Genre Favorites Blogfest: Crime & Political Thrillers

Aloha,


Today is Alex's Genre Favorite's Blogfest, which I perchieve, perchance as a great way to kick off a Monday.

You can join, or find more details by clicking the Blue link.

 

My favorite genre, in any medium, is thrillers -- especially crime and political stories.

While this makes me appear to be one boring, Neanderthal-knuckle-scraping dude who lives in a mental Man Cave, I did once (!) have a romance-reading bone in my body... see below... (although I lost the desire to simply read about romance upon entering pub eatery.)

 

Stephen King (Credit: Shane Leonard)

Though some may scorn the commercial fiction works of authors such as Tom Clancy, Stephen King and John Grisham, it’s their books I (have) turn(ed) to when I want to escape to my imagination, whether aboard a U.S. Navy ship, under a drain in Derry or inside a Mississippi courtroom.

 

 

(Why anyone would want to escape to a raucous courtroom, a sinking submarine or clown around in a Maine drain is another tale...)

For crime thrillers, I love Dennis Lehane and his ongoing series with those wonderfully flawed characters Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro.

 

 

 

 

Now, when it comes to guilty pleasures, I love, love, love memoirs.

Partly, because WIP is a memoir I’m co-writing, but it’s also fascinating to hear the voice of other memoirists, and it’s very motivational for me to read about the struggles of others and know that Donald Braswell’s story is as important as ever.

Are we still on the guilty stuff?
We are?

I’m a voracious reader, so if there’s no book around, I’ve been known to read the ingredients on the shampoo and conditioner bottles and the toothpaste tubes (did you know how little fluoride is actually in a tub of adult toothpaste… less than three percent... it’s shocking :)

In that vein, one genre I used to read, (there was few other choices growing up in Ireland,) was my mom’s bodice-ripping romances, which led to me reading a *lot* of Catherine Cookson, Barbara Taylor Bradford and Jackie Collins.

Jackie Collins (L) and Ann Margaret

Those ladies certainly knew how to spin a tale and totally helped me ask many awkward “What does 'thrust' and 'moaned deeply' mean?” questions while at the kitchen table.

PS: Thanks, Alex for making me write about bodice-ripping and Catherine Cookson in one sentence…

Where do I go to surrender my ManCard?

 

9/11 - Memories of a Former Foreigner

(I'm "reprinting" my first ever post, lest I one day forget why I wrote it.)


Aloha,


The thing I remember most about 9/11 is how selfish I felt - at the very beginning.

September 11th was supposed to be the day I paid my debts and made some serious money. I clearly remember the last thing I said as my balding head hit the soft pillow on the 10th: "Tomorrow is going to be a great day, man, tomorrow is going to be a great day."

Source: Anthony Grimley

Five months prior to 9/11 and new to California, I had met several fellow Irishmen at a pub or six, which networked into an interview with a starched suit who looked me up and down to see if I could sell gold coins.

"I can sell a Yankees hat in Boston, or a Cowboys jersey in New York, surely I can sell a little coin over the phone?" I said, full of the optimism of the uninformed American sports fan.

My new boss didn't really care. I'd earn a bare stipend for a couple of months, and then work on one hundred percent commission, so no skin off his nose.

They call the big investors "whales," and it took five months of living off credit cards to reel two in. One lived in New York; the other was in Jersey. I arranged great deals with both retired men; deals that culminated on Monday the 10th, and happy as a pig in a blanket, I later went for a few drinks with the boys, having promised my whales that they'd receive the official paperwork via fax before noon EST Tuesday.


That's the only reason I was up at 5:50 a.m. PST, but as soon as I saw the plane hit the second tower just after 6 a.m. my time, I knew the deals were done - and so was I. (I had no clue how bad it would be - did anyone?)

I wallowed in pity for about thirty-five minutes until I heard another plane had crashed into the Pentagon. Driving to work in my new, unpaid-for Mustang, I jumped up as far as my seatbelt would allow, and let out a scream of hurt and anger I hope my ears will never again endure.

As an immigrant with naturalization papers in process, I had no doubt that the attack was on my country (I swore in July 3, 2003,) and my people.

In October 2001, I tried joining the USAF, but the recruiter told me a 19-year-old's pay "ain't going to take care of the credit problems belonging to a 31-year-old."


On 9/11, as always, I'll wear my Liz Claiborne WTC shirt that I bought 'cos the Statue of Liberty looks cool in the forefront (it was 2002 before I "saw" the Twin Towers for the first time.) I will also reflect on how I awoke thinking only about me, but ended the day thinking only about "U.S." and the thousands whose lives had been destroyed by hate and fear.


May the good God bless the souls of all those lost on 9/11, and Lord, please continue to protect those who, with a servant's heart, always run into harms way while we scream to get the hell out of there.

