It Is A Bad Idea To Annoy A Writer

Some links before I get started today.  Norma had an excerpt from Sam's Story. The Square Dogs had a toy review at Parsnip's blog. And the Whisk had pizza at her page.

Now then, something rather different for today. Don't worry, I'll be back with something more amusing on the weekend.

Social media and the anonymity it provides can be a fertile ground for those miscreants and knuckledragging wastes of oxygen otherwise known as trolls. They spend all day in a basement picking fights with others over nothing, seemingly for hours on end. While most of us spend a certain amount of time a day and that's all in places like Facebook or twitter, your average (well, they're below average in intelligence and social skills) troll seems to have nothing else to do with their day. They certainly have no friends. 

There's a total waste of space who spends all day on the message boards at Facebook for the CBC. He uses the avatar of a dead whackjob right wing commentator and goes by the surname Kiechle. He spends all day attacking anything and anyone who dares criticize the Prime Minister, lashes out at the CBC as an organization, and disregards facts and reality. Looking at his time stamps on his comments in any given day, and there is literally nothing else this guy does with his day. Unlike those of us who have other things to do, this is all he does. In the past, I've engaged the prat (well, why sugar coat it? The man's an asshole), but these days I rarely do. It's easier just to write the bastard into a novel and have him meet a very bad end. For some reason I think he'd do very well as a white supremacist villain. It probably fits his personal belief system anyway.

And then there's Ford Nation.

You have seen my occasional musings from the point of view of the drug addled mayor of Toronto (and more of those to come before the election finally turfs the idiot out at the end of October). As much as he and his reprehensible family disgust me, his continuing support from demented remnants of Ford Nation disgusts me more. 

These are voting citizens who refuse to see the abomination for what he is: totally unfit for office, a repulsive excuse for a human being. Any story about the man or his associates on Facebook will bring them out with the same tired comments. "Ford More Years!" "Leave the man alone, he's doing a great job!" "Like any of you have never made a mistake." "Gravy train! Billion dollars saved!" 

These drooling morons swallow whatever tag line the Ford family spew, regardless of the total disregard for reality of those tag lines. And they scream bloody murder when you call them out for their stupidity. But what else can we call them but idiots? Only a fool pledges total devotion to a man who never learns from his mistakes, never has shown the slightest sign of intelligence or personal growth, a man who cannot work with others, who suffers from delusions of grandeur, many addictions, and a raging temper, a man who lies every time he opens his mouth, a man who opens himself up to criminal extortion by hanging around with drug dealers feeding his addictions.

And they will never learn. The man could run them down while driving drunk and they would still stick up for him. There's no point trying to reason with them, trying to be civil, trying to make them see reality. They're so far gone. So instead of figuratively banging your head against a wall trying to do that, it's much more productive (and amusing) to heckle them. I have done that myself, and sure enough, the usual suspects will turn up throwing all sorts of accusations and rants around. They seem oblivious to the notion that many of us have had as much as we can take of the Ford circus, so why not make fun of them?

There has been one in particular, however, who has crossed a line. Her comment history is a painfully brutal record of profound stupidity and lack of judgment. She is one of the true die-hards of Ford Nation, so devoted to the man that he could plow down every member of her family driving drunk, set their bodies on fire, and relieve himself on her, and she'd still be cheerleading for the blowhard.

I have called her out on her inane defense of the indefensible from time to time. Many others have called her intelligence into question, with good reason. I've asked if her parents were breeding too close to the gene pool, what the colour of the sky is in her world, and why it's acceptable in her mind to vote for a wife beating misogynist drug addict. She reacts in the usual way, denying the man is what he is (denial is a big thing in what passes for the brains of Ford Nation).  A few days ago she left a reply in a comment post directed at me. She suggested my computer must be filled with child pornography.

Read that last sentence again.

Accusing someone of possessing child porn is crossing one hell of a damned line.

Others called her out on it by the time I read it. That's a good thing. Not that she'll learn a damned thing by it. There are certain lines, in arguments, that you do not cross without certainty. She did. It's slander, and you can imagine, it made me angry.

I thought about it, and aside from her devotion to the Ford Abomination, there's another reason I have such a dislike for her. She reminds me of my sisters: a shrill, bitter, miserable harpy. Her just being herself rates as a life sentence.

