Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 22
December 9, 2021
Coming Attractions price drop for Christmas: low, low, low
Yeah, I'm into cheap Christmas jokes to sell books. Santa's a big reader. Well, he's a big everything.
But seriously, we really have dropped the price of both the e-book and print versions of Coming Attractions. In print it's down a dollar, to $6.99--any lower than that, and we'd have to pay you to take it. Not that I haven't considered that in past down times ...
For Kindle, Coming Attractions has been slashed in half! Not literally: It's a romantic comedy, not a horror novel. That makes it just 99 cents, more than half of what it was before. Or .... less than half? By one cent, anyway. Check it out:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KM6JWQC
Due to various ailments, injuries and a gosh darn pandemic, this is the first year we haven't put a book out since 2011. (There will be a short story in the next newsletter.) I just felt this was the next best thing--and there will be a release or two in 2022.
I still maintain reading is the most fun thing you can do by yourself with your clothes on, unless you're Batman. Check out all our books:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
But seriously, we really have dropped the price of both the e-book and print versions of Coming Attractions. In print it's down a dollar, to $6.99--any lower than that, and we'd have to pay you to take it. Not that I haven't considered that in past down times ...
For Kindle, Coming Attractions has been slashed in half! Not literally: It's a romantic comedy, not a horror novel. That makes it just 99 cents, more than half of what it was before. Or .... less than half? By one cent, anyway. Check it out:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KM6JWQC
Due to various ailments, injuries and a gosh darn pandemic, this is the first year we haven't put a book out since 2011. (There will be a short story in the next newsletter.) I just felt this was the next best thing--and there will be a release or two in 2022.
I still maintain reading is the most fun thing you can do by yourself with your clothes on, unless you're Batman. Check out all our books:
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
December 3, 2021
Seven Reasons Why Books Are the Best Christmas Gift
I suppose this would be a good time to remind all of you that books are, by far, the best Christmas gifts. Yes, even for non-readers: In fact, books owned by people who don’t read are not only great re-gifts, but when not re-gifted they’re among the books in the best condition. No dog-ears, no food stains, no bent pages … pristine.
Two hundred years from now, you can resell books in such good condition for enough money to make up for inflation, if you should happen to still be alive.
In addition to that, books:
Require no batteries. (Except e-books, and those don't kill trees. That I know of.)
Almost never rot your brains.
In hardcover editions can be used for self-defense.
Can be hollowed out to hide all sorts of contraband and/or listening devices.
Make bookcases much more useful.
Never go offline during power outages, assuming you have backup lighting. If you don’t have that in case of power outages, are you really smart enough to read?
Also, should you buy our books, you’re shopping locally. This makes me happy, and don’t you want to see me happy? I thought so.
But if you’ve heard horror stories about going out shopping this time of year, you could always go to our website at http://www.markrhunter.com/books.html. This gives you a choice of several books in five or six different genres (because I just can’t seem to keep my mind on one thing), with prices ranging all the way down to free (for Strange Portals, anyway. Did you know you can send e-books as gifts?) It’s like Black Friday somehow turned into bright December.
So that’s my pitch, and if you spread the word I promise I’ll continue to be funny and entertaining.
Okay, I’ll try.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Two hundred years from now, you can resell books in such good condition for enough money to make up for inflation, if you should happen to still be alive.
In addition to that, books:
Require no batteries. (Except e-books, and those don't kill trees. That I know of.)
Almost never rot your brains.
In hardcover editions can be used for self-defense.
Can be hollowed out to hide all sorts of contraband and/or listening devices.
Make bookcases much more useful.
Never go offline during power outages, assuming you have backup lighting. If you don’t have that in case of power outages, are you really smart enough to read?
Also, should you buy our books, you’re shopping locally. This makes me happy, and don’t you want to see me happy? I thought so.
But if you’ve heard horror stories about going out shopping this time of year, you could always go to our website at http://www.markrhunter.com/books.html. This gives you a choice of several books in five or six different genres (because I just can’t seem to keep my mind on one thing), with prices ranging all the way down to free (for Strange Portals, anyway. Did you know you can send e-books as gifts?) It’s like Black Friday somehow turned into bright December.
So that’s my pitch, and if you spread the word I promise I’ll continue to be funny and entertaining.
Okay, I’ll try.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
November 23, 2021
Thanksgiving Food Can Be a Real Turkey
Thanksgiving in America continues to be one of the most traditional holidays. It still features the original four hundred year old activities of overeating, football, and complaining about Black Friday.
In the Hunter household, as in all of Indiana and much of the world that’s not outside this country, we battle the overeating. How? By serving food that, the rest of the year, we hate. Stuffing stuff. Cranberry things. Pumpkin anything. It was good enough for the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians, who the Pilgrims politely invited to share a meal in their new home, which they’d just stolen from the Wampanoag. The natives brought a housewarming gift of deer, mostly because they didn’t want to eat cranberries or pumpkin.
But what was actually served at that original celebration? And did they really all sit down at long tables outside, in New England, in November? That’s a recipe for a nice heaping helping of frostbite.
The first Thanksgiving was a three day event, leaving one day each for the meal, football, and Black Friday shopping. The Pilgrims were naturally dismayed to discover no mall or Wal-Mart in sight. Rumor had it there was a Target down the road, but both the trip and the name were a bit more dangerous at the time. They compensated by throwing another feast that third day, during which they discussed, of course, football.
