WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

2007-01-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

http://www.RDLarson.com
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson/

2007-01-10T10:33:00.000-08:00

These are my helpers -- my muse if you will.

As stories well up from deep inside, these two friends watch over me to make sure I don't get lost in the words.

2007-01-09T16:46:00.000-08:00

My Web Site
My Reader Site

Political Slash: Eight billion dollars WE spent in Iraq can't be found? How would that look in your state?

Doggie Splash: Faline kneels on the guest bed like a camel waiting for "Daddy" to come home. She runs to him all wiggles and giggles. Zippy walks with a solom gate to lick his hand. I wait for my turn which is the longest!

Fiction Flash: I'm writing a flash using the alphabet for each sentence; 250 words. Sounds hard.

2007-01-03T21:26:00.000-08:00

Political Slash
What do think of another 30, 000 troops in Iraq will accomplish? Now I understand the number has dropped to around 15,000 to 20,000 Click Here to learn more.
Minneapolis St. Paul Star Tribune. I want to know if there would be adequate training and equipment for this surge. I understand that by leaving many civilians would be at the mercy of the insurgents, whoever they are, and that's not right. The people there need to take control of their country and not let themselves be divided over religious differences. This country, the US, has it's own problems with fanatical religious panhandlers and soothsayers, none of which are all-knowing or even truthful. I wish the media would quit giving idiots a platform from which to bleat.

Also what is this saying about our intolerance? People complaining that Keith Ellison want to use a Qur'an once owned by Thomas Jefferson! What is that about? The founders of this country refused a king and separated church and state. Fear of intellectual tolerance is an oxymoron. Click here to read more.

Doggie Splash:
While we were at a New Years party, the fair Faline pulled the Christmas table cloth off the kitchen table and helped herself (and Zippy!) to one ginger snap. Apparently the little dogs didn't like the taste or Mrs. Zippy was coached by her Mister. In any case, they LICKED all the cookies and I (strong as I am) couldn't eat them. When Hubby spilt the cereal, Faline was there to help clean up. Since it was granola it gave her flatulence. Thankfully, it was organic. LOL.

Fiction Flash:
Sorrow's Field and Doors, Five Stories of Strong Women
is now available at www.mobipockets.com for a mere $2.50 each for your PC, laptop, Blackberry and Smart phone. These are pretty much chick short stories but all are adventure, too. I like excitement. Search for the titles.

2006-11-13T20:10:00.000-08:00

Political slash: Let's hope the Demos don't get carried away with their win. I for one want a moderate. I'm tired of extremists.

Doggy splash: Zippy gets his lumps of on Friday morning.

Fiction flash: Two (2) ebooks being published soon.

Sorrow's Field and Doors

so what do you think?

2006-11-02T21:26:00.000-08:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

2006-11-02T21:22:00.000-08:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

2006-10-31T23:10:00.000-08:00

The US election is getting close. I hope everyone who is eligible votes. I hope if anyone thinks there's a problem with voting that it's reported. Don't let anyone or anything tell you how to vote. We have to believe in the basic good of our fellow Americans and to believe that they will not sleep through this election. In my opinion as you all know I think there should be a rout of the clout-ers. The end of the reign and the end of the double deals and especially an end to the lies. Think about the facts -- the provable facts -- and act on them.

I think Wary Mary mishap's when he/she/it implied that dummies end up in Iraq. Bonehead can't get past the previously big event in his life. Don't go there.

Anyone with an ounce of sense knows that he meant Tushi but so what it came out danged crappy? And then he flayed
*(flay? /fle?/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[fley] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
Â?verb (used with object)
1. to strip off the skin or outer covering of.
2. to criticize or scold with scathing severity.
3. to deprive or strip of money or property.
himself by not coming around with a decent apology. Bah.

Let's look for the good, the bright and the true.

Poor Zippy. He's got a tumor on his leg and on his chest in his armpit. May have to have them taken off.
Read about it here: http://www.dogfocused.com/dog-health/
A good all around site.

Fiction flash:
What would you think if I told you there were giant green amoebas lurking in the dark? Would you believe me? Read my story not about amoebas but bony ghosts at Bewildering Stories.

2006-10-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

http://www.RDLarson.com
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson/

I guess this comes under political flash but it's not about Republicans or Democrats. It's not about anything ordinary. This is a very scary thought and I thought you ought to know. If any community is closer (because we don't have time or language or personal barriers) it is the Internet community. Tell as many people as you can about this: CLICK ON the underlined words. Dying Earth

Our Planet is very sick and getting sicker. We all need to take care of it. Or there won't be any air, food or water.

2006-10-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
object width="425" height="350">

2006-10-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOGobject width="425" height="350">

2006-10-16T13:29:00.000-07:00

My Water Bowl

A man and his dog were walking along a road.

The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years.

He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble.

At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.

He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry; sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, sitting by a camp fire under the tree.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you hve any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, and then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was sitting under the tree.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the Gold Street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind."

Soooo...
Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us with out writing a word.

Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how,
you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still
important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you
get? A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don't think that you've been sent just
another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today and your
friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime

2006-10-16T13:24:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

I don't know who wrote this but fellow writer Will Gray sent it on to me . . . .
I know you'll like it. If you know who wrote it, I will put their name to it.

My Water Bowl

A man and his dog were walking along a road.

The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he
was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years.

He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of
the road. It looked like fine marble.

At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the
sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.

He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man
at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry; sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and
continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to
a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been
closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, sitting by a camp fire under the tree.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you hve any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned
hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, and then
he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was
sitting under the tree.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the Gold Street and
pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave
their best friends behind."

Soooo...
Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us with out writing a word.

Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how,
you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still
important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you
get? A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don't think that you've been sent just
another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today and your
friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime

www.RDLarson.com
www.RDLarson.blogspot.com

2006-10-13T19:47:00.000-07:00

A Benign and Archaic Afterthought

Jack backed up against the wall as the four women closed in on him. Their fingers, twisted and ruined, reached out for his face. Fingernails, broken and dirty, scratched his cheeks and lips. He spread his trembling black wings against the ancient mossy bricks

The four women caught him trying to steal the Infant. His capture would ensure their control of the Drownaught Citadel. Jack knew his mission; his calling would be the only one for this rare occurrence. The Deity did not spend much time anymore on little things like new babies. Not since, the incorporation of The Belief. The Deity had appointed CEO's, CFO's, and numerous high-ranking religious executives. All events programmed and directed years in advance left no chance of error or success of a barely remembered ritual from long ago. A Black Angel on a mission had now become a benign and archaic afterthought.

Jack compelled his mind to focus.

The witches guarded the most recently developed Infant sent from the Starship with their usual fanaticism. They remembered only their old ways, wanting everything to stay the same. They snickered in derision when Jack appeared to take the Infant up to the Beyond.

“Here you are again, Jack. Stupid of them to send you. Why don’t you stay with your manuscripts, fool?” The oldest crone of the witches leered at him. Snot, green and jellied, hung from her nostrils and her fetid stench surrounded him. Jack gagged, his reflex action giving the four hoary women a reason to snigger as they probed at him with their fingers. One, a pale moon of a witch, pinched his stomach and ripped a feather from his wing.

“Ouch! That really hurts.” Jack’s eyes flashed a sudden temper. He tired of patience being a virtue and didn‘t care that the Saints declared patience as ‘appropriate behavior.’ He rubbed his palms along the ancient mossy bricks behind him as his wings throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

“Tut, tut, Jack,” said Uzia. She laughed with a great quake of her flesh, some of it bouncing against his chest and stomach. Jack sucked in his breath.
His glare turned icy
“I will succeed. This time.” He spit the words into the void of their souls. Cackles rent the chill in the air.

“Want to see the baby you can’t save?” Hertia smiled her twisted snarl. Her fingers slid over him like a blind person memorizing the nubs on a spring tree.

“Oh, sure,” Jack said. “Why not? At least I will see the Infant whom I seek.”

They pointed to the arched doorway behind them. With their warped fingers bent like claws, they gesticulated toward the nursery that Jack remembered from his last Mission in 2YK.

Jack lifted his wings, suspending them over the heads of jeering women. The muted shadow cast by his delicate wings spread over their tangled hair and warty countenances.

Jack could not tell if they shrank back from his wing shadow. They appeared to spread apart as with any flock, even as with any coven. He pulled himself up to his greatest height with his bright blue eyes staring intently ahead at the Incubating Ovasphere.

As he stepped forward the group of four pressed against him, touching, feeling his living warmth. Their stink raised bile again in his throat so that he breathed through his flared nostrils. They moved as one toward the opening of curved stones. T he Citadel was thousands of years old and a sparse remnant of past victories. Directly through the arch a blazing fire spiraled. The depth of the caverns beneath Drownaught Citadel muted the hum of medieval machines.

As they arrived at the doorway, the four women slowed so that Jack might lower his head to step under the stone arch. Then swift as osprey the women flew after him, their tongues clacking and sucking in their soggy old mouths.

The baby, part human, part animal, part Deity, rested in the Ovasphere. Curled in a fetal snail shape, its smallness seemed insignificant. A blank unidentified face and unformed appendages lay folded close to the body. Jack knew that this living child could be the imprint from which future evolutionary humans could develop.

What could he do? After all, he forgave himself ahead of time, he was only a black angel of the fourth Regiment of De La Weir, the enigmatic legion of scribes and scholars trying if vainly to keep the histories of the peoples and the animals up to date, in 5KY, Year of Our Deity.

His mind flittered along the skulls of the witches, feeling the depths of their powers. A slight tugging at Iria made his mind stop, and touch it with sightless thoughts, finding the raw crack along the seam in her head. A small but willing split, he thought, stepping closer to the child.

Iria stood to his left, a shapeless, formless thing of lies and evil. Jack took his rapier of brain light and touched her open cleft, unseen below her matted hair. He stepped nearer to the Star Child. It’s eyes flew open and the tiny mouth released a single cry.

Jack twisted the brain-light rapier with his mind and Iria fell. Blood and gray matter spilled slowly like smoke from the tiny crack below her hair. Uzia gasped. She grabbed Iria‘s arm as the witch flayed in death spasms.

Motionless, Daret raised her pocked face, orange in the firelight, to face him. Her eyes burned into his, analyzing his strategy to save the Star Infant. Her mouth opened in rage and her small sharp teeth chewed at his flesh. Jack, his wings spreading behind him, felt fury pouring into his heart. He raised the wings until they were a dark camber over the snarling witch.

With a single beating from the wings, he crushed her. The two remaining witches took up their armor of curses. He was ready for them. Before they could chant a word or think a thought, he flashed again above them. The wings thrashed and churned in the stone room of the witches’ citadel. Again, Jack’s black wings maimed and killed the heretics.

The child’s face turned to him, with large eyes knowing everything.

“A failure. Black Angel, you must use transformation of will and not force to terminate such wicked creatures. Such denizens end not from murder but from conversion. You have released me only to make me prisoner of the past.”

Weeping silver tears, Jack bore up the wee Star Infant in his arms, as his great black wings drove them upward to Beyond. Perhaps, just perhaps, a plan had been phased in for the Star Infant’s survival.

2006-10-05T23:10:00.000-07:00

http://www.RDLarson.com My Web Site

Political Slash

Lit Mouse
Political Dilemma
Oh say can you see Tushi Bushi at Lake Troubled Waters, making paper boats? Then setting the little boats afloat with a mouse and lit candle? I can and do. See above. Of course on all the little boats with the little mice he scribbled a hint to his thoughts. Political Dilemma – what's the litmus test of this?

Doggie Splash

When you have a dog you have to take care of them. Zippy has a tooth problem and he will have to have dental work. It's not cheap, but he's more than worth it. What is important is that we treat them right, even if it means charging it to the credit card and not buying latte's for a month. Ya' know he's my little friend!

Fiction Flash

Sweet Revenge
By
RD Larson

I have to kill her before she kills me. I hear her car stop out front. My husband is her lover. I hear her heels on the marble entry. She’s coming up the stairs now. I’m standing here . . . third floor. . .behind the door.

She’s three steps from me. I step in front of her. Face to face.

“Surprise!” She is unprepared to see me. I grab her face in my hands.

I fling her hard against me as I jerk her head, twisting her neck. My sister smashes into a banister, and then grabs my wrist with awful force, as we both plummet on to marble floor below.

If I live. It‘s my only thought.

When I wake from my coma in a hospital ward, I know I've survived. But my sister? Did she live? I find I cannot speak or move.

My sister and her new husband, my husband, come on Sundays to visit me now. I sit in my wheelchair, drooling and helpless. They don't know that I recognize them.

That should be my child she is holding. My husband should remember I carry a grudge forever. She should remember that.

I’m waiting to kill her sometime.

end

2006-10-01T15:14:00.000-07:00

So Windword has a new book out? Deep Ear told him all about it. Let's hope he doesn't disappear as did Mike Moooooore. Ya'll be careful out there, the captain use to say on Hill Street Blues.

Major damage control a-going on. Click here to read article.

So if Rummy wanted to quit twice and wasn't allowed to do so, I wonder how that affects his state of committment. http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/N01226604.htm

Justice: Rules of the Road -- Grim Adult Story Audio! at www.footstepstooxford.com

http://www.footstepstooxford.co.uk/Justice_Rules_of_the_Road.mp3

2006-09-26T21:40:00.000-07:00

Remember what Jack Nicolson said in Mars Attacks?
"Why can't we all just get along?"
These are Teedoo's visiting dogs and her cat. Gives us all something to strive for, don't you think? And yeah they are pitbulls.

Absolutely Gutted is up at www.BewilderingStories.com for your entertainmen. I wrote it yes! It's about little evil doers and a big kid!

2006-09-24T00:07:00.000-07:00

http://www.rdlarson.blogspot.com/

Why is this war being turned into a religious war? It's not right and it should never be right. Fanatics here and there are choosing sides. Supposed Christians are supporting 'torture'? I don't think that makes sense. If Iran has nuclear weapons, what does Israel have? Why is Tushi Bushi being called hate names? Could he be wrong?
For five years we've had to live with escalation of rhetoric and threats.

Do you think this is right? What? Has everybody gone nuts? Why aren't you complaining? Texas has oil. So think about how all of this might fit? Do you think we are one-celled entities in God's bloodstream? Flowing to where we are going? Or do we have a voice, a will? So many people are not committing themselves to a political point of view. It's almost as if they are afraid. And THAT is scary, really scary.

Turn this in your mind. Thought and speech and comprehension develop us. It keeps us alive. What if we can think when we're dead, an energy spark of thought? Better use it.

Some American people are pretty trashy. They say anything and do anything. No wonder other nations think we're clowns or worse. Understanding and consideration of others can go along way to negotiate peace.

Feel your passion, think your own thoughts and vote your heart in the coming election.

Have you been to www.moveon.org? Go and find something to read there.

I wish you enough of all that you need. But most of all I wish you love and strength.

2006-09-01T23:04:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
Dumb and Dumber! The NEWS? Karr and Jeffs? No kidding! What a couple of losers. Anyone who reads the future Karr book should have to pay double taxes in order to cut court and travel costs he incurred. And Jeffs? He's a joke and a bad one at that. Isn't he the guy in the male enhancement ad? Without glasses? What is he trying to prove? Maybe that white people can out-breed people of color? Dumbest!

My little dog is such a sweetie. He tries to make me go to bed early. He comes and sits by me; then gets up turns around and barks. The he runs to the bedroom and sit in the middle of the bed, expecting me to hop in. No wonder he's tired. He takes long walks with me every day, investigating grass and twigs and new smells.

Flash Sci-Fi
Wc 996
Void Space
By
RD Larson

Matt didn’t care what the survival rate was when he joined IP’s Altitude Support of Mars Extrude 5 Gusher. Desperate, the blonde part-time hologram actor signed on, easily passing the physical. He didn’t think he had contributed much to the world in his 34 years. A bitter divorce left him depressed. His heart slowly healed with the grueling work on International Petroleum Oil support team as Altitude Monkey for Extrude 5, the top rated of wells.

