Posts filed under ‘THOUGHTS’
PRESIDENTIAL QUESTIONS
President Trump,
Would you object to someone grabbing Melania’s pussy?
Have you thought of or grabbed Ivanka’s pussy?
I understand you think Ivanka is hot.
A HORROR LEGEND IS GONE
I should have posted this piece on Halloween night, but better late than never. I feel this small piece of horror history needs to be shared.
As a writer of horror, I look to the roots of my addition. The source which first opened the world of horror to me has just died at the age of 98. At least they think he died.
He was one of the elements which first opened the world of horror to me. He was Zacherly, the host of a late-night Saturday show centered on classic horror movies. If you didn’t live in the Philadelphia, New Jersey, the New York area, you probably have never heard of him.
Born John Zacherle in 1918, he provided all the original classic horror movies. Frankenstein, Dracula, The Mummy and the Invisible Man among others. If the movie he was showing was not a classic, but a cheesy effort, he would interrupt the film to make comments or insert his image into the film.
During breaks he would camp it up standing in the coffin of his wife, stake pierced. Also, he would talk to Gasport, a potato sack containing who knows what hanging on the wall. Only Zacherly could understand what this sack said, which I found out from Zacherle’s obituary was his son. Go figure.
Another activity, often perused by this ghoulish host, was brain surgery. The brains looking very much like cauliflower. I hesitate to speculate who these brains belonged to, but it is tempting.
I was a teenager when this was all happening. Offered by Zacherly was a passport to Transylvania. Of course I sent away for one. With a bright red cover, it was a cherished possession. It was lost before I had a chance to use it.
A legend is gone. I hope he lives on in reruns, or that murky world where horror meets reality.
WRITERS CROSSING THE LINE
While attending a dinner with a friend, his wife said, “Glad you have a hobby like writing.” My then-wife saw me bristle and understood why. This incident occurred some time ago but not forgotten.
At the time of this event I had already been published and aware of the agony associated on being a writer on the quest to being an author. I have pondered the issues of writing and differences of the title as writer as a hobby or writer as a profession and arrived at the following conclusion.
My thoughts are these. As I went for putting words on paper to attempting publication, I felt writing could no longer be deemed a hobby after experiencing the rejections, multiple times of my work. After some thought, I realized writing can be a pleasant pastime; that some write for the sheer joy of the experience. Never seeking publication, only enjoying the mind wandering to places they would never have considered. Simply enjoying the process of creativity.
Writing is a hobby until you decide to publish. It is then you crossed the Rubicon. There is no going back. You crossed the line from hobby to profession, and God help you. For unless you are extremely talented, a writing gem hidden from the world, you will most likely experience rejection. The words you consider magnificence will push upon the brick wall of reality.
But if you goal is to become an author you will experience a level of doubt and rejection you never anticipated. But someday, if you carry on, your work will find a home and you are on the road of being an author. The difference between writer and author is perseverance.
You made it!
You’re an author now and the years of writing as a hobby are behind you.
POEMS & FLEETING THOUGHTS: IMMORTALITY
I am a transient form of life
This my body knows,
Yet my mind seeks immortality
Never ceasing to exist,
For the world would surely
Cease to exist
Without my presence,
And my world
Would cease to exist
Without my infinite hope.
THE READING WORLD WAR II WEEKEND
The World War II weekend at the Reading Airport is now history. A short time ago I posted a piece describing the event and providing the date. Along with the information I included my first published short story centered on that weekend event.
After working the mornings of all three days of the event this year, I would like to share some observations.
We had quite a few veterans of that war, along with more recent wars, in attendance. I watched the World War II veterans, mostly in wheelchairs or supported by walkers, make their way through the gate to relive their youth. Although there was one spry 94 year old, who could have passed for 70, come to enjoy the show and I’m sure relive a time long gone. I tried to imagine what life was like when they were young men, in a foreign country, facing death any day. And what life must have been like for the civilians. In this day and age, could we muster the dedication on the scale to defeat the evil foe of that era?
