Category: photog’s Corner

Here you will find the stuff that shouldn’t be mixed in the other categories but interest me. caveat emptor.

Thoughts on Jack London’s Short Story, “To Build a Fire”

photog Book Reviews, Literature, photog's Corner, Reviews , , ,

When I was young, every high school English curriculum would include a review of some classic short stories and Jack London’s “To Build a Fire” was inevitably among them.  And rightly so.  Within the space of seven thousand words London casts a spell that draws you into the inhuman realm of winter in the Yukon.  We barely have a thumbnail sketch of the protagonist; “the man” and his unwilling accomplice; “the dog.”  But we learn the tragic details of what can happen when a man ignores the physics of arctic winter weather.

‘At the man’s heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolfdog, gray-coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its brother, the wild wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for traveling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man’s judgment. In reality, it was not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since the freezing point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in the man’s brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along at the man’s heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire, and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle its warmth away from the air.’

…

‘Already all sensation had gone out of his feet. To build the fire he had been forced to remove his mittens, and the fingers had quickly gone numb. His pace of four miles an hour had kept his heart pumping blood to the surface of his body and to all the extremities. But the instant he stopped, the action of the pump eased down. The cold of space smote the unprotected tip of the planet, and he, being on that unprotected tip, received the full force of the blow. The blood of his body recoiled before it. The blood was alive, like the dog, and like the dog it wanted to hide away and cover itself up from the fearful cold. So long as he walked four miles an hour, he pumped that blood, willy-nilly, to the surface; but now it ebbed away and sank down into the recesses of his body. The extremities were the first to feel its absence. His wet feet froze the faster, and his exposed fingers numbed the faster, though they had not yet begun to freeze. Nose and cheeks were already freezing, while the skin of all his body chilled as it lost its blood.’

…

‘A good idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like taking an anaesthetic. Freezing was not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.

…

He drifted on from this to a vision of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek. He could see him quite clearly, warm and comfortable, and smoking a pipe.

“You were right, old hoss; you were right,” the man mumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur Creek.

…

Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the dog’s experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.’

London reveals the emotions and thoughts that race through the mind of the man as he tries to escape the consequences of his terrible mistake.  But at every turn he’s thwarted by the limitations that cold have imposed on his failing body.  And we listen to his thoughts as his time runs out and he accepts his fate.

Jack London created a remarkable story.  There is no filler.  The story only includes what is needed to paint the picture of a tragic human tale.  And I will say that if I ever write anything half as good as, “To Build a Fire,” I will consider myself an accomplished writer.  Well done Mr. London.

Life over Art

photog Book Reviews, Literature, photog's Corner, Reviews , , , , ,

Thomas Mann was a famous German author whose heyday was the first half of the twentieth century.  He had a Nobel Prize in literature for one of his novels and a reputation for writing psychological stories that were full of melancholy and longing for lost happiness.

In addition to his novels which were too long for my liking he wrote a handful of novellas that were collected in an English translation under the title “Death in Venice and Seven Other Stories.”  One of these stories is named “Tristan” and is the story of a sanitarium up in the Alps that especially treated people suffering from tuberculosis which is never actually named in the story but only hinted at when a patient would cough and then check a handkerchief for blood.  But in addition to the actual patients at this sanitarium called Einfried there was one resident who stayed there for the atmosphere; a “novelist” named Detlev Spinell.  And novelist would be an exaggeration.  No one has ever read his book and even letter-writing is an enormously slow and painful exercise when performed by him.  In the story, this writer is the cause of the death of a woman who is attempting to recover from a mild case of tuberculosis which is several times emphatically stated to be only affecting “the trachea, and not the lungs, thank God.”  He is a malevolent force that insinuates into the young woman’s mind that she is the victim of a crass, plebian existence that sacrificed her health and artistic spirit at the altar of mundane human activities, specifically; marriage and childbirth which was the event that sapped her strength and weakened her body sufficiently to allow the wasting disease to get the upper hand with her.

