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Coffee for WriMos: Day 28
Imagination fills the gaps.
Sometimes I struggle because I want to be right. When writing history, it's easy to slip up and include an object not yet invented or miss a social cue that today would be non-existent but back then ever so important.
The temptation is to research while writing. Yet that interrupts the flow of the underlying story. In the beginning I wrote a single flash fiction based on a historical event. It lead me to wonder…why? Then…what if?
Writing flash fiction and reading more about the event was complementary. It allowed me to find the story among the facts.
Once I felt the story had a hold of my imagination, I was ready to draft long prose. Yet, that temptation to be right, to be accurate, frequently grabs me. And when I go to look up a fact or better understand a place, I find that the story dwindles.
My discipline has been to use my imagination to write what I don't know. My strategy is to go back and create a research list for revision. The importance is the story and getting it down. Once a writer has material, then revision is possible and research is refined.
This is why I like NaNoWriMo as a tool for drafting. My imagination gets a full 30 days of play. There is no right or wrong way to do it. It's just pure writing. And that leads to discovery beyond any research.
Thought for the Day:
"The work is the work itself. If she writes a lot, that's good. If she revises a lot, that's even better. She should not only write about what she knows but about what she doesn't know. It extends the imagination." ~Toni Morrison
Word Count: 2,900
Excerpt From Rock Creek:
The voices in the hallway drew closer and two men emerged. One was as tall as Hickok but broad as a bull ox. His dark brown hair was thick and she recognized those intense brown eyes. It was Cob McCanles. He wore a linen scarf of black and white around his neck and his billowing white shirt was as bright as fresh snow. His dark brown leather vest was snug as were his close-fitting trousers that were the color of buckskin, but made of that material Sarah called linsey-woolsey. The other man was shorter and rounder like a barrel in a gray suit. His pudgy cheeks were hidden behind a mass of graying facial whiskers and the top of his head was bald and gleaning.
"Mr. Waddel, Mr. McCandles," Horace greeted.
"Hello, Cob," said Nancy Jane.
If Cob was surprised to see her, he didn't reveal it. He merely nodded at her.
"Cob," said the man Horace had called Mr. Waddel.
"Kin name for David Colbert," said Cob.
"Ah. So, this miss is your kin?"
"No she is not. A neighbor."
"I see."
"I'm a friend of Horace." Nancy Jane felt that the office was too small for her and these three men.
The round man turned to Horace who was starting to blush once again. "Oh, she's your friend, Mr. Wellman."
Horace sputtered. Nothing he said was coherent.
Nancy Jane wasn't sure what to do, now. "I'm going to go over to the boarding house where Joe Baker is staying with his wife. I'm bunking with him."
"You know Joe Baker, too? Another employee."
"And Jim Hickok and Dock Brinks. Most of your freighters. The ones that head into Colorado, that is."
"Just how do you know all these men? I'm not sure Mr. Majors would approve." Mr. Waddel looked like that pastor that once told her Pa they were headed to hell.
"Nancy Jane Holmes was a cook at Rock Creek station before Mr. McCandles bought it. Her father has long settled in the Territory and he's done carpentry jobs for us. Joseph Holmes." At last Horace found his tongue.
"Holmes, yes, seems I recall hearing that name."
Cob looked at Nancy Jane. "Carpentry? He didn't build those hovels I tore down and rebuilt did he?"
Nancy Jane wouldn't have called them hovels, but she did know that Cob's work was stouter and more square. "No, fixing spokes mostly."
"A wheelwright then."
Nancy Jane shrugged. "He once had a carpentry shop in St. Jo. Used to make fine lady's boxes."
"In St. Jo, Missouri! Yes, Joseph Holmes. I remember now. My goodness, I think I bought one of those boxes you speak of. Heavens, I thought his family all died when the typhoid fever swept the place." Mr. Waddel's face softened.
"Me and my brother survived. Pa moved us west. Thought it would be healthier."
"What's your brother up to these days? I'm always looking for men who know the territory. Does he hunt, scout?"
"I do, Sir." Maybe she could get a job, just like she kept telling Sarah. These men be damned.
They all laughed like she told a great joke. Even Horace, although halfheartedly. "I hunt near every day and know the lay of the land. I can outrace most your outriders including Dock Brink who they say is your best. I can load and shoot a Hawkins rifle with great accuracy and I ain't' afraid of the wide open spaces like most easterners."
Cob stopped laughing. "Lass, you'd be called a mountain girl back home and expected to be self-sufficient. You aren't any different from the women I know. And none of them work a man's job."
Nancy Jane stuck out her chin. "What of Sarah? She keeps books. That's a man's job."
Cob folded his arms. "Yes, she does keep books. Once for her Da and now for me. Sarah's kin. No man outside of kin would hire her to keep books."
"Mr. Waddel, would you hire Sarah Shull to keep books?"
Mr. Waddel raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I would not hire away the book keeper of a man whom I have business dealings."
Nancy Jane wondered what business dealings he could have with the company. "What if she wanted a job?"
"The company does not hire women."
Nancy Jane balled her fists at her sides. "Fools!"
"Nancy Jane, that is enough." Horace looked appalled, Mr. Waddel shocked and Cob laughed with mirth.
Cob said, "What do you do, Nancy Jane? I could hire you."
Mr. Waddel shook his head. "Are you upon hard times Miss Holmes?"
"No Sir. I'm self-sufficient as a mountain girl."
Cob grinned.
Horace said, "Mr. Waddel. Nancy Jane lost her husband to the border troubles, her brother too. And this past summer her young child died of sickness. Her father is immobilized with his grieving."
Nancy Jane couldn't believe Horace would spill out her troubles that were no one's concerns but hers. She set him straight. "He weren't my husband."
Cob said, "And an honest lass."
Mr. Waddel looked stern. "So you do sleep with men. Is that why my freighters stop by your place?"
"No Sir. They know I hunt and stop by my place for venison and to ask what I might have seen out in the open country. Might say I inform your scouts. Only Horace…"
"Nancy Jane!" Horace flushed his reddest.
Good. Let him suffer.
Mr. Waddel turned to Horace. "Is she you're common-law wife?"
Horace hesitated. Nancy Jane didn't know what he meant. "What's that?"
"It's a man who has taken a woman out on the frontier. He's then responsible for protecting her. Watching out for her. Otherwise the woman would just be a common strumpet."
"Yes, Mr. Waddel. Nancy Jane Holmes is my common-law wife." He then looked down at his desk.
"Good, then. You'll see to it that you take care of Mrs. Wellman. David, or perhaps, Cob, it's a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to the improvements you'll be making to the station to prepare it as a stage stop."
The two men left with Nancy Jane staring at Horace. "Mrs. Wellman? So your wife is here in town?"
"You. He was referring to you as Mrs. Wellman. My common-law wife. And no. My wife is back in Ohio with family. She hates the frontier, and I'm not all that fond of the pressures of Ohio. I feel freer out west."
Later, when Nancy Jane went to visit Joe Baker to explain her turn of events, she found Joe looking woeful. His wife it seems was not happy to have a house on the prairie unless it was a fine house. She spoke endlessly of Denver and what the ladies were wearing. She yelled at her daughters to be quiet and soon took each girl by the arm and drug them off to bed.
"Maybe Cob could help you build a fine home."
The two stepped out so Joe could smoke his pipe. Nancy Jane took a few puffs. Hickok saw them when he stepped out of the saloon for fresh air. "Why so long in the face friends?"
Nancy Jane explained that Joe's wife wasn't happy to be homesteading after all, and that she was somehow Horace's common law wife.
Hickok chuckled. "You? A squaw wife?"
"I'm no Pawnee!"
"True. You could probably out ride one. Well, let's toast to our futures." Hickok pulled out a whiskey flask and they each took a pull.
November 26: Flash Fiction Challenge
The trouble with having one's children spread out across the nation at Thanksgiving time is that they are all contacting me for recipes. Of course, the day before Thanksgiving is actually the one that requires the cooking muscle.
It started last night with brining the bird in Reisling, honey, Kosher salt and a mass of herbs, including juniper berries. Today I've baked two pumpkin pies, made a fresh batch of cranberry sauce with honey and apples from my tree, simmered giblets and garlic to make stock for tomorrow's gravy, roasted butternut squash for the wild rice and deviled the eggs.
