The Blogging Poet

Okay guys, tonight I'm returning a favor. I've been happily occupied reading some stories on another blog. Billy the Blogging Poet is something special. You can find him here Billy. Now, I warn you, his poetry rhymes. Even so, don't let that stop you. He's up on current events, especially in North Carolina; he spouts an occasional recipe, in rhyme; and he writes some wonderful stories.

Last night, I read 14 chapters of Have Duck, Will Travel which is a wonderful children's story. I cannot wait for the 15th chapter to be written. I was so excited about the story that I begged him to give me his email address so I could tell him my comments. He then sent me some links to some of his other stories.

I started reading his online romance last night. I got through Chapter 4. Shaggy Dog has over thirty chapters written so far and I'm loving every one of them. I just finished Chapter 8 and will carry on with Chapter 9 when I'm done here. No comments are allowed on either story, so you might have to ask for an email address.

He also offered me two other links to investigate. I will share those as I experience them myself. In the meantime, stop by and see for yourself. Writing comes in all forms and Billy does a bit of it all.

Listen While You Work

Some things are just unknowns until they happen. Two things come to mind. The story I submitted to Chicken Soup. The only way that I will truly know that they have my story is if and when they accept it to be used in a book. Otherwise, they don't send rejections. They claim to keep stories on file for four years.

The other example of this is when you submit to a contest. You never really know that your entry made it there until you hear back from them, hopefully in the form of winning. I had a taste of this one today. A local radio station has a "listen while you work" contest. I sent in my name back probably about February because I wanted the computer system that was the prize for that month. March and April prizes were that they would pay your rent for a year.

What happens is they select names three times per day and allow one bonus hour per day. Every morning they tell you the times that the names will be drawn and the hour for the bonus where if you know the "secret word" you can call in. You have 30 minutes to call them back once your name is given. Or, you can be the twelfth caller during the bonus hour. Prizes during the day vary, but all of the daily winners are eligible for the grand prize each month. This month, it is a trip to Jamaica.

This morning, shortly after 11, I decided to step away for a few minutes. When I got back to my desk, my voice mail light was on. I don't necessarily like getting voice mail, but, I checked my messages. One of the women from another department heard my name and called to tell me. So, I called. NO ONE ANSWERED. The line is always busy when I call. So, I tried again. It was answered on the second ring.

My prize for listening while I work is the DVD of the entire first season of "Lost." I never watched it, so that's cool. My mother and brother really like the show. The good part is that the monthly drawing will be made on Thursday morning. I have to check, but I think the monthly drawing is an accumulation of all the daily winners since January. Odds wouldn't be so bad if I was only being drawn from August's winners.

So, that's my story for today. Wish me luck!

Bad Old Alarm Clock

I don't think I was really interested in going to work this morning. I never set my alarm last night. I woke up at 6:42 a.m. and thought, damn, I didn't set my alarm. Fortunately, the alarm would have only gone off two minutes earlier so it all worked out. You know how that works, though, one little thing can be off in the morning and its enough to throw everything else off. I just wasn't motivated once I got to work. It was no surprise that I was home a few minutes early as well.

It is hard to be motivated when there's so much going on around us. Some of us will be moving to a new location in the company soon. Since our departments have been reorganized and placed under a new director, we get to move. I never got rid of my boxes from when I came to this job, so I have a good start, but still...moving is a pain. We were supposed to get a move date today and it didn't happen. In the meantime, I have three boxes packed and refuse to pack up anything else until we know when this is going to happen.

It seems we will be having an opening in the department as soon as they make an announcement about a promotion. If this position is posted, it is a higher level than four of us currently hold. Since I have only been in the department for four months, I don't know what my chances are, but I feel I am highly qualified. We shall see what unravels. Sometimes it only takes a slight tug at the string before the whole sweater comes apart.

So, tonight I make sure I set the alarm. I don't see myself being lucky enough to wake up on time two days in a row. Too bad I have to wait until next weekend the three-day weekend. I'm tempted to make it four, but I need to evaluate my remaining time off to see how it shakes out for the rest of the year. Can you believe that September is upon us? I certainly can't.

Have a good night all. And, have a better day tomorrow.

Observations

Life's observations can make wonderful short works. Recently, there was a workshop challenge for a snapshot of an observation. The only requirement was that it could be no more than eight lines. There were to be no concrete nouns either, I think. Now, this was a challenge. For once, you didn't need to convey a whole story. You only wanted to convey an image. I chose a memory of my observing my honey walking away unaware that he was being watched. I remember it like it was yesterday.

A friend of mine was recently at home during the week when some medical treatment disagreed with her. She sought the sunshine and fresh air. Unfortunately, as she sat down, she sat on a bee and got stung. Now, all she needed at that moment was to experience more discomfort, but after the fact, the story was a bit amusing even to her. She felt as if she had sat on a lit cigarette. Only, at the time, she didn't have any cigarettes with her!

While I'm on the subject of bee stings, another friend of mine was in search of tomatoes. The back yard was freshly watered and she was barefoot. She stepped on a bee and got it right between the toes! What a horrible place to be stung!

So, little observations can make great stories. Try it sometime.

Things

Things are not always as they seem. I came down on the lack of reality, but there are other sides to examine. Symbolism is a very legitimate tool. I was too narrow-minded to even think of it.

We use metaphors and similies to express ideas in poetry. I shouldn't be so hard to come down on the movie industry for doing something similar. Had I actually thought about it for awhile, I might have come up with it for myself. As it is, the movie had some good points and what I considered not-so-good ones as well. I guess I wasn't in the right mindset for symbolism.

I'll be the first to tell you to use all of the tools that are available to you. You might consider, however, the impressions we leave within the context of our message.

Realism

Our stories need to have some basis in reality in order to be believable. Tonight, we watched an outdoor fight scene that began with the trees and landscape were in full color. The scene shifted without forewarning to a snowstorm and the fight is still going on.

Give me a break, even the best fighters are going to die out before the seasons change. And to think that the fight was over a woman. We have one man scorned who must kill the other because she betrayed first to be with the second. The second many must kill the scorned man because he killed her. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. In real life, the whole mess would have been over in seconds.

In case you're wondering, the movie was "The House of the Flying Daggers." It was a decent movie for fight scenes, but they need to watch that reality factor just a bit more.

Left Behind

When I didn't think my life could go any lower... When I didn't think I could face another tomorrow, my daughter's face came to me through the fog and bade me goodbye. At that time, I knew it was okay to continue living. I knew it would never be the same, but it would work out. My daughter did that for me. I will never forget her sweet innocence. I will love her in that state always.

