Posts filed under ‘Walt Trizna’
IN THE GARDEN OF BEASTS BY ERIK LARSON
I just completed reading In the Garden of Beasts by Erik Larson. He is a superb writer of creative nonfiction. His books are fact made to read as novels resulting in a page-turner of history.
This work covers the rise of Nazi Germany with Hitler and his henchmen gaining control of the government. The events are viewed through the eyes of William E. Dodd, in 1933, the newly appointed U.S. ambassador to Germany stationed in Berlin.
The story is a chilling recounting of the slow increase in terror and insanity of the Nazis toward the German population and especially the Jews. Reflected is how the horror slowly escalates until it is impossible to halt progress towards world conflict.
SNOW
I thought I’d revisit a poem I wrote and shared on my blog some three years ago.
Our last two winters were nearly nonexistent, but now we are paying. We had three snowfalls in less than a week and another inch is predicted for tomorrow. They have all been small amounts but they do add up, as does the love of snow in this poem.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
THE SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, awaiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring will no longer wait,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
SPIN
It’s time for a confession.
In a past posting I ranted and raved about how I hated the way news was being presented in this day and age and vowed to never watch it again. Well, it seems that ‘never’ can be a short interval. I admit I am a flawed individual with addictions to bear, and the news is one of them. For instance, when on vacation I agonize that some major event will occur and I will be left out of the loop. Who know, Congress may agree on something, nuclear war and or the end of the world would happen and I wouldn’t know about it. All this is rationalizing to soften my failing: I’m watching the news again.
Not only am I watching the news, but I am watching the news given by multiple sources. This may explain what led to this piece.
With the advent of cable news there are a host of news outlets to provide fodder for whatever persuasion you may be, be it liberal or conservative. The middle is more or less left for the networks to serve. So yes, I have even begun watching a cable news station that rhymes with ‘sox’.
As I watch some of these news presentations, I find it difficult to determine what news is and what is editorial. Then it dawned on me. Today you can watch the news and hear the slant that you want to hear, according to your beliefs.
The above insight brings me to the topic of this discussion, the definition of spin as I see it.
I can be rather slow in the thinking process at times. Okay, most of the time. I always thought that spin was delivering half-truths to support your opinion, incorporating falsehoods, to some extent. However, after listening to various outlets delivering the news on the identical topic, I’ve come to change my opinion. There is no falsehood involved. Cable news chooses to report the facts, but only the facts that they know will support the views that their viewers will be comfortable with, that support the agenda of both the station and those who hold what the station presents as gospel. At times I find it amusing to listen to the various outlets reporting on the same topic, selecting only the facts that they find relevant.
Bottom-line; listen to as much news as you can even if you don’t agree with the philosophy of the outlet. Then, use your brain to decide what the truth is by assembling all the facts. That’s what it’s all about.
THE COURAGE OF THE YOUNG WRITER
I salute those youthful individuals who toil daily for the love of their art. Jack Kerouac banging out On The Road on his endless roll of paper not knowing where that work would lead. For hundreds, thousands of Jacks the road is a dead-end. They are the unsung heroes of their art hoping the nod of someone of power, the recognition that never comes. You shall remain unknown, taking your work to your graves.
I began my fiction writing career thirteen years ago when well into my fifties. I stumbled upon this career by accident. Beginning with writing a memoir, I soon turned to short stories and finally novels. While beginning this chapter in my life, I had already been a scientist for twenty years and well established in that profession. Thankfully my two careers overlapped and when a lay-off raised its ugly head five years ago, I became a full-time writer. Since beginning my writing career I have published more than twenty-five short stories and one novel. I’m just getting started for I have two more novels written and a host of short story ideas. Yet, with all this under my belt, some who know me think I ‘just dabble’, that writing is my hobby. None of them know the terror of the blank page or computer screen, but you do my young and young-at-heart friends.
This reflection of my past and present is to contrast the path I took to writing with those who early on decided that putting down in words their thoughts and products of their imagination was the purpose of their life. They take any job available to support their profession, a profession where they can well spend hundreds of hours not knowing if they will make a penny.
You have chosen a lonely profession. For when you take up your pen or sit before your keyboard there is only you and your thoughts. That loneness is the great equalizer between the known and unknown writer.
A PASSING, NANCY SCHMITT
Today I lost a good friend and fellow writer, Nancy Schmitt. I first met Nancy years ago when she joined The Wordwrights, a writers group I belong to.
I grieve that she is gone, but at the same time, feel joy for having been able to know her as a friend.
Nancy wrote for local organizations and newspapers. She was also the author of multiple books about a local small town, Malvern. She loved researching Malvern’s history and the lives of its residents.
Nancy died in a hospice inpatient unit. This was my first experience knowing someone who chose hospice and found it to be a rewarding experience in that you had time to say your good-byes in a comfortable controlled environment.
Nancy, you will be missed but will always remain in our hearts.
THE POWER OF THE BLOG
Many of us blog on a regular basis, or in my case, I visit on a rather irregular one. Yet how many of us pause to ponder the power attached to what we are doing? We are displaying, not only to our friends and acquaintances but to the entire world and perhaps beyond (my science fiction side is showing), our thoughts and sometimes emotions. What we consider important.
This realization crept into my brain when I used a relatively new feature provided by WordPress. It allows you to view the hits your blog has produced around the world. Granted, for me, the vast majority of views listed are countries in which only a solitary person read my blog, but that means in that remote corner of the world my voice was heard. Heady stuff. So for me, as my thoughts sail into infinity – and beyond, I will strive to make them clear, concise and worthy of your time.
MY BUDDY ELMO
I’ve mentioned Elmo in the past. He exists as a figment of my imagination. One that I’ve grown to know over the years since he was first created. He began life as a short story, but due to his thirst for adventure, he grew into a novella, Elmo’s Sojourn. In this story he is a retired Los Alamos scientist experimenting in his cellar when he stumbles on a method of space travel through wormholes. This novella will be available as an eBook released next February by Melange Books. For those who can’t wait, Elmo’s Sojourn is already available now in an anthology, Curious Hearts, also published by Melange Books.
I decided for Elmo to have more adventures, but during his earlier years while working at Los Alamos resulting in another novella, Elmo’s Invention. In this episode he sets out to invent a time machine. His machine works, but not as he had anticipated and results in a caustic response from the public. This novella is in the editing process and will hopefully find a home.
I will continue to follow Elmo into his youth.
ADDICTED TO PRINT
Perhaps it is my age or my past or a combination of both, but I am addicted to the word printed on paper. I know my love spells doom for many trees but I am in too deep. I also know that this is the age of the eBook. Some of my work is available in this medium. I am intrigued by the Kindle White, the prospect of carrying a thousand books with you. But for now I’ll stick with paper.
One question I have is, “How well do the eReaders bounce?”
I am forever falling asleep while reading, either in bed or in my favorite chair (I am getting old). When I awake my book is usually on the floor and closed; my place gone. In my daughter, Lynn’s, younger days I would tell her I lost my place and she would answer, “Don’t worry, Dad. It’ll turn up.”
Here are more reasons why I may never switch to the electronic medium. I love the smell of books. I know many of you are also closet book sniffers. When I begin a new book I open it up to its middle and breathe in its scent. I love holding books and being surrounded by piles of them waiting to be read.
I especially love the smell of old books. Some you need not open to gain their odor. The smell of their history bombards you. I have a bookcase full of old books. My oldest is a book of English history from the late 1700’s. I doubt if my old volumes have much value. Why I cherish them is, as I hold them, I wonder who held them when they were new, and how those people lived. I wonder if they appreciated the books scent when it was new.
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