Tag: books

Mundaz Theme Music

Stealthy clouds crowd the sky over Ashlandia, dropping high and low temperatures by ten degrees plus. After an overnight low of 61 F, today’s high is expected to be just 78 F today. Air quality is good at 22, although wildfire smoke smells linger like a memory of a flirtatious kiss. This is Munda, July 21, 2025.

We had an active shooter incident the other day on I5 just outside of Ashland. The shooter was on an overpass and the Interstate was shut down for a few hours. A man was eventually arrested. No injuries were reported. We don’t know about his motivations yet.

Just finished reading The King of Ashes by S.A. Cosby. Terrific page turner with marvelous and fresh, inventive writing, tight plotting, and strong characters. On to The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley. My wife just finished it. I’ve been eyeing it and she recommended it to me.

My morning reading included several Trump-voter FAFO tales. One, by Red Painter via Crooks & Liars, was about Arkansas farmers filing for Chapter 12 bankruptcy. Painter writes, “Only 45 farms filed in the entirety of 2024, which seems about average. Well, 2025 has been exponentially worse for farmers – a shocking 88 had filed for bankrupcy by the end of Q1 2025!” Arkansas Senator John Boozman blames previous POTUS Biden, of course; that’s the GOP playbook answer, blame Democrats, avoid voters, or pretend it’s not happening. But never, never take responsibility for bad news.

The other FAFO tale was out of Nevada. Broadacres Market closed down in June after the national wave of prominent ICE raids where brown people were snatched up by masked individuals. A large open-market venue that serves about 15,000 people every weekend, Broadacres Marketplace vendors particularly cater to the Latino population. They don’t know when they’ll reopen. Read full story here.

“We don’t want any of our customers, vendors, or employees to be detained at our business or for us to be a beacon of shopping and entertainment while our federal government is raiding businesses and detaining its people,” the Broadacres Marketplace Management team wrote on social media. Read full story here.

Like Arkansas, Nevada went for Trump, partly supported by an increase in Latino support. Said one Latino voter back in 2024 after Trump’s victory: “Initially, I will say I did not agree with him,” said Mario Jr., 29. “Then I started seeing that he was not afraid to speak his mind and I noticed that he was not scared to say what he felt, regardless of what people would say. I think I respect that about him.” No word on what he thinks now. Read full story here.

Meanwhile, Trump, still operating that he’s under the King of All, is trying to force the Washington Commanders, NFL team, to revive the racial slur they’d previously used. Naturally, the bully’s tool of choice is to withhold funding for the team’s new D.C. stadium.

After that and other reading, The Neurons seeded “The King of Wishful Thinking” in the morning mental music stream. This is a 1990 song from Go West. Heard it a bunch on radio during the last century’s last decade. It’s an easy sing along. I think news about Epstein, Trump, and the MAGAts being upset about Epstein file’s handling by the Trump Regime inspired The Neurons with this song choice.

Got my coffee running its route through my systems. Hope this Munda and the week it commences finds you in good spirits and good health, and that you have the best week you can. Cheers

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The Writing Moment

I like to write everyday. I enjoy writing fiction novels. It’s not just a goal for me; writing fiction every day is my center pole.

Sometimes I can’t do it, and the start of July was one of those times when life sabotage my efforts. First were dental appointments on July 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and a day of baking on July 3rd in preparation for July 4th, and then the holiday itself. July 5th was my birthday, so my writing was limited. A medical emergency stole my time and attention on July 6th. I swore to get back to it all on July 7th.

But when I say that I wasn’t writing, I mean that I wasn’t comfortably settling in a chair at a keyboard with a jug of coffee at hand. I kept writing in my head during the hours of driving, baking, sitting at the dentist, being social when I was supposed to be conversing with others, watching parades, attempting to sleep, or hanging around the ER waiting for test results.

Writing in my head was so magical and fast. When it came time to find the words and put it together with my coffee fuel, man, that was a different cat. Although I poured through two thousand words a day plus, a lot for me, stringing words together and revisiting and fixing my previous day’s work, I told my wife that it’s only now that I feel like I am finally catching up.

As I once blogged, I dream of a device that can take the scenes and spin into the needed words for me. Although, honestly, I don’t know if that would be nearly as much fun.

I guess, really, what it’s about for me is exploring the idea, seeing the story and hearing it, and then finding the words for others. May it always be so.

