Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 33
May 9, 2020
Support Your Local Saddle Barn
You can see the photos on this post here:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2020...
--------------------------------------------------------
Like many small businesses in the time of Covid-19, things are a little tough for the Pokagon State Park Saddle Barn this year. (Yes, it’s inside a state park, but the Saddle Barn itself is a private business.) At this point they do plan to open sometime close to Memorial Day weekend (I’ll get back to you on the exact day), but they’ll only be able to work at half capacity and will have comply with Indiana's Covid-19 guidelines. Ordinarily they open for weekends in March, then go seven days a week starting Memorial Day.
So here’s an idea to support a local business—you can buy your own Pokagon Saddle Barn t-shirt:
https://www.customink.com/fundraising...
I know it’s cool, and you can buy your own, or at least donate to the cause. Like many businesses of the equestrian variety (it's a real word, I looked it up), the people who work at the Saddle Barn love horses. I should know: My wife is one of them. But the horses don't just go into suspended animation between seasons. They’re living beings who need food, veterinary care, medicine, pasture space, and of course insurance—all year round. That's the short list.
This year they need a little extra support.
The funds raised will go to Deena Coleman, the business owner, so she can keep all the horses and be ready for when things get a bit more back to normal. She's been running the barn for over 30 years, and hasn't raised prices in at least 10. So please, get yourself a shirt! That’s what friends are for.
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2020...
--------------------------------------------------------
Like many small businesses in the time of Covid-19, things are a little tough for the Pokagon State Park Saddle Barn this year. (Yes, it’s inside a state park, but the Saddle Barn itself is a private business.) At this point they do plan to open sometime close to Memorial Day weekend (I’ll get back to you on the exact day), but they’ll only be able to work at half capacity and will have comply with Indiana's Covid-19 guidelines. Ordinarily they open for weekends in March, then go seven days a week starting Memorial Day.
So here’s an idea to support a local business—you can buy your own Pokagon Saddle Barn t-shirt:
https://www.customink.com/fundraising...
I know it’s cool, and you can buy your own, or at least donate to the cause. Like many businesses of the equestrian variety (it's a real word, I looked it up), the people who work at the Saddle Barn love horses. I should know: My wife is one of them. But the horses don't just go into suspended animation between seasons. They’re living beings who need food, veterinary care, medicine, pasture space, and of course insurance—all year round. That's the short list.
This year they need a little extra support.
The funds raised will go to Deena Coleman, the business owner, so she can keep all the horses and be ready for when things get a bit more back to normal. She's been running the barn for over 30 years, and hasn't raised prices in at least 10. So please, get yourself a shirt! That’s what friends are for.
May 8, 2020
Albion Fire Department Fish Fry Is On this Year
After some discussion, the Albion Volunteer Fire Department has decided to go ahead and hold our annual fish fry, on Wednesday, June 10th. The fish fry, a decades long fund raising tradition for the AFD, is normally held on the Wednesday of the Chain O' Lakes Festival. Although the Festival was canceled this year due to the coronavirus situation, AFD members decided to go ahead with their event on a limited basis.
This year's fish fry will be a take-out only event, to avoid having a large number of people gathered together. That means it can't be all-you-can-eat. There is also a change in the menu, as the firefighters usually serve tenderloin, but that's coming up short this year due to pandemic-related meat supply shortages. Chicken will be the other meat served, instead.
Prices are $11.00 for adults, and $7.00 for children, and the event runs from 4:40-7:30 p.m. at the firehouse, at 210 Fire Station Drive.
So join us on June 10th--at least for a little while--on a drive-up and carry out basis. We hope to see you there!
Funds raised go to such areas as firefighter training, not to mention the equipment they train with.
This year's fish fry will be a take-out only event, to avoid having a large number of people gathered together. That means it can't be all-you-can-eat. There is also a change in the menu, as the firefighters usually serve tenderloin, but that's coming up short this year due to pandemic-related meat supply shortages. Chicken will be the other meat served, instead.
Prices are $11.00 for adults, and $7.00 for children, and the event runs from 4:40-7:30 p.m. at the firehouse, at 210 Fire Station Drive.
So join us on June 10th--at least for a little while--on a drive-up and carry out basis. We hope to see you there!
Funds raised go to such areas as firefighter training, not to mention the equipment they train with.
May 5, 2020
April 15th is Scary, Even Until June
There was a certain irony a few years ago, when I finished doing my taxes on April Fools’ Day.
Come to think of it, it’s a wonder the director of the Internal Revenue Service didn’t hold a press conference that day: “You know how we set up this huge, expensive, insanely complicated way of doing your income taxes, that has more twists and turns than an Alfred Hitchcock movie? April Fools!”