So what to do? I thought of a lawyer (and if this persists, that is an option). As a writer though, I have other options too. I've decided to write her in (just change a letter or two in her name) as a thoroughly miserable, vile character with no redeeming quality whatsoever. Who she'd be beyond that, and where she'd fit in, would be another matter. Needless to say, the real deal would not appreciate the way she gets rendered in a book.

Don't annoy a writer. We tend to take things personally. And your character will end up meeting a very bad end.

Time On Her Side

Something a little different today. Shelly Arkon, fellow writer and walker of two adorable doggies, has released a short story at Amazon, and she's got it as a download, and free from now until the fifth of November. It's called Time On Her Side.

Here's a bit about it:

They say God gives second chances.

Forty years have shown Wilhelmina has nothing but a lifetime of four failed marriages, a job she hates, and her most recent affair with a married businessman. Until one day, while sipping coffee her silent prayers are answered--she’s visited by her future self, offering Wilhelmina a chance to re-do her life, giving her a mission to save the future world from the baby she’s unknowingly pregnant with.

Is it the miracle she hoped for, or will this lead into a whole new set of problems?

It is up at Amazon now for downloading as an ebook; check it out right here! And yes, it's available for all countries. You can also follow Shelly at either of her two blogs, Secondhand Shoes or where she lets her dogs take charge, at Two Fur Peeps And A Writer.

About the author:

Shelly is the author of Secondhand Shoes. When she's not doing the laundry, cleaning, cooking, chasing grandkids, listening to daughter drama, or lopping hair at the salon, she's writing alongside her two fur peeps, a pair of dogs named Sir Poops and Hair Ball. She lives in New Port Richey with her husband and the dogs, and is a member of Florida Writer's Association and Writers of Mass Distraction.

I will be back on Monday (barring any catastrophes like the world ending, Revolution style blackouts, or visits from idiot ex-brothers-in-law). Have a good weekend!

A Character In Search Of A Story

Two items of outstanding business to see to first things off. At her blog, Norma did a review of the first episode of the new series Blacklist. Head on over and check it out. Over at our joint blog, check out the first of two blogs featuring the Last Kiss comic strip, in a blog we're calling This Didn't Happen In John Ford Westerns. Get on over there and comment.

This is something I wrote awhile back. I still don't know where it'll end up going. It might be something suited for the joint writing that Norma and I do. The character names might change. Anyway, it's a moment between two people fraught with tension. Have a look at it....

“Jack? You have a visitor.”

He glanced up from the file he was reading, the rap sheet for another fugitive, at the clerk standing nearby. She seemed nervous, unusual for her. Looking beyond her, he saw the reason why. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. There was a gloom in her features, a deep sadness. There was so much of Evelyn in her, but that was to be expected. The woman was, after all, her mother. He sighed, an anxious feeling starting to well up inside, the old pain that never really left.

“Is the conference room open?” he asked.

“It is,” the clerk confirmed.

“I’ll be along in a moment.”

The clerk moved off, joining his visitor, directing her to the conference room. Jack tried not to watch them go, handed the file over to another marshal, and steeled himself for whatever awaited him. He had never expected to see Elizabeth Collins again.

He walked into the room, closing the door behind him. She turned, facing him. The sadness was even more apparent up close, especially in her eyes. No parent should bury a child. He didn’t know what to say, still remembered the last time he had seen her, the anger from her and her husband, directed at him... unfairly, he had always thought. And he felt his own resentment surfacing, the memories of being denied a chance to say goodbye.

“Mrs. Collins,” he started. “I... wasn’t expecting you.”

“I didn’t... know if I... what I’d say,” she told him, her voice faltering.

There was a long pause between them, tension filling the air. “How are you?” he asked, chiding himself for the politeness, as forced as it was. Through no fault of my own... they kept Evelyn away from me. Why not just scream at her? Say what I’ve wanted to say? Why not be angry for losing the chance to be there?

“I... Mr. Scofield... Jack.” She shook her head. “I needed to say some things.”

He crossed his arms, stepped back against the wall. Oh, hell... “Go ahead.”

Elizabeth took a seat at the table, clasping her hands together, staring at them, as if summoning up the words. “Charles died three months ago, Jack. He never... Evelyn’s death just... it took away his will to live.” He was silent, torn between being sympathetic and the resentment he felt. “I’ve had to do a lot of thinking in the past year, and since Charles...” She shook her head. “We treated you horribly.” Elizabeth stared up at him. “Horribly, Jack,” she repeated for emphasis. She paused again. “You weren’t the cause of what happened. It was an accident... caused by someone else.” Elizabeth sighed. “But we blamed you anyway. We couldn’t accept you... couldn’t accept how Evelyn felt for you. And what we did to you... is unforgiveable.”

