Covers

Over the past few years, I've designed several book covers for me and other people. Here are my favorites.

Another proof for "Murder by the MIle"

A few minor changes, mostly on the back. I think it's getting there.

Proof of cover for "Murder by the Mile"

This is a proof of the new cover for Murder by the Mile. I like it a lot. It's more stark and dramatic. I also like the straight trunk of the tree better than the old tree.

This is the old cover, which we're not going to use. It was too ... pink. I thought the background was too peaceful, if that makes sense. And it was sort of pink in the actual printed cover. Too pastel.

 

Unchallenged

I made a mistake. I should have called someone on rude behavior. Instead, I'm fuming. Being rude to me IS not a way to remain my friend. It's one thing where a person is teasing -- I do enough of that myself -- but flatout rudeness is another. Because it was in a group, I kept my mouth shut. But that is a mistake. People who do that are bullies; I shouldn't have let the bullying stand unchallenged. But man, sometimes you just get tired. They wear you down.

The End of Diabetes

Right now, my blood sugar is 149. It's still 49 points higher than it should be and where I would like it to be, but here's the importance of this: I used to run around 200-240 after a meal with meds. This 149 is with no meds! By following the diet outlined in Dr. Fuhman's book The End of Diabetes, in two and a half weeks, I have achieved this. I even cheat on the diet: Fuhrman doesn't want you to eat cheese or eggs; I allow myself some cheese and egg whites. I am not hungry. Truly not hungry. I miss eating a few things, but they were bad for me, anyway.

For breakfast, I had yogurt (no sugar added, low fat) sprinkled with sunflower seeds. Surprising tasty and filling. For lunch, I had a mushroom, cheese, bacon omelet, and a spinach and tomato salad. For dinner, ribs from Rib Crib, a salad, a few fried okra, and green beans. I don't have bread, milk, sweets, white potatoes, and excessive amounts of fruits. That's the entire restrictions. Yes, there's still a lot of carb counting. And the diet is high on fiber. But I can have all the non-starchy veggies I want. And I want a lot.

One last thing: Since starting this, I've lost 17 pounds as of today. I find that amazing because I've not put a lot of effort to do this. So ... do I recommend the book? I think I do. It really does work. It might be right for everyone, but so far, so good. I'll let you know how it goes.

I'd like to point out that I'm on oral medication. I think if I were on insulin, I'd be very careful about going off my meds or reducing the dosage. I test frequently and have been watching my readings diligently. In other words, if you buy the book and follow the diet, do so without shutting down your intelligence and caution. And you should make sure your doctor knows what's going on.

Now, whether or not I can follow this diet for my entire life ... well, we'll see. I've certainly tried other diets before that eventually I couldn't follow anymore. I'll keep you updated.

Amazing!

What? Two post in a row? How can anyone blog at this rate of speed? It's unnatural... I hope you hear the sarcasm in that. I know many bloggers who post daily. Sometimes several times a day. I've done it in the past. Maybe in the future when I get this book done.

I made significant progress today on Murder by the Mile. I passed the 80 percent mark on it. We're on the down home stretch. Just have to keep plugging along and sometime this month or early next month, we will have a book. By we, of course, I mean me. I wish I had a collaborator at times. I could just hand some notes to him or her and say, "Here, write something brilliant here." Wouldn't that be nice?

I think I can finish this book. I'm finally beginning to believe it. After all this time, I had doubted my ability. But slowly and surely, the words are coming. The scenes are gelling. I'm not quite certain yet, but...I think I can see the end approaching.

I'm beginning to get excited about it. And I've been waiting for that feeling for a long time. Sometimes it seems I've been waiting forever. It's going to be a grand moment when I finally reach the end. I can't wait.

A post, a post! Alert the media!

Let's post something, shall we? And by we, I mean me since, after all, this is my blog, and don't usually let other people post on it. But maybe I should.

So how are you? Are you there? I've not been diligent here lately. I've been writing/not writing on Murder by the Mile, the third book in the Measurements of Murder(tm) series. It's been taking all my energy. ALL. It's a vampire book, I tell you, a vampire! Sigh.

Anyway, I'm still here. Still writing. Still plugging along. Hope you are, too.

Happy July 4th!

Happy Fourth of July! 

Have a safe and happy holiday!

The Declaration of Independence
IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

The 56 signatures on the Declaration:

Column 1
Georgia:
Button Gwinnett
Lyman Hall
George Walton

Column 2
North Carolina:
William Hooper
Joseph Hewes
John Penn
South Carolina:
Edward Rutledge
Thomas Heyward, Jr.
Thomas Lynch, Jr.
Arthur Middleton

Column 3
Massachusetts:
John Hancock
Maryland:
Samuel Chase
William Paca
Thomas Stone
Charles Carroll of Carrollton
Virginia:
George Wythe
Richard Henry Lee
Thomas Jefferson
Benjamin Harrison
Thomas Nelson, Jr.
Francis Lightfoot Lee
Carter Braxton

Column 4
Pennsylvania:
Robert Morris
Benjamin Rush
Benjamin Franklin
John Morton
George Clymer
James Smith
George Taylor
James Wilson
George Ross
Delaware:
Caesar Rodney
George Read
Thomas McKean

Column 5
New York:
William Floyd
Philip Livingston
Francis Lewis
Lewis Morris
New Jersey:
Richard Stockton
John Witherspoon
Francis Hopkinson
John Hart
Abraham Clark

Column 6
New Hampshire:
Josiah Bartlett
William Whipple
Massachusetts:
Samuel Adams
John Adams
Robert Treat Paine
Elbridge Gerry
Rhode Island:
Stephen Hopkins
William Ellery
Connecticut:
Roger Sherman
Samuel Huntington
William Williams
Oliver Wolcott
New Hampshire:
Matthew Thornton

A few thoughts about "Atlas Shrugged"

I don't mind Atlas shrugging all the time, but I hate it when he smirks. That's annoying.

