Posts filed under ‘OBSERVATIONS & OPINIONS’

THE CATBIRD SINGS HIS SONG, LIKE NO OTHER

Nearly every morning this spring, and I’m sure the trend will continue into summer and fall, with the windows open to welcome the cooling night air, lacking AC, I hear the rambling song of a catbird. Hearing him sing brings a smile to my face. He sounds so happy.

Years ago, when I first heard his song, I thought someone’s parakeet or canary had escaped as I listened to his ever-varying song. Then one day, while doing outside chores, I followed his song to a bush. There he was, a plain-looking gray bird singing his heart out. His appearance was nothing like what his beautiful music led me to believe he would look like. He sat in the bush singing for all he was worth. Going inside, I referenced one of my many bird books and found he was a catbird.

He has no constant song, just a series of unrepeated chirps. There are times I think he should be called the ‘happiness bird’, for his song is a song of total joy, like no other I’ve heard.

Catbirds range over most of the U.S., so listen for him. And for those with AC, open your windows, when the temperature permits, on spring and summer nights. You’ll be surprised at the sounds of nature’s world right outside your window.

Here are some links where you may purchase my work.

Melange Books

http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/index.html

Barnes & Noble.com

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/walt-trizna?store=book&keyword=walt+trizna

 

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=walt+trizna

June 21, 2015 at 9:08 pm Leave a comment

I AM NOT A PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE, MAYBE

I wrote this piece on a lark, not intending to publish it, only to amuse myself. It was ludicrous, and somewhat embarrassing, then the landscape changed.

Donald Trump, aka ‘The Donald’, not to be confused with the duck, has just announced his is running for President of the United States, ‘really this time’. How in the hell could you not really run for the most powerful position in the world?

I wrote the following piece some time ago, not thinking I would post it, but the comedy has begun.

God help us all.

I want to make clear the record before there is one. I AM NOT RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. There, I’ve said it. There is not turning back. No matter how much money pours into my coffers from super pacs. But if anyone who wishes to pour money into my coffers, you can contact me through this blog. Nothing in politics is written in stone.

This declaration is made because of observations I have made. There have been has-beens, and others, with no chance of achieving the coveted goal of president. During which, they have obtained media exposure by making proclamations identical to mine.

Currently, I am an unknown author, possessing no skills required for the office. Exposure is the point of this declaration. This is the reason I have decided not to run for the office of President of the United States. If you think this is a joke – look at the list of non-candidates.

Stay in touch. Who knows, I may change my mind now that ‘The Donald’ is in the race. Somewhere I know, Pat Paulson is smiling.

To ‘The Donald’, at some point, I may not really decide not to run for president.

That should keep him busy for a while.

June 18, 2015 at 8:06 pm Leave a comment

REVIVAL BY STEPHEN KING

Published as a paperback by Galley Books in 2015, with Revival, Stephen King has done it again; taking us on a ride through interesting characters with a touch of horror, maybe more than a touch. I enjoyed this novel. Now let me tell you why.

First, some background.

Stephen King and I are the same age, and we’re both writers of horror. The similarities stop there. King has bucks coming out his butt because his novels sell because they are excellent reads. I just have a butt with the usual production, but I’m working to change that. I love King’s work, and with this last novel, I’m beginning to understand why.

We grew up together.

I enjoy all of King’s earlier novels, written while he and I were young or of middle age, the characters kept my interest and the storylines were magnificent horror. But the age of the characters was unimportant to both me and the work. Then, as he grew old, and life took its toll, his writing began to change, and being the same age, I now strongly identify with the characters.

There is no guide to getting old, thank God, for if there was, some might chose not to. Everyone’s experience is different and unique. There are those who do not have a chance to experience the aches, pains and loss of the purpose they once knew. You know the only way to not grow old, think Marilyn Monroe. They are the ones who suffer the loss of opportunity of time and accomplishment.

Now, about the story.

Revival centers on a minister who loses his faith and a young boy he encounters before circumstances cause this loss. Even after his loss of faith, the minister holds revivals and accomplishes cures using ‘secret electricity’, an unknown form of electricity which he is sure exists. He also feels this electricity will allow him to glimpse worlds we cannot normally see. The result is not pleasant. King goes totally H.P. Lovecraftian at the novel’s conclusion. Being a fan of Lovecraft, I loved it.

