Tag: grapes of wrath
Bullying April

Bullying April

By | 
Dateline: April 30, 2021
Location: Southern Michigan

You’re in the right place

for a mix of stories you just won’t find anywhere else…

“Here’s to the allure of the obscure!”

 “When bullying April bruised mine eyes / With sleet-bound appetites and crude / Experiments of green, I still was wise / And kissed the blossoming rod.” – Cecil Day-Lewis

In this issue:

  1. What’s With April? (one weird month)
  2. Writer’s Side (thinking like an author)
  3. Moving Back Into Small Spaces (from 2,500 to 300 square feet, again)
  4. Review: A Powerful Bestseller (not my usual read)
  5. Did You Know? (useless but interesting factoids)
  6. Featured Guest (International Lecturer)

Warning: This month’s issue became more lengthy than usual: an action-packed month!

1. What’s With April?

Did you know April is National Poetry Month? Hence, the Cecil Day-Lewis quote above, and I’ll have more to say about that in a moment. Everyone knows April Fools Day, Good Friday and Easter fall in April. How about a few less notable but no less interesting observations about this month? You celebrated all of these, right? Click on any link to drill down, or skip them altogether:

  • National Sourdough Bread Day (Diana, no more of your wonderful bread, but thank you!)
  • Jeep 4×4 Day (now relevant to Kay and me as neophyte Jeepsters)
  • National Nebraska Day (relevant later in this issue)
  • National Caramel Day (its genesis with 1880 candy makers)
  • National Empanada Day (unnusual story)
  • National Bookmobile Day (you would expect authors and readers to celebrate this day, right?)
  • National Eight Track Tape Day (are you old enough to remember these?)
  • Vaisakhi / Baisakhi / Vishu (if you are Hindu from India, perhaps this is how you celebrate the beginning of your harvest year)
  • National Dolphin Day (some very cool facts about dolphins)
  • Tax Day (originated to fund the American Civil War)
  • National Lineman Appreciation Day (we’ve met a few in our travels – click the link for some electrifying facts)
  • National Garlic Day (read how you can observe this day, even if you aren’t a vampire hunter)
  • Lima Bean Respect Day (otherwise known as Kay and Gene’s wedding anniversary day and our ninth sobriety anniversary – appropriate for a couple of buttery vegans, don’t you think?)
  • National Earth Day (you know, to celebrate the existence of the tiny cinder in space upon which we roost)
  • National Talk Like Shakespeare Day (It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves)
  • National Tell a Story Day (once upon a time…)

This is but a smattering of days celebrated each year during the transformative month of April. Every day celebrates something, which is appropriate since we should celebrate something every day of our lives! But what I find fascinating is the story behind each of these celebratory moments in time, and their history.

2. Writer’s Side

Now let’s talk about that poem I quoted at the beginning of this article, and why it matters to me, and maybe even to you despite what you might think of poetry… it can be a beautiful thing… a fragile flower unwilling to shrivel, even in the cold and the dark…

Poems deliver powerful mind-pictures in brief.
When bullying April bruised mine eyes
With sleet-bound appetites and crude
Experiments of green, I still was wise
And kissed the blossoming rod.
– Cecil Day-Lewis

Have you heard the term, COVID fog? This was a feeling I experienced all through 2020, but never put a label on it until yesterday’s discussion with my brother, Rod (who I hope is also blossoming)! The term resonated.

Sometimes, to combat this isolationist phenomenon and other emotional anomalies, doctors even prescribe poetry as a therapeutic aid. For example, Dr. Rafael Campo, a poet and physician at Harvard Medical School, believes poetry can also help doctors become better providers. As he put it in a TEDxCambridge talk in June 2019, “When we hear rhythmic language and recite poetry, our bodies translate crude sensory data into nuanced knowing — feeling becomes meaning.”

Aside from simply celebrating National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world, April has been a month of rebirth for my bride and me. With our vaccinations are behind us, I began to win my battle with agoraphobia (fear of open spaces) and anthropophobia (fear of being in close proximity to other people due to the perhaps irrational fear that infected me throughout 2020 and early 2021), we ventured out of our comfort zone to hit the road once more earlier this month after sheltering in place for fifteen months.

I, more than Kay, still felt that “bullying April bruised mine eyes,” with my ongoing personal battles, with cold weather we hadn’t really experienced in over a decade, and with having made a brutal financial decision to invest significant funds in our home on wheels once again. We cast aside concerns for our at-risk selves to some extent, at least as much as our bullied psyches allowed. We had once again slaked our “sleet-bound appetites” that nevertheless felt “crude” after languishing in the tropics, perhaps for too long.

But I successfully reasoned through our decision to once again hit the road after our 2020 hiatus. “I still was wise…” and after a bout of freezing “up north” temps, sleet and a (now) foreign smattering of snow (more dramatic when you live in a bus in the middle of nowhere), we are adapting beautifully as we “kissed the blossoming rod.” Grass never gets as green as it does in a Midwest Spring, or in minds recently unshackled from paralyzing fear! At least partially. Yeah, the season is finally busting out all over, and we are blossoming too.

Another Project…

As an aside, I have thought of myself as a poet for more than forty years, not as some literary titan, but as a humble word player. To me, poems present fascinating and often mysterious word puzzles, a direct tunnel into the mind of a poet – they are wired differently than most earthlings. I find that interesting.

A poem can be simple in its surprising elegance, or sinister in its myriad word pictures that tease and tantalize. But it takes a little effort to read poetry, which turns off many lazy readers, and that is tragic. Poetry represents a dimension to the human experience most will be denied, not by others, but by oneself.

As a preview of my “Did You Know” feature below, did you know that haiku is the most popular form of poetry? If you like puzzles, check this out… from the “poetic detective” chapter in my soon-to-be-published anthology of seventy-four irreverent poems, plus a bonus: a reader’s guide to (all) poetry. In this anthology, you’ll find poems that range from three to three hundred lines.

Brevity is an art form unto itself, one that often escapes this humble scribe.

Mark Twain famously said, “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.”

Poetry is like a reverse puzzle of words. The poet has solved a puzzle for you and challenges you to discover how, while harvesting meaning behind the pictures painted in your mind. Truly an art form. Take the following haiku (actually a senyru… keep reading) I composed decades ago for which I am just now clutching at the courage to publish:

Stunned Stupid

Her hypnotic smile,
 A turn of pink cheek and chin,
 Man’s mind melts molten.

