Archive for Military
October 27, 2008 at 10:20 am · Filed under Military, Navy, People, Short Fiction, Writing
The men of Division 012 were incredibly cold and even more tired as they stood in formation outside of Galley 928, the Navy’s largest dining facility anywhere. They were in week four of their training and still weren’t used to the icy cold wind that seemed never to cease flowing in their direction from the Great Lakes, a present for the men from Mother Nature. But despite the harsh climate they would be going nowhere anytime soon.
One man was missing from formation and Chief Price was beyond livid. The head RDC of Division 012 marched up and down the ranks of his recruit division, counting heads and trying very hard to determine which man was missing from formation. According to the count, he was down one man but for the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on the recruit’s name.
“Why am I counting you bugs at minus one? Which one of your sorry ass shipmates is missing from my formation?” The recruits were silent. “You mean to tell me that out of the entire lot of you, not one man can come forward and tell me who is missing?” Heads swiveled amongst the men as they too tried to determine who was missing, and yet not a single one spoke up. This infuriated BMC Price. “Half right, face! Drop!”
The men let out a pained sigh for they knew very well what that order meant. They were about to be cycled. This typically meant that they would be cycled through a series of pushups, sit-ups, and eight-count body builders until the lesson being taught by the RDC who gave the order to drop had been given ample time to “sink in.” On that morning Chief Price intended to cycle his recruits either until they were all doing pushups in pools of their own vomit, or until his missing man was found.
“Michaels! Front and center.”
“Aye, aye, Chief!” Hunter rose back up to stand at attention while the rest of the division waited with arms fully extended, bearing most of their body weight. This was known around RTC as waiting in the “ready position.” Chief Price was shaking his head in disgust.
“Michaels. You’re being given the opportunity to rescue a shipmate who is in bad, bad trouble. As far as we know, he has fallen overboard. While I take muster you are to go back into the galley and attempt to locate our missing man.” The RDC pulled a list of names from out of a folder that he always carried with him, and then slowly and deliberately began to slide a ballpoint pen from out of his breast pocket. “What in the fuck are you waiting for, recruit? I’m halfway finished here already. If I can identify our missing man before you locate him I’m going to nominate the entire division to attend Extra Military Instruction tonight. How would you feel about that, Seaman Recruit Michaels?”
But before BMC Price could finish his sentence Hunter had already executed a perfect about face and marched straight back into the galley. The harsh nature of Chief Price’s behavior towards his men was offset, if only momentarily, by an honest smile. He was beginning to like Seaman Recruit Michaels. Of course this was a condition that rarely lasted very long, and he knew it. Chief Price turned back to his men, who were still waiting in the ready position, and began to take muster.
Hunter all but ran back into the galley. For the first time since his arrival at RTC he was thankful that his division’s berthing happened to be the farthest from the galley of them all. This meant that most of the rest of the galley’s patrons, all recruits like himself, had already finished their meals, formed up outside, and marched off to begin their daily instruction. Only three divisions remained, and most of their personnel were sitting on the far end of the eatery.
Michaels spotted his missing man almost immediately, slumped over his tray and sound asleep. It was the cowboy who had caused the division some considerable pain just two weeks prior by answering a question for which the RDC wanted no response. Hunter wondered for a moment if this kid from Montana even knew what a rhetorical question was. Snapping back to the present moment, Michaels realized that he was running out of time. He grabbed the cowboy by the shoulder and gave him a stiff shake.
“What the hell?” The cowboy was clearly shocked to find himself face down in his waffle, and all by himself to boot.
“Wake the hell up! The rest of the division is waiting outside. Chief Price is pissed. He’s talking about sending the entire division to EMI tonight, and all because you’re not in formation.”
“What?” The kid was still a bit groggy, not entirely awake.
“Damn it all! Stand up and lets go!” Hunter was growing impatient.
“What about my tray?”