And this unhealthy influence by Spinell eventually causes her health to completely break down.  And so, the doctors call for her husband to return to the sanitarium before her incipient death.  And while this catastrophe is occurring Spinell takes it upon himself to write a letter to this husband who at this point is occupying a room in the same building.  He painstakingly writes the letter, mails it, smiles at the husband in the hallways when they meet and gives no thought to what will happen when the letter returns from the post office to the building that they both reside in.  The letter is an insulting and disparaging polemic attacking the husband for his “plebian” tastes and lack of artistic feeling.  And he announces that he has awakened the wife to her true spiritual stature and thereby causes her to renounce her allegiance to ordinary life (and by that choice, life itself).

Now all of this is quite bizarre but Mann paints the personalities of husband, wife and Spinell very skillfully.  And this allows the personalities and their relationships to each other to make sense.  The husband is a very plain and “normal” individual.  A businessman who embraces the life of a husband and father along with his hard charging life as a capitalist.  He loves his wife and child but he isn’t above pinching a maid in a hallway when the opportunity arises.  The wife loves her husband and child but she has the artistic side to her personality and she can be influenced into believing that the prosaic life of a housewife and mother is a demeaning occupation for someone as sensitive and with such an elevated soul as herself.  And then there is Spinell.  He is an abnormal spirit of the “artistic” type who sees life through a prism that only values the spiritual and pure emotions and sensibilities of the artist.  All ordinary things like the normal male/female relations are fraught with unacceptable amounts of inartistic reality.  Thus, his hatred of the husband in the story and his beatification of the wife.

The climax of the story, to my mind is the collision when the husband reads the letter and confronts Spinell down the hall from him.  He reads parts of the letter to the author and then rains verbal abuse on the head of his frightened and contrite adversary.  But just as his screaming abuse reaches its crescendo, from out in the hall, comes news that his wife’s lungs have collapsed under the ravages of her ailment, causing her to cough up an enormous quantity of blood and that she is on the edge of death.  The husband shifts his focus onto the bearer of bad news:

‘“Is she dead?” yelled Herr Klaterjahn.  As he spoke he clutched the Rätin by the arm and pulled her to and fro on the sill.  “Not quite?  Not dead; she can see me, can’t she?  Brought up a little blood again, from the lung eh?  Yes, I give in, it may be from the lung.  Gabriele!”  he suddenly cried out, and his eyes filled with tears; you could see what a burst of good, warm, honest human feeling came over him.  “Yes, I’m coming.”  He said and dragged the Rätin after him…’

Mann shows us the reality of life and compares it to the shadow of life that Spinell hides in.  He uses art to hide from life.  As for the husband, who really was a crass, plebian individual full of crass plebian faults, he is also a living, breathing human being.  Spinell is a wraith.  His artistic sensibilities and motives are pathetic and infantile.  Now this is coming from Thomas Mann who embraced art as the central motive of his life.  What I find interesting is that he so clearly shows us the primacy of life over art.  I find that powerful.

Diplomacy, Gerrymandering and Ice Cream

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner , ,

Friday will be a very long day.  Excuse my absence from the site.  I’ll do my best to catch up later.

Well, I’ll have to say I was shocked that Hamas gave up the twenty living hostages.  I am a little suspicious of their claiming to not have all of the remains of the dead hostages.  Maybe they’re still holding onto some of the living that way.  But all in all, it seems like the Arabs are applying the screws to Hamas and that is a good sign.  Trump is getting some credit even from the leftist media and that is also encouraging.

And I hear that the Supreme Court is about to declare some parts of the Voting Rights Act unconstitutional.  Specifically, I think they’ll say that the present maximizing of black representation is a form of anti-white discrimination and that may be an incredible change to the breakdown of seats between the Democrats and Republicans in places like Alabama and Mississippi.  Good.  Gerrymandering makes a 60/40 state like Massachusetts into a 100/0 state in terms of representation.  There are zero Republicans in the US House of Representatives from Massachusetts.  Why should there be any Democratic reps in places like Oklahoma or Utah?  Just draw the district maps so that the Republican suburbs and exurbs out number the urban Democrat strongholds and presto change-o no Democrat reps!  Sounds like a plan.  Thank you, Massachusetts!

