Posts filed under ‘WALT’S OPINIONS’
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.
THE FUTURE
My daughter, Lynn, is marching on Saturday.
She is an great daughter and outstanding person.
Just recognized by the USDA as a woman farmer, she is making her mark in the world.
Let’s hope her generation gets involved to make this country and world a better place.
And takes notes for the future.
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.
THE WRONGS OF THE PAST CONTINUE: A REVIEW OF YESTERDAY’S FICTION AND TODAYS REALITY
This could be considered one of my RANTS & RAVES pieces, but since it’s also a book review, it stands alone as a unique species.
The wide gap between the top 1%, the people of wealth, and the working class is beyond comprehension.
The products sold to the American public, behind the falsehood of corporate manipulation of the truth, is beyond belief. Unsafe and contaminated products are sold, money is exchanged, and the trend will continue as long as there is a profit to be made.
The wealthy manipulate society to their benefit, robbing the working class of a better life as they fill their coffers of greed. Something must be done for the common man as his world sinks into an abyss of despair.
If you think these facts were torn from the current condition of our society; you would be wrong. Although these revelations sound much like the current state of affairs in this country they are products of the past.
We now live in a world where wealth thumps conscience and the benefit of the average citizen. Where the greed continues worldwide, and the richest 85 individuals in the world have more wealth than the bottom 50% of the world’s population (Time magazine). Where, in this country, the gulf between the common man and the legendary 1%, which if you do the math is over 3 million individuals, control and manipulate our lives to their own benefit. The conditions of the past and the present mingle in a disturbing never-ending situation for the people of this country.
I have just finished reading The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. First published in 1906, the work changed our country with the introduction of laws to protect the public from buying contaminated meat products and labor reform. The novel is an historical work of fiction, and through the primary character’s eyes, we are allowed to see the conditions, beyond imagination, which provide food for our nation at that time. Where children are forced to work at unbelievably young ages to support their destitute families.
As mentioned earlier, this novel resulted in laws changing our society’s conditions for the better. Yet, to some extent, the same conditions remain in effect. Greed has a way of refusing to die. Industries, today, continue to provide inferior products, causing damage and death to the population. When these inferior product are discovered massive fines are imposed. But the profits reaped before the discovery of purposeful negligence far outweigh the fines. Today, this is good business practice. I have no proof of this conjecture beyond common sense. I assume, perhaps wrongly, but I think not, that these companies providing products recalled and deemed hazardous, have a massive army of lawyers and accountants running the dollar amounts for possible fines vs profits.
I will not name the prime industries involved. But if you have access to any form of news, and also a memory, you know the industries of which I speak. All you need to do is read or remember the massive recalls and billion dollar lawsuits resulting from the death and injury of consumers caused by unsafe products.
This piece reveals nothing new if you follow the current situation of our society. The only truth it does reveal is that our use and manipulation by the wealthy has not changed.
This could be considered one of my RANTS & RAVES pieces, but since it’s also a book review, it stands alone as a unique species.
The wide gap between the top 1%, the people of wealth, and the working class is beyond comprehension.
The products sold to the American public, behind the falsehood of corporate manipulation of the truth, is beyond belief. Unsafe and contaminated products are sold, money is exchanged, and the trend will continue as long as there is a profit to be made.
The wealthy manipulate society to their benefit, robbing the working class of a better life as they fill their coffers of greed. Something must be done for the common man as his world sinks into an abyss of despair.
If you think these facts were torn from the current condition of our society; you would be wrong. Although these revelations sound much like the current state of affairs in this country they are products of the past.
We now live in a world where wealth thumps conscience and the benefit of the average citizen. Where the greed continues worldwide, and the richest 85 individuals in the world have more wealth than the bottom 50% of the world’s population (Time magazine). Where, in this country, the gulf between the common man and the legendary 1%, which if you do the math is over 3 million individuals, control and manipulate our lives to their own benefit. The conditions of the past and the present mingle in a disturbing never-ending situation for the people of this country.
I have just finished reading The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. First published in 1906, the work changed our country with the introduction of laws to protect the public from buying contaminated meat products and labor reform. The novel is an historical work of fiction, and through the primary character’s eyes, we are allowed to see the conditions, beyond imagination, which provide food for our nation at that time. Where children are forced to work at unbelievably young ages to support their destitute families.
