NADIA Picture Tour, Stop 2

The early morning sun had not yet cleared the ridge behind the cabin, but light was
beginning to shine down into the valley, gently waking the Shenandoah River. The water
sighed as it flowed over deadfalls and rocks along the shore, and an occasional ripple
betrayed the fish beneath the surface.

Nadia sat on the edge of the wooden dock watching the sun come up. Her toes came just
short of reaching the murky river. She could see the light growing brighter with each passing
minute, and watched the mist float above the water, like a curtain waiting to be drawn,
caressing her lightly as it passed with the river. Birds struck up their songs in the trees,
awakening the morning. Behind her, a faint rustle in the undergrowth told her that a rabbit or
some other small animal was beginning its busy day. She sat and thought of nothing. Or, at
least, she tried to think of nothing.

In reality her mind raced, trying to understand what was going on around her. She felt
caught up in something malevolent, something that threatened not only her, but anyone
around her. She had no sooner met Jon Daniels than the two were running for their very
lives. To find that her mind was not her own was a confirmation that something was
seriously wrong with her. Finding out that she wasn't even human was a shock she wasn't
sure she could handle.

* * * *

You've seen the picture behind the story. Now read the story behind the picture.

In this chapter of Becoming NADIA, our intrepid Miss Velasquez sits on a small pier overlooking the Shenandoah and ponders her predicament.

To find this pier, I had to combine some luck with a little local knowledge. I was in Front Royal, enjoying a trout and a delicious Old Mill Ale at the Mill Cafe (okay, it's free promo. If you're in Front Royal, eat there. You will NOT regret it). At the next table, a couple was eating across from a young man in his med-thirties or so, who was waiting for his fiancee to join them. A minute or so after I received my meal, who should come up the stairs to the tavern portion but a young lady who could be no other than the aforementioned fiancee, accompanied by the cutest little seven-year-old girl, who just so happened to be best friends with the lady. Now, does this kind of relationship ring a bell for anyone?

So, anyway, I overheard the child talking about how she loved reading. I couldn't resist joining the conversation, and it turns out Abby is a voracious reader and a brilliant little lady of superior intelligence. Not only that, her birthday was a scarce month away. By now, she's eight. Happy Birthday, Abby!

So okay, I couldn't resist. I hauled out a copy of Becoming NADIA and signed it for Abby, and then presented it to her as an early birthday gift. You'd have thought I was some kind of rock star. Thank you for making my evening, Abby. So then the subject of course went to the reasons I was in Front Royal, Virginia, all the way from Michigan. And Jim (the young man affianced to the lady Abby came in with) gave me some ideas of places to look for suitable shots overlooking the mighty Shenandoah River.

Following his directions, I found quite a few great places for photos, more to come later. But this one stood out. The other piers were already pulled in for the season, but this one just kind of called to me as I wandered along a small road on the north bank of the Shenando'. It's a beautiful river, and a gorgeous part of our great country. Oh, and somewhere on Facebook (I think) is a picture of me an Miss Abby with her birthday present. And I hope she enjoys it immensely.

Happy Birthday again, young lady. May your future be ever brighter.

NADIA Picture Tour: Stop 1 (The picture of the story, and the story of the picture)

Hearing: “Nadia? Nadia, I need you to open your eyes for me, please.” The gentle male
voice sounded alien to her ears, as if from a great distance. Who's Nadia?

Comprehension: She understood someone was talking to someone named...Nadia.

Sensation: A gentle touch registered on her arm as the voice spoke again. “Nadia? Open
your eyes, dear.”

Identity: She was Nadia. There was something in her mind, a nagging feeling that it
wasn't right, couldn't be right. But the man insisted. “Open your eyes, Nadia.”

Awareness.

 Nadia complied, though with some effort. The lids were stiff, unresponsive at first. She
had to think about moving them, and finally she forced them open. After a few more
experimental blinks, a small but intense white light pierced into her eyes...

---Becoming NADIA, Chapter One

Ah, welcome, fellow castaways on the third rock from the sun, adrift through the darkness of space. Starting this week, I'm going to take you on a journey through my Thriller series The NADIA Project. We'll go in roughly chronological order, but only loosely. The idea is to show you, up close and personal, the locations of certain scenes in my series.