Jack stared at her for a long time. Yes it is. He remembered the restraining order, forbidding him from being at the hospital, followed by another, barring him from the funeral. He remembered the sneering attorney, the contemptuous expression in his tone. The police captain, a friend, had been apologetic, had shared his own anger about the turn of events. Jack remembered his anger, making the accusation that a judge had been bought off. It had bought him a contempt of court charge and a stay in a jail cell for a night. He had been coming apart at the seams, losing the love of his life... and to be torn away from her, to not even have the chance to say goodbye... “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice throbbing.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. We kept her from you, when she was in that coma. We barred you from seeing her again. We never... we never respected that you loved her too, that she loved you. We were wrong. I was wrong.”

He stared at her, saw tears flowing. “Evelyn loved both of you,” he told her after a long moment. “She tried so hard... to get you to see me for the person I am. And it hurt her deep inside, that you rejected what we meant to each other.” He shook his head. “I am trying really hard... not to yell, Mrs. Collins. Out of respect for her. She did love you both. That’s why I’m trying...” He sighed, held back, felt the wave of resentment, the pain. “But if you came here looking for forgiveness... or atonement...” Jack shook his head. “I can’t give you that.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I... didn’t expect it. I don’t expect it. I just... I had to say it.” She rose from the table, walked towards the door. “I am sorry, Jack. And I won’t bother you again.” She stepped out of the room, and he heard her walk away. The grief came flooding in from the corners where he kept it contained, overwhelming the resentment. A year on, and it was as if the wound was as fresh now as it had been that terrible night, when a careless driver had ended up shattering all that had mattered to him.

In The Company Of Evil

Well, I've been busy taking pics since the last blog. I'm getting my feet wet, figuring out the smartphone and thinking of photographic subjects. My next blog will feature a few more shots, and I'm thinking that I'll definitely go ahead and join in on daily photoblogs, in a seperate blog from this one, spotlighting my home town of Ottawa and beyond. Keep an eye out here for further developments as I go along. If you'll have a look over at Norma's blog, you'll see her response to my now getting my mitts on the smartphone (yes, I was dragged kicking and screaming into it, but that's beside the point).

Today, however, a bit of news occupies my attention...

Last week, news came out that the last surviving witness of Hitler's final hours had died. Rochus Misch, an SS sergeant, had been a loyal bodyguard for much of the Second World War to the most evil man of the 20th century. Misch was unapologetic to the end, suggesting that Hitler was no brute or monster. He sidestepped the issues of guilt or responsibility, claiming he knew nothing of the Holocaust, thinking of those days as just doing a job, not asking questions. He insisted Hitler had been a wonderful man, describing the events leading up to the suicide of the dictator and his mistress turned wife. Perhaps it is because of his lack of remorse about it all that the end of his days is being treated from various quarters with derision. Where the country itself has accepted the past and taken responsibility, this man never did. This is a man who's seemingly spent most of his life not atoning for the past, never accepting what most reasonable people understand: that Hitler, and the Nazi ideal by extension, was pure evil, walking the earth.

From the point of view of the writer and the reader, the news occasionally provides inspiration. And stories from the war, even seven decades on, can provide us with fodder for writing. Jack Higgins, the great British spy writer, is an influence on me as a writer and as a reader. True, I'd say his work has been declining in recent years- he really should have stopped several books ago, but it's not the huge plunge off the cliff in quality that Tom Clancy's work has taken (side note: Tom Clancy hasn't written anything of value since The Bear And The Dragon). Higgins is known for writing pot boiler thrillers, both set in the Second World War and the contemporary world. He's best known for The Eagle Has Landed, a thriller about German plans to send an operative against Churchill, through the use of an Irish operative. The book was later adapted into a movie starring Michael Caine and Donald Sutherland, one that I liked.

