Tag: a personal note

Progress on ‘The Temple’

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I’ve written half a dozen chapters of my new book, The Temple (No. 8 of my Bell Mountain series) and so far, so good. My wife and my editor think so, at least.

It’s so much more pleasant and fulfilling, doing this, than writing about the slow murder of my country at the hands of her ruling class. I sit outside in the springtime, with my pen and my legal pad, birds singing, flowers blooming: say a prayer, get to work, and before long, I’m in the land of Obann. Later my wife will ask me, “Didn’t you see, didn’t you hear” this or that–and I’ll have to admit I missed it. I was riding with Lord Chutt’s wagon-train full of gold, or following Helki as he spied on it.

Now, if only people would buy and read these books! Books can’t accomplish anything without readers.

Let me take this opportunity to angle tastelessly and vulgarly for readers’ comments on my books. Have they done anything for you at all–the few, the proud, who’ve actually read them?

I know–I sound like John D. MacDonald. Hundreds of thousands of readers loved his Travis McGee books; but at one point in his career, MacDonald didn’t know that, and went to the trouble of setting up a special post office box in hopes that his readers would write letters to him. His career turned out all right, didn’t it? But he was some time waiting for it–time which surely seemed a lot longer, to him and his wife, than it really was.

Minds Set in Cement?

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I wonder if it’s possible to convince anyone of anything that he doesn’t already want to believe.

I go on and on here about bogus Global Warming, creeping statism, and the defects of public education, among other things–but have I ever written anything that changed anybody’s mind? Probably not.

So how do minds get changed? I don’t know; but I’ll tell you about something that changed my mind in a big way, long ago.

Like most of who grew up in the 1950s and 60s, I came to view Science as an unadulterated blessing–minus the contributions of mad scientists you see in horror movies–and scientists as the most trustworthy people in America. The moon landing in 1969 seemed to confirm the faith we had in science.

Then I took a biology course in college.

Toward the end of the semester, after they’d covered everything else, the lecturers in the Rutgers Biology Dept. took some weeks to present their vision for the future–which to me looked like some kind of human ant-hill in which we would all be micro-managed by Experts in every sphere of life.

I wasn’t the only one in the class who didn’t like that vision. Boy, I wish I had those lectures on tape! Finally someone was moved to ask, “But what about freedom and individuality?”

To which the lecturer replied, “Those are obsolete concepts that must be engineered out of the system.”

That changed my mind about science. To this day I continue to suspect them of trying to make their vision a reality, with a little help from their friends in politics.

No one argued me out of my view of science. All I had to do was hear the lectures.

So maybe I haven’t convinced anyone of anything. All I can say is, I’ve given it a try. Also, I just have to protest some of this stuff or my head will explode.

My advice is simply this. Listen to what the big shots say, and watch what they do. Sooner or later some of you will realize what they’re up to.

Drinking from the Springs

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When I was a boy, we all used to drink from a spring that came bubbling out of the ground, a couple hundred yards from my house. People around the neighborhood used to come and fill bottles with the water. No one ever got sick.

The spring has been paved over. Gotta expand the school parking lot.

A little farther away there was another spring, a bigger one, in Roosevelt Park, a county park. My father used to send me there with half a dozen bottles at a time, in the 1970s. There would always be a crowd of people there. The water was pure and cold and delicious, and free.

I went to visit that spring yesterday. It’s still there; but for the first time ever, I found myself alone there. No one was getting any water. Maybe that’s because the County Water Dept. had posted signs all over the place, warning people “consume at your own risk: the source of this water is unknown and unprotected. We recommend boiling for a full two minutes before consuming.” In other words, they don’t know where the water originates from or how it gets to that precise spot in Roosevelt Park, and they don’t know whether it’s been tainted by pesticides or germs along the way.

The warning is certainly justified, but it’s a shame nonetheless. God gave the people in my neighborhood two springs of lovely drinking water, and one we’ve paved over and the other might be poisoned.

I know what actually happens when lib politicians–we don’t have any other kind, where I live–promise “to protect the environment.”

You’d better develop a taste for asphalt.

Goin’ Good (I Think)

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I don ‘t know why this should be, but whenever you actually start writing a book, all hell breaks loose. In my case, it’s family members, friends, and neighbors suddenly falling ill, the phone ringing off the hook, assignments getting backed up into each other…

Nevertheless, I have proceeded to get The Temple underway, I’ve done the first few chapters, and I think it’s shaping up just fine.

I like to work outside. I can’t now, because they’ve got leaf blowers going next door. The noise would be infuriating.

Oh, but it’s good to get back into these books!

No. 7 in the series, The Glass Bridge, is in the process of being edited. It needs a Kirk DouPonce cover, and I need to write a cover blurb. I can’t say when all that work will be finished and the book will be released. In the meantime, I hope some of you will have enjoyed The Palace enough to favor it with a nice customer review on amazon.com.

There oughta be a law allowing you to shoot people who are running leaf blowers.

A Nuisance Call

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Troubled by a spate of medical problems among the surviving members of my family, my face doesn’t exactly break into a delighted smile when the phone rings at night. It rang last night, and as I rushed across the room to answer it, I thought, “What now?”

“Hello? Hello?” Was this another one of those wretched calls in which the party at the other end of the line never speaks? But then:

“Hello! This is Maggie from Veeblefetzer Caribbean Cruises! Are you hearing me all right?”

Fooey! I just hung up.

Yeah, yeah–of course I’m going to buy a Caribbean cruise from some joker on the phone. Here, here’s my credit card number. Wait, I’ll give you the numbers of all my cards and let you take your pick. Oh, and here’s my Social Security number, too?

Naw, I ain’t worried about identity theft. In fact, I’m due to get a great big wad of money from some guy in Nigeria who wants me to receive his inheritance for him. He’s gonna deposit it directly in my bank account, so I gave him my account number.