The idea came to me when I was offered a chance to see the area firsthand as part of my day job, and I am pleased to say I found all the locations I needed, to give you, my readers and fans, an awesome visual of the story arc.

Now, mainly, the pictures are all centered around the Washington, DC area, because that's where most of the stories take place. Of course, the stories actually spread out all over the world, from Oregon to Nevada to Tahiti and the Czech Republic.

So these posts are going to comprise two parts: The picture of the story, and the story of the picture.

This first "picture of the story" is Dr. Petr Hamund, bringing his creation to life in her first moments as the light shines in.

The "story of the picture" is simple: It was an accident.

I was taking pictures of data tags on equipment I was in the process of testing for certification, and my thumb accidentally slid across the little button on the screen of my phone that flips the camera from forward-facing to rear-facing, and then snapped its own little picture.

I was going to delete it, but then I noticed the awesome pattern of the glare spots, and it jumped out at me that I was unwittingly one of my own characters.

So enjoy.

Next up, we take another trip.

How to have a successful Signing Event

Greetings, Fellow Castaways!

I can only apologize for having been absent this past couple of months. Life stuff jumps up and gets in the way, and to tell the truth, my old enemy Depression crept in too, for a while. But these are truly no excuses. I once again apologize for being absent, and ask for your forgiveness.

I have been blessed and honored to be received at several events recently for signing events, enough for me to have a grasp on what makes a successful event. This is for my writer buds, and also for any bookworm who walks into a Barnes & Noble and sees the author table right by the front door to the store with the hopeful face seated behind it.

I do claim some authority on the subject, having seen with my own eyes as well as discussing techniques and results with store managers.

So, for readers, here it is: Writing is mind-wringing, hard work, and that author at the table is really putting themselves out there for their craft. So please do us a solid. Approach that table and at least look at the product. That does a whole lot of good for the self-image of person behind the table, and you may find your next brain-treasure! And that's the simple, one-step reader's method of a successful book signing.


Now, you writers, listen up:

1.) Show up. You're coming to work. Dress like it. Business casual works well. Look like you're educated and professional. Bring promotional material as well. There are exceptions, I'll grant you. If you're at a Farmer's Market or Flea Market, jeans would be okay. But they need to have no holes, and you should be in a button-down shirt or golf shirt in any case. I have signs from Vista Print, yard-sale sized, with my book covers on them, and a collapsible easel from Staples. Cost for a sign and easel, less than fifty dollars. The store might provide you with a table and the books, but you need something to draw attention to yourself besides that little dinky table-top sign the store provides. Bring business cards, bookmarks, and any other swag you want to give away. More on give-aways later.

2.) Sink into your persona. Look, I know most writers are an introverted, shy lot. It comes with the territory of the way our brains work. Almost every single writer I know or have ever met, struggles with social situations. So we need to have barriers in place to be able to interact with the public at large, and at a signing event, baby, you are at large and in charge. So you have a couple of "safeties" to use, to provide a degree of separation between you and .....(gasp) people (gasp) ..... First is your Author persona. Whether you use a pen name or your own name, your "Author" persona is the face you want your fans to see. The Author is out-going, friendly, and engaged. If this is not you normally, then you get to pretend you're someone else for a while. Make your Author self a character. You did it for people who don't even exist. Just extend the same thing to someone who does, at least to the public eye. Use that character. BE that character. You can do it.

3.) Use your other barrier. The other barrier is the table. You're on  one side, your fans are on the other side. Don't make that silly snorting sound and tell me you don't have fans. YOU. HAVE. FANS. People are reading your book, and if they aren't yet, they will be. If you do everything I'm laying out here, you will have made at least one fan before the end of your event. I promise you this. But you need to act like everyone in the store id your fan, whether they know it yet or not. But that table is there to keep you safe, too. It's a symbolic barrier, but it helps to keep you from panicking and running out, if you're of that sort of mind. It gives you room to be the Author, just like a stage gives an actor room to be the Character. It's your stage. Use it like one.

