “James!”

“You’re a wanker for making me dothis!”

He made a stirrup of his fingersand boosted me up to leap to the malevolent weapon. Oh, merde, I was such an idiot.

‘Yes, you are. I will notminimize the pain.’

‘I’m not asking you to.’

‘The way to fire is self-evident.Even a simpleton like you can do it.’

‘I’ll miss you, too.’

Theo was frowning as if suspectingsomething was up. I called down to him and the Rabbi.

“Amos, Theo, the Spartans areyours now! I’ve done what I can. Be good shepherds.”

‘You do not have to do this!”

‘Sure, I do. Now, charge those twotin cans!”

The wind of Rocinante’s chargealmost blew off my Spartan Helmet. I clung to the Death Ray while I pulled onReese’s stiff gloves.

I blew out a breath. Sooner orlater, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences ...and the indigestionfrom this one was going to kill me.

What would be my last thought? WouldI even finish it?

Mr. Morton’s two E-Boats seemedto be rushing up to me when I knew it was quite the opposite. This was notgoing to be “that good night” nor was I going to go gently into it.

I frowned. That poem had not beenwritten yet. How did I know that?

‘You are about to die and yet,you still can drive me to distraction!  I… I will miss you.’

‘Now, you tell me.’

I grabbed the dual grips andpulled the triggers as I aimed at the Nazi boats.

Screaming wetly, I wrenched mysmoking palms from the grips.

I expected pain but not like that.

I flexed my steaming, glovedfingers. All right. I had been hurt before. I could do this.

I could.

I drew in a frigid lungful of air,willing myself to grip those trigger handles. I squirmed in agony.

I pried open tearing eyes totarget those sons of bitches sent from Morton.

Maybe I was a lousy soldier, alousy leader, a worse teacher.

But I could spare those who trustedme to watch out for them.

I could.

I just couldn’t hold back the screamsanymore. I just could not.

 But there was one thing I could do. I couldhold on.

I had held on all my life, nevergiving the bullies in my life the satisfaction of crying “Uncle.”

And I wouldn’t cry it now.

I screamed but I held on.

I held on, shooting dazzling acidbeams of light into one E-Boat and then the second.

Then, a grenade tossed from thenearest E-Boat hit the outer edge of the Death Ray’s housing. An invisible forcecame between me and the explosion.

Still, flames enveloped the roundedoutside of the turret. Dozens of jets of cold sea water doused the sizzlingfuneral pyre in front of me, enveloping me in reams of steam.

To my friends on the deck, itmust appear as if I were being consumed in my own Viking funeral.

My head was so light. My handswere flaming comets. I fought back bile. Everything was going dark.

Over the stench of my burningflesh, I smelled the apricot perfume of … Helen Mayfair?

That could not be.

But it was.

I heard her voice. She wasreading a favorite poem of hers to me in that mysterious, deadly library at St.Marok’s. I remembered that particular evening so clearly.

And for a heartbeat, the terribleagony eased just a bit. Just a bit. But still, that “bit” was wonderful.

“To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods?”

The deck seemed to evaporate, andI fell to it as if into clouds.

I smiled, thinking, ‘I heldon.’

SONG OF THE BATTLE OF OPERATION TIGER

 

Due to a cascade of accidents, inept leadership from the Brass, and cross-communications between American and British forces,

German E-Boats have evaded British patrols, been spotted, but neither American nor British are on the same radio frequency

so the convoy of Exercise Tiger is about to be massacred without warning.

It is up to the crew of the lone Higgins craft, Rocinante, to do what they can.

SONG OF THE BATTLE OF OPERATIONTIGER

“It is better to stand and fight.If you run, you will only die tired.”

– George Armstrong Custer

 

Fear iced my blood. ‘Who isgoing to steer Rocinante?’

‘I am, of course. Do you have sufficientmastery of  differential and integralcalculus to calculate where this craft must go to direct the repelled torpedoesinto the E-Boats surrounding us?’

In my mind, Sentient’s voice wasa living sneer. ‘I have observed Man from his very beginnings, and I havenever seen a worse leader of men.’