Governor William Bradford sent four men on a fowling mission beforehand. We don’t know for sure what they brought back, but it might have been turkey. It also might have been ducks, geese, or swans, which explains the song they invented about the meal and the entertainment. If it hadn’t taken so much time to memorize it, the song would have been “The Twelve Days of Thanksgiving”. That would have turned our holiday world upside down.
Why are game birds called “fowl”? Because they had no refrigeration. It was a warning: “Eat it fast, before it’s fowl!”
On a related note, this has carried over into football, which during the first Thanksgiving was so primitive they had to watch it on a black and white TV, with no remote control, or a blimp. Whenever a player gets caught doing something that stinks, it’s called a foul. The spelling was changed during the Great Depression, when a letter shortage caused double U’s to be cut in half.
There was indeed an abundance of cranberries at the First Thanksgiving, mostly because the Natives used them as dye. (Good dye, although it tended to run in the washing machine.) By then the Pilgrims had run out of sugar, so there was no cranberry sauce or relish or anything cranberry to actually eat. That’s one of the things they were thankful for.
Potatoes were … absent. The Spanish had discovered them in South America, but they weren’t popular with the English yet. Instead they probably had seafood—lobster, clams, oysters, all that stuff you find on the Thanksgiving menu today. Actually, these days the closest we get to that is either oyster dressing or “see? Food!”
Pumpkin? Absolutely: in their pie, their coffee, donuts, milkshakes … kidding! Starbucks didn’t deliver. Actually they did have pumpkins, but no butter or flour for any kind of crust. They may have hollowed out the pumpkins, filled the shell with milk, honey, and spices, and roasted them in hot ashes.
I’m not making this up. I used to get paid to do this research.
I’m sure you’re all wondering what kind of beer they washed this all down with. I mean, Sam Adams, right? That’s the state beverage of Massachusetts. But no, it turns out they hadn’t had time to make beer, and didn’t yet have apples for cider, so they drank water. This helps explain all those Pilgrim paintings with dour expressions.
Add this to native foods like plums, grapes, leeks, and squash, and you get … *gasp* … a meal that’s good for you! It turns out health food nuts aren’t a new thing; it’s just that back then it was involuntary.
Interestingly, I found no reference from historical records about stuffing being served at the first Thanksgiving. I suspect the Pilgrims planned it, until the Wampanoag heard about the idea:
“So, once we get the birds ready, we’ll mix old bread crumbs and tasteless vegetables together, throw a bunch of spices on them, and stuff them up the fowl butt. Instant side dish!”
“Um … we’ll just take our smallpox blankets and go.”
Imagine how they reacted to fruitcake.
In the Hunter household, as in all of Indiana and much of the world that’s not outside this country, we battle the overeating. How? By serving food that, the rest of the year, we hate. Stuffing stuff. Cranberry things. Pumpkin anything. It was good enough for the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians, who the Pilgrims politely invited to share a meal in their new home, which they’d just stolen from the Wampanoag. The natives brought a housewarming gift of deer, mostly because they didn’t want to eat cranberries or pumpkin.
But what was actually served at that original celebration? And did they really all sit down at long tables outside, in New England, in November? That’s a recipe for a nice heaping helping of frostbite.
The first Thanksgiving was a three day event, leaving one day each for the meal, football, and Black Friday shopping. The Pilgrims were naturally dismayed to discover no mall or Wal-Mart in sight. Rumor had it there was a Target down the road, but both the trip and the name were a bit more dangerous at the time. They compensated by throwing another feast that third day, during which they discussed, of course, football.
Governor William Bradford sent four men on a fowling mission beforehand. We don’t know for sure what they brought back, but it might have been turkey. It also might have been ducks, geese, or swans, which explains the song they invented about the meal and the entertainment. If it hadn’t taken so much time to memorize it, the song would have been “The Twelve Days of Thanksgiving”. That would have turned our holiday world upside down.
Why are game birds called “fowl”? Because they had no refrigeration. It was a warning: “Eat it fast, before it’s fowl!”
On a related note, this has carried over into football, which during the first Thanksgiving was so primitive they had to watch it on a black and white TV, with no remote control, or a blimp. Whenever a player gets caught doing something that stinks, it’s called a foul. The spelling was changed during the Great Depression, when a letter shortage caused double U’s to be cut in half.
There was indeed an abundance of cranberries at the First Thanksgiving, mostly because the Natives used them as dye. (Good dye, although it tended to run in the washing machine.) By then the Pilgrims had run out of sugar, so there was no cranberry sauce or relish or anything cranberry to actually eat. That’s one of the things they were thankful for.
Potatoes were … absent. The Spanish had discovered them in South America, but they weren’t popular with the English yet. Instead they probably had seafood—lobster, clams, oysters, all that stuff you find on the Thanksgiving menu today. Actually, these days the closest we get to that is either oyster dressing or “see? Food!”
Pumpkin? Absolutely: in their pie, their coffee, donuts, milkshakes … kidding! Starbucks didn’t deliver. Actually they did have pumpkins, but no butter or flour for any kind of crust. They may have hollowed out the pumpkins, filled the shell with milk, honey, and spices, and roasted them in hot ashes.
I’m not making this up. I used to get paid to do this research.
I’m sure you’re all wondering what kind of beer they washed this all down with. I mean, Sam Adams, right? That’s the state beverage of Massachusetts. But no, it turns out they hadn’t had time to make beer, and didn’t yet have apples for cider, so they drank water. This helps explain all those Pilgrim paintings with dour expressions.
