Out With the Old and in With the BOLD

People who know me will tell you that I can be a bit, let's be gentle, intense, to say the least.

I have little time and less than enough patience for the routine, much less dull in life. Which is why I chafe at the amount of time and effort it takes to get an agent or a publisher for my writing work.

To say that dealing with the old school version of the publishing world is tedious would be polite on my part. I know that it has good reason to be the way it is. Truly there are many who would want to be published so as to reap fortunes and fame. Myself, I just want to write.

After years of doing other jobs, some of which I was good at, I realized that living your life while doing something you don't love is not a life. It's a job.

So, on into the new year.

Where I will rev up the marketing campaign.

You've been warned.

Have a Happy Holidays, for whatever reason you celebrate this season.

 

Surveillance is Slavery

Call it what you will, but if anyone is watching you, even in a benign manner, that's an invasion of privacy.

I consider any attempt to harvest information without the subject's permission to be akin to slavery.This attitude of 'You gotta watch them people, you can't trust them' is now being applied to ALL people.

You know how people are, they can't be trusted to stay in line. Never know what they're gonna do next. They might not like you, the nebulous watcher, watching them.

After all what do they think they are? Free or something?

So, when presented with the opportunity to sign a petition today, joining other authors in a protest against the digital surveillance we are now under, I signed up.

Didn't check the background of the site, who really owns it, what their manifesto might be. Just put my name on the internet, along with other personal information and was added to the list of known persons. People who don't like being spied upon, no matter who's doing it.

Does this make me a 'person of interest'? Probably not, with the boring life I lead.

I've always liked that phrase, considering that it's used to indicate that someone is under suspicion for an alleged act.

Hell, here I was thinking that they might actually be an interesting person, one with a fascinating background, not some potential criminal type.

IF a 'person of interest' might be a criminal, does that make US, as a nation under surveillance, a 'people of interest'?

Now, I don't know what to think.

Is this what the governing elite want?

Of course not, they want to do your thinking for you.

Just do everything they say and you'll be fine.

They aren't watching you, they're protecting you.

Now, don't worry, be happy.

Remember, what you don't know.....

is none of your business.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Those of you who read this blog know that I've been working on a novel for the past five years. Which might seem to be a long time to write an action/adventure book based on cyber war.

The problems I encountered trying to find and verify information about the threat that exists in the Internet was a bit difficult, since most people don't want to admit this threat exists. In addition, my novel is based on the premise that the electronic media we all use can be used against us, in more than one way. This goes beyond financial, structural and nation/state attacks.

This week I read "Cyberwar, The Next Threat to National Security". For me, this book confirmed and justified all the work I did on my book. I have a different perspective than Mr. Clarke and Mr. Knake have on how a cyber war would affect the world and this country, but that's to be expected, considering our backgrounds.

The novel is done and I'm sending queries out to agents and publishers at this time. The only thing that concerns me about the publishing business is the amount of time it takes to get into print. This is not a book that can wait for two years.

I'm also considering putting it on the Internet, either through a blog or by posting videos of me reading it.

The novel is not the only that I've written in the past five years. I did a "romance-novella" spoof titled; "Shotgun Romance", a couple of screenplays and a dozen short stories.

During that time I was an extra in a feature film. OK, more like 'human background scenery'.

I've shot some short videos and will be posting them on YouTube in the future on my site at Tom2u.

That and worked on the farm. Hey, don't have to worry about getting to the gym!

Going Dutch, Trials of a Wage Slave

I’m getting ready to launch another blog. Like I need more work.

This one will focus on my book, “Going Dutch, Trials of a Wage Slave”.

It will be a couple of days before I launch. Working out the blog name, deciding the layout and contents, etc.

Have been raising hell on Nikki Finke’s blog:
http://www.deadlinehollywooddaily.com

The SAG/AMPTP thing is nothing short of a fiasco. Time to shut Hollywood down until the people who do the work get paid for their efforts.

This country has been allowed to sink into a wage slave mentality. Too many people think that they don't have any say in their work conditions. They are too scared to speak out, afraid to lose their jobs.

Instead, they are slowing losing everything, while they are holding onto a job that could be gone tomorrow.

Those who aren't brave enough to fight for their rights usually have none.

You Wanna Be In Movies, Part Five

This security cop couldn't be more serious. He was going to throw me off the lot.