Now I hear Trump is going to meet with Zelensky and then give the Ukrainians Tomahawk missiles.  That’s a very powerful weapons system.  And then I hear he’s going to meet with Putin.  Well, he’s really going to have to pull a rabbit out of his hat to end this war.  But let him try.  I just hope we don’t start taking incoming from Russian surrogates.  I was just beginning to hope Trump was serious about making the world more peaceful.  Fingers crossed.

Even though we’ve already had frost on the ground Camera Girl was able to find a live preying mantis in the yard and now it’s taking up residence in our house.  She even bought some crickets at Petco and hopes to keep it alive for the duration.  I warned her this might be a very short reprieve.  I think they’re not programmed to live very long after maturity.  Well, I hope to take some macro shots of our little houseguest before he kicks off.

Unbelievably we’re still getting raspberries from the patch and we had them today with vanilla ice cream.  But we’re down to the nitty-gritty.  I think we’ll be getting a hard freeze in the next week or so.  And I’ve taken a bunch of photos of the wolfbane because by Halloween they’ll be wilted too.  Today the bees and the flies were the only insect life I saw around the yard.

So, a beautiful September and beginning of October is transitioning to more wintery weather but spirits are high and with any luck I’ll survive my three-week ordeal with First Selectman Cthulhu with only superficial damage.

Excelsior!

What Have You Got for the Pot?

photog Movie Reviews, photog's Corner, Reviews , ,

I wanted to do a movie review.  I’ve recorded Barry Lyndon and was going to watch it.  But I got home late from work and the movie is three hours long and I thought I might fall asleep before I could write a review of it.  So, I’ll wait for a better opportunity.

But it got me thinking about all those lists of the top twenty, fifty, one hundred or two hundred movies of all time.  So, I looked at a bunch of lists.  Some by leading directors, some by professional critics and some by just regular people.

I was horrified.

So many movies that I know are truly awful get on these lists.  It makes you wonder if there can truly be a list of the top twenty movies of all time, never mind the top one hundred.  One list from IMDB had, “The Shawshank Redemption” as the second-best movie of all time.  It had, “Raging Bull” as the fourth-best.  I find both of these rankings impossible.  There are literally dozens of movies better than either one of these (in my opinion).  By the same token, the list made up by famous directors also had movies listed that I’ve seen that were awful.  Any top 100 list that includes, “Eraserhead” needs to be scrutinized very carefully to see if the judges have been using LSD at the time of the survey.

Okay, maybe there is no such thing as an objective list of the best films.  But surely there must be a way to write an algorithm that incorporates several criteria to eliminate the worst excesses of either hyper-artistic avant-gardism and knuckle-dragging philistinism and provide a solid dependable list of very good films to look at.  I think it can be done.

One thing though.  I think it is necessary to divide the list into categories.  Comedies, dramas, action-adventure and other genre movies need to be judged separately.  It’s too difficult comparing films in different categories against each other.  And in a way it’s unhelpful.  Someone who hates comedies isn’t going to agree that any comedy can be better than the films he likes.  And vice versa.

But for today’s post I’m going to ask the audience to take an active role.  Pick one movie that you think has been neglected by critics that deserves to be elevated to a loftier status.  And then pick a movie that is hailed by critics or the public as outstanding that in your opinion stinks.  If you can only do one or the other, please feel free to provide that.  I’m always looking for good movies to watch and I think it will be interesting to hear what movie you think doesn’t deserve the acclaim it currently enjoys.

I’ll start the ball rolling.  Hitchcock’s, “Vertigo” always ends up in the top twenty movies according to high-brow critics and top flight directors.  I’ve seen it and think it’s terrible.  I’m not sure what exactly all the hype is about but it must be the “cinematography.”  Something about camera angles.  Well, they can keep it.