That would explain a lot.
This year I got my taxes done early, which prompted the fates (who have a sense of humor) to change the deadline. One of the few good things about the coronavirus outbreak is that if you ran behind on getting your returns done, you were golden for another few months. But I got mine done earlier than usual.
Ha, ha.
Anyone who wonders why I usually finish my taxes close to the deadline never went long form. It was also about money: A few years ago I expected to owe, and up until then didn’t have the cash. My part time job was as a freelance writer, which means my publisher didn’t take taxes out. (But they did pay me, so yay!) It was a recipe for that old joke about simplifying IRS forms: “1. How much did you make last year? 2. Send it in.”
In the end I got a bit of a refund. A refund, by the way, is when you jump up and down excitedly and make big plans to use the money your government was so nice to send you, completely forgetting that it was your money to begin with.
The bigger reason why I waited so long is because until the last few years, I was too cheap to pay somebody else to do my return. That’s selfish, considering over $150 billion dollars are spent just filing taxes in America every year, and how many people does that keep employed? If the feds ever did simplify the tax code, it could collapse an entire industry. Not just one, but two – the market for headache medicine would decrease substantially.
Because I worked four jobs that year (no wonder I was so tired), and two of my employers didn’t take out taxes, going “EZ” was out of the question. Instead I had to use the long form, code named “SU”, which of course stands for “Stroke-Ulcer”.
Luckily, I have a carefully organized filing cabinet, with folders dividing up everything so that finding the necessary paperwork would be quick and painless. It would have, if I used that filing cabinet. Instead, I spent the year piling bills and receipts on every available surface of the house. First step: ransacking the residence.
Then I organized materials into one pile for the stuff I knew I’d need, and one pile for the stuff my paranoia told me I’d need, but I never really do. Then came work-related spending, such as calculators, pens, notebooks, highlighters, aspirin, highly caffeinated soft drink …
By the way, do not drink alcohol during this operation. One wrong calculation or smart aleck notation, and you’re sitting in an office with a man whose job description includes the words “make miserable”.
Then I fired up the online tax preparation program. See, I wasn’t crazy enough to do this stuff from scratch with no assistance at all. My wife short-formed that year (EZ – ha!) and it still took her two hours.
Overall it took an entire weekend to do my federal and state income tax returns – a bit more if you figure in recovery time. Since I don’t drink, recovery time took longer.
“Couldn’t we just find a way to simplify the tax code?” Capital idea, but it flies in the face of history. Every attempt to make figuring income taxes easier has just made it more complicated. Every attempt to close a loophole opened a dozen new ones. It’s almost as if Washington was full of lawyers, bureaucrats, and career politicians who know we can’t be bothered to vote them out ... but surely that’s not the problem?
Complicated as it might seem to us peons, it costs only eleven billion dollars or so to operate the IRS every year. That’s small change, in Washington. So small, in fact, that I sent a letter to my Congressman asking for just one percent of that to help stimulate my economy. He sent me a thank you and an invitation to his next town hall meeting, which I can’t afford the gas to drive to.
So it’s done, and I get enough of a refund of my own money to pay my property tax bill, which again – ironic. My donation surely takes the Federal budget out of the red, and they’ll have that pesky trillion dollar budget deficit taken care of in no time.
Meanwhile, my refund will get me enough fuel to reach the pharmacy, for more aspirin.
Come to think of it, it’s a wonder the director of the Internal Revenue Service didn’t hold a press conference that day: “You know how we set up this huge, expensive, insanely complicated way of doing your income taxes, that has more twists and turns than an Alfred Hitchcock movie? April Fools!”
That would explain a lot.
This year I got my taxes done early, which prompted the fates (who have a sense of humor) to change the deadline. One of the few good things about the coronavirus outbreak is that if you ran behind on getting your returns done, you were golden for another few months. But I got mine done earlier than usual.
Ha, ha.
Anyone who wonders why I usually finish my taxes close to the deadline never went long form. It was also about money: A few years ago I expected to owe, and up until then didn’t have the cash. My part time job was as a freelance writer, which means my publisher didn’t take taxes out. (But they did pay me, so yay!) It was a recipe for that old joke about simplifying IRS forms: “1. How much did you make last year? 2. Send it in.”
In the end I got a bit of a refund. A refund, by the way, is when you jump up and down excitedly and make big plans to use the money your government was so nice to send you, completely forgetting that it was your money to begin with.
The bigger reason why I waited so long is because until the last few years, I was too cheap to pay somebody else to do my return. That’s selfish, considering over $150 billion dollars are spent just filing taxes in America every year, and how many people does that keep employed? If the feds ever did simplify the tax code, it could collapse an entire industry. Not just one, but two – the market for headache medicine would decrease substantially.
