Former writer admits what we all know: Doctor Who is DEAD

I know: this pic is from "The Name Of The Doctor" from the Steven Moffat era.  Its bleakness is plenty fitting for this post though.

There might well be volumes written, many years from now, about what happened to Doctor Who: the much-beloved British science-fiction television series that had delighted generations of viewers around the world.  Maybe those to come will take to heart the lesson of why the show defied so much, only to die at the hands of liberal ideology.

To Russell T. Davies and Chris Chibnall before him: the Doctor is dead... and you killed him!

Oh sure, Davies had his moments when he initially ran the show between 2005 and 2009, but there was still a good measure of respect for the saga, for the writing and for the audience.  Chibnall was the one who first pulled the trigger in earnest though, when he decided to make the Doctor a woman (there is a dynamic at work in Doctor Who and the Doctor should ALWAYS be male in keeping to that) and then made practically every episode a sermon about leftism.

Then Davies took over again.  And that's when the show truly went to hell.

Look, I had my hopes up.  I knew nothing of Ncuti Gatwa.  Just as I had known nothing of Peter Capaldi and Matt Smith when they were announced to be their respective Doctors.  But I was willing to give them a chance.  I was willing and eager to be surprised.

But Gatwa very quickly proved that of all the people who have ever played the Doctor, he is hands-down the very worst.  That he casually and chronically insulted everyone who didn't like the new direction of the show, telling them to "touch grass" instead, only made it worse.

(Maybe it's just me but I also don't think the Doctor should wear a dress.)

Here's what I think happened in the past few years: Doctor Who became Russell T. Davies' midlife crisis.  In the time between 2009 and 2022 Davies came to be confronted with his mortality.  He has no family of his own, his lifestyle prohibits having any progeny.  So Davies became driven to inflict his personal mark on the one thing that has proven to give him a sense of immortality: his work on Doctor Who.  And so Davies made it all about himself.  He opened up the spigot of his wokery.  In the process he drove away the core audience of Doctor Who.  Davies seriously believed that his fellow leftists were going to be legion enough to sustain his "work".

Doctor Who stopped being the show that it had been since 1963 and instead became a vehicle for leftist propaganda.  And the true fans departed.  They took Davies and Chibnall at their word: they had been told that they weren't welcome, so they grabbed their hats and left.

Former Doctor Who writer Robert Shearman has come forth to tell us what we all know: the show has been brought to a screeching halt right at the edge of an open grave.  And there is no foreseeable plan to bring it back.

The series is stuck where it last left off: Ncuti Gatwa's "Fourteenth Doctor" regenerating into the form of Billie Piper (who has at various times played the Doctor's companion Rose ever since the show first restarted in 2005).  It was a cheap stunt that underscored the obvious: the showrunners didn't know what they were doing.  Their ideology is all that mattered to them.  They were handed the keys to one of the most respected science-fiction mythologies ever crafted and they destroyed it with gross negligence.

For what it's worth, here's what I think: Doctor Who needs not just a hiatus but major invasive surgery under most potent anesthesia.  Let it be asleep for the next five or ten years.  And then pick up the show but ignoring everything from the Chibnall era on forward.  The final canonical words of the Doctor before regenerating should be those of the Twelfth: "Doctor, I let you go."  Let the Doctor disappear in that flash of light and in his place... a true Doctor.  One bereft of egotistical management and political agendas.

A dire measure?  Yes.  Yes it is.  But it's the only one I can see that will resurrect the Doctor Who franchise and correct its course.

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First question from a reader about Keeping the Tryst

Okay, someone just asked the very first question that I've been given about Keeping the Tryst.  This is from a person has finished part one.

Here's the question: "What was the joke that you told your uncle?"

If you've been reading the book, scroll down past the spoiler space and you'll find the answer...

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The question pertains to the joke that Mom asked me to share with my Uncle Frank, who was Dad's brother-in-law, late that night after they got back from the hospital following Dad's accident earlier in the afternoon.

I had heard this joke at school earlier that afternoon.  And I admit that at the time I thought it was pretty funny, though I hadn't grasped yet just how serious it really was.  It's not a joke I would tell now, forty years later.

Here's the joke:

"What do you call Rock Hudson in a wheelchair?"

"Roll-AIDS."

