Take Care of Your Memories

    Memories are described in words when we want to share them with others. In our minds, memorable and not so memorable events are replayed in our mind's eye like old movies.

    We believe when we recollect the happening from the past that we piece together the facts as they really happened, but of course, that is not the case. Our brain selects only certain pieces and puts them together, retrieved and decoded from the deep dark sections of our brain.

    Depending on how old they are however the quality can be grainy and faded like a well-worn jigsaw puzzle. Words of love, anger, fear, envy, pity, joy, friendship and sadness whirl around in our heads until they are added as the crackly soundtrack.

     Distant memories can pop into our head for no apparent reason at all, others because words we have read or pictures we have looked at act as a trigger for our recollection process.
 
    If we want to communicate our feelings now we are likely to use one, or more of the many electronic communication tools that are available to us.

    The messages we receive are unlikely to stay in our possession forever as they will be lost through time. They cannot be stored in a box like the old cards and letters that many generations before us kept, to capture memories forever. That is really sad I think.

    The larger cards in the picture were part of my Aunt's collection and are all forty plus years old. They are filled with words of motherly love from her mother, my grandmother and live on after both are no longer with us.

    The little notelets in the background are ones that I wrote to her thanking her for the gifts and kindness that she bestowed upon me all of my life.

    There is nothing in this small collection that is grainy, faded or crackly. She took care of her memories.

Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them.

                                      
                                            Bob Dylan
    

    

Meet Author Raymond Greiner

   I am honored today to introduce you to an accomplished Indie author of multiple genres, Raymond Greiner. He lives in Southern Indiana and a lover of all creatures great and small, which is evident in his writing. 

Q&A

• Raymond, you have had books, novellas, short stories and poems published, as well as essays in literary journals. When did you begin writing?

     I've been a passionate reader my entire life, and wrote a few essays in my early twenties but was caught up in the flow of mediocrity, which placed monetary earning and employment as a priority, therefore my writing stopped shortly after it began. If I were able to go back in time I would not place so much emphasis on an employment career and follow the social outline presented. I'd probably live like a pauper and writing would be a priority.         

         

• What was your first piece of writing published?

    I submitted an essay to Canary Literary Journal titled “Pond Food” describing observances of activity at a pond on my rural property. It has since been published multiple times in various journals and magazines. I was sixty-two and retired when I wrote this essay. 

• You write fiction and non-fiction. Which genre do you prefer?

    I enjoy both rather equally. Fiction tells stories, and I've always loved stories, but non-fiction is gratifying, as it concentrates on particular subjects of circumstances. Research is connected to essays and this results in learning for the writer and reader.

• The relationship between animals and humans are featured in many of your publications. Is this a subject you have always had an interest?  

   Yes, life forms other than human are fascinating and perform unique ways to find balance and harmony within their given social structure yielding longevity. Early humans were less warlike than current human social design. They functioned with similar social patterns as the wild critters and hunter-gatherers relied on each other similar to the wolf pack. They needed each other for survival, which is quite a contrast to modern humanity. 

• Having read reviews of your books Hinterland Journal and Hinterland Narrative I noted several of your readers describe your writing as thought-provoking. Do you think your readers think this because you are passionate about your chosen subjects? 

  I am passionate about all of my choice of subjects.

•   Finally, Raymond, you have had five novellas published Millie And Ami, Trella’s Gift, Queenie, Ezra’s Story, Saving Canis Lupus and your recent publication, Atsa. Any further works you plan to publish?          

Yes, I have just recently published a full-length novel titled, Atsa and I have a second novel presently in the works, titled, The Twig Is Bent. All sales from my animal-themed books go to animal rescue organizations. I'm mailing copies of my published works with this theme to various humane societies across the country. I'll donate the books and they can sell them and keep the proceeds to apply to their cause.

    Raymond, thank you for featuring today and allowing us into your world. I want to also thank you for giving me the chance to read some of your work. There are two words that describe your writing and that is wonderful and passionate. Readers if you want to know about Raymond and his books I've included the links below. 

