tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17732699985010033452024-03-12T21:33:00.408-06:00J Fogg BlogUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-37956684147242763122019-01-30T09:21:00.001-07:002019-01-30T17:16:03.928-07:00Please click on my website for future blog posts!Thank you for visiting!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-10355893358898710482019-01-30T08:50:00.001-07:002019-01-30T08:50:36.275-07:00"Clouds", a poem by Philip Levine. Photo by Richard Fogg.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipI9ULiJZHXjWB0beQZGozz9YPCMtxxR9GtY7xVOZcYKwFeHl8ScDNeyNbCR6t2Z6hoMjgkest08DGXyI1KBApJ7agSZc0NGXxlgkpbAkdgAQG60u818Y-AoSzHB9uviTdHxGUUkW3MNE/s1600/sunklwdz+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipI9ULiJZHXjWB0beQZGozz9YPCMtxxR9GtY7xVOZcYKwFeHl8ScDNeyNbCR6t2Z6hoMjgkest08DGXyI1KBApJ7agSZc0NGXxlgkpbAkdgAQG60u818Y-AoSzHB9uviTdHxGUUkW3MNE/s400/sunklwdz+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Dawn. First light tearing </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">at the rough tongues of the zinnias, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">at the leaves of the just born. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Today it will rain. On the road </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">black cars are abandoned, but the clouds </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">ride above, their wisdom intact. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">They are predictions. They never matter. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The jet fighters lift above the flat roofs, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">black arrowheads trailing their future.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">When the night comes small fires go out. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Blood runs to the heart and finds it locked. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Morning is exhaustion, tranquilizers, gasoline, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">the screaming of frozen bearings, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">the failures ofwill, the TV talking to itself </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The clouds go on eating oil, cigars, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">housewives, sighing letters, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">the breath of lies. In their great silent pockets </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">they carry off all our dead. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The clouds collect until there's no sky. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">A boat slips its moorings and drifts </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">toward the open sea, turning and turning. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The moon bends to the canal and bathes </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">her torn lips, and the earth goes on </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">giving off her angers and sighs </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">and who knows or cares except these </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">breathing the first rains, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">the last rivers running over iron. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">You cut an apple in two pieces </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">and ate them both. In the rain </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">the door knocked and you dreamed it. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">On bad roads the poor walked under cardboard boxes. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The houses are angry because they're watched. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">A soldier wants to talk with God </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">but his mouth fills with lost tags. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The clouds have seen it all, in the dark </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">they pass over the graves of the forgotten </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">and they don't cry or whisper. </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">They should be punished every morning, </span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">they should be bitten and boiled like spoons. </span></div>
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~ Philip Levine</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-57654458197177141662019-01-28T08:46:00.000-07:002019-01-28T08:46:46.177-07:00Photo by Richard Fogg. Poem excerpt by Charles G. D. Roberts.<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
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High through the drenched and hollow night their wings<br />Beat northward hard on winter’s trail. The sound<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />Of their confused and solemn voices, borne<br />Athwart the dark to their long arctic morn,<br />Comes with a sanction and an awe profound,<br />A boding of unknown, foreshadowed things.</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">Photo by Richard Fogg. </span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">Poem excerpt by Charles G. D. Roberts.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-78829056486623867582019-01-15T08:45:00.002-07:002019-01-15T08:45:38.952-07:00RMFW's It's a Book!It's my pleasure to manage creation of the <i>It's a Book!</i> mailer for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. New books to read! New worlds to visit. There's (almost) nothing better!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkd9jFhNf6ngzpSuwzk3tjzI4kTFjBaTuE2J72wxg2xk9wFtr33JoOljxAOM4TjldJvyMtwDmq6vUeqXuBE2dBuDQfLfqnT-Tz3i8mo7y-cX2BRgbNyUZ5AWXBgjH63kWcAt5b7x8DwE/s1600/Its+a+Book+Jan+2019+pg+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkd9jFhNf6ngzpSuwzk3tjzI4kTFjBaTuE2J72wxg2xk9wFtr33JoOljxAOM4TjldJvyMtwDmq6vUeqXuBE2dBuDQfLfqnT-Tz3i8mo7y-cX2BRgbNyUZ5AWXBgjH63kWcAt5b7x8DwE/s400/Its+a+Book+Jan+2019+pg+1.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtObO8Lrh1zbgCYErj5cp4GSQCmT6mB-K2DlESpdQiD94BERTFBfEUpvz9PL4oNQDarK6qEV6NSFeM3peE0vxYCOBemTZSwGJW9z0iZCp-Yn9SBc3iJtxU4Kq291ioaQfOuLGjNc1GYY/s1600/Its+a+Book+Jan+2019+pg+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtObO8Lrh1zbgCYErj5cp4GSQCmT6mB-K2DlESpdQiD94BERTFBfEUpvz9PL4oNQDarK6qEV6NSFeM3peE0vxYCOBemTZSwGJW9z0iZCp-Yn9SBc3iJtxU4Kq291ioaQfOuLGjNc1GYY/s400/Its+a+Book+Jan+2019+pg+2.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-28572909267904472452019-01-08T08:30:00.000-07:002019-01-08T08:30:09.812-07:00Jinxed? (It's not good to be an iynx.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1jiKtFrg7eSWiIVPqLy6xEz8HxXi7-5m8wv1Fiwk_pMuQhOVhE9XVAG9EWZloh0pjojlHfQ3yKJcUaO7nzga9qxK05ViR1wmpwzrtzajlfZrqj4i-IY6oGXYcCgAnRZPgnPRYlThNUY/s1600/Jynx_torquilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="930" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1jiKtFrg7eSWiIVPqLy6xEz8HxXi7-5m8wv1Fiwk_pMuQhOVhE9XVAG9EWZloh0pjojlHfQ3yKJcUaO7nzga9qxK05ViR1wmpwzrtzajlfZrqj4i-IY6oGXYcCgAnRZPgnPRYlThNUY/s200/Jynx_torquilla.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
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Shades of Linda Blair!<br />
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The origin of the word jinx isn’t clear, but there’s speculation that it might
come from iynx, a wryneck bird that’s able to twist its head around 180 degrees
while hissing like a snake. Historically, the poor bird has also been used for
divination and magic. Steaming entrails, I assume. It’s not good to be an iynx.<br />
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As a writer, I often emulate an iynx. My head spins regularly, plus
I'm rather good at hissing. Fortunately, my entrails have thus far remained
where they belong, though in honor of all things macabre we could pause to discuss
evisceration in more detail. But I digress...<br />
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I sometime wonder whether I’ve jinxed myself by doing or not doing
certain things, though I hope I’ll never act like certain baseball players
whose actions often amuse and sometimes irritate me. Let’s see, before I touch
the keyboard I need to spit, adjust my right sleeve, wipe my forehead, tug on
the brim of my baseball cap, wipe my forehead again, tug the brim one more time,
then inhale and exhale slowly. Whew! Now it's safe to start writing!
