Visit with a Peruvian Indigenous Tribe by Stuart R. West

Laughs, Murder & Mayhem! One simple click away!

Continuing our adventures down the Amazon River (and not to be as boring as everyone's least favorite uncle at holidays), the next day of our trip started with a red-eyed, bird-watching boat trip at six in the morning. Bleary-eyed, half-asleep, agitated like a disturbed hibernating bear, I blundered into the boat and managed not to capsize it. Barely. We saw lotsa birds, rare and exotic ones, but I probably would've rather seen the inside of a coffee cup.

A local fisherman kindly showed us his daily catch. Later we found out the locals weren't too keen on tourists invading their waters and jungles. Given their past treatment by colonial invaders, I can't say that I blame them.

After lunch, we visited an indigenous people's village. Decked out in long pants, long sleeves (groan), and enough bug spray to kill Mothra, we set out again by boat. Oh, we also had to don boots.

Ahhh, the boots. Those horrific boots. Heavy, hot, ill-fitting, we wore them every time we trekked through the jungle (snake protection). My feet were terribly loose so I had to wear two pair of thick, hot, sweltering socks. Conversely, one of my calves is oddly larger than the other and I couldn't even get the boot on so I had to roll the top down on that leg. Not only did I look even more ludicrous than usual, my feet felt like I was walking on burning coals.

But once we hit the village, my petty pedi-problems seemed minuscule in comparison.

Our first stop was a fantastic, ancient, ginormous tree next to the village. Legend has it that it contained mystical qualities and I certainly wasn't going to scoff in the face of such overwhelming nature. 

These boots aren't made for walking!

A small local girl had been craftily lying in wait for us. As soon as we disembarked our boat, she met us, carrying her pet sloth with her. Yep, a pet sloth! No fool, the child had been schooled in the nature of mercantilism, voguing for change. She got me. Seemed like bad karma not to tip.

The Salesmen of the Year Award goes to this little girl and her sloth.

As we entered the village, children ran merrily about--some in school uniforms, others not and I never could figure out why--dropping "buenas dias" and spreading the word of the visitors' arrival. 

This particular village had been aided by charity (Jungle Momma's art program being notable in providing lessons in how to improve the indigenous' wares). A new water tower provided clean water, yet abodes were still meager by our standards. Unlike Iquitos, though, they kept their village scrupulously clean (if you overlooked the visibly sick dogs living paw to foot among the villagers), decorated trash bins strategically located throughout the small village.

When I entered the grade school, the children adorably feigned working hard at math. I thought I'd flex my Espanol muscles and talk to the kids: "Ahh, bueno, bueno, ninos! Muy caliente matematicos!" They just kinda stared at me. (Later I found out I'd only singled out the boys--having left out the "ninas"--and told them their math was very hot.)

We piddled about the village for a while, killing time. Turns out it was a strategic ploy as it gave the people time to set up their small marketplace.

Soon we were hustled into a traditional communal hall, a large hut thatched with palm leaves. Decked out in original Yagua full garb, grass skirt and face-paint for the benefit of we marauding tourists, the chief proceeded to tell us a little about his tribe's traditional ways (and to shill for money). Soon, other villagers were painting our faces (wait a minute! Why did the other men get "hashtag" marks on their cheeks and I got the feminine stripes? Curious and curiouser...). Next they dragged us out for a hoedown of a dance (basically an endless, dizzying circle around the uneven dirt floor in my heavy duty boots and suffocating clothing).

Next was blow-dart shooting where my wife nailed the target first try.

Then...shopping!

Eight to ten stalls were set up, each representing a different family. The offered goods were similar (bracelets, masks, fans, touristy stuff), but the quality varied by booth. To be authentic, some of the women wore traditional palm fiber breast covers...which didn't quite do the job at times.  We were told that uneven distribution of funds might cause strife, so we tried to share the wealth.

Now, I was warned early on that the Peruvian merchants expect you to barter. Just part of the deal. But to me it felt wrong to barter with these poor villagers so we gave them asking price, even though one woman automatically brought her price down when she saw us waffling.

Last to leave, the Chief accosted us. He stuck his hand out. I thought it was a token of friendship, so I grabbed his hand. Clearly pissed, he jabbed out his other hand. Dumb American that I am, I seized that hand in a sorta embarrassing cross-armed double hand-hold. He yanked away, held out his hand again and bellowed, "Change!" Hard-core salesmanship, the taint of civilization. I obliged. Otherwise, we weren't getting outta there. He looked at what I gave him, finally said, "okay," and stepped aside. Guy needs to be selling cars in Kansas.

