Timothy H. Cook's Blog, page 9
October 6, 2014
Heir of Drachma, Book One - The Healer's Defense
I've now done it (again). And I intend to do it a minimum of two times more.
What I have done is to complete my next novel, and get it published. In something of a final burst of energy, I was able to finish what I had originally referred to as "Book Four." It was the start of a new series, based on my first trilogy, The Book of Drachma. For many months I really had doubts about whether I would even get this far, yet somehow, little by little, I did it. And my newly finished book has been sent to the publisher. The title of my new trilogy is Heir of Drachma, and the first book in the series is called The Healer's Defense. That is, unless the publisher wants to change the title (which I doubt).
The prologue to the new series is a retelling of what went on in the first trilogy, so that everyone can get their bearings. But the first chapter introduces some colorful new characters, including Diego and Alexandra (Alex), in a scene that is stormy, and fast-moving. The second chapter takes us back to the late twentieth century, and to Marilyn and Charlie, but also we get to meet one from the "old time," the earl of Shepperton. It isn't until Chapter Three that we are reintroduced to many of our main characters from the first series, including Melchior, Hermes, Eustace, Bob, Craycroft, Judy and Jeanne, and now we're off on a new adventure, with new (and old) heroes, villains, and those along for the ride!
I have really enjoyed this outpouring of imagination, and setting the stage for even more drama, pathos, and mysteries in the books yet to come. And I'll keep you posted on how things are going with the first book in the new series.
And just in case you haven't gotten to read my first trilogy, it is available on Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble (bn.com), Hastings, and other online sites, and is available in four formats, including paperback, Hardcover, e-book and audiobook. And, believe me, you'll have time to read through the first trilogy before the second one starts to come out.
Enjoy!
What I have done is to complete my next novel, and get it published. In something of a final burst of energy, I was able to finish what I had originally referred to as "Book Four." It was the start of a new series, based on my first trilogy, The Book of Drachma. For many months I really had doubts about whether I would even get this far, yet somehow, little by little, I did it. And my newly finished book has been sent to the publisher. The title of my new trilogy is Heir of Drachma, and the first book in the series is called The Healer's Defense. That is, unless the publisher wants to change the title (which I doubt).
The prologue to the new series is a retelling of what went on in the first trilogy, so that everyone can get their bearings. But the first chapter introduces some colorful new characters, including Diego and Alexandra (Alex), in a scene that is stormy, and fast-moving. The second chapter takes us back to the late twentieth century, and to Marilyn and Charlie, but also we get to meet one from the "old time," the earl of Shepperton. It isn't until Chapter Three that we are reintroduced to many of our main characters from the first series, including Melchior, Hermes, Eustace, Bob, Craycroft, Judy and Jeanne, and now we're off on a new adventure, with new (and old) heroes, villains, and those along for the ride!
I have really enjoyed this outpouring of imagination, and setting the stage for even more drama, pathos, and mysteries in the books yet to come. And I'll keep you posted on how things are going with the first book in the new series.
And just in case you haven't gotten to read my first trilogy, it is available on Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble (bn.com), Hastings, and other online sites, and is available in four formats, including paperback, Hardcover, e-book and audiobook. And, believe me, you'll have time to read through the first trilogy before the second one starts to come out.
Enjoy!
September 22, 2014
What do you make of a one-star review?
What do you do with bad reviews?
I'll be the first to admit it. I'm just a bit sensitive. Especially when it comes to reviews of my books. Oddly enough, I'm not nearly as sensitive to reviews of my paintings or photography. But there is something about struggling with a novel over the period of time that it takes to produce such a thing which makes me just a bit sensitive. The toil, the rewriting, the process of putting your "baby" through the process of editing, before it even gets a cover, and then - it finally hits "the streets" - it seems I can't help but hope people like it.
And then the "real world" happens. There are critics out there who don't get it. I can understand how a person might not "like" a particular work, or how it might not trip their proverbial triggers. But that, unfortunately, is not the world of internet criticism. It is a world of unrestrained volatility, and it kind of reminds me of drivers on the highway. There you are, in your little cocoon, all safe and secure, when someone does something like cut you off in traffic, and you become "the beast" within, and you yell, you cuss, and you might even give the offending driver the finger.
It is much the same with the internet. There you sit, behind your veil of security, provided by some degree of anonymity, and you are free to say whatever you want.
Let me tell you, though, that there are persons out there, who are real, true persons, who have real (albeit often exaggerated) sense of who they are, and what they are. And I would plead with you, if you really think that an author deserves a one star review, that you think twice about putting it on the internet. Better not to have reviewed it than to give it one star - even if you happen to be an anonymous person from Libya.
So, what I have to say to authors who get bad reviews online. I do know just how you feel, but I have nothing more to offer, other than the best thing to do is to keep writing, and hope that your own success might be just a bit of appropriate revenge.
Happy writing!
I'll be the first to admit it. I'm just a bit sensitive. Especially when it comes to reviews of my books. Oddly enough, I'm not nearly as sensitive to reviews of my paintings or photography. But there is something about struggling with a novel over the period of time that it takes to produce such a thing which makes me just a bit sensitive. The toil, the rewriting, the process of putting your "baby" through the process of editing, before it even gets a cover, and then - it finally hits "the streets" - it seems I can't help but hope people like it.
And then the "real world" happens. There are critics out there who don't get it. I can understand how a person might not "like" a particular work, or how it might not trip their proverbial triggers. But that, unfortunately, is not the world of internet criticism. It is a world of unrestrained volatility, and it kind of reminds me of drivers on the highway. There you are, in your little cocoon, all safe and secure, when someone does something like cut you off in traffic, and you become "the beast" within, and you yell, you cuss, and you might even give the offending driver the finger.
It is much the same with the internet. There you sit, behind your veil of security, provided by some degree of anonymity, and you are free to say whatever you want.
Let me tell you, though, that there are persons out there, who are real, true persons, who have real (albeit often exaggerated) sense of who they are, and what they are. And I would plead with you, if you really think that an author deserves a one star review, that you think twice about putting it on the internet. Better not to have reviewed it than to give it one star - even if you happen to be an anonymous person from Libya.
So, what I have to say to authors who get bad reviews online. I do know just how you feel, but I have nothing more to offer, other than the best thing to do is to keep writing, and hope that your own success might be just a bit of appropriate revenge.
Happy writing!
September 19, 2014
What do you do with bad reviews?
I'll be the first to admit it. I'm just a bit sensitive. Especially when it comes to reviews of my books. Oddly enough, I'm not nearly as sensitive to reviews of my paintings or photography. But there is something about struggling with a novel over the period of time that it takes to produce such a thing which makes me just a bit sensitive. The toil, the rewriting, the process of putting your "baby" through the process of editing, before it even gets a cover, and then - it finally hits "the streets" - it seems I can't help but hope people like it.
And then the "real world" happens. There are critics out there who don't get it. I can understand how a person might not "like" a particular work, or how it might not trip their proverbial triggers. But that, unfortunately, is not the world of internet criticism. It is a world of unrestrained volatility, and it kind of reminds me of drivers on the highway. There you are, in your little cocoon, all safe and secure, when someone does something like cut you off in traffic, and you become "the beast" within, and you yell, you cuss, and you might even give the offending driver the finger.
It is much the same with the internet. There you sit, behind your veil of security, provided by some degree of anonymity, and you are free to say whatever you want.