Sure, Atlas shrugged, but can he put his right foot in and take his right foot out and put his right foot in and shake it all about?

I read Atlas Shrugged when I was 13. There's a good chance that I needed a few friends at that time of my life.

Apparently there's a porn parody of Atlas Shrugged. It's called Atlas Shagged. I regret to say that I'm not making that up.

My favorite criticism of "Atlas Shrugged" is this: “There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.” ― John Rogers.

And that's enough about that.

Bitter

Sometimes I get bitter. Angry. At myself. For my past decisions. For all things I did and have yet to do. The blind mistakes that hurt people. The loves I lost for not loving enough or loving too much.

After a while, you begin to doubt yourself. You become afraid of doing anything because you can't see beyond your actions; the unintended consequences branch out of control.

It's an illusion, you know. Control isn't possible. We have such power, but not the wisdom or the foresight to use it safely.

Eventually you end up motionless. Paralysed by the unknown. You can plan. You can scheme. You can hope. But ultimately you cannot know what comes next. Only the fools rush in. Or those blinded by their desires. And you no longer have the comfort of blindness.

That old saying. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." It carries more wisdom than we want to acknowledge.

So we sit, powerless. Perhaps complaining. Perhaps in ignorance. Perhaps in sorrow, but we sit. Trying to see our way clear of the morass of bitter knowledge.

Don't you ever wish you didn't know what you do? Do you ever long for those blissful days where you strode through your life as if you owned it? When doom seemed so unlikely that it never ended into your mind? When it seemed like the sun would forever shine on your innocent heart?

I do. God, how I do.

Summer

I remember summer as a child. How the sun felt against my small bare body as I jumped into the small pool near my house and how the cold water, coming from artesian well, was always ice cold. Chasing fireflies across fields on the hill above my house. How the hot, humid days lasted a year and a half. How the stars burned in a black sky. Running across the alfalfa with my arms outstretched like I was flying.

I remember sneaking out of the house at midnight just to wander the pastures under the  moon. I was never afraid of the dark. I thought I was the most dangerous thing out in the night.

But when I got older, I learned some snakes hunted at night. I learned someone shot a bobcat near my house. I learned bears still roamed the hills. There were rabid skunks and drunken hunters who spotlighted deer and could easily mistake a child for an animal.

The night stopped being my friend. As I grew older and moved into town, it became even threatening. Burglars and drug dealers, gangs and drunk drivers. Like everyone else, I mostly huddle in my house at night, lock my doors, and sleep with a loaded .357 near.

Still, sometimes I find myself wandering up the street in my neighborhood after dark. I carry a flashlight and a stout cane, but if I’m lucky, for a few minutes, when the wind rises and the moon is right, it feels like it did when I was child, when summer lasted forever and the night welcomed me under the million and one far away suns.

Depressing

Wow. I don't understand people at all sometimes. I do a fair amount promotion for my books and the books published by my little publishing company. It takes up a lot of my time. Yet I'm often approached by people who want me to promote their product for free.

You know what?

Their "good feelings" toward me won't buy a thing at WalMart or put gas in my car. I don't understand why they can't understand this.

I guess they choose not to.

A bit of panic

It's strange. When you start a book, it seems impossible that you're going to fill the pages. But the further you get into the story, the more it seems that you won't have enough pages to tell the story.

Ordinarily the Measurements of Murder Mystery™ novels come in about 200 published pages. Murder by the Mile may be longer. There's still a lot of story to edit and re-write and put in place.

I feel a bit of panic...

A problem with research

A few weeks back, I was hard at work on Murder by the Mile when a friend dropped by for a visit. While he was here, he kept staring at my kitchen table where I had piled source material and research. I figured he was interested in the book. We were talking about other things, though, and I never explained about the papers and books.

After he left, I went into the kitchen and realised what he was staring at: an open wedding album displaying the wedding announcements of several different couples. I needed an example to write one for the book; I wasn't stalking newlywed brides.

I promise!

System

Driving around the other day in heavy traffic, I thought about how intricate the road system is and how it grew incrementally. No piece of the system is particularly difficult to understand -- drive on the right side of the road, stop at stop signs, signal when you turn, faster vehicles to the left lane in a four lane, yield to the vehicle on the right at a four way stop if you both reach it at the same time, and so on -- but when you put all the pieces together, the total effect is mind-bending.

Of course, systems fail. Extremely heavy traffic and rule-breaker drivers can cripple a system, but it will recover eventually. Pieces can falter, but the system continues.

If you were an alien fresh to Earth, you would look at our highway system and think a genius had put it together, but it was only time and codified convention. Life is like that; it grows and becomes more complex. The trick is to keep track of the parts that matter, the ones that you can control. The system is too big for overall control, but the bits and pieces are definitely within our grasp.

Ripples

Like a pebble dropped in a pond.

The things we do.

We are so powerful, but we have no foresight. We can't see the consequences of what we do. We intend one thing to happen, and it doesn't. Or if it does, it's slightly different than we expected. The changes spread beyond what we can see. The ripples of our actions travel across the waters of our lives.

When I younger, I was arrogant. I was powerful. I was willing to interfere in people's lives because I obviously knew best. But ... of course ... I soon learned that being able to do things doesn't mean you should do them.

I learned how things could hurl out of my control.

I learned how people could break.

I learned how love could turn to hate.

Now I choose to be powerless. I refuse to shoulder the burden of power and the guilt of unintended and unexpected consequences. I choose to be free. I choose to be innocent.

But sometimes I'm tempted. Sometimes I hunger for that feeling of power. Sometimes I want to stretch forth my hand and drop a rock in the pond and ride the ripples to hell and back.

