Know Jack #214 Your Mask or Your Mind

 

I have never been happier that I work in a fantasy world of my own making. Though that world teems with rougarous, ghosts, demons, and paranormal menaces of all sorts, I much prefer it to the lunacy and fear-mongering of the real world.

I love to hear people tell me how they plan to vote for the petty tyrants who closed the world to keep us all safe. That people will buy the most ludicrous lies and reward the teller of them is a signal my fiction will never lack for readers.

I am inspired by mothers with five or six kids who wear a mask to Wal-Mart leaving the children unprotected. Such callous disregard for children, especially one’s own, means the market for torture, mayhem, and death is alive and well.

And the mysteries of intelligent selective, viruses…well, Captain Tripps has nothing on the possibilities opened by the hysteria virus pandemic, and the inhumane interpersonal treatment it may spawn.

I’m not sure if it’s my father’s oft-spoken admonitions to think for myself or my nursing background’s insistence that I think critically that makes me shake my head in anger and frustration at the blind followers of the blind who surround me.

Tell me if you can, how a virus (without a brain) differentiates between a ten-year-old and an octogenarian. How does it distinguish between eleven o’clock at night and midnight? How does this virus tell which businesses are family owned and which belong to those which contribute millions to political campaigns?

Then there’s the conundrum--if masks soundly defeat the virus, why do we need to stay six feet apart while wearing them? And, if there is magic in six feet why, wear a mask when the nearest person is a dozen feet away? 

As a writer, my editor would never let me get away with these inconsistencies and incongruent behaviors in my fiction. Happily, they are readily accepted in reality because, well, the governor says so. Maybe truth really is stranger than fiction.

That being the case, I will stick with fiction where things, though twisted and macabre, make sense and logic is the rule. Here in the land of fiction there is no call to choose between having a function mask and a functioning mind.

Know Jack #213 Bigfoot Festival

 

I’m back from a great weekend in the beautiful Ouachita National Forest where I joined fellow hairy hominid hunters at the first-ever Ouachita Bigfoot Festival and Conference. The guest of honor was a no-show though nightly calls were sent out into the surrounding woods.

Special thanks go out to the owners of The Blue Zip Line and Farm on Mena, Arkansas, for being such kind and attentive hosts. Great job, Shelly in putting the event together!

Of course, my focus at the event was selling books and sales exceeded my expectations, but I took away so much more. I made new friends and got an opportunity to meet some Facebook friends in person. The fellowship among this community is not always evident in their bantering on social media. What resembles cannibalism in the cloud, becomes a friendly sharing of experiences in person.

The festival offered nightly community campfires for that sharing experience and I was amazed by the photos and recording presented both at the campfire and the conference. The fellowship among the brave souls that camped for the three days was beyond price. I owe a great debt to Teresa and Jennifer for the lifesaving supply of coffee, dinner, and an evening around their fire with the guys from Rock Squatch Designs.

I must admit to a little trepidation about how my “based on actual events” Bigfoot stories would be received. Reports of Bigfoot encounters are generally of short duration and while far from boring, tend to be a little cut and dry for a writer who wants to draw his audience into the story.

My goal was to keep the integrity of the encounters while weaving the backdrop into a web that captures the reader and pulls them in. Admittedly it lacks the emotional impact of a personal sighting, but it does inform and entertain in a way a monologue does not.

I think I may have had success. One brave young man had bought Tracks on Saturday, returned to the scene of the crime on Sunday to have his picture taken with me. Given my resistance to CoVid restrictions when it comes to getting my haircut, I may resemble Bigfoot.

It was encouragement enough to see me through the project to get the full version of Tracks ready for publication. I’m hoping to take that book, and perhaps a second, to the International Bigfoot Conference next year.

The setting for the event, the Ouachita National Forest and the Ouachita River area was awe inspiring. The finale of God’s tapestry spread out for the event came for me in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Away from city lights, the clouds rolled back on an ink-black night resplendent to with millions of bright stars. I believe it was God’s way of smiling on us all.

