C. Henry Martens's Blog, page 21
May 29, 2015
Who Writes About Themselves?
By Kari Carlisle Having recently finished reading someone’s memoir, the genre is on my mind. Though memoirs, biographies and autobiographies (MBA’s) are not usually my favorite reads, I have read one from time to time. While I am no expert on MBA’s, I do recognize the amazing power they can have.
To clarify for those who may be ignorant at the differences, a memoir is the reflection on a time or circumstance in one’s life, and a biography or autobiography is the recounting of a person’s entire life as told by that person (autobiography) or by a third party (biography). Effective MBA’s draw the reader into the writer’s circumstances, relationships, emotions and realizations.
Everyone has a story to tell. There’s a TV show called The Story Trek . Host Todd Hansen travels the country, knocking on doors, looking for people who are willing to tell their story on TV. What I love about the show is that Hansen is expert at drawing out of the person the “real” story, the deep parts of their past that, I suspect, they had kept hidden, even from themselves. I’ve often wondered what story Hansen would manage to finagle from me…
Which has gotten me thinking, what kind of a person writes an MBA? Hansen knocks on a lot of doors before finding that one person who agrees to talk with him. Sometimes biographies are written without permission from the subject (unauthorized biographies) and sometimes are written posthumously. But I’m talking about MBA’s that reveal people’s deep thoughts and sometimes secrets with a great deal of candor.
Some MBA’s are about famous people, and readers perhaps love these for giving them a glimpse into the life of a celebrity, actor, or athlete and an opportunity to live vicariously through someone else. Some MBA’s are about politicians or business gurus, and I suppose these are read by people eager for clues into achieving their own successful careers.
And some MBA’s are written by or about normal, everyday people. What makes these people extraordinary is their ability to reflect on their lives and communicate to the reader their lessons learned. It’s this extraordinary ability to expose oneself that gifts to the reader a sense of knowing that person, and in the process the reader examines his/her own life, understanding, learning and growing as a human being.
The memoir I just finished is The Dog Stays in the Picture by Susan Morse. While it’s less about the dog of the title than about the author’s circumstances and relationships as she deals with an empty nest, the book will appeal to a large audience, though mainly female. The author does such an effective job of conveying her emotional state throughout, I feel like she has become my friend, and I would feel silly referring to her as Ms. Morse, or just Morse, as I would in any formal book review. But this is not a review, so I am compelled to call her Susan.
In reality I don’t know Susan, but I feel like I do, and I admire her candor and indeed want to be her friend. Though childless myself, I still found myself connecting to Susan emotionally through all her crises and discoveries. I cried and laughed and practically peed my pants. To me, this is an effective memoir. I pee my pants – you done good.
I did meet Susan recently, so I can’t say that our meeting did not contribute to the feeling of knowing her. If you should ever read this blog post, Susan, I’m Samantha’s mom – the one living on the Navajo Reservation and managing Hubbell Trading Post. You graciously took this picture of Sam and me:
Sorry for the side note, folks. Back to my thoughts on MBA’s…
I’ve read ineffective MBA’s, and those fade from my memory quickly. But back to my question – who writes these? Who is willing – and able – to allow untold numbers of strangers into their personal lives?
I have a theory (did you see that coming?). It is a fact of life that we all suffer some trauma in life, or least some major drama. Often these circumstances will shape who we are as people, as individuals, and as a result our perspectives shift. These are life-changing events that can lead us to want to change the world or some aspect of it. Sometimes we are led to use what we have learned through these events to make the world a better place. In a small number of these cases, the tool of choice is to write about it. Someone just said to me this morning, it’s a legacy to pass on the written story of your life. I like that.
Will I ever write an MBA? I have thought about writing a memoir. I’ve had my share of life-changing events and think I might have a thing or two to say to the world. While I would love to write one, I’m not sure I’ve reached a level of honesty with myself yet. Or maybe it’s just not healthy for me to dwell on the traumas that plague my amygdala. Maybe that’s why MBA’s aren’t a favorite genre of mine. Effective ones lead us, nay, force us to self-reflection and self-realization. Personally, I like living in fantasy-land. Besides, do you really want to read about the story of a crazy woman who dresses her dog like a ballerina?
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www.readmota.com
To clarify for those who may be ignorant at the differences, a memoir is the reflection on a time or circumstance in one’s life, and a biography or autobiography is the recounting of a person’s entire life as told by that person (autobiography) or by a third party (biography). Effective MBA’s draw the reader into the writer’s circumstances, relationships, emotions and realizations.
Everyone has a story to tell. There’s a TV show called The Story Trek . Host Todd Hansen travels the country, knocking on doors, looking for people who are willing to tell their story on TV. What I love about the show is that Hansen is expert at drawing out of the person the “real” story, the deep parts of their past that, I suspect, they had kept hidden, even from themselves. I’ve often wondered what story Hansen would manage to finagle from me…
Which has gotten me thinking, what kind of a person writes an MBA? Hansen knocks on a lot of doors before finding that one person who agrees to talk with him. Sometimes biographies are written without permission from the subject (unauthorized biographies) and sometimes are written posthumously. But I’m talking about MBA’s that reveal people’s deep thoughts and sometimes secrets with a great deal of candor.
Some MBA’s are about famous people, and readers perhaps love these for giving them a glimpse into the life of a celebrity, actor, or athlete and an opportunity to live vicariously through someone else. Some MBA’s are about politicians or business gurus, and I suppose these are read by people eager for clues into achieving their own successful careers.
And some MBA’s are written by or about normal, everyday people. What makes these people extraordinary is their ability to reflect on their lives and communicate to the reader their lessons learned. It’s this extraordinary ability to expose oneself that gifts to the reader a sense of knowing that person, and in the process the reader examines his/her own life, understanding, learning and growing as a human being.
The memoir I just finished is The Dog Stays in the Picture by Susan Morse. While it’s less about the dog of the title than about the author’s circumstances and relationships as she deals with an empty nest, the book will appeal to a large audience, though mainly female. The author does such an effective job of conveying her emotional state throughout, I feel like she has become my friend, and I would feel silly referring to her as Ms. Morse, or just Morse, as I would in any formal book review. But this is not a review, so I am compelled to call her Susan.
In reality I don’t know Susan, but I feel like I do, and I admire her candor and indeed want to be her friend. Though childless myself, I still found myself connecting to Susan emotionally through all her crises and discoveries. I cried and laughed and practically peed my pants. To me, this is an effective memoir. I pee my pants – you done good.
I did meet Susan recently, so I can’t say that our meeting did not contribute to the feeling of knowing her. If you should ever read this blog post, Susan, I’m Samantha’s mom – the one living on the Navajo Reservation and managing Hubbell Trading Post. You graciously took this picture of Sam and me:
Sorry for the side note, folks. Back to my thoughts on MBA’s…
I’ve read ineffective MBA’s, and those fade from my memory quickly. But back to my question – who writes these? Who is willing – and able – to allow untold numbers of strangers into their personal lives?
I have a theory (did you see that coming?). It is a fact of life that we all suffer some trauma in life, or least some major drama. Often these circumstances will shape who we are as people, as individuals, and as a result our perspectives shift. These are life-changing events that can lead us to want to change the world or some aspect of it. Sometimes we are led to use what we have learned through these events to make the world a better place. In a small number of these cases, the tool of choice is to write about it. Someone just said to me this morning, it’s a legacy to pass on the written story of your life. I like that.
Will I ever write an MBA? I have thought about writing a memoir. I’ve had my share of life-changing events and think I might have a thing or two to say to the world. While I would love to write one, I’m not sure I’ve reached a level of honesty with myself yet. Or maybe it’s just not healthy for me to dwell on the traumas that plague my amygdala. Maybe that’s why MBA’s aren’t a favorite genre of mine. Effective ones lead us, nay, force us to self-reflection and self-realization. Personally, I like living in fantasy-land. Besides, do you really want to read about the story of a crazy woman who dresses her dog like a ballerina?
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www.readmota.com
May 22, 2015
Deep in the Coals Cooking
by C. Henry Martens
Have you ever wanted an easy camp meal with no cleanup necessary? This is it, and the only thing you will need to wipe off is the cutting board and the silverware.
