The newest book in the Senior Center Murder series has just been released through BookLocker. You can purchase a copy at Barnes & Noble online or from BookLocker directly.

For those of you who have been asking, yes, the romance between suburban cowboy detective Stan Nevins and the curvaceous, feisty Park Ridge Senior Center director Teresa Cusentino heats up! It’s summer after all.

The novel is set at the Six County Senior Olympics, a very real event for senior citizens northwest of Chicago.

Maybe I’ll reinvent myself and it. Maybe not.

There’s lots of good stuff hidden in the archives - take a look around. Thanks to CWA members who helped me mount the last hurrah.

The End. Two of the most famous and widely known words in the written language.

I love the word The End. I often start my writing with some “end” in mind and work my way back. I say “some end” because every once in a while the ending that I had conjured is not what it turns out to be. We’ve all been there I’m sure, the detour of the creative mind and the characters we dream up. However, for the most part, I try to stick to what I set out to accomplish as the finality of the story.

The words The End are sacred to me. They hold the secret to the final resolution, conflict, and issue to whatever I’m trying to convey. When you eventually read the words The End, that’s it, it’s the full loop. You have reached the last stop on your ride of reading for that particular tale.

I recently had the pleasure of penning in my first fictional novel: Isabella, My Rose, the words The End. A story about a couple’s journey and struggles within their marriage, and the miraculous birth of their daughter born with a congenital limb deficiency who becomes the pinnacle in their relationship, in keeping it all together. Honestly, I had mixed emotions after I finished it. I knew I couldn’t go any further, but yet I felt it was time to conclude the story. Similar to J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter Series.

But are you really done when you reach The End? Is all that labor of furious writing complete? If you are just writing for yourself and it’s a personal escape, well then, I guess you can end where you want. Maybe not, who knows, that’s an individual decision. However, for those writers like myself who want to publish their writings, it really isn’t The End, is it? I currently have two people editing my novel. I know there will be changes, but will their feedback change my ending? Hmm…I don’t know. That is between me the writer, and the message I’m delivering. I do know that if ever I get the opportunity to entertain the interests of the publishing industry; there will be plenty of enhancements to be made.

So even if you penned “The End,” the road to the bookshelves can be an uneven path full of cracks and rolling pebbles. The End may be done, but that my friends is only the Beginning. Keep writing. May the pen always be in your hand, and the words flow from your mind.

Dear Cheryl

It was a sunny day but a bit chilly as I stood among thousands of white marble crosses. My wife and I came to this place to honor the memory of all the young men who fought and died here on D-Day and the following few days after June 6, 1944. United States and Allied Forces landed on the beaches of Normandy, France on D-Day to liberate Europe from German occupation, one of the most significant and imortant events in the annuals of military history. We also wanted to honor all of America’s young men who fought and died on every other far flung shore or foreign country during WWII. It had been over sixth years since that morning of June 6,1944 when American forces stormed ashore at Omaha and Utah beaches. Time has inevitably relegated their heroic deeds and suffering to a storage room of dusty archives and all that remains are the fading memories of those who lived through those terrible days. Time is gradually defeating all WWII veterans. That is something Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany could not do.

During the D-Day cermony I, along with two other WWII veterans, was given the honor and the privilege of placing the memorial wreath at the feet of the “Spirit of American Youth” statue during the cermony on June 6, 2001.

At the conclusion of the wreath-laying ceremony I found myself strolling slowly among the white marble crosses. All I could hear was the soft whisper of a sea breeze caressing my face, the sound of the surf against the sandy beach below, and the twittering of the birds in the surrounding trees. As I looked around, I realized I was standing in a place where every blade of grass appeared to have its own private caretaker. Yet, I felt no joy or particular appreciation for the aesthetic value of this place. I was completely overwhelmed with a somber and desperate feeling of sadness and grief that surrounded me. My emotions were almost uncontrollable as I struggled to get my breath. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. I felt a burning lump in my throat and my body began to involuntarily shake. Suddenly the silence was broken by a soft, low moaning or sobbing sound. I looked around to see who was in distress but no one was near me. I suddenly realized the sobs and moans were coming from my own chest and throat. That was the moment when I decided that I had to located the boys I had gone to grade school and high school with and document their stories and experiences. The result ended up as a book, HEROES AMONG US.