That leaves roasting the turkey tomorrow while we munch on veggies and eggs. While the turkey sets I'll mash the Idaho potatoes, whip up the gravy, heat the side dishes and set out the cranberries. Pour the wine, eat and pause until pumpkin pie will fit in the belly.
I'll miss not having my children around the table, but we welcome new friends tomorrow and will swap photos with the kids to share our meals across the distance. The Runner is roasting a game hen, the Radio Geek is fixing pork steaks with blueberry bbq sauce and the Rock Climber is tending bar for elk hunters. An interesting mix to share.
The obvious would be to post a prompt on food or holiday feasts. But sometimes the obvious doesn't spark creativity. So I was giving some thought to what makes our minds leap and often times it is putting together two dissonant ideas. It's more intriguing to see where something like holiday feasts and prison bars leads our thoughts.
November 26, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story using two objects, people or ideas that don't go together. Anything random like wine and gasoline; the Archangel Michael and Marilyn Monroe; granny and rehab; horses and church bells. Then write a story about your two dissonant picks. Use your two objects as the title.
Respond by December 2 to be included in the weekly compilation. Rules are here.
Guns and Apples by Charli Mills
The sweet smell of rotting apples wafted across the meadow on west slanting rays of sunshine. It was late afternoon and time to start dinner. Ramona shifted her prone position in tall grass to ease the pain of old arthritic knees. The VA had more paperwork for her to file before they'd pay out widow's benefits. The last can of pinto beans was simmering on the stove back at the house. Something had to give, and soon.
A breaking twig snapped. Dry leaves crumpled. The buck had come to eat apples. She steadied her dead husband's rifle for provision.
Coffee for WriMos: Day 24
Trust your sense of taste.
Cooking a book is a lot like kitchen cooking. We have recipes from the masters like Chef of the Day and Author of the Year, but learn to trust your own taste.
It's nearing my favorite feast of the year and I'm pecking away at the keyboard so I can go get sloshed with my bird. Over the years, I've followed recipes, experimented with techniques and have come upon a formula for the best Mills Family Thanksgiving Turkey. We affectionately call it the "drunken turkey."
After writing, I'll pop a cork on a cheap bottle of Riesling and I'll brine my 18 pound bird in wine, Kosher salt, honey, juniper berries, caraway seeds, mustard seeds and peppercorns. I've taste-tested many recipes and this one is the best.
I look forward to the day that I feel as confident with writing novels, that day when I can learn to trust my own sense of taste and break away from recipes and perfect my favorite. I want to achieve those same looks with readers as my family gives me at the dinner table. Ah, the ultimate goal.
Thought for Day 25:
"Don't try to comprehend with your mind. Your minds are very limited. Use your intuition."
~Madeleine L'Engle
Word Count: 1,537
Excerpt From Rock Creek:
"Is your mama dead?" Cling snuggled closer to Mary.
"I don't rightly know. She was sold when I was but a boy not much older than you." Cato shrugged, bouncing Lizzie who cast a rare smile.
"Sold?" Monroe folded his arms across his chest.
"Slaves are sold like horses or mules," said Celia, as if explaining how to plant corn seed with pole beans.
James added, "According to the Dred Scott case, the Supreme Court has declared that slaves are indeed property and subject to their owners regardless of the owner visiting a free or slave state."
Monroe looked at his grandparents and then at the man holding his sister. He flung out his arm, pointing, "This is not a mule. He's a man."
"I belong to the O'Bannon family," said Cato.
"But you aren't a mule. Do you want to be owned?"
"I can't talk about such things. It's not how things is in Virginia."
"Mama, this in not Virginia. Can't we help Cato stay here?"
James walked over and laid a gentle hand on Monroe's shoulder. "Monroe, North Carolina and Tennessee are both slave states, too."
"But there's no slaves in the mountains!"
"There's a few plantations down in the valley at the edge of Watauga county. They have slaves. You're right. We have no slaves here in the mountains."
"We grow our own farms up here," said Emily.
"Monroe, this is why our nation is squabbling, even our neighbors because the free states don't want the slave states to expand their territories west. Some even want to abolish slavery all together."
"Why don't we?"
"Large plantations are created on an economy that requires slave labor. This is why those of us who believe in an intact union also believe in creating a fair economy. While slavery is something that needs to be addressed, so do the economic gains of all men in this nation. Not just the industrialists of the north."
"What do the industrialists want," asked Monroe.
"They want us to buy everything they make in their factories," said Emily.
"Why? We make what we need."
"Exactly. The common man needs to have a voice in economics," said James.
Monroe looked at Cato. "Slaves need to have a voice, too."
"I understand how you feel Monroe. It's your Scots blood rising. The call of freedom. But freedom always comes at a cost. This is why a nation stands together for the good of its people. Otherwise its no better than serving a crown."
"Let's give him some gold coins so he can escape to a free state then." Monroe looked at his grandfather, hopeful.
"Oh, no, young Master Monroe. I can't run away." Cato's eyes grew wide.
Celia added, "If he was found with gold coins he'd have a difficult time explaining how he got them. And if he was captured, he could be severely punished."
Mary realized that Monroe was developing Cob's scowl. "Is Nebraska Territory a slave state," he asked, practicing that scowl.
"No, it is not. Although that's part of the dispute between states."
Monroe kicked at a pebble in the yard. "Then I'm glad to be going to a free state."
Later, James took the boys fishing and the women settled into making supper. Mary was denied even the most minimal of tasks in her pregnant condition so she sat in a rocker on the porch feeling useless. Cato had chopped some wood and returned to the porch where he was rocking Lizzie and telling her what a pretty girl she was.
"No one has said that of my Lizzie."
Cato smiled wide. "Why she's a pretty soul through and through."
The longer Cato stayed with them the more Mary felt like Monroe. She had never thought much about slavery. It was a rich folks problem. If they could find a way to hide Cato and get him all the way out to Nebraska she would do it. Then she considered the obvious condition of Cato's skin. He was so black he'd stand out. That thought made her even angrier. The slavers must have figured that one out long ago.
The skin color was so different that it made other folks superstitious. Silly prejudices that people developed out of fear so they wouldn't involve themselves. Even Lizzie with her discernible differences made most people nervous. Being different scared folks. Look at what silly gooses they all acted like when Cato showed up. But what was even worse is how the black skin color stood out, making it difficult to hide.
This Nebraska Territory was sounding better all the time. She didn't get into the politics of men, but now she had a better understanding of the economies men fought over. To Mary it seemed like the rich in the south were fighting with the rich in the north. They might go to war, but it would be people like her brothers and nephews who would fight it. Wasn't this nation supposed to be different from that? Yes, she was beginning to better understand this desire to go west for a fresh start.
Celia stepped out on the porch and said, "Supper soon. Cato, would you fetch James and the boys?"
Mary watched Cato walk toward the creek, chatting away to Lizzie as if she were grown. "I hope the slaves are freed if it comes to war."
Celia shook her head. "I wish it were that simple. They will be like a lot of lost children if set free. They'll not know how to make their way in this world and they'll be at the mercy of evil men for a long time I fear."
Mary sighed. Nothing was easy and this coming war was only going to make things harder for good folks. She said a prayer for Cato at bedtime, for Cob and for her family. "Lord spare us from the evil in this world."
Tales of Toilets
Tales of toilets are truly stories of luxury, one we often take for granted. This week, writers plunged into the prompt and crafted 99-word stories around basic sanitation.
From dunnies to stalls, writers were flush with ideas and piddled around with dogs, antics, bullying, broken bones, potty training, pregnancy, hiding, culture shock and even the continuing saga of two water molecules.
Without a second flush, let's go the November 19, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes the toilet.
The Outhouse and the Bullfrog by Susan Zutautas
Quick Tommy, come on over here and hide behind this tree with us. You got to see what's going to happen when Miss Smith goes into the outhouse.
What did you do Joey?
You'll see, just wait, she should come runnin outta there about now.
Just as he said now, the boys heard a scream, and sure enough out she came running with her bloomers wrapped around her ankles.
The boys all watched and giggled as Miss Smith made a mad dash into the schoolhouse.