Let me tell you, though, that there are persons out there, who are real, true persons, who have real (albeit often exaggerated) sense of who they are, and what they are. And I would plead with you, if you really think that an author deserves a one star review, that you think twice about putting it on the internet. Better not to have reviewed it than to give it one star - even if you happen to be an anonymous person from Libya.
So, what I have to say to authors who get bad reviews online. I do know just how you feel, but I have nothing more to offer, other than the best thing to do is to keep writing, and hope that your own success might be just a bit of appropriate revenge.
Happy writing!
Drachma
And then the "real world" happens. There are critics out there who don't get it. I can understand how a person might not "like" a particular work, or how it might not trip their proverbial triggers. But that, unfortunately, is not the world of internet criticism. It is a world of unrestrained volatility, and it kind of reminds me of drivers on the highway. There you are, in your little cocoon, all safe and secure, when someone does something like cut you off in traffic, and you become "the beast" within, and you yell, you cuss, and you might even give the offending driver the finger.
It is much the same with the internet. There you sit, behind your veil of security, provided by some degree of anonymity, and you are free to say whatever you want.
Let me tell you, though, that there are persons out there, who are real, true persons, who have real (albeit often exaggerated) sense of who they are, and what they are. And I would plead with you, if you really think that an author deserves a one star review, that you think twice about putting it on the internet. Better not to have reviewed it than to give it one star - even if you happen to be an anonymous person from Libya.
So, what I have to say to authors who get bad reviews online. I do know just how you feel, but I have nothing more to offer, other than the best thing to do is to keep writing, and hope that your own success might be just a bit of appropriate revenge.
Happy writing!
Drachma
July 16, 2014
Book Four - an update
It should come as no surprise by now, especially if you know me or my "work habits," that I have been writing the sequel to The Book of Drachma, since before the first trilogy had even gone through what it took to be published. What I have not done with any finality, is to decide on a title. I do believe that the sequel will be called Heir of Drachma, but I have been struggling with what to name book one in the sequel, or as I rather affectionately call it, Book Four. But I do believe that I have finally come up with a title (more on that later).
With fifteen chapters done, plus a synopsis of the first trilogy, and a prologue (which I haven't decided to use), I was discussing some things with my publicist. He was rather surprised at my progress, and immediately put me in touch with the acquisitions manager whom I first made contact with at Tate. And she was quite interested, saying that "they knew I could write," and were willing to take a chance on me. So, here I am, almost done with the fourth book of six, which will again be published by Tate Publishing, and I expect to get them the manuscript within the next couple of months or so. I have learned quite a lot since I went into the world of publishing, and one of the things which I learned was, in essence, what I already knew, and that was simply that if you want it done right, then, by golly, you'd better get in there and do it right, for it will not get done right by any other means. And that includes fixing the typos! Ah, well...
I do believe that this second trilogy will, from the outset, be a better-edited piece of work.
Well, what can I tell you of this next trilogy, without giving away too many spoilers? I can tell you that this trilogy takes off a few years later than where the first one ended. The main characters are all the same (with a few new ones thrown in for good measure, and a few lost to the vicissitudes of time), and the settings are the same. We are still in the late fifteenth century, on Shepperton Island, as well as the late twentieth century, in the U.S. And now, it would appear that our old nemesis, Antoine LeGace is about to hatch his plan. Craycroft gets word of this, and throws his forces into finding out about Master LeGace. And at the same time, deems it expedient to send Master Robert into hiding, along with his pregnant bride, Judy, and an assortment of odd and sundry individuals. Meanwhile, Drachma's heir apparent, Tom, has been playing with these powerful forces who seem to be guarding the doings of Shepperton, and, as part of an elaborate plan, prepares, then whisks away none other than Bob's wife from the "old time," with the understanding that she can do something to save her husband. And leaving behind, in our time, Charlie Stephens, Janie and Earl Crabtree, as well as the original earl of Shepperton, all of whom, it would seem, do have something to contribute to the doings in another century, thousands of miles away.
Now, I do not think that I can "neatly resolve" all the issues playing forth in this rather elaborate tale in the first volume, so, as with the first trilogy, you might have to wait a bit to find out just how all these threads do tie in together. Just remember- I'm enjoying this as much as you.
And if you should be one of those who hasn't yet read the first trilogy, it is still very available at Amazon.com, as well as Barnes & Noble (bn.com) in all of the versions. And I always welcome comments. You may reach me at: drachmabook@gmail.com
BTW, the title for the first volume of Heir of Drachma will probably be The Healer's Gambit.
With fifteen chapters done, plus a synopsis of the first trilogy, and a prologue (which I haven't decided to use), I was discussing some things with my publicist. He was rather surprised at my progress, and immediately put me in touch with the acquisitions manager whom I first made contact with at Tate. And she was quite interested, saying that "they knew I could write," and were willing to take a chance on me. So, here I am, almost done with the fourth book of six, which will again be published by Tate Publishing, and I expect to get them the manuscript within the next couple of months or so. I have learned quite a lot since I went into the world of publishing, and one of the things which I learned was, in essence, what I already knew, and that was simply that if you want it done right, then, by golly, you'd better get in there and do it right, for it will not get done right by any other means. And that includes fixing the typos! Ah, well...
I do believe that this second trilogy will, from the outset, be a better-edited piece of work.
Well, what can I tell you of this next trilogy, without giving away too many spoilers? I can tell you that this trilogy takes off a few years later than where the first one ended. The main characters are all the same (with a few new ones thrown in for good measure, and a few lost to the vicissitudes of time), and the settings are the same. We are still in the late fifteenth century, on Shepperton Island, as well as the late twentieth century, in the U.S. And now, it would appear that our old nemesis, Antoine LeGace is about to hatch his plan. Craycroft gets word of this, and throws his forces into finding out about Master LeGace. And at the same time, deems it expedient to send Master Robert into hiding, along with his pregnant bride, Judy, and an assortment of odd and sundry individuals. Meanwhile, Drachma's heir apparent, Tom, has been playing with these powerful forces who seem to be guarding the doings of Shepperton, and, as part of an elaborate plan, prepares, then whisks away none other than Bob's wife from the "old time," with the understanding that she can do something to save her husband. And leaving behind, in our time, Charlie Stephens, Janie and Earl Crabtree, as well as the original earl of Shepperton, all of whom, it would seem, do have something to contribute to the doings in another century, thousands of miles away.
Now, I do not think that I can "neatly resolve" all the issues playing forth in this rather elaborate tale in the first volume, so, as with the first trilogy, you might have to wait a bit to find out just how all these threads do tie in together. Just remember- I'm enjoying this as much as you.
And if you should be one of those who hasn't yet read the first trilogy, it is still very available at Amazon.com, as well as Barnes & Noble (bn.com) in all of the versions. And I always welcome comments. You may reach me at: drachmabook@gmail.com
BTW, the title for the first volume of Heir of Drachma will probably be The Healer's Gambit.
July 6, 2014
Almost time.
It's been almost a year since we moved to Arkansas, and it's been a rather remarkable year. Now, the decision was not an easy one. We loved living in Edmond, the work in OKC was generally satisfying, and the people I worked with were wonderful. But it came down to deciding between my staying around (and getting paid less), or leaving. And where, you might ask? Well, I've got 4 of my 6 grandkids right here in NW Arkansas, and there was need of another hospitalist (actually more like three more). So, for me there was really no decision to be made. And our house sold (for the asking price) the day we put it on the market. It seems the way was set for us to move...
And with moving, you tend to see things in a new perspective.