I plan to go back next year for a second helping…and add the zip line. I hope y’all enjoyed the pictures I posted on Facebook of the festival.

Maranatha.

 

 

 

Know Jack #212 Update

 

 

Preparations are underway for my trip to the Ouachita Bigfoot Festival and Conference this weekend in Mena, Arkansas. All the books are boxed up ready for the trip. We will be selling Bigfoot shirts too and I still have to pick those up.

Reports came in today on Bayou Moon sales and I was very happy and a little surprised by the results. It did well, no surprise there, but for the first time ever eBooks outsold paperbacks.

I will be taking that one to Arkansas and hope it does as well there. Tiwaz Press put out Yuletide Chills early so I could take it to the festival and offer my Christmas Bigfoot story, Frost.

The first draft of all four, based on a true story Bigfoot encounters to be included in Tracks are completed. It’s on to editing for them and launch next year. As a sneak peek at the larger book, the first story The Haunted Warrior is being offered as a signed author’s proof at the conference.

I love this story of a World War I vet home from the war France. His wounds go deeper than his empty sleeve. However, they are forgotten in a search for a missing girl and an elusive pursuit of the Seeahtik (a Salish version of Bigfoot).

Plans are also underway for a partnership with a new publisher, House of Honor. The relationship will open with my book, Mann of God, early next year.  This Christian themed tale of redemption and liberation is set in Wyoming circa 1875. Kit Mann, a preacher in the tiny town of Zion is called to a showdown with his former outlaw gang, his parishioners, his girl, and himself. Romance, action, and faith meet in the thrilling conclusion.

Still to come from Tiwaz Press are my young adult fantasy Trails of Trouble and The Chanteuse. Both are in the editing process with Tiwaz and should see print next year.

Meanwhile, as November approaches, I must make a final decision to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) a challenge to complete a 50,000 word novel in the thirty-one days of November. I wrote The Chanteuse last year for this challenge and I am debating on trying to do the same this year with the yet to be named follow-up novel.

Ed Landry fans don’t despair the ex-sheriff is coming back soon in pursuit of another werewolf in Blood Moon.

Maranatha

 

 

The Colonel #33 First Name Basis

 

 

Centuries ago, when I was just a private, it was a sign of favor and friendship to be on a first name basis with someone. The twenty-somethings of today have no idea what I’m talking about. There are two reasons for their ignorance. The first is that they call everyone by their first name as if it were their God given right.

The second reason is identities have changed. People are no longer Fred, Barney, Wilma, and Betty. They are tagged with markers of race, gender, religion, national origin, or sexual preference.

People are first Afro-American, Woman, Muslim, or an alphabet prefix. We are these things first…before we are people, before we are American, before we are Jack.

Our new first names convey a worth and expertise in all things human conferred by the randomness of birth or the verbal sewing of a label to our clothes.

I saw the President on the news the other night. He asked the crowd if they wanted a woman to be nominated as a Supreme Court Justice to cheers. When asked if they wanted a man…boos. I don’t really care one way or the other, but I prefer the first name of Sharp Legal Mind to Woman, Man, or any other moniker.

I know, insanity, right? Wanting a qualified person over a label. What was I thinking?

I don’t know. I just figure if the nominee knows the Constitution, supports and defends it as the oath requires, and loves justice, it doesn’t matter what they look like. Moreover, We the People should not approach such a decision based on race, gender, or any of the other new first names we love.

My first name is still Colonel, my last name still, Sir.

At Ease.

Know Jack #211 Above All

 

“Write Honestly. Write Fearlessly. Write True. But above all…Write.

The Writing Manifesto

In a very real sense, like Hamlet, we are given to ponder each day the question of the continued wisdom of being or not. Should we decide in favor of life, what kind of life? And at what price?

The question might be easier to answer if we could truly compartmentalize life and cut away the diseased parts. I here there are those capable of doing this…I am not one of them. This strikes me as strange for one given to abstract ideas as I am.

