After many months and a lot of misfires my newest release has finally reached completion. I have to say that a remake of an original could not be that much work, but it is. Lottery has been revised and improved, and is even more affordable.
Mark Driscoll is somewhat of a loner. A hard worker but is not really satisfied with the directions his life has taken. However, he is willing to leave things as they are and do the best he can. He has a small circle of friends and has adjusted well to life in a small town. That is, until he finds out that he has won a massive jackpot in the lottery.
Suddenly his life heads in a whole new direction, and the last thing he wants is publicity. He devises a plan--a game--to cash in his ticket while attracting the least amount of attention. Unfortunately there are others who want to cash in on his fortune and are willing to use the same clandestine methods to get what they want. Murder and coverup follow Driscoll as he finds himself at odds with his friends and the law.
Like his military service in Indo-China, he wonders who his enemy really is and it takes him on a journey that might easily cost him his own life. His wits, experience and just plain luck help to identify his opponents and reset his future.
Lottery was a labor of love for me. It began when a couple of locals in my hometown won significant jackpots in the local lottery, and what happened to them afterwards. A friend of mine and I were sitting on his deck one hot summer night discussing how we would keep it a secret if we were to luck out. I didn't realize it would take on a life of its own. When I got home I began to assemble a plot and a loose story that quickly ate up a legal pad and several cups of coffee.
I was on my way.
Eventually Lottery was a reality. It had great reviews and modest success but readers wanted something more so I came out with a more refined version which I submit to the public today. Happy reading.
Sunday, 21 July 2019
Friday, 28 June 2019
FAMILY REUNION
I never get tired of sharing my stories, both here, and in full-sized novels. I have several projects in the works and hope to have more of them available in the near future. However, I wanted to direct your attention to my newest addition.
My second book, FAMILY REUNION, has been released. If you're inclined to mystery-thrillers with a hint of a ghost story included, then this could be for you.
RC's wife and daughter left to attend the annual family reunion in the old hometown. They never returned and no one seems to know what happened. RC eventually exhausts all of his resources and tries to settle down to get on with his life. He becomes somewhat of a recluse and cuts all ties with his family. But that image of his wife and daughter continues to burn into his subconscience and never lets go. Ten years has gone by, and many family reunions have come and gone. As he looks again at that precious photo, he makes a decision to attend the reunion for one last time, not knowing that the road ahead will take him to places he has never been to.
Available through Amazon.
My second book, FAMILY REUNION, has been released. If you're inclined to mystery-thrillers with a hint of a ghost story included, then this could be for you.
RC's wife and daughter left to attend the annual family reunion in the old hometown. They never returned and no one seems to know what happened. RC eventually exhausts all of his resources and tries to settle down to get on with his life. He becomes somewhat of a recluse and cuts all ties with his family. But that image of his wife and daughter continues to burn into his subconscience and never lets go. Ten years has gone by, and many family reunions have come and gone. As he looks again at that precious photo, he makes a decision to attend the reunion for one last time, not knowing that the road ahead will take him to places he has never been to.
Available through Amazon.
Friday, 19 April 2019
SOLOIST
One Sunday morning, JC was getting himself ready for the day, he was looking into the mirror and finishing up his shave when he heard the most sickening, ear-splitting screech coming from across the house. It was a cross between nails grated on a chalkboard and someone dragging a bastard file across the edge of a piece of glass. Whatever it was, even the razor suddenly seem like it had cracked.
He didn't hear Mattie shriek so he first thought that everything must either be under control, but then, Mattie could also have become incapacitated, or worse. He decided that it would be a good idea to check it out, just in case, so he slipped on a pair of blue jeans and headed out to see what went wrong. Possibilities bombarded him as he strode through the bedroom. A really humorous one went through his mind as he opened the door.
He looked out into the kitchen to see Mattie busy at the counter churning up fruit and assorted juices together in the blender to make some breakfast smoothies. "Oh, that's what it was," JC said, a smile playing about his lips. "For a moment I thought Cousin Jackie had dropped in for a visit and was practicing her solo for church this morning."
Mattie cast him an annoyed glance but couldn't help but snicker at the derogatory comment. In a way, JC wasn't that far off. His cousin at one time had been a very talented singer. Aunt Edith had discovered Jackie's singing ability back many years ago when she was still in grammar school, so she signed her up for singing lessons. Jackie had since performed in numerous community stage productions and had actually attempted a career as a professional. But years of raising kids, yelling at said kids, and yelling at her husband had taken their toll. Her voice, once so clear that it would all but shatter a glass, had gone long past its 'Best Before' date.
