Champagne Book Group acquires Shadows On Iron Mountain by Chuck Walsh!

Chuck Walsh                                             Doe Creek

 Iron Mountain 

Chuck Walsh’s long-awaited Tennessee thriller, Shadows On Iron Mountain, represented by Loiacono Literary Agency www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com, has been acquired by Champagne Book Group, a Canadian publisher www.champagnebooks.com/ with three imprints: Champagne, Carnal Passions and Burst. Champagne Books is an independent small press located in High River, AB Canada. The contract for the sequel, Backwoods Justice, is pending.

Chuck Walsh is a graduate of the University of South Carolina, and discovered a passion for writing in 2004. Since then, he has written human-interest articles for a dozen publications and co-authored Faces of Freedom (featured on Sean Hannity’s book list), a book that recognizes the noble lives of U.S. soldiers who died while fighting in Iraq or Afghanistan. A Month of Tomorrows and A Passage Back have been acquired and are being published by Vinspire Publishing (release dates 2014/2015). www.chuckwalshwriter.com A Splintered Dream, the story of Cape Jeffers, is available for acquisition.

Shadows On Iron Mountain –What happens on Iron Mountain, usually does not leave it — literally or physically… There is an abductor of women with the tendency to silence them permanently, when he is no longer amused; removing any and all obstacles – human specifically.

Jason and Kara are excited about their romantic, mountain get-away until they arrive at their secluded cabin on Iron Mountain. Although Kara immediately wants to head for a motel, Jason talks her into staying. The first night she sees someone outside the cabin, the next day she goes to the frig to get a drink and disappears without a trace. She is not the first and won’t be the last. Iron Mountain has a rapist/murderer hiding in its depths. Thomas Jordan, a detective from the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, is called in to dissect Iron Mountain, if need be, to find Kara. What he finds are mountain people who won’t turn in their own; willing to kill anyone who tries to ascend their fortress, and a mounting number of floating female corpses in Doe Creek.

Walsh holds your unwavering attention from the first sentence and refuses to let you go until the last word, or does he ever let go at all? This promises to be a best seller.

Buzz Bernard’s “Twist” on “Tornado Season”

http://buzzbernard.com/2014/01/just-tornado-season

Moving On and Moving Mountains

     It’s 2014. The dead Christmas tree is recycled, the holiday decorations are mothballed and Handel and his Messiah are tucked in. Everything moves on. 

 Barely ten hours into the new year of 2014 and I’m already a basket case. Why? Like Janus, January’s namesake, I’m looking both ways…a foot in the past, a foot in the future.  I’m conflicted. Moving on is essential.

Every year, the same…drop this, grab that. Which?  Decision is impossible. So what happens? Not much. Easier to wait for deadlines and emergencies. They always arrive.

I check out last year’s resolutions, a ball and chain I hooked myself to. No good intention goes unpunished. All best-laid plans compete with the tyranny of the urgent. I find the list, all ninety-eight of ‘em. It’s written on the back of a church bulletin.

I review it. Success in two. Not bad. I no longer say ‘wuz’ and ‘fixin’ to.’  Not a complete failure. The big one remains, ‘Clean out the garage!’ It’s been on every list for nine years straight. It’s my mountain to move. It mocks me, the reminder of an old girlfriend I couldn’t shake loose.

Procrastination is the mountain… tomorrow, always tomorrow. My promise reeks of a shallow sincerity. Familiar? I postpone the job and visit my pal, Marvin. Moving mountains needs incentives. I lack even one.

Since his ‘ex’ left, Marvin lives with his dog. He’s the source of amusement and weird wisdom. He rides a bike backwards. Says he learned the trick from Pickrick, a former governor of Georgia. Safer to view life looking backwards, he says…like reading the end of a book first. It eliminates surprises.

Marvin talks a lot to himself and to Brutus, his dog. Claims it’s a consequence of PTSD…post-traumatic stressful divorce. Today they’re playing chess. Bonding.

“Hey, Marvin, whatcha doing?” I ask.

“Reading Scripture, playing chess with Brutus,” he says.

“Dogs don’t play chess,” I say.

“Brutus does. Beat me twice today.” Brutus lies there like a stuffed animal, half asleep, one eye open, disinterested.

     “Explain this insanity,” I say.

“Well, when it’s his move, I ask, ‘Knight or Pawn?’ He looks at me, nods one way or the other.  It’s dog braille. I know the signs. Worked it out with a computer algorithm. Slick, huh?”

Some things defy logic. I skip it and move on. “Is that your Bible? Sorta beat up, I’d say.”

“Gideon. Found it in a fleabag motel. I was hiding from my second wife. Been a Godsend. It helps me move mountains. I give the Gideons money.”

“Be more specific,” I say.

“OK.  See this verse by Matthew?  Says if you’re a mustard seed you can move mountains.  I felt about as small as one in those days. Pity-party hang-ups. I needed two divorces…my wife and the past. I got both. Now I’m a mustard seed.”