- GK Jurrens

So what? Just three simple lines of text, right? Did you smile as you read it? Did you think of someone you know? Perhaps yourself if you’re a dude? Well, my dear poetic detectives, listen up. Haiku and Senyru are similar forms of syllabic poetry (based on their syllable count) that originated in ancient Japan. They are elegant puzzles, and if you know the rules of how and why the pieces fit together, you may better appreciate this seemingly simple but sophisticated art form. Haiku and Senyru are:

  • Non-rhyming,
  • Composed of three lines – five, seven and five syllables respectively (go ahead, count ’em!),
  • Seventeen syllables total (although sometimes the syllable count may vary due to translation differences).

Really? What is the point? It’s a puzzle! Now the next time you see a three-line poem, you’ll better appreciate the effort to create it for you, whether or not it is Haiku or Senyru. Cool, huh? The aromatic allure of the obscure, as promised.

In my upcoming anthology called A Narrow Painted Road, I introduce each poem with a piece of Author’s Advice, that is, how best to enjoy the verse that follows. Here’s what I offer as a preamble to Stunned Stupid:

Author’s Advice: 

Do you know a man who suffers the effects of a frontal lobotomy when intoxicated by a woman’s beauty? I do. If you are a woman, you get it. Summed up in fourteen words, seventeen syllables, and in just three lines…

I then follow each piece with a short essay of what was on the poet’s addled brain (that would be me and mine) when the piece was composed along with a few insights into the poem’s form. These I call Poet’s Notes. Clever, right? You never need wonder what the hell I was thinking when reading my work. This is unlike many other poets, rightly or wrongly, as I try to remove some of the mystery. You might choose to skip these essays or find them humorous, illuminating, insightful or illustrative, but probably not boring. For example, this is what I wrote about this Senyru (many years ago):

Poet’s Notes:

I created the image introducing this poem featuring one of my favorite female vocalists, Norah Jones, daughter of the famous sitarist, Ravi Shankar. 

Composed in the traditional syllabic structure of a Japanese Senryu, this compact poem features the same traditional structure as Haiku, likely a more recognizable name for this type of succinct syllabic verse. 

Such short but sophisticated verses comprise just three lines of five, seven, and five syllables respectively. Like Haiku, Senryu do not rhyme. Senyru are humorous or cynical concerning the ironies of life; whereas, Haiku are often serious, concern nature, play with imagery, metaphors, and emotions of the seasons.

This piece offers three one-line acts of setting, subject, and action, which are designed to elicit provocative imagery, and leave much to the reader’s imagination.

This Senryu is just for fun, but true. Yes, I am a man. I’d like to think I am not a misogynistic pig. Although I am subject to the vagaries of my species. Fortunately, I am less afflicted as I age.

One Summer, an attractive young waitress at an outdoor restaurant in Victoria, British Columbia inspired me. She brought to mind all the times stunning feminine beauty has turned me into a mindless hot rock. Sometimes I have placed myself and those around me at risk of foolish behavior. I now have mostly escaped that velvet cell. Unlike some of my ilk, I seem capable of suppressing my lizard-brain impulses, for the most part, constraining them to harmless private fantasies… or to oblivion. 

How many other men are like this? Who are we kidding, guys? We are all like this, my brothers. Or we were at one time, to a greater or lesser extent.

One last comment on this art form. Such remarkable brevity requires a unique skill, but more than anything, patience and desire. I’ve never spent so much time writing a verse than when composing Senryu and Haiku!

3. Moving Back Into Small Spaces

We’re back in the bus and adjusting beautifully! The three of us are all refurbished. Where many suffer from their quarantine fifteen (the fifteen pounds many folks gained while hunkered down in their COVID bunker), Kay and I collectively lost over one hundred and forty pounds. So yes, we are refurbished. Not with new fiberglass and paint and lights, oh my, but with new and improved immune systems. But bluntly, moving from 2,500 square feet back into less than 300 square feet requires reacquiring habits from fifteen months ago. Now, however, we begin our travels again without our 200 square foot trailer in tow, that is, our mobile garage, and all that implies. What to do? We adapt, of course!

We are VERY pleased with our bus’s new fiberglass, the re-lighted and re-painted exterior, along with more than a few interior upgrades. Yes, we’re glad we took her to a specialist.

Before Rennovation (note this is NOT due to neglect, just age, not unlike my own cornucopia of wrinkles)…

During…

Replacing the fiberglass sidewalls and body work on the end caps as they were beginning to ripple and crack the paint. A manufacturing defect in Newmar coaches of her vintage (2004-2007). Newmar subsidized this replacement. A quality company!
Both the nose cap and the tail cap needed quite a lot of body work.
New fiberglass sidewalls installed, ready to go to the Newmar paint shop

After…

The fiberglass roof with all the old caulk stripped, now replaced with all fresh caulk. Old fixtures/cables removed and holes sealed. A new skylight, an old refrigerator vent sealed, a new mount for our wifi ranger/amplifier (supplies the coach with a secure virtual private network), painted air conditioner covers… ahhhhhh!
We love how the new paint seems to glow like melting French Vanilla ice cream when the sun is low in the sky…
This is what the new paint looks like even when it’s covered with a thin film of dust, rainwater spots and is not particularly clean!
The red cayenne metallic almost looks iridescent and matches the color of our toad (towed vehicle). We eliminated very dark colors as they seem all too willing to show off the slightest trace evidence of dirt, water spots, grass clippings or mud.
The shaded gradients are themselves works of art!
The upgrades you can’t see: new, more powerful central vacuum, a new window, a new motor and shaft for the main living room slide-out, doors adjusted to eliminate wind noise, systems to eliminate holding tank odors while underway, new seals around all four slide-out rooms...
New carpeting aft of the bed and a new king mattress aren’t exactly bling, but important for everyday comfort
We suffered from minor wind noise while underway, and a screen door that had a gap up above that allowed bugs to invade. Not anymore. Tight as a drum!
Check out those big, bold, beautiful new mirrors (remotely operated and heated).
New 3D logos are really nice.
The new headlights, fog lamps and clearance lights aren’t LED, but they’re extremely bright. We make every effort not to drive at night anyway.
Same is true for the new tail, brake, clearance and license plate lights.
Add a new window awning, and “the house” is done (for now)! If you are questioning our sanity at this point, keep in mind that even with our “pay as you go” investment strategy in this rig, replacing her with a new one would cost seven times as much. Besides, after five years together, she’s an old friend who we know and trust. You don’t give up on old friends.