Some of you may have noticed that the practice of medicine (or to use the current terminology, the delivery of health care) has taken on new and not altogether friendly dimensions of late. And here I am, getting close to retirement, and not liking this change one bit. When I went to medical school and did my residency - it was the exciting, demanding, and patient-centered pursuit of excellent medical care that I was taught. We finished residency (or fellowship) with a purpose, and we were ready to take on the challenges of providing the best medicine for our patients.
But what we were not prepared for was the influx of the "third party" into our lives. What may have started innocently enough, became a great iron wedge between us and our patients. And it is a very demanding, oppressive and demeaning thing that we have to deal with. And where is the patient in all this?
And have you looked at medical records lately? If you can filter through the pages and pages of computer-generated trash that is the bulk of the medical record to try to find out what the patient actually complained of, and which led to him/her being admitted to your facility...
Not to mention what becomes of the physical exam, which now is a series of boxes that someone has checked off, and it contains the electronic signature of the recording "physician." And that ER record... what an incredible piece of garbage is that? Do I sound bitter? Well, I am. And what does this all have to do with us moving to Arkansas? I'm getting to that.
Right here in NW Arkansas, our three hospitals are owned and managed by a very large, slow-moving, unyielding and unforgiving entity called Community Health Systems. And everything that needs to be done locally has to "go through corporate." And this corporate giant has decided that, thanks to the previously mentioned "third parties," we must now tow the line and get on board with "computerized health records." The go-live date is sometime later this month. And mind you, this is the same entity that cannot manage to keep what computers it has on hand running, or if they do, they make certain that they have to update their system in such a way that 1: you have lost some access to needed data, and 2: it will take another three or four weeks to get it back to running the way it was supposed to, and 3: you've now got to change your passwords again!
I just think that I am getting a bit too old for all this.
And that brings me around to what I originally was talking about is this blurb. You see, my wife and I have decided to go on another Alaska cruise. And what does that mean? It means that we are going (all by ourselves) in a little over three weeks to the home of whale-watching, salmon bakes, fabulous opportunities to hike in the cool woods, to shop in the quaint stores, and to watch the majestic glaciers - all the while getting it photographically recorded for my other blog (photosbydrachma.blogspot.com).
Maybe, just maybe, when we come back, I'll have a better perspective on "the delivery of health care." Or maybe I'll just write the rest of my sequel...
And with moving, you tend to see things in a new perspective.
Some of you may have noticed that the practice of medicine (or to use the current terminology, the delivery of health care) has taken on new and not altogether friendly dimensions of late. And here I am, getting close to retirement, and not liking this change one bit. When I went to medical school and did my residency - it was the exciting, demanding, and patient-centered pursuit of excellent medical care that I was taught. We finished residency (or fellowship) with a purpose, and we were ready to take on the challenges of providing the best medicine for our patients.
But what we were not prepared for was the influx of the "third party" into our lives. What may have started innocently enough, became a great iron wedge between us and our patients. And it is a very demanding, oppressive and demeaning thing that we have to deal with. And where is the patient in all this?
And have you looked at medical records lately? If you can filter through the pages and pages of computer-generated trash that is the bulk of the medical record to try to find out what the patient actually complained of, and which led to him/her being admitted to your facility...
Not to mention what becomes of the physical exam, which now is a series of boxes that someone has checked off, and it contains the electronic signature of the recording "physician." And that ER record... what an incredible piece of garbage is that? Do I sound bitter? Well, I am. And what does this all have to do with us moving to Arkansas? I'm getting to that.
Right here in NW Arkansas, our three hospitals are owned and managed by a very large, slow-moving, unyielding and unforgiving entity called Community Health Systems. And everything that needs to be done locally has to "go through corporate." And this corporate giant has decided that, thanks to the previously mentioned "third parties," we must now tow the line and get on board with "computerized health records." The go-live date is sometime later this month. And mind you, this is the same entity that cannot manage to keep what computers it has on hand running, or if they do, they make certain that they have to update their system in such a way that 1: you have lost some access to needed data, and 2: it will take another three or four weeks to get it back to running the way it was supposed to, and 3: you've now got to change your passwords again!
I just think that I am getting a bit too old for all this.
And that brings me around to what I originally was talking about is this blurb. You see, my wife and I have decided to go on another Alaska cruise. And what does that mean? It means that we are going (all by ourselves) in a little over three weeks to the home of whale-watching, salmon bakes, fabulous opportunities to hike in the cool woods, to shop in the quaint stores, and to watch the majestic glaciers - all the while getting it photographically recorded for my other blog (photosbydrachma.blogspot.com).
Maybe, just maybe, when we come back, I'll have a better perspective on "the delivery of health care." Or maybe I'll just write the rest of my sequel...
June 6, 2014
A great literary contest
Now that the hardcover editions of The Book of Drachma (all three books) have hit the market (Amazon.com, among others), I have decided that it is time that I had a bit of a contest. Yes - a contest with prizes!
Are these prizes worth anything at all? But of course - in US Dollars the prizes are worth roughly $85 each. But that is only the face value, not the actual value to you as a literary and intelligent being.
All right then what are these prizes?
Third Prize: A handsome signed first edition copy of The Book of Drachma (hardcover, of course)
Second Prize: A copy of the same, plus a role in the sequel (now sixteen chapters, and growing toward completion of the first of another trilogy).
First Prize: A signed first edition copy of The Book of Drachma, and along with that, you get to be in the upcoming sequel as a major character (or you may designate someone else in your place, if you choose). Plus, you will get recognition on my acknowledgment page (your name in print - for all time).
What do I have to do to enter?
The contest begins now, and will go through July 4th. All Winners will be announced after that long holiday weekend. Now to enter the contest, you will need to send a reply to this blog (in the comments section), in which you explain which of the myriad characters in The Book of Drachma most closely resembles you, or the one that you would most like to represent in the "movie," and why. BTW, you may obtain ebook versions of my trilogy at Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble (bn.com), but they won't be the same as getting the real thing, signed by the author.
You may send me your snail mail address as an e-mail to: drachmabook@gmail.com if you plan on winning ;)
Now I really hope that you will have fun with this little contest.
Drachma
Are these prizes worth anything at all? But of course - in US Dollars the prizes are worth roughly $85 each. But that is only the face value, not the actual value to you as a literary and intelligent being.
All right then what are these prizes?
Third Prize: A handsome signed first edition copy of The Book of Drachma (hardcover, of course)
Second Prize: A copy of the same, plus a role in the sequel (now sixteen chapters, and growing toward completion of the first of another trilogy).
First Prize: A signed first edition copy of The Book of Drachma, and along with that, you get to be in the upcoming sequel as a major character (or you may designate someone else in your place, if you choose). Plus, you will get recognition on my acknowledgment page (your name in print - for all time).
What do I have to do to enter?
The contest begins now, and will go through July 4th. All Winners will be announced after that long holiday weekend. Now to enter the contest, you will need to send a reply to this blog (in the comments section), in which you explain which of the myriad characters in The Book of Drachma most closely resembles you, or the one that you would most like to represent in the "movie," and why. BTW, you may obtain ebook versions of my trilogy at Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble (bn.com), but they won't be the same as getting the real thing, signed by the author.
You may send me your snail mail address as an e-mail to: drachmabook@gmail.com if you plan on winning ;)
Now I really hope that you will have fun with this little contest.
Drachma
May 20, 2014
What matters more?
I've had the opportunity to think about several things this past week, but among the more distressing is where we're headed in the game of "who is my doctor?" Now, as a physician myself, you would think that it would be easy for me to pick and choose. But I'm here to tell you - that is not the case. I can think of a lot of practitioners out there to whom I wouldn't take a sick hamster. There are also those who would do "in a pinch," but to take myself or my family member to on a regular basis, and expect competence, caring and availability - those are truly rare. And to make matters worse those few are exceedingly busy. And I understand that this problem is nationwide.