Right? Maybe not.<br />
<br />
But I do have a few superstitions. (Don’t worry, no steaming entrails.) One of
my superstitions is that if I'm in query mode, I want to have at least
eight queries out. For me, eight is luckier than three or seven.
Does that make me feel as if I'm in control? Yes. Isn’t that good,
especially when there's so much we can't control in this crazy business?<br />
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How about you? Do superstitions influence your writing day?</div>
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Janet</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-82961117065787284312019-01-04T09:22:00.001-07:002019-01-04T09:25:50.604-07:00Excerpt from a poem by Ted Hughes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxshyphenhyphenkOPAYoWWdH2y00mtvDBWdJdgsAwrsRSvp_4Kkgd-up0t2DrZXfwupBSKn-MuPEC-99AvRMcDOeDvKxmZzSqH_W878Nwbcb0u-3trJAj6aJQTD-ugIhZJpKneLKtBlxjWgr54n8M/s1600/3+hors+riz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="1600" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxshyphenhyphenkOPAYoWWdH2y00mtvDBWdJdgsAwrsRSvp_4Kkgd-up0t2DrZXfwupBSKn-MuPEC-99AvRMcDOeDvKxmZzSqH_W878Nwbcb0u-3trJAj6aJQTD-ugIhZJpKneLKtBlxjWgr54n8M/s400/3+hors+riz.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Richard Fogg</td></tr>
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I listened in emptiness on the moor-ridge.</div>
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The curlew’s tear turned its edge on the silence.</div>
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Slowly detail leafed from the darkness. Then the sun<br />
Orange, red, red erupted</div>
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Silently, and splitting to its core tore and flung cloud,<br />
Shook the gulf open, showed blue,</div>
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And the big planets hanging—<br />
I turned</div>
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Stumbling in the fever of a dream, down towards<br />
The dark woods, from the kindling tops,</div>
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And came to the horses.<br />
There, still they stood,<br />
But now steaming and glistening under the flow of light,</div>
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Their draped stone manes, their tilted hind-hooves<br />
Stirring under a thaw while all around them</div>
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The frost showed its fires. But still they made no sound.<br />
Not one snorted or stamped,</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Their hung heads patient as the horizons,<br />
High over valleys in the red levelling rays—</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
In din of crowded streets, going among the years, the faces,<br />
May I still meet my memory in so lonely a place</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Between the streams and red clouds, hearing the curlews,<br />
Hearing the horizons endure.</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-8182460661057135812019-01-01T07:30:00.000-07:002019-01-01T07:30:07.716-07:00Listen... by Adelaide Crapsey<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQA-91_WGnN2mNjRcVv2v6jYvcM4UY6tZg4_EvIWWVGyDJtl4wgArDqXJH9DGA3q8-P10P-CgR7YQC-nYaLxnhfrmSOsiThbx6uau-SKIj_AI9ERY8MCifu1ZSSM68dpHsaULSMUeE_Q/s1600/11224676_10201141719621884_8696369490404436926_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="960" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQA-91_WGnN2mNjRcVv2v6jYvcM4UY6tZg4_EvIWWVGyDJtl4wgArDqXJH9DGA3q8-P10P-CgR7YQC-nYaLxnhfrmSOsiThbx6uau-SKIj_AI9ERY8MCifu1ZSSM68dpHsaULSMUeE_Q/s400/11224676_10201141719621884_8696369490404436926_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">Listen...</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">With faint dry sound, </span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Like steps of passing ghosts, </span><br />
<span style="background: white;">The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the
trees </span><br />
<span style="background: white;">And fall.<br />
<span class="textexposedshow">~ <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Adelaide</st1:place></st1:city>
Crapsey</span><br />
<br />
<span class="textexposedshow">Photo by Richard Fogg<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-57433228043188787412018-12-28T09:00:00.000-07:002018-12-28T09:00:04.208-07:00Howard FoggYesterday I ran across this video about my late father-in-law, Howard Fogg. It was so lovely to hear Foo's voice, and see him at his desk and in the studio.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Trainman Glenn. Nicely done.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/w2TMmjJCtcA/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/w2TMmjJCtcA?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-12569954034122074172018-12-25T08:30:00.000-07:002018-12-25T08:30:03.437-07:00The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart, a poem by Jack Gilbert<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLLCp_kjoVqTRRQV-ZP48GHQVmrLlAupRL32vDtwnvOci7nymmcO3MPucwyOWonJhV1ItTVkateeh5_Ud-uDIbxi8lcWdY0urydA4gPFQQy4K7BdKwijlR9pDhBj8lgsSIZCDryZ-bjw/s1600/15665938_10202578039208976_535944838654176014_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="960" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLLCp_kjoVqTRRQV-ZP48GHQVmrLlAupRL32vDtwnvOci7nymmcO3MPucwyOWonJhV1ItTVkateeh5_Ud-uDIbxi8lcWdY0urydA4gPFQQy4K7BdKwijlR9pDhBj8lgsSIZCDryZ-bjw/s400/15665938_10202578039208976_535944838654176014_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">to which nation. French has no word for home,</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people<br />in northern India is dying out because their ancient<br />tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost<br />vocabularies that might express some of what<br />we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would<br />finally explain why the couples on their tombs<br />are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands<br />of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,<br />they seemed to be business records. But what if they<br />are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve<br />Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.