Revival is an excellent tale of horror, but it is much more. It is also a skilled description of the ageing process through the life of its characters. Until you are there, advance age cannot be truly described. This is what give a richness to King’s tale. Through personal experience, King does a fantastic job of combining advance age, and bearing the crosses of life’s experiences.   I also bear crosses, and am stumbling through the years.

Treat yourself.

Read this book.

June 15, 2015 at 6:12 pm Leave a comment

CHRISTOPHER LEE DIES AT 93

As a writer of horror, I feel we should pause and offer a moment of silence for the passing of Christopher Lee.

I grew up watching him dine on nubile women and issuing terror into my young mind.  He journeyed onto the screen in the footsteps of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi.  Stay out of character, Christopher, and rest in peace.

June 11, 2015 at 4:12 pm Leave a comment

A FADING GENERATION

For the last twelve years, or so, I have volunteered to work admissions for World War II weekend, held the first weekend of June by the Mid Atlantic Air Museum located in Reading, Pennsylvania. This year, it was held on June 5, 6 and 7th. I would like to share some of the special moments I experienced that weekend and which I will never forget.

First, I want to set the scene.

Picture this, fighters and bombers from both the navy and army air force, most more than 70 years old and representing the aircraft this country used to win the war. Among the bombers there was Fifi, the only flying B-29 in the world, along with a B-24, B-17 and multiple B-25s. I know to many, these designations are meaningless. But to students of history and those who share a passion for WWII aircraft, these titles have meaning. I won’t go on to name all the fighters, but all told, there were about 80 aircraft present. During the show, troop encampments were also present with more than 1000 reenactors and over 100 authentic military vehicles from that period. Represented were units from the American army, navy and marines. There were also British, German, Japanese, and French resistance reenactors. On occasion, I would also see uniforms I could not place, especially one lad dressing in brown with a huge black feather sprouting from his pith helmet.

What I enjoy most since I began volunteering has been meeting and talking to the veterans of that war. Ten years ago most walked in, now most are wheeled in by family members, but they still come. You can see the anticipation in their eyes as they enter the gates, a chance to relive their ‘glory days’. What I found special this year as I worked the gate were people who showed up with an extra ticket, and would say, “Give this to the next veteran you see.” This happened several times, and when the tickets were presented, usually to a wheelchair-bound former soldier, you could see the gratitude of someone’s generosity, and also, the appreciation for the recognition of their service.

For me, another special encounter was when I talked to a reenactor. I don’t know what unit he represented, though I think it was a marine outfit. He told me he had learned something of the hardships and sacrifices the men he now acted as endured. Here was a man, not even 40, telling me that knowledge brought tears to his eyes.

Honoring and remembering our history, the importance cannot be overrated.

June 9, 2015 at 7:16 pm Leave a comment

BLAZE BY RICHARD BACHMAN (STEPHEN KING)

Written in 1972-1973, this novel brought me a new appreciation of the ‘master’ as I have never felt before. In this story, Helen Keller could have seen the gifted writer which would emerge on the horror scene.

Surprisingly, this work, in the strictest sense, in not a horror novel. There is a dead accomplice giving Blaze, the main character, a brain-damaged man, advice, but he only exists in Blaze’s mind and memory. What I found remarkable about this work is how King creates a multi-faceted who kidnaps and kills, yet you’re able to get into his mind and past and find sympathy for his actions.

I’m not giving away any more detail. Buy the book and fill the ‘master’s’ coffers. You won’t be disappointed.

May 21, 2015 at 9:08 pm Leave a comment

WATERSPIDER BY PHILIP K. DICK

Recently I read a short story, Waterspider, by Philip K. Dick, which was part of a collection, The Minority Report and other classic stories.

The reason I write this piece is that, in past posts, I have threatened to write a piece about science fiction writers and how, through their imaginations, predicted science fact. I’m still going to do it, with Arthur C. Clarke at the top of my list. However, Philip K. Dick beat me to the punch in a fascinating short story, Waterspider.

In Dick’s short story, the present is the future and scientists have sent a mission of volunteer prisoners into space, reducing their mass. The problem is, they don’t know how to restore the ship’s mass and its one-inch tall occupants upon arrival to their destination. Apparently, even in the future, some things never change.