Sometimes.

It could happen

Excerpt from Return of the Floozy

Someday soon, you might be chased by a huge reptile, a huge fish, huge cockroaches, huge prehistoric birds or a huge land shark that has genes of a human. This happens to people all the time, as evidenced by the endless number of movies produced by the SyFy Channel. Here are a few important survival tips should such a calamity occur.

First, your chances of survival are much greater if you have both a first and last name. When introduced to anyone, make sure to say both. Insist everyone call you by both. Because if you're referred to as Private Simmons or simply Nurse, you will be eaten by a strange alien beast. If you're just "Hey, you," you might as well shoot yourself immediately. Likewise, if you're beautiful and/or handsome but not the heroine or the hero's girlfriend, you're simply there to heighten suspense so wander off to take that hot, steamy shower and make it easier for the alien to dine on your doomed bones. If, however, you are the Brawny Shy Scientist (male) or the Brainy Frigid Scientist (female), the odds of your survival go up.

Second, try to be the only person of your skin color or ethnicity. If there are two blacks or Hispanics or Native Americans of an unknown tribe never discriminated against by the Bureau of Indian Affairs or whatever, only one of them will survive. So if you see someone like you, kill him or her as soon as you can.

Unless, of course, that killing changes you into a Crazed Military Man or Evil Corporate Toady. Then the alien will kill you terribly, but you will have a lot of fun bedeviling the hero and his blonde scientist girlfriend before the alien sucks out your brain through your nose.

Third, if you are called on a mysterious mission to a mysterious military complex located on a mysterious island, in a mysterious volcano, at the mysterious North Pole or under the mysterious ocean, don't go! Leap out a window, head for Latin America, and never look back. But if you have to go, make sure you're divorced and that your former spouse has to go with you, even though your ex vowed to insert pencils in your eyes if he/she ever saw you again. It helps if you are still secretly in love with your ex underneath all those layers of seething hatred and disgust, because you will end up falling in love again before the danger is over.

Fourth, after you shoot the monster or cut off its head or drop a car on it or gas it to death, go over there and cut its head off! If you don't, you can count on it rising again to menace you. Just pretend it's a budget produced by Congress and keep hacking away pieces of it until the budget balances or it's dead, whichever comes first.

Fifth, genetic tampering ALWAYS produces a monster. As soon as someone mentions it, immediately start planning to face a hideous creature with superhuman strength and an insatiable appetite for human flesh. You'd think scientists would learn, but right now some highbrow is mixing the genes of an innocent bear with the genes of Anthony Weiner or some other horrible creature.

Sixth, radiation will also always produce a monster. And if you throw in some alien DNA or other genetic tampering, you've got real trouble. It's well known that most of the contestants on American Idol are the result of just such experiments.

Seventh, never go off alone. Unless you've always had a hankering to find out what it feels like to be dismembered. If you must be alone, take your portable stereo along and play Celine Dion's Greatest Hits. Monsters will either flee from you or decide that you'd make a lovely bride. Either way you're alive, although if the latter happens, you might not want to be.

Eighth, most aliens want to devour us. Beware them. Yes, I know it seems strange to travel across hundreds of light years just for a snack, but humans are the galactic equivalent of potato chips. We're just dang tasty as most of us know.

Ninth, watch out for the so-called friendly aliens. A relationship with them will only end in heartache for all concerned. The "friendly" aliens will cause a lot of death and suffering, be imprisoned by the military and/or secret government agency, be tortured, and then leave and/or die in a all-consuming explosion without giving us any of their amazing technology. For advanced beings, you'd think they'd do a bit of research on us before landing. Just watching one reality show should give them plenty of reasons to stay a few stars away.

Tenth, never ever ever wear a red shirt. This is a death sentence.

Following these tips, it's entirely possible that you might survive the ordeal. I regret to inform you that if you do, you'll suffer a fate worse than death -- you'll be asked back for the sequel.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Return of the Floozy. All rights reserved. No copying of any kind permitted. Thank you for reading.)

Mother's Day

I warn you. This is a harsh post for Mother's Day. Feel free to skip it.

Even though this is Mother's Day, I've just been reminded during a phone call with a friend that some mothers mistreat their children in terrible ways. I was very blessed with my mother who made her children a priority in her life. My prayers and thoughts are with those children who are not and were not as fortunate as I was. If you're a mother who loves her children more than herself, then may God bless you and reward you richly. He is proud of you. If you're not, then I promise you that there will be a harvest of sadness and sorrow that you will reap. If you mistreat your children when they are young, you will not be their friend or even loved when they are adults. Why would you expect them to act otherwise?

Everyone seems familiar with "honor thy father and mother," but are you as familiar with Ephesians 6:4? It starts:
"And, ye fathers." -- This is directly addressed to parents and then gives two duties that parents must do for their children.
First duty:
"Provoke not your children to wrath." -- Unreasonable rebukes and furious scoldings, bad and cruel language, broken promises, neglect or cruel usage will rightly cause resentment on the part of your children. The Bible doesn't say that you can justify such behaviors. In fact, it's quite plain: You have a duty as a parent to "provoke not your children to wrath." No ifs, ands, or buts about it. If you mistreat your child, God will not be pleased because you are not following His instructions. This doesn't mean there shouldn't be spankings or punishment, but that you are to remember that your children are precious and to cherish them.
Second duty:
"But bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." I see many parents who don't bring their children up in church and don't provide moral instruction, then are seemingly amazed when their children take drugs or steal. Yes, children have free agency, but they will do as you have trained them to do. If you cuss, cheat on your taxes, lie, behave badly, take drugs, drink to excess, then your children will do as you do and not as you say.