First, you will need some hot coals. I don’t normally dig holes or group rocks around a fire, but in this case a pit is easiest to work up a deep batch of coals. Some good hardwood fire the night before with some big chunks laid in late and the whole thing buried under a good layer of dirt to slowly smolder may work if you are always close to watch. Alternatively, a quick, intense fire in the late afternoon will provide quick coals. Either way, you need enough volume to bury your meal.
Next, I like hamburger with some fat in it. If you are using other meat, particularly wild game, you will need to add either some kind of grease or water. I prefer grease, and bacon drippings can provide a great meal. Don’t be shy, better too much than too little. Chicken, pork and cured meats will all work. I don’t advise using fish, unless you do it separately from the veggies.
Cut up the veggies into fairly large chunks. Potatoes, carrots, onions are staples, but you can add or substitute with parsnips, cabbage, sweet potato, corn on the cob… be creative. This meal is forgiving. Besides, if you are in the outdoors, everything tastes good.
Lay out a generous amount of tinfoil, doubled, and pinch the corners together to create a pan as deep as you can make it.
If you need to add grease, put it in the bottom. Lay the meat in, and surround it with veggies. I like to use garlic powder directly on the meat. Salt and pepper the whole thing to taste. Add a little water, maybe a quarter of a cup or less.
Cap the whole thing with another layer of foil, crimping the edges tightly. The finished product should be large from side to side, but fairly flat top to bottom.
Dig a hole in your coals, all the way to the bottom. Place the meal in, and shovel a layer of ash over the top to protect it from chunks. Then carefully close the hole with coals, being careful to keep from puncturing the foil.
Forty-five minutes or so later, dig it up. Again, take care to avoid puncturing the tinfoil.
Paper plates you can burn, a few condiments if you like, and voila… a meal with no dishes.
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www.readmota.com
Have you ever wanted an easy camp meal with no cleanup necessary? This is it, and the only thing you will need to wipe off is the cutting board and the silverware.
First, you will need some hot coals. I don’t normally dig holes or group rocks around a fire, but in this case a pit is easiest to work up a deep batch of coals. Some good hardwood fire the night before with some big chunks laid in late and the whole thing buried under a good layer of dirt to slowly smolder may work if you are always close to watch. Alternatively, a quick, intense fire in the late afternoon will provide quick coals. Either way, you need enough volume to bury your meal.
Next, I like hamburger with some fat in it. If you are using other meat, particularly wild game, you will need to add either some kind of grease or water. I prefer grease, and bacon drippings can provide a great meal. Don’t be shy, better too much than too little. Chicken, pork and cured meats will all work. I don’t advise using fish, unless you do it separately from the veggies.
Cut up the veggies into fairly large chunks. Potatoes, carrots, onions are staples, but you can add or substitute with parsnips, cabbage, sweet potato, corn on the cob… be creative. This meal is forgiving. Besides, if you are in the outdoors, everything tastes good.
Lay out a generous amount of tinfoil, doubled, and pinch the corners together to create a pan as deep as you can make it.
If you need to add grease, put it in the bottom. Lay the meat in, and surround it with veggies. I like to use garlic powder directly on the meat. Salt and pepper the whole thing to taste. Add a little water, maybe a quarter of a cup or less.
Cap the whole thing with another layer of foil, crimping the edges tightly. The finished product should be large from side to side, but fairly flat top to bottom.
Dig a hole in your coals, all the way to the bottom. Place the meal in, and shovel a layer of ash over the top to protect it from chunks. Then carefully close the hole with coals, being careful to keep from puncturing the foil.
Forty-five minutes or so later, dig it up. Again, take care to avoid puncturing the tinfoil.
Paper plates you can burn, a few condiments if you like, and voila… a meal with no dishes.
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www.readmota.com
May 15, 2015
Apocalypse Survival 101: Mental Attitude
by C. Henry Martens
Apocalypse Survival 101Mental attitudeAssess the situationDefine the level of riskQuestions that need to be askedLocation, location, locationSkill setTimingThe realities in your support systemInventory of resourcesOdds versus priority
Apocalypse Survival 101: Mental attitude
So, dude, whataya think? Gonna stake yer claim to that cute chick down the block and blast yer way into becoming the chief honcho in these parts?
Good luck with that.
How about bugging out into the outback with munitions and supplies in a lifted four by four to live off the land?
I wish you well.
Instead, let’s get real. In any realistic apocalyptic situation the chances of survival will depend more on your capacity to evaluate fluid situations than on how well you are armed or how well you have planned. Because… you don’t know what is coming. It’s as simple as that. Being heavily armed and/or well supplied can get you killed if you can’t deal with the way life goes awry. But even though the best laid plans can go bad, the mental attitude that is cultivated in making those plans is a major component in survivability. The mere effort to think about survival and what that entails puts you one up on anyone that avoids the idea.
See that list up there? The attitude to make a list, or to consider a list, or to read beyond the list is part of having a mental attitude that will benefit you. But don’t let the list limit your perceptions. All of those things on the list aren’t exclusive unto themselves. They are interrelated, and they affect each other according to various circumstances. You need an imagination so you can visualize what we will be speaking of but go beyond what is said here. Anything you can bring to the discussion beyond what is written down can save your life.
So let’s imagine what might constitute a necessity for being mentally prepared.
You’re out of water in a strange place. A sudden icy wind hits and you are too far away from your own environs to make it back before you freeze. A man you’ve trusted your whole life pulls a gun and points it at you. A large party of mounted, armed men rounds the corner.
So how do you see the sentences before this one? As single events? As one event with bad consequences piling up? As a combination of several distinct events, or one giant cluster…? Being prepared means that you not only see them all as realities as they manifest, but that you are mentally deciding how to deal with them as they each present themselves, including in the aggregate. Remain fluid, but form a plan.
From what I understand, Napoleon was incredibly intent on planning, but readily admitted that when the first shot was fired, “all plans go out the window.” Still, in my opinion someone with a plan is a step ahead of any without one.
There is more to mental attitude than planning, however. Being tough, focused, and intent on success is required as well.
I have heard many people complain that they aren’t wealthy, talented, or famous. When asked what they are prepared to do to succeed in these arenas, they have a universal response, almost as though they opened a can and drew it forth… “I would do anything.” Yet each of these people is most likely to fail, not through ability, but through a lack of commitment.
The person desiring wealth shuns education or the effort in accumulating funds to be invested. The person wishing for talent avoids practice or training. The individual who lives to be famous does nothing… until they give up or are so frustrated that they choose notoriety by committing a crime instead.
So… what are you prepared to do to succeed in surviving Apocalypse?
Are you gonna eat bugs? Good start. But a massive collapse of social order and the absence of law will require more.
First you have to imagine the worst and then understand that the reality will be more intense and brutal in a real situation.
Let’s be unpleasant.
Will you be prepared to eat your dog? What about eating the guy that steals your food? Will you be prepared to trade sexual favors for supplies? What about trading them for your life? Can you live with curling up in an earthen den for extended periods or being incarcerated by people using you for slave labor? If there is a choice between saving several strangers or yourself, what will you choose?
These questions can’t be answered. They are dependent on circumstance and the moment. But survivors ask them, imagining what is possible and making a mental attitude by deciding ahead of time to persevere. Those that do will fail less often than those that deny the effort necessary to be prepared.
Sign up to receive these blog posts in your inbox.
www.readmota.com
Apocalypse Survival 101Mental attitudeAssess the situationDefine the level of riskQuestions that need to be askedLocation, location, locationSkill setTimingThe realities in your support systemInventory of resourcesOdds versus priority
Apocalypse Survival 101: Mental attitude
So, dude, whataya think? Gonna stake yer claim to that cute chick down the block and blast yer way into becoming the chief honcho in these parts?
Good luck with that.
How about bugging out into the outback with munitions and supplies in a lifted four by four to live off the land?
I wish you well.
