Variable Credence

"Reset" up at Digital Dragon Magazine.

2012-01-25T16:50:00.005-05:00

"Reset" is up over at Digital Dragon Magazine.

25 January 2012: Feast of St. Artemas.

"The Ley of Space" at Rocket Science.

2012-01-23T13:18:00.003-05:00

"Watching the Space Race: The Ley of Space" is up at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

24 January 2012: Feast of Bl. Onufry Wasyluk.

"The World Got Smaller" at Rocket Science.

2012-01-23T13:00:00.002-05:00

"Watching the Space Race: The World Got Smaller" is up at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

23 January 2012: Feast of St. Abakuh.

"High Country: Bugherd" at Avenir Eclectia.

2012-01-23T12:45:00.002-05:00

"High Country: Bugherd" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

22 January 2012: Feast of Bl. William Patenson.

"An Orb in Space" at Rocket Science.

2012-01-14T12:40:00.002-05:00

"An Orb in Space" is up over at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

14 January 2012: Feast of St. Barbasymas.

"Well, One Worked." at Rocket Science.

2012-01-14T12:24:00.002-05:00

"Well, One worked" is up over at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

13 January 2012: Feast of St. Gumesindus.

"Hidden Under the Tree" at Rocket Science

2012-01-11T20:42:00.003-05:00

"Hidden Under the Tree" is up over at Karina Fabian's Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

12 January 2012: Feast of Bl. John Gaspard Cratz.

"Old Married Couple" in Whortleberry's Strange Valentines.

2012-01-11T20:24:00.005-05:00

"Old Married Couple" in Whortleberry Press' Strange Valentines.

11 January 2012: Feast of Bl. William Carter.

"Smoke-Eater: Hero" up at Avenir.

2011-12-14T08:27:00.004-05:00

"Smoke-Eater: Hero" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

14 December 2011: Feast of St. Fingar.

"Why All of the Sudden?" at Rocket Science.

2011-12-10T14:58:00.002-05:00

"Watching the Space Race: Why All of the Sudden" is up over at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

10 December 2011: Feast of St. Peter Duong.

"Watching the Space Race: Finally!" at Rocket Science.

2011-12-03T12:13:00.003-05:00

"Watching the Space Race: Finally! America Enters the Race with Explorer" up over at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

3 December 2011: Feast of St. Cassian of Tangier.

"A Pratfall to the Stars" on Rocket Science.

2011-11-26T09:44:00.004-05:00

"A Pratfall to the Stars" is up over on Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

26 November 2011: Feast of St. Faustus.

"A Light in the October Sky" up at Rocket Science.

2011-11-23T09:03:00.006-05:00

My post, "A Light in the October Sky," is up over at Karina Fabian's blog, Rocket Science for the Rest of Us.

24 November 2011: Feast of St. Joachim Ho.

"Peacekeeper: The Darkness Within" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-11-23T08:30:00.002-05:00

"Peacekeeper: The Darkness Within" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

23 November 2011: Feast of Bl. Miguel Pro.

Karina Fabian's Christmas request.

2011-11-16T20:20:00.005-05:00

Karina Fabian (aka: Our Lady of Dragons) sent the following message:

Dear friends and readers,

This winter, I have two things in my heart and on my mind: caring for those less fortunate than me (or indeed, much of the world) and my DragonEye, PI stories. For Christmas, I’m combining them and would like to share them with you.

Those of you who are “Vern Fans,” know about my dragon who works in our world as a private investigator, and his partner, Sister Grace, a mage and nun in the Faerie Catholic Church. They’ve saved the worlds and their friends in numerous stories and novels. Last year, I wrote a story for Flagship about their first Christmas together. Not only is Grace struggling with the Mundane idea of Christmas, but their home is threatened by a land developer who wants to tear down the entire neighborhood and make a mall. When the Ghosts of Christmas come to visit him, however, Vern and Grace have to solve the mystery before the Christmas Spirits become Angels of Death.

I have revised and am publishing “Christmas Spirits” as a serial story to raise funds for Food for the Poor. This is a wonderful charity that helps people in impoverished nations help themselves. It allows donators to choose their gifts--whether rice for a family for a month, school supplies, livestock, tools or even houses.

I'm asking that you please check out the story, and, if you enjoy it and want to see more, that you donate even a dollar to the cause. Also, if you enjoy the story, let your friends know. I'll post every Tuesday and Thursday as the donations come in. Right now, we have raised enough to send a family 20 baby chicks and are halfway to a fruit tree in addition. Vern would like to send them a cow (he is a dragon, after all), but Sister Grace and I are dreaming of raising enough to buy someone a home. Can you imagine giving a HOUSE for Christmas? Will you help?

Find the story at http://christmasspirits.karinafabian.com. You can also get to it via my website, http://fabianspace.com. Look under the Christmas dragon for the link. You can learn more about Food for the Poor at http://www.foodforthepoor.org.

Thanks for your attention!

Karina Fabian

Sounds to me like something to add to the Christmas list.

Walt

16 November 2011: Feast of St. Othmar.

"High Country: Gubee" Part 1 up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-11-09T09:03:00.005-05:00

"High County: Gubee" Part 1 is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

9 November 2011: Feast of St. Pabo.

"Lord of the Dance" up at A Flame in the Dark.

2011-11-06T10:44:00.005-05:00

"Lord of the Dance" is up over at A Flame in the Dark.

6 November 2011: Feast of St. Joseph Khang.

"Carted Away" up at Dead Mule.

2011-11-04T11:16:00.003-04:00

"Carted Away" is up over at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.

4 November 2011: Feast of St. Clarus.

"Word Carrier: Publication," up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-10-28T16:01:00.003-04:00

"Word Carrier: Publication," up over at Avenir Eclectia.

28 October 2011: Feast of St. Ferrutius.

"Insidious Good" up at Digital Dragon.

2011-10-18T10:29:00.005-04:00

"Insidious Good" up over at Digital Dragon Magazine.

18 October 2011: Feast of St. Richard Gwyn.

"Rockstars: All that Glitters" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-10-14T07:46:00.002-04:00

"Rockstars: All that Glitters" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

14 October 2011: Feast of St. Maximilian Kolbe.

"Friday Night" up at Catholic Flash Fiction.

2011-10-12T08:18:00.004-04:00

"Friday Night" is up over at Catholic Flash Fiction.

12 October 2011: Feast of St. Heribert.

"Peacekeeper: Housecleaning" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-10-05T16:32:00.003-04:00

"Peacekeeper: Housecleaning" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

5 October 2011: Feast of St. Galla.

"Stony's World: Apocalypse Preempted" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-09-26T10:57:00.002-04:00

"Stony's World: Apocalypse Preempted" is up at Avenir Eclectia.

26 September 2011: Feast of St. Noel.

"Word Carrier: Anticipation" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-09-14T08:26:00.003-04:00

"Word Carrier: Anticipation" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

14 September 2011: Feast of St. Notburga.

"Why I Never Get Any Writing Done" at CWG Blog.

2011-09-05T22:04:00.004-04:00

"Why I Never Get Any Writing Done" is up over at the Catholic Writers' Guild Blog.

1 September 2011: Feast of Sts. Joseph Canh and Peter Tu.

"Sandman" is now up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-08-31T08:30:00.004-04:00

"Sandman" is now up over at Avenir Eclectia.

31 August 2011: Feast of Bl. Richard Bere.

CWG Retreat 5--9 October 2011

2011-08-26T15:34:00.005-04:00

Catholic Writers to Enjoy Special Spiritual Retreat

Lansing, MI: In collaboration with FAITH Catholic Publishing and Communications, The Catholic Writers Guild, will sponsor Your Word is My Delight, a Catholic writers' retreat, Oct 5-9, 2011. Come and delight in God's word and sacrament, and pray in a beautiful and serene retreat setting.

The retreat's key presenter is Pat Gohn, Catholic columnist, podcaster and catechist (link: http://www.patgohn.com/patgohn/About.html) . Other presenters are Father Charles E. Irvin, David Krajewski, Father David Rosenberg and Father Larry Delaney.

Writers will enjoy five spiritually-enriching days of daily Mass, adoration, the sacrament of reconciliation and many hours of writing time. Talks will explore how God speaks to and encourages writers through Scripture, papal writings and other topics in order to promote faith-filled writing.

Opportunities for networking also will be offered through an informal "book bash and social hour" Wednesday evening and Faith Catholic's one-on-one "pitch sessions" that give writers the chance to sell their current writing projects.

Cost for the four-day retreat is $450, which includes meals and accommodations. Deadline for registration is Sept 28. A nonrefundable deposit of $45 is required at registration.

To view a schedule of events, click here.
To download a brochure, click here.
To register for the retreat click here.

26 August 2011: Feast of St. Secundus.

"You talk like you was there" at CWG Blog.

2011-08-16T21:19:00.003-04:00

"You talk like you was there." is up over on the Catholic Writers' Guild Blog.

16 August 2011: Feast of St. Uguzo.

"Academic Question: Rising Expectation" up at Avenir Eclectia

2011-08-15T07:42:00.004-04:00

My short story, "Academic Question: Rising Expectation," is up at Avenir Eclectia.

15 august 2011: Feast of St. Arnulf.

"In Plain Sight" up on Avenir Eclectia.

2011-08-03T07:37:00.003-04:00

My short story, "In Plain Sight," is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

3 August 2011: Feast of Bl. Waltheof.

Aquasynthesis available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble

2011-08-03T07:20:00.002-04:00

Aquasynthesis published by Splashdown Books is available from Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.

2 August 2011: Feast of St. Thomas of Dover.

"Replacement" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-07-20T07:48:00.003-04:00

"Replacement" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

20 July 2011: Feast of St. Barhadbesciabas.

"Writing the Alien Alien" up on CWG Blog

2011-07-19T14:58:00.003-04:00

"Writing the Alien Alien" is up of the Catholic Writers' Guild Blog.

19 July 2011: Feast of St. Aurea.

"Panhandler" up at Avenir Eclectia.

2011-07-06T07:21:00.004-04:00

"Panhandler" is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

6 July 2011: Feast of St. Goar.

"The Seasoned Writer" up at CWG Blog

2011-07-05T08:53:00.002-04:00

"The Seasoned Writer" up at the Catholic Writers' Guild Blog.

5 July 2011: Feast of Sts. Fragan and Gwen.

"Sandman" up at Digital Dragon

2011-06-26T20:38:00.002-04:00

"Sandman" is up over at Digital Dragon Magazine.

26 June 2011: Feast of St. Maxentius.

"Pallbearer" up at Avenir Eclectia

2011-06-17T10:58:00.004-04:00

"Pallbearer" is up at Avenir Eclectia.

17 June 2011: Feast of St. Antidius.

"Lies, Damn Lies, Statistics & Slice of Life" up at CWG Blog

2011-06-06T06:32:00.002-04:00

"Lies, Damn Lies, Statistics, & Slice of Life" is up on the Catholic Writers Guild Blog.

6 June 2011: Feast of St. Jarlath.

"A Spirit of Fun" up at Avenir Eclectia

2011-06-04T21:49:00.005-04:00

"A Spirit of Fun" is up at Avenir Eclectia.

5 June 2011: Feast of St. Boniface of Mainz.

Ticket, passport, visa, please.

2010-12-31T10:32:00.005-05:00

Some time ago, the folks who waste their valuable time reading this bilge may remember I remarked, "One more (modern convenience) and I'm headed straight back to the 12th century." ["Now Conveniently in Rear Rows!" 11 October 2010] Well, one more modern convenience showed up, so I'm out of here!

(I will, however, continue to add titles to the "Works" list as they are published.)

31 December 2010: Feast of St. Zoticus. Vandals, Alans, and Suebians cross Rhine invading Gaul 406 AD; James I of Aragon enters Palma reconquering Majorca 1229; Americans defeated Battle of Quebec 1775; Victoria chooses Ottawa as Canadian capital 1857; Czechoslovakia divides into Czech Republic and Slovakia 1992.

IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE AT LAST!

2010-12-15T03:46:00.006-05:00

IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE AT LAST!

What? Christmas?

No, we're only half-past Advent. Contrary to popular belief in the pagan world, the Twelve Days of Christmas trail December 24th like a flag.

No, what's here is the Kindle version of Frans G. Bengtsson's The Long Ships. I just downloaded my copy at oh-dark-thirty.

So what?

Bengtsson's Viking tale, written during War World II, is two incompatible things (at least to those ignorant of history and who don't watch people)--good history and human comedy.

Set around the year 1,000 AD, it tells the story of Red Orm, a Norse businessman of the period. It begins with a attempted acquisition of livestock shares (in this case, sheep) by the captain and crew of a passing vacation cruise--remember, to go "aviking," is rather like the old joke "What does an Irishman do for a vacation?--He sits on someone else's stoop." These guys go on vacation each summer and steal someone else's sheep (and anything else they can physically lift). Orm declines the leveraged offer and, in doing so, receives a smack on the forehead with an ax. Happily for him and the long ship's captain, the the ax was oriented 90 degrees to it's most efficient operating position and Orm only ends up with a large bruise and the captain ends up with a rower to replace the one who was killed during negotiations.

Thus begins a theme that runs throughout the book--Orm has luck--battle luck, woman luck, weather luck (though he never seems to hit the lottery). And, Oy! Does he need it! Only a few of the things he has to put up with are being a galley slave down in Islamic Spain, having to beat feet or oars (I suppose) ahead of an irate caliph--something about the small matter of the theft of a ship, a large economy-sized Christian bell, and forgetting to give two weeks notice--enjoying his own vacation helping to shake down England (the whole country, mind you), converting to Christianity (I know the feeling, there's a woman involved in his case also), a search for his long lost brother's hoard of gold while avoiding a horde of unfriendly natives (are there any other kind in this type of story?), and finally having to clean up after the very worst missionary in Christendom.

Bengtsson had the refreshing ability to deliver hilarity with a perfectly straight face--you're halfway in before you realize just how funny the situation is (as an example, there is the heart-warming trial-by-combat involving a crone, a pair of purloined virgins, their future husbands, and a skinflint uncle).

Another joy of The Long Ships is that the history checks out. It is an excellent display of Europe in the run-up to the Second Coming expected on the dawning of 1,000 AD (after all, everybody knows the Lord always works in round numbers). It gives a good picture of the three-way-collision of Christianity, Islam, and Norse paganism and the heroes and knaves to be found in every belief system. Medieval history without pain and, best of all, you can let your teen read it--if they can get it away from you.

(Note to FTC: Bought it myself, oh guardians of confusion, needless expense, and red tape.)

15 December 2010: Feast of St. Urbitius. Belisarius defeats Vandals in Battle of Ticameron 533 AD, U.S. Bill of Rights ratified by Virginia 1791, Battle of Nashville 1864, 21st Amendment to U.S. Constitution takes effect--"The bar is open, boys."--1933, Gemini 6A and Gemini 7 make first manned space rendezvous 1965.

When the chips are down...

2010-11-28T09:38:00.009-05:00

Thanksgiving is safely past and I pretty much survived...I think. *quick non-T.S.A. pat-down* Yeah, pretty much still in existence. Although, the day before Thanksgiving, I was seriously considering alternatives to this state.

This year, we decided to buy the Thanksgiving dinner pre-built. A couple of the local supermarkets offered already cooked Turkeys, side dishes, and pies for a reasonable price, and this looked like the way to cut down on combat around the dinner table. Until recently, rather than looking like Norman Rockwell's version of Thanksgiving, ours tended to have more in common with discussions between, oh, say Julius Caesar and Vercingetorix at Alesia? (I would have said Lee and Grant, but our scrums weren't nearly so Civil.) We figured out that most of the fighting took place because everyone was exhausted by dinnertime Thursday afternoon. The wife and number one daughter had worked until late at the supermarket the night before (when you work in the service industry, there is no such thing as a holiday--those are for your betters who work weekdays, 9-5). Then everybody'd hit the floor early so as to get the cooking done for that photo op banquet table that only we would see. By the time dinner was ready, we really shouldn't have been allowed anything sharper than a bowling ball with which to carve the turkey.

After about fifteen years of this stupidity, the penny finally dropped. Why did Thanksgiving have to be on Thursday? Why not Friday? It's not like it's a religious festival that's pegged to one particular day. If you really are thankful, I suspect the Lord will probably take your "thank you" call on Friday. Besides, by celebrating on Friday, both ladies were more likely to be off from work and they could recuperate from what they un-laughingly referred to as "hell week" by sleeping-in Thursday.

Anyway, back to my bid for nonexistence. I'm at the store Wednesday morning to pick up the Thanksgiving dinner when I think of something. This grocery chain carries my favorite salty snack, Wise potato chips (Dr. Pepper and Wise BBQ chips, breakfast of champions--it's a Southern thing). Why not pick up a bag or fifteen? I normally shop at the store at which the ladies of the house work, so I wasn't sure where the chip aisle was located. I see a stocker adding a competitor's brand on a display in front of the checkout aisles. I look around and notice he's the only employee in sight aside for the red-shirted cashiers. I go over and ask, "Excuse me, could you tell me where the Wise potato chips are located, please?" He straightens up and blinks at me. His accent is purest Caribbean as he replies, "I beg your pardon?" Okay, I probably said it too fast and most likely mumbled. "Could you tell me where to find the Wise potato chips, please?" As he stares at me, my eye travels over his left pocket on which is emblazoned, "Frito-Lay." As my mind goes from All Ahead Two-Thirds directly to All Astern Full, I notice that his shirt's red doesn't exactly match the store personnel's red. He looks at me oddly and points down the main aisle. "Uh, chips are down on sixteen." My first thought is to reach inside my mouth, grab my butt from the inside, and jerk hard in hopes that I can cause myself to pop out of existence on this particular plane. Instead, I thank him profusely, assure him that Lay's is my number one choice when Wise aren't available (true), and beat feet out of sight. After adding two bags Wise chips to my cart (Regular and BBQ) I went back up to check out, taking care not to pass the gentleman working on his display. I'd like to take this occasion to tell Frito-Lay that they have a very nice, extremely patient, and mega-forgiving gentleman stocking shelves for them.

Note to FTC: Bought the Wise chips myself. Frito-Lay probably isn't about to send me anything now.

28 November 2010: First Sunday of Advent. Feast of St. Andrew Trong. Council of Clermont launches First Crusade 1095, Magellan sails into Pacific from Atlantic 1520, Beethoven premiers Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat major 1811, Louis b. Mayer opens his first movie theater 1907, Tehran Conference 1943, Mariner 4 lifts off for Mars 1964.

"Dem funeral bells is breakin' up that old gang of mine."

2010-11-07T06:19:00.010-05:00

One begins to suspect something temporal is afoot when one realizes that they know far more dead people than living.

Back in the garden, if I remember correctly, besides the Tree of Knowledge, there was also the Tree of Life. This one's fruit would grant eternal life (one wonders if this might be where the Norse picked up the idea of the apples that kept their gods young). If the first juvenile delinquents, (look, they couldn't have been more than a few months old--the Bible says nothing about either acne or teen-age angst) had gotten to that one, man's three score and ten would have been a lot longer. Me, I don't think I could stand the boredom.

With mortality, comes the crap-shoot, lottery, number coming up on the wheel, or draw of the card (notice how all of these seem to have something to do with losing money?) which determines check-out time. For some reporting in comes sooner than one would hope for (being more or less a believer in Christian charity, I won't discuss the other group). One who's stay was cut shorter than some of us would wish was Charley McDowell.

Charles Rice McDowell, Jr. managed something of a miracle in his time, he managed to be both a journalist AND a gentleman. He wrote for the Richmond Times-Dispatch (known to all of us who love it as the "Times-Disreputable"). I'm told that his political column was avidly read. Looking at an example--the way he wrote about the effect on people's lives of the wait for Richard Nixon's resignation, I can well see why. Column of 9 August 1974. Rather than speaking to its meaning for history or the interests of the political class and other elites as did most of his colleagues , he wrote about the people.