Add this to native foods like plums, grapes, leeks, and squash, and you get … *gasp* … a meal that’s good for you! It turns out health food nuts aren’t a new thing; it’s just that back then it was involuntary.
Interestingly, I found no reference from historical records about stuffing being served at the first Thanksgiving. I suspect the Pilgrims planned it, until the Wampanoag heard about the idea:
“So, once we get the birds ready, we’ll mix old bread crumbs and tasteless vegetables together, throw a bunch of spices on them, and stuff them up the fowl butt. Instant side dish!”
“Um … we’ll just take our smallpox blankets and go.”
Imagine how they reacted to fruitcake.
November 18, 2021
Edit, People ... Or Suffer My Fate
Let me tell you all a story of improper editing, and how I left a path of scorched earth behind me that no army could hope to replicate.
The worst part is: It's all my fault. Try as I might, I can't blame anyone else, an idea that sets people (especially politicians and mid-level management) quaking in fear.
But you can learn from my fate, if you're a writer. Or even if you're not.
While a literary agent isn't an absolute requirement to be traditionally published, they can open doors and otherwise be a great help to an author's career. What agents want in their submission packages varies, as I've mentioned before. Generally they ask for a query letter, an author bio, the opening pages of your book (anywhere from five pages to several chapters), and a synopsis.
Writers hate the synopsis. You have to boil your (in this case) 82,000 word novel down into just a couple of pages, which should reveal all your major characters, plot, setting, and ending. That's all. How hard could it be?
For most writers, it's pretty hard.
Okay, so I had an outline for We Love Trouble, but it was too long to serve as a typical synopsis. After months of writing, revising, editing, and polishing the manuscript, I had to carve that outline down even more. I was exhausted. But the job wasn't over, so I by-gosh carved out that synopsis, finishing when it was so late even the dog was asleep.
The next day, confident I had everything ready, I started submitting.
Now, most literary agents accept simultaneous submissions. That is to say, they don't mind if you submit to more than one at a time. Most publishers have a problem with that: They want to be the only publisher that can see your manuscript for several months before they send you a form rejection letter. That becomes an incredibly stressful waiting game for writers.
Just the same, a good author-agent relationship is vital, so I carefully select which agents I'm going to query. The synopsis stays the same, of course. Imagine writing a new synopsis every time! Since I do the extra research, over the course of two weeks I only submitted to fourteen agents. They were ones I thought would make for a good fit.
Then I went on to other things: Writing, editing, submitting short stories, occasionally sleeping. Replies began to trickle in, all but one of them form rejections. It appeared that my careful targeting impressed no one.
A couple of months later I got time to send more submissions. I skimmed over my materials, just to make sure I didn't want to change anything. That's when I discovered I had whittled my outline down to a synopsis ...
But I didn't check that synopsis for errors.
I sent it on rife with typos, misplaced words, and ... well, no spelling errors, but otherwise it was a trian wrack. Just like that, my two weeks of submitting was cleared away like a tornado sucking up a trailer park. If those agents remember me at all, it will be with the kind of dislike people reserve for drivers who cut them off in traffic. No one's perfect, but this wasn't one error: This was as if FDR started off his famous Pearl Harbor speech by getting the date wrong.
"December 6th, 1942 ... a date that will ... no, wait ...."
Since corrected, of course, but that doesn't get those agents back on my possibilities list. E-mail addresses can be whitelisted to allow them through--mine has been blacklisted. I can only hope they aren't swapping stories about me at agent conventions.
Learn from my fate. Edit. Polish. But for crying out loud, if you have to revise, go back and polish again. Some people will tell you too much time can be spent on editing, but I'm living proof that the opposite is also true.
Ah, well ... I'm sure I'll laugh about this someday.
No. No, I won't.
The worst part is: It's all my fault. Try as I might, I can't blame anyone else, an idea that sets people (especially politicians and mid-level management) quaking in fear.
But you can learn from my fate, if you're a writer. Or even if you're not.
While a literary agent isn't an absolute requirement to be traditionally published, they can open doors and otherwise be a great help to an author's career. What agents want in their submission packages varies, as I've mentioned before. Generally they ask for a query letter, an author bio, the opening pages of your book (anywhere from five pages to several chapters), and a synopsis.
Writers hate the synopsis. You have to boil your (in this case) 82,000 word novel down into just a couple of pages, which should reveal all your major characters, plot, setting, and ending. That's all. How hard could it be?
For most writers, it's pretty hard.
Okay, so I had an outline for We Love Trouble, but it was too long to serve as a typical synopsis. After months of writing, revising, editing, and polishing the manuscript, I had to carve that outline down even more. I was exhausted. But the job wasn't over, so I by-gosh carved out that synopsis, finishing when it was so late even the dog was asleep.
The next day, confident I had everything ready, I started submitting.
Now, most literary agents accept simultaneous submissions. That is to say, they don't mind if you submit to more than one at a time. Most publishers have a problem with that: They want to be the only publisher that can see your manuscript for several months before they send you a form rejection letter. That becomes an incredibly stressful waiting game for writers.
Just the same, a good author-agent relationship is vital, so I carefully select which agents I'm going to query. The synopsis stays the same, of course. Imagine writing a new synopsis every time! Since I do the extra research, over the course of two weeks I only submitted to fourteen agents. They were ones I thought would make for a good fit.