Instead, let’s get real. In any realistic apocalyptic situation the chances of survival will depend more on your capacity to evaluate fluid situations than on how well you are armed or how well you have planned. Because… you don’t know what is coming. It’s as simple as that. Being heavily armed and/or well supplied can get you killed if you can’t deal with the way life goes awry. But even though the best laid plans can go bad, the mental attitude that is cultivated in making those plans is a major component in survivability. The mere effort to think about survival and what that entails puts you one up on anyone that avoids the idea.
See that list up there? The attitude to make a list, or to consider a list, or to read beyond the list is part of having a mental attitude that will benefit you. But don’t let the list limit your perceptions. All of those things on the list aren’t exclusive unto themselves. They are interrelated, and they affect each other according to various circumstances. You need an imagination so you can visualize what we will be speaking of but go beyond what is said here. Anything you can bring to the discussion beyond what is written down can save your life.
So let’s imagine what might constitute a necessity for being mentally prepared.
You’re out of water in a strange place. A sudden icy wind hits and you are too far away from your own environs to make it back before you freeze. A man you’ve trusted your whole life pulls a gun and points it at you. A large party of mounted, armed men rounds the corner.
So how do you see the sentences before this one? As single events? As one event with bad consequences piling up? As a combination of several distinct events, or one giant cluster…? Being prepared means that you not only see them all as realities as they manifest, but that you are mentally deciding how to deal with them as they each present themselves, including in the aggregate. Remain fluid, but form a plan.
From what I understand, Napoleon was incredibly intent on planning, but readily admitted that when the first shot was fired, “all plans go out the window.” Still, in my opinion someone with a plan is a step ahead of any without one.
There is more to mental attitude than planning, however. Being tough, focused, and intent on success is required as well.
I have heard many people complain that they aren’t wealthy, talented, or famous. When asked what they are prepared to do to succeed in these arenas, they have a universal response, almost as though they opened a can and drew it forth… “I would do anything.” Yet each of these people is most likely to fail, not through ability, but through a lack of commitment.
The person desiring wealth shuns education or the effort in accumulating funds to be invested. The person wishing for talent avoids practice or training. The individual who lives to be famous does nothing… until they give up or are so frustrated that they choose notoriety by committing a crime instead.
So… what are you prepared to do to succeed in surviving Apocalypse?
Are you gonna eat bugs? Good start. But a massive collapse of social order and the absence of law will require more.
First you have to imagine the worst and then understand that the reality will be more intense and brutal in a real situation.
Let’s be unpleasant.
Will you be prepared to eat your dog? What about eating the guy that steals your food? Will you be prepared to trade sexual favors for supplies? What about trading them for your life? Can you live with curling up in an earthen den for extended periods or being incarcerated by people using you for slave labor? If there is a choice between saving several strangers or yourself, what will you choose?
These questions can’t be answered. They are dependent on circumstance and the moment. But survivors ask them, imagining what is possible and making a mental attitude by deciding ahead of time to persevere. Those that do will fail less often than those that deny the effort necessary to be prepared.
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www.readmota.com
May 8, 2015
Sneak Preview: Book Three of the Monster of the Apocalypse Saga
by C. Henry Martens
Book three is finished, awaiting the beta readers to get back to us and Kari to edit it, and so I have some time to reflect on the writing, the thought process, and the Great Idea.
The writing has surprised me. When I started book one, Monster of the Apocalypse , several things came together. A tough time in life, I was full of anger, and I put that into the pages that unfolded from my keyboard. It seemed a natural thing, and it worked and spoke to me as nothing else has in my life.
The first book was intended to represent my children and the struggles they would face… and the confidence I found in them as they progressed.
Book two, There Where the Power Lies , had to be written to explain the Great Idea in detail. The convoluted machinations of power and wealth to save the world with a truly terrible solution insisted on being told. Few people are aware of what dangers there are in the future, and those that do rarely put those several dangers together in order to see what results, so I was fascinated as the story flowed onto the page. Now book three is here, tentatively titled Yoke of Destiny, due to the old west nature of the scene as the world comes back from oblivion to remake the mistakes of the past.
What I like best in the three books is that they are very realistic in the future technologies proposed, the situations encountered, and the people described. These are books with fat meat on the bone, and I am proud of them.
Following, you will find the first several paragraphs of Yoke of Destiny. It is a read filled with the experience gleaned from real life on ranches and farms and will bring you back to the old west… and the west that still exists. Don't worry, no spoilers...
Yoke of Destiny, unedited, chapter one, section one
Lurching and shifting as the great beasts settled into their yokes and worked in unison, the massive redwood moved along the crumbling highway 5. Twenty-six span of three thousand pound animals strained against their traces, a day at a time, inching the load toward Roseburg in Sullivan territory.On average, one would die every day, its heart burst from the massive strain. The span would be unhitched and the downed animal dragged by its yoke-mate, and another, from the position in the hitch. Before it was well off the road, another span would replace it, and the thirty-foot bull whips would begin to crack and pop. The six drivers, three to a side, would rarely peel any hair from the beast’s hides, much less draw blood. The animals knew the sting of the lash well from the years in early training and required little urging by the time they reached their maximum strength and weight.The ten pair closest to the load were bulls. Stronger than steers, they provided a lever made of muscle and bone to winch the load forward whenever it stalled. Even though they were more powerful, there was care to keep the pull in a straight line. Otherwise the steers would winch the bulls to the side and off the road. Inevitably resulting in injury, animals would have to be put down.An entire industry revolved around the care and maintenance of the animals, alive and dead. The mature man in charge of the laboring oxen, Drill Shannon and his son, Edge, made sure that there were at least four spare span alongside the hitch at all times led by young boys new to the work. An outrider on horseback, sent ahead to inspect their path and anticipate obstacles along the sides, would relay information back every quarter mile so they could stay out of the way of the pull. The instructions would determine where the replacement spans would position themselves so that they would be accessible immediately but stay out of the way.Then there were the two men with single oxen that would drag the dead out of the way. They would attach their ox to the outside of the yoke opposite the live animal, and a lanyard to the nose ring of the survivor, and pull the downed beast back to the processing area to be turned into cured meat. As the operation progressed, there was always another freight wagon full of stacked and bagged jerky to be delivered ahead of them.Two men worked the meatwagon which doubled as a galley, a freighter delivered processed meat in round trips to Roseburg, a boy at the lead oxen with a lanyard, and four men employed to service the heavy cart beneath the load and remove or smooth out perturbations in the path, four herdsmen to care for and move the resting oxen, a blacksmith and his helper with their own wagon, and the Load Master, a big man with a voice like the bullwhip he carried. All told, twenty-eight men and over four hundred oxen had left Roseburg to retrieve the big tree. With any luck all twenty-eight men and two thirds of the animals would return.But it wasn’t to be. An unseen divot, hidden by thick, overhanging grass beneath the right front wheel, plunged it six inches into the ground. Enough to crack the carriage and shatter the axle, the massive wheel hit the ground like a huge sledge hammer, catching the off side Carter between his neck and left arm. The weight, and the heavy iron rim, sliced his body through from shoulder to waist before smashing his hips and splintering his thigh bones into the decaying concrete of the old freeway. The other off side carter, seeing what was happening and helpless to prevent it, scrambled beneath the load to the other side, and to safety.The tons of tree settled, and the next axle popped, and then the third and fourth. Enough to upset the balance, and shift the center of gravity, the load groaned as it snapped the front chains holding it in place. The event cascaded, and the load became free of restraint.Both the meatwagon and the smithy had moved up earlier in the day to a small meadow alongside the old highway. The smith looked up and realized what was happening. He grabbed his apprentice and ran to the rear of his wagon and away from the trajectory of the oncoming behemoth. The two men on the meatwagon were intent on hoisting a fresh carcass opposite the road, the heavy block and tackle masking any sounds in their focus on their work. A fresh span was being led to the head of the column, alongside the load. The inexperienced kid with the lanyard froze, his eyes growing wide and bulging, as though being pulled from between his lids.From the front of the bull teams, Edge watched as a man launched himself toward the kid leading the oxen. He grabbed the youngster and pulled him by the arm, jerking it viciously. Suddenly the boy seemed to wake, and he scrambled with the other man toward safety, dropping the lead rope. They ran toward the front of the descending tonnage, and just as the mass rolled completely off the cradle the older man stumbled and fell. The young man stopped and reached back, but the man waved him away and screamed for him to run. He did, making it to safety just before he would have been crushed.The trunk didn’t even hesitate as it flattened the two wagons to the ground and rolled over the remains. The meatwagon men were under the wreckage and not visible, but Edge assumed they were dead. The abandoned yoke of oxen had seen the danger, but had been caught and driven into the ground as they turned to run. They looked like hide rugs lying on a floor. A strange thought occurred to Edge as he recognized that the rugs had a yoke around their necks.The man that had helped the young kid was flattened as well. Edge could hear someone screaming as he fell to his knees, realizing that the prone, collapsed form wore the shirt he had given his father for his birthday. He didn’t realize that the screams were his own until being told later.The great tree settled against some small pines, just past what was left of the wagons, as though the saplings had stopped it. In the sudden silence, only the screams echoed off the hills.
www.readmota.com
Book three is finished, awaiting the beta readers to get back to us and Kari to edit it, and so I have some time to reflect on the writing, the thought process, and the Great Idea.
