Biff Price's Blog, page 4

All Things New

All Things New
If we say that all things are made new in this New Year, what do we mean?Will our faith, hope and love be new – re-born at the stroke of midnight? Are we new…in our resolve to love Him, to take up our cross and follow Him, to fight the good fight, and to move on in our journey to the prize – our citizenship in His Kingdom?
Are we, as it is said in the world of men, new and improved?Will our passage from one year to the next be a benchmark upon which we will look back and exclaim, “That was the moment I truly believed…the moment when I took up the mantle and stepped into a new life of love and service to Him and to others!”
Or, with the chime of the hour will we merely pass from one day into another without change or alteration…to continue as if there is no significance at all to this moment?Man has made sundials, clocks and calendars to track the swift movement of the sun and constellations across the heavens…to measure out the days of life.
Do we stand at a threshold of a new thing? Do we choose to love Him with all our heart, all our soul, all our strength and our mind…and to love our neighbors as ourselves?
Or…do we continue unchanged with business as usual?Here’s to the happiest of New Year’s…the choice is ours to make.

Copyright© 2012 – Biff Price

Reader's Thoughts

     What do my readers say about my writing? They are very nice people because they say nice things to me. I deeply appreciate everyone who reads my work. Generally, their comments have been warm and happy.
     One reader said, “Man, your villains are really evil!” I am glad he felt that way. It was my intention to make them over-the-top awful. If you think the bad guys in The Revolutionists are twisted, wait until you meet El Diablo in the sequel The Reconstructionists. He is one warped dude!
     A woman reader told me that she felt The Revolutionists was written for men, and I suppose there is an appeal underlying the action and the battles between the protagonists and antagonists. But another woman reader said, “I like the relationship Michael Stonebreaker has with his wife, Joan, and the depth of his feelings for his family, particularly his brother.” She is right about Michael's character. He is a stand-up guy for real; he demonstrates love, morality and goodness in how he regards and treats others. You’ll find out even more about how much he cares about things that matter in The Reconstructionists.
     One of my favorite comments came from another woman reader. She said, “Gee, I wish this story was true. It would solve a lot of problems in this country!” Yes, but it is fiction…we all know it…but what if...?” Well, I’ll leave that up to other people, and let you draw your own conclusions. I had a lot of fun writing it!
     A man said that he had a little trouble accepting that such a secret organization like the one in the book could remain anonymous for so long, or that anyone could construct such an amazing facility in such an unlikely setting…but that’s fiction, folks. Suspension of belief is part of the fun, and the vast majority of readers have really enjoyed The Revolutionists.
     Overall, the timeliness of the book is almost scary. The Revolutionists is definitely a story for the times we live in, where the people and government are at such intense odds. In book two, The Reconstructionists, Michael Stonebreaker and company tackle --and solve-- the immigration problem and the crisis on our southern border. Sure, it's fiction, but I think it's pretty close to the answers millions of Americans come up with in casual conversation everyday. I love the credibility of the characters in these books, and they've really begun to take on a life of their own. The Reconstructionists is coming soon, and book three is now underway!

Author to Author

Here’s some advice for aspiring authors. How many times has someone said to you, “You should write a book!” My response is, “What are you waiting for? If you write one page a day, at the end of a year you’ll have a book!” Sound simple? Yes. Is it easy? No.
It would help if you have a talent for writing. Not everyone does. Some people are neurosurgeons. Others fly airplanes. Some teach, some preach and some reach…for their dreams. Most of us can write our names, but storytelling is a gift. It is not an ability that is possessed by everyone.
What about grammar and sentence structure? What about first, second and third person? What about plot, character development, back story, writing dialogue, use of description, overstatement, innuendo, and the dreaded dangling participle? How do I find a publisher? How do I get an agent? What about traditional publishing verses e-publishing? What about rewriting and editing? HELP!
You can find answers to all these questions online or at your local library. There are volumes of words, essays, articles, papers and books to help you. Attend classes on creative writing at area colleges and universities, or through local community adult education classes. You can get the help and guidance you need if you are willing to make the effort to find out what you need to know.
“Yes," you say, "but I want to write a book, create my screenplay, and become the next J.K. Rowling!” Fine! But, consider that there’s only one J.K. Rowling. Single mother…had an idea…wrote it down. Her name is Joanne, by the way. Her publisher told her not to use her name. He said that boys wouldn’t buy a book about magic written by a woman. So, she used her first initial and borrowed an initial from someone else. Things worked out well. You know…Harry Potter. 750 million books in print. Incredible movies! Marketing and merchandising. Billionaire!
The odds of you becoming another J.K. Rowling are slim, but if you WANT TO WRITE A BOOK…YOU’D BEST GET ON WITH IT!
I spent a lifetime earning my living as a writer of non-fiction. I wrote for broadcasting, newspapers, newsletters, magazines, advertising, marketing, and the Internet, but I did not write a work of fiction until a decade ago. Writing fiction ain’t like writing facts. Don’t worry about grammar. Don’t wring your hands over structure. Don’t descend into a state of angst and quiver in mental anguish! Just WRITE THE STORY DOWN! Start, write, write more, and then finish it! Tell your tale! Create your book. Worry about editing and rewriting AFTER you finish your story!
Realize, no one is going to write your book for you. YOU have to write it. Worry about all the other stuff later. Is there a guarantee you’ll be the next James Patterson? No. Again, like the J.K. Rowling thing, there’s only one James Patterson, but who knows what you can do…until you do it! Want to be a writer? Then, be one! If it were that easy anyone could do it--but get started; with work and perseverance you could create the next New York Times best seller!