Then I went on to other things: Writing, editing, submitting short stories, occasionally sleeping. Replies began to trickle in, all but one of them form rejections. It appeared that my careful targeting impressed no one.
A couple of months later I got time to send more submissions. I skimmed over my materials, just to make sure I didn't want to change anything. That's when I discovered I had whittled my outline down to a synopsis ...
But I didn't check that synopsis for errors.
I sent it on rife with typos, misplaced words, and ... well, no spelling errors, but otherwise it was a trian wrack. Just like that, my two weeks of submitting was cleared away like a tornado sucking up a trailer park. If those agents remember me at all, it will be with the kind of dislike people reserve for drivers who cut them off in traffic. No one's perfect, but this wasn't one error: This was as if FDR started off his famous Pearl Harbor speech by getting the date wrong.
"December 6th, 1942 ... a date that will ... no, wait ...."
Since corrected, of course, but that doesn't get those agents back on my possibilities list. E-mail addresses can be whitelisted to allow them through--mine has been blacklisted. I can only hope they aren't swapping stories about me at agent conventions.
Learn from my fate. Edit. Polish. But for crying out loud, if you have to revise, go back and polish again. Some people will tell you too much time can be spent on editing, but I'm living proof that the opposite is also true.
Ah, well ... I'm sure I'll laugh about this someday.
No. No, I won't.
November 12, 2021
book review: Mort, by Terry Pratchett
Let me just get this out of the way: I, a humor writer, will never be as funny as Terry Pratchett.
But I don't feel so bad about that, because neither will you. Or him. Or her. Or almost anyone, with the possible exception of Douglas Adams. So why worry? Am I jealous? Yes. Yes, I am.
https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/comp...
https://www.amazon.com/Mort-Novel-Dis...
Mort is the fourth Discworld book, and the second I read, which I personally don't recommend. But I'd heard enough about them by then not to be surprised by, for instance, the fact that the Discworld is a flat planet, being carried on the back of four elephants, which ride on a giant turtle swimming through space. There's also magic--lots and lots of magic.
Mort is a teenager who's unsuited to the family business of farming, so his father takes him to a local hiring fair. At the last minute Mort is indeed taken on as an apprentice--by Death.
THAT Death.
Mort accompanies Death on his rounds, and when Mort tries to interfere with an assassination, his new boss warns him that deaths are predetermined, and he shouldn't mess with fate.
Naturally, that's exactly what Mort does, foiling another assassination attempt on a beautiful young princess. A happy ending? But although the princess is alive, no one seems to quite realize it unless she gets in their faces. Mort soon learns he's created an alternate reality. Unfortunately, actual reality doesn't like that at all, and begins to correct it--which will soon lead to the princess's death, among other bad things.
Meanwhile, Death ... well, Death takes a holiday.
Some authors can be funny, as with the first three Discworld novels; some can come up with clever, complicated plots; some can create memorable characters the reader comes to care about. Somehow, Terry Pratchett manages to do all three in Mort, with a seeming ease and grace that makes all other writers wonder what the heck is wrong with them.
Before his death Pratchett wrote more than forty Discworld books, which have been turned into every other form of entertainment imaginable. I can't imagine how anyone could read Mort and then not want to dive into the entire universe. (You might also want to check out "The Watch", a TV series that's pretty good even though only very loosely based on the original.)
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
But I don't feel so bad about that, because neither will you. Or him. Or her. Or almost anyone, with the possible exception of Douglas Adams. So why worry? Am I jealous? Yes. Yes, I am.
https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/comp...
https://www.amazon.com/Mort-Novel-Dis...
Mort is the fourth Discworld book, and the second I read, which I personally don't recommend. But I'd heard enough about them by then not to be surprised by, for instance, the fact that the Discworld is a flat planet, being carried on the back of four elephants, which ride on a giant turtle swimming through space. There's also magic--lots and lots of magic.
Mort is a teenager who's unsuited to the family business of farming, so his father takes him to a local hiring fair. At the last minute Mort is indeed taken on as an apprentice--by Death.
THAT Death.
Mort accompanies Death on his rounds, and when Mort tries to interfere with an assassination, his new boss warns him that deaths are predetermined, and he shouldn't mess with fate.
Naturally, that's exactly what Mort does, foiling another assassination attempt on a beautiful young princess. A happy ending? But although the princess is alive, no one seems to quite realize it unless she gets in their faces. Mort soon learns he's created an alternate reality. Unfortunately, actual reality doesn't like that at all, and begins to correct it--which will soon lead to the princess's death, among other bad things.
Meanwhile, Death ... well, Death takes a holiday.
Some authors can be funny, as with the first three Discworld novels; some can come up with clever, complicated plots; some can create memorable characters the reader comes to care about. Somehow, Terry Pratchett manages to do all three in Mort, with a seeming ease and grace that makes all other writers wonder what the heck is wrong with them.
Before his death Pratchett wrote more than forty Discworld books, which have been turned into every other form of entertainment imaginable. I can't imagine how anyone could read Mort and then not want to dive into the entire universe. (You might also want to check out "The Watch", a TV series that's pretty good even though only very loosely based on the original.)
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
November 10, 2021
I've been (flu) shot
In all the decades I've been getting an annual flu shot, this is the first time I can remember having a reaction. (I'm fine now, other than being up with insomnia.) Not anything serious--a little nausea, headache, some fatigue and, I realized in retrospect, just a bit of a fever. Almost a normal vacation day, for me.