He didn’t think about it but people were burned or frozen to death, depending on what side of Mars that the International Petroleum Support Sky-Ship berthed. A sudden slip or an explosion occurred often. The Sup-Ship carried 40 men living and working together for 14 days before replaced by a new team, which were women for the next 14 days.

Roustabouts and roughnecks, working at the entry level, lived in a bio-sphere a half mile from Extrude 5. They pretty much kept to themselves and left the Extrude 5 Rig Officers alone.

The only women Matt saw were the other crew members as they came on for the women's shift. One crewmember in particular became a friend. Jala, an athletic and pretty New Yorker, had worked for only eight shifts at the IP Skylab Support craft.

When the carrier ship bringing the women to the site arrived, Matt knew they would spend one day when the two teams would exchange data and inspect the grid, before the male crew headed back to Earth. Matt planned to make a future date with Jala. With a 5-day pass on Earth; if Jala could schedule the same period, they could go on a short resort vacation.

Even though the crew maintained the rig, when the new team arrived, there was a twelve-hour overlay, where the new crew worked with the old crew on hot spots on the grid 800 meters above the well. Because of the weight ratio on Mars, the scaffolding had to be bonded Alpha-Titanium and Nano-Carbon Fibers. The beams over the grid that supported the equipment became loose or even swung free after one of the frequent earthquakes. Teams of two, one from the old team and one from the new team, would work together to spot weaknesses. Ten teams of two walked the girders in an 8 kilometers quadrant.

“I’m glad to see you, Jala,” Matt said, hugging Jala in the mess hall. She nodded.

Twenty out of the eighty people were assigned the perimeter grid checking. Matt was not surprised when his name was called. He stood at the back of the room, watching Jala. She smiled at him. Her name was called so she came up to stand by Matt. The grid support team split into partners. Then they walked down the corridor toward the Void Space Bay where the thermo-density suits were stored.

The effort of putting on the heavy insulated suits left them winded and hot. They waited for the cool air to pump in. With the other eighteen people, they rode a flat car out to the rim of the SkyLab Support Ship wall. Matt and Jala stepped into the Void Space Decomp-Chamber #2 that decompressed their body weight to a movable level out of the space ship. Their heart rates dropped significantly. They strapped on the magnetic boots that kept them on the grid. Even with the boots, a safety line of strong fiber tethered them to each other and to the grid with its slipknot loop.

Each time a pair went out to inspect the grid, the risk went up. The spaceship was not susceptible to earthquakes; they caused severe damage on the ground and on the grid above well. Each man and woman knew that they held to life only with boots and a thread. Some loved the danger, but Matt did not.

As they entered Port 814 he took Jala’s hand and said, “Back on Earth, let’s get away to a resort together. Just us.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” Then they turned on their headphones and stepped out on to the grid.

Below them lay the red planet with its crevasses and pitted dust from meteor strikes. To the left the bio-hut village was barely visible. They began the 5 kilometer trek along their route on G814 until G815.

Jala gave a shout, as she seemed to dance ahead of Matt on the steel grid. Earthquake. Matt snagged up the safety line looping it around the H shaped hook welded to the grid beam.

Jala grinned and gave thumbs up as they held for a minute. Just as Matt was loosening the safety line there was a great shake and both of them slid off the beam. Dangling by the thread-like cable, they twirled above the planet floor.

Jala’s smaller size gave her a more violent swing. Then an aftershock. Matt radioed the Medic Team as he began to edge toward her. There was blood on her faceplate.

Matt edged hand over hand along the safety line toward Jala. Then he caught her shoulder and pulled her against him, stopping her spin. He glanced at her face. Her nose was bleeding.
“Hey over here.” Matt shouted into his speaker. “High blood pressure; stress fractures.”

The two medics edged a board out to them and Matt pulled himself up on the grid beam. Holding tight he helped them pull Jala up and strap her to the board. They took her back through the Port Hole just as another quake shook the entire grid. Matt held tight and rode the wave.

As he entered Port Hole 814, he saw the medic start an IV on Jala. He went to her.

“You saved my life,” she whispered.

“You’ve got to come away with me, then,” he whispered back.

They grinned and Jala was carried to the medical center.

This is my last tour of service on the Mars Grid for Extrude 5, Matt decided.

2006-08-22T22:38:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

Have you been thinking about the victims of Katrina? Not that much any more? Me either. Shame on us. Shame shame on us. There are still thousands and thousands of people suffering and it doesn't seem like much is being done to help them. Watch this documentary on HBO. You have to, you simply have to do it. I couldn't watch all of it but I will. I couldn't watch because my heart was hurting for those folks, those suffering folks, the ones we see in the film and all the ones we don't see. They could be our brothers or sisters, our mothers and fathers. They are our families, just as sure as this is our planet and our nation. We must do more, demand more and pray for more for those who have lost so much. I tell you that the woman who died in the dome could have been my own mother; when I saw her sitting there, dead, in a wheelchair, a blanket over her head -- I knew it could have easily been my own mother. This is what I thought when it was happening on CNN. The horror of the storm is truly the aftermath, the indifference to the people who suffered and are still suffering. I think Spike Lee has done a great and beautiful tribute truth-telling with this film. I hope it makes us all closer and makes us all reach out to our brothers and sisters -- the family of mankind.

Watch: When The Levee Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, on HBO Aug. 21-22 (Part 1 and 2), at 8 p.m. The whole four hours will be shown in its entirely on Aug. 29, at 7 p.m. http://www.hbo.com/

READ MORE; LEARN MORE: http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/whentheleveesbroke/?ntrack_para1=feat_main_text

2006-08-20T22:50:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
Don't be letting everyone and everything run your life. Take it from me that's a dumb thing to do. I'm not saying don't be fair; but don't be a door mat either. Do your duty but keep in mind when enough is enough.

Don't let your temper mess with your life. It can cause chaos as well as disease. Get it? Dis ease means you're not at ease. Stay away from toxic people. Some people aren't worth your time if they make you feel bad or put down. Appreciate their different parts from you but separate yourself from the jerks that jerk your chain.

That includes you dog. If you dog has a habit you can't stand, get in his face and block him from doing it. It might take fifty times because he's a dog but he will get it if you are just calm about it. If he can't get over it and you can't stand it, give him a chance at another home or go to a trainer or re-train yourself.

I couldn't stand it when Zippy hurt his front leg. He's short and when he jumped off of the bed or the couch when he got to be about nine years old, he would hurt his front leg. So I taught him to bark so I could lift him down. Sometimes it's a pain to go and get him down but it sure isn't the pain it was for me to see him limping . I always think, what if it were me? What if I were on the house and every time I jumped down, I jammed my ankles up to my arm pits? Well it didn't hurt when I was a kid. (rubber ankles?) It would hurt now. So that's what I think.

Don't watch the news too much; you'll get neurotic. Remember they are only selling air time for which the sponsors paid. Figure out the target audience by the ads.

Have fun, okay? Heck why not? It's a new week!!!!!!

Oh and buy my book: LQQK Here!

2006-08-18T22:16:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

I'm disgusted -- both CNN and FOX have fallen down on international news to follow a supposed killer arrested in Thailand. Of course, it's a horrible horrible murder. But then so are the deaths of the war victims, drought/famine victims, the people who died young and so on. These news channels are getting more and more like the Sun and the National Enquirer. Why? why? why? Why? Are we more and more stupid? Are we less able to hear the truth? Oh and by the way didya hear Tushi Bushi disagrees with the Judge on wiretapping? Un-huh? Who makes the laws? Who interprets the laws?

I am suffering from NES -- night eating syndrome. And so is Zippy. We're going to have to tie the fridge door shut and padlock it.

Viva la Resolution! Solve the Conflict! Negotiate the Truth!

2006-08-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

We hear a lot about terrorists and that sort of thing. I wonder have they heard of the Kevorkian Death Squads? People over seventy with a terminal disease are infiltrating such camps in hopes of stopping the wars. They are the mothers and fathers of the warriors that are fighting. They mostly just want the world to be a safe place, for everyone to play nice and take turns. They don't care if there's religious difference or a color difference and they certainly don't care about a sexual preference. These wild hood better look out because when the Kevorkian Death Squads show up, there will be hell on earth and hell to pay. The mission of this group is to stop people from acting like spoiled brats and smarty pants know-it-alls. And they aren't afraid to take their cause to the limit. See that the word gets around, Faux and SEEENDEND TV.

Bush and Quayle shood link up just because of their names.

Bin Laden should talk to the dahlia Lama.

Unmarried mothers should try marriage with the fathers of their kids.

Allergy medicine is for people with allergies.

Plastic never goes away. Think how much we use.

Which would you rather have more of, water or air?

When worst comes to worst, which would you rather eat, root vegetables or insects?

Would you plan a holiday if there weren't a designated one? SO DO IT before SUMMER ends.

Give your dog ice water on a hot day. And don't dress him up. Too hot. If you dress up your dog in hot clothes, he will force you to sleep next to him the next hot night in K9 revenge.

Get a low cost hobby. Help some one out. Remember friends.
Pick up after yourself. Eat ice cream. Give the dog vanilla.

Okay so much for my advice. Do what you want. But I'll know. Even if no one else does.

2006-08-10T23:13:00.000-07:00

2006-08-10T22:59:00.000-07:00

http://rdlarson.blogspot.com/

Hi! I'm sure that you all remember last year when I had a detached retina in the left eye. This year, almost to the date, I had a cataract develop on the injured eye. I'm now recovered from that. I have learned that a cataract is common to grow over the lens of eye that sustains a retina detachment. I was lucky and had good surgeons both times. Needless to say, I gave them copies of my books. But also I have hit a milestone. I have found two of my books in a second hand book store. I believe that there is some kind of award for being so well known as a writer that you find your own books in a second hand book store.

Zippy is still a puppy. I know the dog whisperer would NOT like this, but Zippy thinks its fun to hold a dog cookie in his mouth and growl. If my hubby acts like he's going to take it, Zippy growls and chews it up. Dogs are as smart as we think they are, right?

What about the last news? Do you feel like you're living a movie yet? I do -- a TV show - THE SURREAL Life! AL Kiddeo sending jelly glogs across the sea? Is it possible? Why would they do that? I think we should not give them so much press. Remember when outlaws were scorned? Shunned? Ignored! It's past time for that -- but we do need to have a strong defense and security system that works.

2006-08-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

James Horrox

In the introduction to the first post-9/11 National Security Strategy released by the White House in the Autumn of 2001, before going on to describe a policy agenda of violence, hatred and perpetual war, Bush made it eminently clear that under his regime “as a matter of common sense and self-defence, America will act against . . . emerging threats before they are fully formed.” This is of course an underpinning theme of the “Project for a New American Century” (PNAC)'s longstanding viewpoint on strategy, but as one writer presciently pointed out, “one problem with this view lies in the risk of a government manufacturing a case for a pre-emptive war when it actually has other motives for going to war.”

He has said it so much better than I ever could. Peace to you.

2006-08-01T12:40:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

retirw nosraL DR.rohtua eht yb seirots dna skoob ,noitamrofni serutaef hcihw nosraL DR retirw eht ot detacided etis A

LOL

Don't you feel sorry for the people in the mideast? What a tragedy! This war is against many for a few -- that's not democracy. Or is it? Does democracy only relate to the democrats? And are the republicans really for the republic? So then do they know about separation of church and state? What is better, an unwanted baby or the morning after pill? What about people who get high or drunk and make it with someone they hardly know? Who gets the baby? Do you have any idea how many babies are up for adoption world-wide? And if they are older? You know what happens to them. Everyone loves a cute little baby but guess what they grow up? Kids take money, time, love and sacrifice in order to grow up to be worthwhile adults.

I think Mel Gibson should marry that Coppel woman and be a big-a-mist than he already is. He's a joke; there was all that stuff about his anti-Semitic father, the incidences in The Passion of the Christ and now this. Hmmm? Back to Thunderdrome, Smelly Melly.

Also, what is wrong with Tushi Busi that he doesn't have "Christian sympathy and empathy for those Lebanese who lost children in a misguide (?) rocket? At least he should have enough brains to say that he regrets that horrible event. My heart goes out to everyone who has lost a loved one, here, there and everywhere. Doesn't yours?

Peace starts with you and me. Spend a moment just making yourself feel at peace. At peace with yourself and with your world. Tell yourself (and I will tell myself) that you are a peaceful person and you want to spread the thought of peace. Affirm that thought and it will come into being.

Kidlink No More War

2006-07-30T18:55:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

The Whimsy
part 1
by R. D. Larson

As the train neared New Duryea, Bethany opened again the single sheet of paper. Barely legible, Bethany stared at the splotched words. Two words. Please Come. Cleveland Gibson had signed it.

She journeyed to New Duryea to start a new life. The death of her parents from influenza had been devastating for Bethany and her sister. Almost as wrenching she had to let Catherine live with Aunt Elena. She had no way to support and feed a ten-year-old girl.

Aunt Elena had contacted her friends asking for a position for Bethany. A solicitor friend of her parents, a man who had known the family during their travels in Romania, had responded saying his great nephew lived at New Duryea Bay. The nephew was a writer of some reputation and needed a secretary for answering mail and tending to other matters, allowing him freedom to write. Bethany wrote immediately to Cleveland Gibson listing her accomplishments and reasons for wanting the job. There was no answer for two weeks. Then this terse note. Please come.
Bethany rode on the new Scottish Flyer to Glasgow and then onto New Duryea Bay. She gave a great intake of breath when the smell of the sea indicated that she had reached the end of land. When the train arrived at the station no one was waiting for her. The building was shut.
She stood at the edge of the mud flats looking across the bay. A fishing boat drifted landward, its work for the day finished. The inky water spread endlessly beyond the curve of the bay. The far away lands on the other side of the ocean weren’t there. Not really. Just empty endless ocean. The only world that mattered was this little spit of shore and bay.

She began to walk along the main street. A half of a dozen shops on either side seemingly had whatever a person could want. Bethany saw women glance at her but none of them spoke. Finally, she went in to the Grocer’s.

“Hello, I’m Bethany Delaine and I’ve taken a position with Mr. Cleveland Gibson. Have you seen him in town or do you know where he lives?”

“Good heavens, that tightwad’s finally hired more help. Well, you won’t like him, Miss Delaine. Gibson’s got pots of money — buys nothing. And pays nothing for his help. He won that literature prize some years back — they made a famous movie out of his book,” rattled the chubby grocer. “You don’t look strong enough to clean that big old house, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I’m to be his secretary, sir,” Bethany said.

“To be sure, you are. I can see that now. Well, that is his house up the road — see there? — bathed in sunlight it is. On that hill. Gets the last rays of warmth, Gibson does. Also gets the worst of the wind.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll go along then and thank you for your help.” Bethany turned and went back out into the golden watery light that only shows at ocean’s edge. She lifted her face to stare at the hill. The house was huge and seemed to have many added rooms. The top story had what appeared to be a long porch with a rail around it. A dark figure could be seen leaning against the rail.

Onward, Bethany, she said to herself striding down the main street of New Duryea toward the hill. A slight wind off the bay whipped her skirt around her legs and chilled her. Still, she thought, it’s fresh and clean.

As she grew closer to the huge white house, she could more easily appreciate the architecture. It was not overly fussy. Unlike some houses, it had character and grace. The additions seemed to be part of the whole house, not as some are obvious and tacky. The figure was still there. When she reached the long driveway, the figure suddenly turned and went inside. The wind kicked up again, nearly causing her to stumble, as she wasn’t paying attention to the ruts in the driveway. Enthralled by wild flowers growing along the sides Bethany picked one, a buttercup, and walked on twirling it in her fingers.