Sincerely,
Hal Terrell

Mr. Terrell also sent me the following.”Perhaps you can use some of the comments made by some of my readers. I can honestly say that I never received one single comment that was derogatory.

THE GLENWOOD POST INDEPENDENT
“A reader is fortunate when he hooks into a book that is so good he doesn’t want it to end. A newspaper reporter is even luckier when he talks to a subject who has so many stories the reporter doesn’t want the interview to end. That is how it turned out when I interviewed Hal Terrell about a book he wrote about local World War Two veterans.”

TOM AXELROD–70th DIVISION, 274 BATTALION, COMPANY K
(Tom recently passed away)
“WOW! This is going to be some book! Hal has been hiding under the editorial blanket all these years. He has he touch. All the stats, the trip to Europe, his letter writing, the footwork, the years in the making looks to be paying off. From what I have seen and read it appears to be one of the best sellers.

LARRY SCHMUESER & ASSOCIATES
“You have summurized the feeling and thoughts of most Americans, my generation included. The war should, and will not ever be forgotten, and your generation will be remembered not only as the greatest but also the one that could and did. You have said far more in a few words than many of the historians have in volumes. THE OLD NATIVE WAY! This book should be required reading by all leaders in government, all teachers who teach history, at all levels of learning”.

HAL CAPRON
“I found tears rolling down my cheek while reading about Alex and Raymond. Two such different lives, but both heroes just the same. The stories you tell are very touching and should be identifiable to people from all generations and backgrounds, just like your heroes are. It is hard to imagine the fear of being in the tail of that B-17, or having to live with the challenges of Raymond. But, your book has brought me as close as I will ever know of what it was like. I only hope that if I had been dealt the same hand as they were I would have been man enough to play it as well as they did”.

FOX CLEAR CHANNEL TELEVISION
“I just finished reading one of the most moving and compelling books I have ever read. Your first chapter sent chills up my spine and brought tears to my eyes. Your descriptions of the battlefields, the walk through the cemetery at Omaha Beach, and the letter from the military doctor in San Antonio all put into perspective how insignificant and fortunate we really are. The fact that you have put all of this on paper is a tribute to you and your character. I for one, thank you for opening my eyes”.

STEVE BEATTIE, ATTORNEY AT LAW
“Great reading! You are both tough and tender, and the combination makes for a unique and inspiring narrative. When the book is actually finished, I look forward to being one of your first customers. I know my Dad would enjoy the book”.

CHARLES JACKSON
(He has a chapter in this book) “If you hadn’t written this book, I would have gone to my grave having no idea about the true greatness of the individuals in our Garfield County High School class. We were/are a pretty impressive bunch of people, and before the book, I didn’t have a clue”.

NORMA AND GENE STROMBERG
“I read the first chapter of your book to Gene as he is almost blind now. It was great! We were both quite impressed and we both had tears in our eyes. I got choked up, especially when reading the poem at the end of this chapter. Gene is eighty three years old now and your book has brought back a lot of the WWII memories to him. (Gene made the D-Day invasion at Utah Beach”.)

RESA AND JOHN WING–WING INTERNATIONAL
“Just wanted to tell you how deeply touched John and I were while reading your book. You have a rare gift of not only poetry, charisma–we all know that about you–but even more importantly of sharing your heart and vision. Good luch with your book”.

JIM NELSON–PUBLISHED AUTHOR
“”Heroes Among Us” by Hal Terrell is obviously a labor of love. So many of us who are alive today remember little or nothing of the enormous conflict of WWII. As Hal points out in his epilogue, WWII was indeed a world war, a war of almost unbelievable scope. It involved sixth-eight countries and resulted in the death of many millions of people, both military and civilian. Through his research, his persistence and his words, Hal has presented slices from the military and the personal lives of twenty-one men. These men joined the armed services, shipped out for places of terrible danger, fought, and in some cases died for their country. Most of them had not yet reached voting age. “The Greatest Generation, the enormous death toll of WWII, the terrible injuries of many of the survivors are all things that slip all too easily into the mists of time. Thanks to Hal Terrell, some of the battles, some of the horror, some of these men will not be forgotten.”

