My friend Earley is a Jack of many trades. Yes, Jack Earley is his name. Much to say about him (Jack on right; middle, Kate Earley; left, me)
Jack has been creative all his life, one way or another. He is a painter, book dealer, philosopher, and writer. His wife Kate keeps Jack’s back free for artistic exploration. We have been friends with the Earleys since our Loveland (Cincinnati, Ohio) days. Jack’s paintings hang on our walls in Arizona. They make us feel like we are still neighbors.
Jack’s “earliest” passion was writing. “I have been writing since I was 18,” Jack said. He got interested in literature around the time when he started college. “Everybody was talking about the weird guy next door, so I went over to meet him.” That guy got Jack to read all the great novels, about 20 of them—Moby Dick, War and Peace, Brothers Karamazov, The Red and the Black, and so forth. He has been writing every since.
Only in the last 2 years Jack has produced finished products.
Like many circumspective writers, he catches a good story when it comes around. “One morning, I was doing tai chi, and I heard a news article”, Jack recalled. “There the novel just came to me and I started writing it. It was like I was a secretary transcribing what automatically appeared in my brain.”
Jack’s novel is called “Through the Ice”. A man drives his car through the ice on a lake. In shock and far away from any help, he has to walk back to town with a coyote. Imagine that!
After this revelation, many short stories started popping into Jack’s mind. He collected 103 twitter-like vignettes together in a volume called “Saturday Nights”. They are all related to Saturday family events, poker nights, and memorable pranks. Recently, Jack has started another series called “Every Day of the Week.” He has more than a dozen together but wants to come up with over 100 to match the “Saturday Nights” stories. He records the readings of his stories for YouTube, where people can subscribe for free.
Each of Jack’s short stories contains a little snap, a little epiphany. “We all go about doing things that we think are right. Suddenly, out pops a piece of knowledge, an unexpected awareness. According to James Joyce, such an epiphany normally means that God revealed himself in the streets.”
Jack camouflages these real life events by fictionalizing the characters, but all experiences are his own. In “Steak Every Night” he cast himself as the young dude getting annoyed with a loud-mouthed Polish coworker. There is a true learning moment there. If you pay attention, in each of Jack’s stories a little light bulb goes off.
All right, easy enough. But, then, ask Jack about science. Scientific discoveries may not come on accident. “In science, people are working their tails off in one direction,” Jack said, “until a little epiphany takes them into a completely different direction—because more stuff is coming at them than they are aware of.” His conclusion: Science is the art or attempt of predicting the future.
Now we are getting philosophical. Let’s take it one more step further.
According to Jack, neither painting nor story are linear, they only appear so. All of the time is right now, regardless in which order the paint was laid down or the characters enter the scene. The future is only the place where the energy is heading.
Get it? Along the way of our unsuspecting lives we are collecting more knowledge than expected. So that is called a learning experience.
Based on his definition of the common man’s epiphany, Jack is bothered by a movie called “Arrival.” In it some aliens gift humanity with a “una-language” for perfect communication and a glimpse at the future.
“However, if you can see the future, it means it is already here,” Jack said. “And if it’s already here, it means everything already happened. And if everything already happened, what’s the point? What’s there to learn? Why aren’t we just catatonic? Why do anything?”
Good question.
Quick, Jack, just write another story, paint another picture.
Mark Twain is my American literary hero. Recently, I had a chance to take a picture with my idol at Tlaquepaque in Sedona. Wow! Our chat felt nice.
Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens, was a journalist before he was a novelist. He started to craft stories as young as 12 years old. He ceaselessly honed his art as a newspaper reporter, first in St. Louis, MO, and then many other places. Twain found just the right words, perspective, and dosage of humor that he was able to “get away with murder.” Lesser scribes would have been hung.
I believe in Twain. A master of social criticism and satire, he pointed out hypocrisy, absurdity, and profound human misery. Imagine, a seasoned alley cat like Huck Finn coming to his own conclusions about the runaway slave, Jim. These unlikely companions float down the Mississippi on a raft with plenty of time to learn from each other. Use your brain, man! So Huck did. In his own way, Huck Finn was a humanitarian of the simplest kind. Kind.
Another character I admire is the dude in the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court. That’s a story of brain power gone awry. The Yankee’s square-headed mentality and modern weaponry caused total destruction in the chivalrous, medieval world. In a doomsday scenario, royal jousting spiraled fully out of control.
Yes, Mark Twain showed us the whole spectrum of human nature.