4.) Speaking of give-aways, don't give books. Might as well get that out of the way. You're there to sell books, not give them away.  Post a give-away, and people won't buy your book, but they'll sure as all get out sign up for your give-away. Because people like stuff that's free, and they'll pick free over something they have to pay for, every single time.If you're going to have a contest, make sure it isn't for the book you're currently promoting. Give away your swag bags. Give away bookmarks. Give away little stones with your name on them. Give away your car, for crying out loud. But don't give away your book.

5.) You're at work. Be at work. I've spoken with store managers who say most of their guest authors sit at the table writing, or texting, or Facebooking, or reading. If you do that stuff at your day job, you get fired. Do that at a signing event, and your fans "fire" you by not even approaching the table. Remember what you're there for. Writing is a business, and you need to treat it that way. By all means, have fun. But don't lose track of where you are, and what you're doing. You are there to sell books. You are there as a merchant, as a vendor, as a representative of your art, your craft. You didn't pour all that blood, sweat and tears into your book to let it languish on the shelves and servers of your vendors. You have an awesome gift to give the world, and here is where you have a chance to let the world know how they can come and live in your world for a little while. So, back straight, hands on the table, head up, eyes forward (except unless advancing on to the next step). You're there. BE there.

6.) Engage your fans. This is the next step after "Be at work." People are going to be walking around, browsing other shelves, other tables, doing "customer stuff." Be ready to talk to them. This is the hard part for me. But it's easy once I've assumed my Persona, parked at the table, and set myself for work. The first time is the hardest. Believe it or not, it's good to have some words ready. Have some different things to say, depending on the situation.

Watch people as they pass by. LOOK at them. When they look back, say hello and ask how they're doing. Probably one in four of them will come to the table and ask about your book. Greet EVERYONE who walks by within normal bookstore-voice range. Make sure they know you're there. Most folks aren't even aware of anything around them until they're well past your table. Saying hello is being polite.Asking about their well-being invites a response. In any case, and most importantly, invite a response.

When folks pick up a book at the next table, tell them, "I have your next read right here." Make sure you smile when you say that. Yes, it sounds pushy. But they are looking for a read, and you have one right there. Might as well call a Diamond a Diamond, right?

7.) Be ready for conversation. Luckily enough, folks that want to talk, will want to talk about your writing. And that, my friend, is what you're always ready to talk about. You were excited enough to write the book. Be excited about people getting excited about reading it.

I say, "Be ready," because you're going to get them all. The ones who end up buying, the ones who don't buy but you wish them well anyway, the ones who just want to talk with an author, and the ones who you really don't want to talk to. You know the type. The faux intellectuals who throw ten-thousand dollar words around for the express purpose of impressing you with their vocabulary. Just smile and nod, let them get it off their chest, and eventually they'll move on.

8.) Have fun with it. I know this is Point 8, but it should be noted that this is your Number One Priority. Seriously. If people see you having fun with the event, they will want to have fun with you. Smile a bunch, be energetic, and have fun. Did I mention "Have Fun?" Make it fun, and they will come. And don't worry about numbers. Don't stress about how many you sell, or don't sell. I have it on good authority that most local authors sell six to ten copies at a two-hour signing. I usually do ten to fifteen sales per event.

9.)Check in with the manager before you leave. Build a relationship with the manager and staff, and you won't go wrong. They'll be glad to have you back.

10.) Send the store manager a thank-you email. This is just common courtesy. Within one week after your event, send that email, and mean it. Tell them what an awesome time you had, and leave room for a future return.

There you have it, folks. There are a lot of folks who spout "the rules" and such, and not all of them know a hoot of what they're talking. But I'm telling you, if you follow these ten steps, you'll not only have a great time at your signing, you'll make sales as well as fans, and fans are a writer's best friends.

And we could all use some more friends, right?

Heroes! Part 2

Greetings, fellow castaways.

This week, let's look at more heroes, examining the Hero Type.

I've said before that heroes are no more than ordinary people, placed in extraordinary circumstances, that simply decide that those circumstances are not going to be the end of them.

But I've come to know that defining "Hero" is a whole lot more complicated than that. I've seen heroes who are born to the role. When I see a two-year-old place himself between his sister and danger, there's more to that "hero" thing than ordinary people. I don't know of too many toddlers who would face down who he sees as a giant wielding a knife against his sister, even if I was only showing her that a knife means "owie," and to stay away from owies.

