Memorable Quotes on Writing

Thomas Sanchez:
"I used to greet each morning spitting blood in the washbasin, having the night before gnashed the inside of my mouth while dreaming I had misplaced a comma in my writing of that day, throwing off the pattern of speech given to a character who lived two hundred years ago.  Years later a dentist asked
me if I had a history of mental illness, because the mentally ill often exhibit the advanced molar grindings I did."

Erskine Caldwell:
"I think you must remember that a writer is a simple-minded person to begin with and go on that basis.  He's not a great mind, he's not a great thinker, he's not a great philosopher, he's a storyteller."

Cyril Connolly:
"A great writer creates a world of his own and his readers are proud to live in it.  A lesser writer may entice them in for a moment, but soon he will watch them filing out."

Mickey Spillane:
"If you're a singer, you lose your voice.  A baseball player loses his arm.  A writer gets more knowledge, and if he's good, the older he gets, the better he writes."

Edna Ferber:
"The ideal view for daily writing, hour on hour, is the blank brick wall of a cold storage warehouse.  Failing this, a stretch of sky will do, cloudless if possible."

Bernard Baruch:
"Be what you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

E.B. White:
"Be obscure clearly."

Andre Malraux:
"All art is a revolt against man's fate."

William Styron:
"A great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted at the end."

Franz Kafka:
"A book ought to be an icepick to break up the frozen sea within us."

George Bernard Shaw:
"In literature the ambition of a novice is to acquire the literary language; the struggle of the adept is to get rid of it."

H. L. Mencken:
"There are no dull subjects.  There are only dull writers."

John D. MacDonald:
"My purpose is to entertain myself first and other people secondly."

Anthony Hope Hawkins:
"Unless one is a genius, it is best to aim at being intelligible."

Ernest Hemingway:
"All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn."

E. L. Doctorow:
"A novelist is a person who lives in other people's skins."

Memories from a Chilly Basement

Courtesy of bing.com

This nostalgia piece is by friend and practicing pharmacist Don Weiss.  Don is the author of three detective/mystery novels, including Picture Perfect.

Hobbies

For those of us of a certain vintage, there was nothing better than getting the Lionel or American Flyer catalog right before Christmas. We drooled over the color illustrations of streamliners, steam engines, passenger cars, and accessories.  My big brother had a terrific Flyer set and every year about a month before Christmas, my Dad set up the train table in the basement and a new layout would take shape.

Growing up we didn't have a lot of money, so model trains were a luxury.  I remember going to my friend's house and watching his Lionel trains with more than a touch of envy.  Still, those American Flyer trains beckoned and I could be found in our basement with my brother and father watching that big steam locomotive ply the rails, puffing smoke, and Dad showing me when to push the button for the switch. Heaven was turning off the basement light and watching the locomotive's headlight as the train made its way around the layout, accompanied by the luminous glow of the miniature streetlamps that lined the sidewalks of our Plasticville town.

Like most boys, as my brother and I grew older, model trains were replaced by a growing list of other interests, mainly girls and cars, and the trains were packed away.  After my father passed away in 1982, we rescued the trains from storage before my mother put our house up for sale.  I watched with the same little boy fascination as the big locomotive came to life for the first time in twenty-five years, after some cleaning and lubrication.

Twenty years ago, I was celebrating Christmas at my brother's farm in Waterdown, Ontario, and suggested that we get his old American Flyer trains and set them up around the Christmas tree.  Neither he nor my nephew answered.  "Well, what do you guys think?" I asked.  Then I was told the truth.  All of the trains had been stolen from the storage barn a few years earlier.  My jaw dropped.  The thief who stole the trains took more than he realized.  The basement of our house was always on the chilly
side, but the warmth of the memories of my Dad, my brother, and me on those cold winter evenings, so long ago, will stay with me forever.