For months, I suffered the nightmares of events I did not witness. My imagination may have been worse than the actual happenings, but no one would ever be able to convince me of that. Everything I had, everything I loved, was gone. My belief in the human condition had been eroded away in bits and pieces since my divorce. The land slid into the waters and made mud after this.

The mud is hardening now where I can get to my feet on occasion. My existence has been only that for some time. Once I am back on solid ground, I can experience life as it was meant to be. That is a much different life from yesterday, but it is all I have. I will survive tomorrow and, most likely, the day after. There is a reason I was left behind. I just need to find out what that reason is.

On Writing

I suppose there's a lot that I don't understand in life. That may be one of the multitude reasons that I write. I try to make sense of the world or write about a world that makes sense to me. I don't even pretend to understand what is going on with gas prices, crime, and abuse. Instead, I write about case that gets solved, the generosity of people, and things outside this world where people are recruited for higher purposes.

Along those lines, I've always thought that writers possessed great imaginations. It may not even really be imagination at times. It might actually be a unique perception. Perhaps there is a little perspective involved as well.

Instead of seeing one side of a die, we see all six sides and see it as a whole. We see it standing on its corner and spinning uncontrollably. Maybe we see more. I also thing we, as writers, also feel a sense of dissatisfaction with the way things are. Maybe we have stronger ideas about the way things should be. I'm not quite sure about that one.

We do, at least, have the creativity to explore what's missing. We are the much like the Enterprise in which we "go where no man has gone before." Isn't that what we try to tell people to do in their poetry. Tell us the same thing in a different way?

Another Plane Crash

There have just been way to many airplane crashes within the past month. Someone at work suggested maybe there was some sabotage involved and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe she was right. Otherwise, the airline industry is having some serious bad luck. It was bad enough with the bombers in London last month. Ever since, we've been having fatal plane crashes. There was only one crash where everyone got off alive. This is scary stuff people.

Could it be that these villains are unable to hijack our aircraft so, instead, they mess with the mechanics of the machines themselves? I don't even want to think about this, but there have been way too many mishaps. At least in this last one, it sounds like half of the passengers were only injured while the other half are dead. Those are better odds than all of them being dead.

So, either we need to do a better job of rotating our stock as far as airplanes go so that they don't all get old at the same time, or we need to start double-checking before takeoff to make sure that the plane really is in working order. I'm certainly in no hurry to fly anywhere. And, with gas prices, I doubt I'll be driving any great distances either.

Have a good night, all. Good night, James.

About September Mourn

September Mourn went through a tremendous amount of editing. The story is actually two parts and when the editor of Book of Remembrance told me the story was too long and needed to be shortened, I had no problem chopping the story apart again. The first part was published. The second part, though, is no less interesting since it shows what I think happened after Mike and Sharon got out of the tower.

Therein lie two major points I have tried to make time and again. Editing your work is a good thing. I went from Mike untangling code that resembled a bowl of spaghetti to where it is today. Sometimes it takes feedback from friends and acquaintances for us to see things for what they really are.

Also, I have advocated changing an existing work to make it more appropriate for another audience. In this case, it meant shortening the work. I would do the same thing with the first chapter of Night Lights if a publishing opportunity arose. Both pieces can stand on their own in their shorter versions. It is always possible to submit the additions as a sequel at a later date.

The one thing I have never done and I probably should do is write poems for both of these stories. Both stories are very dear to me. I'm not sure I could write those poems. I might have to give it a try.

September Mourn

3/30/02 (appeared in the sixth edition of Book of Remembrance)

Mike sat with his back to the window, bent over his computer. He was deep in concentration testing the bit of code before him. When the light from the window behind him faded, Mike adjusted his position so he could see better. He was vaguely aware of the noises around him, but simply did not have the time right now to care. He heard one incredible noise and knew he should check it out, but kept working instead. His nose was inches from the screen now. Why was it so dark? Mike kept working. Just a few more minutes! He thought to himself.

Someone knocked frantically on his door. Mike looked up. Irritated now, he jumped when Sarah, his co-worker, opened his office door with enough force to make it hit the wall.

The normally soft-spoken Sarah screamed, "Mike. We have to get out!"

"What's going on, Sarah?" Mike asked bewildered.

"We've been hit! We have to leave now!" Sarah screamed at him. She ran into his office and tried to pull him out of his chair.

"Sarah, let go of me! What is wrong with you? What do you mean, we've been hit?" As Mike pushed Sarah away and looked out the window. "What the hell?"

"Mike, come on," Sarah was crying. "The building's been hit, we have to leave. Right now." Sarah barely got the words out. Mike pulled her to him and proffered a hug.

"Been hit by what, Sarah?"

"We don't know. Please, can we go?"

With one last look at the computer screen, Mike reluctantly followed Sarah from the office. "It will be okay, Sarah." Mike figured he would be back at his computer before the morning was out. He did not know how wrong he was.

"We have to take the stairs. It is a long way down. Are you ready?" As they headed for the EXIT sign above staircase doors, they joined the throng of people heading in the same direction. Sarah was more composed and took the lead.

Mike was still confused and allowed Sarah to lead him. "What the hell is going on?"

A voice on his right answered him promptly. "A plane crashed into the building about twenty-five floors above us."

"A plane? How?"

"They don't know that yet. The radio," the speaker pointed to his headphones, "isn't giving much information. I think we are lucky we still have power."

By now, Mike and Sarah entered the stairwell and were on their way down the first flight of stairs. The man with the voice was behind them and relayed his information to others in the stairwell. The going was slow since people from the upper floors joined them and with each flight landing, they met people from the lower floors.

Most people behaved well. No one pushed or shoved. Everyone talked quietly as they made their way slowly down the congested stairs. Mike leaned over the railing and saw a sea of people all the way down. He held Sarah's hand trying to comfort her. He also needed a bit of comforting since he was still irritated at having to leave his project. He was so close!

A few floors lower, the staircase reverberated with a deafening noise that stopped everyone in their tracks. Dust rained down on them from above as the entire building shook. "What was that?" Mike asked loudly.

"I don't know!" This reply came back at him from several people.

"Keep moving!" urged Mike.

Everyone was quieter as the man with the voice removed his earphones from the radio jack and increased the volume. After a few minutes, they learned that a second plane had crashed into the other building and they were evacuating both buildings. Both buildings were on fire at the upper floors.

"What the hell is going on?" Mike swore again. Sarah sobbed quietly. Mike threw a protective arm around her shoulders. "It's okay, honey. It's going to be all right." Even as he said this, Mike noticed the temperature in the stairwell increase. The combination of body heat from all of these people, the exertion, and who knew what else made the air around them quite stale.