This view of the commonplace is what I remember most about him. I first met him while watching "Washington Week in Review" on the PBS station in DC, WETA. My wife and I watched that show right after "Wall Street Week with Louis Rukeyser." Neither of us had any money and we certainly weren't "movers and shakers" (rather, we tended to be the "moved and shaken"), but here was intelligent TV before the term "spin" had been invented.

Back in those days (1975-1990) PBS attempted to attract people of all stripes to their viewership by providing a forum for Left, Right, and the folks in the middle caught in the crossfire. "Washington Week in Review" was a round table discussion show in which the moderator, Paul Duke, (who displayed no bias) and four (I think) journalists talked about the week's happenings inside the beltway. Usually there was a hard Leftist, an equally hard Rightist, and a utility player who sided with one or the other. Sitting on the moderator's physical left was Charley McDowell. He tended to be the voice of Everyman, neither far Left nor far Right. In fact, he seemed to pretty much hug the center of the road. This, along with his Shenandoah accent (hey, you gotta like someone who sounds like you among all those TV voices that say, "Hi, I'm from nowhere."), made him a favorite with the wife and me.

Here's the paper's writeup about him: Charley McDowell.

Now, he's gone, at least from around these parts. But, maybe in a couple of years we'll get to see him again. I suspect (and fervently hope) the Lord don't mind the sweet tones of a Shenandoah accent.

7 November 2010: Feast of St. Ernest. Ensisheim Meteorite - first dated impact - hits wheat field in Alsace 1492, Royal Governor of Virginia offers emancipation to slaves who fight for British 1775, brigantine Mary Celeste sails from New York 1872, Jesus Garcia saves Nacozaride de Garcia in Sonora from burning dynamite train 1907, Suez Crisis 1956.

A Judge's Sense and the Living-Impaired.

2010-10-31T05:13:00.009-04:00

I was perusing the bulletin board down at the senior center the other day--I like to go there just to heckle the young squirts--and was looking at the various athletics scheduled: Wii bowling, line dancing (well, line shuffling anyway), contact sports like cards and pool, water aerobics (proof that bikinis can still look good--if you don't believe me, take your glasses off and try it again), etc. The one sport that appeared to be missing was senior division car jumping. Which leads to a Kelly story...

Kelly, a guy I worked for many moons ago, put himself through art school working as an undertaker in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. One pleasant Indian summer afternoon, he was out in the driveway of the funeral home washing one of the hearses when he almost became one of the dearly departed. He had just walked under the carport to grab a swig of Dr. Pepper when he heard a car engine rev to light-speed and a loud thump. He looked up to see a Chevy Corvair coming down the hill and across the lawn from the Kroger's parking lot above at a high rate of speed (the fact of a Corvair moving fast proves it was downhill). Kelly did his best second base slide out of the way and the car crashed into the side of the funeral home beneath the carport's canopy.

When he opened the door, he found the driver, a late-middle-aged lady (the French, being the French, have a much more female-friendly phrase: "Une femme d'un certain age...") to be shaken--not stirred--but otherwise unharmed. It seems the heel of one of her stylish shoes became lodged against the accelerator and the Corvair fulfilled Ralph Nader's title, Unsafe at Any Speed.

While the repair work was being done to the funeral home, the owner decided an armor upgrade was in order figuring this might not be the last occasion of a prospective customer attempting to deliver themselves from the supermarket parking lot. So, a three foot-high brick wall was added to the outside edge of the carport.

Kelly was shoveling snow out front when he heard the tinny sound of a way over-revved Corvair engine and the familiar loud thump. He turned in time to watch the same Corvair fly down the hill, hit the bottom, become airborne, leap the brick wall, and end up wedged between the wall and the canopy overhead with its tail-end protruding far too saucily for a family-oriented blog.

While the lady, again, wasn't injured, the Life-Saving Crew did have to cut Detroit's masterpiece apart to extricate her. The cause? Yep, you guessed it. The heel of the same stylish sort of shoes had performed the trick of their predecessors.

This time she ended up in court. The Commonwealth of Virginia is generally pretty patient as such entities go, but this was getting to be a blasted habit. The offending stylish shoes were the Commonwealth's Exhibit "A." Both the Defense and the Commonwealth agreed that they were there more too ask his honor what to do about the problem rather than to seek punitive action against the unfortunate driver. The judge leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling for some minutes, came to a decision, leaned forward, and ordered that henceforth, the lady's driver's license, on the line normally devoted to "glasses" or "hearing aid," would read, "sensible shoes."

Our lady of dragons is at it again--publishing a book that causes normal law-abiding people to breakout in loud, uncontrollable laughter in the middle of such places of quiet as libraries, funeral parlors, hospitals, and boiler factories. Her latest hoot, Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator, is hitting the stores and ereaders this December. Considering my low tolerance for zombie lit (something about Sturgeon's Law being at work in the tidal wave of this stuff lately--as it is in all things human), this is one of the two keepers I've found so far (maybe I'll talk about the other next time if I get bored enough). Here's links to some sites with information: The Zombie Cookbook, and Fabianspace. (Note to FTC: I neither bought it nor was given it, you guys figure it out.)

31 October 2010: Feast of St. Arnulf. Luther nails his "95 Theses" to door of Wittenberg church 1517, Maori Wars resume in New Zealand 1864, last successful large-scale cavalry charge (so far) in Battle of Beersheba 1917, torpedoing and sinking of USS Reuben James 1941, Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi assassinated 1984.

"Now conveniently in rear rows!"

2010-10-11T14:15:00.006-04:00

Our lives are filled these days with modern conveniences.* One more and I'm headed straight back to the 12th century. Anymore, etiquette is dictated by these boons of technology.

As an example, upon arrival at church, one should turn off the cell phone. Taking calls in the Confessional is generally frowned upon--even if you are the priest.

Another point of churchly etiquette was brought up in a bulletin from Florida I recently perused. It asks that late arrivals during Mass take seats in the back rather than create a disturbance and distraction by walking down toward the front via the main aisle. Unfortunately, every Sunday Mass (and not a few daily) I've attended, the last four rows are packed with early arrivals. The only spaces left are from the front back.

Apparently, if one sits way in the back, Father can't use his priest-vision to see the dark deeds of one's heart. Also, a lot of this last row thing, I think, started with Jesus' story of the Pharisee and the publican. The Pharisees, now being wise to how things work, sit in the farthest rows to remind all that they are holy by being humble enough to sit in the last rows.

So with the folks attempting to avoid priest powers, those reminding others of their final destinations, the young parents with squalling babies trying to escape other young parents with squalling babies in the"cry room," the ushers playing poker and talking baseball while waiting to take up the collection, and, of course, old poots like me who need the shortest limp to the restrooms, those last rows would give a sardine claustrophobia.

* Convenience: (old middle Wendish) noun. 1. A source of exasperation. 2. A blot on the face of technology. 3. an excuse to pay 100-150% more for an item.

11 October 2010: Feast of St. Peter Tuy. Day did not exist in Italy, Portugal, Poland, or Spain because of implementation of Gregorian calendar 1582, sack of Wexford by Cromwell 1649, Battle of Valcour Island in Lake Champlain 1776, J.E.B. Stuart loots Chambersburg, Pennsylvania 1862, Vatican II begins 1962.

Atheists, Extraterrestrials, and St. Francis.

2010-10-04T18:08:00.004-04:00

When an avowed atheist dies, I privately say a prayer for them and those who loved them. I fail to see the harm in this because if they are right, it won't matter and if I am, they're probably going to need some help. I have had a Mass said for their repose occasionally, usually naming them simply as "a friend." After all, Jesus'll know who I mean. Whether it helps them or not, I may find out when I report in, I suppose. And there will indeed be rejoicing if they meet me where I want to go. One thing there won't be if we meet up. There will be no "I told you so" on my part--I don't believe in it. If I'm right, they'll know it, and if I'm wrong...well, that'll take care of itself.

For some reason, some folks are of the opinion that finding extraterrestrial life will prove the nonexistence of God. I'm not sure I follow their reasoning. My reaction to the discovery of extraterrestrial life as far as the existence of the Lord is something along the lines of "Yeah? So?" I see no reason why God couldn't have life other than that on our little blue dot. After all, He's God--He can do any dang thing He pleases (one of the fringe benefits of being The All Mighty).

One problem I think they have is that they are attempting to set up a strawman based on their mental construct of an entity they accept as not existing. At this point, the exercise begins to resemble the "Seinfeld" show--a show basically about nothing. Well, I must admit, they have faith if nothing else.

The second problem I see with the product the evangelical atheist pushes is that they really have no product. On the matter of what happens just before the first shovelful of dirt hits the top of the coffin, they say believers are offered "pie-in-the-sky." And they offer...what? My opinion only, but that pie may just taste better than their mouthful of dust.

So we will go our ways. Me sorry that they risk their immortal souls and them sorry I risk...again, what?

But, then, who am I to look askance at my betters? I'm just a poor, credulous peasant trying to get through life the best I can. So eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow may be--Fantastic!

Review (Note to FTC: Bought it myself, troops.)

The Mountains of Saint Francis: Discovering the Geologic Events that Shaped Our Earth by Walter Alvarez. W.W. Norton & Company, 2008.

Being as it's the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi and I like rocks, I figured I'd troll this book by a member of the twosome that gave us the Cretaceous asteroid hit theory (Alvarez the younger) past for your consideration. It is a study of the undersea formation of the Appennine Mountains' limestone and their quarries--where Michelangelo worked as a pup--, the volcanic seven hills of Rome, and the evaporation of the Mediterranean Sea (you can't say things weren't exciting in that part of the world).

The book requires no real knowledge of structural geology and is written on a public high school level (Catholic middle school level). Alvarez is a good writer and makes the geology enjoyable.

4 October 2010: Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. Pope Gregory XIII implements Gregorian Calendar 1582, Battle of Germantown 1777, First run of the Orient Express 1883, Sputnik I launched 1957.

"When all else fails..."

2010-09-18T12:49:00.006-04:00

Most people I've noticed appear to accept instruction sheets and booklets as just another form of packing material, like brown rice paper, newsprint, and that squeaky foam that comes in bizarre shapes.*

A model kit company (Testor's, I think) used to include on their kit instructions a drawing of an exasperated looking man, covered in bits of model airplane and streamers of glue, sitting on the floor looking at an instruction sheet with the caption: "When all else fails, read the instructions!"

Occasionally, this could be a portrait of my daddy. He was the sort who believed in opening the box, pouring out the pieces, and immediately putting the whatever together--"Instructions? Instructions? We don't need no stinkin' instructions!"

As evidence, the Commonwealth will introduce Exhibit 22B:

Time: 14:26 Christmas Day a heck of a lot longer ago than I care to think about.

Place: A house on the south bank of the Potomac River.

Subject: "Hey, let's give the new toy a whirl!"

We had received one of those new blenders from someone I forget and Daddy was "hot to trot" to try it out. He decided the best way would be to whip up some milkshakes. The two of us retired to the kitchen followed as usual by a lap fice and three cats (after all, the bipeds were heading for the place from which all good things flow). As he unpacked the blender, I snagged the instruction book as it flew by (hey, I'll read anything up to and including the wrapper off a roll of toilet paper--do you know how many board-foot go into the average roll of--oh, yeah...the story). While I worked my way through the lawyer talk in the first several pages (something to the effect of please don't be an idiot while trying to use this wonder of technology--and when you are, don't sue us), Daddy put the blender together, measured out the milk and put it, several scoops of vanilla ice cream, and a number of healthy shots of chocolate syrup in the glass part. He plugged it in and just as I got to the part that reads, "WARNING: DO NOT OPERATE WITHOUT LID IN PLACE!" pushed the button. The geyser of chocolate milkshake hit the ceiling and spread to cover him, the counters, the various small predators present, and a goodly portion of the floor. The next happening was the precipitous departure of all quadruped life forms. My mom, having been trampled in the stampede (well, at least below the knees), comes into the kitchen at "All Ahead Full," surveys the desolation, and, without cutting her throttles, makes a high speed 180 degree turn to port and exits the area of operations. My daddy looks at the new decor and says, "Well, son, I guess we better clean up." Going after the mop and bucket, the thought runs through my mind--as Tonto said, "What do you mean 'we' white man?"

*Old Poot Digression:

One of the great losses from the slow death of print journalism is the absence of newspaper used as packing material these days. Often, the newspapers could be more interesting than whatever they protected in shipment.

As most seemed to come from retailers in smaller cities and towns, one was given a snapshot of life away from the larger and, often, rather boring mainstream media outlets. Being small towns, the stories tended to be covered in an "up close and personal" way. A murder which might be covered in Baltimore only because of the novel way the dearly departed was done in and then in only two and a half short paragraphs on page 18--inside column, would be splashed across the front page, above the fold, with jumps to three different large column-inch feature articles covering what was thought to have happened, who was thought to have dunit, why they were thought to have dunit, when the heinous deed was done, how they accomplished this piece of human drama, and the fact that their (the victim, murderer, or whichever family or friend) Uncle Fudd was coming in on the bus from Chilhowie to officiate at the celebration. For those of a writerly bent, this is the grist for the keyboarded mill. Outside of Arnold Toynbee, this is the magnification at which most writers work. If writers were supposed to write what they'd experienced as opposed to what they know (the last delivered in a thick Russian accent), most fiction would be really boring. While most of us write about the experiences of our lives and those of our friends and families (in my case, this is pretty much a non-starter. None of my family have been particularly homicidal--at least to those within the family), without the wider knowledge of life we obtain through watching others' disasters, our output would be on a par with that seen on the "walls" in Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451."

18 September 2010: Feast of St. Gerreoulus. Constantine the Great wins battle of Chrysopolis becoming sole emperor of Rome 324 AD, Moscow burns 1812, "Fugitive Slave Act" passed by U.S. Congress 1850, South African troops land in German Southwest Africa 1914, U.S. Air Force established 1947, Voyager I takes first photo of Earth and Moon together 1977.

Of groupies, fanboys, and...Why do I even bother?

2010-09-13T21:05:00.005-04:00

A lot of male authors are supposedly inundated by masses of groupies. Battalions of nubile sweet young things throw themselves at the gods of the keyboard. They walk into a con suite and faster than they can conjugate a verb, they're propositioned in six languages and hues (some of them even of legal age).

To which I say a hardy "Pshaw!" Perhaps it's something about me (please, Lord, don't let it be that!), but mostly what I seem to attract are 30+ year old fanboys smelling of Clearasil and a notable lack of Right Guard or Irish Spring. The first thing out of their mouth is, "Ooh, ooh, I love yer stuff!" (Not a bad beginning of a conversation.) This followed by, "I write, draw, basket weave, greased pole climb--what have you--too!" Line number three ensues, "How do ya break into the business?" (Son, if ever I find out, rest assured, you'll be the 234th to know.) He then launches into a presentation on the GREAT WORK of his life (usually in genre I either have absolutely no experience in or that I hate so much that I break out in purple and green spots). He expounds the entire plot of his six volumes; the main, secondary, and tertiary characters' motivations (including why the protagonist's mother's unthinking actions that particular Christmas all those years ago drive the plot); and how his elves/stardrive/magic system is truly original and how it all keys off his D&D characters. It must be admitted that this young Hugo winner of the future actually is talented--he is able to communicate all of this information as he escorts one down the hall at a walk, at the trot, at the canter, at the gallop--forward!--from the function rooms to, hopefully, a friend's room--never, never let them find your true lair. And as the door is slammed in his face, he asks if he can send the fugitive his manuscript as soon as he has it all written down.

As for the female of the species, the groupie, the closest I've come to attracting them was the rather shop-worn wife of a fellow scribbler who made a pass at me that I put down to either incipient insanity or sunstroke (there was the occasional glint of sunlight between the snow squalls that day). Of course I manfully rejected her advances because it would have been a mortal sin for both of us (adultery); besides, who knew where she had been; and the wife was just out of earshot buffing her gladius--hell nor the Defense Department hath a fury like a ticked-off Irish woman.

The preceding is what soured me on the writers' life and explains why I have done my level best not to become a known author (something at which I have been frighteningly successful).

There now, who sez I can't write fantasy?

One of those conversations:

*ring*

Me: "Hello?"

#1 Son: "Dad, what temperature do you broil a chicken on?"

Me: "Uh, I don't know, how about 'Broil?'"

#1 Son: "Okay. Where do I put it in the oven?"

Me: "Is the stove gas or electric?"

#1 Son: "Electric."

Me: "Okay, put the broiler pan about four to six inches from the top element."

#1 Son: "It won't fit."

Me: "Pardon?"

#1 Son: "The chicken won't let me put it that close."

Me: "Uh, son? Is the chicken cut up?"

#1 Son: "No. Should it be?"

Me: "Yep. Unless you have a rotisserie."

#1 Son: "Okay, thanks, Dad. Bye."

*ring*

#1 Son: "Dad? I can't cut up the chicken."

Me: "I don't suppose it's still frozen?"

#1 Son: "Uh, yeah."

Me: "Okay, do you have a microwave?"

#1 Son: "No, Ted took it with him when he moved to his new place.'

Me: "Okay, put the chicken down in the refrigerator. It should be thawed by this time tomorrow. Do you something else to eat?"

#1 Son: "No, I'll have to go to the store."

Me: "Alright, tip for you--always try to have some hot dogs and buns handy in case something like this happens in the future. Okay?"*

#1 Son: "Yeah. Thanks, Dad. Bye."

I think I know why I'm gray. It ain't the years, it's the having kids.

* Our lady of dragons counseled me that I really should introduce him to that other staff of single life--Ramen Noodles, succor of twenty-somethings the world over.

13 September 2010: Feast of St. Amatus. Belisarius defeats Vandals at Battle of Ad Decimium in North Africa 533 AD, British capture Quebec 1759, Los Ninos Heroes killed defending Chapultepec 1847, Lee's orders found by Federals before Battle of Sharpsburg (Antietam) 1862, second day of Battle of Bloody Ridge (Edson's Ridge) on Guadalcanal 1942, first hard drive-IBM RAMAC 305-introduced 1956.

From the wilds of beautiful Yohogania County.

2010-09-08T20:05:00.006-04:00

I've been doing a bit of research on relations between the various British North American colonies, and the results are hilarious. About the beginning of the French and Indian War (AKA: Seven Years War to those lacking Texans), circa mid to late 1700s, a number of them were involved in a series of pier 6 brawls with each other occasionally to the point gunfire was exchanged. Most of the ill feeling was due to dueling charters and the fact that some British royals had the lifespan of a fruit fly or a Hollywood marriage.

Some of the causes of the merriment were:

1. Virginia operating under a grant from James I had all the lands from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from somewhere around the North Carolina border to the North Pole (generous guy, James).

2. Charles I granted Lord Baltimore everything from the Atlantic to the western end of the Potomac River and from the Potomac north to Latitude 40 for his Catholic colony.

3. William Penn's charter from Charles II granted him and his family the land west of the Delaware River to somewhere and from Latitude 40 to the New york border--wherever that was to end up (unlike his father, Charles didn't lose his head over the matter). There is the opinion that Penn apparently hired non-union surveyors because Pennsylvania's Latitude 40 happened to be 28 miles south of Maryland's Latitude 40. Revisionists on the other hand suggest that Penn's city of Philadelphia--already built at the time of the grant--awkwardly lying south of Maryland's Latitude 40 may have had something to do with the error in navigation (which is why one always puts the fence at least six inches in from the property line). This small discrepancy led to Cresap's War (1736-1738) between the Maryland and Pennsylvania militias. George II was forced to knock heads together and ordered a proper survey ("Paging Mr. Mason, Mr. Dixon. The Royal governors would like to speak to you about a job.").

4. At the same time, Connecticut claimed the Wyoming Valley in northeastern Pennsylvania (what would become the three counties around Wilkes-Barre--Scanton). That there were only two other colonies between the two halves of what might become the "Nutmeg State" seems to have slowed these enterprising Yankees not at all (shades of the Danzig Corridor--not to mention East and West Pakistan). Connecticut also claimed the Ohio county, Great Lakes, western New York, Michigan, Texas, and the Canadian Prairie provinces ("Worst case of MPD I've seen in all my years of practice.").