<br />O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,<br />as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind’s labor.<br />Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts<br />of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred<br />pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what<br />my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this<br />desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script<br />is not language but a map. What we feel most has<br />no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.<br />~ Jack Gilbert.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Photo by Richard Fogg</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-26273654104444734712018-12-21T08:30:00.000-07:002018-12-21T08:30:05.404-07:00Don’t Circle the Wagons<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vaF5QqVoogkzNM7aMjbOSkuevBoU7GpWfsWE8q8C0bWGKC8rK37DZG_sdypldOhSjd8DfbSA-3LrtuGGItmHoMJp5wQjhJY38FGQW0q0cm2yOkKL5tOqHSHGcG38x7PLTlo5gZAX0xU/s1600/wagon-48633_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1235" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vaF5QqVoogkzNM7aMjbOSkuevBoU7GpWfsWE8q8C0bWGKC8rK37DZG_sdypldOhSjd8DfbSA-3LrtuGGItmHoMJp5wQjhJY38FGQW0q0cm2yOkKL5tOqHSHGcG38x7PLTlo5gZAX0xU/s200/wagon-48633_1280.png" width="192" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #29303b;">…and don’t beat around
the bush. (Okay, maybe I should also
mention not using clichés, but that’s not what this is about.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #29303b;">Here’s what it IS about, a
sentence I read last week in a book that shall remain nameless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #29303b;">“He started to light the
fire.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #29303b;">He started? Did he scrape a match on sandpaper? Did he flick his Bic? Did he rub two sticks together? Is he amorous? I had no clue. Yes, of course I understood
what the author was saying and given the context of the sentence within the
paragraph and chapter I even knew there was kindling and a fire pit involved,
but the opportunity to be specific about the main character’s action was
completely lost, so whatever the author envisioned for that moment was also
lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #29303b;">Was it important? Turns out, it was. His lighting the fire was a precursor for
things to come. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: #29303b; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t circle around what you want to say; come
out and say it directly. Help your reader move through the story effortlessly and
without "starting" distractions.</span><br />
<span style="color: #29303b; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #29303b; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-18657636054999834282018-12-18T14:47:00.001-07:002018-12-18T14:55:55.466-07:00Clumpy rides again!If you've been curious about my cartoon header, Clumpy is the rascal of a pup portrayed in
the cartoon, created in the 1940s by Howard Fogg, my mischievous father-in-law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clumpy often visited the drawing board for family events, when Howard took time off from his railroad art to create a
special gift for Margot, my darling mother-in-law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the blessings of my husband, I
edited the doorway text of this February 14, 1947 cartoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dick said it would have pleased his father to
no end that I'm sharing Clumpy with you!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-85129710162364349222018-12-14T09:41:00.004-07:002018-12-14T09:41:56.022-07:00Rejection angst? Try my Rule of Ten!<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnbRouud8o0y1w0LIxAzp-n8cqsyOSgXDdR4KE6EaiFPO1qLXsm2396dmvmXyXBt2aHaXmX0dUl7f6hxF6UlpBMsx3MYqcrRJ05R816_Q281cMi2iiMO278aGmeWU_8zL49f724_2tbk/s1600/feet-93818_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnbRouud8o0y1w0LIxAzp-n8cqsyOSgXDdR4KE6EaiFPO1qLXsm2396dmvmXyXBt2aHaXmX0dUl7f6hxF6UlpBMsx3MYqcrRJ05R816_Q281cMi2iiMO278aGmeWU_8zL49f724_2tbk/s200/feet-93818_1280.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Years ago, after struggling with repeated rejection angst, I developed my Rule
of Ten (Minutes). At first it was a Rule of One (Day). But as my skin thickened
and I started to believe the agents I spoke with at conferences, when they
explained that they repeatedly reject worthy books because that book “just
wasn’t right for them,” I shortened that day to one hour, and ultimately, to
ten minutes.<br />
<br />
Here’s the rule: If I receive a rejection, I can wallow in self pity, pull my
hair, wail, rip the rejection to shreds, burn it, whatever soothes my soul, but
only for ten minutes. Then I’m done. Fini. Minute eleven finds me pressing the
“send” button on a new query.<br />
<br />
This does require some preparation. I have to know who is next on my list.
(Heh!) I have to be certain they’re currently accepting queries and passionate
about my genre. I have to keep my query letter fresh. Plus, if I’m away from my
“home” computer, I have to have the discipline to not open an email from an
agent or editor until I’m poised for action and ready to react at minute
eleven.<br />
<br />
While this might sound like a game, and perhaps it is, the Rule of Ten works.