That’s the pretty stuff. Now we’ve moved one hundred-twenty miles north to Charlotte, Michigan, home of Spartan Motors, manufacturer of chassis for fire engines and for our motorhome. Another specialist. We’re currently undergoing a comprehensive slate of maintenance and diagnostic tasks for our chassis including mundane but necessary items such as:

  • A full 44-point chassis inspection (they always find a bunch of stuff that needs attention),
  • Chassis lube (annual),
  • Drain and refill oil-bath hubs on front and tag (aft-most) axles (every few years),
  • Rear differential fluid change (done every few years),
  • Air dryer filter change (for the airbrake and air suspension system),
  • Engine oil and filter change (done annually),
  • Fuel filters change (including diesel fuel/water separator),
  • Transmission and (internal) filter and fluid change (every five years or so),
  • Internal hydraulic filter and fluid change (we’ve not had this done since we bought the coach over five years ago),
  • Inspect house jack springs (our hydraulic leveling system uses BIG springs to retract leveling jacks),
  • Corner weights (they weigh the coach at each “axle end” (six weights) so we can appropriately adjust our tire inflation pressure.

News: Yesterday, after the full chassis inspection I mentioned above, several items need be addressed, none urgent, but necessary (remember, many of you asked for this gory detail… skip if you’re not interested):

  • Various bolts and clamps that need to be re-torqued (tightened),
  • Our dash air conditioner needs various components (we recently had replaced our two rooftop A/C units and they’re fine),
  • A pair of shocks on the tag (rear) axle (we’ve already replaced the steer and drive axle shocks – these were due),
  • New serpentine belt on our 8.9-liter Cummins diesel engine and replace a tired belt tensioner,
  • Replace a leaky coolant sensor and a couple of seals on the wheel hubs,
  • Some brake work.

Boring, right? Many of you had asked. Like so much on a complex machine like this, we invest as much or more in stuff we can’t see as in stuff we can. Normally.

Geeky fun: As we are comfortably staying in the coach (a COVID precaution) inside the shop while they work in “the pit” underneath the coach, we are reading, binge-watching a few of our favorite shows, reading, napping, more reading… it is glorious! While the crew was out to lunch yesterday, I took the rare opportunity to see some work in progress and to descend into the pit for a unique perspective. Wanna take a peek underneath with me? Ready to get dirty?

Diagnosing our ailing dash air conditioner…
Preparing to load-test our starting batteries (only the black ones because the green ones, the house batteries, are brand new). Below the batteries, the filter array (left to right): primary (10 micron) fuel filter, air dryer (for air brakes and air suspension), fuel water separator and secondary fuel filter). All will be replaced.
The big bird hovering over the pit with her underbelly exposed.
Draining the Allison of its transmission fluid before replenishing it with fresh fluid called Transynd (clever name, huh?)
See those twin round “cans?” Those are for the (very powerful) air brakes.
Check out this monster drive shaft! Looking aft from the transmission to mate with the rear engine (that’s why it’s called a diesel PUSHER).
You’re looking at the bottom of our 32-gallon propane tank. Overkill, since only our 3-burner stove (and the occasional propane campfire) require propane! One tank lasts us 2-3 years.

So it sounds like we’re going to be hanging around here in Michigan over the weekend for the rest of the work to be completed after our warranty company inspects scheduled repairs for possible coverage. We might also need to await the arrival of a few parts. Better here than on the side of the road somewhere. I would say we’re camping here for free, but we won’t be thinking that when we pay the bill !

4. Review: A Powerful Bestseller

Well, I must admit that The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah is not within the genres I normally read, but is precisely relevant “research” to my latest writing project. Recommended to me by a bookseller after hearing of my plans to write a 1930s drama, this book is a:

  • Number One New York Times Best Seller
  • Number One USA Today Best Seller
  • Number One Wall Street Journal Best Seller, and,
  • Number One Indie Best Seller

I must admit I am a bit intimidated by this masterful storyteller who shares her perspective on this pivotal period of American history. With a cast of characters so engaging, I can’t help but feel their pain, their joy and both their strength and fragility. I would hope to capture this essence of America in some small measure as I contemplate “Jake’s Flame” (and yes, I need a different title).

From the book’s Amazon sales page:

“The Four Winds seems eerily prescient in 2021…. Its message is galvanizing and hopeful: We are a nation of scrappy survivors. We’ve been in dire straits before; we will be again. Hold your people close.” (The New York Times)

“A spectacular tour de force that shines a spotlight on the indispensable but often overlooked role of Greatest Generation women.” (People)

“Through one woman’s survival during the harsh and haunting Dust Bowl, master storyteller, Kristin Hannah, reminds us that the human heart and our Earth are as tough, yet as fragile, as a change in the wind.” (Delia Owens, author of Where the Crawdads Sing)

From the number-one best-selling author of The Nightingale and The Great Alone comes a powerful American epic about love and heroism and hope, set during the Great Depression, a time when the country was in crisis and at war with itself, when millions were out of work and even the land seemed to have turned against them.

Texas, 1921. A time of abundance. The Great War is over, the bounty of the land is plentiful, and America is on the brink of a new and optimistic era. But for Elsa Wolcott, deemed too old to marry in a time when marriage is a woman’s only option, the future seems bleak. Until the night she meets Rafe Martinelli and decides to change the direction of her life. With her reputation in ruin, there is only one respectable choice: marriage to a man she barely knows.

By 1934, the world has changed; millions are out of work and drought has devastated the Great Plains. Farmers are fighting to keep their land and their livelihoods as crops fail and water dries up and the earth cracks open. Dust storms roll relentlessly across the plains. Everything on the Martinelli farm is dying, including Elsa’s tenuous marriage; each day is a desperate battle against nature and a fight to keep her children alive.

In this uncertain and perilous time, Elsa- like so many of her neighbors – must make an agonizing choice: fight for the land she loves or leave it behind and go west, to California, in search of a better life for her family.

The Four Winds is a rich, sweeping novel that stunningly brings to life the Great Depression and the people who lived through it – the harsh realities that divided us as a nation and the enduring battle between the haves and the have-nots. A testament to hope, resilience, and the strength of the human spirit to survive adversity, The Four Winds is an indelible portrait of America and the American dream, as seen through the eyes of one indomitable woman whose courage and sacrifice will come to define a generation. 

5. Did You Know?

What happens when you have an Army General for a president? Well, here’s an obscure but interesting example: DID YOU KNOW that one of every five miles in the Eisenhower interstate highway system must be straight? Why? To serve as aircraft runways during times of war and other emergencies. I also saw this in the island-nation of Singapore.