Because I worked four jobs that year (no wonder I was so tired), and two of my employers didn’t take out taxes, going “EZ” was out of the question. Instead I had to use the long form, code named “SU”, which of course stands for “Stroke-Ulcer”.
Luckily, I have a carefully organized filing cabinet, with folders dividing up everything so that finding the necessary paperwork would be quick and painless. It would have, if I used that filing cabinet. Instead, I spent the year piling bills and receipts on every available surface of the house. First step: ransacking the residence.
Then I organized materials into one pile for the stuff I knew I’d need, and one pile for the stuff my paranoia told me I’d need, but I never really do. Then came work-related spending, such as calculators, pens, notebooks, highlighters, aspirin, highly caffeinated soft drink …
By the way, do not drink alcohol during this operation. One wrong calculation or smart aleck notation, and you’re sitting in an office with a man whose job description includes the words “make miserable”.
Then I fired up the online tax preparation program. See, I wasn’t crazy enough to do this stuff from scratch with no assistance at all. My wife short-formed that year (EZ – ha!) and it still took her two hours.
Overall it took an entire weekend to do my federal and state income tax returns – a bit more if you figure in recovery time. Since I don’t drink, recovery time took longer.
“Couldn’t we just find a way to simplify the tax code?” Capital idea, but it flies in the face of history. Every attempt to make figuring income taxes easier has just made it more complicated. Every attempt to close a loophole opened a dozen new ones. It’s almost as if Washington was full of lawyers, bureaucrats, and career politicians who know we can’t be bothered to vote them out ... but surely that’s not the problem?
Complicated as it might seem to us peons, it costs only eleven billion dollars or so to operate the IRS every year. That’s small change, in Washington. So small, in fact, that I sent a letter to my Congressman asking for just one percent of that to help stimulate my economy. He sent me a thank you and an invitation to his next town hall meeting, which I can’t afford the gas to drive to.
So it’s done, and I get enough of a refund of my own money to pay my property tax bill, which again – ironic. My donation surely takes the Federal budget out of the red, and they’ll have that pesky trillion dollar budget deficit taken care of in no time.
Meanwhile, my refund will get me enough fuel to reach the pharmacy, for more aspirin.
April 25, 2020
My Long History With Short Stories
This seems to have unintentionally become short story month on my blog, which is ironic considering how very long April has been this year. What the heck: Here's the full story of the magazine publication I mentioned earlier, and why it's a big deal for me.
----------------------------------------------------------------
To understand how big a deal this is, you have to understand I've been writing short stories since I was eleven years old. Maybe ten. Maybe twelve, who knows?
I can't show you those stories, to demonstrate how good they were. Even if they still existed I couldn't, because--well--they weren't good. But I got started early, and all through middle and high school I wrote short stories (instead of studying), along with the occasional novel draft (which were also bad).
I wasn't yet eighteen when I started submitting them to science fiction magazines. (At the time all my short stories were SF, while my longer works were split between SF and firefighting adventures.) My submissions had one thing in common with my stories: They were bad.
But they got better. That's what it's all about.
As time went by I took three correspondence courses on writing, and filled a bookshelf full of volumes on writing, and read huge amounts of fiction, and got better. My aim: Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, the cream of the crop as far as I was concerned. It's still around, now called Asmov's Science Fiction:
https://www.asimovs.com/
And its editors still reject me, from time to time. It's nice to have traditions.
Meanwhile, when my first novel was published, I told the publisher that I'd written some related short stories I wanted to give away, to promote the book. They said, "Sure--just send them all in, we'll publish them together!"
I said, "Huh?"
So I wrote even more short stories to fill it out, put them all in one manuscript, and they published it as Storm Chaser Shorts, a title I'm afraid I have to take the blame for. They're pretty good, if I do say so myself ... but they weren't magazine publication.
Meanwhile, I was a humor columnist for local newspapers, and they printed some Christmas related short stories by me. Then I got some stories printed in anthologies, which was great. But, doggone it, I wanted that first magazine credit! By now it had become a forty-five year obsession. I'd been collecting rejection letters in a box, until they went digital and I collected them in an e-mail box. Sometimes I'd get encouraging personal rejections, which in this industry is so close to in, but they were still rejections.
Then, one day, an e-mail came back that said, "Readable story." It seemed like the beginning of another "pretty good but" rejection, but it was just understatement.
My trials and tribulations weren't quite over, because the magazine's publisher had an illness and death in the family. I was accepted in September of last year, and it wasn't until the March issue of this year that "Grocery Purgatory" hit the cover of "The Fifth Di ..." I either missed it or it actually came out late, because I was surprised with a contributor's copy in April.
https://www.bookdepository.com/Fifth-...