Mike removed his tie. After fishing out his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket, he shrugged out of the jacket. He handed the inadequate square to Sarah and threw his jacket over his shoulder. In doing so, he hit the woman behind him with the fabric. He looked behind him sheepishly and apologized. "I am so sorry." She smiled at him and waved his apology away.

Mike's shirt clung to him in its dampness. He was tired, but kept moving. Mike always liked working on the fiftieth floor of this building. He felt powerful this high above the city. More important, though, he always felt safe and had a terrific view. Mike blanched when he remembered the last view from that window. Now he knew that falling debris caused the premature darkness. He wished he had paid more attention.

"Mike, are you okay?" Sarah asked hoarsely. She wasn't sobbing anymore, but was still visibly fearful.

"Yeah, Sarah, I'm okay. I'm just thinking."

Sarah gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and said "Don't" which made Mike smile.

Just then, Mike and Sarah heard a commotion below them. A voice followed the commotion, "You're almost there, folks! Everyone okay here? People are waiting for you on the ground floor. Just keep calm and keep moving." They repeated this message several more times as firefighters made their way upward through the throng in a single file.

As the firefighters made it to the landing just below where Mike and Sarah were standing, the woman in front of Mike tripped. Mike reached out to steady her just as the first firefighter caught her from the front. "Are you okay, Ma'am?" She nodded. "You're almost there. Take it nice and easy now." Mike and Sarah took up positions on either side of her, but she insisted she was fine.

"That is great, but, even so, let's walk down together, shall we? This is Sarah and I am Mike." Mike signaled to the firefighter that everything was under control. The firefighters continued their trek up the stairs.

"Thanks, Mike, Sarah. I am Anne." After a bit of small talk, all three fell silent. Even the voice with the radio was conspicuously absent. Mike did not envy the firefighters their jobs. Each man carried equipment with him making the upward journey even more of an exertion than it already was.

A few minutes later, Mike, Sarah, and Anne reached the main floor. When they exited the stairwell, they felt a slight difference in the air quality. Chills went through Mike's spine. Man, was he tired!

The throng ahead of them headed for the doors. The crowd carried the three of them along. They heard voices ahead, "You have to get out of the building. Now!"

Chaos reigned on the street. Sarah had Mike's hand in a death grip as they waded through the ashes on the sidewalk. They heard more voices, "Please move away from the building!" Mike and Sarah needed no further prompting. They walked fast and almost blindly because of the ash that rained down on them. They lost Anne at the doorway.

After half a block, they heard an explosion. Terrible crashing noises followed this. Mike glanced back in time to see the building folding in upon itself. Huge clouds of smoke and dust formed and were coming right toward them! "Oh, Shit!" Mike screamed. He grabbed Sarah's hand and screamed "Run!" Mike threw his jacket over their heads to offer some protection. Within minutes, though, soot and sweat covered them. They ran for a long time. Everyone around them ran as well. Finally, they stopped at the base of the bridge. Each of them was bent over to catch their breaths. Several other people stopped as well and everyone was coughing from the soot they inhaled and the exertion of running for so long.

Mike asked Sarah, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." Sufficiently recovered, yet incredibly weary, they turned to look in the direction they had come. Sometime while they ran, the second building had collapsed. All they saw now were billows of smoke shot with red flames. Tears streamed down Mike's face as he took in the sight.

"What happens now?" Sarah asked.

Mike shook his head and said, "I don't know."




==++==




"Well, Sarah, where do you want to go?"

"Home, I guess. I really need a shower. I think I will burn these clothes."

"I know what you mean. So, tell me, is there anyone at home waiting for you?"

"No, I live alone. I am divorced."

"Me, too."

"In fact, my ex-husband works in the building. Oh, my God! Mike!"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Sarah! Anything is possible. We got out, and we're safe. You know I never thanked you. You saved my life today."

"No, Mike, if anything, you saved mine. I don't know what I would have done without you!"

"Nonsense! . . . The least I can do is get you home safely."

The city had set up a shuttle bus service to transport workers from the city to the suburbs. Mike and Sarah found seats on the shuttle. When they reached Sarah's neighborhood, both of them got off. Mike only lived a few blocks away and would walk the rest of the way.

"Will you be okay, Sarah?" Mike asked as he walked her to her door.

"Yeah, I think so. I guess so. I don't know. Shit, Mike, my keys were in my purse. I left it at the office."

"Well, it's gone now. Do you have a spare key?"

Sarah was almost in tears again. "No! Oh, wait a minute. My neighbor has one. She fed my cat while I was away last week."

Ten minutes later, Sarah and Mike were inside Sarah's house. "I know you're beat, so I'm going to go. Can I call you later just to see how you are?"

"Sure Mike." Sarah scribbled her number on a piece of paper and gave it to him. "Thank you for everything."

"Do you need anything? Money?"

"No, really, a shower is all I need right now. I'll be okay. Thanks."

Mike walked home then. Sarah had asked him "What happens now?" Mike still didn't have any answers. Sarah was right, though, a shower sounded like heaven. He couldn't remember being this sore and tired. He was filthy as well.

A few minutes later, Mike opened his front door and entered the clean interior of his home. His first stop was the kitchen. At the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of water and pulled a garbage bag from under the sink. He then headed to the bathroom. He peeled off all of this clothes and stuffed them into the garbage bag. Turning the hot water on in the shower, Mike glanced at himself in the mirror. He saw a ghostly white body staring back at him with blackened hands and face. He looked as if he had grease paint makeup on. Mike just shook his head and stepped into the shower.

He let the water wash over him for a long time. Once he felt revived enough, he lathered up with soap and felt the dirt leave his body and spirit. Mike turned the shower off as the water lost its heat. He felt better. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he went in search of some clean clothes. Fortified with cleanliness, Mike realized he had missed lunch and was suddenly very hungry. He found some leftovers in the refrigerator and fixed himself a light lunch.

He stopped at the answering machine on his way to the living room. The machine registered eight messages! Mike never got that many messages, so it was surprising. Each message was the same, they had heard what happened and were calling to make sure he was okay. Mike would have to return some calls, but he was not up to it right now. He was, however, very curious what the media was saying about this morning.

The television carried the story on every channel and Mike was both shocked and appalled by what he heard. After a few minutes of channel surfing, he switched to his favorite news channel to watch their version of the story. It was much like watching a nightmare, only this one was real and Mike had been an unsuspecting participant. He saw his building and its partner become prey to mechanical birds. He saw the explosions and resulting fires and, finally, the collapse. The whole thing was too much to deal with. Even so, the story did not end there. Mike heard the details of a similar attack at the Pentagon. What is this world coming to? By the time they mentioned the fourth airplane, Mike was in tears again.