The writing has surprised me. When I started book one, Monster of the Apocalypse , several things came together. A tough time in life, I was full of anger, and I put that into the pages that unfolded from my keyboard. It seemed a natural thing, and it worked and spoke to me as nothing else has in my life.
The first book was intended to represent my children and the struggles they would face… and the confidence I found in them as they progressed.
Book two, There Where the Power Lies , had to be written to explain the Great Idea in detail. The convoluted machinations of power and wealth to save the world with a truly terrible solution insisted on being told. Few people are aware of what dangers there are in the future, and those that do rarely put those several dangers together in order to see what results, so I was fascinated as the story flowed onto the page. Now book three is here, tentatively titled Yoke of Destiny, due to the old west nature of the scene as the world comes back from oblivion to remake the mistakes of the past.
What I like best in the three books is that they are very realistic in the future technologies proposed, the situations encountered, and the people described. These are books with fat meat on the bone, and I am proud of them.
Following, you will find the first several paragraphs of Yoke of Destiny. It is a read filled with the experience gleaned from real life on ranches and farms and will bring you back to the old west… and the west that still exists. Don't worry, no spoilers...
Yoke of Destiny, unedited, chapter one, section one
Lurching and shifting as the great beasts settled into their yokes and worked in unison, the massive redwood moved along the crumbling highway 5. Twenty-six span of three thousand pound animals strained against their traces, a day at a time, inching the load toward Roseburg in Sullivan territory.On average, one would die every day, its heart burst from the massive strain. The span would be unhitched and the downed animal dragged by its yoke-mate, and another, from the position in the hitch. Before it was well off the road, another span would replace it, and the thirty-foot bull whips would begin to crack and pop. The six drivers, three to a side, would rarely peel any hair from the beast’s hides, much less draw blood. The animals knew the sting of the lash well from the years in early training and required little urging by the time they reached their maximum strength and weight.The ten pair closest to the load were bulls. Stronger than steers, they provided a lever made of muscle and bone to winch the load forward whenever it stalled. Even though they were more powerful, there was care to keep the pull in a straight line. Otherwise the steers would winch the bulls to the side and off the road. Inevitably resulting in injury, animals would have to be put down.An entire industry revolved around the care and maintenance of the animals, alive and dead. The mature man in charge of the laboring oxen, Drill Shannon and his son, Edge, made sure that there were at least four spare span alongside the hitch at all times led by young boys new to the work. An outrider on horseback, sent ahead to inspect their path and anticipate obstacles along the sides, would relay information back every quarter mile so they could stay out of the way of the pull. The instructions would determine where the replacement spans would position themselves so that they would be accessible immediately but stay out of the way.Then there were the two men with single oxen that would drag the dead out of the way. They would attach their ox to the outside of the yoke opposite the live animal, and a lanyard to the nose ring of the survivor, and pull the downed beast back to the processing area to be turned into cured meat. As the operation progressed, there was always another freight wagon full of stacked and bagged jerky to be delivered ahead of them.Two men worked the meatwagon which doubled as a galley, a freighter delivered processed meat in round trips to Roseburg, a boy at the lead oxen with a lanyard, and four men employed to service the heavy cart beneath the load and remove or smooth out perturbations in the path, four herdsmen to care for and move the resting oxen, a blacksmith and his helper with their own wagon, and the Load Master, a big man with a voice like the bullwhip he carried. All told, twenty-eight men and over four hundred oxen had left Roseburg to retrieve the big tree. With any luck all twenty-eight men and two thirds of the animals would return.But it wasn’t to be. An unseen divot, hidden by thick, overhanging grass beneath the right front wheel, plunged it six inches into the ground. Enough to crack the carriage and shatter the axle, the massive wheel hit the ground like a huge sledge hammer, catching the off side Carter between his neck and left arm. The weight, and the heavy iron rim, sliced his body through from shoulder to waist before smashing his hips and splintering his thigh bones into the decaying concrete of the old freeway. The other off side carter, seeing what was happening and helpless to prevent it, scrambled beneath the load to the other side, and to safety.The tons of tree settled, and the next axle popped, and then the third and fourth. Enough to upset the balance, and shift the center of gravity, the load groaned as it snapped the front chains holding it in place. The event cascaded, and the load became free of restraint.Both the meatwagon and the smithy had moved up earlier in the day to a small meadow alongside the old highway. The smith looked up and realized what was happening. He grabbed his apprentice and ran to the rear of his wagon and away from the trajectory of the oncoming behemoth. The two men on the meatwagon were intent on hoisting a fresh carcass opposite the road, the heavy block and tackle masking any sounds in their focus on their work. A fresh span was being led to the head of the column, alongside the load. The inexperienced kid with the lanyard froze, his eyes growing wide and bulging, as though being pulled from between his lids.From the front of the bull teams, Edge watched as a man launched himself toward the kid leading the oxen. He grabbed the youngster and pulled him by the arm, jerking it viciously. Suddenly the boy seemed to wake, and he scrambled with the other man toward safety, dropping the lead rope. They ran toward the front of the descending tonnage, and just as the mass rolled completely off the cradle the older man stumbled and fell. The young man stopped and reached back, but the man waved him away and screamed for him to run. He did, making it to safety just before he would have been crushed.The trunk didn’t even hesitate as it flattened the two wagons to the ground and rolled over the remains. The meatwagon men were under the wreckage and not visible, but Edge assumed they were dead. The abandoned yoke of oxen had seen the danger, but had been caught and driven into the ground as they turned to run. They looked like hide rugs lying on a floor. A strange thought occurred to Edge as he recognized that the rugs had a yoke around their necks.The man that had helped the young kid was flattened as well. Edge could hear someone screaming as he fell to his knees, realizing that the prone, collapsed form wore the shirt he had given his father for his birthday. He didn’t realize that the screams were his own until being told later.The great tree settled against some small pines, just past what was left of the wagons, as though the saplings had stopped it. In the sudden silence, only the screams echoed off the hills.
www.readmota.com
May 1, 2015
Guest Post: What Will YOU Bring to the Table After the Apocalypse?
by Electa Morrow
After the apocalypse, having people around with specific skills will be a necessity as well as a bonus.
A person with mechanical skills or just "fix it" skills in general can make living in the post apocalypse a much easier feat. Finding a broken down vehicle, whether it be as simple as a dead battery or as difficult as a blown transmission; and knowing that someone in your group can have it fixed and you on your way is reassuring and up lifting.
A person with medical skills is probably the next best thing to have (if not the best). Mistakes happen, accidents happen, and people get hurt and sick. Knowing that someone in your group knows how to stitch up a gash and clean a wound to prevent infection is incredibly useful in an apocalyptic situation.
I would say a hunter would be helpful, however; everyone in the group should be able to hunt for food.
A person with innovative building skills is an important factor to consider. You don't know where you'll be sleeping all of the time and having someone that can build a shelter out of any surroundings will come in handy.
An "engineer" would be handy to have around for all intents and purposes. A water purification system would go a long way in a post-apocalyptic world. And there's no telling what else a person with those kinds of skills could come up with.
