My Writing for This Week 

My loyal readers, as I write this my beta reader is reading Blood on Poinsettia that I finished writing last week and did an initial edit this week. 

My next project which starts a new series is a Cowboy western with a lead character called Nate Turner. As many people don’t realize, African American cowboys were more popular than first thought. Hollywood of course didn’t want to portray a black man as anything but a train porter or hotel baggage handler. Nate Turner was a run-away slave from Mississippi who among other things is a long shoreman on the Ohio River in Cincinnati, a Union calvary soldier during the Civil War and a wrangler and cowboy doing the cattle runs from Texas to Kansas on the Chisum Trail . 

I haven’t decided how many books will come from this series but suffice to say it’s all in my head at the moment. I’ll need to do more research and go from there. The history of an African American cowboy would be quite fascinating.  

I’ll also be using a pen name, Hyrum Guilderbund, as I will pen my actual name as the editor. As many of you know, Chrystal Guilderbund, one of the main characters in my books is Hyrum Guilderbund’ s granddaughter. 

On the marketing front I am going to be trying to get a book signing or two going here in Spokane. I’ll use both my recently published books, A Man’s Passion, and I Albert Peabody.

The Conundrum of AI 

I remembered that movie 2001 Space Odysseys where Al or Hal, I can’t quite remember, oh yeah I got Google it will tell me. It’s Hal. Anyway, the problem I find with AI, artificial Intelligence, for those of us who aren’t millennials or gen zees, is our reliance on these things that enslaves us to this regardless if we want it or not. Anyway, the line that Hal stated was about how we were now his slave when before we were his master. 

It’s this prospect that I am certain is why the government and many high-tech corporations are so alarmed at this point. It’s as if they freed the genie from the bottle and can’t figure out how to put it back in. 

Last week during our writer’s meeting with Inland Northwest Writers’ Guild, we discussed this very topic. What we touched upon was how AI may affect our careers as writers. Open AI Chat GPT is one aspect that researchers claim can revolutionize our economy in ways not thought possible. 

I see great potential for AI say in the realm of STEM—SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, ENGINEERING AND MATH. I’m not so sure how it would work if one wanted to use AI to write a novel, short story, or poem. Afterall, AI is at its core a computer generated algo rhythm based on 1s and 0s. It cannot by its very nature create prose or poetry or a painting. 

While AI may accelerate cures for cancer or Alzheimer’s, can influence climate change models to where we become ninety percent carbon emissions free, prevent catastrophic climate change, it is still incapable of creating a science fiction novel in which the antagonist is a computer on a space station. 

So, while we writers and editors can sleep better at night knowing our jobs are mostly secured. Will AI enslave us as Hal may well hope to do? Unlikely unless that computer has feelings, emotions, and creative thought. 

A  New National Pastime 

Hello my loyal readers. My latest book I’ve been working on is getting really close to completion. At the moment I’ve called it Blood on Poinsettia. As I mentioned when the news story broke that the book I’m writing is based loosely on the four murdered college students at the University of Idaho. I changed a good portion of what is relevant to the plot as opposed to the actual events that took place back in November 2022. 

It brings me to the point of this thing we all have delt with, dwelled upon, and debated over since Columbine, our new national pastime of open season on human children here in America. You see, my loyal readers, I’m beyond angry, upset and helplessly hoping that someone somewhere decides to do something tangible about what has been going on for nearly thirty years. 

It has absolutely nothing at all to do with our rights to bear arms. If anybody who knows me can vouch I am in favor of law-abiding citizens owning and possessing firearms to protect family, life, and property. What I have a problem with is this attitude where every time someone wants to do something that makes perfectly good sense, someone else blows a gasket because somehow this idea will take away their gun rights, and then the cycle repeats itself with another school shooting somewhere. 