It seems that some parents base their love on conditions. I love you if "you make good grades," "you clean your room," "you excel in sports," and so on. Some parents try to make children into their slaves or their clones. Those parents are breaking their children's hearts. And they are committing sin. They should remember God's example: although He expects and requires certain behaviors from us, He always loves us. There are no limits on His love or on His forgiveness.

I've been talking with a friend whose parents were alcoholics and drug users when he was young. There were many times when he and his brother didn't know if they would get breakfast or supper, but thank God for a federal program that saw to it that they would get lunch. Now his mother -- who has reformed -- thinks he should allow her to live with them. But he won't do it. He remembers those childhood days -- and although he tries to forgive her -- he can't. He doesn't want her around his children. I believe in the power of forgiveness to heal, but I can't fault him. She sowed a crop of neglect and cruelty -- she never spoke to him without a scream when he was young -- and now she is reaping the harvest.

He does need to forgive her for his own sake, but forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting. It also doesn't mean trust. I support his right to protect his children from her -- even if she is no longer the woman she once was. If she wants to buy a house in the same city and be available to his family so that trust can be built, great, but otherwise it's unfair to expect him to open his home to her -- particularly since she does have enough money to live on her own. She shouldn't expect "son" behavior from him now when she didn't show "mother" behavior to him then.

This is a harsh post for Mother's Day, but my loving and wise mother never minced words. She called them as she saw them, and I think she would like this post. Children are precious, and they grow up. Cherish them while you can. Love them while you can. Because if you wait, it will turn out to be too late.

Z is for zero

It's the end of the countdown when you reach zero. It's the point when things happen: we have lift-off. It's the the end of something and the beginning of something else. At least, that's what you hope. But sometimes zero is simply zero. The end of the journey. No more.

And this is the last post of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge. It's been an interesting month. I've written about things that I never have before. I visited a lot of blogs I had never visited before. I had to scramble many times to figure a post that went with the letter, but I did. All in all, despite how it pushed my schedule in ridiculous ways I'll have to recover from, I've enjoyed the experience.

Will I participate next year? A definite maybe. Thank you all for reading and for your support.

Lift-off.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

Y is for yarraman

It's an old word. It means "horse." It's from a native Australian language. I don't know if it's still used. I hope so. I'd like to think old languages survive somehow, although scientists report that many
languages are disappearing quickly. Soon we will speak English, Spanish, or Chinese. Or actually someday that will happen. Probably not in my lifetime.

There's wisdom in old languages. Old mysteries. Wisdom that may no longer apply, but we won't know unless we learn the language and preserve it. Those old words give us old stories. And stories are always important. We know a people by their stories, their myths, and their dreams.

No one really cares about old languages. Oh, there are scientists and linguists who are racing to preserve what they can, but there are no telethons or Congressional pushes to give them money. They do what they can, but mostly they watch helplessly as the old stories disappear.

And it's a loss for all of us.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

X marks the spot

When I was a kid, I'd read about pirates and their buried treasures, and it seemed grand. The high seas, the gold and jewels, the pitched battles, and those maps where X marks the spot ... all combined in a glorious myth. What little boy didn't want to be a pirate at some time in his life?

Of course, the truth was much different. Their lives were short and brutal. They murdered people. They were uneducated and smelly. They had personal habits that would embarrass a rabid pig. They didn't have a heart of gold, and X never marked the spot.

So few dreams survive into adulthood. At least not in the sense that we can believe they are real. Unrelenting reality beats dreams down, mugs them in an alley, and leaves them for dead in a ditch by the side of a road. I don't know how we make it when so many of our dreams can't survive the harsh light of day. We're fairly irrational people, we humans, and somehow we muddle through our daily routines. We get up and go to work and give up our dreams or try to force them on our children. If we're miserable, we think it's nothing more than we deserve for our crime of being born.

But I hope that maybe in our heart of hearts, we still believe. Maybe in our secret fantasies, pirates sail the high seas and rescue beautiful princesses and fight the good fight against oppressive governments. Maybe we  pit our wits and strength against the unforgiving storms. Maybe we stand at the bow, shouting our wild and glorious defiance at the raging ocean. And we win.

Maybe in our heart of hearts, X still marks the spot.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

W is for waver

Ever waver? You know what's right, you know what you should do, but you waver. The cost seems too high; the opposition seems too strong. So you give way. You keep quiet. You watch from the sidelines as an injustice is visited upon the innocent. You justify it. You forget it. You bury it.

You should know better. Some things won't stay buried. One-time injustices turn into many-times injustices. And if you finally make your stand, the cost will be higher, the opposition that much stronger. Of course, you don't have to make a stand. You can stay silent. You can go down into your grave with your words locked in your throat.
 
The most they will say about you is: "He wavered. She didn't rock the boat. Nice quiet people." And then you'll be forgotten.

Get. Off. Your. Lazy. Ass. And fight for the right. You can do it. There are lot of us doing it. And if you're good at it, you'll make the world -- or at least your part of it -- better for you having been here. That's a good epitaph.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

V is for viper

Ever know someone like that? Viper tongue and not afraid to use it. Supremely confident of their right to cut someone down to size with the appropriately vicious comment. Never do they imagine that they're busy removing a mote from their victim's eye while ignoring the huge pole in theirs. It takes a special kind of smallness to speak without kindness. To lay waste just because you can. It took me so many years to realize that being kind was the true power. Any pig can be snarky and smug. Any lout can be loud and mean.

But to be kind ... to try to look beyond a person's faults and mistakes and find their good qualities ... to be more than lip service to the idea of compassion ... that's hard. That's what we should strive for. It's not as much fun, it's not as smart, it's not smug, it's not as ego boosting ... but it's how we humans could be if we were willing to work on it. If we were willing to bend.