A person with farming skills such as growing edible plants, and being able to identify edible plants wouldn't hurt either.
And last, but not least; a group "mom" that can keep morale up and be the caregiver or the "heart" of the group is always a good idea. She/he will keep people knowing that they're going to make it and give the group the will to keep moving and living.
As well; all of these abilities/skills should be able to be taught or passed down.
www.readmota.com
After the apocalypse, having people around with specific skills will be a necessity as well as a bonus.
A person with mechanical skills or just "fix it" skills in general can make living in the post apocalypse a much easier feat. Finding a broken down vehicle, whether it be as simple as a dead battery or as difficult as a blown transmission; and knowing that someone in your group can have it fixed and you on your way is reassuring and up lifting.
A person with medical skills is probably the next best thing to have (if not the best). Mistakes happen, accidents happen, and people get hurt and sick. Knowing that someone in your group knows how to stitch up a gash and clean a wound to prevent infection is incredibly useful in an apocalyptic situation.
I would say a hunter would be helpful, however; everyone in the group should be able to hunt for food.
A person with innovative building skills is an important factor to consider. You don't know where you'll be sleeping all of the time and having someone that can build a shelter out of any surroundings will come in handy.
An "engineer" would be handy to have around for all intents and purposes. A water purification system would go a long way in a post-apocalyptic world. And there's no telling what else a person with those kinds of skills could come up with.
A person with farming skills such as growing edible plants, and being able to identify edible plants wouldn't hurt either.
And last, but not least; a group "mom" that can keep morale up and be the caregiver or the "heart" of the group is always a good idea. She/he will keep people knowing that they're going to make it and give the group the will to keep moving and living.
As well; all of these abilities/skills should be able to be taught or passed down.
www.readmota.com
April 28, 2015
Short Story: Stolen Credit
by C. Henry Martens
It was time to fume. The boss, a mealy mouthed, professional brown noser, had just accepted credit for all of her hard work, and Minette was not happy. She had watched as Raj Bandopadhyay’s face changed during the investor’s praise over the results of the unusual idea, the results showing promise. Her idea, her hard work, all done in spite of Raj insisting that she was misusing her time and that the effort was wasteful. Now he beamed, stating boldly that HE had come up with the idea, that HE had gone against accepted thinking, that HE had persevered against all odds, that HE had found ways to do the research by special effort and finding clever ways to fund the project while still doing the work he was actually being paid to do.
Watching the group of men walk away, Raj didn’t acknowledge Minette’s effort in any way. He accepted the praise for something he had dismissed as inappropriate and placed his arm across the shoulders of the most excited investor in a disgusting display of bromance, and Minette knew he would soon be profiting financially at her expense.
The study of flesh eating bacteria was something to be passionate about. Remembering her first intense fascination, Minette thought about the young man that had contracted the fast moving disease that would kill him in less than a week, as well as the news stories that sensationalized the effort to save him. Her middle school brain, just newly introduced to the amazing world of real scientific efforts, was captured. The next year became an obsessive and stimulating absorption of anything she could glean. Soon she had learned to move beyond media sources and libraries, and she began to read scientific papers published in places that the general public ignored. She began to correspond with a few of the researchers, tentatively, and soon found that she had to hide her age… and her gender… to be taken seriously.
The breakthrough IDEA came later, in the wee hours of the night, sometime after she had received her accelerated PHD and landed the current job as an underling to a man that had struggled to make C’s.
For the most part Minette was happy in her early years, doing the work diligently and learning as experience taught her what schooling could not. Sure, there were frustrations, but she ignored them in favor of getting along and prioritizing the effort over her own desires. Her experience in the lab was shared by many of her co-workers, as everyone hired by Raj was more talented than he was. His expertise was in selling himself to people that could finance studies, and that made him essential though not respected.
When the idea presented itself to her fading-into-sleep mind, Minette had just enough time to wake and write down the particulars. She had learned that making a promise to herself to remember was pretty much useless, so she clambered from her warm covers and treading a cold floor with bare feet, found notepaper and a pen that took some time to write. A few quick notes, trying to retain the gist, and she returned to her bed to sleep soundly.
Minette almost forgot. Had the note not been placed conspicuously in order to be seen, she would have.
Presenting the idea to Raj, expecting immediate acceptance because of the obvious brilliance, Minette’s expectations came up against a reality check. The less than exceptional thinker that was her boss quashed her idea like a bug. It was not part of the accepted program, it was not the traditional thinking, and it was not going to be in competition for funding with his own ideas.
Not being able to get the idea out of her mind, Minette agonized over what she could do. When a shipment of petri dishes showed damage and Raj ordered them discarded, Minette found her opportunity. She saw waste throughout the labs, and realized that with careful discretion she could supply her effort with little expense. The work would have to be after hours, and she broke up with a young lover she cared about within the week.
Breeding bacteria was not difficult. Maintaining separation from different strains and from human contact was what the lab was set up for. The equipment was available. When Raj found her working late, he almost demanded her to discontinue… but in an unusual fit of rage, startling him, Minette actually scared him into a mild acceptance. He would look the other way, for now.
The work progressed. Genetic traits were identified. Minette was looking for the remnants of characteristics that had been prevalent in the century past, those that had been weeded out by the use of antibiotics and by their loss had made these diseases killers.
It was a simple fact that the use of medical pharmaceuticals had hastened the evolution of bacteria. What was not so well known was that the practice of using antibiotics in animal feed was a generous contributor to that evolution, and the practice was almost entirely unnecessary. At first the medicines were used sparingly, and appropriately, to treat sick animals. Over time it became more cost efficient in large feedlots to treat the entire population as a preventative. Then… something else was noticed. Animals that were treated gained weight faster. The antibiotics thinned the gut and made nutrients more easily absorbed. Fifty cents worth of antibiotics saved several dollars in the cost of feed. The horses were off, and in an industry rife with the search for competitive advantage, antibiotics in feed became the norm in order to level the playing field. No one thought about the consequences and that pharma use limited to sick animals would be better for humans and still provide a level playing field to meat producers.
The real trick was to find the genes that made the bacteria benign, or even better, easy to kill. Over years those genes had become dormant or bred out, but with luck and expensive automated technology Minette found them. Her first results were startling when she reinserted the genes into deadly strains. They died easily when exposed to discontinued antibiotics, those not used any longer due to being ineffective.
There was no way to artificially insert genetic materials into the bacteria already infecting people, though. The search began for a natural solution. Now the DNA sequencers were searching for dominant strains that could de-evolve dangerous bacteria.
Soon the leap was made, and Minette had several dominant traits identified and reproducing in the limited space she had for her experiments. Results were positive across the board. With the reproductive rate of fast spreading deadly forms of flesh eating diseases, Minette could infuse a topical cream and spread it directly on the petri dish infected. After a short time, usually less than six hours, her introduced devolved bacteria would breed with the evolved strain to infect it with dominant genes that caused the reproducing bacteria to be susceptible to the most mild and ineffective antibiotics… and they would work, killing the entire culture.
How the investors found out about her work was unknown. Certainly Raj had no interest as he was not inclined to pay enough attention to realize what was being done or what results there had been. Suspecting her co-workers of being spies for the investors seemed the most likely option, and Minette mulled over who the mole could be, along with her thoughts of Raj taking credit. She was pissed.
Suddenly, the investor with Raj’s arm over his shoulder seemed to hesitate, coming to a slow stop. He seemed to be all ears for the blather coming from Raj’s lips, but he turned his head to look over Raj’s arm and engaged Minette, making eye contact. He winked.
Raj noticed, seemed flustered, but never broke his stride in what he was saying. He tightened his grip on the bromance and with light pressure directed the investor from the room.
www.readmota.com
It was time to fume. The boss, a mealy mouthed, professional brown noser, had just accepted credit for all of her hard work, and Minette was not happy. She had watched as Raj Bandopadhyay’s face changed during the investor’s praise over the results of the unusual idea, the results showing promise. Her idea, her hard work, all done in spite of Raj insisting that she was misusing her time and that the effort was wasteful. Now he beamed, stating boldly that HE had come up with the idea, that HE had gone against accepted thinking, that HE had persevered against all odds, that HE had found ways to do the research by special effort and finding clever ways to fund the project while still doing the work he was actually being paid to do.
