Driveway chicken by J.C. Kavanagh

Darkness Descends, 

Book 2 of the award-winning Twisted Climb series

Driving can be fun. Not like 'Miss Daisy' fun. I mean, fun in a challenging and exhilarating way. Sometimes I drive as if my car is a go-cart. Sometimes I drive like it's a Formula 1 race car (not very often). Sometimes I soldier on like it's a tank. My partner Ian has the same vision for driving.  
When we drive home in two separate vehicles, we always play the who's-gonna-park-in-the-garage-first game. It's our little driving competition. Just recently, though, our driving competition took on a more comical approach. 
We now play a new game - the Driveway Chicken game.
The idea is still to be the first to park and the first to get out of the car. But now, in the Driveway Chicken game, it's also maneuvering your vehicle to prevent the other one from sliding past and hitting the park-first jackpot.
Picture this: our home is in the country and the driveway is single lane, about 35 metres (100 feet) long. Trees line both sides of the driveway and stone surrounds the front porch. On the north side close to the garage, one-foot wooden sidewalls define a turning cut-out and prevent vehicles from traversing over. The driveway base at the house widens near the turning/parking cut-out and of course there's additional parking in front of the garage.  

The other day, Ian was just ahead of me when we got to the driveway entrance. It's our habit to back-in so Ian drove a few metres past the driveway with the intention of launching into reverse before I arrived.
Before he could launch, I drove nose-first into the driveway, accelerated down to the turning cut-out, spun my truck into reverse and began my wheel rotation with my foot on the accelerator. 
But there was Ian, his car ramped up on an angle beside my truck. I was sufficiently angled so he couldn't slide past the walls of the cut-out and he couldn't slide over the rock walls near the porch. 
I drove forward a few inches, trying to adjust my angle so I would be the first to park. 
He drove backward a few inches, looking for a way past my truck. 
We continued this zig-zag approach five or six times, like pac-man in a driveway chicken game.
That's when the laughter began. 
The ridiculousness of the situation, the intensity of the new game and then the visual of our two vehicles at impossible angles on our driveway struck my funny bone in the most delightful way.   
I laughed and laughed and laughed until the tears streamed down my face.
Ian rolled his window down and he too, joined in the laughter. 
What a delightful time. 
Laughter is good medicine, even in the driveway.

Me at the top of the driveway - winter shovel, no chicken

HEADS UP!

Book 2 from The Twisted Climb action/adventure/fantasy series

has been released!

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends

is available online everywhere. Next month,

paperback copies will be available through Chapters/Indigo stores.

J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb, voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers' Poll

AND

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2)

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)

How hot is hot?

We complain about the cold in winter; we complain about the heat in summer. But how hot is hot? Like all good answers, “it depends.”

For example, hot in Vancouver is not hot in Texas. And hot in Texas is positively cool in comparison to Death Valley, California, where a world record temperature of 134 degrees was observed in 1913. (This temperature was matched on the 13^th of September 2012, in El Aziza, Libya.)

Surprisingly, humans can survive incredibly hot weather. It is noted that at 130 degrees F, survival time begins to decrease drastically, but it is estimated that people can survive temperatures of even 150 degrees, in dry conditions, for short periods of time, with adequate hydration. The Dallol Depression, also known as the Danakil Depression, a desert area in Ethiopia, is covered with sulphurous springs, lakes of boiling lava and an active volcano that spits out hot magma. The Afar people, who inhabit this place, eke out an existence herding camels and mining salt, in temperatures that regularly reach 122 degrees F.

The Earth itself is in a long cooling off period, known as the Quartenary Ice Age, which began 2.6 million years ago. Within it are periods of cooling temperatures lasting 100,000 years, interspersed with warmer cycles known as Interglacial periods. We live in once such Interglacial period, known as the Holocene, which began about 11,700 years ago.

Many scientists argue that the rapid industrialization of the past couple of hundred years has brought about an abnormal phenomenon known as global warming, caused by trapping man-made carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.