There is a history behind this dreadful trend. And that history is one that is spelled out in dollars. What has happened?
Let me take you back to a time before DRGs (more on that later). It was a time when medical schools produced doctors who were ready to take on the challenges of practicing medicine in the real world. Ready to work, to be busy, to work long hours. It was a time when billing was much easier, requiring far fewer people. And it was a time when even those with no insurance could get high-quality care, without going bankrupt. It was also a time when you knew who your doctor was, and that he/she cared enough about you that if you had an after-hours emergency need (come to think of it, most emergencies occurred after office hours), that he/she would be there for you. It was a time when urgent care centers did not exist (did not need to exist).
And it was a time when hospital care was much more relaxed, and by today's standards, much of what was done in the hospital "could have been done on an outpatient basis." The insurance companies paid for claims that were submitted, and it seemed that no one was too concerned if the patient stayed an extra day or two longer, because they needed some more physical therapy, or because they were too weak to make the trip home. But that was the good news.
It seems that somewhere around 1980, someone was looking into the costs of Medicare, and noticed that they were going up (though by no means were they skyrocketing, as in later decades). And it was the brilliant insight by a clerk (in New Jersey) that doctors could be made to reign in the costs of hospital care if we just went to a DRG payment system. DRG stands for Diagnosis Related Group, and by limiting payment to a specific diagnosis, medicare could then simplify its payments, and not have to pay for all those other related diagnoses. And hospitals could then put the pressure on doctors to "just treat the one condition the patient presented with."
Well. this was just the beginning, and soon other major insurers jumped on the DRG bandwagon, and thus began the decline of medicine as practiced in our country. The idea was to save costs, but costs, as you know have gone steadily upwards. There had to be more people hired by hospitals to do the billing, and there had to be more people hired by the hospitals to make sure that their bills were "in line" with the ever more confusing and changing regulations. And on the other side of the spectrum, Medicare and the big insurance companies also had to hire more people to handle the increased paperwork demands, and to make certain that no one was cheating the system. And all these extra people came at an exorbitant price. And to make matters even worse, now the insurance companies, the hospitals, and (of course) the government now require legal teams to oversee everything, and to make things so much more obtuse.
And so, what about doctors? Well, a physician can no longer afford to just hang up a shingle and practice medicine. He/she gets paid less and less for more and more work, and has to have an electronic medical record, both in the hospital and in the office. The physician has to have someone with computer skills and "coding skills" in his office, as well as someone to keep track of Medicare and its monthly changes.
I think you begin to get the picture. We were never taught computer skills, Medicare-negotiating skills, coding skills. What we were taught was MEDICINE. We were taught how to take care of the ill and afflicted, and we were now swimming upstream against this incredible current.
So then, what have doctors done? Well, the few who remain in primary care have had to limit their practice in a number of ways. For one thing, they don't take care of patients in the hospital - they turn that job over to hospitalists. They have to severely limit the number of patients seen per day, because there is no other way to do the required computer records. They have, as a result, become employees of the big government/big insurance companies, whether they realize it or not, and have taken on the mentality of employees. When can I go on vacation? How many hours did I work this week, and do I get extra pay if I work more hours?
And lost in all this folderall is the patient, who longs for someone with the gentle touch of experience, for someone who knows and understands me, for someone who cares. Someone who can see through all the blather and institutional malarky, and explain to me in simple terms why I hurt.
So then, what matters to you as the patient, for we all become patients at some point? How badly do you want it, and how much are you willing to spend?
There is a history behind this dreadful trend. And that history is one that is spelled out in dollars. What has happened?
Let me take you back to a time before DRGs (more on that later). It was a time when medical schools produced doctors who were ready to take on the challenges of practicing medicine in the real world. Ready to work, to be busy, to work long hours. It was a time when billing was much easier, requiring far fewer people. And it was a time when even those with no insurance could get high-quality care, without going bankrupt. It was also a time when you knew who your doctor was, and that he/she cared enough about you that if you had an after-hours emergency need (come to think of it, most emergencies occurred after office hours), that he/she would be there for you. It was a time when urgent care centers did not exist (did not need to exist).
And it was a time when hospital care was much more relaxed, and by today's standards, much of what was done in the hospital "could have been done on an outpatient basis." The insurance companies paid for claims that were submitted, and it seemed that no one was too concerned if the patient stayed an extra day or two longer, because they needed some more physical therapy, or because they were too weak to make the trip home. But that was the good news.
It seems that somewhere around 1980, someone was looking into the costs of Medicare, and noticed that they were going up (though by no means were they skyrocketing, as in later decades). And it was the brilliant insight by a clerk (in New Jersey) that doctors could be made to reign in the costs of hospital care if we just went to a DRG payment system. DRG stands for Diagnosis Related Group, and by limiting payment to a specific diagnosis, medicare could then simplify its payments, and not have to pay for all those other related diagnoses. And hospitals could then put the pressure on doctors to "just treat the one condition the patient presented with."
Well. this was just the beginning, and soon other major insurers jumped on the DRG bandwagon, and thus began the decline of medicine as practiced in our country. The idea was to save costs, but costs, as you know have gone steadily upwards. There had to be more people hired by hospitals to do the billing, and there had to be more people hired by the hospitals to make sure that their bills were "in line" with the ever more confusing and changing regulations. And on the other side of the spectrum, Medicare and the big insurance companies also had to hire more people to handle the increased paperwork demands, and to make certain that no one was cheating the system. And all these extra people came at an exorbitant price. And to make matters even worse, now the insurance companies, the hospitals, and (of course) the government now require legal teams to oversee everything, and to make things so much more obtuse.
And so, what about doctors? Well, a physician can no longer afford to just hang up a shingle and practice medicine. He/she gets paid less and less for more and more work, and has to have an electronic medical record, both in the hospital and in the office. The physician has to have someone with computer skills and "coding skills" in his office, as well as someone to keep track of Medicare and its monthly changes.
I think you begin to get the picture. We were never taught computer skills, Medicare-negotiating skills, coding skills. What we were taught was MEDICINE. We were taught how to take care of the ill and afflicted, and we were now swimming upstream against this incredible current.
So then, what have doctors done? Well, the few who remain in primary care have had to limit their practice in a number of ways. For one thing, they don't take care of patients in the hospital - they turn that job over to hospitalists. They have to severely limit the number of patients seen per day, because there is no other way to do the required computer records. They have, as a result, become employees of the big government/big insurance companies, whether they realize it or not, and have taken on the mentality of employees. When can I go on vacation? How many hours did I work this week, and do I get extra pay if I work more hours?
And lost in all this folderall is the patient, who longs for someone with the gentle touch of experience, for someone who knows and understands me, for someone who cares. Someone who can see through all the blather and institutional malarky, and explain to me in simple terms why I hurt.
So then, what matters to you as the patient, for we all become patients at some point? How badly do you want it, and how much are you willing to spend?
April 28, 2014
High-heeled nurses, and others who have gone to the Dark Side
Many times in this last year I have breathed a grateful sigh that I only have a few more years left before I can retire, not from writing, which I still enjoy, but from this world of medicine.
Now those of you who know me might be asking yourselves, "is this Tim Cook speaking?" It is sad, but the world of medicine, as I have gotten to know it, is now all but gone. I still enjoy my real work, interacting with patients and their problems, but unfortunately that is becoming less and less of what I do in my job. Now, what is the distinction between my work and my job?