2

Twosda’s Theme Music

Twosda, July 8, 2025, has squatted down on us. It’s a cool morning after a quiet night. 75 F now, 95 F later, part of a ‘cooling trend’. We saw 99 at our Ashlandia house yesterday. My wife and I were at to get a few items at its hottest, about 4 PM. Checking the eastern sky, I said, “I think we’re going to get thunderstorms.”

My wife scanned the sky. “No, that doesn’t look like thunderstorms to me.”

A few hours later, the sky darkened. Thunder washed across the sky like an old man clearing his throat and coughing. A few raindrops applauded on the ground. At 7:46 PM, the power went out. An alert telling us about that came at 7:57 PM. They said the power would be back in one and a half hours. They were wrong.

Meanwhile, another emergency text arrived: fire off Pompadour Road. Bottom line of all this, fire crews worked through the night to line and contain the Pompadour Fire, and the electricity came back on a little after 2 AM. I know because things beeped and chirped back to life.

The good part of this is that we updated our power outage equipment last winter and it all proved to work. One purchase was a pair of inexpensive rechargeable light bulbs. Installed over the breakfast bar between the kitchen and dining room, they work great as regular bulbs, giving soft daylight illumination. When the power went out, they were charged and ready to go, giving us needed light at the throw of a switch. Now, with power returned, they’re recharging for the next time they’re needed.

Augmenting those were two simple round little lights. Working off three AA batteries, they’re extremely lightweight but powerful, and were perfect for using to read books. As we both had library books at hand, we picked up our books and lights and read till bed.

BTW, my book was “Hollow Kingdom” by Kira Jane Buxton. Released in 2019, I found this science fiction book about an unfolding human apocalypse, as told by a crow and other birds and animals to be engaging, warm, clever, and moving. I wholly recommend it.

Meantime, we’re talking about the Trump Regime’s heavy-handed military presence at MacAuthur Park in LA.

Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass is condemning federal agents and National Guard troops for descending on a city park on Monday, July 7.

Armored vehicles, mounted officers and armed troops briefly swarmed the city’s MacArthur Park Monday morning before leaving. Bass said 20 children were playing at the park before the troops surged through and shared footage of federal officers running through the park.

According to an X post from the Department of Defense, troops were present at the park to “ensure the safety of federal agents.”

Read more here…

Sorry, I know, writing ‘heavy-handed’ while addressing Trump Regime actions is redundant; everything done by that loathsome, hate-fueled regime is heavy handed. This is especially true when it’s Dog-killer Noem calling the shots. ICE and the military showed up at park, disrupting a children’s day care outing. Now what did that accomplish other than a show of force to intimidate others and blow another wad of Federal funding? Bet some part of the MAGA crowd let out a full-throated cheer but the rest of us simply lowered our expectations of TACO and his chips yet again, just, as they say, you didn’t think they could go lower.

During the power outage, The Neurons plugged a 1983 song by Dio, “Holy Diver”, into the morning mental music stream. “What’s that about?” I inquired of the little gray dude. Shrugging in unison, they chorus-muttered, “I don’t know.” Now tell me, how am I supposed to know why things happen in my mind when The Neurons in charge keep presenting themselves as clueless? And people wonder why I act strange. Well, it’s The Neurons, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s the theme music for Twosda, just to get it out of my friggin’ head.

Right now, I’m fasting. No coffee, water, food, etc., until after my 12:15 ultrasound on my gall bladder. Have the best day you can, okay? I’ll do the same. Cheers

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The Writing Moments

I told myself again yesterday, get out of the way and write. Write, I did. And when I reviewed what I wrote, I laughed to myself and whispered, “This is fucking crazy.”

By far the craziest of what I’ve ever written, I sat down with a specific purpose and some simple ideas about where I was going. Well, The Writing Neurons quickly queued up, redecorating, rearranging, reordering, taking me into completely foreign waters. “But how will this match up with what I had planned and previously wrote?” I complained.

Well, after the cat barked me awake at 5:58 AM today, The Writing Neurons pounced on my poor brain. They began weaving story webs like caffeine-fueled spiders in a web-building competition. I laughed at a lot of the shit they conjured. Then, when I put eyes to screen and hands to keys, I hustled to duplicate The Writing Neurons’ input.

