Exercise Valiant Shield, held every other year in the Philippine Sea. Just a ‘reminder’ to those who think they can easily overrun any US Forces in the 7th Fleet.
You can read about the exercise, HERE.
It’s also a place where ‘new’ technology can get tested in a ‘highly stressing’ environment. 🙂
And they get to shoot things too!!! 😀
In other news, North Platte, Nebraska has stepped up once again… Following the tradition the town set in WWII… HERE. Good on them!!!
Nuff said… LOL
Weather had been lousy all day yesterday, and is supposed to be the same through today and into tomorrow… Rain, colder (for Texas), and more rain and wind…
It was my turn to cook for the group, so… Comfort food!
At least for southern versions or Texas versions of comfort food.
Meatloaf, with a twist. Rotel and a little good chili powder! And BACON! 🙂
And you can’t have meatloaf without mashed potatoes, and something green! In this case, seasoned turnips. And of course, cornbread.
It was well received, and there are a total of three pieces of meatloaf left out of three pounds!
Today will be a writing day, since the weather outside is… NOT lovely.
Edit- By requests, here is the recipe I used.
I grew up in Louisiana and southwest Arkansas during the 50s and 60s, a time when everyone treated each other like family. Our neighbors parents disciplined us like their own. We didn’t eat fast food….We drank Kool-aid or Tang, ate bologna & cheese sandwiches, peanut butter sandwiches, and had fish on Friday and chicken on Sundays. Stores were not open on Sunday, so we went to church, had dinner at home, and visited family and grandparents or went for a ride in the afternoon. We went outside to play games like red rover, baseball in a field with the neighbors kids of all ethnicities, hide and seek, marbles in the dirt, jump rope, hopscotch, kickball , had water fights, played football or basketball for hours and raced against each other down the street on our bikes. There was no bottled water. We drank out of the green garden hose. No cable tv, we had three channels if we were lucky. No cell phones!
We watched cartoons on Saturday morning went outside and played until dark. We would ride our bikes without helmets for hours, all without a cell phone or electronic games. We went to library for books and were in the reading club during the summer.
We weren’t afraid of ANYTHING except our parents. You LEARNED from your parents and grandparents instead of disrespecting them and treating them as if they knew nothing. What they said might as well have been the gospel. If someone had a fight, that’s what it was…a fist fight and you were back to being friends. we all had BB guns and .22s but would never thought of taking a person’s life, much less their own. Squirrels and birds, and later deer were fair game though. And you’d better be close enough to home to hear your mom or dad yell for you to get home at night, or be at a neighbor’s house!
School was MANDATORY. We had God, The Pledge of Allegiance, and we placed our hand over our heart!!! We watched what we said around our elders because we knew If we DISRESPECTED any grown up we would get our behinds busted, it wasn’t called abuse, it was discipline! You didn’t hear curse words on the radio or TV, and IF you cursed you did it away from the public or you got your mouth washed out with soap. Please and Thank you were part of our daily dialogue!
And the other thing I remember is that very few kids or adults had allergies… Because we played outside, got dirty, and our parents didn’t care!
Truly a world of difference from the children of today. Sigh…
In lieu of a rant… Because it would devolve into four letter words…
You get old school things…
My uncle ran one of these for years, and was very successful because he had good people and a good mechanic!
These were ‘the thing’ to do, when you wanted to get out of the house.
Before there were video games, there were pinball games… And some of these are literally worth tens of thousands of dollars!
And back in the day, diners and some restaurants had these… Wurlitzer music boxes at each table.
And something guaranteed to drive the millennials nuts… Along with stickshifts…
What I’d really like to see is a millennial try to start and drive an old pickup with three on the tree, and a starter button on the floor! 🙂
Seems the Syrians popped a Russian IL-20-A Coot on Monday. Now what’s ‘interesting’ is that the Russians claim the Coot was 22nm off the coast, which is outside the range of all but the RUSSIAN supplied anti-air systems…
Full article, HERE. And another take, HERE.
Here’s a quick graphic, the X marks 22nm off Latakia, where the attacks were taking place. Now what is interesting, is that the aircraft was supposedly headed to Khmeimim Airbase, which is just outside Jableh, SE of Latakia.
While they are trying to blame the Israelis for not giving them enough notice to evacuate the area, I’d be willing to bet that the Coot (which is an ELINT bird), HERE, was probably collecting on the Israelis and was actually well inside 22nm, so…
The Russians effectively shot themselves down. I will say a prayer for the families of the crew, they didn’t deserve to die doing their jobs, but they got caught out when the Syrians fired indiscriminately, hoping to hit the Israelis with the proverbial ‘golden BB’.
It’s TRULY the bane of a writer’s existence…
I might have gotten a thousand words done today, but I DID spend almost six hours on research…
1870s Colorado
1870s guns/modifications to 1851 Colt Navy for cartridges/Trap door Springfield .45-70
Goodnight-Loving Trail
Wyoming cattle ranches
Fort Laramie
Trinchera Pass
Average cattle drive sizes
Length of average cattle drive to Wyoming
Railroads in the 1870s
Comanche raids
Kiowa raids
Comanche charge per cow to Goodnight-Loving- Huh, they actually charged 0.10 cents per cow. They did better than the indians that were raiding the Chisholm Trail herds. Apparently spent the money on liquor.