On minute eleven, optimism reigns yet again. My new query is off and this new
agent or editor might love my work. I might receive a great offer!<br />
<br />
But let’s get back to coping with a potential rejection. Yes, when a writer
offers their beloved novel to an agent or editor, we are handing them part of
our soul and rejection is painful. But remind yourself, a query is a business
letter, as is the dreaded rejection letter. Sure, a standard “form” rejection
that’s been used thousands of times might feel more like a kick in the gut than
business as usual, but if we had to read and respond to 500 queries a week,
every week, it might seem more logical and less hurtful.<br />
<br />
With the Rule of Ten firmly in place, and after numerous rejections, what
ultimately evolved was that I no longer needed even ten minutes to wallow and
mope. Yes, I often experienced a pang or two, but my Rule of Ten kept me
positive and enthusiastic about getting published. And it worked!<br />
<br />
While I’m not blasé about receiving rejection letters, by sending another query
at minute eleven, I know I’ll have new hope. I then type happily onward rather
than beating my breast for weeks and vowing never to send another query. Or
worse yet, vowing to abandon all hope and never write again. In the next few
weeks, when I again begin to send out queries, I shall apply my Rule of Ten.
Who’s with me?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-9526190480686006402018-12-07T08:15:00.001-07:002018-12-07T08:16:09.698-07:00A Serenade to Die ForFour and five star reviews from NetGalley readers for <i><a href="https://www.netgalley.com/catalog/book/114194" target="_blank">A Serenade to Die For</a></i>. Thank you all, so much!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElrhpf_JS_o726M_3WzBomvurPpCTL6edXDLai820iE9jqkRfzidMKA2sjS5_kYNv8maBy3ZA7fEmXTRP68DpdWuK-1k4QieemkrX3S35gamoSMKXDqXNsmaW9Jo-ISv73PQ9CdOVKFo/s1600/Serenade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElrhpf_JS_o726M_3WzBomvurPpCTL6edXDLai820iE9jqkRfzidMKA2sjS5_kYNv8maBy3ZA7fEmXTRP68DpdWuK-1k4QieemkrX3S35gamoSMKXDqXNsmaW9Jo-ISv73PQ9CdOVKFo/s320/Serenade.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
5 Stars: Right from the first page I was sucked in. It was impossible to put down. Loads of twists and turns right to the end to keep the reader intrigued and turning pages! Definitely recommend this book. ~ Brid C Reviewer<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-7422714320751408812018-11-30T09:00:00.000-07:002018-12-04T09:23:20.599-07:00Height of Deception!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.3 !important; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<strong style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><u><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07KBF6656/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i4" target="_blank">Available now!</a></u></strong></h1>
<div>
<strong style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></strong></div>
<div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-top: -4px; padding: 0px;">
<strong>In a modern world of corporate greed, rabid activists, and murder, ancient Hopi spirits might have the final say.</strong></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-top: -4px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCuwXIKOnkZlXHHP8uA6wZsyKGYBBBNi9wSVJnwQfFqfHbUzG3nLEYvSYa_EbqHHYys1JQK12fRrSBdmK5vTtlFDo5SXDq1LWyp6sSd-9zyjqZNd07JmKf3_fKkKwsjt0yTYWpNu_TBSg/s1600/HeightsDeception_CVR_LRG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCuwXIKOnkZlXHHP8uA6wZsyKGYBBBNi9wSVJnwQfFqfHbUzG3nLEYvSYa_EbqHHYys1JQK12fRrSBdmK5vTtlFDo5SXDq1LWyp6sSd-9zyjqZNd07JmKf3_fKkKwsjt0yTYWpNu_TBSg/s200/HeightsDeception_CVR_LRG.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Everything Nora Abbott has struggled to achieve is now within her grasp. After a divisive four-year court battle she’s been granted the right to make snow at her beloved mountain resort, guaranteeing financial prosperity and hopefully saving her failing marriage. But when her husband is found murdered on the mountain, suspicion turns to Nora.</span><br />
<br />
After failing to save her husband and desperate to protect her mother and a Hopi teen, Nora throws herself into the deadly crossfire between environmentalists, Native Americans, and big business.<br />
<br />
Allies become enemies and friends are suspect. Even the spirits of the mountain seem pitted against her. Can Nora save herself, the mountain, and the people she loves?<br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>Height of Deception</em> is the first in the Nora Abbott mysteries, all dealing with the mystic Hopi, environmental issues, and murder. If you like Tony Hillerman, William Kent Krueger, and Margaret Coel, you’ll love this series. Pick up <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Height-Deception-Nora-Abbott-mystery-ebook/dp/B07KBF6656/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&qid=1543326890&sr=8-1&keywords=height+of+deception&linkCode=ll1&tag=shann4-20&linkId=eb264fa282e1ba61cd2a13982c771f99&language=en_US&fbclid=IwAR0B9cMKhIRsGpswrCJCUL7Ntnju_wcsuDxFV9KBa649APm9zDzfrn2cw9s" target="_blank">Height of Deception</a></em> today and start the adventure!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-top: -4px; padding: 0px;">
