I'm grateful for...

     On this holiday weekend we had a chance to reflect on everything with which we are blessed.  I realized that I have a really good life.

     I was raised in a family with both a mother and a father who loved me.  They were there for me throughout my childhood.  They taught me great values, work ethics, and balance in all things.  As I grew, they didn't hold me back.  My parents backed off enough to allow me to make my own mistakes, or succeed in anything I put my mind to.  They were always there to help if I needed it though.  When I became an adult, they helped me more times than I can count.  They've bailed me out financially.  They've stepped in to help with my family when we thought I was going to die.  They supported me in any endeavor I've pursued. I'm horrible about keeping in touch with family, and even being neglected, they love me.  As I've become a father I've come to realize just how much they've sacrificed  to be the great parents that they are, and I'm grateful for it.

     I'm grateful for my brothers and sisters.  I have five brothers.  They have been examples to me in different ways, and I look up to them so much.  Even my youngest brother who is only 12.  He lives in California with my dad, rarely sees any of us, and loves us as if we've grown up together.  My older brothers blazed very different paths in life.  Each one has been an example to me; school, dating, marriage, fatherhood, and friendship.  They've shown me everything I should and could be.  My younger brother has been the most supportive person I've met.  He was the first to read, edit, and support my writing.  He actively tries to find ways to help me.  He's an amazing man.  I have 3 sisters.  They've taught me how to understand and treat women.  My older sister is the most tenacious woman you could ever know.  She got straight A's not because she was the smartest person in school, but because it was what she wanted and she'd study until she was sure she would pass.  She will not be told that she can't do something.  She's 5' 1" and a police officer.  She graduated the police academy with better scores than most of  the men, and set records for the women, in spite of her size.  I feel sorry for the criminal who underestimates her.  When she got breast cancer, I think she was sad for like a week, and then decided she would beat it.  She did.  She's the embodiment of determination.  My younger two sisters have influenced me in ways I couldn't imagine.  I fought with my sister just younger than me all the time growing up.  She taught me patience.  She also prepared me for kids because my oldest is just like her; she's always right (.::winks::.).  The reverse side of that is her open and loving nature.  She would give you the shirt off her back if you needed it.  My youngest sister was like one of my own daughters.  I felt like an essential part of her upbringing.  I was young myself, so I apologize for my many mistakes, Trisha, but you prepared me for fatherhood, and I can never tell you how much I appreciate that.

     I'm grateful for being born in a country which is not only free, but strives to do good in the world.  I complain about politics.  I complain about elected officials.  I complain about certain laws.  But when it comes down to it, I feel that I live in the greatest country in the world.  When I see a man or woman in uniform, I get almost teary-eyed.  Our troops sacrifice even their lives to protect my freedoms.  Not only that, but they sacrifice to help those without a voice throughout the world.  There may be many who believe that America has alternative motives for the war which we wage, but those men and women who serve in the military protect the people who suffer in those conflicts.  They are amazing people, and I look up to them so much.  I look up to our politicians for their efforts.  Even though I complain, I know that I couldn't do better with so much to balance.  The men and women in congress, judge's seats, senate, presidency, military command, etc. have a gift of balance and virtue, regardless of their many downfalls.  They make mistakes, to be sure, but we make steady progress regardless. 

     I'm grateful for my beautiful wife.  Michelle has been with me through my best and worst.  She has supported me when most women would have left me.  She has a will of iron, and a determination to succeed that I don't think I could begin to emulate.  She is the kindest, most loving woman I've ever met.  She loves me.  It's a simple, unconditional love.  It's what I need most in the world.  No matter how bad things have gotten, I could and can always depend on her.  I trust her with everything that I am.  She has sacrificed a great many things for me, and I can never repay her for those sacrifices.  I can only love her in return.  She is an amazing mother.  She brings honor to the title "Mother".  You can't help but respect her for it.  She doesn't have to protest, or demand women's rights.  Everyone who knows her wants to show her the respect which she deserves simply by her bearing.  She conducts herself in such a way as you cannot help but treat her with respect.  I love her with all of my heart. 

     I'm grateful for in-laws who are amazing.  My Mother and Father in law are wonderful people.  I've heard that a lot of people don't like their in-laws.  I feel bad for them.  I'm as comfortable with mine as I am with my own parents.  They are loving and accepting.  They were hard on me while I courted my wife (as every good parent should be), but the moment we married I was family.  They've never made me feel like I was an outsider.  They take an active part in my life, and the lives of my children without interfering with our method of rearing our family.  They are great examples to me, and I strive to have a marriage like theirs.  Family is the most important thing to them and it shows in their daily actions.  My siblings-in-law (if that's a word) are amazing, too.  They feel like real siblings, and I'm as comfortable hanging out with them as I am with my own family.  

     I'm grateful for my 3 beautiful children.  They are as diverse as the galaxies in the universe.  Each has their own quirks, to be sure, but they are all good children.  I don't know how I got so lucky because they are pretty self-reliant.  They push for what they want in life.  They all do well in school because they inherently know that it's important.  They get along responsibly well.  My oldest has almost all of the same interest as I do, and we have a special bond because of it.  My son is the most helpful, perceptive, kind person you will ever meet.  I can depend on him for anything.  He has always made me so proud.  My youngest is tiny, like her aunt, and everyone she knows just wants to rally around her and protect her.  In return she is the most openly loving girl you could know.  I wish I could say that I'm doing a great job raising them, but I honestly feel like they teach me more than I could ever teach them, and I look up to each of them so much.  They will be incredible in whatever they do. 

     I'm grateful for friends.  I have incredible friends.  When my best friend found out I had gotten so sick that I could no longer work, he gave a job to my wife in his company.  He held our hands through the whole ordeal, and helped us get back on our feet as we tried to recover from our struggles.  Another friend from high school rallied our whole high school class with a fund-raiser to get me the treatment I needed.  I might not be here today without their joint efforts.  I was overwhelmed with the kindness these people who hadn't seen me in over a decade showed for me and my family.  There are a great number of good people in my life.

     I'm grateful for good neighbors.  When we first moved here, my health was just starting to improve.  The people around us have jumped at opportunities to help us out.  They are great neighbors.  I can't count the number of times when a neighbor brought us dinner because they heard I had a seizure or something.  They are good, big-hearted people, and I love them.  

     I'm grateful for doctors.  I would be dead now if not for the medical help we have in today's society.  I've been to a lot of doctors, and there are a precious few who really take interest in their patients.  Those few saved my life.  Simple things made all of the difference.  