So how hot is hot? As far as I’m concerned, as a resident of Calgary, Canada, hot is never hot enough. We’ve had record heat this summer, but I’m not complaining—never-ending summer is what I dream of!

Mohan Ashtakala is the author of The Yoga Zapper (www.yogazapper.com) published by Books We Love (www.bookswelove.com)

John Lennon's Home

For more information about Susan Calder's books, or to purchase visit her Books We Love Author Page.

I became a teenager in February 1964, when The Beatles exploded on the North American scene. One week I was playing with dolls; the next week I was glued to top 40 radio and in love with Paul. So when my husband Will and I visited England this spring, it was natural for us to include a stop in Liverpool, home of the fab four. We discovered that Britain's National Trust has bought John Lennon's and Paul McCartney's boyhood homes and offers tours to the public. Will and I reserved  spots on the 16 person van, not really knowing what to expect.  

   
The driver took us first to John's house in Woolton, an affluent middle class suburb. The home's curator met us in the front yard and said that we can thank Yoko Ono for this tour. After John's death, Yoko purchased the house and donated it to The National Trust, along with money to develop and maintain it. The National Trust later bought Paul's home and hired a husband and wife to act as curators. The couple does research, buys artifacts from the boys' time and conducts tours, which are the only way for people to see inside. No indoor pictures are permitted. The curator also asked us to turn off our cell phones to preserve the homes' 1950s and 60s atmosphere. 

The curator explained the basics of John's story, known to most Beatles fans. When John was five, his aunt Mimi took over his upraising because she viewed his mother, her sister Julia, as irresponsible and John's father was out of the picture. John adored Julia, the creative, rebellious and fun sister and was devastated by her death. The curator pointed out the intersection where Julia was struck by a bus. John's boyhood friend, who has become a resource and friend of the curator, told him that Julia had stopped in to visit Mimi that night. The friend showed up, looking for John, and walked with Julia to the bus stop. Minutes later he heard and saw the crush, but was too late to save her.

The curator took us around to the back entrance, since upwardly mobile Mimi had reserved the front door for esteemed guests like the minister. Paul always entered by the kitchen too. Before she met Paul, Mimi was concerned about the working class teenager's friendship with John. But Paul's manners and refined speech passed her test. In contrast, Mimi later judged George Harrison scruffy and scorned his Liverpool scouse dialect. Still she let the boys practice their music in her living room, perhaps to keep an eye on them. Mimi was concerned about John's growing disinterest in his school work, despite his academic abilities. In retrospect her view that John would be a failure if he didn't go to university seems narrow and short sighted, what who could foresee the delinquent youth would become a famous Beatle? Mimi's husband died when John was about aged 10. So that she could afford to give John the opportunities she wanted for him, Mimi took in boarders and slept in her small sitting room. Evidently John appreciated all she did. The curator said that John phoned Mimi every week until his death.   

Gate to Strawberry Field near John's boyhood home. John's friend said that, as boys, they would climb the gate into the orphanage grounds to escape his Aunt Mimi's watchful eye.   

Inside the home, the curator guided us through the ground floor, decorated in Mimi's 1950s style. A few of her original pieces remain in the living room. She converted the dining room to a bedroom for John and Cynthia when they married and had baby Julian. Of course, John was always on the road by this point and rarely home. Cynthia found the living arrangement uncomfortable since Mimi didn't like the baby's crying. Cynthia would take Julian into the back yard until he calmed down.    

Aunt Mimi's back yard

The curator let us wander on our own upstairs. We saw John's small bedroom, with a guitar and posters like the ones his friend remembered being on the walls. When Mimi sold the house, John was rich. He and Mimi kept few of the original furnishings and items. John bought himself an even more posh house and later one for Mimi when she was tired of fans hanging around outside her door. 