5. Adding to the fun, the Iroquois Confederation--suffering a bad bout of imperialism--and the various Indians of the Ohio country, Great Lakes, and southeastern Canada were on the edge of their very own version of a world war (though this didn't stop the Iroquois from spending their vacations in the Carolinas and eastern Tennessee visiting Rock City and beating up on the Cherokees and Catawbas--as it turns out, the Shenandoah Valley was their favorite freeway back and forth--"Look, Flitting Bird, I like North Carolina. It's the sitting in traffic four hours because some clown jacked-knifed a canoe that drives me nuts. And it's always between the Stucky's!").

6. And of course, to the north and west the wily French lurked waiting to flail good honest English men with baguettes and rosary beads.

Sometime in the future, I'll give Jacques' side of things and take a look at why American convenience stores tend to stock beer and occasionally questionable pre-made sandwiches rather than good wine and brie.

11 September 2010: Feast of St. Ambrose Edward Barlow. Battle of the Teutoburg Forest 9 AD, Battle of Stirling Bridge 1297, Battle of Brandywine 1777, Mountain Meadows Massacre 1857, September 11, 2001--need I say more?

Irreconcilable Differences: Catholics and Euterpe

2010-09-05T16:45:00.005-04:00

(I'm putting this post up a bit early as I'm going into drydock Tuesday for repairs and modifications to my port side aural sensor and may not feel like fooling with it Wednesday.)

Why don't Catholics sing in church? This is a question that has pestered those who worry about such things since St. Peter first ran through his prayers while vesting. The propensity to break into song at the proper places during the Mass is the thing that gives away onetime Protestant converts and the odd misdirected Low Church Anglicans who stumble in Sunday mornings.

There are a number of possible explanations that have been mooted. Some of my favorites are:

1. They are harking back to the early Church when to be heard tended to result in court action before a scowling Roman judge followed by the attentions of a non-scowling lion or six?

2. The have trouble remembering how to correctly pronounce unfamiliar Latin words such as "Holy Spirit," "Virgin Mother of God," "Heavenly host," etc.?

3. Speaking of hosts--or rather the Host, they're afraid they'll be caught with one in their mouth in the middle of a hymn with the end result of being either quite rude or worse, being guilty of violating some stricture of Canon Law?

4. They're afraid the lector gave the wrong hymn number and the ones posted are actually left over from the last funeral, wedding, Bar Mitzvah (hey, collections are down and that new roof ain't going to pay for itself!)?

5. They're confused about where in the two hymn books (one paperback, one hardback), worship guide, hymnal, missal, and three handouts to find the right song?

6. They've given up singing anything not by (Saints?) Peter, Paul, & Mary or the Iron Butterfly for Lent?

7. The tunes stink? (This one is a non-starter--we stole all the good ones...okay, borrowed lovingly in a blatant act of galloping ecumenism all the good ones from the Protestants.)

Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway just for kicks), none of this is a problem for yours truly. I sing. When one reaches my advanced age, one is so sour, twisted, and bloody-minded that it fails to bother one in the least that fellow worshipers around him have bleeding ears.

Speaking of music, catch the Huron Carol on Heather Dale's album, "This Endris Night." It's available for download from iTunes and Amazon.com. (Bought it myself, oh minions of the FTC.) I ran across this courtesy of the water-loving Cat up in the wilds of Canada. Here's the link: Click here non -techies.

8 September 2010: Feast of Bl. Dominic of Nagasaki. Titus sacks Jerusalem 70 AD, Knights of Malta defeat Turkish siege 1565, French and Indian War Battle of Lake George 1755, Second Battle of Sabine Pass 1863, first V2 hits London 1944, "Star Trek" premiers on NBC 1966.

Early Burials of Priests.

2010-08-31T16:20:00.003-04:00

From the paper - Proper timing of priest burial in montane environments: A history and prospectus.

We were kicking grave side services around over on the Catholic Writers' list a while back (we had to because someone who will remain nameless' blasted dragon swallowed our political football) and it reminded me of a grave side service that involved a former boss--call him Kelly. Kelly put himself through art school working as an undertaker at a funeral home in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains.

One time, they had a Catholic burial that included a grave side service. The ground at the cemetery was so rocky the grave had to be dug with a backhoe, resulting in an over-sized hole. To give the priest a place to stand at the head of the coffin, boards covered over with fake grass carpeting were placed around the grave. The priest arrived a few minutes before the family. Father was a bit old-fashioned and wore a biretta. As the family approached from the parking lot at the bottom of the hill, the priest stepped to the head of the coffin and vanished. Kelly and his assistant whirled and looked in all directions. Kelly said that he happened to glance down and there was Father's biretta sticking up out from beneath the coffin. Apparently, the priest had stepped on a spot were two boards had moved apart and gravity took it's course. While his assistant ran down the hill to stop the family, Kelly helped Father from the hole. The service was conducted by the mud bespattered clergyman without further entertainment. According to Kelly, Father took it well, for the most part, remarking that to be a good priest, one had to throw oneself into it. He also said while it (pointing to the grave) was the destination of all, he really hadn't expected to get there quite that fast.

As a Note,

The last passenger pigeon, a female, died in the Cincinnati Zoo on this day in 1914. During the 19th century, single flocks of over 2 billion covering an area of 1 mile (1.6 km) by 300 miles (500 km) were counted (estimated?) during migrations. Rather than being wiped out by sports hunters, they were destroyed by market hunters who shipped boxcar loads the eastern U.S. cities for the restaurant trade . Leaving this country boy with one question: Did y'all enjoy y'all's supper?

Certainly makes one appreciate the conservation work done by and paid for through donations, license fees, and taxes on ammunition by sports hunters through organizations such as Ducks Unlimited and others.

Thus endeth today's lesson.

Also on this day, something happy. Alberta, bringing with it one of the richest dinosaur fossil deposits around the Red Deer River, joined the rest of the Canadian confederation. Oh, yeah, Saskatchewan joined too--but they seem to have a dearth of dinosaurs. If you ever get the chance, check out Drumheller and the Royal Tyrrell Museum.

1 September 2010. Feast of St. Lupus of Sens. Montrose defeats Covenanters in Battle of Tippermuir 1644, Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa founded 1772, Germans capture Emperor Napoleon III of France at Battle of Sedan 1870, Tokyo and Yokohama destroyed by Great Kanto earthquake 1923, Germany invades Poland 1939.

"Conversant with..."

2010-08-26T07:24:00.003-04:00

One of the joys of life as I think I know it are the conversations I get to take part in. As an example:

The other day, I'm putzing with the computer while the wife works a puzzle in one of her books. The conversation goes something like this:

Wife: "What does 'SSN' mean?"

Me: (immediately): "'Submarine Nuclear'--an attack boat."

Wife: "I don't understand."

Me (still looking at screen): "It's a ship designation part of a Navy hull number. 'SS' for a diesel submarine, 'SSN' for a nuclear powered attack boat, 'SSNB' for a boomer."

Wife: "A what?"

Me (mind still in neutral): "'Submarine Nuclear Ballistic.' A boat that launches ICBMs."

Long silence. I finally look around and she is regarding me with a confused expression (well, maybe, a more confused expression than I usually seem to induce in normal people).

Me: "What?"

Wife: "I'm sorry, I just don't get it."

The penny drops.

Me: "What's the clue?"

Wife: "It says, 'Nine digit designation.'"

Me: "Oh." Oops. "'Social Security Number,' dear."

Wife: "Ah. That works."

I dunno, maybe I was in the business too long?

On another subject:

It's been noticed lately that cats are showing signs of being sentient. The cats maintain that they were from the beginning--they just didn't want to put up with a lot of stupid conversation.

Karina Fabian, a specialist in astro-nuns, gumshoed dragons, and zombie haute cuisine, asked me , "So why are cats lowering their standards now?"

Why are cats coming out of the closet at this late date? I'm not totally sure. Dorsey, our cat and the handsome guy at upper left, seems to operate on a "need to know" basis; so like a China watcher, I'm making a guess. It may be a case of "if you want something done right, you do it yourself." I'll let you know more as I find out, but at the moment, it's strictly a matter of reading around the edges.

27 August 2010: Feast of St. Ebbo. Battle of Plataea 479 BC, Battle of Long Island 1776, Federals attack Cape Hatteras 1861, first jet aircraft--a Heinkel 178--flies 1939, Mariner 2 launched to Venus 1962.

Karina Fabian strikes!

2010-08-19T22:14:00.005-04:00

Being the normally lazy sort I am, I tend not to put myself out blogging. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Karina Fabian, our lady of dragons, sent me a work of the musical kind sparked by my blog entry of yesterday (scroll down). My assumption is that this is suggested as incidental music for funerary celebrations in the Diocese of Pittsburgh. At the bottom is the various places online where Karina can be found (this is provided as a service to the hard working gentlemen of the Holy Office of the Inquisition in order that they go after her first, rather than me).

Oh! Holy Gas

Oh! Holy gas
We know you come from Grandma.
She's in the grave. Ash to ash, dust to dust
Oil's from dinosaurs
But gas now comes from Grandma.
We turn on lights, and we say a prayer for her.
Pittsburgh says, the graveyard's safe for drilling
The money's good, pays their utilities
O! Please don't smoke
At funerals or you'll blow up!
O! Na-a-tural gas
O fuel! Oh gas!
O gas from Grandma's tomb.

Karina L.Fabian, 19 August 2010
Fabianspace
Dragon Eye, P.I.
Facebook
Kickstart Marketing

20 August 2010: Feast of St. Philibert. Battle of Yarmouk 636, St. Stephen founds Hungarian state - National Day 1000, Battle of Fallen Timbers 1794, President Andrew Johnson declares end of War Between the States 1866, Leon Trosky fatally wounded in Mexico City 1940, Soviets invade Czechoslovakia 1968.

Even I couldn't make this up!

2010-08-19T09:19:00.003-04:00

This morning, I logged in and did a quick scan of my home page. I checked the weather and time in various places, whether I had any email and the baseball scores, and glanced at the headlines from the various news sources. I then looked at the calendar to make sure it wasn't 1 April and I'd slept eight months (or, conversely, lost four months--in the space-time continuum I appear trapped within, this seems as likely as not). What sparked this sudden interest in things temporal was a headline from the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review to the effect that the Pittsburgh Diocese had sold drilling rights to gas companies so they can drill for natural gas in Catholic cemeteries in western Pennsylvania ("They just drilled through Granny!!!" "Yeah, but she's delivering three hundred cubic foot per minute."). To prove that I neither drank, inhaled, shot-up, or snorted my breakfast (grits and tea by the way), here is the link to the story on this wonderfulness: "Catholic Cemeteries..."

The gas is trapped over a large part of Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, and West Virginia in the Marcellus Shale. Supposedly, a potential 50 trillion cubic feet of natural gas lies in the formation. The problem for the gas companies is that western Pennsylvania is mountainous so they prefer the flat places such as where most normal people like to build their stuff--say, between the ridges.

In the Pittsburgh area, topography laid down the rules of life early on. One was born and lived on the side of the mountain, worked down on the riverside flats, and was carried to the cemetery on top of the mountain at the end. With horses, the heavier the load, the lower on the mountain it stopped. A coffin and cargo was about the most a two horse hearse could get to the top. Of course, this allowed the saying in Pittsburgh, "Everybody gets to the top."

The potential of the Marcellus Shale has people somewhat split. The movers and shakers that run things smell lots and lots of money (taxes, sales, graft, etc.). The rest of the residents are a bit more leery ("You want to put that thing where?!!").

For Catholics such as myself (back-slider though I be), some questions now arise. Must special provisions be taken for the proper handling of gas from consecrated ground? I suppose it's okay to burn it as long as one does so in a proper respectful and religious manner. Maybe Vigil lights will be gas fueled from now on...Hmm, I wonder, should we say an "Our Father" or merely cross ourselves when we turn on the stove.

On another subject...

A nice website for the Daily Office (AKA: Liturgy of the Hours) can be found at Divine Office. Org.

19 August 2010: Feast of St. Bertulf. Battle of Knockdoe 1504, Charles Stuart begins the "Rising of '45" 1745, Lakota set out to attack New Ulm in Minnesota 1862, John Westely Hardin killed in El Paso 1895, first running of the All-American Soap Box Derby in Dayton 1934, liberation of Paris 1944.

"A thousand chimpanzees with typewriters..."

2010-08-16T10:41:00.004-04:00

I was reading Karina Fabian's Fabianspace the other day and decided to give a writing analyzer she talked about a shot. The first thing I ran through it was "On a Road from Victory." The results were so funny and being the idle sort I am, I blew twenty minutes and ran a bunch of my other stuff through. I pasted only the complete bodies of the pieces, leaving off the titles and such. I'm wondering what the algorithm is keying off of as some of the stuff did seem to be bunched in a consistent pattern. here's what I got:

"On a Road from Victory"--Margaret Mitchell
"A feather's Fall in Vacuum"--James Joyce
"Morning Ritual"--Lewis Carroll
"Tarzan at the Earth's Corps"--Cory Doctorow
"Cannon Law"--Stephen King
"The Sorcerers' Game"--Stephen king
"Gated Community"--Stephen King
"The Long Trek"--Stephen King
Chained Dogs (Chapter 1)--Kurt Vonnegut
Chained Dogs (Preface)--Kurt Vonnegut
Chained Dogs ("On Heinzelmannchen")--David Foster Wallace
"Marine Diplomacy"--David Foster Wallace
Mountain Peculiar (Chapter 1)--David Foster Wallace
"How the Fox Got His White Tail Tip"--Rudyard Kipling
"How the Deer Got His Antlers"--Rudyard Kipling
"How the Beaver Got His Tail Flat"--Rudyard Kipling
"Change"--Rudyard Kipling
"I Gotta Tell This"--Chuck Palahniuk
"The Criminal Class"--Chuck Palahniuk
"Neither Fish Nor Foul"--Margaret Atwood
"The Christmas Fool"--Anne Rice
"Words of Rust"--J.D. Salinger

The only author in the bunch I've actually read was Kipling and the three "How the..." are, in deed, "Just So Stories." That the Chained Dogs preface and chapter sound alike (and the note on Heinzelmannchen sounded different) makes sense. I don't quite understand why the two Danube County stories and the autobiographical piece, "The Long Trek," would sound like Stephen King.

Never the less, a reasonable way to waste time.

16 August 2010: Feast of St. Fructuosus. Battle of Bennington 1777, Battle of Camden 1780, Fort Detroit surrendered to British 1812, Palestine Riots 1929, last emperor of China captured by Soviets 1945, highest parachute jump by Colonel Joseph W. Kittinger II USAF 1960.

Catholic Athletics and the Mass.

2010-04-29T19:50:00.002-04:00

Pentecostals may speak in tongues but Catholics have track meets each Sunday.

One of the sacramentals of the Catholic Church (at least in the U.S.) is the race to beat Father down the aisle after Communion, otherwise known as "The Running for the Doors." Apparently, the point of this part of the liturgy is to allow the parishioner to run out the door as early as possible thus demonstrating that with the consumption of the Bread of Life, one is ready to immediately pitch back into the battle with the world as one winds one's way to Heaven.

The race begins with the "hand-off" when the host is placed either in the communicant's hand or on their tongue. The athlete then consumes it and makes the sign of the cross, signifying the race has begun, and starts for the back of the church avoiding returning to the pew he or she had occupied during the countdown before Communion. The idea is to beat Father to the back of the church after he finishes the Mass. The starting gun as it were for Father is the utterance of the phrase, "The Mass is ended, go in peace," either by a deacon or Father himself.

According to those who know (or at least say they do), this ritual has taken place as long as anyone living can remember. An earlier version involved the celebrant leaving by a door toward the front of the church, but this was changed after Vatican II in order to heighten the athletic drama. Watching the race each Sunday, I've come to the opinion that it is an uneven competition. One of the things I think our Church should stand for in all things is fairness. While I am a neo in matters of theology and liturgy, I have a couple of suggestions that might even things up between celebrant and communicant.

First, I believe Father's vestments should be modified. The chasuble and alb should be shortened and Father should be encouraged to wear running shorts and shoes, the colors of which should match the season.

Second, the ushers should be tasked with blocking and tackling the communicants.

Third, every competing communicant should be required to wear a scapula bearing a number (these may be roman numerals to reflect the return of the Latin Mass), so that the charging ushers may discriminate between competitors and old poots like myself just heading for the bathrooms.

Fourth and finally, the races should be scored and documented so they may be communicated to the sports editor at the diocesan newspaper for inclusion each week. This could also be used to set up pools as a source of income for those jaded with bingo, raffles, and casino nights.

All in all, I see no reason why the Church should not profit by an apparently eternal fact of life.

29 April 2010: The Feast of St. Hugh the Great. Moors land at Gibraltar 711, Joan of Arc raises siege of Orleans 1429, New Orleans captured by Federals 1862, Dachau liberated 1945.

"You want fries with that?"

2010-04-23T05:35:00.004-04:00

Kelly, a guy I once worked for, put himself through school by working as an undertaker in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. One of his charges turned out to be a fast food junkie.

Living at the funeral home, one of the things Kelly dealt with where the middle-of-the-night calls to come pick up a new customer. People often seem to have no consideration about when they drop dead. Of course, planning ahead by scheduling the event is rather frowned upon by the three major desert religions.

The call came in, as they always do, at oh-dark-thirty. One of the folks over at the state’s home for the bewildered had just become the dearly departed. The body was already on a gurney and had been released by the attending physician when Kelly got there with the hearse. A night attendant helped load the gurney in the back of the vehicle and Kelly headed back to the funeral home. All Kelly had to do was roll the gurney into the cold storage room in the home’s basement, lock up, and he could go back to bed.

Kelly told me he still says a prayer of thanks from time to time when he thinks of it that he had been caught by a stop light. As he sat there waiting for it to turn, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a child-like voice asked, “Could we stop for some fries?”

He whirled around and found himself eyeball to eyeball with the customer. Rather distractedly, Kelly said, “Pardon?”

The customer smiled gently and repeated, “Could we stop for some fries?”

Kelly said that by this time the world had dropped back into position and he explained to his new friend, Bill as it turned out, that it was pretty late and everything was closed. Bill seemed saddened by this so Kelly assured him that he, Kelly, would tell the folks at the institution of his request when they got back there. This seemed to satisfy Bill and he lay back down. On the drive back, Kelly discovered that Bill snored.

Kelly pulled up to the ambulance entrance and tooted the horn. The same attendant who had helped him before came out and walked up Kelly’s door. Curious, he asked, “What are you doing back here?”

Kelly replied, “I’m afraid this one ain’t done yet.”

“Huh?”

At that moment, Kelly said, he was treated to one of the finest displays of the double-take as Bill raised up from the gurney and waved to the attendant with a happy, “Hi, Tommy.”

An hour later, Kelly was perusing an ancient copy of Field & Stream in a waiting room when Tommy walked in pulling on a jacket. The attendant told him, “You can head home, the doctor looked Bill over and says he’s fine.”

Kelly asked, “The same one who said he was dead?”

Tommy half smiled. “Hmm, on second thought, maybe you better hang around a while. Anyway, the boss says for the home to send a bill for your trouble.”

As they walked out to the parking lot, Kelly remarked, “I ‘spect you’ll be happy to get home.”

“Oh, I’m not going home. I’m headed out to one of the truck stops on Route 11.”

“Oh?”

Tommy grinned, “We figure with what happened tonight, we owe Bill some French fries.”

23 April 2010: Feast of St. George. Battle of Clontarf 1014, Ottoman Empire of Sultan Mehmend VI falls 1920, King George II of Greece evacuates Athens ahead of Wehrmacht 1941, New Coke premiered to general distaste of humanity 1985.

Catholic Self-Help?

2010-04-18T15:33:00.004-04:00

"Into all lives some rain must fall,but Dear Lord, why do I have to get monsoons?"