However, the scientists remember a period in the past when people, known as pre-cogs, existed. The debate was whether the first pre-cog was Jonathan Swift or H.G. Wells. I’m surprised Jules Verne was not in the running. These individuals have the ability to predict the technology of the future, and one of them predicted a solution to mass recovery. These pre-cogs, with this ability unknown to them, were science fiction writers. The present-future scientists were able to travel to the past and decide to bring Poul Anderson, who, in a short story solved this problem.

These future scientist journey back in time to a convention of science fiction writers and meet a host of pre-cogs, Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, along with a shy Philip K. Dick.

To say the least, this story blew me away. I encourage you to read it, if you can find it.

May 18, 2015 at 6:05 pm Leave a comment

ACCEPTABLE RISKS by ROBIN COOK

I’ve just finished reading Robin Cook’s novel, Acceptable Risks, published in 1995. It was a Goodwill purchase, sorry Mr. Cook. The work whose blurb proclaimed, ‘One of Cook’s best,” I don’t agree with. Although to be honest, I think his name and reputation carry slightly more weight than mine. If I could just live to about 150, I might catch up.

Anyway.

What intrigued me about the book’s premise was the side effects of mind-altering drugs. I wrote a short story, Side Affects, published by BLACK PETALS in2007. Since it is no longer easily accessible, I’m including a copy. I’m sure, somewhere on late-night TV, there exists a lawyer willing to take on the case if I am wrong.

Anyway, here it is.

SIDE AFFECTS

The female picked up her baby and held it close, suckling it for the last time. She did not have a name; language was thousands of years in the future.   As she gazed at her infant, only days old, tears rolled down her cheeks. She caressed the small hairy body and kissed the prominent brow, the two characteristics that spelled the infants doom. She stood, and slowly walked into the forest. Moments later the forest echoed with a child’s scream, cut suddenly short. The female emerged from the forest alone.

She thought of another member of the loosely formed tribe with a similar baby, who did not have the strength to destroy it. The female raised the child, its aggressiveness and appearance different from the other children living in the clearing in the African forest. The child grew strong and hateful. One day a member of the tribe found the mother dead, partially devoured. The child was never seen again. It entered the jungle, more animal than human, to live as its ancestors did thousands of years before.

***

Modern science could have discovered the explanation for these mysterious births. The cause was a unique receptor, a protein on the surface of the cell. Many receptors discovered today are seven transmembrane receptors; they course the cell wall seven times weaving in and out like a tiny thread. These aggressive individuals had receptors that were fourteen transmenbrane receptors, monstrous in size and in action, bringing together hormones in rare mixes, resulting in a savage monster. These receptors disappeared with the extinction of the savage individuals, but the genetic machinery that manufactured these monstrous receptors did not.

Thousands of years ago, as these monsters were born and eliminated; there was another type of individual created. It was rare, rarer than its savage counterparts. These individuals possessed the genetic machinery to produce the aberrant receptors but this could only occur when there was a change in serotonin levels. These changes don’t normally occur in nature now, and the birth of these individuals continued with their genetic potential unrealized. Unrealized, that is, until the advent of the new antidepressants.

***

Jeff Skovich was a quiet guy, the kind of guy you never noticed, primarily because he didn’t want to be noticed. Only Jeff and his wife Linda knew the torment of his life. Lately he was blowing up at the slightest provocation. He was angry all the time and had more and more difficulty dealing with daily routines. Then, one day, Jeff had a particularly violent argument with Linda. After Jeff had nearly struck her she shouted, “You need help! I refuse to go on living like this,” and stormed out of the house. Confused and hurt, she drove aimlessly for hours and when she returned, Jeff was gone.

Days later, a sullen Jeff returned home, and would not tell Linda where he had been. They spent a week passing each other in the house, avoiding any contact, sleeping in different rooms. The love Jeff felt for Linda ran so deep, he could not bear the thought of life without her but could not confront her. Finally, Linda broke the ice. “I love you”, she told him, but insisted, “You need help for your mood swings, and we really can’t go on like this.”

At first Jeff said nothing, and then his feelings poured out, “I feel hopeless all the time. I can hardly function because nothing seems to have any importance. I use all the energy I have just to get through the day. By the time I come home I’m spent, angry and confused. I just can’t deal with things the way I once did.” As Jeff talked, the tears started to flow from Linda’s eyes and from Jeff’s. Linda knew the man Jeff once was and wanted him back.