Twain was a master of religious satire and got away with it as well. Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven tells a story of how the afterlife turns out much differently than expected for the main character.
One of our greatest problems is, which Twain often indicated, that we people like to overrate our own importance. “All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, then success is sure.” Dang it! We see that all the time.
I learned a lot of good words from Mark Twain as well and added them to my American street vocabulary. Although by now antiquated, I still thoroughly enjoy expressions like “low life, bottom feeder, scallywag, carpet bagger” and many more. We might use other words today but the same character types are still lurking around each corner.
Finally, Mark Twain’s excursions into the German language are hilarious. How can the prefix from a verb break off and resurface at the very far tail end of a sentence? And he sure admired the German knack for assembling some of the longest composite nouns in the universe, such as “Donaudampfschifffahrtskapitänsmützenabzeichen” (Danube Steam Shipping Company medal for the captain’s hat).
And if Twain were still alive, he might play even mightier tricks with words. Especially now that we have entered the age of alternative truths and official lies are not even concealed any more.
Language has always been a creative process. It has to, because the world keeps changing all the time. If Latin were still a living language, someone would have made up new words for “aircraft carrier” or “underwater mortgage” or “fragile facts”. Or borrowed them from another language?
Let’s face it. Since the last elections, our vocabulary will soon add some new inflexions: That’s so trumpish! What the trump just happened? Don’t trump me! Let’s join the Trumpler Club. (Not me. I am not a Trumpionista.) Atta trump!
Oh, trump! Where will this end? Let’s read those Mark Twain stories again.
Tonspuren, Gedichte von Gisela Baudy, ist ein lyrischer Zirkel in zehn Stimmungsbildern des Sich-Suchens, Überwindens, Heimat-findens. Foto-Illustrationen von Chris Baudy und Gisela Baudy.
Tonspuren, bedenke: Der Weg ist das Ziel.
Lebensreise
Werden
der du warst
bevor die Flügel brachen.
Werden
der du bist
trotz Flügelbruch.
Das Leben bringt jedermann(frau) Abstürze und Flügelbrüche. Aber daran kann man arbeiten: „Der vorliegende Gedichtzyklus will allen Traumatisierten Mut machen”, schreibt die Autorin.
Aus Tonspuren spricht die persönliche Geschichte der Erzählerin mit zwei Identitäten (Reflektion= Spiegelbild und Original). Die Charaktere im Dialog heißen Clarissa und Alaine (alleine? ihr Alter-Ego).
Wieso der Titel Tonspuren?
Weil alle schrägen, dunklen, hellen Töne des Lebens auf jeweils eine Tonspur gesetzt werden, wie eine Symphonie der Seele. Manchmal aufrührend, manchmal träumerisch, in allen Gefühlslagen. Mit Tönen und Klängen gehen wir auf die lyrische Reise, wo sogar die Stille klingt.
„In uns allen leben Töne aus Worten und Bildern, die unsere Sehnsucht nach einem Zuhause zum Klingen bringen. Es sind stille Klänge aus Erde und Vogelflug.“
Haste Töne, los geht’s. Tonspuren führen uns auf eine lyrisch-literarische Reise mit erlebten Stationen. Jeder Mensch kennt die Knackpunkte und Neugeburten im Laufe des Lebens. Aber die Absicht der Autorin ist übergreifend. Nicht nur die persönliche Heimat wird durchwandert, sondern auch das Menschengedenken und Menschlichkeit gegen den Überdruss der Gleichgültigkeit, Bosheit und der Erderwärmung. Die Tonspuren suchen Auswege aus verschiedensten Krisen. (Wenn nur jeder aufwachen würde.)
ZUM BEISPIEL: Die Wende einer Beziehung
Brandstätte
Was hast du erwartet?
fragte er die Liebende
und kehrte den Rücken.
Flog zurück in ein Land
das er nie als seine Heimat
bezeichnet hatte.
Die Liebende blieb stumm zurück.
Jahre vergingen.
Die Brandstätte blieb.
Was sie erwartet hatte
war einfach:
dass er die Frage nie gestellt hätte.
Wer liebt
erwartet nichts.
Er liebt.
Eigentlich sind lyrische Betrachtungen nicht so sehr „mein Bier“. Poetische Prosa dagegen hat aber immer eine Anzugskraft auch mich gehabt. Von daher konnte ich Gisela Baudys Tonspuren und so manche Scherben wertschätzen. Der Autorin Wortwendungen sind tiefgründig und spitzfindig zur selben Zeit. An den kurzen Einsichten ist keine Silbe zu viel. Mit Oxymorons und Synästhesie bringt sie die Stille zum Klingen. Deshalb wollte ich mich dieser Besinnungsreise überlassen und auch einmal in mich hineinhorchen. Jeder hat in sich Dissonanzen, die entstehen wenn die Erwartungen von der Realität eingeholt werden.