“Forget that fucking tray or you’ll find yourself on the division shit list. Let’s go!” Hunter tugged on the man’s shoulder to impart upon him a sense of urgency, but the cowboy tugged back, clearly unhappy about being touched by another recruit.
“Get your fucking hands off of me, buddy. I don’t like to be touched.”
“Get off your ass and let’s move, buddy. We, meaning the rest of the division and I, don’t like being fucked over for your stupidity. You’re about to put the rest of us into some serious shit, and I’m getting the impression that you don’t really give a flying fuck. Is that about right?”
“Fuck you.” The cowboy shoved Michaels back, not quite to the ground, but with enough force to get the point across. Here was a young man who was used to telling folks the way things were. He wasn’t about to let Hunter, who was nothing more than some city slicker punk as far as he was concerned, play the role of RDC with him. They were both recruits after all.
“Listen up, ass hole. Clearly you think you’re something special. But if you think getting physical with me is a good way to display your cup size, you better think again.” Hunter grabbed the cowboy by the back of his shirt, a hand for each shoulder. With teeth clenched tight, he yanked that cowboy straight up out of his chair.
The cowboy from Montana was clearly not happy about this. He swung around with a haymaker that would have caused any trained fighter to burst into laughter. Hunter easily ducked under it, using the momentum and body weight of his assailant to launch him into the table behind them, scattering the chairs. This action caused a bit of noise, as one might expect, and suddenly every eye in the building was on Hunter and the cowboy. They were circling each other, preparing to engage in serious combat.
“You fucked up, city boy.” With that the kid from Montana grabbed a chair and reeled back as if he intended to knock Hunter’s head off at the waist. But for some reason he couldn’t swing the chair forward.
“What the fuck were you planning to do with this chair, recruit?” BMC Price had a firm grip on the chair. Seeing this caused the cowboy to let go and snap to attention. Hunter was already there. “Looks like you two have some EMI in you futures.”
JMK
Buy me coffee!
Sphere: Related Content
October 14, 2008 at 4:14 am · Filed under Military, Navy, People, Short Fiction, Writing
On Sundays, the rumor went, recruits were granted a day of relative freedom. Ricky Sunday it was called, which of course was Navy slang for Recruit Sunday. But again, this was just a rumor as far as the men of Division 012 were concerned. They’d been at RTC for three weeks and hadn’t been given a minute of free time that wasn’t carefully planned out for them. Fingers were crossed as Chief Price’s men, or “Soup Sandwiches” as he liked to call them, heaved out and triced up for their third Sunday in Illinois.
They hadn’t even been awake for twenty minutes before their friendly Division Chief shattered all hopes of freedom for the day. As he crashed through the door at the rear of the compartment, every last man snapped to attention at General Quarters. At RTC this just meant that they were back in their neat little lines down port and starboard sides. Chief Price Wasted no time, “Forward IG, now.”
The men rushed to the front of the compartment, each finding their predesignated spot on the tile and sitting cross-legged, and yet somehow still at attention. They sat in neat rows, just before a table that the RDCs used as a desk when teaching new skills to the division. On top of the table was a special platform that would allow the RDCs to swing its surface up to a forty-five degree angle and thereby allow the seated recruits to better see what they were doing.
“Somebody from the back row run and get me their perfectly folded blanket.” BMC Price was going to teach them something all right. But Seaman Recruit Hunter Michaels was pretty sure that there was no such thing as a perfectly folded blanket. He was also fairly certain that whichever recruit had been unlucky enough to fetch his blanket was about to find that out. A hand shot over the top of the heads of the seated young men, yielding a wool blanket. Chief Price quickly snatched it up.
“Recruit, what the fuck is this? I said to get me your blanket, this looks like a pile of dog shit.”
“What Chief?” The response came from a clearly perplexed young man, the next to serve as victim of the Chief.
“What Chief? This chief, asshole! Is there any other Chief in this room? Do we really need to have another discussion about paying attention to detail?”
“No Chief.” Fear encompassed the young man’s response like dark in a cave. Chief Price, upon spotting the weakness that made itself evident on the young recruit’s wavering voice, flew off the handle.