A movie I think has been overlooked is an earlier Coen Brothers movie, “Miller’s Crossing.”  Gabriel Byrne is the protagonist; a gangster named Tom Reagan who works for Leo O’Bannon played enthusiastically by Albert Finney.  John Turturro and Steve Buscemi are also part of the cast.  True to the Coen Brothers style, there is over the top violence and emotional havoc in all directions but the effect is powerful and very interesting.  If you like gangster movies this one is worth a watch.

So, what has everyone else got for the pot?

That’s the Whole Fun of the Thing

photog photog's Corner, Science , , ,

Have you ever looked at a science article that had a title like, “How Old is the Universe?” or, “How Big is the Universe?” or, “What are the Elemental Particles of Matter?”  I remember reading an article that said the universe was 13.8 billion years old.  And another one that said the universe is 93 billion light-years in diameter.  Now I understand that these numbers come with caveats built in.  They’re estimates based on some model.  The age is based on some calculation involving the background microwave radiation and modelling how long it would take based on some estimate of the energy present at the moment of the “big bang” to degrade to what we see now.  And then the size of the universe is based on this age and how far light could travel in that time or some such logic.

But even with these asterisks attached, even reputable scientists talk about figuring out the size and shape of the universe.  And this always make me laugh.  What do they think this finite universe rests on?  A giant turtle’s back?  Even the limited glimpse that modern science has given us of the immensity of time and space should have convinced anyone with a rational mind that we’re dealing with infinity.  And that’s the infinitely large and the infinitesimally small and the infinitely old.

Our perch even in this island universe the Milky Way galaxy is absurdly isolated.  We can reach the Moon relatively easily.  We can send robotic missions to the planets.  And that’s about it.  Even reaching the nearest star with a robotic probe is ridiculously beyond our capability as a species.  We could get a space craft to Alpha Centauri in something like ten thousand years with our current rocket technology.  But that is longer than our race’s complete written history.  Even if the probe reached the Centauri planets and there were intelligent being there to send a message back what are the chances we would still be waiting for the message?  And I’m not even saying we would no longer exist as a civilized species.  I’m wondering if anyone would remember or care that the mission had occurred and be waiting if a message came back.

And none of this is to belittle the achievements of scientists and engineers over the course of the last five hundred years.  We’ve gone from horse carts and wood burning stoves to space ships and nuclear power plants in that time.  The difference between a long sword and a hydrogen bomb is a remarkable change in the amount of power we can wield in that short stretch of time.

What is annoying to me is that anyone thinks time and space are finite.  If anyone told me that the universe was some absurdly large number of trillions of light years in diameter, I’d just ask him, “So if I were standing that absurdly large number of trillion light years from here and I was facing away from where we are now, what would I see?  A brick wall with a sign that said ‘End of Universe, do not fall off!’?  I mean, come on!  If I were versed in multidimensional geometric topology maybe I’d know if there is a shape that has no external surface but a finite volume.  But I’m pretty sure I still wouldn’t believe in it.

And as far as the very small, we’ve gone from atoms, to protons, electrons and neutrons, to quarks, gluons, bosons and heaven knows what else but none of this convinces me we’ve reached the bottom.  I don’t think we ever will.

But at the same time, I don’t see the problem.  There are no ends to infinity.  But so what?  That’s the whole fun of the thing.

Fall Nor’easter

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, photog's Corner ,

Recently Camera Girl was in a phone conversation with one of her relatives.  It seems there was a panic situation over a “Nor’easter” predicted to impact the … well, fittingly, the Northeast.  We were being warned to batten the hatches and hide in the storm cellar.  So, I looked at the calendar and determined it wasn’t late March and went back to sleep.  You see, in early spring a Nor’easter will take a bunch of cold water from the Atlantic and dump it on New England in the form of a thirty-inch snow storm.  When this happens in early April it’s just a barrel of laughs.  Wet snow like that is so heavy that clearing it is a nightmare and so disruption of normal activities is almost inevitable.  A spring Nor’easter is reason to pay attention to the weather.

