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Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Who needs to be motivated today? Who out there says, "they can't do it?" Who has tried and failed and tried and failed? Who is ready to put themselves off the floor and keep trying until they reach their? Failure is never an option!

Don't believe me? Watch the video and believe in yourself.

Just this morning, a friend of mine posted he didn't enter his artwork in shows because he didn't like it. My response, "Name me the top selling author who never published his book." He doesn't exist, because he or she were to scared to take the plunge or were frightened what others will think. Imagine what they'll think if you never try!?!?!



Have a great day

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Excerpt from Gateway: Pioche Chapter 3

“No, Judith. We have to go,” fired off Larry.
What’s wrong with Larry? He is never this demanding, thought Judith.
“No? No? Who the hell are you, to tell me no? You’re not my mother or father. Where do you get off telling me what to do, anyhow?”
Her voice was getting louder as she started berating Larry. “Let me tell you something, you juvenile delinquent, that is my car...”
Larry couldn’t help but feel the eyes (especially the two pairs in question) staring at the four. Katie hurried to the table and offered the regulars a free refill. They declined her request, got up from the booth and started approaching the students.
“...and if you don’t want me to leave your ass in this shit-hole of a town, you’ll show me some respect or I’ll kick your ass all the way back to Stanford.” The men were now three feet from the four.
The largest man, probably in his mid-forties, with a beer belly that would make Miller proud and a physique to match, chimed in. “What’s wrong, sonny? Having a little trouble with your wild filly? My buddy Ray and I got just the cure for breaking her. I think we’ll take her outside and teach her some manners.”
Ray joined in. “Yep, Billy boy and I got just what she be needing to learn her elders some respect.”
“Look guys, we don’t want any trouble. We’re passing through and need to get back on the road.” Larry tried to push by the men, but they set up a formidable barricade.
“Not so fast. We’ll let you go just as soon as we had our dessert.” They stared straight at Judith’s chest.
“By looks of it Ray, I’d say she’s got plenty for each of us. You take the right, and I’ll take the left.”
“Tell ya what Billy, I don’t mind sloppy seconds, so while you’re knocking her front out, I’ll be in the back getting some of that split end while you bronc and tame them melons. We can test out that new full-sized bed I installed last month in my Peterbilt.”
“Sounds good to me, Ray. We gonna split her real good and maybe teach her a thing or two.”
Katie was attentively listening to the men. She knew they were capable of pulling it off. No one ever stood up to them, and when a police report was filed, no one dared to show up and verify the charges.
“Come on boys, sit down and have some more coffee, let these nice folks go about their business. We don’t want any trouble and Katie can’t wait to be a sandwich with you two.” She hoped her offer was enough to allow the kids to be on their way—unharmed.
Ray glared at Katie. “When we’re finished with her, you’re next.”
Judith’s gut tightened at the thought of being manhandled by them. She was infuriated, yet refrained from inflaming the situation.
The next words spoken were quiet and specific. “Gentlemen,”
“Well lookie here Ray, we’ve got us a little egg roll. Tell ya what, when we’ve finished polishing our rods with ‘Miss July’, I think we need us a slant-eye as an encore.”
“Hell yeah, Billy. I always heard it was horizontal.”
Muki stood her ground.” Will you please let us pass? We have a pressing engagement and would hate to be late.”
“Billy, I’d hate for them to be late so let’s split the egg roll first. Be a good tune-up for the little princess. I bet this one’s so tight, she’ll be screaming for a month.” The men let out a deep, evil laugh as they rubbed their crotches.
Larry attempted to pull Muki back; she held her ground.
Ray attempted to push Larry out of the way. As his hand grabbed Larry’s, a slender brown arm redirected Ray’s hand and arm and spun him 180 degrees. The next few seconds were a blur to the untrained eye. Muki spun Ray around, planting her left hand in his lower back. His size was perfect for the moves the neighborhood kids had shown her. Using Ray as a workbench, she planted her right foot just above Billy’s tibia and shattered the patella. He went down in a moaning heap.
She turned 90 degrees to her left, and let out a small cry as her right elbow crashed into the soft joint between Ray’s radius and humerus. She quickly moved her right foot onto Ray’s right patella and dropped it three inches. She held on to his left arm as his massive weight pulled him to the ground. With one good jerk, the sound of tendons and ligaments snapping was loud and gruesome (it would take more than Tommy John surgery to repair the injury).
Billy turned over, whimpering in pain. “You little Asian bitch; when I get up—”He never finished his sentence as she thrust her foot squarely into the area he had so recently described to her.
Judith, Larry, Abdul and Katie stared in awe; first at Muki, and then at the two not so imposing figures on the floor. Muki took stock of the situation and smiled as if she’d just aced a history exam. “Okay, I think we can go now,” and moved towards the counter.
Larry agreed. “Oh yeah, that’s a good idea. Come on guys, let’s go.”
Katie (in shock at the current events) gladly rang the ticket up and took the money from Larry. She couldn’t help but ask Muki a question.
“Little girl, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life, but I’m here to tell ya, that beats all I’ve seen in these parts. Where did you learn to do that?”
“Yeah,” said Judith. “I’d like to know the same thing.”
She looked at her friends then turned to Katie. “Never enjoy the cookie, until the fortune is read.”
“What the hell? Excuse me. What does she mean by that?” asked Katie.
Larry and Judith had a good idea what she meant. In a hushed tone, Larry bent over an inch or two as he handed Katie at ten-dollar tip, “Don’t fuck with an egg roll you didn’t order.”
“Amen to that, Mister. Amen to that.”
Katie turned and picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff’s office.
“Dale, you and Jimmy need to come down here. You won’t believe what just happened. Billy and Ray are messing up my mopped floor and are bleeding all over the place.” A noticeable smiled surrounded her mouth.

