Maybe It Wasn't Davy Jones

June 2002

Sitting around my parents house on a lazy Sunday afternoon, we were talking about my brother John's graduation the day before. I was looking at his yearbook and mentioned how pictures can fool you. Everyone looks their best in these fuzzy glamour shots. We laughed about how stupid intelligent people could be.

John was telling stories about the people in his class. He told us about pulling a trick on a girl that sat in front of him. Whenever she left her seat he would take her chair and pass it down the row behind him. She would come back and it would be nowhere in sight. It was all friendly enough though-she invited him to her big after graduation BBQ.

He stayed for quite awhile and then when he was getting ready to leave, her father, holding a spatula told him, "when those other parties suck, this is the one you're gonna come back too".

The next day is when John told me about it. Reminiscing over the yearbook, John said, "I guess her dad was one of the Monkee's."
"What?" Which one?" asked my sister Natalie very interested.
"I don't know, I'm not a fan of the Monkee's."
"Was he short?"
"Was it Davy Jones?" I interjected.
"I don't know. I don't know who Davy Jones is."
"Was it Peter Tork?"
"Did he play guitar?"
"No, he had a spatula," responded John.
"Was he wearing a hat, was it Michael Nesmith?" I prodded.
"No, he was not wearing a hat, he had grey hair."
"Did he have blonde hair?"
Breathing in slowly in frustration at our game, John responded, "NO, he had grey hair."
"Oh."
I asked, "Have you ever seen the Monkee's TV show?"
"No."
"But this guy was one of the Monkee's?"
"Yeah, that's what I heard."
"Well then, do you think they will have another BBQ today?"
"I don't know why do you care?"
"Cause its one of the Monkee's," answered Natalie.
"One of my other friends dad's is having a BBQ," said John.

"Is he a Monkee?"
"No."
"Well do you think the Monkee will come to this other BBQ?" I rib.
John remains silent in irritation.
"Come on, think about it," Natalie prods, "Was it Mickey or Mike, Peter or Davy? What was his name? Was he shorter?"
"Was it Davy Jones?" I question with a tilt and a nodJohn retorts, "I don't know. maybe it wasn't Davy Jones, I just heard he was a Monkee."
Natalie shakes her head, "No way it was Davy Jones."
"If we threw a BBQ, do you think we could get the Monkee to come?" I asked.
"I don't know!"
"Well lets call your friend."

Natalie called but nobody was home. I guess the mystery of the Monkee and the BBQ will have to sit a little longer.

Cumorah: Poetry Saturday

CUMORAH

The mountains womb is gold, the valley's skin is blood.
A dark spirit whispert, bringing the ax and flood,
sending the wicked and righteous back to the mud.

Satan's on his throne, Record is in the ground.
I light the funeral pyres, until it's time be found,
forgotten but by the worms deep in the mound.

I was in the ruin, I was in the shield wall,
I was there to see father Mormon fall,
but none beside could catch him ere deaths call.

Let come the maelstrom, let come the rain,
wash away the memory o' this place once again.
This time perhaps not at all in vain.

Books And Stories Read This WeeK

Uncut Diamonds, by Karen Jones Gowen
This book was something out of my usual realm. I just don't read women's books in general because they say nothing to me about my life-but then maybe they really do. Much has been said on the web thus far about the time-frame the novel is set in, this means nothing. It doesn't matter because it has that universal feel for anyone living in America in the post World War 2 era. Whether its the 70's, 90's or today its easy enough to see how people can relate to the things mentioned inside, marriage struggles, money problems and family reuniting through hardship. So to me the time frame is just that, a frame-the human condition is the reality. I think what made me really take stock of the book (which did start a little slow for my taste) was the hammer making me think about things from my wife's perspective, as a writer its good to be well-rounded in my chosen medium-to go beyond my own preferred genre's and help myself to not be stiff-necked. Uncut Diamonds helped me think about these things whereas some other women writers couldn't let me see that. I did like the journal entries of the main characters grandmother that took place during the dust bowl and that will therefore make me want to seek out Karen's other book Farm Girl for the sake of continuing reading in her element.