Tommy saw the biggest bullfrog vacating the outhouse and knew what Joey had done.
Toilet Sanctuary by Norah Colvin
"Miss. Marnie's locked herself in the toilet and won't come out."
"What now?" I thought, scanning the troubled face pleading for assistance as much as to be absolved of blame.
"Okay," I reassured Jasmine. "Let's go see what's up."
As we hurried to the toilet block Jasmine reiterated her innocence, she hadn't done anything, she didn't know what was wrong (it wasn't her fault).
"I know," I smiled. The toilet cubicles had frequently been Marnie's sanctuary. But not for weeks. Jasmine's kind-hearted friendship had seen to that.
"She's got her unicorn again," Jasmine whispered.
"Oh," I said.
Waterlogged by Pete
Mason was lapping up the water from his favorite commode when they arrived. He came up for air, tilting his head as toilet water dripped from his jowls.
He slid to a stop just before he ran out of hardwood. Aunt Janice stood scowling so Mason ducked under the table, finding Alice, who was always ready to scratch an ear.Detecting some cracker remnants, he nosed closer, unable to help himself from dragging his tongue up her cheek to check.
"Mason, no!" Someone yelled, but Alice laughed.
"It's okay, they say a dog's mouth is cleaner than a humans."
Potty Training by Ruchira Khanna
Paula was running around her 15-month-old son while keeping a keen eye on his actions. Then suddenly, while playing, her toddler, paused, scratched his head as if confused. Showed some discomfort, and bent his knees while popping out his buttocks, while giving out an annoyed sound.
That noise was enough to alert her.
She immediately picked him up and rushed towards the bathroom. Then pulled down his training pants and put him on the throne.
"Phew! Potty training is difficult and a laborious job" she murmured while singing him a lullaby to keep him stationed on the pot.
Preliminary Flush by Larry LaForge
Ozzie and Izzie give each other the nod. They know the drill.
These two water molecules have pledged to maintain their hydrogen bond through thick and thin. They're in the toilet — literally — but have a plan to escape unscathed.
A sudden movement from above alerts them. Exactly as planned, Ozzie and Izzie immediately begin rocking back and forth in unison. The patron takes the bait, instinctively hitting the flush lever after seeing a disconcerting water ripple in the bowl.
Ozzie and Izzie high-five each other as they joyfully exit through the plumbing.
They made it out before the storm!
The 100-word version of this story is posted at larrylaforge100words on Flash Fiction Magazine.
Toilet Break by Geoff Le Pard
Mary hesitated before opening the email. Dare she look? She'd had enough shocks already. She regretted rising to Rupert's jibes. Her bloody half-brother.
'Mandy Johns is your mum, right? Well she's also my mum's cousin.'
He told Mary. 'She died of eclampsia hours after you were born.'
He showed her a photo; Angela and Mandy were almost identical.
'There's more,' he'd said but she'd thought, 'Sod you, I'll not rely on you anymore.'
It had taken her weeks. She scanned the email.
….our records show in 1967 Amanda Johns gave birth to twin girls….
Mary ran for the toilet.
Toilet Flash by Irene Waters
"Don't wait." June said, already entering the toilet block. Overcome by the stench of ammonia she gagged as she engaged the latch. The opener broke in her hand. There was no way out. She waited. The reek of stale urine was nauseating so, balancing on the toilet, she propelled herself, legs straddling the stall's dividing wall. She hesitated. The odour's source was now visible. She slid down the wall, feet flailing trying to find the toilet. Her feet slipped on the wet seat, entering the bowl with a sickening crack. No escape, she waited for rescue and an ambulance.
Finding Relief by Charli Mills
Becky fidgeted. Twice, Mrs. Hart turned from the chalkboard, glaring her into stillness. At recess, Becky bound to the porch, grabbed her coat and pushed past Tommy. A foot of snow covered the ground with a packed trail leading behind the schoolhouse. Becky ran, her leather boots slipping.
"Becky!" It was Tessa calling from behind. Becky motioned her friend to follow. Both girls reached the outhouse, pulling the wooden door shut behind them, fumbling with skirts, petticoats and knickers to finally sit in relief.
Stepping outside the boys had spelled their names in the snow. It was not fair.
Cornered by Sarah Brentyn
She ran out of ink.
The damn ballpoint pen actually went dry before she could finish scratching out all the limericks with her name and the offers with her cell phone number. She hurled the Bic into the toilet, and picked up her backpack.
Her breath caught as she heard the girls' room door open, laughter trickling in. It was the pack, cackling like hyenas. The same girls who wrote filth in the bathroom stalls.
"Did you see the look on her face? Priceless!"
"I know! What. A. Loser."
"Be right back—gotta go pee."
The door opened.
Culture Shock by Anne Goodwin
We'd travel through the sky to live with Appa. There'd be snow, not only on the mountain tops, and people's wealth would make them smile. "Is it today, Amma?" I asked each morning as we squatted on the riverbank. "Is it today?"
There was no snow, no mountains even. The English – white-skinned as if dusted with talcum powder – scowled. And there was nowhere to go.
Appa showed me a porcelain throne in a tiny room. I dared not squat on that hollow seat lest I fall through. I followed the dog to the garden. The neighbours screamed, "Filthy Wog!"
Brian Gets a Surprise by Tally Pendragon
"I was just washing my hands. I looked in the mirror, and everything had gone black. Then there was this sequence of images. Lots of ladies … one after another. From different times … thousands of years ago, up to … I was holding onto the sink, the water was running. It started splashing me and there was the woman … from last night … your past life … Lily-Anna. She was on her boat that went to the wrong place. And the seawater was splashing me. I let go of the sink at that point and it all went back to normal again."
Give a hoot where you poop and support UNICEF's efforts to bring dignity and security to toilets around the world.
Coffee for WriMos: Day 24
Your story is both unique and part of something greater.
It's snowing tonight and I can't help but compare stories to snowflakes. Each storm is new, fresh. No matter how many stories go out each one is a fresh new voice. Like snowflakes, each story is unique though collectively it forms snow.
So what does that make our collective of stories? Literature. You might think of literature as high prose or the work of professional authors but did you know that literature is defined as, "all writings in prose or verse, esp. those of an imaginative or critical character, without regard to their excellence: often distinguished from scientific writing, news reporting, etc."
Stories become part of the literature of one's time and place. Do not underestimate the unique potential that your story can express. Treat it as unique, your voice, your perspective, your influences, your experiences. Let those things come through. Add to it your research, you imagination, but make your story unique as a snowflake then let it fly in the storm of literature.
Thought for Day 24:
"The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried." ~Stephen McCranie
Word Count: 1,500
Excerpt From Rock Creek:
Not long after the men had left, a soft knock came at the door during supper. With all the men gone, it was just Emily, Mary, Sally, Celia, James and the children. Emily had a large shepherd that usually announced loudly the arrival of any strangers. He was silent so they assumed it was Julia or Mary Catherine, or perhaps one of their older children.
Emily rose and stepped back from the door looking startled. In the open frame stood a a small black man with gray at the temples of his curly hair. His eyes were wide with worry, his clothes dirty and torn. "I'm lost," he said.
"Where are you from," asked James, rising from the table.
"I don't know. My family is the O'Bannons"
Celia wiped her mouth with her linen napkin and set it on the table as she rose. "Emily, go fetch a bar of pitch soap and some clothes that might fit this man."
Emily looked even more startled looking back to the man and to her mother who stood firm until Emily went to fetch the items. Celia prepared a tin plate of food.
When she returned, Celia took them and walked over to the door. "Eat some food. Then I want you to go bathe in the creek, put on some clean clothes and then return here when you are through."
The man nodded and left. Celia returned to her dinner and everyone turned to stare at her. "Mother, what are you doing?"
She took a bite and chewed before finishing. "I know the family he speaks of. They're from Virginia."
"He's probably an escaped slave," said Mary.
"He's frightened. If he had escaped he wouldn't have come to the door. Let him settle down and we'll find out what his story is and help him find his way back to Virginia."
James had stopped eating. "Your shepherd, Emily. He never barked."
"Oh, no! He might have killed the dog." She rose and pushed away from the table.
Monroe and his cousin Ranze got up, too.
"Hold on, boys. I'll go look for the dog."