     I'm just grateful for my life.  It's had its trials, but for the most part, it's been a very good life.  I couldn't ask for anything more.

     

12 Days of Christmas

     Straight No Chaser is an incredible a capella group.  They have a great mix of humor and talented vocals.  Now that it's officially past Thanksgiving, I'll listen to Christmas music.  I get bored of the old, tired Christmas music, so I love when a group makes up a new Christmas song, or gives an old one a revitalized sound, but mostly I like funny remakes like this.

     This remake of the 12 Days of Christmas is great.  Give it a listen.

Beautiful Words

Beautiful words to liven up your writing.

Assemblage: A gathering

Becoming: Attractive

Beleaguer: To exhaust with attacks

Brood: To think alone

Bucolic: In a lovely rural setting

Bungalow: A small, cozy cottage

Chatoyant: Like a cat's eye

Comely: Attractive

Conflate: To blend together

Cynosure: A focal point of admiration

Dalliance: A brief love affair

Demesne: Dominion, or territory

Demure: Shy and reserved

Denouement: The resolution of a mystery

Desuetude: Disuse

Desultory: Slow, sluggish

Diaphanous: Filmy

Dissemble: Deceive

Dulcet: Sweet, sugary

Ebullience: Bubbling enthusiasm

Effervescent: Bubbly

Efflorescence: Flowering, blooming

Elixir: A high-quality potion

Eloquence: Beauty and persuasion in speech

Embrocation: Rubbing on a lotion

Emollient: A softener

Ephemeral: Short-lived

Epiphany: A sudden revelation

Erstwhile: At one time, for a time

Ethereal: Gaseous, invisible but detectable

Evanescent: Vanishing quickly, or short-lived

Evocative: Suggestive

Fetching: Pretty/handsome

Felicity: Pleasantness

Forbearance: Withholding response

Fugacious: Fleeting

Furtive: Shifty/sneaky

Gambol: Skip or leap about joyfully

Glamour: beauty

Gossamer: Finest piece of thread, or spider's silk

Halcyon: Happy, care-free

Harbinger: Messenger for future events

Imbrication: overlapping and forming a regular pattern

Imbroglio: An altercation or complicated situation

Imbue: infuse, instill

Incipient: Beginning, or early stage

Ineffable: Unutterable

Ingenue: A naive young woman

Inglenook: A cozy nook by the hearth

Insouciance: Blithe nonchalance

Inure: to become jaded

Labyrinthine: Twisting and turning

Lagniappe: A special kind of gift

Lagoon: A small gulf or inlet

Languor: Listlessness, inactive

Lassitude: Weariness

Leisure: free time

Lilt: To move musically or lively

Lissome: slender and graceful

Lithe: Slender and flexible

Mellifluous: Sweet sounding

Moiety: One of two equal parts

Mondegreen: A slip of the ear

Murmurous: Murmuring

Nemesis: An unconquerable archenemy

Offing: The sea between the horizon and the shore

Onomatopoeia: A word which sounds like its meaning

Opulent: lush, luxurious

Palimpsest: A manuscript written over earlier ones

Panacea: A solution for all problems

Panoply: A complete set

Pastiche: An art work combining materials from various sources

Penumbra: half-shadow

Petrichor: The smell of earth after the rain

Plethora: a large quantity

Propinquity: an inclination

Pyrrhic: successful with heavy losses

Quintessential: Most essential

Ravel: To Knit or unknit

Redolent: Fragrant

Riparian: By the bank of a stream

Ripple: a small wave

Scintilla: A spark or very small thing

Sempiternal: Eternal

Serendipity: finding something nice while looking for something else

Summery: light, delicate or warm and sunny

Sumptuous: lush, yummy

Surreptitious: Secretive

Susurrous: Whispering, hissing

Talisman: good luck charm

Tintinnabulation: Tinkling

Untoward: Unseemly, inappropriate

Vestigial: In trace amounts

Wafture: waving

Wherewithal: the means

Woebegone: sorrowful, downcast

     These words can liven up your writing, but use them sparingly, lest you sound presumptuous. 

The Undecideds (A book I'm writing with my oldest daughter, part 2)

     I posted the first chapter of a book I'm writing with my oldest daughter a couple of weeks ago.  It had hundreds of hits, and a lot of inquiries, so I thought I'd post the second chapter.  Once again this is very rough, and may be a little disjointed.

Chapter 2

The shower calmed her nerves, but her stomach still churned afterward.  Her mother insisted on her looking fairly kept for the special occasion, but Rachel wasn’t one of those girls who minded much what she looked like.  All she cared about was staying righteous and virtuous; a combination of her mother and father’s constant indoctrination.  She allowed her mother to put her hair up, even though she didn’t mind how it would look, or even if it was beautiful.  She just hoped it wouldn’t be time consuming.  She secretly wanted to put off the dreaded first day at a new school as long as she could.  She allowed her father’s angel to choose her outfit.  The sweet angel hummed a happy angelic tune as she joyfully dressed Rachel.  Rachel so wished she could speak with her without having to use her father as a translator.

Fully ready, Rachel yawned and picked up her ball of fur.  He seemed pleased with how she looked.  She smiled in appreciation, but passed no telepathic words to the furry ball of mystery.  There were rarely words between Rachel and her spirit beast.  They shared each other’s feelings, of course, but her spirit beast scared her more than anything else.  He would, ultimately, chose the rest of her life for her and reveal her true inner self.  Rachel was afraid of what secret inner thoughts he would expose to her parents.  She was so unsure of herself.  

Nathan, Rachel’s youngest brother, was just waking up.  He dragged his blanket down the hall towards the kitchen.  His spirit beast was a bouncing ball of furry happiness.  Nathan was a happy boy, too, but he always took a while to wake up.  The beast kept bouncing against his legs as they made their way to the breakfast table.  Finally, it elicited a smile and a laugh from little Nathan, and the two raced the rest of the way to the table.  Rachel envied their relationship.  She wished her and her beast had that much fun together. 

As soon as she had the feelings, she quickly repented.  Be self-loving, she thought.  The words echoed in her mind. No, she shouldn’t love herself.  It might make her turn vain, and then she’d get an unwanted spirit beast.  “Pegasus, angel, unicorn, light ball, or fairy,” she repeated over and over in her head trying to command her ball of fur to evolve into an angel beast.  “Even a manticore,” she thought with a laugh, but then she realized there were almost as many demon manticores as there were angel manticores.  “No, not a manticore,” she said out-loud as she looked at her beast.

“What was that,” her mother asked.

“Nothing,” Rachel said, biting her bottom lip.