And there it is, at 98 pages a magazine so thick it's almost a book, for just ten bucks and change. You want to do me a favor? You do? I thought so. Order you and your family a copy, tell all your friends, and get the word around. Why? Because I want to get published in more magazines. Maybe even, someday, Asimov's.
And even after throwing away the bad ones, I still have stories to submit ... and even more to write.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
----------------------------------------------------------------
To understand how big a deal this is, you have to understand I've been writing short stories since I was eleven years old. Maybe ten. Maybe twelve, who knows?
I can't show you those stories, to demonstrate how good they were. Even if they still existed I couldn't, because--well--they weren't good. But I got started early, and all through middle and high school I wrote short stories (instead of studying), along with the occasional novel draft (which were also bad).
I wasn't yet eighteen when I started submitting them to science fiction magazines. (At the time all my short stories were SF, while my longer works were split between SF and firefighting adventures.) My submissions had one thing in common with my stories: They were bad.
But they got better. That's what it's all about.
As time went by I took three correspondence courses on writing, and filled a bookshelf full of volumes on writing, and read huge amounts of fiction, and got better. My aim: Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, the cream of the crop as far as I was concerned. It's still around, now called Asmov's Science Fiction:
https://www.asimovs.com/
And its editors still reject me, from time to time. It's nice to have traditions.
Meanwhile, when my first novel was published, I told the publisher that I'd written some related short stories I wanted to give away, to promote the book. They said, "Sure--just send them all in, we'll publish them together!"
I said, "Huh?"
So I wrote even more short stories to fill it out, put them all in one manuscript, and they published it as Storm Chaser Shorts, a title I'm afraid I have to take the blame for. They're pretty good, if I do say so myself ... but they weren't magazine publication.
Meanwhile, I was a humor columnist for local newspapers, and they printed some Christmas related short stories by me. Then I got some stories printed in anthologies, which was great. But, doggone it, I wanted that first magazine credit! By now it had become a forty-five year obsession. I'd been collecting rejection letters in a box, until they went digital and I collected them in an e-mail box. Sometimes I'd get encouraging personal rejections, which in this industry is so close to in, but they were still rejections.
Then, one day, an e-mail came back that said, "Readable story." It seemed like the beginning of another "pretty good but" rejection, but it was just understatement.
My trials and tribulations weren't quite over, because the magazine's publisher had an illness and death in the family. I was accepted in September of last year, and it wasn't until the March issue of this year that "Grocery Purgatory" hit the cover of "The Fifth Di ..." I either missed it or it actually came out late, because I was surprised with a contributor's copy in April.
https://www.bookdepository.com/Fifth-...
And there it is, at 98 pages a magazine so thick it's almost a book, for just ten bucks and change. You want to do me a favor? You do? I thought so. Order you and your family a copy, tell all your friends, and get the word around. Why? Because I want to get published in more magazines. Maybe even, someday, Asimov's.
And even after throwing away the bad ones, I still have stories to submit ... and even more to write.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
April 21, 2020
Singing the short story blues
After mulling it over in my mind for some time, I wrote a short story the other day, then revised and polished it. I was really proud--it was one of my better short stories, clever and fun. I was so sure of its quality that after giving it another go-through I sent it to my favorite SF periodical, Asimov's Science Fiction, at about 5 a.m. the next morning.
At about 5 p.m. I checked my e-mail, and found their form rejection letter. Twelve hours. That might be a new record response for any submission I've made.
Hey, one of the things we writers complain about is how long it takes publishers to get back to us! Besides, we need moments like that to keep from getting too full of ourselves.
Anyway, on with the show as we look at a Kansas literary agency I should probably submit to:
https://annettesnyder.blogspot.com/20... Our mission is to help authors become traditionally published. We represent well-crafted commercial fiction and nonfiction. Metamorphosi...
At about 5 p.m. I checked my e-mail, and found their form rejection letter. Twelve hours. That might be a new record response for any submission I've made.
Hey, one of the things we writers complain about is how long it takes publishers to get back to us! Besides, we need moments like that to keep from getting too full of ourselves.
Anyway, on with the show as we look at a Kansas literary agency I should probably submit to:
https://annettesnyder.blogspot.com/20... Our mission is to help authors become traditionally published. We represent well-crafted commercial fiction and nonfiction. Metamorphosi...
April 20, 2020
What I do on my coronavirus vacation
My life hasn't changed all that much since the coronavirus quarantine started: I go to work, I come home, and my back hurts.
