Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Spring Break

It is completely inexplicable,
the curious enigma
so bold in its tempestuous confrontation.

Oh, I’ve searched for a definitive answer,
a satisfactory resolution,
a logical solution,
or simply put, a sensible riposte.

Occam’s razor left me wanting.
I sought, but did not find;
gave without receiving,
knocked on the door
of an apparently empty flat.

The neatly categorized,
purposefully filed,
precisely organized,
diligently maintained,
and seemingly endless
repository of nouns,
verbs, adjectives and adverbs
in all their glorious form and style

has abandoned me,
in abrupt manner
and deliberate fashion
not unlike that demonstrated
in the cruel reality
of two dissolute marital relationships.

I am left
with the frightening realization
that even the words
which comprise my most meaningful
and longest lived associations
have abandoned my company
in favor of some sort of
linguistic spring break.

Oh, the shame of it all.

“Prick us, do we not bleed?
Tickle us, do we not laugh?
Poison us, do we not die?
Wrong us, shall we not revenge?”


~Shylock
Merchant of Venice
Act III, Scene I
W. Shakespeare

Spring Break
By David Roth
© 11th April, 2012

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Welcome C. Hope Clark

There are any number of reasons I could give you why I love C. Hope Clark, not the lease of which are her free writers aids, Funds for Writers and her newsletters, and the fact that she is of the genus Austeralis Dominæ, Southern Belle - one of my personal favorite.  Now there is another reason: Lowcountry Bribe, her new novel.  For a first time novelist, Hope has hit a winner.  I've invited her to share something with us here at Poetica in Silentium, and ever the gracious Southern Lady, she graciously accepted.  Take a look at this and then GO BUY HER BOOK!

Here is C. Hope Clark:


What if Real Isn't Real Enough?
By C. Hope Clark
          These days I'm running my legs down to stumps, or rather fingers down to nubs, promoting the release of Lowcountry Bribe, A Carolina Slade Mystery.  Just released in February by Bell Bridge Books, the first in the series is set in rural South Carolina. The story takes a US Department of Agriculture bureaucrat and turns her into a rogue, amateur sleuth when a threat arrives in the form of a hog farmer. And I find myself chuckling about the whole situation because I was once offered such a bribe. By a hog farmer.
          So is the book about me? Not at all. I actually wrote about the real situation, years ago, in an effort to exorcize the traumatic event out of my system. Took me two years to complete the task only for editors, authors, and an agent to tell me that the story wasn't interesting enough.
          Seriously?
          The situation, at the time, scared me silly. The case involved federal agents and I received a warning from the culprit that he'd "get" me, but the case fizzled, he went free, and I moved on. So I did what any self-respecting writer does in such a situation: I turned it into fiction.

Jesse drew me by my stretched sleeve to the truck bed, my face barely a foot from the nearest body. "There's ten thousand dollars in it for you," he whispered, draping his arm around my shoulders. "If you find a way to get me the Williams farm. We can iron out the details later . . . in private." He winked and clicked his tongue. "If you know what I mean."
          Panic coursed through me at the altered state. Like hearing that your churchgoing mother liked bourbon straight and sex on top.
          He'd offered me a bribe.

          The opening chapter of Lowcountry Bribe is similar to reality, but from that small piece of my life, a story takes off on its own with new characters, a different location, and the craziest of twists . . . and I had an absolute ball spinning the yarn into a whole different reality . . . a world of its own.

O-positive primer wasn't quite the color I had in mind for the small office, but Lucas Sherwood hadn't given the decor a second thought when he blew out the left side of his head with a .45.
As the office manager, I identified Lucas' body for the cops, and gave the poor man a quick moment of silence with thoughts to a higher power that he be let through the pearly gates. He died in a place he didn't like, doing work he wasn't very good at, having no place else to go. No mother gives birth thinking her child will end up like this. Reading the unexpected note scrawled across his desk pad, gripped me. "Sorry, Slade." Apologizing for what, I didn't know.             
Damn it, Lucas. What were you thinking?
Lucas Sherwood was death number two. A year ago, almost to the day, my easygoing boss Mickey Wilder drove to one of the islands and never returned. I immediately stepped into Mickey's job but sensed he continued to peer over my shoulder, my perpetual mentor. His leadership spirit still hovered in the office. The cops labeled his disappearance a probable suicide based on a string of personal factors I wasn't privy to. The police moved on. We remained behind, shaken in our foundation of Mickey thanks to the whispers and innuendo.