As we left, I was struck by the happy nature of the village. Honestly, though, my privileged, liberal-guilty self fabricated a touch of sadness. I felt like donating my boots to them.

In fact, I would've happily paid them to take my boots.

To show you just how generous I'm feeling, I'm going to donate this book to you, dear reader (for the low, low price of $2.99), a perfect stocking stuffer for the holidays. Bad Day in a Banana Hammock...it's for a good cause (hot dog money). 

What do you do when the words won't come? by Nancy M Bell

Click on the cover to learn more about Wild Horse Rescue and Nancy's other books.

Writer's block is without a doubt one of the most frustrating things a writer of any type of material can encounter. Whether you're wracking your brain to produce commercial text, a poet with no words spinning into rhymes, or a fiction author chasing their absent Muse, writer's block is not a welcome visitor. If you're in the midst of just such a crisis, take some comfort from the knowledge you are not alone. Being at a loss for words is an issue every writer deals with at some point in their career. So rather than beating your head on the keyboard or re-booting the blank screen with your shoe, let's explore some solutions.

Keep in mind every person is different and what works like a charm for some will fail miserably for others. For myself, staring at the screen or out the window rarely works. I have found that taking a break works well for me. I take the dogs for a walk (I once came home with a poem singing in my head that come to me while walking the mutts), doing something mindless like watching a soap opera will take my mind off my recalcitrant characters and Muse. Reading a new book or a new author is another method I use. Often re-reading a book I have enjoyed in the past frees up the jammed cogs in my brain.

When I return to the computer and look at the either blank screen or the flood of unfinished thoughts often the characters will shake themselves awake and obligingly continue to tell me their stories so I can share them with others. Alas, sometimes they stubbornly refuse to even look at me from their suddenly two dimensional flatland and nothing will coerce them to join me in the story I'm trying to tell. This usually calls for drastic measures, especially if there is a deadline involved. Eeek! The dreaded deadline combined with writer's block will raise any author's blood pressure and produce a doozy of a headache. Deadlines actually tend to help spur me on to conquer writer's block, for others it is the final nail in the coffin.

One method to break the block is to sit down at an appointed time every day, which ever time of day seems best for you. Write anything that comes to mind, don't judge, turn off your internal editor and internal critic. Just write anything no matter how trivial. Set yourself an attainable goal of how many words you will produce. For some that will be 200 words for others 3,000, it doesn't matter how many or how few, or how many your writing partners or other friends are producing. It's not a contest.

I often find sitting quietly by the garden (in the warmer weather) and just letting my mind drift will often find my characters tugging at the fringes of my thoughts and offering up snippets of their previously withheld stories. Doing something you love that you find relaxing often allows your mind to unwind and the words to break free. I often go and spend time with my horses, brushing them and just being with them helps to loosen the log jam in my head.

Music will help, not head banging stuff (at least not for me, but maybe for some), songs from when I was young, songs with memories attached (both happy and sad depending on what I'm working on), classical music. As an aside, I used to play classical music in my hen house and the hens always laid better than if I played other types of music.

Exercise will help empty and reset your brain. If you're a gym person, go and have a hard workout. A run or a walk will work just as well for those less physically inclined. I like to walk where I'm close to nature, walking barefoot under trees, or just leaning against a tree, will often do the trick. For more urban folks, walking through your neighbourhood or familiar places works. Even a walk through the local mall can be cathartic.

Make a list of keywords which you can use as prompts to jump start your creative juices.

Look at art that inspires you, or even random images brought up in an internet search can be helpful.

There are tons of self-help books and articles on the internet, but honestly, there is no miracle cure for writer's block and we each have to fight our own way through to the other side where our Muse awaits us tapping his or her foot and asking what took us so long.

I hope this helps a bit. Good luck with your writing and above all else --keep writing!

You're invited to join my author page on Facebook I'd love to see you there. Click here

Eyeballs without auto-correct, by J.C. Kavanagh

VOTED Best Young Adult Book 2018 by Critters Readers Poll

My partner Ian and I decided that 2019 was a great year to embrace the idea of a joint new years resolution. We're not as young as we'd like to be. Or think we are. I mean, how many times can you be '39' again? So, we decided to pay more attention to what we eat and to review more thoroughly the ingredient labels on all store-bought items.