"I'm going with you, Father," said Emily.
Everybody filed out of the house except Sally who refused to go and said she'd stay with Lizzie. They all followed James to the creek. They could hear the man talking to someone. James raised his hand to keep his family quiet and to stay put. He crept quietly through the bushes as any old fisherman could do, and disappeared. Soon they heard James laugh and when he returned, the shepherd was with him, bounding through the brush and lapping his greeting across the smaller faces.
"He was talking to the dog as if it were his new best friend."
Coffee for WriMos: Weekend Edition
Write books.
I mean this in the same tone as Michael Pollan wrote, "Eat food." Like our modern food system burdened with factory farming, GMOs, organic labels, disappearing honey bees our trip to the market is fraught with complexities. So is the book publishing industry.
Which is why Pollan's reminder to draw back to the simplest elements make sense. He backs up his words with an entire book, In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto. And you could write a book about writing books!
No matter what is going on in the industry, you still need to visit the page regularly and not get swept up into the politics of publishing. We all have our reasons to be here, and mostly it's about the writing. I recommend author, C. Hope Clark's weekly newsletter Funds For Writers for her grounded advice, insights and funding and publishing links. She gives us out thought for the day.
Thought for Days 21, 22 & 23:
"Publishing is in a constant state of flux, always stirred up worse by strong personalities flexing, ranting, projecting the end of the world. And unless you choose to spend eight hours a day trying to understand all sides, you won't ever grasp the details. So don't try." ~C. Hope Clark
Focus on writing the best book you can. Learn what you need to know about the industry without getting caught up in taking sides. But for now, keep writing. Write books. Craft words. Shape stories.
Word Count: 6,018
Excerpt From Rock Creek:
Mary knew that both Cob and Leroy wanted their parents to go west. "Cob says, I am to convince you to go, but I know…"
Horse hooves pounded down the bridle path outside along with youthful whooping and a loud, Whoa!"
"Busy home, today, Celia." James stood up to see who the new arrivals were.
Celia said, "I think it's just the boys." Ten years ago, a mountain family by the name of Hughes had succumbed to illness, all except for a daughter and a son who was the best friend of Cob's young cousin Jamie Woods. Celia and James raised Billy and Emily Hughes. The girl was now married to one of Mary's Greene cousins over in Sugar Cove. Billy was nearly 18 and he and Jamie had finished at the Episcopal Academy in Greensboro this past December and decided not to return in favor of going out west with Leroy.
Both lanky youths burst through the cabin door. "We got another wrangler!" Billy Hughes had black hair like Mary's with greenish-gold eyes and thick black lashes that made him almost as pretty as a lass. Almost. His fresh attempt at a shadowy beard ruined the image.
Jamie walked in grinning and looking like a blond McCanles with gray eyes. His mother Louisa was Celia's sister and Jamie's father was a blond Watauga man who practiced law. At one time James McCanles had been local magistrate. It was said that he and Woods were cousins and went to Academy together where they met the Alexander sisters. Now they were all a part of this mountain community. A powder keg for the young men wanting adventure so bad that even war sounded like an exciting prospect. Better that these two go west.
Behind them walked in Jim Hartley who was slightly shorter though he stood straight without a slouch. He was dressed in a light wool coat of tobacco brown. His reddish beard matched the thinning hair on his head. Having just removed his hat, he smoothed back the wisps. His face was yet youthful and he kept his beard and mustache neatly trimmed. The Hartleys were from this side of the mountain, but Jim had a large farm over the ridge beneath the Cumberland mountains where he lived with Cob's sister Emily and their two children.
"Well, Jim Hartley, this is the second surprise visit of the day." James greeted his son-in-law.
"Hello, Father, Mother. I've met up with these hooligans on my way over the mountain. Hope you don't mind but I've received a letter from Cob."
Celia smiled and got up to set a kettle boiling for coffee. "Seems Cob was busy writing."
"Hello, Mary," greeted Jim.
She smiled and nodded to him, as did Leroy. Jim joined them around the table.
The boys followed Celia into the kitchen, asking for bread and plum jam. "In the pantry," she said. Mary knew that Celia bought her bread and most of her food from others. She used to buy at Shull's store until Cob's unpleasantness with Sarah Shull. Now Celia sent the boys farther down the valley to Jack Horton's store. Not only was James not a farmer, neither was Celia a farmer's wife. Yet they always had a good store of food and Celia knew how to make recipes that came from Virginia. She also kept a fine herb garden by the house.
Jim cleared his throat and looked across the table at Leroy. "Sounds as if we are to bring out cattle."
Leroy nodded. "We can take the train west out of Johnson's Tank and gather a herd from Bradley County. Mother has already sent word to Grandfather Alexander and he'll see us outfitted. We'll drive them north and meet up with the women and children at St. Joseph, Missouri. Seems we'll be headed to Nebraska Territory and not Colorado."
Jim accepted a cup of coffee from Celia. "Thank you. About that. I'm not sure which one of you two to believe where the better prospect is. And before I go expecting Emily and the children to travel all that way, I want to take a look at the land myself."
"I understand," said Leroy.
"So I'm willing to help push the cattle out and deliver your family and Cob's to Nebraska. But we won't settle this year."
Celia looked ready to weep, though she smiled. "So Emily is staying?"
"Yes, Mother and that leads me to an important question. Will you and Father come over and stay with Emily until I return? It's possible that I won't get back until after Christmas. My youngest brother will help with the farm and we'll hire hands for harvest. But she needs you to wait with her."
James sighed. "We could."
"Yes, yes, of course we can." Celia sniffed slightly and walked into the kitchen to bring back bread and jam and sliced yellow cheese.
"Jim, I've been cajoling the folks all morning to do just as you've asked."
"Ah, Brother Leroy, perhaps one day you'll learn to ask rather than cajole." They all laughed.
Leroy shook his head and let go of the dark scowl he'd held all morning. "We need to plan a date to coordinate the cattle and the women."
Mary felt like cattle. They were soon going to learn that she would not be so easily pressed. "I'm not ready to leave."
They all gave her sympathetic expressions. Leroy said, "Neither is Sally, but we will have time to say goodbyes to family and sort what belongings to bring and what to leave."
Mary glanced at the two boys still in the kitchen, jabbering about what the trail would be like and which one was the better rider, hunter or dancer. Celia caught her meaning. "Billy, Jamie could you take your exuberant talk outside and split some more wood?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Each walked faster to be first through the door. When they both reached it at the same time, they pushed through together and erupted into more laughter.
"It's going to be mighty quiet around here," said James.
"Not if you stay with Emily. Julia and Mary Catherine's broods visit often and it sounds like a clucking hen-house most days."
Mary sighed. That's what she missed most—the press of women in the great room and cousins underfoot. "I'm not ready to leave until I have this baby."
"Oh, sonofa!"
"Leroy! Not under this roof. Mind your words."
Leroy stood up and turned his back to everyone. Once he was better composed, he turned back to Mary. "You do realize we have to leave before June first? The sooner the better."
Mary folded her hands on her lap. "Since we are not going all the way out to Colorado, we can leave later."
"No, we cannot." Leroy clasped the back of his chair, his knuckles turning white with his grip.
"This babe won't be arriving until the end of July at the soonest and I'm not birthing on the trail or the wild prairie among strangers."
Jim leaned back. "Mary's right. But we still have the cattle to round up and wagons to outfit. We can still time this out and give Mary the days she needs."
Leroy shook his head. "Weath will be coming for Cob's place, and mine, too on June first."
"Why on earth would that craven Frenchman have debts with you and Cob?" James glared at his son.
"We were working on getting our stake put together. Da, we didn't have the money to fund this trip unless we sold our properties, but Weath was holding a debt over each."
"Son, what of these rumors I hear that Cob absconded with tax payer's money?" The room grew silent.
Leroy pushed back from the chair. "No, Da. Cob did not steal. He delivered those collections to Jack Horton and they are accounted for. You ask Horton directly."
"What happens on June first," asked Mary.
"Weath thinks he's calling in the debts on June first. If we don't pay up, he'll file against each property. Only, we sold our properties numerous times, so by the time Weath files and tracks down the final ownership he'll discover that his claim is no longer valid."