Prepare for the most unconventional modern day TIME TRAVEL novel to date!  Click to purchase.

Friday, May 23, 2014


The streets are lined again.
The crowd bustles about.
A few stores are open for patrons.
Children pull at their parents pants.
He takes it all in with grim determination,
the past enough far behind.

The assembly area is full of activity.
Organizers scurry about with a purpose.
For some it is there first,
for him, it is a lifetime of honor.

The clock approaches 10:00am.
The crowd becomes restless as children squirm.
Some stand by the curb for a good view.
Others are hoisted to shoulders.
Some sit on lawn chairs wondering why they came.
His eyes never waver from the street.

A gunshot is heard,
It marks the beginning of the festivities.
The shot makes him shudder.
He thinks back of youth lost,
He remembers the deep snow,
the hot tropics,
the smell of cordite.
He forces a tear back.

A cadence booms far away.
Is it the sound of gunfire,
or is it a lost memory?
His eyes strain to see the coming spectacle.

One by one, the lead cars slowly pass by.
He politely waves with acknowledging eyes.
The children jostle for the bits of candy tossed.
Moms and dads tousle with the little ones.
He pays them no mind,
for they are only children.
What do they know of the cost?

His hands gently move over his brass buttons,
making sure no wrinkles show.
His medals, all highly polished,
the Eagle shines brightly from his cover,
again, he fights a tear.

He knows why he came,
He knows the pain and the cost,
he was there.
He held men in pain,
he saw lives extinguished in a blink.
He fights back the memories,
the cries of help, the cries of sorrow,
the sounds of battle.
The memories are a heavy weight.

A toddler, accidentally bumps into a wheel.
The chair wobbles just a bit.
He places a kind smile to the tot.
The child retreats to his parents.

There. There they are.
The sight of the banners fills him with pride.
He knows what it still stands for,
he knows the price of letting it blow.

The closer they approach,
the past creeps in with each perfect step.
St. Mere Eglise, Caen, Falaise, and Bastogne.
Was it only yesterday Joe fell, or was it Billy?
It matters not, for many followed them at:
Saigon, Khe Sanh, Hue, and TET.

He remembers the letters to parents of those who fell,
but never met: Tarawa, Tinian, Peleliue, Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
He wears the pains of many with the medals.
They performed when called.
They shirked nothing, yet sacrificed all.

The memories almost overwhelm him with pride and grief.
A weathered hand gently pats his right hand.
“Sammy, are you ready?”
The voice is strong, yet comforting.
“Yes Martha.”

They are closer now.
He pushes the locks on the chair,
braces his hands and prepares to rise,
to pay tribute for those before and to come.
A tear slides down his weathered face.
A young voice is barely audible
as the banner becomes brighter and closer.
“Look mommy, that man is crying. Why?'
Her face turns a light scarlet.

