THOR'S DAY RANT: How to fix the VA

Since the American Revolutionary War, there has been a history of providing for soldiers injured fighting for our country. In his second Inaugural Address, President Abraham Lincoln even declared  “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow, and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” 

The phrase "To care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan" has since been adopted as the official motto of the Department of Veterans Affairs, and even hangs on a plaque at the Department's headquarters. But when was the last time you heard a veteran praise the VA for its care?

There is a fundamental flaw with the VA, and it's got nothing to do with the gender of the soldiers described in Lincoln's motto. It has to do with the basic ideology of those working for the VA. 

I retired from the criminal justice system in 2014, switching over to the civil practice side of law, trading in my gun and badge for desk in a back room, working as a paralegal instead of an investigator. In my day job, I've been struck by the fundamental difference in the way things are done in civil practice, as compared to criminal justice. 

In the Prosecutor's Office, we looked for ways to prove that a suspect committed a crime. In civil practice, the emphasis is on finding a way to show there is no liability on the part of our client. When it comes to the VA, and veteran's making claims for service-connected disabilities, it appears that the many civilian workers tasked with supporting those of us who served is much more in line with the civil practice of law: they search for ways to avoid having to provide care. 

If you file a claim with the VA, you aren't believed. You have to provide facts and even records to support your claim. The rationale behind this is to prevent fraud, waste and abuse. That might seem odd for an agency that in recent years has been exposed as a massive source of fraud, waste, and the abuse of taxpayer dollars with lavish bonuses, expensive trips to conventions that seem more in line with Spring Break vacations, and outright dereliction of duty by those in charge. 

That isn't the case across the board though. If a veteran makes a claim about having been exposed to Agent Orange, the process is relatively simple: the claims reps confirm service in a theater or area where the chemical was used, and the claim is approved. No fuss, no muss. 

Why can't the VA do this for all veteran claims? Instead of looking for excuses to deny claims, shouldn't reps be looking for ways to help? That's the whole purpose of the VA: to help wounded veterans. There's no profits to be impacted by helping veterans. And, at least when I enlisted, part of that contract of service, was the promise that the US Government would take care of me if I was injured--a promise I'm still waiting for them to fulfill. 

The way to fix the VA is simple: tell claims reps to find a way to help. They shouldn't be encouraged to deny claims, or rewarded for resolving claims quickly. They should be rewarded for helping America live up to its responsibility to care for those of use who served. 

THOR'S DAY RANT: Money Down the Drain

Cable networks, and retailers like Home Depot and Lowe's, would have you believe that doing repairs on your home is a simple matter, easily accomplished. But that's not always true--particularly if you're dealing with old, broken or worn things. Homes aren't shiny, new Lego blocks. What is supposed to be easy all too often goes from DIY to BIY: Break it Yourself. 

Recently, our bathroom sink was leaking. A simple drip like I've fixed on sinks countless times before, by simply replacing a rubber washer. Not this time--this was a more complicated faucet I'd installed several years back. The whole valve stem needed replacing, and I couldn't budge the cap holding it in lace thanks to years of hard water build up. We decided that it was time for a new faucet--that was Trip To The Store #1. 

Faucets attach relatively easy--threaded flanges fit down into holes in the sink and hand-tightened plastic nuts attach to them, locking the faucet in place. With a drop-in sink (mounted in a cabinet or vanity) this wouldn't be a problem. But we had a pedestal sink in our small bathroom. I just couldn't fit my hand up there to reach the faucet nuts. 

Not a problem--I'll just pull the sink. That meant cutting the caulk loose that sealed the sink to the wall, disconnecting the water lines, and disconnecting the drain pipe. Unfortunately, when I lifted the sink up, off the brackets holding it to the wall, the lower drain didn't easily slid out of hte part still attached to the wall. Instead, the pipe coming out of the wall tore, like paper. Apparently, it was rotted and corroded and not quite eaten all the way through. 

No problem, I'll just run up to the store and get a new drain pipe (Trip #2). Only the Home Depot, nor the Lowe's were open this late. That was because I stupidly tried to work on this after 9pm, when the kids were in bed, and wouldn't need the bathroom sink. 

Walmart had a pipe, or, I thought they did. The 1 1/2" to 1 1/4" adapter set they had was reversed from what I needed. It turned a 1 1/2 wall pipe into a 1 1/4" bath pipe. Dammit. No sink overnight. And worse, while I was out, my wife decided to helpfully clean all the bits of caulk off the sink. In the process, she discovered a small crack in the sink, radiating out from the drain hole in the basin. New sink time.

The next morning, I set out, bright and early, at a quarter to 7 to go get a new drain pipe, and a new sink (Trip #3). Fortunately, they carried the same brand sink as we already had, so that meant I didn't need a new pedestal (the old one being perfectly fine). Boy, was I wrong. The new sink looked the same as the old one, but had been slightly redesigned on the underside. The old pedestal wouldn't fit it. Back to the store for a new pedestal (Trip #4). 

Back at home, with the correct pedestal, I installed my new faucet in my new sink, then went to mount it on the wall. Crap. The new pedestal is two inches taller than the old--meaning the new sink sits higher on the wall. Meaning I had to drill new mounting holes.

Once I'd drilled the mounting holes and gotten the new sink on its new pedestal, with its new water lines connected (hey everything else was getting upgraded, why not those too?), it was time to hook all the 1 1/4 inch drain pipe pieces together... except they wouldn't fit!

Raising the sink 2" meant the pipe pieces I had weren't long enough! 

And, unfortunately, I had run out of time. It was already 10AM, and I'd used up a couple hours of vacation time. I had to put the project on hold and dash into the day job, leaving our house sinkless for the time being...