Watching the group of men walk away, Raj didn’t acknowledge Minette’s effort in any way. He accepted the praise for something he had dismissed as inappropriate and placed his arm across the shoulders of the most excited investor in a disgusting display of bromance, and Minette knew he would soon be profiting financially at her expense.
The study of flesh eating bacteria was something to be passionate about. Remembering her first intense fascination, Minette thought about the young man that had contracted the fast moving disease that would kill him in less than a week, as well as the news stories that sensationalized the effort to save him. Her middle school brain, just newly introduced to the amazing world of real scientific efforts, was captured. The next year became an obsessive and stimulating absorption of anything she could glean. Soon she had learned to move beyond media sources and libraries, and she began to read scientific papers published in places that the general public ignored. She began to correspond with a few of the researchers, tentatively, and soon found that she had to hide her age… and her gender… to be taken seriously.
The breakthrough IDEA came later, in the wee hours of the night, sometime after she had received her accelerated PHD and landed the current job as an underling to a man that had struggled to make C’s.
For the most part Minette was happy in her early years, doing the work diligently and learning as experience taught her what schooling could not. Sure, there were frustrations, but she ignored them in favor of getting along and prioritizing the effort over her own desires. Her experience in the lab was shared by many of her co-workers, as everyone hired by Raj was more talented than he was. His expertise was in selling himself to people that could finance studies, and that made him essential though not respected.
When the idea presented itself to her fading-into-sleep mind, Minette had just enough time to wake and write down the particulars. She had learned that making a promise to herself to remember was pretty much useless, so she clambered from her warm covers and treading a cold floor with bare feet, found notepaper and a pen that took some time to write. A few quick notes, trying to retain the gist, and she returned to her bed to sleep soundly.
Minette almost forgot. Had the note not been placed conspicuously in order to be seen, she would have.
Presenting the idea to Raj, expecting immediate acceptance because of the obvious brilliance, Minette’s expectations came up against a reality check. The less than exceptional thinker that was her boss quashed her idea like a bug. It was not part of the accepted program, it was not the traditional thinking, and it was not going to be in competition for funding with his own ideas.
Not being able to get the idea out of her mind, Minette agonized over what she could do. When a shipment of petri dishes showed damage and Raj ordered them discarded, Minette found her opportunity. She saw waste throughout the labs, and realized that with careful discretion she could supply her effort with little expense. The work would have to be after hours, and she broke up with a young lover she cared about within the week.
Breeding bacteria was not difficult. Maintaining separation from different strains and from human contact was what the lab was set up for. The equipment was available. When Raj found her working late, he almost demanded her to discontinue… but in an unusual fit of rage, startling him, Minette actually scared him into a mild acceptance. He would look the other way, for now.
The work progressed. Genetic traits were identified. Minette was looking for the remnants of characteristics that had been prevalent in the century past, those that had been weeded out by the use of antibiotics and by their loss had made these diseases killers.
It was a simple fact that the use of medical pharmaceuticals had hastened the evolution of bacteria. What was not so well known was that the practice of using antibiotics in animal feed was a generous contributor to that evolution, and the practice was almost entirely unnecessary. At first the medicines were used sparingly, and appropriately, to treat sick animals. Over time it became more cost efficient in large feedlots to treat the entire population as a preventative. Then… something else was noticed. Animals that were treated gained weight faster. The antibiotics thinned the gut and made nutrients more easily absorbed. Fifty cents worth of antibiotics saved several dollars in the cost of feed. The horses were off, and in an industry rife with the search for competitive advantage, antibiotics in feed became the norm in order to level the playing field. No one thought about the consequences and that pharma use limited to sick animals would be better for humans and still provide a level playing field to meat producers.
The real trick was to find the genes that made the bacteria benign, or even better, easy to kill. Over years those genes had become dormant or bred out, but with luck and expensive automated technology Minette found them. Her first results were startling when she reinserted the genes into deadly strains. They died easily when exposed to discontinued antibiotics, those not used any longer due to being ineffective.
There was no way to artificially insert genetic materials into the bacteria already infecting people, though. The search began for a natural solution. Now the DNA sequencers were searching for dominant strains that could de-evolve dangerous bacteria.
Soon the leap was made, and Minette had several dominant traits identified and reproducing in the limited space she had for her experiments. Results were positive across the board. With the reproductive rate of fast spreading deadly forms of flesh eating diseases, Minette could infuse a topical cream and spread it directly on the petri dish infected. After a short time, usually less than six hours, her introduced devolved bacteria would breed with the evolved strain to infect it with dominant genes that caused the reproducing bacteria to be susceptible to the most mild and ineffective antibiotics… and they would work, killing the entire culture.
How the investors found out about her work was unknown. Certainly Raj had no interest as he was not inclined to pay enough attention to realize what was being done or what results there had been. Suspecting her co-workers of being spies for the investors seemed the most likely option, and Minette mulled over who the mole could be, along with her thoughts of Raj taking credit. She was pissed.
Suddenly, the investor with Raj’s arm over his shoulder seemed to hesitate, coming to a slow stop. He seemed to be all ears for the blather coming from Raj’s lips, but he turned his head to look over Raj’s arm and engaged Minette, making eye contact. He winked.
Raj noticed, seemed flustered, but never broke his stride in what he was saying. He tightened his grip on the bromance and with light pressure directed the investor from the room.
www.readmota.com
April 24, 2015
Responsible Cops Unite
By C. Henry Martens
I’m going to address this article to the police forces, the people who wear the shield proudly, and should, of our nation. This is for you.
I like cops (I understand that the term cop has been seen as less than respectful in the past, but I hear cops use it all the time now, so if you are offended I apologize in advance). Again, I like cops. I embrace the rule of law. I understand the value of the police in society. I appreciate their hard work. I sympathize with not only the physical dangers they place themselves in, but the emotional desert island they choose by putting on a badge. I honor their service and defend them in my heart, and verbally, if I can possibly justify their actions. That said, I expect them to do their jobs.
“To serve and protect” comes to mind. This is an oath and a phrase that is applied to police cars and is ingrained in the mind as what a citizen should expect from the person appearing as the result of a call to 911.
Largely in by far the majority of cases, people get what they expect… quality service and protection from crime. In many cases if no crime has been committed and police hands are tied by legality, the police are willing to supply advice and strategy to assist you in your own defense until they have something to act on. Good cops sympathize with victims and potential victims.
But just as in all organizations, there is a less attractive side. This is true in the most honored and necessary professions… firefighting, medical practitioners, and educators to name a few… and if you see yourself here this applies to you as well. The darkest side of police work is when the membership fails to enforce responsibility on themselves. When the entire group is colored by the brush of illegitimate activity… and they defend the action instead of dealing appropriately with the issue.
What am I speaking of? Recently there has been a plethora of news dealing in unnecessary violence, especially in the context of racism, and most of the actions resulting in death. Just this week there was national news about thousands of unsupportable convictions due to false testimony by the FBI, several leading to the death penalty. You are better than this.
Where is justice if the very people, the very organization that the public employs to oversee the legal system, refuses to hold itself accountable?
If not we, as a collective of society, at least “I” love you guys and gals in blue. I want the best for you. I have your back. And as such I have to point out that you have become your own worst enemy. Please stand up and be counted. Those of you that live by the rules, by your oath, are the majority… and you can do nothing but benefit from holding yourselves to the highest standard. Be the best. You deserve it. And you are responsible for what you get.
Sometimes being responsible means recognizing there is a problem. Sometimes it means changing policy, even changing custom. Sometimes it means separating good… from bad.
www.readmota.com
I’m going to address this article to the police forces, the people who wear the shield proudly, and should, of our nation. This is for you.
I like cops (I understand that the term cop has been seen as less than respectful in the past, but I hear cops use it all the time now, so if you are offended I apologize in advance). Again, I like cops. I embrace the rule of law. I understand the value of the police in society. I appreciate their hard work. I sympathize with not only the physical dangers they place themselves in, but the emotional desert island they choose by putting on a badge. I honor their service and defend them in my heart, and verbally, if I can possibly justify their actions. That said, I expect them to do their jobs.