The good in my past is inexorably linked to the bad in a single whole so that it is impossible to “just remember the good times.” Perhaps this is the part of me people think holds a grudge forever. It certainly is the part of me that colors every story I have to tell.  

I am a good writer. On occasion, I can take you where I go and let you see what I see in that maze that is in my head. As a good writer, I write what I honestly feel. No wonder my characters are confused.

I would like to say I write fearlessly, but that’s not true. I am mindful of my readers, their opinions, and expectations when it comes to reading my work. It is never easy to think you might offend the ones you love. Mind you, I write what I feel anyway.  

Writing true is only tangentially the same as writing the truth. I deal in lies fabricated in an overactive imagination and told to myself and my readers by a fickle muse. I can attest to the fact that the voices in my head do come up with some good ideas now and then.

So, I write. Writing is my life, and in various ways, it always has been.  So, I try to live by the same credo. I strive for honesty, fearlessness, and truth in life, but above all is to live. If I please no one else, I hope when all is said and done to have pleased both my self and God. I am certain this is done solely by the simple act of living every day.

Daily I grow more convinced that I know nothing of life, except that it is meant for living. We pass this way but once… live the life you love and you will have the best stories to tell.

Maranatha

The Colonel #32 Shaking My Head

 

 

I am going to preface this post by saying that I was at Wal-Mart when it took place. While some strange stuff (and folks) happen at Wal-Mart, today’s excursion was the most shaking my head moment for me in a long time.

It was a typical busy afternoon at America’s safest place to be. The guards were off the gate, but thoroughly condition at this point everyone filed in wearing a mask. We had not gotten far along the traffic designated aisles when we were confronted by a sign announcing, “Flu Vaccines This Way.”

I didn’t believe it at first, but further investigation revealed that flu vaccines were indeed being offered in the store. I was thunderstruck. America’s largest retailer, the champions of mask protocol, had the audacity to tacitly admit to anyone with a modicum of reason that masks are BS.

If as you were told, masks are your salvation, why would you be afraid of the flu? Isn’t that mandatory mask working anymore? Surely the mask that slew the CoVid19 dragon can protect you from the petty ass flu.

More incredible than that vaccinations were being offered were the fools lined up to get them. But then, remember, this is Wal-Mart we’re talking about.

There are three possible explanations. First, we really are a nation of mindless idiots. I refuse to believe that, but my resistance is crumbling due to repeated attempts to prove it so by my neighbors.

The second, and a favorite of mine, is that wearing masks was bull biscuits from Day 1 and meant for mind control rather than virus control.

The third awaits the media blitz explaining how CoVid19 mated with the flu and the twain have become one and are bent on the destruction of lower- and middle-income people. Masks will continue to save us, but we cannot go anywhere, do anything or attempt to reason about any of this.

My money is on Number 3 and total compliance with a fresh round of safety measures executed “for the good of all” and free merchandise from city businesses using the Brick One card.

Bless y'all's pea-pickin' little hearts.

 

 

The Colonel #31

 

 

Most people have lost the sense of America and the blessing of representative government. Do either still exist in this country? What has become of We the People as the final arbiters of how this country should be governed, the policies we all abide by, and the future we envision.

The majority of Americans have abdicated responsibility in favor of being told how to live by the “experts.” There’s less thinking required and less accountability to let the experts do. It is so much easier to curse Congress or the President for our woes, and so much less shameful than pointing the finger of blame at the true source—us.

Neither the Democrats nor the Republicans, conservatives, or liberals are responsible. We the People are responsible for the decline of America.

This may come as a shock, but we are the experts when it comes government, healthcare, economics. and morality. We are the true shepherds, those sitting in offices we pay for are only hirelings and care nothing for the flock no matter how frequently the shout, “It’s for the good of all,” and “We are in this together.”

We all need to awake to this truth. I love and respect the man who was my doctor, but he was killing me, or more to the point, allowing me to kill myself. That I was a willing participant is on me. I offer only that for years I did not care if I lived or died. That is no longer the case.