One of the more interesting oxymorons I've run across is "Catholic self-help." This seems to be the idea that you can solve all your problems by reading the right book.

Pelagius, back on the fifth century British Isles, taught that a person can come to total Grace through sheer will all by themselves--that one can basically lift themselves by their sandal straps (give this stunt a try sometime if you have nothing better to waste time on). St. Augustine of Hippo argued that Grace is a gift of God and a human can't attain it through his own efforts. Both the Council of Carthage (418 AD) and the Council of Ephesus (431 AD) came to the conclusion that the Brit was all wet, and that man can only come to Grace through God.

When I first heard this idea of a "Catholic" self-help book, the Bible popped into mind as an example. You got troubles, check out the the Old Testament's Book of Job. For somewhat newer works, Father Benedict J. Groeschel's Tears of God and Dr. Viktor E. Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning might fit the requirement. What do these three have in common? Well, aside from all three being good reads, they also provide guidance when all hell breaks loose in one's life.

The magic word here is "guidance," not all the answers. Far too many authors try to sell their book as the answer to all questions. What they end up with is a one-size-fits-nobody philosophy of how to get through life with no pain. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) it ain't gonna happen. As in the story about the New Englander, life is "just one long frazzle." What these three works offer is a path to the only Threesome Who knows what the heck is going on and why. When we go to Them, we get information not on a need-to-know basis, but rather on an ability-to-understand basis. The folder I receive tends to be pretty thin because I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack. Other, more intelligent folks get thicker folders--St. Thomas Aquinas comes to mind (he must have got bales by the forklift load).

Should we worry that somethings are beyond us? Not necessarily. This is where faith comes in--one has to have faith that when one is ready for understanding, the knowledge will come. For mere humans, this most probably will be in the next life (and boy, have I got a list of questions!). For me to try to understand the workings of the All Mighty is probably on par with my daughter's toy poodle understanding what I'm doing while tangling with filing the taxes. He settles for having faith that we love him and his food dish will be full each day. Me, I settle for pretty much the same.

Note to FTC: Bought 'em myself, guys.

18 April 2010: Feast of St. Wicterp of Augsburg. Cornerstone of present St. Peter's Basilica laid 1506, American Revolution's fighting begins and ends eight years later on the same day 1775-1783, Dolittle Raid on Japanese Home Islands 1942, Pawtucket Red Sox and Rodchester Red Wings play longest pro baseball game in history lasting 33 innings 1981.

Orders from the boss.

2010-04-13T11:35:00.004-04:00

A lot of us are pushed around in this life. Sometimes it's someone who knows how to run our lives better than we do. Sometimes it's someone we invite into our lives. Hmm? No, not wives, husbands, or in-laws--though there have been reports of such things. I mean the ultimate boss, the Boss of bosses. Yep, that fur-covered cat food converter laying on my feet as I type this (Yeah, I know the word should be "lying," but it doesn't sound like my usually fractured syntax. Now shut up and go back to sleep, sir.).

Some of us have these predatory commandos barge in on us in that insidiously lethal form, the kitten on the doorstep. Others of us are stupid enough to actually go out and recruit these mercenaries (make no mistake, cats are mercenaries--dogs are regulars). My follies have covered both.

Dorsey, that handsome guy pictured to the left, hiring on with us was the result of one of my normal lapses in judgment (it must be true because the wife points this out quite often, usually while spoiling said creature). You don't own a cat. Either he owns you or, if you're lucky and have your act together, he hires on with you. Cats are independent cusses and only hang around if they like you, which is probably one of the things that appeals to me (the idea that they hang around only because you feed them tends to be a little doubtful--most seem to be of the opinion that they could do just as well or perhaps better elsewhere and have occasionally proved it).

Actually, our partnership has been a reasonably happy one on both sides. It's pleasant having him holding down the end of the bed and keeping my feet or the wife's head warm in the winter. And, happily, he learned early on in the relationship that bipeds are something to avoid as they stumble through the dark (after seven years, our daughter's black toy poodle is still working on that one). Like myself, he's not a picky eater for pretty much the same reason I'm not--growing up, if you didn't want what was served, you were welcome to go out and kill your own (contrary to popular belief, you generally don't see all that many cat or kid skeletons lying next to full food dishes). As long as the chow crunches and has a picture of a cat on the bag, he's happy. He will mention it occasionally when he thinks the cat pan could use some attention, but, then, I get kind of grumpy when the person before me forgets to put out a new roll of paper too.

So far, his major gripe with us is our lousy control of the weather. If it's very cold or pouring down rain. sleet, or snow, he will look out the front door sourly then stalk to the backdoor. When he sees the the same weather system appears to be also stagnating at that end of our mansion, he gives me a look loudly saying, "Klutz!" and stomps off toward the bed. When I think about it from his point of view, I can understand his opinion. We control the heat and air conditioning in the house; why can't we do the same outside? Robert A. Heinlein reported much the same behavior of his main protagonist in his novel, The Door Into Summer (1956). According to Wikipedia, the title and the book was suggested by a remark Heinlein's wife made about their cat. Now you know why writers put up with cats...or is it the other way around?

13 April 2010. Feast of St. Caradoc of Haroldston. Louis IX of France (St. Louis) is captured in Egypt 1250, Fort Sumter surrenders 1861, Troops of the Raj massacre 379 and wound 1,200 at Amristar 1919, Sidney Poitier wins Best Actor Oscar for "Lilies of the Field" 1963.

Lighting up for Easter.

2010-04-07T04:19:00.005-04:00

I've often thought Easter is best described as a party preceded by a forty-day hangover.

For my own part, the lead up to the most important day of the year tends to make me walk small. I am by nature a silent grumbler. Aside from "teaching moment" explosions, I generally keep my mouth shut. The downside is I'm often doing a slow burn (the upside is I don't bother saying, "I told you so," which drives people nuts waiting for it). I come into church totally bummed out by the weight of my problems and flop in the pew. I look up at the Crucifix and Jesus looks back at me and says, "You think you got problems?" Looking at what He puts up with from us, yeah, mine are pretty small potatoes.

Things get really dark by Holy Saturday. And, then, just after nightfall, a light appears--a single candle that spreads throughout the world.

We used to go to the Saturday evening Mass up at a retreat house run by some Franciscans. Just outside the chapel, there would be a little brazier for a small fire from which to light the first candle. One year, we had an enthusiastic new young priest celebrating. The old priest, Father Manny, was up to his hip pockets getting several new families from the Philippines squared away so he let Father Buzz arrange everything for the Mass. When we showed up at the retreat house, things looked a bit different. Rather than the usual brazier, there was a tub about the right size for burning a Viking long ship. Piled in the tub was enough wood to build said ship if it were required for a Norse funeral. At the proper hour, several Filipina mothers and grandmothers got the fire going. Considering most of these ladies had up until a few months earlier been cooking over such fires, it had all the muss and drama of flipping a light switch. It fell to Father Buzz to provide the drama. As the flames leaped up, frightening fire watchers in towers in three surrounding states, Father became carried away with the blessing and leaned farther and farther over the fire. Just before he set himself alight and reenacted our very own auto-de-fey (yeah, I know we didn't actually burn people during the auto-de-fey itself, but work with me here), two of the grandmothers shoved the tub away from him while three of the mothers laid hands on the hem of his chasuble and yanked. Father Buzz never missed a beat as he and the flaming tub broke formation and parted company at a high rate of speed. Let's see the Pentecostals top that.

7 April 2010: Feast of St. Finnian (or Finan) of Kinitty. St. Francis Xavier departs Lisbon for East Indies 1541, Metric System adopted by France 1795, Japanese battleship Yamato sunk by U.S. carrier planes 1945, Internet born with publication of RFC1 1969.

He's the last guy to let you down.

2010-04-03T10:30:00.009-04:00

I guy I worked for, call him "Kelly," put himself through school by working as an undertaker in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. Being in a vocation that allows one to meet everyone eventually, he had a number of interesting tales of various folks he had the enjoyment of dealing with.

According to Kelly, his first night at the funeral home set the tone for the years that followed. Part of his deal with the owner was that Kelly would live at the home. This had the advantage that someone would be on hand if a call came in during the night (a very common occurrence) and there would be someone to keep an eye on things, funeral homes being prime targets for burglaries (to some folks, all that class and glitz screams, "Steal me!"). After everyone else went home, Kelly made himself dinner and relaxed in front of the TV with a Washington Senators game (which puts it before 1972). After the game, he retired to the master bedroom on the second floor. Along about oh-dark-thirty a sound awakens him. He listens in the darkness and hears it again--a quiet little thump. He eases out of bed picking up the flashlight from the bedside stand and his softball bat (no, he didn't normally go around armed, he just played on a local church team).

At the head of the stairs, he hears the thump once more, this time from the darkness below. He oozes down the stairs staying as close to the side as he can to avoid causing the steps to creak. At he bottom, he stands listening. A thump comes from the rear of the funeral home. A backdoor leads into the kitchen. Somebody trying to quietly break-in?

As he reaches the door of the kitchen, there are a series of thumps apparently from the stairs leading down into the basement where the cold storage and preparation rooms for the dearly departed are located. He notes that the backdoor is still locked and turns to the open basement door. Could one of the folks downstairs be unhappy with the arrangements made so far and be coming up to complain to the management?

He raises the bat and flicks on the flashlight. The ginger cat at the bottom of the stairs blinks up at him and gives the tennis ball another whack, bouncing it off the bottom step. Kelly stuck the flashlight in his robe's pocket, flipped on the light switch, set down the bat, and went down and picked up the cat. After returning to the the master bedroom with flashlight, bat, and cat, he slept soundly until his alarm clock went off.

3 April 2010: Feast of St. Vulpian of Tyre. Edward the Confessor crowned 1043, Federal forces capture Richmond 1865, Lenin arrives at Finland Station in Petrograd 1917, Japanese begin assault on Bataan 1942.

Merry Christmas, y'all!

2010-03-23T05:27:00.005-04:00

It's that time of the year.

Time to start putting in the garden, get the window screens fixed, clean out the air-conditioner vents and filters, figure where to store the heavy clothes with either mothballs or cedar chips (cheapest at the pet shop), and begin working on that Christmas story.

Yes, I did say, "Christmas story." And, yes, I know Christmas is more than a couple on months away. That's why the work on it gets started now.

First off, an idea has to be come up with. While I rarely know when my idea is going to show up, I can sort of track it back to where it hit me. For "Neither Fish Nor Foul" (published by Residential Aliens Magazine in their February 2010 issue), the spark was a question on Twitter from a friend from outside the U.S. about archaic laws still on the books. Two that immediately sprang to mind was one in New England that still makes it illegal to shave on Sunday, and another from the South making it a crime to "get a fish drunk" (DO NOT TRY THIS! Alcohol kills fish fast--as anyone knows who has had some moron pour their drink in his fish tank at a party). Being in close proximity, they mated and produced the story idea. Where you troll for ideas is up to you, everybody's mind works differently.

Next, you have to enter BGTS mode (Butt Glued To Seat) and write the thing. As far as plotting, you have to figure out how to get from position "A" to position "B" without teleportation. Editors get sort of cranky if they can't follow the story. Characters are up to you. Me, I use the usual suspects, the people I've met and known over the last half-century. They form a repertory company in my head. Each is different, but most fall into various "types" (you may recollect we talked about archetypes a while back?). Remember, archetypes--not stereotypes!

Okay, it's finished and it's the most adorable, beautiful piece of writing since clay tablets. Yeah...okay, whatever. Now it needs to be eyeballed by people who don't necessarily depend on you to eat regularly. Send it out to a bunch of friends (both fellow writers and just plain readers) and sit back and wait for the blood to flow. When all the critiques return (which for most of us is sometime in the next interglacial), read through all of them and look for things, other than typos, the majority remarked on. If most were nauseated by your favorite character's name, it might be wise to rethink it. Remember this, although you must be sensitive to their comments (otherwise, why waste everyone's time?), you are allowed, even encouraged, to let your "voice" sound in the writing.

Finally, everything is pre-flighted and you're ready to launch. Go for it! Send it to the first publisher on your list. When they bounce it, the next, and the next. If it's any good, eventually one of two things will happen, either someone will run it or you'll starve. Who sez writing ain't fun? Seriously, when someone does accept the story, they'll most likely want it at least four to six months before the target date (this is print media--some of the online guys play by their own rules, so check).

One thing to keep in mind, Mel Torme' and Bob Wells, when they wrote "The Christmas Song"--one of the biggest selling pieces of Christmas music in history, were working in an unair-conditioned room on a 97 degree F (36 degree C) day with the humidity about 200 percent (welcome to southern California!--or was it Florida?). So, start thinking cool thoughts.

23 March 2010: Feast of St. Ethelwald of Fame Island. Patrick Henry delivers "Give me liberty, or give me death" speech in Richmond's St. John's Church 1775, Russian Tsar Paul I trampled to death in bedroom 1801, Battle of Kernstown 1862, Reichstag passes "Enabling Act of 1933" making Adolf Hitler dictator of Germany 1933, Gemini 6 carrying Gus Grissom and John Young launched 1965.

Son of a Gun: Mix and Match Ammo

2010-03-08T11:06:00.009-05:00

"Er, I'm not sure you want to do that."

A question came up over on the Historical Mystery Writer's Yahoo list the other day asking if anyone could think of a story in which mismatched ammunition in a firearm was used as a clue. I can't think of one, but it is a good idea for a clue. One of the other writers pointed out that using the wrong ammunition could result in an explosion. I suggested Jimmy Breslin's book, The Gang Who Couldn't Shoot Straight as an hilarious illustration of this.

The subject brought to mind some of the things dad and his brothers did back up on the Blue Ridge.

The youngest brother (there were six and I use no names for my own safety--I'm not sure of the statute of limitation with some of the things that went on) was stuck with an ancient 12 gauge single barrel shotgun for his first deer hunt with his brothers. As ammunition, he found a half box of 14 gauge shells around the house, a rare and unlamented gauge (in that part of the world, a gladius wouldn't surprise me). [Note to the firearms-challenged: As the gauge number in shotguns goes up, the bore of the shotgun and its chamber gets smaller--and I'm too lazy at the moment to go see why this came about. Maybe in a later "Son of a Gun" post] The next day, as the brothers move through the upper sinkhole field on their farm, the older ones spook a doe toward the youngest. Figuring the deer was in little danger from their brother and to watch the fun, they shout to him, "Here's one!" The youngest throws the shotgun to his shoulder, takes aim at the oncoming doe with both eyes wide (direction of target: plus or minus 90 degrees), jerks the trigger, and is rewarded with a satisfying "click." He breaks the breech of the shotgun to remove and replace the dud round and finds that the 14 gauge shell has slid down the chamber where the firing pin can't strike its primer cap and is now jammed until the good Lord calls us all home. The panicked doe now on him, he reverses the shotgun and hits her with the buttstock (as one of his admiring brothers described it, "A buttstroke my old sergeant would have envied."). The doe steps back then bolts around him and off into the mountains. Somehow, he survived his brothers regaling two counties with the story and went on to be a pretty fair hunter.

One of my uncles brought back a Japanese Arisaka Type 99 bolt-action rifle from the Pacific (on a bolt-action weapon, a lever rotates a cylindrical "bolt" unlocking the action, the bolt is pulled rearward which opens the action or chamber allowing a fired cartridge casing to fly out, the bolt is then pushed forward stripping an unfired cartridge from the magazine [remember last "Son of a Gun?"] and pushing it into the chamber, the lever rotates the bolt locking the action, and the weapon is ready to fire). The Type 99 was chambered for 7.7x58mm and, as this was a early war model, was an accurate shooter. The problem was that that type of ammunition tended to be a bit rare in the general stores in that part of the Blue Ridge Mountains. 30.06 on the other hand was quite common. The problem is the 7.7mm cartridge casing is just a little wider than that of the 30.06, causing the 30.06 round not to feed correctly. To remedy this, one of the brothers took a Prince Albert pipe tobacco can, sans top and bottom, flattened it then folded it and inserted it into the rifle's internal magazine on the left side. After that, the 30.06 rounds fed just fine and the brothers took eight deer that I know of with it (while a teen, I managed to miss two deer myself with it). Interestingly, that Arisaka still had the Imperial Chrysanthemum stamp on the receiver showing that the rifle had been captured rather than surrendered (an order came down from Imperial Army and Navy headquarters toward the end of the war to grind off the chrysanthemum from rifles so that the Emperor would not be dishonored). Also the anti-aircraft calipers were missing from the rear sights (you've got to love the military mind, anti-aircraft sights on a bolt-action rifle--of course if a plane had to fly through the rifle fire from a battalion at low altitude, somebody might get lucky--but I'll bet it wasn't aimed fire).

Well, I smell the bouquet of the wife's chili wafting from the kitchen. Dismissed.

8 March 2010: Feast of St. Beoadh of Ardcarne. Ansbach and Bayreuth regiments--later captured with Cornwallis at Yorktown--initially mutiny at Ochsenfurt rather than serve British in American colonies 1777, CSS Virginia (ex USS Merrimack) launched at Hampton Roads 1862, Dutch forces on Java surrender to Japanese 1942, Nelson's Pillar in Dublin blown up by Irish 1966.

A Touch of This and a Taste of That...

2010-02-28T23:47:00.006-05:00

This is going to be a short post (SFX: sound of general celebration). Basically, I'm kind of beat from working on the "Obviously God has a sense of humor. - Humor in Writing" workshop over at the Catholic Writers' Conference Online (you may have heard me mention it once or twice in passing). Looking at it, the participants are doing a good job.

Baseball:

Ran across something nice for baseball fans. The iTunes store offers video of complete major league baseball games that can be downloaded to an iPod. I tried it with a 2007 game between the Orioles and Rangers. It works very well on my iPod Classic. The game cost me $1.99. Collections of 2007 and 2009 seasons are available while individual games maybe purchased from 2007, 2008, and 2009 (the 2007 collection is short and goes for about $40. The 2009 collection has a lot more games, but comes at a wallet-busting $125). As a note, my download ate around 1 GB of memory. I'm expecting to move the download over to my external drive after sending it to the iPod, to make space for the next on my poor little 160 GB laptop drive (the fact that the memory is partitioned into a pair of 80s isn't one of my favorites). The games can be found at the iTunes store by searching "MLB.Com."

Good Writing:

I made a pleasant discovery while researching for the workshop. Three of the writers I assigned as reading are available at Google Books and Read Books Online. Here are the links:

Hilaire Belloc's The Path to Rome

Rudyard Kipling's "The Village Who Voted the World Flat"

G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday

Okay, I'll be back when I get some sleep. Have fun.

28 February 2010: Feast of St. Hedwig of Poland. Han Dynasty begins with coronation of Liu Bang (Emperor Gaozu of Han) 202 BC, Fourth Council of Constantinople ends 870, Republican Party organized 1854, USS Houston (CA 30) and HMAS Perth (D 29) sunk in Battle of Sunda Strait 1942.

Please ignore the frozen St. Bernard, it's spring!

2010-02-20T20:10:00.006-05:00

Well, we seemed to have received a misdirected shipment of snow intended for our friends to the north. As proof I point to the address on the packing list inside the delivery. It plainly reads, "Calgary, Alberta." Apparently somebody at the originating point screwed up the postal code. I must admit to being a bit surprised, usually that concern is noted for getting it right. Of course, I suppose it's possible circumstances way beyond my ability to understand came into play.

Speaking of play, it's THAT time of year again. Spring training begins next Tuesday! No more will I have to listen to games from last year as I write [more on this below], the new season is starting up. Maybe this year the Orioles will go all the way (for further thoughts along these lines, see the musical "Damn Yankees").

A guy named Austin Gisriel has written a good book entitled Safe at Home: A Season in the Valley. [Note to FTC: Bought it myself boys, so go peddle your papers.] It follows the New Market Rebels through a season of Valley league baseball. The book is a good read for the light it throws on minor league baseball, the Shenandoah Valley, and life in small town Virginia. You can find a better writeup on it here: http://www.rebelsbaseball.biz/html/safe_at_home/index.html
and buy it here: http://www.rebelsbaseball.biz/html/safe_at_home/buy.html .