Most of his current work centers on Sean Dillon, a former IRA enforcer turned British operative, a hard man who can be both ruthless and yet utterly charming. Dillon started out as the villain, in a book which set him as the man responsible for the mortar attack against Ten Downing Street during Desert Storm, and yet Higgins found the character so compelling that he turned Dillon into the protagonist for his next book, Thunder Point, which draws on secrets linked to those last days of the War. It begins with the Nazi Martin Bormann escaping Germany at the end of things (making use of the rumors that persisted for years that Bormann survived), taking a submarine for sanctuary in South America. He carries pivotal documentation, including the names of those friendly to Nazi interests in Britain and America, and a document that could prove critically damaging to the Royal Family (another nod to the history of the Duke Of Windsor, who seemed entirely too comfortable around Nazis). The sub goes down in the Caribbean while Bormann is away, and decades later, the fact of its existence is uncovered, and a British intelligence officer, faced with an unknown enemy trying to reach the sub, enlists Dillon under the notion of set a thief to catch a thief, and starts the former terrorist out on the path to becoming a better man. The book remains a personal favourite, and it wouldn't be the last time Higgins made use of the war to tell a story in the present, later using a German baron starting out in the war as a young man, gradually rebuilding his life through the years after, ultimately becoming the villain in a later book, tangling with Dillon and his associates.

From the writer's point of view, I have ideas that come out of the war as well. I've mused on writing a thriller set squarely in the war. And I've also thought of using the war as part of the backstory for a book set in the present, for a villain whose family escaped to South America after the war, still holding onto Nazi ideals, still part of that legacy.

As writers, we find inspiration in some strange places. With the death of Misch, we have the end of an era, the last witness of those days in that bunker. It speaks volumes that he never made amends for it, that he still thought of that most reviled excuse for a human being as a wonderful boss.

What Does A Retired Lunatic Do With His Free Time?

Before getting to the business at hand, have a look over at our joint blog, where yesterday we said hello to summer as only we can.

Every once in awhile I'll check my blog stats. Sometimes the search terms people use to find my blog are, well, slightly beyond bizarre... which would be an understatement. That would explain how, among the top ten search terms for the week is the term Porn Captain America. Okay then...

Of course, the international audience for my readership varies from week to week. The top place each week is consistently the United States, where many of my readers are (big hugs to all of you!). Below that, things can get rather odd. There are some of the usual nationalities: Canada, Britain, Australia, Germany, and France. Then there's the strange places like Malaysia or India, which, I suspect, is where many of the spambots that turn up in my Anonymous filters come from. Note to spammers: I'm not publishing your posts, and if one sneaks in past the filters, it's getting sent back to spam land post haste! Go away! Note to other bloggers: check your published comments each day, because spam comments do tend to get through your filters.

Anyway, this week, the second most readers of my blog came from an unexpected country... Iran.

This I find a bit puzzling. I have from time to time featured Iran in blogs (usually grouchy diplomats), and I do have a character loosely based on the outgoing President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (also known as Mr. Cranky) in my writings (for the record: my fictional one is a rather nasty chap). Still, how is it that within a week, six hundred views originated from Iran? What is it about this nonsense that I write that appealed to that part of the world? I don't really think of Iranians as the ideal audience for my usual brand of mischief, after all. Sorry, Iran, but you do have a rather dour, frowning reputation, you know...

An election was held there in the last few days, and it seems the new president, Hassan Rowhani (much harder to make fun of that name), is seen by some as a moderate or centrist. Not by our Foreign Minister, who dismisses the whole thing as "meaningless", but between us, our Foreign Minister is a sneering self absorbed blowhard jackass. Here in the West, when we hear moderate in terms of a new Iranian President, the subtext of that is Please, let this one not be a crazy loon like the last guy.

Well, so... the new guy is coming in, and the old one is stepping out. Mr. Cranky has certainly not been dull during his tenure, sniping and snapping at every opportunity, grabbing the tiger by the tail, and viewing the world through a warped and rather demented lens. At least that's the view from here. Still, Mahmoud (I can call you that, right?), your annual speeches at the UN consisting of endless I hate all of you rantings gave a lot of fodder to many a comedian here. What will you be doing now that you're stepping away from the spotlight? Writing your memoirs? Puttering around the garden in retirement? Yelling at kids to get off your lawn? Plotting how to get yourself into the post of Ayatollah, by chance? Come on, now,  you can share.  

To the people of Iran, just in case it's actual people from the country reading these dispatches (as opposed to Mr. Cranky and his minions... hi, minions!), you'll have to get used to the new fellow. At the very least, you're lucky enough not to have this guy as a mayor of your largest city...

And while I can't say I live under the auspices of a theocracy (something I'm quite grateful for, thank you very much), I do know something of what it's like to have a leader who's a hyper-partisan, paranoid, vengeful control freak seeking to reshape the country in his image, and would love to get away with being called Supreme Leader, Majestic Excellence, or Glorious High Muckety-Muck.

