TAIL OF TWO HEROES

To off-set the tragic story of Yvette Vickers, I decided to talk about a hero - two actually.

Americans are fascinated by the anonymous U.S. Navy SEALs who daringly raided Osama bin Laden's

Abbottabad, Pakistan compound this week, but one canine commando is attracting especially fervent interest.

According to the New York Times and the British tabloid The Sun, a military dog (not pictured)

was strapped onto one of the assault team members as he was lowered out of a Black Hawk helicopter

and began the operation that killed the notorious terrorist on Monday.

But who is this canine hero?

Sadly, we know very little,

and the Pentagon hasn't confirmed that a dog was even on the mission,

much less release information about the canine's name or breed.

"Little is known about what may be the nation's most courageous dog," the Times' Gardner Harris writes.

He speculates that the dog was most likely a German shepherd or a Belgian Malinois, since those are the breeds most often found in the military's 2,700-strong military dog program.

Dogs are increasingly important in America's combat operations abroad, and some have been outfitted with special (and adorable) "doggles"

to protect their eyes, oxygen masks to protect their lungs as they parachute out with soldiers at high altitudes,

and even waterproof vests that contain infrared cameras that transmit video back to servicemen watching a monitor yards behind them.

According to Foreign Policy,

another dog named Eli fiercely guarded his Marine, Private First Class Carlton Rusk,

after he was shot by Taliban sniper fire in Afghanistan.

Rusk's bomb-sniffing dog would not even let fellow Marines approach the wounded Rusk, who did not survive the attack.

Eli now lives with Rusk's family.

***

ROMANTIC FRIDAY A DAY EARLY_WHAT IS THE COLOR OF LOVE?

Francine and Denise are starting a novel blog-challenge :
http://fridaynightwriters.blogspot.com/

Be at the ground floor of romance. That sounds like a winner, doesn't it?

Your prose should only be 400 words. Alas mine is 437. Leave it to a man to bend the rules!

My post is from FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE.

Samuel McCord, the man with death in his veins, is walking the Tulane campus ruined by Hurricane Katrina. His best friend, Renfield, is talking about the magical dance held on these grounds in the early 1930's.

Renfield should have known better than to talk of McCord's lost love on a night of a mystic full moon :

Renfield said. "Remember the last dance of the night, Sam?"

"Yes, I remember. Don't understand it. But I remember it."

"Why did Meilori shush you off like that to dance by herself -- as if someone invisible was dancing with her?"

"Haven't a clue. But it was a sight. She was so graceful, so full of sad love."

Renfield nodded. "Sad love? I could never pin down the expression on her face until now. But sad love says it all."

"All. And nothing. I still don't understand the why of it. Just that she was so hauntingly beautiful as she danced."

Renfield made a face. "She could have been washing clothes on a rock, and you would have found her beautiful."

Misty shapes began to form all around us. Young Louis Armstrong, cornet under his arm, slapped my shoulder.

“Glad to be here, Sam.”

Dizzy Gillespie shimmered beside him, his trumpet sparkling in the starlight.

Louis mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief.

“You owe someone a last dance.”

He turned to Dizzy. “we’ve got us an Empress to play for.”

There was a movement of shadows to my left, and Renfield breathed, “Dear Lord.”

Meilori’s shade danced open-armed in front of me.

What does love look like? What is its color?

A white flash of fright. A billowing wave of warmth, its reach beyond the microscope and further than the length of hope.

Is it a jewel sparkling in the night? Or a whisper murmuring within the corridors of the heart?

Once more Meilori danced across the velvet grass, her empty arms beckoning to me. Her soft voice carried like a specter in the dark.

Her words brushed by me and into my soul.

“Beloved, one last dance.”

And I finally understood her dancing empty-armed that magic evening so long ago.

She had seen me, as now I saw her. Perhaps she thought me the ghost of a future me, dead and searching for her.

And not understanding completely, still she took me in her arms.

As I, not understanding completely, now took her in mine. She smiled, brushing soft lips against mine. The ghostly music was a heart-clasp of sound.

Love is not a shy beast to be caught but a rare moment to be treasured. It burns within each cell, a living seed of hope. Its rays invisible to most, seen only by the searching heart.

Meilori was in my arms, and her love made me whole once more. She lightly kissed me. I almost felt it.

We danced through the embrace of shadows. And for a very short moment, I was home. Home.
******

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

by Robert Frost

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman Star Yvette Vickers Found Mummified in her home.

Former Playboy pinup and B-movie actress Yvette Vickers died at the age of 82.

But it wasn't until a year later—last Wednesday—that her mummified body was found in her Beverly Hills home.

Neighbor Susan Savage found the Attack of the 50 Foot Woman star lying on the floor of an upstairs room,

after pushing open a barricaded front gate, "scaling a hillside",

climbing through a broken window and pushing through stacks of "clothes, junk mail and letters" to reach her,

according to the Los Angeles Times.

