Grief is not a gentle mother

And it has viciously kicked my ass most of this month.

Grief turned out to be kind of a reverse Trojan Horse:  it detonated in might and power and inevitability like Shiva the Destroyer, but there were gifts (perhaps even a kind of rebirth) to be found in the rubble.

 

The most gut-wrenching part of the loss has started to subside and, to almost no one’s surprise, I will write more about it later.

 

In other writing news, my High-School English teacher and I reconnected this summer after losing touch for a few years.  She was a tremendous educator and I was so blessed to have her in my confused young life as a High School Senior.   She …

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Very tough week, friends.

My high-school girlfriend, a long-time friend and encourager of my writing, died on Monday.
 
I had dreamed about her Sunday night, and it struck me as odd, since I don’t generally remember my dreams and I hadn’t dreamed of her in a long time. Then I received the news that she had passed away sometime Monday morning.
 
She was a gifted artist, loving, kind, compassionate, and wounded by life as are we all.
 
I am very saddened at this loss.
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Random rambling…

Below, my mostly squared away desk, including the keyboard tray I made from original house baseboards.

 

I feel like I’ll be able to start writing again, now.  I’ve found a cluttered desk is the death to productivity.  Read up on it, apparently your brain feels like it needs to check everything in the environment before it can focus on the task at hand.

Or, it’s a hold over from my Coast Guard days, when I had to have my Rescue Swimmer gear organized so I could find life-saving equipment at a moment’s notice in the dark, while dripping wet and slightly hypothermic myself.

Speaking of those days, here is a class photo from Coast Guard Aviation Survivalman School.

 …

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Gratefulness…

I recently was selected for a Bookbub promotion, which introduced the “By the Hands of Men” series to a whole new group of readers.

Some of the reactions have been just marvelous. I hope I am never so jaded by my progress that I lose my sense of gratitude that someone finds my books compelling or entertaining or perhaps even enlightening.

A Six Book Series Worth Reading.

“I have not committed myself to a six book series as I’ve never believed an author could sustain a story and keep it interesting for that long. I was proven wrong by Roy Griffiths with this series which I found myself finding time to read rather than to sleep. I wouldn’t recommend reading …

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So, I’m also going to Los Angeles this week

The “SmashCut CineFest” film festival happens Thursday.  There, I’ll be receiving my “John Milius Screenwriting” award, hosted by Taliesin Nexus, a group of creative folks rather more interested in liberty and freedom than whatever is the woke subject du jour.

I’m hoping I might, just possibly, meet the man himself, the legendary Mr. Milius (whose career I can’t even begin to capture, except to say “Conan,” “Red Dawn,” or “The Wind and the Lion.”).  No one’s promised an introduction, and Mr. Milius has been ill recently, but if my life has proven anything to me, it’s that a kid who mostly grew up in Nebraska can – has to – dream.

Still, I’m going to the Dream Factory …

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Why I Disdain “Safe Spaces,”especially on D-Day

When you hear someone whinging about needing a safe space to shelter them from the trauma of hearing speech they don’t agree with, refrain from the urge to slap them silly, and have them read this article instead.

 
“At Boat No. 2, Lieutenant Tidrick takes a bullet through the throat as he jumps from the ramp into the water. He staggers onto the sand and flops down ten feet from Private First Class Leo J. Nash. Nash sees the blood spurting and hears the strangled words gasped by Tidrick: “Advance with the wire cutters!” It’s futile; Nash has no cutters. To give the order, Tidrick has raised himself up on his hands and made himself a target for an instant.
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