As mentioned earlier, this novel resulted in laws changing our society’s conditions for the better. Yet, to some extent, the same conditions remain in effect. Greed has a way of refusing to die. Industries, today, continue to provide inferior products, causing damage and death to the population. When these inferior product are discovered massive fines are imposed. But the profits reaped before the discovery of purposeful negligence far outweigh the fines. Today, this is good business practice. I have no proof of this conjecture beyond common sense. I assume, perhaps wrongly, but I think not, that these companies providing products recalled and deemed hazardous, have a massive army of lawyers and accountants running the dollar amounts for possible fines vs profits.
I will not name the prime industries involved. But if you have access to any form of news, and also a memory, you know the industries of which I speak. All you need to do is read or remember the massive recalls and billion dollar lawsuits resulting from the death and injury of consumers caused by unsafe products.
This piece reveals nothing new if you follow the current situation of our society. The only truth it does reveal is that our use and manipulation by the wealthy has not changed.
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SCIENCE FICTION AND ROMANCE
WAR OF THE WORLDS
For my blog, I don’t write long pieces. I want to make my point and hold my readers’ attention. (Notice I use the plural, perhaps wishful thinking.) Not boring those reading my words.
This may gain your attention. The entry following this discusses a story of haunting romance, a story captivating me most of my life, along with classic science fiction.
I seldom watch movies more than once, but there are exceptions. Every chance I get I watch War of the Worlds – the original starring Gene Barry. For those who may have missed it, he also appeared for a moment at the end of the remake starring Tom Cruise. In some respects the remake has details reflecting H. G. Wells’ classic novel closer to the original movie. Let me discuss these comments in more detail.
The original, made in the 1950’s, scared the hell out of me when I was a kid. The way the suspense builds is magnificent. Unfortunately, after multiple viewings, I have found some incidents which make little sense. For one, when to original ship lands it is too hot to approach, yet when Gene Barry, and his almost girlfriend use the wooden farm and another ship lands destroying part of the house, the structure does not catch fire. Also, for the act which finally results in the death of the Martians is that they venture into a new world without any protective gear. Would a civilization traveling through space take that chance? Maybe, if you enjoy something, you should not revisit it multiple time, and keeping the love alive.
Now for the remake starring Tom Cruise. The weaknesses are strong, yet also keep true to the book.
If you watch the movie you may remember when Cruise and his daughter are trapped in a cellar with a character played by Tim Robbins. I could wrong about it being Robbins. I’ve been wrong before. I believe the character Robbins represents is a minister who is killed by the protagonist in the book. This act of murder is hinted strongly in the movie. But before this event, Robbins tells Cruise the belief is that the Martian machines were buried on the Earth a million years ago. I should mention that the Martians come to Earth by way of lightning strikes to power up their machines. Here comes the ‘give me a break’. It’s like burying a Model T, and in the meantime, your society develops spacecraft able to travel twice the speed of light. Yet, to save your civilization, you use the Model T. Don’t you think that the Martians would have used technology which currently existed?
To the remakes credit, they do depict the Martian’s machines closer in the book than what the original movie. But overall, I feel the original movie is the best.
Now onto the romance.
OUR BIRDFEEDER DRAWS A CROWD
It may be time to upgrade our squirrel-proof birdfeeder after this new challenge by the masked intruder.
Believe it or not, this is in a sense, a memoir piece.
We live a suburban life where homes occupy half-acre lots. Not far from home are fields of corn and stands of forest. Our piece of land is bordered by a gully, once the home of railroad tracks. Overgrown now, it is a natural highway for wildlife.
Groundhogs and fox have made dens in the gully’s confines. The groundhogs can be seen lumbering around the front and back yards, or heading towards my garden. Foxes can be heard more than seen, although on winter afternoon I caught the sight of a red fox against a new snow. Summer nights they call, to one another or pierce the tranquility with a rabbit kill. In recent years, deer have appeared in the gully, up to five does occasionally accompanied by a buck, a sure sign of the species overpopulation in the area. Also, a sign of danger for our road is a busy one. Skunks are around, but see almost never only smelled.
The birdfeeder pictured attracts a host of birds, chickadees, cardinals, titmouse, goldfinches and the occasional woodpecker. Now, for two day running the sunflower seeds have also attracted our masked visitor.
“How is this a memoir piece?” those of you still with me are probably asking. The observations above reinforce in me the memories and contrast in my mind my present conditions and those I experienced while growing up in Newark, NJ. When looking out on the tranquil area I call home, I recall our backyard in Newark, dirt and cinder, defying the growth of grass. Our wildlife consisted entirely of squirrels. Our birds were limited to sparrows and starlings, with the occasional robin looking forlorn and confused. Those distant memories help me appreciate the surroundings I inhabit now, help me appreciate my Pennsylvania home.