In Stücke
Ich zerschneide
meine Tränen
in Stücke Papier
und werfe sie zum Abfall
meiner Träume.
Gisela Baudys Tonspuren Zyklus ist nicht zum schnell Leben oder schnell Lesen gedacht. Auch wenn man eine Betrachtung zum fünften Mal zu sich nimmt, entdeckt man wieder neue Facetten. Diese Lebensreise ist extrahiert von sehr persönlichen Erfahrungen und will jedem Mut machen, wieder Kind zu werden. Außerdem: um an sich selber zu arbeiten, braucht man nicht unbedingt einen Therapeuten.
V
Doktor
Sie müssen
sich nicht beeilen.
Wirklich nicht.
Ich sterbe
auch so.
Das sitzt. Die Grenzen der ärztlichen Kunst und Motivation. Vielleicht braucht man einen anderen Doktor als den mit dem Stethoskop. Einer, der auch ohne Hörgerät die Tonsplitter wieder richtet. Die Seele repariert.
Aber ganz so schwarz muss man nicht sehen. Man kann sich wieder finden:
Gewissheit Erde
Dem Flüchtigen
Konturen geben
im Wort.
Dem Wort
die Gewissheit
der Erde geben.
Den Alltag vertagen.
Hell werden.
Werden.
So ist vielleicht das Ankommen bei sich selber, sobald dem Kindlein Flügel wachsen, sobald es verloren gegangen ist. In diesem Sinne sind wir alle auf bestimmte Tonspuren geeicht. Die Hoffnung liegt im Licht.
Die Ton- und Wortmalereien haben einen Sinn: die innere Heimat in sich zu finden. Aber nicht nur für den Einzelfall (ego), sondern als Nachhaltigkeit (Sustainability) für uns alle.
Der erste Schritt
Der erste Schritt
die Sonne
in sich einzulassen
ist auf alten Wunden
und Sehnsüchten
nicht zu bestehen.
Wunderschön. In einer kleinen Rezension kann man mit dem kunstfertigen Wortspiel (vielleicht ist es kein Spiel) nicht konkurrieren. Jeder muss es selber erlesen. Was mir am besten gefallen hat, waren die Schattierungen des schwarzen Humors. Und das folgende Mantra in der Einleitung:
„In diesem Sinne sind wir alle Kinder der Erde. Es ist das Kind in uns, das dem Nachbarn die Hand reicht und die Erde für alle bewohnbar macht. Wir müssen es nur suchen wollen.“
Und dazu eine Lesung im Hamburger Raum: Am 21. März 2017 las Gisela Baudy (2. Reihe, 1. von links) ihre Gedichte bei einer bei einer Gemeinschaftslesung in Hamburg-Heimfeld (Kulturverein“Alles wird schön”, Friedrich-Naumannstraße 17, 21075 Hamburg) bei der Suedlese-Aktion der Künstlervereinigung Südkultur. Die Lesung ist der Auftakt der Literaturtage, die vom 20. März bis zum 14. April 2017 in ganz Hamburg-Harburg stattfinden.
Buch Bestellungen:
Gisela Baudy, Tonspuren – Lyrisches Tagebuch, Verlag Stimme fürs Leben e.U., Wien 2016, 188 Seiten mit zahlreichen Fotos von Chris und Gisela Baudy. ISBN 978-3-903032-08-8. Verkaufspreis 19,90 Euro.
Bestellungen bei Stimme fürs Leben.
ODER bei Amazon oder die kostenlose Hotline der Buchhandlung Osiander 0800-9201-300.
Renate Mousseux gathered with her friends Bruno, Barbara, and Brigitte at the Fountain Hills Gallery after a body language presentation. Like many, they had been looking forward to Renatle’s Mosaic of Life with suspense.
“Renatle, Mosaic of Life” is now out on Amazon. The cover looks sassy and the story is full of suspense. I am so excited! Renatle’s mosaic of life adventures came beautifully together in her memoir. It is out on Amazon as paperback, plus a digital version on Kindle. Here is a review from the Fountain Hills newspaper.
YOU ARE INVITED: Friday, January 27, 2017, 7 p.m. Renate will be reading excerpts from her book at my house. Please RSVP to my e-mail.