JC had made numerous jokes about it. He first compared Jackie's singing voice to a car that wouldn't start, then an older starter that was in need of a rebuild. Then he talked about the typical soloist tuning in for a song, where the accompanying pianist would strike a note, then the singer would sing the same note. JC would mimmick the note and then mimmick the grinding sound of the Osterizer blender. Every family reunion, those in attendance had to endure Jackie singing her heart out. Of course, JC and several adolescent cousins all grimaced and cupped their hands over their ears.
The trouble was: Jackie still thought she was as good as she ever was. One could blame her mother for that. Aunt Edith was always giving her those sickening compliments, praising her to death and assuring her that she was better than ever. Of course, JC had to add that shortly after uttering those compliments, Aunt Edith probably plugged her hearing aids back in; she had to be deaf as a post.
There was a time when JC's father had stopped in at Uncle Norman and Aunt Edith's condo for a visit. Jackie was there at the time and she was practicing her singing, with Aunt Edith accompanying on the piano. JC's dad and Uncle Norman were engaged in deep conversation, talking alternately about ranching and politics, both of which dealt with offing some idiot politicians. The family cat was dozing on a pillow at the end of the couch. Everything was relatively peaceful.
Then it happened. Jackie opened her taps right up and shot out a shriek that was so shrill that it broke some of the glass panels in the Seattle Space Needle a couple thousand miles away. JC was sure that the traffic signal on the street below suddenly went to a flashing red, forcing all the cars all to resort to alternating with a Vroom--screech, vroom--screech, as they attempted to proceed through the intersection. Everyone's ears went fuzzy and their eyesight was permanently blurred. The cat, once having a peaceful snooze, suddenly sprang straight up in the air, then bolted down the hardwood floor of the hallway, tried to make a ninety-degree turn at the end of the hallway, and in doing so encountered a loose scatter rug, which shot out from underneath him, causing the cat and the rug to have a major wreck against the closet doors at the end of the hall. The cat got itself back on its feet and charged under the bed turning around to peek out at what disaster had suddenly hit the household.
Jackie suddenly stopped singing then turned to glare at her dad and uncle who were killing themselves laughing. Of course, she thought they were laughing at her. If the truth be known, she might have been correct at that assumption. But they were also laughing at the cat, and those two tiny lights staring at them from under the bed.
It's really too bad that parts of the body go south before everything else does. Jackie loved to sing and perform; it was unfortunate that her voice was broken long before the rest of her. I'm sure that someday, when she makes that journey into the great beyond, like Jim Reeves' Brother Eyer, she'll be reunited with her once beautiful singing voice, and be able to entertain thousands, looking forward to some beautiful sounds. And she will no longer have to deal with the likes of JC and his band of merry men (and women) grimacing and acting like it was the worst sound since neutering a cat, the old-fashioned way...
He didn't hear Mattie shriek so he first thought that everything must either be under control, but then, Mattie could also have become incapacitated, or worse. He decided that it would be a good idea to check it out, just in case, so he slipped on a pair of blue jeans and headed out to see what went wrong. Possibilities bombarded him as he strode through the bedroom. A really humorous one went through his mind as he opened the door.
He looked out into the kitchen to see Mattie busy at the counter churning up fruit and assorted juices together in the blender to make some breakfast smoothies. "Oh, that's what it was," JC said, a smile playing about his lips. "For a moment I thought Cousin Jackie had dropped in for a visit and was practicing her solo for church this morning."
Mattie cast him an annoyed glance but couldn't help but snicker at the derogatory comment. In a way, JC wasn't that far off. His cousin at one time had been a very talented singer. Aunt Edith had discovered Jackie's singing ability back many years ago when she was still in grammar school, so she signed her up for singing lessons. Jackie had since performed in numerous community stage productions and had actually attempted a career as a professional. But years of raising kids, yelling at said kids, and yelling at her husband had taken their toll. Her voice, once so clear that it would all but shatter a glass, had gone long past its 'Best Before' date.
JC had made numerous jokes about it. He first compared Jackie's singing voice to a car that wouldn't start, then an older starter that was in need of a rebuild. Then he talked about the typical soloist tuning in for a song, where the accompanying pianist would strike a note, then the singer would sing the same note. JC would mimmick the note and then mimmick the grinding sound of the Osterizer blender. Every family reunion, those in attendance had to endure Jackie singing her heart out. Of course, JC and several adolescent cousins all grimaced and cupped their hands over their ears.