We see heroes in our warriors, who wouldn't normally do what we're asking them to do, in that they volunteer to be subjected to unimaginable fear and violence, to place themselves between evil and the innocent.

We see them in police and firefighters, who go to work every day with no guarantee they'll make it home for supper that night.

But heroes aren't always those action stars of our world. We also see heroes in those who take stands politically or socially. Little old ladies who sit on buses. People who challenge the norms of our very society, who make us rethink our own paradigms. Teachers who inspire greatness in their students. My high school physiology teacher remains to this day one of my greatest heroes, because he not only made complex systems simple to understand, but he excited us all with the minute workings of the human body. My junior high school speech teacher was 4-foot-6, but she drove us to tackle ogres and giants of stage fright and performance fears.

I write about heroes who charge through flames, fight the bad guys, storm the mountain fortress, rescue the princess, and even heroes who cook fabulous dinners, research the answer, pull cures for diseases out of their hats, and lead investigations. But these are only a small portion of the true heroes of our world.

I believe, now that I think of it, that a better definition of "hero" is "One who inspires greatness in others, through thought or through deed." That opens up a whole lot of room for heroes.

Who's yours?

Heroes! Part 1

Greetings, fellow Castaways.

First off, if you haven't signed up to follow the blog, feel free to join up! I'll try not to bore you too much.

This week, the concept for discussion is one that comes up once in a while when a reader asks me about my series, and that is the question of what makes a hero. It's a good question, because, after all, every good story has a hero, and they come in all shapes and sizes, from J.R.R. Tolkien's Hobbits to Jonathan Swift's Gulliver, to Robert A. Heinlein's Friday, to the Brave Little Toaster and the Beaudelaire Orphans.

So let's look at how we define the term, with a few examples, and why we see them as heroes, from the strictly obvious point of view of the kid who should have paid more attention in English Class. If anyone of you have any Creative Writing background in College or what have you, feel free to jump into the discussion (plenty of room for comments at the end).

The first and most obvious Hero Type is the Warrior.

 

Here we have a classic example. St. George, our knight in shining armor, rides in to rescue the virgin from the horrible, fire-breathing dragon. Today, our warriors are still seen as heroes, and rightly so.

These photo shows another take on the warrior image of heroism. Though no less heroes than the previous example, these men's faces show the horrible cost incurred on the title. They were Marines on Iwo Jima, one of the bloodiest and hard-fought battles of World War II. But even among this type, there are several sub-types of Hero, from those who signed up willingly, to the draftee just trying to stay alive long enough to get back home. But the significance of the title of Hero is not diminished by circumstances.

I've said once that Heroes are not born as extraordinary people; rather they are ordinary people thrown into extraordinary circumstances, just doing what needs to be done. And I could still say that, to an extent, that holds true.

I was fifteen years old, a member of my local Sheriff's cadet post. The court pulled some strings to get me in, even though I was technically too young. It seems the judge thought I just needed something to keep me busy, something more constructive than the "hobbies" that had me standing in front of him. So take it from me, I was no hero at fifteen. But my story continues:

Part of my involvement was a 40-hour First Aid course that was the most thorough training I'd ever seen, and that included my instructor training in Battlefield Aid in the Air Force (I was my squadron's instructor for three years, but that's a different story).

I was at a family party with my father and brother, standing in the back yard of one of Dad's friends, when a crash and scream came from the house. Out the back door came the young son of the host, running and screaming, holding one arm out in front of him. That arm was a shredded wreck of flesh streaming blood across his lawn (he'd put it through a plate glass window, with predictable results). That first aid training kicked in automatically, and I grabbed him. I was terrified when I saw the damage to his arm, but the part of me that knew what to do overrode the fear. I dragged him back into the house, grabbed a wet dish rag, and clamped it onto the worst of the gashes. Then I raised his arm and with my other hand, I found the artery feeding his arm, pressing it against his bone to shut off the blood flow to the arm.

I saw Mike again several years later, and he showed me the scars. They were worse than I ever imagined. But he thanked me for saving his life. At the time, I swear, that was not on my mind. I was just doing what needed to be done.

That kind of instinct defines the warrior type. They are essentially people of action. And I call it an instinct, even though training is a critical part of the response as well. My younger son is a hero, and I can see it in the way he runs to the crisis.