“To serve and protect” comes to mind. This is an oath and a phrase that is applied to police cars and is ingrained in the mind as what a citizen should expect from the person appearing as the result of a call to 911.
Largely in by far the majority of cases, people get what they expect… quality service and protection from crime. In many cases if no crime has been committed and police hands are tied by legality, the police are willing to supply advice and strategy to assist you in your own defense until they have something to act on. Good cops sympathize with victims and potential victims.
But just as in all organizations, there is a less attractive side. This is true in the most honored and necessary professions… firefighting, medical practitioners, and educators to name a few… and if you see yourself here this applies to you as well. The darkest side of police work is when the membership fails to enforce responsibility on themselves. When the entire group is colored by the brush of illegitimate activity… and they defend the action instead of dealing appropriately with the issue.
What am I speaking of? Recently there has been a plethora of news dealing in unnecessary violence, especially in the context of racism, and most of the actions resulting in death. Just this week there was national news about thousands of unsupportable convictions due to false testimony by the FBI, several leading to the death penalty. You are better than this.
Where is justice if the very people, the very organization that the public employs to oversee the legal system, refuses to hold itself accountable?
If not we, as a collective of society, at least “I” love you guys and gals in blue. I want the best for you. I have your back. And as such I have to point out that you have become your own worst enemy. Please stand up and be counted. Those of you that live by the rules, by your oath, are the majority… and you can do nothing but benefit from holding yourselves to the highest standard. Be the best. You deserve it. And you are responsible for what you get.
Sometimes being responsible means recognizing there is a problem. Sometimes it means changing policy, even changing custom. Sometimes it means separating good… from bad.
www.readmota.com
April 17, 2015
The Apocalypse is Already Here - What Are You Going to Do About It?
By Kari Carlisle
There is a lot of talk and preparation and fear surrounding a possible apocalypse. Human-caused and/or natural disasters lurk around every corner. Some people spend a great deal of time and resources to ensure that they and their loved ones have the best chance for survival.
As Earth Day approaches in a few days, my thoughts turn to the realization that the apocalypse has already arrived or is imminent for many. For some the apocalypse is indeed human-caused. For others natural disaster is the problem. And for yet others, I think it’s probably a combination. I’m talking about the animals, insects and plants with which we share this world.
Entire books have been written about individual species that are endangered or that have already become extinct, so I know that I can’t really do justice in this short post to the calamity befalling so many. Almost all of the largest creatures on earth are gone or facing extinction – the great apes, large cats, elephants, rhinos, whales and more will be gone because of greed and disrespect on the part of humans who are supposed to be their caretakers according to the Bible. Even if you don’t believe the Bible, common sense should indicate a need to preserve what nature has provided.
Although I’m a dreamer when it comes to my desire to preserve every species, I’m also a realist. Some species will disappear, regardless of anyone’s attempt to save them. For example, I am saddened by the fact that the Australian dingo will be extinct within decades. I’m talking about dingoes with pure dingo DNA that has not mixed with domestic dogs. Probably the last few dingoes that have remained pure are found on Fraser Island, and their lives depend solely on the dingo management decisions of the government agents there. Scary.
When dingoes are gone, or have “evolved” into a hybrid mix of some other canid species, their loss will be our loss. Their place in the ecosystem will be filled in by other top predators, but we will mourn them as we still mourn the loss of other Australian species, even while plagued with an overabundance of others. And it’s all due to human interference and mismanagement. But realistically, though sad, the loss of the dingo will not be the loss of dog-kind. We will still have an abundance of dogs, domestic, feral and wild, to fill their niche in this world.
What happens when we lose an entire genus?
Bees. The bees are disappearing. I have acquaintances who have raised bees and who no longer raise bees because their hives disappeared. Where are they going? Are they flying off and dying? What’s killing them? When I was a kid, I tended to have allergic reactions to all kinds of insect bites and stings, bees included. I was understandably afraid of bees. And bees were everywhere. Now, though I’m out hiking every day, seeing or hearing a bee is rare.
I don’t pretend to know or even have a firm belief on the cause of the bee calamity. I do think that humans are to blame for the toxins, GMO’s or whatever it is that’s leading to their demise. It could be global warming, though I don’t think that really is the major factor in the bee problem, and whether global warming is human-caused or not, well, that’s the subject of another blog post.
When bees are gone, their loss will be our loss in a more profound sense than our dingo loss. Bees are an intrinsic part of the earth’s ecosystem, pollinating crops and wild plants. Though there are other insects and birds that fill this function as well, will it be enough, or will the world suffer a devastating loss of plant life that depends on bee pollination? Plants provide us and all creatures with food and oxygen. Is the bees’ apocalypse our apocalypse?
Humans are, I’m afraid, not playing very nice with the rest of our companions in the sandbox. Greed, ignorance, apathy and numerous other adjectives apply to our own species to the detriment of others. My mother taught me to pick my battles. Saving the planet is a battle we must all be willing to fight collectively. Though there is little I can personally do to save the dingoes, the bees, and all the other living things that inhabit this earth with us, that fact in no way diminishes my responsibility, or yours, for doing what we can.
In celebration of Earth Day, please take a moment to comment below and tell me what your contribution is to protect this wonderful planet we live on. Also sign up for The Apocalypse Observer Newsletter to receive our posts in your inbox. I’ll pick a random commentator to receive a free paperback copy (or ebook, if you prefer) of C. Henry Martens’ epic novel, There Where the Power Lies. I’m sure you’ll be intrigued by the author’s take on this subject. One winner will be chosen and notified on May 1, 2015.
www.readmota.com
There is a lot of talk and preparation and fear surrounding a possible apocalypse. Human-caused and/or natural disasters lurk around every corner. Some people spend a great deal of time and resources to ensure that they and their loved ones have the best chance for survival.
As Earth Day approaches in a few days, my thoughts turn to the realization that the apocalypse has already arrived or is imminent for many. For some the apocalypse is indeed human-caused. For others natural disaster is the problem. And for yet others, I think it’s probably a combination. I’m talking about the animals, insects and plants with which we share this world.
Entire books have been written about individual species that are endangered or that have already become extinct, so I know that I can’t really do justice in this short post to the calamity befalling so many. Almost all of the largest creatures on earth are gone or facing extinction – the great apes, large cats, elephants, rhinos, whales and more will be gone because of greed and disrespect on the part of humans who are supposed to be their caretakers according to the Bible. Even if you don’t believe the Bible, common sense should indicate a need to preserve what nature has provided.
Although I’m a dreamer when it comes to my desire to preserve every species, I’m also a realist. Some species will disappear, regardless of anyone’s attempt to save them. For example, I am saddened by the fact that the Australian dingo will be extinct within decades. I’m talking about dingoes with pure dingo DNA that has not mixed with domestic dogs. Probably the last few dingoes that have remained pure are found on Fraser Island, and their lives depend solely on the dingo management decisions of the government agents there. Scary.
When dingoes are gone, or have “evolved” into a hybrid mix of some other canid species, their loss will be our loss. Their place in the ecosystem will be filled in by other top predators, but we will mourn them as we still mourn the loss of other Australian species, even while plagued with an overabundance of others. And it’s all due to human interference and mismanagement. But realistically, though sad, the loss of the dingo will not be the loss of dog-kind. We will still have an abundance of dogs, domestic, feral and wild, to fill their niche in this world.
What happens when we lose an entire genus?
Bees. The bees are disappearing. I have acquaintances who have raised bees and who no longer raise bees because their hives disappeared. Where are they going? Are they flying off and dying? What’s killing them? When I was a kid, I tended to have allergic reactions to all kinds of insect bites and stings, bees included. I was understandably afraid of bees. And bees were everywhere. Now, though I’m out hiking every day, seeing or hearing a bee is rare.
I don’t pretend to know or even have a firm belief on the cause of the bee calamity. I do think that humans are to blame for the toxins, GMO’s or whatever it is that’s leading to their demise. It could be global warming, though I don’t think that really is the major factor in the bee problem, and whether global warming is human-caused or not, well, that’s the subject of another blog post.