Some future day, I hope to spend part of the year near the ocean. Its vastness provides a ceaseless source of peace and contemplation. I could never live on its shore year-round, for I fear that that endless body of water would become commonplace and lose its magic. My Newark youth provides no problem in keeping the wonders of nature in prospective.
STRUGGLING TO GET IT PUBLISHED: FINDING MARKETS, DUOTROPE
Back in the day when I was on the road to becoming a famous poet, a hint on where that road led – picture the final scene in the movie Thelma & Louise, I used books and magazines to fine markets where I could submit my work. Pounding out poems on my electric typewriter, going through gallons of white-out, off they would go along with the required SASE. This was long before the home computer came into existence, before the internet was even a twinkle in Al Gore’s eye. How things have changed since my early writing years. The books and magazines still exist, but I can guarantee, at least for the books, by the time they are published much of the information is outdated, unless the book is accompanied by a website to maintain currency, save your money.
My go-to source for finding markets for my work nowadays is the website Duotrope, providing over 4000 markets for poetry, fiction and non-fiction and constantly updated. Up until a few years ago it was free, now it will cost you $5 a month or $50 a year. If you register, you can get a free trial. If you are serious about submitting your work, you can’t go wrong giving this website a try. I’ve included a link at the end of this piece.
The site offers searches by the publisher’s name, or if you want to search all markets for your specific piece, you can do that too. In the later type of search, you are given the options of genre, length, pay scale, and a more specific breakdown within your genre. You can also query to see if the publisher accepts reprints, simultaneous and multiple submissions. Also available for most publishers is their response time and percentage of acceptances.
Upon completion of your search you are provide with a list of primary and secondary markets that meet your criteria. On the Duotrope page listing the publisher’s specifications you will also find a link to the publisher’s website. This feature saves tons of time in your submission process. Your search and then be saved if for some reason you first offer of the piece is rejected. I’m trying to be both ironic and humorous.
Finally, you receive a weekly email listing current market updates. One look at this list of weekly market activity will clearly demonstrate how rapidly a book of markets becomes outdated.
If you want to stay on the cutting edge of where to submit your work, I highly suggest you look into Duotrope.
SOUNDS OF SUMMER OUTSIDE MY WINDOW
Pity those locked away in their air-conditioned sanctuaries safe from the heat, but sheltered behind those closed window they are also prohibited from hearing the sounds of summer. The silent night is not silent at all with windows open.
During the day, even with windows closed, you cannot deny the scream of cicadas. Beginning slow and then building to a crescendo only to suddenly go silent, as if a mighty hand has pulled the plug powering their song. This everyone will hear, but it is the muse of the night lost behind closed window.
Throughout the night, setting a background mood, are the soft whispers of crickets. Late in the evening, frogs join in with a chorus of croaks and calls telling on another to come a callin’. Late in the dead of night you might hear a fox join in with its own mysterious music calling to a mate, a call liken to the scream of a woman in the grip of terror. On occasion, that fox may provide a more true sound of terror and fear, the death of a terrified rabbit caught during a midnight hunt.
All the sounds of a summer night come to a close as the eastern horizon lightens with the promise of another day and birdsong fill the air.
STRUGGLING TO GET IT WRITE: A WRITER’S NEED TO READ
I want to approach the making of a writer from a new direction, that with reading in mind.
These thoughts are the result of the ongoing question I have: Can imagination be taught? I have pondered this topic in past posts. You can be taught how to write, but can you be taught what to imagine, taught how to provide that spark which becomes a work of fiction. Some writers use prompts to get their writing juices flowing, but I feel these prompts could provide either the imagination trigger for a piece or merely a subject, depending on the individual. The crux of the effort is the individual.
The birth of this piece is the fact we are told over and over that when a writer is not writing he should be reading. As I write this I continue to perform mental gymnastics. If you must be encouraged to read can writing be in your future? For some reason, I have always had a burning desire to read which required no encouragement and feel naked when books are not present or readily available. I’ve always felt that the more vivid your imagination, the more enjoyment you derive from reading, the more vivid your imagination the more brilliant the pictures created in your mind as you read a book. Images which a video game or television show cannot compete with. In this sense, a writer can’t help but be a reader feeling incomplete without a book close by. For that book is feeding what is the life’s blood of the writer – his imagination.
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