James was now the McCanles scowling. "No longer valid? You cheated the man out of debts. Debts I wasn't even aware that you and your brother had. So tell me son, how did you come by these debts?"
"We were trying to raise a stake." Leroy shuffled his feet, looking grim.
"How," roared James.
"Investing in economics of the region."
"You were investing in corn? Perhaps bootlegging? What regional investments specifically? Do recall that I once served this county as a judge and am quite familiar with what is legal as an investment and cheating the government out of the liquor tax is not what I expected of my sons."
"Chickens? Is that where Cling has gotten this idea to raise chickens?" Mary knew that it was typical of the three boys to like anything that their father did. Something she hoped they'd outgrow or perhaps attach to their Grandfather McCanles who worked wood and used his education.
"Um, these aren't exactly egg layers. We bought a lot of chickens from Weath, only he had dosed them with something and they didn't live up to their potential and it impacted our investment. Weath's the one who is crooked, but we signed papers on our properties expecting to make the money back on the chickens."
"Not egg layers? What other kind of chickens are there," asked Jim Hartly.
"Roosters," mumbled Leroy.
"Roosters? What good are roosters?"
Mary wondered if Jim Hartley were really that daft or if he wanted his in-laws to believe he was innocent of betting on cock-fights.
James stood up. "Pardon me, Jim, Ladies. My son and I are going to step out for a bit of fresh air."
Coffee for WriMos: Day 20
Relax. Breathe. You've got this!
I don't know about you, but I need a massage. I type one-handed so my right shoulder is starting to burn with marathon writing sprees. I've surpassed 33,000 words so I feel like I deserve something relaxing.
Without losing momentum I turned to something horsey since horses have a role in my novel. So I'm sharing a relaxing horse moment with you:
While you write, be sure to take breathing breaks. Stand up, swing your arms overhead, hands to the sky. Breath deep, pushing out your belly so your lungs can fill. Hold…1…2…3…4…5…exhale, swing arms down. Do this four more times and your brain will feel revived, your body oxygenated.
Thought for Day 20:
"You have to relax, write what you write. It sounds easy but it's really, really hard. One of the things it took me longest to learn was to trust the writing process." ~Diane Setterfield
Word Count: 1,766
Excerpt From Rock Creek:
Allen stood as tall as Cob and had white streaks starting at his temples. He nodded. "More sensible plan than that of digging holes for elusive metals. Come on up to the house." He spoke softly to the man with the pitchfork before motioning to Cob and Sarah to follow him.
Sarah stared at the great white columns that held up the front of the house. It reminded her of an illustration she had seen of Washington's Great White House in the nation's capitol. She suddenly felt grimy so close to such gleaming whiteness.
Inside Sarah saw polished and gilded furniture, colorful carpets, crystal hurricane lamps mounted on painted walls among portraits and grand scenes of hunting and horses. A negro dressed in finer clothes than Sarah had seen on a person greeted Allen who again, spoke softly. The man walked swiftly away. Sarah had never seen a negro before, though she once heard of bounty hunters passing through Watauga in search of an escapee.
"We'll prepare you rooms for the night. Separate rooms." Allen leveled a stare at Sarah that said he knew she wasn't Mrs. McCanles. She flushed.
"Sarah's my accountant. She's going to help me get my business started." How Cob managed to look as innocent as a newborn babe, she had no idea.
Allen raised one eyebrow and directed his gray-eyed stare at her. "Accountant? And what ledger system do you prefer, Miss Sarah?"
"Nothing complicated. A simple cost management system will do."
Allen smiled. "Really? And where did you learn accounting?"
"My father. His grandfather was German and taught him a ledger method from that country which differs slightly from what British companies follow. I maintained the cost management of his store."
"Ah, Father. We have guests from Appalachia passing through. Family. Celia's boy, David."
Moses Alexander was once tall, but now his shoulders and back stooped and he walked stiffly, the way Sarah felt some mornings when she woke up cold and aching from the thin ticking of her mattress. His hair was white as the pillars of the porch and his eyes were glazed yet still gray. "Celia," he said, nodding but not sure he could recall.
"David's daughter, Father."
"David's daughter. The one who married that school teacher from North Carolina?"
Allen cast a sideways glance at Cob. "The very one."
"Ah, such a pity. Such pretty girls and they both ran off to the highlands."
"Watauga, Father."
"Damned highlanders, stealing pretty girls. Louisa? Is Louisa well?"
Cob stood with the bundles at his boots and Sarah fancied he looked every bit of a Robbie Burns hero with his thick black hair and keen brown eyes beneath his broad-brimmed hat set askew and linen scarf wrapped about his neck. "Aunt Louisa is quite well. Her son James Wood will be joining my brother and me out west in our business venture."
"Business, eh? And who is this mountain filly? Not your wife, I suppose." He turned his glassy gray eyes on Sarah.
"Miss Sarah is David's accountant."
"Accountant! Is that what they're called these days? Well, not bad for an accountant." Sarah didn't like the way Moses was summing her up.
The negro returned and Allen announced that they would be shown to their rooms and that dinner would be served in an hour. The door to Sarah's room was across the hall from Cob's. He winked at her before he went in and said, "Don't worry. Alexander blood is thick. Endure what you must tonight, but tomorrow we'll be leaving on fine Kentucky horse flesh or my mother will will whip up Grandfather Alexander into a furry that will rain down on Uncle Moses's head like hail."
Sarah smiled, but worried about what it was she might have to endure. When she walked into her room, she realized that it was as large as her entire cabin. The bed was so tall that it had steps and was draped in thick tapestry with mauve blossoms on burgundy, swirled with white vines and green leaves as dark as pine needles. The walls were striped with gold and cream with burgundy curtains at the windows that rose taller than her. Paintings of horses on green grass and one of a magnolia tree hung in gilded frames on the walls. Two rose-colored chairs sat facing a crackling fire in a marble fireplace. What heaven did she just walk into?
A woman's voice chuckled from behind her. "Your bumpkin eyes don't know where to set do they, girl?"
Sarah turned around to face a woman no taller than she with a massive bosom and a plain dress with a crisp white apron. Her black hair coiled in tight curls beneath a red headscarf and her skin was golden-brown. Her eyes were a light gray. "Hello. Are you one of the Alexanders? I'm Sarah."
The woman had a booming laugh that could rival one of Cob's rumblers. "I belong to the Alexanders, girl. I'm Bessie and I run this household. Let's get you fixed up. We only have an hour and your dishevelment could frighten the Holy Spirit out of a reverend's mother."
In an hour, Bessie had transformed Sarah into a fairybook queen. While she bathed Sarah, coiffed her hair and dressed her in a cast-off from Allen's youngest daughter who was away at boarding school in Virginia, Bessie informed Sarah of who the Alexanders were and where each one was. She spoke of the trouble with catching the chickens that morning, of the latest filly born and the news about the northern aggressors. Sarah didn't know how the woman could be so swift with her fingers and so fast with her tongue. She could hardly digest all the information.
By the time Bessie introduced Sarah to the corset, she realized that she would endure much discomfort. How in the world did women where such horrid things? Her ribs ached and breathing felt shallow as if she had a boulder pressing down on her. Next came a hoop and a pile of petticoats, which felt strange as if her legs had a private room. But Sarah forgot all about her discomfort when she saw the dress.
Blue and ivory plaid with narrow pink striping, it was trimmed with edged bows. The neckline swooped from shoulder to shoulder and the sleeves were nothing more than caps like the bell of a lily. "This will show off those pretty blue eyes of your, Miss Sarah." Bessie slipped the softest shoes onto Sarah's feet that were ivory with leather soles. "You do look presentable, and just in time."
Bessie led her downstairs to a formal dining room where the men were each holding crystal glasses with dark amber liquid. They all turned and stared at Sarah and she worried that maybe something was wrong with her dress. Why were they staring at her?
"Well, Miss Sarah, for an accountant of German origins you do clean up nicely." Allen toasted her with his glass.
"Very nice, Lass, very nice. I see why my grand-nephew needs an accountant."
Cob's brown eyes the color of the liquid in his glass had deepened into a smoldering stare. "You look beautiful, Sarah."