Just the same, there are some changes. I go straight home, for instance. Once I stopped at the grocery store on my way, and despite the fact that everything seemed normal (they even had a little toilet paper), the few people I saw seemed on edge. My feeling may have been affected by the armed guard at the cleaning supplies.
But in theory, my wife and I got just what we wanted. We both tend to be introverts, and staying home seemed like a swell idea. I got more writing done--in fact, I made it through a complete revision of an 82,000 word novel. To celebrate, the next day I wrote a short story. We're party animals.
The day after that I tried to get my lawn mower going.
Hey, I didn't claim it was a paradise.
Then there's the back thing. I've had low-grade back pain for many years, and while it's a--wait for it--pain, I'd gotten more or less used to it. Now I was having medium to high grade lower back pain that shot down into the back of my thighs and--perhaps ironically--sometimes made it painful to sit. Emily made the connection before I did: sciatica.
It's nice to try something new, for a change.
Sciatica is pain related to a problem with the sciatic nerve, and now you know a bit more medical terminology. The answer was simple: I see my chiropracter every two weeks, anyway. She's like the mechanic on an old tramp steamer, who manages to keep the machinery chugging along somehow, year after year.
Only my chiropracter has been shut down. By the caronavirus.
I take exception to her being called nonessential, and I'm more than willing to be treated while wearing a full Class A Haz Mat suit ... although come to think of it, even she couldn't make my spine bend through one of those things.
So after three weeks of working on making it better, one day I looked out into my back yard to see a jungle right out of Jurassic Park, complete with strange animal noises somewhere in the high grass. Despite everything, spring had come. Emily was dealing with a pain problem of her own (and not just me), so if anyone was going to mow the lawn, it would have to be me.
I was saved temporarily, because the next day four inches of snow covered that green, green grass.
But two days later it was all gone, because this is Indiana. So I spent a day trying to get the lawn mower running, because this is me, then another half day picking up poops and sticks, because that's the dog's bathroom. Then I mowed one third of the lawn.
Why? Because I didn't want to mow the other two-thirds. I'll deal with that when the swelling goes down.
So, again, my life hasn't changed all that much. I work, I write, my back hurts; maybe a little more than usual of at least two of those. For some people it hasn't been as bad; for some it's been much, much worse. Meanwhile, people are still arguing about whether it's a big deal at all, which maybe they wouldn't if they had as many immune compromised relatives as I do. I don't pretend to know what the best next step would be, but as for me, I'm going to keep writing, and try to be funny, and in my own small way keep spirits up. Because there are a whole lot of people out there who are not introverts.
Meanwhile, there's something I've wondered for awhile now: If you're in the middle of the apocalypse--will you even know it?
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Just the same, there are some changes. I go straight home, for instance. Once I stopped at the grocery store on my way, and despite the fact that everything seemed normal (they even had a little toilet paper), the few people I saw seemed on edge. My feeling may have been affected by the armed guard at the cleaning supplies.
But in theory, my wife and I got just what we wanted. We both tend to be introverts, and staying home seemed like a swell idea. I got more writing done--in fact, I made it through a complete revision of an 82,000 word novel. To celebrate, the next day I wrote a short story. We're party animals.
The day after that I tried to get my lawn mower going.
Hey, I didn't claim it was a paradise.
Then there's the back thing. I've had low-grade back pain for many years, and while it's a--wait for it--pain, I'd gotten more or less used to it. Now I was having medium to high grade lower back pain that shot down into the back of my thighs and--perhaps ironically--sometimes made it painful to sit. Emily made the connection before I did: sciatica.
It's nice to try something new, for a change.
Sciatica is pain related to a problem with the sciatic nerve, and now you know a bit more medical terminology. The answer was simple: I see my chiropracter every two weeks, anyway. She's like the mechanic on an old tramp steamer, who manages to keep the machinery chugging along somehow, year after year.
Only my chiropracter has been shut down. By the caronavirus.
I take exception to her being called nonessential, and I'm more than willing to be treated while wearing a full Class A Haz Mat suit ... although come to think of it, even she couldn't make my spine bend through one of those things.
So after three weeks of working on making it better, one day I looked out into my back yard to see a jungle right out of Jurassic Park, complete with strange animal noises somewhere in the high grass. Despite everything, spring had come. Emily was dealing with a pain problem of her own (and not just me), so if anyone was going to mow the lawn, it would have to be me.
I was saved temporarily, because the next day four inches of snow covered that green, green grass.
But two days later it was all gone, because this is Indiana. So I spent a day trying to get the lawn mower running, because this is me, then another half day picking up poops and sticks, because that's the dog's bathroom. Then I mowed one third of the lawn.
