2017 A To Z Challenge – B

Challenge2017

When I sieved out the following list of B-word prompts, I was struck by how many of them could apply to me.  Rather than choosing only one, here are some random thoughts about a few of them.

Bibliophile
blood
baggage
belief
bold
books
beach
barn
blog

Letter B

My home town is halfway up the East coast of Lake Huron, in Ontario. It has 3 miles of lovely warm, soft, white sand beach.  It has become a vacation haven, and tourism is a large part of its financial wellbeing.

The town to the south gets only 1 mile of shoreline. The tiny tourist village to the north sits in the center of 10 miles of sandy shore.  Access to the water is good, and the swimming is wonderful but, in both cases, the sand barely reaches above the water level, and their beaches are flat, hard and damp.

My mother constantly read to me as a child, and I learned to read quite young. I became a bibliophile, a lover of books.  I am also a logophile, a lover of words, but all the wonderful words are in the wonderful books, so we’ll discuss that later.

Ray Bradbury said, “Libraries raised me.” My tiny little town had a tiny little library, about the size of a medium house.  It was only open two days a week.  The volunteer librarian was a former teacher.  It was here that I learned early, the value of linguistic precision.

The fine for late books was 2 cents, biweekly.  The intent was for 2 cents, per book, for each of the 2 weekly open days.  I stood beside a man who went and got a dictionary to show the librarian that ‘biweekly’ also meant ‘every two weeks.’  He would pay 2 cents, but not the 8 cents that she demanded.

A local man became a mining engineer. He located an ore field in Northern Ontario, staked a claim, and sold the rights to a mining firm which would extract the minerals.  With the initial payout and ongoing royalties, he retired early, as the town’s richest resident.

He and his wife were great readers, but they never had children. When his wife died, and he was facing his own mortality, he donated a large portion of his fortune to the municipality, to be used to build a library in memorial to his wife.  We got a fairly large (for a small town) new library, right beside the Town Hall.  His bequest bought lots more books, and an annuity paid for hired staff.

When I moved 100 miles to Kitchener for employment, it was easy to pack my luggage. I had very little.  I also had to pack my baggage – my propensity for procrastination, my learning disorders, my neurological syndrome which causes poor physical control and lousy short-term memory, as well as my autistic-type inability to read social cues, and make and hold friends.

I am more methodical, determined, and tenacious; I would never be described as bold. Having survived an interesting, if not terribly thrilling life, now in the twilight of my years, I can put these thoughts and remembrances down, and publish them in my blog.   😀

 

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A to Z Challenge – I

April Challenge

I spy with my little I – a whole bunch of stuff that starts with ‘I’. Aye, aye!

Letter I

Illusion – Allusion – Elusion

Illusion
noun
something that deceives by producing a false or misleading impression of reality.
the state or condition of being deceived; misapprehension.
an instance of being deceived.

allusion
noun
a passing or casual reference; an incidental mention of something, either directly or by implication:

the act of alluding; the making of a casual or indirect reference to something:

elusion
noun
the act of eluding; evasion.

Idiot
noun
The old fart who thought he could just compose 26 interesting alphabetical posts.

I was under the illusion that I was a competent writer.  I made an allusion to my extensive vocabulary.  The elusion of literary greatness rankles and sobers me.

Speaking of sober….

Intoxicated
verb (used with object), intoxicated, intoxicating.
to affect temporarily with diminished physical and mental control by means of alcoholic liquor, a drug, or another substance, especially to excite or stupefy with liquor.

to make enthusiastic; elate strongly, as by intoxicants; exhilarate: 

The prospect of the success of this post intoxicated me.  I was enthusiastic, but reality stupidified stupefied me, and diminished my mental abilities. 

The drunken pick-up couple stagger out of the bar. He says, “I’m stiff.”  She says, “I’m tight.”…and they’re both lying.

This demonstration of my restricted talents has made me quite

Insecure
adjective
subject to fears, doubts, etc.; not self-confident or assured:
an insecure person.
not confident or certain; uneasy; anxious:

Insincere
adjective
not sincere; not honest in the expression of actual feeling; hypocritical.

I am not being insincere, when I say that I would like a bunch of visitors – and a pile of views….but I’ll settle for a few nice warm ‘likes.’

I thank you!    😀

 

Sunshine And Lollipops

sunshine2

In my 300 post, I mentioned, again, the fact that some of the long-established bloggers are disappearing, or cutting back on their volume of posting, due to life changes. I thought by now, that just about everybody had a blog, except perhaps, coots even older than me – and yet, new ones keep popping up.