He was eight years old when the local Homecoming Festival closed at the end of the weekend (they still have the festival, by the way. It wasn't closing, like for good), the owner of the local alligator sanctuary was packing his inventory away for the trip back to the shop. Among the "little friends" Dave had brought with him was a five-foot American Alligator, who was a huge hit with the kids. No, he didn't take anyone's arm off, in fact he was quite docile the whole weekend. Until closing time, when Dave and his assistant tried to stuff that 'gator into a military-style duffle bag for transport.

That 'gator swung his tail around on Dave's assistant's bare back with a smack!  that I swear was heard around the world. The welt rose immediately, like he'd just taken a flogging from a foot-wide bullwhip. My boy, that eight-year-old wonder, ran ten steps to that table before I could stop him, and Dave barely had time to get one hand loose and wave him off with a panicked "NO!!!"

Shannon just can't help it. Someone screams, and he runs to the trouble. I hope he never joins the military, because he's going to find his way to the hottest part of whatever trouble is going on, and that would make a nervous dad. Yes, he's first aid trained. I can feel good with that. But he has a hero's instinct, even from the first days he could walk.

The Warrior heroes in my series are Jon Daniels and Jenna Paine. I count Jenna, because even though she's technically not a "good guy," she still counts a s hero of the Warrior Type, in that she's a person of radical action, from instinct and training.

I think I'm going to continue this discussion in future posts, because to be honest, we're getting into other territory that will take more space than just a quick blog read.

But the Warrior Hero Type is the One Who Comes To The Rescue. Whee-ha.

Talk to you next week when we take on the next type. I may even have a term for him/her.

Jenna Lives

Greetings and welcome, to all who have seen and wonder what those words mean. Consider yourselves at home, and welcome. Drag up a comfy chair while I explain. And for those already familiar with Jenna and her exploits, this is (almost) a spoiler.

Jenna Lives.

It's a good thing for Jenna, and a bad thing for anyone who's ever been on her bad side. And to let you in on a secret: She's not done yet.

When we first met her, Jenna was a promising young physical therapist, companion and rehab aide to Nadia Velasquez. So what went wrong? I mean, besides being embroiled in a deadly secret that could mean the death of millions of people. Well, oh-so-awesome readers, the answers are in my first, EPIC-Award-winning novel, Becoming NADIA (Click on the picture to see more):

"Whoa there," you say. "What do you mean, Jenna's one of the bad guys? She's such a nice person, so sweet and kind, and"

...oh, forget it. She damn near killed Jon, and at the end of this one, she totally destroys---

*wags finger* Ah, ah, ah. You almost made me tell.

Okay, she's one of the bad guys.  But she's really not a bad person. Or is she? In my second novel, Unalive, Jenna comes head to head with the agenda behind her bosses' stated goals, and learns a secret about herself as well that could mean the difference between life or death. In the process, she manages to not destroy Las Vegas or half the Eastern Seaboard as she puts two and two together in a way doesn't quite add up to five.

"Okay," you ask, "so she's really not one of the bad guys?"

Well, no, not really.

"Then she's a good guy?"

Well, no, not really. As a matter of fact, by now, you're either going to love Jenna or hate her. And we're just getting started. I mean, if you were betrayed like she was, you'd be royally pissed, right? And where vengeance is concerned, "good" and "bad" are off the table. the only thing that matters is simple, final and bloody retribution. This time, all the stops are pulled, no measure is spared, and Jenna is willing to give everything including her own life to make sure The Pinnacle never again pose a threat to her or anyone under her protection. She just might, at that.

"So," you ask, "How does one get started in the awesome, ass-kicking, super-agent business, anyway?"

Sherman, set the Way-Back Machine about twenty years before the events in Becoming NADIA. Let's check in on Jenna when she was just a little...girl? Okay, let's call a spade a spade. To some, she's a girl. To others, she's nothing more than Project 14-257. What's the price for a life? What's the price for peace? When it's measured in blood, is there still room to turn around and walk out? Not according to some. Check out this one, folks:

So now you've been introduced. It's my hope that Jenna becomes as real to you as she's become to me, that she finds a place in your heart and mind, and that truly:

Want a sticker of your own? Email me at cyrus dot keith at yahoo dot com and ask. We'll get one to you. If you feel like buying my books, I certainly won't stand in your way. My work is available at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and a good dozen or so other retailers.