None of that happened. But I could envision the office I once inhabited as I walked through the set up. I once worked on those references islands. Nobody disappeared like that, but stop and think . . . what if? Take any crossroad in your life and ask . . . what if? Therein starts a tale.
          When writing instructors say "write what you know," it doesn't always mean that you record precisely what you experienced or remain limited by the exact facts. Writing what you know is a seed. Plant it, then let it sprout, climb, coil, fork, blossom and bear fruit that you never expected. If we only wrote in the familiar, we'd become boorish and self-absorbed, but if we take a moment to get quirky, unique, and creative, that "knowledge" becomes remarkably entertaining.

BIO
Hope is founder of FundsforWriters.com, a career resource for freelance writers, recognized by Writer's Digest Magazine in its 101 Best Websites for Writers for 2001 through 2011. Her  online publications reach over 43,000 readers each week, and she makes appearances at conferences across the country. In 2012, Hope will speak in Pennsylvania, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia, Iowa and Oklahoma. www.fundsforwriters.com
But Clark considers the Carolina Slade Mystery Series her professional personal best, debuting with Lowcountry Bribe.  The novel won several awards as it evolved, from semi-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award to finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for Mystery/Suspense. Hope graduated from Clemson University, in the field of agriculture, enabling her to walk the walk of her protagonist, the illustrious Carolina Slade. www.chopeclark.com

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Live at Five


The first time I ever saw the inside of a television studio was almost forty years ago.  It was on the eve of the very first World Cup Gymnastics Meet, held then in the Miami Beach Convention Center.  A much smaller even than the one McDonalds now sponsors, it featured just a few competitors from the world’s elite band of gymnasts. Kathy Rigby and John Crosby represented the United States.  Russia’s entrie were Ludmilla Torescheva and Nikoli Andrianov.
I worked the event with members of the Miami Dade Junior College (MDJC) Gymnastics team and members of the Muriel Grossfeld School of Gymnastics, of which my college coach, Bruce Davis was the local owner and head coach.  Muriel Grossfeld, Bruce’s sister, was at the time the US Women’s Olympic coach.  Her husband, Abe was the Men’s Olympic coach.
I’m telling you this to explain what Bruce, a high school Sophomore named Kurt Thomas, and a couple other MDJC gymnasts and I were doing at the Miami CBS affiliate.  It was a short segment filmed as a promo for the upcoming inaugural World Cup Gymnastics Meet.  I took my camera along and did get some stills, but they’re long since gone.  Hey – it was almost forty years ago, remember?
The studio, even during the relative quiet between live broadcasts was still crawling with activity – and people.  A director, producer, several cameramen, the on air ‘talent’ hosting us, and of course, the guests – that would be us.
Now we fast forward almost forty years.
Reginald Roundtree & Heather Van Nest
I’ve gotten to know former Miami Beach policeman turned news anchor, Reginald ‘Big Daddy’ Roundtree, quite well during the last year.  Just as a sense of setting, I graduated from Carol City, a high school in Northwest Dade County, in 1971.  Reg graduated from Miami Beach High in 1975.  We probably sat across the field from each other at Traz-Powel stadium at MDJC in Opa-Locka, but never met until last year when Reginald asked me if I’d like to cover a story with him.  His side would be for TV while I would do my thing for the Tampa Examiner, an online column for which I usually do book reviews, but occasionally cover other community events.  I jumped at the chance, and we’ve been friends since.  In the coming weeks, I’ll be interviewing ‘Big Daddy Reggie’ for my column.
Last night my wife and I were Reggie’s guests on the News set at WTSP, 10News, the local Tampa-St. Petersburg CBS/Gannett News outlet.  All I can say is wow, things sure have changed!
We arrived at the station on Gandy Blvd around 4:15.  Reggie came down to the front lobby and ushered us into an empty studio and got us settled into our seats at the back to watch the magic begin.
L to R:  Reg, Melodie & Heather
Throughout the evening – we were there through the 5:00, 5:30, and 6:00 airings – we were made both welcome and comfortable by the floor director, Stephanie, Reg himself, his co-anchor Heather Van Nest, Chief Meteorologist Jim Van Fleet, reporters Chase Caine and Melody Michael, and Senior Sports Director Dave Wirth.  I really can’t emphasize enough how much the 10News team made us feel at home.  They were all business when he cameras were rolling, but as warm and welcoming as family during commercial breaks and off-site feeds.  You know that teasing, cut-up banter you see so much between local news teams during a broadcast?  These folks did it even when the cameras weren’t rolling.  We both got the feeling that this was more than a bunch of people thrown together by a television station to do a job.  They actually like each other, and click so well on air, because that’s how they are off-air.  The newest member of the team, Meteorologist Jim Van Fleet said working with this group of people felt like family.