I looked around, David was crossing the parking lot, headed towards an equipment truck. He looked toward me and I waved him over. The security cop asked me my name again.
I didn't say anything, as David walked up, "What's going on?"
"This officer wants to throw me off the set for taking photos."
David shook his head, "I'm one of the crew, he's with me. It's OK for him to shoot photos. He's not taking any pictures of the set, only the museum trains."
The cop looked at David, then at me as he growled, "Fine. Just doing my job."
"Thanks officer."
He gave me a dirty look, threw his clipboard back on the seat, dropped his car into gear.
I looked over at David as the police car threw gravel on us as it hurried off, "Thanks, I appreciate it."
"No problem, that guy is just trying to make points."
"Why didn't he stop me when we were looking at the trains and taking photos?"
"Probably too busy to notice. I've got to get the generator set up."
"Yeah, thanks again." David nodded and walked away.

I went back to my car, slid in and put the camera away. There wasn't going to be much to see around here, the sun was dropping, so I left for the low-rent motel.

Motels, hotels, trains, planes, none of them are any good for sleep. Great to meet people, have some fun, but rest, forget it. Never, if you have a choice, get a room next to a stairwell. Unless you like to hear every drugged/drunk loudmouth in the world stumble around trying to get upstairs or fight with the semi-functional ice machine.

On the other side, I had a couple of construction workers. Been on the road together for ten years, punching holes in the ground for elevators in new buildings. The older one came over as I unloaded the car. He wanted to buy the Porsche, right then and there. Offered me cash for it, as long as I would take a check. Uh, huh, sure. What's it drawn on, the Bank of Wishful Thinking? It turned out that he knew quite a bit about Porsches, except that this one isn't for sale.

We talked for a long time, long enough for them to cook dinner on their barbecue grill, mounted on the back of their work truck. They were completely equipped, two large coolers, one for pop, the other for beer, a frig for their food. Steaks, potatoes, condiments. They offered to cook me a steak, but I declined. Told them I was too nervous about going to my 'job interview' the next day. Which led to the inevitable questions about the 'job'.

I fended this off for about an hour, before I finally told them that it was really just a one day background extra part in a movie. They were surprised that they hadn't heard anything about it. They had been in town for over a week and no one had said anything about a feature film being shot in Chattanooga. I told them that it wasn't that big a deal.

I really wanted to try and talk to the producer or a couple of the stars. I have a screenplay with characters that I think they would be interested in playing.

We talked about my screenplay, "A Model Heist" for a while, I explained to them that it's about war veterans who come home to a changed country. They got the idea, nothing is like it was. Which is the way things work, everything undergoes change, that's what life is, constant change.

What they couldn't understand was the stuff they had to watch on TV. Their big complaint was that everything was either a bad copy or rerun of something that was done better, in the old days. I pointed out that TV shows have a lot of writers and they tend to dilute the product. You know the old saying about "Too many cooks spoil the pot".

Then they asked about movies and I had to tell them that it was the same problem. For some reason, executives seem to think that the more writers they add to a project, the better it gets. After they give them notes on how to write it. Which rarely improves the work.

Look at people like Hitchcock; get a good screenwriter, work out the camera angles, rehearse your actors, shoot the damn film.

Now, everyone's a writer, even the actors. Who also want to direct, produce, etc. Which is why I drove to Chattanooga. You have to know as much as possible about the entire movie business, if you want to play in the game. There comes a time though, when you have to cut to the chase and get the camera rolling.

These good ole boys could understand all of that. They just couldn't understand, with all the money and talent, how the majority of new stuff is terrible. Like I told them. Too many people who want to influence the film or TV show and claim that they were the 'creative force' behind it.

That's not even taking into factor that with all the available networks, you have dilution. Stuff gets thrown against the wall that would never be seen in a more competitive situation.I left them to their cable TV programs and went back to the room to do my daily writing. In this case, a journal entry for the day.

At 10PM, I tried to get to sleep. It was going to be an early call in the AM and the construction guys were going to be up before me. Didn't happen, parking lot noises, random shouts and conversations, general crashing and banging of people hauling themselves up the stairs.

After about 6 hours of fitful sleep, I got up and took a shower. Time to get dressed and head for the set.

My first time on camera in a feature film, please get my good side.