‘You put me in this spot in thefirst place.’

‘“Bah! If you had but seen what Ihave seen, walked the paths of nightmare that I have, and endured the lonelyages as civilizations rose only to crumble, you might have some smallunderstanding of me.’

I felt unseen fingers squeeze mynose. ‘Just because you picked your teams in your head, your men are notmind-readers to divine your choices.’

‘Merde.’

‘Fortunately, I imitated yourvoice within their helmets and notified each individual. Also, I have initiateda fuller instruction of how to use the Stinger missiles.’

My nose was squeezed again.Harder. ‘You failed to mention the BCU coolant unit of Argon gas which onlylasts 45 seconds, then must be changed, turning it counter-clockwise.”

‘Shit.’

‘Yes, feces is what your trainingwas worth. You are also quite possibly the worst instructor of men I have everobserved. Oh, and on board a sea vessel, it is hatch not door!’

‘I am a librarian not a warhero.’

‘Hero? You are a barely adequatesoldier. You must become more than what you perceive yourself to be. Bah! Icannot believe I am directly entangled with any of this.’

‘Welcome to the club.’

‘The direct use of force is sucha poor solution to any problem that it is generally employed only by smallchildren and large nations.’

I started to yell for my eight toclimb into their lowered chairs, when Sentient chided me. ‘Just speaknormally. The sensors in your helmet will speak directly to theirs.’

‘But mine ….’

‘Looks outwardly like atraditional Spartan helmet, but it is much like theirs inwardly.’

“Into your seats, Spartans!” Isnapped, angry at Sentient. Again.

I jerked as a tall standard shot upfrom the middle of the deck. I frowned. It was topped by a strange Americanflag. The rows of stars were off somehow. Then, I realized why. There were 51stars.

‘I was feeling nostalgic for thefuture.’

I sighed. Anotherincomprehensible statement from Sentient.

I climbed into the shooter’s seatas the Stinger swung up from its housing and onto my right shoulder.

I frowned. These bulkheads werehigher than any other Higgins I had ever seen.

‘Rocinante is not a Higginsobviously.’

Theo clambered into the seat nextto mine. I spoke again. Milder.

It was not their fault that I hada Dark Passenger.

“Remember, Gentlemen, there isalready a missile in the pipe, and the E-Boat must be at least nine feet awaywhen you fire.”

To my right, Cloverfieldprotested as Lt. Stein got into the shooter’s seat. “Hey! When did I get to bethe spear carrier?”

“When you told me aboutAuschwitz, James.”

On the opposite bulkhead, Reese,Porkins, Dee, and Sam had already decided who would be the shooter.

The hinged seat rose swiftly. My stomachdecided to stay on deck. Salty spray from the ocean parting easily at ourpassage wet my face, stinging my eyes.

That would teach me to go alldramatic with an exposed face.

Suddenly, Rocinante lurchedviolently going starboard at a rate a Higgins boat couldn’t possibly attain.But then, Rocinante wasn’t in any way what she appeared from the outside.

Were any of us?

Explosions all around us.Screams. All from the E-Boats scattering as their own torpedoes detonated intoone another.

Though I didn’t utter a word, Iheard my voice in my helmet speakers. “Now! All of you. Fire on the E-Boat toyour port side at twenty degrees. NOW!”

I’ll give my Spartans this: eachof them, even the hardly battle-hardened Rabbi fired immediately. I followed aheartbeat later.

There were more explosions, morescreams, more blood in the water. More recriminations from Sentient.

‘You were slow. Fortunately, Iexpected that and shifted Rocinante accordingly.’

‘How can I ever thank you?’ Imind-spoke sarcastically,

‘By being better.’

I ignored her and said, “Ejectthose Argon batteries.”

Sentient snapped in my voicethrough my speakers and theirs. “Catch them as they eject and throw them withall your strength at the craft to your starboard.”

I was so stunned that I failed tofollow those orders. Sentient ripped control of my body from me and followedher own orders. The E-Boat She/I hit with my BCU coolant unit bellowed with theimpact of what looked like a dozen sticks of dynamite.