Why? Because I didn't want to mow the other two-thirds. I'll deal with that when the swelling goes down.
So, again, my life hasn't changed all that much. I work, I write, my back hurts; maybe a little more than usual of at least two of those. For some people it hasn't been as bad; for some it's been much, much worse. Meanwhile, people are still arguing about whether it's a big deal at all, which maybe they wouldn't if they had as many immune compromised relatives as I do. I don't pretend to know what the best next step would be, but as for me, I'm going to keep writing, and try to be funny, and in my own small way keep spirits up. Because there are a whole lot of people out there who are not introverts.
Meanwhile, there's something I've wondered for awhile now: If you're in the middle of the apocalypse--will you even know it?
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
April 17, 2020
Another free short story!
I put a free short story up on our newsletter; but while everyone leads the corona life, I figure even those who haven't signed on should be able to wind down with a little fiction:
https://mailchi.mp/3e551477c923/free-...
Of course, it would still be cool if you'd subscribe to the newsletter! (And you can do it by following the link and going to the top left corner, where it helpfully says "subscribe".) Why? Well, first of all, the word just doesn't get out on social media the way it used to. Late last year I ran into an old friend who had absolutely no idea that I'd had ten other books published, after the first one. A guy can only send his dog around wearing a sandwich board with the website on it for so long before the police start making inquiries.
Second, newsletter subscribers get a little advanced warning of such things as my very first short story publication in a fiction magazine, which I'll write more about later.
I was going to do a Snoopy dance when that finally happened, but it seems I've developed sciatica, so for now I just waved my hands in the air and screamed a little.
Anyway, the free story, which has the advantage of being at no charge, is about one of my favorite characters, Beth Hamlin, and how she handles being forced inside by the coronavirus. (Hint: Badly.) A minor character in my first published novel, Storm Chaser, Beth's been weaseling her way into my work ever since, with her own short story in Storm Chaser Shorts, an expanded part in The Notorious Ian Grant, and finally her own book in The No-Campfire Girls. She's also been in several other short stories, sometimes with my conscious mind not expecting it until she walks in.
By the way, this story, "Outside Time", is set before any of the books; so you don't have to worry about getting spoiled, or being lost, if you haven't read them before. I'll pout a little, but I'll get over it.
Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you do!
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
https://mailchi.mp/3e551477c923/free-...
Of course, it would still be cool if you'd subscribe to the newsletter! (And you can do it by following the link and going to the top left corner, where it helpfully says "subscribe".) Why? Well, first of all, the word just doesn't get out on social media the way it used to. Late last year I ran into an old friend who had absolutely no idea that I'd had ten other books published, after the first one. A guy can only send his dog around wearing a sandwich board with the website on it for so long before the police start making inquiries.
Second, newsletter subscribers get a little advanced warning of such things as my very first short story publication in a fiction magazine, which I'll write more about later.
I was going to do a Snoopy dance when that finally happened, but it seems I've developed sciatica, so for now I just waved my hands in the air and screamed a little.
Anyway, the free story, which has the advantage of being at no charge, is about one of my favorite characters, Beth Hamlin, and how she handles being forced inside by the coronavirus. (Hint: Badly.) A minor character in my first published novel, Storm Chaser, Beth's been weaseling her way into my work ever since, with her own short story in Storm Chaser Shorts, an expanded part in The Notorious Ian Grant, and finally her own book in The No-Campfire Girls. She's also been in several other short stories, sometimes with my conscious mind not expecting it until she walks in.
By the way, this story, "Outside Time", is set before any of the books; so you don't have to worry about getting spoiled, or being lost, if you haven't read them before. I'll pout a little, but I'll get over it.
Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you do!
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
April 12, 2020
Yesterday I Couldn't Spell Emergency Telecommunicator; Today I Are One
National Emergency Telecommunicators Week is this week. It's a tough time for emergency services this year, so I figured I should write something original, to talk about the times we live in.
But I didn't, so part of this is an update to a blog I wrote in 2017. (I wonder if anyone would have noticed? Too late.)
In 1991, after an unfortunate encounter with a teething baby, a Congressman from Delaware became the very first person to yell, "What's the number for 911?"
Okay, I was kidding about the baby: He just wanted to complain that the Congressional Dining Room coffee had gone cold. Still, he made a basic mistake that led to a delayed emergency response: He tried to dial "nine eleven".
In an effort to get the word out that the number for 911 is "nine one one", Congress declared the second full week in April to be National Public Safety Telecommunications Week. (They declared the third full week of April to be Teething Baby Awareness Week.)
Indiana made that same declaration in 1999, and this year it's April 12-18. That's why, being a public safety telecommunicator myself, I tried to take that week off.