For more information or to buy my book The Revolutionists, go to www.biffprice.com .

Big J

Big J

Just one day to the year from Pearl12/7/42Down to Philly's slip into the surfYou had a job to do
Commissioned May of '43 On to the Pacific Then 3rd Fleet Flagship Leyte GulfConduct was specific
In February, '44You made a raid on TrukA cruiser and destroyerBoth sunk and out of luck
Decommissioned June, '48Back home to rest awhileThen the call came to KoreaYou sailed each empty mile
November, 1950 toNovember, '53You showed again your blood and steelFor all the world to see
Wonsan, Yangyang, Kansong, HamhungHungnam, Tanchon, SongjinThey felt the power of Big JAnd sensed they could not win
When Big J sailed for home againShe wore her colors proudAnd trained young men for future warsHer guns were strong and loud
Then decommissioned once againIn August, '57Ten years she rested quietlyRusting in ship's heaven
But then the call rang forth once moreIn April, '68Big J set sail for VietnamThe war we would debate
The one and only battleshipNow active on the earthHer silent guns roared once againWith steel and fire gave birth
In six months up and down the coast10,000 rounds were sentBig J still had the mighty punchHer power was not spent
In February, '84The call came to BeirutShe fired her guns into the hillsAnd proved she still could shoot
Old BB-62 "Big J"You held 2,000 menWith nineteen battle stars in allWe thought you'd never end
Nine battles stars for World War IIKorea adds its fourThen add three more for VietnamAnd campaigns add three more
The men you carried into warAre proud of you Big JBut now they bring their familiesTo you beside the quay
You turned one final time for homeAnd let your anchor downIn New Jersey, your namesakeAcross from Philly town
Well done thou good and faithful shipThe stories you could tellYou've earned your rest among the bestBig J - we love you well!
Biff Price c. 2002

Glory

Glory
Though your threads are torn and tattered
And stained with blood and tears
Still you wave in shining glory
Undaunted by the years

Though you’ve draped the graves of young men
In sunshine and in rain
Felt a mother’s broken anguish
A father’s quiet pain

Though you’ve led a thousand battles
Held high into the breech
Seen so many brave men dying
A hill just out of reach

Though you’ve shared the tears of leaders
Who could not save their men
Yet they mount a new offensive
To take the hill again

Though some rip you and then burn you
And curse you in their hate
Rage and anger cannot hurt you
Your truth will not abate

You’re the symbol of true freedom
To which the world aspires
Neither tyrant nor religion
Can dim your spirit’s fires

Still you soar in shining glory
Far more than thread and weave
Freedom’s never-ending story
In which the brave believe

Though your threads are torn and tattered
And stained with blood and tears
Still you wave in shining glory
Undaunted by the years