One fine day, I chatted Renate up after the German luncheon about doing a story about her for Amerika Woche. Right there my own life changed. For this interview, Renate and I met in an Indian restaurant. She gave me the full scoop about her body language expertise—and some playacting examples. We had a fabulous time.
Several weeks later, Renate approached me about writing her life story. I had no idea what all was to come in Renatle’s Mosaic interviews. I was in for some genuine enrichment.
We started taping Renate’s story. Once a month I drove to her house on top of a Fountain Hills peak and listened to her true tales. War times in Germany. Concealed at birth. Prankster childhood. Love gone awry. Down and out in Los Angeles. More than once, my jaw dropped. Renate laid it all out. Barred none.
I won’t give away more than what is on the back cover: Renate was the love child between a French jazz trumpeter and a German patrician business woman. Renate’s questionable existence was concealed from the family for months. Aunt Liesel finally discovered the baby and brought her home.
As a toddler, in 1944, Renatle survived the infamous Tigerstorm carpet-bombing attack on her hometown Freiburg (Germany). The whole town lay in shambles. In that night 3,000 people died. Renate’s uncle and other good Samaritans brought aunt, grandmother, and baby Renate to a Luftschutzbunker—with nothing else but a blanket wrapped around their nightgowns.
Yes, but her mother and father, Trudel and Emile, were buried alive in rubble of the dental lab where they worked. By a miracle, both were rescued days later and put into a hospital for a year. They never fully recovered . . . and then, mother . . .
Tears welled up in her eyes. She asked me to stop the recorder.
More pauses were to come. Why did Renate go to America? She was expecting and wanted to give her baby a home—but not a brute, bisexual, drug-addicted father. Renate escaped, but barely. Finally, things seemed to fall into place in Arizona, with her teaching immersion classes for French and German. It all seemed good, or was it? Her new husband had charm and pedigree.
“I never dwell on the past, even though I sometimes cry”, Renate said. She is one of the most cheerful and people-oriented persons I know. And like any serious Girl Scout she is looking to do at least one good deed a day. She always carries a gift for unforeseen occasions in her purse.
Now it’s two years later and the book is done. “Renatle” turned out well. And so did her book.
Since we started writing, Renate has made many appearances at TV stations commenting on presidential candidates’ body language or the expression of witnesses in high profile murder cases. She started her flourishing BodyLanguage4Success business after her retirement as an Arizona foreign language professor for almost 30 years. More information at BodyLanguage4success
All this fame could have spoiled Renate, but quite to the contrary she is a charming, helpful, and very open person. A gem. And I learned a great deal from her. Each interview and every editing meet was a lesson for me. Here we are at the Fountain Hills Gallery presenting Renatle’s Mosaic.
Congratulations, Edda, now it’s out! Texas Kaktuswein, a collection of Texas ranch stories was released on Amazon this April. Kaktuswein provides an enjoyable glimpse into the Buchners’ first-hand-living experience. Much of their Bat Cave Ranch experience follows the German pioneer tracks.
Texas Kaktuswein—written in the German language—was five years in the making and covers 30 years of ranch life. When the Buchner “greenhorns” (Edda, Helmut, daughter Virginia) arrived in Texas, they started supplemental farming. Through learning by doing, Edda soon collected story material: circus acts with chickens, adventures in the vegetable garden, meeting the snakes, raccoons, and vultures.
The Buchners sought the simple life away from consumer society. They built up the “rock pile” (a half-built stone house with no electricity, no running water, but a windmill & water tank) with their own hands’ labor. Along the way, they taught themselves with library books, advice from the hardware store, or the proven experience from their farming neighbors.
Bat Cave Ranch was always a little paradise for me. There I could recover from college deadline pressures. The Buchners have left the pasture under the majestic live oak trees grow naturally. “The animals were here before us, so we can get along”, Edda likes to say. Get along for the most part. Snakes, or ringtails, or pesky squirrels are evacuated to the wild when the chicken when they are causing too much damage.
One fine day, about five years ago, as I was lying in a hammock and Edda was feeding me mustang grapes, we made a plan. These stories must be published! We eagerly sorted, remixed, and laid out the course. I was still sorting after I got home. My whole living room was plastered with chicken, snake, vulture, and even grasshopper stories.
Five years, why so long? I learned the Word formatting and Create Space magic soon enough. But then came the changes, rearrangements, and turnarounds. All right. Too many tough choices. What pictures are the best? There was no end to it. Now I know much easier ways right from the start.