Mountain Men 1820-1830
I ‘try’ to have correct bits of history/equipment/guns in my stories, since that is one of my pet peeves with some authors. AND I know I have readers that will ‘check’ the correctness of my stuff… LOL
So, I go do research to make sure that what I’m putting in is at least close to correct, given that it is fiction. Not trying to be Louis L’Amour here, just trying to do what is right.
Here’s part of what I got done today…
Rio turned onto the trail beside the river and said softly, “Don’t look like a river to me, but I think Uncle Ethan brought me this way before, so I guess this is the Cache de Poudre. We’re almost there Red.” He started humming softly and Red, his roan gelding, twitched his ears. “Okay, okay no singing. Maybe an hour Red, then you’ll be home and I’ll get you get a nice bait of grub and a stall, then I get a real bed, not a damn bedroll on the ground!”
Buck and Jack had been taking turns watching the river trail from their vantage point on the ridgeline since early morning. Jack was snoring lightly, laying in the shade of the pines, propped on his saddle. Buck saw the lone cowboy coming up the river trail. “Too far,” he mumbled to himself. After fifteen minutes or so, he eased the new Winchester rifle with its Malcolm scope across the back of his saddle, grumbling a bit as he finally got the rider in the scope, slowly let out his breath, and touched off a round.
The shot echoed down the canyon as Buck watched the rider fall from the saddle and lie still in the middle of the trail. The roan scampered a few yards up the trail and stopped as Jack came awake with a snort.
Buck laughed, “Got ‘im. I tole ya I could hit him from here!”
Jack crawled forward and peered over Buck’s saddle, “Are you sure? The ol’ man don’t want anybody goin up that trail.”
Buck replied, “You see him layin’ there. If ya don’t believe me, go look for yourself!”
Jack got up, “Nah, it ain’t worth the ride, whoever he is ain’t moved. He’s dead.” Jack looked at the sun’s position and continued, “If’n we’re gonna get back to the ranch, we need to mount and ride. We’ll come back tomorrow and get his horse and saddle. It’s too far back to the crossing to make it over there today. And that horse ain’t gonna stray that far.”
In answer, Buck picked up his saddle and started saddling his gruella as Jack threw his saddle over his grey gelding.
***
As dusk was falling, the roan nudged Rio’s foot again. He moaned and finally rolled over. Staggering to his feet, his head covered with blood, he stumbled toward his horse. Red shied away at the smell of the fresh blood and Rio grumped, “Dammit Red, stand still!” He grabbed the stirrup mumbling to himself as he climbed into the saddle. Leaning forward he mumbled, “Com’on Red, go home. Go home, fella.”
The roan turned and plodded slowly up the river trail as dusk turned to night, the cowboy swaying in the saddle.
Red stood ground reined in front the old stone cabin and Rio slumped on the steps, too dizzy to even try to make it up the steps. Going in and out of consciousness, he wonders if he’s going to die before his uncle, Ethan came back. Pretty sure I sent him a message I was coming to see him on the way back. He should have gotten the message. Too dizzy… “I’ll get you in the stable Red, you just gotta wait.”
Red pricked his ears, turned and neighed as a man riding a horse came into the clearing. Rio looked up, and saw an old Mountain Man, late 60’s, solidly build, bearded with long gray hair, dressed in buckskins, “Unk Ethan, I’m… I’ve been shot.”
Monte Henderson, the old mountain man, tied his horse to the rudimentary stable, and walked slowly over, his old Colt Navy conversion in his hand. “Damn, I’m getting tired of findin’ bodies up here.” Getting his toe under Rio, he flipped him over, and Rio moaned. Monte leveled his pistol, “Well, you ain’t dead are ya?”
“Help me or shoot me, but you better not kick me again, ol’ man. Pretty bad when you kick your own kin.”
“Hell boy, you ain’t in any shape to tell me anything.” Monte shook his head, and stepped around him, going into the cabin. He found the table and felt the lamp, with the chimney raised and pulled out a Lucifer, lit it, and carried it back out the door. He looked Rio over, then took the lamp back inside, leaving the door open.
Shuffling and grunting he got Rio up and into the cabin, half carrying him to a bunk and rolling him into it. “Damn boy, you a heavy one, lessee where you been shot.” He holds the lamp over Rio, and asks again, “Where you shot boy?”
Rio mumbled, “I dunno, my head hurts real bad. I member falling, nothin’ else.”
“Only thing I see is this scalp wound, don’t look like you’re hit anywhere else.”
“I can’t see real well, ‘m seein two of ya Unk Ethan.”
“I ain’t Ethan, lemme see if’n I can patch you up there boy.” Monte rummaged around, heated some water, and found an old shirt that he tore strips off of for a bandage, and some left over horse liniment. He turned back and saw that Rio has passed out, “Well, this makes it easy. You ain’t gonna complain are you, boy?” Dabbing a corner of the shirt in the hot water, he patiently worked the blood out of the scalp wound, slapped some horse liniment on it, and wrapped a strip of shirt around Rio’s head. He tied it off, grunted and said, “Huh. Dunno if you’re going to make it or not, boy. We’ll see if you’re alive in the morning.