After our hour at John's and Mimi's home, the van took us Paul's house, about a 15 minute drive away. I'll blog about that visit next month. Before leaving the tour, I asked the curator of Paul's house if The National Trust had plans to buy Ringo's and George's boyhood homes. She said this would be problematic. Ringo's home has since gone through many owners and would be difficult to return to its state at the time Ringo lived there. George's home is on a quiet court and neighbours would find the fans obtrusive. But I expect The National Trust will find a way around these problems if their tours of John's and Paul's homes become super popular with the world's legion of Beatles fans.      

Me and John across from Liverpool's Cavern Club, which launched The Beatles to fame.   

Taphophobia, Vivisepulture, and Safety Coffins

                                http://bookswelove.net/authorsw/stover-mystery-romance


         a Hood Canal Mystery           a Tacoma, Washington Mystery   a historical romance/mysery

                                                                 BY KARLA STOVER

Vivisepulture is the act of being buried alive.  Taphrophobia is fear of that act, and safety coffins were just that--burial cases designed to prevent the prematurely-declared dead from being prematurely buried. Something of which the Victorians had a horrible fear.

In 1851, after Virginia MacDonald's death, her mother insisted the burial had been premature. She argued with her family so long and so hard, they finally agreed to have Virginia's coffin open. To their horror, Virginia was no longer laying on her back but had shifted to her side and her fingers were chewed.

In 1896, the day after the burial of a Madame Blunden in Basingstoke, England, boys playing near her vault heard noises. They ran for their teacher who ran for the sexton. Her vault and coffin were opened just in time for Madame Blunden to take her last breath. She had torn at her face and bitten off her finger nails.

Southern General Robert E. Lee’s mother died on June 29, 1829. However, she was known to suffer from catalepsy and it is believed she went into a lengthy coma and was actually buried the first time in 1806. A slave working near her grave heard noises and ran for help. Her coffin was opened, and she was found to be still alive. The future general was born a year later.

A Google search will bring up other exaamples. Suffice it to say, a safety coffin was a must, and here are specifications on part of patent request #81,847, dated August 25, 1868:

On the portion of coffin lid directly over the body’s face, there is a square tube which “extends from the coffin up, through and over the surface of the grave, said cord containing a ladder and a cord, one end of the cord being placed in the hand of the “deceased” and "the other being attached to a bell on top of the square tube.” If consciousness returns, the person interred can either open the coffin and use the ladder to climb out or ring the bell. Depending on the circumstances, part or all of the “Improved Burial-Case” can be used again.

In literature, authors such as Edgar Allen Poe, Charles Dickens, and Sir Author Conan Doyle, among many others made use of the cataleptic condition. Likewise, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Doctor Quinn: Medicine Woman, and The Fisher King are just a few of movies and television shows which worked the condition into the plotline.

Embalming is an ancient practice which caught on in the western world around the time of the Civil War. A Scottish surgeon named William Hunter was among the first to use “the art of embalming as part of mortuary practice.” 

One of his followers was the dentist Martin Van Butchell. When Butchell’s wife Mary died on January 14, 1775, he decided to have her embalmed and turn her into an attraction in order to draw customers. Mary’s body was injected “with preservatives, and color additives to give her cheeks a glow." Glass eyes replaced her real ones, and she was dressed in a fine lace gown. The body was then embedded in a layer of plaster-of-paris, nicely paid out in a glass-topped coffin, and put in the window of his home. It was saaid that "many Londoners came to see it" (or her). However, Butchell was criticized for his gruesome display. “A rumor, possibly started by Butchell himself, claimed that his wife's marriage certificate had specified that her husband would only have control over her estate after her death for as long as her body was kept unburied.”

When Butchell remarried, his new wife, Elizabeth, demanded that that Mary be removed from the window. “Butchell gave the body to Dr. Hunter's brother for his own museum. However, Mary eventually ended up in the Royal College of Surgeons' museum.

Unfortunately, the embalming proved to be ineffective and deteroriation set in. In May 1941, the body of Mary Butchell was finally destroyed in a German bombing raid.”