But the result was all worth it. And come to think of it, I never got tired of the stories. Nothing was made up. In my mind, I often strolled across the deer pastures under the mighty oaks.
And I laughed out loud: Who else grabs a big snake by the tame end and hurls it around until they are both dizzy? Or who sticks a half-drowned baby opossum under her sweater to warm it back to life, skin-on-skin? Or who catches fruit flies for an injured humming bird or road kill for a vulture? Answer to all three: my friend Edda. She is very compassionate.
All in the Buchner family are nature-oriented and grandsons Tristan and Markus fully enjoy their childhood in the country. They don’t know how lucky they are.
Finally, the Buchners really do make cactus wine from prickly pear fruits, as the title Texas Kaktuswein says. If you want to find out how, buy the book and brew your own.
Harry Rusk was introduced into the Country Music Hall of Fame by Bob Everhart at LeMars in 2015.
Harry Rusk is a widely known country music artist and Nashville performer from Alberta, Canada. He is a Native American from the Slavey tribe, born at Fort Nelson, British Columbia. In his autobiography “Beyond the Bend of the River,” Harry wrote down his painfully honest and sometimes heartbreaking life story of discrimination and survival. He is one of the very few people remaining who grew up in the traditional trapping lifestyle of the Pacific Northwest.
In his youth Harry suffered from tuberculosis and was hospitalized at total bedrest for four years. Both his parents and brother perished from TB. Through all the early tribulations, the country singer who got inspired by old-time star Hank Snow, cherished any small kindness given to him as a great treasure. He was not fond of the heartless Catholic missionaries, who almost refused to give his mother a Christian burial. Then, in 1975, Harry found Jesus. Since then he uses his musical talent for his ministry. But I haven’t gotten that far in his book yet. I have enjoyed one page after another of insights into a much varied life of self-determination.
This St. George is depicted in a very, very old house at the living history museum Glentleitn near Kochel am See.
I never knew that my friend Schorschi (Georg) Unterholzner was so much into saints. He usually writes Bavarian murder mysteries. In his latest publication, a pretty coffee table book “Faszinierendes Tölzer Land”, he came up with a story about a local St. George in the Bad Tölz Region. It may be a wayward myth that St. George was made into a dragon slayer, he argued. Because the name itself comes from the Greek organon, which means worker of the land. However, even land workers have turned their plough shares into swords. I believe that St. George became a warrior, because he had to defend his values. So let me have the joy to introduce to you St. George the Dragon Slayer. This fearless down-to-earth man is a saint for everyone, from Ireland to Asia Minor. Much more accessible than lofty St. Mike and hardly as nationalistic as Siegfried. Here is what I could gather about this soldierly landman and the dragons he might soon fight. Last time I checked on the dragons (above a London creature) they were still alive and well. When you travel England or Bavaria, you may spot some dragon tails. I have grown up with a dragon under one roof in my childhood home in Bavaria. It stuck its fierce head out from under the gables. This early image inspired me to write my adventure novel “Der Keltenschimmel” (The Celtic Stallion). I learned that the dragonhead was a charm against a fire catastrophe. A fire-spitter as protector. Makes all the sense in the world? Anyhow, dragons, St. George, and Celtic myths inspired my young protagonist, the hot-headed apprentice writer Katrina.
In Bavaria, dragons are lurking around every corner. The soldier’s memorial in my village is protected by St. George the Dragon Slayer and Patron of Soldiers. St. George is also the celebrity of the little village chapel (Schimmelkapelle), which is said to be built on a Celtic sacrificial site. Of course that chapel inspired all the imagination for my Keltenschimmel. It used to contain many dozens of pious votive paintings for a cure from illness or safe return from war. St. George (altar) is riding a white horse (Schimmel). Aside from the holy tangents, a ghost horse has been seen cantering around the little church and a witch livesnearby. DRAGON SLIDE SHOW
Let’s go to Munich’s Marienplatz with its neo-gothic city hall and Glockenspiel. St. Mary rules the heart of town there from her mighty column. Four little angel mercenaries at her feet fight off fierce mythological creatures. But one nifty reptile escaped the heavenly authorities. This sinister reptile is now crawling up the west corner of the Rathaus. It has always fascinated me.
Dragons rule London too! It seemed that St. George forgot to kill a few. In front of Westminster Cathedral, St. George dominates the scene, as he is also a part of the royal coat of arms at nearby Buckingham palace. But in other places dragons proudly fly about town. A dragon aggressively standing on its hind legs guards the bridge to the free City of London. Another flying reptile roams the air space around St. Paul’s.
