A little Late - But I'm still here!

I've been doing a little soul searching these past few weeks while I have been absent.  Oh yeah, I do apologise for that. Sincerely.  Some of it has been my eye surgery as I adjust to the new lenses and all; but some of it has been reflecting on my blog and the direction it should be going.  I like the writing muses I have been doing but  I think it's time to delve into more of what makes me, me.

What I mean by that I guess, is what drives me to write - where did it all start and where is the inspiration coining form?

 I have been writing all my life, going back as far as my junior high school days - but, I was lazy.  Lacked the drive the commitment and motivation.  Hell, I was a hormonal kid with a set focus. Girls, flying, camping and anything else involving hanging with my friends! You know what I mean.

My serious side of writing I guess started before I headed off to Africa. I wrote a 300 page manuscript that was shear and utter crap! The base story was terrific but I lacked some serious skills!  Lol. I would show you some of that, but I do want you to hang around for a bit.  Besides... I may resurrect that old batch of weeds and rediscover Jake's beginnings.  Hmmm... actually, that is kind of funny. I haven't thought about that in years but THAT manuscript was the true birth of Jake McCord. Jake after all, is my alter ego!  How could I have forgotten!!!  There are a few things in life that I have not yet managed to quite get to and good 'ol Jake does the job nicely. Good on him! Lol. I'm glad he's leading the way.

Okay, seriously, where it began? In the jungles of Africa.  That is where The Bridge at Mkeri was born [pronounced - Ma-Kier-ee]. I have since revised that title a bit as this book isn't about one single title. It's a series of four. I can guarantee you though that  Jake will not go quietly into the night. He has other plans...

Africa.  Conjures up all sorts of images and adventures in ones mind.  I can tell you first hand that everything you can think of?  It's there!  And more!

The dark jungles that are cut by coursing rivers and streams; filled with crocodiles, snakes and man eating animals.  They are alive and doing quite well as they wait for you.  If you do manage to find yourself over there, alone and walking peacefully along - remember just that. Remember, those that have gone before you, and take heed of this warning.  For you my friends, are not alone.

I was working that year doing seismic exploration. For some of you, that don't know, it's the search for black gold - oil. Okay... actually in this case, lol, we were looking for gas really.  But the end result is the same.  I was one of two operators running a crew. Operators do just that - operate the recording equipment.  If you want a great story that explains what and how it works - check out the Bandit Creek Books "Fools Gold". They are a collection of short stories and mine is one of them.  "Where Rabbits Run Wild" has a very good description of how it all works.

It was a very hot day during what is known as the Hot Season, and I was beating a path through the jungles outside of  Mkeri.  Carrying my Panga for protection and for cutting bush, I stopped as a commercial went through my head.  Weird huh? Lol. Before I left, the Armed Forces were running a recruiting commercial and it went something like this:

"It's 7:00 am and 30 degrees. The sweat is running off you like a wild river . Beating  flies and mosquitoes that wold rather carry you off quietly into the jungle - you have been slashing bush for the past 2 hours.  You are about to give in. Then... you remember. It's not a job, it's an adventure!"  


Well okay... it didn't really go like that! Lol. But, it did go like that after I was done with it! Lol. Yeah, I don't really know what that commercial was anymore except the last part. But it was that very moment, I broke into an opening in the jungle and on the far side was a stone fortress overgrown by trees and vines.  In the 1700's the Germans had occupied this region and they had built these small fortifications to protect their interests.  Then, wouldn't you know it, out popped the romantic in me.  As I climbed the walls, I could see the aqua-green waters of the Indian Ocean. Sitting down, I studied the ruins and the surrounding beauty and it all started to flow.  Like music across a symphony, it built in complexity and volume as the story began to unfold in my mind.  Jake was always a part of me - always has been. But Janine... she was new.  That short haired brunette with calculating eyes and skills unmatched by most men, stepped out of jungles before me. She had a wry grin and an ease about her that I fell for that very instance. What man wouldn't?  She followed me for the rest of that journey. Always close by, she would remind me of what was to come. Of when I could be with her. She stole my heart in those jungles as I gazed across the rolling swells, and she's held it ever since.