                Catching her mother’s attention was the worst thing Rachel could have done at that minute because she suddenly found million last minute touches to do on Rachel before she practically carried her to the car.  Her younger brothers laughed and teased her the whole time, which lead to another ‘be’ lecture from their mother.  Before she knew it, Rachel was at her new school.  And even with all the priming and grooming, she couldn’t have been less ready to be there.

The school’s name was big: The Undecided’s Intermediate School of Arabelle.  Arabelle, was their city’s name.  Rachel stared at it, holding her ball and backpack tight.  Her stomach decided it was suddenly an acrobat; twisting, turning, flipping, and fluttering.

“Are you ready Rachel,” Her mother asked gently.  Usually her voice was overbearingly commanding, but pity was her virtue of choice at this time.  Her mother’s pity did little to help Rachel’s nerves.

Rachel nodded, feeling very small.  How she wished she could be in Elle’s perfect angelic school. It was almost normal to be an angel in Rachel’s community.  She lived in a gated neighborhood designated for those in the Angel Guild’s advisory council and staff.  At least at an angelic school she would know what to expect.  This school could have any number of spirit beasts.  Some could be partially developed.  Some might even hurt her or her beast.

                “Come on, let’s go in together,” her mother offered when she saw the look of trepidation on Rachel’s face.

“No thank you,” Rachel said, immediately.  The last thing she needed was her mother coming in with her.  She could almost hear the name “baby Rachel” ringing through the schoolyard.  “But I appreciate the thought,” she said, quickly as she plastered on a smile.  She looked nervously at her ball of fur.  Be gracious, she thought.  

“Well then, I suggest you head in,” her mother said, after a long moment.  Rachel detected a strain in her mother’s voice as she tried to sound patient, even though she was clearly pressed for time.

Rachel nodded, and slipped out of the car.  She was too nervous to notice she hadn’t kissed her mother goodbye.   Halfway to the building she remembered, so she turned around and waved at her mother.  Her mother smiled and waved, and then drove away. Rachel looked at the school one last time and ran in, holding her breath as if she were jumping into a cold lake.

                The school was crowded, and Rachel’s fear of not knowing anyone was proving to be true.  Nobody she passed looked familiar.  But on the bright side, almost all of them looked frightened.  The second year intermediate students were already picking on the new kids.  They obviously didn’t care about what effect their mean behavior would have on their spirit beasts.  These kids were far different from the kids at her angelic guild’s elementary school. 

Her first class was Herbology.  Good, something she was good at which took a lot of concentration so that she could forget about the butterflies in her stomach.  She quietly took a seat and started looking over the book on her desk.  Some of the kids noticed and gave her dirty looks.  She thought she heard someone whisper, “Goody, goody”.  Students were clumped in different areas; on desks, in corners, and by the chalkboard.  Several looked over in her direction, but no one waved, or smiled.  This was definitely not her friendly angelic elementary school.  She started to hate some of the groups of kids as she could hear their mean judgmental conversations, but she quickly repented when she noticed her spirit beast was paying attention to her feelings.  She dreaded having to be so… perfect.  She took a deep breath and stared ahead.  Just wait for the teacher, She instructed herself.  Be patient.

                The teacher finally entered, saving Rachel from her inner anguish.  All of the students hustled to sit down, timidly fighting over seats.  Rachel kept her head straight ahead until the class was settled.  When everyone had found their seat, she decided to see who she’d be permanently seated next to for the rest of the year.  She looked to her left and felt more relief than she had all day; a recognizable face.  At least she’s seen him before.  Rachel never bothered to make friends with him.  She wasn’t the friend making type, but at least she’d seen this boy before.  Was his name John?  She racked her brain to remember.  This was her chance to actually have a friend.

“Rachel,” she whispered, expecting him to hear over the teacher.  

“What’s your name,” she whispered when he didn’t respond.

He finally looked over at her and a spark of recognition lit his eyes.  “Do I know you,” he asked.

 She wasn’t surprised, and forced herself not to be disappointed.  She didn’t really know him either.  “I’ve just seen you around elementary school, that’s all.  I thought we could be friends,” she said looking ahead so the teacher wouldn’t know they were talking during class.  He was writing his name on the board; Mr. Hancock.

“David,” the boy finally whispered back, looking ahead as Rachel was.

                After Herbology, she finally turned to look at her new friend David.  She almost dropped her books when she saw his spirit beast.  It had long legs, almost five feet tall, and massive arms which hung down past the knees, but the beast hadn’t fully evolved yet.  It was just arms and legs attached to a ball of fur.  Rachel had to hold in a laugh at the comical sight.  Be respectful.  Be polite.  She reprimanded herself.  And she resisted the urge to make a comment or even ask about the beast.

David and Rachel walked together out of the classroom and down the hall, making small talk about the herb lesson.  Rachel learned how determined David was to learn every minute of every lesson.  He was extremely intelligent, but clumsy and awkward.  His beast was no better.  The lanky giant bumped into everything, and even fell down two times on the way to their next classes.  Rachel tried her best not to laugh, and concentrated hard on what David was saying so she wouldn’t stare at the awkward giant.

Listen to how devoted David was to his studies, she began to realize how impolite it was to talk to him during class.  “I’m sorry I disrupted your learning time,” She said quietly when David paused in his recount of the Herbology lesson.  “It was rude of me.”

David laughed. “Parents with Angelic creatures, eh,” David asked, guessing at her parentage by her kind and compassionate nature.

Rachel nodded.  “You don’t know the half of it. They have actual angels.”

David laughed even more. “My mother has a Pegasus.  She’s strict enough.  I can’t imagine having two angel parents and actual angels...”

Rachel smiled.  She was glad she made a friend.  At least someone would know what she was up against this year.  She wanted to be perfect for her parents, but normal at school.  Not too good that she would draw attention, but not so bad that she would end up like her older brother had.  Rachel had to hold back tears at the memory of her brother.  All she could remember of him was their trips to the meadows.  He was never evil when he was with her, but he must have done something to get that beast.  Since his banishment, she feared any type of rebellion or bad behavior.  She didn’t know if her parents were okay with a common animal spirit beast, but she didn’t dare take the risk of making any slight infraction without repenting. An angel was crucial… needed.

“You think a lot, Rachel,” David said.

Rachel snapped out of her thoughts.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I focus too hard on the ‘be attitudes’ sometimes, I guess.”

David just shrugged.  He knew how hard it was to be the kid of an angelic beast parent.  “My next class is Math, yours?”

Rachel stopped in front of the door she was dreading to enter.  “This one,” she said with a quiver in her voice.