Thomas Foley, 32, Rescue 3, FDNY, died in the collapse of Tower 2, WTC, New York, 9.59 am, 9/11/01. RIP

IWSG: Are You Unfollowing to me?

Aloha,

It’s Insecure Writers Support Group (ISWG) time!

I remember once seeing this Al De Niro movie called “Taxidermist,” and the main character kept asking:

“Are you unfollowing to me?”

I mention this because I recently “lost” a blog follower.

And, I think it’s because I unfollowed them… but I didn’t mean to, (yikes, not only am I insecure, I’m mean, too.)

I'll expunge myself.

I *heart* Blogger for a few reasons, but mainly because I could (can) never figure how to follow writers on the Wordpress operating system thingy.

Let me give you an examination: I subscribe to a post (‘cos I want to follow the comments) and then unsubscribe a few weeks later (‘cos it’s an old post.)

Nothing wrong with that, right? I don’t even read any of my old posts (except one – and then it’s only once a year.)

I’m not sure, but I believe the rat fink Wordpress squeals as soon as I do the afore mentored unsubscribe…

…My Lost Person came from Wordpress – hence my thinking…

Thus, I wonder: Why is it important for us to have followers on every social media known to man?

(Indeed, if I could go one step further, someone should open a place, maybe a coffee shop or a bar, where… well,

"Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,

And they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see,

Our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows

Your name."

                                         [Cool, everyone knows your name, but no one “Likes” you.]

Lyrics: source

 

Ok, I can’t hang out in Cheers all day, so why do I still bleat for my Lost Sheep, er, Peep?

(RELATED: Is the Facebook “LIKE” taking over the world?)

Now, I must admit, with some glee that I do unfollow people on Twitter every week, via a program called Who Unfollowed Me

I enjoy unfollowing people on Twitter ‘cos I want to follow only like-minded writers, or anyone related in our little sliver of the Blogisfear.

This is so confusing – no wonder I have no Pinterest in adding to my like-minded social media worries.

To collision this article, I'm sad I lost a Bluddy (Blog Buddy), but look forward to smite-ing more Twits who, for example, follow me as a way of promoting ACME plumbers in Dust Bowl, Kansas.

(Shirley it’s better that we concentration on how we write and the words we chose...?)

What say you?

Any tips?


PS... IF you tried to click on the "Related News Link" above, please know you are not alone - I did, too... but it's not working.


PPS... (If you laughed at my humerus IWSG musings, please don't forget to "Like" or "Follow" me...

...With your help, I'll one day reach 842 followers :)

This Humerus (Post) Courtesy: pediatric-orthopedics.com

14 Sundays to Honolulu (and a Writing Tip!)

Aloha,

Ten years ago I made myself a promise.

I was going to run a marathon a year for ten years starting with 2001 Honolulu Marathon.

This is the second week of a series that follows my journey that ends with the 2012 Honolulu Marathon.

I’m planning to also tie the marathons with my writing, but I can’t think of any comparisons…

(OK, I can, but I'm spreading the wealth... there’s fourteen weeks left and I’ve only done nine marathons, so I’ve got six "extra" weeks  J)

Weekly Training Status Update:

This Week’s Current Weight: 207

Last Week’s Previous Weight: 211

Existing Excuse For Weight Gain: (HA! None needed.)

Miles scheduled: 9

Miles ran: 6

Current Conclusion: I suck

How did I get started was a popular question and it’s all because I wanted to shake up my then-yucky life.

I had a friend called Dennis who died of AIDS in the late 1990’s, so when I researched the various charities who would help volunteers run, I decided to run (raise money) for a Los Angeles-based AIDS research group.

When the hundreds of us met for orientation, we were all asked to run three miles at our own pace. This I did, and found myself in a group of about twelve people from all different backgrounds and ages.

We met as strangers, but as time ran by, we became friends and all but one went on to finish the Honolulu Marathon of 2001.

Me.

As mentioned last week, I nearly popped my Achilles tendon and was forced to quit the training, but I did raise the required money for the group, so the main goal was achieved.

Oh... one other, small thing happened after I hurt myself and bailed out of the marathon, but continued running with the group. (I needed to figure out if I wanted to complete a marathon…)

One of our gang, Tracy, invited one of her friends for our Saturday group run.

This friend, Sylvia, ran with us for only three sessions. On the last Saturday, she asked if I wanted to go on a blind date with one of her friends (who liked Irish accents…)

Why not, sounds like fun, and it’s only a blind date, right?

 Sure J

The blind date in Long Beach, Calif., turned into courtship and nearly eleven years later, my wife and I are married more than eight years… and what happened to Sylvia?



Happily married herself, she was the U.S. Army doctor in charge of discharging our third son after he was born here in Honolulu.



Yo, Papa... Your head is so shiny, I need shades!

 



Next Week: Marathon #1: San Diego, 2002