Sometimes a story can grip the writer in the most profound way.  To guide you and steer you through the pages as their world unfolds before you.  In a minds eye, you become one with them.  You live and love and sometimes, you even die with them.  Not to worry though, Janine is safe and resting this very moment aboard  a small river class ship as she cruises off the coast of Malta.  Jake however, he is still up to his 'ol tricks as he walks the Africa plains in search of his one true love.  The Sultans Sisters.


Hope you have enjoyed this little glimpse into the world of Jake and Janine.  Next time I will begin my adventures in the dark continent as I tell you the whole story.  The birth of Mkeri.

Till next time - keep loving and living as if there were no tomorrow,

Trip...

Real Men; One Man's Opinion - Trip Williams

          When Dara asked me to write this for the newsletter, I had to admit to myself, that I wasn’t sure I really heard her correctly, or knew what that was?   All the way home from the meeting I was lost in thought and contemplating what exactly should I say!  Now reclining in my wicker-backed office chair and listening to the melodious tunes of Nora Jones, I was hit by an epiphany; or rather slapped up-side the head was more like it!  What was I doing?  Unceremoniously ejecting Nora, I tore off my shirt exposing my tanned and ripped upper torso [at least in my mind it’s that way], slammed-in the sound track for Top Gun and turned up the base.  Now…, I can sit back in my chair with the heart defibrillating wine of jet engines starting to real men’s music.

            Looking down at the epitome of mans stoic visage of power and masculinity I realized something; Gravity had taken over!  I couldn’t see my belt buckle.  Oh well!  I guess this take, on reality won’t work for my introspective.  So…, I guess I might as well begin with the meat and potatoes of it all.  Men… are not like woman!  Take apart the fabric, the essence, the chemical, physiological and biological make-up and you still have a very different person.    As writers, you women need to know this.  We are not like you.  You may have already guessed this one but, I had to make sure.

            So, what is a real man?  If you look back in time, you will find the outer shell of what a man is, as we have taken on the various rolls dictated by the social and moral compass.  But this is not who we are either.  Now don’t look to me as a norm or this will get you into trouble.  I’m wired very different.  Let’s face it – I write romance!  So let us look deeper into the male psyche shall we?  Fundamentally, we think differently.  There are a few different types of men and I think that we need to explore this for a moment.

We can be categorized into about three areas.  Pro-magna man, average Joe and…, well the ones with the feminine side kicking in.  Let us begin with understanding a man’s reaction to something he doesn’t like.  We’ll get to the other stuff in a moment.  With Pro-magna, say the wrong thing and he goes to fists; no discussion.  He’s about beer, boobs and sports.  The average Joe will have words or a discussion with temperance of hostility but will work it out with a beer and the last man will - I don’t know - go off in the corner and sulk?  But he will let it go and have a glass of wine with you!  Now a woman – wow - bad news!  Just watch the e-mails fly!  They will practically hold discussion groups about it!  Sorry, I was distracted there a bit.  Reflection on my daughter and family I guess.

Men have basic needs.  Attract women, have sex and let the women provide for them.  Okay, that’s the lion family.  Really, we do want to do that part.  You know, provide.  It’s a pride thing I guess.  In saying that, the sex part, we think about it all the time.  It drives us as a species.  No kidding!  I believe it was documented that we think about it once every three minutes.  I must be getting old because I’m up to seven minutes.  How often do women think about it?  Once every three days, if that? 

Now comes the other stuff.  As a man, we do care about the little things when it comes to who we are and what makes us who we are.  We want to be masculine.  We groom ourselves and take care to make sure that we look good for you women.  We do preen ourselves for you and try to smell good.  How we do this is based on our perception of ourselves and this is formed over time as we grow up.  This is important.  All men have a formed idea of who they are based upon roll models from when we were kids.  A police-man, fire-man, cowboy, soldier, a dad, etc.  From this, we base our lives and our standards that guide us as men and how we conduct ourselves with women and events in our lives.

That said, how does this apply to writing?  We all need characters whether they are the sideline fillers, the next novels main star or this stories hero.  What makes up a hero?  Let’s face it; Mr. pro-magna doesn’t cut the mustard does he?  After all, he’s a bit too brutish for what we all need.  Now take average Joe.  A man of the 90’s who is form fitted into the new millennia and sensitive to women’s needs and… he has some sense of style.  He cares about how he looks for his girl.  When called upon, he will let her dress him, after all, we seldom have true taste and surely can’t do that properly, but -  he will in turn, be attentive to her needs as well as being mindful of his roll by her side.   He is courageous in the eye of adversity and will gallantly defend her to the death.  Make no mistake; a man will die for a woman.  A man who truly believes, as I do, that a woman is someone to worship, admire and protect, will do just that.  No man should dare speak ill of his gal if he doesn’t want to fire up that boiler.  It will blow! 