You Wanna Be In Movies, Part 4

It's easy to get on a movie set. Just drive up in a fancy car and act like you own the place. Which is not what I did, but it sounds like it.

After I had checked in, they sent me to the haircut tent,where I got my genuine, authentic 1920's style haircut. I was told to shave my mustache, shown how to trim my sideburns for the correct look. Then sent back out into the cool March afternoon.

This is when I met the Politician. He came over and commented on the 912, shocked to find out that it wasn't a new car. We discussed how we got the 'job' and did the 'where you from' thing.

We started discussing what we knew about the movie, which wasn't much. As we talked, he asked me if I wanted to see the train. Huh? Like that wouldn't get the crew's attention? I told him that the last thing I wanted to do was to get thrown off the set after I had just got there.

He just smiled and laughed, told me that he had already been through it. We started walking over towards it, then climbed aboard.

I've been on plenty of trains in my life. Taken them all over Europe and England. Other than riding subway trains in New York City, I can't remember ever being on an American train. As a boy in Memphis, I got into trouble one day, playing in the rail yards near my house. If it's got an engine, I have to check it out.

These were older cars, wooden trim, but with steel framework and brass fittings. We wandered around, avoiding the crew as they set up. The cars were in fair condition, not shiny new or over restored. What you would expect from carriages that were seeing service. They had the right look for a film.

Walking through the old cars made me realize just how much things have changed with technology. The last time I had been on a train was an old clunker that took me from London to Southampton. It had a plaque on it that stated it had been built in 1937. It creaked and rattled and felt like it was going to come apart as we banged down the tracks.

Almost like a time trip movie for me, as I had just got off the Eurostar from Paris. We had blasted across the French countryside, in a cocoon of solitude, with nary a ripple in your glass of wine. The scenery outside the window going backwards like a film in hyper reverse, at over 160 MPH. Then into the Chunnel, with the thought of all those tons of seawater pressing against the walls.

We moved through the two cars before I realized that the engine wasn't hooked up to them. The Politician pulled out a cellphone, with a built in camera. He took a few shots, then put it back in his pocket. It only took about ten minutes to look them over and then we were back outside, walking along the tracks. Other actors were arriving, checking in and getting their haircuts.

The Politician and I wound up next to his car, where his girlfriend was talking on her cellphone. He was going to take off, get ready for the big day. I grabbed my camera from my car and went back over towards the old steam engines, away from the movie train cars.

The best light in either in early morning or late afternoon. The sun was just about right for me to get some good shots of the old trains. I positioned myself in the middle of the empty parking lot, shot a few photos. Moved over to get a different angle, heard a car approaching, crunching the gravel behind me. It was a security cop.

He ordered me to come over to the car. Asked me what I was doing with the camera. Resisting the urge to make a snarky comment, I told him, "Taking pictures of the trains."

Mr. Security, who wasn't around to keep me from driving on the set unquestioned, then told me that I was in violation of the rules, laws, edicts and pronouncements of the production company. We would be going to the big tent and I would be thrown off the set.

I couldn't believe it. After just leaving the set, where the Politician had shot photos of it with his cellphone camera, here I was, getting thrown out for shooting photos of trains that weren't going to be in the movie!

Now I was upset. What the hell did I do that was such a crime? I offered to show the cop my photos, so he could see that there weren't any of the movie set.

No dice. The security cop was adamant. He grabbed up a clipboard from the passenger seat and asked me my name.

How was I going to get out of this?

You Wanna Be In Movies, Part 3

It was an uneasy drive to Chattanooga. The entire way, I worried about the car deciding to burn itself down. The first hundred miles, approaching Nashville were easy. The light, Sunday morning traffic wasn't bad, the weather good for March. It's not quite three hundred miles and I covered the distance in less than four hours. The only hassle was an asshole in a pickup truck who wanted to run over the car. It comes with the territory. You drive a sports car, you'll have clowns who hate it. They don't appreciate the good points of the car.

One of the reasons that I drive this car is the great gas mileage. The 912 gets around 30 miles per gallon on the highway, even with the A/C running. One of the other reasons is that I can work on it. Yes, I know, most people hate to check the air in the tires, much less crawl underneath a grimy car to service it. The Porsche's not grimy and it's easy to maintain. Even though it's a four cylinder, it's still fairly fast. I don't need four hundred horsepower, I'll just want to use it. That's why all my big bikes are now gone. Let's just say that it's difficult to have something that will do 150 MPH and not drive it that fast.