It was within twenty-four hours of getting my allergy shots, but I doubt that's connected unless I'm allergic to needles.
The way I see it, since I haven't had my knee operated on like Emily, I don't have any room to complain. Beowulf is keeping me company ... well, he was until I finished my toast, then he rolled over and went to sleep.
It was within twenty-four hours of getting my allergy shots, but I doubt that's connected unless I'm allergic to needles.
The way I see it, since I haven't had my knee operated on like Emily, I don't have any room to complain. Beowulf is keeping me company ... well, he was until I finished my toast, then he rolled over and went to sleep.
October 29, 2021
Halloween Was More Fun In The Dangerous Days
Unless you’re one of those people of questionable sanity who likes cold weather, October has little to offer Hoosiers except autumn colors and Halloween. By the end of the month the leaves have started to fall and the days are criminally short. This gives me a feeling of bleakness and dread that …
Come to think of it, bleakness and dread are very Halloweenie.
But no matter how you feel about the weather (it stinks), Halloween is the beginning of snack season. Through Thanksgiving and Christmas and on to Valentine’s Day, we get to pack on a nice layer of fat against the cold.
It doesn’t really help. But what the heck, any excuse for chocolate.
These days I’m expected to turn on my porch light and give candy to other people, but I’d rather hide in the dark and let the dog scare off anyone who approaches. There’s a cocoa shortage, people—chocolate charity begins at home.
But when I was younger, Halloween was one of the highlights of the year. In elementary school we’d spend October making decorations of ghosts, witches, and of course pumpkins with scary faces.
I wonder if that’s allowed, these days? They’ve probably banned that kind of stuff from public schools, along with cardboard pilgrims and anything Christmas. I liked the pilgrims, although even then I knew they’d be toast without Squanto and his corn crop. Not that they had any toast.
Where was I? Oh yeah—candy. My family didn’t exactly hand out candy like candy. Back then treats were, well, a treat. But on one glorious night we could collect enough to keep us going until Thanksgiving.
It wasn’t seen as a dangerous holiday, at the time. (This would be in the 70s. No, wait. Let’s change that to the 80s. Yeah, the 80s.) On the contrary, this was the night when it was quite literally okay to take candy from strangers.
Our dad would load us into the back of his El Camino for a trip to the store, where we would find highly flammable costumes and masks that rendered us mostly blind, then—
Oh, the El Camino? Well, it’s kind of a half car, half pickup truck. We didn’t worry about belting into the too-small front, because there were no seat belts.
Anyway, we waited until it got pitch dark and then hit the streets, methodically knocking on every door. Sometimes we’d get apples, which was not exactly a jump for joy moment. Packaged candy was okay, but the really nice people would make things from scratch, like those wonderful popcorn balls or caramel apples—which beat plain apples hands down.
The only glitch I remember is when we reached the home of a deaf old fellow who had no idea it was Halloween. He was probably the guy who later invented the idea of only trick or treating at homes with porch lights on. Or, maybe he was hoarding his chocolate.
Wait ... I'm now the old guy.
Just as our parents passed out the last of their candy, we got home with more candy. It was important to eat the homemade stuff, like caramel apples and popcorn balls, first. If you weren’t too much of a glutton, you could string the rest along for weeks.
The times were so much less dangerous.
Some of you might be horrified by this. Some might smile at the exaggeration, then be horrified to discover it wasn’t an exaggeration: That’s the way it happened for some of us in the small towns of the mid-70s—I mean, 80s. This was a time when, if we did something stupid like walk in the middle of the street, our parents would get three phone calls and be standing at the front door by the time we made it home. When everyone knows everyone else, it’s not as dangerous as it sounds on paper.
We did know about the dangers, as shown in the very first short story I ever had published, in the late … 80s. It was about a hungry vampire who drinks his own blood after biting down on a razor blade inside a Halloween apple. If anyone still has that old copy of the Central Noble High School Cat Tracks, you’ll find the story to be very, very bad.
Just the same, the worst thing we ever experienced was a tummy ache.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Come to think of it, bleakness and dread are very Halloweenie.
But no matter how you feel about the weather (it stinks), Halloween is the beginning of snack season. Through Thanksgiving and Christmas and on to Valentine’s Day, we get to pack on a nice layer of fat against the cold.
It doesn’t really help. But what the heck, any excuse for chocolate.
These days I’m expected to turn on my porch light and give candy to other people, but I’d rather hide in the dark and let the dog scare off anyone who approaches. There’s a cocoa shortage, people—chocolate charity begins at home.
But when I was younger, Halloween was one of the highlights of the year. In elementary school we’d spend October making decorations of ghosts, witches, and of course pumpkins with scary faces.
I wonder if that’s allowed, these days? They’ve probably banned that kind of stuff from public schools, along with cardboard pilgrims and anything Christmas. I liked the pilgrims, although even then I knew they’d be toast without Squanto and his corn crop. Not that they had any toast.
Where was I? Oh yeah—candy. My family didn’t exactly hand out candy like candy. Back then treats were, well, a treat. But on one glorious night we could collect enough to keep us going until Thanksgiving.
It wasn’t seen as a dangerous holiday, at the time. (This would be in the 70s. No, wait. Let’s change that to the 80s. Yeah, the 80s.) On the contrary, this was the night when it was quite literally okay to take candy from strangers.