When bees are gone, their loss will be our loss in a more profound sense than our dingo loss. Bees are an intrinsic part of the earth’s ecosystem, pollinating crops and wild plants. Though there are other insects and birds that fill this function as well, will it be enough, or will the world suffer a devastating loss of plant life that depends on bee pollination? Plants provide us and all creatures with food and oxygen. Is the bees’ apocalypse our apocalypse?
Humans are, I’m afraid, not playing very nice with the rest of our companions in the sandbox. Greed, ignorance, apathy and numerous other adjectives apply to our own species to the detriment of others. My mother taught me to pick my battles. Saving the planet is a battle we must all be willing to fight collectively. Though there is little I can personally do to save the dingoes, the bees, and all the other living things that inhabit this earth with us, that fact in no way diminishes my responsibility, or yours, for doing what we can.
In celebration of Earth Day, please take a moment to comment below and tell me what your contribution is to protect this wonderful planet we live on. Also sign up for The Apocalypse Observer Newsletter to receive our posts in your inbox. I’ll pick a random commentator to receive a free paperback copy (or ebook, if you prefer) of C. Henry Martens’ epic novel, There Where the Power Lies. I’m sure you’ll be intrigued by the author’s take on this subject. One winner will be chosen and notified on May 1, 2015.
www.readmota.com
April 10, 2015
How Will Children Fare in the Apocalypse?
by Kari Carlisle
How will children fare in the apocalypse?
Realistically, not well. Of course just how “not well” depends on the nature of the apocalypse and how extensive the devastation to humans and to the planet. It’s hard to see where a child would have an edge over an adult in any apocalyptic situation.
If aliens invade, they will either be non-discriminating between old and young, or they may see children as an effective and compliant workforce as Hitler did (see TNT’s Falling Skies ). If a zombie plague hits, children will be easy targets, and there will be zombie children running around eating the living (see World War Z ). Okay, I really don’t think aliens and zombies are what the human race has to worry about. I believe natural and/or human-caused events are a greater concern to be prepared for.
In any case – EMP, meteor, nuclear war, plague, take your pick – children may find themselves alone, traumatized, possibly injured, and lacking in the basic tools of survival (food, water, shelter) as well as survival skills. Sadly, most will not survive such a scenario.
One thing is certain. In a devastating apocalypse, children will be the key to the survival of humanity. Though a real apocalypse is no laughing matter, in the new Fox comedy The Last Man on Earth , main characters Phil and Carol are committed, much as they dislike each other, to making as many babies as possible to repopulate the earth. Of course, Phil comes to the realization that their babies will have to have sex with each other to make their goal a reality. The apocalypse is not pretty… or moral.
Any children who do survive the initial apocalyptic event and find themselves in an ongoing, post-apocalyptic survival scenario will have to learn quickly who to trust, how to protect themselves, what is safe to eat and drink, how to simply make it through to the next day. One misstep and it’s over.
In C. Henry Martens’ Monster of the Apocalypse Saga , children are among the few survivors in a series of devastating plagues. With gritty realism, Martens weaves tales in which children are heroes and villains, victims and survivors, and coming of age is determined by nature, not a dead legal system.
How will your children fare in the apocalypse?
If you are reading this post, and you have children, I hope I haven’t freaked you out. Perhaps because I have never had children myself, I can think and write about this topic with some detachment. If there is a call to action I wish to convey, it’s not to drop everything and start training your children for an imminent apocalypse. I would rather you focus on teaching your kids basic self-reliance and personal confidence, attributes that will go a long way toward giving your kids an edge in surviving their childhood, let alone an apocalypse.
Acknowledgments: I would like to thank my mother (rest in peace, Mom) for teaching me how to pick my battles and that I have tremendous potential. I would like to thank my father for teaching me the value of reading and learning. And I thank both my parents for teaching me independence, even though it gets me into trouble all the time.
www.readmota.com
How will children fare in the apocalypse?
Realistically, not well. Of course just how “not well” depends on the nature of the apocalypse and how extensive the devastation to humans and to the planet. It’s hard to see where a child would have an edge over an adult in any apocalyptic situation.
If aliens invade, they will either be non-discriminating between old and young, or they may see children as an effective and compliant workforce as Hitler did (see TNT’s Falling Skies ). If a zombie plague hits, children will be easy targets, and there will be zombie children running around eating the living (see World War Z ). Okay, I really don’t think aliens and zombies are what the human race has to worry about. I believe natural and/or human-caused events are a greater concern to be prepared for.
In any case – EMP, meteor, nuclear war, plague, take your pick – children may find themselves alone, traumatized, possibly injured, and lacking in the basic tools of survival (food, water, shelter) as well as survival skills. Sadly, most will not survive such a scenario.
One thing is certain. In a devastating apocalypse, children will be the key to the survival of humanity. Though a real apocalypse is no laughing matter, in the new Fox comedy The Last Man on Earth , main characters Phil and Carol are committed, much as they dislike each other, to making as many babies as possible to repopulate the earth. Of course, Phil comes to the realization that their babies will have to have sex with each other to make their goal a reality. The apocalypse is not pretty… or moral.
Any children who do survive the initial apocalyptic event and find themselves in an ongoing, post-apocalyptic survival scenario will have to learn quickly who to trust, how to protect themselves, what is safe to eat and drink, how to simply make it through to the next day. One misstep and it’s over.
In C. Henry Martens’ Monster of the Apocalypse Saga , children are among the few survivors in a series of devastating plagues. With gritty realism, Martens weaves tales in which children are heroes and villains, victims and survivors, and coming of age is determined by nature, not a dead legal system.
How will your children fare in the apocalypse?
If you are reading this post, and you have children, I hope I haven’t freaked you out. Perhaps because I have never had children myself, I can think and write about this topic with some detachment. If there is a call to action I wish to convey, it’s not to drop everything and start training your children for an imminent apocalypse. I would rather you focus on teaching your kids basic self-reliance and personal confidence, attributes that will go a long way toward giving your kids an edge in surviving their childhood, let alone an apocalypse.
Acknowledgments: I would like to thank my mother (rest in peace, Mom) for teaching me how to pick my battles and that I have tremendous potential. I would like to thank my father for teaching me the value of reading and learning. And I thank both my parents for teaching me independence, even though it gets me into trouble all the time.
www.readmota.com
April 3, 2015
Guitar to Zen: The Music of Gabriel Ayala
by C. Henry Martens
Original painting by C. Henry Martens
In the mad rush of living, the expectations of others crowding my own necessity for calm into oblivion, there are occasional moments that become stretched into… peace. Usually those moments are triggered by… something. A sunrise, the scent of flowers as I walk a muddled path, or occasionally some newly discovered tune that causes me to relax into the comfort of the space I occupy.
In this case, Master Ayala has provided more than a random piece, but instead a plethora of selections that lead me to inner thoughts and an opportunity to contemplate.
I believe all good things begin with the skill involved in selection, and Ayala chooses music from several places, several moods, both well known and obscure. Then he crafts them beneath talented fingertips, using a refined ear and an unrushed pace to leave exquisite notes on the air to become worms in your ear. How a man can take hold of a single note and not bludgeon it into conformity, but instead invite that vibration to caress the soul, is beyond me.
I am a fan.
Experience for yourself...
Original painting by C. Henry MartensIn the mad rush of living, the expectations of others crowding my own necessity for calm into oblivion, there are occasional moments that become stretched into… peace. Usually those moments are triggered by… something. A sunrise, the scent of flowers as I walk a muddled path, or occasionally some newly discovered tune that causes me to relax into the comfort of the space I occupy.
In this case, Master Ayala has provided more than a random piece, but instead a plethora of selections that lead me to inner thoughts and an opportunity to contemplate.
I believe all good things begin with the skill involved in selection, and Ayala chooses music from several places, several moods, both well known and obscure. Then he crafts them beneath talented fingertips, using a refined ear and an unrushed pace to leave exquisite notes on the air to become worms in your ear. How a man can take hold of a single note and not bludgeon it into conformity, but instead invite that vibration to caress the soul, is beyond me.
I am a fan.
Experience for yourself...