Blackberry Witch, by Scott M. Roberts
Weird modern day magic story about a witch who dreams (and plots) of getting back the husband she lost and having a normal? son. She uses a new type of necromancy (new to me) of utilizing her mothers blood magic from a blackberry bush (her mother is blood magic within the bush) to gain power and steal the son of an opposing wizard. All in all it was a very new take on urban magic which I don't normally like per-se, but the mood Roberts sets kept me reading. In the finale I was especially intrigued with the process by which the opposing wizard sets things to rights-foot to foot-knee to knee-arm to arm-etc etc-some of you will know what I am talking about.

Dubliners, by James Joyce
I got this quite awhile ago and started reading it and made it through perhaps 3 or 4stories and quit. I just didn't care, I had no desire to spend my life studying Joyce's so I could understand the nuances of his turn of the century Irish life of which Dubliners is about. On account of a recent post at AMV about how writers should stop trying to ape The Dead, the last story in Dubliners, particularly the last paragraph I decided I would give it another go. While I would fully admit that Joyce has a great way with prose, I couldn't have cared less about any of the characters in general. Th. mentioned in the comments section in my post about 5 influencing novels that he didn't know what the Iliad had to say to us in our day and I almost feel the same way about Joyce. Yet I will admit that he does have something to say if you can get to it and it speaks to you as the Iliad does to me. I suppose its all just a matter of taste and what speaks to you. Though themes of all of these books are running together.

Betrayer of Trees, by Eric James Stone
Pretty good short story by local author Eric James Stone. I kept wanting it to go on a little longer and give me a little more background on this fantasy world of a exiled stone carver/tree-mage, tree magic and a nomadic warlord conqueror akin to Genghis Khan. I liked the twist at the end. Stone leaves a number of things in the tale open-ended for the reader to place in themselves and that was fine with me. While I am not a huge sci-fi fan, Stone's work on this tale will have me seeking out some of his other usual genre.

The Afghan Campaign, by Steven Pressfield
This was great, Pressfield is a master in the historical realm. Again in a similar
vein to Uncut Diamonds he has tapped into that feeling of timelessness-it doesn't matter that this tale was taking place 2,300 years ago, it could almost be something told by our guys on the ground in Afghanistan today. The humanity of Alexanders soldiers and ours is the same, tying things again back to my own book Heroes of the Fallen I just don't believe people are that different, we have different cultures and technology but the human dream is the same. We have the same fears, the same honor, the same vices, the same goodness as we have ever had and Pressfield has never disappointed in his well written portrayal of such. The Afghan Campaign follows the little brother of older vets from Alexanders army, Sidon, Tyre, Egypt and Persia have already fallen-Afghanistan lies between Alexander and India and thus conquering of the whole world. As much as I like heroics, this book is not driven by hyperbolic heroics beyond what you would expect from any normal person man or woman-some of the best characters in the novel are women. So I guess this weeks books were all about the human condition and I would say they all carried it off very well.

Renewing My Covenants or a Contest

After being chided for my sensitivity yesterday by a former SWAT/Danite team-mate, I must hereby repent and redeem myself. These are among my favorite manly movie quotes.

What is best in life?
To crush your enemies and see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of the women.

At my signal unleash hell.

Come and take them.

What kind of farmer are you?
I'm a lead-farmer %&$*!-&*!%$#.

Do you expect me to talk?
No, Mr. Bond I expect you to die.

I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

Know this Tartar woman, I take you for wife.

You shall not pass!

You have offended my family and you have offended the Shaolin temple.

We keep you alive to serve this ship. Row well and live.

Ok . . . first person to comment and tell me all the titles of these movies will win an autographed copy of my book-and I give that it may be a hard sell to get them all so then it will go to whomever gets the most right first, I'll leave it open a week or so.

Into The Arena

A part of me feels like I have thrown myself to the lions. I have forwarded Advanced Review Copies to about 10 people in hopes of getting some good back cover quotes or blurbs.
I say lions not because any of these people are snarky or mean in the slightest but because of my own writer insecurities-I'm feelin all bi-polar bear about it. On the one hand I honestly think I have written the best book in its genre ever period. And on the other hand I worry that no one is going to like it, that it's too weird, too violent, too different from what people expect and then swinging back around the other way that's exactly what I wanted to do isn't it? Yes of course it is. The book of frakkin Ace!