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>“Baker’s series debut brings Native American culture and big business together into a clash that can be heard across the mountains.”</strong> Library Journal</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-top: -4px; padding: 0px;">
<br />
This book was originally titled <em>Tainted Mountain</em>.<br />
<br />
------------<br />
<br />
But wait, there's more!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkZunULRB9HwiiHEuMI4TptIezyv8V_jQBnWjaHHLGYe58Eahk40Fh5vUkBJw5g_eZkBMXjbsvsnUAv_boHjEePCW861Uj7fUlIxD9Ld0ja_b956U27RjRcXz3CSszbhjRcmNNqq_ICs/s1600/Skies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkZunULRB9HwiiHEuMI4TptIezyv8V_jQBnWjaHHLGYe58Eahk40Fh5vUkBJw5g_eZkBMXjbsvsnUAv_boHjEePCW861Uj7fUlIxD9Ld0ja_b956U27RjRcXz3CSszbhjRcmNNqq_ICs/s200/Skies.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
Book 2, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07KMMV2X3/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i8" target="_blank"><i>Skies of Fire</i>, launches December 4th!</a><br />
<br />
<br />
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<i>"A thoroughly satisfying mystery!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nora Abbott is a fiery and tenacious
sleuth."</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>~<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Margaret Coel, New York Times bestselling
author of the <st1:place w:st="on">Wind River</st1:place> mystery series</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3aRozciPS86HRabeXwhSMhIftNeE_G_z-TZXm_Tz03JYTZECSJUV5DdFb8KSxmshxkNLw2KiTWCHA9IxisauZp7lqbZNZz12Ofq-pwPlZKnaNpL8MV95BSvC5SCKz3Lwjld9oRqCpKY/s1600/Canyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3aRozciPS86HRabeXwhSMhIftNeE_G_z-TZXm_Tz03JYTZECSJUV5DdFb8KSxmshxkNLw2KiTWCHA9IxisauZp7lqbZNZz12Ofq-pwPlZKnaNpL8MV95BSvC5SCKz3Lwjld9oRqCpKY/s200/Canyon.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
And on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Canyon-Lies-Nora-Abbott-mystery-ebook/dp/B07KJT1X5L/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1543506980&sr=8-1&keywords=canyon+of+lies+baker" target="_blank">December 11th, <i>Canyon of Lies</i></a> will be available to round out the trio! Pre-order Books 2 and 3 now!<br />
<br />
<i>"Shannon Baker offers readers a deft mix of both important contemporary issues and the timeless spiritual traditions of the Hopi."</i> ~ William Kent Krueger, New York Times bestselling author of Ordinary Grace<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-12144981927010675362018-11-27T07:23:00.000-07:002018-11-27T07:23:01.568-07:00How do I love three? Let me count the ways.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQExq9sqv6cUwkj-J-kUcbO646PBZyWm9aWPMGwq1DxnqYjT3CZtQ0nvyq19uPC2jh5pp1wxIV6Klv1dTBaehU9pH0jFjDg44h_62UdnjfzoLYA1WHbVAvqtTbGIEzvE18QewVmthyphenhyphenrk/s1600/teddy-bear-2855982_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQExq9sqv6cUwkj-J-kUcbO646PBZyWm9aWPMGwq1DxnqYjT3CZtQ0nvyq19uPC2jh5pp1wxIV6Klv1dTBaehU9pH0jFjDg44h_62UdnjfzoLYA1WHbVAvqtTbGIEzvE18QewVmthyphenhyphenrk/s200/teddy-bear-2855982_1920.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I love three to the depth and breadth and… maybe not <b>that</b> much.<br />
<br />
But there is a lot of love for three. The Three Stooges. The Three Little Pigs.
Musketeers. Kings. Bears. Billy Goats. Wicked Stepsisters. Mice. Three, three,
three. I could go on and on.<br />
<br />
Let’s start with the Rule of Three. It goes way back. Think about storytelling
from Aristotle’s Poetics. A beginning, middle, and end. A progression that
creates tension, escalates tension, and then offers a satisfying release. Whew!<br />
<br />
Syd Field suggests a three-act structure for screenwriting that’s a simple
outline for any storytelling. Setup, confrontation, and resolution punctuated
by two plot points or reversals. The first reversal is an event that sends the
protagonist on a new pathway. The second is a major event that makes everything
look impossible. Works for me.<br />
<br />
Giving a speech? Max Atkinson offers examples on the use of three-part phrases,
or “claptraps,” to evoke a response in the audience, in his book Our
Masters’ Voices. Ah, claptraps, when your speech or story makes an audience
applaud.<br />
<br />
Tell me a name three times and I’ll likely remember it. Tell me once, maybe
not. So if you need to emphasize an idea, tell me three times or use three
adjectives.<br />
<br />
Then there are all sorts of slogans. “Location, location, location.” “Go,
fight, win!” “Veni, vidi, vici.”<br />
<br />
Aren’t descriptions more effective in threes? Think of a “three dog night.” On
cold nights indigenous Australians would sleep in a hole in the ground
embracing a dingo. On colder nights they’d sleep with two dingoes, and if the
night was raw and freezing it was a “three dog night.” (Or a 1965 band.) But
pause for a moment and picture your hero shivering in that deep, cold hole
you’ve dug. You want your readers to shiver with him, exhale frosty breath.
