WRITING: “survival fiction”

Sunday, March 2, 2008

As a boy, I first experienced “survival fiction” in the form of Swiss Family Robinson. Not much later, it was Robinson Crusoe. Eventually, I became a fan of Heinlein and got my first introduction to “libertarianism” in Starship Troopers. That’s probably why I listened in class to the American Revolution, the death of that revolution in the War of Northern Aggression, and Austrian Economics. As you can guess, I was a thorn to every teacher because I was a “true believer” in the Sovereign Individual. (Not too good in a Catholic school.) Maybe that’s why I have an affinity for what is currently called “patriot fiction”, or the TEOTWAWKI (The End Of The World As We Know It) genre.

It amazes me that there is so much of it. Mostly free and “unpublished”. And it all pretty much follows the formula — setup, preparing, disaster, and the results of it. Interesting is that it all seems to recognize that humans desperately need each other to survive. The first thing that needs to happen is that a tribe has to form or the individual survivors will be overwhelmed by this or that. Tribes may form clans as well.

Bottom line: No matter what the disaster, the individual needs to be prepared. Long term survival relies on cooperation. It truly is a jungle out there. Like today, there are varmints — two legged and four legged — that need to be dealt with. And, no amount of wishing, or “laws”, will make it not so.

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WRITING: others could see their prosperity

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Life was good.

True, they had come thru the end times that had killed so many. The farm was prospering with lots of hard work. Unrelated good folks pulling together under horrible conditions were making it so. They thought they had problems with weather, shortages, the complete absence of some critical things, thieves, predators, and sometimes it seemed the fates.

But!

The crops looked good; the animals were breeding; they had not only survived, but were succeeding. They had enough for themselves going into winter, enough to sell, enough to gift. Enough to tithe if there had been a church. But gifting to the widows and orphans took the tithe. Eliminated the middleman and the handling fee. They had even laid aside a portion for the Seven Years.

Unfortunately, others could see their prosperity.

In an office far away, “It’s time to bring the sheeple to heel, General. Apply the Force to them.” “Yes, Guv. Right away!”

During the night a small drone flies quietly over the target dispersing its deadly cargo.

By the end of the week, the farm’s folks were dead in their boots. First thing Monday morning, the convoy rolls up to take over. A brand new Colonel and his command installed themselves to operate the farm for the “people’s benefit”. We know that means the Guv’s.

Funny thing, but it’s different when it’s yours.

SO, by the end of the next season, the farm was worthless. And, the Guv and the General executed the Colonel for crimes against the State. They never figured out it was their meme that was wrong.

In the end, there are no problems. Just our fellow man. We, the race, are our own problem.

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WRITING: Caught short

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

***Begin Quote***

The kids came for a visit. Great fun. The TV blares “take shelter”. Where? I run to the end of the drive way, grab a tire iron from the truck, and lever up the manhole cover. The womenfolk chase the kids down the hole. I shuttle blankets, water bottle, and some food down to them. What’s next? The family treasure chest and some protection. I pull the truck tail over the open hole and wiggle down my self. Everyone’s scared; me included. Who knows what’s next. At least we weren’t out in the open. Not too bad for being totally unprepared?

***End Quote***


WRITING: The Short March

Saturday, January 19, 2008

The Short March

The disaster happened. (Does it really matter which one?) I was fat, old, and unprepared. There was no choice but to go on the dole. I went to the grocery store, turned in my Real Id driver’s license, the private swiped it. “Go to the Meat Department”. The woman in front of me was sent to the Bakery; the guy behind the Vegetable Aisle. I wonder why, but there was no time. I was directed thru to the loading dock and onto a deuce and a half. With many other old souls.

It wasn’t a long ride. It looked like a College campus. It could have been an office plex for all I know. There was a loading dock and a ramp down to the parking lot. There were numbered circles. We were directed to stand on one. A UN Officer addressed us in perfect English. “Please put down your bag and get your tag. There’s a short walk to your new home. Your bag will be returned after it was searched for contraband. You get cleaned up, fed, and settled in for the night.” OK, sounds good a fellow in scrubs comes, tags the bag, gives me the other half, and whispers “God bless”. That was strange.