David looked at the black and red plaque.  “Demonology.”  He smiled and nodded his head up the hall.  “I’m just two doors up,” he said as he casually walked away.

Rachel was glad to have made a friend.  She hoped there would be more.  She really hoped there would be girls who would talk to her.  Boys were fine, but it would be nice to have a friend she could really relate to.  It was hard enough with all the different spirit beast types around in this school.  Maybe there was another angel family girl out there. 

Rachel sighed as she pushed the door open; forgetting completely just which class it was that she was entering.

Applied Natural Magic

     Applied Natural Magic is a perfect hybrid of Steam Punk, Mystery, and a touch of Fantasy.  Eric James Spannerman does a wonderful job creating a world where all of these genres can mesh as if they belonged together.  If you would have told me before-hand that Mr. Spannerman was trying to combine all of these genres I would have laughed, and even more tragically, I might have passed on reading the book.  I was oh so surprised to see how well he was able to make the three come together, creating a great read.

     Charles Woodridge, the protagonist, is a junior professor at the Royal Academy.  He lives in a world which is inundated with pollution.  To go outside people need to put on protective clothing, and wear a respirator mask.  Because of the pollution, there is a shortage of food.  The major growers can't grow enough to feed the population, so there are periodic riots.  Charles hopes to solve the problem of rampant hunger by creating a special breed of potatoes which can grow quickly indoors.  

     Being an up and coming businessman, Charles wants to marry well, make a lot of money, gain fame for his work, and live on the nice side of town.  He is well on his way to accomplishing all four of these goals.  He is courting Camilla Mills, the daughter of Sir Anthony Mills.  Sir Anthony is willing to overlook Charles lack of a title if his project does well and becomes a lucrative business.  Sir Anthony is hurting financially, though he doesn't let on to anyone, even his daughter.

     Charles is being evaluated to gain tenure at the academy.  His work is very promising, but he is having difficulty finding an investor among the large growers.  Most of them want to continue doing things the way they've always been done because they know that those methods work.  Charles has peddled his work to many prospects, which becomes a problem later on in the book.  His potential to earn a lot of money is almost guaranteed...  Then tragedy strikes.  There is a break-in at his lab, and all of his research, equipment, and potato breeds are stolen.  To make matters worse, the backup research in the academy vaults is also stolen.  The whole incident wreaks of conspiracy and cover-up, and the list of suspects is almost insurmountable.  

     Charles feels that the police are doing little or nothing to help, the academy won't back him, he may lose his prospective wife, and his whole life is being torn apart.  The only help he has is his strange assistant, Mira Trevarias.  However, Charles even suspects her as a culprit for the theft .  There is something strange about her that everyone suspects, but nobody can quite put their finger on.

     Mr. Spannerman is an incredible author.  I've been reading a lot of Indie and small publisher books lately, and this is the first one I've truly enjoyed.  The characters were rich, intelligent, and real.  The writing was smooth and consistent.  The story was amazing.  The mix of genres was more than impressive.  I was thoroughly impressed.  I was also saddened by the lack of sales Mr. Spannerman has recieved on Amazon.  Perhaps he is selling well elsewhere, but he's well past the one millionth place in sales on Amazon.  This is a tragedy of poor advertising because Mr. Spannerman is as good, if not better, than a lot of the well-published authors I've read recently.  I wish I had the means to advertise for him because this is an incredible read.

     I fully recommend Applied Natural Magic to any reader.  The Fantasy aspect is not corny.  The Steam Punk is not winded and boring like most I've read.  And the mystery is realistic and keeps you guessing.  It's an incredible story.  Read it, and then tell your friends.  If Mr. Spannerman had proper advertising, he'd easily be on the best seller's list.

     I give this book 

     

Goodbye World

     The cover makes it look pretty good right?  Even the premise sounds promising.  When I looked at this I thought that it might be like a Walking Dead, or maybe Revolution, or Jericho, all of which I would fully recommend, but this... nope.

     Goodbye World is a perfect example of "don't judge a book by its cover".  It is absolutely horrible.  It embodies everything that gives Indie films a bad name.  

     The premise has a ton of potential.  A mass text which reads "goodbye world" goes out to every phone in America.  The text opens the door for very bad people to infiltrate the America communications network, and a virus shuts down all things connected to the web, which is just about everything.  With the infrastructure down, all chaos breaks loose.  There are riots, looting, and a generalized shutdown of society as we know it.  But then, it gets weird.

     The story follows a group of intellectualized friends who reunite at a cabin away from society, after years apart.  They each have diverse lives now, but used to be great friends.  Instead of mayhem and destruction, as the cover would suggest, you get to listen to the extremely boring politics, personal histories, and intellectualized, unrealistic ideals.  The cabin is well prepared for an apocalypse because the couple living there are completely "granola", and the house is self-sustained with solar panels, gardens, and a well-supplied basement with meds and whatnot.  There is a weak love triangle.  The dialog is horrendous.  The focus of the movie is so boring I almost fell asleep.  

     To make matters worse, the director threw a bunch of swear words in (a lot of "F" words) because the movie couldn't stand on its own.  You could almost feel the director or writer's desperation as they tried to make the movie appeal to an "adult" audience.  

     The actors were horrible, and none of the characters were believable.  I wanted to stop this movie so many times, but kept watching hoping the the group would be slaughtered by real people.  Sadly, that never happened.  What little conflict did arise was so fake, and diffused by hippy love, that it made the whole plot fall flat.

     Do not watch this movie.  Do not make your worst enemy watch this movie.  It is more than just bad.  It was one of the worst movies I've ever watched.

     I give this movie

That's 0 stars. None.  Zilch.

Bullying

     I wanted to talk about this not just because it's affecting someone in my life, but because I think it's becoming an issue in today's society.  We have the internet where there are all sorts of wonderful things that help make our lives better.  There are also a lot of "poisons" on the internet which destroy people's lives.  One of those "poisons" is something I don't think a lot of people realized may be leading towards a degradation of society.  The internet gives people a place to be mean anonymously.  

     I grew up without the internet, but I have seen the internet come into fruition.  At first this atmosphere of bullying, or being a "troll", was completely anonymous.  People would leave rude comments anonymously on youtube videos, or forums, or wherever.  Then, people starting thinking this was funny, or normal, and started posting it under their profile names because it gave them attention.  Social media came into existence, and this attitude has slowly seeped into the social media world.  It's become a common occurrence to be surly and sarcastic, and sometimes outright offensive online.  If you don't believe me, look down the timeline of what your friends are posting.  A lot of it will be "funny" stuff which is basically making fun of something, someone, or some place.  We all get a laugh, and as adults we know that these posts are supposed to be funny, and most of the time aren't serious.  What worries me is that our kids see these things and think that this is normal behavior.  I've noticed that the up-and-coming generation is irreverent, sarcastic, have no respect for authority, and act the way those "funny" posts portray the world to be.  We, as adults, know that it is socially unacceptable to say or do those things in public, but somehow it's become okay to do it online.  Our kids don't know the difference, and it has affected the way they interact with each other.