Thank you for stopping by. I look forward to hearing from you.

D-Day: A Rememberance.

Good morning, fellow Castaways.

I promise I won't do this too often, but it is something that needs to be said today. Today is the 71st anniversary of the D-Day Invasions, and to me is a day of introspection and remembrance because of the significance in so many ways of the operation.

It was the largest amphibious invasion in history. More than 5,000 ships landed 156,000 soldiers on the beaches, beginning at 6:30AM. 24,000 men were inserted just after midnight, dropped by parachute or landed using assault gliders. So as I write this, the echoes of one of the largest struggles of man against man still ring through endless time. Of that number, 4,414 were confirmed dead by the end of the day, with more than three time that missing or wounded. German casualties were over 1,000 killed, and over 3,000 civilians lost their lives as well.


It was the beginning of the end of the Third Reich , the initiation of the liberation of Europe from Adolf Hitler's Nazi regime. The landings took place in June of 1944. By the end of August of 1944, France was once again a free republic. Germany fell by May of 1945. The United States, Britain, Canada, and Free France joined together to make it all happen beginning on that very day 71 years ago.

In no way should we glorify war. The beaches were a meat grinder of cataclysmic proportions as men fought and died by the thousand. Forget the "good guys, bad guys" thinking. Just leave it behind. On one side, we have the Allied forces and their desire to remove Hitler from Europe. On the other side, we have German men and boys who were defending a threat to their homeland. It was a perfect picture of Hell itself, and no man or woman should have to go through it again, ever.

But as long as evil exists in this world, we will have men and women who will stand up with their very last breath and say, "No, you will not conquer. No, you will not enslave. No, you will not oppress." We as  free people must remain ready to stand between evil and the innocent, to protect with our lives the liberties given us by our Creator, and ensured by good and strong leaders.

We have to remember the horrible cost paid by those who came before, as an example for us to follow: not to die, but to fight with our very lives for freedom.

You wonder why I look with such disdain at our Big Brother culture, why I value personal liberty so highly? I look no further than my own father in law, who went ashore at the Anzio Beachhead in Italy, in the Third Wave.

The liberty they fought and shed blood for was the level little understood by many people today, who see nothing wrong with laying down their freedom for security. Folks wonder why we crotchety old farts shy away from "the new order" of things.  Today is a prime example why.

God Bless the USA.

You're Doing It Wrong!

The following story is entirely made up. Nothing actually happened. The point is the point, and that, my friends, is the point.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was practicing piano one day when a guest strolled into the parlor. He listened to Mozart roll through scales and arpeggios for a couple minutes, and then ten seconds after the master began playing his latest piece, the stranger cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, sir, you're doing it wrong."

Mozart stopped, hands frozen above the keyboard. "I'm sorry?"

"You're doing it wrong, sir. Your left hand is playing all these weird notes on the bottom of the keyboard, and your right hand is way to high. There's too much distance between them."

"Is that right?" said Mozart. "Can you tell me how you knew this?"

A smug grin spread across the intruder's face as he continued to explain that he'd read a book once about how to play piano, and though he hated piano music, he knew all he needed to about how to play piano. "And," he concluded, "that is why I know you're doing it wrong."

"So you've never taken any lessons?" asked the master.

"No, I despise the sound of a piano, myself."

"But you've read a book about piano music?"

"Yes, sir." The grin disappeared, replaced by a wimpish pout. "In addition, if you really want people to enjoy your music, you're just going to have to play on a more elementary level. All these fancy notes and runs and things just make less talented people feel bad that they can't keep up with you. We have to make it fair for others. You're just not inclusive enough." And with that, he produced a pair of handcuffs and slapped them across Mozart's wrists.

Mozart stared at his hands. Who was this man anyway? He hated piano music, but he had the gall to come into Mozart's own study and tell him how to play. Mozart reflected back on his years as a musician, learning the mechanics of sound, chord structure, music theory, all the hours and years he'd spent perfecting his craft, living his love for music out loud in every piece he wrote. And to top it off, he restricted the master's ability to play the way he best knew how!