To put it in perspective, let me share something of myself, and where I came from. I am the son of medical parents, and I knew that medicine went back several generations in our family. But it was not until my father's funeral, that I found out that I represented the seventh generation of physicians. That gave me pause to stop and consider.
Now when my father died I was a young doctor, fresh out of my internal medicine training. I was practicing medicine at that time in southern Ohio, and I was eager and happy with my profession. I looked forward to getting up and going to work. Even when I got called out in the middle of the night, I did so with a real sense that it was very necessary. It was a time of great professional fulfillment. And it was a time in which there were very few folks on the Dark Side. At the hospital I worked in, and even the clinic where I had my office, there were but a very few persons whose job was not directly related to the medical care of people. As a physician, I felt free to practice medicine. There were few persons who had the timerity to act as judges. And I do maintain, to this day, that it was good medicine that I practiced, and I was proud of my colleagues, who also practiced great medicine. In short, it was a fun and engaging profession.
Not so today.
Now I work shifts in the hospital. I do still try to bring something of this pride and joy in my noble profession to work every day. But I tell you it is getting harder. My colleagues are wrapped up in their own worlds, and conversations with them no longer carry the same weight as in previous years. And the shallowness of the emotional contact with them is distressing to me. We can no longer just sit down and confer, discussing interesting cases which mean something to us. We're too busy, and by that I mean too wrapped up in getting the stuff into the computers, which now control our very lives. And the relationship with nurses, pharmacists, lab and x-ray people has become distressingly superficial. When I leave my work at the hospital, I'm drained, and not in a good way.
I keep asking myself, "what happened?"
And I keep coming back with the same answer: health care has become big business, and is no longer defined by the patient-doctor or the patient-nurse relationship. Is it any wonder that patient satisfaction with their "health care" has hit the skids? And I keep seeing the high-heeled nurses, and the doctors who have gone to the Dark Side as the enemy. These are the folks who now run the show. They tell us how to practice, how much to practice, how to "say it in the right way" so that insurance companies (mostly run by high-heeled nurses) will pay. And rarely does a day go by (except weekends) when a small parade of "suits" is not seen going up and down the halls, doing nothing but formulating opinions about "how we can do a better job (i.e. cut costs)."
Not to mention, I now get very regular e-mails from my "boss" informing me of things that become "effective immediately," or how I should have done this or that differently. I really feel that I'm being micromanaged into retirement.
So, this is what defines my work (i.e. my profession) as being distinctly different from my job. I realize that I may be the last generation of physician in my family, but you know, perhaps that's not such a bad thing after all.
And besides, I still have my writing - which is becoming ever-so-steadily my work.
Now those of you who know me might be asking yourselves, "is this Tim Cook speaking?" It is sad, but the world of medicine, as I have gotten to know it, is now all but gone. I still enjoy my real work, interacting with patients and their problems, but unfortunately that is becoming less and less of what I do in my job. Now, what is the distinction between my work and my job?
To put it in perspective, let me share something of myself, and where I came from. I am the son of medical parents, and I knew that medicine went back several generations in our family. But it was not until my father's funeral, that I found out that I represented the seventh generation of physicians. That gave me pause to stop and consider.
Now when my father died I was a young doctor, fresh out of my internal medicine training. I was practicing medicine at that time in southern Ohio, and I was eager and happy with my profession. I looked forward to getting up and going to work. Even when I got called out in the middle of the night, I did so with a real sense that it was very necessary. It was a time of great professional fulfillment. And it was a time in which there were very few folks on the Dark Side. At the hospital I worked in, and even the clinic where I had my office, there were but a very few persons whose job was not directly related to the medical care of people. As a physician, I felt free to practice medicine. There were few persons who had the timerity to act as judges. And I do maintain, to this day, that it was good medicine that I practiced, and I was proud of my colleagues, who also practiced great medicine. In short, it was a fun and engaging profession.
Not so today.
Now I work shifts in the hospital. I do still try to bring something of this pride and joy in my noble profession to work every day. But I tell you it is getting harder. My colleagues are wrapped up in their own worlds, and conversations with them no longer carry the same weight as in previous years. And the shallowness of the emotional contact with them is distressing to me. We can no longer just sit down and confer, discussing interesting cases which mean something to us. We're too busy, and by that I mean too wrapped up in getting the stuff into the computers, which now control our very lives. And the relationship with nurses, pharmacists, lab and x-ray people has become distressingly superficial. When I leave my work at the hospital, I'm drained, and not in a good way.
I keep asking myself, "what happened?"
And I keep coming back with the same answer: health care has become big business, and is no longer defined by the patient-doctor or the patient-nurse relationship. Is it any wonder that patient satisfaction with their "health care" has hit the skids? And I keep seeing the high-heeled nurses, and the doctors who have gone to the Dark Side as the enemy. These are the folks who now run the show. They tell us how to practice, how much to practice, how to "say it in the right way" so that insurance companies (mostly run by high-heeled nurses) will pay. And rarely does a day go by (except weekends) when a small parade of "suits" is not seen going up and down the halls, doing nothing but formulating opinions about "how we can do a better job (i.e. cut costs)."
Not to mention, I now get very regular e-mails from my "boss" informing me of things that become "effective immediately," or how I should have done this or that differently. I really feel that I'm being micromanaged into retirement.
So, this is what defines my work (i.e. my profession) as being distinctly different from my job. I realize that I may be the last generation of physician in my family, but you know, perhaps that's not such a bad thing after all.
And besides, I still have my writing - which is becoming ever-so-steadily my work.
April 17, 2014
Yet another chapter.
Well, I've been busy, but not too busy to keep working on the sequel, tentatively titled Heir of Drachma. In this chapter we get a glimpse of the machinations of both the nefarious LeGace, but also Craycroft - and there appears to be someone else who may become important...
Chapter Twelve
The two men sat alone in the old house by the sea, which overlooked the bay. As they sat and drank their ale, the sun was setting, and the light coming in the room was orange, making the atmosphere warm. But you could hardly tell by their conversation, which, though animated, was hardly filled with warmth.
“And whom did you set forth to get the information which you wanted?” The older man virtually spat. “None other than this Gilbert fellow. Nothing but a self-serving scoundrel! Remember, I was here for many years, and got to know many of the persons employed in the service of the old earl. Nay, I would not trust him to carry out so much as a simple request… and yet you have granted him…”
“Enough! I have done what I have, and we shall see the consequences. But now we have another ally, and yet, as I see it, a potential threat as well. This count Gregorio, it would seem to me is someone whom we should be careful to watch, for I fear that he is led only by his own wrath. He seeks vengeance, and little more. I do know that you have spoken to him, and he is quite intent on getting back what he says was stolen from him. But he seems to me to be a most incautious sort.”
“Aye, he is that. And I, too, do not feel that he is someone to be trusted. But nonetheless, he could prove more than useful in the weeks and months to come.”
“Tell me then, when my we expect to be seeing this Italian count?”
“Any day now… it was but a month ago when I last corresponded with him, and he was then getting ready his departure.”
“And he shall be arriving at the new pier?”
“Aye…”
“And when do you suppose that I shall have chance to meet him? For, as you may imagine, he and I shall have much to discuss.”
Guarneri was slow to respond, so Antoine LeGace just drubbed his fingers in the arm of his chair, and swallowed the bitter bile, which he felt in his throat. He tried to downplay his irritation at the older man.