I’m frankly tired of turning on the news and crying for the children caught in the crosshairs of some lunatic that somehow got himself possession of a firearm—no firearms that he apparently got legally because no one questioned him about what he intended to do with four AR-15 or AK-47s with six hundred rounds of bullets. CHA-CHING.

Excuse my French but I’m tired of the connerie. How many mass shootings so far involving school children? It doesn’t take a mathematician any time at all to rationalize that too many children die needlessly every year. Mass shootings may be a small fraction of the horrors one must face with a child being struct down by gun violence. Do you want to be that parent who is informed that Bobby or Shirley or Charlie won’t ever come home from school by a police officer, a doctor, or your clergyman? I don’t want to wish that on any parent. 

It was tragic enough for my sisters and me when our mother died tragically in an automobile accident going on fourteen years now. My sisters and I were emotional wrecks for the better part of a year. Let’s figure out a way to closed down this open season on our children, this new national pastime. 

Happy Publishing Day

Today Austin Macauley has made today publication day for my newly released book I Albert Peabody.

As you my loyal readers are aware I have been working on this project for the better part of two years now. I am hopeful it will succeed both critically and financially.  Mostly because I have many more projects coming in the future and as everyone knows, success in this business can blossom into something quite special.

If I hadn’t said so enough before I’ll say it now to everyone of you who believed in my efforts, thank out from the bottom of my heart.

A New Beginning

Sunday morning my step daughter gave birth to Ethan James Viscario. He quite literally is a miracle. 

I truly think he looks like his father. 

I won’t get into the particulars but Emily had a very hard and complicated labor that started Friday night. 

Suffice to say, the medical community still lacks the philosophy of caring that we all feel we deserve. There was an argument about her pain and the doctor’s concern he might be over-medicating her. I will leave it at that. 

He is a beautiful boy and will undoubtedly be a shining light in his parents’ eyes. 

Happy Publishing Day 

Today Austin Macauley has made today publication day for my newly released book I Albert Peabody. 

As you my loyal readers are aware I have been working on this project for the better part of two years now. I am hopeful it will succeed both critically and financially.  Mostly because I have many more projects coming in the future and as everyone knows, success in this business can blossom into something quite special. 

If I hadn’t said so enough before I’ll say it now to everyone of you who believed in my efforts, thank out from the bottom of my heart. 

Consciousness

I watched a Nova series the other night that dealt with among other things our sense of consciousness. The entire episodes, which I believe is a multipart series, deals with the human brain. It has always been fascinating how we as humans are able to study ourselves and come up with theories about how or why we behave. Our sense of consciousness, which in neuroscience is an ability of being, an awareness of self, is what makes each of us unique: our thoughts, feelings, emotions and behaviors produce what they call an awareness of our environment. 

When I was learning to write in my junior high school days, fifty or so years ago, we as a class groaned in exasperation at having to do a stream of consciousness paper. We had to write our thoughts and feelings on paper, apparently to gauge us as a human individual. I always struggled doing this as I’m sure most everyone else did. In college I read James Joyce’s A Portrait as an Artist.  I became enamored by his use of stream of consciousness, which he used throughout the book. It was then that I appreciated exactly what my junior high school English teachers were trying to pound into our heads. After that I quite enjoyed this type of writing.  

I soon discovered that by writing about an experience through the senses rather than describing a scene in the same format as a regular short story or novella or even a literary narrative, the reader felt even more engaged. Rather than She walked a short trek to the car and got in. I used stream of consciousness and get She heard a meadow lark cawing lovingly to her mate; roses pulsated a pungent aroma and the warm sun caressed her bare arms as she paced leisurely to her car and got in. Now a days, it might be construed by critics as dabbling in purple prose, but this kind of literary device is quite effective in describing our conscious feelings and empathizing with the protagonist. We get the impression she is in a good place and has good vibes flowing. 