If kindness wasn't such a bad taste on our viper lips.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

U is for ubiquitous

"Ubiquitous" is the favorite word of one of my friends. She says it's fun to say, but hard to spell, and it's such a useful word. Webster's defines it as: existing or being everywhere at the same time : constantly encountered : widespread. Cell phones are ubiquitous. Cars are ubiquitous. Fast food restaurants are ubiquitous. Mosquitoes are ubiquitous. You get the point.

I don't think ubiquitous carries any negative connotations. It would be nice if being kind was ubiquitous. Generosity, kindness, compassion ... the world would be a much better place if they were ubiquitous.

It is fun to say, although I'd wonder if someone said it repeatedly in the same conversation. In other words, ubiquitous shouldn't be ubiquitous.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

T is for time

Lately, I seem to running out of time. Or at least hours in day. I have a crazy schedule and will have until the end of November, when my life should get back to what I laughingly call "normal."

Here's what I have coming up:

July 30th or before: Publication of my book "Murder by the Mile."
August: Book signings and publicity for "Murder by the Mile" AND the publication of "Creations: 34 Ways to Look at Love," the latest anthology by Ada Writers.
September 1st: Publication of my book "Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction" AND book signings and publicity for "Murder by the Mile," "Undying," and "Creations: 34 Ways to Look at Love."
October: Book signings and publicity for "Murder by the Mile," "Undying," and "Creations: 34 Ways to Look at Love."
November: Tentative publication date of Gail Wood's book: "Red Bird Woman." This is a collection of her poetry. This will be published by Many Rivers Harbor.
December: A mini book fair at Karen's Art & Framing (during the first week of December) where various local writers will set up a book table and help people get a leg-n their Christmas shopping. What better gift than a signed book from a local author? This is still in the early planning stages, but I think it's a go right now.

Anyway, as you can see, my plate is full. Heaping. Overflowing even. Got to stay focused. But one thing that is on the plan that I should mention now: I plan on having a nervous breakdown as soon as the book fair is over. Just thought you should know.

S is for Supernatural

Yes, Supernatural. That show with Dean and Sam. I confess to being a fan. It reminds me of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, but in a way, it's more realistic and grounded ... if you can apply that to a show about vampires, demons, witches, ghosts, ghouls, etc. I confess I'd like a bit more humor and a bit less angst, but the writers do a good job. Although ... exactly how many times will Dean and Sam be killed and brought back? That's a story line that the writers have drained dry. Time for a new narrative ... or new writers. And could they get a girlfriend or two that doesn't end up dead or isn't revealed to be a demon or some other nasty creature?

Still, those quibbles aside, I'm still watching. Eight seasons later. I hope they go on for eight more.

R is for randy

I once had a randy friend. I met him in my third year in college. And when I say randy, I mean he was always ready for sex. Always. I had never met anyone like him. Never have since. He slept with women and men. He had threesomes and foursomes and once participated in a group.

He was happy about it. By all accounts -- well, his lovers that I know -- he was an enthusiastic lover. A caring lover. And he made sure his partner enjoyed the experience.

He was always careful to tell them that he liked them, but didn't love them. Sex was separate from his heart. He loved them, but he didn't love them.

He would wander back in the dorm after having spent a night out, and he'd always be wearing a smile. He'd grin bashfully if anyone asked how his night went, and he always answered, "Awesome!" I used to talk to him about God. He called me "the Preacher," a nickname that I didn't deserve. 

I don't know how his life would have worked out if his behavior had continued after college -- I would guess messy and sad -- but life wasn't going to work out that way. On his way home from OSU, he was in a wreck. He survived, but his injuries were terribly severe. It took nearly a year, but eventually -- after another surgery to repair his spine -- he passed away.

I went to his funeral. He was the first of my college friends to pass away, but sadly enough, he wouldn't be the last. A group of girls and guys were there -- I was surprised at the identities of some of his former lovers -- and they were all grieving. I think his parents didn't know what to make of those guys who wept heart-broken over his coffin.

The minister said a few words, we sang a few songs, and then that was the end of him except in memory. And I do remember him.

I once had a randy friend. 

Q is for quiet

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE. It's also part of National Poetry Writing Month. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

Twilight Grace

We drift now in the quiet space,
the black between the stars,
Engines torn away months ago
by an errant cosmic string
or some unexpected particle.

No rescue possible. No engines, no
highspace communications. Command
cannot find us. In this vast empiness,
another warpship lighting on this tiny
point of nothing beggars imagination.

Most of the crew now dead or missing.
The doctor drank poison; captain
fled to his quarters with a bottle.
The engineer nurses our life support;
he says mad things about what he sees.

I wander the arboretum ring. Alone
except for the green plants whose
names I never learned. I touch their
leaves. I water the green rows.
The flowers turn blind faces.

This is the last log of the warpship
Twilight Grace. Listen oh listen
to me. At times, I can hear moans,
shuffling footsteps in the corridors;
but no one answers when I call ...

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley.  From the forthcoming Undying: Poems of Fantasy & Science Fiction. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission.)

Alien by the Atlanta Rhythm Section

One of my favorite songs despite it hitting too close to home at times.

Books

(This is part of National Poetry Writing Month. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

Books

Humans think they write us.
With type and sweat,
they pour their energy
into the stories we give
to fevered imaginations.

Some of them break --
not all livestock is meant
for the long run --
but a few of them write,
write, and write more.

They pour themselves
into our worlds,
rapt at new horizons
and as they stare,
transfixed, we feed.

Page after page, chapter
by chapter, we drain
them dry as we have
since we came to this
world on literatureships.

If they knew, they'd think
we defined symbiotic, but
we know ... wait, someone
starts a thousand page
epic. So so so sweet ...

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction. All rights reserved. No copying without express permission. Thank you for reading.)

P is for perfect

PERFECT

Once there was a perfect boy
who made perfect grades,
enjoyed perfect friends,
dated a perfect girl,
and lived a perfect life.