At the grocery store, we trudge to the 'healthy' aisle. That's where the old eyeballs come in - oh if only we could read what's written on the packages. We check every label, comparing products that look tasty and healthy. Many of them look like cardboard that's been flavored with salt and more cardboard. The selection becomes harder and harder. Why? It's tough reading the ingredients without the use of an electron microscope. Could the print be any smaller?

I discover a new type of cracker made solely from vegetables, mostly beets.

"This looks interesting," I suggest to Ian, holding up the box. "And they're garlic-flavoured."

Ian squints and turns the box over. He holds the box away from his body until his arm won't extend any more and begins to read the ingredients out loud.

"Potato flour," he says hesitantly.

"Spinach starch with germs removed," he adds. I cock an eyebrow. That doesn't sound right.

"Beetroot something-or-other. And ball sac vinegar."

I look at Ian with alarm. "What kind of vinegar?"

He squints some more and tries to focus, holding the box as far from his eyes as possible. His arm is going through the shelf and into the next aisle.

As he tries to focus, I suddenly get it. What he's trying to read. Balsamic vinegar.

Oh - my sides! I begin to laugh and laugh and I just can't stop.

Ah. Fun times with Ian even when the eyeballs dim.

Update on the Kavanagh clan that made my 1889 church pew
Sorry - research still not complete... will keep you posted!

GREAT NEWS!

Book 2 of my Twisted Climb series, The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends, was just voted Best Young Adult Book 2018 by the Critters Readers Poll. I am beyond thrilled! If you like action, adventure, drama and a dash of paranormal, you will love my books. Check them out and please leave a review on Amazon or Chapters or your favourite book site.

J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2)

voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll

AND

The Twisted Climb,

voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll

Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart

Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com

www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh

www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh

Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)

A Visit to Stone Mountain Park

My son and I had the privilege of visiting Stone Mountain Park last year, as part of my research for my book, Karma Nation. Upon arrival at the park’s headquarters, we were warmly greeted by the head of the park’s publicity department, a very helpful young lady, who offered us free tickets for the day.

Stone Mountain Park is located in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia. Its’ attractions draw visitors from around the world: a collection of antebellum homes, imported from various places in Georgia and beautifully restored, trails through the woods, a barnyard containing a petting zoo, boat-rides on the lake and a concert hall. The place was charming—the landscape was picturesque and a feeling of serenity pervaded the place.

Despite these, it has always been famous for one thing: the enormous bas-relief carving of three Confederate leaders of the sheer rock face of Stone Mountain. The sculpture that defines the park. Covering an area of 6,400 square meters, the portrait of Jefferson Davis. Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson, riding their horses, towers over the landscape.

Karma Nation

I was interested in the park’s history; especially its connection to the Ku Klux Klan. The Klan’s first iteration, meant to roll back the newly-gained benefits to Black Americans, came into existence right after the Civil War. It unleashed a campaign of terror against freedmen and white Republicans. Within a few years, the Union government introduced laws to prosecute and suppress Klan activity. However, the main reasons for its failure were its unorganized nature and lack of political support, even among Democrat politicians.

In 1915, a group of fifteen men, led by William Simmons, met at the base of Stone Mountain and reconstituted the KKK. They then climbed to the top of the mountain where they burned a cross. This time, the Klan was much more successful in spreading its’ message. Simmons provided an organizational structure and, with large enrolments, came political support. At its peak in the mid-1920’s the Klan’s membership numbered about 4-5 million men, roughly 15% of the American population. This second iteration finally passed away in the 1940’s, weakened by internal division, criminal activities by its’ leaders and external political opposition.

Thus, it is understandable that in the minds of many, including African Americans, Stone Mountain Park would remain identified by this divisive history. In fact, my purpose in visiting was to gauge people’s sentiments. Certainly, the park lovingly preserved the bones of a lost society. Opposition to the grand sculpture of Confederate leaders was noticeable: what was the need to continue glorification of the men who waged war against the Union and whose society supported the institution of slavery?

But the day of our visit held no such discord. Families, many of them African-American, gathered at the park for no other reason but to enjoy the day. Children played in the water park, picnicked on the spacious lawns or rode the cable cars to the mountain top. Music sounded in the air and boats plied the lake. The great sculpture, though controversial, had become part of the landscape, a relic of the past, to be gawked at and sometimes discussed, but not to be fought over.  Visitors—whites, blacks and even foreigners, crowed the place. Time had moved on, and we followed the others’ example: we enjoyed our day.