After work, it was another trip out for parts (Trip #5). Finding the extension, and a tube of new caulk, was no problem. Raced back home so I could get back to it before the stores closed again. 

This time, my luck held--after a couple hours of fine tuning to end leaks and get the sink mounted firmly to the wall with all plumbing intact, it was nearly bed time, and I just needed to run a bead of caulk. But that can wait another day--I need a break.

Morals of the story?

1. Never put off for tomorrow what you can break today. If I'd tried to fix this on the weekend, instead of doing the other projects I was working on around the house, I wouldn't have had to spend some vacation time later in the week. 

2. A part in the hand is worth two in the store. Don't start projects after dinner time, because when you eventually need a part, the stores will be closed and you're screwed. 

3. Two parts are better than one. Buy everything on the first trip. Even if you're not sure if you need (ala the new pedestal). You can always return it later--unless you like making multiple trips to the store for new parts. 

PROJECT RPG

Long before consoles, back when I didn't yet know the joy of sitting at home in a recliner in front of my wall-mounted "big screen" for hours and hours of console play, I embarked on adventures of the mind with my friends, armed with nothing but pen, paper, and dice. It was the era of the Role-Playing Game. 

The 80s were filled with gaming for me. Instead of D&D, I played games like Star Frontiers, Traveler, Star Trek: The Role-Playing Game, James Bond: The Role Playing Game, Car Wars, and my favorite, Marvel Super Heroes. In the 90s, I joined the USAF and was shipped overseas. I discovered a game called Shadowrun and was hooked, despite the lack of many folks to play it with. By the late 90s, back home in Indiana, I tried to keep up my RPG habit, but eventually, all those manuals, modules, and dice got boxed up and put away, replaced by my wife, my kids, and of course, X-Box. 

In the past two years, I've seen a number of RPGs rise from the nostalgic ashes, and it seems the pencil-and-paper/table top Renaissance is upon us. My youngest, now 12, a board game addict, has been very curious about just what an RPG is. 

My first thought was to unbox the old stuff and teach her right. But then, I came up with a better idea: we're going to make our own RPG. What better way for a young lady to grasp the nuts and bolts of RPGing than to work on making a game from the ground up?

Many might think this is crazy, citing that developing a system from scratch would take too long--then they'd bring up the whole world-building aspect of RPGs. Well, that one is easily covered. Since 2012, I've been writing supernatural military fiction--I have over 30 books done, all in the same fictional universe. It's a wealth of material to draw from. 

So, despite the fact I just don't have the time I once did for stuff like this, over the next few months, my daughters and I (we shanghaied the eldest into our nerdy cause) will be developing a new game system, incorporating features from the past, and all-new mechanics. It should prove interesting.

Our goal is simple: have a completed product done by October, in time for the Christmas shopping season--not that we really care if we sell any. This is a project for fun, but to do it right, we need to have the same goals any game designer would, and we have to take it seriously--at least until it's time to play and we can have some fun. 

If you're interested in seeing what it takes to make an RPG, check back here for RPG Updates, as often as we can put them up.  

THOR'S DAY RANT: Oh, Deer!

There's an old saying that lightning never strikes twice. But I am here to tell you that it does, at least in the form of misfortune--very specific misfortune. 

I turn fifty in a few weeks. It doesn't particularly bother me, nor am I all that impressed. It wasn't hard to reach one-half century in age. I haven't outlived many people I know, as most of my friends and associates are still alive. I don't feel decrepit or unhealthy. It's basically just a number. 

Still, fifty seems like a significant number to some folks, so I decided that this year, for my fiftieth, I'd do something different, something special. I decided to treat myself to something I've never done before. I tried this back when I was about to turn 20. I saved my money for several months, planning on learning scuba diving--something I'd always wanted to do, despite living several states away from any ocean. 

Fate had other plans for me that year. I was laid off just a month before my birthday. My savings went to food and rent rather than weightbelts and snorkel, and my dreams of swimming among all those delicious fish got derailed. 

For 50, I could have chosen scuba diving again, but my interest in it has waned over the years. I suppose if I was on vacation somewhere, I might give it a try, but it just doesn't hold the interest for me it once did. No, for the big Five-O, I decided to try another failed birthday wish: hunting. 

I've been a fisherman all my life. One of my earliest memories is a family trip to Canada when I was 2 or 3, and fishing. I don't remember the actual fishing part, but I do vaguely remember the trip. Growing up, one of the few things I could get my father to do was take me fishing--he had a friend who lived on a private lake. We went out to her house often, and fished with Peggy and her husband. 

My kids enjoy fishing, as does my father-in-law. We try and go several times a year to lakes in the area. Fishing is just kind of a regular thing for us, no more special than a trip to the movies or zoo. 

Hunting, on the otherhand, is something I've never gotten to try. 

When I was fifteen, I traded in my sold off BMX bicycle and used the money to buy a nice compound bow. I became quite adept at archery over the following spring and summer. Unfortunately, my father was not a hunter, and had no desire to become one. But his brother hunted. My Uncle Tommy was an avid hunter. And, for my sixteenth birthday, he invited me to accompany him to Pennsylvania for a week-long deer hunting trip. 

Unfortunately, it meant I'd miss a few days of school. My father kiboshed the trip, and my archery skills remained firmly in the realm of slaying paper targets for the next few years. Among the many things my father did wrong in my life, this is easily one of the top ten that still bothers me. I tend to think about it very often, even now, all these decades later. 

So this year, I decided to change that. 