This wasn't very long after actor Rock Hudson had died of AIDS.  Hudson's coming forward about being infected with HIV was a revelation that sent shockwaves through American pop culture.  And of course Rolaids is a popular antacid/heartburn medication.

Definitely an Eighties-era joke and like I said, it's not one I would tell anyone these days.  But I fleetingly mention it in the book, it sort of adds to the scene that I'm describing: Mom and Uncle Frank returning after being at the hospital all evening, bringing cold hamburgers from Hardee's for my sister and mine's dinner.  When I had told Mom the joke on the way back from school that afternoon she said she didn't like it.  And now here was Mom wanting me to share that same joke with my uncle.  It kind of underscores how dire the day had become just like that (Chris snaps fingers).

If any more questions come, I'll be sure to provide an answer (as best I can).

And if you want to read my book here's the page on Amazon where you can find Keeping the Tryst.  Available in hardcover and for Kindle readers and apps.

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It's been a week since Keeping the Tryst was published...

...and I just checked the metrics.  According to the report, the book has sold very well so far, considering that I'm a relative unknown (outside of this blog, various stunts over the years and the occasional op-ed piece).  Right now it's holding at around #90 in the survival biographies genre, and hovering about #1200 among all memoirs in the Kindle store.  Not bad at all for a newly-minted book author eight days in.

I've gotten some feedback from people who have bought the Keeping the Tryst hardcover.  Every one has commented on how readable it is, despite the 537 pages length.  The font size and the cream-colored paper are very easy on the eyes, and that the chapters are divided into so many sections also makes the book readily digestible and fast-moving.  One person read the entire book in two days.

At the moment, I'm quite pleased about what's happened since its release.  I'm hoping that there will get to be some word-of-mouth and that others will consider purchasing and reading it.  I never expected to be a bestselling author right out the gate and that probably won't happen.  But a lot of people over the years have said that my story is one that many would find not just interesting, but captivating.  I believe them, enough so that I worked on this book on-and-off for over a decade.  I've said that if even just one person found reading it to be time well spent, then my task as an author will be successful.  Based on the figures I looked at earlier, the book has smashed through that target... and how!

Keeping the Tryst is available in hardcover edition and in Kindle ebook format.

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I need to make more posts like this

Time was, that I used to make a lot of posts about weird and unusual news items.  For awhile around 2009 I was posting an average of three and a half times every day and more often than not they were wacky stories I found around the Intertubes.  The notion has crossed my mind at times that maybe I should do more of that.  Blogging doesn't seem to be as big as it used to be but this is still my real estate in cyberspace and I do my best to tend to it.  So maybe a bit of fresh soil would be nice...

With that in mind here's a story I found on X/Twitter today, about an interesting-sounding chap who prefers his meat rare:

So Game Wardens in Texas have arrested this guy, 39 year old Ethan McNeely from Oregon. 

He was crouched in the woods attempting to hunt squirrels with nothing but his hands and teeth near Lake Tawakoni Dam 

Ethan insists that “I’m a primal predator, not a sportsman” and argued with the officers that “God-given claws and fangs” exempt him requiring a hunting license. 

Ethan goes on saying “If I catch it with my molars, that’s between me and Mother Nature” while reportedly spitting out a mouth full of tree bark. 

Game wardens have stated that while his hunting techniques are unique, there exists no game law that makes exceptions for “wannabe cavemen”. 

Ethan was booked on charges of hunting without a license and disorderly conduct after he reportedly growled at the officers. He maintains that he’s being persecuted saying “they can cage me but they’ll never cage my inner wolf.”

 

Ahhh Oregon, the "Florida Man" refuge of the Northwest.  But I suppose in an age when we're supposed to tolerate people "identifying" as everything from the opposite gender to kittens, we can forgive a man for assuming the role of werewolf.

The judge should dismiss the charges, on the grounds that this man has comedic value.

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"God must have needed a photographer, and He got the very best with Tim."

That was one of the very first thoughts that came to mind this morning.

My heart felt like it broke into a hundred pieces yesterday afternoon, upon hearing of the passing of my very good friend Tim Talley.