I mean, it was my week, right? Daiquiris in Hawaii for all dispatchers! But it turns out emergency dispatch centers have to be manned 24 hours a day, something they didn't tell me when I signed on.
(Okay, it's possible they did tell me that. It was twenty-eight years ago--and while I haven't slept well since then, I have slept.)
Personally, I would have called it Emergency Dispatchers Week. It's not quite as accurate, but it's shorter. But no Congressman ever used one word, when a paragraph would do. In bigger dispatch centers, one dispatcher might take 911 calls, another might page out ambulances, a third radio police, a forth may be dedicated to fire departments, and so on. In a smaller dispatch center (like mine), the dispatcher might do all those.
They might also enter calls into the computer, do other computer work like arrest warrants, stolen vehicle calls and missing persons reports, run licenses for traffic stops, and take business line calls. They might empty the trash, make coffee, and operate the security doors for the county or city jails. They might set off the local tornado sirens (hopefully during tornado warnings). They might enter missing person and Amber Alert reports into national databases, try to talk down suicidal people, or talk somebody through doing CPR on their loves ones. They might have to do any combination of the above at the same time.
So "dispatcher" doesn't really cover it.
Part of the time you don't really need all the people who work in a dispatch center. The rest of the time you need three times as many. Sadly, no one has yet come up with a way to predict which time will fall at which--well--time. But there are certain ways to tell if it's going to get busy:
If you just heated up your meal.
If there's a full Moon, regardless of what the research "experts" say.
If some moron just said, "Say, it's been quiet tonight".
If you just realized your bladder is screaming at you to take a break.
In the emergency services, breaks are just an obscure theory. They're best taken at the dispatch console, with a microwave nearby. My record for reheating soup is eight times, but hey--I'm a slow eater, anyway.
When 911 calls you away from that already lukewarm chimichanga, it might be to help someone whose little toe has been hurting for three days. Or, it might be that you're about to become the very last person someone ever talks to. Not knowing is a large part of the stress.
I'm told the average career length for a 911 dispatch is 7-10 years, give or take. If you do it longer than 10 years, you qualify as legally insane. I've done it for more than twice that long.
In that time, some of the really serious stuff has actually been the easiest. Your house is on fire? Send the fire department. You're having chest pains? Send an ambulance. Many of my least favorite calls come in on the non-emergency line, and start with "Can I ask you a question?" In my business, there's a fine line between "question" and "complaint", but either way it's bound to end up being one of those head scratchers.
There's also the fact that many 911 calls aren't emergencies, and sometimes business line calls are.
So yeah, I think it's great that people in this job get a week of their own--they earned it. Last year we got a lot of attention, from individuals, businesses, and organizations that not only thanked us, but showered us with free food and gifts ... which is very cool, because according to the research I just did, my household is holding onto the lower edge of middle class income by our fingernails. This year, with the coronavirus and general ick going on, I don't think we even advertised our upcoming week.
You have to be careful with those treats, anyway. Two years ago I brought a great treat bag home, and the dog ate it. But has he taken a single 911 call? Noooooo......
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
But I didn't, so part of this is an update to a blog I wrote in 2017. (I wonder if anyone would have noticed? Too late.)
In 1991, after an unfortunate encounter with a teething baby, a Congressman from Delaware became the very first person to yell, "What's the number for 911?"
Okay, I was kidding about the baby: He just wanted to complain that the Congressional Dining Room coffee had gone cold. Still, he made a basic mistake that led to a delayed emergency response: He tried to dial "nine eleven".
In an effort to get the word out that the number for 911 is "nine one one", Congress declared the second full week in April to be National Public Safety Telecommunications Week. (They declared the third full week of April to be Teething Baby Awareness Week.)
Indiana made that same declaration in 1999, and this year it's April 12-18. That's why, being a public safety telecommunicator myself, I tried to take that week off.
I mean, it was my week, right? Daiquiris in Hawaii for all dispatchers! But it turns out emergency dispatch centers have to be manned 24 hours a day, something they didn't tell me when I signed on.
(Okay, it's possible they did tell me that. It was twenty-eight years ago--and while I haven't slept well since then, I have slept.)
Personally, I would have called it Emergency Dispatchers Week. It's not quite as accurate, but it's shorter. But no Congressman ever used one word, when a paragraph would do. In bigger dispatch centers, one dispatcher might take 911 calls, another might page out ambulances, a third radio police, a forth may be dedicated to fire departments, and so on. In a smaller dispatch center (like mine), the dispatcher might do all those.