Since Kay and I are once again road warriors, I thought you might find this interesting too. For a historical view of our world-famous interstate system, click on The Epic Road Trip That Inspired the Interstate Highway System.

DID YOU KNOW that:

  • More than half of the coastline of the entire United States is in Alaska?
  • The Amazon rain forest produces >20% of the world’s oxygen supply.
  • Antarctica is the only land on our planet that is not owned by any country. Ninety percent of the world’s ice covers Antarctica. This ice also represents seventy percent of all the fresh water in the world. As strange as it sounds, however, Antarctica is essentially a desert; the average yearly total precipitation is about two inches. Although covered with ice (all but 0.4% of it is ice), Antarctica is the driest place on the planet, with an absolute humidity lower than the Gobi desert.
  • Canada has more lakes than the rest of the world combined.
  • Woodward Avenue in Detroit, Michigan carries the designation M-1, so named because it was the first paved road anywhere.
  • Istanbul, Turkey is the only city in the world located on two continents.
  • The deepest hole ever drilled by man is the Kola Superdeep Borehole in Russia: 7.62 Miles. Now that’s super deep!

Thanks to our friend, Jody, for these obscure factoids.

6. Featured Guest

My guest this month is Doctor Graham Mitenko, a friend, mentor and Florida neighbor.

Have you ever met someone who was very different from most of your friends, and that makes them so very interesting? That’s my friend, Graham. A retired professor, of Finance, no less (SO not my forte), Graham is either extremely well-read and articulate on a wide range of eclectic topics, or he has me completely snookered! No small feat. Our morning walks together this winter passed quickly with near non-stop repartee. His easy-going style obviously serves him well as an international guest lecturer and teacher. And we do enjoy verbal swordplay as we take to the streets. 

Tell us about yourself, Graham. I’m especially interested in a few of your cultural anecdotes while lecturing abroad.

Absolutely. First, the boring stuff. I was born seventy-plus years ago in Winnipeg, Manitoba. I am of Ukraine descent. Growing up, hockey and curling (Google it!) kept us busy in the winter. We filled wonderful summers with fishing and time spent outdoors . I am a fishing fool. 

School was never a problem, for me; however, it was for my teachers and for my parents. They obsessed over my education. I was a great, good, average, marginal student. To me, a “C” was as good as an “A,” and that seemed to be a problem for them. After high school, I attended the University of Manitoba, a wonderful institution that piqued my interest in stuff I deemed interesting. 

After kicking around a few assorted majors, I settled on economics. I graduated and worked my way through a bunch of uninteresting jobs because I thought I could get a job in economics with an economics degree. Oddly, nobody would pay me to draw supply and demand curves. They wanted real results from real work, and someone with a Masters degree.

One career choice became increasingly obvious: accounting. It seemed auditing financial institutions was real world results for which I could get paid. Unlike artistic types like you, Gene, this work fascinated me. I saw the good and the bad. My interest in finance blossomed which gave me a reason to go back to school.

While earning my MBA in Finance from Minnesota State University, one of my professors suffered a heart attack. The school needed someone to cover his classes during his absence. The dean told me in no uncertain terms I was the new instructor for the Introduction to Finance classes. Doubt gripped me. He told me to just “keep one chapter ahead of the students.”

I taught as an instructor for the next couple of years. I loved the students, plus I got the summers off to fish! Higher education drew me in, and I left corporate America behind. But if I was serious about this new direction, a PhD would be essential. So I moved south once more and attended the University of Memphis. Two important life events underscored my time in Memphis. I achieved my doctorate and I met my wife, a forensic accountant, no less. While there, I took a summer job teaching at the University of Southern Mississippi. And that’s when new opportunities presented themselves—the frosting on my career’s cake. 

A number of schools in Tennessee, Arkansas, Minnesota and Wisconsin recruited me for summer positions. I taught at Southern Mississippi for two years before settling into teaching Finance at the University of Nebraska. While there, a few international institutions seemed to think I could offer them something unique. After thirty-one years in Omaha, and traveling to teach abroad during many of those years, I retired and moved to Florida.

Though retired, I continue to accept teaching or guest lecturing gigs in Ukraine and Finland. I have just been asked to return to Aalto University’s Helsinki School of Economics this fall for the sixteenth consecutive year.

So what have I distilled from a lifetime of teaching? I learn as much from students and others as they do from me, sometimes much more. Counter to some old people talking, students are just as good or better now than when I was in school decades ago. Higher education is not for everyone, nor is it a guarantee of success, or of happiness. Life is short, so find what you like to do and see if you can make a living at it. Brains are no substitute for hard work, and desire trumps both of those. If you want something badly enough, you’ll get it. Think for yourself! There are a lot of people out there who will help you, but ultimately, you must make your own decisions. Remember, there are a lot of misguided people in the world. Don’t be one of them!

Your readers might appreciate a few of my experiences teaching in Finland. Anyone who has traveled, particularly if you’ve lived abroad for a while, will understand.

The Finnish people, as with most Europeans I have met, march to a different drummer than most Americans or Canadians. I am not saying this is good or bad, just different. The Finns, for instance, tend to be very stoic. They are prim, proper and usually carry a serious face. In the US, for example, it is common to greet relative strangers and ask, “How are you doing?” when in fact, we really don’t care. It is just a phrase that has worked its way into our general English speech pattern. When I greet individuals in Finland similarly, they tell me, sometimes more than I want to know.

The Finns are also very reserved. They do not smile very much, at least not in public. I discovered, however, that they are generally friendly, warm and happy individuals… just without a smile, or without most any other type of expression. 

When I taught in Finland, their somber demeanor disarmed me, at least at first. In the US, I received a wealth of feedback from students by reading expressions on their faces. Most of my Finnish students, however, wore granite masks throughout my lectures. This initially threw me for a loop. I was incorrectly reading the situation. They devoured the information, but it turned out I was the problem. I found this akin to teaching during COVID when all the students wore masks, but even then, the eyes reveal thoughts and understanding. It’s just a harder read.

Also, Finnish students very seldom volunteer answers. In the US, when I throw out a hypothetical and ask for an opinion, students invariably volunteer answers. In Finland, if I ask for their opinion, I am greeted with deafening silence. Sometimes I just wait them out, or call on individual students by name. One student explained. Most Finnish instructors never engage their students in such an open manner, and students generally never answer for fear of embarrassment or answering incorrectly. When I run across such reticence, I ask one student–by name–then turn to another student and ask for their opinion, then another and another, etc. This gets the whole class involved, and eventually, they overcome the stigma of responding in class. Sometimes they even carry their brave new voices into other classes. Other professors jokingly accuse me of creating a monster!