No more just taking a pill thinking it was the best. With the help of God and good friends, I don’t take medicine anymore because my life was changed by the expert (me) in how my body works and what it needs. As a result, I am healthier than ever.

 This 66-year-old man isn’t sitting in the shade. He’s practicing Tai Chi, walking three miles a day, writing 6-8 hours a day, and planning on launching a publishing company. Oh, he is taking on-line courses in literature, theology, government, and marketing in his spare time. No brag, just fact to deny it or minimize it is a lie.

Taking charge of our lives always begins today. I hope this today is your today. This taking charge applies to every facet of life. Begin today to decide who is going to live this life you call yours. Are the media crowned experts, politicians, doctors, big business, the weak and those running riot your masters? If not, quit accepting their rule.

Instead of the governor telling us how, and for how long we must wear masks and cower behind closed doors, it is time to put the governor on notice that she has X number of days, or months before we will no longer comply or accept ineffective treatments. Their time must be limited, and results demanded, as with any employee, for our employees they are.

A friend recently posted on Facebook that if We the People are willing to arm and defend our cities/businesses, we are bloodthirsty creatures bent only on killing someone. Self-defense does not start at that white picket fence out in front of our house.

It starts with intangible boundaries that citizens of this country are obliged to respect. If that respect is not given, it how much it benefits the disrespectful must be demonstrated---clearly, forcefully, and unforgettably.

Those rioting in our streets haven’t quit because others disapproved of their actions… while governors, mayors and media cheered them on. Who will stop them if not you? We the People are responsible for the health and welfare of America. If the elected representatives, military, and police will not. Those of you who have sworn an oath to defend the Constitution, rise up and honor your pledge because your successors will not.

Know Jack #210 Would You Rather…?

 

 For the last two days, I have been taking an on-line course on personal branding. People who know me well know how distasteful self-promotion is to me. I’d rather someone drag their nails over a chalkboard than write an author bio.

Despite my personal feelings on the subject, every book I write requires one, very promotion of my books asks for more, even my own website demands it. This may be hard for some of you to believe, but I can be a wee bit stubborn when it comes to matters of principle. (There are a few who go so far as to say insufferable!)

When I was a nurse there were a few jobs that seemed to call my name. The voices always seemed to sound like my co-workers. Two of these really stand out to me. Suctioning a tracheostomy and placing a nasogastric tube. Both involve a lot of gagging by the patient, and often the nurse.

I don’t believe that I really excelled at these tasks. My utility rested in my willingness to do them. Said willingness is a hark back at that stubbornness I hinted at. I am cursed with an over-inflated sense of duty. If a job has to be done, I am willing to do it for no reason other than that.

People have used me spitefully for possessing this trait, sending me to bell whatever cat might need it at a given moment… or suction that trach.

Personal branding, what’s that got to do with dirty jobs? In my case everything. I have come to see self-promotion, in the guise of personal branding, as a call to duty… to myself and to my readers.

If I am to write amazing books… make that more amazing books, then I must not remain hidden in my comfort zone. I’d rather stick a tube down someone’s nose into their stomach than stand up and say, “I write great stories!”

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. Therefore, I am learning to confess my story writing prowess unashamedly. Now, get out there and buy my books…they are the best on the market.

 

Maranatha

 

 

 

Know Jack #209 Makin’ Magic

 

Is there magic in merlot and zydeco? I can’t say for sure, but if there is one thing certain about life it’s that nothing is certain. Tonight, I wrapped up the first draft of Tracks Book 4. I don’t have a name for it yet, but Tracks has jumped the first hurdle… it’s written.

If you haven’t been following along (shame on you), Tracks is a collection of stories spun around a Bigfoot theme. The four stories or “Books” that make up Tracks are based on actual events or native American myth.

Book 1 The Haunted Warrior takes place in 1919. A man of Skokomish heritage coming back from France, has an encounter on a lonely country road.

Book 2 takes place in 1992. A Halloween encounter in the Chickasaw National Recreation Area near downtown Sulphur, Oklahoma between a young couple and a Bigfoot works a providential blessing for a young woman.