Under “15 Corpses You Can Still See Today” are Kim Jong-II, Mao Zedong, Ferdinand Marcos, St. Bernadette, the child, Rosalia Lombardo (an optical illusion make it see as if her eyes open and close), the English philosopher and social reformer,  Jeremy Bentham (on display sitting up in a cabinet at the University London College, and, of course, Lenin (so far his upkeep has cost $210,000).  Joseph Stalin used to be on display next to Lenin but due to de-Stalinization, he was removed. Also, there are a lot of mummies around (we have one in Tacoma, a museum favorite) but for purposes of this article, they don’t count.

 

Ttaphophobia, Vivisepulture & a 1908 Invention



                                      http://bookswelove.net/authors/stover-karla-mystery-romance

 

 

 

 



 

Let me share with you how they catch monkeys ~ by Rita Karnopp

I had always wanted to write a book about three Gypsy sisters during the Holocaust.  The story bounced around in my head for over five years.  Finally, I sent my publisher, at BWL Publishing, a proposal for Tango of Death … and she loved it … with one change … she wanted a trilogy. 

Of course, I said, “Sure, I can do that.” (You always tell your publisher ‘yes.’)  But as soon as I sent that email I asked myself, “What have I done?”  Bottom line, it was the best decision ever … each sister got their own story … and even though it took months of extra research for three books, it was well worth it.  They are the stories I’ve always wanted to tell.  My Gypsy sisters come to life in my Tango of Death series; Gypsy Spirit, Partisan Heart, and Jewish Soul.

Book 1–Tango of Death Series - Gypsy Spirit is a story of the driving spirit of a Gypsy girl, who took it upon herself to document the truth. Her strength and determination brings to light a story of altruism, fears, and atrocities such a Gypsy girl might have lived through.

 

Book 2 – Tango of Death Series - Poland 1943-During WW II - Partisan Heart tells the story of a Gypsy girl who follows her beloved into the forests of Poland and the Ukraine.  Their partisan group is willing to risk their lives blowing up train trestles, attacking SS killer squads, and to infiltrate Nazis intelligence to destroy Nazi Germany.  Resistance does exist.  If nothing else, to die with dignity is a form of resistance.

 

Book 3 – Tango of Death Series, JEWISH SOUL. Mayla Sucuri’s world is falling apart . . . no Gypsy is safe in Hitler’s Germany and Mayla refuses to turn down the opportunity to take notes and bear witness to the atrocities happening at the concentration camps. Will it get her killed?

 

Let me share with you how they catch monkeys.  Another thing I learned from Doran Andry's Gateway to Greatness is a story about howt hey catch monkeys.  Imagine a wooden box 12” x 12” and the top opens because it has hinges.  Imagine opening the box and setting a big, red juicy apply in the bottom of the box.  Then imagine closing and locking it.  Then, around to the side is a hole and it is big enough for the monkey to look inside and see the red, juicy apple.  But the hole is small enough so the only way for the monkey to get inside the box is to squeeze his fingers inside the hole.  Now imagine the monkey reaching inside the box and grabbing the red, juicy apple.  Now the apple is in the palm  of the monkey’s hand. 

However, there is a problem.  As the monkey tries to pull his hand out of the box, he finds it doesn’t fit through the hole. The reason is because the apple is in the palm of the monkey’s hand.  Now the monkey won’t let go of that apple for anything.  As a result, the poacher comes in and kills the monkey.  Now realize, all the monkey would have to do is let go of the apple and he’d be free, but he won’t let go.  Soon he’s a dead monkey. 

This is a metaphor for people who just don’t discipline themselves to write.  Usually there is something in your life that you need to let go.  But, as-a-result of not letting it go, it remains a roadblock to your success.  Ultimately it ends up hurting you.

Talk with your writer’s group or a friend and ask, ‘what am I not letting go of?’  Meaning; is it your fear, is it the security of knowing you can’t finish your book, you don’t have to worry about what to do next – once the book is finished or is it because you’re just lazy?  Whatever the challenge is, for most people, they don’t open themselves up to themselves or their writing partners, to learn what is not allowing them to ‘let go of the apple.’  Ultimately, it leads to the death of your writing career.