Clouds of shrapnel swirledtowards us, then veered away to hit one unlucky attack craft. More screams. Onefrom Porkins.

Reese yelled so loud that Isquirmed at the pain of his bellow in my ears.

“Franklin! You all right? Answerme, man!”

Porkins groaned in my speakers.“Just got my head rung good by that big piece of metal. I thought the hull wassupposed to repel stuff like that.”

Reese’s relieved voice camethrough my speakers. “The hull, Numb Nuts! The hull. The air above itapparently is not so protected. Everyone! Keep your heads down as much as youcan.”

‘Porkins is right. He should nothave been hit. I sense Mr. Morten in this.’

‘But he is all the way back inNew Orleans!’

‘His reach is long … as youshould remember … which is why I have … Sister Ameal protecting your Helen.’

‘What?’

‘Hush! Focus on the moment.’

‘What moment?’

‘The two additional E-Boatscharging us. Courtesy of Mr. Morten I would wager.’

“Damn!” snapped Cloverfield in myhelmet’s speakers. “The convoy has caught up to us. Those ricocheting torpedoesmight hit one of them!”

And of course, as soon as he saidit, one torpedo veering off from us did just that.

Soldiers from the stricken shiptumbled overboard into freezing waters …

and because of the late,unlamented Captain Sturges, those doomed men were uselessly wearing their lifevests around their waists.

How were we going to rescue thosemen with these high bulkheads … with two E-Boats shooting at us?

 How?

“The Spartans do not ask how manyare the enemy but where are they.” – Plutarch

LIVE AS IF YOU WERE KISSING LIFE FOR THE LAST TIME

 

“At the end of the day, let there be  no excuses,  no explanations,  no regrets.”
― Steve Maraboli



I NHALE THE FUTURE; EXHALE THE PAST
The joy of being able to breathe deeply and often most of us take for granted.  Not so much anymore, right?
I had double pneumonia 3 times as a child in Detroit.  Moving with my parents to Louisiana probably saved my life.
Take in a deep breath now and let it out slowly.  The new/not so new MERS-CoV may take that away from you.
Enjoy the ability while you can.




GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD
"There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.”  - Mark Twain
If the full page ad Tyson ran in THE NEW YORK TIMES Sunday is any indication, Americans may become like those people.
As famines of "biblical proportions" loom, the UN Security Council urged its members to "act fast."
I hope you have prepared your pantry for hard times.



AULD LANG SINGE 
"Being taken for granted is an unpleasant but sincere form of praise, don't you know? 
Ironically, the more reliable you are, and the less you complain, the more likely you are to be taken for granted."   - Mark Twain
How many good friends have you allowed life to tug from your everyday thoughts?
How hard would it hit you if you heard they were dying in a hospital with MER-COV and you could not even visit them for a last goodbye due to regulations?




I CAN'T FEEL YOU
  “There’s power in the touch of another person’s hand. We acknowledge it in little ways, all the time. 
There’s a reason human beings shake hands, hold hands, slap hands, bump hands. 
 It comes from our very earliest memories, when we all come into the world blinded by light and color. 
And what changes that first horror, that original state of terror? 
  The touch of another person’s hands. 
Hands that wrap us in warmth, that hold us close. 
Hands that guide us to shelter, to comfort, to food. 
Hands that hold and touch and reassure us through our very first crisis, and guide us into our very first shelter from pain. 
The first thing we ever learn is that the touch of someone else’s hand can ease pain and make things better."  - Jim Butcher
Covid-19 took that balm of touch from everyday life.
Recently, it was restored to us. 
But what if this administration takes this MER-COV as an excuse to institute a new lock-down with increased mail-in ballots to stack the deck?  


I keep Survivor Duck on my mantel to remind me that laughter and life can survive even the strongest storms ... 

like this little rubber duck who survived Katrina and waited for me to come back to the rear door of our battered blood center.

Appreciate the little things you have before they become large by their absence.

Stay Well, my friends ... Roland

WHAT DO WE LEAVE IN?

We all know what to leave out:
1.) It’s Open Season on anything ending in –ly.

2.) Clunky sentences and long paragraphs that dull the readers’ mind and attention-span.