One such new one is Cordelia’s Mom. She must be the youngest retiree ever. Such a lovely lady can’t possibly be almost as old as I am. I know she’s not as surly. Cordelia doesn’t have much to say, but her Mom is full of wit and wisdom. Click on the link above to go have a look for yourself.

Mom has been blogging for about six months. We often use the same tags on our posts, so I kept running into her, and began commenting. Perhaps intrigued by the lack of references to psychiatric treatment, she started visiting my site.

I received my first blog award when I had only published 14 posts, and didn’t really know what to do about it. Similarly, Cordelia’s Mom recently received two awards. One was the Sisterhood of The World Bloggers Award, welcoming her to the distaff side of writing and soul-baring. The other was The Sunshine Award.

Since I don’t qualify for the “Sisters” award, she kindly passed on a version of the Sunshine Award to me. To prove how well she knows me already, in her nomination post, she lists me as Grumpy Old Dude – Archon’s Den. She sent a big chunk of Sunshine my way. I’ll just have to reflect it on you as best I can.

This is my kind of award. Other than acknowledging receipt of it, there are no rules. It’s just a way of showing that other bloggers are aware of and appreciate you, and perhaps bring a few more readers to your site, by being part of an ever-widening circle of writers.

By begging and whining to the wife, but without actually tripping over my ego, I managed to get a copy of the Sunshine Award graphic installed at the top of this post, just to prove that I’m not hallucinating (again). I thank Cordelia’s Mom effusively for including me in her group of worthy recipients.

I don’t have to answer any questions, or make up new ones. I don’t have to reveal even more about myself, which is good. There’s only so much toilet paper on a roll. Once it’s empty, it’s empty.

My co-defendant buddy, Oscar the Grouch, tells me that I can take The Fifth – even though we don’t have it here in Canada – and not actually nominate anybody else for this award, to protect my persona. He and I are going to do some tequila shots, put a big platter of nachos out of our misery, and watch the Die Hard marathon. If anybody wants to make something out of that, just knock on the garbage can lid.

I Can Read You Like A Book

I’ve read books all my life.  As I saw myself getting near to retirement, I laid in a stock to keep me interested, and my time filled.  There must be 25 or 30 lying around the house that I haven’t got to yet, with more arriving all the time. I promised poor Art Browne @ Pouringmyartout, that I would read his eBook by October, and here it is January.

I discovered blogging, and, composing my own pitiful output, as well as reading and commenting on what you guys write, has cut down on my book-reading somewhat.  The busiest year I ever had was 1977, when I read 72 books in the calendar year.  Usually I read about a book a week, or about 50 a year.  This past couple of years, the totals have been less.  In 2013 I read 31 books.  The following is a list of how I spent some of my time.

The first two batches are the community writing I posted about.  They are credited to a “James Axler”, but no such author exists.  Instead, 8 or 9 writers for each series, rotate publishing a book a month.

Deathlands Series:  Hell Road Warriors1-Hell Road Warriors

This is the book I had the most trouble with.  The action scenes are fine, but the story starts 50 miles from my home town.  Early in the book I was already saying, “That highway doesn’t connect to that one.”  Then it goes north across Lake Huron.  This is the passage where they got there early to get a good birth on the ferry, but forgot to chalk the wheels, and the breaks failed.

Then they went through the Soo Locks, to get into Lake Superior.  The “locks” are giant log and steel constructions, pulled across the river by 40 pairs of oxen, to prevent unpaid passage.  This ignores the 21 foot difference in water level between the two lakes.  Every chapter, sometimes every page had a word misusage.  This is probably the straw that broke this reader’s back.

2-Palaces of Light 3-Wretch Earth 4-Crimson Waters 5-No Man's Land

 

 

 

Palaces of Light – Wretched Earth – Crimson Waters – No Man’s Land

****

Outlanders Series:

1-Dragon City 2-God War 3-Gensis Sinister

 

 

 

 

Dragon City – God War – Genesis Sinister

***

One Day on MarsTravis S. Taylor – One Day on Mars

*

1-Grantville Gazette IV 2-The Eastern Front 3-The Saxon Uprising

Eric Flint – Grantville Gazette IV – The Eastern Front – The Saxon Uprising

***

4-The Tangled Web (Virginia DeMarce)

Virginia DeMarce – The Tangled Web

*

5-The Papal Stakes (Charles E. Gannon)