Growing as a person.  You know people want to be successful to see their income grow and they want to grow, yet they’re not willing to make the sacrifices that it takes to develop new skill-sets, new beliefs, and new habits.  They take the same ‘employee mentality’ and bring it to the environment where they write.  I think we’ll all agree, that someone who is an international best-selling author with over 30 million books in print has a different mind-set than one who hasn’t yet published a book or has one or two books to their credit.  Which is all the more reason why we must grow as people.

 

Under confidence.  If only I was published, then I’d write more and have more confidence.  Well, people…it’s a big myth.  It’s about reaching your personal writing goal and you won’t reach it without giving 100% to the first book, then second book, etc.  Don’t look at someone else’s success to measure your own or lack thereof.

In September we’ll discuss what happens when people do things ‘consistently right.’

Creating Secondary Characters by June Gadsby

Speaking of Secondary Characters

Visit June Gadsby's BWL Author Page

Secondary characters are essential to make any story work and move on. They are the links between the heroes, heroines and the plot itself. That’s how I always look at them anyway. In fact, my secondary characters are often my favourite creations in any story, whether they be dark and evil or light and humorous. Quite often I find both extremes creeping in and, boy, do I have fun with them.

But where do they come from, these minor actors in the supporting cast, creating havoc or laughter and sometimes both? It can sometimes be difficult or impossible to invent them from imagination alone. The best way, as far as I am concerned, is to take a real person, someone you know well, and weave their idiosyncrasies and anything you find odd or interesting into the character you want to create. Most people do not recognize themselves because their oddities, their habits [which they may not even be aware of] are disguised by the different physical appearance, name or background of the character that ends up in the published book at the end of the day.

My husband has been known to say: “I see you’ve got your mother/grandfather in here again.” I’m not always aware that I’ve done it, but their characters are so fixed in my memory that they seem to infiltrate into the stories all on their own. Of course, the more interesting the character the better, but care has to be taken not to make the ‘secondaries’ appear too unbelievable, even if the real person you take them from is too ‘interesting’ to be true.

I’ve just spent some time with my son-in-law. Now there’s a character and a half. He has plenty to be depressed about in his life at the moment – perhaps always has had – but he laughs it off and claims that he is never depressed. I get depressed just hearing about his life and wonder how my lovely step-daughter copes with it all, but she seems to ignore it and they appear to be very happy together.

But here it is. I would love to create a secondary character that has his problems that are both sad, ridiculous and hilarious at the same time. For one thing, he has a serious phobia. Peas. He can’t look at them, eat them, see other people eating them. He says his three older sisters used to taunt him by lining peas up outside his bedroom door so that he couldn’t come out. The sisters all have their own idiosyncrasies, as does the father of the family. He lives with my son-in-law, who is his full-time carer. I won’t go there, even though he’s doubly interesting – it’s all far too complicated. As is the fact that my son-in-law [and I’m oddly very fond of him, despite all his idiosyncrasies] must telephone one of his sisters every evening and they talk for at least an hour – about what Heaven only knows.

So, a secondary character in the making and I can’t wait to ‘create’ him in one of my books. He claims he hasn’t read any of the twenty-plus books I’ve written, but this week I allowed him to read the first rough draft of FORBIDDEN, which I’m at present working on. I’ve never done this before, so I held my breath and kept everything crossed, because he’s pretty outspoken at times. He said he enjoyed it and was fascinated to know what ‘Lizzie’s secret’ was. Lizzie is one of my secondary characters and not terribly interesting - yet. He was most frustrated when I wouldn’t tell him and spent the next hour or two trying to trick me into revealing Lizzie’s secret. I told him he would find out when he read the published book. And, of course, the clue is in the title – for all the characters’ ‘secrets’.

Yes, it was a fascinating and inspiring few days. 

Now, I’m ready to start Chapter Three of FORBIDDEN, when I may or may not reveal Lizzie’s secret – but not to the son-in-law!

