Hondo was the second full-length western published by prolific author Louis L'Amour. It had been developed from the short story "The Gift of Cochise" which John Wayne had read the year before and purchased the screen rights from L'Amour.
While James Edward Grant wrote the screenplay, L'Amour expanded it into novel form. While there are significant differences between the short story, the screen play, and the novel the latter two were instant successes, with the novel and the movie released on the same day, the novel featuring the words, "Hondo was the finest Western Wayne had ever read". L'Amour wrote 89 novels, 2 full-length non-fiction works, and published 14 short story collections in his lifetime. He also wrote poetry and other stories and articles not included in the above. Although primarily remembered as a writer of westerns, he also wrote crime/mystery stories, science fiction, historical fiction, and adventure stories. While criticized for becoming formulaic and somewhat pedantic, especially in his later westerns, L'Amour produced some of the best-loved work in the past century. Hondo can be found in many different printings, on Biblio, from only $3.97 including postage. From the original jacket back: He was etched by the desert’s howling winds, a big, broad-shouldered man who knew the ways of the Apache and the ways of staying alive. She was a woman alone raising a young son on a remote Arizona ranch. And between Hondo Lane and Angie Lowe was the warrior Vittoro, whose people were preparing to rise against the white men. Now the pioneer woman, the gunman, and the Apache warrior are caught in a drama of love, war, and honor
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It is the ninth inning of the seventh game of the World Series. The score is tied. There are two outs and the bases are loaded. The loudspeaker blares, "Batting for the pitcher - Greg Schroeder!" I stand in the box and size up the pitcher. He's a wily old veteran reliever. I dig in.
The first pitch burns in low and away. I take it for ball one. The next pitch breaks over the center of the plate for a strike. The third pitch nicks the outside corner for strike two. I ask for time to readjust myself in the box. When I'm settled the umpire calls, "Play ball!" The pitcher winds up, kicks, and throws. A slider high and tight1 Bat meets ball with a loud "crack" sending the ball over the leftfielder to the wall. The winning run scores and we are World Champions! Alas, it is just a fantasy, a daydream of mine. Yet I try to make my fantasies, my daydreams, come true. Today, four months after my tenth birthday, I will take the first step in making that fantasy a reality. Today I will start my first Little League game. As I don my catcher's equipment I look over the other team, the Cardinals. They have fifteen good athletes on their team, no slouches. No wonder they won every game they played last year. By comparison our team does not have overwhelming talent, we are not all superstars and we know it. Still we have an undying drive to win if possible and therefore are not intimidated by their unblemished record or superb appearance. I crouch behind the plate, catch a few warm-ups from Gerry, our pitcher, and indicate to the umpire that we are ready. He yells, "batter up!" and the game begins. The first inning is a disaster - four errors, one passed ball, one wild pitch, four walks, and two hits result in eight runs before we can get the side out. In our half the first two batters strike out before Gerry pops out to the shortstop and we are right back on the field. Now Gerry bears down. He faces only four batters and strikes out three of them. However the batter he does not strike out sends one of his pitches over the rightfield fence for a homerun, giving the Cardinals a 9-0 lead. Determined not, to stand idly by while they clobber us, we start attacking. Our first batter grounds out, but the next two stroke singles into left center. Steve, our third baseman, walks to load up the bases. Now it is my turn to bat, my first at bat as an organized baseball player. The pitcher whips in a fastball that glances off my right shoulder to the backstop. I go to first base and our initial run scores. Three batters later we are back on the field down by just six, 9-3. The third, fourth, and fifth innings pass by with us vainly trying to match the ever growing number of Cardinal runs. Now it is the last of the sixth, our last chance. Though we are down by eight, 37-29, not one of us does not believe we can and will win. Bobby, our second baseman, helps to confirm our beliefs by drilling the very first pitch of the inning down the rightfield line for a triple. Andy punches a pinch-single through the infield to score Bobby and trim the Cardinal lead to seven. Randy, our shortstop, hammers a double to center and Andy races home. Six runs to go. Gerry steps in. Their pitcher is upset and sends his first pitch over the catcher to the backstop allowing Randy to take third. Gerry walks to bring up Eddie. Eddie, too, walks to load the bases. Unfortunately Chuck, our best hitter, strikes out for the first out. Bill walks to the plate. He allows the first pitch go by then drops the second in front of the centerfielder and behind the second baseman for a single. Gerry and Randy score to cut the Cardinal lead to four. Steve peps out for the second out and I step in. I let the first two pitches sail outside before missing a fastball high and tight. The next pitch hits the dirt in front of the plate and bounds to the backstop allowing Eddie and Bill to advance. I foul off the next pitch to fill the count. The next pitch hurtles toward me. I time it perfectly and hit a hard chopper to short. It leaps off the shortstop's glove into leftfield. I end up on second, Eddie and Bill score and we are down by two, 37-35. Bobby is up again and draws a walk. Their coach has finally had enough and changes pitchers. Andy fouls off four straight pitches before straightening out the fifth. He hits it so hard I don't think anyone will ever find it. Bobby scores. I follow and Andy crosses the plate with the winning run! Poetry Duel 20 featured Rebecca Bardelli and a poem, "Angels and Demons", from her recently published collection Soul Echoes against a classic written by Emily Dickinson, "Beauty be not caused - It Is".
