I have suspected for some time a problem with blogger in publishing posts on all my blogs. After publishing my first book I have been taking more and more time on my blog posts, striving for a higher standard of finish on all my writing; spending more time editing. Yet, I noticed changes I had made to the posts were not saved when I finally published to the web.
But I do not believe it is blogger that is the problem. I have come to notice this on all my writing, namely my latest book. And it has not been just on our desktop which has the most exposure to the Internet. And it is not just on the computers using Windows 7 or Office 2010. I have an old computer free from the Internet still using Windows 2000 and word 98 which I did much of my work on before I got myself a new (not the latest and greatest) laptop with Office 2010. On all these computers I have a significant number of changes that were not saved as I saved the work carefully along the way.
All this suggests a serious threat to my computer security. What is more disturbing is that it is on all my computers. It must be some kind of malware tied to the Word file of my books, which I started on a very old laptop, also using Windows 2000 and Word 98. the only other option would be I have a serious stalker problem.
So my latest Kindle publication is far less refined than I had previously thought and I need to review it and may take it down. I have since received a bit of editing help and made some small revisions on the first in the Fortunes of Chuck Hammer Series. I hope to get a second edition out for Kindle by the end of the month. An edition I may print out and send to publishers along with the opening to the next book in the series and a copy of my first book.
In fact I may upload “A Vendetta’s Wage” to Create Space, not buying any of their assistive services, and purchase finished paperback copies as it will be cheaper than printing them off from my printer and binding them in cheap paper, clear faced binders; over $5 each.
This first in the Fortunes of Chuck Hammer Series can be considered an introduction. It will be followed by three trilogies and a finale; ten more books.
I have switched my font for my blogs, now published with Windows Live Writer, to Georgia. The favorite of the author of this new book I heard about on public radio; “Just My Type: A Book About Fonts.” I always liked Georgia myself though I preferred Arial, but I will defer to the professional. For my books? It has to be Bookman Old Style.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
A Vendetta's Wage
Yes, it's here. Chuck Hammer and the Invisible Squadron; A Vendetta's Wage is available for Kindle. Excuse the Table of Contents, I just couldn't get the formatting to work correctly. This is a first copy, not professionally edited. Click image in sidebar for the link. Only $1.48. Enjoy!
In the world of super secret, Major Chuck Hammer and his Invisible Squadron take on the forces of evil in service to the country they love. Fighting battles unknown to all but those involved, the future of the world as we know it hangs in the balance. Standing for the cause of freedom, with the most highly trained and talented men in the business, aircraft unmatched the whole world through, what could possibly go wrong?
Copyright (c) by Phillip Kurz
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
Here are excerpts from the first draft of my next book. Some character studies. I will add more to this post as the weeks progress.
Colonel Richard Leokardia
Lieutenant Jules Salada and Ensign Benny Hannah
"Where's my breakfast?" Yelled the Colonel, hands resting on his hips.
See you guys." Said Lieutenant Salada. Lieutenant Jules Salada, Known as Jabby, with hair blacker than black, clearly of Italian descent, was pilot of King of the Beach, and head cook. His sidekick, Ensign Benny Hannah, nicknamed Benihana, or Beni for short, broke ranks with him as they both darted for the kitchen. Ensign Hannah had dark brown hair, a low brow, deep set blue-green eyes and a distinctly slovak chin and jaw. Both Lieutenant Jules 'Jabby' Salada and Ensign Benny 'Beni' Hannah were Navy SEALs and master of the cutlery.
As they began to prepare breakfast for the men, their conversation went to where it always went, to wedding plans for their children. With a bond born in the blood of combat, Lieutenant Salada had long pledged his daughter to Ensign Hannah's son, from the time they were newborns. A promised nurtured over long periods of shared solitude in bringing many a super secret base to operational status. Plans in the works for over a decade. Plans shared only between themselves, only overheard by those in the world of super secret, and perhaps only in honor of their fellow SEALs, those lost in combat.
A promise, whose origins traced back to the heat of battle deep in the jungles of Columbia. A promise made amidst a battle neither thought they would survive. A battle never recorded, known only to those who were there. A primal struggle, where the blood of the living and the dead, the past and the present, rushed as one through their veins. Desperately consumed in their training, no thought or energy wasted, in a rapid resolve to survive, to preserve continuity. Lieutenant Salada confirming nearly two-hundred kills that night, though he had long stopped counting when cold steel replaced hot lead well spent. From among their platoon of thirteen, and countless drug crazed madmen, only Lieutenant Salada and Ensign Hannah had walked away three days later.
Now they consumed themselves in preparing breakfast for the Colonel and the men. All the while arguing over wedding cake. Ensign Hannah making the case for red velvet cake with cream cheese filling. While Lieutenant Salada, trying not to pull rank, dreamed aloud of a chiffon cake with white chocolate mousse and marzipan roses.