The phone rang and Mike ignored it. He shut off the television and sat numbly staring at the blank screen. He must have fallen asleep. Mike awoke and automatically reached for the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Mike? Thank God you're okay! I called earlier and left a message. Why didn't you call me back?"

"Mom, I haven't called anyone yet. I wasn't ready to talk to anyone yet."

"But, you are okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Tell everyone that I am okay and I will talk to them in a few days. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, honey. You know I love you?"

"Yeah, Mom. I know. I love you, too. I'll talk to you later."

"Well, okay, bye, Mike."

"Bye, Mom."

Mike realized that he had lied to his mother. There was one person that Mike wanted to talk to, Sarah. He found her number and dialed the phone. Sarah answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" She sounded tired.

"Sarah? This is Mike."

"Hi, Mike. How are you?"

"Oh, Sarah, I'm a mess. Have you been watching the news?"

"Yes. It's unbelievable. I was there and I still find it hard to believe!"

"Yeah, me too. And I'm definitely not ready to talk about it. My mother called and I pretty much blew her off! I told her I would call in a few days."

"I know how you feel. How come you can talk to me then?" Sarah was teasing and Mike knew it.

"You were there. You know."

"Yes, I know."

"I keep thinking I've got to do this, that, and the other. But, most of that is gone. It all crumbled when the building did. I don't even know whether I still have a job. If the company still exists, the office certainly doesn't. I was an hour away from deadline on the security project! I've spent day and night for the last three months inside that project! I have nothing left of it."

"I know how hard you worked on it Mike. It's a tragedy. You know, you always said that it should have been scrapped and rewritten. You can still do it now. Write your own code, Mike, and do it right!"

"I could do that, I suppose. Do we still have a client? I mean, we did miss the deadline. They were pretty firm on that."

"I'm sure something can be worked out. I mean, we missed the deadline, but look at the circumstances."

"Yeah. We'll see."

Sarah and Mike talked for a few minutes more. The attempt to make sense of their lives was futile. Neither of them knew enough to know what tomorrow would bring. They agreed to take care of the immediate problems and talk again the next day. Sarah needed an inventory of the contents of her purse and would call the credit card companies for replacement cards. She had no concerns about the cards since they were probably melting as she thought about it. Sarah also would call a locksmith and have keys made for the house. If that could not be done, she would change all of the locks. Mike, on the other hand, was to call the corporate offices to see what their next move was. If they rebuilt the division, Mike would do everything he could to help. If not, he needed to find another source of income.

Blogging Drawbacks

There's are many drawbacks to blogging. Yes, it is possible to register a reaction to something that has been written. That is the good part. The problem, however, is that I know I've made some comments on specific posts that I'd be real interested in seeing a response to. A couple of posts I continue to return to without seeing any response. Some, I've just forgotten about.

Often, when I receive a comment on my blog and I make a response to that comment, I will email the response to the person just so I know they see it. I can only do that for comments on my blog. I guess I'd like to see something like the poetry boards have. Anyone that posts a response gets notified when a new response is posted. I seriously don't think that will ever happen, but it is an idea.

I read a seven-part story on another blog. I wasn't happy with where the story ended and I wrote a comment that I wanted to know what happened next. Even though what happens next isn't part of the story, the author probably has a pretty good idea what would happen if she were to write it. She's one that never replied to the comment. I really, really want to know.

Well, I guess we can't get everything we desire in life. C'est la vie!

No Spam, Thank You, Ma'am

Recently, I've received a couple of spam comments on my blog. People are hitting the next blog button and leaving a standard advertisement as a cut-and-paste in the comments on whatever entry happens to come up. This is wrong! Don't they know that if they would leave a thoughtful comment about that particular blog entry, they would quite likely find that reciprocity still works?

I know people are busy, but don't use my blog as your billboard. Read what I have to say and comment on what I said. If you happen to leave a link to your site in the process, great! Then I can find you and check you out. Even if you don't leave a link, most of the time when you click on the name of a blogger, that blogger's profile will come up. I can then return the favor that way.

We're all looking for attention on the internet. We are all starved for comments. Posting spam is not the way to accomplish anything. Now, if I've just posted about the price of shorts and you happen to be a shorts salesperson, fine, tell me about your sale. Otherwise, don't bother advertising your wares. The comment will only be deleted.

Happy Friday, all.

It's Late

I don't feel as if I have time for a serious blog session tonight. I've been working on a sonnet for the past few days and want to see if I can finalize it today. It is bad enough that they actually have me rhyming again, argh!

I have the question of the day, though. I was checking out prices on the pants I wear for a girl at work. They happen to be on sale until Saturday for $24.99 a pair. I thought I'd check out the price on the jean shorts. They are not on sale. Why is it that shorts that are just short cost $19.99? And a full pair of pants that are long costs $24.99? It doesn't make sense!

However, I suppose that the top of the shorts or pants do take up most of the work in the construction of the pants. The legs of the pants are simply more material. In other words, one needs to get the basics down. After that, what we write might only add small value to the piece. I rather liked that analogy even if I didn't like the price of the shorts!

My News for Today

I just learned that the poem I wrote for the fourth anniversary of 9/11 will be published in Zygote in my Coffee on 10/3/05 (issue 49). I wrote Pick Up the Pieces back in April in order to have a submission for the Book of Remembrance . The Book of Remembrance has ceased publication but previous editions are still available online. I appeared in both the second anniversary ( Issue 6) and the third anniversary ( Issue 7). I was sorry their work would not continue.

What was amazing about this submission is that it only took four days to receive an answer. I was impressed. It doesn't bother me that only one of the three poems submitted was accepted either. I'm very pleased.

Ant Nonsense

It was one of those days where you just want to come home and go to bed for about a year. Instead, you need to make dinner, eat dinner, and provide some semblance of intelligent life to the mixture. It really wasn't a bad day; it was more of a frustrating one. Frustration can lead to lack of motivation at times.

Sometimes you feel like you're all alone in the world. There can be ten people in the room, but you're alone. You'll be home and you want to go home. You want to be in a better place mentally and emotionally. I suppose it is another way of saying you want whatever is going on at that moment to stop.

I want to hide under the grass and wander my days away. With my luck, though, I'd be the ant that got stepped on. If I look up from my vantage point on the dirt, the blade above me would be the trees of my jungle. A clover might resemble a palm tree without the fruit of the coconut. Sticks and pieces of bark would be my bridges over dangerous terrain. And, that head of lettuce is my mountain. Oh, what a view from up there!