Copyright © 2002
Biff Price

In Passing

In Passing

I passed you on the street today                       And did not know your name                          Yet in your face I saw a look                            That said we are the same                   
Your face was weathered by the years             As life has done its best                                    To steal away our strength of youth                 Before we seek to rest                                     
I’ve seen you in the street before          And in the market square                                We’re bound by blood and brotherhood          A war that was unfair                                     
Unfair to those who fought and died                Some said we died in shame                             While students burned the flag and cards        Giving us the blame                                                                                        
“My Lai!” became their battle cry                   They did not understand                                  Our blood was shed for each of them               So they could take their stand                         
They did not taste our fear and pain                Or see our sacrifice                                                      The young men slain in jungle rain                  In pools of blood and rice                               
Perhaps I saw you in Da Nang                         Or was it in Quang Tri?                                  By a hootch outside Saigon, or                         Somewhere in the city?                                   
You passed me on a jungle trail                       Your face barely a man’s                                 With haunted eyes as old as time                     They said you’d made no plans           
A world where children carried gifts               That turned into grenades                               Where we could not tell friend from foe                       And all hands end in spades                            
A place where death came dripping orangeOr flaming liquid hellWhere fear and weariness combinedIn scenes we cannot tell
There are no words for what we sharedSome fled into madnessI see them mumbling on the streetFilling me with sadness
So we came home to emptinessThere was no marching bandAnd though we fought for freedom’s rightNo one gave us a hand
The days and years have slipped awayYet still I see your faceIn ball parks, crowds and concert hallsYou’re there in every place
At times it’s just a passing glanceThe corner of my eyeI turn and see you standing thereWe nod and just say, “Hi!”
Your face is black, your face is whiteSometimes you’re short or tallSurrounded by your familyOr with no one at all
One time I stooped to find a nameLow down upon The WallAnd as the tears ran down my faceI thought that I would fall
But your strong hands reached out to meAnd lifted me up highI turned to thank you for your helpBut all I saw was sky
I passed you on the street todayAnd did not know your nameYet in your eyes I saw a lookThat said we are the same

 Copyright © 2001:  Biff Price

A Ballad of Brave Men

A Ballad of Brave Men

It was back in June of ’50                                         They crossed the 38                                                      And claimed the South had started it                       A lie we came to hate                                                 
Old “Give ‘em hell” was notified                                             He left Missouri quick                                                 And put MacArthur on the case                               To stop this dirty trick                                               
In just three days things fell apart                           The South had lost its Seoul                                       But Douglas went straight way to Church                             Defining his new role                                                   
Dean and the 24th deployed                                         Creating Task Force Smith                                        They came together at P’yongtaek                          To give the ROK a lift                                                 
But there was bloody hell to pay                               In June and through July                                            Outnumbered, sometimes unprepared                     So many young men die                                               
Six thousand three had been struck down                               Half from the 24th                                                         But from Chindong to “The Notch”                         They held from South to North                                  
The Naktong Bulge, Cloverleaf Hill                         In “The Bowling Alley”                                                 As each night fell new terror came                             Slaughter hill to valley                                                
All through August and September                            They fought to hold Pusan                                            As they prepared and organized                                 The landing at Inch’on                                                  
First inch-by-inch, then mile-by-mile                       The North ground to a halt                                            Then 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines                                    Took Green Beach without fault                                 
The war raged on both night and dayUntil Seoul was regainedThe Battle of the BarricadesAn enemy restrained
In October and NovemberThey pushed into the NorthBut when they came near the YaluThe Chinese issued forth
In winter’s hellish freezing coldTwo hundred thousand cameThe North regained their capitalAnd seesaw was the game
Despite furious offensivesAnd fighting man-to-manThe cold, the pain, the death, the rainServed neither battle plan
So back and forth and up and downAcross the 38They fought and bled and died some moreTheir rage would not abate
But then the General defiedHis Commander-in-ChiefOld Harry S. lowered the boomAnd gave MacArthur grief
While on the field the war raged onMatt Ridgway took the leadTo find a way, to seek a truceOn this they were agreed
While politicians warred with wordsAnd dueled with ink and penMore brave men died, and mothers criedWhile praying for the end
On July the 27thIn 1953They signed the truce at PanmunjomAnd made the DMZ
Copyright © 2001: Biff  Price