“Drop! Now you’re telling me that I’m not a Chief? What are you waiting for? You can begin.” And with that the recruit began pushing. “Anybody else want to tell me that I’m not a Chief?”
BMC Price looked out at his audience-now completely captive-and released a small, but noticeable grin. His men were genuinely afraid of him, and he liked it that way. He was a skinny man, not very physically imposing. His thick Navy mustache made him look a bit scarier than he really was, but for the most part the man was a stick. It had taken him weeks of training to master the intimidation factor necessary for any hopeful RDC. Now he had the box next to ‘Scaring the hell out of the recruits.’ checked off on his resume for sure.
Originally, Hunter hadn’t been impressed with the Chief at all. He had mistaken the man’s wiry frame for laziness with his naive young man’s expectation for all military leadership to be “buff.” He had grown up watching General Swartzkoff on the television, a man with the visage of the Titanic riding atop an A1-Abrams tank. At least, that’s what Hunter had always thought of him.
But then, the General wasn’t a Sailor, and here Hunter found himself at the Navy’s Recruit Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois. Why he had gone and joined the Navy rather than the Army was still a mystery to him. Perhaps he had simply watched Tora! Tora! Tora! one too many times as a child. All he knew for sure was that he wanted to work in intelligence, but many people had told him that this was ultimately up to the Navy.
By entering as an undesignated seaman recruit, he had guaranteed himself an even shot at making it to the intelligence community. The problem was that he also had an even shot at becoming every other job in the Navy, and many of those he knew flat out that he would not like. He wasn’t a wrench turning kind of guy. This isn’t to say that he didn’t like hard work. When asked to do so he would “put out” at exhausting levels doing some of the dirtiest work that could be found. But if you were to ask him if he felt more at home behind a wrench or a computer, he’d pick the silicon every time.
“Seaman Recruit Michaels, would you care to repeat what the fuck I just said?” BMC Price was glaring at him as he snapped out of a daydream involving spies and gorgeous Russian women with curvy bodies.
“Chief, you said that we should fold the top corner of our blanket at a forty-five degree angle, aligning the edges of the fold exactly with the hind quarter of the blanket, Chief.” Hunter may have been daydreaming, but he had always been good at listening to his environment even when he wasn’t seemingly otherwise cognizant of reality. It was a trick he had picked up in high school to avoid nuking his brain with boring curriculum that he had already taught himself by middle school out of pure curiosity for the world. Hunter Michaels was officially something of a geek, though he was more overtly masculine than the average computer nerd so he was often overlooked as a jock.
“Son of a bitch, Michaels. I bet you were a teacher’s favorite in high school, weren’t you? How in the hell did you do that, recruit?”
“Chief, what did I do, Chief?” Hunter was playing innocent, and gambling big. He knew that by pulling the wrong string with Chief Price he could very well cause himself, and more importantly the division, some serious physical pain. If he succeeded, he would have a new tool at his disposal for the duration of his stay at RTC.
“Recruit, I’m not stupid. Your head was pointed this way, but your eyes were in the back of your skull. I’ll bet you were humping old Mary Likestosquat from back home in that noodle of yours. You were looking pretty happy with that stupid grin on your face. Look, you guys are my fifth division. I know when I’ve caught someone daydreaming, son. But somehow you managed to record what I was saying on that magnetic tape up in your head.”
“Chief, I apologize, Chief.” Hunter was almost angry at the thought that he had pushed too far. Certainly, he felt, a good cycling session was about to be delivered to him.
This time though, it didn’t come. Hunter had somehow legitimately impressed BMC Price with that stunt. He thought it odd that the laziest tool in his repertoire had been the first to score him points with an RDC. But as Chief Price continued with his lesson on blanket folding, Hunter realized that impressing the Chief hadn’t been worth it. He had previously been flying “low on the radar” with BMC. Not anymore.
———————————-
To be continued…
JMK
Buy me coffee!