He grew into a perfect man
who had a perfect job,
raised perfect children,
resided in a perfect home,
and loved a perfect wife.

So we were perfectly shocked
when this perfect man
bought a perfect gun,
wrote a perfect note,
and killed himself one perfect night.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission.)

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE. It's also part of National Poetry Writing Month. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

O is for Open All NIght

I often feel my muse was born under the sign: Open All Night. She -- and it has to be a woman because only women drive me this crazy -- is quite willing to shoot my idea at three in the morning, but let it be a decent hour in the day and she's sleeping in. If I attempt to wake her, she glares at me with bloodshot eyes and throws a bottle at me.

I don't know how this happened. I've never been a night person. I like to get 14 hours a sleep a night. People have even wondered if I had sleeping sickness. Why oh why would I be charged with energy starting at midnight?

I'm told it has to do with biorhythms. Apparently I have the biorhythm of a bluesy jazz singer from a New Orleans speakeasy. I didn't use to. I don't know what happened. It probably has to do with sunspots. Or chemicals in our food. Maybe the CIA or ancient aliens, whichever of those you believe exists. I would even suspect Bigfoot, but he's such a nice guy.

So there I am. Up at night. Blearily typing. Think of me as you dream, you lucky devils.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

N is for nowhere in particular

Did you ever get the urge to run away? Nowhere in particular, just somewhere else. Maybe a distant city where you'd start a new life without all the history that weighs you down, holds you back, all those expectations that you can't meet or that you can but don't want to any longer.

Maybe you even make plans. Maybe not real plans. But you pick up brochures at the travel agent. Google a city you might like. Consider who you'd tell your new address. Wonder where you would work. What your new job would be and how you'd find new friends. Friends who would be different, friends who didn't know your failures and follies. Friends who would wholeheartedly support you.

And of course, the new location changes you. You're braver. Smarter. Funnier. Kinder. Capable. Cherished. You finally become the person you've always thought you could be. You find a new love.

Yes, a new love. Someone who would love you as much as you loved. Maybe even more. Maybe you'd be the needed one. Romantic dinners. Walks at night on the beach or picnics in the park or a stroll across a flower filled meadow.

It's all very lovely. Only one thing -- one person -- mars this picture. Because you know -- you know -- that you carry all your hurts and insecurities and pain with you. You'd seek out a different dead-end job and find friends who would take more than they gave and a new love who would treat you like the old one did.

You throw away the brochures. Shut down the computer. Turn on the TV. That's how it always ends.

But maybe not this time. Maybe this time you pack a suitcase. You hail a taxi and hop on a plane. And as it climbs into the sky, you leave all those old sorrows behind and soar away into a new glorious life. Maybe that's what will happen this time.

Maybe.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

EndlesS

(I actually published this poem in my book EndlesS back in 2008, but I couldn't resist reworking some of the lines to better reflect what I mean. I guess I never really stop revising a poem. This poem is part of National Poetry Writing Month in which we write 30 poems in 30 days. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

EndlesS

black in the sky black sound in the mouths of those who stare blindly

at spiraling void descending on jagged wings soundless screams

swallowed by endless hunger the awful infinity of the void

requires our presence in the last dance Hawkings

would approve as the events of our lives

vanish beyond the horizon spiraling

down into eternity beyond

which we cannot see

divide by zero

divide by

zero

o

oh the

stars are like

a thousand diamonds

but I see your face and laugh

I kiss your face and laugh and angels

dance on pins skies pour forth blinding light

powers move upon the deep and the seraphim sing

as we hurl ourcometselves together bodies feeding glowing

hunger gasps your hands grab my back burn through pain sorrow

we’re falling flying soaring shouting exclaiming rejoicing sigh breathe

and you turn to me fully alive as only you can be and say let’s fall in again

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. First published in EndlesS. Revision from the forthcoming Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction. No copying without express prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

A Leaving Dream

(I'm enjoying National Poetry Writing Month, where the participants write 30 poems in 30 days. Here's my poem for the 15th day Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

A Leaving Dream

She always had that dream
of leaving. Someday she'd walk
away from her life and start
anew in a distant city of light.
Ads from a travel daemon littered
her tablet. Links to exotic places.
The plains of Mars or the oceans
of terraformed Venus. Maybe
the comet cloud resorts resting
on the edge of the solar system
where the privileged skied
on ice formed when time
had barely begun to count.
Anywhere had to be better
than Lunar City Seventeen.

And she'd find new brave friends.
Friends who would support her
wholeheartedly and give more
than they took. And a new love.
A new lover who would love
her more than she loved him,
who would cherish her as if she
carried within her his reason for
being born and continuing to live.
She always had this dream
of leaving, but her courage failed
every time. Every time turned
into maybe this time. Until
one day they found her loft empty.
Only a forwarding daemon pointing
to Olympus Mons -- and beyond.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction. No copying without express prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

M is for murder

Of my two (so far) murder mysteries, I had the most fun writing Murder by the Acre, the sequel to Murder by Dewey Decimal. The characters were easier to handle, the townspeople more real, the dialogue funnier and more realistic at the same time. And I think the relationship between Bernard and Lisa "worked" this time while it was a bit dodgy the first time around. I actually didn't intend for Bernard and Lisa to get together -- Lisa was meant for Sims -- but that's how it worked out in Murder by Dewey Decimal, and the story was better for it. But it made a lot of work for me.

People ask me why I write murder mysteries. I think they think it's because I have some dark impulses. Maybe I do, but the real reason I write them is because I like the puzzles they present and I like to see justice win. Those are the books I like to read, so they're the ones I like to write. It's that simple.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

Space Shuttle Reference Manual

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge, I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm to write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the 14th day.)