For the rest of her life, she'd never forget that dress. Bessie packed her two simple cotton dresses, one the color of dried tobacco with tiny orange flowers and the other a dark hunter plaid with blue and ivory stripes. And as Cob predicted, they left riding two long-legged bays followed by two pack mules, a mare and a filly. Cob was riding a stallion and as his Uncle Moses said, he was leaving Kentucky with the beginnings of the finest horse ranch Pikes Peak would ever see. Cob struck gold barely out of Tennessee.


text:
5 rentals, 3 properties must be sold as 1. Good CAP rate, retirement. Properties are 421 (2 unit), 427 (single) and 429 (2 unit) Third St. Property zoned commercial rentals could be removed and used as land for a strip mall or other possibilities. Other tax #'s 1-00187-00; 1-00186-00 Sale of property shall be part of a 1031 exchange. Unit 3 is a SFR with new carpet. Tenants pay their own utilities
Features Multi-Family
|Type: 1.5 Story
|Style: 1.5 Story
|Age: 75+ YEARS
|Garage Size:
|Garage Type:
|School District: Menasha
|Taxes: $5,362
|Tax Year: 2016
|Lot Size:
|Approx Sq Ft: 5,185
|Body of Water:

subset: commoncrawl


text:
June 8
After breakfast this morning our first destination was the Oriental Pearl Tower (OPT), which is located by the Huangpu River, in Pudong.
With its height at 1,535 feet, OPT is the highest TV tower in China, and the third tallest in the world. It was completed in 1994.
Built on three big columns, it consists of three large spheres. The top sphere is known as the space module. There are also five small spheres, and three decorative spheres on its base. From a distance, the whole thing looks like a string of pears hanging from the sky.
At night,the tower has flashing colored lights.
The structure includes a hotel, a revolving restaurant, a coffee bar, a conference hall, a science-fantasy world, a theater, gift shop, a lobby, and sightseeing areas, besides radio and TV transmission facilities.
After going through stringent security check even water bottles are not allowed), you enter the spacious lobby. Then you line up for your turn at the speed elevators which take people up and down the tower.
The main sightseeing floor is at the height of about 863 feet. From here you can get a bird-eye view of Shanghai all around, including the Huangpu River below.
At another floor, 13 feet below is observation tower with glass floor, through which you can see things on the ground below.
The OPT was crowded. Some people elbowed their way in front of us. Also there were people who were quite friendly and even encouraged their children to converse in English with us.


text:
"Those Who Have Had Trouble Can Sympathise with You": Press Writing, Reader Responses and a Murder Trial in Interwar Britain
Wood, John Carter, Journal of Social History
Scholars have become increasingly interested in how consumers of culture, as readers, listeners and viewers, make sense of what they read, hear and see, and quite elaborate theorizations of how messages "encoded" in cultural productions are "decoded" have been developed and debated. (1) Summarizing such approaches, David Morley states that the "audience" is now "conceived of as actively decoding the messages they receive from systems of mass communications, and interpreting them in a range of ways, drawing on the particular cultural resources which their social position has made available to them." (2) Gaining more insight into "reception" is important, requiring, as John Storey has put it, consideration of how a text's social meaning "is appropriated and used in the consumption practices of everyday life." (3) It is obvious that people actively interpret texts--Michel de Certeau has even referred to "consumer production" (4)--and that their interpretations might not necessarily accord with the aims of the texts' producers. As Martyn Lyons and Lucy Taksa have put it, "The reader reworks and re-interprets what is read; his or her contribution cannot be subsumed within the author's version of the meaning of the text." (5)
However, in analyzing the "active reader," some have emphasized the "ideological constraint" imposed by discursive systems. "For these theorists," David Paul Nord writes,
the turn to interpretation did not reveal an autonomous and empowered reader but rather a reader wholly dependent upon (indeed, created by) the patterns of language and culture--or perhaps even a reader who is the creature of the multinational media conglomerate. (6)
While the constraints of discourse are sometimes overstated, texts are not limitlessly interpretable: not only do they contain specific intended (what Stuart Hall calls "preferred") meanings, but there are also likely to be regularities in the ways that specific audiences interact with them. (7) Ultimately, people rather than "social structures" interpret texts, and they possess not only a social position but also a psychological make-up that is both shared (in terms of fundamental abilities) and individually distinctive (with regard, say, to preferences and temperament). Each person also has accumulated experiences that are particularized and at the same time patterned according to social position or group identity. Readers are neither absolutely "free" nor entirely "constrained," leaving an enormous middle ground that has only begun to be explored historically.
Historical sources for understanding cultural consumption are relatively rare, but some investigators have made the most of the evidence available. (8) As Jonathan Rose has argued (and demonstrated), the questions of what "ordinary readers in history" read and "how they read it" are no longer as unanswerable as they once seemed. (9) The work of Lawrence W. Levine has been exemplary in this regard, providing a vivid history of both "folk" and "mass" cultures in the United States of America and effectively confronting the stereotype of the passive audience. Not only are audiences selective about mass culture (choosing what to read, watch or listen to), but they also use it actively: "What people can do and do do," Levine says, "is to refashion the objects created for them to fit their own values, needs, and expectations." (10) Expressive works are by nature "incomplete" and "filled with interstices that need connecting, ambiguities that need resolution, imprecisions that need clarity, complexities that need simplifying." (11) Levine emphasizes how consumers of popular culture invest imaginatively in what they consume, even with regard to seemingly trite cultural products, such as radio soap operas.
One especially fruitful area of research into media narratives has been related to crime reporting, a key element in the popular press in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. …


text:
Do you know how
to spot the heart of a poet?
Well, if you cut it open,
you'll find
yellowing handwriting
stuck to the ventricles.
If you put it
under a microscope,
you'll see music sheets
covering the veins –
a larghissimo tempo
written for a broken drum.
Squeeze it,
and blood
the colour of a minor chord
will stain your hands.
But the easiest way to tell
is by noting
that the heart is neither whole
nor halved.
There will be roman numerals
scratched onto scar tissue,
craters and holes dividing
lines by zero.
And all these gaps and cracks
will vary in size
because each one was made
for somebody new:
offerings to gods
who didn't believe in themselves.
Caitlin Stobie is a Commonwealth Scholar at the University of Kent, Canterbury. She was recently longlisted for the Bath Flash Fiction Award, and has won the Douglas Livingstone Creative Writing Competition and the Heather Drummond Memorial Prize for Poetry. Her poems and short stories have appeared in various international journals including Flash, uHlanga, The Kalahari Review, Aerodrome and New Coin.
Cover image: public domain.


text:
Cheddar Mozzarella Swiss Or American Which type of Cheese do you like better?
i like answering ur questions so easy not complex... lol... I love to say I eat alot of cheddar and the kraft singles are good but cheddar is my favorite even in the baby bel mini cheddar is the best
Which type of cheese will mold the fastest: cheddar or Swiss?
Baby and lacy Swiss cheese are semi-soft cheeses with a greater moisture content than cheddar cheese, so they will mold faster than cheddar. They keep in a refrigerator for five to seven days. The ...
Read More »
American Cheese Swiss Cheese Or Mozzarella Cheese Which do you like better ?
mozarellayou don't see the others on pizza!Merry Christmas!
Mozzarella Cheese Pepper Jack Cheese Or Swiss Cheese Which from my list do you like better?
So hard...I'm a Wisconsinite...this is torture!Ahhhhh!!!!!Have to choose, have too chooseAgony...Must chooseMozzarella...that hurt
Mozzarella Cheese or Cheddar Cheese Grape Juice or Grape Soda Peppers or Onions?
It really depends what the cheese is on/with. For example, on Italian food, I obviously want mozzarella...but in Mexican food, I want cheddar. I guess if I have to choose, I pick mozzarella. Grape ...
Read More »


text:
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(above: image of LIBS spark)


text:
I have my own personal list of people I would like to line up against a wall and extract apologies from. I would order them in a cline from small apology to big. From the person who pushed in front of me at the supermarket culminating in the person who ripped my heart out. One apology in particular I fantasise about. Yes it would be heartfelt, they would explain how and why they were so hideous towards me and then ask for forgiveness, probably with a 'I don't know if you are able to forgive me but…'. There would be hugs and tears as I put down all my poison and resentment and we would live happily ever after.