An early fall Nor’easter is not the same animal.  The water in the Atlantic is warm at this time of year and the potential for snow is essentially zero (except on the tops of the White Mountains in New Hampshire).  So, what are we talking about?  Well essentially rain and wind.  Alright, rain and wind can be bad.  Ask the folks down in Florida and the Carolinas.  They have a whole lifestyle that revolves around the existence of things called hurricanes.  Wind and rain can do lots and lots of damage and under certain circumstances can kill people.

According to my local forecast over the course of Sunday through Tuesday we’re predicted to get two to three inches of rain.  And on Monday there are predicted to be 25 mph winds.  I don’t know.  That doesn’t sound bad at all.  Now granted, Dunwich is not on the coast.  Maybe the costal areas are going to get a bunch of storm surge and that could cause some unusual flooding which in certain areas can be disastrous from a property damage perspective and also could create a drowning risk.

But I think people are starting to get a little too safety conscious.  If it was ten inches of rain and sixty mile an hour wind, I’d be a lot more concerned.  I’d start collecting up the lighter yard equipment and store it away.  I might even leave the shed near the swamp unlocked so the lycanthropes could take shelter there during the storm.  But three inches of rain and 25 mph winds is just not that frightening.  Now one thing that is worth taking into account is the chance of losing power.  The electrical grid in New England has become increasingly fragile since the green energy boondoggle has been made a permanent facet of life here.  For the smallest fluctuation in conditions or for no discernible reason whatsoever we get power outages almost routinely now.  And it could last a second or a minute or a week depending on factors like weather or some act of God (like a spring Nor’easter).  So, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if the power goes out Sunday night or Monday during the day.  But that’s what the generator is for.  The thing kicks on after ten seconds and runs for as long as a couple of weeks if needed (or longer if I get a propane refill).  So, actually, my most reliable power is when the grid is down.

So, Nor’easter.  I think we’ll be fine.

 

Update:

TomD

No current events here in the Florida Panhandle. But there have been some doozies since we’ve lived here. One non-hurricane May rain event about 10 years ago dumped over 20 inches of rain in 24 hours, most in 10 hours. It was apocalyptic, it took years to repair the damage.

For fun times, about 4 years ago, a new replacement multi-mile long bridge was in construction connecting Pensacola to Gulf Breeze. That is a MAJOR local corridor. An October hurricane came through and the bridge contractor hadn’t adequately secured the numerous construction barges. Several barges broke loose and destroyed a number of bridge spans, necessitating a 50 mile detour for any of the many 10’s of thousands of people a day.

Pict below taken from old bridge. When they completed two lanes of the new bridge, traffic was shifted there and the old bridge was demolished. That was when portions of the completed 2 lanes of the new bridge were destroyed.

DSC02157
DSC02157

Update:

TomD

Picture of the Pensacola Beach fishing pier as a tropical storm comes onshore. No surfing or swimming that day for some reason. Spoilsports!

On a normal day, the pier is 25′ above the water.

DSC1309t
DSC1309t

 

Update:

Tregonsee

I’m out here on the North Shore of Massachusetts near the coast, unlike Dunwich that’s way over to the west (and can have a little bit of elevation if you’re anywhere near Greylock). At present (early afternoon Sunday), it’s a lot of nothing. Mild breeze and occasional showers. Expected .5-1″ inches of rain and wind in the 20’s tomorrow. If the wind were to tag 45+ for extended periods it might be an issue with the leaves still on the trees it might take some branches down. It’s a rain storm with a mild cyclonic pattern. As Photog noted if this were March or February it might be an issue. True Nor’easters are rare in December or January as the Gulf stream is cooler and the storm really doesn’t pick up the moisture it needs to be a nuisance. Big bummer is it interferes with doing anything outdoors on Columbus day which is often the last warm weather for a while