I was standing on a hot, sweaty street corner waiting, interminably, for the slow-ass 23 bus.  The six or seven of us gathered there quietly not fighting for the miniscule space in the shade under a definitely unloved something straining to be a tree.  We couldn’t fault it; it was trying with everything it had.

The only sources of true entertainment were the two addicts, an interracial couple, madly in love, dancing, walking, talking and occasionally nuzzling while waiting for the bus.  Their love, we could see, was clear, pure, honest, and vivacious, and they didn’t care who saw.  Neither looked a long way from their last high, but my heart leapt when I saw the female, either Latina or white, holding fiercely to and reading, a book.  Literature, I thought, in the hands of someone who needs it! Then I saw the title.  Knife Assassin.

So when you ask me the rationale behind the choices for my radio show, “Poetry & Prose & Anything Goes with Dr. Ni,” I tell you that I want my listeners to hear the best writing out there; if they tune in, I want their ears dripping in anticipation.  I want their appetite for good words whetted and then sated in the way that only sweet potato cheesecake can make a gourmand smile.

Keep in mind that I am, and have been for 13+ years, a professor of literature, and therefore I want poems and prose with evidence of study and the development of craft.  To give you an idea, here is a definition of poetic art that I gave to the Kelly Writers House for whom I did a poetry workshop in 2005:

Why poetry:  Poetry works because it bypasses the intellect and goes straight for the gut, the soul, what lies underneath your tame and ordinary conventions, ideas, and feelings about the world.  It takes you out of your commonplace feelings and arouses, touches something deeper, something you feel only in your solar plexus, something you feel only when someone surprises you and knocks the wind, momentarily, out of your sails.  That gasp for breath, of recognition, that’s what you’re going for as a poet.  You want your audience to recognize but be stunned, startled by that recognition.  You want them shocked awake by what they instantaneously understand.Poetic language: By poetic language I mean metaphor, simile and imagery as your nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs; as your building blocks with which to communicate.  Poetic writing is about density (of image and metaphor) and compactness of language; you are communicating in symbols, but you are compacting those symbols so tightly that you express 5 pages in six or seven stanzas.  Your medium is the comparison, the putting of a thought or concept into its mirror, an image:  the way in which a flower unfolds, the way in which a bee approaches and pollinates, the way in which a mirror smashes against a wall and proliferates into a million and one shards.  Tell us about your news item and its effect on your world using image and metaphor and simile.  Tell us by showing us through what you see, what you hear, what you taste, what you envision, what you hold every day in your hands.

Do you see what I mean by development/evidence of craft?  I want poems and stories for the show that leave a reader THINKING, recovering from an emotional onslaught, yes, absolutely, but I want their brain teased into motion as well.  Density, complexity, sophistication:  I want all three evident in the prose or poem, and it must be a great listening experience as well; if writing is not fun for the reader, does not pull the reader in—especially against his or her will—if it is not magnetic, kinetic, and instructive what then is the point and who will ever care?
   
You may wonder why I put “and instructive” in italics.  I am one of those old saws who still believes in the ideals of the Black Arts Movement.  Literature is supposed to give us tools for living, is supposed to tell us how others survived the impossible, the improbable, the unjust so that we too can do the same—with our dignity intact, with a sense, even, of majesty and grace.  Literature is supposed to arm us for Mr. Charlie, whoever and whatever our Mr. Charlie looks like.  That tree needed love and attention and water, and that female in love and recovery needed stronger sustenance than Knife Assassin would ever be able to offer.  To face the cruel twists and turns of fate sober will require knowledge, solace, tales sophisticated and honest with characters real in their bravery; characters enough like her to help her envision acting with similar courage and fortitude.
   
The 23 bus did, eventually, come, and I left that tree there, alone, unloved, unwatered.  Soon to be another fatality in this city of mounting bodies.  As I boarded the bus I tried very hard not to look at that woman and the book that, in her hands, would continue to break my heart.

The World Is a Kitchen contributor Helen Gallagher recently won Third Place in the Illinois Womens Press Association Essay Contest for her story “Flavor by the Spoonful.”