There was a mossy brick path to the steps. Taking a deep breath, Bethany walked toward the blue door. It opened quickly. A fattish sort of woman stood there frowning.

“Well, don’t begin by picking Mr. Gibson’s wild flowers. He holds them dear.”

“I’m sorry — it was just so beautiful. Hello, how are you? I’m Bethany Delaine. I’ve come to work for Mr. Gibson as his secretary.”

“Well, who else would you be? Come in. Come in. Just that valise? No other cases, maybe at the train station?”

“No, I don’t have many clothes. I’m sure I can manage.” Bethany said, frowning slightly.

“Come along and meet Gibson; he’s been watching for you from the porch. Now, mind, don’t act put off by his looks. T’was terrible accident years ago. Just a few months after the Award. You’ll get used to his face, I’m sure.”

Bethany shivered slightly. What could Gibson look like? Would it be truly dreadful, as the housekeeper had implied, or was she exaggerating? Bethany felt as though the sea air were laying on her like a damp cloth. As she reached the door, she caught her breath.

“My name is Regan, I’m the housekeeper here and we have a staff of four so not much labor will be asked of you.” The broad woman stood aside as Bethany stepped into the darker entry hall. The transom over the door did not let much light in as it was colored glass depicting a bleeding and ruptured heart surrounded by clinging purple vines. Spying it as she turned Bethany could not stop a harsh gasp.

“Don’t mind that, dearie; Gibson has a bent for lurid art.” Regan stepped into the foyer. “Come along, leave your valise; you must go right on up to see him. Oh, I expect you want to wash up?” The words conveyed that there was no choice. She had to meet the author. But she must straighten her clothes or else. The implied threat made Bethany nod.

She went into the door opening off the entry into a hall. Regan pointed, saying, “There’s the washroom. I’ll be in the kitchen, dearie, when you’ve finished with Gibson. As soon as you’re refreshed, go up the stairs. The door directly in front of the stairs. Knock right smartly. And don’t wander about. Gibson doesn’t like that, either. Very private man.”

After attempting to tame her wild chestnut hair and washing her face, Bethany went up the carpeted stairs and approached the door with great foreboding. She’d have left if she had any other place to go, she thought sadly. She knocked on the door lightly, hold in her breath. Then, she remembered and knocked harder.

“Come in, then,” shouted a voice. Slowly she turned the handle of the mahogany door and peeked in.
Cleve Gibson stood outside on the porch beyond open doors. His broad shoulders were hunched against the wind and his long dark hair blew about his head. The room stood bare except for a huge desk and a wooden swivel chair. The floor and desk were obscured with pages of handwriting. Tablets were stacked in corners and boxes of papers attested to the writer’s work.
He did not turn for many seconds and when he did, Bethany shrieked and jerked back sharply.

“Well, what are you screaming at?” said Gibson pushing away his hair.

“It took you so long to turn, Sir, that I...” said Bethany, as his face revealed its terrible burn. One cheek, puckered and red; his left hand burned and deformed spoke clearly of his accident.
“Don’t gawk. You’ll get used to it.”

His dark hair fell around his shoulders. Bethany inwardly shivered. It must make him feel cross often because she could see that he’d been the handsomest of men. “I’m sorry for staring,” she murmured.

“Don’t be; it was perhaps my own fault. Perhaps it was the Whimsy,” he said, his dark eyes pinning her. She saw self-loathing on his face.

“I’m familiar with your work. Very beautiful and touching prose,” said Bethany.

“Thank you. I’ll have work for you after the evening meal. It should be shortly; ask Regan which room is yours.” He flung his long-limbed frame into the chair and stared out at the surf. The white caps peaked in the brisk wind. “You know, of course, the wind brings the Whimsy.”

“What’s the Whimsy?” Bethany immediately asked. Cleve turned his head, the burned cheek flaming against his white linen shirt and black hair. His eyes glowed with an unhealthy light.
His dark look gave her a chill and he did not answer, but turned again to the sea.

Bethany let herself out the door and went down to the kitchen to see Regan. The cook was helping a young girl to knead great balls of bread. The girl was about eight or nine to judge by the size of her. A pale pinched face glanced at Bethany as the girl punched down her puffy mound. Regan turned smiling.

“Well, here you are Miss Bethany. This is Fiona, Gibson’s niece. She lives here as well.”
“I know about girls your age,” said Bethany, smiling. “I have a sister that just turned ten. She lives with our aunt. Perhaps we’ll all be friends.”

“Don’t think so,” said Fiona her mouth puckering. “Don’t think so at all.”

“Now, Fiona, don’t be rude, she’s come to help your uncle with his work.” Regan said.

“You won’t like it. You’ll be scared. Scared to death maybe. Wait and see,” Fiona said coldly, and stomped from the kitchen.

“Oh, dearie, don’t mind her. She’s a bit out of sorts since her cat died. She thinks some kind of evil spirit killed it,” Regan said optimistically, nodding in agreement with herself. “She was orphaned, you know. Been with Gibson ever since. Poor little thing.”

Bethany made sympathetic mew. “I understand as I lost my mother and father a few months ago to the influenza. I should — where’s my room?”

“Oh, you’re to be on the ground floor, at the back. Go into the parlor to the left of the door. Your room is down the hall leading off the parlor. It’s on the left side, next to Fiona’s room. Gibson uses the whole upper floors for himself and his work.” Regan said.

As Bethany went to her room, alone, down the dark hall, she wondered why the child was so rude. Spoiled by her uncle perhaps. If Catherine could come for a visit for a few weeks, it would be wonderful, thought Bethany, opening the paneled door. It moved stiffly as if it had been shut over the winter.

As she entered, her eyes were drawn immediately to the window. It was wide open, and gauze curtains, long and full, billowed into the room on the breeze. The open window cheered her. As she put her valise on the bed, she realized her first impression had been right. No one had been in this room for a long time. A thin layer of sandy dust smudged every surface. The furniture had been covered with sheets. Quickly, Bethany removed the sheets and dusted. She would have to wash the floor tomorrow. The only carpet was a handmade one that copied exactly the transom over the door, the bleeding torn heart. She looked closely at it seeing the bloodied heart and the great blue rocks, entwined with a purple vine. A vine that looked like spiderwort, or Wandering Jew. A prolific vine that could choke out the natural plants of a forest floor. Among the gypsies, spiderwort was known to have cursing powers.

Bethany shivered. The gypsies called it amria — evil curse. Grisly, she thought and rolled up the rug, shoving it under the bed. The wood floor seemed too white under the rug almost as if it had been scrubbed with salt. Exactly where the rug had laid.

Quite odd really, Bethany noted. She tucked her hair up and put on a clean blouse, just as she put on her shawl there was a knock on the door. She opened it.

“Regan sent me to fetch you for supper, Miss Bethany,” said Fiona, obviously not pleased with her errand.

“Come in; would you like to see a picture of my sister?”

“No. Cleve’s ready to eat.” The child turned on her heel and strode down the hall. Bethany sighed and followed her, leaving her door open to further air out the room.

Strangely, Regan and Hendricks, introduced by Gibson as the jack-of-all-trades, ate at the same table with Fiona and Gibson and Bethany.

“There are two other men who worked the gardens, but they’ve gone into the pub for the evening,” Regan said.

“It’s the most practical,” said Cleve Gibson seeing her glance. “We can all eat together. Regan and Hendricks have enough to do to keep me sane.”

“Oh, you’re fine, Mr. Gibson,” said Hendricks a pale man with huge ugly hands, heavily veined with large purple blotches on the back of them. A fresh bloody scratch ran along his forearm. “I think I’ve gotten the power line adjusted so that it won’t keep blowing loose.”

“I hope so, I can’t be going down when the sun does,” Gibson said.

Fiona giggled and said, “Uncle, you made a joke.”

“Not much of one, I dare say,” Gibson said, grasping his hair into a tail at the back of his neck. His jaw grew tight. “Fiona, do you need to visit your mother’s grave after dinner? I’d rather not.”

“I can take her if you like,” Bethany put in as she spooned up a few more of the boiled potatoes. “I could work on your manuscript when I get back.”

“It’ll be there tomorrow. Go ahead; she knows the way. It’s just that I need to finish this sonnet before it scurries from my mind.” Gibson speared another piece of roast beef on to his plate. He picked up one of the thick slices of warm bread that Fiona and Regan had made. “I just don’t like her to go alone. A grief so weighty that anyone would need comfort. You might as well see the family plot and get to know all our secrets.”

What had happened to Fiona’s mother, wondered Bethany.

“What secrets, Uncle Gibson? You didn’t tell me,” Fiona whined.

“Not a secret to you, Fiona, a secret to Miss Bethany. It’s those strange headstones that we have loved so long as a family,” Gibson said as he stood. He looked out at the slowly sinking sun. “Just be back in the house before the wind comes up.”

Fiona and Bethany helped Regan carry the dishes to the kitchen. Then Fiona got her sweater and they went along toward the back of the house. A great flat field stretched out before them with a winding footpath. Fiona started to run down the path, her arms outstretched to touch the new tassels on the grasses.

After about a hundred yards, Bethany finally caught up with her and puffed, “Is it very far?”
“No, almost there.” Fiona said. She half-turned, frowning. “You must stay away when I talk to my mother as I don’t want you to hear.”

“I understand; I do the same thing when I talk to my mother,” Bethany said.

Fiona looked back and said, “Really, why? When she’s dead?”

Startled, Bethany said, “My mother is dead, as is yours, Fiona.”

“Not dead. Something else but not dead. It doesn’t have a name.” Fiona gave her a scathing look as she said this.

“Perhaps I too know the something else — it’s a longing to have our mothers with us again.”
“No, I don’t mean that!” Fiona said, turning away and walking quickly.
Bethany followed her. She felt such sorrow for the child, just as she did for her own sister and yes, even herself.

Fiona had paused. When Bethany stood beside her, she looked down into a perfectly round circle cut five feet into the ground. Around the edges where twelve blue-black slabs of rock encircled the area of dark green grass. In the very center of the circle stood a taller stone cut in the shape of an obelisk. It gleamed smooth and austere. These headstones were not carved, but rugged and sharp-edged, like spewed from the bowels of the earth.

To be concluded...

The Whimsy

Part II

“What unusual rocks — I’ve never see rocks like that before,” Bethany exclaimed.

“Don’t think so. Don’t think so at all.” Fiona muttered in reply as she went down the cut-in steps. She began to circle the path around the headstones, chanting to herself. “Aunt Rebecca, Baby Charles, Grandpa, Grandma,” she chanted as she slowly walked around the circle, now mostly in shadow. An eerie feeling chilled the back of Bethany’s neck as she went down the steps after Fiona.

“Mommy and Daddy, Uncle Connor,” said Fiona. Bethany jerked, startled as she heard her employer’s name.

Bethany bent to read the brass plaque on the first blue-black rock headstone. It read:

Rebecca dwells still
By the sea
Untaken
She walks among us
Pursued by the
Whimsy
Saved by the
Blood of the Heart
Of the
One
Who
Loves her still

Green tarnish grew between a few of the letters, but there were no dates on the plaque. How long had Rebecca been dead and who was the “he” that was mentioned? Gibson, perhaps. The rock was amazing, a deep dark blue the color of the bottom of the sea, and shining, it seemed to Bethany, from within its heart.

She went to the next rock, reading, and on to the next. The messages were all about the Whimsy. Some had been saved by the heart’s blood but some had not. One of the dead was named Siobhan. Gibson’s wife? A frightening comment was engraved on the brass:

Siobhan,
Mysterious Woman
Married in love,
Frightening in her power,
A wife and a mother
Whose short life
With unborn son
Torn from us
By the Whimsy.
We fight lest we forget her
Violent end

Bethany looked up, hot tears on her cheek, not seeing Fiona anywhere. She called out to her. “Fiona! Fiona!”

“Here I am,” said the girl rising from the base of the obelisk. “We have to hurry, Bethany, it’s getting dark and the wind is on the rise.”

“Wait, I want to read the last one,” Bethany stopped at the last one and bent forward. At once she saw Fiona’s name. Shock made her tremble and she dropped to the ground as she read the words.

“Run, Bethany, run,” shouted Fiona. She pulled at Bethany’s hand, but the woman felt limp and confused. She struggled to get her legs under her body.

With a great swollen force the wind blew into the circle of headstones. Fiona screamed and ran away up the earthen stairs. Bethany saw the stones roll and tumble as the gale struck her, throwing her back on to the ground. She saw Fiona blown back part way down the steps. The roar was so loud that Bethany couldn’t hear her screams of fear. Her eyes were rolling and she stumbled before she could struggle forward.

“Fiona!” cried Bethany, pushing against the wind. “I’m coming.”

One of the blue-black boulders rolled toward her as in a warning. She skirted it, running to the left, and then jackknifing back toward Fiona. Horrified, she saw the same rock roll toward the child. The rock with Fiona’s name on it. She raced toward Fiona. The child was trying to claw up the embankment of the cemetery circle.

In a sudden twist the rock smashed into Fiona’s body, crushing her. Immediately the wind ceased. Bethany ran to Fiona. A great gash sliced through the child’s dress and chest. Bethany’s screams ripped out against the dusk.

“Oh, no, no,” cried Bethany, kneeling, keening. Fiona’s face was white.

“Don’t touch her! Stay back,” shouted Gibson from the rim of the burial circle. His eyes were huge black orbs. His white shirt flapped around him as he ran to Fiona.

He scooped up the girl and knelt with her bleeding chest against his white shirt. Bethany stared unbelieving as he pulled his shirt open. He reached into his chest, through flesh and bone to his heart. Jerking it out, he squeezed it over the wound of the lifeless Fiona. Brilliant drops of his blood fell into her torn chest.

She was wet with both her blood and with his.

“What are you doing?” Bethany moaned.

“It’s the Whimsy, forever taking my loved ones.” Gibson rocked as he squeezed his heart again and again. “Only my heart’s blood can save them. It’s the Whimsy, come to punish me.”
As suddenly as the wound had occurred, the gash in Fiona’s chest closed, leaving her bloodied dress clinging to her small body. Gibson pushed his heart back into his chest, and fell aside, collapsing from the effort. The only evidence of such a miracle was the wet blood staining the shirt front.

“What is this about?” Bethany realized that the world she knew had tilted, forever altered and contaminated.

Gibson didn’t answer. He picked up Fiona and stood. Panting, he beckoned to her; he went up the steps and started toward the house.

She followed him, listening as he crooned a lullaby to his niece. The ferocious wind was now gone completely. Still it blew in her mind’s eye. What was it? How had it come to be? Did Gibson know why?

Bethany tried to pray. Her own heart felt bruised and twisted. Would Gibson tell her? Could he explain it? When they reached the house, Gibson took Fiona into her bedroom and called to Regan to undress her as he came out. Without a word, he tore off his shirt and went up the stairs to his rooms. He dropped his bloody shirt on the parquet floor.

Bethany shook her head in disbelief. She looked into the parlor where a fire was lit and lights burned. It looked so normal that the scene calmed her. She went into the kitchen meeting Regan as she was coming out on her way to Fiona.

“There’s kettle of water simmering. Make a cup of tea and you’ll feel better,” Regan said as they brushed past each other.

Bethany, numb to the core, unconsciously made tea and took the cup and saucer into the parlor. Sinking down in a upholster chair, she felt her body shaking. She carefully set the rattling teacup down on a table near the chair. Then the tears came.

She’d been through so much, now this. How could she go on? None of it made any sense. She sensed Gibson’s return; heard his steps to the kitchen, heard the sounds of tea being brewed and dazedly felt his presence in the parlor. She turned her back to him.