Charles E. Gannon – the Papal Stakes

*

1-Overkill 2-Undercurrents

Robert Buettner – Overkill – Undercurrents

**

1-Killing-Floor 2-Die-Trying 3-Trip-Wire

Lee Child – Killing Floor – Die Trying – Tripwire

***

1-Sinai Secret 2-Voodoo Fury

Greg Loomis – Sinai Secret – Voodoo Fury

**

Fire Ice

Clive Cussler – Fire Ice

*

1-The Knowland Retribution 2-The Lacey Confession

Richard Greener – The Knowland Retribution – The Lacey Confession

**

1-Tinker 2-Wolf Who Rules 3-Elfhome

Wen Spencer – Tinker – Wolf Who Rules – Elfhome

***

1-The Human Division

John Scalzi – The Human Division

This book was originally 13 long chapters, essentially short stories, published in an on-line journal.  They have the same general group of people, on and off the same interstellar spacecraft, but the paper and print compilation seems somewhat disconnected.

*

2-The Inquisitor's Key

Jefferson Bass – The Inquisitor’s Key

*

3-Deep Fathom

James Rollins – Deep Fathom

This is the first in a series new to me.  There are eleven more, and all available at no cost from an on-line library – if I can wrestle the Kobo away from the wife occasionally.

*

4-The Righteous Mind

Jonathan Haidt – The Righteous Mind, Why good people are divided by politics and religion

This is the deepest and most educational book I read all year.  The author explains how and why people make certain thoughts and ideas “sacred”, even when others, or the evidence, don’t agree with them.  It gave some nice insights into puzzling behavior.  I’m almost proud of myself for reading this one.

We all read, because we all write.  Anybody else want to brag about a book or two you’ve recently read?

Random Thoughts

I guarantee that they’re random.  It’s up to you to decide whether or not they’re real thoughts

Having ignored single-parent families for years, the Elementary Teachers Foundation of Ontario is now on a crusade to save children who have “two mommies” or “two daddies” from discrimination.  Since they might not have a mommy or a daddy when the appropriate day comes along, the Federation is advocating changing some names.

Fathers’ Day would be known as Love Day, and Mothers’ Day could be called GAMES Day, for Grandmothers, Aunts, Mothers, Even Sisters.  Based on that, I suggested that Fathers’ Day be named FUGLY Day, for Fathers, Uncles, Grandfathers and other Lying Yahoos, but I just don’t feel the Love to accept it.

I just put a fresh crop of Karma in the barn for the winter.  A week ago, I took the daughter up the highway for her pain-med infusion treatment.  As we reached the on-ramp for the highway, we spotted a young man standing on the edge of the road with two big hockey bags.  I haven’t seen a hitch-hiker in years, so we pulled over and asked him where he was going.  He wanted to get to London, an hour up the road, and we were only going as far as Ingersoll, 45 minutes away, but he accepted the ride.

His chances of getting a ride to London improved by being as far as Ingersoll.  He had broken up with his significant other (or she had kicked him out broken up with him), and the remains of “all his worldly possessions” were in those two bags.  He hoped to get back a job he’d previously held, as a chicken catcher at a packing plant.  Who says there’s no good jobs anymore?

Since the grandson is “all growed up” and moved out to his first apartment, the daughter is sometimes a little lonely.  I went to pick her up the other evening to share a meal and a bunch of conversation.  Coming down a hill to a traffic light, about a half mile from her house, I spotted a Ford pickup which had almost made a left turn, but was abandoned in the intersection with the hazard lights flashing.

I had time to wonder why exactly there, as I edged past it.  A half block further on, I found the reason.  A guy is clumping along with a two-gallon plastic gas can in his hand.  I pulled into the next driveway, rolled down the window and asked him if he’d like a ride.  He was overjoyed.

His name was Mike.  Everybody, say hello to Mike.  He was headed towards the daughter’s place, hoping for a ride from his dad, who lives nearby, but there are no gas stations in the downtown area.  I drove him back out to a garage, waited while he filled the can, and drove him back to his truck.

The all-electronic dashboard on his truck doesn’t work right.  How I can relate to that.  He never knows just how much gas he has.  When it runs out, it runs out, and the truck is too heavy for one man to push.  Three more feet, and he could have coasted three blocks, almost to the gas station.  He has the gas can in the bed, but somebody, who is not him, used it, probably for the lawn mower, and put it back empty.

In 1918, the U.S. Postal Service printed 24 cent stamps to celebrate air-mail service.  Since the public didn’t know what airplanes looked like, the picture of the JN-17 “Jenny” was inserted upside-down.  A few were sold before the mistake was caught, making this the most expensive collectible stamp.