The officer blew his whistle, the “scrubs” all ran to the side and a platoon of soldiers ran to the orange circles that I just noticed. The “soldiers” all looked “different”. Not in a big way. But in shoulder patches, ranks, and the all important divisions. When did you ever see MPs mixed with Combat Engineers? The Macy’s day parade. I had a very bad feeling. I was on the outside. The soldiers were place every other row on both sides; each side was off set one row. All guns were pointing into the formation. That was really odd. You never point a weapon at what you’re not prepared to destroy?

I remembered a conversation when I was a little boy with an old Jewish refugee. He tearily described how he was separated from his family at the concentration camp. The showers jumped to mind. I was now very afraid.

The officer blew his whistle again, “Forward March”.

We sloppily moved across a little field and up a smaller path. There was a disturbance on the other side. Th guard’s attention was diverted. So, I exited stage left with all due speed. I never looked back. I could hear something behind me. When I ran thru woods as a kid, I always high stepped. Old habit came back. I heard a thud. Stopped and turned around. The guard was down. I hustled back. He was dead. Broken neck I think. I grabbed the gun and what I could and moved sideways into the thickets. I head a lot of shots from where I came. Embolden with a weapon, I crawled back. I heard a group coming down the trail, they found the guard, and dragged him back to the parking lot.

I saw the guards on their orange circles. The UN officer was with an American Officer who was doing all the yelling. I was now ready to kill. Was I really? The American Officer went to the last guard on the far side and executed him. He did the same on “my” side. I wondered if this rifle was sighted for distance. Nothing I could do. I put the American Officer in the sight, remembered my breathing, and slowly squeezed. The bullet covered the distance, but I missed. The center of mass that is. The gun fired high. Who knows where was sighted? It went thru the taller American’s throat and into the taller UN guy’s head. Time to exit stage right. When I crouched up, I heard a crack.

“Herr General, we have casualties in the Population Reduction program.” “Of course, we pruning civilians.” “No, Herr General, one of ours. And, one of the snotty American traitors.” “Who?” “Colonel Franz Shummer” “Was he in our uniform?” “No, the switch was on.” “Strange, I thought that this would be bloodless for us.” “Who did it?” “Some fat old man.” “Dead?” “yes” “Too bad, I’d have like to have had him questioned”. “Send a replacement and how will this effect our numbers”. “It’s only one location. We should have no trouble meeting our quotas!” “Very well, 95% reduction is a big quota”

Silently the General remembered a famous Admiral and a sleeping tiger.

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INDEXCARDNOVEL: Scrooge’s Scrooge

Saturday, August 4, 2007

He waived goodbye to his son Seth, wife, and their three children.

Seth had finally landed a job as the supervisor of a garbage dump reclamation project. We all knew it was a great job. It paid 800 of the new Kilo dollars per year. But with gas at 200K$ per gallon, he knew he’d never see them again. After all it was more than 300 miles away. It would take 30 gallons of gas or 6M$. And that doesn’t count the permits, taxes, and fees. So he knew he wouldn’t be comforted on his death bed. But he would be mourned at his graveside.

He had had a frank talk about that with Seth.

At his age, he would not be approved by Homeland Security to move with them. And when you “emigrate” more than 50 miles, all your real property is turned over to the town and auctioned. Like abandoned property, it all goes to pay for the welfare of those on the dole.

Seth and he had worked on hiding the “insurance policies” in the things that they are allowed to take. Since Seth didn’t own anything, and there was nothing for the government to steal, the inspectors would be unusually diligent in making sure that nothing left the jurisdiction.

Since they were not permitted to search or seize religious items, each one had a new cross crescent circle moon medallion. Made as the logo of the State religion, it was particularly immune. No one, except he and Seth, knew that they were pure gold. When they arrives at the new house, Seth would put them in some concrete somewhere. With the proper respect to the new “religion” of course.

He had also shaved out the insides of some hockey pucks and glued one “tenth” in each one. He carefully weighed the shave out against the gold coin’s tenth of an ounce. It was tricky work since it had to feel like a hockey puck to the inspector.

He had planned for this day. It’s amazing what you can do when you’re motivated. A doll’s shoes have gold leaf insoles. A hammer has a solid gold head with a steel cover. Gold coins in the car’s radiator. None of his Y2K gold, platinum, and pladdium coins were on the government radar. They were hard to spend because simple possession was illegal. But there was always a “black market”. The government taxed everything. And what they didn’t tax, if they wanted it, they just seized it.