Although Vickers generally kept to herself in the neighborhood, Savage decided to check on her after seeing cobwebs and old letters in her mailbox.

This is absolutely the strangest, and saddest, story Hollywood reported lately.

We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

Percy Bysshe Shelley
***

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER

…I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

{A poem by Thomas Hood -- who died this day in 1845 -- that was often quoted by the cursed Samuel McCord}
***

CONTRABAND DAYS & ITS SPIRITS OF THE PAST

I've decided to be kind to your eyes.

A short post.

Hibbs, the cub with no clue, just gave his 'that'll be the day' snicker.

That's enough out of you, fur face.

But on to the topic of today's post :

how time gilds the guilty.

It is the season of our city's second Mardi Gras : Contraband Days. It is based upon a bit of our city's colorful history --

Almost three centuries ago, a notorious and ruthless pirate, Jean Lafitte, fled to this region with his band of buccaneers as enemy ships pursued him on his way west to Galveston, Texas.

Legend has it that Lafitte would hide out along the waterways here in Lake Charles.

Whispers around the campfires have it that his favorite hideout was Contraband Bayou in Lake Charles.

If you set out on your boat upon its silver glass surface at night, it is said you may see his ghost, looking in vain for his lost treasure.

In fact, the bayou got its name from the rumored gold and silver hidden somewhere along its winding length. Hence the name of our festival : Contraband Days.

There was other contraband in Lafitte's ships :

slaves.

It is rumored that he often sold slaves to Jim Bowie in the waterways of Lake Charles.

As you can imagine, many of our black citizens take an underwhelmed view towards a festival where the contraband might well have been some of their ancestors.

But the Cajun spirit to party hardy is not easily put aside.

So Contraband Days stays as the city's largest festival. The money it adds to the city's pockets is nothing to sneeze at either.

The ghost of Jean Lafitte is probably laughing somewhere tonight in the bayou's billowing mist.
***************************************

WENDY TYLER RYAN & LEMON TWIST PRESS

Hibbs : Mr. Roland, I'm just too pooped from walking all the way to Canada again.

You're going to have to interview Miss Wendy by yourself. Oooh, my aching paws!

Roland :

Hi, Wendy. Your Lemon Twist Press did a lovely job on my book trailer.

Wendy Tyler Ryan :

It was my pleasure, Roland.

Roland :

Just what is Lemon Twist Press?

Wendy :

Lemon Twist Press was born because I'm Canadian and because I didn't want CreateSpace to be listed on my print book as the publisher of record.

Sounds weird, I know. First of all, here in Canada I don't have to pay for my ISBN numbers so why wouldn't I get my own?

I only found this out myself a short time ago, thanks to Smashwords.

Needless to say, I was thrilled. One of the things I needed to supply in order to get my ISBN was a publisher name.

Well, you can imagine that I really didn't like the idea of - written by: Wendy Tyler Ryan; Publisher: Wendy Tyler Ryan,

so, Lemon Twist Press was born.

When trying to come up with a name, I wanted my own "Cellar Door". Cellar door is supposed to be the most beautiful combination of phonaesthetics in the English language.

Go ahead and snicker, Hibbs, but Lemon Twist Press was it for me.


Roland :
Is Lemon Twist Press a Real Publisher?

Wendy :
Yes and no!

It is my publisher because that's what it will say on my books.

While I would love nothing better than to start helping others publish,

right now I will be Lemon Twist Press' only client. I am hoping that will change.

I have been looking into what it would take to get a small e-publishing business off the ground for quite some time, but as you know, I am working on overdrive to try and get the first novel in my trilogy out.

Fire's Daughter, Book I in the Fire Through Time trilogy.

It will be out in the next couple of weeks and it is my priority right now.

I should say that, if all goes well, I would like to help good writer's have a voice regardless of commercial bent or genre.

And while it is true that anyone can self-publish now, not everyone has the wherewithal to go through all of the technical steps to do it well.

I have found my own experience to be a real challenge simply because the information you need to succeed is scattered far and wide throughout cyberspace.

It has been a real learning experience and I can see that it wouldn't be for everyone.

Roland :
Which is where Papyrus Productions came in, right?

Wendy :
Exactly.

Roland :
Just what is Papyrus Productions anyway?

Wendy :
Papyrus Productions came about after making my own book trailer.

I found the whole process completely fascinating and incredibly satisfying.

I have always been artistic in some fashion and it is something I enjoy very much. I am very interested in helping self-published writers and small presses develop book trailers to compete in the marketplace.

A trailer is a wonderful opportunity to interest readers.

An indie author is already at somewhat of a disadvantage when competing with the "big boy" publishing houses,

you want to give your book every chance you can for success.

Book trailers are one way for you to compete on a level playing field.

Roland :
I've always been curious about book trailers. See? Even Hibbs is wrinkling his brow. Just what's Involved In Making A Book Trailer?

Wendy :
When you see the final product, it may not appear that complex,

but it really is so much more than just stringing a few pictures together and adding some music.