Mohan Ashtakala is the author of Karma Nation. Please visit his website www.mohanashtakala.com

He is published by Books We Love, LLC. Boos We Love, LLC

Somewhere a bit different...by Sheila Claydon

Click this link for purchase information

In my last blog I was just about to set off to spend Christmas in Hong Kong. It was, as always, wonderful to catch up with family and friends, especially our 4 year old granddaughter, and Christmas Day was much enjoyed by all. Then, a few days later, the whole family made a trip to Schenzen in southeastern China. This is the modern metropolis that links Hong Kong to the Chinese mainland.

Schenzen is one of the country's special economic zones, which means it is allowed more free market-oriented economic policies and flexible governmental measures compared to the more planned economy of most of China. Consequently its tax and business incentives make it attractive to both foreign and domestic investors and this has made it a very successful city. Westerners can apply for a 5 day visa at the border although this does not entitle them to visit any other part of China.

What can I say about Schenzen other than wow! It's growing economy, mainly in the technological industry, has led to it being dubbed China's Silicon Valley, and it really is the most amazing place. With an estimated population of over 20 million, mainly young, inhabitants, it is vibrant and forward looking. It is also spotlessly clean despite its many fast food outlets. The streets, beautifully manicured parks, and huge, modern shopping malls are all pristine, as is the Schenzen metro, which is vast and growing but so easy to use thanks to its technologically friendly maps.  More important than any of this though, is the friendliness of its people. On crowded trains, as older visitors, we were greeted with smiles and instantly offered seats. We were also entitled to travel everywhere for free as are all its own older citizens. All we had to do was show our passport or driver's licence to be nodded through the barrier, again with a smile.

And there were so many things to do. In one shopping mall, for instance, was a Virtual Reality (VR) station where anyone could try their hand at activities as far apart as Formula One driving or skiing down vertiginous mountain passes, or, if they wanted something more calming, they could take a trip to the stars, visiting planets and staring back at the earth through a virtual reality window. There were so many VR options it would have taken days to experience them all. Then there were the slightly larger than usual child-sized electric cars that tiny drivers (or more usually their parents with children as passengers) could drive around the malls, waving and smiling as fond family members looked on. I was even persuaded to take my little granddaughter on one of these 5 minute trips and quickly learned to weave in and out of the strolling shoppers despite nervously anticipating a traffic snarl up that never happened.  Then there was the lake with its huge stationary ship that doubled as a bar and restaurant where we watched fireworks from beneath the warmth of outdoor heaters because it was cold by then.  

Everywhere we went people were enjoying themselves. Family groups, young people holding hands, parents, grandparents, the whole place seemed to be full of laughter and enjoyment.There was the ball pool for small children that was bigger than any I have ever seen before, big enough for the parents who wanted to revert to their childhood too. And a wonderful Sea World. And skating. And jogging. And themed exhibitions, both cultural and modern. And interactive museums. We didn't have anywhere near enough time to visit everything, nor was the weather conducive as it was (to us a very mild) winter, so we missed the wonderful beaches and the botanical gardens that integrate serious research with tourism, and we gave the technological area a miss too, and the theme parks in Happy Valley, because by then our brains and senses were full. 

While we were there Chinese friends also invited us to join them for two memorable meals, allowing us to see behind the scenes sufficiently to experience how the locals live. Because we have a Chinese daughter-in-law we have become reasonably adept with chopsticks, something that is really an essential for anyone wishing to enjoy Chinese food at its best. Reaching forward to take a carefully prepared portion from the myriad dishes that keep on coming is the only way to truly understand the Chinese love of food and their even greater enjoyment when they see a guest eating well.

This wasn't our first visit to China. In the past we have visited several other major cities as well as heritage sites ,and have also climbed a portion of the Great Wall, but when we did this, enjoyable as it all was, we knew we were in another culture. In Schenzen, with its oh so young population, it didn't feel like that at all. It is a place that has taken the best of the West and the East and merged them into a city of the future where, certainly to all outward appearances, everything works smoothly and efficiently. It both amazed and fascinated us in equal measure. It also made us realise, all over again, as does every trip we take to another country, that people are the same the world over even if they do things a little differently sometimes.

I haven't written a story based in China yet, although the day might come, but in a number of my books the characters have to learn to live in another culture. Reluctant Date is just one of them but in this case, Clare, the English heroine, has to learn to live in a small town in Florida. That might not seem such a steep learning curve as moving to China, but learning to live anywhere different needs adjustment until the day, without realising quite how it happened, it becomes home.