Tim was many things to many people.  I suppose the first aspect that comes to the minds of lots of folks is that he was an amazing photographer.  For more than forty years Tim made his mark not just in Reidsville and Rockingham County, but throughout the Piedmont region.  Tim was blessed with an incredible vision and sense of composition.  The man worked with light the way that the finest sculptors work with clay.  Tim came up with seemingly countless ways of staging photos and he would go to whatever lengths it took to pull them off.  He also had a way of bringing out the best of his subjects.  Everyone was beautiful in his eye and he knew how to capture and convey that with his camera.  Tim had ways of pulling off the almost impossible... like when he coaxed my dachshund Tammy into sitting still when we did a photo shoot with him in 2017.  I had told him that if he could do that then he was a better man than me... and lo and behold he did it!

If nothing else then the many thousands of portraits that he made, hanging in family living rooms throughout the region, attests to his talent.

Those who knew him best, though, will remember him for so much else.

Tim was a devoted husband to his wife Donna, and a father to his son Brandon.  He absolutely adored Brandon's wife and their three daughters. When Tim finally retired some years ago, it was always with it borne in mind that he and Donna were going to move to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania so he could be closer to Brandon and his family.

And once Tim got situated in Lancaster County, he very quickly made friends among the people there, especially his Amish neighbors.  I think Tim might have been the one photographer they trusted enough with his getting an occasional picture of them (but not for widespread publication, those were meant for his friends and family).  Not long after relocating there, Tim became the driver of a tour bus, and he became much beloved for his knowledge, his sense of humor, and just the fact that he was a southerner driving visitors around "Amish Country".

Tim's good cheer and friendliness were absolutely contagious.  His smile lit up everything... and every one... who came into his proximity.  I don't think Tim ever met a stranger.  And in that regard, he certainly became a role model for my own place in this world.

Tim had principles.  He stood resolute upon them.  I think it's safe to say that there were some people who didn't agree with those.  But there was too much respect for Tim than to think any less of him for those.  With Tim, you knew where he was positioned.  And that had to be admired by all who knew him or knew of him.

Tim devoted his life to serving God, in whatever capacity that might be.  God gave him a talent and Tim was determined to make the most of it.  He truly was a brother in Christ who cared for all who came into his life, for however long or brief it might have been.

I think that most of all, though, what especially rends my heart right now, is that I have lost a true friend.

I had my photo taken by Tim several times.  I also knew him from the Boy Scouts.  He and I were adult leaders in Reidsville's Troop 797.  In fact, that's where I first laid eyes on him, after seeing his work displayed around the area for years already.  Once, a month or so before I graduated from high school, Tim and me and several other Scouts and Scouters made a long drive to camp in the North Carolina mountains for a weekend and to hike part of the Appalachian Trail.  Tim made sure to bring a camera along to snap photos.  He took to mountain hiking the way a fish takes to water.  The troop also went camping a few times at Tim's place outside of Reidsville.

We were already friends.  When Facebook came along that gave us more opportunity to keep in touch on a regular basis.  Tim often shared some of his latest handiwork, and he was ever eager to demonstrate to his readers how he worked his trade.  I learned a lot about photography from Tim and his informal academy.  I believe a lot of people did, too.

Well, I could say so much, much more.  All that I really know since yesterday afternoon is that the world has lost a tremendously talented man, a family has lost a husband and a father and a grandfather, two communities hundreds of miles apart have lost a respected citizen, and I have lost a wonderful friend.

Until we meet again, Tim.  Thank you for being you. And I thank God that He let you be in our lives, for however brief a season it seemed.

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Keeping The Tryst has been released!!

Eleven years of on and off work.  A lot of things happened in that time.  Quite a few events and situations that kept changing the shape of the project.  All of that effort and at times sacrifice... and it culminates in tonight.

Keeping the Tryst hardcover edition just popped up on Amazon a short while ago.

Here's the hardcover version's page.  You can order that now.  The Kindle ebook version (Amazon page here) is still showing pre-orders but I imagine that status is going to change soon.

I don't know what else to say right now.  Just so very thrilled to see my book on sale, and maybe it will enlighten and edify and even entertain its readers.  That's one of the goals I had all along in writing it.

Okay, I didn't sleep at all last night, and I've got some work to do in the morning, so I'm going to turn in for the evening.  But I go to bed tonight a published book author... and that's a pretty neat feeling :-) 

Hope y'all enjoy it.

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Keeping the Tryst: The first copy has arrived!

It got here about thirty minutes ago.