My planning began in early January 2017. In 2016, I had built my own AR15--something I'd wanted to do for years. It was a fun project that involved buying parts here and there, stretched out over several months, then assembling my rifle and covering it in accessories and add-ons (scope, bipod, etc. etc.)

For my hunting trip, I decided I needed a shotgun (Indiana doesn't allow hunting with a 5.56mm Armalite sporting rifle). I began shopping for a cheap .12 gauge--something I could use to hunt either Deer or Turkey. I planned on finding a nice, cheap, used shotgun, then rebuilding it, adding on bits and pieces much the same way I built my AR15. 

Then 2017 began to unravel. First, my wife had a car wreck in march. She wasn't seriously hurt, but it derailed a lot of our plans, including vacation. Then, my youngest was diagnosed with scoliosis and began wracking up medical bills and attending weekly physical therapy. By September, I hadn't done much of anything towards my fall goal of finally going hunting.

I did manage to score a shotgun around this time--my father-in-law passed down a nice pump-action he no longer wanted. A .20 gauge. It seemed that Deer was off the list, and I'd be setting my sights on Turkey. Not a problem--my birthday always falls on or around Thanksgiving, so some delicious bird I killed myself seemed like a great idea to ring in the next decade of life. 

Then I fell down the stairs. 

It was a stupid accident--I wasn't watching where I was going, and fell down the stairs into my beloved basement. I didn't break anything, but I did rupture a tendon. In one literal, fell swoop, my birthday plans were dashed. I spent weeks in an immobilizing boot, then a brace, and now do physical therapy once a week. I can tolerate about an hour of standing or walking at best. 

The only hunting of turkeys I'll be doing this year is in the freezer section at the grocery store. 

And thus, lightning has struck again. For the umpteenth time. There are many other stories of birthday plans dashed I could recount--like when I turned 21 and instead of going out for free drinks with my friends got stuck in West Virginia for a week when my grandfather passed away. But I think I've made my point. An ironic point, actually, as one of the things I've always said is how being struck by lightning (and surviving) would make a great story to tell. 

Halloween Memories: 1992

Halloween may be over this year, but the memories of it, and Halloweens past, remain. Like the time I got kicked out of a German Castle for trespassing on Halloween.

It was 1992, and I was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany, at Rhein-Main Air Base, a member of the 435th Security Police Squadron. I rarely went off-base--the Germans in Frankfurt made it painfully obvious they didn't like G.I.s--not even when I tried to speak their language, putting those GPA-killing three years I'd studied in High School to use. 

This particular Halloween, one of our new Sergeants, who had been stationed in Germany years before, told everyone how we should, as a group, go out together and celebrate Halloween properly--in a haunted castle. Our Sergeant explained that yes, we could drive south, past Darmstadt, to "The Frankenstein Castle" where a big Halloween party happened every year, or we could go to a better castle he knew of with a slightly smaller crowd. 

Our Flight voted and agreed to go on this journey, those with wives or girlfriends bringing along their companions (I brought my camcorder). We chipped in and rented three big vans and managed to fit every one inside. And then, we set out into the night...

It had been years since our Sergeant had been to the castle we were seeking, so what should have been a quick drive turned into a several-hour excursion, full of narrow, dark backroads, wrongturns and lots of griping. But eventually, somehow, we reached our destination: an old German Castle tucked away in the middle of nowhere. But there were no signs of life: no party, or group of paranormal tourists gathered. So what do thirty or so liquored-up G.I.s decide to do? Why, we went exploring. 

Fortunately, we had brought two of our German Nationals with us--these were local Germans the Air Force hired to work alongside the Security Police, offering translation services for those of us who didn't speak the local tongue. And, as luck would have it, one of our Germans was a big history buff. He knew all about castles. 

Somehow, we made our way around the exterior of the castle to some stairs leading up to an upper level. It was a broad landing, probably where archers had once stood, or maybe guys with vats of bubbling oil or something. As we stood around, talking, I happened to look over to the side wall--which had large windows installed. 

The castle was not deserted. It was full of people. People in very fancy clothes, all seated at tables, having some kind of fancy dinner. It was all very black tie, with what looked to be tuxedos, ladies in evening gowns, that kind of thing. And all of them were looking towards the unruly G.I.s outside with utter disdain. It was like we had stumbled across the awards banquet of SPECTRE or some other insidious, international organization of evil. 

Everyone laughed it off, several of us speculating that they must have turned the castle into some kind of restaurant or lodge in the time since our Sergeant had been here last. Several folks decided to go back to the ground level and find the front door to see if we could get reservations--dinner in the warm interior of the castle-restaurant sounded pretty good after our long drive from Frankfurt. 

The rest of us split up into groups, spreading out to explore the exterior more. I ended up with several folks ascending stairs into a tower. I struck my head several times, commenting that my German ancestors must have been some tiny little guys. 

Once we reached the top, we actually found a shaft for pouring hot oil down--or so our local told us. It had been covered up with a metal grating. He gave us a long story about the defenses such a castle had and we descended down to the landing with the windows into the restaurant. Then we got a good scare...

The Castlemeister, or whatever they called him, was furious and demanding we all leave. He was threatening to call Polizei (German police) and have us removed. This wasn't a restaurant, it was a private castle and we were not invited! (Reinforcing my theory this was a dinner for members of dastardly order of dubious origins, or maybe vampires or something). 

And thus, ended our night, with our group rounded up, packed back into our vans, and facing another hour or so drive back to base. My alcohol was fully burned off by the time we got back. It was late, and I was tired and cold. While most of the group decided to set back out and try to make it to the Frankenstein Castle before the post-midnight activities died, I (and several others) just went back to the dorms to sleep off our disappointment. 