3.) Any word that you wouldn’t pay a quarter to keep in your manuscript. Ernest Hemingway learned to write lean when a foreign correspondent. EVERY WORD cost his employers money.

Elmore Leonard suggests: “Leave out the boring stuff.”

In reverse logic: 

we leave in the riveting stuff:

1.) Primal is riveting

THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA is riveting. 

Why? 

Because the fish means more to the old man than just something to keep hunger at bay. Catching the fish would say to those who jeer at him that he is not old and useless, 

that he is still a man.

2.) Sex is riveting

Without it, the species would end. 

 But we don’t live for abstractions. We live for attractions. 

Flirting is only verbal fondling. 

The act doesn’t have to be literally on the page, blow by blow. Still, the sparks should be seen ... and felt.

3.) Danger is riveting

But only if we care for the characters at risk. 

And the danger must flow out of the natural development of the narrative – not just be thrown in for spice out of nowhere.

4.) Empathy is magnetic

We care for characters to whom we can relate. 

So we leave in those prose strokes that resonate with the pains, the dreams, the struggles of our readers – 

the search for love, the endurance of loneliness, the tragedy of being misunderstood.

5.) Great dialogue sparkles

No clichés – even for teenagers, for clichés or even modern slang has a very short shelf-life.
 
Think of your favorite movies.
 
Each one had snippets of dialogue that had you repeating them to your friends. 

Try to make your novel someone’s favorite in a like manner.

6.) Poetry in prose

Ernest Hemingway said the secret to writing great novels was that they contained poetry in prose.

Make each first sentence on a page memorable by use of metaphor, dialogue, or simply tilting an image on its ear.

Each of us must do that in our way. Read a page of Hemingway or Zelazny at random to see how they did it.

“She gave him a look that should have left bruises.”
 
“The sea was harsher than granite.”

*) I hope this has helped in some small way. Roland

Here is the video of Adiemus which Victor Standish hears within his mind as he struggles to make it through a mystic ordeal for the sake of innocents depending upon him in END OF DAYS:

IT BEGINS

 

Richard Blaine has no idea how to be a soldier, much less an officer. 

An ancient entity took possession of him upon his receiving his WWII draft notice, not wanting to lose the first human whose mind she could contact.

Not knowing how to be human, the entity, Sentient, has gotten him into one deadly situation after another by refusing to bow before humans she considers inferior to herself.

Now, Blaine finds himself thrust into a deadly prelude to a battle with nine Nazi E-Boats, leading battle-weary misfits who think him wiser than he is.

IT BEGINS

“No plan survives first contactwith the enemy.”

 - Napoleon

 

I went through the sparkling doorfirst.

Sentient had to take control ofmy body and drag me over the doorstep so the Spartans following would notstumble over my stalled heels.

You would think I would haveremembered the horror, the eeriness, the soul-emptiness of entering thebarracks … and so have prepared myself for what would follow when I left it.

You would have been wrong.

It was different than entering. Notthe same and yet worse.

There is an exact word for thisphenomenon: “liminality.”

“Liminality” is the word for thethreshold moment—from the Latin root limin, meaning the centerline of thedoorway.

Liminality is the moment ofcrossing over.

It describes the transitionalphase of personal change, wherein one is neither in an old state of being nor anew, and not quite aware of the implications of the event.

All the stages of life includeliminality. Life is nothing but moments of crossing over.

 Stitching these moments together into thecomforting quilt of wisdom is the task of one’s later years.

But first, I had to survive this nightmaremoment to make it to those years.

‘I made a mistake boosting your I.Q.to 400. Your men need Leonidas not Hamlet. Actions not words. Well done isbetter than well said.’

‘I know,’ I mind-snapped.‘Confucius say -- the superior man acts before he speaks, and afterwardsspeaks according to his actions.’

A shoulder thumped into my leftarm, and a trilling tuning fork version of the Rabbi’s voice said, “You take usto such nice places, Rick.”

I turned and saw Lt. Stein in hisfuturistic helmet. To cap off his new look was a fur-trimmed bomber jacket, aDesert Eagle on his hip, and a Sig Spear strapped to his back.