Sphere: Related Content
October 12, 2008 at 10:07 am · Filed under Excitement, Humor, Military, Opinion, People, Publishing, Writing
So here it is. In the past, I’ve heard a good number of people being casually dismissive of the military. You don’t see it so much these days, what with the patriotic frenzy that GWB’s color coded threat level indicators have given us in the post 9/11 era. But before all of that, there was a sort of commonly accepted disdain for the military mind.
I never really understood it as a child. My biological father was a veteran of Vietnam. Growing up I always had the utmost respect for, and was truly even in awe of, the folks who served in our nation’s uniform. I’d watch movies like Where Eagles Dare and Tora! Tora! Tora! as a child and think about how proud I would be to follow in such proud footsteps.
While in the military I met some very bright individuals. I also met some severely under-informed fools. But never did I find a real reason to cast a negative hue upon the broader image of the military that had been so carefully burned into my mind from childhood. That is, at least, not until now.
As part of promoting my book I’ve been taking a more active roll in the military groups found at MySpace. A recent bit of discourse in one of those groups left me scratching my head, but now I think I understand where people may get their poor impressions of the U.S. Military—from online military communities. If there are other forums, message boards, or what have you where “conversations” similar to the one I just had take place with any regularity, it’s no small wonder that some negative sentiment towards the military exists.
Because my book is about the military, I figured that would be a good starting point for locating informed readers capable of providing reliable and accurate feedback. I wouldn’t, for instance, have approached the Southwestern Peanut Growers Association for help with my Navy book. Or would I? Perhaps, according to the (ill-)logic of these brilliant, and oh so humble, military minds.
You can read the whole discussion for yourself at the link above, or you can just scan the summary below:
ME) “Hi! I’m Justin. I have written a book about my time in the Navy. I’m having a contest where you can win a free copy.”
GROUP MOD) “[Ape sounds...] Five whole years. Good bars, Hawaii. [Grunting noises.] Me want movie.”
ME) “I’m sorry, come again? Just so you know, I did this, this, and this while I was in the Navy. If that doesn’t interest you, fine. Someone else might like it.”
GROUP MOD) “[Farting sound.] Canned meat gives me gas. I’m tired from two years of picking SPAM off of bony children. I am much smarter than a monkey. [Peels a banana and farts again.]“
pause…
“Me found BOLD key! [Grunting noises.]“
pause…
“[Tears in eyes.] I want to be your dad. I was in the military. I’m old now. [Adjusts his dentures. Smacking sounds.] I got injured and quit. Dammit. [Pulls two six guns off his hips and shoots around the room while dancing like Yosemite Sam. Spits on barrels to cool them before re-holstering.]“
pause…
“Thanks for serving, but you’re an asshole. [Picks out a wedgie.] Your life is boring compared to my own. I hate people under 50. [Scratches his balls.]“
pause…
“Welcome to the group. Go away.”
ME) “Wow. You’re an asshole with a dwarf complex. You acted as if I was clueless about the subject, so I provided my experience as my credentials. I never laid claim to being better than anyone, but when someone questions my integrity I make a habit of responding. By the way, your groups welcome message says ‘[Post anything and everything related to military, police, or firefighters]‘ so, that’s what I did. I apologize for following your own rules. You have been taken off my Christmas list.”
GROUP MOD) “[Whining sound. Nose running. Lip caked in snot.] Please leave, I’m having a bowel movement.”
GROUP MEMBER 1) “That was kind of funny.”
GROUP MEMBER 2) “Yeah. And foolish.”
GROUP MEMBER 3) “Even though you just quoted the group guidelines and proved that you were following our rules, I’m going to squawk like a parrot and repeat some nonsensical words to you. You didn’t read the rules. Ha! [Engorges a rather large cracker without chewing.]“
ME) “Wait a minute. Again, I only did what your groups introductory paragraph told me to do. There are a lot of members to this group and, even though you have no interest in my story, there may be others who will. Thanks for your time. Be sure to vote liberal!”
