A good snowy day read

Hello again. After a raft of interruptions due to weather, schedules, and my usual winter blahs, I'm back with a review of the book I read yesterday. It's a doozy and I wanted to share my thoughts with you. Thanks for stopping by. Let me know what you think, as always. Pat Dale

I’ve just finished reading Muse Publishing’s RESURRECTION GARDEN by Frank Scully and I have to say it’s a novel well worth your time, especially if you like an occasional stroll into yesteryear. Scully has skillfully woven a story that draws you back to the beginning of the last century, where battle-scarred Jake Turner hunts down local criminals, endures the elements (always a consideration in the northern high plains), and struggles with the war going on inside himself.
An Army veteran with enough accumulated guilt to sink a ship, Turner has given his life over to a part time job of deputy sheriff. For a sparse room to lay his head, he battles bad guys for a boss who’s more into personal politics than getting the job done. Jake loves to make things grow and helps local farmers with their fields and crops when he’s not chasing one fugitive or another. With a perhaps undeserved reputation as ‘the executioner’, his lack of self-worth is painful to watch as he holds his friends at arm’s length.
He rescues a runaway boy, Andrew, but fails to respond to the boy’s adulation of him. Even after his best friend Isaac’s sister Alice comes west, encouraged by a series of letters Jake has exchanged with her, his self-doubt prevents him from seizing an opportunity to settle into a normal lifestyle. Only after he’s apparently run away from everything he loves, does the reader realize that Jake Turner has a plan. In the end, complete with a hideous secret revealed, he gets the scum he’s chased all over God’s creation and the story resolves.
Written in a style somewhat reminiscent of Zane Grey, RESURRECTION GARDEN gathers momentum like an old steam train, until you reach a point where you can’t put it down without finishing it. Yes, the author tells the story rather than showing it, but he is a storyteller and his style fits this mesmerizing saga. As a published author, voracious reader, and one who experienced life through two thirds of the twentieth century firsthand, I can appreciate the ways of the world the author draws us into.
While I wish he’d not thrown in an occasional grocery list as he describes life as it was back then, these little quirks do not take away from the depth of Jake Turner’s story. Overall, I’d say kudos to Mr. Scully for a story well written. And thanks for showing us that, on a clear day in that amazing part of the world, one can indeed see forever. I anxiously await Mr. Scully’s next offering. My rating: Four Stars

Wishing you much good reading, I heartily recommend this book.
Dale Thompson (aka Pat Dale)

Comments?

Musings on the death of a princess

I'm sitting here staring at my brand new 23" widescreen LG monitor, in something of a stupor. The tragic shootings yesterday in Arizona have wiped away all cogent thoughts regarding fiction writing. Earlier this morning, I watched an interview with the mother of that sweet nine year old girl who was shot down along with a congresswoman, a judge, and over a dozen more innocent victims. Her mother was clearly heartbroken, as was the interviewer.
Yet, they were able to talk about the girl and how their (and her) faith would carry them through this tragedy. Unable to focus on more aspects of the event, I turned the TV off and went to a Sirius sattelite classic music channel for comfort. What were they playing when I tuned in? Ravel's Pavanne for a Dead Princess. Mrs. Green had just called her deceased daughter a Princess. I couldn't speak for minutes after the last poignant note died away.
I have a grand daughter who is nine. Thoughts about what would happen if it were my Maren who had been standing there when that deranged monster began firing crossed my mind. Would I have the strength to answer questions and share my heart with the world at large?
I'd like to think so. We all would, I'm sure. But my grand daughter has been prevented from being able to choose whether she wants to go through life with faith in a living God because her father and mother have fallen prey to the incoherent rantings of countless professors and an amoral media who believe, fools that they are, that they are too intelligent to fall for religion.
My daughter had no such restrictions as a child, and accepted Christ early in her life. Sadly, she apparently does not remember the time when, as a first grader in Catholic school, she fell down a flight of concrete stairs. One of the sisters went to her and began praying to Mary. She told the sister to pray to Jesus because He was the one to pray to, not His mother. She also witnessed miraculous healing events that took place in our family and other clear evidence that God exists.
Sadly, as an adult she now 'believes' there is no god and her parents are fools for continuing to believe. How would she handle this if it were her daughter who'd been shot by that madman? I don't know, but my prayers in addition to the victims of the shootings and their families are for her and her bull-headed husband to reconsider the matter of faith. If we're all basically just overgrown monkeys, what's the difference anyway?