Gravedigging 101 from the back of the Steakhouse by G.L. Rockey

Visit author page to information and purchase links

Spending my summer vacation in Cleveland, my sperm-father, Jim Marsico, had the chutzpah to come to Jim’s Steak House.

Let me explain.

Shortly after I had turned eleven, school out for summer break, my non-sperm-father, Ray Rockey–five six, medium build, receding black hair slicked back and parted on the left–the owner of Cleveland’s then  popular restaurant, Jim’s Steak House, had me, on a bright summer  morning, outside washing the canopy over his restaurant’s front entrance. I'm up on a seven-foot stepladder with  brush and bucket of water scrubbing away when I notice a green car pull into Jim’s Steak House parking lot and stop. After a few seconds, out of the car steps a man dressed in casual military uniform––long sleeve tan shirt, tan pants, black shoes–walking toward me.

The man getting closer, I recognize him from–when I was a few years younger, a couple meetings, photos in a scrapbook, all that–it's my sperm father, Jim Marsico.

Smiling, he waves, steps closer, says, “Hello, hi, how are ya” something like that.

I  climb down from the ladder, we shake hands, blah blah blah for a few minutes and out of the Steak House front door appears Jim Marsico’s ex (now married to my step father, Ray Rockey) my mother, Evelyn Rose–slim, forty-four, brunet, former waitress. Smiling, she and my sperm father exchange airport-screener type greetings.

Greetings over, we three go inside the restaurant and sit at a four top (that’s a table that seats four) window table.

Yak yak and shortly thereafter, my non-sperm father, Ray, shows up.

Introduction, more airport screener greetings, Ray sits with us, five or so minutes of yak yak pass and a girl (Jim’s Steak House called the all female food servers, “girls.”) comes to the table, smiles demurely, leans over and whispers something in my mother’s ear.

Anxious look from my mother, she excuses herself, and leaves.

My mother gone, we three “boys” yak some more (mostly Jim Marsico and Ray) and in around a few minutes later my mother, pale as a virgin ghost, comes back to the four-top table, sits where she had sat before, and, exchanging irritable-bile-syndrom glances, she says to my sperm father, “Aunt Hilda is upstairs having a cow. You gotta get out-a here, now.” She didn't really say that, she said, nice as can be, “Aunt Hilda is very upset, you’ll have to leave.”

So you’ll know, Aunt Hilda, eyes and ears everywhere, is my step father, Ray Rockey’s aunt, owns Jim’s Steak House.

So you’ll also know, after Ray’s mother (Hilda’s sister) died when Ray was just a tike, Aunt Hilda gained custody from Ray’s father, became his guardian, made him manager of Jim’s Steak House when he was twenty something.

As to Aunt Hilda upstairs having a cow; she lives in an apartment above the Steak House. Her first husband, James Kerkles, who founded the restaurant umpteen years ago, died when he was fifty something. Shortly thereafter, Aunt Hilda sole owner of Jim’s Steak House, married the head of a local construction company, Frank Paul Mercurio who, among other things, dug holes all around Cleveland.

Anyway, back to Aunt Hilda having a cow.  

Didn’t take a jackeroffer to figure it out–my sperm father was in her restaurant, sitting at one of her restaurant tables, drinking coffee out of one of her cups, chatting with her daughter-in-law, his ex-wife, my mother, Evelyn Rose, and me. Not to mention, my step father, Ray, joining in.

Anyway, after an awkward whew moment, my sperm father's gone, I went back outside to my ladder and bucket; Ray went back to doing whatever he was doing in the back-of-the-house (that’s restaurant talk for the kitchen area), and Evelyn Rose went upstairs to calm Aunt Hilda.

###

What you just read is autobiographical, a kind of prelude to my non- fiction book FROM THE BACK OF THE HOUSE-MEMORIES OF A STEAK HOUSE CLAN. A revised updated second edition GRAVE DIGGING 101 is to be released by BWL in the not to distant future.

G.L. Rockey

www.glrockey.com