As you can see Tammy approves! :-)

Keeping the Tryst arrives in hardcover and for Kindle ebook this coming Wednesday, October 1st, at 12:00 a.m. UTC.  That's 8:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time on September 30th.  My friends and I are thinking of having a small release party counting down to the moment it publishes.  Hey how many times do you get to say in your life that your first book is being published? :-D 

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Happy Anniversary to The Rocky Horror Picture Show!

 Released in America fifty years ago yesterday, September 26 1975.

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An Elon student's very impressive op-ed about Queens merger

Last week my alma mater, Elon University, announced that it was merging with Queens University over a hundred miles away in Charlotte, North Carolina.  Which was a proclamation that had me - and many others it seems - scratching their heads.  What exactly is Elon's angle here?  The last time that Elon made any significant branching-out was the law school in Greensboro some years ago.  But that's vastly different from wholesale engulfing another higher-learning institution.

Along with the seemingly unceasing construction that's been going on for as long as I can remember (I graduated in 1999), it's now coming inescapably apparent that Elon has a voracious appetite for real estate and that's not necessarily a good thing.

Current Elon student Alex Nettles has composed an extremely well-written, researched and articulated opinion piece that's been published on Elon's in-house news operation.  "The Elon Empire: Why the Queens University merger shows deeper problems" is a nigh-on brutal intervention for the college's expansion ambitions.  In it, Nettles argues that Elon is looking more toward its geographic footprint more than where it should really matter.  Namely, increasing its endowment, which has become imperiled by current trends regarding enrollment at colleges nationwide.  As Nettles describes it...

Elon has a fixation on qualifying its success with physical growth. Go on a walk through campus. You’ll see why tours are a big deal here. They have a lot of buildings to point to, like a guide in Greece pointing to ruins. 

Outside of Richard W. Sankey hall, tour guides lead groups around, while gesturing at buildings. The steel frame of the Health EU building hangs in the distance. The construction site used to be an open field. Distant sounds of steel come close to disorienting the guide's extroversion. There is a legacy of physical growth as progress on campus. 

This legacy can be traced with how much we spend. The Health EU Building will cost $60 million, the East Neighborhood Commons cost $19.7 million and Founders and Innovation Hall cost $31 Million. A rough estimation of $110.7 Million since 2022. For perspective, the most recent endowment statistic was $322 million. 

So think about it.The endowment is our pool of money to shield a university from years of downturns.  We’ve spent 34% of our 2023 endowment. The money didn’t come straight from the endowment, but it reveals a lot. 

Well, it's just an enormously enlightening - and rather disturbing, if we are going to be honest - opinion piece.  Mr. Nettles should be proud of himself for the work itself and much more so, having the courage to put the issue in the forefront of the administration's awareness.  From one Elon columnist to another: bravo Alex Nettles! 

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Thankful to God for my Tammy

This has been a scary week at Knight Shift Headquarters.  Very scary.

On Monday, my miniature dachshund Tammy started yelping in pain at the least touch that I gave her.  Especially around her ears.  She's had ear infections before and they can be a real nuisance.  But she's never cried out before when I've tried to examine them.

Then came Tuesday.  And Tammy took a turn for the worst.

She had jumped up onto my bed that morning, and refused to move from her spot.  She hadn't eaten anything, she hadn't drank any water.  She didn't seem motivated by anything at all.

About noon Tammy laid down near my pillow.  Her breathing was labored.  And as the evening wore on it gradually became less pronounced.  She had this look in her eye, that I'd never seen before.  She looked... I don't know.  Tired.  Resigned.

I was really in fear of something.  That these were going to be Tammy's final hours.

I'm aware of things.  Next week she'll be thirteen and a half.  Tammy has been in great overall health, but dogs, like humans, don't live forever.  But I've made it a sacred mission of mine to give her a good long meaningful life, for as long as I can.  A few nights before Dad passed I promised him that I'd look after Tammy.  She was his dog too.  Indeed, she was more his dog than anyone else's.  He was the one who first had the idea of opening our home to a miniature dachshund puppy in 2012.  He was the one who named her.  She's always been her daddy's dog.  I'm just the guy who's taken care of her since Dad left us almost eleven years ago.