We call him Stephen Harper.

Extended Families And Lone Wolves

"People are pretty forgiving when it comes to other people's families. The only family that ever horrifies you is your own." ~ Douglas Coupland

"Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops." ~ Cary Grant

"Blood relatives often have nothing to do with family, and similarly, family is about who you choose to make your life with." ~ Oliver Hudson

"The other night I ate at a real nice family restaurant. Every table had an argument going." ~ George Carlin

"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds. They're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Yes, I know. It's April Fool's Day, and you might have thought, surely William will mark it with some splash of inappropriate humour, right? Well, no, not really. Today I'm going to pull an April Fool's joke by being serious. Though I can direct you over to our joint blog, where we did precisely that, marking the day with a Without A Word image blog. Head on over and take a look.

Today I thought I'd touch base on a few things writing wise. One of the blogs I follow is from JE Fritz. At Still Writing, she often blogs about word origins, and back in March, she was writing about the origins of the letter N. It seems that in its earliest roots, the letter was symbolized as nahas. Incidentally, that word also means snake. This surprised me, of course. You see, in Heaven & Hell, one of my characters has the surname Nahas. He's a Palestinian politician, who's an exceedingly rare thing for someone of that profession: an inherently decent and honourable man. Whose name means snake. Oh well. Too late to change it now, right?

Another blogger I follow, Tracy Krauss, posted back in March a writing exercise that I liked. Check out that link for her original look at this. I'll paraphrase the terms she's used...

1. Think of the story you have written or are writing, and define it with a single word.

I'll cheat here a bit by saying that I'll use two words, but they're bound together. For my protagonists, the events of Heaven & Hell are about justice. For the antagonists, the story is one of revenge.

2. Focus in on this by asking a question about that word. The question ought to be as specific as possible.

Where is the fine line between revenge and justice? Can a terrible wrong be made worse by giving in to vengeance?

3. What is the answer to that question? This is the message or idea the reader's going to take away from your book or story.

This has been a theme that's shown itself through the book time and again as I've written and revised. For my protagonists, justice is about stopping a greater evil, defusing a crisis, even if that requires violence. For my antagonists, violence is a tool to indulge their anger, their need for revenge. Justice is restorative. Vengeance is destructive.

I've been reading a novel by Carla Neggers lately. That Night On Thistle Lane is a romance with a dash of mystery to it, set in New England, in a small town called Knights Bridge. She's written about this place before, and characters from that book turn up here again, though in this book another couple finding their way together take the forefront of the novel. I was first introduced to Carla's work through Norma, and have read quite a bit of her novels since. One of the things that she often uses in her novels is the theme of family- mostly family by blood, but also the friendships that form close enough to count as family. As an author, it allows you to continue to use the same settings and characters in future books if you like (with this book, she has twin sisters who could always turn up in future books of her own). It's been typical of her earlier books, where family dynamics play a big role in the relationships Carla writes. It would seem to be a reflection of her own life, as from everything I've seen of her online, she seems to have a large, close family.

I contrast that sense of family bonds in her work with my own work, which I would use the term lone wolf for. In Heaven & Hell, my two spy protagonists, Tom Stryker and Meredith Devon, are both only children. Stryker's parents are deceased, and he has no other family. Devon's father is dead; relations between she and her mother are strained. Her mother doesn't particularly approve of her profession, but that's just the surface of things, which I'll no doubt explore in future books. It leads me back, so to speak, to the recent James Bond film Skyfall, with the observation of how orphans seem to make good spies. Bond lost his parents years ago, and the loss hardened him. The film fleshes out that background, giving us more insight into the man. Likewise, in my work, Stryker is an orphan, and for all intents and purposes, so is Devon. These are two people who have been stripped of family, alone in the world. They're lone wolves.

This also reflects itself in our joint work in Same Time Tomorrow. There I write the point of view of our male protagonist, Gabriel Miller. He's an orphan too, his parents killed by a drunk driver when he was eighteen. In the book, his closest family is his grandmother Bridget; his friendships form the rest of his family. Our female protagonist, Chloe Masters, whose point of view is written by my partner in crime Norma, is also an only child, her father no longer part of the picture, her mother facing a crisis. Both of these characters have something of that lone wolf sensibility about them, the lack of extended family. It's a touch we extend to some of the supporting characters in the book; Dana Butler, Chloe's best friend, never speaks of family, so there's a friction where that's concerned. Olivia Shaw, Gabriel's close friend, is an only child and orphan whose parents were emotionally distant. And Rachel Mitchell, Olivia's fiancee, has been disowned by her family when she came out of the closet. What family ties these characters lack, they make up for by making family of the people they choose to consider as such.