 But, as he looked again at his hands, Mozart decided to take on this challenge, to defy this upstart and prove him wrong once and for all. He started to play again, and true to form, he worked around the restraints placed on his ability. Even though he couldn't spread his hands to play the full length of the keyboard, he used the range he had to play a beautiful, sad concerto in G minor.

He no sooner played the last notes when once again the stranger stepped in. Hauling a wire cutter from his pocket, he then proceeded to snip and remove every third string from the sound board of the baby grand. As he cut and pulled, he said through gritted teeth, "You're doing it wrong. You can't play those notes again. I'm afraid we'll have to step in and make sure you play the right way."

"What's with this 'we'," asked Mozart in frustration. "Do you have a mouse in your pocket? I don't see a 'we' anywhere in here!"

The intruder wheeled and waved his handful of wires under Mozart's nose. "We are those who know best, Mr. Mizzart. We have to show you, you don't have a monopoly on the right way to play music." Tossing the collection of strings into a corner wastebasket, he added. "We've arranged for you to take oboe lessons, by the way. If you don't understand other instruments, you'll never be a musician worthy of performing."

Then he walked out.




We spend way too much time telling others that we know better than they do about how to live their lives, how to conduct their faith, how to run their businesses, how to raise their children, even how to write their own stories, that we have no idea how much a hypocrite we're proving ourselves.

My bible tells me every man (and woman) must work out their own salvation between them and God. Yes, there are certain things that are laid out as basic. As a Christian, I profess faith in Jesus Christ as my God and Savior. Jews have their own faith system, Muslims their own. Even atheists have a faith system, though getting one to admit it is like pulling teeth.

So why is it that people who have no faith spend so much time lecturing people of faith how they need to conduct that faith? So you're going to tell me who I can worship, how I'm supposed to worship Him, what worship standards are acceptable to YOU? I don't go into a Baptist church and start prophesying in tongues. I don't march into a synagogue and demand everyone bend their knee to Jesus. Don't tell me you've read a bible and then tell me what Christianity is, when you have no concept of the Spirit of God working miracle after miracle in your life, when you have no appreciation or idea of the life that I find in these words and promises from a Being beyond  all our comprehension.

And then I see people screaming at each other on Facebook these hate-filled, ignorant memes, heaving vitriol at each other across the aisle.

Whatever happened to civil discourse?

Maybe it's just me, but our world has grown less kind in the last thirty or so years. What do we do to fix it?

I'm open to suggestions.

Man Up!

Greetings, fellow castaways on the distant shores of the mind. This week, I want to take a look at a lost art, a form our modern culture has told you is "old-fashioned," "out of style," "archaic," or out of line with this modern, "enlightened" culture. It's art of being a man. More specifically, a gentleman.

Gentlemen are labeled these days a male chauvinists. Groups like Promise Keepers are dragged through mud, nit-picked to death, bullied and scorned. The going image is one of knuckle-dragging brutes, dominating and overlording their spouses and children, perpetuating male domination to the detriment of everyone else.

Well, I've been to a Promise Keepers function, and I can tell you it's nothing like that. In fact, it's exactly the opposite. It's a holding accountable of every man to a high standard of conduct honoring and cherishing his partner and children. Paul's letter to Ephesus lays it down in no uncertain terms: Ephesians 5:25 says this: "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her." Loving my wife in  that context means laying down my entire life to protect and honor her. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Being a gentleman is NOT outdated. It's more important than ever that every man learn what it means to be a man. Androgyny may be the fashion, but it's not conducive to a functional society. There are rules for courtesy for a reason. They keep a society from falling apart and devouring itself like a suicidal cannibal. And if there is going to be a United States, or any other country, left in fifty years, we need to reestablish rules of courtesy by which we can get along. And we all need to get along.  Look at Facebook if you don't believe me.

Change has to start somewhere, folks. It can be a little thing in the beginning, and it can grow. So, to quote Michael Jackson, I'm starting with the Man in the Mirror. That means I'm defining to myself what it means to be a gentleman. I'll let you see why in a moment.