I got to Chattanooga two hours early for my haircut. The location was in an older, industrial part of town. I found it without too much trouble. When I rolled onto the set, I was surprised at how deserted it was. No one stopped me at the entrance, I just drove in. There were a few people about, most of them crew who were doing prep work for the day's shoot. I parked the 912 and walked around, getting the lay of the land, so to speak.

They had three medium-sized tents set up for dressing rooms and a place for the caterers. The Tennessee Valley Railroad is a train museum, so they had a pretty good collection of trains. Since I'm a gearhead, I wandered around, up and down the tracks, looking at the different models.

Met a Teamster who used to work on the Union Pacific railroad. David and I wandered around, looking at the old steam engines, then he opened the engine covers, like big steel doors, on one of the newer diesels. Huge engine. I have written service and operator's manuals on big diesels, but nothing like the engine in a train.

The whole time, I was shooting photos. Only after I asked him about doing it. He assured me that as long as I was with him and didn't point my camera towards the train they were going to use for the shoot, that I would be OK. Which was reassuring, since I wanted to at least get some pictures to prove that I had 'been there, done that'. Didn't figure that there were going to be any t-shirts available.

David gave me some background on the movie, told me that they might need people who could drive a Model T Ford. Which I know that I could, but I've never had the chance. My neighbor had one, which I've ridden in, but never driven. Something to look into.

Meanwhile, I checked in, got on the list for my free haircut and met some of the other actors. The first person I met was a dude that I'll call the Politician. He has that tall, semi-dignified attitude, while being just a touch disconnected from what's going on. Glad to meet you and let me show you what I know. Don't worry about a thing, I'm sure that I can do this and not get into any trouble. You, on the other hand, might just get hung for doing it.

I wasn't out of Tennessee and here I was, back swimming with the land sharks.

Hollywood, Lawyers, The Office and Me

A friend in Hollywood suggested, months ago, that I write about my efforts to 'get to Hollywood'. Which is interesting in and of itself, since I've been out to LA five times now. They weren't vacations, each time I went was due to the Biz, or as it's known to the rest of the world, Hollywood and the movies.

The first time was due to an agent. He told me that my screenplay 'has potential', wanted to meet with me. This was before the internet and cellphones were common. You called people long distance, sent a letter or went and met them. Doing what any normal, level-headed person would do, I quit my job and drove to the West Coast. Yes, I used capital letters, it's a nation unto itself.

You want the grimy details on that trip, it's covered in my book, "Going Dutch, Trials of a Wage Slave". Let's just say that the agent and I weren't a good match and leave it at that.

I won't bore you with the details of the other trips. A couple were for a film commission that I worked with in Ohio. The last two were for screenwriter conferences and meetings. You have to stay up to speed, even if you live in the hills of Tennessee, if you want to get your movie made.

Even here, we have Hollywood come to visit. I've attended the Nashville Screenwriters Conference and got some great advice. One of the lawyers that flew in from New York gave the definitive breakdown on the writer hierarchy. Let me give you the short list.

1) Playwrights
2) Novelists
3) Screenwriters

Playwrights have almost total control, right down to the sets and director. Novelists work with an editor, who usually has notes on the work in progress. Screenwriters get to hear from everyone, the director, the producer, the actors, the studio suits, ad infinum. Guess which writer has the most power?

Which is why I have gone back to writing novels. I would like to write a play, but that would mean having to stage it. Rather difficult here, there aren't too many theaters around and the local high school productions are a bit reserved. Don't expect to see "Oh, Calcutta" or "Hair" being done down at the local school anytime soon.

As for the screenplays. I still write them. I still send them out. Some are being rewritten as novels. I don't give up on projects. Why should I, after all the work that has gone into them.

When I wrote "Going Dutch, Trials of a Wage Slave", it was before "The Office" became a big hit in the USA. My work in different industries and my last corporate job were pretty funny situations. They were both hilarious and funny strange.

Funny strange due to the office politics and power plays by different people and groups in the companies. In time, I have displaced the anger that I felt during the game playing with humor. Reflecting on the efforts of some of the non-performers, who were just scared people trying to do what they could to keep their jobs. Right up to and including lies, rumors, innuendo and conspiracy. As seen on TV!