Have a good evening all.

From July 12

So, I guess I was bored the other night.

I remember people I went to elementary school with better than people from high school. I got bored and I started plugging in names. Remember, I kept the database for the reunion. Well, I was too lazy to open the database to do any real work. In elementary school, you spent nine months of the year with the same people in the same room. Often, you would be with the same subset of people for several years. We didn't change rooms for classes until fifth or sixth grade. So, I started plugging in searches for people I remembered from elementary school.

Now, Charlies wrote. I knew this because there was an article about him in one of our paper's magazine section some years back. It turns out that he's written three science fiction novels. Also, for the past 38 years, I remember this turtle pin that I have as coming from him. So I did some digging. I found an interview he did although I wasn't sure when it was (turns out it was in '97). I learned he was married and had a son and was a teacher of writing and poetry for seventh grade at an all-boys school. For some reason, I was thinking he was in Michigan. I found another post where he commented on someone's work and lo and behold, there was an email address. So, what the hell?

I sent him an email and asked if he went to Roxboro. I told him that I swore he gave me a turtle pin in the second grade. He wrote me back! Although he didn't remember second grade at all, he did go to Roxboro and it was entirely likely that he gave me the pin because he never went through that whole "girls are yuckie" phase. He was, of course, very curious how I found him.

So, I wrote him back. We exchanged a couple more emails and I mentioned that I also dabbled in writing. I gave him my blog address since he wanted to know about my writing. I made sure to tell him there was no obligation for him to visit. I know he did visit but I haven't heard back. I think it is just so cool.

During his interview (it was really a chat session that was published), he mentioned working on a book. It turns out that this fourth book has taken 10 years and should be done by the end of this summer. He has two chapters written of his fifth book already. It also turns out that the boy's school is right across the ravine from me. I have no idea why I thought he was in Michigan.

And then, I had to go and write that dumb ass poem. The whole thing just tickled me so much.

Forgive my use of "So" so much and "it turns out."

And, that's the story. I hope you enjoyed it.

Links and Such

It is amazing what you can find when you go looking for it. What's even more amazing is what you find when you're looking for something else. I was doing a lookup to see if I could help a friend promote her chapbook and came upon a great site for writers of poetry.

http://www.michelleailenetrue.com/the-published-poet.html

And, of course, I'd heard of this place. I think I need to go back...

http://www.litkicks.com/BeatPages/page.jsp?what=Stories

And, I found this interesting offer which I haven't forwarded yet, but the links in this post are even more interesting...

http://www.blogger.com/email-post.g?blogID=7410898&postID=109182090103169676

The other day, I found a rather comprehensive list of ezines and such, but this one is in a much better format.

http://www.newpages.com/npguides/litmags.htm

I actually found a place in here that I might submit my fairy tale. I have to remember once September gets here to snail mail it to them.

Another interesting site is one where every story starts with the same first line and you can see where the authors take it. I might have to check back on that.

I hope these links provide you with some interesting tidbits. The word "interesting" has been sadly overused today. My apologies.

Small Stuff

It is the small things that make us appreciate life for what it is. It is the small things that also give us the most grief. Somewhere around here I have a book "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff." It is good advice. I don't think I've ever done more than glance through the book, but the title is enough to make one think.

I broke a nail today in the grocery store. It will grow back. Breaking nails isn't always a painless experience. In this case, it bent backwards before it broke. And, it always breaks halfway across and never at a convenient time. I generally just grab the nail and rip it the rest of the way across. Oh well, it is only a nail. Some people get really bent out of shape about their nails.

I think there's a mentality about fingernails. As soon as you decide that your nails look pretty good, they start to break. I think I've had perfect nails for all of about 10 minutes in my life. But, as long as I can type and pick things up and scratch someone's back, an imperfect set of nails suits me just fine.

Sometimes, I think perfection is over-rated. If I want to do something, I won't not do it simply to avoid messing up my nails or my hair. Now, if I don't want to do something, my hair is as good of an excuse as any. Allergies are an even better excuse for avoiding outdoor activities. If the allergies didn't exist, though, I think the outdoors would be a much more attractive place.

Of course, bugs are always a problem. I can't necessarily enjoy a meal outdoors when I periodically get buzzed by bees and flies. At least with ants and such, you can usually see their approach. With flying things, no so. They also have a knack for doing the opposite of what you think they are going to do.

Even so, this is all small stuff. It is the weekend; enjoy it.

Ya Know

Ya know, it is impossible to write when you're in the midst of an argument. I came on earlier and simply said I couldn't do this tonight. If it were possible to capture the moment without remembering it, that would be a feat. Capture the emotion, or lack of it, but not everything that goes with it. Put that down on paper. That would be worth it.

Otherwise, fighting sucks and I don't advise it.

Blog Jumping

I've recently added two blogs to the list that I visit on a regular basis. I'm beginning to understand, though, the temptation to visit without saying anything. I seriously try not to do that but sometimes commenting would be so lame it is better not to say anything. I hate that.

I have several regular readers from New York and I have no idea who they are. I have another from Manassas, Virginia. Again, I have no clue. I'd like to take this moment to say hello, though. Hello, guys, thanks for reading and coming back. I do appreciate the support. Also, hello to the Philippines. I have a reader on Contraptions from there.

I guess as long as people keep coming back I'm doing something right. I sure can't tell by comments. That has always been a problem for me. I like comments. I like to hear from people even if they disagree with me. I'd like ideas for future posts as well.

Expand and Grow

When I changed jobs a few months back, I typed up a long email to a friend telling her about what was going on in the department I had left. I was trying to give her the background to be able to ask good questions in the interview. Basically, the email centered on some major projects that were starting in the company and what the impact would be. She did not get the job, but that email has gone on to become a much bigger document.

I took the information in that document and added other corporate project I had learned about in my new job. These projects all pointed at using the data the company has in more efficient ways. If there are fewer sources to draw our results from, it would stand to reason that these sources should be audited and maintained in a more efficient manner. I explained why auditing a specific type of data would become important. And, I went on to show how the audits could be done.

After several drafts of this document, I even came up with an impressive title for the project. I won’t share that here, but there is a point to all of this. To finish with this document, though, it won’t make any difference if we can’t get everyone on the same page with similar motivation.

Okay, so, my point is that even an email to a friend can be changed to become an important and significant piece of writing. Look over some of the things you’ve written in the past. Can you add to any of them to create something new and different? I’ve often heard how someone would take an article they’ve written, add a bit to it, and submit it to an entirely different market. This is what I’m getting at.