An Imaginary Christmas Letter from a Condo Association President

Dear Condo Association Members,

Happy Holidays from your President and her Board of Directors.  We are hoping for a bright New Year!

As you know, we have had a difficult 2013.  The roof leaks that began in tropical storms this summer have been remedied with an entirely new roof, which fortunately was completed before the storm of the century hit in November.  Roof repair was budgeted for 2015.  The emergency assessment covered most of the cost, with our insurance policy covering the remainder.

The garage floor was painted over the summer.  The result was squealing tires and skid marks, as some of your vehicles slid across the garage.   The floor has been completely repainted and there have been no further incidents involving cars sliding into one another.  The second emergency assessment covered the cost of repainting. However, two of you have sued the association.

The pavers on the driveway were cleaned and resealed under budget. However, the storm of the century in November dislodged some of them.  The company is so busy that they have yet to repair the holes.  We've installed neon cones to prevent any damage to vehicles.  Please practice making "S" turns in the garage, before proceeding up the driveway.

The air conditioning units on the roof, as many of you know, took direct hits in that storm.  The one unit that blew off landed in our neighbor, the Sea Cove's, office, with a resulting law suit.  Fortunately, no-one was injured.  Insurance companies are "talking."

Some of you might have noticed a different "look" to our landscaping.  It is a result of neglect for two months, during which our contractor did not show up and all attempts to locate the owner were futile. We have hired a new landscaper, Green Design.  It is slightly more expensive, with a resulting minimal increase in your quarterly fees.  The Board will follow up with a letter of explanation to all homeowners. We have also hired a detective agency to find the previous contractor. The cost will be covered in the increased quarterly fees.

Finally, I'd like to compliment our new manager, Mr. Howe, for the spirit in which he decorated the lobby for the holidays.  There was a glow in the entry we've never had before, due to the multitude of colored lights.  Some of you requested Mr. Howe remove half of the decorations, especially the gingerbread houses, which were attracting roaches.  I conveyed this wish to Mr. Howe, who removed almost everything and was despondent until the leak occurred from the plumbing fixtures in the apartment above the lobby.  We could have had a serious fire, if the Christmas lights had still been up. Some of you then requested Mr. Howe replace the decorations.  I asked him to put half back up and return the other half for credit.  The Board has vetoed all further expenditures, including replacement of the wallpaper that was ruined in the lobby.

Effective immediately, I am resigning as your President. I will be out of the country indefinitely and thank those of you who supported me.  Peace be with you!
Sincerely,
Ann Beckwith, President

A Family Thanksgiving

It didn't get any better than this...Thanksgiving with the family around the table, listening to our grandchildren describe what they were grateful for - a family who loves them, food to eat, a place to live, friends they enjoy.

They'd written it all down on lined sheets of paper with accompanying pictures.  Our seven-year-old granddaughter told us she was most grateful for her sister.  "We fight a lot," she read, "but I really love her."

As the artist in the family, she went so far as to illustrate her extended family in living color, with categories and names.

She was learning phonics in Massachusetts (an oxymoron!).  "Aunts" were not labelled as "Ants."  They were "Onts."

"Uncles" were "Onkls."

"Parents" were "Parints."

"Cousins" were "Casins."

But we understood perfectly...the meaning of thanksgiving.

In Honor of November 22, 1963

In honor of the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination, I'm sharing two segments which Massachusetts native and friend Tom Coughlin wrote, describing his hours as part of the honor guard in Washington, D.C., for JFK's farewell.

Part II

After the services in the Capitol building, Mrs. Kennedy exited with her children.  She stood at the top of "our" stairs with Caroline and young John-John, who held a flag in one hand.  Although we'd been ordered to keep our eyes straight ahead at all times, at that moment I swiveled my eyes up and to the left as far as possible, keeping my neck rigid.  Just then John-John gave his famous salute.  Our hearts were moved, even if our bodies couldn't.  After the guests had departed the Capitol, the public filed single-file up the steps to enter the rotunda for a final good-bye.