I know where this comes from, of course. A good dose of who we are as people works its way into our writing. I think having characters who are isolated in terms of family dynamics is reflected in part from my own family history. No, I'm not an orphan, and I do get along with my parents. Sibling relationships are a different story, however, and that's why only children seem to be a recurring theme in my writing. I've come to think that family can be the people you're closest to and who you choose to think of as family, even if that relationship is based in friendship. It doesn't always mean those you were brought up with. Sometimes you can be hurt the worst by those you were brought up with. These past two years, I've had to learn that the hard way. Cathartic moment coming. Ready? Here we go.

I have from time to time referenced the strained relationship where my sisters are concerned, more often than not in comments in other blogs. Two and a half years ago, they did something awful to my parents, and never apologized. It was the last straw after years of keeping my mouth shut to keep the peace in the family, years of patiently putting up with their barbs and thorny personalities, years of the less than savoury men in their lives (we're talking complete sleaze, racists, alcoholics, just the real dregs of society). Where one used hard words like a blunt sledgehammer, the other was more likely to use her words like a dagger, stabbing deep. The effect of their words was the same: painful. It amounted to verbal abuse and bullying. And I internalized all of it, and when that last straw happened, all of the negativity and resentments I'd kept in check came pouring out. I ended up in a very dark place; I hit rock bottom, but that's what I needed to seek out help.

You can only be hurt so many times before you say enough. No more. My sisters have never done the slightest thing to make amends to my parents, and now so much time has gone by that it would just feel hollow. I can't trust them not to do something equally awful someday. They remain the same bitter, vindictive, toxic people they were. And the cost of letting them in is more than I can bear. So the end result is that I have no more sisters. They're strangers to me. 

I'm in a better place now. They'll never change, and I've dramatically lowered my expectations that they ever will. It's not going to happen. I do have some good sibling dynamics. My brothers and I get along quite well, and the same applies to my sisters-in-law. Still, all those years of walking on proverbial eggshells, biting my tongue, and hiding the effects of that verbal abuse took its toll, and it reflects itself in my writing lone wolf characters. It's wishful thinking, I'd say, writing characters without siblings. Strained families in my fiction are influenced by my own strained sibling dynamics. The good thing about writing.... it's cathartic.

Lots to get off my chest. Thanks for letting me vent. Now you're no doubt thinking, "he's like that???"

Don't Cry For Me Argentina, The Truth Is I Never Liked You

While the Roman Catholic conclave was going on last week, drawing the world's attention, something else of note happened at the far edges of the world. The Falkland Islands, a south Atlantic outpost of the British people, held a referendum to remain a British territory. The islands, which thirty years ago saw a war between Britain and Argentina after the latter invaded, have long been an issue of dispute between the Argentinians and the British. The 1982 war still sticks in the proverbial craw of the Argentinians. Getting your ass thoroughly kicked will do that.

The vote was nearly unanimous in favour, which annoyed the Argentinian government to no end. They cried foul, claimed vote rigging. Having had given the impression they would abide by the will of the islanders, the Argentinians nonetheless insist that the Malvinas, as they call them, are being held by piracy, that the islands were hijacked, that they- and the energy and resource rights around them- are rightful property of the Argentinian people. In short, they decided to throw a temper tantrum.

From the writer's point of view, the subject draws my attention. I've been fascinated by this strange place for years, perhaps because it's one of those places that I don't understand. That's a draw to me. What is it about this place that triggered a war? I'd love to see the islands for myself, to explore the place, and understand it close up.

And as a writer, this ongoing story inspires me. I've speculated on the notion of writing antagonists into a book, a family of Germans who flee to South America in the dying days of the Second World War, still holding onto their fascist beliefs over the decades, hiding it beneath a veneer of respectability. Plenty of Nazis did manage to sneak away to South America, after all, including Argentina, after the war. Writing in a family of Nazis in the current day wouldn't be that difficult a prospect, particularly a family with close ties to the government in Buenos Aires, and their eyes on the Falklands.

Well, Argentina, I think we need to have a word. Come on over here, and we'll talk in private, just you and I. No need for the other countries to hear you get dressed down.