  

     I know that there has always been bullying.  I know that kids are often times insecure, or lasing out because of personal problems.  I know that there are always going to be social groups.  Not everybody fits in, and different personalities prevent people from being friends sometimes.  But what I'm worried about is how much this has escalated.  I think that this atmosphere irreverence online, has created a generation which thinks it's okay to be irreverent in the real world.

     This has become a problem with my own family.  I have a daughter who is being completely shunned by a lot of the girls her age.  She's a little different than girls her age.  She might be considered odd by the other girls.  She's beautiful, intelligent, and used to be outgoing.  She has straight A's, is in student council, works in a professional playhouse, and has a list of talents.  I know I'm her father, and so I'm 100% biased, but I would think she would be one of the "popular" girls.  For some reason, though, she has become the butt of all the gossip, and shunned by almost every girl in our area.  She went from being easy and outgoing, happy and fun, to being a shut-in.  She won't even go out in the yard anymore for fear that someone will see her.  It breaks my heart because she was always so happy growing up.  

     The girls around us aren't bad girls.  Some of them might even feel left out a lot of the time, too.  That's what makes it all so difficult.  I can't point at one of them and say she is a bad person.  They don't call my daughter names or anything like that, but they have completely shunned her.  None of them will have anything to do with her.  She has friends at school, but our school boundaries are really wide-spread, so some of her friends live a long way away, and between kids' dance, piano, plays, and all the other normal havoc of life it's just not possible to chauffeur her around to hang out with them often.  She is also at an awkward age where almost no kid feels comfortable in their own skin, so that compounds the problem.

     I'm not saying this all to fix just the problem with my daughter.  I've seen that this has become a fairly wide-spread occurrence.  I may be way off the mark here, but I think it comes down to the basic issue of respect and social norms.  I honestly don't think that these kids think they are being bullies.  There is a huge push to stop bullying right now, but it seems like the problem is only growing.  I think the disconnect lies in what the kids think is normal behavior.  They see the online "funny" stuff, and think that this is acceptable normal social behavior.

     The issue has lead us to limit our kids' activities online.  Not just protecting them from the normal awfulness like pornography, violence, language, and whatnot, but the innocent-looking "funny" stuff.  I am guilty of spending way too much time laughing at that content.  I don't want anyone to think that I'm rallying against humor.  I just think that the overexposure kids are getting to this culture of being inappropriate, and being praised for that inappropriate behavior, may be steering our kids in the wrong direction.  Like I said, as adults we know that the funny stuff is supposed to be funny.  We know that saying those things to another person, or about another person, is hurtful and wrong, but our kids haven't developed those filters yet.  

     What can be done about it?  Do we lock our kids indoors, shut of the internet, and hide them from the cruelty of the world?  Of course not.  I think we need to sit down, often, with them and talk about it.  It's very likely that our kids can be bullying, and not even know it.  They can be hurting people in a very real, very deep sense, and think they are just being "funny", and that it's not being taken seriously.

     I've seen the harsh reality of just how seriously these things can affect a person.  All I can do is console my daughter, and tell her to ignore the issue and stick close to her real friends.  Any efforts we've made to clear things up with parents, school teachers, and bus drivers have only made things worse for her.  More kids have jumped on the bandwagon to talk about her behind her back, but just loud enough for her to hear so that it hurts her feelings.  She goes to the bus stop, and kids will literally walk several feet away from her if she stands by them.  It breaks my heart.

     I hope none of you have to deal with this issue with your kids.  If any have, and have found a way to stop the problem, I'd love to hear it.  I think it only takes one person to change the life of a young person.  I pray that they'll grow out of it, and that she won't continue to withdraw and become socially paralyzed.  

     This is a very personal issue, and I was very reluctant to post it in a social forum like this, but I think there are a lot of people out there dealing with this very problem.  Maybe we can come up with a solution to the problem if we put our heads together.

Writing Comics

English is Hard

     No matter how well you spell, how much you've written, how much you've read, how much you've studied grammar, or how much you've edited other people's work you are going to make mistakes.  English is a tough language.  It's hard to rank it compared to other languages because the difficulty will vary depending on what your native language is, but English is always ranked among the hardest languages to learn for non-English speakers.  It's because of rules like the I before E rule, homonyms, homophones, homographs, and the inconsistencies of word meanings (there's no ham in hamburgers, no apple in pineapple, etc.)  And all of that doesn't even touch the evil monster... grammar.  How, where, and why you say something completely alters the meaning of a sentence, not to mention punctuation.  English is just plain hard.

     This is a concept I'm oh so familiar with.  I am horrible at grammar.  I'm not the best speller either, but that's what auto-correct and spell check are for.  I am more of a creative, conceptual type of guy.  I think I have great ideas, and I love to spin a yarn.  Problems come when other people have to read those yarns, and can't decipher my hieroglyphics which have way too many commas.  That is why I need help.  We all do.

   

     I've been told time and time again that I need an editor.  When I finished my first book I thought I was done with the hard part.  Boy was I wrong.  The whole writing world was new and intimidating to me, and I had no idea where to start.  I first tried a few query letters with no success.  Then I wrote a second book in the series and tried querying that one... No luck.  I felt discouraged.  I'm sure some of you have felt the same way.

     There are already 130 million books in print, so book stores have a lot to consider when stocking their shelves.  Of course, some of the classics have to be available for students studying them in school and whatnot.  There are also the well established authors whom the bookstores know will sell, so they must stock any new book they write.  So, what are your actual chances of being picked to take up those other spots?  A lot of it is simply luck, but luck is just when preparation meets opportunity.  I guess the real question is not so much how good your book is, but how do you prepare for that time when opportunity knocks?

     In 2013, in the U.S. alone, there were almost 300,000 new titles published.  Literary agents get over 5,000 query letters per year, that's almost 14 a day.  And the agents have existing clients to maintain because just getting your book on paper doesn't get it on the shelves.  

     You need to make an impression.