I suddenly realized that I waswearing the same clothes … except for the helmet. I was wearing the traditionalSpartan helmet.

All my men were dressed like theRabbi.

I pulled up short … my men.

They needed a leader … especiallyin the frigid madness all around us.

We stood on a football-sized deckenclosed by high walls of steel. Walls that were being hammered by a sea gonemad.

It was a scene best painted notby El Greco, Dore, or Van Gogh but by the medieval artist, Hieronymus Bosch —withhis nightmare vision of the streets of hell.

He would be the one to do justiceto the surging storm raging around the Rocinante.

Sentient mind-sighed, ‘I diderror in boosting your intelligence.’

‘Get over it. I am who I am.’

‘You and Popeye.’

The Spartans were too momentarilystunned by our surroundings to panic … but that would not last.

“Heads up!” I yelled over theroars of the storm. “This weather is just Mother Nature protesting the bendingof Space/Time. It should settle down pretty soon.”

Pvt. Stevens said in his newtuning fork voice, “That was what ‘Doc’ Tennyson was just telling Sam and me.”

I nodded. “Sam” was it? Cpl.Wilson had made a friend. Good. Dee Stevens had just chosen his Stinger mate.

I yelled again and pointed to ajust revealed door in the wall behind the Spartans. “When I’ve chosen the four Stingerteams, the rest of you go through that door.”

“Back to our barracks?” hopefullyasked Evans.

“No. To … a waiting room ofsorts.”

“To wait for what?” whined StewTaylor.

Sgt. Savalas snapped, “For one ofus eight to die, so you can take our place.”

I smiled. One of us. Theo neverdoubted that I would choose him. And so, he had chosen himself to my Stingermate.

Some of the Spartans started tohead to the door, and I shook my head and bellowed, “Gentlemen, I haven’t mademy selection yet!”

Those Spartans stopped … but grudgingly.

Rocinante suddenly lurched and rocked.A hazy image a meter across billowed in front of us:

We saw our vessel was surrounded bynine Nazi E-Boats.

Porkins yelped, “Major, you saidthis boat would repel torpedoes!”

“Look, Doofus!” snorted Reese. “Thestorm’s waves just knocked us into one of those E-Boats.”

I turned to the Rabbi. “Could youkill?”

“Cloverfield told me what thosebastards are doing to my People in Auschwitz. Yes, Rick, I can kill Nazis.”

I nodded. The third team pickingitself. Only one more. I smiled and bellowed.

“Reese and Porkins! You go to theopposing bulkhead next to Dee and Wilson.”

“What are we going to do there?”protested Porkins.

With a grinding of gears, twotwin seated firing platforms jerkingly thrust out from the two opposingbulkheads.

Reese slapped Porkins’ arm good-naturedly.“What do you think, Doofus?”

I relayed what Sentient wastelling me. “The Cherbourg-based German E-boats have been spotted on radar by adestroyer on patrol off Portland Bill.”

I made a sour face. “Theirposition was reported to Plymouth headquarters, but they could not relay it tothe convoy because of the radio mix-up.”

I wanted to dig up Capt. Sturges soI could kill him all over again. “Gentlemen! The convoy is almost here. It’s upto us. Climb into your seats!”

THE CHARGE OF THE ROCINANTE

 

By Elizabeth Southerden Thompson, Lady Butler

it’s actually not the Charge of the Light Brigade. 

It’s thewrong cavalry (heavy brigade not light),

 and the wrong enemy (France notRussia), 

and even the wrong war (Napoleonic not Crimean). 

Above all, thisCharge had the opposite outcome

 (it ended in victory).

THE CHARGE OF ROCINANTE

“We fight to keepsomething of worth alive rather than in the expectation that we will triumph.”

– T.S. Elliot

 

Agent Cloverfield said, “I don’twant to rain on your parade, mate. This freakish building might be invisible,but as soon as we step out of it, we’ll be bloody arrested.”

I sighed, “Which is why we won’tstep out of it … not in the conventional sense.”

Lt. Stein wrinkled his brows.“Then, how are we going to get to the Rocinante to rescue the fleet?”