After a while, Guarneri did respond, picking his words with caution. “Now, Master LeGace, I have not told the count of my involvement with you, nor have I indicated any of your connections. I thought it better this way, for as you noted, he is a most irascible sort.”
LeGace could feel his anger rise, almost to the point of a curse, then his reason stopped him. He let out a sigh, and asked, “So, you can say that he knows nothing of me, nor does he know anything of our order?”
“Nay, he knows naught. At the very least, not from me.”
“And was he not curious about your sudden wealth, or influence?”
“Nay, he seemed to neither notice, nor to care…”
“Hmm, well then, perhaps we might just find use of him, beyond his wealth and power.”
“As I thought, Master Legace.”
“Perhaps, then, ‘twould be better if he were not to know of my own influence in your world.” LeGace was a bit taken aback by his comrade’s approach. “Well, then, Master Guarneri, you should do what you may to smooth the way for our count. But I must be kept informed – for there is much at stake in this venture. Let me ask one more thing. Do ye know if he has corresponded with the king about the matter? Surely ye must know why I ask…”
“Of that particular, I am uncertain. Though I did inform him that this was not the king’s business. Nevertheless, What he has said, and to whom… well, that much is purely conjecture at this time.”
LeGace drank the last of his ale, and put his flagon down with an emphatic thud. “Now, listen to me. Ye shall make it a point to discern, when ye see this count, to determine whom he has told, and who he considers to be among his own allies.”
“Oh, that I shall. Of that ye can be certain.”
Jeremy looked at Rowan, as they saw the two men stepping out from the small building. Each was huddled down, so as not to be seen in the waning light, which was rapidly disappearing from the mountains to the west. After they were sure it was safe, they came out from behind the sheltering rock, and next headed back toward the woods, all the while, keeping a close eye on their quarry.
“Now what d’ye think they been discussin’, Jeremy?” Rowan asked when he knew they were out of earshot. “For it seems to me that they’re comin’ out more cordial than they went in.”
“Plans… more plans, I suspect.” And then he thought of last evening, when they had watched Master Gilbert, and found out about the knives which he had obtained, and which he had taken over to that house at the western edge of the village. “Now, we but know only these things – that our man, LeGace, is definitely planning somethin’ wi’ this Master Guarneri. And we also know that Gilbert is involved, somehow wi’ all this. But no more yet.”
“It seems to me, though, that we were fortunate to run into your brother last night…”
“Oh, aye. We were, indeed, for that made it simpler to get word to Lord Craycroft of Gilbert’s doin’s. And we still have the bird wi’ us.”
“Now you don’t suppose that yer brother would…?”
“Ah, nay. Me brother’s to be trusted, and he’s not afeared of no one.”
They then watched as the two men rounded the turn, and headed toward the sea, where they got into a small boat, with an oarsman, and drifted off into the ever darkening night. They could see the little lantern in the boat as it headed north toward Dunnigan’s Isle.
“I have a most uneasy feeling, m’lord.” Kerlin looked directly at Craycroft, yet his gaze was the usual implacable one, which his liege had come to trust. “It is something whose origin I am unable to decipher. I know that we have done much, and there are so many threats and possibilities looming. And yet… I just feel it is something more, perhaps some avenue which we have overlooked.”
“Come, Kerlin, and take a seat.” Craycroft indicated the comfortable chair next to his own. “To tell you the truth, I sense it, too. Though I am as certain as I can be that we have done the right things, and have put the right persons into place; yet it does not seem to be enough. For we do not know where our great enemy hides, nor what his true motives be.
“It is as if we have begun a game of chess. He has played his opening move, and now we have countered. Yet we know not what he shall do, nor do we even know what quality of player he is. We but wait for his next move. But I shall tell you this – he knows not our power, nor our resolve. Neither does he understand that we have made several moves to his one.”
“But sire, I do know this man, and what he is capable of doing. I also know that he cares not one whit about anyone but himself, and is willing, nay, I say, eager to use others to achieve his ends.”
“Aye, and that would put us at a disadvantage – for, to us, all our pawns are most precious, but to him, his pawns, knights, rooks, and even his queen appear to be expendable.
“But now, let us review what we have done so far.” Craycroft took a small piece of paper, and he found his quill, and ink, and then he began to jot notes down as he spoke.
“Firstly, we have obtained the services of Jeremy and Rowan, and have sent them on a mission to find what they can of our enemy.”
He wrote down 1) Have sent Jeremy and Rowan as spies.
“Secondly, we have dispatched Master Robert, his lady, with his guardian, as well as the two strangers, along with other attendants and guards toward Drachma’s house.”
He wrote 2) Have sent Master Robert, his lady, his guardian, and others deemed important, toward your house – in some haste.
“And thirdly, we have sent young Tom in secret towards the unknown, and unknowable future. And he is our most powerful force.
And he wrote again 3) Have sent Tom toward the unknown future.
Next, Craycroft took the small paper, rolled it into a tiny cylinder, sealed the end, and dispatched it with one of his pages, to be taken to the pigeons, and to be sent to Drachma.
“And, Aye. I have misgivings, too. For the future is not in our hands. And, I suspect that the future from which our two persons have come, is one which will be significantly altered by their presence among us.”
Kerlin pondered what his liege had just said. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease in his heart. And so he got up, and walked over toward the window, which looked out over the darkening courtyard. There, across the great yard he could make out the familiar shapes of the rooflines, which covered the homes of those he had come to hold dear. There were the homes of Melchior and Jeanne. Next to their home was that of the apprentices, where Aaron, Eustace, Hermes and the other youths lived. And next to theirs was the home of Robert and the lady, Judy. He looked at their house with the shutters drawn. Then it struck him as odd. There shouldn’t be anyone in the home, and yet he could see the faint signs of a fire from within.
“M’lord,” he said, “there should not be anyone in the home of Master Robert. And yet I perceive a fire within.”
Craycroft quickly got up, and came over to the window, looked out and saw what Kerlin was noticing.
“Nay, I think not. Unless it be Clarice, or another of the servants.”
“I was thinking, m’lord, that I should like to investigate. For it seems odd to me. I shall take Aaron with me, and then he may report back to you.”
“Very well, Kerlin. Do that. I shall await your word.”
Kelin found Aaron outside Craycroft’s door, and the two of them hurried across the courtyard toward Robert’s house. When they arrived, they found the door bolted, but they could make out from the window that, indeed there was a fire going inside. They tried pounding on the door, but there was no answer. They then hurried around the back to the servants’ entrance. They found this door was open, so they rushed inside.
All was quiet. They looked about. The kitchen was undisturbed, as was the dining room and the parlor. Next they approached the drawing room, where the fireplace burned, but no one was around. Then a small sound came from the main bedroom. They rushed into the room with its large bed, and there, upon the floor was the unmistakable form of a woman. Beneath her was a large stain of blood.
Kerlin was immediately at her side, and turned her over. He could see it was Clarice, and she was still alive.
“Clarice, it is I, Kerlin. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Oh, thank God, it is ye…” She said with some effort. “It was some man… I know not who. I was cleaning up in the house, when I heard… some noises from Master Robert’s study. He was in there… looking fer somethin’… Well, he saw me… and I ran away, but you know, me back and all… He caught up wi’ me… and next thing, I feel this pain in me side, and… then I’m down.”
“That be all right, Clarice. We shall get help for ye. Now, Aaron, run and get help for Clarice, and tell Craycroft. I shall stay with this woman.