The trouble was: Jackie still thought she was as good as she ever was. One could blame her mother for that. Aunt Edith was always giving her those sickening compliments, praising her to death and assuring her that she was better than ever. Of course, JC had to add that shortly after uttering those compliments, Aunt Edith probably plugged her hearing aids back in; she had to be deaf as a post.
There was a time when JC's father had stopped in at Uncle Norman and Aunt Edith's condo for a visit. Jackie was there at the time and she was practicing her singing, with Aunt Edith accompanying on the piano. JC's dad and Uncle Norman were engaged in deep conversation, talking alternately about ranching and politics, both of which dealt with offing some idiot politicians. The family cat was dozing on a pillow at the end of the couch. Everything was relatively peaceful.
Then it happened. Jackie opened her taps right up and shot out a shriek that was so shrill that it broke some of the glass panels in the Seattle Space Needle a couple thousand miles away. JC was sure that the traffic signal on the street below suddenly went to a flashing red, forcing all the cars all to resort to alternating with a Vroom--screech, vroom--screech, as they attempted to proceed through the intersection. Everyone's ears went fuzzy and their eyesight was permanently blurred. The cat, once having a peaceful snooze, suddenly sprang straight up in the air, then bolted down the hardwood floor of the hallway, tried to make a ninety-degree turn at the end of the hallway, and in doing so encountered a loose scatter rug, which shot out from underneath him, causing the cat and the rug to have a major wreck against the closet doors at the end of the hall. The cat got itself back on its feet and charged under the bed turning around to peek out at what disaster had suddenly hit the household.
Jackie suddenly stopped singing then turned to glare at her dad and uncle who were killing themselves laughing. Of course, she thought they were laughing at her. If the truth be known, she might have been correct at that assumption. But they were also laughing at the cat, and those two tiny lights staring at them from under the bed.
It's really too bad that parts of the body go south before everything else does. Jackie loved to sing and perform; it was unfortunate that her voice was broken long before the rest of her. I'm sure that someday, when she makes that journey into the great beyond, like Jim Reeves' Brother Eyer, she'll be reunited with her once beautiful singing voice, and be able to entertain thousands, looking forward to some beautiful sounds. And she will no longer have to deal with the likes of JC and his band of merry men (and women) grimacing and acting like it was the worst sound since neutering a cat, the old-fashioned way...
Tuesday, 26 February 2019
DOING THE TON
My father always wondered what it would be like to travel at 100 miles per hour. When quizzed about that in his later years, he never could zero it down to when that idea popped into his head. It might have been after watching a newsreel covering the latest Indy 500 at the local theater or just seeing a modern speed demon flash past the family conveyance while out for a Sunday drive.
Dad was born in 1925 and was seven years old by the time Ford released its spectacular new V8 in 1932. In fact, Dad's oldest brother bought one of those marvels, and since he and his family still lived at home, Dad had almost complete access to that new beauty. The sleek lines and that powerful engine were like a fix from a powerful drug. Well, Dad was also fascinated by the electric cigarette lighter and couldn't seem to leave that alone either. During the early thirties, the stories of John Dillinger, and Bonnie And Clyde got the adrenaline pumping, especially about the high speed chases with police so just maybe that's where Dad thought it would be fun to drive that fast.
Grandpa was an extremely busy man and needed reliable transportation. Consequently, he bought a new car every year. He'd put roughly 25,000 miles on one in a year then it was time for another. He seemed to gravitate toward Fords, mostly because they had an uncanny ability to stay together on those gravel and dirt roads. He tried other makes but always came back. There was one independent brand that kept breaking something in the front end. Grandpa took it back in time and time again to get it welded up. The salesman was an aggressive type that declared: "We know what to do this time and if it breaks again, I'll eat it." I believe Dad said it was less than a week later when Grandpa drove up and asked the salesman if he would like a little salt on it. It seems to me that during that time Grandpa did try a Chevy, which was said to attain that ghastly speed of 70 mph. The neighbor had one of those and even claimed to have achieved that speed, except that he conveniently left out the part about the engine blowing up 20 mph ago.
So Grandpa stuck it out with Fords. In the spring of 1941, Grandpa drove home his latest beauty, a Super Deluxe 4-door sedan, complete with that flathead V8 that some people claimed could attain 100 mph right out of the box. Of course, Dad was all over and under that shiny new chariot. He heard something about more horsepower and got to wondering if this would be the car that would break that almost unattainable ton. It went without saying that Dad had recently turned 16 and, for only a dollar, received his driver's license shortly after.
