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You will notice this week’s newsletter is in partnership with Beehiiv – the site where I create and manage this newsletter. I left Substack for Beehiiv because no amount of ‘splaining and claiming free speech warrants a site monetizing Nazis, and they continue to do it. Moving is always a choice… like not shopping at Hobby Lobby or Chick-fil-A. I won’t tell others what to do, but I will mention why I do, or do not. Equality has a mathematically immutable definition. It only exists if it applies to everyone.
Things slowed down a little this week. I spent a lot of time watching and freaking out over the MLB playoffs, but for me that ended last night, so diving headfirst back into the novel, and then on to several short story projects. A new thing I’m doing, starting today, is adding a link to either a short story, or an excerpt from one of my books. I talk about books a lot, but I’m thinking that a deeper connection to each, and taking them one at a time will be a better approach. That said, why not start at the beginning? Here is a link to my website with more information on the writing of This is My Blood, which was the first novel I wrote, and sold, though not the first to be published, in the end.
Here is a link, as well, to an excerpt from that novel. I’m including the dedication here, because I love it. The cover art is from the original Hardcover limited edition - painted by Lissanne Lake.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the Electronics Technicians of the USS Guadalcanal, the writer’s group that met long ago in a small library in Virginia Beach, Richard Rowand, John B. Rosenman, Pam, and the rest. It’s dedicated to the Church of Christ in Charleston Illinois where I decided I might study to be a minister, and to the Waukegan branch of that same church, where I attended when I grew up and started believing in myself, and not ancient myths. It’s dedicated to men who do the best they can, and women who have woven the fabric of our world, despite our (men’s) best efforts to tear it apart. This one is for Judas, and for Mary Magdalene.
From Writing What Hurts
Early Life and the Navy
A lot of people join the military. There are myriad reasons for this – adventure, to see the world, to take some time and figure out whether you want college, and what you want from it. All of those are good, valid reasons. None of them were mine. I spent most of my life in a small town, not fitting in all that well at school and trying to find ways to deal with the abusive, alcoholic stepfather life dealt me.
He never beat me. He did launch me off the ground with a broom once, but I thoroughly deserved that. My brother and I had been considering getting into an old oil barrel and rolling down a steep hill toward the lake below… Bob – never dad – was a big man. He had his own issues – raised in the depression on or near an Amish farm. Grew up to serve as a police officer and (I believe) a pilot for a while in a non-wartime military. When I met him, he was a barber.
I have never understood the relationship he and my mom shared. She seemed to spend most of her life trying not to make him mad, while sneaking behind his back to see that my brother and I had some kind of lives of our own beyond him. Bob's idea of how our days should be spent was in going to school – only because we had to – coming home – and working. He was always working on something, a Seagram’s 7 & 7-Up in one hand and a cheap, stinking cigar in the other. We were expected to be part of it. He could build things. He could fix cars. He could fly a plane and even taught my mom to do it. What he could not do was – in any way at all – relate to people other than his few old friends, and though he seemed to get along well with his own son, he was pathetically inept at dealing with me, or my brother.
After very, very long hours of thought, my brother and I have come to the conclusion he was possibly gay, and just never had the courage to come out of the closet. He and my mom slept in different rooms. There was never a show of affection. Ever. He insulated his bedroom with cork and air-conditioned it to near freezing. Most of the jokes he made were off-color and inappropriate. He was prejudiced to a fault, and when the family (on the rare occasions we were allowed out of our bedroom) watched Archie Bunker, Bob laughed with Archie while the rest of us laughed at them both. Bob was Archie Bunker and proud of it. He had more ethnic slurs memorized than I do 70s and 80s pop songs, and that is one of my superpowers.
I remember one winter how he sent us out to shovel snow off the driveway. Not a bad thing, in and of itself, though we were not very old or large or strong. Here's the thing, though. It was still snowing. By the time we hit the end of the drive (which was long) it was covered again. Southern Illinois in winter is VERY cold. Our toes were near frostbite. We did this for HOURS and he would not let us stop, or come in. On top of it all – he owned a 12 hp tractor with a snowplow, and when we were finished…then he went out and plowed it after the snow stopped. This is the type of thing that happened any time he was given control of the situation, so – for our own survival – we found ways to avoid as much contact with him as possible.
I remember one day, out in the sun, not allowed to get a drink, trying to hold sheets of particle board siding against the wall without letting them move as he stood back and cocked his head, drank his beer, or whiskey, and took his sweet time deciding to nail it into place. We were so tired – so hot. At some point, I had a spade in my hand. I don’t remember what job required that, but there it was. In those few short moments, I remember considering slamming it into the back of his head repeatedly and taking my chances as a juvenile in the system. I truly, truly hated him. I was told I would get over that when I grew up. I never did, though I came to sort of pity him and the anger drained away.
Later in life, to show he never changed, I visited home with my first wife. At this point, Bob and my mom slept in different halves of a duplex (reinforcing the separate room thing to a ridiculous degree). We were in mom's half, on a fold-out couch in her family room. Before we woke, he came in and sat in a chair. Then he grinned and started talking, and very clearly thought if he waited long enough, we'd both get out from under the covers without dressing and prance around for his entertainment. I had to get up and tell him to get out so she could dress. The creep factor was huge.
Anyway… why do I mention all of this? Not really for therapeutic purposes, but just to show another aspect of how your life can inform your creative process. All the things that I blame on that man, and the life I lived before I left for the US Navy, are a part of what I've written, what I will write in the future, the decisions I make as a man, husband, father. Writing is like life, when it's done right, and the things that ache – the things that hurt – the things that drive you near the edge of madness, those are the things that give your words power, side by side with the wonder you find in the world, the love and relationships and success you encounter along the way. These are the influences that insure you have something to say, and if you don't, why are you writing?
You thought I was going to talk about boot camp, and I am. I first escaped home by spending a lot of time in a church. I walked in that world for a time, and when I left home, I was still mired firmly in that nonsense. As I said a few pages back – in 1977 I left for the United States Navy, and EVERYTHING changed.
What I’m Reading
About 60% done with The Essential Bukowski: Poetry – Sometimes so dead-on. Sometimes ranting… as expected. I find the poem “The Shoelace” particularly well-suited to 2025.
Just started a very strange novel titled Cleave the Sparrow. More on that if I figure out what the hell is going on.
CLEAVE THE SPARROW
What I’m Watching
I was watching the MLB Baseball playoffs until last night, when my Chicago Cubs were eliminated in the do or die game five finale with the Brewers. Since I had to subscribe to a month of Hulu plus Live TV to watch that, we have been binging episodes of American Pickers.
Still watching Franklin & Bash, Peacemaker, and Only Murders in the Building and have added the new season of Murder in a Small Town, which is not very intense, but good, comfortable filler. Also catching up on recent South Park episodes… like you do, and filling in the cracks with a complete rewatch of How I Met Your Mother.
What I’m Listening to
I got an arc of the audiobook for The Works of Vermin, the upcoming novel by Hiron Ennes. I’m about 19% in – it’s a long book. The narrator is not one I would have chosen, considering the elegance of the prose and the almost Victorian language, but he’s not bad. I need to try and get it finished quickly so I can leave my review. It’s basically about a very decadent city, where scents can transform a person’s aspect, everything is, was, or will be infested with some vile, toxic, or magical insect. There is a very big one at work in this book, and a few colorful characters working to either end, or aid it.
I finished listening to VEIL – by Jonathan Janz – Performed by John Pirhalla. My review is live on Goodreads
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