They are ten meters and closing,
he summons the strength to stand.
He struggles to rise.
He must rise, he must pay tribute!
They are all his brothers.
He can no longer raise a rifle for safety,
he can only stand in honor for those fallen.
The effort becomes more difficult each passing year.

His strength fails when he needs it most.
He curses softly as his body fails.
They are only five meters away.
He must rise and stand!

Two young strong hands appear from the crowd.
Without a word, they lift him up,
ever standing vigil for balance.
He looks neither left or right,
but straight into the past.

The colors of the Armed Forces are now two meters away.
He straightens a crooked back,
adjusts his cover,
and with the forgotten strength of youth,
raises his right hand and salutes the colors.

The young men stop and return the salute.
The crowd stares in awed silence,
for the commander has stopped the parade.
They stand as straight as a pillar,
neither looking left or right.
The commander barks an order.
The men take one step forward,
and lower the colors.
They stand one meter from the old soldier.

The parade has stopped.
Organizers frantically run about,
the cause is unknown.
Then they see it.
It wasn't in the program,
but they feel something in the air.
Is it electricity or something more?

The commander barks another order.
The group returns a solid salute.
They salute the man and what he wears,
a small blue ribbon attached to a five point medal.

The young commander approaches his brother.
The street is hushed in silence as the words flow;
“Thank you, from a very grateful nation, General.”

He fights back the tears and the memories.
He fights for balance, yet the strong hands assist,
his weakened, aged limbs.
“No” comes a chocked response.
“Thank you for remembering us.”
The tears pour freely.
The emotions of fallen comrades erupt as he weeps, never wavering
with his salute.
For an instant, life has become an eternity,
like a giant force, the crowd faces the men,
and without any prompting or fanfare,
apply and return the salute to the men.

The General slides back into the chair.
The squad returns to the street,
each deep in thought as their tears also fall.
Without a word, they proceed forward.
The parade resumes, but with a new force,
a force of arms, a force of purpose,
a force displaying pride and freedom.

It is Memorial Day for the fallen.

“Martha, till next year?”

Copyright@2014 LDDJ Enterprises Publishing 

Sunday, May 18, 2014

In honor for those who have and are serving in the United States military.


So young,
so full of life.
Their dreams would have to wait.
They took up arms when called.
They vowed to protect the innocent.
They promised to return.
They never looked back.

For God, Country, Flag and Family,
they marched off.
They filled the depots with excitement and awe.
Many had never left home.
They did not shirk a duty,
they embraced it with the gusto of youth.

The training was hard,
yet they nary complained.
They had been called and would not fail.
Righteousness and justice would be served!

Steamers, transports, and planes departed
to destinations foreign and unknown.
Did they tremble? No.
Did they fear the unknown? No.
Their mission was for freedom from oppression.
Their youth would bring order to the world.
It was time to right wrongs.
It was time to free the down-trodden.

Belleau Wood, Flanders, Bastogne, Guadalcanal.
The names are so strange yet not a complaint is filed.
Normandy, Tarawa, Iwo Jima.
With gusto and grit they fought on.
Caen, Kabul, Baghdad, Tunisia, Metz and Arnhem.

Too many friends were dying or maimed.
The sound of shells and bullets were frightening.
Never knowing when one might pass; struck no fear.
The mission must be accomplished.
They fought on: Okinawa, Burma, Bunker Hill, and Charleston.
Saigon, The Iron Triangle, Kason, The endless Deltas.
The message the same.
Right the wrongs and don't stop till the deed is done.

How many have died? Too many!
How many have been freed? Not enough!
How much longer? Till the job is done!
They fought on. Freedom will reign.

Tokyo, Berlin, Rome, The Somme.
They fought, they bled, they died,
All in the name of freedom.

The smoke has cleared.
The losses are tallied.
The camps are empty.
White crosses mark the path of youth lost.
The survivors wonder why?
Why did Joe and Bill die so young?
Why did I live?
Why me?

For Freedom!
To remember the past.
To remind generations to come, the price of liberty.
The thought provides minor comfort as
they survey the battlefields and remember.
The long cold nights,
the days filled with rain,
endless guard duty,
mess kits filled with mush.
A smile creeps across a grizzled hardened face,
Freedom, that is why we came,
Liberty, is why we fought.
Justice, is why we served.

A last salute to the fallen, but not forgotten.
The men and women who have given all.
The veterans of the United States Military.

 Copyright@2014 LDDJ Enterprises Publishing