“By going through that sparklingdoor behind our friend, Cloverfield.”

He turned. “There ain’t nobleeding …. Of course, there is now. Crikey, you’re trying to drive me off mynut, aren’t you, son?”

He turned back around to face me.“Aw, stones and blood, Blaine. You weren’t wearing Rommel’s Waffenrock a secondago.”

“This is to show you reality is agarment much like this long coat.”

‘No, it is not.’

‘Give me a break, Sentient. I’mtrying to explain concepts of science that haven’t even been discovered yet.’

I said to Cloverfield and theother Spartans closing in to get a better understanding of my words, “Theuniverse has … pockets of a sort. Some are more accessible than others.”

I reached into my left frontpocket, pulling out a Luger. “Some easy to get to.”

I put away the Lugar and reachedinto the interior left pocket, withdrawing the Iron Cross Rommel had given me after being nearly beaten to death.“Some which cost a bit of pain to obtain.”

I nodded to the shimmering door.“That leads to ….”

Cloverfield snorted, “Let meguess, old chum, to Malebolge, the eighth circle of hell.”

“Close. To the deck of the Rocinante,already some miles ahead of the ships of Exercise Tiger.”

“Why ahead?” asked Sgt. Savalas.

I said, “To perhaps meet the nineNazi E-Boats before the fleet gets there.”

Porkins gawked, “Are you nuts,Major?”

Reese grinned, “You can haveserved under him for this long and still ask that question?”

I shook my head. “The hull of theRocinante has been treated with … let’s just say a multi-layered coatingthat repels torpedoes, mines, and other dangers.”

Cpl. Wilson thumped his foreheadwith his right palm. “Of course! Those nine E-Boats fire at us? Well, those torpedoesveer away from us and might just hit one of their own.”

Rabbi Stein groaned, “But once ourships show up, those torpedoes veering away from us might hit one of our own.”

Sgt. Savalas made a face. “Justlet one of our ships sink because of us, and Eisenhower will execute us for sure.”

Pvt. Eric Evans scowled, “Anyother good news you want to share with us, Major?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Therewere some missed schedules resulting in traffic jams and some naval craftarriving late at embarkation points. And ….”

Porkins groaned, “There’s more?”

“Afraid so. There were 2 escort destroyers. One was damaged. Now, there is only one when 2 were hardly enough."

I ironed my face with a palm. "The Allies and theBritish are also on different radio frequencies unknown to them both.”

“No one notices this?” muttered Evans.

I shook my head. “No. You see,both sides have been ordered to keep radio silence. Worse, ….”

Stew Taylor gasped, “There’s aworse?”

I looked to our ‘Doubting Thomas.’“You of all people shouldn’t be surprised that there’s a ‘worse’. Eisenhowerhas ordered that the British on Slapton Sands use live ammunition to bettersimulate combat conditions. So, if any survivors from the E-Boat attacks stumbleon shore ….”

Pvt. Johnny Knight growled, “They’llbe cut to ribbons! How did Eisenhower get to be Supreme Commander anyway?”

Agent Cloverfield drawled, “He’sa good nanny to Prima Donna generals, ill presidents, emotionally drained PrimeMinisters, and a psychopathic Russian tyrant.”

I hefted the 34 pound “MartianBazooka” to my shoulder. “Now, you’re in the perfect mood to learn how tooperate my deadly friend here, the American made, German armed, FIM-92 StingerMissile.”

Amidst all the groans, I went on.“It’s a two-man weapon. One to shoot. One to load.”

“How are we gonna see to shootover the side of our Higgins?” scoffed Stew.

I said, “Rocinante is bigger and morecomplex on the inside than a regular Higgins.”

“How is that even possible?” askedPvt. Knight.

“Doc” Tennyson snorted, “Pocketdimensions, remember?”

He flicked amused eyes to me. “Iread Heisenberg and Einstein.”

“Well, woo-hoo to you,” sneeredPvt. Evans.

“The Stinger is launched by asmall ejection motor that pushes it a safe distance from the operator beforeengaging the main two-stage solid-fuel sustainer, which accelerates it to amaximum speed of Mach 2.54 or 750 miles per second.”

