My books can be purchased as e-books for only $1.99. If interested, just click here: Books.
Match Play is a golf/suspense novel. Dust of Autumn is a bloody one set in upstate New York. Prairie View is set in South Dakota, with a final scene atop Rattlesnake Butte. Life in the Arbor is a children's book about Rollie Rabbit and his friends (on about a fourth grade level). The Black Widow involves an elaborate extortion scheme. Doggy-Dog World is my memoir. And ES3 is a description of my method for examining English sentence structure.
In case anyone is interested in any of my past posts, an archive list can be found at the bottom of this page.
My newest novel, Happy Valley, can be found here.

Tuesday, October 1

Non Sequitur

Non Sequitur is on the money again—social networking and blogging that begs someone, anyone, to please pay attention to every thought that slips out of a blogger’s, tweeter’s, facebooker’s head. We’ve always been a nation of talkers instead of listeners, but now we have virtually no listeners and about 600 million talkers. Every new cell phone should have an ap that beeps when a caller stops talking for at least five seconds. Then the call receiver can take over while the call initiator puts the phone in a pocket until the beep signals it’s his/her turn. There. Everyone talking, no one listening. That’s sort of the way this blog works: I talk and talk about almost anything, hoping that someone out there is listening (reading it). And then I hope that someone would hear their beep and begin talking back. In other words, I’d like this blog to be a two-way street, an “I talk” then “you talk” avenue. Facebook does that . . . sort of . . . but the back and forth conversations are so brief and all too often meaningless. Okay, so Facebook informs us of someone’s impending birthday or anniversary and we respond with a “happy bd bro, hope you have a good one.” Whoopie do! Who needs that? It’s like an emoticon or two can substitute for real feelings, or an LOL can take the place of real laughter. I want a card in the mail, a card made by the sender instead of Hallmark bought, a card that required some personalized thought, not just a standard greeting. A $4.95 card does not buy my gratitude, even though it buys a lot more than a Facebook “Happy bd.” All right, then, blog visitors, on November 28, I’ll be celebrating my eightieth birthday. I want lots of caring cards, hard copy in the mail or at the very least, e-mail salutations: Mark it on your calendars. Less than two months from now I want to hear from you.
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