GROUP MEMBER 3) “Dude, I’m sooooo much older than you! Like, wow! Gross! You speak good words? Like, real English and stuff? That’s so incredibly boring. Loser!“
GROUP MEMBER 4) “One time, I saw a squirrel save a submarine from a terrorist plot to sell them more magazines than they needed. It was sooooo boring.”
ME) “[Quoting Reno 911!: Miami] I’d like to know where you are at all times so I can avoid you. That would be nice.”
pause…
“I was only defending myself.”
GROUP MOD) “Take this bitch! [Cat slaps me.] I can make my text redder, bigger, and more ignorant than yours! Aha! [Leans in and whispers in my ear.] Hey, wanna “seal the deal?“
awkward pause…
“By the way, nobody from ’round these here parts has no lovin’ in their hearts for no garsh dang English teacher whatzit nor not. Now if you’ll excuse me I was watching Alicia Silverstein in that movie where she’s all sexy and stuff. I just bought a new bottle of lotion, too. [Low growling sounds followed by an erie chuckle.]“
GROUP MEMBER 5) “This is kind of ridiculous guys.”
GROUP MEMBER 6) “I got there first! Na na na na na na!”
GROUP MOD 2) “[Monkey calls.] Ooga, boogah! Me no like, go way! Someone read me a bedtime story once about boats and now I know how they work. I know now that I have to break up with my boyfriend. [Sobs.]“
GROUP MOD) “Yeehaw! [Slaps his boots to knock loose a persistent piece of dung.]“
GROUP MEMBER 7) “I wasn’t part of the original discussion, but here’s my opinion anyway. Books are for dumb people. Reading is a waste of time, especially since I’ve already done everything that there is to do in the entire world. Foolish mortal.”
GROUP MEMBER #8) “[Indiscernible.]“
Anyway, you get the idea. I did not approach those people with the intent of being an asshole to them. I have written and published a military book. Does it seem odd that I might expect to find some interested readers in the military community? I wasn’t even after sales, directly. I mean no businessman turns down a legitimate sale, don’t get me wrong. But I was listing the instructions to enter for a free copy of the book. How, precisely, that is intrusive or somehow resource consuming (in reference to the SPAM accusation) is beyond me.
I do not see myself as above anyone. I didn’t list my contest in that group because I wanted everyone to see how superior I am to them. I posted there because I trusted their opinions, being that they are my peers, and I hoped to get some honest feedback. Instead what I got was a lot of chest beating and saber rattling. It’s sad that such folks exist, but let me be the first to defend the wider military community.
While there are some fools such as these lurking about in this world, be certain that they are a minority. Even though they have a tendency to focus their voices in what seem to be large numbers, it is usually out of desperation for the fact that their message is so small when compared to the voice of reason. Extremists from any walk of life are an unwanted burden upon the already taught strings of social harmony. It is our job to make sure that their voice is always drowned out with the echoes of truth and nature.
Thank you for your time, and have a great day.
JMK
Buy me coffee!
Sphere: Related Content
October 9, 2008 at 3:41 pm · Filed under Military, Navy, People, Short Fiction, Writing
Caveat: The format of this blog is not the most conducive to fiction. The column width is very narrow, creating strange line breaks where they should not be. Italicized items appear in red, looking almost as if they are in bold. I assure you, they are not. This caveat is written in bold type. With that said, what follows is the beginning of a character’s story. This character will appear in my first novel and will likely be the primary actor in a long series of books. This is the story of the beginning of his Naval career. There will be other characters to come. Each installment will be no longer than two pages, typed and single-spaced, in Microsoft Word. Please enjoy, and feel free to comment.
———————————-
“Atten-hut!”
Seaman Recruit Hunter Michaels hated it when the RDCs said it that way. The word was attention, not some strange codeword for a lean-to. Recruit Division Commanders were supposed to be the best of the best; the most squared away sailors in the entire U.S. Navy. His Division Chief had even gone so far as to call himself a “breed apart,” but Hunter couldn’t have disagreed more.