Earlier this year, I submitted a first chapter to a contest for the LDStorymakers contest. Dance the Ghost with Me a weird western starring Porter Rockwell and mysterious Indians from a far off land-lots of spirits whispering in his ear and also a cursed ancient tomb. I had the butterfly's then too. I was guessing that either I would win or I would be shot down hardcore. All the entries were to be judged by panels and critiqued so I knew I would have a number of people looking the yarn over and I wondered if they would universally pan it.

During lunch at the conference as they were preparing to announce the winners, they halted to do a skit mocking a last minute entry as if it was done by a certain vampire inducing writer. Lots of people laughed at the skit but I couldn't stand it, I wanted to know if I had won or lost, not laugh about the poor writing skills of a ridiculously popular author.

Finally they were done. And I won First Prize for general fiction-seems all the judges really liked my yarn about Porter except one and the strength of the others was enough to overpower them and give me the prize and more importantly the validation I wanted. I no longer worried if people would like my yarns-until today. Like I said bi-polar bear. I maybe ought to pull out that critique from months ago and refresh my brain that people like my yarns-there was some worthwhile encouragement in there, such as "with stuff like this you will be a published author".

That was nice to hear and of course not even a week later I got a phone call from WiDo publishing offering me not one, but two contracts for my submissions-Heroes of the Fallen and Blood of Our Fathers. So obviously they liked my stuff too. How many other writers out there get these bi-polar feelings about submitting? Heck I'm not even submitting to a publisher anymore-I'm asking other writers and professors what they think of my work, it's already been accepted it's just more of that weakness, that ridiculous sensitivity to my yarns. For me facing lions in the arena would be a much easier task.

Darby O'Gill and the Little People

On sheer principal I don't want to shill for Disney, but this movie is awesome. I first saw it in theaters when I was 5. And no I did not see the initial release,
back in the days before DVR's and even that most venerated of technological dinosaurs the VCR to see older movies again the theaters would re-release them again and again. I thought I was pretty cool seeing Star Wars 4 times.

I specifically remember going to see "Wizards" the bizarre Ralph Bakshi post-apocalyptic fantasy and "Darby O'Gill" in red satin covered theaters that smelt of burnt popcorn, the kind of place where your shoes made a tearing sound with every step because of how many other kids had spilled their pop. Pop is a regional dialect I think, that's what we said in Montana, my wife says Soda and that always sounds wrong to me like it's too formal or something I mean really who says Soda???

What I'm saying is Wizards and Darby O'Gill shaped some of my perceptions of fantasy as a kid. I saw them before I saw the Hobbit which in part may be why I thought it was so awesome, it took everything several levels higher. But I am gonna credit Darby O'Gill as one of my first steps for loving fantasy. Compelling characters that delight in fooling one another, believable villains which are a must in anything I consume and that magic of wonder in taking you to another place, you have got to have the wonder.

Ironically despite my age this was also my first exposure to my favorite actor Sean Connery. This was his second starring film I believe and I became a fan of his Bond movies when I was a little older-they are the only ones even halfway close to the books. But back on track, Darby O'Gill is one of those movies I had to buy a copy of to keep and watch every now and again. How I view Banshee's is forever ingrained into me from Darby, not even counting Leprechauns that's a given.

The other thing I liked a lot was the phrase "Put the come hither on you" a spell of sorts in which the Leprechauns could theoretically hypnotize a person to follow them to their doom. I always liked it so much that in my wilder days it came into my speech when talking to my friends about attractive girls as in "She put the come hither on you did she?" or just to annoy a girl who had the misfortune of being named such hollering "Katy! Katy!" but like Darby so it would sound phonetically like "KATEEEEE! KATEEEEEE!" If you have not seen the movie treat yourself and then you'll get my sick jokes.

Poetry Saturday: I Met A Savage

I am going to start a new series of posts that I will try to do every saturnday that I will the give the lyrical title of Poetry Saturday too. First up,

I Met A Savage

I met a savage
and his name was Ray
He is a Lamanite
a Navajo of night
From the four corners
when his mother is gone he will mourn her
Says the Mormons are people good
though he doesn't always do as he should
He likes to gamble and he likes to drink
the guys at work don't like him, say he doesn't think
But I believe it is because
there is something in that noble savage or was
That calls back to another time
when the land was his and not yours or mine
But then didn't they too take
from those that also forsake
To be nearer the earth
is as when man was birthed
And as such Christ said
be like a child or be alive but dead