I hope to continue our walks together next winter, Gene.

Thanks, Graham! Me too, my friend.

With pen in hand,

Gene
March Out of Madness…

March Out of Madness…

By |

Dateline: March 31, 2021

You’re in the right place

for a mix of stories you just won’t find anywhere else…

“Here’s to the allure of the obscure!”

My friends, it has been a roller coaster ride for all of us. Hang in there. We can now see more ups than downs, and that’s good. There is much to celebrate beyond the madness. Be of great cheer, compadres. We’ll see this through together as long as we remain vigilant.

In this issue:

  1. Vietnam War Veteran’s Day (Wall of Faces)
  2. Road Prep (Move to 2022)
  3. Why THIS Book? (Continued)
  4. Did You Know? (A New Regular Feature)
  5. Writer’s Side (A New Feature for Aspiring Authors)
  6. Featured Guest (New York Times Bestselling Author)

1. Vietnam War Veteran’s Day

The Wall in DC

Although I am a disabled Vietnam-era veteran. I did not go to Vietnam, but I served for six years during that time in the US Coast Guard search and rescue teams (4 years active, 2 in the reserves). If you are my age, you also likely know someone who went in-country but did not return.

This last Monday, March 29th, commemorated the war’s 50th anniversary. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund Virtual Wall of Faces is nearly complete but needs help from the public to track down the last few dozen photos of those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Of the 58,279 names inscribed on The Wall in Washington, D.C., there are less than 80 photos needed to complete the Wall of Faces. Click here to see if you help provide photos for any of the names whose faces are still missing.

And thanks to all of you who have served or are serving our great nation!

2. Road Prep

Due to the pandemic and having heeded the advice of public health experts, we did not travel much this past year. We feel more confident with our “shields up” now that we are fully vaccinated; however, since we fall into a high risk group, we’ll obviously remain vigilant.

But here’s our bonus round! By staying put in the condo for the last year, in lieu of buying fuel for the monster and paying for RV sites to park our bus (some as expensive as a hotel room), we could afford to favor our bus with a big ole slurp from the fountain of youth. Now she’s had her fill, and she was mighty thirsty.

In a couple of weeks we’re off to pick up our baby, our sweet-sixteen-year-old motorhome, and then it’s off to Minnesota to visit family, friends, and to help celebrate our middle grandson’s graduation from high school before we start an extended tour of America’s southeast coast (next year, we head west again). But “Ma” (our Newmar Mountain Aire) will look younger and prettier from now on, both outside and inside, quite different from last December when we dropped her off at the factory in Indiana.

So we’re still in Florida, and the bus is still at the factory, but we’re going to join her mid-April.

Old busted (well, old-looking anyway):

Before she slurped from the RV fountain of youth… You can’t see the myriad spider cracks in the fiberglass and misaligned body parts which required a major rework by the delightful gang at the factory.

New hotness (ain’t she grand?):

If she looks as good up close and in person, we’ll by flyin’ high!

After her facelift: Notice the custom rocket launcher above the entry door? Nah, just kidding. She now sports all new fiberglass sidewalls, paint, mirrors, lights, batteries, king mattress, carpeting, skylight, a new window awning, extensive body work, wipers/motors, resealed roof, freshly serviced boiler. From Indiana we’re off to Michigan for a health check of the chassis (engine, drive train, suspension, air brakes, etc.). .. egads, eh?

We’re damn proud of—and grateful for—our old bus. Sorry, we just had to share this good news story with y’all. We’re anxiously staging (stacking) by the condo’s front door all the stuff we’ll need to take with us (stashed in a U-Haul trailer we’ll tow to Indiana behind the Jeep). We’ll load up the bus for a seven-month adventure. Our wanderlust is every bit as addictive as our love for each other (aw, a tender moment)! But our gratitude for such adventures together is like swimming in waves of sweet gravy at the beach, although not an apt simile for a couple of aging weight-conscious vegans! You get the idea, though, don’t you?

3. Why Write THIS Book?

Say what? What book?

Last month I teased you with a preview of my new project, a novel that should be available later this year (I don’t write and publish all that fast). You may recall it will be a “1930s-era story of love, survival and intrigue transformed into a rural rock-the-house crime drama.”

So why this project, and why now? Some of you have asked how authors come up with ideas for books. Lots of answers to these questions, but indulge me as I share my personal motivation for this project with you.

I grew up in America as part of what many considered (including me) an entitled generation in a wealthy nation, yet righteously indignant while living in relative privilege, even though my parents’ subsistence level constantly flirted with poverty. They just worked that hard. I’m feeling that more than ever as I plod through the initial research for “Jake’s Flame” (working title only at this point). Dare I say my generation had it relatively easy growing up from the fifties to today compared to my parents’ generation. And yes, that’s my humble and perhaps myopic opinion.  

Worse, we can’t really appreciate what their generation endured. They just sucked it up and we thrived, at least emotionally, if not financially. I’m just now beginning to fully appreciate that. My parents were special people.

As a young adult, unlike my parents, I suffered through no Great Depression, no World Wars, no dust bowl, no days or weeks (or more) of gut-cramping hunger (at least in my circles), no massive social reformation (like FDR’s New Deal) or major pandemics. My mom was crippled for life by Polio as a child and lost scores of family & friends to the Spanish Flu. These were the pandemics of their day. Most recently, however, we’re witnessing a few similar tribulations. The story I now feel compelled to write and publish seems timely. All the craziness we’re going through right now? We’ve been here before, and we’re going to be okay. It seems we are poised to witness sweeping change. I’m confident we’ll see it through.

As I research the late 1920s and early 1930s life in America for this book, learning of that pivotal period shook loose a passion in me I was not expecting. This book will be a meat and potatoes romantic crime drama that I believe my generation of “boomers” can sink their teeth into. And if I’m lucky, this story will also resonate with others the ages of our children and grandchildren. Yup, I’m a dreamer, like my conflicted father.

My dad died of a heart condition, some say of a broken heart from unrealized dreams. Soon thereafter, my mom died of complications from her childhood disease and hard, hard living. She had willingly abandoned a life of privilege as a young woman simply for the unadulterated love of a guy who had little more to offer her than his love, his humor and a pioneer spirit that consumed them both. I regretted waiting until my mother was literally on her death bed to ask all the poignant questions I am now asking of others who remember while there is still time.  This will be their story based on their young adult lives, an epic of conflicted devotion to family, to friends, to lovers, as well as to off-and-on law and order.

