Showing posts from November, 2011

Turkey and Pumpkin...Chunkin

I'm posting this early as I don't expect to be anywhere near a computer or keyboard on Thanksgiving day. That would require washing the grease off my fingers, and you know a won't have time for that. After all, I don't wanna be lickin' my fingers, and get the taste of soap in my mouth to spoil all the gastronomic goodness having a party in my belly. Yeah, that's right. I plan on eating at least some of my Thanksgiving meal with my fingers. I'm not doing it because I'm a slob, or anything. I'm merely trying to give myself, and others, the most authentic Thanksgiving experience possible. Yes, it's true. Did you know that, for the the first Thanksgiving feast in the year 1621, the Pilgrims did not have forks? They used knives, spoons, and their hands to gobble up that turkey. And, by the way, turkey was one of the few items they had back then that we still eat today. Back then they had no pumpkin pie, gelatinous cranberry substance from a can,

Wandering Aimlessly

W hen I was young, no more than thirteen or fourteen, I was lost in the Olympic Mountains. My father and I were hunting (probably for Elk) and he'd sent me up and over a ridge line in hopes of driving the animals down the other side of the mountain, where he was driving his truck along the old dirt roads. Problem was, at that age (I think I've mentioned this before) I actually thought I was Grizzly Adams, and the mountains were my home. Well, I found out quickly that, like Grizzly Adams when he first sought the safety of the wilderness after being accused of a crime he did not commit, I was quite the greenhorn. I walked up the ridge line thinking I would eventually reach the summit, and then simply walk down the other side until I met up with the road my father was driving on. Like I said, I was a young teenager, and unaware that a ridge line, does not a mountain make. The ridge went on, it seemed, forever, and I just continued to wander aimlessly along its crest. Before lo

Veteran's Day

I know that I normally post about writing, or try to keep my posts light and whimsical, funny, and satirical on this blog, but today is special. I want to take this opportunity to thank those who served our country in a way that nobody else can. The majority of those who serve do not come from wealth, they are not paid like senators or congress persons. They do not have the opportunity to give themselves pay raises or extended benefits but must struggle to live on the pay and benefits bestowed on them by those who, in most cases, have not served. I want, more than anything, for America to understand that our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines, have the same beliefs and desires as other Americans. Only, they must remain silent and vigilant, in order to preserve the right of others to voice their opinions. A young man or woman deciding to serve should not be seen as some lack of humanity in their souls. On the contrary, they who serve have a deeper soul then most; and it must be

Becoming a Writer

H ow does one become a writer? There are a multitude of books on the subject out there, and I've read many of them. I've read books on manuscript formatting, character development, plot, dialogue, marketing, and just about everything else related to writing and selling one's literary work. But, many will tell you that the best advice is often the simplest. And the best advice I've heard in some time is, once again, found in a one dollar book from the good ole' dollar tree store. This book simply says, "If you want to be a writer, you must write." I've heard that advice more times than I care to remember, but this book, Write is a Verb by Bill O'Hanlon goes a step further in giving options for getting the butt onto the chair and hashing out the words. The advice given in this book goes into the psychological aspects of making yourself get it done. It figures though, since the author is a licensed psycho-therapist. So, if you have the chance,

Never Trust a Writer

I just attended a local writer’s group meeting last night, so I’m filled up with ideas and motivation. Of course, I’ll run out of that by tomorrow evening. For those of you who write, you know how hard it really is. After all, it takes a certain amount of talent to create a lie, then convince others it is the truth, at least until the end of the story. Writers often draw upon what they see, feel, smell, or experience in the real world in order to make the world in their mind more believable. I write about Werewolves, Demons, Elves, and Faeries under a pen name, but I want all of my stories to be as believable I possible. My beloved character, Kat McKendry (my mystery crime series yet to be written) just lost her job as a model. In the real world, she wouldn't be caught dead out in the wilderness, picking a lock and breaking into a cabin in the middle of the night. It is my job as a writer to give her the tools to accomplish the task, no matter how far-fetched it seems at firs