Except I've being waiting for years, and nothing.
In that time I have been busy with scenarios ranging from a good slap around the face, to forgiveness parties. I guess if they were to say sorry I would be able to extinguish the fires of resentment and get on with my life.
But it's not going to come because they have no idea how they hurt me. It's not going to come because people usually only act out of their best interests without trying to harm others. It's not going to come because they wouldn't think they have done anything wrong. So what to do?
If we feel resentment towards someone for a misdoing, a misplaced word or two, a betrayal, a lie, a broken promise then our best course of action if we are to restore our humanity is to work towards forgiveness or some form of it. Here is a formula for working through these feelings;
Look at the wrongdoing and how it has effected you. What feelings does this bring up for you. Do you feel unworthy of love? Do you feel cheated? What is it in you that needs healing.
Try to see the actions of the other person as not a direct attack on you. Usually when people hurt us it is through an action of their own misguidance or selfish intentions. Most people have affairs because of a low self esteem. The problem is usually within them, not you.
Understand how forgiving or letting go of the problem will feel to you. You will probably feel more cleansed/lighter/empowered and less trapped by your own resentment. Resentment is a form of poison and it will eat into many parts of your life.
Put it into perspective. Is the problem really that bad or have you built it up into something. Reading stories of others' forgiveness will help you here.
Employ a practice to help you appreciate what you have now or to help you release feelings of resentment. I like Metta meditation.
Practice for today: You have a choice, to enjoy your one precious life without harbouring resentment towards others or to stay in a prison of fear and resentment. Your choice. Choose wisely.


text:
"If You Have Heard Him" Series
Contributed by Clark Tanner on Jul 27, 2003 (message contributor)
Summary: We need a renewed mind to see ourselves as newly created in the likeness of God, then put on the new man daily. (# 18 in the Unfathomable Love of Christ series)
"But you did not learn Christ in this way, if indeed you have heard Him and have been taught in Him, just as truth is in Jesus, that, in reference to your former manner of life, you lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit, and that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth."
We should begin by reminding ourselves that Paul was writing to people who had come out of paganism. They were not from Israel, they had not worshipped in the Temple as Jews, they had, most of them, come out of idol worship, and had come to a belief in the one true God as a result of the Apostle's teaching.
So when Paul describes here in this chapter, the condition of those still in paganism and doing the things that those in the pagan religions do, he is describing their former condition. Therefore we know that they not only understand what he is talking about, and who he is talking about, but they themselves are reminded of what coming to Christ has rescued them from, and Paul's words of exhortation would, thereby, become cause also for rejoicing.
Just scanning down from verse 17, we see a dark, and dirty snapshot, if you will, of the world these Christians have come out of, and believer, we should just once in a while, stop and remember that the past Christ rescued us from was in many cases, no less dark and no less dirty.
They walked in futility of mind. They hadn't a single productive thought, in the sense that there was no Godly thought or thought of God in them. Their mind being darkened, they walked in the darkness of rebellion, hardness of heart, callousness, sensuality, impurity, greediness… a list that speaks of unrestrained lust and pursuit of self and the passing pleasures of sin. Entirely self-absorbed, looking after the flesh and groping after the comforts and entertainments of the world, like unreasoning animals, living by instinct and ruled by the stomach.
And I want to assure you that this is not a description that is reserved for mobsters and muggers and prostitutes and drug pushers; the people of the night and of the street whose very existence is one of living off the pain and loss of their victims.
No, this description just as aptly includes the clean, finely dressed, manicured and socially refined businessman and businesswoman found in the highest echelons of commerce. It includes the wealthy and the famous and the beautiful. Because it is not a definition that is based on social status or financial position or political rank. It is of the soul; it is a definition of sin and its wages, and it applies to every man woman and child apart from Christ.
C. S. Lewis covered the topic very effectively when he wrote:
"The greatest evil is not done in those sordid dens of evil that Dickens loved to paint… but is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voices."
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by Lynn Shively, Channel Enablers
As a channel manager, you are expected to help your channel partner come up with more places and more ways to sell your company's products and services. It seems like a simple task, but there are a lot of components involved in making it happen. The key is to find places where you and they jointly want to invest to grow and achieve businesses strategic goals.
If you are going to ask your partner to invest in you and your products, they will be asking themselves some basic questions and trying to come up with the answers that are best for their company. They will want to know how they can grow their business and increase their revenue by selling your offerings more easily and with better results than they can by selling one of the other competitive products that they offer.
If you're going to ask your channel partner to increase revenue in their territory, you and they both need to understand the business of that territory and marketplace. Helping them gain information and knowledge about the following will help them decide.
– What geographic or industry concentrations are prevalent in their territory that could use your offerings?
– What are the overall conditions of those industries and how will that impact sales?
– What is the current economic environment that your channel partner is selling into?
– What is your partner's competitive clout and market share?
– What have been the revenue trends for your company with that partner?
– What is the partner's readiness and willingness to sell your products and services?
– What is their level of technical and product knowledge competency as it relates to expanding their market share?
As part of your company's marketing efforts, you should have an estimate of the size of the potential revenue in your partner's marketplace. The potential revenue has the following components:
– The total number of existing and potentially new customers in the segment that your product offering fits
– Consideration of a 'typical' average project's revenue for your products and services, factoring in the occasional big deal as well as any transactional sales
– The percentage of market share that your company typically maintains in the marketplace
Then, there are only four ways of growing revenue available to you and for your partner to grow their revenue with you.
- They can increase current revenue by doing more of what they're currently doing; penetrating their existing accounts by selling more of the products and services they currently get from you into the same customers and marketplace
- They can develop new business with you by selling the same products and services into new markets
- If you are launching a new product, they can sell new products to their existing customers
- Sometimes you might ask them to sell new products into new markets; this venture is always the most difficult for you and the channel partner.
In addition, your channel partner will have their own strategic growth initiatives, business drivers, and plans for the next year. They have financial, operational, personnel, and strategic issues that they have to deal with on a daily basis. To support their growth, you need to know what these are.
Gaining and communicating all of that information is difficult, but now comes the hard part. It is up to you to take all of those inputs and all of that information and come up with a "Joint Revenue Objective."
If you're looking for a magic formula that will do this for you and put together a joint revenue objective with your channel partner, it doesn't exist. As a channel account manager, it is up to you to understand all those issues mentioned above and how they apply to the channel partner, and then be able to combine all of that information, as well as your companies strategic issues and growth initiatives, into an objective that both of you feel really good about; one that you are both willing to get behind, fund, apply resources to, and promote within your companies and in the marketplace. It is not easy. Some channel managers are better at doing this than others, but with practice we all get better.
Have the discussions with your partner. Get them to help and agree to your objectives. If they help create it, they will own it.
About the Author
Lynn Shively – Senior Consultant North America
Lynn has over 25 years of sales and sales executive channel experience. He has developed and run channel organizations in multiple companies and has also consulted with channel organizations for companies worldwide such as HP, Cisco, IBM, Oracle and others.
Most recently, Lynn was Vice President of Sales for Junxion Inc., where he put together their channels organization of resellers, distributors, and influencers. Prior to that he was a consultant for Siebel Systems where he consulted and trained channel organizations for Siebel clients.
His experience includes software, hardware, telecom, and manufacturing organizations. Functional skills include direct and indirect sales process and methodology, organizational design, operational effectiveness, and the training and development of channel personnel.
Lynn has done channel consulting and training for his own company, Sales Foresight, as well as for OnTarget, Siebel, and InfoMentis. His vast experience has garnered him skills, knowledge and experience to help channel organizations of all sizes.
Reprinted with permission from Channel Enablers – Channel Enablers is a global channel training and channel consulting solutions company with expertise in multi-channel routes to market. They assist technology vendors to transform their channel and alliance partnerships into a source of significant competitive advantage.


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We are looking to expand our team and have two IT Support Job s Bristol vacancies available:
IT Desktop Support Technician & IT Support Customer Engineer (Technical Support for SMEs)
IT Desktop Technician (Primarily Office based) and IT Support Customer Engineer (Primarily Field based) required to join our small but growing IT Services and Consultancy company based in North Bristol. The two roles both offer training, development and the chance to join an experienced team with a broad technical knowledge base.