It’s a wild frigging ride so far and I’m nervous about where I’m going. But you know, write on.

That’s what it’s all about.

***

So…I finished a novel last month. Felt damn good about it. Began firing up the querying mechanism.

Meanwhile, I handed it off to friends for feedback. But, without telling them, I capped it at part 1. I figured, if they finish part 1, I’ll give them parts 2 and 3. I did this knowing that the manner the novel unfolds will be confusing by the end of part 1. You need part 2 to see where it’s going, and part 3 for full illumination. But I still thought it would be a fast read for them. Instead, I’m hearing that they had to reread parts; they were creating notes. They want to sit down and talk about what’s what. All of that’s pushing my hopes and confidence toward the writer’s abyss of despair. I just need to hang on. Wait for their feedback. See where it goes.

That, too, is part of the writing process.

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Sabre Jet Ace

I loved aircraft when I was a kid. I was specially enamored with the sleek, fast fighter jets. I built models of them as soon as I was old enough. I soon had the entire ‘century series’ of jet aircraft the U.S. was fielding. The stubby little centerline jet F86 Sabre Jet was my favorite aircraft. For that, I don’t know why. I do know that I discovered a book about it at our school library. We were in there to read a book and write a book report about it. The book was called, Sabre Jet Ace.

I don’t remember anything about the book except that title.

Spring forward to the mid 1970s. I’m now in the Air Force, working command and control. This was at an ATC training base named Randolph Air Force Base. We weren’t involved in the flying in that command post, and the shifts were slow, long, and boring. Into it came our new director: Major Gross. With so much time on our hands, Major Gross would wander around, looking for conversation. I politely indulged in, asking questions about his career.

A Nebraska farm boy, he’d ended up in the Air National Guard, where he became a pilot. In the early days, he flew P51 Mustangs in Korea during that conflict. “Beautiful aircraft,” he said. “I loved flying them.” But the Air Force was modernizing. He was forced into jets. “Much easier to fly.” The jet he flew was the F86 Sabre Jet.

His story became one of hardship. He was sent home, became a civilian, and started a business. When that failed, he joined the Air Force as an enlisted person. Then, as an enlisted man, his reserve unit was called up. Through bizarre machinations, he became an officer and a fighter pilot again. This time he ended up flying in Vietnam in a century series jet, the F105 Thunderchief, but Major Gross’s aircraft was in an unarmed configuration, conducting Wild Weasel missions. I so enjoyed hearing his stories, and he was willing to share.

As it happens, I ended up working with three other pilots with F86 Sabre Jet experiences. None were aces. One was a vice wing commander when I met him. He started jets on the F84 Sabre Jet, then was moved to F4s, which he didn’t like flying nearly as much. He survived combat missions in Vietnam, but then had a dual engine flame out while taking off from a base in England. Although he safely ejected, his seat malfunctioned. Both legs and his spine were severely damaged. He was told he’d never walk again, but he’d overcome that prognosis and was now a regular runner.

The second officer, another major, went from flying the F84 to A37s in Vietnam in a close air support role. The third office, a captain, converted from F86s to F4s. He flew them in Vietnam, too. Shot down by a SAM while flying a combat mission, he was a prisoner of war for several years. He never spoke about those stories.

I appreciated what men endured, serving our country, even if, like many — including several of them — I didn’t agree with the Vietnam War. The book which originally titillated me probably romanticized the war.

These pilots never did. As for me, I didn’t become a pilot. My eyesight wasn’t good enough back then. I always wonder, would I have been any good?

In a final aside, I was sent to Kunsan Air Base in Korea sometime in the early 1980s. The US Air Force was primarily flying F16 Fighting Falcons at Kunsan, but they shared facilities with a squadron of Korean F86 Sabre Jets.

They still struck me as a pretty plane, although they seemed so small compared to the F4s, F15s, and F16s frequenting the base. I was able to meet and chat with several Korean F86 pilots. Fun aircraft to fly, they told me. Light and nimble.

I could only imagine.

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Munda’s Theme Music

Suming continues in Ashlandia. It’s a spring base with heavy summer nuances today, Munda, June 2, 2025. Presently 60 F, we’ll pop through 80 before the sun declares fini.

I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning. Time again for us to do Food & Friends deliveries. After that, it’s back to the writing routine and then beginning of month chores. I also pruned trees and bushes around the yard, and now must cut it all down and put it in the green bin for pickup tomorrow.