As Aaron ran, Kerlin stayed by Clarice’s side, and was able to determine that the intruder was likely the same man who had attacked the youth in the marketplace, and then disappeared into the throng. He stayed by her side, and very gently eased the strands of her hair from her face, which had matted in some of the blood, from her side. He could determine that she did not appear to be bleeding any more, and seemed in no great discomfort, at least while lying there on the floor. So, he determined that any further inquiries could wait.
Craycroft arrived, with Aaron and three others, and quickly took charge.
“Now, my good woman, you shall be cared for, at the Clinic. Now you two,” he gestured toward Aaron and his companions, “get this woman hence, and with the utmost care. I shall see to her care myself in but a few minutes’ time.”
The young men obeyed, and soon Clarice was on her way to the infirmary. The task of cleaning up the house was delegated to two others. And lastly, he turned his attention to Kerlin.
“Well, my good man, what can you tell me of this most sad tale?”
“I was most astounded, as you must have surmised,” began Kerlin. And then he went on to tell Craycroft of all he had been able to determine of his encounter with Clarice.
“Have you gone through Master Robert’s study? For there was something our intruder was after. And, I daresay, he was not to be put off from his search by the maid.”
“Nay, indeed.”
So Craycroft and Kerlin stepped into Bob’s office. There were papers scattered about as if blown by a fierce wind. His desk was overturned, and, by the light of their torches, they could see that the work of his years among them now lay in shambles.
“It would seem to me,” surmised Craycroft, “that our intruder was looking for something in particular…”
“And who is to know if he found what he sought.” Kerlin finished his thought for him. “Now, who would know?”
“It would seem that Melchior would be the one who would most likely know something, if anyone. Why do you not find Master Melchior, and go through this room with him? I shall see to Clarice’s well-being.”
“Very well, m’lord. I shall go anon!”
Chapter Twelve
The two men sat alone in the old house by the sea, which overlooked the bay. As they sat and drank their ale, the sun was setting, and the light coming in the room was orange, making the atmosphere warm. But you could hardly tell by their conversation, which, though animated, was hardly filled with warmth.
“And whom did you set forth to get the information which you wanted?” The older man virtually spat. “None other than this Gilbert fellow. Nothing but a self-serving scoundrel! Remember, I was here for many years, and got to know many of the persons employed in the service of the old earl. Nay, I would not trust him to carry out so much as a simple request… and yet you have granted him…”
“Enough! I have done what I have, and we shall see the consequences. But now we have another ally, and yet, as I see it, a potential threat as well. This count Gregorio, it would seem to me is someone whom we should be careful to watch, for I fear that he is led only by his own wrath. He seeks vengeance, and little more. I do know that you have spoken to him, and he is quite intent on getting back what he says was stolen from him. But he seems to me to be a most incautious sort.”
“Aye, he is that. And I, too, do not feel that he is someone to be trusted. But nonetheless, he could prove more than useful in the weeks and months to come.”
“Tell me then, when my we expect to be seeing this Italian count?”
“Any day now… it was but a month ago when I last corresponded with him, and he was then getting ready his departure.”
“And he shall be arriving at the new pier?”
“Aye…”
“And when do you suppose that I shall have chance to meet him? For, as you may imagine, he and I shall have much to discuss.”
Guarneri was slow to respond, so Antoine LeGace just drubbed his fingers in the arm of his chair, and swallowed the bitter bile, which he felt in his throat. He tried to downplay his irritation at the older man.
After a while, Guarneri did respond, picking his words with caution. “Now, Master LeGace, I have not told the count of my involvement with you, nor have I indicated any of your connections. I thought it better this way, for as you noted, he is a most irascible sort.”
LeGace could feel his anger rise, almost to the point of a curse, then his reason stopped him. He let out a sigh, and asked, “So, you can say that he knows nothing of me, nor does he know anything of our order?”
“Nay, he knows naught. At the very least, not from me.”
“And was he not curious about your sudden wealth, or influence?”
“Nay, he seemed to neither notice, nor to care…”
“Hmm, well then, perhaps we might just find use of him, beyond his wealth and power.”
“As I thought, Master Legace.”
“Perhaps, then, ‘twould be better if he were not to know of my own influence in your world.” LeGace was a bit taken aback by his comrade’s approach. “Well, then, Master Guarneri, you should do what you may to smooth the way for our count. But I must be kept informed – for there is much at stake in this venture. Let me ask one more thing. Do ye know if he has corresponded with the king about the matter? Surely ye must know why I ask…”
“Of that particular, I am uncertain. Though I did inform him that this was not the king’s business. Nevertheless, What he has said, and to whom… well, that much is purely conjecture at this time.”
LeGace drank the last of his ale, and put his flagon down with an emphatic thud. “Now, listen to me. Ye shall make it a point to discern, when ye see this count, to determine whom he has told, and who he considers to be among his own allies.”
“Oh, that I shall. Of that ye can be certain.”
Jeremy looked at Rowan, as they saw the two men stepping out from the small building. Each was huddled down, so as not to be seen in the waning light, which was rapidly disappearing from the mountains to the west. After they were sure it was safe, they came out from behind the sheltering rock, and next headed back toward the woods, all the while, keeping a close eye on their quarry.
“Now what d’ye think they been discussin’, Jeremy?” Rowan asked when he knew they were out of earshot. “For it seems to me that they’re comin’ out more cordial than they went in.”
“Plans… more plans, I suspect.” And then he thought of last evening, when they had watched Master Gilbert, and found out about the knives which he had obtained, and which he had taken over to that house at the western edge of the village. “Now, we but know only these things – that our man, LeGace, is definitely planning somethin’ wi’ this Master Guarneri. And we also know that Gilbert is involved, somehow wi’ all this. But no more yet.”
“It seems to me, though, that we were fortunate to run into your brother last night…”
“Oh, aye. We were, indeed, for that made it simpler to get word to Lord Craycroft of Gilbert’s doin’s. And we still have the bird wi’ us.”
“Now you don’t suppose that yer brother would…?”
“Ah, nay. Me brother’s to be trusted, and he’s not afeared of no one.”
They then watched as the two men rounded the turn, and headed toward the sea, where they got into a small boat, with an oarsman, and drifted off into the ever darkening night. They could see the little lantern in the boat as it headed north toward Dunnigan’s Isle.
“I have a most uneasy feeling, m’lord.” Kerlin looked directly at Craycroft, yet his gaze was the usual implacable one, which his liege had come to trust. “It is something whose origin I am unable to decipher. I know that we have done much, and there are so many threats and possibilities looming. And yet… I just feel it is something more, perhaps some avenue which we have overlooked.”
“Come, Kerlin, and take a seat.” Craycroft indicated the comfortable chair next to his own. “To tell you the truth, I sense it, too. Though I am as certain as I can be that we have done the right things, and have put the right persons into place; yet it does not seem to be enough. For we do not know where our great enemy hides, nor what his true motives be.
“It is as if we have begun a game of chess. He has played his opening move, and now we have countered. Yet we know not what he shall do, nor do we even know what quality of player he is. We but wait for his next move. But I shall tell you this – he knows not our power, nor our resolve. Neither does he understand that we have made several moves to his one.”
“But sire, I do know this man, and what he is capable of doing. I also know that he cares not one whit about anyone but himself, and is willing, nay, I say, eager to use others to achieve his ends.”
“Aye, and that would put us at a disadvantage – for, to us, all our pawns are most precious, but to him, his pawns, knights, rooks, and even his queen appear to be expendable.
“But now, let us review what we have done so far.” Craycroft took a small piece of paper, and he found his quill, and ink, and then he began to jot notes down as he spoke.