See you in Aruba!

An Easter Message

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And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions: and also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit. Joel 2:28-29

For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God. For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent. I Corinthians 1:18-19

Go, tell the nations:

He is risen.

Great Babylon burns,

for He is risen.

The lost are recovered, the broken are mended, the righteous who were slain for righteousness are avenged,

for He is risen.

Creation is restored:

He is risen.

God the Father wipes away all tears, and we are risen, too:

for He is risen. Amen.

At the Doctor’s Office

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I had to go to the eye doctor today, for a 10:00 appointment. I was on time, so naturally I had to wait for an hour or so as people strolled in late for their 9:00 appointments and got pushed right to the top of the line.

Does it seem wrong to you, as it does to me, to reward people who come in late and punish those who come on time? More culture rot.

As if that weren’t bad enough, they had The View on television. That show really bugs me.

They had Morgan Freeman come on to plug his new movie. The guy is as old as the freakin’ Parthenon, and yet he comes out with earrings in his ears. I couldn’t help thinking, “You old ass, you.”

They asked him about another movie in which he played God, and he took the opportunity to dispense a bit of pop theology. It wasn’t at all hard to play God, he said: anyone could do it. Why? Because, he explained, “Each and every one of us is God.”

Sheesh. Personally, I’d be rather stuck if I had to create the heavens and the earth. Maybe he knows how to do it, although I doubt it.

I wonder how much you get paid for coming on TV and blathering.

Why Did Columbo Wear a Raincoat?

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Rest on the Sabbath day–whichever day you recognize as the Sabbath–and be at peace. The Lord will fight for us.

So I lay down my sword for a day, and to demonstrate my peaceful intentions, write about Columbo, of all things.

Peter Falk’s humble detective, placatory body-language and all, was a huge hit in the 1970s. In fact, it was an international hit. We watched some episodes on Amazon Prime. For some reason, I didn’t see that much of Columbo when it was fresh and new on TV.

Well, it’s still fresh and new, and watching it 40 years later, I feel like I haven’t missed a thing. We’ve ordered several seasons’ worth of episodes for our library.

By comparison with what we have today, it’s hard to believe American TV ever generated anything as good as Columbo. But that’s what you get when you’ve got a great star who’s really into his role, guests stars who are esteemed professional actors, great scripts, original music by top composers, and spectacular sets.

Not only that: but the plot of any Columbo episode is a fairy tale as old as man himself. Big-shot villain, smart, rich, powerful, good-looking, thinks he can do anything he pleases, even murder–and this little guy in a shabby raincoat brings him down. Yeah! Give me more of that!

Just don’t ask me why Columbo wears a raincoat all the time (and I do mean all the time), when he lives in Los Angeles. Maybe it’s to clue us in that this prosaic little cop with his crummy car and his ridiculous raincoat… is not a human being at all, but rather an avenging angel who does the job that Nemesis and the Furies used to do in pagan mythology.

Whoa! Did I just figure something out? Betcha I did.

Let Us Give Thanks

Father in heaven, we are grateful to you that none of our fellow citizens was killed in that showdown in Nevada, this past week. We are a long way from knowing the true story of the incident, but we do know that no blood has been shed.

O Lord, who has given us our freedoms–which we make such poor use of, to our shame–guard our freedoms for us from those who would take them away. Amen.

I’ve Started My Next Book

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Just so you know, yesterday I went back to Obann to clean up the mess I left at the end of Book. No. 7, The Glass Bridge. This one, No. 8, I’ve entitled The Temple.

Oh, how good it is to be back!

Here’s what I’ve started with: a title, certain things that the general arc of the story requires, a cast of characters, and a few scenes which I can see in my mind’s eye and which I hope I can write up to be as compelling as I imagine them. Beyond that, I trust in the Lord my God to take my hand and lead me. May He give me the story that He wants me to tell, and no other.

A Unique Storyteller Who Deserves to be Remembered

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As promised, here I am today, writing about L.P. Davies, one of the all-time cool writers. My wife and I discovered his books in our local library back in the 1970s, when he was still writing them, and became instant fans.

But you know how libraries are. Ours stopped buying L.P. Davies’ books, and then the ones it had started disappearing from the shelves, one by one. Our library has no books by L.P. Davies anymore. I suspect this has happened elsewhere. If not for the Internet, by now there might be no sign that this writer had ever existed.

What was so cool about him? Well, his stories are impossible to pigeonhole. He freely mixed science fiction, supernatural horror, and psychology to come up with plots and situations like no one else’s. His stock in trade included contagious dreams, amnesia, telepathy, persons on different planets sharing the same identity–very far-out stuff. And he could make it work because he was a skilled storyteller, able to create believable and interesting characters, lively dialogue, and realistic settings.

Thanks to online resources like amazon.com and Alibris, it has become possible to get L.P. Davies’ books at reasonable prices. We’ve just acquired The Lampton Dreamers. Other titles I’d like to get include Psychogeist, Give Me Back Myself, and What Did I Do Tomorrow?

Finding out about Davies himself is a bit trickier. Some of the information given on his books’ dust jackets wasn’t true. One researcher was unable to find out whether Davies had actually died on any of the dates given by various sources, or was still alive. The story of his search for “the real L.P. Davies”–in the end he had to hire a private detective–is told in “L.P. Davies: International Man of Mystery, Author and… Gift Shop Owner” (http://www.trashface.com/lpdavies.html ). This short piece makes for fascinating reading, and I heartily recommend it.

Why all the confusion? Why are we sometimes reduced to trying to deduce things about this man by studying his picture on the dust jacket?

I have a very strong suspicion that L.P. Davies was having a bit of fun with us!