The award was judged on the essay’s fit with the overall theme of the book.  The Judge, a PR executive and Illinois bookshop owner, expressed pleasure with The World Is a Kitchen overall, so Helen generously shares this award with the editors, Susan and Michele, as well as all of the contributors. 

Judge’s comments about The World Is a Kitchen: “Thoroughly enjoyed the lively selections. The editors’ choices were completely engaging and shared a true taste of the world. I plan on carrying this title in my bookstore.”

Here’s the link - nice picture of Helen at the site!

Between the ages of 5 and 12, if you’d have asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have told you both a ballerina and a detective. From ages 13 to 16 I would’ve answered: psychologist. From ages 17 to 21? A musical theatre actress. From ages 21 to 23? I would’ve replied that I am a stage and film actress, so of course, I would like to make some decent money acting. However, at 30, I make my living as an executive assistant, and I dread the inevitable questions indigenous to first-time introductions about my occupational identity. Of course, I could go on and on about my talents doing important corporate things for important corporate people, but at the end of the day, I want to say that I’m a writer and leave it at that.

I am a writer. Saying this out loud is like finally having a sex change after years of being raised the wrong gender, at least, to the extent that I feel writing chose me and not visa versa. I don’t remember consciously aspiring to be a writer; it’s just been a lingering identity recognizable only in hindsight. In fact, whenever I imagine the type of person who is a writer, I imagine someone far different than myself: someone who looks more intelligent, like a professor with reading glasses always dangling from their neck who gets up early enough to watch the sunrise, drinks coffee black, enjoys a cigarette now and then, has a garden, cherishes books other people use as step stools and door stoppers, and has a rare-vintage wine collection. Oh, and has a fireplace. But, even in the days of putting on my ballet shoes and thinking that they would be many sizes bigger someday, I was writing.

I won my first literary award, if you will, at age nine, as a Young Author’s school finalist. My story, The Attack Lawnmower, which I authored and illustrated, was about a family who purchased a lawnmower on sale at a department store only to find out that it has an evil mind and will of its own, wrecking havoc on homes, lawns, and hair of neighborhood pets. It was ultimately more comedy than horror, as far as genre goes, despite the dramatic title. Not exactly Pulitzer material, but good for a laugh or two (if you’re an eight year-old).

I sold my first poem at age eleven. It was a comedic poem called The Christmas Craze that poked fun at how outrageous people become during the winter holidays, likening this to an infectious disease, as part of a fifth grade assignment. After I read the poem aloud to the class, a fellow classmate asked me for a copy of it. Soon, other kids in my class were asking me for a copy of the poem. Since I started finding all the work involved in amateur self-publishing to be a nuisance (trips to Dad’s office photocopier), I began informing my fellow students that a copy of The Christmas Craze would run them a whole dollar, thinking this would deter them from requesting copies. Instead, they happily handed over the buck. Some of them even skimped on their school lunch for days to buy my poem at the end of the week. After a while, it wasn’t just my classmates, but other students in the school that were finding me to buy my poem. I was a poem pusher! (I read the poem again recently; it’s terrible. Suffice to say, there are people in Kentucky that I owe a hot cafeteria lunch.)

In high school, I wrote a winning political speech. Tabitha, a fellow classmate, wanted to run for Class Vice President. She had a lot of great ideas and was passionate about making them happen, but was insecure about campaigning because she lacked the popularity of the beautiful, blonde cheerleader who would be her opponent. I offered to pen her speech for the candidate assembly, articulating her own ideas and enthusiasm. She accepted my offer and ran for office. The speech was a hit, she won the election, and the cheerleader was dumbfounded. Teachers approached Tabitha and told her it was the best speech they’d heard in fifteen or so years of teaching. For me, it was a very feel-good contribution not unlike the proverbial, after-school special that ends with the school outcasts getting their overdue validation. The cheerleader, upset, asserted that Tabitha was undeserving of the win because she didn’t even write her own speech. I was happy to inform skeptical students that plenty of notable politicians employ the use of speechwriters on a regular basis.