The Best Band for Halloween: SUNSPOT

Every Halloween, many of us break out a string of scary movies to fill our October. A lot of those movies are ones we watch throughout the year. But what about music? What special tunes do you listen to for a scary Halloween or to build up to the spooky holiday? For sure, there's the low-cost Spooky Sounds-type CDs you can get at Target or your local CVS, but what about familiar tunes that just happen to be scary?

You could spend hours compiling a list of your favorites, like "Monster Mash" and "Purple People Eater", but wouldn't it be easier if there was just one album, filled with great music, already put together and waiting?

There is.

The band Sunspot is Wisconsin's greatest contribution to the world of paranormal entertainment. With songs like "El Chupacabra" and "Hottie Illuminati" their songs cover a range of topics, from dinosaurs ("Archaeopteryx") to Ancient Aliens ("Chariots of the Gods"). With catchy tunes and clever lyrics, Sunspot cranks out tune after terrific tune--music that's suitable for any local radio station or for some of our favorite B Movies and Scifi Shows.

But great music isn't Sunspot's only contribution. Drummer Wendy Staats and Vocalist/Bassist Mike Huberty also delve into the paranormal and supernatural in their weekly podcast, "See You On the Other Side". With interviews and college lecture-worthy discussions on various topics, they entertain and educate on a variety of subjects--and end every episode with one of their catchy tunes.

I discovered Sunspot more than a year ago while searching for podcasts to listen to. I was immediately hooked and have become a fan of their music, adding their tracks to the same playlists I use when writing my own Supernatural Thrillers. They fit nicely alongside classics by the likes of ZZTop, AC/DC, and CCR, providing appropriate background music for whatever mood I need for different types of scenes.

The best thing about Sunspot though is how genuine they are. They're regular folks who attend conventions, are obsessed with scifi/pop culture, and routinely engage with their fans. Listening to their work, one can't help but cheer on these amazing performers and eagerly await the day they finally land a tune in a Marvel Cinematic Universe movie soundtrack, or the latest episode of X-Files. They'd definitely be on the soundtrack if I ever got to do an adaptation of one of my books.



Sunspot's offical bio reads: With their uncanny lyrics, massive harmonies, and six-string fireworks, Sunspot has been touring the rock underground for over two decades. Just beyond the radio and just outside the mainstream, Sunspot sings driving electro-rock anthems that capture the fantastic and bring it back down to Earth.

But just who are Mike Huberty, Wendy Staats, and Ben Jaeger?

Listening to the podcast, you can pick up a lot of details about the dynamic duo of Staats and Huberty. 

In addition to Sunspot, Mike Huberty has founded a number of Ghost Walk tours. He's a big fan of the X-Files. He's also a bit of a card, dropping Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonations regularly during the podcasts--when he's not sharing his voluminous film knowledge. But I wanted to learn a little more and sent some interview questions via email...

INTERVIEW WITH MIKE HUBERTY

How did you come up with the idea to do "weird" songs?

I think that’s been in our DNA since the beginning. Bands like Alice Cooper, Rush, and Iron Maiden were part of our original influences and they looked to science fiction and horror for some of their themes, it seemed a perfect way for us to differentiate ourselves.


What's your favorite "conventional" song to perform?

Our song, “Eat Out My Heart” because everyone has an ex.


Have you ever watched a movie or TV program and thought one of your songs would have been a better fit for the soundtrack? What was it and what was the song?

Easily John Carpenter’s In The Mouth of Madness, the Metallica ripoff at the beginning just doesn’t quite fit with the printing press opening. Our track, “An Indifferent Universe” would make a much spookier opener as well as be much more fitting to the Lovecraftian theme of the film.

Also, the “Doctor Feelgood” homage in Highlander: The Final Dimension would much better be suited to our track “Neanderthal”, it’s way more intense and fitting.


What's the most important part of storytelling in a song?

Helping the listener bring the meaning of the song into their own lives. Finding the words and music that expresses a feeling that we can all understand. Or at least, finding a way to express something yourself and hoping it connects with someone else who feels the same thing.


What instrument is most suited to playing a song that instills a scary, creepy vibe?

The theremin!


What's the scariest place you've ever played?

Well, we’ve played plenty of dives that probably should be condemned. But the most supernaturally strange place must be the Fill-Mor Theatre in Wausau, Wisconsin. There was a piece of metal that fell from the ceiling and almost killed Ben out of nowhere, there were weird feelings all around the place, mysterious electrical disturbances, and plenty of ghost stories from the staff.


Has there ever been a topic too strange, frightening, or otherwise disturbing to do a podcast on?

I wrote a song called “The Choking Game” because I thought it seemed like just another teenage rebellion thing to sing about. But there’s someone not too far out of our circle whose kid have actually died from it, so we vetoed it as too raw of a subject to make fun of. And it was really just to push buttons, it isn’t authentic to our experience, so we switched it to something that was.


After doing your podcast for so long, and meeting so many people, whats the craziest thing you've ever heard of?

Sometimes it feels like the craziest thing to believe is that none of this stuff actually exists. Not just skepticism, but people dismissing all these stories as hoaxes and imagination. There are too many experiences out there for too many people. Some of them are hoaxes and some of them are imagination, but there’s more to it and I think just sweeping it under the rug as delusion does humans a real disservice.


Scenario: Our alien overlords outlaw music--what art form do you pick to continue entertaining people, or do you give up the arts completely?

Tap dancing! Nah, I’d probably just talk people to death with slam poetry or something.


Scenario: Upon death, you have the choice to haunt a location or a musical instrument: which do you choose?

I’d haunt as many saxophones as I could and try to prevent saxophone solos from ruining perfectly good rock songs.