These gallant men, participants belonging to the great greatest generation, rapidly dwindling, need to reveal their experiences. If you know a participant of that war, gently try to persuade them to talk of their experiences. Some are just waiting for someone to ask.
Also, if you know someone who lived during that era on the home front, ask them to share their experiences during that stressful time.
Their history needs to be preserved while we can still touch it.
STRUGGLING TO GET WRITING APPRECLIATED
Why do you write?
If you’re young, it’s to begin and establish a career, and along the way, perhaps make a living. If you are young this article may not interest you for it’s coming from a different place in life. The place is old age, but the need, perhaps not the reason remains the same. But then again, you will not be young forever.
My first and only novel published thus far appeared while I entered my sixties. Now, at the ass-end of that decade, when maturity infiltrates my brain, I still have a need to write as demonstrated in these mumblings. Do I enjoy it? Hell no!
I should not be working now. I should be enjoying ‘the golden years’. But my personality has always had a strange quirk, the need to accomplish something meaningful. This disease began while I was a teen and has pursued me ever since. Someday soon I may write of how this change to my personality began.
But for now, to the point of this article.
At the end of last year I receive an email from Books To Go Now, a publisher of e-stories telling me I had made 16 cents for the year. This notification brought me joy in a year of a publishing drought. I don’t know and will never meet the person who put down money to read my work.
In my mind, my friends, that is what it is all about. Not fame or fortune which is rightfully sought by the young, but appreciation of our efforts in writing. The bottom line is that appreciation and recognition, no matter how minimal of your work is important. It means someone finds your work worthy of buying. The buying is not the important part, the desire to read your work is.
That is why I write, and perhaps your reason too.
THE FUTURE
My input has been lacking of late.
This is the month of contemplating the coming year, the future. Also, the time of remembrances, both mellow and hurtful, but they exist and their call must be met.
I have so many thoughts I want to offer you, both about writing and life. Next year I will do my best to meet this goal.
Finally, no matter what holiday you celebrate this month may it be full of joy and laughter.
A PERSONAL LOSS
Just recently I learned that my baby is beyond repair, rust of the underside is the culprit. This was the second car I ever owned, purchased in 1975, a 1973 Super Beetle. The reason for the purchase was the theft of my first car, a 1970 Beetle while I was working in the Bronx. I drove my 1973 Beetle in New Jersey. Next was a trip to Florida. After driving to Florida I drove my love to California, and finally it was transported to Pennsylvania in 1985. Residing in Pennsylvania became its death knell. What has ceased to exist is not so much a car, but the representation of a fountain of memories.
Here is a brief history.
I learned to drive while in the air force during pilot training, stationed in Selma, Alabama, in a Beetle. I knew how to fly, but not how to drive. I recall driving the backroads and, when another Beetle passed, honking at each other. I purchased my first Beetle in 1970 while stationed at Sheppard AFB, in Wichita Falls, Texas. I loved it; my first car. When released from the service, (I washed-out of pilot training and became a missile crew commander) I drove my car home to Newark, New Jersey. As previously mentioned, while working in the Bronx my car was stolen. The sense of loss I experienced was extreme. My first car was gone.
Now the memories associated with my 1975 Super Beetle.
My mother who died in 1981 at the age of 59, rode in that car. The car transported me and my mother on shopping trips and excursions to buy Christmas trees. I drove the car from Newark to Miami to continue my career in nephrology research. When the location of my job changed, I drove my Super Beetle from Miami to Los Angeles, my brother as my companion.
My Beetle and I spent seven years in Los Angeles where one time my next door neighbor needed a ride and got to meet Peggy Lee, quite unexpectedly.
So many memories caught up in a vehicle. Now I have only memories for my Super Beetle is dead.
THOUGHTS
No one in America should suffer abuse because of a preconceived notion.
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