Facebook: Raymond Greiner
Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Books-Raymond-Greiner/s?ie=UTF8&page=1&rh=n%3A283155%2Cp_27%3ARaymond%20Greiner

We Are Members of One Body

   

    Over the weekend I watched a TV adaptation of J. B. Priestley's 'An Inspector Calls' produced by the BBC in 2015, stars Davis Thewlis as the formidable, fantastical, Inspector Goole. I studied the play at school, however as my school years are a distant memory so was the eery tale of a police inspector calling on the Birling family.

    The story set in the year 1912 is about how the actions of five members of the one family contributed to the death of a young woman called Eva Smith. The play written by Priestley in 1945 is written with ease and expertise. The suspense he creates linking the past, present and the future scene by scene leaves you wanting more and more.

    He was an author known for his strong political views and this play certainly puts a strong point across, with a touch of fire and brimstone added. A point which in today's political climate I believe is still very relevant.

    The Inspector leaves his audience with these words,

    "But, remember this. One Eva Smith has gone, but there are millions and millions and millions of Eva Smiths and John Smiths still left with us, with their lives, their hopes and fears, their suffering and chance of happiness, all intertwined with our lives and what we think and say and do. We don't live alone. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will come soon when, if men will not learn that lesson then they will be taught it in fire and blood with anguish. Good night."

J.B Priestley 1894-1984

Summer Solstice

 

    As we've headed for the Summer Solstice in the Northern hemisphere this week, the hours of daylight never seem to come to an end. I've been going to bed in daylight and waking up at an unearthly hour as the sun streams through my bedroom window.

    I'm not complaining because it won't be long until the long dark days are upon us once again. With, of course, the cold thrown in for good measure.

    Here's a short poem I found in an old book my aunt left me several years ago. I'm not so sure the American author, George Birdseye had solely the summer solstice in mind when he wrote these words, as they suggest to me there was love in the air.

The longest day is in June, they say

The shortest in December

They did not come to me that way

The shortest I remember

You came a day with me to stay

And filled my heart with laughter

The longest day, you were away

The very next day after 

George Birdseye circa 1840

It's Not All Make Believe

 

    Have you ever felt that you've felt extreme sadness for doomed lovers, as I've done while reading a book by authors such as Carlos Ruis Zafon? Cried when a woman and her children are evicted from their home as happened in Frank McCourt's, Angela's Ashes? Or wanted to change the cruel world that Charles Dickens character Oliver Twist lived in?

    Yes, I know you have and I'm glad I have you for company when I immerse myself into various fictional worlds. We empathise with fictional characters if a writer gives them traits that we recognise as human beings.

    Encouraging children to read teaches them empathy, something that we need all through our lives if we are going to beat racism, bullying and all the other nasties that plague our world.
 
    My editor told me when she was editing my first published book which is a fantasy, that even fantastical worlds have to be believable if you want readers to connect with you.
 
    While I don't often give writing tips, that's mine for today, keep it real because it's not all make-believe.

   

   

    

    

   

The Wonder of Nature

    It's Nature Photograph Day in North America today and the beauty of nature deserves to be celebrated all over the world, every day. Even if we're in a bad place the creatures, plants and scenery that surround us can lighten our load.

    I want to pay tribute to the world we live in, by featuring a few of my own photographs.

  
    HAVE A GREAT DAY, READERS.

The Killing of the Thousand and Second Night CHAPTER THREE

           

    Sorry, I missed posting a blog on Friday, but unfortunately, the circumstances I found myself in were beyond my control. I didn't plan to post this chapter, of The Killing of the Thousand and Second Night, however here it is and I hope you enjoy it. Have a great week friends.

Chapter 3

     When Harriet opened the large oak door of the library, it creaked loudly, causing Inspector MacGregor to jump slightly in his seat beside the window. He had been reading over his notes, whilst waiting to speak to Mrs Ashdown and hoped that this was her joining him. But the beauty he saw before him surprised him even more than the creaky door had.

     Harriet could see the surprise on the policeman’s face, at seeing her and she said confidently,

    “Well, a smile and a hello would be a good start, Guy.”

    “Harriet Robinson; my goodness. What on earth are you doing here?”

    “The name’s Lady Harriet Huntley now, Guy.”

    “Of course, I’m sorry. I did read about your marriage to Lord Huntley, please forgive me,” the normally unshakable policeman stumbled to his feet.