I have, in the past, taken comments I’ve made on a poetry board and used that comment to start a blog post. If you’ve got something good to say, why not expand on it? Make your writing work for you.

The Agony of Inability

Sometimes we get too close to our work that we fail to see the obvious. Even when something sits for a time, we may have too much invested to do justice. Yes, I'm referring to the short story I just finished. If you noticed, the dates for most of it were from 2002. Even after more than three years, I had a connection to this story.

I did add a small amount to two pre-existing chapters. I did write the final chapter which was sadly missing for all that time. I'll be damned, though, if I can make any significant changes to what was already written. For instance, I was told that the second chapter of book one was bland in comparison to the first. I think it didn't really give us all that much information. I should really do something about this chapter.

In defense of chapter two, I think we obtain some valuable information. We meet Emma and we are shown how the world will view the events of the previous night. We are also clued into the fact that Jim knows more than he's telling. These are all important pieces of information. However, they need to be less blandly stated. I have no idea how to accomplish this. The problem is that I am perfectly happy with the piece. The problem is that I'm definitely wrong in being so attached.

Feedback is invaluable. I got the feedback. Now I just need the ability to act on that feedback. I'm hoping that one day soon, I will be able to accomplish that feat. In the meantime, I will continue to mull over the comments I have received until something clicks.

Five Months and Going Strong?

Yesterday marked five months since I started this blog. I have made a post each and every day. Usually, the posts are related to writing. How am I doing so far?

I'm thrilled to have added the fourth and final book to Night Lights. It was a bit incomplete as it was. The first chapter, however, was able to stand alone. After that, it would have been like stopping in the middle of a sentence. You can't have that. If you made it all the way through the story, I'd love to hear what you thought of it. I'm quite pleased with the last chapter. It actually leaves itself open to a sequel which I am NOT going to write.

My email box has been super slow lately. I haven't had responses on any submissions or posts for that matter. It is a little disconcerting. Life goes on though. Now that I've used up all my short stories, I'll have to start coming up with topics again for my entries. Either that, or, I'll have to write some more stories.

Have a great evening, all.

Night Lights Book Four Final Chapter

8/6/05

Emma was impatient to see Jim. She understood that the first week with the “others” was to be used for observation of those left behind on Earth. She was less concerned about those left behind than she was about Jim. It had been three days since her death and she was getting antsy. So far, though, she had been treated quite well in the colony. She was adjusting to the constant daylight and was beginning to understand what they expected of her during her stay with them. It was understood that this was to be a permanent relationship, but she was free to terminate that relationship at any time. She was also reminded that she was dead. If she didn’t have this, she was unsure what she would have.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that she was shown to her laboratory. It was there that she finally got to see Jim. The only problem was that they both had their own glassed-in enclosures in which to work. There would be no physical contact of any kind. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but this wasn’t it. I guess she expected to be able to maintain a relationship with her husband similar to that which they had when they were alive. This was not to be. She was, however, told that they would be given time together. One of the reasons they were both recruited was so that they could study the relationships of the aging human.

In the meantime, Emma had a lot of work to do in processing the animals for the colony. She would contend herself with her husband’s nearness for the moment. At least she could see him and he looked like he was doing well. During her work with the animals, she continually cast longing glances at her husband and had to remind herself to keep her emotions in check. There would be time for that later. If she did her work well, maybe the “others” would find it in their beings to give them time together.

Every day for two weeks, Jim and Emma worked side by side in their own separate enclosures. They were unable to speak to each other but did try. They eventually accepted nods and waves as their only means of communication. Even though Jim passed instructions to Emma, all the processes were automated. He couldn’t even include a short note to let her know she had been missed. At the end of the fourteenth day, Emma heard Jim say something. She looked up in surprise and said, “What was that?”

Jim was equally surprised to hear Emma’s response. The glass wall between their two workstations had disappeared! He got up from where he was sitting and walked to his wife, “I said I thought this zebra was showing signs of premature aging.” Jim was totally surprised to have reached his wife without mishap. He was, however, cautious. He knew the “others” were capable of punishing undesirable behavior.

Tentatively, Emma laid her hand on her husband’s arm. Nothing happened, but she relished the feel of his arm through his shirt sleeve. “What did you find?” she asked. With that question, they both walked over to the animal on the exam table. They had always worked well together. Both of them leaned over the patient, they bodies touching as they worked. Jim pointed out his findings.

He did whisper to Emma, “Be careful, be very careful” to which Emma nodded. Both of them knew they were being observed. Both of them knew this was a test. Neither knew how long it would last. At the end of their shift, they went their separate ways.

The next two weeks were a repeat of the first two. On the fourteenth day, the glass partition disappeared once again. Neither Jim nor Emma noticed its disappearance until Jim dropped a beaker that shattered. Emma rushed over to help him clean it up.

They finished their shift wandering back and forth between the two workstations and comparing notes on what they’d learned. This time, though, there was a difference. Until now, each workstation had one door that led to their respective quarters. These doors were highlighted to indicate their intended usage. Today, there was only one door highlighted. This door had been unnoticed prior to today.

Emma and Jim left the work area through that door. They found quarters similar to their individual rooms. The main difference was that this room had two beds. Obviously, they were expected to remain in their own beds. Now they could talk, but both were cautious about being observed. Their conversations were held in hushed voices. They spent several hours catching up. Finally, they retired to their own beds and slept.

Another two weeks passed. Each day, the glass partition was in place and their individual doors were highlighted at the end of their workdays. On the twenty-eighth day, the partition disappeared once more. The routine was becoming familiar to Jim and he had been testing its presence all day. Finally, they were able to work side by side again. They were making some good progress in their examinations of the animals and knew that another group was due to arrive soon.

At the end of the shift, the third door was once again highlighted. Emma and Jim left the work area together. The scene that greeted them was the same as it had been the last time. Each of them was feeling tension in this arrangement. They had always been a demonstrative pair. It wasn’t long before Jim gathered Emma into his arms and bestowed that long-awaited kiss. Tears of happiness and release streamed down Emma’s face.

There was still some nervousness because neither knew what the “others” expected from their relationship. After the hug and kiss, they waited for repercussions. None came. There were, however, still two beds in the room. Both had been turned down for the night. Unfortunately, Jim had other ideas.

Preparations were made for bed and Jim crawled into Emma’s bed instead of his own. Emma started to object. “Jim, do you think we should?”

His response was simple. “There’s only one way to find out, Emma. I intend to find that out with you in your bed. Whatever happens, we’ll be together.”