Sports Director Dave Wirth
Jim Van Fleet at the Green Screen
One other thing stood out to us.  Everything, including the three large rolling cameras loaded with prompters and enough electronic gadgetry to make ‘Q’ happy, were run by Adam, a quiet guy in headphones sitting at a sophisticated control panel of buttons, slides, monitors and a joystick, in the back next to the Green Screen.  That’s where you had to pay attention.  The three large mobile cameras moved around the floor seemingly as if they had minds of their own.  Flashing safety lights notwithstanding, if you’re not paying attention, you could get run over!  The level of automation in the studio was just amazing.
And, as I said, the welcome we were given was warm and genuine.  These folk are real people who care about their community.  Reggie’s coverage of the Cleveland area high school shootings was warm and heartfelt.  Heather’s story about a new breast cancer screening was clearly from the heart.  Jim Van Fleet had us quietly chuckling over his on-air quip about the above normal temperatures expected during the upcoming local strawberry festival ‘baking the berries.’
The 10News Team: Jim, Reg, Heather & Dave
Overall from begin to end it was a great time for both my wife and I.  We learned a lot about what happens during a typical broadcast, and made some new friends.  Thanks Reg, Heather, Melodie, Jim, Dave and Stephanie.  It was great!
Hey – check out the new 10News team in the picture below:
L-R: Dave, Reg, Heather & Linda


Monday, February 20, 2012

Remembering Aunt Alice


Alice Eckhart (L) Jekyll Island, GA, June 1976

Thirty seven years ago this coming August, I had the great privilege of meeting three amazing individuals.  Within a year, one would become my Father-in-law, one my Mother-in-law, and the third my Aunt-in-law, although in all honesty they were just Mom, Dad, and Aunt Alice.

In ways unusual to me, and certainly outside of the family into which I was born, I was unaccustomed to seeing such broad, open acceptance of a newcomer into a very closely knit family as that I felt when I became a part of the Baier’s and Pletz’s of Lansing Michigan.
About a year after the wedding, Dad Baier would go home to meet the Savior he loved and served, fallen to inoperable cancer.  I can honestly say I have never met so Godly a man, or so consistent a man in my life.  Some have come close, and I mean no disrespect to them when I say this, but Oscar Baier was an amazing man who loved and served God as a deacon in his church, a faithful, loving husband, and adoring father to his two children, one of whom would be my wife for 22 years.  I still miss him every day of my life.
In the years following Dad Baier’s home going, Mom Baier, Aunt Alice, Grandma’s Baier and Pletz would eventually sell their individual homes, pool their resources, and build the home where the four ladies would live together.  Time’s passing brought the home going of both Grandmothers.  Hey lived into their ninety’s and brought joy into the lives of those who knew them, and left holes in the hearts of those who loved them, when they went to meet their Savior.
Saturday morning at seven minutes past midnight, Aunt Alice took her last breath in this realm and opened her eyes in the presence of Jesus.
When I first moved to Michigan, I lived in Aunt Alice’s spare room the summer leading up to my marriage to her niece.  A generous, independent woman, it was quickly obvious that beneath her sometimes gruff exterior beat a heart of pure gold.  I was never her ‘nephew-in-law’.  I was simply David.
Make no mistake, when I screwed up, something at which admittedly, I excel, she let me know it.  I never had to question where this sainted woman stood on a subject.  Open with her opinion, she expressed it with honesty and integrity, and never in my knowledge out of anger, although being who I know I am I’m certain there were many times she demonstrated great restraint around me.
She sang in the church choir, was active in women’s groups in her church, worked hard all of her life – even in retirement – and made brown gravy that was a food group all by itself.
She loved her brother, and never really got over his passing, or that of her own husband, whom I never met, early in their marriage.  Mom Baier, her brother’s wife, was her best friend – even before they were sisters-in-law.  Oh, there’s that word again.  There were no ‘in-laws’.  Marge was her sister, and her friend, and oh yes – her brother’s wife – probably in that order.
And as I said –she never treated me as an outsider ‘in-law’.  She loved me and demonstrated that love as much, I like to think, as she would her own child, had she been blessed to have one.  Rather than weep openly over not having children of her own, she extended the love she would have given them, to her brother’s two daughters, their husbands, their children, and ultimately, their grandchildren. And to the whole pack of us, she was simply, “Aunt Alice”.
Her funeral will be today, and I won’t be able to be in attendance, but there is an empty place in the core of my being that is exactly ‘Alice’ shaped.  I rejoice in the knowledge that she is, as the Apostle Paul wrote, ‘absent from the body, but present with the Lord,’ but I don’t think I will ever get over my personal, admittedly selfish sense of loss.  We were not related by blood, but I loved her none-the-less.
Some years back I dedicated my second collection of poetry to Alice and Marge with these words:

Dedicated to Alice Eckhart and Marge Baier
Sisters by marriage and best friends by choice.

Two Proverbs 31 women who always treated me like a son.

This is the title poem from the book, Alice’s Goldfinch.

Alice’s Goldfinch
By David Roth
© 5th December, 2008

Yellow bird,
perched on the shadow
of eternal Spring,
I envy you.

Thistle and flaxseed your dining delight,
window companion whose song gives me flight,
flittering gaily from dawn until night,
fly away, hide away sprite.

Little bird,
brave golden watcher
sentinel on vigil
blossom duty calls.

Sweet the attraction that brings me to you,
each year returning afresh and anew,
wait by my window, ignore the taboo,
je t’aime, merci beaucoup.


Alice Eckhart was a true Proverbs 31 woman. 
I still miss you, Aunt Alice.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Phobias & Other Confusing Things



I consider myself to be a reasonably rational individual.  I’m passionate about the things I believe, and try to be a student of why I believe a thing, or disbelieve a thing.  I’m admittedly anal retentive about using the correct word or words to state my (or your, for that matter) case.  This creates problems for me because my condition often results in a barrage of questions being heaped upon the shoulders of an individual using the wrong word.
For example, I am a Christian.  I believe that men are born sinners and that Oprah is 100% wrong in her assertion that all roads lead to heaven.  The Bible, after all, says Jesus is the only way, and states it in such way grammatically that the only way to draw any other conclusion is out of wilful ignorance.  I believe the Bible teaches that all human beings are born sinners, and that all human beings are sinners by choice.  That deadly combination results in a destiny of eternity in a very real place called Hell.  However, while I believe that God hates sin, He loves sinners and provided a means by which sinners can be redeemed from an eternity in Hell, and that means is faith in the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ as the payment of and for our sins.  The Bible is crystal clear on these things, but because human beings have the free choice to reject them, human beings often  skew things to excuse, hide, or couch their rejection by attacking those who believe them.
As a Christian, I believe the practice of homosexuality is a sin. However, I do not HATE homosexuals any more than I hate gluttons, liars, or speeders.  Gluttony is a sin.  Lying is a sin.  Speeding (breaking the law) is a sin.  The Bible is very clear about God’s position on sin.  He hates sin, but He LOVES sinners so much that He allowed Jesus to die for them – no exceptions, no exclusions.  If you accept Christ, you go to heaven.  It’s that simple.  If you reject Him, you don’t.
However, an interesting smokescreen has been employed to cover this particular  act of disobedience to God’s Word.
I am now called a ‘homophobe’ because I believe homosexuality is  sin.  Seriously?  I mean, do you even know the etymology of the tag you have chosen to describe me for my belief?  I thought not.
Here’s how it breaks down:

Homo - NOUN:

A member of the genus Homo, which includes the extinct and extant species of humans.
ETYMOLOGY: Latin homo, man; see dhghem- in Indo-European roots

Phobia: NOUN:
A persistent, abnormal, and irrational fear of a specific thing or situation that compels one to avoid it, despite the awareness and reassurance that it is not dangerous.
Put them together and what do you get?  “An individual who has a persistent and irrational fear of members of the genus Homo, which today means Human Beings!”
In other words, when you call me a homophobe, you’re trying to imply that I hate those who practice homosexuality, when in fact your choice of words suggests that I am afraid, irrationally so, of human beings!
For the record, neither choice is either true or accurate.  I am neither afraid of nor do I hate homosexuals.  I do believe that what they practice is sin.  Just like when I overeat it is sin.  But, I’m not a hater, nor am I fearful.
On that note, I have a question.  What is it about liberals that they want to put me in jail for smashing sea turtle eggs, but are willing to help me destroy my own unborn child?  And why do they scream “It’s a woman’s right to choose” when what they really mean is “Yeah, I know that when she chose to have unprotected sex with the understanding that she could very well become pregnant, she made her choice.  I think she should be allowed to change her mind even if it means destroying the human equivalent of that turtle egg.”
See what I mean?  There is no consistency – just double talk, justification, and semantics.  I suppose it was this knowledge that by giving His creation the ability to make wrong choices, they would more often than not choose wrongly, that He offered His Son on a Cross to redeem mankind from their sin.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The Miracle Chip - A Review


Before I get to my review, please grant me a moment to explain why it’s been so long since the last one.  Just before Christmas I had two surgeries on my left arm – the stroke impaired one – to try to alleviate some of the neuromuscular impairment caused by my April, 2008 stroke.  I am still in recovery mode awaiting the beginning of physical therapy, but even with the surgeon’s restriction of lifting nothing heavier than a cup of coffee (there would have been real problems had he imposed that one as well), I can sort of type  - two fingers – with my left hand.  Any typo’s are thereby blamed on this impairment.
Now - let’s talk a little about The Miracle Chip, the new release by Tampa area author, Stanley Grainger and Xlibris Press, © 2011 by Stanley Grainger:
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011913997 ISBN:
Hardcover  978-1-4653-4845-6
Softcover  978-1-4653-4844-9
Ebook 978-1-4653-4846-3  (Kindle Locations 7-12). Xlibris. Kindle Edition.
That’s the raw skinny on it if you want to read it sight unseen, but, as Paul Harvey used to say, here’s the rest of the story.
Imagine, if you will, a time in the not too distant future a world in which a small but powerful faction of well-placed political, military and religious figures world-wide band together to create a one world society with a completely cashless society, single world religion (Roman Catholicism) and a single Emperor/President of the entire world, all made possible through the mandatory implementation of the neurobiologic ‘Miracle Chip’.
It sounds a bit like a science fiction techno thriller version of what you might get if you added one part Book of Revelation, one part Tribulation Series, one part (insert name of favorite techno-thrill author here), tossed them into a blender, and pour the contents into a book binder.
The story opens with former special forces operative Cantrell Stoggs hacking off his left arm with an ax to remove the dreaded chip, which intertwines itself into the host’s neuromuscular system in such symbiosis that it cannot be surgically removed.
This is followed by a faked jail escape, engineered by the secret faction to flush out Cantrell’s old black ops partner, Tracy Long.  They are joined by reporter/investigative journalist Janine McCormit as the trio runs from the secret society with hopes of rescuing Long’s kidnapped daughter, and stop this nefarious world takeover.
The book essentially reads in three phases.  A short, slowly paced beginning where all the usual suspects are introduced, a lengthy middle where the pace  picks up considerably, and an all too abrupt ending that, like the ending of Star Wars: A New Hope where you see Darth Vader’s T-fighter is spinning off into space and you just know somehow, you’ll see him again, screams sequel.
The concept is fairly good, fairly well developed, but lacking in areas like street dialog and the way characters are addressed by the narrator.  Writer Grainger also seems stuck, not unlike a record with a bad scratch, with a spot that so overuses adjectives before nearly every noun in the book, you’re left feeling like you’re reliving sentence diagramming in eleventh grade English.  Additionally, a reasonably good read is severely hurt by the very amateurish, comic-book like cover art that looks more like a badly copied frame from an episode of Beavis and Butthead than something to be taken as a serious read.
For these reasons, three stars out of five for The Miracle Chip, with the hope that the sequel, if there is one, will give a little more attention to the details.  This is a good start, but not quite yet ready for prime time.
Tampa readers can find The Miracle Chip. at Barnes and Noble on North Dale Mabry in Carrollwood, Books-A-Million on US 19 North in Port Richey, and other fine book sellers in the greater Tampa/St. Petersburg area It is also available to download from Amazon.com.
Interested Tampa readers can learn more about Stanley Grainger and his writing at  the author’s web site.