Haven’t heard back from Mom in days. I’ve regularly texted her. I do know she’s okay. Little sister’s youngest just turned 17. I saw Mom in FB photos of he bash. The lad, named Michael because one can’t have enough Michaels, is the youngest of the nieces and nephews. The next generation of them are nipping on his heels, as they’re sixteen. All are impressive examples of human beings, so far; we know how people change as they age, don’t we? Well, not everyone. But many inevitably shift into someone else who may be better or worse.

My wife bought a book this weekend called A Short Stay in Hell. It’s very short but thought-provoking. We both read it and then discussed its ideas.

With my nephew’s birthday in the rear view, it should be no surprise that thoughts of generations and transitions are occupying The Neurons. They dug out The Who with “My Generation” from 1965. Love the video of the era. The basics of people walking, dancing, and working aren’t much different from what we’d see in a video produced today. Shoes, clothing, and hair styles would be the most notable aspect of the differences, along with cars and vehicles. Since there’s no sound, we’d miss the other facet of change: how talk has changed. But of course, any video of people on the streets today would be peppered with folks on cell phones., right?

Time to make it a Munda, just as so many generations before me. I’ll start with coffee. Cheers

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The Writing Moment

I completed revising and editing the novel in progress. Gravity’s Emotions.

I wrote the novel I wanted. The story I wanted to read. As ‘they’ always advise and suggest. ‘They’ are the establishment. The writers who made it. The teachers who teach it. The editors who edit it, the publishers who print it, the agents who represent it. Of course, once the writer writes the novel they want, ‘they’ all take their turns on it. That’s the art, and the business. Then it gets to the readers.

Woo, boy.

My doubts have been kicking me, heaping scorn on my effort. Those doubts are always ready to jump on me. Doesn’t matter what’s going on. They are what they are.

“Your idea of inconsistent consistent inconsistency is ridiculous,” they growl. “It’s too complicated. Too surreal and too far out there. And the book is too big. That’s also a stupid title.”

“Thanks, guys,” I answer. Because there is no arguing with doubt. Let it come, beat you up, expend its energy, and walk away. Don’t engage your doubt. That’s what ‘they’ say.

The doubts do present legitimate points. The manuscript is an epic monster. 700 pages. Umpteen billion words. Lot of fun to write, edit, revise. Amazing that I wrote that thing in a few hours a day. I started it in July of 2024. I often ponder, HTF is that possible? It neatly slots into my thoughts about duality: it was at once hard work and a long time and a lot of hours, and not much time, not too difficult, and a lot of fun.

Meanwhile, the draft is being distributed to my small core of private readers. See what they think. Decisions will be set regarding their feedback. Then, into the submission maws.

While that’s all happening, another novel is already underway.

2

Frida’s Wandering Political Thoughts

A Democratic Party insider told me who the party supports as candidate for the 2028 nominee for POTUS.

“John F. Kennedy.”

I raised a salient objection. “He’s dead. Worse, he’s been buried.”

“True, true, true.”

“You’re not talking about a clone.”

“Of course not. That’d be silly. No, we’re thinking, AI.”

“Articial Intelligence?”

“What else? Listen, if corporations are people, why can’t AI be people?”

“I need to think about that,” I answered.

“Okay, let me tell you more. See if I can convince you. What we did is create an AI that’s modeled on President John F. Kennedy’s thinking. We fed all the interviews which we could find, all his papers, speeches, books, diaries, and journals, along with biographies about him, into a quantum computer. It then developed the ability to replicate JFK’s thinking and speaking, giving us a virtual entity who is just like him. It’s uncanny. Wait until you see it.”

I was shaking my head in skepticism. “It’ll never work.”

“We think it will. He polls very well.”

“I don’t think people are ready for AI to be elected to any office.”

“No, no, turns out that almost 80 percent of likely voters who were polled said they could support AI for president. A majority of voters think that AI is more principled and intelligent than many politicians holding office or running for nomination. In fact, more people are willing to vote for AI than a woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, but what about his assassination over sixty years ago? Surely, that’s a drawback.”

“No, no, no. Many people have always believed that JFK wasn’t really killed, that all of that was just a fiction to get him out of office.”