I have many other thoughts on different aspects of the brutal crime that was committed in Tucson but they'll have to wait for another day. Today, I thank my God that more people were not slaughtered by that poor fool and pray for Him to watch over the survivors, giving strength and recovery to each one of them and their families. If you would like to comment, please do so but I ask you not to bring up political considerations at this time. Just remember, people kill people, not guns. Or knives, or clubs, or any other inanimate things. Bad things happen to good people all the time; conversely, good things happen to bad people all the time. And one of the risks of our great form of government is that bad people will commit this kind of crime. An open and free nation depends on our being able to walk freely and speak freely. If we close our doors and our mouths, living in fear that someone will do this to us, we've already lost. They don't need to fire a single shot to shut us down. Shortly after that happens, we'll no longer have a democracy to enjoy.
My thoughts on a sad, sad day in America.
Dale

Concept of Renewal

When something in your life gets stale, can you find a way to renew it? Over the past few days, I've learned something about renewal. I hesitate to tell you all how ancient I really am, but my body had been stiffening to the point I needed help to get to my feet. I thought I was staring eternity in the face. One of our two dogs has been having a similar problem and I assumed he was nearing his demise as well.
My wife had been looking for something to give the poor creature to ease his pain and, when she read that condroitin and glucosamine might ease his joint pain, got an idea about me. We found that human products were a fraction of the cost of the animal equilivant and only missing a proprietary ingredient the drug makers put in to make their product exclusive. She got it at a dollar store for less than most discount stores charge and I took my first dose, not expecting much of a change. The very next day I moved my limbs freely and pain free for the first time in a long time. Wow, what a difference!
It's been three days and I feel ten years younger. I did more yesterday than I could have done in a week before. Doggie had his first dose yesterday, and this morning jumped to his feet and came running. This is a eureka moment for the two of us. Don't know if fate has been put off a bit longer but I can enjoy what time there is left. I know, sounds a bit dour, but forget that. I'm ready to go for what's in front of me and not worry about my inevitable demise. Yeah, babe!
On another front, my writing had begun to slip into that stale category, too. I'm doing my pre-planning for NaNoWriMo and last week put down enough back story that I'm ready to begin writing, plot and character arcs well in hand. This has happened before, several times, but I manage to forget how I renew my writing verve, over and over again. It's back and I'm ready for it! That also makes me feel ten years younger.
How about you? Has your prose gotten weary on its feet and stiff in the joints? Sometimes a little pill called inspiration can get you jumping to your literary feet just as one of those things I'm taking got me jumping to my physical feet. My literary inspiration?? It will be revealed in due time. Stand by for a super story that will be born standing on its feet and ready to run!
Cheers,
Pat Dale

Genealogy anybody?

One of my daughters is fervently involved in recreating our family ancestry. I've often wondered about certain members of my family but I always put off researching the subject. Now, though, I can see why she might be concerned.
Lecia is almost forty and starting to have some health issues. She's asked a lot of questions which I always try to answer as completely as possible. She is not willing to take enough for enough and has instituted a search into the past. It turns out, my maternal grandfather was cursed with atrial fibrilation and it was a contributing factor to his death at age sixty-six. That woke me up. You see, I've been troubled with the same heart condition for at least a decade. My father had the malady but it didn't contribute to his death. An accident during abdominal surgery caused the cancer in his bladder to spread rapidly.
So I've got this crazy jazz-like rhythm going on in my heart because of genetics. And all this time, I thought it stemmed from my love of the music I played for years. My answer is much more poetic, don't you think? But no, I got it coming and going; both sides of the family. We also share a blood idiiosyncrasy known as 'factor five'.
That explains in part why at least two of my daughters have had health issues related to that wayward factor. And why I should give a darn about genealogy. Turns out, it's fascinating. When I go online to research members of my family, I usually spend at least an hour and often more.
I've seen the death certificates of a number of ancestors; a bit chilling but also instructive to know that they could write and spell a century or two before I landed on the planet.
How many of you have developed your family tree? Any notable citizens turn out to be related to you? Any infamous ones?
Hmmm...
Lots of questions here, and just maybe fodder for new storylines. Just what a writer needs, especially a fiction writer. As we all know, fiction is truer than fact in most cases. Well, we do, don't we?
TMWYT (tell me what you think)
Pat Dale

Are you happy with your writing?