Our dad would load us into the back of his El Camino for a trip to the store, where we would find highly flammable costumes and masks that rendered us mostly blind, then—
Oh, the El Camino? Well, it’s kind of a half car, half pickup truck. We didn’t worry about belting into the too-small front, because there were no seat belts.
Anyway, we waited until it got pitch dark and then hit the streets, methodically knocking on every door. Sometimes we’d get apples, which was not exactly a jump for joy moment. Packaged candy was okay, but the really nice people would make things from scratch, like those wonderful popcorn balls or caramel apples—which beat plain apples hands down.
The only glitch I remember is when we reached the home of a deaf old fellow who had no idea it was Halloween. He was probably the guy who later invented the idea of only trick or treating at homes with porch lights on. Or, maybe he was hoarding his chocolate.
Wait ... I'm now the old guy.
Just as our parents passed out the last of their candy, we got home with more candy. It was important to eat the homemade stuff, like caramel apples and popcorn balls, first. If you weren’t too much of a glutton, you could string the rest along for weeks.
The times were so much less dangerous.
Some of you might be horrified by this. Some might smile at the exaggeration, then be horrified to discover it wasn’t an exaggeration: That’s the way it happened for some of us in the small towns of the mid-70s—I mean, 80s. This was a time when, if we did something stupid like walk in the middle of the street, our parents would get three phone calls and be standing at the front door by the time we made it home. When everyone knows everyone else, it’s not as dangerous as it sounds on paper.
We did know about the dangers, as shown in the very first short story I ever had published, in the late … 80s. It was about a hungry vampire who drinks his own blood after biting down on a razor blade inside a Halloween apple. If anyone still has that old copy of the Central Noble High School Cat Tracks, you’ll find the story to be very, very bad.
Just the same, the worst thing we ever experienced was a tummy ache.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
October 20, 2021
It's a rough, rough draft when we get serious
Now that I've finished the final draft of my new novel and handed it over to Emily to edit, I had to go back and figure out why I started working on it in the first place.
Ordinarily, when I finish writing a novel I like to have it finished--as good and polished as I can get it, before I move on to a new project. I also want to have it in circulation: submitted to literary agents and/or publishers, depending on the way I'm going.
That's where I have Fire On Mist Creek, Beowulf: In Harm's Way, and We Love Trouble, searching for attention in the cold, cruel world. Smoke Showing is our upcoming non-fiction book, and it doesn't count because it was waiting for Emily's contribution when her work schedule lightened up in the fall. (Then I put her to work editing something else, so never mind.)
(I came up with all these titles; can you tell?)
So, four books I should be either self-publishing or submitting for traditionally publication. Then there's The Source Emerald, which Emily sent me notes on, and as a result now waits for another look. (The book, not Emily.) Add to that our already-published books, which are begging for some promotion and publicity time.
So when I finished the rough draft of "Found Dog Antique Fire Truck Romance Story" (still blocked on a title), it suddenly occurred to me: Why did I start a new book in the first place?
When I realized I started it in early spring, I remembered why.
My brother passed away at the end of January, and I started the new story about two months later, when the weather was still wintry-crappy. That was why I did it: depression. I don't mind editing or polishing a story, and I don't hate submitting, and I pretend I don't hate promotion ... but it's the writing, the actually telling of the story, that I love. So, to battle feeling down, I started work on a new book in April.
As long as I was doing that, I told my wife, I would also use the new story to work through my grief over Jeff's death. My wife asked me if that was a good idea and I told her something along the lines of, "I know what I'm doing.".
Notice how people who say that so often don't?
Now that the "final" draft is done, it's a pretty good story, although it needed more editing than usual. However, it's not the story I had in mind.
You see, I write in several genres, and one of them is romance. Now, there's nothing wrong with a guy writing romance, although it isn't common. However, all mine so far have been romantic comedies. That's what I like to read (and watch), so that's what I like to write. This was going to be one, too.
Should have known better.
Oh, it still has humorous parts, but let's take a look at some of the subjects covered in the novel: cancer; family loss; puppy mills; animal cruelty; winter depression (seasonal affected disorder); and the stages of grief.
This was supposed to cheer me up?
The final story isn't as dark as that makes it sound, but it certainly couldn't be described with the word "comedy". So, here goes a dive into another sub-genre. How many am I up to, now? In addition to those there's humor, young adult, science fiction, mystery, history, and ... well, I guess The Source Emerald is urban fantasy, given that it has magic being used in modern society. If I had a publicist, they'd be horrified.
But what the heck ... writing's still my thing, and I still love it--even when it's therapeutic.
Genres? Yeah, we got genres.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Ordinarily, when I finish writing a novel I like to have it finished--as good and polished as I can get it, before I move on to a new project. I also want to have it in circulation: submitted to literary agents and/or publishers, depending on the way I'm going.
That's where I have Fire On Mist Creek, Beowulf: In Harm's Way, and We Love Trouble, searching for attention in the cold, cruel world. Smoke Showing is our upcoming non-fiction book, and it doesn't count because it was waiting for Emily's contribution when her work schedule lightened up in the fall. (Then I put her to work editing something else, so never mind.)
(I came up with all these titles; can you tell?)
So, four books I should be either self-publishing or submitting for traditionally publication. Then there's The Source Emerald, which Emily sent me notes on, and as a result now waits for another look. (The book, not Emily.) Add to that our already-published books, which are begging for some promotion and publicity time.