“I have to talk to you, Bethany. I want you to stay, to help me, and to help Fiona. Fight against the Whimsy. You were very brave tonight.” Gibson said slowly, his voice quiet.
“It terrified me. What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s something otherworldly.” Gibson leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. Not looking at her, the steaming cup held on his knee. “After the prize, I was so involved with myself, I paid no attention to my sister, Rebecca, I dearly loved her, but she had married a man I neither liked nor tolerated. I kept my peace but I also kept my distance. After the Titus Award was given I was swept up in a round of readings and appearances. I met a woman, a woman that I married. My sister and her husband and child, Fiona, lived with me. The three of them lived on the bottom floor. When I wasn’t away on speaking tours, my wife and I stayed in the rooms upstairs. I want to create another book of prose, better than the first, more poignant, more intense.” He paused and sipped his tea. “My wife, Siobhan, also found herself unnoticed. I had work I had to do. She blamed my sister.”

“My wife grew to despise my sister. She treated Rebecca viciously. I could only try keeping Siobhan away from Rebecca. In time she clawed at me and tried to keep me from writing the history of Gypsies that raised her.”

“One night there was a fire in the kitchen. I was able to save Fiona. But Miles, Rebecca’s husband perished. And Rebecca herself was seriously burned. She spent days in the hospital recovering. I was frantic because I blamed myself.” Gibson went on.

“And Siobhan? Where is she now?”

“Buried in the Circle. Siobhan died in my arms in rage the same night I brought my sister home. I wanted her to live. I swore to her that I would spend my heart’s blood to keep her with me. But her own heart broke. And it just happened. Just like you saw tonight. So my wife lives yet she is dead. I can’t explain it. Nothing makes any rational, scientific sense.”

Bethany stood and he raised his head to look at her. As she looked down into his face she could know his pain.

Gibson bent his head. “I wanted to die when I thought that I had brought Siobhan here to my house, to my place. You see, she had started the fire. She had killed my brother-in-law and tried to kill Rebecca.”

He paused, his eyes glazed by his inner visions. She started to leave. Reaching toward her, Cleve went on slowly, carefully choosing each word.

“I absorbed the truth of the Whimsy, the truth about that wind. Death is not nearly as attractive as envisioned. What if death is not the end? What if there is in fact no freedom from everlasting pain? Would that make religious believers of the atheists? Or would it make the believers take up a life of hedonism to pleasure themselves before the inevitable?”

“So your sister is sustained by your blood? Where is she? The other members of your family? Who is saved? Who is not?” Bethany asked backing up slightly. She felt the top of her head and the back of her neck prickle with fear of the unprecedented.

As though he had not heard her, he continued. “Some deaths are an excruciating pain of life; for under the Whimsy of the wind I am destined to suffer the torture of a life of agony. Siobhan cursed me into a final purgatory,” said Cleve Gibson. He looked up at Bethany.

“The others are truly dead, but Fiona has been spared time and time again by my heart’s blood.” He said this to Bethany his face full turned to her and his eyes locked to hers. “I failed her mother because I was not at home when the Whimsy struck and killed her.”

“Poor Fiona. How can this be? Do you pray? What do you believe? Me. Gibson, this doesn’t make sense,” cried Bethany, her voice raising a note with each sentence. “Answer me, answer me now.”

“I married Siobhan because I loved her, but it wasn‘t a pure love, and she cursed me with the Wind God. “ replied Cleve, dropping his face into his hands and his body quivered with silent sobs. Bethany stood, pulling off her shawl and draping it around the man’s shaking shoulders.

“I cannot stay here; it is more than I can stand. I will leave in the morning,” Bethany said quietly. She laid a brief hand on his shoulder and then walked down the hall to her room just past the living yet dead Fiona.

As Bethany shut the door behind her, the wind caught it and slammed it into her shoulder. With a small cry, she latched it and sank down on the bed. I know he needs me in some way, but what could I do to help him? I have no knowledge of gypsy magic or miracles, thought Bethany. As she undressed and put on her gown, she tried to imagine what the Whimsy could be; Gibson had called it the Wind God. But that wasn’t possible.

He must have lost his mind, she decided. I will find other work. Somehow. I will have Catherine with me again some day. I cannot help Cleveland Gibson in any way.

Finally, exhausted, Bethany dropped into a sound sleep.
Suddenly she woke clear and fearful. She sat up, and quickly jerked out the rug from beneath the bed.

She stared at the purple twisting vine woven into the fabric of the rug. It was spiderwort. And it grew in a patch by the back door of Gibson’s house!

There was a great moan in the wind as it whorled around the house. It called to her and baited her. Bethany got up and walked out of the door straight to the patch of purple barely visible in the darkness.

She broke off a piece, and chewed it. The juice burnt and stung her tongue. With a clear vision she swallowed it. Then she ran to the burial circle.

The wind drove and pummeled her, bruising her back and arms. At the rim of the circle she stopped. The obelisk stood piercing the windy sky as its headstones defended it.

Bethany sucked in a deep breath and walked to the obelisk. Resting her hand against its smooth side she spoke softly, mindlessly knowing the words to arouse Siobhan from the blue-black slab.
“I have come, Siobhan, to ask you to release Cleveland Gibson from your curse. He did not know the story of the Gypsies of the Wind. But I do. I know all of our histories and we have fought before in other lives, in other times. I ask you to die in peace and live in another century. Siobhan, find a new love and let the torture stop.”

A groan erupted from the heart of the stone. A white arm and hand reached from nowhere to clasp Bethany’s throat.

“No, Siobhan, you will not,” Bethany shouted, twisting away. The blue-black rock melted and eddied into a pond.

Bethany let out her breath.

Too soon.

The pond reformed and gleamed, becoming a shadow, then a mist and finally became the form of a woman. Siobhan flew at her, jerking her hair and body with an unbelievable power. Bethany fought back, trying to keep her away.

Just as Siobhan engulfed her mind, succeeded in containing her will, a white-shirted man leapt into the Burial Circle. His dark hair blew wildly in the terrible wind. Gibson! Bethany cried his name, beseeching him,“Run, run away while you still can. She can’t follow you. Run.”

The Whimsy turned to her beloved, her mouth open and bloody, her fingers reaching for his heart, his living heart.

“Hear me, Siobhan,” Bethany screamed, her head back and her arms uplifted.

“I say to you, Daughter of Whimsy, go back to another century. I am the Storm Lord’s Gypsy Daughter and I have the power of purity.” She began to chant, over and over again.

Ekkeri, akai-ri, u kair-an.
Fillissin, follasy. Nakelas ja’n...
Illssin gaetic dai faris dire
Ekken u dar di’a...

“Go, go back,” shouted Gibson, his hands striking like hammers on the face of the Whimsy, and his heart bulging against his shirt. Her fingers curled toward his heart. Her eyes were fierce and smoldering.

“I banish you from this community and from this man. Go back to the place of your birth!” Bethany cried out loudly, her bell voice ringing against the night wind

With a howl of pain, the Whimsy whirled away blowing out to sea beyond the distant shores.

“Bethany, how did you know?” Gibson held her tight in his arms, breathless.

“I was born a gypsy and lived as a gypsy. I have left that life behind me forever.”

“And you’ll stay here? Help me? Help Fiona? Please, I will ask nothing more of you than your friendship.”

Bethany nodded, but her eyes turned toward the whitecaps on the sea. She knew the rock monoliths would form a circle somewhere, sometime out there.

2006-07-20T21:26:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

Order NOW. IF you have been waiting to read the Mama Stories, those rascal tales in Mama Tried to Raise a Lady here is the buy of the week: Mama Tried to Raise a Lady

Got kids? Like animals? Find out what Rose knows about Dogs and bacon. Find out who has to know where Luluabell the cow is when she is up a tree. Funny and heartwarming for all ages.

2006-07-16T23:22:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
So how come we can think our daughters can't have a baby out of wedlock, can't raise a baby alone or with a boyfriend when all these movie celebrities have or adopt babies with not word about marriage? Gay Marriage? I sure hope it's better than the current 'have a baby no marriage' state that seems to becoming the norm!

Oh yeah! and why can people hold back a little without always trying to go to war? Why can't countries control their terriorists? Don't we control ours? What? You don't think we have any? Think again. Environmental terriorists and every other kind of malcontent seem to be crowding into our world.
Anarchy? End of the World? Maybe and whatever it is, it's a too bad because this is a beautiful world.

What we need to do is heal the planet, heal our neighbors and heal ourselves. I think it is time we took a stand. It's not enough to feed the starving, we must encourage birth control. It's not enough to aid the sick, we must teach healthy habits. It's not enough to forget what we did or did not do; we must all do more, every one of us in every country of every faith and of every color. We are on this blue raft slamming through space; we are dependent on one another. That's what the stupid TV show Survivor is showing us. We all need to negotiate to give and to take to accept only a partial win instead of saving our egos. Now is the time for all good men and women to stand for right and decent and kind behavior.

Okay, I've said my 2 cents. See ya after my surgery.

2006-07-05T20:15:00.000-07:00

There's a big difference between being a tomboy and being a warrior woman.

Rose felt compelled to make an effort to save herself and to save the world, especially dogs and birds. Long before today, there was a little girl who want to play hard and have new adventures even if her Mama got in her way.

When rebellion starts young, it can be a humorous and frightful thing.
Just $6.50 at fictionwise: http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook29478.htm

I don't feel a pot licken comment right now.

Poor Zippy. The fourth of July hurt his ears. I had to tranq him and put ear plugs in his ears while he laid in front of the fan listening to Madonna's latest.

2006-06-23T23:55:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

Tushi Bushi is sounding the alarm to make himself look potent. What a joke! TG the seven sons of the sea weren't really allkideo members! Guess we won't be hearing much about banking investigations and slipshod practices and hairy old lies.

2006-06-16T22:53:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

Do you have an older dog? Did you know that many vets are seeing dog over age six? Here's a site to check out. Older dogs

Zippy is an older dog so don't mess with him. Click here.
And while you are there, check out the missing children's photos -- see if you recognize any child and report it.

Have you read MOON DUST yet? Cleveland Gibson's fantasy thriller will knock your socks off. Click here. e-book also available. Read about it here too. Click here.

Great flash fiction here ThePhoneBook.com

Hear Tricia read from Mama Tried to Raise a Lady -- it's called The String Divorce! Pump up your sound!

2006-06-13T22:21:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

my website

Tushi Bushi is sure trying to garner votes for the Republicans in November. It's too late; everyone knows he's a liar and a failure. Gore, Hillary, and Edwards better get off their cans and make some sense. Who is going to lead this country.

I got a kick out of Tushi making eye contact with the Iraqi PM. I could see him using two fingers indicating "look me in the eye!" Whaddy expect showing up unannounced? But I can see why, even if it's a BE AMERICA PLAN!

The thing is they don't want to be US.

Zippy is getting gray and I am sad. I just read a story by Lad Moore on his site about his dog, Quigley. READ Here
I want another dog. What if something happens to Zippy as it will no doubt someday. When Max died I didn't get a dog for two years, the only time in my life that I didn't have a dog. I still miss Max.

Fiction flash:

Her eyes opened wide and so did her mouth. As her tongue reached for her pink ice cream cone her eyes closed and the magic coldness filled her mouth.

The rough boy from next door ran up to her. "Give me your cone. I want it."

"No," she said turning away. She wanted to eat it slowly and enjoy every bite. Her collie sat at her side.

When Robbie reached for the cone, Daisy growled. Robbie paused. "She doesn't bite does she?"

"Maybe, if she thinks somebody's hurting me."

"Have your old ice cream. I hate strawberry anyway." Robbie ran off in search of other prey.

Daisy and the little girl smiled at each other. Then they both took a lick of the melting pink delight.

I think it's wrong for the media to call the Pitt-Jolie baby the second coming.

2006-06-06T16:32:00.000-07:00

My Web Site
My Reader Site Please sign my gu est book

Sondra’s Woe
By
RD Larson

Lit from above, the mirror looked old. Scarred, with rents in its silver lining. Sondra brushed the blue eye shadow above her lids. She outlined her eyes with black pencil. Heavy coats of mascara made her long eyelashes droop. Eyelash curler, she thought, digging in her Fendi bag for the tool.

She took a brush and outlined her small lips far outside the lines, making them huge. With a heavy purplish red lipstick, she filled in the lips. She grabbed a piece of toilet tissue and wiped her teeth hard repeatedly. Then reapplied the lipstick and blotted.

Her long red hair, she thought wistfully, brushing it with a natural bristle brush, didn’t seem as thick. Fans remembered her hair always. Her trademark; even her statement.

Sandra opened the dress bag. It had been torn and repaired with duct tape. She carefully put on her costume. The sequined low-cut tank top in a rich ruby red. The tiny black skirt. Hardly buttoned tonight. Why ever not? She had been dieting just for tonight.
Then shoes which had cost so much of her meager funds.

She signaled into the shadows that she was ready. She could hear the band; she knew they would ratchet up the volume when she came out. She kicked her day clothes into the corner. She missed having Sheila, her dresser. The woman had just up and died, of all the nerve.

She flung the boa, black as the clouds around her shoulders, just hiding her incredible cleavage. She walked down the board walkway on to the stage.

Then she strutted out there and turned to look at her adoring fans, her people.

Sondra stood on the platform. The mike loved her as the wind whipped her long red hair around her face. When the first big drops fell, she didn’t feel them. Her mouth opened wide forming the words to the rock hit that made her famous. Her breasts heaved as she reared back and then flung herself forward in time to the beat. Her body twisted in a familiar staccato to her public, beyond the stage and beyond her helpless dreams.

“I’m not just any child,” sang Sondra, her voice deep and throaty, against the wind and the rain. “I’m not just any child. I’m Wednesday’s child and you know it, you know it. So let me. . .

The star flung her hair to the side and arched her hip at where the front row boys sat. Her groin bounced convincingly. The needle marks and the cuts didn’t show. The gravel in her voice worsened becoming even thicker. Turning her still beautiful face to the black clouds above, her song took wing for only a moment or two.

“So let me be used by you. I’m not just any child, I’m Wednesday’s child.”

Rolls of thunder drown out the rest of the song. When the lightning struck Cassandra, she thought it was just the applause and never knew the arena was empty…

2006-06-04T08:08:00.000-07:00

My Web Site
My Reader Site Please sign my guest book

Moon Dust by Cleveland Gibson is out and you can own your own copy of hair-raising, bone-crushing scary stories. Stories like you've never read! Cleve takes you places that you never thought about. I think it's a new genre - fantasy horror with a twist of poison! You will love this book. If it scared me, it will scare you. And entertain you! Read it!

Available at: Moon Dust by Cleveland W. Gibson

In addition you can now get Mama Tried to Raise a Lady at Mobipockets
for your Smart Phone, PDA and Blackberry. And on your computer as well! You can hear an excerpt read by Tricia at www.footstepstooxford.com

2006-05-27T22:02:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day

When we remember all the soldiers who fought so that this country could be free, it make all of us humble and grateful. From the Revolutionary War at the beginning of this country until today in Iraq, these men and women are heroes to us as they do their duty. I honor my grandfather, father, husband and nephew all who served in the Armed Forces. Those who died are honored every day. Each day I am glad I was born in a land that had free elections, free speech and freedom to pursue happiness. No matter who you are or what you are doing this memorial day, please take time to honor the war dead and the war living! No matter what your political belief is, if you don't believe in the principals that made this country strong, you are lucky to live here. And you need to read the Bill of Rights! We must do what we can in support of our soldiers and their sense of duty. May they forever be honored!