Earlier I spoke of listening to ballgames while writing (which may explain my often disconnected flow of thought). The web is a very fine thing for the ball fan. You have your choice of watching or listening to major league games for a (what I consider reasonable) price, or listening to minor league games from all over the country for free.

I keep a MLB subscription year round [Note to FTC: It's on my personal plastic, guys. See above snide remark.]. This lets me watch or listen to any games played in the regular season. As I tend to follow the Orioles, Rangers, and Blue Jays and occasionally look at the Diamondbacks, Padres, and Nationals (thinking about the last one, admit it--who would really turn away from a train wreck?), I can't remember how the games went, so they're new to me each time. MLB can be found at: http://mlb.mlb.com/index.jsp (look under "Audio & Video").

In the minor leagues, a lot of teams have feeds so you can listen to live radio broadcasts of the games. Most also have archived games that you can listen to anytime you wish. The minor league games I tend to listen to are those of the Valley League, The Washington Wild Things (Washington, Pennsylvania), and the Salem Red Sox, Virginia farm team of the Boston Red Sox. The joy of this, besides hearing good baseball (and people who talk like me), is it's free! I'll give the links below.

Valley League: http://www.valleyleaguebaseball.com/landing/index (Click on "Valley League Baseball Listen Live." For the archive, click "Click here to listen to archived broadcasts" under the blue letters saying, "Stretch Internet." The site will ask to download a couple of programs so your computer can run the games. They're harmless.)

The Washington Wild Things: http://www.washingtonwildthings.com/ . The games are found on the MSA Sports Network under "Archived College Broadcasts (don't ask me why, the Wild Things are professional)" at: http://www.msasportsnetwork.com/main_calendar.asp?region=1&m=5-2009&d=22

Salem Red Sox: http://web.minorleaguebaseball.com/index.jsp?sid=t414

Someone writing in Baseball Digest http://www.baseballdigest.com/ remarked that on opening day of spring training, every team is in first place. A rather reassuring thought.

20 February 2010: Feast of St. Wulfric of Haselbury. Orkney and Shetland given to Scotland by Norway as dowry payment 1472; U.S. Post Office Department established 1792; Lt. Edward "Butch" O'Hare USN becomes first U.S. ace of World War II 1942; Col. John Glenn USMC becomes first American to orbit the Earth aboard Project Mercury's "Friendship 7" 1962.

Something from Someone Rational.

2010-02-11T09:08:00.004-05:00

Had surgery on my arm last Friday and since it hurts and I'm in a lousy mood, rather than inflict my spleen on the good folks who trip over this blog, I'm going to cop out and just post the following from some people who, no doubt, are much better company than I am at the moment:

Catholic Writers' Conference Online

For Immediate Release

Catholic Writers Online Conference Provides Authors More Opportunities than Ever!

World Wide Web--In order to get published, writers need several things: knowledge, support and opportunity. The Catholic Writers Conference Online seeks to give writers all of those--for free!

Writers, editors, agents, and other publishing professionals from around the world are gearing up for the third annual Catholic Writers' Conference Online, which will be held February 26-March 5, 2010. Sponsored by the Catholic Writer's Guild, the online conference is free of charge and open to writers of all levels who register before February 15, 2010.

Workshops and live online chats cover the gamut of writing topics from idea generation to marketing a published novel; traditional and self-publishing, article writing and fiction, and much more. "We have sixty subject-matter experts giving their time to teach others--from the fledgling writer learning about plot to the experienced author wanting to better market their works," said co-coordinator Karina Fabian.

In addition, ten prominent publishers (Catholic, Christian and secular) will hear pitches, giving authors an unprecedented opportunity to chat personally despite living hundreds or thousands of miles away.

The CWCO has also added small critique workshops, where writers can get information and advice specific to their writing.

"CWG's goal in creating these conferences is to help Catholic authors get published. In this economy, the online conference provides a great opportunity for Catholic writers to better their skills and jump forward in their writing careers. The cost is nil and the value is priceless. No Catholic writer should miss it," said CWG Vice President Ann Lewis.

Although the conference is offered free of charge, donations are accepted; proceeds will go toward future conferences. To register or for more information, go to: http://www.catholcwritersconference.com/

11 February 2010: Feast of St. Adolf of Osnabruck. Emperor Jimmu founds Japan 660 BC, Massachusetts Gov. Elbridge Gerry invents "gerrymandering" 1812, encyclical Vehementer nos published by Pope Pius X 1905, BBC produces first TV science fiction program - Karel Capek's R.U.R (source of word "robot) 1938.

"What's in a name?"

2010-02-03T12:30:00.002-05:00

"To name something is to own it." This is an old idea from the beginning of time. If you can name something, not only can you describe it, you can possibly control it. This why among people who believe in magic and witchcraft, most have a secret or "spirit" name that is only known to them and a select few.

Naming conventions is something a fiction writer needs to keep in mind when introducing his or her characters to the reader. How people name their children and how those children identify themselves will tell a lot about the culture.

In medieval Europe the rise of family names came from people being known by their occupation, a feature, where they lived ("Miller," "Fuller," "Long," "Short," "Bridges," "London," "Longbottom") or who they were related to ("Watson," "Fitzhugh," "Brothersson [that one I don't think I want to look too closely at]"). As a note, in Iceland four members of a nuclear family can have four different last names such as Rorick Erikson, his wife Feya Jorgansdaughter, and their childern Erik Rorickson and Trondi Roricksdaughter (something that gives an Icelandic phone book a slightly higher page count than War and Peace).

The Romans seemed to have a dearth of names that were fashionable over the millennium their republic and empire lasted. To paraphrase Sam Goldwin, "Every Tom, Dick, and Harry was named Gaius." It seems there were only about eight names used for boys and approximately the same number for girls. This led one barbarian chieftain to remark, "The Romans must be a poor people as they can afford so few names to chose from." With everyone named pretty much the same thing, the Romans had to resort to nicknames and qualifiers such as "the elder/the younger," "Black/florid/tall/short/fat," "The African/Thracian/Iberian," etc (which somewhat puts the lie to "Roman efficiency"). The same sort of thing arose among the men who fought the War Between the States. So many were either named John or something outlandish that, like the Romans, most ended up known more by their nicknames (Ulysses Simpson Grant and John Bell Hood were "Sam" as an example) or used their middle name (William Dorsey Pender was known to his contemporaries and history usually just as Dorsey Pender--one of the uncles on my father's side and our cat of the moment were named "Dorsey" for him). In the movie "Zulu," the fact so many Welshmen were named William Jones is highlighted in the practice in Welsh regiments of using a portion of their service number as a qualifier ("2451 Jones" or "Jones 6325"). We ran into something like this in a medievalist group I belonged to. We had three "Roricks," "Rorick Rorickson," "Rorick the Long," and the luckiest of all, "Rorick Joanna's Husband."

Another name use convention I've found notably within three groups is the first two initials used rather than first and second name. Quite often when you run across such, there is a fair chance that the person (male usually) is either a Russian, an Indian (from the subcontinent rather than Amerindian), or worked for the Norfolk and Western Railway.

If you write crime, keep in mind dang near everybody on the street goes by a nickname. Part of this just a natural human affinity for such and part is because there are a lot of dudes out there you just don't want to know your real name. There's also the "AKA" factor (Also Known As). Multiple aliases are the norm (without such, police files that take up three floors could probably be kept in one file cabinet with a drawer left over for munchies and another for girlie magazines). As one cop said, "Everybody on the street's got a name."

There is also the divide between East and West. In eastern Asia, the family name comes first followed by the given names. In my young and more foolish days, this used to trip me up when doing research on that area. As I have to read in translation, whether the family name came first or last (and Lord help me, I even came across one in which it was sandwiched between two given names) seemed totally at the whim of an editor in either New York or London. Before I wised up, I wasted time looking for information on Saburo Sakai under what I thought was the family name, "Saburo"--which is kind of like trying to look up James Longstreet under "Jimmy (by the way, he went by "Pete")."

For the writer, naming characters gives you a certain power. The name can describe their inner person (Dickens' name picks immediately pops to mind), make them ridiculous ("Major Minor," "Private Means,"), show how life treats them (Joseph Heller's "Major Major Major"), or you can honor someone (my naming of spacecraft such as the survey vessel Alfred L. Wegener or the "Hero" class destroyers Kevin Barry and Todd Beamer). The guys in England who translated Rene Goscinny and Albert Uderzo's French comic "Asterix the Gaul" had a field day with this with folks like the Roman commander, Cumulus Nimbus, the over weight Goth, Hemispheric, the Greek Mercenary, Neverataloss, and the confused Egyptian vacationer, Ptennisnet (personally, I think the Druid's name "Readymix" in the American translation used during the comic's short run in U.S. newspapers was funnier than the Brit "Getafix"). I've noticed that Karina Fabian's elves in her Dragoneye, P.I. series have the same lamentable taste in names as Neverataloss' parents.

One thing a writer should probably have little fear of is coming up with a name that nobody would give their kid. Looking at some names will convince you that either all their taste was in their mouth or they must have hated their offspring. I remember a lady who had to go through life as Rose Thorn--naturally, she married a guy named Bush.

3 February 2010: Feast of St. Liafdag of Jutland. Spain recognizes U.S. 1783, Meiji Emperor enthroned - Tokyo 1867, Earthquake - Hawke's Bay, New Zealand 1931, U.S. Marines and Army capture Kwajalein 1944.

"Take my word for it, kid."

2010-01-28T23:59:00.005-05:00

Lies, Damn Lies, and Oral History?

I've been doing history for a short while (when you tend to think in millennia, half a century is chump-change) and the more I do it, the more I get the feeling we're being kidded sometimes.

One of the big deals at the moment is "oral history." This usually seems to involve a senior high school student or college undergrad pestering old farts for the story of how things were when said old fart was about their age. Nothing wrong with this. It keeps the kids out of beer joints and gives the ancients a visitor and something to pass the time. The only problem is when the history that comes from this source is distributed as the GOSPEL TRUTH without being checked against reality (whatever that is).

I realize there are those who maintain all truth is relative. As a certain Roman bureaucrat asked a little while ago, "What is truth?" My opinion only, but I'm inclined to believe TRUTH exists in a single form. It is the interpretation each of us puts on the phenomena that we witness that varies. The story about the six blind men and the elephant is all too true.

The basic failure mode is that people with little experience of life are depending on a bunch of folks who can't remember what they had for breakfast for information as to happenings fifty to sixty years back. Being in that class, I am aware that some things experienced half a century ago can be crystal clear in hindsight. I must admit, though, in my own case, the clear chunks are disjointed in time. Some things stay with you for better or worse (the first deer you killed or the first man). These memories are hard and sharp, sometimes jumping out at you like a jack-in-the-box when you least expect it. But, most of the time, the things between are a blur. Most of life just isn't that interesting and the mind tends to dump such memories. Try this, think way back to yesterday morning when you were driving. Call up the memory and replay it looking at the details. Yeah, what details? For most people they aren't there--you may remember leaving your home and possibly your arrival at your destination but most of the trip (with the exception of the idiot cutting you off as you were cutting him off) most likely isn't there. Women tend to maintain their memories are better than men's of things of years gone by. Possibly this is true--equally possible is that the gentlemen involved don't look forward to a night of torture on that rack known as the couch. The song, "Yes, I remember it well," from Gigi pokes fun at this.

Cops know the longer between the incident and the interview, the more garbage shows up in the statement. And this is with witnesses who want to help. When looking at witness statements, often the best they can do is seek a quorum. Everybody saw something different or remembers it differently and are telling the truth as they know it. Akira Kurosawa explores this in his movie, "Rashomon," with it's story of a crime seen from four different people's perspectives. The investigators usually end up going with the details most appear to agree on and what in the officers' experience seems likely.

The reliability of oral history tends to be uneven. Some things related are close to fact while others launch into fiction. Cross-checking is necessary to back up an account. This requires other witnesses and documentation. Then it has to be run through the researcher's B.S. detector--does it add up? B.S. detectors become better with life experience. They can also fail unexpectedly. As an example, a retired Marine Raider officer once mentioned to me that the Raiders had British Commonwealth made Boys 55 mm antitank rifles at Guadalcanal. Huh? U.S. Marines equipped with Brit antitank weapons?! Happily, I treated the situation as I do most with my fellow humans--just nod, keep smiling, and make sure your escape route is clear. A couple of months later, I'm deep into research and what do I find referenced in two different places backed up by a photograph? Yeah, you guessed it--Raiders carrying Boys guns on Guadalcanal.

If you're using oral histories in your research, be sure to cross-check them. They can be a gold mine or the county dump.

29 January 2010: Feast of St. Aquilinus of Bavaria. "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe is published 1845, American League founded in Philadelphia 1900, USS Missouri (BB 63) commissioned 1944, Hungary recognizes South Korea - first in Warsaw Pact 1989.

Odds and ends mostly.

2010-01-25T23:59:00.005-05:00

A voice from the past:

"God damn all mathematics to the lowest depts. (sic) of hell!! May it be capable of bodily suffering & undergo such torments that the veriest fiend in hell shall shrink in horror at the sight."

Scribbled in a West Point calculus book apparently by a cadet sometime between 1832 and 1850. In Cavalryman of the Lost Cause: A Biography of J.E.B. Stuart. Jeffry D. Wert. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2008. Kindle.

Who sez soldiers are devoid of religious hope?

Catholic Writers Conference Online

Registration for Free Catholic Writers Conference Online Ends Feb 15

World Wide Web--Are you a Catholic writer? Looking for an opportunity to learn more about writing and marketing, a chance to meet like-minded authors, and get an opportunity to pitch your work? Want it all for free--and without leaving your home? The Catholic Writers' Conference Online, which will be held February 26-March 5, 2010, is for you. Hurry, though--registration ends Feb 15.

The conference is held via chats and forums at http://www.catholicwritersconference.com . Sponsored by the Catholic Writer's Guild, the online conference is free of charge and open to writers of all level who register before February 15, 2010.

"Each year, we have about 300 writers and around 50 presenters participate," said organizer Karina Fabian. "This year, we're thrilled to have added small-group critique sessions with well-established authors and editors, plus more pitch sessions than ever before!"

Publishers hearing pitches include well known Catholic publishers like Pauline Books and Media, large Christian publishers like Thomas Nelson, and small secular presses like White Rose. Thus far, eleven pitch sessions are scheduled, running gamut from Christian romance to Catholic theology.

In a new program, dozens of attendees will have the opportunity to have pieces of their work critiqued by successful editors and writers. n addition, there will be forum-based workshops and chat room presentations covering topics from dialogue to freelancing to how Catholic fiction differs from Christian fiction.

"Even in good times, it's hard for writers to attend live conferences," said Fabian, "but this year, we think it's even more important to help careers by utilizing an online format. We're so grateful that our presenters are willing to share their time and talent."

Although the conference is offered free of charge, donations are accepted; proceeds will go toward future conferences. For a $10 donation, one receives a copy of the conference e-book containing chat transcripts, forum workshop posts, handouts or informational materials from the conference. Non-Catholics may attended, as long as they respect catholic beliefs and the conference's Catholic focus.

To register or for more information, go to http://www.catholicwritersconference.com

As a note, the Catholic Writers' Conference Online 2009 is that which began me writing once more after a hiatus of eighteen years (no doubt, there are those who may see this as an argument against the existence of the CWCO). For those worried that this is purely a collection of Mackerel-Snappers, a number of heavy-duty Protestant writers, editors, and publishers will be present and presenting. On the whole, we get along pretty well.

26 January 2010: Feast of St. Alberic the Cistercian. British First Fleet under Arthur Phillip establishes Sidney - Australia Day 1788, Hooker replaces Burnside 1863, The Mahdi takes Khartoum - "Chinese" Gordon killed 1885, Franco's Nationalists capture Barcelona 1939.

"Gentlemen, it is to be war."

2010-01-22T00:10:00.000-05:00

Main battles picked for 150th anniversary observance of the War Between the States/American Civil War.

A mite late for Lee-Jackson Day, but the American Civil War re-enactor groups' leaders have decided which battle re-enactments will be endorsed. Meeting in Chickamauga, Georgia, members of the Civil War 150th National Leadership Convention representing 12,000 re-enactors voted for the following battle observances:

2011

First Manassas/Bull Run -- Virginia

Shiloh -- Tennessee

2012

Second Manassas/Bull Run -- Virginia

Vicksburg -- Mississippi

2013

Gettysburg -- Pennsylvania

Chickamauga -- Georgia

2014

The Wilderness -- Virginia

Atlanta -- Georgia

2015

Bentonville -- North Carolina

Appomattox Court House -- Virginia

I used to take part in re-enacting back when I could move around better. I was a private in a Virginia Volunteer Infantry company or a Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry company (depending on which side was needed more--Federals outnumbered four to one by Confederates is just silly). After a while, I got old and tired and my case of Civil War bloat was just too embarrassing [see note]. Now adays, on those rare occasions I can get outside to attend a re-enactment, I stand on the sidelines with the other gawkers and dream. If I can manage it, I plan to see the sesquicentennial through as I did the centennial, though I admit the bicentennial might possibly be a bit of a stretch.

Note: Civil War Bloat.

Civil War bloat is a condition in which the re-enactor appears to has been dead in the sun for three days during the hot summer of 1863 while still standing up. It is brought on by age, a lack of regular exercise, and a wife who is far too good a cook. It is especially weird looking when the affected soldier is dressed in gray or butternut (putting the lie to the hard times in the South). The overly common amount of gray hair (if any) that often accompanies it also calls into question the fact that the men on both sides normally ranged in age from 16 to 35. This condition effects not only Civil War re-enactors, but those of many other periods. I've noted it at Alesia, Waterloo, Rorke's Drift, the Somme, and Normandy. The problem is old guys are the ones who have the bucks to shell out $600 for their wool trousseau (uniform, equipment, and rifle musket) and the time to burn on summer weekends out in the middle of nowhere (the young guys seem rather more intent on chasing girls for some reason).

Occasionally though, one does run across a unit of young, dirty, sweaty, ragged, skinny men in gray or blue and one realizes he is looking at his own great-great grandfather.

22 January 2010: Feast of St. Brithward of Ramsbury. Ashantis defeat British on Gold Coast 1824, Battles of Isandlwana and Rorke's Drift 1879, Commonwealth forces capture Tobruk from Italians 1941, Anzio landings 1944.

Son of a Gun! The Revolver.

2010-01-18T23:59:00.002-05:00

"Alright. Company forward rant!"

I'm reading along, it's getting good, the writer's stuff is really flowing beautifully, the hero checks the clip in his revolver and--THUD!...Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Don't these people do ANY research?

For some reason known only to the All Mighty, there are a large number of writers out there in the outer darkness who apparently believe they can wing it when it comes to firearms. Rather than burn fifteen minutes online, they make fools of themselves. They will obsess about which train enters which station at a particular hour on Tuesdays and Fridays. They will have nine or ten books piled on their reference table covering the bloodlines of Yorkies. They will have maps of every town that they mention from Roman times to the present in New South Wales. But they will not Google or Yahoo search the word "revolver."

If these folks took the same care while writing about other things, their protagonist would walk out of her yurt, climb up on the fender of the Jugo, slide the canopy back, stick the hand crank in the instrument panel, and with brisk turn fire up its rocket motor.

Why is this? One friend is of the opinion that such writers are afraid of guns and can't bring themselves to think about these devices of the devil. Another postulates that they watch shows on TV and figure that teaches all they need to know (no doubt they also pick up tips on interpersonal relationships from the same shows). I'm told that my contention that they are feeble-minded or bone lazy is too harsh.

Just for my own piece of mind and to, hopefully, keep my blood pressure in check while reading in the future, I will be posting tips from time to time for the firearm-challenged in keyboard land.