Now the man on the opposite side of Mr. “P”, he will not always stand up for the same values but we are not talking about the norm here.  That doesn’t make him less of a man or at times not a hero; he is far more diplomatic and eloquent is all but, will look to other avenues to find a resolve.   Over time, and through history, we have always been the same.  We couldn’t express ourselves in the same way as we can now but we have thought and believed in the same values.  Expression was different, that’s all.  Social constraints – we all have them and most live by them.

So, where does this little blithering lead you?  Hopefully to a better understanding of what a real man is.  We can’t be everything in one package and I guess, that is the short line of it all.  So building a man in your novel has to be formed on a basis that supports who real men are.  Unless men don’t read this stuff and therefore you can build whatever you like!  How does your man fit into these categories?  Does he pay attention to the little things that you do, like the way you whisk your hair out of your eye when you find yourself engaged in a stimulating conversation?  Or the way that you pull at your ear when you’re nervous?  Is he even house broke?  Little things that help bring in a grounded reality.

In retrospect I guess, I find that I now have to ask myself that very same simple question.  Am I a real man?  Hell no!  I’m Bond, James Bond!

Trip...

General for a Weekend - A Trip Williams Adventure.

Well, I have deviated from my original plan by a tad bit but what the hell... that's life! Lol. I'll be starting my Mkeri tales very soon and with it a series of photos from Africa. But first, I think I'm going to have to date myself here in this blog.

Now some of you, may have figured out by now that I am a little long in the tooth. Okay..., not THAT long! Lol. But long enough.  This little snippet of my life is one that I will always cherish and is truly a highlight of my glory days.

Back in 1977 we were still in the middle of the cold war. I was an Officer Cadet with the Air Cadet League of Canada awaiting my training to become a 2nd Lieutenant in the Reserves. This was a time in our lives when air raid sirens were mounted high around our city's and tested regularly. Today, they lay in fields as scrape metal. A sad testament to a time when we were afraid. Afraid of nuclear war!

Our squadron was heading to the US. to visit Malstrom Air Force Base in Montana. This base was a Minute-Man missile base! Cool shit for those who were in the military and into those things.  Our first line of defense when the Russians send their missiles across the Canadian skies heading towards targets unknown. Here's the rub..., they didn't know where the missiles would be going until 5 minutes before impact. Seriously - let's see you evacuate a city of 500,000 in 5 minutes! Yeah... it ain't happening!

So here we are with our squadron of cadets on this really cool Air Force base. I'm a strapping young officer [actually barely one! Lol - no Officer and a Gentleman for this kid!] and we have arrived!!! Marching our squadron towards the mess hall, I get saluted by non-other than - a Colonel!

Okay... let's step out of this story for a moment. First off you have got to know, that an Officer Cadet is so far below the rank of a full bird, that I barely make his boot heels!

Okay..., let's step back in again. Now back then, I was as an ambitious young lad who really wanted to impress - I'm fast on the draw and nobody can snap a salute faster than me! Well sort of. Hmmm..., I did notice however the dirty look I got? Okay - I was a little too slow but he really shouldn't have been so impatient! Seriously!!!  I'm suppose to salute first - didn't he get the memo?

Actually... this behavior by the american officers continued not only that day but the whole weekend! Odd thing about it was, that the american officers wouldn't salute my commanding officer - just me...  Okay, so I was in my glory! I admit it! Didn't know what the hell was going on - but who cares! I was living large!!!

Over the weekend we were treated to tours, movies and lectures - man were we blown away! We even were in the practice silo and underground command center for a Minute-Man Missile! Seeing first hand the actual silo with a missile in it, the two command chairs and control panels of the mightiest military hardware of the day! A nuclear ICBM [inter-continental-ballistic] missile! We even got to take turns practicing to turn the twin keys at the exact time to arm the missile after the presidents codes had been entered - which, we got to do! ...and, we even did a launch! Yeah baby! That's what I'm talking about! [patting my shoulder here with a proud puffed up chest]. That's right folks... we were well trained youth WAR MONGERS!!!!  LMAO... :)  I did mention that this was the training silo, right?? Yeah - not the real MaCoy.