I wish readers to truly appreciate how my parents’ generation struggled to make the lives of their family and their small but cherished community easier, more fulfilling, and to weave the tale of what they sacrificed at a time when it would have been so easy just to give up. My parents and their parents left us an untold legacy. I need to tell you this story based on their lives.

Full disclosure: this is a novel, not a biography, because that’s what I am compelled to write. I am constitutionally incapable of telling the whole truth in any event, and that’s okay. That’s what novelists do.

I write this story as I now approach the age at which my sainted parents shed their own mortal coils. I need to share the story based on their young adulthood from within the genres of crime and drama, and yes, some romance. Before it is too late.

That’s why this book. And why now. 

Hawking my wares, like an old school traveling salesman of yesteryear (I rather like that image)…

Oh, after a year in the bunker and with our COVID vaccinations now behind us, I finally feel more confident than I have in a while to get out and sell a few of my other books face-to-face (behind a mask, of course)… Old school is fun!

4. Did You Know?

While researching Jake’s Flame I came across an obscure but pivotal moment in our nation’s history that has largely settled into the dust of our great nation’s history.

Did you know that if one leg of a wooden chair hadn’t been slightly shorter than the other three in 1933, our country would likely have a very different face today?

At just 5’1″ Giuseppe “Joe” Zangara couldn’t see much as he stood in a crowd of taller folks on the evening of February 15, 1933.

The crowd had gathered on this balmy Miami evening in Bayfront Park near Little Havana to hear and see the soon-to-be-inaugurated U.S. president, Franklin D. Roosevelt. The president-elect concluded his speech at 9:35PM from the back seat of his light-blue Buick convertible. Joe Zangara was determined to empty his .32 caliber pistol into FDR. But because of his diminutive stature, he resorted to perching on a wobbly chair to line up his shots.

The would-be assassin fired five rounds but missed the president-elect arguably because that chair upon which he stood had one leg a fraction of an inch shorter than the others.

The thirty-second president-elect was not injured, but several others were, including Chicago’s mayor who would later succumb to his wounds. FDR stayed on the scene to comfort the victims despite the vociferous objections of his Secret Service detail.

This act of calm heroism was not missed by the press. FDR gained the confidence and trust of the American people even before being sworn in to the highest office of the land.

Had Joe Zangara, an unemployed blue-collar bricklayer, succeeded in assassinating FDR, our nation might look very different today, but FDR’s reaction to the attempt on his life cemented the people’s confidence in this new president even before he was inaugurated. Much later, journalist Florence King wrote an article in 1999 entitled, “A Date Which Should Live in Irony.”

The early 1930s saw our nation knocked flat on its laurels by the Great Depression. The country was in serious trouble. Between 1933 and 1939, FDR took action to bring about economic relief as well as reforms in industry, agriculture, finance, waterpower, labor and housing. He vastly increased the scope of the federal government’s activities at a time when the nation desperately needed strong leadership to mitigate the risk of another devastating blow to the global economy (he created the Securities Exchange Commission). He bolstered confidence in a failed banking system (by establishing the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation).

Despite scathing criticism, many lauded FDR’s actions to create countless jobs for the “forgotten man” (with the Civilian Conservation Corps). He enhanced and modernized the deteriorated power grid across seven states with modern hydroelectric power generation (Tennessee Valley Authority), and strengthened unions to combat a spreading sweat shop mentality (with a new National Labor Relations Board which established maximum working hours and a minimum wage). He created Social Security (for widows’ and retirees’ well-being).

Despite criticism of his “socialistic tendencies” at the time, much of FDR’s “New Deal” achieved nationwide acceptance. Some even suggested later that FDR saved capitalism.

Roosevelt’s domestic programs were largely followed in the “Fair Deal” of President Harry S. Truman (1945–53), and both major U.S. parties came to accept most New Deal reforms as a permanent part of the national life.

Whatever your political leanings, I think you’d agree FDR did indeed change the face of our nation during his tenure from 1933 until his death in 1945.

If that chair in Miami hadn’t wobbled…

Did you know? If not, now you do.

5. Writer’s Side

By request, this column will now be a regular feature in this newsletter for those of you who aspire to becoming an author, or for those of you who write and are drawn to what other writers practice in their own advancement of the craft. Check it out.

Stephen King famously said, “If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or tools) to write.” Even if you don’t care for his style or genre, the man understands the craft of writing and has made a ton of money practicing it.

Do you want to write? Your most valuable tools come from reading… a lot. But here’s the thing. You need to read like a writer, not just for the hell of it (well, that too). Pay attention. Take notes. I keep a virtual notebook for just such a purpose. Whether I’m reading a paperback or an ebook (on my computer, phone or tablet), I take notes. I highlight that which speaks to me. My paperbacks are chuck full of highlights, margin notes and dog-eared pages.

When I finish reading a book, my notes get transcribed into my Idea Factory, a concept created by well-known author, James Scott Bell. This practice doesn’t take a lot of time. This is a computer file (backed up to ‘the cloud’ for safekeeping). In that file, I maintain categories to which I add every time I complete another book, the kind of book I wish to write, by authors I want to emulate.

These categories include ideas for fabulous first lines, wondrous words, fascinating phrases, compelling characters, sensational settings, odd occupations, tempting tropes (themes), inspired plot ideas, borrowed old plots, and so on. I also scan the media for ideas within and across these categories. I may then adopt a few of these—with my own unique twists—for my own book ideas and promote them to my back burner category. Over time, a few of these will move to my front burner category with some further development (detail). And a few of those will inevitably get promoted to my white hots category. From there, one or two will move to my serious book ideas category. By regularly practicing this methodology, I always have developed ideas marinating. Writer’s block? Not this geriatric kid.

To read more about this methodology, see Writing Your Novel From the Middle by James Scott Bell.

But none of this idea incubation happens without first reading both fiction (my favorite genres) or non-fiction (my favorites are books on the craft of writing). Further, without reading like a writer and adding regularly to my idea factory, I’m not improving as a writer.

So then what? I’ve been reading, taking notes and collecting ideas. Yup. I still gotta write, and like any artistic endeavor, practice makes perfect.

The good news? This is easy. I just write. Anything. A little every day. Editing comes later. If I’m reading and studying the craft of writing (by reading books and articles on all aspects of writing), even a little every day, writing a little every day will make me a better writer.

If you do this, year from now, you will amaze yourself, even if you’re just writing for your own enjoyment, filling journal after journal… there’s gold in them thar journals. OR you’ll be publishing your work in blog posts, articles, or even a novel.