Book 3 is set in northern Minnesota amid a 100-year storm. It is told in a unique style from the Bigfoot’s point of view. This story is the subject of my article in Real Paranormal Magazine scheduled to debut under this year’s full moon on Halloween night.

Book 4 takes place in 2019. It is set in Cullman County, Alabama and inspired by a 2016 BFRO report. An encounter with Bigfoot is life altering and that’s certainly the case for the young college student in this story.

Much time and labor has yet to be done to bring these stories into print. There is only one way to get a look at any of these stories before next year. I will be in Mena, Arkansas, September 25^th-27^th at the Ouachita Bigfoot Festival and Conference. I will have with me twenty copies of the rough draft of Book 1. Signed copies will be going for $5 a piece until I try the zipline. What happenes from there is in the Lord’s hands.

Maranatha

 

 

 

Know Jack #208 The Struggle is Real

 

Writing is a struggle with words, with blank space, with one’s very self.

Author Unknown

I don’t believe the person that said. “If you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life,” was a writer. They have never sat and stared at a blank page or suffered the relentless, mocking flash of a cursor on a blank screen you desperately wish to fill with picturesque words.

That person has certainly not come to life with inspiration, pounded out the keys that gave voice to their thoughts only to go back over what they wrote and think, “This is crap.” Perhaps, worse yet, to think it awesome and have the editor tell you, “This is crap” and know they are correct.

The real frustration is knowing the words lurk just under the calloused exterior. The writer knows they are there, they can hear them breathing deep inside… can see the pieces of the puzzle piled before them and no know where or how to begin.

The struggle is not just with the words or lack thereof, it is with yourself. In the words of an old song, “The kettle’s on the boil and we’re so easily called away.” Why look at a blank screen when there’s Facebook? There’s email begging to be read, popcorn to make, a song to listen to… even the dishes begging to be done look appealing. Anything but sitting there in with a case of literary constipation.

Those that overcome to finish what they have begun are no longer simply writers… they are authors.

  

 

 

 

Know Jack #2o7 God’s Calling

 

Writing is a calling, a beckon of the voice within to be written.

Author Unknown                                      

A friend and I were discussing the sometimes tragic lives of writers or more properly the tragic end of life for writers. She was asking me why so many succumbed to addictions or suicide.

I don’t think the act of writing is a formula for tragedy. Writing doesn’t break people; broken people are drawn, almost compelled, to write. Writers have voices whispering, shouting, and screaming inside their head, and as the popular meme goes, sometimes they have some pretty good ideas.

The process of getting the voices to speak can be an addiction all its own. I see it in me at times. Give me a glass or two of wine and this quite man can become quite glib. The same thing happens with writing so there has to be an internal policeman who says, “Stop!” When that voice is silenced for the sake of all the others vying for attention…that is the prescription for tragedy.

Many of my friends advise me to “let go” of things and emotions, especially negative ones. I think that’s sound advise for most people. It is creative death for writers. We must have those negative emotions, the heartbreak, the tragedy, the pain on call for our characters to live.

I am writing a very evil character with, shall we say, some very twisted, amoral practices. To write him, in a real, convincing fashion, I must become him if only for a few hours. That’s easy for me to do… I have only to draw on the innate, negative side of humanity. To undo it again is not always easy.

Perhaps, someone might ask, “Why become a writer at all?” I’m not sure writers always have a choice. How do you read the title of this post with that apostrophe “S”? Is it the calling that belongs to God or is it God is calling?

If it belongs to God and is shared with me, how shall I maintain a peaceful relationship with God by ignoring the divine gift that I have been given. On the other hand, if writing is God calling, the voices are echoes of the divine and, like Jeremiah, attempting to hold them in is like a fire shut up in the bones… it really can’t be done for long.

Or as all my Facebook friends can attest, I cannot do that for long. I do not envision a tragic end… but who does? As long as I have a network of caring friends who do not tolerate extended silences in my writing, I feel safe to practice my calling with passion.

Maranatha