Believe it or Not

I'm working on the fourth book of Night Lights! I actually know how it is going to end. I'm thrilled. For anyone that has suffered through the reading of this monstrosity, it is almost over. I wrote several paragraphs today and should be able to polish it off in another page or two. I'm very pleased.

I often wonder, though, whether I'd be better off limiting my writing. So far I've included poetry, short stories, and articles. In the articles, I include the reviews I have written. I try to weigh them against each other but don't really know if that's possible. All of it is the written word. I don't think I could do one form without dabbling in the others. This is just something to think about.

Any way, I'm off to see how much I can add to the final chapter. Have a great weekend, one and all.

Night Lights Book Three Chapter Two

2/26/02

Time was passing quickly for Emma. She still had so much she wanted to do. It had been five months since Jim’s death and four since her first visit from the “others.” Spring was almost upon her. She was looking forward to the warmer weather. The winter had been especially harsh this year. Emma had found it difficult to cope with weather issues without a man in the house. The roof needed major repairs and someone was coming today to assess the damage caused by the leaks. Roads had been impassible for most of the winter and contractors had been cut off from their suppliers. Now that they were open again, the repair men around town had too many calls coming in that it had taken a couple of weeks to fit Emma into the schedule. Word around town was that anyone who could work with their hands was in great demand. Many of the men were hoping to earning some extra money in the coming months.

In the meantime, Emma was busy removing what furniture she could from the damaged spare bedroom. A couple of the neighbors had come early in the morning to give her a hand. She was grateful for the help. She had spent the previous evening working in the kitchen so that she would have plenty of treats to offer the workers. She even had a big pot of chilli warming on the stove.

Emma wanted to have her own affairs in order before she was claimed by the "others." This meant putting the house back in order as well. She wouldn't leave the house to her children in a state of disrepair. Since the damage of this winter had been an unscheduled setback, Emma was being cautious with her plans. She still had so much to do. She wanted to spend one last week visiting each of her children and then do some last minute things at home before she died much in the same way that Jim did.

Her greatest fear was that there would be no one to find her when she didn't wake up on that last morning. She would have to make sure she scheduled a brunch for that day so that there would be no delay in joining Jim. Her life would then be complete.

Night Lights Book Three Chapter One

2/25/02

Emma had never considered life without Jim. She had never expected to live alone again. Yes, here she was one month after Jim’s death looking forward to her day. She had slept well the night before. This was unusual since she had been sleeping fitfully since she was not used to sleeping alone. She felt rejuvenated and now understood the events of the last year. She still missed Jim terribly, but she understood that they needed him elsewhere. This knowledge helped to ease some of the pain she had been feeling for so long now.

Her life had substance again. For the last fifty years, the center of her universe had been her husband and her family. While their importance would never diminish, Emma had a newfound self that was sorely in need of attention. At seventy, self-esteem and self-worth were new ideas for Emma. She was having some difficulty making the adjustment. These new ideas were the reason Emma stayed in the empty house. At the funeral, her daughter had been the first to try to persuade her to move in with them. Her son made a similar offer a few days later. Emma had never been alone, and felt she needed to do it now. Both of the kids called every two weeks or so to see how she was doing. That was enough. As much as she loved them and their families, this house had been her home too long for her to leave it now. She felt Jim’s presence in every room and found it comforting to be within its walls.

Family members weren’t the only ones expressing concern over Emma’s solitary state. Friends and neighbors were also disturbed by her aloneness. Most of them had gotten away from dropping in unannounced. They had run out of excuses for doing so! Emma was still, however, bombarded by invitation to participate in social and charity events. She did not mind since these were volunteer functions and kept her busy. Emma could set her own schedule. She liked helping others and had become adept at organizing fund-raisers for the community.

The doctors were mystified over Jim’s death. The death certificate stated “old age.” No one was satisfied with that explanation, though. Because of this and because she did not want undue attention, Emma had agreed to a full physical and was pronounced in good health for someone of her age. She was satisfied with that simple pronouncement and felt better than she had in a long time.

Intermission 2

That's all I have on the colony. I have two more chapters in book three about Emma. It is long, yes, but I really like the story. I may have mentioned it before but this was the first short story that I'd written since high school. It is actually a pretty big endeavor for a first story. Maybe somewhere in my subconscious, I thought I was writing the great American novel. By the way, if I wrote anything in high school, I don't remember it.

I added a small bit to the second book before I posted it. I also added something to Emma's book. Those two chapters will be coming up in the next couple of days. There actually could be more to Emma's story although I don't think it really needs a whole lot. The real kicker is that there should be a fourth book.

A fourth book would, of course, be about Jim and Emma being reunited in the colony and their adventures working together. I haven't decided if I have the energy to write this. Hmm...

Night Lights Book Two Chapter Three

2/24/02

The plans for the animal population intrigued Jim. He was beginning to feel a bit like “Doctor Doolittle.” This fabled character could talk with the animals regularly. Only the name implied that the man did not do much. In Jim’s case, a more appropriate name would be “Doctor Do Much” or “Doctor Do Everything.” He still had much research to do, but felt he was making progress.

Since the “others” had visited Emma three times, his concern for her was almost gone. They did not require him to monitor her behavior as closely and could devote more time to the veterinary field. The last time the portal opened, the “others” had brought back medical and veterinary journals to help in Jim’s work. He found the journals to be very helpful in categorizing and supplementing his own experience.

The “others” were reluctant to borrow from the earthlings. They preferred their acquisitions to come from voluntary disclosure. They were not, however, rigid in their ways. When Jim asked for help, they supplied the books. Jim understood that experience and memory were to be his primary sources. The books were supplemental material only.

His work on cats and dogs was complete. They were, of course, the easiest subjects since both were common household pets. The other creatures were more difficult. The ranges of animals of interest were those of household variety plus farm and wild animals. The wild animals would be the most difficult to recruit and analyze. The “others” were not interested in wild animals previously held in captivity. Jim had to identify the best locations for recruitment as well. The first recruitment of giraffes was to occur with the next portal. Jim was running out of time.

The “others” relied on previous knowledge to form their plans. Currently, the selection of animals was following the biblical story of Noah and his ark. They planned pairs of animals, one of each sex, for recruitment. Breeding habits were of interest to the “others.” The animals would be kept apart until they deemed mating appropriate. They wanted a controlled population of animals.

The communication between animals would require periodic interaction during non-mating seasons. The intelligence and behavior of the animals were the primary reasons for recruiting them. The living environment for a species was to be as close to actual conditions as possible. The banishment of darkness would present the biggest problem in this area.