     I made the classic mistake of going it alone.  I never had anyone beta-read my books, let alone edit them.  I never had anyone beta-read my query letters.  Quite frankly, what I sent the agents was crap.  When you are writing a story, you know what you are trying to say.  That does not translate into the reader knowing what you are trying to say.  A content editor/copy editor needs to help you to make sure your story flows and makes sense.  This starts with beta-readers.  Make friends who like to read and write, and do trades where you read each other's work.  It's best to do this with people in your same genre.  So you need to network.  This is something I'm working on now.  I have two books self-published, but I'm almost embarrassed to advertise them because they are not edited.  (I just learned all of this recently.)  

     The second step is to clean up your work.  You can have a beautiful story, but there are a lot of "grammar nazis" out there, and I can guarantee that those agents you are querying are among the ranks of those "grammar nazis".  They read hundreds, thousands even, of books, and have seen it all.  If there is a mistake, they will likely be put off immediately.  Some may look past it, but if there are 2, or 3, or heaven forbid... 4... They simply will not read your work.  It needs to be clean.  You need a "grammar nazi" on your side.  You will likely have to pay for this service.  It doesn't matter if you want to self-publish or publish traditionally, you need clean work.  You need an editor.  You may not be able to afford one.  I know that was a big concern for me.  But if you don't believe in yourself enough to spend a couple hundred dollars to edit your own book, how will someone else believe in you enough to publish you?  There are ways around this.  Go to a college and get an English student to help.  They have assignments for this type of thing, and you can even offer them acclaims for their resumes for after they graduate.  Some English professors will do this to get their name out there.  Some writers, who are also editors, will do trade work for you.  Be creative, but get it done.

     You need help.  Don't try to do it alone like I did.  You will regret it, trust me.  Now, I'm trying to clean up the mess I made, but my mistakes have already been released to the public. 

1st Chapter of Book 3 of Dragon Souls

     I started my third book like a year ago, but have only visited it every now-and-then.  I'm pressing to finish it soon.  This story is burning in my mind, and needs to be put down on paper.  Here's the first chapter.

Chapter 1

Boom.

Fayern sat in front of his father’s massive, freshly sealed tomb thinking.

Boom.

Why had his father left him to this awful fate?  He had been forced to live away from the dwarves for centuries.  Forced to live with the humans.  To eat with them.  To breathe their air.  Forced to learn their language.  To learn their history.  To study in their schools.  Forced to learn their culture.  To lose his own heritage, and assimilate himself into their society.

Boom.

And for what?  So he could come home and have his birthright given to one of them.

Boom.

With his father’s dying breath he proclaimed that he had no heir, no son, no one to whom he could pass the age old, royal dwarven magic.  No one worthy to carry the Bromheider line of magic to the next generation.  Instead, he gave the magic to that boy.

Boom.

                That cursed boy! 

How could he, after all Fayern had sacrificed?  Fayern didn’t want to be away from his people all those years, his father had ordered it.  He was, in fact, the first dwarf to do so as far as history had told.  He lived the cursed life to make his father happy.  He had said fare-well to a love, left his brigade, and set off all alone in the world just to make his father happy.

Boom.

                Curse his father!

Boom.

                Curse the boy!

                “Prince Fayern!  Dey be almost through.”

                “I told you never again to address me that way!”

                The captain’s face reddened instantly.  “Pardon, General Fayern.  But dem blasted orcs is almost through da inner gate.”

Boom.

                “Captain, this stronghold has held for over ten thousand years.  I will be very displeased if it fell today.”

                The captain blanched at the rebuke.  “Aye, General.  No orc will soil dis sacred hall whilst I still be standin’.”  With a smart salute of clapped fist to his heart, the captain was away.  Away to stop the inevitable.  Away to die.

                “Ancestors be cursed,” Fayern said, under his breath.

Boom.

                Little pebbles were raining down from the cavern ceiling, the ceiling which was made thousands of years ago by the most skilled craftsmen among the dwarves.  The columns alone held more detail than any human had ever dreamed of carving into stone.  The ceiling was a tribute to the god Roagsnor; a beautiful landscape of how he would see the world from atop his cloud in the heavens.  Each tree, each animal, each blade of grass carved to exact replica of the real world.  It was like looking down at the world from a high mountain top.

Boom.

                The statue hastily carved to mark his father’s tomb was a rugged mess in comparison.  The orcs had not ceased their attack for pyre rites, nor gave they time to allow the dwarves to honor their fallen king.  Fayern’s father was not burned as his ancestors, atop the great volcanic mountain.  Instead, he was hastily entombed, and though two days was plenty of time for any dwarf to carve a magnificent sculpture which would outshine anything the wretched humans had managed to whittle out of stone, it was nowhere near what his father deserved.  King Weyburn had ruled over the dwarven people for almost two thousand years.  The old man deserved much better, even if he had sent Fayern away. 

Boom.

                Even if he had given away the Fayern’s birthright to that boy. 

Why had his father acted so foolishly?  To trust a human?  It was unheard of.  The Bromheider line was one of the last pure lines among the dwarves.  Fayern should have been given the death weapon from his father.  It was the way things were supposed to be.  It was the way it had always been since the dawn of dwarves; father passed his wisdom, and the wisdom of all his fathers before him, to son by breathing his last breath of magic into a weapon only his son could wield.  Fayern’s father had given his death weapon to that boy, to that human boy, thus ending the Bromheider line.  Fayern would never gain back the millennia of battle knowledge experienced by his ancestral line.  He would never wield the family’s magic crest.  He would not be able to pass that knowledge to his own son.

Boom.

                Who was he kidding?  There would be no more Bromheiders.  There would be no more dwarves.  Fayern’s father had thrown away his birthright, and in so doing, he had condemned the dwarves to failure.  The boy didn’t even last one battle with those magnificent weapons.  The Phantom Lord had taken him in his very first battle with those swords.  And now, they were in the hands of that treacherous elven princess.  Only she and the boy were keyed to the blades.  Fayern would never be able to lift his father’s swords.  To him, they would be as heavy as horses.  It was the magic’s way of protecting the family line.  The line which was now destroyed.

Boom.

                As if summoned by the thought of her, the elven princess came storming through the doors at the other side of the vast hall.  She had his father’s swords strapped crisscrossed across her back: twin blades as wicked as anyone could imagine.  The woman was so small and dainty, the two massive broadswords appeared comical protruding so high above her shoulders.  If it weren’t for the magic, she would never be able to lift one, let alone wield it in battle. 