    “No need to stand on ceremony though Guy. I’m still the same Harriet, only the surname has changed,” Harriet could feel old emotions stir inside her, at seeing her first love, after all this time. Moving towards the policeman Harriet noticed that the years had been kind to him; he still had a certain boyish look about him. His blonde hair had darkened, but there were no traces of grey and his deep blue eyes hadn’t lost their twinkle.

     Putting her hand on his shoulder she said,

    “Sit down Guy, I’ll sit down here,” before Harriet sat down opposite Guy, she smoothed out her skirt, so it wouldn’t crease below her and continued, “I’m a good friend of Charlotte’s; I had sent my bell-boy here earlier today with a bouquet and a note to welcome her home, after her being away from Glasgow for several weeks. On Ian’s return, Ian being my bell-boy; to my home in Devonshire Terrace, he told me of the terrible tragedy that had occurred. He also relayed a message from Mr Ashdown, requesting that I come here to support his wife. She is of somewhat of a nervous disposition.”

    “You had no idea before you arrived that I was the officer in charge?”

    “No, and even if I had done, it wouldn’t have stopped me from coming here, to be by my friend's side.”

    “Must have been a bit of a shock?”

    “Guy, I am a very happily married woman and I’m not about to go all doe-eyed, when an old beau, crops up unexpectedly in my life.”

    “Harriet, I wasn’t any old beau; I was the man you intended to marry. The man you would have married if it hadn’t been for your father ending our relationship. The man you would have had children with, the man you would have spent your old age with. Till death do us part.”

    “Guy this conversation is most inappropriate and I ask that you move onto the more important matters in hand,” Harriet’s face was now flushed with anger, Guy’s impropriety towards her, had somewhat came as a surprise.

    “I’m sorry, this is very difficult, meeting you again like this,” his tone was genuine and he continued,  “Yes let’s talk about the more important matters in hand. There’s been a young woman violently killed in this household, sometime over the last two or three days. There’s no sign of unlawful entry into the property and everyone that may be able to help shine some light on the past seventy-two hours is indisposed, or makes little sense. So Harriet unless you can tell me something that’s relevant to my case, I would ask you to go about your own business and let me get on with mine, please.”

    “Violently killed?”

    “Yes, bludgeoned to death, probably with a meat cleaver. So the police surgeon advises me.”

    “But surely you don’t believe anyone in this household would be guilty of this odious crime?”

    “At present, I have no idea. I just want to speak with Alexander Ashdown and his daughter-in-law, so I can rule them out of my inquiries.”

     Harriet knew that the quicker the police could get on with the questioning of the innocent parties, the easier it would be for the Ashdown’s to get on with their daily routine. She smiled and said,

    “Guy, I’m not here to interfere as I told you previously. But I might actually be able to help you. I can see that you’re very frustrated at not being able to speak with Charlotte. But I was under the impression you had already questioned Alexander?“

    “I did speak with him briefly but he couldn’t explain to me why he didn’t think it was unusual that he hadn’t seen Jeannie for two days, after all, she was supposed to be looking after him.”

    “Oh I understand, but he’s elderly,” she saw that this excuse made no impression on Guy, the shrug of his shoulders made that perfectly clear. “John tells me that he was very fond of the girl. Please can you give me some time to talk with both of them? I’ll try my best to put them at ease and hopefully they will agree to talk with you,” she said with a hint of pleading in her voice.

    “Two hours Harriet that’s all they have. If they don’t agree to speak with me here I’ll have to take them to the police station,” Guy was angry with himself, at allowing Harriet to detour him from his original plan. She was right, she was still the same Harriet, trying to keep everyone happy. But that wasn’t always possible, he knew that and life’s experience should have taught her that. No use crying over spilt milk, there were other things he could be getting on with for now and a couple of hours delay was unlikely to cause him any problems.

    “I give you my word Guy,” Harriet reached over and touched Guy’s hand, briefly.

    “Please don’t give me your word, words can always be broken. Please arrange for me to speak with them,” Guy MacGregor hastily got up and left Harriet sitting alone in the room. Seeing her again had opened up old wounds for Guy, that she could see. But surely his life had moved on; hers had.

***