Assorted gasps as Cpl. Wilsonsaid, “We’ll be bouncing around pretty good out there. How will we hit anything?”

“Long story short. The Stinger locksonto your target with a … an infra-red devise. You acquire your target with thesight, lean your cheek against the pipe. Once you feel and hear a sharp click,the missile has locked onto the E-Boat. You press the  trigger. Then, no matter if the darn thing takesto the sky, the missile hits it.’

Cloverfield said, “Those Nazis aredevious buggers. Will one missile take out an E-Boat?”

“It should.”

“Should?” wailed Porkins.

“You want ‘sure’? Play poker withme. You’re sure to lose.”

Pvt. Dimitri frowned. “How are wegonna do all that with the high sides of a Higgins?”

“As I said, the Rocinante is nota Higgins. Not really. You will have four twin seated affairs that will hingeout from the sides and rise up high – one for the loader, one for the shooter.”

“Up high?” “Kit” Carson. “We’ll besitting ducks!”

“Not as much as those E-Boats,”growled Sgt. Savalas angrily.

I said, “All of you but me willbe wearing those invincible helmets I showed you.”

“How invincible?” predictablyasked Stew Taylor.

“Didn’t I tell you? Sorry, Sentientmust have been talking to me when I was about to mention it.”

“Who?” several asked.

“Later. Right now, all you needto know is that your helmets all possess built-in inertia dampers thatwill have bullets flatten against your helmets and bounce off like swattedflies.”

Stew eyed me suspiciously. “Allbut you, huh? What will you be wearing up there?”

“The traditional Spartan helmet, brightand gleaming gold.”

Reese stiffened. “Making yourselfa target? Hell, no! I wear that helmet. You saved me in Calcutta. I owe you. AndI always pay my debts.”

Sgt. Savalas said, “No, thatwould be me wearing it.”

I shook my head. “Rank’s not fair.I get the perks of it. I get the dings of it, too,”

And with that, we went throughthe sparkling door to become the new Light Brigade … or die trying.

FUTURE SHOCK

 

“Rather we fight to keepsomething of worth alive than in the expectation that we will triumph.”

– T.S. Elliot

Richard Blaine, sustaining a deadly mental madrigal with an ancient entity, Sentient, 

is trying to explain weapons from the future to the men whom he has reluctantly been given command.

FUTURE SHOCK

“The illiterate of the 21stcentury will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannotlearn, unlearn, and relearn.”

 - Alvin Toffler

 

Sometimes I think Sentient istrying to write a fable in the heartbeats of my life.

A fable says more than it says,is bigger than its own parameters. I know at least that my aspirations arebigger than my ability to attain them.

I always felt that Sentientregarded me as a hungry owl would an unsuspecting rabbit.

The dry ice vapors from theopening disappeared with a static crackle in a burst of Byzantine brilliance.

The elevator of surprise droppedmy stomach to the bottom floor.

Four strange items were displayedsingly on the shimmering surface of each of the ivory pedestals.

A sparkling helmet with a glassyvisor and writhing cables which searched along its surfaces as if for prey.

A bulky handgun looking as if itlifted weights in its spare time.

A futuristic rifle that looked stolen from the set of a Flash Gordon serial. It seemed more polyethylene thanmetal … but I later learned it was composed of neither.

A weird weapon resembling aMartian bazooka with a bad attitude and questionable parentage.

Sentient filled me in on theirdetails. I kept my jaw from dropping with an effort worthy of one of Hercules’Labors. I wondered how the Tartarus I was going to explain them to my Spartans.

‘Simply as if to moronic children… as I speak to you.’

I quoted Old Testament poetry tokeep my temper. I had come to realize that if Sentient could make me angry, shecould control me. Why should I give her such power over my life when she had somuch over it already?

Of course, Sentient knew mythoughts: ‘Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; allis vanity. What profit hath a man such as thee?’

I sighed in my mind. ‘The truemeasure of a man is not his intelligence nor how high he rises in this freakishworld. No, the true measure of a man is this: how quickly can he respond to theneeds of others and how much of himself can he give.’