He just couldn’t move with his beloved son because he still had 24 people living with him. It was some family, extended family, friends, and just people who had need a place to stay. His pensions, social security, and hoardings made him into like a cash cow. He always had to watch everything because the grifters, the mob, the cops, or the government were always trying to seize what he had. What happened to all those people when he died? He could do nothing about. Estate tax was 100%!

No one could be trusted. Nothing was sacred.

When he died, his son would NOT come back for the funeral. But he would be allowed to have the body shipped to his new home for burial. And, that’s how they’d move the diamonds. Ebineezer had read about the Jews in Germany and how they did it. Good thing that he was able to talk to those survivors when he was young. Nothing like it was ever mentioned in government school today. But, he knew how to swallow.

Everyone knows nothing like that or this could have happen here in New Amerika.

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(c) Copyright 2007 Reinke All rights reserved


WRITING: MV Project printed the rough draft

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

 

Capturing the crux of the Third American Revolution to regain the freedom lost in the War of Northern Aggression. The “Gettysburg” is a battle where the heroes are a farmer, an old man, and an old marine.

I’m excited again about my next “book”!

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WRITING: MV Project Chapter #1 done

Sunday, July 22, 2007

 

http://glcavalier.wordpress.com/2007/07/20/
the-true-penalty-of-procrastination/

GLanC’s post on procrastination made me realize that my BLOG2BOOK project went much better when I blogged about my progress or lack there of. So here goes. (P.S.: Thanks GLaneC for a need butt kick).

(Not prog-ress, but drag-ass!)

Announcing Writing Project #2 MV!!!

Chapter One is done and thru first revision.

I’ll be doing a roadmap shortly. Probably Tuesday.

I have a really lame cover art piece done with the MV map. Just have to superimpose the title on it.

I’m going to envision Lulu-ing it. But, I’m not planning to make a big deal out of maybe a copy for me and Mom. Frau can read my copy.

:-)

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WRITING: Fifteen seconds to hook up

Saturday, June 9, 2007

COMMENTS IN REVIEWING A RESUME

***Begin Quote***

So, structurally, you want the reader’s eye to focus on your uvp (i.e., what you are going to do for the person who pays you).

You have between 15 to 45 seconds to “hook” the reader and make them want to read more. I want, you should want, that time spent on the value equation. I prefer my “objectives” statement to be at most 3 sentences maybe 60 words. Like a telegram.

Also your PDF format, while it will ensure the reader will see what you want, will turn off the hunters cause they can’t trim your contact info off and put their professional info there.

So what IS your UVP?

I like a networking profile that can answer three questions: What will the person do? Where do they want to do it? What are they looking for in comp — $, format, travel, relo?

So your pdf doesn’t work for me in either genre — resume or profile.

Does that help you or make you want to yell “turkey feathers” or “barbara streisand”?

***End Quote***

Think of anything you read. What was the hook that got you interested? Guaranteed if the headline didn’t “hook you” or have a magic word, then you didn’t read it. True?

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WRITING: Advertising effectiveness

Friday, May 18, 2007

***Begin Quote***

It seems that “advertising”, especially to the inet or to the high value execs, is ineffective at best and a negative at worst. Advertisers are seen as the equal of used car salesmen.

Cute doesn’t cut it.

If anything, the expert’s blog, with the built in reputation of that person, cuts to the head of the line in the buyer or exec’s perception.

That’s why you are seeing the A-list bloggers getting tremendous support from businesses. Enough support to pay like a full time job. It’s like the guide role on a safari.

I think that is how the model is morphing right under everyone’s nose. Traditional ads are less effective; bloggers are guiding the conversation.

***End Quote***

I’d like to think that I have some influence. How’s that for self-delusion?

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WRITING: BLOG2BOOK project – Interesting conclusion that I now agree whole heartedly

Monday, April 2, 2007

http://www.lewrockwell.com/orig7/boukhonine8.html

Everybody Can Write One Good Book
by Sergei Boukhonine

***Begin Quote***

During out conversation, one lady shared a simple yet profound thought. In a nutshell, she said that most anyone can write one good book, or at least a few interesting and insightful articles. Most of us have quite a few interesting experiences under our belts.

***End Quote***

I think that that lady hit the ball right out of the park. Everybody can at least write an autobiography. And, in today’s inet, it can be found by anyone. And, like I found out with Lulu, you can actually have a real physical book cheaply.

Amazing.

I wonder what Gutenberg or Pi Sheng would have thought about it today.