Lesson 1: Revolvers

Revolvers do not have either "clips" or magazines. What they have are cylinders. The cartridges (not "bullets" or "shells") are loaded into the cylinder. Each time the hammer (the little lever sticking out the back above your hand) is cocked [single action] or the trigger is pulled [double action] the cylinder revolves (get it?) bringing a unfired round into line with the barrel and firing mechanism.

A cartridge, often called a "round," is composed of a bullet, a propelling charge (either black powder [old] or smokeless powder [modern]), and a cartridge casing (or shell casing). A primer in the base of the cartridge case is stuck by the firearm's firing pin and the propelling charge is set off causing the bullet to travel through the barrel and, after exiting said barrel, hopefully putting a hole in the designated bad guy.

Keep these rules in mind: A magazine holds cartridges. It can be internal (always part of the firearm) or it can be detachable (fits in a well on the firearm). A clip also holds cartridges and is usually pushed into a firearm's internal magazine and is either pulled out by the shooter or is kicked out when the last round is ejected.

Silencers and Revolvers:

You're watching a movie or show and you see the highly paid international assassin pull out a silencer and attach it to his revolver--CUT! Silencers (more properly called suppressors) don't work with revolvers. There is a gap between the front face of the cylinder and the rear end of the barrel. This gap will let the noise out when the revolver is fired even if equipped with a "silencer." For a suppressor to work properly, the action or mechanism must be closed when the cartridge is fired. There are such weapons as suppressed machine pistols. If the suppressor is new, one will hear little sound of the shot but there will be a noticeable chatter of the action operating as it ejects the fired cartridge casings. The whole point of a suppressor is not so much to silence the shot, but to make it sound like something other than a shot.

As a note, during the Vietnam War, two weapons that were nearly silent were issued to U.S. forces.

One was, indeed, a revolver made for the use of tunnel rats. The guys going down in VC holes had a problem with using the U.S. military's standard semi-automatic (fires one round each time the trigger is pulled) .45 caliber M1911A1 pistol. Fire one time in the dark and enclosed places and, between the noise and muzzle flash, you hear and see nothing for a while--not a good feeling. A revolver design was chosen because it is inherently more reliable and idiot-proof than a semi-automatic. The revolver that was issued on a limited basis was made so the cartridge casing actually sealed against the end of the barrel. No muzzle flash and little noise.

The other was a suppressed .22 caliber pistol called a "hush-puppy" issued to the SEALs for neutralizing guard dogs and sentries (DoD sometimes displays a fetish for non-loaded terms like "neutralizing"--as in "We neutralized the guy with three 30 millimeter rounds; then graves registration showed up to take care of the body with a sponge.").

There now, I feel much better. That should hold me until the next time.

19 January 2010: Feast of St. Wulfstan of Worcester, Henry V captures Rouen 1419, San Agustin Church completed in Manila 1607, Capt. Charles Wilks USN circumnavigates Antarctica 1840, Prussians defeat French in Battle of St. Quentin 1871.

The Joy of Archetypes.

2010-01-14T23:59:00.001-05:00

The other day, my first born IMed me a URL from her computer downstairs. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I clicked on it and found myself looking at me. Well, a pen and ink version of me anyway. Same "birth control" glasses, beard, pocket full of pencils, pot belly, unfashionable clothes, and bemused look (okay, in my case it's more of a thousand mile stare). It seems this is a portrait of the archetypical strategy gamer from an online gamers' comic.

It's interesting; I never thought of myself matching an archetype. I always figured the Lord took one look at me, broke the mold, burnt the blueprints, and blew up the factory.

Archetypes are a part of writing in which something, a personality for instance, stands as a symbol for all such personalities having the same features. Psychiatrist Carl Jung described the idea of archetypes but mythologist Joseph Campbell popularized them with his description of the "Hero's Journey" in The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Story tellers have used archetypes as long as there have been stories. Humans are apparently hard-wired to recognize archetypes. Aesop's tortoise and hare are archetypes. Plautus' stock characters, Pseudolus, Senex, and Miles Gloriosus [see "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum" below] are archetypes. John Ford and John Wayne dealt in archetypes. In our own time, Luke, Han, Obi Wan, Varder, in fact every character in Star Wars is an archetype that comes from the Hero's Journey, as does the plot of "Star Wars IV: A New Hope" (for my part, The Hero with a Thousand Faces is one the of the few books I'd like seen burned, though only in southern California--with the success of the first Star Wars movie, every hack in Hollywood ran out and bought a copy and writes scripts by just plugging names into the Hero's Journey and mixing and matching time periods and genres).

Archetypes can be used as a form of literary short hand, though best with restraint. When every general is crazed with blood lust, every politician is venal, every holy man is either a saint or the devil incarnate, or every member of a minority is the salt of the earth, archetypes become a cracked crutch for lousy writing.

For those of us who attempt to write humor though, archetypes can be a gift. When the audience detects an archetype they are predisposed to expect certain characteristics. This allows the writer to set them up for the gag and then jerk the rug out from under them. That the evil galactic overlord (is there any other kind?) wants kittens on his new charge card is what makes the commercial memorable. If you do it right, the audience gets a slight case of mental whiplash. Vaudevillians from Plautus to Eddy Foy to Monty Python have made a living off of this for a couple of thousand years.

Like most good workmen, writers need to learn to use these tools in the right situations. That way, there are fewer barked knuckles around the keyboard.

Review: (Note to FTC: I bought this dang DVD myself!)

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. MGM. 1 hour 37 minutes.

This is one of my guilty pleasures (like Larry the Cable Guy until he runs me out of the room). As Zero Mostel sings at the opening of Stephen Sondheim's take on Plautus, "Something appealing. Something appalling. Something for everyone...a comedy tonight!"

"A Funny Thing" is an updating of two of Plautus' better plays, "Pseudolus" and "Miles Gloriosus." Zero Mostel plays the part of Pseudolus, slave in the household of Senex and his lovely wife, Dominia (I had to write that, she had a dagger at my throat), residents of "a less fashionable suburb of Rome." Pseudolus can best be described by eavesdropping on a tavern converstation between procurer Marcus Lycus (Phil Silvers) and Crassus (Jon Pertwee),a newly arrived ship's captain:

Lycus: "He did it to me again!"

Captain: "Who?"

Lycus: The dirtiest, conviving-est, lying-est, thieving-est, crookedest, most underhanded slave in all of Rome!"

Captain: "Oh, you mean Pseudolus."

Basically, Pseudolus hatches a plot to gain his freedom that involves Hero (Michael Crawford), the son of Senex, an attempted dirty old man (Michael Hordern), head slave Hysterium (Jack Gilford), Domina (Patricia Jessel), Senex's frightening wife, Philia (Annette Andre), a rather confused virgin and love interest of both father and son, Erronius (Buster Keaton in his last role) as the dim-visioned slightly punch-drunk retired gladiator next door, Marcus Lycus and his emporium on the other side, and a legion led by Miles Gloriosus (Leon Greene), the man who raped Thrace thrice.

The movie is the epitome of low comedy with its one-liners, double ententes, pratfalls, misdirection, puns, and chases. From this, you might, maybe get the feeling I like it.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum is rated A-III (adults) by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops: http://www.usccb.org/

15 January 2010: Feast of St. Ceolwulf of Lindisfame, Nebuchadnezzar II besieges Jerusalem 588 BC, Britsh Museum opens 1759, 21 killed in Boston Molasses Disaster 1919, Pentagon dedicated 1943.

An Ersatz Answer to All.

2010-01-11T23:59:00.002-05:00

Science is a funny way to waste time. Like many disciplines it sometimes appears to advance through a form scientific Oedipus complex. One often advances by attacking the thought of the mentor who taught one. As soon as the top is reached and one trains the next generation, the trainee begins the climb to supplant the teacher.

One of the sure methods is to build on the mentor's work to come up with a hypothesis that better describes an observed phenomenon than that of the teacher's. Hopefully, the hypothesis works well enough to be accepted by most of one's fellows and take on the status of a theory. If the theory is perceived to provide a lasting solution to a question, it can become a "law," often named for its originator.

Like a parent, the originator of a theory can fall in love with the fruit of their loins--er, mind. Their wondrous idea can be "The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything!" It is tried as the answer to any number of problems, whether it has anything in common or not. As the old saw goes, "If one has a hammer, all things look like nails."

What results is the one-size-fits-nobody sort of answer--rather like the cheap one-size-fits-nobody baseball-style caps the Koreans flooded the market with back in the early 80s. While billed as one-size-fits-all, these sartorial disasters must have been wrongly transshipped to Earth instead of their proper destination of Tau Ceti IV as they were apparently designed to fit no human head. At the very best, the over-high crown tended to make those wearing them look like noted sportsman Elmer Fudd.

The search for the "Unified Law" so far has been science's version of that for the Holy Grail or, more probably, the philosopher's stone. Who says science isn't a matter of faith? Stay tuned.

Review: (Note to FTC: I bought this danged book myself!)

Storm Front: a Novel of the Dresden Files. Jim Butcher. New york: ROC, 2000.

Coming up with a consistent magic system is one of the things that separates the better fantasy from the good. One of the joys of Harry Dresden's art is that there is a feel of consistency as he works through his incantations and uses his ingredients. Rather than the occasional shift of the method that appears in Rowling for instance, Butcher has, so far, stuck to one apparent system in the two volumes I've read (according to the ladies of the house, this holds true throughout his series).

Harry Dresden, based in a less corrupt Chicago (obviously a different dimension), has the charm of the eternal schlub. No matter what happens to this spell-slinging Sam Spade, you know for him, just getting out with a mostly intact skin is victory. It's a cinch he'll never make the big score and retire to Orlando.

While eeking out a living as a wizard for hire (okay, a "consulting" wizard then), he gets to work on the City's tab just enough to keep from starving. His contact, Sgt. Karrin Murphy, head of the Chicago Police Department's Special Investigations Division (think of a "file 13" for anything that doesn't add up on a material plane) is a tough cop's tough cop and, unlike Agent Scully, admits there are things going on she doesn't understand. Harry's version of the Encyclopedia Arkainia, Bob, is an spirit of the air who resides in a human skull (the previous owner doesn't need it anymore) and when not reeling off lists of ingredients, cooking times, and health warnings--generally about Harry's--is a thorough going letch (as opposed to a litch).

I've only read the first two volumes of the series, Storm Front and Fool Moon, but can say, so far, these are keepers. In fact, I'm a little impatient to get through Lee's Lieutenants [mentioned last time] so I can start on number 3, Grave Peril, which awaits on my Kindle (as of this writing, Harry's lamentable effect on technology newer than 1231 A.D. hasn't manifested itself with my Kindle).

A word about Harry's moral place in the world; like most protagonists in mainline fiction, he is vaguely good to neutral. While Murphy is mostly a believer, Harry is controlled more by a fear of the White Council's reaction to him doing anything untoward magically. In fact, Morgan, their slightly mad enforcer, lusts for the day Harry puts a foot wrong and he gets to execute him (it's hard to not to like a guy who enjoys his work so). Comparing him to the evil he fights, Harry is--to use a phrase of an actor/anthropologist from Betelgeuse--"Mostly harmless."

Catholic Writers Conference Online: 26 February to 5 March 2010

A wise gentleman dressed in green once explained to me that if one wants to do something well, one must learn the drill. Here is a free chance to learn the manual of arms for writers--logical construction, plot, characterization, dialogue, grammar, voice, marketing, making contacts, and pitching--and meet and have fun with fellow writers. All of good will are welcome. Here's the link: http://www.catholicwritersconference.com/index.php .

I'll save you a virtual seat.

12 January 2010: Feast of St. Zoticus of Africa Proconsularis, Basiliscus crowned Byzantine Emperor 475, Royal Aeronautical Society founded in London 1866, Hattie W. Caraway first female U.S. Senator 1932, Biafra surrenders 1970.

Of Women, Bucks, and Why They Ain't Got 'Em.

2010-01-07T23:59:00.001-05:00

I'm pretty much a guy (quick look down). Yeah, a guy. But I have been known to associate with women (two are asleep a few meters away as I write this). Over the years, I've come to the opinion that they are heavily taken advantage of in this society. Reading an article at oh-dark-thirty this morning reminded me of this (not to mention getting my skivies in a knot). Here's the article: http://articles.moneycentral.msn.com/SavingandDebt/ConsumerActionGuide/dunleavey-why-it-costs-more-to-be-a-woman.aspx

Since I've been married (34 years and counting) I've noticed that women are sold poorly made clothing for much more than well made men's clothing. The coats are thinner, the pants start unraveling on the first wearing, and the socks have toes coming through them before the mates vanish in the dyer. One reason women are always cold--I had a scientific treatise about this on the blog sometime ago you may remember--is that their winter clothes are apparently made of cheese cloth or, at least, cheesy cloth. The only companies I've run across that seem to consistently sell clothing for women to wear outside in temperate and frigid areas at anytime other than summer are Cabela's http://www.cabelas.com and L.L.Bean http://www.llbean.com . The prices are generally no worse than the mall and the quality is a heck of a lot better.

Why does this sort of thing go on? Because women put up with it. Women rarely make a stink about how they're taken advantage of. Yeah, there's some griping to each other, but nothing really gets done other than a bit of venting. The people who make a living out of being women professionally seem to spend a large part of their time pursuing grants and agitating for various amorphous "rights" but never seem to address the fact it costs a woman 50% more to live than a man. Occasionally, one will hear them complain about women being paid 80% what guys are for doing the same jobs (the fastest way to lower payroll costs in any profession is to attract women to it). Okay, but let's hear more about women's other economic problems as well.

I don't think much of anything will change until women vote with their pocketbooks. As long as producers can mold a razor in pink plastic and know they can sell it for 50% more, nothing's going to happen. When women start buying the same razor in white, blue, or even Advantage HD camouflage (which, by the way, is rather fetching), the producer will get the message. As an example, the ladies in my life shop in the Men's department for those things that don't require frilliness: socks, t-shirts, long johns, backpacks, even some of their shoes. Does it make them any less feminine? Nope, just shows them to be women who are too smart to pay more for the sake of their gender. Me? I likes my women smart.

Review: (Note to FTC: I bought this dang book myself!)

Lee's Lieutenants: A Study in Command. Douglas Southall Freeman. Abridged in one volume by Stephen W. Sears. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1998. Kindle.

As a general rule, when confronted with an abridgement, I retreat precipitously (yeah, okay, I admit it does usually look more like a rout). Due to a malfunction of my port side manipulator, I'm forced to read on my Kindle as I'm unable to hold a book until I get out of drydock. I felt like reading something on the War Between the States (American Civil War to you folks of a Northern persuasion), but had already read James M. McPherson's book on Sharpsburg, Crossroads of Freedom: Antietam, and didn't have the bucks to download Edward Longacre's biography of the Federal cavalry commander who sparked Gettysburg and saved the Union, General John Buford: A Military Biography. I had downloaded Sears' abridgement of Freeman's three volume work published in 1942, '43, and '44 last summer at the same time I downloaded an abridgement of Freeman's four volume Pulitzer Prize winning R.E. Lee, and had never gotten around to looking at it.

Okay, I admit it. I own the three volume set and to be honest, I haven't been able to really tell the difference between the two other than (I think) Sears has kept most of the actual matter on command and dumped some of the biographical detail, necessary redundancies connecting volumes, and notes. He has kept enough of the biographies to give a good idea of the Army of Northern Virginia's general officers. He hasn't touched Freeman's voice or style and hasn't attempted to update him--for which I have warm, fuzzy feelings for Mr. Sears.

James M. McPherson is at his usual best in his Introduction.

Freeman is always a pleasure to read and Stephen W. Sears did a heck of a job lightening Lee's Lieutenants without cutting either bone or muscle.

Note: Amazon.com's free Kindle for PC download is a big help. When I tire of holding the Kindle, it allows me to read any of my Kindle formatted books (including those from Baen and ManyBooks.net) sitting at the laptop or desktop.

8 January 2010: Feast of St. Thorfinn of Trondhjem, Ethelred of Wessex defeats Danes 871, Charles Stuart takes Stirling 1746, Battle of New Orleans 1815, Crazy Horse and Two Moons defeated at Wolf Mountain by Nelson A. Miles 1877.

...tenth, eleventh...Oh yeah, Twelfth Night!

2010-01-04T23:59:00.002-05:00

Twelfth Night marks the last of the twelve days of Christmas (no, you heathen, they don't lead up to Christmas--that's Advent). Earlier today, the UPS guy delivers the last box of the twelve gifts your true love gives to you--hopefully charged to his card rather than yours. Your next move is to figure out what your going to do with twelve drummers drumming (as opposed to twelve lords aleaping--if the Brits want to get rid of them that bad, they can ship them to the Falklands).

In civilized places, there's a major blowout involving the Wassail bowl, shoe, canteen cup--whatever holds liquids--while the rosca de reyes or king cake is being baked for tomorrow (which probably explains how beans, coins, Baby Jesus figures, or whatnot end up in them--next year, keep Uncle Julio the heck away from the Wassail bowl or at least brace him and disarm him of the tequila bottle). Tonight before you hit the rack, don't forget to put one shoe filled with hay out for the Wise Men's camels, donkeys, water buffaloes, riding iguanas, or what have you. For tomorrow is Epiphany, Dia de Reyes, or Fastnacht.

In the less civilized places like were my folks come from, there is Berchtenlaufen. This is when several hundred young guys run through the streets cracking whips and ringing bells to chase evil spirits out of town--apparently said spirits are still hungover from the preceding twelve days of festivities. In even less civilized places, such activities mean your team won the championship.

Also, it's bad luck to leave Christmas decorations up after Twelfth Night (this is an update from Candlemas--2 February). A bosun's mate and his family I know seem to live to a rather different calendar. About All Saints, the lights go up and, a week after Easter, they come down. I must admit through, for those five months, the turkey, manger, and rabbit in their front yard make for one heck of a landmark when you're trying to give someone directions (people going from one end of Quantico to the other have been detoured via the Naval Weapons base just so it could be used).

It's also the name of a pretty decent play by some guy named Shakespeare.

Over the Fence

I received another letter from Homer Smute, the world's oldest minor league baseball player, the other day.

Homer:

The problem with living in the fast lane is you know what you did because of the bills, alimony, palimony, child support, community service, fines and jail time. But you can't remember the fun you had doing it.

I got to admit that Mitch Groengras. the Busters' grounds keeper is no quitter. To keep the grass down, the management let people run their cows on the field. Of course, Mitch had to go around with a shovel before games. But the cows didn't keep the grass short enough, so they tried sheep. Well, this got the grass down to about the right level, but Mitch had to come in twice as early with his shovel before games. Tim Molesight, our Left fielder, told me this morning over coffee at Karina's Good 'nough Cafe that Mitch told management yesterday he'd start paying one of the farmers out of his own pocket to cut the grass with his tractor.

The only problem with turning your cap into a "rally cap" is not only is your team losing, but now you look stupid too.

As team logos go, the Stump Busters' ain't one of the most uplifting. Let's face it, a tree stump, no matter what you do to it, just don't sing.

Now the Washington Wild Things (Washington, PA) has one of the best I've seen.

Note: Homer asked me to put in a link to their website: http://www.washingtonwildthings.com/

I don't know how much longer the team can keep going. The younger guys keep leaving to go someplace where they got a better chance of advancement, like Dundalk.

Remember the Catholic Writers Conference Online

26 February to 5 March 2010.

Free registration at: http://www.catholicwritersconference.com/

5 January 2010: Feast of St. Convoyon, George Washington weds Martha Dandridge Custis 1759, Benedict Arnold commanding British naval forces burns Richmond, VA 1781, Alfred Dreyfus sentenced to Devil's Island 1895, Richard Nixon orders development of Space Shuttle 1972.

New Year I suppose.

2009-12-31T23:59:00.005-05:00

Looking back over the year just past always strikes me kind of like carving notches on your gun for each time you've been shot--you don't necessarily want to be reminded. Like Satchel Page, I think I'd rather look ahead. Of course this is tempered by the suspicion that while hope spring eternal, stupidity is forever.