He and his fellow shipmates were constantly being reminded of the need for attention to detail, but the Petty Officers and Chiefs who had been charged with training them couldn’t even say the word “attention” correctly. It was all part of the game at the Recruit Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois and even though he didn’t like it, Hunter had gotten very good at playing along.
Michaels was standing at attention along the starboard side row of bunks, with all of his starboard side shipmates, staring intently at a similar line of recruits along the port side of the compartment. This was the berthing of Division 012, one of the last to enter RTC for the year, and now Chief Petty Officer Mitchell Price was walking the entire length of the berthing slowly, deliberately. In the Chief’s left hand, held close to his waistline, was a little brown paper sack.
“Recruits. How long have you been under my command?” It was intended as a rhetorical question, but as per the norm some idiot kid from the Midwest chose to make the mistake of attempting an answer.
“Two weeks, Chief!”
Chief Price’s fury had an extremely low flash point, and this kid had just gone and cranked up the heat. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” The Chief stomped over to the young man who was now quivering with fear. “If I had wanted a response from you Seaman Recruit Dickweed, I would have asked the question with my nose so close yours that you could have discerned what I ate for breakfast by licking it off the tip of my neatly trimmed mustache! Now drop!”
The frightened young man, an eighteen-year-old cowboy from Montana, was on the floor in the pushup position before his Chief even pronounced the last letter of the word. He began pumping out pushups like they were going out of style, allowing the Chief to return to business.
“Anybody else want to interrupt my motivational speech?” The compartment was silent, and every eye in the room was looking at that of the man across from him-Chief Price being the only exception. “Seaman Recruit Dickweed was correct. It has been two weeks now that I’ve had the misfortune of calling you my own. I’d have turned every last one of you lazy maggots over to the Chair Force by day two if I’d had my druthers. But one of the things we learn to do in this here Navy is to follow orders!”
Hunter didn’t miss the meaning behind his Chief’s decision to scream those last two words. Someone in that room had been caught disobeying a direct order. It had been happening a lot lately, and Michaels had already resolved to organize a blanket party for the next man who caused the division such unwanted scrutiny from their all too friendly RDCs. Chief Price continued to pace up and down the compartment with anger looming in his eyes.
“I assume that you children are aware of what an order is, are you not? An order is something that you do because I fucking tell you to do it! If I were to give the order right this instant for each and every one of you to cut off his left testicle, then by God I’d have myself a nice collection of portside pudwhackers! Am I right?” The recruits weren’t sure if they should respond. “I said, am I right?”
“Aye, aye, Chief.” The report came in near perfect unison.
“Then would somebody like to tell me what the fuck this is?” With that Chief Price raised the brown paper sack up so that every man in the room could see it. Slowly, almost ceremoniously, the angry RDC pulled out a candy bar. “Chocolate.”
Most of the recruits didn’t even dare to shift their gaze towards the candy for fear of being accused of trying to eat it. But for a reason that he couldn’t quite explain afterward, Hunter had an uncontrollable urge to see it. It was as if he didn’t believe there was a chocolate bar at all. But there had been, and once Hunter’s eyes had locked onto it, his Division Chief had locked onto him. Within seconds Hunter knew for sure that Chief Price had eaten pancakes for breakfast, with a whole lot of maple syrup drizzled on top.
“What in the hell are you doing, Seaman Shitbag? Are you looking at my candy bar?” Chief Price was clearly not pleased by Hunter’s silence. “I asked you a question, recruit. Are…you…looking…at…my…fucking…candy…bar?”
“No Chief!”
With that the Chief Petty Officer of Division 012 flew off the handle. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, recruit! I just saw you staring at my chocolate as though you somehow felt entitled to it. Is that it you little bug? Do you feel that you are somehow entitled to my candy bar?”