Space Shuttle Reference Manual

T minus 10, "go for main engine start" issues.
Flares ignite and burn away residual hydrogen.
A half second later, computers open valves.
(We have only breaths to consider.)
Liquid hydrogen and oxygen feed the turbopumps.
T minus 6.6, main engines ignite at intervals.
Engines throttle up to 90 percent in 3 seconds.
(If we had regrets, the time has passed.)
At T minus 3, ignition sequence begins.
At T minus zero, holddown explosive bolts
and umbilical explosive bolts blow.
We are completely committed.
Solid rocket boosters ignite. The beast roars.
The shuttle climbs into the golden sky.
Empty boosters fall in the azure ocean.
Gravity holds us until we are finally free.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Undying: Poems of Fantasy & Science Fiction. No copying without express prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

L is for lost

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

I've been lost before. Not in the physical sense. That has happened rarely in my life. But in the emotional sense. In the spiritual sense. In the life sense. Yes, I've had that happen more often than I'm comfortable admitting.

The situation is always the same. I think I know where I'm going and what I'm doing, and then something unexpected happens. It's never a happy something. And it jars me, forces my head up, and I look around and realize I'm lost. Somehow my decisions led me to an unknown place, and I'm confronting choices I don't want to choose. Or -- and this is more common -- I find I have no choices at all. I have to follow a path that's only going to end badly. It's like being in a slow train wreck, and you can't jump off or stop the train or save yourself. All you can do is wait for the collusion.

Of course, I've lived long enough to know that sometimes the wreck doesn't happen. We can't control events, and the train can veer off or stop. You're saved. It happens.

If you're lost, then I can give you this advice: Do your best to get found. Keep hope. Just as you didn't expect the events that led to being lost, events can happen to save you.

And if not, well ... stay tough. Survive. Learn. Grow. Get up and go on. That's all you can do.

Spaceman Jones

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge, I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the 13th day.)

Spaceman Jones

Spaceman Jones went riding,
blasting into the night,
flying his atomic spaceship
out to see the sights.

They rumbled past the moon
and touched down on Mars.
Them settlers needed a sheriff
so they pinned on some stars

Rocket outlaws were rustling
ice and other valuable grub
so Jones and his posse chased
the crooks to an old space tub.

Them varmints fought back hard.
Energy bolts crackled and ripped,
but Jones soon drilled their leader
and put the stolen goods in his ship.

The posse came back to town,
but now here's a curious thing:
although they looked high and low
Jones was never again seen.

So if you're homesteading a planet
and crooks be troublin' your homes,
be careful where you pin those stars --
you might be pinning Spaceman Jones.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

K is for killer

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

Besides getting asked where I find my ideas (everywhere) and if I want to write the asker's life story (no, I don't), I get asked -- a lot -- how do I come up with a killer for my books. It's not easy. For one thing, while the killers in my books may actually be insane, they don't get the comfort of being insane. Instead, they must screw up their courage and choose to remove someone -- for revenge, love, money -- but no voices speak to them. No, their sins belong wholly to them.

Sometimes, I push my killers to the brink, and then they crack and kill. Other times, I let jealousy or anger eat at them for a long time. They began to think dark thoughts" If only he would die in a car wreck ... if only she would fall down the stairs ... Their lives would be better if their victims were dead. They only have to think that thought a few times ... and then it begins to fester. As it festers, it gathers strength, and they begin to plan. Eventually that plan leads to action. And those actions bring in the police. The story goes from there.

And that's how I make my killers.

An evening entertainment

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge, I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the 12th day.)

An Evening Entertainment

The evening has not gone as you planned.

I acknowledge your confusion and pain,

but you have only yourself to blame.

And maybe those movies where monsters

sparkle and sigh with immortal angst.

Do you think the flickering images held truth?

Or was it the endless books in which

the beauty tames the beast, ignoring

the fact the beast might not want to be tamed?

Perhaps you thought your youthful beauty

would conquer my baser instincts

even though I am centuries old

and have loved ladies whose beauty

sank a thousand ships and for whom

the poets opened their wrists.

It hardly matters now, does it?

I will say this: You have lovely eyes.

They will be simply delicious.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

J is for Jesus

When I was writing Tales from Bethlehem, which contains the stories of people who might have been at the birth of Jesus and how it affected their lives, I was very conscious that I could easily offend people. People take the Bible seriously, and I think they should. Even if they don't believe in God, the fact a lot of people do means your disbelief should be expressed respectfully. Live and let live and so on, although, of course, that's easier said than done.

I approached the stories with three goals: one, to express the power and wonder of the night; two, to find humor and humanity among the people in the Tales, but particularly humor; and three, within the constraints imposed by the situation of the individual Tales, to respect the Bible's accounts while aiming for a historical slant as much as possible.

Admittedly, some of the Tales, such as "The Star's Tale" or "Tale of the Humble Donkey," are based on fantastic elements, The Star's Tale being science fiction or science fantasy. But even with these unrealistic concepts, I tried to stay true to the truth of the Nativity.

I think I succeeded. At least the reviews have good so far, and readers have seemed to respond, so much so that many ask for more Tales. I don't know if there will be any more. I think I've written about almost anyone who realistically and otherwise would have been there, but we'll see. You'll never know who might step forward and want their Tale told.

 (This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.) 

Flight

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge, I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the 11th day.)

Flight

From the beginning the stars
called us from endless falling,
but earthbound our steps fell
until the Brothers Wright wrought
wings for their brethren.

Silver arced through the clouds
and then into the black beyond --
silent moon and ancient Mars, 
fiery Venus, molten Mercury,
gas giants three, and comet cloud.

Humanity homesteaded the system.
A few of the early explorers died,
but the stars still endlessly called.
We planned worldships, but physics
found a loophole in the laws.