The Bill of Rights Amendments

The Constitution of the United States

2006-05-24T20:06:00.000-07:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
Chapter from Mama Tried to Raise a Lady

Buffalo Girl Dreams
By
RD Larson

I was supposed to be picking wild blackberries. Mama sold baskets to people in town. Selling berries was one way that we put extra food on the table, Mama always told me. Maybe so, but I always thought that the blackberries were food.
Since I had been picking for what seemed a long time and had a lard pail full, it seemed only right that I should take a rest. So I crawled under one of those sweet-smelling brambly bushes to consider my future.
I was going with Pop in the afternoon to look at some Guernsey heifers. We might buy one or two if they were good-lookers. That was my future: learning what to look for in a milk cow.
Mind you, I was going to resume picking berries right a way. Mama would need twelve full baskets by noon the next day. So I was just sort of laying under there, looking up at the blue sky and measuring myself against what my idea of famous cow buyers would be like. I dreamed of buying a whole herd of beef cattle, including an amazing bull, and living in Montana. I would wear a six-gallon hat, and be a buffalo girl. Pop use to sing Mama a song about Buffalo Girls. I was thinking pretty hard about what kind of cow ponies I would have, too.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as a fat lazy bumble bee sailed sluggishly into the berry patch. He flew so slowly that I grinned to myself, thinking maybe he had the afternoon drowsies, too. He clumsily landed on a white berry flower, his ankles thick with yellow pollen. He began to do his work. I went back to thinking about all the cows I would own when I was grown up.
All of a sudden that stupid old bee flew-up; then, fell downwards right into my mouth. Well, I was so surprised that I shut my mouth and captured poor old Mister Bumble Bee alive! Buzz, buzz C he made my ears hum! He made so much noise that I quickly opened my mouth.
But not before he stung me on the tip of the tongue! Off he flew to his private destiny and up I jumped up to mine.
By the time I finished the berries, I couldn't close my mouth because my tongue had gotten so fat. I started to the house, saying a thousand excuses in my head to Mama and saying a thousand reasons to Pop for missing the auction.
"YAYA, Yuck la Yis!" I was trying to say, "Mama look at this." She did take a look at me, sat the bucket of berries on the old blue Formica table, and went straight to the refrigerator.
As she dumped the ice into an old washcloth, she began to laugh.
It wasn't funny to me, of course, because my cowboy dreams were in ashes. I sat at the table, my tongue in a washcloth and tried to imagine what Calamity Jane would have done in such a fix.
My noodle brother came in the house and right before my very hungry nose he made the most perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had ever seen. Mama made him eat it outside, but I could still hear him laughing.
Pop came up from the pump house for lunch. I think he laughed at me, too. But a person couldn't always tell with him, 'cause his cheeks just popped in and out. He always said it was because he was gnashing his teeth at the consternation's of life. But I knew for a fact that sometimes it happened when Pop didn't want to laugh in someone's face.
"Ah gluth HamYuck loo loo," I told him, rolling my eyes and shrugging.
"Never mind homework, Baby Rose, you need to learn about choosing a decent milk cow. Why, you are my right hand man," he told me, resting his hand on my shoulder.
"Ylam a Slaving to Yeath! Yi yant gloo wilth ya." I said.
"Honey, this kid is hungry; give her a big glass of milk; that will tide her over until her tongue goes down. Besides, we'd better get on the road! It's clear out to Fieldbrook at Harrows' farm." He swallowed the last of his salami sandwich and drain his cup as Mama poured thick creamy milk into a tall glass.
My brother came in, jam on his chin, just to nose around. I put my finger on his chin jam, but he jerked away. Sheez, I just wanted to taste it.
I drank my milk as best I could. Pop went on out, after giving Mama a big kiss and a hug. Yuk, I thought, this family is so nauseating, always hugging and kissing. I groaned in hunger and disgust. When I lived on my ranch in Montana, nobody better hug me.
"Tough break, Sis," said my brother. Actually, he said it rather kindly and I had to glare out the window for a moment. Then, he spoiled it. "So I guess bee meat is pretty good, huh?"
I kicked his shin and went out the door by way of a bye-bye hug from Mama. What a life, I told myself as I jumped into the old faded blue pickup as Pop gunned the motor. The pickup bounced down the driveway.

2006-05-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Political slash:

We'll get to find out if we're going to have a military investigation "looder" or not soon. What is this about? Have you notice with people who think they hear God, they never believe they are wrong? What if the "hearing of God" is a mental construct? Like, a fantasy about a romance? Scary what the mind can conceive, huh?

So when did it okay to break the law? If I wanted to sneak into this country I would take off my long dress and learn a new language and cross the boarder to the south and look up sleeper cells. Homeland Security is a bureaucratic stuffed toy. The blind man trying to describe the elephant.

If you think I'm spitting in the wind, think of the hype (media & religious) surrounding THE De Vinci Code which, by the way, is FICTION. Lots of string-a-long people are making money from the whole concept.

The WAR on Terriers is not a war on gods, whose or whose not. We'd better clear up our facts, 'cause it's economics. They will win if we go bankrupt and our constitution becomes useless.

2006-05-08T06:51:00.000-07:00

http://www.RDLarson.com

Going forward one person at a time. Read about it. Try it. It is an answer to the future.

2006-05-05T10:57:00.000-07:00

http://www.RDLarson.com My Web Site

http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson My Reader Site! Please sign my guest boo!

I'm busy working on book four, with more of the lives of Erle and Stumpy. If you want to read a sci-fi story I wrote checkout Bewildering Stories at www.bewilderingstories.com

Also you can find an essay at www.usless_knowledge.com about politics

We're considering another dog, a female as a companion for dear Zippy, or maybe it's a companion for one or the other of us. Even a dog as long as Zippy is hard to share from across the room. If we do get a dog, I want to call her "Missus" and then of course she'll be Missus Zippy.

He has been helping me garden. He observes the woods for bear and beast whilst I potter about with poppies and such. He thinks I am careless because I can't smell it when people are near or animals for that matter either. Not only that I don't seem to hear as well as he does. He tries so hard to hear that his ears are bald. Or maybe it is from wearing a hat-- no, wait, I mean from getting them rubbed.

So if you don't see any changes on here for awhile remember I'm working on my new book. Please consider buying Evil Angel if you're old enough and if not, Mama Tried to Raise a Lady. If you're religious try Saving Reverend Clayton.

2006-05-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

http://www.RDLarson.com My Web Site
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson My Reader Site Please sign my guest book

Moondust is coming. . .

Cleveland.. Very nice..I think your book will be very popular. What I liked
about it was the fact that it was full of such great short stories as I dont
have the time to read longer books at the moment.

Just to keep you updated, I have uploaded Moondust info to AMazon and Baker
& Taylor.. LeeAnn is advising Chapters Indigo Moondust is ready to order...

Shouldn't be too long now. We have had a few orders start to come in..not
including your own...We need to get the word around it is available.

http://www.linktiles.com/profile.php?i=641

Stay tuned for the great event! A special book by Cleveland Gibson

2006-04-25T22:12:00.000-07:00

My Website:
http://www.RDLarson.com
My fan site:
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson/ Please sign my guest book!

Tushi Bushi is at it again. He's the DECIDER? It's NOT even a word.

See the dictionary: http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=decider!

What a load of bull this guy is! Doesn't he know that we are the country and we are the deciders. Guess how many blue states there will be in the coming years? All or just most. I bet the Elephants are kicking their own hind-ends at having such a liar, screw-up and dope for their Chef.

Decide for your self. And remember separated of church and state! This is where things get sticky but you know it is the only way for many peoples and religions and ideas to succeed!

And adopt an animal from the Humane Society if you can. You will have done something good.

My dog is getting fat. I have him on a diet. Rolly Polly Zippy! And he doesn't like it! NO doggie cookies. Well, NOT all the time!

2006-04-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

http://www.RDLarson.com My Home Page
http://www.RDLarson.blogspot.com MY Blog
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson/ My Reader Site Please sign my guest book!

Political slash: Tushi Bushi is still lying but does he know it? Do those in the KNOW tell him the truth? This is getting really strange. See my article at www.useless_knowledge.com to learn more.

Fiction flash: The man looked up at the lighted window on the second floor. He wanted to be there, be with the woman that lived there. She had thrown him out for being lazy. He tried to find a job but either he couldn't find one or he couldn't fit one. Maybe he looked to old. He could still work, work hard. Why didn't she understand? She made a lot of money. She didn't need any more money. Well, she wouldn't need any more money if she just didn't buy everything she wanted, he complained to himself.

He hitched his jeans up. He was tired of standing on them. Ever since he had lost that weight his clothes just dang hung on him. Maybe he was old. He felt old.

He wavered between going to the door and going back to the down town. He finally went around to the garden shed. He lay down on the cement floor and covered himself with burlap bags the gardener had stored there. He mumbled to himself that it was his house too.

He pictured his wife, her hair curling around her face, that sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She had loved him. He know she'd loved him once. What happened? As he tried to imagine his crime, he fell asleep, not knowing the answer.

Doggie Splash:There is now dog litter boxes and I heard of a Jack Russell who has learned to use it. No point in training Zippy. He has favorite grass and even a favorite rock. But it's an idea if you have a puppy.

2006-04-03T19:27:00.000-07:00

My Web Site
My Reader Site Please sign my guest book,

Here's something really cool. Write yourself or someone else a letter and have it delivered into the future. http://www.futureme.org/ Oh and yeah give these guys a little money to keep their site working.

I've voted in every election sine I was 18. Look what it's got me!

Zippy the dog is very afraid of snails. Like my mother was. How strange. He won't go out if there is a snail in the way. Oh, well if I carry him OVER the snail he does. I hope he's not going dementia because who is really afraid of snails. I suppose it could be a scary sci-fi story, huh?

one dark night I was walking with my dog barefoot in the grass . . .

2006-04-02T17:46:00.000-07:00

www.RDLarson.com My Web Site

My story "Lipstick and Powder" has been chosen to be showcased on Laura Hird's web site. She is one of the most loved and honored writers today in Scotland and the winner of many accolades. Please read my story if you have time. Even leave a comment. It is an adult story so be forewarned.

First, wander around Laura Hird's site at http://laurahird.com to see what great things that she has written. Then stop by and read my story (URL below)

http://laurahird.com/showcase/rdlarson.html

RD Larson
www.RDLarson.com

2006-03-30T17:19:00.000-08:00

Home Page
Fan Page

I don't watch much television. I'm too busy writing. Or reading.
But I like "24" and "The Sopranos" because of their intensity.

Here's another winner:

THIEF with Andre Braugher set in New Orleans (http://www.shreveporttimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060328/NEWS01/303280001) will strike your heart and mind. Don't miss it.
Tuesday April 4, Fox.
For More INFORMATION GO to:

http://www.metacritic.com/tv/shows/thief
to read reviews. It's worth every moment. The first episode was startling,compassionate and different, in my opinion.

A special Congratulation to my friend Lawrence Gray in Hong Kong for his success with the win for his Indi film, "FAT ENGLISHMAN" He deserves great praise; his work is current and telling. He's going make a film we'll all love.

2006-03-23T00:06:00.000-08:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOGIt seems like the whole country is being sold to support the war in Iraq. Will the IRS sell our names and numbers? Doesn't anyone care? Why does Tusi Bushi insist on seeing democracy in Iraq? Obviously, they aren't ready for it. So what if they want it? If they can't do it they shouldn't have it. Democracy is negotiation. If they are going to use religion and tribal rules to govern themselves, so be it. How many lives, and wounded service members, and billions of dollars spent before we start to take care of our own? If some one comes here and works illegally his employer should be highly fined and the illegal sent back. No service, no aid. Pretty soon all the poor people here will have to move to Mexico to just make it. What about these homeless people? Why do they get to spend their lives not having to work or take their place in society? We need to clean up these problems at home. The Middle Class is sinking in to proverty. If you don't believe check the statistics.

2006-03-17T23:54:00.000-08:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
Tushi Bushi is at it again. Winning the challenge with a big old swarm. I'm sure our hero soldiers are doing great. I just wish that we didn't have to spend all this money on "democracy" for people that didn't want it. Who made us the king of the world? Maybe democracy isn't such a good idea in a tribal or stone-age community.

I can't believe the gall of the uglies. The Paris-it's all about me syndrom for the Tushi Bushi croneys.

flash fiction:

The Curtain Falls
By
RD Larson

Slowly as the lights came up, the woman in center stage began to move, her arms a white as the necks of swans. Her breasts swung free and her triangle of dark hair gave the viewer pause. From the dusty floor, she rose first to her knees, her hair falling backward over her buttocks as she leaned toward the red velvet curtain that covered backstage.

The black hair glistened like dark wings of a nighthawk. Her eyes stayed closed, hearing some silent music as she swayed rhythmically forward and backward. Then her legs split and she slid backwards, slowly drawing up her knees to make a peak, her thighs meeting in the center to hide her private self.

She bared her teeth as she rolled over and up into a crouch to face the nearly empty theater. Her eyes flew open. Their black depths glared with madness and fear. As she whirled to her feet, she began to spin in slow circles.

The woman spun faster and faster while the man in the heavy coat watched. Twirling as though she were a flame drawn up by a draft, the woman’s hair spun out free. A black wave of wonder that concealed and revealed much. Faster she spun. Faster still.

As the shot rang out, the woman was already falling into the orchestra pit. As she landed her hands reached the piano, and in a single movement fired the .38 straight into the face of her tormentor.
end

Doggie splash:

Go here; play with your dog http://www.dogplay.com/index.html

come back or google me. Read my stories.

2006-03-09T16:18:00.000-08:00

http://www.RDLarson.com my website
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson
My reader site in Australia thanks to Joan@

Hey, if you want opinons on politics, read my article here:
http://www.useless-knowledge.com/1234/uk_news/article156.html

NO it'a not Fiction nor is it Flash!

My dog is being very funny. You know, haha funny. He gets a dog cookie and hides. He hides all of them all over the house. I can't wait until the Queen comes to tea and has the unfortunate experience of sitting on a dog cookie. Actually, it probably won't even faze her. She has Corgis you know. Lots of them.

When I went to Windsor Castle I took a pic of the Queen's Watch Cat.

2006-03-01T12:25:00.000-08:00

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
Deal or No Deal

Here we go again. Another lie. Or rather another half truth. Truthism? How much money can this country borrow before it fails? Ya'll better think of that.

Windy here. Our biggest favorite tree was taken down last week because it had pulled up from the ground and could have fallen. Ninety feet of beautiful fir. It made me very sad.

Zippy has been hiding bones and cookies and biscuits all over the house. I think he thinks it will be a longer winter. He also thinks Pawxatawky Phil is a mock of true instinct. So there you have it. A month later he comments. Philosophy is just a bark away and a month.

I'm glad that I've been publish at an art gallery. It's an essay and you are welcome to take a look.
http://www.swartzentruber.com/13-arts-humanities-liberal-arts.htm

My essay and Cleve Gibson's story are the second and third one. We go to same places it seems like. :)Enjoy the wonderful art.

2006-02-24T19:59:00.000-08:00

Things aren't good. Since 9/11 and everything that has happened sometimes I get depressed about the state of this country. It seems to be getting more and more divided over religion, politics and culture. Maybe I'm just looking for trouble. I hope not. We aren't safer. We aren't liked by a lot of other countries. We don't have a President that is understanding of other points of view. We don't have a Congress or Senate that listens to the middle class. Huge companies are making more money and average people are making less. Housing prices are out of site. The infrastructure of schools, medicine,government programs and law are being eroded by tunnel vision. Three million illegals cross the border and Americans don't want to have PASSPORTS. This country is about a fluid culture that grows with change. Not reverts to the old ways. Change is inevitable and we need to know that. I can't wait for 2008. I ask for a new election now.

See me in prison? Maybe. I sure hope not. This is my free speech and I have the right to say it. I support this country but I don't have to agree with certain policies that are being enacted.

Ã?ƒ‚Ã?‚Ã?Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2006-02-20T22:40:00.000-08:00

WRITER with flash BLOG

I bought a tan coat with faux fur inside; three weeks later I bought a similar coat for Zippy. I didn't know it until I got home. Help! I've gone round the bend.