It was interesting in those days. If you wanted to drive and had reached the age of 16, all you had to do was show proof of age, then hand over a dollar. They filled out a form then handed you a temporary license which would be replaced within a month or so. I doubt if a person even needed an eye exam back then. Of course, I would imagine that if a person came into the office brandishing a white cane, and having to use it to navigate his way to the wicket, the officials might question his actual driving capabilities.
Dad's best friend, Alan, was almost as daring as Dad was. At least he was close behind. He seemed to be able to get into almost as much trouble as Dad did so maybe he was up to the task when Dad told him that Grandpa's new car could reach 100 mph. He just had to be there for that monumental achievement.
The highway west of the city was described by many as 'The Old Goat Trail.' For many years it was a two-lane blacktop, sans shoulders, and almost sans full-width lanes. A lot of people who worked in the city lived outside and commuted every day. It was actually quite comical to watch them all lineup and drive to work with the line getting longer and seemingly slower the more cars joined in. Until the war ended it was only paved for the first and last ten miles along the 27 mile stretch from Lethbridge to Fort Macleod. But there were a couple of straight stretches: once you crested the hill west of the city the road ran fairly straight for about three miles past the communities of Coalhurst and Kipp, then the road bent more toward the west and there was a straight stretch that ran for another four miles.
One warm evening in the late spring, Dad managed to obtain permission to take the car over to Alan's place where he would pick Alan up and go for a drive. There might have been something about attending a movie over on the north side, which was quite a hike, even in a small city with a population of only 11,000 back then.
A little bit of trivia for that time period: Lethbridge was a main location for a POW camp, and when it was at full capacity (around 1944) it had 15,000 prisoners.
Like he promised, Dad drove over to Alan's place. After Alan was in and the door secured, the two boys made their way up 12th Street, left at 6th Avenue then over to 1st Street which would connect with the Old Goat Trail. The new flathead V8 was purring away as they drove under the railroad viaduct that spanned the river. They continued down into the river bottom where they crossed the bridge before the road made its way up the other side, past the Number Eight Coal Mine where it swung north and then west toward Coalhurst.
Well, the highway was virtually deserted. As far as the eye could see, the only lights were from the buildings in Coalhurst and Kipp, a mile further. Dad carefully checked around him and pressed the accelerator to the floor.
Sixty-five was no problem. It didn't even seem to take long to reach 75; maybe a little longer to reach 80. They passed Coalhurst on their right as the speedometer crossed 85.
Things started to happen rather quickly now. Dad decided that he'd best keep his eyes on the road while Alan slid over to watch the speedometer more closely.
They passed Kipp with the speedometer approaching 90. The car started to shake and twitch but it seemed like it still had some left to give. Alan watched the needle as it passed 90. He began to call the numbers out, having to shout them over the wind noise from outside.
"Ninety-four, Ninety-five!" Alan shouted excitedly. "Ninety-six!" They could hear the roar of the engine and the whine of the rear end, even over the roar of the wind.
"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine!" The adrenaline was really pumping by now. The car felt as if it would fly away at any second. Alan continued to watch the speedo but that needle didn't seem to budge. It even acted like it was slowing down.
The curve to the west was coming up fast. Just before the curve was a slight dip. The '41 Ford Super Deluxe flew down that highway as if every law enforcement officer was in hot pursuit. Dad kept his now sweaty hands on the steering wheel; his knuckles so white they rivaled the moon in the sky. "Come on!" Dad shouted.
'Ninety-nine!" Alan shouted again. "Come on, come on!" both boys shouted.
"One-hundred!" Alan finally exclaimed. Actually,
Dad took his foot off the gas and allowed the car to coast. They were probably still going past 80 when they entered the curve to the west but that newly christened family race car had no problem whatsoever.
Well, they pulled into Monarch, where they treated themselves to a soda at the local gas station. When Dad told the story, years later, he even hinted that they had to stop to use the facilities as well.
Unofficially Dad drove a car at 100 miles per hour. It was a story that he did his best to keep a lid on, lest he lose all driving privileges for an extended period of time.
That '41 Ford ended up being the family chariot for the duration of the war. In February of 1942 civilian car production ended as the factories converted to war production. Dad was mildly surprised that the engine in Grandpa's car held together remarkably well for all those years, considering that high-speed run when the paint on the engine was still curing. Uncle Woody, who had actually started a Plymouth-Chrysler dealership in 1942 finally managed to have new vehicles to sell in the fall of '45 and Grandpa took delivery of his first Chrysler product, a Chrysler Windsor in 1946. It would be nice to know what happened to that '41 Ford but it no doubt went from one family to another until it was used up like so many others.
I might add that Dad never wanted to drive that fast again...
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