The placement of New Years, at least in the West, is counterintuitive. Instead of walking out into the warmth and light of the new year the morning of 1 January, the door opens, a blast of cold air rolls in followed by the four horsemen in the shape of ice, snow, rain, and wet cats. Wouldn't it make a heck of a lot more sense to kick the year off on, say, Easter morning? It's sunny, warm, baseball season isn't that far away, and, best of all, there are bunnies! You got to admit as an opening sequence, Jesus' rising from the dead comes pretty close to equaling that of Star Wars IV: A New Hope.

I realize that our present New Years comes from the Romans. Their god Janus ushered it in looking both forward and backward. Now I ask you, would you really trust someone so two-faced? That was one of attractions of the Christians' God--he didn't kid you.

Moving New Years to the spring could even be seen as trying to meet the government halfway. After all, theirs starts 1 July.

Over the Fence

Speaking of baseball, from time to time, I'm going to include short pieces from Homer Smute, who bills himself as the world's oldest minor league baseball player. He lives in Virginia and plays Short Stop for the Fox Run Stump Busters in the Blue Ridge League (not to be confused with the two leagues that disbanded in 1930 and 1950).

Homer is one of the few people I know these days who communicate by letter. He has a child-like faith that if he addresses it correctly, puts a stamp on it, and puts the flag up on his mailbox, the U.S. Postal Service will safely deliver it to my door (so far, he seems to be right).

I figure the more he writes, the less I have to.

Homer:

I remember my greeting from the Busters' manager, Bill Hoarwell, the first day I showed up. When the manager's first words to you are, "Don't unpack your bags," it ain't a good feeling.

Looking at major league scores (2-1, 1-0, 4-2) and minor league scores (8-0, 16-12, 14-2), consistency is not necessarily a minor league virtue.

Around the Busters, you don't tend to hear the same things you do around the majors when the subject of money comes up:

"Much much will I sign for? That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether the rehab works and what happens with the lawsuits. Drugs and alimony, palimony, and child support ain't cheap."

Oh for the problems of the majors.

Watching baseball on TV, I think I've got to the point where I prefer to watch a game between mid-level teams. There's no real pressure or players strutting around convinced of their value as deities (despite the fact many are complete losses as people) and you can settle in just for the game.

"Washington: first in war, first in peace, last in the American League." Well, the league changed anyway.

Fellow down in the Valley said he'd put our play-by-play online for us if we'd call it in to him during the game. But we couldn't get passed Miz Friddly and Miz Deal on the party-line.

Looking back over my record so far, the fact that my daddy named me "Homer" shows the perversity of the man. Him with second sight and all.

Catholic Writers Conference Online Provides Practical Help

World Wide Web--This year's Catholic Writers' Conference Online, which will be held February 26-March 5, 2010, will focus on the practical things the writer needs to succeed.

The conference is held via chats and forums at http://www.catholicwritersconference.com. Sponsored by the Catholic Writers' Guild, the online conference is free of charge and open to writers of all levels who register between October 1, 2009 and February 15, 2010.

"We've always concentrated on workshops and chats that teach the writer skills or provide information in the areas of crafting, publishing and marketing their works, but this year, we're adding critique workshops and some incredible opportunities to pitch to leading publishers," said organizer Karina Fabian.

This year, publishers hearing pitches include well known Catholic publishers like Pauline, large publishers like Thomas Nelson, and smaller presses like White Rose. Thus far, eleven pitch sessions are scheduled, running the gamut from Christian romance to Catholic theology.

In a new program, at least fifty attendees will have the opportunity to have pieces of their work critiqued by successful editors and writers. In addition, there will be forum-based workshops and chat room presentations covering topics from dialogue to freelancing to how Catholic fiction differs from Christian fiction.

"Even in good economic times, it's hard for writers to attend live conferences," said Fabian, "but this year, we think it's even more important to help careers by utilizing an online format. We're so grateful that our presenters are willing to share their time and talent."

Early registration is recommended. Although the conference is offered free of charge, donations are accepted; proceeds will go toward future conferences. Non-Catholics may attend, as long as they respect Catholic beliefs and the conference's Catholic focus.

To register or for more information, go to http://www.catholicwritersconference.com.

1 January 2010: Solemnity of Mary-Mother of God, Emancipation Proclamation takes effect in Confederate territory (though not in Federal) 1863, Ellis Island opens 1892, "Law for the Prevention of Genetically Diseased Offspring"- Germany 1934, Navy SEALs established 1962.

"New Hire"

2009-12-28T23:59:00.005-05:00

This is what will probably be piece of a story I'll be working on in the future. It comes from an assignment I did for a workshop at the Muse Online 2009 writers' conference.

New Hire

O'Tool's bad leg ached with the morning fog. It was times like this he hated the plantation. He hated even more the thought of sitting behind the huge desk.

Wesa Ryan held out the first of many cups of tea the director would drink over the next twelve hours. The tall man nodded his thanks to the matronly secretary and limped into his office. His Assistant for Procurement, Mac, sat in a chair in front of O'Tool's desk with a reader. He popped to his feet with far more agility than was proper for a man of his gray hair. "Good morning, Colonel."

"Morning, Gunny." O'Tool placed his palm against the lock plate of his desk. The various systems embedded within its Bayern mahogany came to life as he seated himself. His glance swept the readouts and the holos hanging behind the gunny--nothing immediate required his attention. He leaned back in his high-backed chair and smiled up at Mac as the other waited at parade rest. "Well, Gunny, what have you got for me?"

The heavyset man returned the smile. "I've got a peach, sir."

"Oh? How so?"

Mac's smile widened to a grin. "He's the little man who wasn't there. You know, sir, the sort that disappears while you're looking straight at him."

O'Tool steepled his fingers. "Interesting. Does this paragon of invisibility have a name?"

"Sean Murphy, sir."

The director inclined his head as he mused, "A nondescript name for a nondescript person." He paused a moment, then asked, "Where did you find him?"

The older man pressed a button on the reader to link with his superior's system as he answered, "On Tara, sir. Doing his Imperial service in the Coast Guard."

"How did he come to your attention?"

"He was caught sneaking some equipment out of Marine Headquarters."

O'Tool squinted an eye at the other. "If he was caught, why are we interested in him?"

Mac chuckled. "It was his twenty-fourth trip, sir. Apparently, he and his mates were living a very high lifestyle. As I understand it, a case of the Commandant's scotch had vanished a couple of weeks before."

"And where is he now?"

Mac's grin was at full strength as he answered, "Outside sitting next to Mrs. Ryan's desk. You walked by him."

O'Tool looked at his assistant sharply. He realized he had only been aware of his secretary's presence in the outer office. He was a bit taken aback that he must have looked at Murphy without it registering. The director found it daunting as he considered himself a very observant man. He cleared his throat and smiled at Mac. "Alright, Gunny, please show Mr. Murphy in if you can find him."

Mac ushered in a small colorless man. It occurred to O'Tool that the man, with slight changes to his hair and skin, could be from practically anywhere in known space. With a little work around the eyes, he might even pass as Yamoto or Xenese.

The director stepped around his desk as much to have a closer look as to shake hands. "Mr. Murphy?"

Murphy's grasp was neither soft nor hard. He smiled slightly. "Sir?"

"Have a seat, Mr. Murphy. Do you know what we do here? What are your impressions?"

Murphy replied, "Well, sir, the sign at the road said this was a recycling center. I assume the materials recycled are rather valuable considering the reinforced guard shack and the two bunkers sited in the edge of the forest covering it."

O'Tool regarded him with growing respect. "You noticed them, did you?"

Murphy nodded. "Yes, sir. I saw a man moving through the trees suddenly disappear. That gave me one. I figured if there was one, there mostly likely was a second on the other side of the road."

The director shot a look at Mac. The elderly man had that expression that promised someone over at security a fanny-wapping.

Murphy continued, "I also found interesting the faint sound of small arms fire to the north and the scent of burning vehicles on the breeze from the east."

"What exactly did you do in the Coast Guard, Mr. Murphy?"

"Contraband search, sir. I was aboard the Point Comfort."

O'Tool nodded. "You were a 'ferret.'"

There was neither pride nor shame as he answered matter-of-factly, "Yes, sir, I was the boarding party's 'ferret.'"

O'Tool was unable to place Murphy's accent. "Tell me, Mr. Murphy, what planet did you grow up on?"

"Actually, sir, we moved around a lot."

The director raised an eyebrow. "Military?"

Murphy shook his head. "No, sir. My daddy was in construction."

O'Tool was struck by Murphy's choice of words; not his "father" or "papa" or "da"--but his "daddy." He decided he looked forward to reading the background file on Mr. Murphy. He turned to to Mac. "Gunny, please escort Mr. Murphy to intake and start his processing."

He drained his cup of its tea and buzzed for a second as his door closed. Pulling the right lower drawer out, O'Tool eased his leg onto it and absent-mindedly cursed the Xenese sniper for the umpteenth time. He settled back and called up Murphy's dossier with a feeling of satisfaction.

29 December 2009: Feast of St. Thomas Becket, USS Constitution takes HMS Java off Brazil 1812, Texas statehood 1845, Irish Free State becomes Ireland 1937, Vaclav Havel first president of Czechoslovakia after Warsaw Pact collapse 1989.

Christmas y'all!

2009-12-24T23:59:00.004-05:00

It's Christmas Day--not Winter Holiday Day, or Sparkle Season Day, or even Big Bunches Sales Day. No, this is Christmas Day. And I expect folks to wish me a Merry Christmas as I wish others a Happy Chanukah, Happy Solstice, or a Happy Tet on their proper days.

For those of us who profess to follow the Prince of Peace, aka: Jesus, the Son of God, this day commemorates His birth in Bethlehem in the Roman province of Judea somewhere around 4 BC. Doing the counting from the dates given in the New Testament, I get His birthday as falling around March/April. My reaction to this? So what? My math may be off, possibly (but pretty unlikely) a scribe dropped a VII somewhere along the way--decimals being a little uncommon in the Roman Empire except when punishing legionaries--but what the hey? The main point is He got born. That the Church picked the same day as the Saturnalia to celebrate probably drove the Roman officials straight up the wall, leads to the charitable thought: "Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch."

So here we are. We're Christians. we're in your face, and our hands are raised to bless you on this, the birthday of our CO!

Now, Mass is over, the tree is lit, the presents have been exchanged ("Oh, yeah, Honey. An electric earwax melter is just what I was hoping for...just out of curiosity, is the receipt still laying around here somewhere?"), and George C. Scott is scaring the bejabbers out of Bob Cratchit. It's Dr. Pepper time! Oh, alright. Please pass the eggnog, then.

And remember, there are those out there who are cold, hungry, and lonely. If you're really a Christian, do something to make it better.

Signal to Task Force: Formation Foxtrot 4--Engage!

25 December 2009: Christmas Day for Western Church, and I'm not going to get into the stupidities that humans have committed on this day through history. After all, it's Christmas y'all.

On Dating in the Empire and the Writer's Predictability Habit

2009-12-21T23:59:00.003-05:00

Marine Corps Schools

Apergis Barracks

Wexford--Tara

Dear Tango,

Dating is a problem in the Empire and throughout known space. As you can see in lesson 2, no one has a good handle on how much time has passed since man first left Earth and the present. It is known that this took place in the 21st century by Earth reckoning. But, along with the loss of the location of Earth amidst "The Collapse," no one can agree how many years have passed since.

Each culture keeps its own calendar and counts time from a different point. In the Imperial Forces, dating is set by Tara, but each man and woman is allowed to add the date according to their people. This is a small consideration, but it brings home to us that, while we are servants of the Empire, the Empire is made up of our peoples.

As an example (let me call up the calendar), the date here at Apergis Barracks is 349 I.D./532 B.D. This stands for the two-hundred-and-forty-ninth year since the founding of the Empire (Imperial date) and the five-hundred-and thirty-second year since Royal dating began on Bayern with the ascension of Erwin I as King of all the Bayern at the Battle of the Mead Meadow. Now for my bunkie, Ikati, it's 349 I.D/221 Z.D. Bantu when they came into the Empire had a small problem. "B.D." was already taken by the Bayern. It was agreed in council that Bantu would use "Z.D."--Zulu Date. Ikati has remarked that it might have been simpler to blow up Bayern. I'm not sure how they set their date, I'll ask him. He says, "The Bantu date from the "Washing of the Spears" at Hondehok Knop and to please leave [him] the [Hades] alone, he's having enough trouble concentrating on a logistics assignment without answering my [dang] fool questions!" Me thinks we will have to take a break and frog-march said gentleman over to the geedunk shop. Sounds like his Dr. Pepper levels have dropped to a dangerous point.

I hope I've helped you understand the dating problem. Rest assured, it confuses us quite regularly and we live with it!

Walt

The Writer's Predictability Habit

There are a number of writers I love to read for their characterization and "McGuffins," but, Lordy, the way their plot sequence runs drives me up the wall. Mostly, these are mystery writers. After a couple of their series books, I know for a fact that the hero will get his lights punched out at the top of page 78. How do I know this? Am I a seer, a prophet (looking at my bank balance, it's cinch profit ain't involved)? Nope. The author had his/her/its hero get his lights punched out at the same place in the last four volumes. (I'm not sure why, but this seems to only happen to male protagonists.) After a while, one starts to get the suspicion that the author is using an algorithm to churn these things out--basically just filling in the blanks for "villain," "place," and "love interest" and hitting "run" (or "enter" if you wish).

I can immediately think of four writers who do this. It doesn't seem to matter whether the author is male of female (that's going by the names--which really doesn't mean a dang thing), their guy suddenly gets punched in the jaw or stomach or hit over the head (oddly, never in the 'goodies"--that would really take him out!) at the top of page 78. He wakes up sometime later and the whatzit is gone. Even though he has a concussion, he immediately pitches back into the investigation with only a sore whatever. Humphrey Bogart could do this in "The Maltese Falcon" and "Across the Pacific" but you got the idea he was one tough hombre and, even then, he wasn't hitting on a couple of cylinders for a while.

One of the things that made Tony Hillerman, Agatha Christie, G.K. Chesterton, and Dorthy Sayers great was you never saw it coming.

As a writer, we should at least try to mix it up a bit. I realize a lot of mainstream publishers don't seem to care about repetition at the moment, but you should. If nothing else, it shows you respect your readers.

Okay, end of sermon. Now, who brought the popcorn and potato chips?

DVDs for Christmas (Note to FTC: I bought this dang DVD myself!)

Walt Disney's Classic Cartoon Favorites volume 9: Classic Holiday Stories. Disney. 58 minutes.

Just when you're up to your fanny in plastic Santas, reindeer, and Sugar Plum Fairies, a cartoon shows up about the "reason for the season." (No, not a solar-powered bun warmer for Aunt Myrtle!--who let this clown in? I told you we need to get that screen door fixed.) In this case, the cartoon is Disney's "The Small One." This is the story of a boy and the donkey who carried the Virgin to Bethlehem--and I absolutely refuse to mist-up over it, do you hear? Blast! Where did I put those tissues?

Ahem. Also on the DVD is "Pluto's Christmas Tree" and "Mickey's Christmas Carol." The first is one of the best Pluto cartoons (Chip and Dale don't hurt) and the second is fun, though Uncle Scrooge does lack a bit of George C. Scott's depth.

22 December 2009: Feast of St. Zeno, Winter Solstice, Savannah captured by Gen. Sherman 1864, Gen. McAuliffe in Bastogne tells surrounding Germans "Nuts!" 1944, first flight of Lockheed "Skunk Works" SR-71 Blackbird 1964, Brandenburg Gate reopens in Berlin 1989.

Lessons from the Muse Online: Part 4

2009-12-17T23:59:00.001-05:00

The following is the fourth assignment for the World Building workshop at the Muse Online writers' conference:

MARINE CORPS SCHOOLS

Apergis Barracks

Wexford--Tara

Officer Candidate Gunnery Sergeant Lew Diamond Puller

Assignment 56A

The officer candidate shall give a short explanation of languages and their usages within the empire.

A number of major languages are currently in use within the Erin Empire.

The standard language of inter-system trade, government, and military coordination is Imperial Standard. The present thinking on the origins of Standard is that it was a development of either American or English, two early languages. At the moment, there is great disagreement over which of these languages is the true root (several academic duels are fought each semester with occasional loss of life in addition to maiming over this subject. Conrad of Bad tolz being the most famous because of his defense of the proposition that, at one time, the two languages formed a single unitary language he called "Canadian"). Until a few years ago, it was the fashion to include High Brazos' Texican within this family. There is at present a symposium in Blood Rivier on Bantu headed by Dr. Shaka Retief to settle which of these two root languages is included in addition to Zulu and Afrikaans that make the creole that is Bantu. The form of standard normally spoken on Tara is sometimes hard for offworlders to understand and between representatives of remote regions of the capital planet, Imperial Standard is used as a trade language.

On Yamato, a form of Nipponese is spoken and a semi-pictographic written language is used. There are certain similarities between the written Nipponese and the Xenese used by the CPM. There is aslow shift from the pictographic to an alpha-numeric written language in motion among the younger Yamato. a new fad for a mixture of Nipponese and Standard called "Yamard" is fashionable in Eto.

The Bayern of course speak Bayern. Here also is argument among language scholars. The two sides maintain Bayern is an outgrowth of one of two ancient languages: Bavarian or German. Conrad of Bad Tolz refused to involve himself in the discussion as he believed that the matter was trivial when compared to his thoughts on "Canadian."

As a note, next term, I will begin instruction in Arkmese in preparation for my possible posting to that planet. This will, of course, depend on the course of the insurgency referred to as the "Nipo rising."

DVDs for Christmas (Note to FTC: I bought this dang DVD myself!)

Dr. SEUSS' How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (staring Boris Karloff) and Horton Hears a Who! Warner. 26 minutes each.

I ran into the Grinch back in fourth grade. Our school library had a bunch of these slightly off-center works of Dr. Suess (aka: Therodor Suess Geisel) and many of us were scarred for life. As it happens, the Grinch was the first of his books I read. Rather than Santa and plastic reindeer, it posulated the subversive idea that Christmas isn't a matter of getting, but giving of oneself. When you think of it, it's a story of conversion sparked by the Grinch witnessing the whos' living their faith. Instead of the unfortunately common plot of the sinner realizes his mistakes and imediately begins to preach the good news, the Grinch quietly joins and is accepted by the whos. Dr. Suess was a good writer because he could be subtle.

When How the Grinch Stole Christmas appeared on TV in 1966, Boris Karloff not only narrated but was apparently the model for the Grinch's facial expressions. When the green one gets his wonderful, horrible idea, it's purest Karloff (think Dr. Scarabus in the 1963 movie The Raven). As he carves the roast beast with his new friends the whos, the Grinch smiles beatificaly (no one could smile as saintly as Karloff--also think Dr. Scarabus).

This is the true Grinch. On the same DVD is Horton Hears a Who. And the joy is Jim Carrey--who the heck is Jim Carrey?

18 December 2009: Feast of St. Winebald of Wessex, Hannibal wins Battle of the Trebia - Second Punic War 218 BC, Mayflower lands 1620, Piltdown Man found 1912, Operation Linebacker II 1972.

Lessons from the Muse Online: Part 3

2009-12-14T23:59:00.001-05:00

This is results of the third assignment from the World Building workshop from the Muse Online writers' conference:

Arkm is an Earth-type planet orbiting Cogswell's Star (Type G0--coordinates: 231.4 X, 354.2 Y, 127.9 Z). As Arkm's orbit is to the outer edge of the star's habitable zone, the climate tends toward the cold. Of special note to Spacers and ground forces, Cogswell's Star is rather active in production of charged particles and, thus, frequently interferes with electro-magnetic communications in the RF band.