“Even if they believe that, it’s six decades later. He’d be over a hundred years old. Do you really think that people will support a candidate who is over hundred years old after what we endured with Joe Biden?”

My source grinned. “We told them that JFK was cryogenically stored. He’s only fifty years old.”

“They believe that?”

“You’d be surprised what they believe. Just to seal the deal, Elvis Presley is endorsing JFK.”

“Presley?” I laughed. “He’s been dead since — “

“No, no, he wasn’t dead. He was in storage, too. Trust me. We’ve done the research. The numbers support this idea.

“Presley and Kennedy are still alive. Along with Walt Disney and Jackie O. All are alive. They’ve all just been frozen. The time has come for the truth to be told.”

My source leaned forward. “The people are ready for Camelot’s return. JFK will kick Trump’s ass. Remember, you heard it here first.”

2

The Learning Dream

My wife and I were at a pool. I somehow got involved in a swimming class. Others were doing it. There was a white cloth or panel on the pool’s bottom. Our guidance was to take a deep breath, dive to the bottom, get the item, swim to the other side of the pool and surfaced.

My wife laughed. “He’s a really strong swimmer. He’ll do that without trying.”

I did. I’m not a strong swimmer but I’m good at holding my breath.

After doing that on the first attempt, they set me loose in free-practice to keep getting better.

Next, we moved inside. Now I was helping with some kind of television or streaming shopping channel. I was to write on a piece of cardboard and then slid the info forward so some announcer could see it. The info was being given to me by another person, and I was to keep writing the new price as it came in and show it.

Well, I screwed it up the first two times. I did well the third time, and then the people told me to keep practicing. I did for a while and then someone came by and told me I had a new assignment. This involved reading textbooks. The assignment confused me. “I’m just supposed to read them all? Will there be tests?” Yes, I’m to read them all, astounding me. A large range of topics were included. Stacks of books awaited my eyes. And yes, I would be tested.

I began that assignment and was startled about how fast I discovered I could read and learn. After four of five books, I was just fanning the pages. Witnessing this, my wife chastised me. “You’re supposed to be learning this.” I laughed back. “I am. Give me a book. I’ll read it and you can ask me questions, and I’ll answer them.”

She gave me a book. I read it. She asked me three questions, and I answered them all.

Another instructor arrived. I was being taken to a new class. The instructor said, “In this class, you’ll be taught how to use energy to change things.” I asked, “What kind of things will I be able to change?”

She answered, “Wait and see.”

The dream ended as a cat tapped my hand and meowed.

It was a very uplifting and energizing dream.

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It’s One or Another

Daily writing prompt
If you could be a character from a book or film, who would you be? Why?
View all responses

I write fiction. I love writing novels. I don’t work so much on publishing them afterwards. Writing them is the fun of it. Fiction writing always lets me be other characters.

Today was typical. As I worked on the novel in progress, I was several characters. A mashup of genres, I told the muses that all genres are welcome in this tome. So, today, one of the principle characters in the scene was the talking dog, Sly.

Sly is a small dog. His name is short for Sylvester. Besides talking, he’s a thought reader. His owner is Instant, a rock and pop star who uses magic to enhance her performances and control her fans. They live on a starship named the Stellar Queen.

When Sly was introduced chapters ago, he came in to give specific warnings and revelations. When I thought about his voice and tone, I began imagining my father’s words coming out of Sly’s mouth. Thereafter, Sly’s behavior model is my father. Later, I realized with a start, Dad’s nickname among some of his friends is Sly. Kind of trippy. I named the dog before ever thinking about his behavior.

I think my favorite character in the novel, though, and the one who I would prefer to be, is Ari Four. As part of his modelling,another fictional character inspires him. That’s Uhtred of Bebbanburg, son of Uhtred, played by Alexander Dreymon in a television series called The Last Kingdom. The television series is based on a series of novels by Bernard Cornwell. Uhtred is based on some history, and Cornwell’s distant forebear. Besides sometimes acting irrational, staunchly adhering to principles when others urge him to abandon them, Uhtred is bold, loyal, and decisive. He’s willing to fight.

Ari Four is always urging, “We must do this now.” He speaks forcefully, as Uhtred would. If someone else is about to pull a sword, Ari Four will pull his first. That’s the thing about fiction writing. Like fiction reading and watching movies, plays, and television shows, you can let yourself be someone else for a while.

Even if it’s just your father, the dog.

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