What's going to best describe that bone-aching cold? One dingo or three?<br />
<br />
Now let me think, how many times does Jack climb the beanstalk? On the count of
three, let’s all say it together. One. Two. THREE!</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-88751109592560902162018-11-23T09:00:00.000-07:002018-11-23T11:42:35.396-07:00Fogg in the Cockpit 4-star review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdM84-fRowTxaD23K6Gsisr-UnYnTgXoG9HBLv_Jiff-hfjMWxw81u5n-DMJFwlogxE9m7neq2kgBgDTl16wwUmo2pIxCEbYPu-WcZiTmDWGlvzEzDM6aaW73gEzhtARZwB3C0yC3AgY/s1600/Fogg+in+the+Cockpit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1076" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdM84-fRowTxaD23K6Gsisr-UnYnTgXoG9HBLv_Jiff-hfjMWxw81u5n-DMJFwlogxE9m7neq2kgBgDTl16wwUmo2pIxCEbYPu-WcZiTmDWGlvzEzDM6aaW73gEzhtARZwB3C0yC3AgY/s200/Fogg+in+the+Cockpit.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>
Thank you so much, for your Amazon <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R3VE236HRHMP00/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B005AUG53G" target="_blank">review</a> of Fogg in the Cockpit, entitled "Up Close and Personal," Erl!<br />
<br />
<i>"Howard Fogg wrote a diary during his time in the Army Air Corps in 1943-1944. It began in the US during training and progressed until near the time of the completion of his combat flying in the fall of 1944. Although predictably boring in one regard, it’s fascinating in so many ways. Insight into the ordinary of a guy first flying P-47’s and then P-51’s naturally includes the extraordinary. Fogg was not an ace (I don’t remember him getting any kills) but he was a trusted flight leader, good at keeping his element or section in formation, good at bombing and good at strafing. He lost many friends but protected himself for the most part by being matter of fact about the losses. How hard that must have been. The air war unfolds in these pages slowly, punctuated by bad weather, visits to London and painting. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> "Fogg’s an outstanding painter and we’re fortunate that some of his wartime works are included in the book so well put together by his son Richard and Richard’s wife Janet. More than that, at the end of the book, they include a couple dozen paintings from his long career painting locomotives and trains. Most are quite stunning. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> "The book narrative is well illustrated with excellent photographs of his squadron mates. It’s a pleasure to see who he has mentioned in his diary. Also, interspersed with the diary entries and photos are Headquarters 359th Group monthly historical summaries. While they are interesting, they’re not “that” interesting. Probably because I have a fairly good knowledge of the 8th air force’s activities during Fogg’s period flying with them, I found these chapters tedious. For many, I’m certain, they’ll provide worthwhile context to what Fogg and his buddies were doing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"All in all, thank you Captain Fogg."
</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-41523474348313446812018-11-20T08:30:00.000-07:002018-11-20T08:30:05.948-07:00I Cut My Finger on the Mashed Potatoes!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho04Tbf31oCG60kmg0ZNRJmpUhUBB_2gmgWUOgc_wfJuFosPj7VQwYYVppEBQovN4fYn1OSkOaDW5bIdjT2zOrwR7MRAdRih2R8Qeeo2uJP6GjdTcha1ymdUUPeRO42DwktD_lIuTtSxg/s1600/potatoes-3119211_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho04Tbf31oCG60kmg0ZNRJmpUhUBB_2gmgWUOgc_wfJuFosPj7VQwYYVppEBQovN4fYn1OSkOaDW5bIdjT2zOrwR7MRAdRih2R8Qeeo2uJP6GjdTcha1ymdUUPeRO42DwktD_lIuTtSxg/s200/potatoes-3119211_1920.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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To be honest, I didn’t cut my finger on the mashed
potatoes, but my cousin Susan did, and she graciously gave me permission to share her turn of phrase when she posted the comment a few years ago. <br />
<br />
Turns of phrase that capture our attention might resonate for decades within
our hearts. I’ll often read a sentence or quote that immediately triggers a
response, one where I might be thrust through time, travel to a different
world, envision the lives of characters in books, or remember a vivid
conversation. <br />
<br />
My cousin’s phrase is distinctive, and if I used it in a novel I might then
explain that she really did cut her finger. She’d allowed the potatoes to dry
in the pan and the crusted edge of potato sliced her finger, made it bleed.
Would I go into that much detail in a book? Probably. Would I need to? It
depends. <br />
<br />
Larry Schafer wrote, “She’s learning to breathe thru her feet.” Reading that, I
paused for a long moment to consider what he meant. How in the heck do you
breathe through your feet? I still don’t know, yet that phrase has stayed with
me, as has his name. <br />
<br />
Then there’s one that I can’t attach a name to, though I wish I could. “She
looked like a hen in a fit.” Can’t you hear the fuss, envision the flapping as
a cloud of dust filters through the air? <br />
<br />
“Regular old cough drop she is, too,” from Georgette Rougier. No further
description is needed. I can see the old woman quite well, hear her querulous
voice. <br />
<br />
“His brain is as large as a pimple on a flea.” A gentleman named Sam made me
laugh out loud when he said that. I don’t know if it those are his words, an
old saying, or a phrase he borrowed, but I remember it to this day. <br />
<br />Simple words, quilted together in a multitude of patterns. Joy, agony, desire.
Hope. Culmination of a story that pierces your heart. <br />
<br />
What phrases echo and rebound within your soul? </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-34149092568482922912018-11-13T09:00:00.000-07:002018-11-13T09:00:02.922-07:00A few inspirational quotes for writers<br />
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"This is for writers yet to be published who think the
uphill climb will never end. Keep believing. This is also for published writers
grown jaded by the process. Remember how lucky you are." - Terry Brooks</div>
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"You must keep sending work out; you must never let a
manuscript do nothing but eat its head off in a drawer. You send that work out
again and again, while you're working on another one. If you have talent, you
will receive some measure of success - but only if you persist." - Isaac
Asimov</div>
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"Keep away from people who try to belittle your dreams.