Remember always this moment.
Remember where you stand
while those left yearning behind 
hold their breath as the first
starship finally answers the call.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

Cthulhu

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge (see post below), I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the 10th day.)

Cthulhu

With blood and ancient spells,
we called forth Great Cthulhu,
Dread One and Old God,
to sweep away this world.

This cowardly new world
had no place in it for us.
Better to cast everything
down into the dust.

We have poisoned the earth,
dimmed the skies, and slain
the beasts. Our cities burn.
Rivers choke with filth.

Scientists craft killing germs.
Bombs tear apart atoms.
Millions of children starve --
We do not deserve life.

So we called the Old God forth.
It turned its mighty head
toward us, then faded away
with a terrible cruel laugh.

It only spoke once, its voice
driving some mad. We understood then --
What horrors could it do to the earth
that we had not already done?

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

I is for innocence

Stephen R. Donaldson in his book The Wounded Land puts forth the idea that innocence is powerless and that only the guilty have power because they're willing to do things that are bad to protect what is good. It is a curious restatement of the old adage: "The ends justify the means." But do they?

I'm reminded of Operation Overcast. It was later renamed Operation Paperclip and was undertaken by our government at the end of WWII. We snatched up German scientists and technicians  At first, the military was told not take scientists who were active Nazis, but that restriction was rapidly dropped because those active Nazis were too valuable. And we definitely didn't want the Russians to get them.

So we brought thousands of them to the United States. Many were given new names and new identities. And their crimes -- the use of slaves and outright murder of innocent people -- was quietly swept way. Supposedly, it was necessary so that we could maintain our superiority over the rapidly growing threat of the Soviet Union. I'd like to think the worst of them were punished after we got their information. And I'd like to think most of them were swept helplessly into the Nazi war machine and lived good lives after they came here.

But the fact remains that our government decided their crimes didn't matter as much as our nation's security. I wonder if the people who made that choice realized what they were doing. I wonder if it weighed on their conscience?  I wonder if the ends actually justified the means. And I wonder about the victims. How would they feel?

In all of this, they were the only ones who didn't have a voice. They were the innocent that someone was supposed to be bad to protect.

Cursed

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge (see post below), I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the ninth day.)

Cursed

When she threw herself in the pit
to escape our murderous grasp,
we knew the witch would fall and die,
splattered on the black bones below.

We rushed eagerly to the edge
to revel in the bloody scene.
We thought her insidious voice
would be silenced permanently.

Instead she rose out of the dark,
her arms outstretched, her voice singing
praises to an ancient goddess
as we fled and bolted our doors.

We had thrown many bold women
into the pit and let them rot.
None were witches we all now know;
a few of us knew that before.

Stoughton said we must keep order,
sometimes the innocents must die,
and no one is without some sins.
We listened to his pious lies.

She walked too proudly while in town.
She did not give way when men spoke.
She knew her mind and went her own way.
So we sent her to fall and die.

But then we huddled in our homes
while above us the witch soared
through the golden sky, rejoicing
in freedom we will never feel.

Before she vanished in the clouds,
her voice rang out. “I leave you in
the tiny prison you have made
of life. That is my blackest curse!”

It has been more than two centuries.
Time trickles slowly for us now.
No one is born. no one can leave.
No visitors ever come here.

We see the same faces each day.
We work the same chores each day.
We mouth the same words each day.
Just our eyes show our empty souls.

We finally understand her curse:
to be exactly – and only –
what we are. The truth is: we fell
in a pit and we cannot die.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

H is for Helios

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

In Greek myths, Helios was the sun god, son of the elder god Hyperion. Helios was thought to drive his chariot across the sky from east to west daily. He was the sun's avatar, the personification of the sun.

I thought about Helios as I was driving to the store today. The sun peeked out from the clouds for a moment sending shafts of sunlight across the countryside.

Of course, then I wondered why I would think about a Greek myth. My brain often surprises me with what will surface at odd times. When I was in high school, I was fascinated by Roman and Greek myths. In a lot of ways, I think they were the first science fiction/fantasy stories. But then I remember people actually worshiped the gods featured in those stories. I wonder how many of them truly believed. Or were they like a lot of people today who give lip service to believing in God, but don't really reflect any sort of good behavior in their lives?

It's hard to imagine anyone really believing in the Olympians, but maybe they did. Or maybe they thought that the gods might exist, and it was better to be safe than sorry. I think a lot of people approach God that way these days: They're not sure He exists, but they hedge their bets just in case.

Three monstrous limericks

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge (see post below), I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm supposed to write a poem a day for the whole month. Here are the poems for the eighth day. They're short so I thought I should do three.)

The Thing Without A Brain

My brain and I once lived in Rome
but it wandered far from home
     It left an empty space
     a hollow behind my face
And now all I can do is moan

Vampire

I bit old Aunt Elizabeth first
I thought she'd sate my thirst
     But she didn’t fill me up
     so my cousins I supped
And now they too are cursed

Zombies

They wake from death craving brains
Brains and brains their only refrain
     They fumble and bumble
     They'll kill if you stumble
But the zombies would eat you in vain

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

G is for gratitude

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

I try to thankful for my blessings. I try to approach every day with gratitude. Yes, I have health problems. Yes, I have money problems. Yes, I worry about many things. But I have a roof over my head. I have food to eat. I have my family and friends. And I have a computer and an Internet connection. 

My life is better than 90 percent of the world. I tell myself that when the black dog has me by the throat. Not that I take pride in being better off. No, it's a reminder that I mostly suffer from First World Problems. This is not a fix for depression, but it does help me to keep perspective. 

My life isn't perfect. No one's life is. I have many trials and disappointments behind me and many in front of me.  But I'm still here. As long as I'm alive, I have hope. 

And that's something to be grateful for.