So when I finished the rough draft of "Found Dog Antique Fire Truck Romance Story" (still blocked on a title), it suddenly occurred to me: Why did I start a new book in the first place?
When I realized I started it in early spring, I remembered why.
My brother passed away at the end of January, and I started the new story about two months later, when the weather was still wintry-crappy. That was why I did it: depression. I don't mind editing or polishing a story, and I don't hate submitting, and I pretend I don't hate promotion ... but it's the writing, the actually telling of the story, that I love. So, to battle feeling down, I started work on a new book in April.
As long as I was doing that, I told my wife, I would also use the new story to work through my grief over Jeff's death. My wife asked me if that was a good idea and I told her something along the lines of, "I know what I'm doing.".
Notice how people who say that so often don't?
Now that the "final" draft is done, it's a pretty good story, although it needed more editing than usual. However, it's not the story I had in mind.
You see, I write in several genres, and one of them is romance. Now, there's nothing wrong with a guy writing romance, although it isn't common. However, all mine so far have been romantic comedies. That's what I like to read (and watch), so that's what I like to write. This was going to be one, too.
Should have known better.
Oh, it still has humorous parts, but let's take a look at some of the subjects covered in the novel: cancer; family loss; puppy mills; animal cruelty; winter depression (seasonal affected disorder); and the stages of grief.
This was supposed to cheer me up?
The final story isn't as dark as that makes it sound, but it certainly couldn't be described with the word "comedy". So, here goes a dive into another sub-genre. How many am I up to, now? In addition to those there's humor, young adult, science fiction, mystery, history, and ... well, I guess The Source Emerald is urban fantasy, given that it has magic being used in modern society. If I had a publicist, they'd be horrified.
But what the heck ... writing's still my thing, and I still love it--even when it's therapeutic.
Genres? Yeah, we got genres.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
October 15, 2021
Getting a Leg Up On Knee Surgery
Well, it's been four days since Emily had knee surgery, I think ... I don't know, I haven't slept since then.
We thought we'd have about four weeks from the time everything was confirmed until the operation, so I made plans to get certain things done in a certain amount of time. Then they had a cancellation, and suddenly we had five days.
Now that I think about it, maybe it was for the best that I didn't have a lot of time to think about it.
Emily had to have her ACL rebuilt. That's in the knee--I'd been telling everyone the ACLU was damaged, which caused some confusion. It turns out the ACL is actually the anterior cruciate ligament, and aren't we glad they shortened that? She also had a tear in the meniscus, which is also in the knee and not something you have with gravy.
We don't know for sure how she damaged her knee. Yes, it's possible all the hopping on and off horses at her job is connected, but sometimes it's the smallest thing. I once pulled a back muscle while hopping over a puddle, not that I'll ever admit it.
The surgery team got her all fixed up, held us there until we surrendered a major credit card (buy our books!), then sent us home--the same day. They scheduled physical therapy to start two days later, which seemed like a terrible idea and afterward still seems like a terrible idea.
The out-patient thing sounded great. Who wants to be in the hospital longer than they have to? Of course, it also means someone at home had to do the stuff hospital staffs used to do, and why is everyone looking at me?
I'm doing--eh--okay, as a nurse. At least I did once we got her up the steps and inside the house, which required the help of two police officers, one friend, and a husband with a bad back. The friend then prepared a meal for Emily, who hadn't eaten in many hours, and me, who had no excuse.
A few other details of the week:
We did stock up on foods I could prepare (e.g., with instructions of five lines or less). My areas of cooking expertise include homemade popcorn; egg sandwiches; and microwaves. She has, thus far, not starved.
Thigh-high stockings can be sexy. Compression stockings are not. Now that I've helped put a pair on, I understand why pantyhose are going out of style.
It took only a few times of lecturing the dog and then having to shove him out of the way before he realized the appearance of a four-legged Emily means he needs to go lay on his bed until we pass.
On a related note, he likes to check up on his humans, and having them sleep in two different rooms drove him crazy. He finally settled on laying in one room, by the doorway to the other.
Our biggest challenge was utilizing the bathroom. Our house was built without plumbing, and eventually someone carved a corner out of the kitchen to make a bathroom. You can literally stand in the middle of it and touch three walls--four, if you lean over the bathtub. The door opens inward, and with it open it's impossible for someone with crutches to get inside at all, let alone reach the toilet.
So I removed the door.
Not as impressive as it sounds--I learned in basic firefighting class how to take a door off its hinges. The dog was very confused, but I didn't think anything of it until the first time I had to go to the bathroom. I felt like I was sitting in a porta-potty with no door on it.
So, that's how our week has gone. The physical therapist/torturer seems to think Emily's doing well, and now that the spinal block has worn off she's getting around. I just changed the dressing, which took five minutes, and helped her get the compression stockings on, which took two hours. We're recovering from that, then I'm going to cook her a great meal. Oh, wait--we're out of frozen pizza.
Well, then ... an okay meal.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
We thought we'd have about four weeks from the time everything was confirmed until the operation, so I made plans to get certain things done in a certain amount of time. Then they had a cancellation, and suddenly we had five days.
Now that I think about it, maybe it was for the best that I didn't have a lot of time to think about it.