Scenario: You have the ability to incontrovertibly prove to the world ONE cryptid absolutely exists--which cryptid do you choose?

Bigfoot, of course! Another hominid intelligent species would be fascinating to study and interact with. Plus, if more people knew how connected to primates we were, we might start treating them better!


Scenario: For one twenty-four hour period, would you rather be abducted by aliens, possessed, or transported to an alternate reality?

Possessed. I already believe that aliens are out there, they have to be. Doesn’t mean they’re visiting Earth, but I already think they’re somewhere out there. Also, alternate realities might be cool, but I think that’s possible too. I don’t know if I believe in supernatural entities, getting possessed by one would be the proof!


Scenario: You are given the ability to resurrect any one TV show, including its stars at the height of their popularity, but while the show is in production, and first run, you have to give up performing yourself. Would you? And for what show?

Doctor Who with Tom Baker and Louise Jameson, my favorite run of the show. I’d take a break from playing if we could see a couple more years of classic episodes.





You can find Mike Huberty online at:

Facebook

Twitter

There's also a Patreon page for the Podcast, or you can head over to iTunes or Amazon and check out some of their great music.

Lights in the Darkness

September is National Disaster Preparedness Month. Are you ready for a natural, or manmade, disaster?

When the power goes out, the first thing you'll probably notice is the darkness. Maybe your computer screen is dark, or your TV. Or maybe all those electric lights we take for granted have switched off. Whichever it was, darkness is something we just aren't used to in the modern era, spoiled as we are by the power grid. 

Thankfully, when the power does go out, it's not something you're probably familiar with, since storms can routinely knock out the power. You've probably got flashlights and candles in your home already for those emergencies. But what about when the power is going to be out for days, or weeks, or even months? What are you going to do to bring back the light to reassure your family that everything is okay?

Long before Edison, people relied on candles for illumination at night. Today, candles are often scent-makers, coming in decorative jars and festooned with fancy bows or ribbons. But what about candles for emergencies?

The best option for an emergency is the tea candle. 

Being short, there's little danger of a tea candle tipping over and starting a fire. Tea candles also come in a handy metal tin, meaning you don't need a fancy holder for it. Best of all, tea candles are very inexpensive. You can get a hundred or more for under $20.00.

If you want to be able to carry these tiny candles around, there are a variety of lamps and lanterns made to fit them. 

The one drawback with a candle is the need for an igniter--matches, or maybe a butane lighter. It won't do much good to have a few hundred tea candles stockpiled if your matches get wet, or you've misplaced them. 

Propane lanterns are considerably more dangerous than candles--they can put out fumes that in an enclosed space (like your fallout shelter) could prove fatal--but they put out a lot more light, and a bit of comforting heat. Growing up, my family all loved kerosene lamps. 

Of course, kerosene fumes can build up over time, or just lain stink you out. There are alternative, cleaner burning fuels you can use, but like candles, but wick-and-fuel lamps do require igniters.

A modern convenience for illumination is the chemstick, or glowstick, once known as cyalumes. Simple plastic tubes, you just bend and shake and a chemical reaction produces light for hours. 

We tend to order these in bulk, buying a box of ten each spring to restock our storm closet. I'm not sure what the shelf life is, but we tend to rarely use them--although they are great to amuse kids with for late night events like trick or treating or trips to the drive in. 

The safest bet for disaster preparedness is an electric lantern. And not just the kind that use batteries. There are now lanterns with handcranks built in, so you can recharge them without use of a generator. 

The best bet for any disaster preparation is to combine all of the above light sources--giving yourself a variety of choices in the event one of the technologies above fails. 




Know of another emergency lighting choice not mentioned above? Add it with a link in the comments below...

Keeping Your Cool When Disaster Strikes

When the power goes out, so does most Americans' way to cook and preserve foods. You may have a gas stove, but very few people have gas refrigerators. 

Fortunately, most power outages are short-term, and in the interim, your fridges and freezers effectively become giant coolers. The insulation found in these miracles of modern convenience can give you a day to keep cool food cool. Just remember not to open the fridge often. And a fuly stocked fridge and freezer will stay colder, longer.

On day one of a powerless period, it's time to cook all that frozen food. And while your electric oven might be down, maybe you've got a propane or charcoal grill? Or a portable camp stove? Any of these options will allow you to keep eating even during a short term power outage. But it's not just meat and vegetables you need to keep in your fridge--there's also bread. 

While modern bread might not taste so good once frozen, if you keep a loaf or two in your freezer, it will significantly extend the shelf life. Once the power fails, bread in the freezer can thaw out safely. Then it can be moved to a bread box or used. By keeping bread in the freezer, you've given yourself the ability to make sandwiches without heading to market for a while. Or you can break out a batch of biscuits, dinner rolls, or even some french toast. 

Disaster Water

As soon as disaster strikes, many folks would say you need to rush to the taps and start filling buckets, bottles, and even your bathtub with water--because you may not have pressure in the lines for long. 

But what if it's too late? What if the water is no longer being pumped? What if you didn't have the forethought to stock water for you and your family ahead of time? What are you going to drink?

Fortunately, there's already a lot of drinkable water in your home, right now. It's in your water heater (unless you have a tankless heater). 

The average home has a 40, 50 or even 75 gallon water heater in it. That's ten or more days of potable (drinkable) water for a family of four. And conveniently, your water heater has a drain at the bottom. And that drain spigot is threaded for a standard water hose. 

Now, if you haven't flushed your water heater in a while, there may be a lot of silt in the bottom of the water heater--all the calcium and minerals that are in city water at any given moment, but which accumulate in a water heater over time. 