Jeff finally agreed to see Dr. Roberts, their family doctor, and after a short discussion Roberts said, “I’m going to put you on one of the new serotonin reuptake inhibitors. I think that this medication will help you. We’ll give it a try and see if it makes a difference.”

Jeff filled the prescription and started the therapy he hoped would return his life to him. After a week he noticed a difference in his approach to problems; instead of flying into a rage, he stopped and thought through the conflict he felt. He was no longer angry all the time, had more patience and was more focused on his work. Linda noticed the change too. She no longer dreaded coming home from her job, trying to gauge Jeff’s mood for the evening. Jeff and Linda began enjoying life and their marriage to the fullest. Jeff’s job as an electrical engineer took off. The work he accomplished won recognition and promotions. Linda also grew comfortable in her life. Her job teaching at the local middle school gave her great satisfaction. Linda adored children but was not able to have her own, so this proximity to children fulfilled a need.

Jeff had now been on the antidepressant for years. His life with Linda could not be better; he found himself feeling guilty at times for the happiness that was his. He was now in charge of a major project for the company. The outlook of every facet of his life was positive.

“You know Linda,” Jeff said one morning, “I think it’s a waste of money for me to continue to take the antidepressant. I feel fine, we get along great and things couldn’t be better at work. I’m going to have a talk with Dr. Roberts and see what he says.”

Jeff made the appointment and Linda went with him to testify to the changes Jeff had undergone. Dr. Roberts agreed and slowly began to wean Jeff off the medicine. When Jeff began taking the drug, he started at a low dose and gradually increased the dosage until he underwent the full benefits of the drug. Now he reversed the process and began taking less and less, paying attention to any changes in his mood or behavior, until he was taking the lowest dose used. He still was doing fine so he stopped taking the drug altogether.

Weeks, then months went by and Jeff was even tempered and happy as he had been when he was on the medication, but deep within his genetic makeup subtle changes were taking place. Removing the drug from his system set his cellular machinery into gear, in a manner that had not taken place in man for thousands of years. Proteins were being manufactured that were awesome in length and complexity. They weaved through the walls of his cells fourteen times, like vipers ready to do their damage. The process was slow, gradually creating a monster. The night he began the crossover, Jeff had a dream.

Jeff dreamt he walked an African savanna, hunting for what he knew he needed to continue his existence – food. He stalked his prey, made a kill and feasted on his quarry’s raw flesh. Jeff awoke bathed in sweat, unable to understand his apparition’s meaning. The final image remained imprinted in his mind. In his dream the quarry had been human. This deeply disturbed him for days. He tried to dismiss the dream but couldn’t, for it reoccured. And as the side affects began to alter his body, his dreams became more and more vivid as his mind was also altered.

Six months went by before Jeff noticed a change in his behavior. He was out shopping one day and was about to pull into a parking space when another car beat him to the spot. Normally, he would have uttered some epithet to himself and gone on his way, but this time was different. He pulled his car behind the intruder to prevent him from leaving, then jumped out of his car and attacked. Jeff hammered his fist on the closed window, confronting an elderly couple. The face of the old man behind the wheel revealed shock and disbelief. Both he and his wife cowered as Jeff continued to yell and pound the window. In desperation, the old man began to blow his horn continuously, hoping to attract attention. The noise and forming crowd brought Jeff to his senses.   He jumped into his car and left.

As he drove away, Jeff was shaking with fear and rage. Years ago when he was depressed, he felt rage, a rage born of desperation. The rage he felt now was different; it was animal. For a moment, he wanted to kill the old couple, not considering the consequences.

He did not mention this incident to his wife. He was both scared and ashamed and wanted to forget all about what had happened. Jeff wondered if maybe he should return to his antidepressant but couldn’t realize that there was no turning back. His genetic machinery was in overdrive and could not be reversed.

Jeff had always had a heavy beard. With his thick black hair, his five o’clock shadow would sometimes appear at three, but now by eleven o’clock he looked like he hadn’t shaved at all that morning, and his normally densely haired torso and arms seemed to be growing additional hair. Another change took place that he did not understand, seeming impossible. His face seemed to be altered ever so slightly. His brow seemed to be thickened. It was almost impossible to notice without close inspection. The way Jeff first became aware of this change was that his glasses felt uncomfortable to wear. But this was not a problem for his eyesight seemed to be improving to the extent that he didn’t need his glasses.