I think you need to let it go. Yes, I know, you've had your heart set on the Falklands for many a season, and how can I blame you? They're beautiful and inviting in their own way. All of that potential natural gas and offshore oil must be tempting. But it's not going to do you any good. They've told you they don't want to go steady. They've told you in as polite a way as possible that if you don't leave them alone, they'll issue a restraining order against you.

Now, I know, you're thinking if you just get them away from the burly British they've been going steady with, if you just get a chance to talk to them alone, you might stand a chance. You're figuring, hey, if we stand outside their window with a boom box and a puppy dog look, we might get a chance with our beloved Maldives. I'm sorry, but that only works in the movies. Or so I imagine. I've never actually seen that movie.

It's time to move on with your life. Forget the Falklands. They're not going to change their mind. They're not in the least bit interested in you. Invading them did leave them with a long memory after all. They're trying to be as polite as possible, but you're starting to grate on their nerves.

You need to rethink your life. Maybe get a new hobby. Pay attention to soccer. For some reason you seem to like that sport, and it'll take your minds off the referendum. Stalking the Falklands, insisting that you belong together, is only going to get you in trouble. Particularly with that British bloke they've been seeing. Remember what happened last time? Well, that'll happen again if you get uppity.

So for now, you'll have to tango amongst yourselves. The Falklands aren't interested in dancing. At least not with you.

Oh, don't start crying. You really want Chile to see you crying? You think they won't take advantage of that the first chance they get?

Beware The Wrath Of A Freckled Redheaded Girl

"There's a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that's why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne, it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting."

"It's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?"

"You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair... People who haven't had red hair don't know what trouble is."

"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"

"It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it?"

Lucy Maud Montgomery

All of the above are from the works of Lucy Maud Montgomery, who wrote the stories of irrepressible orphan Anne Shirley and the world she lived in through a series of books through the early decades of the twentieth century. She was a Canadian writer, wife of a minister, whose ties to Prince Edward Island come across clearly in her writing, though portions of her adult life were spent in other parts of the country, including not far from where I grew up. Montgomery wrote novels, short stories, and more, leaving behind a wealth of literary material that's still read and loved today.

Anne of course is her signature character, an outspoken, bright, red haired child who first comes into the lives of an older pair of siblings, Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert. Anne has a talent for getting into trouble and a tendency to speak with a dramatic flourish, and the stories follow the bond between this peculiar child and these two older people who aren't sure what to do with her. As the girl becomes a young woman, she experiences life and loss, her spirit irrepressible. It's a character that speaks to people around the world on a profound level, and the books have given life to television adaptations, to an entire industry devoted to this freckled redhead. Go to Prince Edward Island, and you'll find stage productions dedicated to Anne each summer. You'll find the farmhouse, Green Gables, and the places that inspired the Haunted Wood and the Lake of Shining Waters.

Cavendish National Historic Site, Prince Edward Island

As a Canadian icon, Anne seems to have permeated the national conciousness. I've read and loved these books and the world she lived in. It's not that hard to identify with Anne. By extension, it's easy to really get to like her, even when she's inadvertantly getting into mischief. We're as used to the books as we are to the adaptations that starred Megan Follows as the lead. When we think of Anne, we think of that redhead in pigtails, thin as a rake and completely incorrigible. That's the image the books give us, played out faithfully in those adaptations.

When a book is in the public domain, as these books are, anyone can actually publish that book without compensation to the author or their estate. While it's true that the books are in the public domain, the heirs do have rights to protect the image and legacy of Montgomery and her characters, and have organized along those lines for years. And then this week, this new edition has come to light....

This doesn't look like Anne. This is a buxom strawberry blonde with a come-hither look and bedroom eyes, dressed like a cowgirl. This isn't a redhead. This isn't Anne. It looks like an ad for a new television drama. (Complete aside: I can see some marketing chimp right now devising this sentence: coming this fall from CW: the lives, loves, and scandals of three horse racing families in Kentucky Blue Grass, at nine every Thursday. Second complete aside: if Kentucky Blue Grass turns up on the CW, I'm demanding royalties) 

This makes one wonder about how many different ways you can spin it for adult entertainment. Anne of Avonlea becomes Anne Does Avonlea. And it puts an entirely new angle on the friendship between Anne and Diana Barry, her kindred spirit and "bosom friend". I can just see what Vivid Entertainment would do with this.