You have to wonder about people who go home from work to watch TV about people at work in an office. TV used to be all game shows, historical shows and sitcoms. The reality stuff is almost a farce. Which is probably one of the most accurate reflections of our current society.

I now have added 'blogger' to my repertoire. Which is almost as effective as standing on the front porch, talking into the wind. You get the words out, but you really have to wonder if anyone is listening to you. Does George Bush do this at the White House?

One of my next posts will be about another one of my efforts to 'get to Hollywood'. In this case, I was cast as a 'background extra' on a feature film. Part of it was shot in Tennessee.

The film's out now. I haven't been to see it. Don't know if it's going to make the local theater or not. They only play one movie a week. Talk about a 'one horse town'.

Which means that I can always wait until in comes out on DVD. If they still make DVDs.

There is more than one way to 'get to Hollywood'.

The main thing is that you do it your way.

Life, Death and Survival

The previous post is not going to make some people very happy. That's tough, as it's pretty much how things really are in the world.

No matter what you eat, it's usually dead before you get to it. All the vegetarians in the world like to think that they are not killing anything to eat it, but they are just fooling themselves.

All living things eat or consume other living things, the only difference is if it's animal or plant. It's always amazed me how people get upset over those of us who eat venison (deer meat) while they're chewing on a hamburger. You would be surprised how tasty a veni-burger is!

As for the processing of the kill. It doesn't matter how far down the list you are, whether you kill it or someone else does, you're part of the system. You have as much blood on your hands as the butcher. If you didn't place that order for a burger and fries or even a salad, that cow, that potato and all those greens would have lived out their lives...and died anyway.

Just be thankful for them being around to give up their 'lives' for you.

Then, chow down!

Gutting Bambi's Brother

I get up and write early in the morning. So, I’m usually up around 0500hrs (5AM). It’s usually an hour before the brain clears up enough and I’ve taken care of the dogs, started breakfast, etc. to get started on my work.

On the weekends, I sometimes get started later. A couple of Saturdays ago, I was involved in my morning toilet ritual when there was a heavy pounding on my front door. The dogs started to bark out back. Not too many people would be coming to see me at 0700hrs (7AM). I pull my pants up, muttering impolite things and get to the front door.

It’s my neighbor from up the road. The quiet, polite grandmother who works at the local China-Mart. She’s dressed like a Tennessee Volunteers football fan, right down to the orange watch cap and booster jacket. She’s out of breath and there’s no car in the driveway.
"I got a deer and he locked me out of the house!"
"What do you mean, locked you out of the house?"
"I went down in the bottom, shot a deer and now can’t get into the house! He’s gone to see his mother at the nursing home. I had to walk up here."
"All the way from the bottom?"
"Yes! No! I went to the house first and it’s locked up!"
"Let me get the truck and we’ll go get your deer."

She’s breathless, leaning up against the brick pillar of my front porch. I just shake my head. She knows my edict against coming into my shack. Nobody gets in the door, everybody waits on the porch.
"Just hold on a minute, let me get dressed and we’ll go down and get your deer."
She’s like a kid on Christmas, "It’s a five-point buck, I’m so excited!"
No kidding. I’m not really thrilled myself. Having committed to help her get any deer she shot out of the woods or fields a couple of months earlier, I now realize my mistake.

Before we went down to the bottoms with her rifle a couple of weeks ago and I found out that she’s the Tennessee Annie Oakley, Little Sure Shot of Cherry Bottom. Put a slug dead center through a 2x2 piece of wood, using iron sights, from about 40 yards away. First shot.

So, I told her I would gut her deer, if she got one. Just for the experience. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Get some venison for the table, a few good bones for the puppy to teeth on…The last thing I figured was that she would actually shoot one.

I put on my dark green military pants, field jacket, grabbed my knife and the camera, then head out the door. After making it plain to Thor that he’s not riding in the front seat of the truck, I lock the hubs, put it in four-wheel drive. We go around the barn and down over the hill towards the slough in the bottoms. The brush has grown up in the track and I have to drive through some tall grass and saplings to get to the bottom. Thor bounds along beside the truck, excited at the break in routine. We drive up over the small hill, then down into the mown hay field, hay rolls scattered around the bottom.