 

Firehose of Alka Seltzer

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner ,
Farmer Cthulhu in His Fields

Thursday night we had our first frost here in Dunwich.  It was light and wasn’t a killing frost, at least not completely.  There were hoverflies and dragonflies and of course bees buzzing around today.  And the remaining flowers (wolfbane and Montauk daisies) are still more or less undamaged.  But the writing, as they say, is on the wall.  And wonder of wonders, Camera Girl asked me to turn the heating system back on!  Turning the heat on before November is usually me throwing in the towel and her mocking my delicacy.  Well, it really was cold last night.  But I think the real issue is that Princess Sack of Potatoes is staying over on Sunday and she wouldn’t want to be responsible for giving our granddaughter a cold.  And tonight, we had the first butternut squash chicken soup of the season.  Ah, what can I say?  There are compensations for the end of the warm weather.  Stuffed to the gills with such splendiferous food I am happy and content.

But the sad truth is that I am on the cusp of the dreaded evil times in Dunwich.  For the next four weeks I will be a veritable captive in the thrall of First Selectman Cthulhu and his evil regime of ghouls and bureaucrats.  I will be forced to do their bidding and many days I will be incommunicado.  This year it has been decided to make up the short fall in the town budget by having a raffle.  Everyone’s name goes in First Selectman Cthulhu’s size 666 hat and whichever hundred names he draws have to make a choice; pay one hundredth of the shortfall or be summarily eaten.  If they choose ingestion then we pick another name from the hat to make up the hundred.

My job is to gather the money from those paying or alternatively, providing a firehose pumping Alka Seltzer from a nearby pond whenever the appetizers start to make the First Selectman a little verklempt.  Mine is not an easy life.  But it pays the bills.  And the retirement benefits are pretty good.  I hope most people pay.  We didn’t account for the price of Alka Seltzer going up.  If we run low, I shudder to think how I’ll get through the collection, never mind the audit.  Well, no use whining.  On with the show.

So, this means there may be some dead air here at the site.  Of course I am making accommodations.  I’ve loaded up a month’s worth of “Quotes of the Day.”  Twenty-two of those will be by Ernie Pyle in his capacity as a WWII combat reporter.  Those will be starting in four days.  And I’ll be working tomorrow to put together a month’s worth of “Photos of the Day.”  So, there will certainly be content.  But the daily column may sometimes seem substandard, as if dictated by a drowning man.  Well, they say that some people work best under pressure.  Unfortunately, nobody’s ever said that about me.  So, there it is.

And here we are a couple of days after the Gaza agreement and the Middle East hasn’t reignited.  Dare I hope?  Stay tuned.

Cruel Aesop

photog Life in Dunwich, photog's Corner , , ,

The last two weeks have been unseasonably warm here in Dunwich.  And believe me I’m not complaining.  Summer-like days and mild nights is wonderful.  Not to mention I must be saving money on heating oil.  And it means we can enjoy the summer activities a little longer.  For instance, the raspberry bushes are still producing fruit.  Not as many as last month but enough to enjoy a treat from time to time.  And I can still go out and take some macro shots of insects and the few flowers that haven’t completely died.  In fact, the wolfbane is about to bloom in the next week or so.  And every night when I bring the dogs out for their final walk, I can hear the crickets chirping away.

And there is an enormous number of them because the sound is everywhere and it is fairly loud.  But at the same time, it has a different sound in the fall.  This is based on the air temperature.  The lower temperature means the sound will be lower pitched and slower.  It’s almost like a power hum that has fallen an octave.

And to my subjective ears it sounds sad and confused.  It’s as if the crickets don’t understand that they are preparing to die.  Unlike Rutger Hauer’s character in “Bladerunner;” Roy Batty, they don’t realize “it’s time to die.”  And that’s exactly the vibe I get when I see the last of the dragonflies moving around the fields.  They’re confused and slowing down and it’s as if their programming is failing.  It doesn’t cover the case where the weather stays warm after they’re supposed to have died from freezing.