At least the magic had not been wasted on her.  After the boy had fallen to the Phantom Lord she had retrieved the weapons and wreaked havoc on the dark hoard.  Truth be told, it was by her efforts alone that the rest of the dwarves were even able to fall back to the inner sanctum.  She was like death itself let loosed on the orcs.  Powered by her anger at losing the boy, she had cut them down in a wake of destruction unlike anything Fayern had ever seen.  The elven princess had killed thousands, forcing the black clan back enough to allow the dwarves to retreat to their stronghold.

                The outer hall was now swarming with dark creatures.  And Fayern was stuck in the inner sanctum with her, and her… dark mood.

                “General Fayern,” Princess Erroyle said in a haughty tone as she came to a poignantly stop scant inches away from the disinherited dwaven prince. 

Fayern groaned inwardly at having to have the same conversation with her, yet again. 

“I demand to be let out to face the enemy!”

                “Princess, we can’t have you throwing your life away for nothing.”

                “That’s what you said last time.  I don’t recall you complaining when I slaughtered the foul beasts in your main hall, allowing you and your men to fall back, a second time… in one day.”

                Fayern’s ears burned at the rebuke.  She had held them back not once, but twice as the dwarves were forced to fall back again and again.  Now they were in their final stronghold, the inner sanctum, there would be no more falling back. 

She was tapping her foot impatiently.  He was tempted to let her have her wish, to let her throw her life away in a suicidal heroic stand against the dark hoard, but he knew that allowing her out would invite them in.  He didn’t want to risk it.  Not that it would matter much.  From the sound of the creaking wood, he guessed it would be mere minutes before the enemy broke through the inner gate.

Boom.

                “Princess, I can’t afford to let the Dark Clan know about the side entrances.  If any of them were to see you go out, they would bring their mages to find a way in through the magic shields.  The caves only appear to be solid walls.  They are not.  The hoard would swarm around our gates, and slaughter my people.  We could not retreat fast enough to save a single dwarf.  Would you want that blood on your hands?”

                Erroyle seemed to lose some of her smolder.  She looked around at the battered dwarves trying desperately to tend to the wounded, gather their families, and not panic in the process.  Her shoulders slunk and her face contorted as she tried to hold back desperate tears.  “You don’t understand, General.  I must get to him.  You have no idea what the Phantom Lord will do to him.  I must get to him.  I’ve waited nine thousand years for that boy.  I’d given up hope on ever having a man in my life.  I can’t let him slip through my fingers just when I found him.”  Her emotions got the better of her, and the tears started streaming down her face.  “I can’t lose him.  I can’t!”

                Fayern was a little taken aback by the princess’s show of emotion.  By the way she slaughtered the Dark Clan, and her malcontent even among the dwarves, he thought her a heartless wench.  Now he saw the true desperation that drove her.  Love.  It was worse than he’d thought.  Love had blinded her and was driving her insane notion of saving the boy. 

                Fayern gently placed a meaty hand on the beautiful elven woman’s shoulder.  “Princess, you’ll be no good to him dead.  Going out there now, like this, will only get you killed.  Then who will save him?”

                She sniffed back the tears, and straightened her posture to her full powerful form.  The firm muscles under the skin-tight armor flexed.  The woman was like a coiled viper, ready to lash out at anything standing in her way.  Fayern suddenly remembered his father’s wise words, “Da most beautiful are da most deadly.  You can rest o’sure o’ dat, lad.”  If there were a more beautiful woman alive, Fayern hadn’t ever seen her. 

                Erroyle was unlike any living creature.  She had stunning purple eyes which seemed to see right into the souls of everyone with whom they locked.  Her auburn hair ran to the small of her back, and that was even in the intricate braid that elvish women were wont to wear.  Undone, it must hang below her hind-quarters.  Her lithe, muscular body was alluring beyond even the dwarven prince’s ability to ignore.  No man alive could resist stopping and staring as she walked by.  Her face was painfully perfect, accented by those purple eyes and ripe red lips.  Porcelain skin, almost the color of ivory, shown through her delicate golden armor, but only her hands and face were visible.  The woman was a goddess among men.

                “General, your gates are failing.  I lived through the first Great War.  I watched as the Minotaurs lost their stronghold to the north.  I fought alongside the Kinders as their mountain pass was overrun.  I’ve battered down the gates of countless enemy cities.”  Her demeanor grew cold.  “Your gates will fall within the hour.  You need to get your people out of here.  I will fight the enemy.  I have nothing to live for if I don’t have Cal.  You need to get your people to safety.”

                Fayern knew all too well that she was right.  If only fleeing were an option.  His ancestors were too proud to admit that the great gates would fall, let alone the inner sanctum.  They didn’t bother building a back door, as it were.  They were trapped, hopelessly trapped.  Running was not an option.  The dwarves would have to fight to the last man, woman, or child if their race wanted to survive to the next generation. 

Curse the ancestors! 

If only they had escaped when the first inner gate fell.  There were passages to the volcano top in the main hall.  If only…

                “Erroyle, we are dwarves.  We will fight.  That is what we do. That is what we’ve always done.  The gods have blessed us with superior strength and superior fighting skills to protect the weaker humans to the north.  It is by our iron arms that they enjoy their freedom from the Dark Clan.  That is how it has always been.  That is how it will always be.”

Boom.

Erroyle’s eyes grew colder, if that were even possible.  “Ignore my warning at your own peril.  I will not be responsible for the death of your people.  But I will also not stand by as the enemy takes my love away to be tortured.  It has been two days.  Do you have any idea what the Phantom Lord can do in two days?”  Fayern could only imagine.  The thought made him physically shudder.  “I know what he can do.  He held me prisoner for centuries.  I endured torture and tests that would make even your stomach turn.  I will not allow it to happen to Cal!”

                Fayern shook his head sadly.  What did it matter anyway?  If they were to swarm the tunnels instead of working relentlessly on the doors, perhaps he and his brothers could bottle-neck them in the narrow passageway and give those battle weary a chance to rest before the final stand.  Perhaps they could then turn them back.  Perhaps they could push them back enough for a few women and children to escape through the main hall.  Of course, he knew that was only wishful thinking.  Millions of Dark Clan lay waiting outside the inner sanctum gates.  There couldn’t have been more than a few thousand dwarves left alive.  They were going to be slaughtered in the tombs of their ancestors. 

Boom.

                “Okay, princess.  If you want to throw your life away, I can’t stop you.  I don’t think your Cal would be happy if you committed suicide here, though.” 

                The princess seemed to pause for a moment, but her mind was made up.  “I will get away from the opening before I attack.  The Dark Clan will not know where I came from.”

Boom.  Crack!

                Fayern jumped to his feet.  The door was giving in.  No!  It was too soon.

Boom, crack, boom, crack!