Sure Shot points towards the middle of the bottom, "He’s right over there, about where we were when we tried to set up my scope. Which is when I found out she could shoot, even after getting too close to the scope and having the gun recoil and butt her in the head. Her forehead looked like a Klingon from STAR TREK, but the two black eyes she developed over the next few days really got some comments down at the store. She still had the black eyes, two weeks later and now her deer. Who’s laughing now?

Bambi’s brother was lying there stretched out like he was taking a nap, good size, about 80-90 pounds. I pulled the truck up next to him and got out. Thor was unsure, sniffing from about 10 feet away, got down and moved slowly towards the buck. I ordered him to sit. I kneeled down next to Bambi’s brother and checked him out. Sure Shot had nailed him high in the right shoulder and it probably killed him instantly, the so-called ‘painless death’, didn’t know what hit him. I don’t think he took more than a step before he dropped dead. He looks good, his tongue doesn’t have any spots on it. Thor has remained motionless, watching me.

Sure Shot positions herself next to her kill as I work the camera. Couple of shots of her next to the buck, holding it’s head up, one standing next to it, with more background, hay rolls and field. Thor bumping me, trying to get my attention while I’m shooting the pictures. He wants to gnaw on the deer. I tell him to lie down.

I go to the truck, put the camera away, get my stuff, hand the new packet of dish washing gloves to Sure Shot. I was going to use them for laying up some fiberglass on my boat, but they’ll clean up. There is no way anyone is going to gut an animal and not get blood on them. I walk back over to Bambi’s brother.

Sure Shot is circling, telling how she sat and watch four of them playing in the field. She waited until they settled down to graze, picked out this buck and then busted him. It was about 80 yards from where she was sitting, a damn good shot with open sights on a target that could jump in the blink of an eye.

I pull out my combat knife, trying to remember the instructions I had read on the internet about gutting a deer. It’s been almost 20 years since I skinned one up in Kentucky and a lot longer since I had to dissect a frog in high school biology class. Bambi’s brother gets rolled over on his back and I have Sure Shot hold onto one of his rear leg’s while I cut around his anus (a**hole, to you non-medical types). Got to get the guts with fecal matter out of the body cavity first. Then I slice up from there, up around his manhood parts and then on up into his guts. It’s not going well, more like rookie meatball surgery. "This is like watching those old M*A*S*H* TV shows" I say to Sure Shot. She just shakes her head. I cut deep into the hip area, trying to separate the muscles that hold it together and get the large intestine out of the body.

You have to use a sharp knife and be careful not to cut too deep, you don’t want to slice into any intestines or the stomach, ruining the meat. I then cut up to the bottom of the breastbone. The line that I scored with the knife is not deep enough and I have to go back over it, trying to cut just deep enough to separate the skin, but not cut his intestines.

Sure Shot it fascinated, although having seen this done plenty of times, but not actually done it herself, "This isn’t making you sick?"
"I worked in a hospital for about a year. Had friends in the E.R. Sometimes I had to help out there. I’ve seen blood before and torn open bodies."
"Yeah, but still…

"Had a guy bleed all over me one time, up in Ohio. He had hit a large metal pole head-on in an old 1960’s Cadillac. Must have been doing 50 miles per hour. Power seat went forward and drove his knees into the dashboard, face into the steering wheel, no seatbelt.

A buddy of mine and I had just dropped off his girlfriend, three of us riding tight in his 1964 Corvette. I was early 20’s, just out cruising, you know. We were headed to another bar, came around a corner and here’s this Caddy, embedded into a large metal pole. Dude had to be flying, car hit about three feet off the ground. Must have just happened, no one out of the house it’s in front of and the car’s steaming from a busted radiator.

Ed stopped the ‘vette and I jump out, ran over and jerked the door open. The guy’s still alive, talking to me, wants to get out of the car, babbling about he can’t get caught. I try to move the seat back, but it’s jammed, his knees buried in the all metal dashboard, blood pumping out of him from his legs and face. Ed stood behind me, dazed by the whole thing. Our evening buzz was gone.

I run up to the front door of the house, pound on it and an old man jerked the door open almost immediately. He started yelling at me to leave him alone, he’s already called the police, doesn’t want to get involved. Which sounded like a good idea. I turn around and Ed is in the ‘vette, engine running. I don’t need to think, there are sirens screaming down the boulevard, about a ½ mile away. I ran and dove into the Corvette. We go up a block, take a right and stay off the main drag, backtracking through some high-dollar neighborhood.