Okay - seriously, it was very cool!  On the final afternoon on that Sunday, we were treated to a dance in our honor hosted by the Civil Air Patrol - our american counter-part. As I was informed later, when I walked into the room, the jaws dropped on everyone one of the Air Patrols cadets. One who was engaged with my Warrant-Officer asked him if I was a little too young for holding the rank I did? He responded with "No..., he's about the normal age." he came back with "To be a General??"

I almost died when I found this out! You can't image how all the little pieces fell so fast into place. You talk about a puffy chest now? I was milking it!

You see, an officer cadet has a single thin gold strip on his sleeve and I had two brass maple leafs on my lapels. Not getting any clearer yet? Okay..., let me help you along. An american Brigadier General, has a thin gold strip on his sleeves and a single silver star on each lapel.  Get the connection? So now I understood how for that weekend, I commanded salutes from all the officers on that base  - even if they did do so with clenched teeth. They took the maple leafs as our version of a star.

...and THAT, is how I was a General for a weekend! Life can throw you some awful funny curves at times but some of those - you really need to get on it and ride it hard while you can!

Trip...

Reflections - By: Trip Williams

Over the years I find myself quite often reflecting on my past.  Some may think this as a whimsical cerebral interlude or even trying to recapture one's glory days; but I think not.  It closely resembles what I was eluding to in my previous post on  Inspirations.  I find inspiration in the reflections on my life!  If you look in a shimmering pool of water, the reflection looking back is that of you.  This is your immediate life.  As you look to the edges, it becomes blurry.  This is closely akin to your past.  As time goes by, we forget things about where we came from, what we have done and in some cases - who we are. Those are the blurry edges of our lives.  But, beneath the water is our memories.  Suspended in time, it lingers - waiting.  Waiting for you to retrieve them and reflect upon them; and that, is what I do.

At times these memories seem to find their own way home as the thoughts appear in my mind.  Some random but most very deep memories filled with emotion.  Good and bad.  From these, I draw upon for my writing.  From these, I find a new world.

Back in 1979, Iran took the american embassy hostage.  While people watched from their living rooms, a different world was unfolding around them.  A world that no one knew and would have been terrified to have really know. I was in the navy and when this crisis broke, the Canadian fleets pulled into harbor alongside the ammo storage facilities.  There we offloaded our practice rounds and with our holds teeming with high explosion warheads, we set sail.  We were now on second degree war time standby.

With the entire fleet at sea, American ships hailed us not by radio, but by signal lamp.  Everyone was running silent. It was reminiscent of WWII.  Demanding to know our identity, lamps flashed through the night as we passed by - patrolling the waters along our borders.  Waiting.  Waiting for orders.

One late night early into this tense patrol, I was standing watch on the starboard wing as lookout.  Flying high above the rolling waves, I scanned the horizons watching for ships and debris in the water that may bring harm to my ship. As we cut through the oceans swells, the moon was full and the air warm. Cascading phosphorus sent shimmering displays of greens and blues splaying across the waves and behind the wake from of our destroyer.

Something caught my eye.  Below the horizon something was wrong.  Phosphorus trails were lighting up.  Raising my binoculars, I focused on twin trails streaming through the waters on an intercept course with my ship. About twelve feet apart and with the left hand one leading the other, I watched intensely.  These trails of  color were traveling at high speed and unforgiving from their course.

Stepping back from the steel enclosure of the lookout wing I leaned against the open window to the bridge and called for the office of the watch.  Pointing at the fast approaching wakes he raised his binoculars to see what had me backed up against the bridge.  My mind was racing with only one thought - torpedoes!

Disappearing back in the dim lit bridge, the officer of the watch left me alone - alone to die.  To suffer in silence the fiery ball of death I was certain would come.  Knowing that my death was immanent and with no place to go, I walked to edge of the wing and watched as the two trails hit their mark.  The phosphorus disappeared and as I held my breath, two explosions of water appeared near the bow.  They were dolphins!  I almost pissed myself!  Christ, that scared the shit out of me!  I know I laughed when I saw them but with that was a rush of emotions I find hard to explain even to this day.  Death did truly come to great me that night and with his arm firmly around my shoulder, he lead me down that path into darkness.  I know that bugger was laughing as he left my side.  Trust me when I say that I have never watched porpoises or dolphins without thinking of that night.