He's taking his meds like the sweetpie he is. Unfortunately, when it's cold he poops just out side the garage door. As long as we remember to dispose of it . . . All is well. Did you know they have litter boxes for dogs now? Yep and it smells like green grass.

sure makes me wonder when we can't manage our own ports. This is scary -- is that another thing Americans won't do? According to who?

I can't write about it because I am so mad.

2006-02-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

So you think I fell off my podium, eh? Nope. Just been writing lots of other stuff.

Published in Sling Ink -- page 11 Late Again By RD Larson

http://www.slingink.co.uk/magazine/Issue%2002.pdf

So how's that going with Chain-knee? Been reading Geo. WASHINGTON, for a change. "I cannot tell a lie; I cut down the cherry tree."

What have I been doing? Writing, rewriting, going outside and freezing, watching horses run in a green pasture, watching the Olympics, tulips are growing and daffodils have a bud, reading, cooking, oh and best of all, having a romantic Valentine's Day. Hope you did too.

I had some anxious moments this week and it messed with my writing. Now I'm okay. How do you like the Olymics? Great,yeah? But those goofy hats ought be changed. They look like half a baseballe. Makes the head look weird. Who's my fave? Bode and Anton, who else? Kwan, maybe.

Going to see Firewall with Harrison Ford? I might if I can get over my annoyance for marrying Calista Flockheart. I don't even want to try to guess what they talk about. We come from two different worlds.

p

2006-01-31T20:48:00.000-08:00

WRITER with flash BLOG

We get back into the house after a windy, rainy trip to the store. They knock me aside trying to get in. He's got the groceries and I've got the mail. Zippy is in first place.

Zippy Win! By tail wag! He settles into the big green chair by the fire place.

SPOUSE looks at him, and says, "OK, you can be co-Daddy for ten minutes."

I swear to you that dog smiled. Then of course came the petting and the snuggling. Two butts in the Daddy Chair.

Why is this so much like having a kid? Because he is one, sort of, to me.

I'm still laughing.

Tushi-bushi didn't say much but he sure as heck is earnest. I'm glad he didn't see Soylent Green. He'd sure have the answer to the Social Security dilemma.

Flash fiction:

The train tracks, overgrown with weeds and littered with cans and bottles, runs through the middle of town. No civic body can decide what to do with the land. A developer wants a mall, but the Green candidate wants a park. A woman still hangs out her sheets on the days the wind blows. She's there today. Hanging white sheets with clothes pins, one after the other. She's crying slowly and silently. She misses someone. Someone she loves. Someone that has been gone for too long. She always misses him. After all, he grew in her heart when he grew under her heart. She hears a car door slam. But she doesn't look. Not worth it, she thinks, shaking out a pillow case. The back door slams shut from the wind. She turns. It's her soldier son home at last. She still cries but she's got him in her arms again. Just like before. They both hold tight.

2006-01-22T20:03:00.000-08:00

Click here to buy my book.

REVIEW by noted author Cleveland Gibson
Mama tried to raise a lady

Right from the start I related to the high antics RD wrote about. In her book she has captured a way of storytelling which raised more than a smile to my lips. Plenty of funny scenes. Read and see. How on earth can this have happened, but then she was a kid at the time. Sometimes I feel sorry for the ’noodle’ brother who tried to act smart. Well, maybe he succeeds sometimes but I guess not when RD is around.
When a wise guy appears, a person who knows better, she spins out her own solution. Many a time may I say. And RD kept everybody guessing from the edge of their seats.
I pity the grandfather, the policeman. Well, he knows the law but with RD things change and a new family law gets introduced with rewards, mistakes and always entertainment. On a personal side I remember my childhood and lots of things I got up to. Scary things I did. But RD showed us what a little girl running around, adoring the animals with a great mother and father, a 'noodle' brother can do wearing a pink dress. Look for the snake. And Uncle Joe who said nobody could match her imagination.
It is a well-written book, full of interest across all age groups and great when you don’t know what to give as a present. One day I’ll talk to the author to find out about the nostalgia thing. That’s what made the book . And maybe find out if we the readers can look forward to more Mama stories.

Cleveland W. Gibson
autor of
MOONDUST click to cover to buy

2006-01-15T23:33:00.000-08:00

New Year New look so come back and visit me.
A little flash to catch your interest:

The Last Experiment
By
RD Larson

Overall, the last experimental surgery had gone well, Jared thought as he washed his hands, carefully singing the ‘Happy Birthday Song’ two times. As a boy, he had never thought much about dirt or germs. It had impressed him when he heard the Health Director say that washing the hands during the length of singing the song twice assured the most effective way of removing germs from the skin of his hands.

Since graduation, he became more involved in the family business. “Dressing the dead for God,” his father called it. Jared only took the parts that his father or the grieving family members wouldn’t see. Toes mostly. Sometimes a bit of flesh off the buttocks or a slice along the back of the upper arm.

Jared knew God didn’t care if they were complete or not. God only wanted their immutable souls and did not mind his little experiments. All done for good.

Sometimes when tried grafting the toe or flesh to one of his pigs, there would be a horrible infection. He learned to be more careful: to wear latex gloves and to wash.

He went into dinner. Mom had come home from her garden meeting. There were pork chops, spinach, and baked potatoes. When his father drove home from the parlor, they had a quiet meal and sat around watching television. Finally, at nine o’clock, Jared said he was going up to bed.

His mother nodded, patting his arm to say good night as she watched the TV woman chose the handsomest contestant. His father snored guiltless over his adventure book.

They had quit coming upstairs. Good thing, Jared thought. He went into the room he’d turned into a miniature laboratory. The caged pig wasn’t more than a few weeks old. Still the pig dung smelled. He kept the windows open summer and winter. With disinfectant, he cleaned the crate and moved the drugged pig on to a clean bed of newspapers. Jared took its temperature and gave it a shot of antibiotic and a shot of anti-rejection serum.

He felt he was close. The last experiment this afternoon had filled him with such joy and pleasure. Jared felt proud and gifted. Here he was, a simple man, curing a dreaded condition with only his brain and his computer. Knowledge about anything could be found on the Internet. Materials ordered and delivered

When all was ready, he unwound the gauze from around the piglet’s stomach. Then the soft gauze patch that covered the magic and perhaps -- this time -- the miracle. He wiped his glasses and removed the final patch.

Beneath, two living toes and a patch of black skin glowed with life. The human parts thrived on the piglet’s silky skin.

Soon he would patch his own scarred and burned face. He’d found the key at last. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he smiled at what he had called his “re-invention.”

2006-01-14T00:48:00.000-08:00

Political slash: Tushi Bushi made goo-goo eyes at the German PM today. I saw it for myself on TV. He did NOT complement her on her intelligence or negotiating resourcefulness. Bit sexist, I thought. But what do I know?

Fiction flash: I have been seriously working on new "Friends" -- you know the Erle & Stumpy stories. And Carl if you are out there, yes, I wrote another one just for you. I'm learning a lot. It's a much more complicated book than anything else I have written.

Doggie splash: Zippy went with Daddy out to the woods to visit his "spot" but the big flash light made dog shadows against the trees. Off with a bark, Zip goes. He's got arthritis and is taking medicine for it. He looks like a puppy still. Don't you think he does?

Ã?Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

<

2006-01-08T20:28:00.000-08:00

I had a black Lab when I was a teen. His name was Candy, like licorice. He liked bacon best of anything and since I didn't he was my receiver even though he was a darn good retriever too. Of course, sometimes he went to get unwanted things. Items that he hadn't been sent to retrieve. Like when my mother had one of her hen parties -- they played Canasta, Candy thought they were making too much noise. So he brought Mama dead mouse. The ladies packed up and took off. One time when I was at school I looked out the window and Candy was sitting out there with my social studies book. Another time he took my dad's slippers and hid them in my bed. I had been sleepwalking and he was tired of going after me. Candy lived to be a wise old dog. Old enough for me to be married and have a little girl.

So aren't they the cutest?

2006-01-02T16:42:00.000-08:00

Hept-ra runs afoul of the Vizier Akhet, and her loyalty will take her to the depths of a pyramid: R D Larson, The Pharaoh’s Official, part 1; conclusion.

http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue179/pharaohs_official1.html

This has gotten great reviews.

It is the tomb makers, the draftsmen, the craftsmen and the sculptors who built my tomb. I gave them beer and bread. I made them to take an oath that they were satisfied. – These are words from Kay, the priest of Khufu written at the entrance of his tomb.

Friends had whispered their fears about her husband. Was it the truth or only rumor? Hept-ra squeezed her hands together. What could she do? Mket was her husband; she had to save him. If the rumors were true, then Akhet would destroy her husband if he could. Would the old Vizier, grandson of the Pharaoh, listen to his complaints about the Recording Scribe?

Slowly, she went up the stairs to the sleeping porch on top of the mud brick house. Her husband stood gazing off over other houses of the workers. The Great Pyramid stood above them all. She could tell Mket had not slept on his bed pallet.

.

2005-12-28T20:47:00.000-08:00

I've been to London and to Faringdon. I've been to Winsor Castle and Stonehenge.

I've had Christmas.

The Zippy dog got a lamb (dog type toy) for Christmas but he hates it. I'll have to cozy it in my boot so it's got a proper smell to it.
I've written six stories and been whooping it up with friends and family.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-12-15T20:01:00.000-08:00

The Curtain Falls
By
RD Larson

Slowly as the lights came up, the woman in center stage began to move, her arms a white as the necks of swans. Her breasts swung free and her triangle of dark hair gave the viewer pause. From the dusty floor, she rose first to her knees, her hair falling backward over her buttocks as she leaned toward the red velvet curtain that covered backstage.

The black hair glistened like dark wings of a nighthawk. Her eyes stayed closed, hearing some silent music as she swayed rhythmically forward and backward. Then her legs split and she slid backwards, slowly drawing up her knees to make a peak, her thighs meeting in the center to hide her private self.

She bared her teeth as she rolled over and up into a crouch to face the nearly empty theater. Her eyes flew open. Their black depths glared with madness and fear. As she whirled to her feet, she began to spin in slow circles.

The woman spun faster and faster while the man in the heavy coat watched. Twirling as though she were a flame drawn up by a draft, the woman’s hair spun out free. A black wave of wonder that concealed and revealed much. Faster she spun. Faster still.

As the shot rang out, the woman was already falling into the orchestra pit. As she landed her hands reached the piano, and in a single movement fired the .38 straight into the face of her tormentor.

2005-12-04T22:53:00.000-08:00

Sumerian Language, Mesopotamia, Fertile Crescent

There is much to know and learn about Iraq -- when you look at the television and see the war, remember that picture writing was invented in Mesopotamia 7000 years ago. There is an ancient history here and worth great respect.
To learn more go to http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ancient/mesopotamia_gallery.shtml

Boots in Bagdad You will want to read the blog of this brave young soldier. He may be going back. Another view from a soldier we admire and love.

Zippy doggie splash:

I had a bad moment at the market today. A big truck pulled in next to us. Little Zippy checked it out; he wants a truck to ride in. There was a strawberry blond in the driver’s seat. Before I could tell him it was a woman, he decided it was a golden retriever and went bananas. Imagine how red his little face was when she got out and shook a finger at him.

“Your little dog has a big bark. My my,” she told me. Or told me something like that. I had to give him an Altoid to make him forget her. Dang!

READ Lad Moore's blog

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite new and improved

2005-11-29T16:51:00.000-08:00

Mama Tried to Raise a Lady [MultiFormat]
eBook by R. D. Larson

	Regular				Club
You Pay:	$6.50				$5.53

eBook Category: Mainstream
eBook Description: RD Larson was a very special little girl, with a very special Mama. RD was something of a tomboy, but her mama tried to raise a lady. RD believed in angels and even though she was born with a heart ailment, Mama taught her to have faith. Having faith wasn't hard for the little blonde waif whose movie star mama gave up the silver-screen to marry her Pop. Other things were hard though--minding her manners, staying clean, behaving like the "little lady" her mama wanted. RD Larson's "Mama" stories have been popular with magazines, have won awards in contests, and have been making people laugh ever since she started to write them down. A fun family romp from the co-author of Saving Reverend Clayton.

eBook Publisher: ebooksonthe.net, Published: 2000
Fictionwise Release Date: February 2005

2005-11-26T20:26:00.000-08:00

I'd be the first to say Anderson Cooper is innovator and an exciting news reporter. As long as he doesn't color the news with his opinion. He certainly isn't a Talking Head. He does have strong feelings and isn't afraid to show them. Well, then FOX anchors do it so I guess that's right if CNN does it. And if that's what the American public wants. But where is the impartial voices we used to hear? I felt sure Aron Brown would disappear when he got paired too long with Cooper after Katrina. After four years I'd gotten use to him. It's okay. I can change. I just don't want the idea of impartial news reporting to change. I'm worried though. It SEEMS to be changing. Can we be manipulated, coached and shuffled by the media? Yeah, if we don't pay attention.

Zippy hurt his leg and is limping around. I think it's a sprain. Too much football watching, I think. He did well by the turkey. He's so much smarter than we others -- he only eats as much as he needs. He doesn't mind not clearing his plate. I had a dog once who ate walnuts that fell off the tree. He got very wide and very tired.

I also was a kid who ate until I was sick.

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-11-23T23:53:00.000-08:00

So are sitting in your warm place, reading this? Got food? Got TV or a book? Got family that loves you?Llooks to me like you've got a lot to be thankful for. As for me I have so much more than I ever thought I would have ever. I was poor as a kid. It still thrills me to see the big fat turkey and the cranberry sauce. I wish every one a day of reflection on what matters and what needs to be done to make life better. Good luck and Happy Thanksgiving.

Remember to count your blessings.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-11-19T08:30:00.000-08:00

I've been told that the vote and debate in the House of Congress didn't count with regard to pulling the troops out of Vietnam -- er-- Iraq. Well, yes it did because it showed that certain groups (Republican Hawks) would use any means that they could think of to smoke screen the questions and debate of "Why are we in Iraq?" More and more people know it's wrong to have gone there in the first place. Did you watch "The Crusades, the Cresent and the Cross" on the History Channel More
Both Muslims and Christians had bloody exchanges. It was a terrible time. Tushi Bushi must have an IV to his God because he sure is preaching way too much. He's now trying to nudge the Chinese into his opinion. I thought this country was about FREEDOM. Less , I realize, as these last four years drag on, that it's more about somebody trying to make us THINK what they THINK. It's not wrong to witness to others about your religion, but if they don't want to listen, then, don't be a pest. Where the heck do these FUNDAMENTALISTS think they are doing? Read about MURTHA -- He's a real hero and not a sissy. I hate to think of the smear that he's getting and the reasons behind why it is happening. As rights are being eroded, Tushi is out claiming freedom rights for other countries. Who made him our CHEER LEADER for THAT? He's the CommanderINCheese; not the Dahli Llama. What crap he spouts along with his smirks and tired old lines. It will not be pounded in to my mind. Don't be empty vessel with only so-called self-made prophits proselityzing to you. Think about how it would be to be the other person. Work for negotiation and compatibility. Live and let live.

Enough of my soapbox:

Are you ready for Christmas? Me either. Ready for Thanksgiving? Me either. I usually start early, but somehow not this year. Zippy had two hamburger patties from Wendy's a couple of days ago. He's so smart; he ate one and saved the other for later. He's still very protective of me when I'm asleep. But his barking wakes me up. He hears gnats walking on the roof and raises a cry to defend me.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-11-13T22:23:00.000-08:00

tushi bushi is at it again, preacher to choir, speechifying at a base. They can't protest -- the audience would face court marshals as he is the "commanderINcheese." It makes me laugh. Who does he think he's kidding? We're all aware of the blurring of facts by now. We're all aware that he is the dummy on Charlie Chaney's lap. What IS this warhawk attitude? I thought we had the eagle as a mascot. Fuzzy twists on his speech are listed here. If you want to see the spin . . .