Small people always do that, but the really great ones make you feel that you
too, can become great." - Mark Twain</div>
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<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> </div>
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“Books aren't written -- they're rewritten. Including your
own. It is one of the hardest things to accept, especially after the seventh rewrite hasn't quite done it. - Michael Crichton</div>
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"The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." - Sylvia Plath</div>
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"Never give up, never surrender." - Jason Nesmith (Commander Peter Quincy Taggart), Galaxy Quest</div>
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(I simply had to sneak that last one in.)</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-59145997305133803602018-11-09T09:00:00.000-07:002018-11-09T09:00:00.327-07:00Pending<br />
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Pending, pending, pending!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I now leave things pending or am left pending far too often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially when dealing with anything in this
crazy world of writing books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marketing
materials are pending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blogs are
pending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Research is pending. </div>
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Now it might sound as if I’m complaining and I’m not, not
really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every single pending action has
its own power and potential glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s
sometimes difficult to push anxiety regarding those pending items into the deep
end of the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there’s the frequently
consuming habit of actually writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t
that what we should spend the bulk of our time doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew that in addition to actually writing
books, we would also need to be business professionals and marketers and
accountants and readers and mentors and researchers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So some days writing is left pending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s not right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then again, tomorrow will be today before
too long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So even if I spend the entire
day writing, my newest story will always be pending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it should be!</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-49144032654585003372018-11-06T10:41:00.000-07:002018-11-06T10:41:07.891-07:00Heroes make me cry<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjictlR5kEXcqw_tYTWJ1UNtIxu5-idJMk1XzO1q23_5KWsYNyaZDPt-cuNZykVpHqx45OdDpg_RekaCKPq0RApZ4Cr_4WYVHv64l3UHMqpUsoHL23KbrNVizMRh3Sl8yaxgCOXeLHEQG4/s1600/bw+8-155+Capt.+Wayne+N.+Bolefahr%252C+368th+FS.+KIA+6-10-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1088" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjictlR5kEXcqw_tYTWJ1UNtIxu5-idJMk1XzO1q23_5KWsYNyaZDPt-cuNZykVpHqx45OdDpg_RekaCKPq0RApZ4Cr_4WYVHv64l3UHMqpUsoHL23KbrNVizMRh3Sl8yaxgCOXeLHEQG4/s200/bw+8-155+Capt.+Wayne+N.+Bolefahr%252C+368th+FS.+KIA+6-10-44.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
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Heroes make me cry. Whether I'm reading, watching a movie, or watching dramas unfold on the news, heroic actions grab
my heart. Certainly a poignant love scene might do the same, but the sorrow is different when a hero gives or risks all. I often start sobbing. </div>
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I've cried many times for the men of the 359th Fighter Group—men
I've never met, men who were killed in action during World War II. The loss of
Capt. Wayne N. Bolefahr on 10 June 1944 is one such man. </div>
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Capt. Bolefahr completed 61 combat missions between April 1943 and 10 June 1944
when he was KIA.<br />
<br />
"On this early 10 June mission, the only claims were an electric loco and
several goods wagons strafed by Fogg and his flight. But this was the opening
of an eventful day. The only mission actively resented by the pilots as “a
suicide job” came up next: escort on the deck of four PRU (Photographic
Reconnaissance Unit) P-38s to the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Antwerp</st1:place></st1:city>
area. The PRU pilots said they had not been able to get any planes back from
the heavily defended <st1:place w:st="on">Lowlands</st1:place>. The 368th was
ordered to take them in. Colonel Tyrrell, briefing, warned of the flak and told
the pilots they could do little good attempting to intervene: keep the enemy
off the PRU and let them brave the flak. <br />
<br />
"But the compulsion of the West Pointer’s code of duty, honor, country led
Captain Wayne Norbert Bolefahr, beau ideal of the 368th, to do more than that.
As the squadron swept in over the <st1:place w:st="on">Scheldt</st1:place> with
the four P-38s they came under a staggering barrage: there were automatic
weapons emplaced everywhere along the winding coasts and the railroads, the
heavy guns were in motion at extreme slant ranges. Bolefahr, slim, dark,
kindly, courteous, a soldier in whom the sense of duty replaced the killer
instinct he totally lacked, felt compelled to intervene. He was there. The Air
Force wanted the pictures. So all along that blazing route he flew in the van,
firing at every emplacement, drawing the enemy flak while the camera-Lightnings
went off to the side, making their low obliques. It was magnificent; it was
also death. “Bo” survived until 1410, four miles N of Antwerp, when his
aircraft flamed under a hail of hits and augured in from 100 feet. On the way back, four locos were destroyed and another damaged, but it
was a saddened group of pilots who sat numbly in the lounge at Wretham Hall
that night, and the impact of Bo’s loss fell heavily on every man and officer
on the ground side who had known him." ~ Excerpt from the June 1944 359th
Fighter Group History report<br />
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Bo gave his life for us, for freedom, for the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet that costliest of lessons
has faded as so many people run faster (from home to coffee shop to
work to the gym or school and back), talk or text constantly, and rarely pause
to appreciate life and its blessings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
could rant forever about the evil that seems to promulgate itself in this world
of ours, but instead I'll shed a few more tears for the heroes and hope that the reminder of Lt. Bolefahr's death on that day, so many years ago,
makes a few of you cry, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After you've