The process IS the journey!

So get ‘er done… or not. But know this. YOU are the captain of your ship: sink, swim, sail, or get stuck in the Suez Canal, skipper! Have fun!

6. My Featured Guest Author

A few years ago, I met Nick Russell in a small online hangout for authors who live, travel and write on the road. I’ve been a fan since. If you’re an avid RV enthusiast, it’s likely you’ve read or heard of Nick’s Gypsy Journal newspaper. Besides his acclaim as a prolific and successful author, I just enjoy the hell out of Nick’s unusual sense of take-no-prisoners humor, especially in his online persona and in his monthly newsletters.

Nick, be a pal. Give us the scoop…

Sure. To date, I’ve authored forty-five books, including my Big Lake mystery series, the John Lee Quarrels series, the two-book Dog’s Run series, and the Tinder Street family saga. I was very fortunate that my first novel, Big Lake, made the New York Times bestseller list.

I come from a cop family. My dad was a deputy sheriff who later became a Border Patrolman. When he retired, he became a city cop in Ohio. I also had two uncles and an older brother who were law enforcement officers.

I joined the Army right after high school and served in Vietnam with the First Cavalry Division, getting myself banged up a couple of times. When I returned stateside and was once again fit for duty, I was a firearms instructor at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. It was the best job I ever had. I got paid to play with guns all day long. I went to a lot of Army schools and audited classes at West Point. By the time I left the Army I had almost enough credits for a bachelor’s degree.

I was a reserve cop in Ohio until my dad talked me out of law enforcement as a career. He convinced me to pursue my dream of being a writer. I did, but first I spent six years as a criminal investigator with the Arizona Attorney General’s office.

I’m a lifelong lover of books and writing. For most of my working life I ran small-town newspapers on the Pacific Northwest coast and in Arizona. In 1999, my wife Terry and I became full-time RVers, spending the next 18+ years wandering around the country in a motorhome publishing the Gypsy Journal RV travel newspaper.

In October of 2016, we bought a house in central Florida’s east coast, midway between Daytona Beach and Cape Canaveral. We love it and can watch rocket launches from our yard.

Thanks, Nick, for your books, for your wit, for your service in Vietnam and here at home.

Check out his latest book, Fresh Out of Mojo.

Write on, brother!

With pen in hand,

Gene
Fresh February!

Fresh February!

By |

Dateline: February 2021

Second month of 'twenty-one,
Nary but the year has just changed,
Still, we lust for old-normal fun,
Scary, all remains a shade too strange!

Sorry for bursting into verse! I am helpless in this matter. On with the business at hand… a new month, a new day.

You’re in the right place

for a mix of stories you just won’t find anywhere else…

“Here’s to the allure of the obscure!”

In this issue:

  1. New Titles Out
  2. Next Project
  3. Featured Guest

1. New Titles Are Out

So here’s the current stable. My Dream Runners series, Dangerous Dreams and Fractured Dreams, published in 2020 (ebook & print editions). The most recent titles, my Mayhem series, recently available worldwide (both eBook and deluxe paperback editions) just a few days ago on Sunday, January 31, 2021.

I’ve tagged my Mayhem manuscripts as paranormal science fiction. In retrospect, that may be a disservice to both the books and to book shoppers. Though they’re set a hundred years in the future, they’re less science fiction and more like mysteries and thrillers solved by amateur sleuths and a few gifted folks collaborating with hard-boiled cops and corporate types. Something for everyone.

Take a free peek inside on each of their sales pages (click on the titles above) to see if any of these books are for you. End of sales pitch.

2. Next Project

While Dream Runners was set in the present day, and Mayhem in the future, what’s left to write about? Well, how about the past?

Yup, I’m researching a new project that might lead to a different kind of drama, maybe even a series. There is no shortage of inspiration and material here! My working title for this next book is “Jake’s Flame.” I’m transforming a 1930s-era story of love, survival and intrigue into a rock-the-house drama. I’m basing two of the main characters’ lives on those of my incredible parents.

I find joy in characterizing a story to hint at its theme. For example, in Jake’s Flame, you might expect that “Romeo stomps the Grapes of Wrath with a little help from Juliet and Rube Goldberg” (Google it!) or, “Frontier justice in the twentieth century prevents the Death of a Salesman,” or “Xena Warrior Princess marries Rambo during Prohibition,” or… well, you get the idea. I’m just enjoying myself before committing to much more than research and an outline of my vision. This is the really “funner” part!

The more I peer back through this window, the more my blood boils in anticipation. You know why? This was one helluva period, not only for my heroes and villains and saviors and victims, but for America.

Following The Great War that swept the globe, America experiences an era of extremes. The free-and-easy Roaring Twenties dies a sudden death with thousands hurling themselves through skyscraper windows in 1929 after losing everything to the stock market crash of Black Tuesday. After that infamous October 29th, things go from bleak to worse.

Global economic devastation follows. Not one, but two viral infections spread like plagues: the Spanish Flu and Polio. Years of devastating climate change caused by reckless farming practices engulfs most of America–they call it the Dust Bowl. Prohibition (of all alcoholic beverages) breeds myriad unintended consequences. Both Socialism and Communism are on the rise in 1932 America. Many not only live in poverty, but in fear too.

President Herbert Hoover is a public servant, but a vindictive man. After years of disasters pummel his voters, he finds himself kicked out of the White House–he thinks unfairly. Hoover hates his successor, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and does everything in his power to see FDR’s presidency fail. But starting on day one, FDR enacts sweeping reforms to bring his nation back from the brink, and succeeds. But it takes most of the 1930s.

Meanwhile, tens of millions of Americans are living in squalor: they’re starving, displaced from their homes. Many have lost everything as they grasp at straws just to survive and to provide for their families.

Does any of this sound familiar?

My father inspired Eddie Jakehardt’s character, shown here in the late 1920s or very early 1930s. Check out his twenty-something-year-old attitude!
Photo restored by GK Jurrens

Meet Eddie Jakehardt and Sophie Bairns in the middle of all this. Everyone calls Eddie Jake. He is Sophie’s Romeo to his Juliet. They come from impossibly different backgrounds. Everyone knows penniless farmers and affluent girls from town mix about as well as oil and water.

Both sets of parents were first-generation immigrants, but Sophie’s arrived in America with means. Jake’s did not. High-born versus low-born. Nothing about this has changed. Except the invisible magic between Sophie and Jake.