They might also enter calls into the computer, do other computer work like arrest warrants, stolen vehicle calls and missing persons reports, run licenses for traffic stops, and take business line calls. They might empty the trash, make coffee, and operate the security doors for the county or city jails. They might set off the local tornado sirens (hopefully during tornado warnings). They might enter missing person and Amber Alert reports into national databases, try to talk down suicidal people, or talk somebody through doing CPR on their loves ones. They might have to do any combination of the above at the same time.
So "dispatcher" doesn't really cover it.
Part of the time you don't really need all the people who work in a dispatch center. The rest of the time you need three times as many. Sadly, no one has yet come up with a way to predict which time will fall at which--well--time. But there are certain ways to tell if it's going to get busy:
If you just heated up your meal.
If there's a full Moon, regardless of what the research "experts" say.
If some moron just said, "Say, it's been quiet tonight".
If you just realized your bladder is screaming at you to take a break.
In the emergency services, breaks are just an obscure theory. They're best taken at the dispatch console, with a microwave nearby. My record for reheating soup is eight times, but hey--I'm a slow eater, anyway.
When 911 calls you away from that already lukewarm chimichanga, it might be to help someone whose little toe has been hurting for three days. Or, it might be that you're about to become the very last person someone ever talks to. Not knowing is a large part of the stress.
I'm told the average career length for a 911 dispatch is 7-10 years, give or take. If you do it longer than 10 years, you qualify as legally insane. I've done it for more than twice that long.
In that time, some of the really serious stuff has actually been the easiest. Your house is on fire? Send the fire department. You're having chest pains? Send an ambulance. Many of my least favorite calls come in on the non-emergency line, and start with "Can I ask you a question?" In my business, there's a fine line between "question" and "complaint", but either way it's bound to end up being one of those head scratchers.
There's also the fact that many 911 calls aren't emergencies, and sometimes business line calls are.
So yeah, I think it's great that people in this job get a week of their own--they earned it. Last year we got a lot of attention, from individuals, businesses, and organizations that not only thanked us, but showered us with free food and gifts ... which is very cool, because according to the research I just did, my household is holding onto the lower edge of middle class income by our fingernails. This year, with the coronavirus and general ick going on, I don't think we even advertised our upcoming week.
You have to be careful with those treats, anyway. Two years ago I brought a great treat bag home, and the dog ate it. But has he taken a single 911 call? Noooooo......
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
April 8, 2020
50 Authors from 50 States: Talented Author, Mark Hunter, Shares His Indiana
There's still time to comment on the 50 Authors from 50 States blog and get a chance to win a free copy of one of my two latest books:
https://annettesnyder.blogspot.com/20... "There I was, a sulky, introverted teenager, nursing my frostbite injuries, stuck without enough books as the Blizzard of ’78 raged outside..."
The winner will be picked by a random drawing, in which names will be put on single squares of (unused) toilet paper that I stole from a hoarder (yes, I was wearing a mask--I didn't want him to ID me). The squares will be thrown into the air, and the first one the dog grabs will be the winner. I haven't checked with the dog yet, but I'm sure he'll be up for it.
Because of postage costs, I'm thinking that if the winner is outside the USA, instead of a choice between print or e-book copies I might just give them electronic versions of both books, which seems fair. What do you think?
https://annettesnyder.blogspot.com/20... "There I was, a sulky, introverted teenager, nursing my frostbite injuries, stuck without enough books as the Blizzard of ’78 raged outside..."
The winner will be picked by a random drawing, in which names will be put on single squares of (unused) toilet paper that I stole from a hoarder (yes, I was wearing a mask--I didn't want him to ID me). The squares will be thrown into the air, and the first one the dog grabs will be the winner. I haven't checked with the dog yet, but I'm sure he'll be up for it.
Because of postage costs, I'm thinking that if the winner is outside the USA, instead of a choice between print or e-book copies I might just give them electronic versions of both books, which seems fair. What do you think?
April 6, 2020
Visit Indiana with ... me! (Not literally, though, until the quarantine's over.)
It's my turn to share! I'm up for Indiana on 50 Authors From 50 States:
https://annettesnyder.blogspot.com/20...
Anyone who comments on Annette's blog post will be put in the hat for a drawing, in which one of our two newest books will be given away: Coming Attractions, or More Slightly Off the Mark: Why I Hate Cats, and Other Lies.
I mean, their names will be put in a hat, not the commenters themselves. That would be one big hat.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
https://annettesnyder.blogspot.com/20...
Anyone who comments on Annette's blog post will be put in the hat for a drawing, in which one of our two newest books will be given away: Coming Attractions, or More Slightly Off the Mark: Why I Hate Cats, and Other Lies.
I mean, their names will be put in a hat, not the commenters themselves. That would be one big hat.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