“Ant” Vincent scoffed, “What thehell are those things, Major?”

I took a deep breath. Made itdeeper and prayed for inspiration. I caught sight of his "Spartan 3oo" patch onhis left upper arm.

Bingo.

I bent and picked up the helmet.It trembled in my hands, the cables oozing slower. I could have sworn a slightbuzzing came from it. “Ant” stepped backwards as I approached him with it.

“The ancient Spartans had theirhelmets. This is ours. Here. Put it on.”

“I ain’t doing that!”

Cpt. Reese stepped up and took itgingerly from my hands. “If Vincent is too antsy to do it, I’ll put it on.”

In one fluid motion, he placed iton his head a lot faster than I would have.

“Whoa!”

I didn’t blame him. Thoseglistening cables wrapped about his throat. “Ant” gave a little shriek.

“You all right, Reese?”

His voice sounded odd as if atuning fork had been granted speech. “B-Better than all right, Ant. It’s coldin here. What gives?”

“The air is oxygen rich,” I said,“along with other compounds that increases your strength, endurance, speed,and thinking.”

Ant frowned, “Where is that airand all that other stuff coming from? I see no tubes leading into the helmet.”

“From 15o years in the future,the time of this helmet’s creation. It’s made from a nation yet to be born … orI should say re-born.”

“That’s impossible,” said Pvt.Stewart Taylor, our resident Doubting Thomas.

“You wouldn’t say that, Stew,”came Reese’s transformed voice,  “if yourhead was inside this thing.”

I said, “Pick up that bulky gunon the pedestal to your right.”

He did and went stiff. “Whoa! I’mseeing grids, numbers, and crosshairs.”

I said, “Your visor is actually asmart scope among other things. That gun, a Desert Eagle, was made by the same nation that madeyour helmet.”

“What’s my helmet called?”

“No name. 15o years from now, theentire world is so filled with big and small wars that there is no romanticnaming of weapons or even numerical designations.”

I motioned to Theo. “Sergeant,would you open the front door to our barracks?”

He did, and I said, “Reese, willyou point your Desert Eagle ten degrees to your left?”

He did and stiffened. “What the?I see Major Laska!”

Porkins laughed, “He’s back fromseeing his Mommy.”

Reese kept with tradition andignored him. “The grid tells me he is 900 meters away. Hey! The gun is tiltingand raising on its own!”

“Yes, Corporal. If there werebullets in that automatic, you could squeeze the trigger and be assured MajorLaska would be killed no matter the bullet drop or the windage.”

Lt. Stein gasped, “Even at thatrange?”

Theo quickly closed the door asif fearing Reese would find bullets to put into the gun’s clip.

I shook my head. Laska was intenton finding and arresting us. Luckily, Sentient had made our barracks invisibleto everyone but us.

“Reese, you can put down theDesert Eagle and take off the helmet.”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want two of your veryown, you do, Corporal.”

He did so, but very slowly andreluctantly.

I bent down and picked up theFlash Gordon rifle. “This, Gentlemen, in a twist of irony, is the Sig SaurSpear made by the Germany of 90 years from now. Fires single or auto. 

It has a clip of 25 bulletswith stainless steel bases and bodies of brass to sustain the 80,000 psioperating pressure of this rifle.”

“The Germans beat us?” frownedPorkins.

“Not if we do our job right inthis day and age. In the future, they are … allies of a sort.”

“What kind of sort?” snorted Agent Cloverfield.

I listened to Sentient andsighed, “The sort of ally Russia is to us right now.”

“That’s what I figured,” groanedTheo.

I gently placed down the Sig SaurSpear. “They call this the Spear since it was created to be given to an elite groupof soldiers … the tip of the spear so to speak.”

I picked up the bulky Martianbazooka. “And this, gentlemen, is the weapon that will win the day for us … orget us killed by those nine Nazi E-Boats.”

“Is it too late to ask for atransfer?” weakly laughed “Ant” Vincent.

 

“Future shock is a sickness whichcomes from too much change in too short a time. It's the feeling that nothingis permanent anymore. “

- Orson Welles