You can imagine that fans of that redhead orphan are quite annoyed. The heirs of Montgomery are displeased too, but it might be that the notion of using this is a way of getting around the whole getting permission from the heirs by going with a radically different image for a cover than what the reader would expect. Or whoever's behind the publication of this edition picked up a stock image by googling Sexy Cowgirl (which, of course, you're going to do, now that I've mentioned it, aren't you?) and figured they could go with a cheap stock image, having had never read the book themselves in the first place.

The social network is ablaze with irritation about this story. Readers take Anne Shirley quite seriously, and they're not happy. At Amazon, terms like disappointing, offensive, joke, ridiculous, hilariously horrifically inaccurate, bad taste, and trashy are being used to describe the cover. And that's just on the first three pages of comments. The venom is unleashed, and the rage is growing. Where will it stop? Perhaps when the idiot who made the bone headed decision to go with this cover is unmasked and tried before a jury of redheaded annoyed Anne Shirleys for crimes against literature. With a redheaded Anne as the judge. And as the prosecutor.

Then we can have the boneheaded  idiot dropped into the Lake of Shining Waters.

G'Day, Mate, Welcome To Australia. Watch Out For The Snakes

"I mean, we've got a couple hundred kinds of snakes here in Australia, and all but one of them are venomous. And the one that's not will eat you whole. Then there are all those lizards and creepy crawlies. The thorny devil will just glare at you the wrong way and you'll fall dead. Oh, and by the way, check your shoes before you put them on. The spiders round here get pretty big, and they like to surprise people. And deadly. Did I mention how deadly they are? Well, of course they are, this is Australia. Everything's out to kill you, mate. And when they're not killing you, they're planning ways to kill you. Even the kangaroos are bad tempered if they want to be. Once you've been kicked by a kangaroo, you'll feel that ache for the rest of your life. And koalas? Oh, sure, they look adorable, but they're not that cute when they're ambushing you from the trees. Next on our item list of cautions? Tasmanian devils. Forget everything you think you know from that cartoon. Real Tasmanian devils are much more vicious and a lot smarter. Oh, they're harmless when they're in a good mood, but once they're annoyed, look out, because they'll rip you apart piece by piece. And since they're annoyed even when they're sleeping, it's a pretty nasty bugger to come across. Don't go swimming with the crocs. They might think of you as food. And by might I mean they will think of you as food. And before I forget, watch out for the platypus. They do look strangely cute, but that doesn't mean they're cuddly. They're dangerous. What part of this is Australia did you not seem to get? The platypus will smack you upside the head with that tail of theirs, and steal your wallet while they're at it. Anything else for me to warn or advise about? Oh right. You might want to hire a local to interpret for you, because the dialect gets a little strange. You all would have no idea what I'd be talking about if I mentioned terms like fair dinkum, brumby, or drongo. Let alone having a naughty. Last thing. Any of you who might be entertaining ideas about swimming in Lake Eyre? You might have to wait a few years. Well, welcome to Australia, and try not to get eaten by sharks. It's doing our tourism business no favours at all..." ~ Roland Wallace, Australian tourism official, 2010

Oh, boy... I suspect I'm going to be a dead man Down Under for this one.

Welcome to Australia, and I'm having a bit of image fun today. If you haven't seen it yet, check out our joint blog, where yesterday we did a Without A Word blog, sort of a prelude to today's mischief, with some natural cuteness, eye candy, and a couple of not safe for work pics.

And for those of you who might like IMAX films, I'll direct you over to a link at Youtube, where this link leads you to the full Australia Land Beyond Time film.

For those of you who like photo blogs, I'll offer you these suggestions from Down Under from daily photographers:

Grace at Perth Daily Photo

Sally at Sydney Daily Photo

Sydney Eye

Adelaide and Beyond

Melbourne Snaps

Sunshine Coast Daily Photo

As a writer, I'd like to one day write about Australia- though writing in the espionage genre and usually operating out of other areas of the world... Australia is a long way off (by extension, to an Aussie, Europe and North America are a long way off). The only instance of Australia turning up in a spy novel that I can think of offhand is in Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (the second last good book he wrote before his abilities took a steep dive into the Marianas Trench), where a pivotal moment in the plot takes place during a trip to Sydney.

As a traveller, I'd love to spend a few months there. My aunt and uncle have been over at least on three different occasions, and probably more. They speak very highly of it. I'd love to see this place for myself. Particularly Uluru, the very heart of the continent.

Obviously when travelling, I'll just have to make sure to check my shoes. And not to annoy a koala.

And so with that, I leave you to the pics. I'm going into hiding now. The Australian High Commissioner will want to have a word with me. Enjoy!