Cogswell's Star was first surveyed eighty-five years ago by the Bayern survey vessel Alfred L. Wegener. Arkm's existence was noted but as it was on the far side of its orbit was not closely studied. Thirty-three years later, the fact that Arkm was inhabited was discovered by the ore-carrier Tau Ceti Maru when it picked up spark-gap signals while passing near the system.

A full planetary survey was completed by an Imperial Erin Naval Survey party from the destroyer Todd Beamer (a Hero class FRAM I) a few months after Tau Ceti Maru's report (see section 41.3 of Admiralty Court Reward Proceedings). It was found that Arkm has rich deposits of Tantalum in easily mined areas. Arkm was opened to exploitation ten years later with the first Imperial Covenant to Combine Metals, I.C. of Tara. Since then, two other mining concerns have been awarded covenants: Rujio Metals and Smelting, I.C. of Yamato and KwaZulu Mining and Production, I.C. of Bantu.

Because there is no planet-wide government, Arkm is a Class III Imperial Protectorate and is administered through the Imperial Ministry for Colonies headed by Prince Ewald von Bayerlan-Wurzburg (Bayern).

To date, it has been impossible to discover the origin-group of the original settlers of Arkm. The most commonly spoken languages appear to belong to the Urdic family, though shot through with features of the Romance family.

The main religion is a form of goddess worship having no set hierarchical structure. A notable feature is the belief that a sacred flame must be kept burning at all times in villages and towns. (Note to Imperial Forces: The Arkmese believe that when killed in combat, the soul of the fighter becomes a lover of the goddess. A second belief that keys into this is that the soul can ascend only as long as the sacred fire is burning. To make themselves more appealing to the goddess, fighters smear themselves with a strong smelling spice also used in cooking.) There is some mission effort under way by several faiths.

Recent developments:

The Imperial Erin destroyer Kevin Barry (a Hero class FRAM II) is presently on station in orbit around Arkm with a Platoon Landing Force of Imperial Marines. Presently dirt-side because of the Nipo rising is one battalion of Bayern Fallschirmjagers, a regiment of High Brazos cavalry (both mounted and vehicular), Imperial Marine and Naval Air Groups at NAS Bad Water, and a company of Imperial Marines as Governor-General's Guard at Quigali.

DVDs for Christmas (Note to FTC: I bought this dang DVD myself!)

The Nutcracker (staring Mikhail Baryshnikov). Kultur. 78 minutes.

On Christmas eve, visions of sugar plum fairies dance in my head (which probably explains why I tend to wake up the next morning feeling a little less than Christmasy until the second glass of Dr. Pepper). I put this down to all the lousy versions I've suffered through in my young, innocent years of The Nutcracker (contrary to Jeff Foxworthy, this is not something you do off the high-dive--I only wish it were).

When CBS first broadcast Baryshnikov's version of The Nutcracker in 1977 (it moved to PBS later), I didn't expect a whole lot. The production knocked my socks off! The guy was one heck of a dancer and actor as was Gelsey Kirkland as Clara. Unlike many, Kirkland's Clara looks like a kid (a rather tall kid admittedly--but a kid). Alexander Minz as her Uncle Drosselmeyer, the inventor/sorcerer, is one spooky dude. And best of all, there ain't a fairy in sight!

Our copy was my daughter's Christmas gift years ago. This the one to have (though Maurice Sendak's 1983 version is interesting).

15 December 2009: Feast of St. Mary Di Rosa of Brescia, Belisarius defeats Vandals at Ticameron 533, U.S. Bill of Rights ratified by Virginia and becomes law 1791, Battle of Nashville 1864, Battle of Mt. Austen - Guadalcanal 1942.

Lessons from the Muse Online: Part 2

2009-12-10T23:59:00.003-05:00

This is the results of the second assignment in the World Building workshop at the Muse Online writers' conference. We were to set down the rules around which we built our settings.
In my writing universe, there are a set of rules to which the story happenings and setting must conform:

1. Humans exploded out from earth with the discovery of relatively inexpensive star flight sometime after the mid 21st century. Most of the history of this time was lost during "The Collapse," thought roughly to be in the hundred years after. A number of Earth-type worlds were settled by various national and ethnic groups searching for "living space" in which to build their ideal societies. As with most things involving humans, matters tended to go in directions unforeseen by the majority. Things fell apart.

Dawn came some decades/centuries/millennia later (academics have been killed in arguments about the timing). Eventually, power blocks arose once more. Imperial Erin is one of these.

2. Most of the action takes place within the Erin Empire. The capital planet is Tara. Among the member planets mentioned so far in the cycle are Bayern, High Brazos, Yamoto, Bantu, and Arkm.

3. The technology available to the empire includes star flight, interstellar communication, and that expected in the near term. I have refrained from explaining the inner workings of the technology because the knowledge isn't germane to the characters' lives (does one really think about where the electricity comes from when one flips a light switch in the middle of the night?--besides, most of the stories that try this tend to have high MEGO factors [see below]). All they care about normally is that the Navy gets them between star systems and the "signal floozies" aboard ship keep them in contact with their respective headquarters. How the Spacers do this is their problem.

In Part 3, I'll talk about the history of Arkm and its people (what there is known of it).

MEGO: My Eyes Glaze Over

Words of Wisdom from Gunny Fluellen

Boot: "Why the enemy is loud; you hear him all night."

Gunny: "If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb,--in your own conscience, now?"

King Henry V
Act IV, scene I
William Shakespeare (I'm not sure whether he went through Parris Island or San Diego.)

Catholic Writers Conference Online 2010

The Catholic Writers Guild will be hosting a free online writers conference from 26 February to 5 March 2010. Last year's was truly excellent. It is a combination of chats with authors and editors, workshops on various facets in writing, and the opportunity to pitch the project you've been beavering away on to representatives from a number of Catholic publishing houses. While the conference is Catholic, others of good will are welcome (last year Frank Creed--author of the Underground series and the role playing game Flashpoint and a Protestant gentleman--lit a fire under my writing with his workshop). As a certain gunnery sergeant I used to know said, "The only way you can beat free is if they pay you." (Sorry, we're too broke to do that.) Here's the link: http://www.catholicwritersconference.com/

Hope to see you there!

DVDs for Christmas (Note to FTC: I bought this dang DVD myself!)

A Christmas Carol (staring George C. Scott). Fox. 100 minutes.

If your DVD collection includes the Alastair Sim version of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol (1951), you have good taste. If you also have George C. Scott's version (1984), you have good taste indeed. Though made twenty-five years ago, Scott's performance is still striking. His Ebenezer Scrooge is a deadly serious Type-A executive. He takes the "Christmas--bah, humbug!" line and delivers a chill with a contemptuous laugh and "Christmas...humbug." to his nephew, Fred. Scott is powerful but controlled and makes his conversion at the end believable and satisfying.

If you have neither, get this one first!

Report from the Front:

Tuesday night, I witnessed the broadcast of what around here will be a family Christmas classic. This was the ABC broadcast of Disney's "Prep & Landing."

It is the story of the covert force of elves landed ahead of Santa's visits to clear and prep the LZ. Obviously, these guys are some unknown detachment of Force Recon. Just as obviously, Santa is an aviator. His COD--I mean sleigh--even uses an arrestor system. You can almost smell the JP4 around the reindeer team. I know these guys.

It didn't hurt that ABC ran the animation right after "A Charlie Brown Christmas."

Major Note on "A Charlie Brown Christmas" broadcast:

An open letter from Leon to ABC on their broadcast of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" was put up over at Dork Tower this morning. I admit I came in on the tail-end of "Charlie Brown," so I can't say one way or the other, but I trust the guys at Dork Tower so here's the link: http://www.dorktower.com/2009/12/10/an-open-letter-to-abc-from-my-friend-leon/

11 December 2009: Feast of St. Barsabas of Persia, tomorrow is the first day of Chanukah, Byzatine Emperor Nikephoros II assasinated by wife and her lover - later Emperor John I Tzimiskes 969, Llywelyn, last Welsh prince killed 1282, King Edward VIII abdicates 1936, Germany and Italy declare war on U.S. 1941.

Lessons from the Muse Online: Part 1

2009-12-07T23:59:00.002-05:00

I attended the 2009 Muse Online Writers Conference this Fall. This is part 1 of the work I did for the workshop "World Building in Science Fiction and Fantasy." We started off with a Q & A in which we had to ask ourselves a series of questions to help us develop our settings.

Q. You're writing about the military mostly from the view from the grunt up to the battalion commander (usually a major or light colonel). Why?

A. That's the level I have the most experience with.

Q. Are you writing about armies?

A. No, smaller types of organizations. so far, Fallschirmjagers (drop-troops or future paratroopers who drop from orbit) from Bayern, horse cavalry from High Brazos, Imperial Erin Marines, and the crew of an Imperial Erin destroyer.

Q. Why smaller groups?

A. Camaraderie is usually higher and 'characters" are more likely to end up in such units ("You're asking this of a man who leaves a perfectly good spacecraft to drop from orbit in an egg just so people can shoot at him?").

Q. What kind of situation could a series of short stories be written about?

A. Insurgency tends to be best written about in small chunks, invasions often need a novella, and campaigns require a book. The bigger the operation, the larger the canvas.

Q. What sort of POV?

A. Probably 3rd person limited is best. If you go for 1st person, your narrator has to be everywhere action is taking place. Besides, with 3rd limited, you can occasionally (very occasionally) do a little head-hopping--It's always fun to look at the problems the guy on the other side of the hill is having.

Q. Who's the good guy?

A. That depends on the situation. Normal people tend to think of themselves as the "good guy" (George McDonald Fraser's Harry Flashman doesn't count). It's my job as the writer to limn the characters and their actions in such away that the reader can understand them.

Q. how close to real life can you fly without people reading into the situations and characters commentary you don't intend?

A. as I'm writing about a counterinsurgency, I figure I should make the setting as different from the settings of those going on in the real world as possible.

In my stories, "Words of Rust," "Electronic Propagation," and "Marine Diplomacy," Arkm is described as an "ice world" or "ice ball." In the area my stories are set, the terrain is mostly low-relief. The only heights that have shown up are a dormant shield volcano. As the stories are told from the view point of soldiers fighting an insurgency, the actual science of the planetology hasn't really come up. I see it mostly in this case as something I have to be aware of so nothing jarring jumps up and smacks the reader.

One of my reasons for Arkm's climate and geomorphology was, because I am writing about a counterinsurgency, I wanted to disconnect the stories from things going on at present as much as possible. Because of the subject matter, there will be commonalities. Soldiers have been pretty much the same for the last 8,000 plus years. By definition, insurgency-counterinsurgency has features that don't change (otherwise, it would be some other form of mutual mayhem).

I'll develop Arkm more in part 2.

Review (Note to FTC: I bought this dang book myself!)

Forty Miles a Day on Beans and Hay. by Don Rickey, Jr. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1987.

I've always been a sucker for John Ford's cavalry trilogy: "Fort Apache (1948)," "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949)," and "Rio Grande (1950)." While the cavalrymen were a little better matched in their uniforms when out on patrol (I believe it was Remington who remarked that no two were dressed alike normally), they gave the "right" impression of the soldier's lot--dirt, sweat, exhaustion, and the chance to die in a nameless little clash.

Don Rickey, Jr.'s Forty Miles a Day on Beans and Hay looks at the life of the frontier Regulars from 1865 to the mid 1890s. Unlike many books on this subject and period, it concentrates on the enlisted man's experience. Officers, of course, appear throughout, but it is their interaction with the man in the ranks. The book begins with the enlistment and, almost immediately, one learns what anyone who's been around the military knows, there are the regulations and there is the way things actually work as the recruiter works his magic.

The soldier was often hungry and a look at his diet--dry bread, black coffee, salt beef, (if he was lucky) beans, and hard tack (this was a hard, heavy, plastic-like cracker allegedly made from wheat--men have been known to be killed when hit by a thrown one)--lend convincing proof that our ancestors were a hardy lot. When combined with the knowledge that a private made a princely $13 per month, the fact that the enlistees looked upon such a life as an improvement over that of a civilian is frightening. After reading this section, one may never look upon MREs the same way again.

One also learns of a Sixth Cavalry captain's three lights of the morning--peep o'day, break o'day, and broad daylight, that the first sergeant would be wise to quickly give Private Waller the password at night at 1889's Fort Sill, that General Sheridan knew the difference between Buffalo Bill and buffalo chips, and that rifle cartridges and carbine cartridges could be mixed up to the amusement of all present.

The book finishes with a look at what happened to the survivors after they mustered out.

Shot through Rickey's account is death waiting for its chance, whether through accident, stupidity, sickness, bad water, worse food, heat, cold, homicide, ennui, the unexplained, and, occasionally, action by hostiles.

Read Robert Utley's Frontier Regulars for the campaigns, S.L.A. Marshall's The Crimsoned Prairie for the battles, and Rickey for the soldiers' lives.

DVDs for Christmas (Note to FTC: I bought this dang DVD myself!)

The Birth of Christ: A Christmas Cantata by Andrew T. Miller. Sony Classical. 85 minutes.

On the night of 18 August 2006 in Dublin's Christ Church Cathedral, the Catholic and Protestant choirs used by Handel to premiere his Messiah in 1742 combined to perform the premiere of Andrew T. Miller's The Birth of Christ: A Christmas Cantata. Narrated by Oscar nominee and Golden Globe winner Liam Neeson, this is a relatively new Christmas classic. There is also a CD (to which I'm listening as I write this) available. Definitely good stuff.

8 December 2009: Feast of St. Romaric, Pope Pius IX proclaims Immaculate Conception as dogma 1854, Battle of the Falklands 1914, Japanese invade Hong Kong 1941, U.S.S.R. dissolved and Commonwealth of Independent States established 1991.

Of "Chained Dogs" and females.

2009-12-03T23:59:00.000-05:00

Here is another chunk of Chained Dogs.

Preface

My father, Dr. Wilhelm Kluge, died in a traffic accident in the American city of Phoenix while on his way to take part in a study of dark matter at the Vatican Advanced Technology Telescope (VATT) at Mount Graham in the southeastern part of the State of Arizona.

Among his papers was found the following story. It speaks of a short period during Germany's war in North Africa. My father, like many veterans rarely spoke of his experiences in World War II. The most that he shared with us, his wife and children, were a few happy, often comic, interludes.

Reading the story while going through his papers, I found the answer to a few questions raised in the mind of the family by some of his actions. One was why my father named our older brother "Conrad," a name that appears on neither side of the family. A second was why he occasionally used phrases and terms more usual in Upper Bavaria. A third was his habit of going to Munich's Catholic Cathedral, the Frauenkirche, each Friday to light a candle though a confirmed Lutheran. And, fourth, his amassing a large collection of English and American books between the end of the war and his death that had nothing to do with his profession.

My father's writing was clear and crisp. I have had to make very few editorial changes. Thus, it speaks with his voice.

I am indebted to my Canadian wife, Sally, for help with the translation of his story from German to English. If there are mistakes in the manuscript, they are wholly mine.

Manfred Paul Kluge
Munich: 24 December 2008

Is the female of the species, Homo sapiens sapiens, a mammalian ectotherm?

It has come to my attention during the well over half a century I have been observing (including the thirty-four years of my marriage) that the female of our species is apparently a form of mammalian ectotherm [see below]. Through the period of observation, the women in my life have generally complained of low-temperature environmental effects at any temperature below 32 degrees C (90 degrees F). The affect of these declarations is the adjustment of thermal controls to a temperature level incompatable to comfortable survival for the male of the species. This leads to any number of coping strategies such as standing on porches in sub-zero weather for purposes of thermal regulation rather than more normal activities of smoking a really good cigar, or removal of outer coverings to achieve the same outcomes (which explains why, as usual, the writer is sitting in his skivies as he types this).

Professor Jeffrey M. Foxworthy has this noted this, to females, common feature. In his academic work, he points out that ice cold feet in the small of the back at oh-dark-thirty is the norm. He further reported that the men observed sitting in statiums in freezing temperatures stripped to the waist are not, as commonly thought, drunk. Rather they are escorts of significant others who have stripped them of their clothing because "I'm cold."

All this leads to the possible explanation that the female Homo sapiens sapiens is indeed an ectotherm and, thus, unable to regulate her internal temperature. Rather than controlling her internal temperatures, she instead controls her climatic environment, often to the detriment of the males of the species in the immediate area.

Note: An ectotherm is an animal that is unable to regulate its internal temperature independant of its environment. An endotherm such as the male of Homo sapiens sapiens regulates its internal temperature independant of the environment.

4 December 2009: Feast of St. Osmund of Salisbury, Crusaders capture Sidon 1110, Suttee outlawed by Raj 1829, Mary Celeste found abandoned 1872, Marine Raider Long Patrol - Guadalcanal 1942.

Sweetening the pot (okay, baiting the hook).

2009-12-01T03:01:00.001-05:00

From time to time, I'll be posting bits and pieces of works in progress. This one is from Chained Dogs:

On Heinzelmannchen

The Heinzelmannchen is a house spirit that oversees such things as household and barn cats properly controlling the local mouse population, the farm 's dogs keeping rabbits out of the garden and protecting the chicken coop, and keeping matches out of the hands of children. He is generally described as a small, fat man with brown or gray hair and may or may not have a beard. He accomplishes large amounts of work without appearing to seriously labor. He is generally friendly and very fond of beer (as one folklorist from Potsdam put it, "He's a damned Bavarian!"). He is one of the few such creatures to marry. The Heinzelfrau is a buxom female version of her spouse. Interestingly neither the Catholic nor Protestant Churches have taken a stand on the Heinzelmannchen.

Dr. Wolfgang Adalbert Murtz. Folklore of the Germanys: An exploration in rural belief. trans. Maria von Kurtz-Gunther. Munich: University Press, 1954. 397-398.

A number of characters in the Conrad Ritter cycle, of which Chained Dogs is a part, describe the sleuth from Upper Bavaria as a "Heinzelmannchen." (In my own case, a number of people, who should know better, have also referred to me as such.)

Review: (Note to FTC: I bought my own dang copy!)

Quest for Kim. Peter Hopkirk. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996.

Peter Hopkirk is one of the premier writers on the Great Game during the period of the Raj. For those unacquainted with this subject, this was the period roughly between 1830 and 1914 when Great Britain worried about Czarist Russia's encroachment on Central Asia. The fear that kept the lights burning late in White Hall and Simla (in the dry season) and Calcutta (in the rainy season) was that Russia would conquer Central Asia (the "Stans"), then conquer Afghanistan, build a railroad across them, and invade British India. The Great Game was the term for the intelligence war (a lukewarm one) played by both sides.

In his book, Quest for Kim, Hopkirk attempts to follow the path of Kipling's beloved hero ("protagonist" is much too weak a word for this adolescent) as depicted in Kim. He finds that while somethings, such as the people and the countryside are much the same, others such as the railroads and telecommunications have changed greatly. As a small example, in Lahore the gun, Zam-Zammah, on which we first meet Kim is still on its pedestal across from the "Wonder House," as the museum was called in the vernacular, to which Kim and the lama go (the lama to view the art treasures and Kim to eavesdrop). A fragment of the horse market where Kim takes the lama to meet Mahbub Ali, the Afghan horse dealer and master spy, still exists. On the other hand, Hopkirk discovers, in Pakistan, no one from president (or general) down to station master knows when the train leaves for the border or even if one runs there at all. Only one man in Lahore actually knows--the single ticket seller. This worthy is also able to tell Hopkirk why the phones in 1995 only ring but never answer in the Lahore railroad station--the phone bill wasn't paid by the railroad (a part of government) so service was turned off by the telecommunications system (also part of the government).

Quest for Kim is a wonderful mix of travel writing, history, and geography laced through with Hopkirk's general good humor. This is one Englishman who joins the mad dogs out in the noonday sun and provides great entertainment.

1 December 2009: Feast of St. Edmund Campion, actual bear Winnie the Pooh was named after by Milne donated to London Zoo 1919, opening day for Tundra Swan east of I 95 & south of Prince William/Stafford County lines.