Our Chief Petty Officer led us Coast Guardsmen to a small room under the same steps we'd been patrolling.  "You all stay here," he said, leaving us.  As soon as he was out of sight, a group of us headed out for a tour of the Capitol.  Without a guide, we had no idea where the rotunda was, but we were determined to find it.  I took the lead.  We knew we were on borrowed time, since k.p. duty, maybe worse, would await us if our Chief Petty Officer beat us back.

A large group of maybe a hundred people turned left  into a corridor ahead of us.  We followed and walked past people lined up along the right wall.  They whispered, "Must be a changing of the guard," as we passed.

Suddenly we were in the rotunda.  Behind a velvet rope in the center was the flag-draped casket.  We kept moving toward it. A member of the color guard unhooked the rope, thus inviting us to join him behind.  Without a clue as to what to do, I led the group around the casket.  Passing the President's head, I looked up and saw T.V. cameras above the door leading to the corridor we'd come from.  I envisioned some admiral watching T.V. at that very moment and seeing us walking inside the rope and around the casket.  As anybody with military experience knows, when in doubt, there is one safe move: salute.  Alongside the casket, I smarty executed a "left face," held my spot while I saluted, and executed a "right face," marching away a few steps.  Each of our team members behind me did the same maneuver at the same spot. It became clear to the guard on duty that we were going to march off, so he removed the velvet rope for us and we headed back to our room under the stairs.  We made it back just before the Chief.  It was then that we learned Oswald had been shot several hours earlier.

The following day when JFK's casket left the Capitol on its way to Arlington National Cemetery, our little group was back in D.C.  Our stair duty had been given to others, so without specific duties, the Chief let us join the crowd.  Even in uniform, we weren't granted access anywhere!

Over the years the memories of that bright November 25, 1963, day led me to look for photos of myself on the steps.  I finally went to the JFK Library in Boston.  When I appeared with my long story at the front desk, I had to fill out a form for a researcher's card.  I took the card upstairs to the library and was greeted with the question, "Which day, Sunday or Monday?"  The librarian's second question was, "Which side of the stairs were you standing on?"

In a short while he brought out boxes of photos donated by some of the country's leading newspapers. I spent several hours going through them and culled my choice down to two that captured my memory of that day.  One shows me standing on the stairs to the left of Adlai Stevenson, Dean Rusk, and several others who were coming down.  The other is the shot taken from the top of the stairs over my head, the flag-draped casket on the carriage below receiving our salute.

Certainly all of us who were alive at the time remember where we were when we heard that JFK had been shot.  My most vivid memory is of that sad, historic November Sunday when I had a front row seat, as the nation said farewell to a fellow son of Massachusetts.

In Honor of November 22, 1963

In honor of the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination, I'm sharing two segments which Massachusetts native and friend Tom Coughlin wrote, describing his hours as part of the honor guard in Washington, D.C., for JFK's farewell.

Part I

...a reprieve from my Fall River (Massachusetts) draft board in 1963 allowed me enough time to find a slot in the highly coveted six-month Coast Guard Reserve program, nearly impossible to get into in New England.  Coast Guard basic training was in Cape May, N.J., and it was there in the last week of boot camp that we received word that our President had been shot and killed.  The tiny Coast Guard had no permanent marching or honor guard unit in Washington, D.C.  Boot camp was the logical place to find a large group of men who weren't yet assigned to critical functions.

Our two senior classes were driven by bus to Baltimore harbor Coast Guard Base.  We lined up according to height and at 6'3", I was among those chosen for Washington.  We received white gloves, white leggings (like spats from WW I), white belt, and a rifle with sparkling chrome bayonet.

We boarded buses to take us to the White House, where a small number got off for honor guard duty. Those classmates would march down Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House to the Capitol with JFK's casket.