I'm sure you've all seen one or two really "bad" trailers that are hard to read with the wrong music and conflicting images.

You have to understand the premise and tone of the book first and then choose the images to suit. It can be a very time consuming venture.

As somewhat of a perfectionist, I find it important that the images are in keeping with the author's vision.

The music is another time consuming matter.

You could literally spend hours searching for the right bit of music with the right tone, but of course, you have to know when to say "when" and get down to business.

Now, all these images have to be paid for and the music has to be licensed for use on a video on the web.

Those who are using any old music for their videos, are in copyright violation.

Music costs considerably more than images.

Just as we writers don't want anyone taking our hard work without paying for it, the same is true for images and music -

it must be paid for and the appropriate licenses obtained.

Once all that is done, the timing of the images to the written text is an intricate process.

Each adjustment you make to a single frame, throws off the timing of the following frame - it's a fine balancing act to arrive at the final cut, but well worth it.

Roland :
The talk of all that work wore out poor Hibbs. See? He is sleeping away -- as modern publishing seems to be sleeping through the changes modern technology is making in their world. What do you see as the future of Indie Authors?

Wendy :
I feel the Indie Author is here to stay. There is no turning back.

Yes, there will be works out there that probably shouldn't see the light of day, but the same is true in the world of traditional publishing.

Like J.A. Konrath says, "the cream will rise" just like in anything else.

The good writers will be found, and they are the one's who will succeed.

Somethings else Konrath says is, "people will judge a book by its cover".

If you do nothing else, spend some money on your book cover.

You have one shot on Amazon to make an impression, it's all you've got.

At the very least, use CreateSpace's cover creator tool.

They have pre-designed templates that let you mix and match a little and you can even upload your own images.

My book cover was important to me.

I hired someone to do the cover art and then my wonderfully talented photographer son used his mad Photoshop skills to do my layout -

back cover and spine.

He did a flawless job and you would never know the three pieces were not created together.

If you know someone with these skills, bribe them to help you!

I am trying to talk my son into joining my business to become my cover designer extraordinaire,

and it will be one more service that Papyrus Productions can offer the indie author.

So, Yes, Lemon Twist along with Papyrus, are fledgling companies,

but we have to start somewhere.

And somewhere, in the midst of all this, I have the second book in my trilogy to finish and the third one to write.

Whew!

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!

Hibbs, yawning :
That kind of thinking always works for this cub with no clue!

Wendy (scratching behind Hibbs' wiggling ears) :
Thank you, Roland, for this wonderful opportunity.

It was a pleasure to create the Trailer for Rites of Passage and I hope you are pleased with the outcome.

Roland :
I am esctastic about your artistry in my book trailer.

Wendy :
I look forward to working on your next endeavour, French Quarter Nocturne.

Thanks, Roland

Roland :
No, thank you for your kindness and warm hospitality. C'mon, Hibbs. It's a long walk to our apartment.

Hibbs :
Oooh, aching paws don't fail me now!
***

MYSTERIES OF NEW ORLEANS

There are many mysteries in the French Quarter.

There is even a street called Mystery but that is a 20 minute bus ride from there in an area called Mid-City.

If you are feeling brave and adventurous, you may choose to stay in the French Quarter's Mystery Hotel. 4 stars even. You know you want to.


The French Quarter, also known as Vieux Carre {Old Square in French,} has long murmured a siren call to extreme personalities --

one such was the Sultan, whose famous ghost is said to haunt the halls of the 4 story house on 716 Dauphine Street. In the latter 1800's, he rented the house from the Le Prete family.

A dark day for everyone involved. The Sultan, a cruel and dangerous man, was not above kidnapping women off the streets, torturing them into submission, and then adding them to his harem.



One mysterious day, the Sultan met his fate in an ironic, cruel and hideous fashion. A neighbor strolling by his house stiffened in horror. She saw tiny rivers of blood trinkling from beneath the front door.



When the authorities broke down the door, they found a scene from a nightmare. Body parts and blood were everywhere. Every member of the household had been horribly murdered. Only the Sultan was missing. Where was he?



They discovered his body in the backyard in a shallow grave.

He had been buried alive.

The murderers were never discovered. It remains one of the city's most haunting, intriguing mysteries.



In NEW ORLEANS ARABESQUE, the second novel to follow FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE, Captain Samuel McCord finally solves the mystery, nearly at the cost of his own life.

But it is not too surprising that McCord solved the mystery.

His own jazz club is itself a mystery.

By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter houses the Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner transforms into Royal and Rue La Mort.

And the haunted MEILORI'S beckons to all who pass. The fortunate keep on passing. Those unwise or ignorant enter its glittering doors.

Some step out hours or days later. Many more do not. Does McCord possess the club, or is he possessed by it? Another unsolved mystery.



Despite my ghost stories, I hope all of you have a healing Sunday. The following song is the one most often requested by Samuel McCord when Diana Krall performs at Meilori's.