There's also water in your house's pipes. Just turn off the water at the main valve, then open a spigot at the lowest point in the house and drain your pipes. That's quite a few gallons of potable tap water there as well. 

The point is, when disaster strikes, you need water to survive--most people can't go more than three days without. But for short-term disaster scenarios, there is water in your home already, so don't panic. 

Are you Prepared?

September is National Disaster Preparedness Month

That means it's time to take stock of what you have and what you might need when a natural or man-made disaster strikes. 

This means more than fresh batteries for your flashlight or an evacuation plan for your family in the event of a fire. It means being ready for when the comforts of civilization are stripped away by Mother Nature or other forces beyond your control. 

Over the next 30 days, I'll be posting about Disaster preparation to coincide with a new Youtube Channel I'm launching with my kids next week that's all about inexpensive, practical disaster preparation: Chowmageddon. 

Food and Water are your greatest need, both before and after natural disaster. But you don't have to break the bank stocking up on MREs or buckets of Prepper food. You can order reasonably priced food from the comfort of your home, or run down to the local grocer and stock up on simple foods that you might already have in your house. 

Check back daily for recipes, reviews, and suggestions for what you should socked away for rainy day. 

THOR'S DAY RANT: What being a Veteran feels like

One of my favorite things to see on the internet is veterans succeeding. That’s probably because I’m a veteran.

I enlisted in the USAF back in 1990. At the time, it was an alternative to going back to college—I had dropped out several years earlier, and simply couldn’t afford to go back. I had always wanted to join the military. I took JROTC for four years in high school, and was taking Army ROTC in college—before I dropped out my first semester. In fact, I had dreamed of enlisting ever since before I was a teenager. Life just derailed me somewhere along the way, and it took a while to get back on track.

My time in the USAF wasn’t particularly hard, or eventful. I spent two years in Germany during Desert Storm. I finished up my first four years in California at a repair depot, McClellan AFB, in Sacramento. I never got shot at, or entered a combat zone. I worked law enforcement on base (Security Police we were called). 

When I did leave he USAF, I decided to continue my career in law enforcement—I was an SP in the USAF, a law enforcement specialist. In California, a job in law enforcement was pretty much a guarantee, but I wanted to return to my home town in Southern Indiana and serve my local community.

First up, I decided to apply with the Bloomington Police Department. I even took a few days of leave and flew back to take the written test. At the test, I found out that physicals would be in two weeks. I asked if there was any way to do mine in the next couple of days, since I was still on active duty and had taken leave time to fly back for the test. Nope. No assistance for a soon-to-be veteran there.

I tried the Indiana State Police, too. Back then, they had a requirement for 62 credit hours. I had 35 or so. I asked if my military service counted for any hours, like it did with Federal jobs. Nope. Oh, but during the interview process it might come in handy.

By 1997, I finally landed a job in law enforcement: I was hired as an investigator for the local Prosecuting Attorney. I stayed in that thankless job for seventeen-and-a-half years, starting a family, buying a house and settling down. My dreams of Federal service or even a job with local departments faded. I either couldn’t move the family, or local departments just weren’t interested in a veteran.

Neither was the (Clinton-era) Federal Government. I learned that when I tried for a Veterans’ Readjustment Appointments. Those are appointments with Federal agencies that are non-competitive for veterans for two years. Basically, you get hired (assuming you meet qualifications), do the job for a couple of years, then compete for it. Kind of like an internship, I guess.

Well, the local Marshall’s office in Louisville, Kentucky needed some people, so I applied. Unfortunately, no one at the Washington D.C. Office of Personnel Management seemed to know what a VRA was, and I was forced to take the written test, competing against other candidates. I had to drive three hours to take that test, and apparently didn’t score high enough.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t enlist to get anything. But I appreciate there are programs out there that recognize the sacrifices of veterans—whether they be of life, limb, or just the personal freedoms we protected during our time in uniform. I just wish I had the same kind of access to these programs so many of my fellow veterans seem to have. 

During technical school, back in 1990, I came down with pneumonia, and ended up with a scarred lung, an increased risk of developing asthma, and an ability to come down with bronchitis every year or so. Staying in shape became difficult, and by the time I did complete my enlistment, I was dangerously close to being “overweight” by USAF standards.

Around 2000, years after my Honorable discharge, I found out I actually could have gotten a disability rating because of my lung. No one told me that all during my convalescence period, or when I out-processed. I wish they had, as in my part of the country it has proven impossible to get that status now, despite my damaged lung continuing to be a problem year after year. First, the VA told me that there was no record of my illness. When I later found some hard copies, they claimed there was no indication of it causing a continued problem… despite my local doctor’s records of all the times I got bronchitis. It is abnormal to get it year after year, right?

No one seems to really care about vets at all here. I’ve since said goodbye to law enforcement, retiring from it to pursue writing. I thought for sure being a veteran and a retired law enforcement officer might help me attract readers. On the contrary, it has sure seemed like the kiss of death. In particular, one local event at a public library, where I was one of many local authors, but the only veteran, I actually got sneered at by people passing my military-themed books and display. One woman even stepped out, away from the table, as though I were contagious or something.

I see lots of veterans as authors online. Or producing movies, or serving in police departments or public offices in their communities. Their service is applauded by their communities. That leaves me a bit befuddled. I don't think I've ever been applauded for my service—other than on Veterans Day assemblies at my kids schools, when all the veteran parents are asked to stand. Did I imagine serving? Am I really a veteran?