They had created a new world to house the animal recruits. There were rolling hills, rain forests, jungles, and lakes. They carefully controlled temperature, climate and foliage in each area and equipped each area with appropriate observation areas as well. They designed the observation areas to give an unobstructed view of the animals without alerting the animals to a foreign presence.

The shock of transport would be small. The “others” hoped to explain their mission to many recruits. Those that did not comprehend would likely notice the lack of other species and the lack of numbers within their own groups. They could not help this. The “others” expected intelligent beings to be able to adapt to their new environments. Those that could not adapt would become extinct. Gestation periods and litter size, of course, vary greatly by species. The velvet monkey, for instance, has the following breeding characteristics:

The female produces one offspring after a 165-day gestation period. She nurses her baby for up to six months, and it is not ready to breed until it is two years old. (http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Canopy/4695/vervet.html)

The North American Black Bear is classified as follows:

Breeding season is in late June to early July. The fertilized egg matures to the blastocyst stage and goes dormant. Blastocyst will not implant in the uterus until late November. In early December, embryo development proceeds normally (delayed implantation: a process shared with badgers, mink, weasels, otters, and wolverines). Birth occurs in late January. Gestation is approximately 7 months. The delay in gestation is approximately 5 months and true gestation is approximately 8 weeks. A black bear usually has between 1 to 5 cubs.

This kind of information allowed Jim to plan recruitment. The idea was to recruit the animals and assimilate them to the environment before allowing mating to begin. His activities kept him busy and his first year with the colony flew by.

Night Lights Book Two Chapter Two

2/24/02

For a week after his death, Jim watched his wife grieve from his vantage point in the colony. He had known it would not be easy for her, but he had not expected the depth of pain she expressed. All he could do was watch helplessly. “They” told him this process was “normal.” He must be patient until they could make their first contact. Improvement would be certain after contact. Meanwhile, specific rules existed to preserve the existence of the “others.”

The past year had been good to Jim. He had felt well enough and been capable enough to put all of his affairs in order and tie up a few loose ends. His wife would not need to be concerned about finances now that he was gone. Everything he had done in the past year had been done for her. Jim had not relished the idea of dying. He had chosen to pass on in his sleep because he felt it would be less painful for Emma. Death was unfortunately a part of the bargain. Still, Jim felt he had made a good deal. Meanwhile, he would keep an eye on her while he learned his new role as a member of the colony.

They selected Jim for his age and experience as a veterinarian. Although he had retired several years ago, he had kept up with the field through journals and occasional consultations with colleagues. They were also recruiting Emma for her work as a veterinarian nurse. If Emma received the same treatment as he had, all would be well soon.

Jim’s first assignment was twofold. First, they gave him the task of monitoring his wife’s behavior. This first task was easy since he would have kept his eye on Emma any way. Then, he was to catalogue all that he could remember about his treatment of the various animals he had examined. This task was more daunting. Jim was mentally reviewing information covering forty-five years. The field of veterinary medicine had changed greatly during this time. Environmental and cultural changes also contributed to the types of animals treated and the diseases they carried. Jim needed to document all these aspects plus classify his patient base into type of animal, scope of existence, and common ailments. The only reference Jim could rely on was his memory. Even so, Jim felt this would keep him busy for many years.

As Jim thought back to that first night over a year ago, he shivered when he thought of the calculated efforts of the “others.” The “sinkhole” created upon the landing of the Beacon was part of the recruitment efforts. Jim had been a name on the roster of “possible candidates” for many years. The “others” had directed many of his life decisions so that he fit their criteria for recruitment. These decisions even included issues of child birth. He and Emma had wanted a large family. The “others” calculated that two children were enough. They had ensured healthy deliveries of one baby of each sex. Several miscarriages between the two births had Jim wondering if those miscarriages had been boys.

Their original plan had been to have Jim lead a quiet life where he would not receive scrutiny from other people, including children. Both of his children were married and had families of their own. The fact that both moved great distances away was also part of the plan. If Emma had not also been on the roster, they might have seen her life as interference as well.

Jim’s appearance at the crash site determined the final stage. Had he ignored the Beacon, their recruitment of him would have been over. They would have removed his name from the roster. He was unsure if any other action would follow the noncompliance. The “others” were generally not happy when their plans failed.

Jim did not want to think about these things. He understood the benevolent rules governing their own kind. Jim instinctively knew, though, that they would treat outsiders less kindly.

The hardest part about that night was the secrecy involved. They only permitted him to divulge a small part of the events to his wife. They had made this clear from the start. The only reason they allowed any exchange was to relieve suspicion aroused by his activities. Jim often felt that he needed to share his experiences. Each time, though, he received a gentle reminder that this could not be. The first time, of course, was the day he took Emma to see the “sinkhole.” Before he could say too much, he developed a tickle in his throat that prevented him from speaking. He understood now that they allowed the visit to the crash site since it was reported on the news. Also, it was human nature to be curious about the unknown.

The next incident was at the town gathering. He was about to share information with his neighbor, Mary. As it was, Mary laughed at him. This had given him sufficient time to recover. He had suffered a sudden pain in his stomach–as if someone had kicked him! He was sure that no one noticed his discomfort. Since then, he had been very careful about what he said. As he thought about it now, he realized that he could have shared more with Emma. He had been unwilling to test his limitations. Even now, he was still on edge.

Most of the time during that year, Jim felt he was right to join the colony. A couple of times, he had wavered. Once, Emma had been sick with a bad case of the flu. She had been bedridden for a week. Jim nursed her around the clock. The gratitude and love he saw in his wife’s eyes were enough to break his heart. Who would take care of her when he was gone?

Another time, Emma had woken him in the middle of the night because she heard noises on the porch below their window. Jim had felt like a hero when he discovered a racoon tangled in his rocker cushions. Not only had Emma been relieved, but the racoon seemed grateful to be freed as well. Jim received only a few scratches for his rescue effort. Who would be there the next time?

Jim thought back to all those times he wished on stars for the reunion of his family. He recommended the practice of wishing on the night’s first star to everyone. His wishes had all come true. He was content, his wife was healthy, and he had seen his children again. His children had, in fact, smoothed his concerns about leaving Emma behind. Had he changed his mind, Jim was sure his death would have come sooner and been much more painful. His family may also have suffered some ill will.

The family reunion at the end of last summer helped to reduce Jim’s anxieties. It was a happy occasion. Both of his children and their families came. It had been a few years since they had all been together. Both of the children had been emphatic that one or both of their parents would have a home if the need ever arose. Even the grandchildren echoed these sentiments. The way it worked out, there was only a one-year period in which the couple would be separated. At the time, Jim had not been aware that they would also recruit Emma.