Two nights ago I really did find myself thinking that this might be it.  That she didn't have long.  I was bracing myself for the inevitable.  I knelt down by the bed and asked God for a miracle.  But I also told Him that if this was when Tammy and I had to be parted, I was thankful for all the years that He let us have.  They have been wonderful years.  Tammy and I have looked after each other all this time.  I've taken care of her and she's taken care of me.  We spent a year traveling across America together, and in that time she visited 18 states, played on the beaches of both the Atlantic and Pacific, has met so many people... I've tried my best to give her a good life, as full a one as a dog might have.

I really did come close to giving up.  I called one of my best friends and poured my heart out to him about what was going on.  And sometime during our conversation I did something that I haven't done in over ten years.  Something that I had thought was impossible to do, because I've come to think that the meds I take to manage my bipolar disorder had taken it away from me forever...

I started crying.  Real honest tears.  I cried for Tammy.  I couldn't imagine life without her.  It's just she and I in the area where we live.  We're half an hour from friends in Greenville, South Carolina.  If anything happened to either of us, the other would be left alone.

I didn't want to be left alone without her.

So I cried.  And it felt good.  It felt like a lot of things that I've carried pain about for over a decade came out.  I'm a grown man and I cried my heart out and some part of me was loving it.

I cried and I hoped somehow that God might see it.

The call ended.  I laid down next to Tammy.  And not for the first time that day, I prayed.

Then, about 8 p.m., Tammy suddenly jerked to life.

She came to, jumped up, stood on all four feet, walked around on the top of the bed, and then... she leapt off the bed and landed squarely on the bedroom floor.

Until the day that I die, it will be something that I will NEVER forget.

Tammy shot me a look.  If I were to translate what her eyes were telling me, it would be a single word: "Nope!"

She was telling me in her own way "Not now.  Not this night.  I'm not done yet."

Tammy walked around the room for a minute or so.  Then she went to my sleeping bag that's on the floor, she "nests" on it every now and then.  She curled up and laid her head down.

I called another friend, who I had been keeping informed all afternoon.  I told her about Tammy's leap.  And then in the midst of our phone call Tammy came to her feet again, got up and walked to her food dish where I had poured some food a few hours earlier.  She ate it all.  She then drank some water.  And then she walked out the door and into the hallway where I put her doggy pads.  She peed a lot and then went back to her nest.

That was two nights ago.

If anyone had told me 48 hours ago how Tammy would be tonight, I would not have believed it.  It really, truly is a miracle.  God reached down and touched Tammy.

It's now Thursday night.  Today Tammy has eaten a full meal, has also eaten some of her bacon-flavored dog treats as well as some of the chicken nuggets I made for dinner last night, is peeing and pooping normally, her breathing is regular, and earlier today she jumped up on the sofa as I was working on some stuff with my iPad.  I didn't even hear her come into the living room: she just suddenly appeared.  She's letting me rub her belly, which she likes.  She's yawning, in that very cute way that she yawns.  And she's smiling now, that patented Tammy-grin.

I am just totally shocked.  Bewildered.  In awe.  God has brought my dog from the edge of death and restored vibrant life to her.

She's still a little woozy.  I'm giving her half a tablet of Benadryl every six hours.  One of my best friends suggested that Tammy perhaps has had an allergic reaction to something.  It's possible.  Dogs, just like humans, have different reactions as they get older.  If that's the case then the Benadryl is likely addressing that.  It's making her a little drowsy.  She's snoozing atop a blanket on the living room floor as  I write these words, I gave her another half-tablet about an hour and a half ago.

My dog is alive, and recovering.  She's going to make it.  Two nights ago I thought she was gone.  I was desperately praying for a miracle.

And God sent one.

Our Lord spoke of the kingdom of Heaven being like the woman who loses a coin, and searches for it and cannot find it.  And then when she does, she tells all her friends and neighbors that she has found it and she praises God for it.

I almost lost my dog.  My sweetest little friend in this life.  Tammy gets a bit of space in the book I've written that will be published next week.  She's owed that.  She has kept me from making some horrible mistakes over the years.  I couldn't go through with them because well, who would take care of her if not me?  Like I said, we've taken care of each other.

I am compelled to praise God tonight.  And as I ask Him each night, I hope that He will give Tammy and me many more years together.

From now on, if anyone asks me if I have faith in God, I will absolutely say yes.  Because I've seen Him work. Tammy's leap from the bed the other night and recovery since then is testament to that.

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Forgive me, for I have sinned (against good grammar)...