When we got to my house, we realized that my jacket is covered with blood. I take it off and put it in the wood burning stove in the shop and burn it. We down a six-pack, talking about it. We looked in the paper for a week, but never saw anything about the accident, don’t know if the guy lived or died. Must have been some high-roller’s kid."

"So blood doesn’t bother you?" Sure Shot persists.
"I’ve seen enough of it, mine and other people’s. I don’t think that you get used to it. When I worked at the hospital, a couple of the doctors thought that I should go back to school, become a doctor. Not the job for me."

I’m cutting around Bambi’s brother’s intestinal wall, trying to get deep enough into the cavity to ease the intestines, liver, kidneys, lungs and heart out, without making a really bloody mess of it. Sure Shot has now got blood up over her gloves, staining her Volunteer jacket sleeves. Thor is being a very good dog, lying on the grass, watching me, knows the pecking order. It’s my kill as far as he’s concerned and he knows better than to mess with my food.

The guts just won’t cooperate, they refuse to come out of the carcass. I get frustrated, grab the deer’s head and pick him up, flip him over, drag him about six feet, trying to get the innards to fall out. All I get is blood all over the ground and on the legs of my pants and front of my jacket. I drop him on his back, pick the knife up and put my hands into his chest cavity, trying to cut his esophagus loose from his stomach. Finally, I cut enough that his stomach, intestines, the whole mess falls out onto the ground when we tilt him up. Thor sniffs the air, sits up and starts to come towards me. I tell him to sit and he does.

"He a really good dog, most of them would be all over the place" Sure Shot nods toward Thor, impressed by his restraint.
"He knows better. He doesn’t get to eat until he sits and obeys me."

I continue cutting and now am reaching into the body cavity, pulling out fat, pieces of gut that I missed, random body parts that don’t look too edible. There’s a pile on the ground that probably weighs about 20 pounds. I look around and gauge how to handle the next problem. The tailgate on the truck is broken, the bed is full of junk and I need to get this deer up and over the tailgate.
Thor is watching intently as I go over to the truck and call him. He runs and jumps in the front seat. Close the door and go back to move Bambi’s brother over to the truck and hold his head up. Have Sure Shot grab his head while I climb into the bed of the truck. Then I reach over and take his head, pull him over the tailgate and into the truck bed. Don’t want to break the small rack he’s got, as that will probably be going on the wall. The three of us crowd into the truck cab and start off to Sure Shot’s house.

We get there and I find a wooden skid to put Bambi’s brother on, while Sure Shot goes to see if her roommate has returned from visiting his mother. Nope, so we unload Bambi’s brother and I tied him up so we can hose him out. There’s no way we can take him to the check-in station with the 4X4, it doesn’t have real good brakes.

Thor takes a place on the driveway and watches while I hose the blood off the deer, the truck and myself. Sure Shot’s roomie finally shows up and we load Bambi’s brother into the back of her mini-van. He’s riding on a tarp, to keep anything from getting too nasty. I decide to ride along, in case there’s any questions about where he was shot and the registration.

At the deer check-in station, it’s like Mardi Gras for camo freaks. Whole families dressed in the latest camouflage fashions. There’s camouflage trucks, ATVs, children, mothers, all on display. We roll in driving a 15 year old mini-van, looking like we just came from either the football game or the barn. The rear hatch goes up and people wander over to look at Sure Shot’s buck. They think it’s mine. Which I enjoy correcting them about it. Then they’re really shook up. Sure Shot doesn’t look the part. She moves slow, has a bad leg, doesn’t look like she would get off the couch, much less sit in the woods and take down a deer.

The Tennessee Wildlife Resource crew check over Bambi’s brother, note his rack size, estimate his age at a year and a half, give us some tips on gutting deer for next time. Sure Shot gets all the paperwork done and we go back to the mini-van. Just then a dude pulls in with a huge buck, probably a 10-12 point rack. Sure Shot pulls forward 100 feet, stops the mini-van, she’s got to see this buck. I get out, not all that enthused, dead deer are dead deer.