1.) A gentleman knows when to hold his tongue. That means clamping my mouth shut rather than respond to the latest hate-post from Bernie Sanders. As much as I growl and seethe, Sometimes I just have to clench and look away. Especially if saying something would be the same thing as throwing a diamond to a gorilla. Some people will not be convinced, no matter what I say or how many times I repeat it. So I'm just going to shut up and walk on. Some fights just are not worth the headache and backlash you're going to generate by jumping in. If everyone on Facebook would just shut the hell up one extra time per day, the internet will be a safer and more civil place by at least 1%.


2.) A gentleman honors and protects a woman's dignity. Period. Not that a woman can't defend her own honor.  It's a respect thing.  And while we're talking respect, how about I respect other men as well? Everyone is worthy of honor and respect, until they prove themselves to be otherwise. That means no name-calling, period. Terms like "stupid," "wacko," "nut-job," and "clown" will not cross my lips, as much as I want to launch out.

3.) A gentleman won't take the first punch, unless his life or safety is in direct jeopardy. If he does have to take that punch, he makes it count. A gentleman is not a wimp. He knows when to walk away, which is always. If he's cornered, he takes every option necessary to win his way out of it, for his own safety and anyone else with him. He fights to get out of the situation, and knows rules of engagement are out the window when lives are on the line. He will always place himself between evil and the innocent.

4.) A gentleman places others before himself. He lays his own life down for the sake of his wife and children. He provides for them, protects them, and makes himself accountable to them.

5.) A gentleman allows room for disagreement without condemnation. He does not judge people on what they do or don't believe, on their appearance including skin color, or on their actions. He allows room for the Ultimate Judge to render judgment. He does not compromise his own beliefs or faith, but he does not appoint himself as the Last Prophet, standing on the hilltop and pointing fingers. Because he himself is no better a person than anyone else.

The bottom line is this: I'm talking to that man in the mirror. I'm holding him accountable to a higher standard of behavior, one that makes peace with those with whom he deals, on all fronts. It might mean he has to be a little less opinionated, a little more restrained. But if I'm going to make this Civility thing work, I have to start somewhere.

Who's with me? 

I Yam What I Yam

I'm tired, folks.

I'm tired of being labeled. I'm tired of trolls coming out of the woodwork to level accusation against people they don't know from Adam, whom they have never met and about whom they know nothing, aside from a single statement with which they disagree, and so they heap derision and vitriol instead of bringing value to create a civil discourse.

So here's the deal, folks:

1.) I am an American, and I refuse to apologize for it.

The United States went from a ragged collection of subservient colonies, to the world's greatest superpower, in less than 200 years. No, I'm not proud of the way certain people groups were treated throughout our history. Remember, I was around when they were using fire-hoses and German Shepherds against people for just being black. But I didn't wield those hoses, nor release those dogs, and I refuse to be held accountable for it. Nor do I have any ancestors who forced the Algonquin to march the Trail of Tears. I live in a village who has been at peace with our tribe for nearly 200 years. So don't even go there, bucko.

This country is exceptional: First to mass manufacture. First in Flight. First to the Moon. First to harness the Atom. This nation leads the world in cleaning our air and water, preserving our natural resources. We feed the world. We played major parts in settling two world wars. The last thing I need is to hear our own president (or anyone else) trying to tear down the great accomplishments of our citizens, our entrepreneurs, our inventors, our doctors and heroes of all trades. Americans have done great things for the world. Yes, wonderful things happened in other countries as well. But America is exceptional for an abundance of reasons, and I will debate anyone who thinks otherwise.

2.) I am a man, and I refuse to apologize for it.

I'm not just a male of the species Homo Sapiens. I'm a man, which means more. I believe in keeping my word to the best of my ability. I don't haggle; make me your offer, and make it a good one. Don't waste my time. And don't even think you can dishonor my family or friends with impunity. I love my family, and I lay my life down to provide for and protect them. I believe in a man's right to take care of his own problems within the bounds of the law, and I believe in a law structure that allows a man the freedom to do so, as necessary to address the situation.

Now, if someone differs with me on those platforms, you're free to do so. Yay you. But if you come after me in a way that attacks me as a person, or pours vitriol into a conversation without making a sound point, I will call you on it. I'll stay civil, but I'm going to start calling trolls out for who they are.

Now, let's actually have some discussions.