In my earlier years, I never dreamed that I would grow up and publish a poetry collection, write award-winning stage plays, or draft a fiction novel. After all, I don’t smoke, I prefer my coffee with cream, I don’t have a garden or a fireplace, and there’s a long list of literary classics I’ve yet to crack. But, when I think back and take inventory, it does appear writing has been with me since childhood. Today I can say that I grew up to be a writer, albeit one still discovering what that really means, crafting corporate correspondence by day, and at night, spinning stories about ballerinas and detectives.

The thing that caught my eye when I was bopping around there is that their coffeehouse uses the same Ginseng coffee theme that this site does.

I congratulated Lew and said, “I suppose you’re already busy writing the next one, right?”

He replied, “Yes, I am deep into research … Lorenzo de Medici’s Florence in the late 15th c … which will lead to a sequel to The Heretic. I find this period in history, and Lorenzo himself, to be absolutely fascinating, and I am hopeful I can create a story that will communicate this excitement to readers.

“I’m also trying to improve my skills as a novelist, by reading books about writing and other novels (with a very focused eye). You can follow my progress at my other blog … http://novelwriting.wordpress.com.”

I sent him a short note back alerting him to my new blog about blooks. For those of you who might be curious, I’m posting there several times a day. I’ve had letters from authors, editors, and publishers and I’ve looked at over 100 blooks in less than two months.

It is every time that I look at something of mine that some misguided nut out there decided to print that I’m amazed. I never intended to get into writing as a career or even a hobby really. It was just something that I fell into, literally.

I fell off of a train several years goes and busted up my knee pretty bad. I was a professional firefighter/paramedic back in those days and considering the nature of the job, I was to be off of work for quite sometime. Outside of the most excellent pain medicines, the nightly pizza and gallon of ice cream to stave off depression, I really didn’t have much going on. I had always been an avid reader but never dreamed of writing. Until I was visiting my shift mates at the fire department and I was asked what I was going to do with all of my time away, besides being depressed and ingesting copious amounts of medicine, both the pharmaceutical kind and the culinary kind.

“Maybe I’ll write a book.” I did make the comment with a humorous edge. I wasn’t serious, until challenged.

“You don’t even use lower case letters for your run reports” (why waste time hitting the shift key?)

“You don’t even use punctuation in your run reports!” ( I often wondered what those extra keys along side the letters were.)

“You don’t even write your run reports!” (That’s true to, once I made it past rookie I handed that job off ASAP)

Well, the gauntlet was there, I picked it up and 4 months later some quack from 1stBooks Library was lining me up in his sites. He was right on target. I had no knowledge of the lit biz. I hooked up with that vanity publisher and in a couple more months I had a hot little copy of ISLAND BOUND in my hands.

I learned quite a bit in that venture and actually met the folks that would eventually publish CARIBBEAN CALLING. My second book in what I plan to be a three book series around the Caribbean adventures of a Midwestern firefighter named Eddie Gilbert.

I recalled someone, somewhere saying that one should write what one knows. I had always been a big fan of the Caribbean, warm weather and Jimmy Buffett so I went with the tropical flavor. I was firefighter, well, so is Eddie. I tended to read action adventure so I figured Eddie a pretty wild ride ahead of him.

I am always asked, and I wonder myself, what the difference is between action adventure and mystery. Prior to CARIBBEAN CALLING hitting the shelves it was reviewed, mostly, by organizations that considered themselves dedicated to the mystery writers. Perhaps it is simply the amount lead and explosives tossed around in my writing compared to true blue mystery writing people?

As of right now I am still writing but I will never set foot into another burning building. Yeah I know, I make that sound like a bad thing right? Well firefighting was my first love.

About two or three years ago I was injured in the line of duty. I went through a brutal year of surgery and rehabilitation. In the end, I had to retire. They kicked me out with the rest of the broken down and old firefighters. I now write news, community news and I am still writing books. The third Eddie book is to be released at the end of the year. That one is titled PIRATE’S FALL and I will not be holding my breath on a prompt release. It hasn’t happened yet. My publisher by the way, get this, is Red Engine Press. Which originally suited me just fine. Nowadays I’m getting a little tired of everyone asking me if I own the company. The red engine folks? Its a train, not a fire engine. Go figure… .

As for the future, time will tell.

I’m off to go write again, prolly chase the kids around. They won’t be little forever, the writing could wait.

Jimmy