So what is the point of my tale?  Just that from that night, I have built countless tales.  Ones of battle, of survival and ones even of romance.  Think of the endless opportunities presented to me that night.  Stories even yet to be told!  Countless stories!  These are the things in life that I reflect on.  Whether it be from fear or from exhilaration - we can use these events to our advantage.  I know I do.  I will have to admit though, I have a sweet spot for romance and even out of the depths of terror, a little love can always be shinning through.  Ahhww... but alas, that is a tale for yet another day. A tale of the young girl waiting for me back at home port.  The one my mind flashed to moments before my death.  The one who was not my fiance'e.

Trip...

Inspirations.by Trip Williams Author

Inspirations. Where do they come from? Have you set ever sat back and wondered, just where your inspiration comes from? Sometimes it can come from the oddest thing!  Above is a self portrait of myself and a very dear old friend - Victor.  We were on a bike trip out to the coast last year and we stopped beside the road just outside of Hope, British Columbia.  That one image has given me countless thoughts about things to write.


In the movie 'Always' with Richard Dreyfus, Holly Hunter and John Goodman, the inspiration for pilots is depicted as the dead fliers who have gone on before you. They become your conscious - your spirit guide.  That little nagging voice that tells you when you're doing something right and something wrong!  Is it too far from the truth?  Who knows? I could beguile you with my own philosophies but that should be left for another time and... maybe another place.   By the way, if you have not yet seen that movie, it's a must see!  


For me, inspirations come in the smallest of things.  A certain look someone has while they quietly muse on some deep thought. A look.  The worn sandstone blocks on the corner of an old building.  A tear in the eye of a woman as she sits in the car next to you as she glances up and makes eye contact while her man berates her.  It's the things in life that catch your eye and sometimes your heart.

I have two favorite memories that I will carry and hold the closest to my very soul until my last breath.  Both coincidentally happened in the rain.  The first - It was late fall and close to around 10:00pm.  A Friday night, and the rain was a steady down-pour. I was called out on an emergency to meet with new clients who were sitting at home freezing - they had no heat.  This couple lived in a condominium complex; one of the nicest in town with a Italian styling to the buildings and beautifully manicured grounds.  As I rounded the corner, a young woman stood in a trench coat and high heels with an umbrella pulled low.  The light streaming down from the Tudor style street lamp cut a swath through the rain casting a shadow over her face. She was waiting for me.  As I stepped from my truck, she held the umbrella out for me so I would not get wet.  As the umbrella moved away from her face, a beautiful platinum blonde with red lipstick smiled and thanked me for coming.  Now I know what your thinking but seriously, that is exactly what and how it happened!  In this I have taken no liberties.  These folks were from Sweden and their hospitality was second to none.  Once inside I could not even begin to do anything for these wonderful people, until they fed me a hot meal.  I was seriously blown away! But that scene of her standing in the rain with her umbrella is forever burned into my mind and that image - by far one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

The second scene has a little less impact but was every bit as romantic and breathtaking.  It was about the same time of year and late at night when I was traveling home from sisters house.  As I came upon my corner, I saw a woman walking her dog.  She was also in a trench coat and heels with her umbrella pulled low.  Her Shiatsu strolled causally beside her as she continued walking away from me.  I remember stopping and shutting down my engine as I rolled down my window and watched her.  It was a light rain that night, mixed with a slight bit of fog. The click of her heels on the sidewalk carried in the cool night air and I had to just sit and drink it in. It was breath taking in its simplicity, beauty and surrealism.

It's moments like these that can be the most inspiring for a writer.  Weather you're a romance writer or a mystery writer and even a paranormal author; it all adds to the moment.  That fracture in time that you can hold and carry with you as you click away at your keyboard and tell your story.

So next time you get that lingering scent of perfume in the air or that glance with a smile from someone passing by, or even spot that small piece of history on the corner of a coffee shop building; take a moment for pause and reflection.  After all, it is a gift for you.  Take in the moment, breath it in, run your hand along the worn rock or a weathered wooden rail.  Be a part of it and it will stay with you forever.  Life is to be tasted, breathed in and experienced. Let life inspire you.  But then again... this is just one man's opinion.

Trip...