This is something I need to get off my chest, before anyone jumps flunky on me about it.  Because YES I know this is wrong.  I'm well aware of it.  But it's not something I can go back and fix so I might as well embrace the horror.

Here is a snapshot of Keeping the Tryst's page on Amazon (for the Kindle edition).  Notice anything?

The "the" in the title is capitalized.  It shouldn't be.  "The" is such a minor word that it's VERY rarely if EVER used in the title of something (except for songs, it seems like every word in a song title is capitalized for some reason).

It SHOULD be expressed as "Keeping the Tryst", and not "Keeping The Tryst".  What happened?  Blame me for typing it so fast on the hardcover edition's title field and not recognizing it until after I had submitted that one to Amazon.  I did it on the Kindle edition too but then realized what I had done.   I can repair the "damage" on the Kindle version but for some reason the system isn't letting me do it for the hardcover.  So I pretty much am just shrugging and capitalizing it as "Keeping The Tryst" for both of them.  The subtitles are appropriately capitalized properly though.

So, that's the story behind that.  But I hope that readers will be kind and overlook it and still be able to enjoy the book.  And hey, maybe in time it will be that I have established some precedent and it becomes good grammar after all: capitalizing every word in a title, but not the subtitle.  It could be my own humble lil' addition to the English language.

A writer can hope, can't he??

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Keeping The Tryst: "What is the deal with your name?"

Some people are asking about my name on my book Keeping the Tryst: "Robert Christopher Knight".  Inside the book I'm almost always referred to as Chris, which is what I've answered to all my life.  So where does "Robert" come from?

Okay, here it goes...

My full name is Robert Christopher Knight.  My dad was Robert Rankin Knight.  Instead of me being a "junior" my parents gave me a different middle name.  And I guess to differentiate Dad and I when someone was attempting to communicate with one of us, they called me Chris.  And that's the way it's been for all my life: I've been "Chris Knight".  I've very rarely been called "Robert Knight".  One of my first teachers in college called me "Bob" early on and he was REALLY confounded about my preferring to be "Chris".

So, I'm Chris Knight.  But whenever I've published something or run for office (which there will likely only ever be one time that I do that) I've done so as "Christopher Knight".  Why?  It's in the pages of my book.  It's something I do in honor of what God has done in my life.  Saul of Tarsus became Paul the Apostle.  Just so, I took on a different name for my writing (and other stuff).

But the REAL reason why my name is "Robert Christopher Knight" on the cover and title page of my book?

I don't want to be confused with Christopher Knight who played Peter on The Brady Bunch.

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Robert Redford passed away this last week

I really liked Redford.  Yes, he and I had different beliefs on a number of issues.  There's no denying that.  But unlike a lot of "celebrities" these days Robert Redford never used his star power to shove his opinions down the throats of anyone.  He understood that he was an actor, that he was there to play a part in a movie.  He was above such things as making his personal politics a factor in his professional career.

The man was an amazing actor.  And a very good director.  Some of my favorite movies that he was in are The Sting, Sneakers, and The Natural.

Indeed, The Natural is the first Robert Redford movie that I ever saw.  We watched it at a birthday sleepover at a friend's house when I was in fifth grade.  I thought it was an amazing film.

So in honor of Robert Redford, his life and his career, here is the magnificent scene toward the end of The Natural, where Roy Hobbs hits one last home run.

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What I'm feeling like after reading all the news lately...

Looking around, seeing all the anger and hatred, coming from all sides it seems of American culture.  Feeling like I'm an outsider to it all, can't figure out where I fit in.  Not that I'd really want to fit in.

What has happened since Charlie Kirk's passing has been especially troubling.  I can't remember the last time I saw so many people rejoicing over the death of a man.  Especially an innocent man.

How did we come to this?  How do we overcome it?

Some people, it seems, want to hate others.  And they are getting angry when they express that hatred and there come to be consequences of it.

(Why anyone would openly post on social media that they are delighting in the death of a fellow human being, I've no idea.  As has been said, "The Internet never forgets."  Some people are learning that the hard way now.)

So here I am, watching all of this unfold, the mistrust and the paranoia that's enveloping America.

What most readily comes to mind, and this really is how I'm feeling, is MacReady's line from the 1982 film The Thing:

"ALL RIGHT, CUT THE BULLSHIT!!!"

Apologies for the full quote, but that honestly is how it is right now.