All the young kids coming back from the Middle East get much-deserved respect and acknowledgement these days. People seem to revere and support them as much as they can. But I have to wonder, where’s my appreciation? I don’t go around proclaiming everywhere I am a veteran, but when it has come up, it’s more often than not met with shrugs, blank stares, or outright ambivalence. I sure as Hell hope none of my fellow veterans are experiencing this. But I’m sure there are many of them living in the same region as me, surrounded by communities of ingrates, underappreciated, ignored, or outright hated. 

I'm glad some veterans out there get appreciation for their service. I just wonder what it feels like...

Book Blogger or Pirate?

The world of self-publishing is a complicated and difficult one. Not that it's difficult to write a novel. It's not. Finding the time to write one, that's difficult. Getting the word out that your novel exists, that's difficult--or expensive. 

In order to buy ads with the big advertisers of Indie Books, like Book Bub, you need reviews. Which is funny, because you generally have to have the book out, and being purchased, in order to get reviews. 

You can cheat the system a little, by directly begging for reviews--emailing Reviewers directly and asking them to read your work. This is a little like the dinosaurian system of traditional publishing, where you Query the gatekeepers, I mean, agents, and beg them to read your work and represent you. It sucks, and it's time consuming. 

I recently tried something new: a service that, for a fee, posts your book on a list for book bloggers/reviewers to see. If someone is interested, they can ask for an ARC--an Advanced Reader Copy. But you can't obligate them to read it. That goes against Amazon's review policy. 

I have hesitated to spend money on something like this before. It's like an ad to give away product. But, for my latest work, I decided, what the heck--it's only $25.00.

I was surprised to get results within a couple days: eighteen potential reviewers who were interested. I emailed them all out a PDF copy, marked "REVIEW COPY" on the title page. Within eight hours, one super-reader had already posted a review on Goodreads! Amazing. I waited for more results to roll in. 

Today, while conducting a Google search for potential book reviews, I came across my title: posted for free on a piracy site, "Hotebookdownload.com". 

Oh, and two of the downloaders from the pirate site gave glowing micro-reviews:

"Thank you sooo much!!!!"--Blanchard

"This is one of those books that is enjoyed from beginning to end. 

"Thanks for sharing!"--Steel

Yeah, thanks a whole f*cking lot, Bookmyheart. I didn't really want to sell copies of the book. I'm like one of those graffiti artists that just makes art for art's sake. No, wait--no, I'm not. I write to make money.

This is completely unacceptable. I write a very niche subgenre, and don't sell many of these. I take time away from my family to write them, and seeing my work pirated is beyond infuriating. Piracy after a book goes live is unavoidable, but before?! And from a "reviewer"?

This is the kind of thing that makes me want to throw in the towel and quit writing. I enjoy writing, telling stories, but I enjoy the company of my kids more. The whole reason I write is to earn a little extra money to spend on them. I've been doing this for five years now. I haven't sold a lot of books--at least, not since 2014. That was my best year, when book sales were high enough to buy my kids each a new laptop, take them on vacation and generally lavish them with gifts left and right. 2015, 2016, and 2017 have not been so kind. Every pirate download takes money out of my pocket. And the b*st*rds using the pirate sites don't even leave reviews on sites like Goodreads!

I've reached out to the books available-for-review site, asking for their help. I've got 18 email addresses--one of them is guilty. And, since they've posted other books, it should be easy enough to figure out who "Bookmyheart" is. If they don't cooperate, I'll have no choice but to post all eighteen names as a warning to other authors--and to post the Books available-for-review site name. 

If you hate pirates as much as me, consider buying one of my books to balance the cosmic scales. I mean, my writing cant be all bad, since I am regularly pirated, right?

Ghostwalker, Spectral Ops 2, is available on Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Smashwords on August 7th. Or now, through virus-filled pirate sites, if you're a scumbag.

Stranger than Fiction: Do you believe in ghosts?

I like to write about ghosts. Not because I believe in them, but because they make for good stories. That’s a historical fact, since ghost stories have been around for centuries.

What makes a good ghost story? Unseen forces moving all around us? Things levitating, seemingly on their own? Ominous visits that turn out to be premonitions of doom? I don’t know, but I do know that the best ghost stories are like lies—they have a nugget of truth in them. Or rather, what someone has claimed is the truth.

For my latest novel, Ghostwalker, releasing Monday, August 7th, I decided to knuckle down on my inclusion of the strange and unusual in my writing. Rather than drawing from modern folklore or internet accounts of the strange, I would instead draw from personal experience: a ghost tale related to me when I was in the USAF.

This story forms the basis for the opening scene of Ghostwalker, and it was sworn to me to be true…

I served as a law enforcement specialist in the USAF from 1990 to 1994, assigned to what was then called the Security Police. A lot of the guys I served with had also worked as Security Specialists, assigned to guard sites like missile silos. It was from these guys I heard the best stories, like this one.

As the story goes, one particular missile silo was built near an old cemetery. I would guess that makes it a Minuteman site, like those seen in the cheesy, propaganda-filled 80s movie The Day After. These sites were scattered across the West, some on farmer’s properties. Most were remotely-controlled from a central bunker site, where crews worked underground.

One day, this particular site had some alarm problems. Until a crew could fix the alarms, a team of four SPs were sent to the site, manning a “camper truck”. This was explained to me as a miniature guard shack. The idea was hey would guard the site until the alarm guys could come out the next morning to fix things.

When the guys did come out, they found the camper truck abandoned, and the four SPs nowhere to be found. That’s a pretty serious happening.

When the missing security guys were found, they spun a terrifying tale of Spooktacular proportions. In that cemetery, just outside the fence, there was a huge grave marker—my friend telling the story swore to have seen the marker, and the man-sized statue atop it. But he didn’t see the statue come alive, step down and walk toward the fenced in silo. He didn’t see it tear open the fence and calmly walk inside the perimeter.