“Do you believe a mustard seed can move a mountain?” I ask with a laugh.

“Amen, brother. Even Brutus can move mountains.” (Marvin proves insanity exists.)

     “Convince me,” I say.

“OK.”  Marvin goes out, moves his pickup by the back door. Brutus jumps up, barks incessantly for ten minutes.

“OK, dude, what are my options here? Beat the dog senseless or move the truck?” Marvin asks. I shrug. So he goes out, moves the truck.  Brutus stops barking. They retreat to the chess table.

“See? No problem. Dogs can move mountains. Even ants can move ‘em. Mountains are relative. Size is irrelevant.” Marvin says, grinning. “What’s your mountain?”

“Haha, cleaning the garage. It’s that or divorce,” I say.

“Listen, for every mountain there’s a mountain mover. If you’re a mustard seed and join MSA, Mustard Seeds Anonymous, you’ll move mountains. Nothing’s impossible for a mustard seed,” he says with conviction.

Marvin and Brutus resume their chess game. I leave. Marvin lives on another planet. Who ever heard of a mustard seed mountain mover? One can’t make this stuff up.

Driving home, the cell rings. It’s Pedro. I answer, “Holla, que pasa, amigo?”

“Need dinero,” he says.

“Wanna clean my garage?” I ask. I feel both of our mountains begin to move. Maybe there’s something to being a mustard seed after all.

I swing by the pet shelter, adopt a dog named Mac. Someone else’s mountain is moved.

No New Year’s resolutions for me. I’m simply moving on. Mountains will move. Good luck with yours.

This year, I’m gonna teach Mac to play chess. Look out, Brutus!

Bud Hearn

January 3, 2014

My son, Brandon, has baked twelve dozen chocolate chip cookies. How many calories is that? A proverb from Jeanie: Anything that tastes good with milk or coffee is not good for you. 🙂 Happy New Year!

Words from Pep

Tony Awards

At the end of the day our sun kisses earth’s horizon introducing the night like a father tucking in his tired children. From east to west the nocturnal canopy is being drawn across the planet. It is time to review life and ponder the most recent events before they slip into history. . . . . . This blanket of shadow and darkness, being pulled up around our chins, calls us into the dreamtime. As it does, it also stirs others to arise. . . . . . With nose twitching, eyes dilated, searching, the badger exits her cavern, her grunts, growls and constant internal complaining inform her audience of her mood. Fox, frog and firefly, raccoon, rabbit, skunk and opossum, wolf, deer, mink, flying squirrel, beaver, bear – the total sum of their irritability fails to match up, even though they too work the night shift. Through the darkness, which matches her mood, like a miniature organic tank armed to the teeth, she rambles sniffing for “breakfast”. Ahh, a worm here, a grub there, some roots and grass, maybe a turtle egg or snake for desert. True to her kind she’s ADHD. She pries open a rotting log then dashes to ram her nose into a gopher hole and with three inch claws sends the earth flying behind her while the local resident exits the back door to safety. Nothing goes uninvestigated as she carries out the performance of her gifts and callings the Great Mystery instilled in her genes. . . . . . All our relations, from badger to shrew, bear to raven, fulfill their duties, perform as their script as written. The stage is always alive with drama, comedy, a musical and depending on perspective, tragedy. In heaven and on earth, under earth and in the sea the aria never ceases. It is theater-in-the-round as the curtain of light and night circles our planet. . . . . . There are characters on stage who seem to have forgotten their part, dashing here and there trying desperately to remember their lines, knocking down the set, singing off key, disrupting the harmony, demanding center stage, forgetting they are part of the whole. One has to wonder if they may bring the entire production to a halt. . . . . . As rays appear in the east, the nocturnal curtain is slowly lifted. Badger yawns and heads back to her cavern. Having played her role to perfection our potential Tony nominee exits stage left.
www.theteacherwithin.com

—
ONE WORLD  –  ONE FAMILY OF MAN  –  ONE CREATOR OF ALL

Christmas is every day…

No matter what your faith is or is not, no matter where in the world you are, I want you to know that during this holiday season I’ll be with you. In the eyes of every child and the melody of every song. I’ll be the glimmer in the ice crystals, the rays in the sun, and the stars at night. And with each smile you see, every hug you receive, and every laugh you hear, I’ll be there, reaching out through another, with blessings and tidings to last you the year. Not because it’s Christmas, but because I love you, because I’ve always loved you, and because I always will. And because all of these things have been true, and will be true, every day of your life.