These varied roles combine both technical and commercial elements – they are a combined help-desk & IT support post with lots of varied and interesting projects. On the technical side you will provide remote help, over the phone and on site help on a 1st and 2nd Line basis. Commercially, you will clearly communicate to end users through e-mail, via the telephone and in face to face meetings.
The company prides itself on being able to offer the right candidate an exceptional career move. You will be exposed to a wide host of technology and receive comprehensive training to cover software, hardware and business networks. A company Director will mentor you and develop you so that you can work independently but with the support of the company. Typical work for this company is hosting, hardware and software support, consultancy, modernisation projects (including cloud), web-site and Software application, technical support, and proactive support though remote monitoring and management tools.
EC Computers are looking for these two IT Support personnel to join their small and friendly team. Our candidates should be friendly and personable, with common sense and are confident, not shy, and willing to be flexible and work outside of normal office hours (occasional weekend work). Ability to work in a small team and independently is essential
IT Support Jobs Bristol requirements
Desirable: A full, current UK driving licence (IT Support Engineer use of company vehicle)
Your previous roles may have included:
– IT Manager for SMEs, Junior or Senior
– IT Technician / Engineer supporting businesses
– 3 years' experience as a Helpdesk or field support engineer
– IT Support Engineer to have at least 5 years' experience as a field support engineer
– Live in the Bristol area
* Experience with supporting users on MS Windows (XP up to Windows 10), Office 2007 to 2016 and 365 applications, Accounts packages, Printers, and dealing with IT users on business networks.
* Experience in providing remote, phone, on-site and email support.
* Experience in Windows Server administration (2008 onwards), building Windows desktops to-spec from scratch, configuring routers/firewalls, installing networks, printers and file-servers, working with Windows Server Domain-based networks. Troubleshooting browsers, networking and routers.
* Servicing PC/Servers/printers back to health.
* Cabling and infrastructure planning
* Setup and support of Office 365, Hosted Exchange or other cloud technologies.
* Backup systems, data recovery, and encryption.
* Virtual environments VM and Hyper-V
*Good knowledge of TCP/IP, LAN, WAN, VLAN, DHCP, DNS, VPN
* Any Experience in the maintenance and administration of websites and databases would be desirable but NOT essential (WordPress, Joomla, HTML, PHP, CSS, MS Access, SQL).
* Desirable Qualifications:. Microsoft MCPs/MCSA (Desktop, Server or Cloud), Undergraduate degree in Computing/Computer Science considered, A+/N+/S+, Microsoft Small Business certificate
* A Fast typing speed (>60WPM) would also be beneficial but is NOT essential.
* Positive attitude to administration, paperwork and record keeping
* Both positions call for flexible attitude as each member is required to adapt to work loads and be prepared to participate at all grades of work as required.
IT Support Customer Engineer (additional requirements):
– Knowledge of File servers from a specification for the purpose to implementation planning, logistic planning and installation with support and software and hardware repairs
– In addition to a Support role this position will require commercial awareness with the opportunity to be active in providing solutions and upgrades for clients.
Please submit your details and up-to-date cv to:
email@example.com or complete our contact us form
Agencies, please do not contact us


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Our daily Wake-Up Call gets you ready for the day with a look at all things Pittsburgh Pirates.
The Pittsburgh Pirates experienced an important off day yesterday.
After losing six of their last eight games, the Bucs return home to PNC Park tonight as they begin a three-game series with the team that holds the best record in the National League, the Washington Nationals.
The Nats, who sit 7.5 games ahead of the second-place New York Mets in the NL East, have the most potent offense in baseball. The Nats lead the league with a .282 team batting average, a statistic that seems remarkably high compared to the Pirates .229 team average.
Ryan Zimmerman has been a pleasant surprise with his .385 average and team-leading 13 home runs and 36 RBIs while Bryce Harper continues to rake by hitting at a .384 clip with 12 homers and 34 RBIs.
The duo is one and two in the league in batting average and RBIs.
The Nats also have a stacked pitching rotation with the likes of Stephen Strasburg, Max Scherzer, Tanner Roark and Gio Gonzalez.
The Bucs are bound to face Strasburg and Roark in the series while the game two starter for the Nats is still to be determined.
There is no question the Nationals serve as a huge obstacle in the Pirates path to regaining their stride and building on their short two game winning streak.
While they've hit the ball better the last few games, it's obvious that the Pirates bats need to come alive if they want to have success in this series.
Another stellar outing from Gerrit Cole and improved starts from Chad Kuhl and Tyler Glasnow would help as well.
If the Bucs could take at least one or two of the next three against Washington, it would set them up to possibly improve their record in upcoming series against struggling NL East teams such as the Phillies, Braves and Mets.
The Pirates struggles have been evident this season, but now it's time for players to step up, play smarter baseball and get themselves out of the NL Central cellar.
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- Mike Axisa of CBS Sports examines whether it's time to worry about four MLB aces.
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Prep Time: 15 MinutesYields: 1 Quart
Comment:The only dish more Southern than this is fried catfish and hush puppies! Try serving them together.
1 (2-ounce) jar diced pimientos1/2 cup Abita Amber beer1 cup grated extra-sharp cheddar cheese1 cup red rind cheese or mild American cheese, grated4 cloves garlic1 and 1/2 tbsps Worcestershire sauce1/2 tbsp dry mustardLouisiana hot sauce to tastesalt and black pepper to tastegranulated garlic to taste1 and 1/2 cups heavy-duty mayonnaise1/4cup chopped pistachio nutssliced bread for sandwich
If using this spread as a dip, you may wish to serve on assortments of crackers or chips in place of the sandwich bread. In a food processor, add all ingredients except mayonnaise, pistachios and bread. Process until well blended but slightly coarse. Add mayonnaise, 1/2 cup at a time, pulsing until a smooth and spreadable texture is achieved... The more mayo, the better. Remove to a serving bowl then add chopped pistachios, blending well. Storing in a closed container overnight will improve the flavor. Use as a spread or on finger sandwiches.


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My first half of the year was uneventful. I cannot remember what I was up from January-May. No black holes, no bright sparks. Things only started picking up last June. I went to a new beat, saw old friends, made new ones. Was diagnosed with NVLD, and possibly AS. Fell in love with a city. Got a training scholarship. Went backpacking in Europe. Liked a boy. Un-liked a boy. Berlin-Prague-Dresden. Was told by somebody that my side of the conversation gives him "nosebleed." But he still would not stop talking to me. Missed a lot of people. Became angrier, more impatient. Yelled at a lot of cab drivers. Had an almost-accident with an oven. Fell in love with John Ajvide Lindqvist and Robin Hobb. Had taken to wearing skirts and tights. Enjoyed autumn and the changing of leaves. Had one tennis lesson. Re-discovered Trashcan Sinatras and The Pearlfishers. Went headlong with new obsessions. Made unsolicited compilations. Threw away a lot of clothes. Gave a lot of books. And now, it's January again. I take a deep breath. Always, the first month of the year makes me feel like I'm peering down into a deep, black well.
To close, a haiku by Kobayashi Issa:
Everything is in blossom!
I feel just about average.


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Bandaranaike International Airport, also known as Katunayake International Airport and opened in 1967, serves the city of Colombo and is the busiest in Sri Lanka. In addition to domestic flights, it operates with international destinations in Asia, the Middle East and Europe.
Official Website: airport.lk
Number of Terminals - 1 - Open 24 hours a day.
Annual passenger traffic: More than 9.2 million passengers went through it in 2016.
Tel: +94 112 264 444. Information counters in the Arrivals and Departures levels. In the Arrivals Hall there is also a tourist office.


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Office of Economic Analysis post is HERE; full report is HERE; slides for related presentation are HERE.
Full report includes some Portland metro maps that show job categories at census tract level, using ACS data.
Graph below shows Oregon job changes during recovery after recession; note the absence of lower middle wage jobs, and Oregon's rate of creation of low wage and high wage jobs exceeding the national average.
|Wage groups are defined as followed: High Wage: More than $50,000; Upper Middle: $40,000-$50,000; Lower Middle: $25,000-$40,000; Low wage: less than $25,000
Originally created and posted on the Oregon Housing Blog.