“Firstly, we have obtained the services of Jeremy and Rowan, and have sent them on a mission to find what they can of our enemy.”
He wrote down 1) Have sent Jeremy and Rowan as spies.
“Secondly, we have dispatched Master Robert, his lady, with his guardian, as well as the two strangers, along with other attendants and guards toward Drachma’s house.”
He wrote 2) Have sent Master Robert, his lady, his guardian, and others deemed important, toward your house – in some haste.
“And thirdly, we have sent young Tom in secret towards the unknown, and unknowable future. And he is our most powerful force.
And he wrote again 3) Have sent Tom toward the unknown future.
Next, Craycroft took the small paper, rolled it into a tiny cylinder, sealed the end, and dispatched it with one of his pages, to be taken to the pigeons, and to be sent to Drachma.
“And, Aye. I have misgivings, too. For the future is not in our hands. And, I suspect that the future from which our two persons have come, is one which will be significantly altered by their presence among us.”
Kerlin pondered what his liege had just said. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease in his heart. And so he got up, and walked over toward the window, which looked out over the darkening courtyard. There, across the great yard he could make out the familiar shapes of the rooflines, which covered the homes of those he had come to hold dear. There were the homes of Melchior and Jeanne. Next to their home was that of the apprentices, where Aaron, Eustace, Hermes and the other youths lived. And next to theirs was the home of Robert and the lady, Judy. He looked at their house with the shutters drawn. Then it struck him as odd. There shouldn’t be anyone in the home, and yet he could see the faint signs of a fire from within.
“M’lord,” he said, “there should not be anyone in the home of Master Robert. And yet I perceive a fire within.”
Craycroft quickly got up, and came over to the window, looked out and saw what Kerlin was noticing.
“Nay, I think not. Unless it be Clarice, or another of the servants.”
“I was thinking, m’lord, that I should like to investigate. For it seems odd to me. I shall take Aaron with me, and then he may report back to you.”
“Very well, Kerlin. Do that. I shall await your word.”
Kelin found Aaron outside Craycroft’s door, and the two of them hurried across the courtyard toward Robert’s house. When they arrived, they found the door bolted, but they could make out from the window that, indeed there was a fire going inside. They tried pounding on the door, but there was no answer. They then hurried around the back to the servants’ entrance. They found this door was open, so they rushed inside.
All was quiet. They looked about. The kitchen was undisturbed, as was the dining room and the parlor. Next they approached the drawing room, where the fireplace burned, but no one was around. Then a small sound came from the main bedroom. They rushed into the room with its large bed, and there, upon the floor was the unmistakable form of a woman. Beneath her was a large stain of blood.
Kerlin was immediately at her side, and turned her over. He could see it was Clarice, and she was still alive.
“Clarice, it is I, Kerlin. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Oh, thank God, it is ye…” She said with some effort. “It was some man… I know not who. I was cleaning up in the house, when I heard… some noises from Master Robert’s study. He was in there… looking fer somethin’… Well, he saw me… and I ran away, but you know, me back and all… He caught up wi’ me… and next thing, I feel this pain in me side, and… then I’m down.”
“That be all right, Clarice. We shall get help for ye. Now, Aaron, run and get help for Clarice, and tell Craycroft. I shall stay with this woman.
As Aaron ran, Kerlin stayed by Clarice’s side, and was able to determine that the intruder was likely the same man who had attacked the youth in the marketplace, and then disappeared into the throng. He stayed by her side, and very gently eased the strands of her hair from her face, which had matted in some of the blood, from her side. He could determine that she did not appear to be bleeding any more, and seemed in no great discomfort, at least while lying there on the floor. So, he determined that any further inquiries could wait.
Craycroft arrived, with Aaron and three others, and quickly took charge.
“Now, my good woman, you shall be cared for, at the Clinic. Now you two,” he gestured toward Aaron and his companions, “get this woman hence, and with the utmost care. I shall see to her care myself in but a few minutes’ time.”
The young men obeyed, and soon Clarice was on her way to the infirmary. The task of cleaning up the house was delegated to two others. And lastly, he turned his attention to Kerlin.
“Well, my good man, what can you tell me of this most sad tale?”
“I was most astounded, as you must have surmised,” began Kerlin. And then he went on to tell Craycroft of all he had been able to determine of his encounter with Clarice.
“Have you gone through Master Robert’s study? For there was something our intruder was after. And, I daresay, he was not to be put off from his search by the maid.”
“Nay, indeed.”
So Craycroft and Kerlin stepped into Bob’s office. There were papers scattered about as if blown by a fierce wind. His desk was overturned, and, by the light of their torches, they could see that the work of his years among them now lay in shambles.
“It would seem to me,” surmised Craycroft, “that our intruder was looking for something in particular…”
“And who is to know if he found what he sought.” Kerlin finished his thought for him. “Now, who would know?”
“It would seem that Melchior would be the one who would most likely know something, if anyone. Why do you not find Master Melchior, and go through this room with him? I shall see to Clarice’s well-being.”
“Very well, m’lord. I shall go anon!”
April 6, 2014
Music and ultimate reality - part two
I thought that I would take this opportunity to talk about music again. This time I'm going to get a little more philosophical. So, you've been warned. Now the picture above was taken in 2004, before I had my wonderful digital SLR camera which goes with me on all my trips. It was a live (and free) concert given at Butchert Gardens in Victoria, BC. I have no idea who the group was, but I can tell you that they were performing some celtic folk music, as the afternoon was moving rapidly into evening. They were simply playing and singing, and their music was absolutely magical. And the crowd listening to their music were held in a trance as they performed. Now, this was absolutely real music, and captured those around in its spell.Now, let me take you back a few more years, to my childhood, when I took fourth grade in summer school (because we were going to be going back to India, and rather than let me just lag for a year, my parents decided to put me in summer school, so I could at least get the arithmetic) - anyway summer school was a lot of fun for me, because we got to do cool things, like go on field trips. On one field trip, we went to downtown Boston, to hear the Boston Pops orchestra (complete with Arthur Fiedler) play outdoors on the Esplanade. To this day I can remember every piece that was played (Rossini's Overture to The Thieving Magpie, Haydn's Symphony No. 100, and Mendelssohn's First Piano Concerto, played by some 12 year old Korean girl). Now why would I remember that concert all these years later?
I have a theory, that it was the music that burned in my memory. Now, why would this happen? What is it about music that makes things so much more memorable and profound? I firmly believe that music is that which gives things it "touches" an extra dimension. And to me music is from some other dimension of experience. Think about it - music is universal. All people all over the world have music, and we define our special occasions with it. Our moments of celebration, our moments of joy and sorrow are accompanied by music. We hold in high esteem those who are gifted with it - either as performers or composers.
And that term "gifted" seems particularly appropriate. For I do believe that is what it is - a gift.
And what of our music industry? Why do we spend so much of our hard-earned money, and our time on something which, on the surface, seems so counterproductive? Now what good is music? Is there survival advantage in it? No. And yet we spend countless dollars, and countless hours seeking it. It does not make us stronger, smarter, or more attractive. And yet it is all around us - it's in our stores, restaurants, and even there on the phone when we are on hold.
Music, to me, represents that part of us which longs for another dimension, and for which we have a deep yearning. It is not going to get us there, but music can most certainly point the way, if one lets it. Now all this may sound like a lot of blather, but the next time you hear one of your favorite pieces being played, either live or recorded, just stop. Just listen. Just let the music happen to you, and remember we are the only privileged species to whom music means anything more than noise.