Most just know this love affair is doomed from the moment this rather coarse plow hand musters the courage to approach this well-to-do but crippled girl who is way above his station. They were all wrong.

Sophie’s parents accuse Eddie of gold-digging for her dowry. But Sophie admires Eddie’s frontier spirit cloaked in his amazing humor. And Eddie, well, he just falls hard for everything about Sophie, even her adorable limp. Her parents denounce the relationship as absurd, but reluctantly come to admire Eddie Jakehardt’s pluck. And his fierce loyalty.

Sophie’s character reincarnates the spirit of my mother, shown here in 1929. The real-life Sophiena grips her crippled right hand with her left. She could not walk or even stand without her custom-made orthopedic shoes. Polio as a child forged her resolve, physically and emotionally.
Photo restored by GK Jurrens

Sophie’s civility is contagious, which means Jake’s hell-raising days are over. He is an inventor, as are most farmers. He nurtures an endless chain of big ideas, and is willing to risk everything to make his fortune from the next idea, that is, whatever inspires him after his current “dud.”

But Sophie is all business as she struggles to adapt to a hard life on the farm while supporting her man in his most compelling dream of all: freedom.

Then Henry Bairns, Sophie’s father, gets into financial trouble. Mobbed-up bootleggers plant their hooks into him and threaten to rape his thriving Chevy dealership. Worse, they threaten his family. Henry needs help, so he reluctantly turns to his new son-in-law and his drunken brother who are glad to help. But a surprising turn of events finds the real tour de force is none other than Sophie.

My parents married in 1934. Photo restored by GK Jurrens

And then all too soon, along came number one son–out on the farm.
Photo restored by GK Jurrens

They had left the roaring twenties behind without remorse. Then the transformational thirties threatened to consume their hopes, their dreams, and maybe even their love, their devotion to family. As the story escalates to a running battle between small-town friends and big city mobsters, this classic story will grab your gut in unexpected ways.

At least, that’s the plan. What do you think? Let me know.

And now…

3. My Featured Guest

Have you ever reconnected with a friend you haven’t seen for a very long time? I’m talking for fifty years or more. And that person turns out to be really interesting? Well that was my gift in February. Twice.

My guest this month is Joe Donney, younger brother of my oldest childhood friend, Chuck Donney. I connected with Chuck on Facebook where we had fun catching up, and I believe Joe found me through him. Hey, Facebook really can be good for something other than political rants and scammers! So thanks, Chuck! Hey, Joe!

Like me, Joe is a writer. He is pushing to get his first book published. After scanning one of his manuscripts, “Junkyard Moon,” I realized I not only enjoyed this story for Joe’s mastery of embracing language spiced with good humor, it also brought back a flood of memories from the old neighborhood where we grew up on the poorer side of a well-to-do town—Rochester, Minnesota. Watch for “Junkyard Moon” by Joe Donney. 

Joe also possesses a gift for photography and videography. Not the tech-enhanced creative stuff I so enjoy crafting, but raw photos and video footage that evoke emotion and stark reflection.

Early family photo: Joe’s sister and brother, age five-ish. From the old neighborhood.

So let’s ask Joe to introduce himself and to share his past half-century with us, including a few memories of our childhood together…

Gene, first, maybe your subscribers would like to see you half-naked, clad in a breechcloth, a feather and little else. You always were the tall one back then. That’s me on the left and your brother Rod on the right:

Post-Jurassic-age cameras weren’t quite HD. That’s Joe on the left, and yours truly next to him (the tall one).

I moved from Minnesota to Seattle in my college years where I studied communications and advertising. I’d have stayed there forever if I’d been able to find a job after graduating.  Eventually, an interview led me to realize if I was serious about advertising I needed to move to New York.  It’s a long story but I managed to get hired at McCann Erickson, and later found my niche in toy advertising for Milton Bradley games (Life, Hungry Hippos, Mousetrap, Twister, Operation…).  

That job sent me to Holland for months at a time to shoot commercials.  I moved to London to run the Euro coordination for Hasbro. Then I freelanced and traveled the world based here in New York. The advertising business has dried up so now I shoot travel videos and write.  

I’ve lived in New York for thirty years now—working in advertising—mostly writing and shooting toy commercials.  I have an apartment on the upper-west-side near the park. 

Turns out I was a talented jingle writer—lyrics, simple hooks and choruses—even though I have no musical ear at all.  As you’ll recall I wanted to be in a rock band from childhood, and you did your best to teach me bar chords. I still have a guitar here and I’m still learning to play.  

When I first got to the city, I found myself sitting in recording studios with top musicians who were playing my lyrics.  That was thrilling. I worked with a very talented composer who had once been in the band The Circle, who had a hit with Red Rubber Ball—a Paul Simon song.  He’d opened for the Beatles at Shea Stadium and now he was putting music to my lyrics!  I couldn’t tell if I had made it big or he’d fallen so far. Ah, the glory days. 

After writing hundreds of TV commercials, magazine ads, and radio spots during my agency years, I freelanced, traveling Asia and Europe. That’s where I met my girlfriend, Maria, who was busy collecting houses around the world. She lives in the UK. Pre-COVID, we’d spend two months each year in the south of Spain, a month in Buenos Aires, a month in Cornwall and Wales, and my place in NYC. Or with Maria’s mother in Sonoma, California.  We had a travel video company for ten years.  

Like you, Gene, I’m an author. Two books I’ve been trying to sell for many years include a humorous novel set in my childhood, and the other is based on my mother’s experience as a nurse during World War II.

I’m still pushing for an agent for these books but I feel the pressure to develop a platform on social media which I’ve resisted.  Additionally, I know people who are making a living publishing independently, but they have to maintain a steady stream of new books to keep their fan base engaged.  I write way too slow for that.  

Looking good, Joe!

My debut novel is a whimsical coming of age story called “Junkyard Moon.” My second, “Fuzzy Strub and His Three Daughters,” tells a story set in World War II based on family letters.  I produced a video to promote it, but book videos fell out of favor recently as publishers found they didn’t really sell books.  This is different and exhibits my video/editing work.  It’s a mood piece, not a synopsis. Click here to view this ninety-seven-second video.

I’m in Sonoma now for a month.  Maria’s mother, who is ninety-five, is here in hospice. Maria and I take care of her.  I’m hoping to drive up to Seattle and visit old friends if the restrictions allow and to see if anyone who wants to see me after so many years.  That’s about it.


See you around the block, Gene, maybe for a game of kick the can before it gets dark!

Thanks, Joe.

With pen in hand,

Gene

Can I cut my own hair, or what!

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