The similarities between the British and Bavarian gothic do not end here. At the Liberty, I saw a Glockenspiel with St. George chasing after the dragon. No dragon at the Rathaus Glockenspiel in Munich, but a medieval court scene and joust. The dance of the coopers’ guild symbolizes the perseverance during times of the plague.
I have grown up with dragons nearby, such as the one under the roof of our 200-year-old Bavarian farmhouse. I was surprised that dragons were this popular in England too. The Queen’s Knights of the Garter and the Bavarian Knights of St. George share an important saint. And their dragons too.
Westminster Cathedral and St. George Column in memory of fallen soldiers
I met Dan about seven years ago “on the job” for our local Up Close neighborhood newspaper. Dan had just co-authored and published a very interesting book FIND ME in collaboration with retired police officer Kelly Snyder. In Find Me, you have missing and—most likely dead—people being “read” through an international team of psychic investigators.
Bodies were located and cases solved with the help of these rather unconventional investigative methods. Dan’s psychic specialty is map dousing. He asks the universe “yes-or-no” questions while dangling a pendulum over a map. But he also helps search-and-rescue-teams canvas rough terrain with a passion. Dan Baldwin: ghostwriter, adventurer, and medium.
Find Me wasn’t Dan’s first book. But it was probably the first one published with his name on the cover. Dan is a ghostwriter of about 50 titles with other people’s name on them. “As long as they write my name on the check, I am all fine with it,” he jokes in his trademark wry humor.
Since those seven years ago, Dan has published 3 Westerns (CALDERA, CALDERA, A MAN ON FIRE, TRAPP CANYON), 2 murder mysteries (DESECRATION, HERESY), a novel (Sparky and the King), and a movie script in addition to his work for hire. Speaking about prolific, Dan can shake out a good story in about an hour. And he still takes the time to tutor novices like me whose books take on average 10 years.
Once in a while, Dan disappears into the Superstitions wilderness or other epic landscape. He gets ideas out in the desert, where he explores collapsed gold mines, follows the Apaches’ trails, or chances on potsherds and tragic wagon ruts.
And then he writes a book again. Some settings are brawly, ribald Western towns, other scenarios may chase across an archeologist’s field of dreams. And all these colorful worlds are quite tangible and informed, like a painted movie backdrop. Now, I am having trouble with some of Dan’s characters. There are a few awfully evil types, outright vicious villains in his books. Not the typical manslaughter cases but totally rotten demises. I can’t believe that Dan wrote them. He is the nicest guy.
“I wrote one of the bad guys that had it coming after my dentist,” Dan jokes. He delighted in the virtual payback opportunity, and the dentist didn’t mind. It seems? Wait, maybe Dan will find out at the next sacamuelas appointment.
Dan likes to cultivate a solid “bad boy, best friend” reputation. He does have quite a few friends, one of them Harvey, and—no—he is not imaginary. Many in his writers circles, I guess, like Java mornings, plain, black, and strong.
One day, a bunch of us (Georg, my German mystery writer friend, his wife Angelika, and I) went hiking with Dan. He wore his impressive buck-skinner knife on the belt just in case a bear might show. Of course we felt fully protected, or were we?
As the case may be, Dan has been a good sport on a couple of joint projects. A couple of times, he and I had a guest appearance in an elementary school, showing the kids the real world ropes of riding, oops, writing. Just one word after another, but with outline please. And make a good lead sentence to set the tone for the story.
The kids were mightily impressed with Dan’s hat and library full of self-written books. I taught them a bit of journalism. Together we made an excellent desperado author pair. Only that he spoke the more popular language. Although, can he write in German too? I don’t think so, Danny Boy.
Now what other claims to fame must be mentioned? Dan has a website, writes a blog, and is a board member of the Society of Southwestern Authors. And as we speak he might be churning out another braggardy lawyer profile for a trade journal or indulge in a Playboy bunny’s memories. There is no telling with what Dan will do next. Oh, suspense!
My friend Earley is a Jack of many trades. Yes, Jack Earley is his name. Much to say about him (Jack on right; middle, Kate Earley; left, me)
That guy got Jack to read all the great novels, about 20 of them—Moby Dick, War and Peace, Brothers Karamazov, The Red and the Black, and so forth. He has been writing every since.
Get it? Along the way of our unsuspecting lives we are collecting more knowledge than expected. So that is called a learning experience.
I met Dan about seven years ago “on the job” for our local Up Close neighborhood newspaper. Dan had just co-authored and published a very interesting book 