shed a few tears, I hope you'll get off the computer so you can hug those you
love or lend a hand to someone in need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, before you pick up your phone, take a moment to step outside, to
look at the high, blue sky and send a word of thanks to Bo.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-74823895343248283912018-11-02T17:05:00.001-06:002018-11-02T17:05:17.722-06:00Tales of the 359th Fighter GroupIt feels as if "The End" is finally within reach, when I print an entire manuscript draft! <br />
<br />
This is a draft of the new military history we're working on about the 359th Fighter Group. It's been in progress for several years, as we've slowly gathered bar stories, reports, including a few on escape & evasion, letters, and stories from the 359th Association's two newsletters published over the decades. <br />
<br />
A different tone and take on the 359th than our previous two efforts. Watch for <i>Tales from the 359th Fighter Group</i>, coming in the next few months!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNfwhdKgxZlN23WX4zUInqq8FBWJAxNpbdxDgCFVJC1yRWuu2bjtHTNuKWnwhnWAnEcKcTUwFxnSACJZUogq3m0r0f7tdX7G27F_Sfpz_UFGuK1IFIn24tGW89ui-zpkSDfnklUahT5M/s1600/20181002_130741_resized+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="1328" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNfwhdKgxZlN23WX4zUInqq8FBWJAxNpbdxDgCFVJC1yRWuu2bjtHTNuKWnwhnWAnEcKcTUwFxnSACJZUogq3m0r0f7tdX7G27F_Sfpz_UFGuK1IFIn24tGW89ui-zpkSDfnklUahT5M/s320/20181002_130741_resized+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-16754506547252439282018-10-30T10:33:00.001-06:002018-10-30T12:48:11.272-06:00Hundreds form human chain to move their local bookstoreThis is about community.<br />
<br />
This is about books.<br />
<br />
Love it!<br />
<br />
This photo is from an article by Gianluca Mezzofiore, CNN.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2018/10/30/uk/bookstore-human-chain-intl-trnd/index.html?fbclid=IwAR2gqXZm4nfzmON3RxMEo7subxaMKhISknq_JoZr3oaYvU6EjkqhQlh5dd8" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="780" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdld7qvWF1xwXDdgXfVW7gKXetwH_If8FieUq6pullZ1ELgjzIWmSCgIZTMHomM06uJp-b6F6cXsAqUbxOJm0Dl8Spr80bnMsgGAZK8EuqVY27wNobImwTIMF9fsW6wiA82406o0b-QZI/s320/181030103100-southampton-bookshop-human-chain-exlarge-169.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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(Click on the photo to be directed to Gianluca's article on CNN's website.)<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-84838981318133672902018-10-26T11:42:00.000-06:002018-10-26T12:39:09.461-06:00Flying High at our Writing RetreatIt's not just words that fly at our Casa Caliente writing retreats!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thank you again, Dave, for sharing your passion for flying with me. Even though it might be somewhat cliche, my imagination soared.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-53142729185483829882018-10-23T21:34:00.000-06:002018-10-25T13:09:52.531-06:00What happens at writing retreat is eaten at writing retreat!Writing retreat with Shannon Baker at Casa Caliente!<br />
<br />
Editing current manuscript? Check.<br />
Facebook ads course? Check.<br />
Brainstorming marketing? Check.<br />
Flash flood warning? Check.<br />
Samples of one of today's efforts:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Chapter 1</div>
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Chapter 2 </div>
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Chapter 3</div>
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Chapter 4</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqJk4xknkE8uSZSRfq-XTQptvq4qsM1WslSN6mMxl4If2C_ChQQGBj7IymFtuLuGtDvi23cfH_RL1VA6kiAO_zd9XRmQDpcKbMlAH8mLHQiPB0X6MFc6xtT6qolIaec2ZeeGVuPk_9B4/s1600/20181023_123813_resized+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1272" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqJk4xknkE8uSZSRfq-XTQptvq4qsM1WslSN6mMxl4If2C_ChQQGBj7IymFtuLuGtDvi23cfH_RL1VA6kiAO_zd9XRmQDpcKbMlAH8mLHQiPB0X6MFc6xtT6qolIaec2ZeeGVuPk_9B4/s320/20181023_123813_resized+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Chapter 5</div>
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Chapter 6</div>
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<br />
The end!</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773269998501003345.post-12307593497954210382018-10-16T09:00:00.000-06:002018-10-16T09:00:01.065-06:00HOW many inches? (Of books!)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZEJvjBBv3d2MZlx6zt33JF_BdGcwXo2vM7YOWMTye6zboYndd-z4F_sGb-lqnXJnU4zCOChbqnYqaCtWGn541LEuGGBDaAn_ZdrMvtSLwbBUHX7Ph8RppxEzsJf1RrdAVCc_OdCgXOQ/s1600/books-3692436_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1280" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZEJvjBBv3d2MZlx6zt33JF_BdGcwXo2vM7YOWMTye6zboYndd-z4F_sGb-lqnXJnU4zCOChbqnYqaCtWGn541LEuGGBDaAn_ZdrMvtSLwbBUHX7Ph8RppxEzsJf1RrdAVCc_OdCgXOQ/s200/books-3692436_1280.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I had the very great pleasure of attending World Fantasy Con
a few years ago, and fortunately my friend Laura warned me about the bag of
books given to attendees. How
wonderful! Of course I also purchased a
few books. Oh, my aching shoulders—what
a heavy carry-on bag and suitcase for my return home.</div>
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While in the midst of unpacking I realized yet again that
our bedroom bookcase was absolutely stuffed, and my bedside table already groaned
beneath two piles of books stacked to the edge of the lampshade. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put away my suitcase and wandered into our
office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope, that bookcase was also
full, as was the one in the hallway, and there were three unread books on the
coffee table in the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
shrugged and headed back to the bedroom, where I stacked the new books on the
floor between my dresser and reading chair.</div>
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How many inches waited for me?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a true picture I would need to include the unread books on
my ereader as well as the ten or twelve books tucked here and there on the
bookcases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and then there’s the thirty-some
odd books I have noted on various lists; books I know I want to read but
haven’t yet purchased. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should I count
those?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hmmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forty-four
inches beside the dresser, approximately twelve inches on the bookcase, seventeen
inches on the bedside table, three on the coffee table, and on my ereader I'd
guess somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five inches.</div>
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Books, books, BOOKS! How many inches do you have?</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0