95 years later, the USPS decided to duplicate the stamp to celebrate 100 years of airmail.  Since everyone knows what a biplane looks like, the picture was inserted right-side-up, and a hundred sheets were printed before anyone noticed.  Most of the sheets were recovered, but a couple are unaccounted for.  They’re wrong, because they’re right, and we have another potential fortune-maker.  Way to go, Post Office, keep up the momentum.

As the digital world continues to wrap its tentacles more tightly around us, the local newspaper has been including two sections of the New York Times in the last six Saturday editions.  We got the International Weekly and the Book Review.  Is the Times really that pretentious?  We were treated to stories of South Koreans emigrating to Mexico for work.  Dear Lord, are there jobs even Mexicans won’t do?

Last week there was a story about Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani girl shot by the Taliban.  Apparently she was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, and some were disappointed that she didn’t win.  I’m proud of her and what she’s trying to do, freedom for Muslim women, and education for Pakistani girls, but really?? A Peace Prize?  Nothing she’s doing is to bring peace.  It’s like having a Casino built in your town, and giving it a Civic Award for creating more parking.

This week’s Book Review section had a two-page article about Phillip Roth and Norman Mailer, both powerful writers, who hit their stride back in what? – 1973?  Nothing a little more recent??  Even H E Ellis would say, “If not me, at least do Jodi Picault!”

It’s snowing on my website.  I don’t know whether that’s because WordPress just gratuitously turned it on, or because I clicked the snow icon last year, and it’s still valid.  I haven’t noticed snow on anyone else’s site, but then, I’ve been in suspended animation, and remiss in my visits for about a week.  Sorry!

I’m temporarily all ranted out.  You may now provide adoration.  I had to give all mine to the cat.  😉

Community Writing

I may have invented another new English term.  As opposed to “Committee Writing”, where two or more authors collaborate on a book, or books, Community Writing is when a group of authors each produce a book or books in a large series, by themselves.

About 1974, I read a science-fiction book titled The Guns of Terra 10, by an author named Don Pendleton.  Heavy on both sidearm and particle-beam weapons, and light on character development, it wasn’t the worst book I’d ever read, but, having been spoiled by the likes of Asimov and Heinlein, it was well down the list.

Several years later, I was attending a Christmas get-together at my sister’s.  The gals were cooking, setting tables and general women stuff.  The guys were downstairs in the rec-room, watching an exciting (Yawn!) hockey game.  I stayed in the living-room, hoping to score a snack before the real eating began.

I spotted a book that one of my nephews was reading and tried a couple of chapters.  It was by Don Pendleton and was number 15 in a series about an ex-army Special Forces who was waging war against the Mafia, who had destroyed his family.

Liberally stocked with things that go boom, but with much better character portrayal, it wasn’t long before I was haunting second-hand book stores to acquire the series from the beginning.  It took a while for word of mouth to let the series take off.  Pendleton wrote about 56 of these books before he, or his publisher, decided to farm them out.  They were being released on a monthly basis to keep up to the now-popular demand.

A group of 8 or 9 production writers was engaged to write individual books.  All Pendleton had to do was create story arc, co-ordinate timing and establish limits.  At about book number 85, some genius saw the limitations of a protracted fight against the Mafia, and “killed” the hero off, to have him reborn as Colonel John Phoenix, scourge of terrorists everywhere.

As well as the 250/300 page, numbered books, there were dozens of 450/500 page Superbooks.  I quit buying after number 216, and 30 or 40 of the Superbooks.  Finally dying off, the numbers approach 400.  To support the hero, Pendleton invented a three-man domestic team, and a five-man foreign-soil team, headed by a fox-faced Canadian, eh.

They were so popular that two other authors were handed the task of writing a series about each.  One guy got to 36 books, and the other to 52, before interest or writing ability died.

Besides ennui, one of the reasons I gave up that series was the discovery of another.  Jack Adrian dreamed up a series about a four-man, two woman, survival group in post-apocalypse America.  He wrote the first couple and then let his hired guns write about these hired guns.  The author name used is James Axler, but none of the 8/9 pet writers is named that.

The writing in the Pendleton series is so smooth and even, that all the books might have been written by the same person.  Not so with the Axler series!  It’s hit and miss.  Some are great.  The Mars Arena contained every literary reference imaginable.  Both Tom Sawyer and Mark Twain showed up, smooooth!  Hell Road Warriors, on the other hand, contained historical and geographical errors, as well as questionable technology.  Also, every chapter, sometimes almost every page, contained English usage errors.

This series is essentially about the man on the outside.  Adrian then dreamed up another series, set another hundred years in the future, basically about the man on the inside, who wants to get out.  Another group of 8/9 writers was hired to pump these babies out each month.  There is a bit of cross-pollination.  Occasionally one of the A-series writers produces a B-series book, and vice-versa.  At last count, there were 112 of series A published, and exactly half of that, 56, of series B.