Not as simple a question as it seems at first glance, is it? Actually, I'm less concerned with true happiness than with how my state of emotional well-being affects my creative output. On the one hand, I can't afford to be too pleased with my WIP if I expect it to achieve acclaim and acceptance. On the other, too much nit-picking and frustration lead to stagnation, and that ain't good either.
Let's break this thing down a bit. I have to admit it's nice to sit in a comfortable office, clacking away at my keyboard, immersed in all the trappings a successful author could hope for. Pleasant music in the background, temp and humidity optimal, a good meal in my tummy, and my dogs at my feet to field my outbursts of temper or elation. What could be better? If this does not make me happy, what will?
Maybe best seller status for my latest release? Maybe a three book contract sold on a mere sampling of the first two books? Perhaps, a national TV book tour, including all the major networks?
Would I be happy if I never sold a single book, but neither did I have a single rejection letter staring me in the face? When is a project truly finished? Finally, does it matter if my characters come to life in my head but never see the light of day?
Lots of questions and a myriad of answers, all correct and none false; at least not to the one who gives her answers to this forum. I'm truly curious--strike that; I'm ravenously anxious to hear what all of you have to say about what makes you happy in your writing.
I must close this post with an apology for the hiatus of the last two weeks due to illness; my own one week and my dog the next. I had a short term flu bug that made a most unwelcome return engagement week before last. Then last week, my one year old pup tried to eat an acorn. He'd swallowed linoleum, plastic, metal, shoes; you name it and he'd eat it. But not the little acorn he gobbled up while on a run in a local park. Darn dog nearly died on me. Can't have that happening; he's the inspiration for my NaNoWriMo output next month. Oh yeah, I'm doing it again. I just sold the book I wrote in that exercise two years ago, and I've got this idea for a truly funny story centered around a large dog who thinks he's people.
Let me know what you think about happiness in writing. Meanwhile, may the creative bug bite you in the, uh, spot that gets you slamming words into your chosen method of writing. Cheers, Pat Dale

How old are you-really?

Hi all. Here I am with my regular Sunday evening blog, right on time as usual. NOT! Sorry for the delay, but personal circumstances intervened.
Last week's topic seemed to strike a chord with a number of you. I really appreciated all the comments, which ranged from an affirmation of my own to some rather disparate views; all valid and succinct. Thank you all.
This week I'd picked a topic and Craig Buck's comment from last week affirmed it; the question of age. I'm going to put my own take on this right up front this time. My spiritual age (or, if you prefer, creative age) has nothing to do with the degree of degradation my physical body has endured. After saying that, let me hasten to say that I believe there are factors that do age one, creatively.
After ruining one perfectly good marriage, I jumped right into another, totally ignoring psychologists' advice. We're still together forty two years later. Not that there haven't been bumps along the way; there have. Some serious ones and some not so serious. Because I believe that the totality of my existence is what feeds my creative mind, I'm certain that the disparity in ages between my mate and myself accounts in some measure for my ability to still sound relevant after all the chronological years I've accumulated.
My wife is sixteen years younger than me. Yes, I was one of those dastardly college profs who married his student. It cost me a career and put my sweetheart at a distinct disadvantage for years, but out of it has come a romance that could well be a successful novel, and two bright beautiful daughters who continue to make us proud. Beyond that, I can still relate to younger people, though that is fading and I'm near the end of my creative value as a fiction writer. Well, maybe not, but the world is changing so fast it's hard to keep up any more.
So I'm a septogenarian with a creative drive that's late fifties and a spirit that knows no age limitation. When I was five, I looked up into the night sky at all the twinkling stars and thought, 'somewhere up there is my real father.' Don't get me wrong; I had wonderful parents that I loved and I knew I was their progeny, physically. But I had this 'knowing' inside that my inner being belonged somewhere beyond Earth's bounds; a heady thought for a five year old.
Do any of you recall having mature thoughts while you were still children? My guess is that you did, even if you don't remember it. Now I'd best get this posted before my aging body refuses to leave my comfy chair. So, how old are you?

Who is a professional writer?

In my college training to become a professional teacher, I was reminded by a professor that a true professional is something like a hired gun. Paid to bring understanding and edification to a group, a professional teacher, using his own skills, must teach what he's being paid to teach.
Using that standard, a professional writer would be paid to write what readers demand, would he not? Employing all the skills and devices at his command, the writer would write cozy mysteries if that was most in demand; or historical romance if that the hot button of the day.
Where then, does that leave the writer who knows what's in his head and his heart to write, regardless of whether it is popular or not? Assuming that writer uses equal skill and devices, would his work not be the equal of the other?
This is not rhetorical. I honestly do not know the answer. In fact, I was never able to blithely accept that professor's assertion at face value. When I was active in the field, I often found myself challenged by local citizens who wanted my band to play nothing but Sousa marches, or sports addicts who insisted my band play only pop tunes 'everybody' would appreciate. Where, I asked myself, did the musical education of my students enter that picture?
In much the same way, I find myself tempted now to fill a burgeoning market; one I've been assured will bring me more sales and spread my reputation as a fiction author. Therein lies the rub--that the reputation I want spread is that I have something significant to say to my reader. If I'm only a diversion, a few hours of distraction from the cares of the world, why should I care?
Chime in here. Tell me if you think I'm going wrong. I read and consider every comment that comes my way and I appreciate those of you who have shared your thoughts. I hope you'll continue to do so.
Cheers,
Pat Dale