Of course, we can't kill all the terrorists, but does he think we can? They'll break our bank with war funds and attacks first. That is the plan, I think. They're giving high fives right now. Another billion dollars spent by the American cowboy! Yippe!

I am so sad about the bombings in Jordan. Those poor people. Wrong, wrong. Fundamentalists of any kind are out. Tunnel vision on this planet is out. We are smashing through space on a blue island. We'd better get along before the Aliens from Mars attack. Seriously, haven't we learned that working together makes the world a better place? Let's do something to help each other, not hate each other. It's wrong and it's not going to help anyone.

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson's Homesite

2005-11-11T16:42:00.000-08:00

Hooray for Veterans everywhere and all who have served and all our brave men and women who are serving now. Just because I've never been FOR the war, and facts now prove that the UN was right -- there were no WMD in Iraq, it does not mean I don't honor our fighting men and women.

I have my own Veteran as you can see above. He's my hero. Nearly 48 years ago he was inducted into the Army at Ft. Carson Colorado and served in the Cold War. Here he is today, still fit in his uniform and handsome as always.

Bless you Veterans, every one. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-11-08T22:21:00.000-08:00

I'm not a Pisces. Yet water is my sign. The good years of my life have been spent in, on , around, or near the Pacific Ocean. The ocean in endless and timeless. It changes constantly. It is fearsome and forceful. Yet it can rock me to sleep and solve my stress problems. From flying kites, to sailing and beach walking there is no other way for me to find the solace I crave, except in context of the ocean.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-11-07T21:09:00.000-08:00

No republic/democracy has lasted for a long time. Why not? Why have we succeeded for so long? Do you know what kind of government our country has? Go here to learn more http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic

Do not neglect your duty and right to vote!

Think we pay a lot of taxes if we're rich? http://www.nationmaster.com/country/us/Taxation

Richest?

Poorest?

It's our country and we are the ones who manage it. So vote. I did and you should also.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.
RDLarson's Home Page

2005-11-06T00:28:00.000-08:00

Fiction Marries Fact

By

RD Larson

"So much lies beneath the surface of all of us, I suppose . . . I suppose."

These are words that I heard a woman say at a cafe as I was sitting at the next table. I began to wonder what secrets she had, what did lay beneath her synthetic self? What had happened to her that only a few people knew about? Things that had broke her heart? Unbelievable agonies, maybe? So vile that it made her go mad? And was she capable of crime? The worst kind of crime? From all this inner dialogue, I wrote a story about a woman who forgave and forgave her beloved. Until the last time.

All of my stories have some truth and some fact. A person turning away, pulling his hat down against the rain is perhaps a start of a story. From another place, perhaps a news story, I'll hear about an environmental cover-up. This became a story of a man who works to rid his town of greed and corruption.

Sometimes a group of writers seems to have something to say; itÂ?s sort of like a cadence of marching with all the writers of that era hearing the same music. Yet also there are those hear flutes and not drums. Still, the story is the essence of a private communication between the writer and the reader. With movies and television the experience is not one-on-one as with the writer and the reader. We do it as a team event when we go to movies or watch television. Listening to the radio seems to be more of a lone person event where the person is receiving only receiving input.

It seems odd to me that many times a cloud of stories fly above the heads of writers everywhere, waiting to be snatched from the air. Which writer is able to grab the story is the torment that we must suffer. Often the first person catching that story will sell it first. Is there only so many stories that can find a place? And what of readers? Do they want the similar stories for a period of time? I believe this is so. It is the time in which we exist and our distance from each other that is irrelevant.

I canÂ?t plan what I want to write because it sort of just comes about from a word or a conversation, even another writer that inspire me to learn more about a subject which then takes its own characters and own story.

Sometimes a moment in my life, such as an illness or an accident will prompt a Â?What ifÂ? question. Every personÂ?s story is important and universal because we all must live our lives.

As a writer my job is to take true events and turn them into a story or a novel that while it is fiction, has a truth about our selves, our families and lives. Every story has -- must have -- a level of communication that the reader can understands and connects with his life.

We enjoy what we know. We want what is familiar and known to us. But as writers and as readers we must be open to growth and to change however small and unimportant it seems. As children we are thrilled to read stories of adventure and excitement. Or stories of other childrenÂ?s lives. Why should anything be different when we are older? To become grounded is limited. To explore, to learn is to grow forward.

In every fact there is a cloud of secret ideas and thoughts and desires waiting to be told. A personal growth of self can improve our lives and lives of others.

Read what you can. Write what you can. But a writer canÂ?t be afraid to coil the facts to make a fictional story come to life. The reader must suspend his own reality for the writerÂ?s imagination for just a few hours. Both must try to grasp what is beyond the apparent and obvious. Look for that in your life, your travels and in your books.

Reading is a agreement between the writer and the reader. A contract, if you will, of offerings and expectations.

DonÂ?t give up easily in challenging yourself. Take a chance to read a story that you would not ordinarily read or write a story that you would not usually write. For who knows when that cloud of stories will reveal a secret that only you can understand. As a writer, I am a mirror to you and we have a contract. My contract is to show you my vulnerability and my strength. Your contract is to be receptive and to give the story a change to develop and to enrich your own life.
Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.
href="http://www.RDLarson.com">RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-11-03T18:18:00.000-08:00

That's me in the doggie doctor shirt.

Okay, I admit it. I got dressed up for Halloween. So what? Quit laughing! Stop that! I was a Jack Big Head. I wasn't as big as some Jack Heads. But my head was hand-crapted and handily painted. I also gave me big juicy lips and curly lashes. I smoozed with a big-footed clown, hugged pervert Jack Head and chatted with a gorgeous ski bunny Jack Head. I ate and talked with a black cat and a diva from far away India. I drank little and ate little. But I had a really good time. Halloween IS too for grown-ups. Go fly a kite, Bill Mahr!

So didya read my story at www.footstepstooxford.com YET?

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-11-01T12:30:00.000-08:00

REVOLUTION! Go, Democrats! Enough of the Empire! Enough of the lies! Enough of cronyism and religious intolerance! Enough of the Republican's Government Failures! Enough of War!

Write your senators and your congressmen! Tell your neighbors and your friends! We have been spend billions when it wasn't necessary. Value our Service Men and Women, but let's bring them home.

We can't let our country fall into complete chaos and debt, run by a handful of people who say "it's for our people" beause WE ARE THE PEOPLE AND WE ARE THE GOVERNMENT!

New choice all wrong? We should investigate this!

Congress Email Directory Here's where you can write to your representatives. Do so today.

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-10-30T17:00:00.000-08:00

2005-10-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

Harriet will no longer be Blinged by me. Gone. (sort of) um -- Good.

It has been a rather good day. Newsworthy.

More stuff. I don't know how accurate this is but it makes great reading http://www.alexconstantine.50megs.com/home.html

So what do you think will happen next? I bet there's a score of books being planned this very minute. But not by me.

I have a bad photo Zippy in his Halloween Costume. I will try for a better one but he's camera shy.

I was a popcorn box last year. Inventive, huh? And not scary.

Soon. . . . soon. . . my scary Halloween page link.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-10-25T18:39:00.000-07:00

Do you know how to treat an assistance dog and its human companion? Here's an article to help.

http://www.vetmed.wsu.edu/ClientED/service.asp

To learn more about assistance dogs, go to http://www.adionline.org/
to learn about Assistance Dogs International.

I'm Zippy's assistance companion; when he can't jump up I give him a lift. It's hard sometimes to jump up three times your height.

Â© 2005 by RD Larson
May not be used without permission of the author.

RDLarson'sHomesite

2005-10-21T22:12:00.000-07:00

Looks like Tushi Bushi is getting all heated up. First the Toid Blossom don't smell so good. And Oh-de-lay-la-delay-de-la is in court, crying foul. And of course there's Harriet.
More at http://mediamatters.org/items/200510210002

And where is Wary Kerry? If he'd been elected, would he be so silent now? Howard HardeeHarHar is still worried bad press will bite him again. It isn't over -- court report. More at http://www.zwire.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=15418999&BRD=1675&PAG=461&dept_id=18168&rfi=6

Tell me, do you think a video camera is on you every day and every night? No. Well, then you are not a celebrity or a politician. But if you drive or go to malls or to the Post Office, you may be on TV. As they(who?) say, if you're not guilty what have you got to worry about?

Zippy smiles sometimes. He pokes his nose up in the air and just grins at me. He's a good dog, you know -- my dog companion. He's not exactly Puffy Combs but he likes his football sweatshirt. His hair is so short that he gets cold. Then of course there are doggie fashions -- LOOK here

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-17T15:56:00.000-07:00

Geoffrey Fox Literature & Society

Sometimes I just know that my writing scampers by as entertainment. Sometimes I don't.

Read Geof Fox. Often. He's articulate, humane, and sensitive. You could learn something about yourself and about what we all have in common. He's the "real deal." Even his fiction is coherent and cognizant of life. We should be thankful that his blog is there for us. He is reason and power in words

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-15T23:07:00.000-07:00

The Interview

Your Pet's Name:Zippy

Gender: Male

Breed: Chew-wiener - dachshund & Chihuahua

Weight: 12 lb

Color/Eye Color: black and tan, black eyes

Special Markings: Zippy isbow-legged. In another life he played the violin, thinking it was cello.

Date of Birth [or approximate age, if not known]: 7 years and we gave him September 3 as a birthday.

Siblings or other pets in your household: 2 older human sibs not at home and of course, the fictional giggly party girl Floozy (see above)(next to Zippy)

Human Roommates: parents Hubby and RD

How did you acquire your pet? K-Mart parking lot

What is your pet'?s favorite food? Ice cream -- he gets it down at the dock from the ice cream diner. Little Caesar meals when he watches HBO's Rome

Favorite pastime or activity?
Zippy loves laying in the sun and picking fights with bigger dogs. He also forces me to walk and walk. He coaches me when I use the treadmill. Of course, he snacks on a dog cookie while he does this. Unfair! He never gains an ounce.

Favorite person? me always me

Favorite sibling or other pet? Daddy

Favorite holiday? Halloween; then April Fool's Day

What is the funniest thing your pet has ever done?
He hates snails and toadstools. In his travels he makes detours around them. Once in a great while he misses and steps on a snail. Yucky POO! He cries and hops on three legs too.

How does your pet communicate with you?

Growls, hums, barks, stares,tail wags fast or slow, leads by example, shows, sniffs, uses tools to indicate preferences, like getting coat to go for a ride, and his most tender for of communication is that he rubs heads with friends and family.

Do you have any nicknames for your pet? sweetiepie, f*rtburger, smoochie

Has your pet ever given you a reality check? A life lesson, or moment of truth? If so, what did you learn?

I learned from Zippy that animals deserve to have more rights -- if he doesn't want to be touched I respect that. If he's cranky, I try to cheer him up. When he watches scary television he gets under the blanket so we don't watch horror movies together in the same room any more. He thinks i's bad for me so I don't watch too often. He makes me feel wanted because he always suspects people of trying to kidnap me. He knows I don't shake hands because I'm a writer and barks when people try to shake hands or hug me unless I tell him it's "Okay." He sits in my office with me in his own office chair and helps me to write. He's my muse

Finally tell me something about you:

I have had a dog for all of my life except for the two years after Max, my Yorkie, died at 15. I still miss him.

Anything else you'd like to add? Thanks for asking the questions, Tanya Vece.

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-12T22:43:00.000-07:00

Why aren't you angry? The Constitution says "separation of Church and State." What is this man doing? He has brought up the religion of Harriet more than once. Her religion shouldn't matter in her judgements. He must be worried about it to keep bringing it up. Jan LaRule, chief council at Concerned Women for America, doesn't think it's right. If you want to know more, read this article in USATODA Y

For every person that believes in freedom of religion, freedom of speech, separation of Church and State, the Constitution, and the very freedoms that makes a melting pot of ideas and cultures there has to be some responsibility. Don't just sit there. Write your Congress, your Senate and your President.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-11T22:31:00.000-07:00

*This is a thoroughly entertaining book which I enjoyed for the strangest reasons. I knew from the title something was ‘a foot’ with Rev Clayton and I guessed it might be money for church funds. I was half-correct. But the writers Larson and Ulmer didn’t leave it like that; they dug deep and built in interest, sympathy and, best of all, a character. Reverend Clayton. As a reader wait till you get introduced to him. Every turn of the page brings adventure with the hint of more to come. I kept wondering what would happen next. Something always did. All the time. And that’s good for me because I like to be entertained. At the end of the book I couldn’t help but wish for a sequel. I think this is a great one which can be passed around family and friends to enjoy. Pity it wasn’t chapter one in the start of a novel. I shall write and say so to the authors.

Cleveland W. Gibson

Click on titleto read an execerpt and to order. Multiple formats for ebooks.

Saving Reverend Clayton

Political Slash:
Coach Coats for Harriet -- who is he?

If Zippy gets married will she be Mizzez Zippy? And what kind of marriage state would that be?

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-10T11:55:00.000-07:00

MORE On HARRIET

Do you live in the UK? Want to get one of my stories? If you like science fiction, a bit of romance, and danger, this is a story you can have in you pocket, on your cell phone for only 50p each part. Well-received by readers who are asking for more, Void has gotten rave reviews.

Published AGAIN a new sci-fi to cell phone at

http://www.kwickee.com/kwickee.asp?kwid=15421 VOID Part 1

http://www.kwickee.com/kwickee.asp?kwid=15418 VOID Part 2

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-09T14:34:00.000-07:00

Harriet Meirs NPR

Conservative?

Liberal?

Writings

Doesn't anybody think its wrong to people the government with YOUR OWN PEOPLE? How can you have diverse opinions to consider if everyone is your "friend and close associate"?

nepotism

nepotism was Word of the Day on April 8, 2001.

Source: Dictionary.com Word of the Day

nepotism

n : favoritism shown to relatives or close friends by those in power (as by giving them jobs)

Today, write one paragraph about the season, Fall or Halloween. Be descriptive. Be concise. Be open. (That's the hard one!)

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-06T21:08:00.000-07:00

Slash politics:

Tushi Bushi finally gave it a name today. And it's scary. So this is religious war because here's what he said:

And while the killers choose their victims indiscriminately, their attacks serve a clear and focused ideology, a set of beliefs and goals that are evil but not insane.

Some call this evil Islamic radicalism. Others militant jihadism.

Still, others Islamo-fascism.

Whatever it's called, this ideology is very different from the religion of Islam. This form of radicalism exploits Islam to serve a violent political vision: the establishment, by terrorism and subversion and insurgency, of a totalitarian empire that denies all political and religious freedom.

My deal is what if this pits the radical far right conservatives against the "evil Islamic Radicals" where does that leave the rest of us? Some of the middle east countries won't be able to be come "democratic" in the sense that the US is. And who says we should MAKE them? Here's Roberts attributing Hurricane Rita to Ellen while these insurgents (extremists?) are trying to kill their election and/or opponents. Read about Islamic Extremists here.
Read about Christian extremists here.

We like to think we're tolerant. But can we afford to be tolerant of behavior that destroys the unity of our country? Let's think on that.

Flash fiction: You can buy my book, Evil Angel, at Amazon.com and maybe it's on sale. suspense thriller set in Aspen; adult language and theme.

Splash doggie: I got Zippy a Halloween Costume and I'll post a pic of him when it's closer to the time of Halloween. Meantime, I am working on a scary webpage for all of you to use as a card to send your friends. Zippy sez, "Wundervoller Spaß! ¡Amo Halloween! Será diversión!"

Whadda ya expect from a little chow-weiner, eh?