The rest of us got off at the Capitol.  Other branches of the service joined us on the steps, where we positioned ourselves alternately by service branch.  I was about three-quarters of the way up the steps on the left side, so I had a good view of the streets and plaza below, which were empty at the early hour we'd arrived.

An Army captain was in charge, who had no clue which civilians needed a salute.  He relied on one of my Coast Guard classmates who'd worked his way through Georgetown Law School as a guide in the Capitol.  "That's the Secretary of the Army, salute," my classmate advised, or, "That's a senator, no salute."

Whenever a salute was required, we "presented arms" with our rifles-cum-blades.  As more and more limos pulled up dropping off government leaders from all parts of the world, we were doing the up-and-down routine pretty rapidly.  After a large group passed us up the stairs, I looked out over the crowd to see that it had grown from a few deep at the curb to a sea of humanity.  

A deafening boom came from nearby.  It was the beginning of the 21-gun salute from large field cannons in a park on the other side of the Capitol.  Soon afterward, horses' hooves rang across the open square.  The crowd was silent, as though a sea of cotton had stuffed every crevice and open space.  The procession came into view, first the flag bearers, then the horse-drawn carriage carrying the casket, then the riderless horse, prancing sideways.  They stopped at the bottom of the stairs where we stood at attention.  Members of our honor guard carried the President's body in precision cadence up the stairs, followed by Mrs. Kennedy, her children, President and Mrs. Johnson.

To be continued...

Happiness Is a Cheap Drug Part II

In anticipation of the 2014 publication of my book, ELDERLY PARENTS WHO HAVE ALL THEIR MARBLES:  A SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR THE KIDS, I've invited fellow writer and practicing pharmacist Don (D.G.) Weiss to be a guest blogger.  The excerpt below is from his second mystery novel ALL THAT GLITTERS and concerns the importation of cheap drugs purchased on the internet from Canada.  This is in no way a reflection on the vast majority of legitimate drugs purchased from Canada, but as always, "caveat emptor."

     Part II

The emergency room doctor responded to the call from the nurses' station.  "We got a real winner here, Doctor Russell."  The ER nurse laughed.  The doctor looked at the chart and chuckled quietly to himself.

"Priapism is no joke, nurse."  The doctor half-scolded her, but he was trying to control his own amusement. He was more concerned about the blood results he was reviewing.  He walked into Jim's room and introduced himself.

"I'm Doctor Russell, Mr. Tobias.  Let's see what we can do for you."

"What's the matter, Doc?" Jim asked.  "Why does it hurt so much, and why won't it go down?"

"How long has it been this way, Mr. Tobias?"

"I don't know, Doc.  Maybe ten or eleven hours.  Is that important?" Jim asked.

"Are you a diabetic, Mr. Tobias?  Do you use drugs of any sort?"

"I don't do drugs, Doc.  I only took a Viagra last night about eight-thirty," Jim replied, somewhat embarrassed by his admission.

"Do you have the bottle with you, by any chance?" Dr. Russell asked.

"I don't have a bottle but I have the pills with me.  Why do you ask?"  The level of pain his swollen penis was causing him was evident.

"There is some counterfeit Viagra floating around that comes from India.  It contains the main ingredient that comprises Viagra but also could contain other drugs like blood thinners or anti-psychotic agents.  My concern is that your blood tests indicate that your blood is taking longer to clot than it should, which may indicate the Viagra you took is not genuine.  It may also contain more of the active ingredient, which could account for your problem.  An erection lasting this long could result in permanent damage causing impotence.  Where did you purchase this?"

"I bought it on-line from a place in Canada."  The color had drained from Big Jim's face.

"Doc, this really hurts!  Can you help me?"  Big Jim was almost pleading now.

"Well, we can apply some ice to your penis and scrotum."

"Will that help me?"  Jim looked on the verge of tears.

"Well, if that doesn't help, we can drain some blood directly from your penis..."

Big Jim Tobias passed out cold!