Having followed the older series for ten years, and the newer one for five, through a total of almost 160 books, I’ve finally decided to stop buying them.  They’ve both become soap-opera-ish, especially the newer series; multi-dimensional sauroid space aliens called Annunaki, from Earth’s unseen twin planet Nibiru, controlling Man’s development for the past 30,000 years with the help of an evil dwarf named Sindri.  Every old superstitious story is woven in to sell more books.  Fun’s fun, but I’ve had enough.

I’m eight books behind and no chance of catching up.  I have 10 Clive Cussler books, and about twenty others to read, including the two “Locator” novels, and Pouringmyartout’s e-book, Saloon at the Edge of Everywhere stranded on Kobo.  My son has introduced me to some nice new books, including the 1632 series(?).

This started as a stand-alone book, positing a small Virginia town, suddenly stranded in 1632 Germany.  Having established the parameters, the author, Eric Flint, has invited other writers like David Weber, Virginia DeMarce (the irony), and Marilyn Kosmatka to take a bite out of his little universe and write connected stories from their literary viewpoint.  The print copies since 2000 number 26.

There is a strong online presence to these books, with a website and very active discussion page where fan-boys, and –girls, submit detailed short stories about mentioned characters and occurrences, to flesh out the narrative.  Flint reads them all, chooses the best, edits and accumulates them, and publishes them in print as The Grantville Gazette, I thru XII.

This is a different type of Community Writing from the above, and the wealth of detail makes the stories, and the people in them, as real as your neighbors, and a treasure trove of historical social study, from war, politics and religion, to love and marriage.

7 Q

best-moment-awardBenzeknees has been busy successfully completing the A To Z In April challenge.  During that time, she’s accumulated four different blog awards.  Now that she’s done, it’s time to inflict pass these on to other deserving bloggers.  Benze is a very intelligent writer.  Well, she’d have to be.  She lives in the Edmonton, Alberta section of the Great White North.

All the residents of Edmonton are so smart that they pushed up a big pile of mountains between them and the dope-smoking, tree-hugging, granola-crunching, Birkenstock sandal-wearing residents of the Canadian left-coast, to keep them from leaking back east.

Not knowing what else to do with these awards, she kindly offered me one copy of each of them….at a reduced rate.  The first one she dumped on me graciously passed on, was the Best Moment Award, seen above.  The rules are that the rules must be reposted with your acceptance speech, which can be written or video recorded.  Winners have the privilege of naming the next group of awardees.  The repost should include a new set of awardees and the current winner should inform them of the good news.

The good news is that I don’t know any bloggers who give good acceptance speeches, so I’m not tossing this one into the manure spreader.  I know a great burrito and re-fried beans maker, a spinner, and a couple of IT techs, but no great speechmakers.  If you want a copy of this award, you’re going to have to pull it from my cold dead….no, wait a minute, that’s the NRA.  I met a couple of them in Detroit at the gun show.  I told one guy I didn’t want to join, and he pulled a gun on me.  I explained that I was Canadian.  He apologised and gave me a picture of his wife, wearing nothing but a Mossberg shotgun.

This award seems to be given for making a great acceptance speech for being given this award.  That seems to be circular logic to me, but then, I’m often seen wandering around in circles, speechifying and orating and gesticulating, and other stuff that could get me arrested if anybody reported it.

I am pleased though, that Benze thinks enough of my writing ability to forward this opportunity to have a little fun at my own expense.

To make a great acceptance speech I am to show gratitude and thank those who have helped me reach this point.  I have effusively thanked Benze. (Not effusive enough??!  I’ll get out the leaf-blower.)  I’ll be busy with that for a minute, the rest of you guys each just take one out of petty cash.

I should use humor to keep you entertained and smiling.  I see most of you smiling.  At me, or with me, I’m not sure.  Dying is easy.  Humor is tough!

Inspiration!  I should make my story touch your lives.  Generally, I’m the only one people refer to as touched.  Even if I only serve as a negative example.  This is a tough job, which should only be performed by trained professionals.  Kids, do not attempt this at home.

The last rule is that I’m supposed to display the award badge on my blog/website.  Being the magpie, interested in shiny things, that I am, I’ve already taken care of that.  I guess all that’s left for me is to shut up and go away, and I certainly know how to shut up.  This is me, shutting up.  One time I shut up so much, I almost starved to death….wouldn’t tell my parents I was hungry….could somebody open the door please?