Old Warriors

How the War Poems Came AboutIn the late summer of 2001 I met with Albert Thomas, Past Pennsylvania State Commander of the VFW at the home of a friend. He read “Old Warriors” and then asked if I would write two others for the Korean War and Vietnam War for his October state commanders meeting in Harrisburg.
We parted, and two weeks later the event of 9/11 occurred. That inspired the writing of “High Upon the Towers.” Then, “A Ballad of Brave Men” and “In Passing” were written for the state commanders meeting.
In January of 2002 the poems were on display at the Battleship New Jersey Museum, and permission was given to write “Big J.” In June of that year another friend suggested that one more poem was needed to honor those presently serving our nation, and also as the lead-in to the collection. “Glory” was written at that time.
The War Poems now consist of six original poems. They were sent to the President and Mrs. Bush as a gift in the late summer of 2002 by Mr. Thomas. He received a letter from President Bush thanking him for the gift, and indicated that they would become part of the White House Gift Collections.
The poems have been read at public events, veterans’ funerals, and embossed permanently on at least one tombstone. They hang in private homes, military museums, and at other institutions related to our military.
Now I want to share them for you to enjoy and to honor all the brave men and women who have been fighting for our country since its inception.



Old Warriors

 Sitting with tired old men                                            “Did you fly with JimmySpeaking of ancient days                                              Or march with Patton’s Pride?Of half-remembered heroes                                         Were you at Pearl that awful daySeen through memory’s haze                                       When so many died?
Eyes grown dim with looking                                       “Do you remember EnglandHearts emptied of youth’s rage                                    Or the south of France?Hands that shook the world                                         Lord, how many years are goneNow trembling with palsied age                                   Since we made Hitler dance?
No longer boys of summer                                           “We saved the whole damn worldNor men of great renown                                             So few remember nowTheir deeds have turned to dust                                   For time has hidden memoriesAnd fallen to the ground                                              Sunk beneath its prow
Lost in recollections                                                     “Day-by-day we slip awayOf victories long ago                                                    One-by-one we leaveHearing distant thunder                                              And when all of us are goneFrom where they cannot go                                         Who will then believe?
They speak in awe of deeds                                          “And so we wear our uniformsAnd shining sacrifice                                                   On so-called “holidays”Of men who fought and died                                        Stand proudly at attentionThe ones who paid the price                                        Before the public’s gaze
They shared the blood of battle                                    “They think we’re old and uselessThe death of boys and men                                          No one remembers whyAnd wonder at time’s passage                                      Memorial Day means nothingAs they face their mortal end                                       So, too, the Fourth of July
To regain their strength of limbs                                 “No one stops to thank usAnd run with all their might                                        Or ask us where we foughtTo feel the power and the joy                                       No one cares enough to knowOf youth’s unfettered light                                           The price their freedom bought
Once more to bravely march                                       “We gave you this AmericaInto the fire and hell                                                    We saved you Europe, Japan…With brothers by their sides                                        We won your freedom everywhereTheir ranks would quickly swell                                  We earned it man-by-man
“Do you remember Omaha?                                        “So, when you see us sitting hereWere you at Guadalcanal?                                           Look long and hard, as wellDid you fight at Midway?                                            We saved the world just yesterdayFall under Rommel’s spell?                                         And have so much to tell

                                                                                             Copyright  © 2000: Biff Price

The Breath of God

The Breath of God
I felt the breath of God todayHe passed me on the trailI quickly turned to see His facebut I was doomed to fail
“No man can look and live…” it’s said“…upon the face of God”I felt His breeze upon my facebut did not think it odd
The Spirit comes; the Spirit goesand no man knows His pathWe cannot know where He will goand do not dare His wrath
God’s spirit walks the earth each dayseeking poor souls in needHe gently knocks upon the doorto bring them hope, indeed
But many fail to hear the soundof tapping on their doorsThe world’s distractions glitter brightIts hungry voice implores
Yes, He is there both day and nightin hope, in faith, in loveTo bring them joy, to bring them peaceas gentle as a dove
                                                                                                         Copyright © 2006 – Biff Price

Teacher

Teacher
You are chosen to teach and blessed in purposeFor there is no more noble profession than this:To teach the children of Man and shape their livesThat they may be whole in thought and deed
In words and shapes and numbersYou create worlds within worldsAnd from the microbe to the heavensYou point the way to truth
You sing aloud the songs of joyLearning is a mantle upon your neckLittle hands in yours raised highMinds opened to your loving counsel
As you give you gain their loveFor love is what drives your daysNo one can truly teach without itWithout love the soul dies empty
And you know the ineffable graceThe unending fulfillment that comesWhen a child’s eyes are openedTo the light that shines from your own
For Joanne: Copyright © 2002 – Biff Price