It’s also the case of the preying mantises.  They’re still walking around the gardens trying to find food or mates but they’re running out of steam.  Their eyes are already dark and they’re going through the motions but they’re already the walking dead.  Even if I handed them food, I doubt they could eat it.

The only insects that haven’t succumbed to seasonal despair are the honey bees.  They still go around visiting the last living flowers gathering pollen and nectar to bring back to the hive.  And that’s because they have a future and a plan.  They’re filling up the remaining cells in their combs with food to keep the hive going right through winter and into spring.  Their program hasn’t run out.

Now, I am aware that this is just my emotional response to the realities of insect life and its relationship to seasonal variation.  Evolution has crafted the life cycle of most insects in the non-tropical regions to include the death of adults in late fall.  This is the result of millions of years of evolution and it’s a fact of life.  But humans are affected by these facts and have speculated about them going all the way back to Aesop in ancient Greece.  He talked about the ant and the grasshopper that brings up the same exact dichotomy that I see between the honey bee and the cricket.

And humans anthropomorphize these creatures making the ant a hard-working and thrifty fellow and the grasshopper a lazy, hedonistic good-for-nothing.  Well, Aesop was preaching.  While I find the cricket and even the dragonfly sad figures.  After all, don’t we all eventually find our lives winding down?  And even if it is the circle of life, it has a certain tragic aspect.  Well, just a bittersweet reflection on the beautiful Indian Summer that we’ve been gifted with this year.

You Pays Your Money and You Takes Your Choice

photog Book Reviews, Current Events, Life in Dunwich, My Fiction, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews ,

So, I learned some stuff today about publishing a book.

  • There’s no such thing as an objective authoritative critic who can tell you whether your book is good, bad or indifferent. In other words, “You pays your money and you takes your choice.”  If you believe your book is good then you take your chances.  So that puts the onus back on me.  Do I believe in my book or not?
  • After you write it and put a cover on it and edit it, then you have to get influencers to tout it and reviewers to praise it. But after all that you have to advertise it on Amazon to the tune of thousands of dollars.  Otherwise, no one will know it’s there.

Well, now I’ll have to search my soul and decide just how much I want to get my book out in the world.  Do I put my money where my mouth is?  I guess I’ll find out.  Now, all this is still preliminary.  I have to get a cover and get an editor to tell me about all my typos and inelegant grammatical constructions.  And get a marketer to “alert the media.”  And for the next month I’m going to be buried under a project that will prevent me from concentrating on anything important.  But by the third week in November, I’ll be available (other than a Thursday where I’ll be buried under cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie).

Well, it was definitely a clarifying experience.  There’s no way to pass the buck on a thing like this.  The author has to search his soul and use the wisdom of Solomon to make the correct decision.  Well, so what?  What’s Solomon got that I ain’t got, in spades?  Darned right!

So, if you drive through Dunwich and you see a disheveled geezer picking up bottles and cans on the side of the road, it may be me trying to raise enough capital for the project.  With any luck I’ll strike oil in the north forty and I can start on the gold leaf hardcover edition that all of us “real authors” like so much.

Okay, so enough moaning and groaning.  The journey is the reward they say.  So, I’ll just follow my nose and see where all this ends up.  Of course, if I get too enthusiastic Camera Girl will wonder why the checking account has gotten so anemic.  And that could trigger all kinds of hazardous situations.  After all she has complete control over my food supply and knows my sleeping habits.  But I won’t allow artistic decisions to be influenced by cowardly and pedestrian concerns. “Ars gratia artis,” you know.

Well, back to something comical; the government shutdown!  I hear Trump is going to permanently terminate “hundreds of thousands” of federal employees to get back at the Democrats for shutting down the government.  That’s a pretty bold move.  I’m starting to believe there are no limits to what he plans to do to the federal government.  He seems to be borrowing Obama’s statement that he would “fundamentally transform the United States.”  And at this rate maybe Trump will actually do it!