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A special preview of Keeping The Tryst

In a little less than two weeks my autobiography (it's really more like two or three typical memoirs mashed together... what can I say I've had a complicated life) Keeping The Tryst will be released.  After more than ten years of on and off work it will at last be in the hands of readers, and then I guess we'll see what happens.  I'm hoping and praying for at least ten people to buy a copy, whether the print edition or Kindle ebook, and enjoy reading it.  That would make me extremely happy.  A writer only needs one person to read what he or she has composed and to come away feeling like it was time well spent.  That's who I've been laboring for: just one person, whoever he or she might be.  But it will make me happy if more than that read and like it too!

So since we're in the home stretch leading up to publication, I thought I'd share a bit of it. What you're about to read is the opening to chapter five, which spans the course of a year between my being ten and eleven.  A lot transpired in that period of time: some good but some of it not so pleasant.  These first several paragraphs though convey one of the happier memories of my childhood.  And it delights me to share it now...

 

There is a scene in the movie Citizen Kane where Mr. Bernstein mentions how sometimes a person will remember an occurrence without understanding why that particular memory is so vivid.  He recalls how long years earlier he saw a girl in a white dress, carrying a white parasol.  Bernstein saw the girl for just a fleeting moment, and she didn’t see him.  But he confesses that there hasn't been a month that he hasn’t thought about her.

            My “girl with a white parasol” moment happened on July 26th, 1984.  And I doubt there has been a week since that she has not come to mind.

            It was the summer after fourth grade.  And it had been a grand one in my little world and beyond.  Summer vacation began with a solar eclipse three hours after school let out.  Between that and the start of fifth grade were two trips by my family to White Lake, the premiere of Ghostbusters, a Star Trek marathon, the race between Reagan and Mondale, the music… the summer of ’84 was on fire!

            The family was at peace, that summer.  I wasn’t in fear of anyone, and that felt good.

            In the midst of all this my parents and sister and I took a trip north to visit our cousins.  We left on Friday afternoon and made it to Virginia Beach late that night.  The next day Dad drove us across the harrowing Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel.  A few hours after taking the Cape May ferry to the southern tip of New Jersey we arrived in Point Pleasant, just in time for dinner with Bill and Mary.

We stayed with them until Wednesday.  Then we left for somewhere that Mom and Dad said would be a place we would never forget: Amish Country.

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania was unlike anything I had ever expected to see.  “Plain” folk were going about in their simple clothing and riding their horse-drawn buggies.  We passed by a barn that was being built.  All of this and more, a place that was incredibly out of time with the rest of the world… and I loved it!

“Is this just for the tourist trade?” I asked my parents.  They insisted that the Amish really did live this way and had been for hundreds of years.

It was just before noon, following a morning of going on a guided tour of the area and being taught about the Amish and their culture.  We decided that we needed lunch.  We pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot.  The four of us went inside and got in line.

And that’s when I saw her.

            She was a little Amish girl.  She must have been about ten, like me.  Wearing a long blue dress and a white bonnet and black boots.  She was waiting to be served at the counter also.  And it was just such a strange juxtaposition, seeing a girl dressed like that in line at a modern fast food restaurant.

            She was soooo incredibly cute.  My heart began doing things it had never done before.

            And then our eyes met one another’s.

            She smiled at me and said “Hello.”

            I had never seen anyone so beautiful.

            “Hello,” I said clumsily.

She smiled again. 

            The Amish girl picked up her order.  She said goodbye and with a whirl of her dress she was headed toward the door.

            I watched her leave.  I waited, hoping she would turn back around and smile one more time.  At just the last moment she did and waved at me.

            Encountering that Amish girl was the greatest thing that happened to me all that summer.  And more than forty years later, I still think of her.

            It was the noontide of my childhood.  But I could not know that yet.

Keeping The Tryst drops on Amazon at 12:00 AM UTC on October 1st.  That's about 8 PM on September 30th in Eastern Standard Time, if I'm figuring it right.

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A poem that comes to mind right now

 "The Wrath Of The Awakened Saxon"

By Rudyard Kipling

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late,
With long arrears to make good,
When the Saxon began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy — willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the Saxon began to hate.

Their voices were even and low.
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd.
It was not taught by the state.
No man spoke it aloud
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddently bred.
It will not swiftly abate.
Through the chilled years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the Saxon began to hate.

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