The change that distressed Jeff the most was the change in his temper. These days he avoided Linda for fear of a blowup. Small things that she had always done, her little habits, would now grate his nerves generating a mad rage that he fought to keep under control. He had more fits of anger while in public. One day, an elderly woman entered a checkout line at the same time as Jeff, and he pushed her, knocked her to the ground yelling obscenities. A crowd gathered as he ran from the store. In the distance he could hear the wail of a police siren. He walked for hours until darkness fell, and then returned to the store’s parking lot to retrieve his car.

Day by day, his appearance was definitely changing. His brow was becoming more prominent and there was no controlling his beard growth, and his body was covered with what appeared to be fur. Jeff was at a loss as to what to do, whom to turn to for he found it impossible to communicate his rage.

Then one day, Linda was gone from his life too. She knew he was angry again, but not like before. The rage was constant and she couldn’t help but notice the change in his appearance. She couldn’t take the anger any longer and asked, “What’s happening Jeff?”

Jeff’s reply was both verbal and physical, “Shut up bitch,” he shouted and slapped Linda as hard as he could. He had never struck her before. Linda fell to the floor and Jeff began to kick and stomp her until his energy was spent. Linda’s face was no longer recognizable. He left and entered a primal world from which he would never return.

THE END

May 12, 2015 at 8:43 pm Leave a comment

BEN E. KING AND BACKUP SINGERS

Recently, Ben E. King died at the age of 76. I’m writing this piece in recognition of his life, and one of his classic songs, Stand By Me. But more importantly, in my frame of mind, is to recognize one of the untold singers who added to the music for they shall remain nameless and yet make a lasting contribution to music. Their voices live on in recordings, but their names and lives fad into the past, unknown.

The song, Stand By Me, has long haunted my thoughts for two reasons. First, it became the title of a film adapted from a Stephen King short story, probably one of the best adaptations of one of his works. I won’t go into the details of the story, but if you haven’t seen it, you should give it a try, especially if you are a teenaged boy. There is a special bond portrayed exquisitely described by King.

Secondly, on a more personal note, the song reminds me of a coworker I was fortunate to meet while working at SmithKline Beecham, now GlaxoSmithKline. For a period of a year or so our pharmacology group produced a monthly newsletter. I somehow got involved and was assigned the task of interviewing members of the group to record their biographies. For the most part, they were interesting individuals with a rich life removed from the company. One individual, Mildred, agreed to give me an interview and I remember it to this day, and is the inspiration for this piece.

Mildred was a black woman and I interviewed her somewhere around 1990. With only a high school education, she managed to obtain a job as a lab tech; today that would be impossible. Education is now the starting point long before an interview is obtained. As I recall, she came from a large family and there was not enough money to send her to college, although I thinks some of her siblings did pursue higher education.  When I interviewed Mildred, she must have been in her fifties and gained employment in cardiovascular pharmacology with skilled hands and a sharp brain. I had seen her around the labs, but never got to know her until the interview.

She granted me an interview and I am forever grateful for the opportunity to get to know this woman, I am sure, as few of her coworkers knew her. She was an individual associated with stardom, but forever remaining unknown, never reaping the rewards of their contribution.

Mildred while pursuing her science career in Philadelphia, was also a backup singer for recordings during the early years of rock n’ roll. As you all know, Philadelphia was a mecca for music and here before me sat a woman who was part of it. Here was a woman, sitting before me wearing a white lab coat who was an unspoken part of music history. As I sat talking to this woman, I could only imagine the records to which she had contributed. This is the reason that whenever I hear, Stand By Me, I focus on the backup singers and think of Mildred.

May 9, 2015 at 6:08 pm Leave a comment

WE REMEMBER

I came across this piece in my email and thought I’d pass it on for the benefit of my writer and reader friends. Here are a list of writers, having completed this journey of life, leaving us with their words and thoughts.

We are all on this identical journey with the same destination. Let us hope that we leave behind a life’s work worthy to be remembered, if not by the world, at least by those we love.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/danieldalton/i-began-to-exist#.op8AzP88M

January 28, 2015 at 8:28 pm Leave a comment

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