                The battering team sped up their assault in excited anticipation.

Erroyle looked in the direction of the gate, and then sadly back at the general.  “I’m sorry Fayern.  I take no pleasure in being right.  I will stand with your people against the hoard.  Together we will cut through the Dark Clan.  Together we will push them back out of the caves.  Then I will be free to find my Cal.”

                Fayern smiled to himself.  Dangerous indeed.  The woman would fight the Keeper of the Underworld himself to get to this boy.  “Okay, Princess.  Together then.”

Boom! Crack! Crack!

                “They’re almost through,” Erroyle shouted as she turned and ran towards the gates.

                Curse you father!  I am but one man.  Why did you give the knowledge of our ancestors to that boy?

Dawn of Steam: First Light

     Dawn of Steam: First Light is a Steampunk series set in the early 1800's.  For those unfamiliar with Steampunk it's a sub-genre of sci-fi usually set in the early industrialization era focusing on steam-powered machinery.  The fun part about Steampunk is they create an alternate reality where steam-powered machinery is altered to do creative things like mechanized body parts, robots, airships (as is the case with First Light), and just about any other mechanical application you could think of.  A popular Steampunk movie example would be Wild Wild West with Will Smith and Kevin Kline.  I just mention this because I talked with a few people about this book, and none of them knew what Steampunk is, so I figured I'd clear that up before I reviewed the book.

     I have not read a lot of Steampunk, nor is it my favorite sub-genre in the sci-fi world, so I'll try to be as objective as I can here.  I've read The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling which I hated, and Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld which I rather liked.  So I'm not well versed in the genre, but I've been exposed to it.

     Jeffery Cook co-authored this book with Sarah Symonds.  I have only had contact with Mr. Cook, and could not find an author's page for Mrs. Symonds, so we'll just address Mr. Cook in this review.  

    The book is set up as if an editor is compiling the letters, journals, and other correspondences of a significant event.  The story is set in the aftermath of the War of 1812 and the Napoleonic War. Gregory Conan Watts, the protagonists, is a poor man of little or no station who is in love with a somewhat wealthy woman (Cordelia Bentham).  He asks for her hand in marriage, and her father refuses because he wants his daughter to marry well.  The father actually likes Watts, but doesn't want his daughter to do without.  As a result, Watts takes up a job to settle a bet by investigating the outrageous stories of a Dr. Bowe who claimed to have charted the American West, vast reaches of Africa, crossed the Blue Mountains of Australia, found lost cities in South America, crossed Europe and India, found numerous islands, scaled numerous mountains, crossed innumerable waterways, and so on.  It was considered impossible that one man could do all of these things in a lifetime, so Mr. Watts was to take up the journey on a dirigible airship to see if it was possible.  With the money from the bet Watts would have the means to marry his Cordelia, so he sets off on an adventure to see what this dirigible airship could do.

     The story is not a narrative or conjoined story because of the premise.  Instead it is a series of letters written to Mr. Watts' employers, letters Mr. Watts writes to his love, journal entries, and occasionally a letter from one of the other characters to different parties.  I rather liked the set up because you got to see the poor Mr. Watts' ignorance to the world around him, outside of British society of propriety. Hints are given throughout the book of alternative motives.  Occasionally, a letter from one of the other shipmates is thrown into the mix of Mr. Watts' writings to give the reader a wider perspective.

     The brother and sister duo, who are chartered to lead the expedition, are Sir James, and Jillian Coltrane.  Sir James is a war hero of some repute, and Mr.Watts quickly notices that Mrs. Coltrane is just as sharp.  She's well read and versed in several languages, and knows much more about the world than Mr. Watts does.  The duo have a reputation for their airship.  They are quite proper, as is Mr. Watts, and that seems to be what Mr. Watts focuses on in his correspondences.  To me, it came across rather pompous and boring.  Even writing about the story after reading it over the last week, I've noticed, has made my tone in this review sound so much more sophisticated than I usually write.  However, I believe that this was done to a purpose because it is hinted, almost from the beginning, that a lot more is going on than what Mr. Watts knows.  Mrs. Coltrane writes a letter to an unknown party, right at the beginning, which hints that there is worry over the mission.  Since the story is told mostly from Mr. Watts' point of view, however, the reader gets to hear his critique of everyone's social graces instead.  To me, this made the book's beginning excruciatingly slow.  If you like the PBS television series Downton Abby, you may love this.  Mr. Watts prattles on and on about everyone's manners and social prowess.  Jillian Coltrane has a cousin from Virginia named Harriet Wright, and Mr. Watts gets a kick out of the little social disgraces Mrs. Wright suffers from, being a "poor American colonist."

     Several war heroes are brought on-board for the mission, chosen by the Coltranes because they are trusted companions from the wars.  There are also some people the other interested parties insist on coming.  This is where you start to get an inkling that something is amiss.  It would seem that the war between Spain, France, and the European Alliance might not be over.  (Oh, and by the way, in this alternate reality, the US is not independent.  The European powers are still vying for control.  It wasn't completely clear, however, and the US did not gain complete independence until this Treaty of Ghent, so it could be that I just misread because I read through only once, and it was at a fast pace.  The book alludes to America being the Daughterland and England the Motherland, as well as stating that the treaty gave France back the land south of the Great Lakes, instead of America, so I'm still a little fuzzy on the subject.  It is not addressed directly, though, because the editorial is written from he limited view of Mr. Watts.)

     About two-thirds of the way through the book, the entire exploration party is assembled, and after hearing Mr. Watts' lengthy opinion about each shipmate, the journey begins.  However, it's not the journey they set out to accomplish because the war over the colonies begins, and the heroic party has to intervene. The action starts with an attempted assassination on French royalty.

     With about 70 pages left in the book, after introductions, a war interrupting, and a storm, the journey begins.  They make it across America, leaving the series way open to expand as so much of Dr. Bowe's claims had yet to be tested.  

     Getting through the first 150 pages of this book was almost painful for me because it was not my kind of story, however, it was exceptionally well written, and I can see how many would enjoy it if they were in to this type of story.  The tone is consistent, even through the exciting parts Mr. Watts is a solid English gentleman.  I was expecting him to fall apart, or lose his demeanor when things got rough, but he did not.  The story held very true to the era, and the characters were consistent (something most Indie writers have a difficult time doing.)  I was actually quite impressed with Mr. Cooks work.

     Even with this book not being among my favorite genres, I would freely recommend it to those who like the civilized British era.  I believe there are a lot of people out there who do, mainly because of the hugely successful Downton Abby.  In all, I give the book