Michaels knew what was coming. He could already smell the tile that he felt certain was going to be mere inches beneath his nose in the next three seconds. But before Chief Price could issue the order to drop, the exchange was interrupted by the unmistakable smacking sound that accompanied the kid from Montana’s chin smacking directly onto the tiled deck. The cowboy had been pushing out his meted punishment in silence all the while, and had finally reached the end of his physical strength. Not wanting to draw any further attention from the Chief he’d decided to allow his arms to collapse beneath him rather than request permission to stop what he was doing.
For no apparent reason the anger in Chief Price’s face had gone. Left in its place was an odd sort of serenity. If Hunter wasn’t mistaken, it almost looked as though the RDC was happy. It was a thought that was quickly backed up by a grin that spread across the Chief’s face like wildfire.
“Looks like portside loses! I want every last person on Seaman Recruit Dickweed’s side of the berthing to get into their PT gear and head for the Grinder. His weakness has just cost you a mile and a half.”
With that they snapped to like greased lightning. Chief Price barely even had enough time to consume his candy bar and toss the wrapper in the trash before the line of recruits on the starboard side of the compartment -Hunter’s side-found themselves staring at the empty bunks of their portside shipmates. But Chief Price wasn’t finished, and they all knew it.
“Now, let’s see if your shipmates have followed my order to pay attention to detail. I’m going to walk the length of their side of my compartment, and for every hit I can find you will each give me two eight-count body builders.” He paused at the first bunk, clearly displeased with what he saw. His eyes made a cursory glance towards the remaining bunks. He had already seen enough. “I will set the pace, you will count them off. Ready? Begin.”
———————————-
To be continued…
JMK
Buy me coffee!
Sphere: Related Content
October 9, 2008 at 9:55 am · Filed under Books, Excitement, Government, International, Military, Publishing, Radio, Technology, Writing
Fictitious insomuch as I will be writing fiction, short fiction to be exact. I’ve already had way too much time to finish my first novel and the damn thing is still sitting at 3 chapters long. Why? Well, because the third chapter that I wrote was so corny, so BAD in it’s attempt at police procedure, that I subconsciously chose to abandon it. At least, that’s my theory.
Last night I spent a few minutes as a caller to a fairly popular Internet talk radio show called The Odd Mind. Wednesday is their open mic night, so I was just there for lack of anything better to do. I got a short plug for my book out of it though, and I managed to plug a really good book called Where Hell Freezes Over, so it wasn’t all for naught.
One thing that I quickly realized while listening and talking with the folks at The Odd Mind was that I simply am not writing enough fiction to harbor an honest hope of breaking into that genre. With this blog, and with my book Five Years in Hawaii I’ve been pretty focused on nonfiction topics and related issues. As a result, I’ve done very little fiction writing. It’s time now for that to change.
Because my three ugly little chapters have been sitting in the silicon of my computer for almost a year now, I’ve decided to move on. I still intend to write that story, but I will start over from scratch. In order to make sure that my new attempt doesn’t go the same way as my old one, I’m going to do some writing exercises, if you will.
What this means to you, my brilliant readers, is that I am going to start a series of short stories to develop my characters as they would have existed before the opening of my novel. I will publish these short stories here on my blog, under the heading of Short Fiction. I haven’t decided how often this will happen, or if I really even want to box myself into a schedule (such as one per week), but rest assured it will happen.
Who knows, maybe I’ll garner a meager following for my characters prior to writing the full deal in novel form. This would help with sales later on, for sure, but it would also allow me to get feedback from potential readers before going to press. I’m fairly excited about this!
And so, there you have it. I will be publishing short bits of fiction here on my blog that will involve the characters and settings that will be found in my first novel. These stories will be a sort of fusion between MilFi and SciFi. The plots will deal with government, military, and international espionage—but the vehicles for telling the story will center around high tech gadgetry and technological wizardry.
I hope to see you all on the forthcoming Short Fiction pages in the very near future! Until then, thank you for your time!
JMK
Buy me coffee!
Sphere: Related Content
Next entries »