Sure Shot is all over the buck, the dude who shot him doesn’t act too happy about being questioned by her. Then I ask where he shot it. It’s over on the other side of the farm, near where people have been poaching on the old man’s property. The game warden busted a guy a couple of years back. It cost him quite a bit of money, lost his gun and his truck. They still do it, just like the ones who spotlight deer from the road and then are surprised when they’re caught.

We get back in the mini-van and leave, heading for the butcher shop. Sure Shot was supposed to have all this figured out. Knows somebody down at the store, who’s son knows the guy who processes the deer. It’s not call ‘butchering’ any more. The crew at the deer check station didn’t know how to get to this guy’s place. The game warden told me he bought a meat grinder and does it himself.

We drive towards the deer processor, but I get bad directions when we stop at a local corner store. The lady behind the counter talking on the phone, while giving the lost Yankee, which I’m not, I just sound like one, directions. Which were wrong. Or maybe I misunderstood.

We drive about 10 miles, miss a turn in the village we weren’t told about, go back towards the burg after we get to the county line, now knowing we're too far out. During our drive towards the general vicinity, me making cell phone calls using her cell phone and getting people who are surprised when I start talking to them. The ambiguous male accent throws them off, then I explain that Sure Shot got her deer and everybody’s congratulatory and friendly. Where’s the deer processor?

When we get back into the burg, Sure Shot stops at the local trading post. The guy inside tells her the correct directions. We head down the road, drive about a mile and we’re there. Some kid, about nine years old is out front of the building. He’s got thick glasses and is wearing the full camo rig. Hat, jacket and pants, hunting boots. Sure Shot asks what to do with the deer. He tells her to unload it, put it on the concrete and he’ll skin it for her. She can’t believe that he would skin it.

I get the rear hatch open and the kid comes over. He wants to help unload it and goes to grab the head. I ask him to switch, I’ll grab the heavier end. He grabs the rear legs, pulls the deer out of the van, with me holding the front and drops Bambi’s brother on the gravel. Embarrassed, he picks the deer up and staggers over to the concrete pad, me following his lead. I thank him as we put the deer down.

Sure Shot is standing talking to the deer processor’s wife, who’s got a clipboard, noting down what she wants in the way of cuts and sausage. Then comes the big question. The deer processor comes out and asks if she is going to mount the head. It’s only ten bucks to cut it off properly, but the taxidermist is going to want around $200 to mount it.

Sure Shot shakes her head, so the deer processor asks if she wants the rack.
"Well, yeah, how much does that cost?"
"Nothing," he replies.

Then he reaches over for an electric saw and immediately cuts the top of the deer’s skull open. One slice down from the rear, above the ears and the other across the front, just above the eyes. Pops the top off and hands it to me. Nice clean gray matter, exposed to the world.

"Is that the brain?"
"Yep, sure is," answers the deer processor.
Sure Shot leaned up against the mini-van, I thought she was going to faint right there.

After all that blood, a little bit of brain got to her.

We got in the mini-van and left.

It’s all over but the eating now.

Agents of Change, Literary and Other

It's been a couple of weeks since I posted, haven't stopped writing, just didn't find time to post stuff here. My apologies to whoever might be reading this blog.

Last half of November was descent into hell. Neighbor shot a deer, which I didn't think would happen. I had committed to helping get it out of the woods and gutting it.

Since I never expected her to shoot one, I didn't think that I would be making like a M*A*S*H* field hospital surgeon and wind up dissecting Bambi's brother in the middle of a hay field. Yes, it's bloody and yes, it's a very long post. The squeamish should not read it. I'll post a warning before and after the post is put up, later this week.

Then my other neighbor died. This wasn't unexpected, just happened sooner than most thought, as his cancer spread rapidly, in weeks rather than months as the doctors had predicted. Watching the actions of his grown children, grand-kids and other relatives was enlightening to say the least. I'll try to keep from being too acidic in my comments.

The most important thing has been my sending out emails to literary agents, trying to get one to promote my books, screenplays, songs and poems. I usually don't mention all of these types of the written word when sending a query email. Everyone is a specialist these days and there are certain agents that don't represent screenplays, others that don't touch poetry, etc.

My take on that is that they are all forms of expression. Even if you aren't good at one and excellent at another, there is nothing wrong with working on your weak point to build it up and strengthen it.

Too many people write, in the hopes of being famous and making money. I write because I love it.