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-05T22:17:00.000-07:00

One of my adult stories in Scrivener's Pen.

Only That One Place
adult language and theme

A heart could break from waiting too long

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

Order Now at Fictionwise: Mama Tried to Raise a Lady

Accolades for Mama

I got my copy of Mama Stories over a week ago. every time I open my drawer to get my lingerie, I laugh, thinking of Mamma's fairy slip. I'm up to chapter 8 and believe me when I way that the Padre in 7 greatly resembles the minister that tried to convert my folks and us kids when we were pre-teenagers. Your stories are fabulous!!!! I use them (along with my peanut butter pretzels) as a lift for my spirits, one each day after listening to the awful, depressing news. Did your mom ever have a mangler? Mine did. And she too, popped buttons and managed to occasionally mangle one of dad's shirt collars. Ruth Weidig

Press Release
November 1, 2004

Mama Tried to Raise a Lady:
by RD Larson
Published by Peach Blossom Publications and www.ebooksonthe.net
ISBN #0-914367-35-5

Submitted By Arts Editor Pamela Faye

‘Pop said his list was longer than the Pope's dress.’ From historic fiction the author RD Larson takes the reader to another era in time when country life meandered through the toils of old, forever lifting humor from the tireless tasks of the 20th century. In those days ‘Mama Tried to Raise a Lady’ … but “Baby” loved to roll in the dust with the Labrador while she imitated his scratching at fleas.

This Puget Sound author RD Larson tells a humorous tale to enthrall the imagination of all with: “I ran straight at old Billy… and Pop grabbed the rope, bull-dogging the errant goat amid hoots of laughter from the guests.”

‘Mama Tried to Raise a Lady’ will have anthology lovers seeking RD Larson’s book of short stories, only one of many by the Washington author. Amazon delivers the anthology book worldwide, from Be Write Publishing.

RD Larson’s talent for multi genre works carries through endless short stories from the author. In “Original Sin: The Seven Deadlies Come Home to Roost”, Myra was addicted to men and parties. “Malaise” one of the anthology stories from within ‘Original Sin’ was recently released through Paper Journey Press, North Carolina.

From West to East the author RD Larson is making a name for herself as a prolific writer.

For movie producers RD Larson is the author of the suspense thriller “Evil Angel”, now adapted to screenplay, and presently being delivered to movie producers as a future film production to chill the blood of movie buffs around the world. This Thriller is the story about a heavenly face with the heart of an Evil Angel. She is the beauty Terri who, “When her husband walks out on her insane jealousies and fantasies, the Evil Angel becomes real to Terri – materializing to guide her on a path of manic violence and death.”

Co-author with Louise Ulmer, RD Larson also delivers to readers, “Saving Reverend Clayton”. Through the storytelling of this novel, the gates of hell open with a searing fire igniting in the Methodist church while Myra Baynes attempts to save Reverend Wallace Ward Clayton.

RD Larson leaps from the purity of the Methodist Minister to the wages of sin, to a saucy June File, a hooker-- the client of a private eye. The characters created for “Sloppy Seconds” are as fast and loose with the law as they are with the English language. In “Sloppy Seconds” RD Larson’s creative talents take the reader on a hilarious romp through “Marion Riles ‘Soft-boiled detective stories’.”

The silly season is not to be forgotten by the author RD Larson. “Christmas at Red Dog Road” won the Washington author first prize in a short story anthology to be released from Ebooksonthe.net in the fall. “The Christmas Card” is another of RD’s joyous tales of Yule Tide.

In the anthology soon to be released “Mama Tried to Raise a Lady” the action becomes fast paced when Mama cries that Pop, “was meaner than cat manure and twice as nasty. She pitched another plate. It didn't break, just rolled around on the floor ending in a clatter. She'd woke the dead again! Pop blew up then! … "I'll be back when I've cooled off!" The back door slammed and, seconds later, I heard the old pickup roar down the driveway. I stayed where I was, safe under the table; after all, it wasn't my fight.” From days of old emerge timeless tales.

With this abundance of talent, RD Larson has a brilliant future as an author whose literary works will be long sought after by readers around the world.

Submitted By
Pamela Faye

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-10-01T23:56:00.000-07:00

Politics
John Roberts needs to have a talk with himself.

All the death and despair this year, in Iraq and in the path of Katrina, I'm very sad. It has not been so good in my life but compared to what these folks have had happen to them, I am lucky.

Review: Go see The Constant Gardener if you like thriller/action films. excellent. Makes me wonder about Big Business, Big pharmaceuticals Companies and Big Government.

petsMaybe people love their pets so much because people don't seem to express feeling, real feelings, the way a pet does. I don't know if people are as willing to commit for as long as they once did, not even family members. Or maybe they're too self-involved. I have always tried to keep in touch with my family, even when I was young and poor. Always called and wrote. I once met a woman who lost track of her son after he moved to Texas. At the time I was in shock. I asked her, "Did you call the police? Call his friends?" She simply looked at me and said "Someday you'll understand. They growup and go away. That's the end of it. The end of motherhood. That's when they forget you."

Anyway, Zippy is a good doggie. He just fell off the chair so he's pretty crabby right now and is getting a treat. But that's what happens when little dogs try to jump from chair to chair. He's okay thank goodness.

Oh well, good Saturday Night to you, my kind readers, one and all, and thank you for reading all my stories and buying my books and all that you do for me. And I mean it. So don't laugh

2005-09-29T22:45:00.000-07:00

A free read! At Kwickee on the web

Go here NOW!

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if enemy planes flew into your sky? What if your country was at war? What if there were all kinds of fear that you had? How would you cope? Read the first part of a story that I wrote about the first day of the Battle of Britian in August 1940.

The Red Pail
By
RD Larson

Date: 14th/15th August 1940 

Alice carefully closed the front door of the cottage. The morning warmed with the fog just now lifting off the beach. Her legs felt tingly, tired even. She had to walk for the baby. Instinctively she placed her hand on her distended stomach as the baby moved. Alice began her walk to the beach. Her husband Neil was away so much and the War seemed nonstop. Yet the baby renewed her hope.

2005-09-27T12:54:00.000-07:00

Political Slash:
Well, now Tushi Bushi is going to every MILITARY place (SEVEN TIMES now) he can to show how he cares and how itÂ?s better now. Too bad, he keeps going to MILITARY places but he knows he is Master and Commander of this side of the world. Those grunts who oppose him could be court marshaled. What ever happened to the soldier who complained about the lack of equipment in IRAQ?

Fiction Flash: (sort of)

FLOOZY says, "If you're going to eat smelly food, don't come near me and expect a kiss!"

Doggie Splash:
YaÂ? know what? No matter how tired, sick, or bad I am. My dog Zippy loves me. HeÂ?s not to crazy about anyone else, but thatÂ?s okay Â?cause he loves me. He may be bad-tempered and snarly with anyone else. Just never with me. He rubs his head on me and I pet him. Then we both feel better. ItÂ?s sort of like the RE-LOAD BUTTON on the browser.

C U L8R. Come again.

Â© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-09-25T20:24:00.000-07:00

Floozy goes out with Tom to see an old film, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
She wears her fur vest. After the movie, they go for a drink at The Alley Cat. As Tom leans near to kiss her, her eyes squint and her fine nostrils flare.

A NEW CELL PHONE STORY!!! FREE! Read part 1 online

THE RED PAIL Part 1 Click HERE

or paste this in your browser http://www.kwickee.com/kwickee.asp?kwid=15456

or To start getting stories on your cell phone simply text the word Hi to 83238.

Some Kwickees are free. For others there is a charge. The cost will be clearly displayed and you will always have the choice to buy them or not. Most paid-for Kwickees cost ONLY 50p. Available in UK.

www.kwickee.com

Lots of free stories articles and sports and how to do articles.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-09-24T15:25:00.000-07:00

Floozy has a special fashion look about her. Fluffy and fuzzy is very in this fall. Floozy's high heels are made of black leather with tiny rinestones in the heel. Her rings (on her tail) are very spectacular. They were a gift from her mother. Floozy is a single gal living in a small midwest town. She waits tables at the Mouse House Diner. And she has a sometimes boyfriend called Tom.

Weight is a non-issue for Floozy. She doesn't care about "the norm" because her middle name is "unique." She does her darnest to live up to that name.

This is to introduce you to Floozy so that when she shows up in following blogs you can CATch up on her dramatic love life.

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-09-18T11:18:00.000-07:00

Published AGAIN a new sci-fi storie to suck into your cell phone at Kwickee.com

http://www.kwickee.com/kwickee.asp?kwid=15421

VOID Part 1

http://www.kwickee.com/kwickee.asp?kwid=15418

VOID Part 2

Many other stories and articles at Kwickee -- just text the number and the story number. Easy!

To read free stories go to Footsteps to Oxford
Click the CONTENTS and there's free stories I wrote.

To find out how to get my books go to my website www.RDLarson.com

© RD Larson 2005
May not be used without permission of the author.

2005-09-16T14:15:00.001-07:00

Repeat of a favorite:

Zippy and Half-Blood Princess
By
RD Larson

Did I mention that Zippy is a true American? He’s from all kinds of places. Who knows anymore from where his ancestors emigrated? Mostly, we’ve heard that he’s got roots in Germany and Mexico. That makes him Chowwa-Weiner.

Zippy, asleep in the back seat of my car with the windows open , was enjoying a nice little breeze off the water. I couldn’t see him until I opened the door. Blinded by the shocking sunlight, I blinked. Fast as he is, he leapt to the seat I was trying to sit. Gawking around me he noticed a man walking his dog up the street right by the car.

He went crazy. Bananas! Bonzo! Wild! Zippy met another woman this weekend. A Chowwa-Pug in town from the BIG City was strolling our little street.

“No, Princess. No.” The man dropped his elastic lead in panic as the darling little miss ran for the open door. Like an eel and not a husky pug, she jumped into the seat - - MY SEAT -- Zippy, of course, exchanged numbers, aliases and previous entanglements with her in a few blistering doggie seconds. Her man companion felt I wanted her to come with me and although we both tried to get her out of the car, it was in vain.

Since it was a warm day, we took our doggies for a walk to the ICE CREAM spot where they shared a vanilla cone and we two humans had our own cones. I had a mocha almond fudge and he had a strawberry. As we sat on a nearby bench we talked about our beloved pets. The dogs smelled and nuzzled. I have to admit I was a bit taken back when he gave Princess loving doggie kisses.

Feeling green, I swallowed the end of my cone. IMMEDIATELY, two little buggy eyes turned to look at me, as if to say, “Mom, YOU ate my cone tip? That’s the best part!”

I felt so bad that I took him up on my lap. The man took Princess and went home to his life in the city. Of course, I had to have another cone so Zippy could have the tip. A generous tip of a vanilla cone. Not my favorite.

© by RD Larson 2005

2005-09-12T08:08:00.000-07:00

Today is important to me. Years ago when I had my first eBook published by Bookmice, and then www.BeWrite.net published Evil Angel, and www.ebooksonthe.ne t published Mama Tried to Raise a Lady, I have been longing for this day. I want people to have something to read when they want it. Not a big long 700 page novel, but something entertaining and interesting.

A story that's easy to get.
A story you can put in your pocket.
A story that I wrote.

Today is the day I wanted.

I have just had my young adult (really for anyone over 12) published Kwickee in the UK. The story is a suspense about two girls who go to an old woman's house to try on Halloween dresses. The scary things that happen to them in the attic make an exciting and fun story.

How can you put this story in your pocket?

And can you get it whenever you want? Yes and yes!

It's delivered to your mobile phone in three parts. And it's only 50p UK . I can't tell you how excited I am.

Costume
By
RD Larson

Costume Part 1

Costume Part 2

Costume Part 3

Note: This service is only available in the UK.

© by RD Larson 2005

2005-09-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

READ Hillary Kay Toucey's account of her fear, strength, humor and grace during the Hurricane Katrina. A wife, mother and excellent writer, Hillary is found at Footsteps to Oxford.
http://www.footstepstooxford.co.uk/

I promise you that this woman is a writer you should read. And comfort. These people caught by the likes of Katrina deserve our love and support, every single one of them. Support with funds and more.

© by RD Larson 2005

2005-09-06T13:26:00.000-07:00

Tushi Bushi and his Stepforward are so kindly acting the part of the beneficent royals to the Katrina victims that I'm gagging. This dude kept reading to kids after reports on 9/11 so I'm wondering how many report did he get about the people in the Superdome? He cut short his vacation on TUESDAY. Jamie McIntyre asked old Rumy straight away today at the newsconference why couldn't helicopters drop water and food at the Superdome/Convention Center? The darling old BS artist said with a clear brow that the few helicopters available were saving people from the flood waters. So who do you think will take the fall for the Tushi & Company in the next few days? My bet is on FEMA Director and NO Mayor and LA Gov'nor. Did you hear the pain in Nagin's voice when he asked for help? Today Gen-of-Press-OPs said the Federal Government could not come in until asked. WHAT? Well, gol-a-muddy, they were asking. Duh! I actually heard them say, "We saw it on the news then we realyzed there was a problem." By the time it was on the news (CNN, FOX) there were people in bad shape. Try this on. It's 90 degrees and 80% humidity and you're surround by water and enclosed with thousands of other sweaty hot tired scared people and you can't get a drink of water, something to eat or go to the bathroom? This is a crime of huge preportions and I hope lots of people see that something has to change

Thinking of Bush: Christian Science Monitor

Time Line of Hurricane Events from The New York Times.

Airlift from Texas on hold as tide of refugees slows

© by RD Larson 2005

2005-09-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

2005-09-02T14:33:00.000-07:00

I remember going to New Orleans and the joy the people there had. Laughing and eating, rich and poor, together, black and white and people from Nebraska. Some locals -- some tourists. I had a wonderful time. We do need a hero. I kept saying, "The idiots. Why don't they airdrop pallets of water and MREs? This is crazy. Those people are in bad shape." It's like the ones in charge never heard of night vision goggles, or tanks or helicopters or amphibious vehicles such as the Gama Goat. And the people that took food, water, and clothes? Those stores were ruined anyway. I don't blame them for some of the looting. I saw one woman clutching a baby and carrying away disposable diapers. And people who are desperate will drink and fight when they feel that only death without honor is in their future.There were things that happened that could have been prevented. I kept thinking what if was my old Mama, dead in a wheelchair, with the blanket I gave her, thrown over her dead head, what if? what if? Such a sight I will remember forever. I don't believe we should be disrespectful of anyone, living or dead, but what else could the victims do? There is "big" concern and efforts today, thanks to media coverage, but we all know it should have happened the NEXT day after Katrina struck, as the levees were failing. (What happened to the money that had been earmarked to shore up those levees?) Shame on those public and elected officials who wrote off the people who didn't evacuate. Some people don't have cars or means to go elsewhere. It costs money or credit cards. I can't believe they didn't try to bus them to safety or something before such a catastrophe. It's like I've woke up in a third world country. These are my people; help them because you are my elected government.

I have helped and I will do more. But you are right, my dear friend, where are the leaders, the American Heros, like our founding fathers? This is no time for politics. Action should have occurred sooner.

© all work copywritten by RD Larson 2005

2005-09-01T21:41:00.000-07:00

The dire events in the storm-ravaged states and especially New Orleans are so horrible and so awful that words fail me. My heart is breaking for those people. A colleague lived through Katrina and wrote about it. She's a wonderful writer and a good person.
Here is a link to Footsteps To Oxford:

The Diary of a Louisiana Housewife Hilary Kay Toucey
http://www.footstepstooxford.com/
Read her diary and the subsequent events of the hurricane Katrina and her family's struggle.

She knows she is lucky and blessed. I want send her and all those folks down there a big hug and all the help we can give you. I hope things get better fast fast fast.

Some emergency systems have or are failing -- we want to know why.