Monday, January 9, 2012

I'm Baaaaaaaaaaack!

    Well, here it is: the second day of the second week of my sixtieth year on this planet. Just so you’re not confused, I began the aforementioned sixtieth year in the first day of 2012; the day in which I, by no small coincidence, registered fifty-nine full years during which I satisfied all the major requirements of completion while simultaneously launching my quest to complete the sixtieth year. My ‘Certificate of Completion’ is, presumably, in the mail.

It would have been far less confusing to the reader id I’d just taken care of all these little administrative details on the calendar date actually set aside for such nonsense, but there you have it. The combination of my being who I am superimposed over the circumstance of you being who you are, and, well, let’s just face it.  If you’re not at least marginally lost or confused at this point, I’m doing something horribly wrong.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to go all Frank Pickle on you. Oh, just Google it – it will take far less of your valuable time. (I wonder when and how the proper noun ‘Google’ became the action verb ‘google’ and how and when society as a whole began to use them synonymously and interchangeably for ‘look it up’?)

I am too far into this to get away with ‘long story, short’ so I won’t even try.

On 20th December, my fifty-ninth year only eleven days from completion, I had round two of carpel tunnel surgery on my left hand (round one having been completed sometime during my thirty-second year).  To make it more interesting, they also rerouted the nerve trunk that normally resides comfortably between my left elbow and ulnar.  It is a condition known as ‘Cubital Tunnel Entrapment’ (not to be confused with digging out of Colditz with Dicky Attenborough or stealing fine objects de art with Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta Jones).

The procedure seem to be successful, although I am still at the recovery stage.  Physical Therapy for the left elbow and hand are still five weeks down the road.  Slightly less if I drive,

The wrist part of the procedure was a snap.  The Cubital Tunnel release part has left my arm still swollen, bruised, and the icebreaker for many a conversation with total strangers in the checkout line. “What’s the other guy look like?” (who said the other guy was a guy?). “That’ll teach you to mouth off to your wife.” (probable not).  That sort of thing.  The elbow, while no longer in excruciating pain from simply bending or extending it now just hurts all the time, but especially during that gap when the pain meds wear off and when I can take my next one, and even that is getting better.  I still have a rotator cuff repair on the same arm to undergo, but probably not for 6 months at least.

Now I said all that to say this.  Herein is my excuse for not writing a BLOG, Review, new bit of poetry or work on editing my latest novel length WIP.  My left hand was useless after a minute of typing, and trying it one handed required far too much effort.  Toss in Bowl season (The BCS has very nearly succeeded in completely destroying the tradition of College Bowl season) NFL playoff’s (where almost a rookie Tim Tebow made a laughing stock of the NFL’s best defense and the Hero of Steel Town ‘Little Ben’ and the start of Laugh-In 2012 (the Republican Presidential race), and there you have it.  Plus, I see no reason to make people suffer through things like my obscure observations during Holiday season.  Of course, on the other hand I’ve never let that stop me before.

Did I mention that this entire treatise was originally a monologue for Charlie Sheen to do on Two and a Half Men before CBS replaced him with Regis Philbin (or was that Demi Moore?)?  Anyway, at the last minute, CBS scrubbed the idea because Sheen was the only guy on the set who understood it.  And he was sober!  Frankly, that scares me too.

So, all things being equal, happy trails. And remember, no matter how bad things look, God is still in control, not Barry Soetoro.

P.S. – A recent scientific discovery suggests that the reason the Mayan Calendar has the world ending in December, 2012, is that the guy chiseling the tablet ran out of room.  Just a thought.