In the world of super secret, Major Chuck Hammer and his Invisible Squadron take on the forces of evil in service to the country they love. Fighting battles unknown to all but those involved, the future of the world as we know it hangs in the balance. Standing for the cause of freedom, with the most highly trained and talented men in the business, aircraft unmatched the whole world through, what could possibly go wrong?
Copyright (c) by Phillip Kurz
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
Here are excerpts from the first draft of my next book. Some character studies. I will add more to this post as the weeks progress.
Episode 2:
Home Super Home
or
Be My Lady
Colonel Richard Leokardia
"Freedom ain't free and it's time to punch the clock!" Hollered Colonel Richard Leokardia, in a voice that boomed in the domed sanctuary known simply as 'The Super.' A super secret base in a super secret location, named by Colonel Leokardia after his love for beekeeping.
Colonel Leokardia, simply known as 'Sir', was Air Force, a veteran of Korea and Vietnam. A tall lanky man of advanced years. Gray haired, brilliant blue eyes sunken with age, dominated his facial features, now grown hard and sharp over time. Success in his career was measured more by the trust he inspired than the rank he had achieved. Being extremely fit and experienced at an age where most had retired, if not passed away, made him singularly qualified for his current post. For if a super secret aircraft could not be surrendered, all the more a super secret base. And if discovered, no remote detonation or computer program could be trusted to get the job done.
"Get your sorry butts out here and fall in!" The Colonel barked. Turning away from the row of small prefabricated living quarters, pacing back and forth, he mumbled incoherently under his breath. Within the minute a single line of five men formed, backs straight, chests out, heads held high. All sporting short flattop haircuts and dressed in simple gray overalls with no badges, emblems, or sign of rank. All average men of average height, distinguishable from any other man only in the abilities in which they excelled beyond all others.
"Attention!" the Colonel commanded. The men snapped to salute before a flagless flagpole, holding stiff and silent in sincere respect until the Colonel announced, "At ease men."
"Sir!" exclaimed Captain Andrew George, Air Force, nick named 'Cowboy'. For in a super secret base of indistinguishable allegiances no real names would ever be spoken. "Any news on Hulk? Sir!"
The Colonel scoured, and approached Captain George. Standing nose to nose, in a gruff growl the Colonel demanded. "Do you see Hulk's bird anywhere Cowboy? Do you think he just tiptoed in, in the middle of the night? COWBOY!"
"No Sir!" Answered Captain George, the youngest of the fighter pilots, blue eyed, blonde haired, baby faced, and never to be found without a smile. "I just thought you might have heard something. Sir!"
"NOTHING!" the Colonel spewed in his face, "Now ...All of you give me forty laps."
"Yes Sir!" the men shouted, instantly heading to the near wall, their boots pounding hollow on the decking, spanning the entire cavern at its widest point.
"Where's my breakfast?" Yelled the Colonel, hands resting on his hips.
See you guys." Said Lieutenant Salada. Lieutenant Jules Salada, Known as Jabby, with hair blacker than black, clearly of Italian descent, was pilot of King of the Beach, and head cook. His sidekick, Ensign Benny Hannah, nicknamed Benihana, or Beni for short, broke ranks with him as they both darted for the kitchen. Ensign Hannah had dark brown hair, a low brow, deep set blue-green eyes and a distinctly slovak chin and jaw. Both Lieutenant Jules 'Jabby' Salada and Ensign Benny 'Beni' Hannah were Navy SEALs and master of the cutlery.
As they began to prepare breakfast for the men, their conversation went to where it always went, to wedding plans for their children. With a bond born in the blood of combat, Lieutenant Salada had long pledged his daughter to Ensign Hannah's son, from the time they were newborns. A promised nurtured over long periods of shared solitude in bringing many a super secret base to operational status. Plans in the works for over a decade. Plans shared only between themselves, only overheard by those in the world of super secret, and perhaps only in honor of their fellow SEALs, those lost in combat.
A promise, whose origins traced back to the heat of battle deep in the jungles of Columbia. A promise made amidst a battle neither thought they would survive. A battle never recorded, known only to those who were there. A primal struggle, where the blood of the living and the dead, the past and the present, rushed as one through their veins. Desperately consumed in their training, no thought or energy wasted, in a rapid resolve to survive, to preserve continuity. Lieutenant Salada confirming nearly two-hundred kills that night, though he had long stopped counting when cold steel replaced hot lead well spent. From among their platoon of thirteen, and countless drug crazed madmen, only Lieutenant Salada and Ensign Hannah had walked away three days later.
Now they consumed themselves in preparing breakfast for the Colonel and the men. All the while arguing over wedding cake. Ensign Hannah making the case for red velvet cake with cream cheese filling. While Lieutenant Salada, trying not to pull rank, dreamed aloud of a chiffon cake with white chocolate mousse and marzipan roses.