Taking the lamp, he went out, grabbed Red’s reins, then led him over to the stable, unsaddled his horse, put it in a stall, pitched some hay in, then repeated the evolution with Red. He set both saddles over the rail of the empty stall and hung the bridles from the cantles, then picked up his trap door Springfield and Rio’s 73 Winchester and walked slowly back to the cabin.
Yeah, yeah, I know you smell something burning… :-p
Writing is a solitary endeavor, engaged in by various methods and practices, by a wide variety of people across many cultures.
Which is a polite way of saying there isn’t really a ‘right’ way to do it. You can read books on ‘how’ to write, but the most important thing is to sit and write. Outliner, pantser, shorthand, longhand, typed on a typewriter or computer, using a voice program, or scribbled on clay tablets… Some sit and ‘write’ the entire novel in their heads, then put it on paper.
I’m what I guess I’d call a random writer. I have a basic plot (most of the time), and at least a semblance of where the novel is going, but I tend to skip around in the writing. I may write the ending first, then the beginning, or the middle, or some combination of the above.
Another thing I do, which I’ve been told is ‘odd’, is that I have parts/pieces of at least three novels going at once. My rationale is that when I do get writer’s block on one, I can jump to another one, get some work done on that one, etc.
Of course that’s assuming the muse doesn’t go haring off into the sunset or sunrise, deciding to do something entirely different… Like what’s going on right now… Sigh.
Some people have to have it dead quiet, others write to music, with the music depending on what style they are writing. Me? I’m half deaf, so I use news channels as white noise.
My ‘goal’ is 10-12000 words a week. I know that’s not a lot, compared to other writers, but that’s what I’m comfortable doing. And I’m blessed in that I can shoot chapters to the others in our group, and they will sanity check them. If I get the Golden Retriever head cock, I know I screwed something up, and it’s usually followed by, “Uh, not sure what you meant here.” So I take notes, and go rewrite… 🙂
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that, thanks to our local librarian, we now have a local writer’s group that meets at the library once a month! We’ve donated copies of our books to the library, and she volunteered the library to host the meetings. So far, there are 10-12 folks that have shown up, and some are also published both traditionally, and indie. We’re getting a good exchange of ideas, and have done a few writing exercises, and hopefully we’ll be moving into critiques (I am of the opinion that the more eyes, the better for constructive criticism).
So where am I on the books? 65,000 words on the next Rimworld, 27,000 on probably a third Rimworld (or maybe a stand alone, not sure yet), and about 10,000 on the next Grey Man. And about 5,000 on a western.
I do have to make one side comment though… Watching the news just reminds me that truth is really stranger than fiction! If I tried to write a novel and put in it the stuff going on today, nobody would believe it… Sigh…
Thanks for stopping by, and thanks to those who’ve read my books and given me honest reviews! They are truly appreciated!
Here we go again…
Looters in Wilmington, NC, at a Dollar General, no less… HERE. And more looters, HERE. This is one of the reasons folks don’t want to leave, and I understand that, but at the same time, if you choose to stay, you are responsible for your own safety, IMHO. Changing your mind mid-hurricane, and yelling for rescue, then getting pissed when they don’t come get you is YOUR fault.
Damn looters should be shot, period. There was a lot of looting in NOLA during Katrina, including by the cops, and it was never prosecuted (at least to my knowledge).
There were ‘reports’, quickly hushed up, about some looters being shot in some neighborhoods, but nobody looked real deep into those reports… But most of the folks I know down that way didn’t eat catfish for six months.
And there was looting during Harvey too, HERE. I think there was quite a bit less during Harvey, simply because there were more armed people guarding their property/subdivisions/businesses.
I have absolutely NO sympathy for the looters, they aren’t after food/water/necessities, they’re after TVs, booze, athletic shoes, jewelry, etc. Stuff that’s easy to pawn, or barter for ‘stuff’.
Kicking the soapbox back in the corner and looking for my BP meds… sigh
As indie writers, we either support each other, or we suffer as individuals. Most of us cannot afford the big bucks to advertise, so we try to boost the signal when folks publish a new book.
And Alma has a new one out in the Merchant and Empire series! Imperial Magic!
Click on the cover to get it!!!
The blurb-
The Great Northern Emperor Returns!
Ewoud Rhonarida needs experience, or so his father insists. Tycho sends his son east, to the trading center of Kehlibar vlee. There, Ewoud must learn to balance deference with duty. When he fails, it costs one man his life and endangers more.
But Ewoud attracts the attention of the Great Northern Emperor. This could be a boon. Or it could signal the undoing of the Galnaar family.
Tycho labored to remain unnoticed. Will his son’s fame be the family’s ruin?
A short novel, 72,000 words.
I’ve read portions of it, and it’s GOOD! Based on actual historic trading practices, there are some twists and turns that leave you wanting more!!!