We all see the same thing through a different pair of glasses. It is why many police investigators are skeptical about eye witness accounts of say a bank robbery or shooting. While one person’s perception, based on his or her experience, education level, and emotional strength, could be a whole lot different from the point of view of another who saw the same exact thing. In the program a woman is wearing a dress, and there is a background. The narrators asks, “What color dress is she wearing?” I saw a dark blue dress with black trim. But as the study discovered other respondents swore the dress was gold with yellow trim. It seems their eyes were fooled by the background hues and saw one color while another saw an opposite color. Sensory perception is also affected by audio. Another study had one group hear Yanni, while another group heard Laurel. Personally, I heard Yanni. It is based upon how our hearing is synchronized throughout our lives. Some of us are attuned to higher decibels while others are sensitive to lower audio ranges. 

All of this comes as an awareness of our selves. We see, hear, taste, feel different than our best friend or a perfect stranger. Our thoughts: personal, philosophical, or political are ours to debate to anyone willing to listen. The brain with all of its neurons and mass and receptors gives all of us individuals awareness that helps us survive the world we live in. 

Review of A Man’s Passion

My loyal readers I have just received my first official review of my book, A Man’s Passion.

Unfortunately, I had to pay  marketing company, TMW (The Moving Word) for the honor but if it generates added sells than it is well worth it. A video, courtesy of another marketing company doing an ad of my book is also coming out soon and that will be through Dropbox, which I guess is something like You Tube. And finally, my interview I had last month is also available through You Tube.

At any rate I hope all is well with my loyal readers and if you read my last two blog posts, thanks, but if you hadn’t, please do, it is a haunting narrative called Night Fears.

Louie, Louie

I got home from my tax person this afternoon. My stepdaughter was out by the newly planted Cherry tree near my trailer and I went outside to greet her. I could sense there was something about her that didn’t ring right but let it pass as I commented that it was a good thing I had money on my credit card to pay for this year’s taxes.  

She gave me a sad smile. “Louie passed this afternoon.” 

The initial shock of this news, that Lois, a beloved parrot who appeared in high spirits all morning while I was dealing with emails, phone calls and my writing, was suddenly and inexplicitly gone, became replaced by the same sadness she felt. I too choked up and felt tears burn my eyes. “What, how?” 

“She was an old bird.” 

“She was?” I asked in disbelief. For some reason I thought she was the same age as Spike, who was now around ten years old. 

“Yes, we got her when she was fairly old,” Emily replied. I felt so tempted to go down from my trailer and hug her, comfort her, but feared my own emotions would interfere and I stifled the urge. 

I calmed myself down after about a minute, then allowed myself to leave the safety of my trailer and come down to her. 

“Did you called that person and rescheduled?” 

I nodded and said, “Yes, right after I received your text, I emailed her that we’ll need to do the installation next Tuesday when I’m off.” The matter of discussion involved the installation of a 250-gallon propane tank for the trailer, so I can hopefully just need to fill the thing once a year, rather than every six or seven days with the two seven-gallon tanks that one of the kids or Nick has to install for me because they’re too heavy for me to hoist into the trailer’s cramp compartment. 

We went inside the house together. I went to my Amazon, Elsa to see how she was holding up. It’s the second time in her young life this had happened to her. Bobby was in the cage next to her when he died nearly two years ago. It had to be a bit traumatic for her to see Louie do the same thing and then to witness Emily’s reaction when she discovered her. 

She was on the top perch of the cage, so I knew the incident affected her to some degree, since she normally doesn’t go up that high. She came down for me and greeted me with “What’s ya doing?” She climbed up to my shoulder. 

I talked to her at her level, simple questions and affirming that she’s a pretty girl. We sat on my recliner and looked over my emails on my lap top. We hung out a few minutes until I needed to put her back inside her cage and closed the gate.  

On my way to the writers’ meeting, I imagined the spirit of Louie leaving her mortal remains behind, leaving the cage and flying to freedom, something she couldn’t do while living, stuck on her perch inside a house. Good bye Louie, Louie.