-God

Twas the Night Before Christmas Florida Style

http://www.tut.com/ecard/index.php?step=sendcard&ec_id=290&ec_caption=

Words from Pep

Yesterday…

Yesterday I built a fort of sticks and tall grass, invincible, secure against giants and monsters. Yesterday I watched a beetle walk away from a dispute with a bumblebee and I went fishing with my dad. I saw a fawn nursing. Perched from a high branch I launched walnuts and spit onto my friends below, jumped on my bed until a spring broke. Yesterday I ran through the field until I couldn’t breathe, then fell into the alfalfa staring at the clouds. . . . . . Yesterday my Grandpa died, then my Grandma, then the suicides of my friends after Vietnam and I buried my dog. . . . . . Yesterday I got married, had a daughter, adopted a son, watched them build forts, study bugs, jump on their beds, become better educated than I. . . . . . Walking by a storefront window yesterday I saw the reflected image of a slower moving, graying man. In the background, fused hand-in-hand, was a string of excited children on an outing from daycare, faces with large absorbing eyes, mouths jabbering with elation. Maybe they had just seen a wise beetle or a hungry fawn. . . . . Wrapped in yesterdays, our lives, our memories are carried with us into tomorrow and become the sweet “thank you” we offer to forever. . . . . . . With abandon, take up your adventure in soul making! That is the reason God grants the journey of life. . . . . . Tomorrow, I think I’ll go outside and build a fort of sticks and grass, try and climb a tree, help my wife take a walk.

www.theteacherwithin.com

—
ONE WORLD  –  ONE FAMILY OF MAN  –  ONE CREATOR OF ALL

Good Tidings of Comfort and Joy

A Christmas Message

“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”     Isaiah 9:2

**********

     The house is quiet. The hectic pace is fading. The cascade of catalogues is easing into digital solicitations. Christmas is nigh.

     The cell vibrates. The Smithfield Ham Co. emails, “Last chance to get your smoked pig.”  Following closely is Hewlett-Packard’s print cartridge supplication, “Act Today!”  My delete button acts.

     Through the window sunbeams cast shards of sunset refractions on a bloated bunch of bills. My, what good tidings they proclaim! I imagine them bursting spontaneously into flames. I think, now that’s real comfort and joy. Unfortunately, they’re evidence of a shopper out of control.

     I contemplate how the concept of ‘good tidings of comfort and joy’ might appear in reality. I wonder. Star-gazing shepherds once wondered, too. But I get nowhere. The subconscious resurrects a poem by T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men. He mused, “Between the Idea and the Reality falls the Shadow.”  I think of a parallel universe.

    A few days remain until the Idea becomes this year’s Reality. Many are falling into the Shadow of manic last-minute shoppers, those who are succumbing to the eleventh-hour urgency to spend themselves into poverty. Is this the essence of Christmas?

     At lunch I overhear a man tell his wife, “OK, here’s my last $30…see how far it’ll take us.” She grabs the money, leaps from the table and exclaims, “I’ll be at Wal-Mart.” He looks nauseous and stares at his uneaten chicken. Is he thinking ‘good tidings of comfort and joy?’ I think not.

     In our haste, the essence of Christmas becomes vague. Bound by tradition, consumed by commercialism, we rush about in the Shadow of preparation. We ignore the deeper aspects of the Christmas season which ‘good tidings of comfort and joy’ proclaim. Is this concept plausible?

     I try, but the secret of this Scriptural concept of comfort and joy eludes me. It falls into multiple shadows within the Shadow. It’s a ghost. I can’t grasp it. I let go, wondering if it will find me.

     Last year we showed some restraint and purchased a 5-foot Christmas tree. We sat it atop a long, tall table. It appeared from outside to be tall, but in reality it was small. It was an easier set-up than the gigantic ones. Plus, it was a pleasure to decorate. Ah, Yes, finally some comfort and joy. Lighting it was easy. No spousal disagreements. More comfort and joy. It appeared as one single lighted evergreen, glowing resplendently in the darkness.  Our best tree yet, we agreed…comfort and joy.

      Today I crawl out of bed at 5:00 AM. There are few distractions in the strong, silent hours of the early morning. Even the dogs remain asleep. With a cup of coffee, I sit surrounded in total darkness, except for the lighted Christmas tree. Thoughts of thanksgiving circulate in my mind, remembrances of friends, of family Christmases, blessings of life, of comfort and joy.  Wait…has it finally found me?

     Christmas has many points of light. When frenetic activity ceases, then we can focus on the points of light that best represent the essence of Christmas to each of us.  Sitting in the comfort of home, the Essence becomes less the Shadow and more the Reality. The bones of the concept of comfort and joy take on flesh and come to life.   

     In five days Christmas will dawn. The Idea will again become the Reality, and the Shadow will fade into the Light of a new day. But Christmas Reality is just the birth of another Idea that awaits its own Reality. The miracle of Scripture, “…and the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us,” will live again.

     Today, as the sunrise drives back the darkness, the house becomes alive again. I remember the verse, “Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”  

**********

     Comfort and joy? Simply ours for the receiving!  Perhaps it’s fitting that we boldly join with the ‘merry gentlemen of yore’ as they sing, “O, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, O, tidings of comfort and joy.”

Merry Christmas to all.

Bud Hearn

December 20, 2013