Emily had to have her ACL rebuilt. That's in the knee--I'd been telling everyone the ACLU was damaged, which caused some confusion. It turns out the ACL is actually the anterior cruciate ligament, and aren't we glad they shortened that? She also had a tear in the meniscus, which is also in the knee and not something you have with gravy.
We don't know for sure how she damaged her knee. Yes, it's possible all the hopping on and off horses at her job is connected, but sometimes it's the smallest thing. I once pulled a back muscle while hopping over a puddle, not that I'll ever admit it.
The surgery team got her all fixed up, held us there until we surrendered a major credit card (buy our books!), then sent us home--the same day. They scheduled physical therapy to start two days later, which seemed like a terrible idea and afterward still seems like a terrible idea.
The out-patient thing sounded great. Who wants to be in the hospital longer than they have to? Of course, it also means someone at home had to do the stuff hospital staffs used to do, and why is everyone looking at me?
I'm doing--eh--okay, as a nurse. At least I did once we got her up the steps and inside the house, which required the help of two police officers, one friend, and a husband with a bad back. The friend then prepared a meal for Emily, who hadn't eaten in many hours, and me, who had no excuse.
A few other details of the week:
We did stock up on foods I could prepare (e.g., with instructions of five lines or less). My areas of cooking expertise include homemade popcorn; egg sandwiches; and microwaves. She has, thus far, not starved.
Thigh-high stockings can be sexy. Compression stockings are not. Now that I've helped put a pair on, I understand why pantyhose are going out of style.
It took only a few times of lecturing the dog and then having to shove him out of the way before he realized the appearance of a four-legged Emily means he needs to go lay on his bed until we pass.
On a related note, he likes to check up on his humans, and having them sleep in two different rooms drove him crazy. He finally settled on laying in one room, by the doorway to the other.
Our biggest challenge was utilizing the bathroom. Our house was built without plumbing, and eventually someone carved a corner out of the kitchen to make a bathroom. You can literally stand in the middle of it and touch three walls--four, if you lean over the bathtub. The door opens inward, and with it open it's impossible for someone with crutches to get inside at all, let alone reach the toilet.
So I removed the door.
Not as impressive as it sounds--I learned in basic firefighting class how to take a door off its hinges. The dog was very confused, but I didn't think anything of it until the first time I had to go to the bathroom. I felt like I was sitting in a porta-potty with no door on it.
So, that's how our week has gone. The physical therapist/torturer seems to think Emily's doing well, and now that the spinal block has worn off she's getting around. I just changed the dressing, which took five minutes, and helped her get the compression stockings on, which took two hours. We're recovering from that, then I'm going to cook her a great meal. Oh, wait--we're out of frozen pizza.
Well, then ... an okay meal.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
October 7, 2021
The Fox Den: Is bacon flavored coffee next?
I don't eat a lot of scones. But when a new coffee shop here in Albion came out with something called a bacon cheddar scone ... well, there are always exceptions.
The Fox Den is in the old Black Building (which is green), at the main intersection in Albion. (The building gets a mention in our books Images of America: Albion and Noble County and Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights.) It used to be the Noble Art Gallery, which I was disappointed to see go because I hate to see any Albion business go, and also because they were one of the few brick and mortar places where you could find my books for sale. Also, the art was cool. And they had scrapbooks of old Albion newspapers that were fascinating to poke through.
I was really disappointed.
But on the other hand, no one in that storefront has, to my knowledge, offered bacon cheddar anything, at least since John and Mid's Restaurant was there forty or so years ago.
I know what you're thinking: So, how was the scone? Fair question. But before I forget, Emily and I did encounter something there I found exciting.
That's right: books! Hey, we all get excitement our own way. Sadly, none of them were my books, but don't you need something to read, for long mornings (or afternoons) sitting and sipping? Not sipping scones, that would be silly, but coffee shops quite often serve beverages.
Oh, and more food than just scones, too. It's worth checking out if you happen to be near Albion, or going through Albion, or anchoring your hot air balloon on the courthouse.
Oh, yeah, I almost forgot: The bacon cheddar scones are spectacular, and by that I mean really good. We got ours to go, which isn't the preferred way to do it, but hopefully we'll get a chance to hibernate up there a little longer, next time.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
The Fox Den is in the old Black Building (which is green), at the main intersection in Albion. (The building gets a mention in our books Images of America: Albion and Noble County and Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights.) It used to be the Noble Art Gallery, which I was disappointed to see go because I hate to see any Albion business go, and also because they were one of the few brick and mortar places where you could find my books for sale. Also, the art was cool. And they had scrapbooks of old Albion newspapers that were fascinating to poke through.
I was really disappointed.
But on the other hand, no one in that storefront has, to my knowledge, offered bacon cheddar anything, at least since John and Mid's Restaurant was there forty or so years ago.
I know what you're thinking: So, how was the scone? Fair question. But before I forget, Emily and I did encounter something there I found exciting.
That's right: books! Hey, we all get excitement our own way. Sadly, none of them were my books, but don't you need something to read, for long mornings (or afternoons) sitting and sipping? Not sipping scones, that would be silly, but coffee shops quite often serve beverages.
Oh, and more food than just scones, too. It's worth checking out if you happen to be near Albion, or going through Albion, or anchoring your hot air balloon on the courthouse.
Oh, yeah, I almost forgot: The bacon cheddar scones are spectacular, and by that I mean really good. We got ours to go, which isn't the preferred way to do it, but hopefully we'll get a chance to hibernate up there a little longer, next time.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