But the camper team did. They screamed and yelled and ran away in a panic—two of them leaving their rifles behind. One was reportedly located in a hospital, in a kind of catatonic state of shock. Another was found passed out in a field or something, his feet raw from running away barefoot. And the statue? It was back in the cemetery, atop its grave marker, none the worse for wear. 

Now obviously, this is the condensed story. My pal told it better. And, when he told it, we were on night shift, in a quiet, abandoned corner of the base where no other man nor beast could be seen or heard. Third shift was spooky like that sometimes—especially when I was in Germany. It’s why we enjoyed trading ghost stories so much when on boring patrols. 

For Ghostwalker I embellished this tale a bit, moving the action to an old Titan II site. That was primarily because there’s this neat museum in Tucson, where a Titan II site has been restored and maintained as a museum, with tons of photos and videos online, and even a book all about the Titan program and sites.

Ghostwalker isn’t the first story I’ve incorporated “real world” tales of the strange and mysterious in. It won’t be the last—I have several more tucked away. But if you served, and heard a good ghost tale, add it in the comments below. I’d love to use some more of these. 

THOR'S DAY RANT: Mother's Day?!

It's that time of year again, when we are inundated with advertising pushing the Mother's Day holiday. We are cajoled and guilted into buying cards, flowers, and gifts, while showered with images of smiling, gentle mothers--the kind who kiss boo-boos, offer shoulders to cry on, and are just wonderful, glowing, soft-filtered human beings. 

But not all of us have those. 

Now, I don't begrudge good mothers a day of recognition, although I do have to question waiting until May to thank your mom for being a good mother. What I do question is the obvious commercialization of the day, and the idea that all children owe their mothers something special for birthing and nurturing them. See, not all of us had mothers growing up, and I think that in our modern age of rampant snowflake political correctness, it's high time we start recognizing that. 

There are many, many folks out there who are orphans--people who lost their parents, or who were abandoned by their parents. For them, I'd wager Mother's Day is a bitter reminder of what they didn't have as a child. I empathize with these folks, because when I was a child, I, too, lacked a mother. 

I don't mean that I was hatched from an egg or assembled in a lab. I mean that I literally had no mother for most of my childhood. My mother decided around the time I was about 5 to have an affair with a young man of 18 years of age she worked with. It was her seventh or so year of marriage to my father, and she was in her mid-20s, I believe. She again became a mother--carrying my half-brother and divorcing my father. 

For a brief year or two, I lived with my mother and her other child. This was because my wonderful parents put me on the spot, telling me about the impending divorce and asking me who I wanted to live with. My father wasn't even present for this conversation--he called from somewhere else, forcing me to pick a parent over the phone. Reluctantly, I chose my mother, not sure what else to say. 

After the divorce, we moved around a lot, and she had different men staying the night in our apartments on a regular basis. Most days, I was shoved outside and told to "go play" while she slept off hangovers. During the school year, I missed a lot of school, because apparently her nightlife interfered with getting up in the morning to make me breakfast and send me on my way. Tardiness and hunger were a daily way of life. I distinctly remember those days of walking to school late. An airplane flew over about the time I would be on my way to school. To this day, whenever I hear a propeller-driven airplane fly over in the morning hours, I get that sensation of being late. 

By age 7, my poor school attendance was enough of an issue my father took custody of me. And that was pretty much the last time I saw my "mother". She didn't die or leave the area, she just refused to have anything to do with me; even at family Christmas gatherings. Years later, when I was 18, and about to enlist in the service, she tried to re-establish a connection with me, confiding that she had resented me choosing my father over her, and telling me about her LSD use and how her memories of the time weren't so good. 

I reluctantly accepted this attempt at reconciliation, and her offer to provide me a free place to live while I attended college. But a zebra can't change it's stripes, and my mother soon found herself another much younger man in (sixteen years younger). I determined that the real reason for my residency was really just to be a role model for my sibling, while Mommy Dearest played cougar. I bid Oedipus and his soon-to-be-bride adieu and moved out. 

Years later, when I got engaged, my future wife insisted I include my mother (once again divorced) in our wedding plans. We went through the motions, going over for dinner, meeting her, occasional visits, etc. etc. But things returned to normal when my wife and I had our first child. My mother visited her grandchild in the hospital, then disappeared for two weeks, until we bumped into her at a family reunion and she refused her own siblings' efforts to get her to hold my daughter. This ended, once and for all, any mother-child relationship I had with my mother. I may have suffered abandonment and rejection repeatedly at her hands growing up, but I was damned if I was going to subject my own child to the same misery and neglect from an indifferent grandmother. It's a decision I have not regretted once.

I realize that there are good mothers out there--I was fortunate enough to meet several of them (mothers of my friends) over the years. Many are indeed poster-worthy for this impending holiday and could give June Cleaver a run for her money. My own wife is beloved by our two daughters, and has a good mother herself. 

But the point is, that growing up, my mother wasn't there--by her own choice. I often countered the intended insult of "son-of-a-bitch" directed at me with "You know my mom?". To this day, I joke regularly that I was raised by television, and that on Mother's Day that's who I choose to spend my day with (my beloved big screen). 

This year, just as I do every Mother's Day, I'll ensure my kids will spend the day with their mom, and that she's able to get some quality time with her own mother. But for me, and the countless others like me who didn't have a mother there when we were growing up, or who had terrible, despicable mothers who were raging alcoholics, addicts, or otherwise just horrible, I'd like to ask that the rest of you rethink this weekend's holiday. Don't wait to thank your own mother once every May, and don't rub my nose in this holiday.