Preface
I set forth three presumptions in my Preface:
If you believe this book to be anti-military, namely anti-United States, then I have failed. If you believe this book to be anti-war I have succeeded.If you forget any preconceived notions this preface may give you, reading the story to follow, then perhaps I am a good writer.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Struggles
Here are some excerpts from the book "Struggles."
Dietrich stood silent. The sound of a kick and a motorcycle throttling up came from behind the canteen. He listened as the bike, the man who was to guide them across the border, sped off to the north. Then he stepped out of the men’s room.
Support little and far between, and ultimately rejection, was nothing new to Dietrich. He was in his natural element now. Shoulders bent, head ever so slightly raised, holding something just short of a smile, he came around the corner exuding an odd confidence. Depositing the key at the service window, making his way towards the pickup, he spied a man, in dirty gray overalls, on the phone on the near side of the canteen.
He noticed the utility room door slightly open, a broken lock resting on the ground. Leaning on the wall, staring down, the man on the phone looked up as if in response to Dietrich’s own stare. A cold breeze drifted through the thick, humid air. A chill and a shiver shot up the man’s spine, but Dietrich smiled coolly. Never missing stride, he walked calmly to the pickup.
Hopping in, fumbling with the keys, his hand shook uncontrollably. With a deep breath and one swift motion, he slid the key into the ignition and turned. There was a grumbled rumble and Dietrich dropped the engine into gear, gently pulling out onto the country highway.
Checking his rear-view mirror…no one followed. .....
As the sun climbed high into the sky, Roger, now covered in sweat, removed his cap and sweatshirt, revealing a sweat-drenched white T-shirt underneath. His muscles, flush with blood from working through the morning hours, clearly bulged in his arms and showed tight through his shirt. Briefly removing his cap again, he wiped his brow with the damp sweatshirt and headed back to his cooler.
He often paused to admire small forest flowers peeping out of the forest floor or the delicate, richly colored mosses with their intricate structures. The beauty and the lure of the forest had tempted Roger more than once with the idea of gearing up and simply walking off into the forest never to return. But he knew it to be an escape; a shirking of what made him human. That it wouldn’t ultimately lead to the liberation, the peace he sought.
Earlier, Roger thought he had heard Shadow rummaging deep in the underbrush, over the sounds of the then-lively forest. But it had grown quiet, and worried that Shadow may have possibly gone too deep into the forest, he called out, “Shadow!”
Story 1
Support little and far between, and ultimately rejection, was nothing new to Dietrich. He was in his natural element now. Shoulders bent, head ever so slightly raised, holding something just short of a smile, he came around the corner exuding an odd confidence. Depositing the key at the service window, making his way towards the pickup, he spied a man, in dirty gray overalls, on the phone on the near side of the canteen.
He noticed the utility room door slightly open, a broken lock resting on the ground. Leaning on the wall, staring down, the man on the phone looked up as if in response to Dietrich’s own stare. A cold breeze drifted through the thick, humid air. A chill and a shiver shot up the man’s spine, but Dietrich smiled coolly. Never missing stride, he walked calmly to the pickup.
Hopping in, fumbling with the keys, his hand shook uncontrollably. With a deep breath and one swift motion, he slid the key into the ignition and turned. There was a grumbled rumble and Dietrich dropped the engine into gear, gently pulling out onto the country highway.
Checking his rear-view mirror…no one followed. .....
Story 2
As the sun climbed high into the sky, Roger, now covered in sweat, removed his cap and sweatshirt, revealing a sweat-drenched white T-shirt underneath. His muscles, flush with blood from working through the morning hours, clearly bulged in his arms and showed tight through his shirt. Briefly removing his cap again, he wiped his brow with the damp sweatshirt and headed back to his cooler.
He often paused to admire small forest flowers peeping out of the forest floor or the delicate, richly colored mosses with their intricate structures. The beauty and the lure of the forest had tempted Roger more than once with the idea of gearing up and simply walking off into the forest never to return. But he knew it to be an escape; a shirking of what made him human. That it wouldn’t ultimately lead to the liberation, the peace he sought.
Earlier, Roger thought he had heard Shadow rummaging deep in the underbrush, over the sounds of the then-lively forest. But it had grown quiet, and worried that Shadow may have possibly gone too deep into the forest, he called out, “Shadow!”
Monday, June 29, 2009
A Haiku
Haight Summer
Obvious Oblivious
To Be Same Is ...Is
Obvious Oblivious
To Be Same Is ...Is
Depending on how you define the Japanese 'on' (moras) it follows the 5-7-5 parameters of a haiku. What is typically known as a syllable in English differs from 'on.'
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