Ms. Bardelli won with a 4.67 rating! The Dickinson poem was only 3.67, much lower than previous Dickinson poems. Soul Echoes is a fabulous collection, now out on both ebook and paperback. Angels and Demons I took the time to delve deep into your eyes. I saw winged seraphim in crystal skies. I also saw devils with fire starting rage Contained within a strong steel cage I chose to love your demons and your angels - To dip your flames deep into my loving well. To focus on the white wings within your soul - While loving you not in part, but in whole. Beauty Be Not Caused - It Is Beauty - be not caused - It Is - Chase it, and it ceases Chase it not, and it abides - Overtake the creases In the meadow - when the wind Runs his fingers through it - Deity will see to it That you never do it. This week I remember a classic in American poetry. Walt Whitman is a name that is almost always in the list of greatest American poets. In fact, in 2006, The Atlantic listed him as "the most influential American poet, without question."
Leaves of Grass was first published in 1855. It was found by many to be obscene, with its direct references to the body, emotions and explicit sexual imagery. It was greatly influenced by Ralph Waldo Emerson and the Transcendentalist movement and is truly quintessentially American, as the Atlantic says. Whitman spent the entire rest of his life adding to and revising the one book. It grew from only 95 pages and 12 poems to over 400 poems through, nominally 9 editions (there is some dispute over whether three of the printings were sufficiently changed from their predecessors to be counted as a new edition). As such scholars can trace Whitman's phases of development and thought by tracing the changes in the editions. Whitman was a nurse during the Civil War and was strongly affected by what he found in the hospitals and battlefields of that great struggle. He was also a staunch Lincoln man and he wrote a stirring elegy to the fallen President, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd". The title itself was a pun, leaves being the pages of a book and grass was a term used by publishers of the time for works of little value. Fortunately for all of us, there are many leaves and they are definitely of great value. I only have time for a single social media outlet, Twitter, and on that outlet there is a lot of talk about promoting indie authors. There are a lot of what I would call ad-tweets, of either the author or their publicist sending a cover photo and a link. Fewer tweets by individuals calling on people to "do the right thing" and support indie authors by "buying their work, reading their work, reviewing their work". And then there are the numerous tweets of support back and forth between writers which are lovely to get and give but not material in the sense of the above.
I think (actually know) that there is a lot of talent toiling without much support, especially when compared to the handful of authors who get a big-name publisher to support them. I heard that you need 50 reviews before Amazon pays any attention to you. I've tried with my circle of friends and the Twitterverse. A lot of hard work for 3, 8, 12 reviews. Still far short of the 50. So...... I propose a somewhat unconventional giveaway. Each week (life permitting) I will give away up to $10 worth of Kindle books (I'll shoot for 4 different titles each week). You get a chance at the books by retweeting the initial post for the week with the title or author you'd like to win AND a title or author you'd like to see next week. The caveat here is the titles need to have less than 50 reviews on Amazon. Also, no self-promotion. In addition, if you post a review here, as a comment to the current giveaway post, of any of the books in any of the past five giveaways (I know, it will be harder at first!), you will get an extra entry in the current giveaway. Finally, to kick this off, please post a comment to this post with any author/title you'd like to see in the inaugural giveaway. Happy reading. Reviewing. And, for the authors, hopefully selling! Poetry Duel 19 was another close-run thing.
One of my poems from Scenes, "Dance", was on the left. It was intended as inspirational for kids as they transitioned out of high school. It "wins" with a rating of 4.00. On the right was a Carl Sandburg poem "Dancer" which has a decidedly seedier outlook. It is not of a popular style for Mr. Sandburg's poetry, though it is indicative of how, even for great artists, there are some works less well remembered. "Dancer" garnered the same number of votes but a much lower 3.5 average rating. Dance Dance Figuratively or literally Find the happiness And let it out. Dance No matter what comes For tomorrow the sun Will rise again. Dance Because the alternative Is to soak in the crying; To bend under the weight Dance There is always some joy, A bit of the beautiful Let it be your guide. Dancer The lady in red, she in the chile con carne red, Brilliant as the shine of a pepper crimson in the summer sun, She behind a false-face, the much sought-after dancer, the most sought-after dancer of all in this masquerade, The lady in red sox and red hat, ankles of willow, crimson arrow amidst the Spanish clashes of music, I sit in a corner watching her dance first with one man and then another. The idea behind this weekly feature is to look back at something old and, to me, familiar, and to share it.
Familiarity breeds, far from its mis-assigned contempt, comfort. Not always, but often. The child who seeks a parent when confronted by a new situation is looking for the familiar to provide comfort, to provide a place from which they can dip their toe in the next adventure. That, at least in part, is the idea here on Throwback Thursday, to spread some comfort and/or provide a place to launch into new adventures. And, so, the books reviewed here on Thursdays are a variety and they are presented with enough detail (I hope) to allow that safe dip into the new or provide a smile of comfortable memory. This week, I am afraid, there has been not enough time in my life to prepare that space here properly and, thus, I leave you with just the thought that the familiar is a place to be sought, but only to find a safe place to move forward or to provide that comfortable, happy place of reflection and recollection. Hoping this finds all of you, gentle readers, in a great place. For Poetry Duel 18 I hinted at the start that I was going to mix it up and that is what I did!
Duel 18 featured a Robert Frost poem on the left, "Spring Pools", and "When Spring Goes By" by Duncan Campbell Scott on the right. Mr. Frost needs no introduction; Mr. Scott was famous for a while at the end of the 19th century and first half of the 20th, and may still be in his native Canada, but I had never heard of him until recently. So, technically, Duel 18 had two "famous" poets. Frost won, rather convincingly, with an average rating of 4.0 to Mr. Scott's 3.0. Spring Pools These pools that, though in forests, still reflect The total sky almost without defect, And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver, Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone, And yet not out by any brook or river, But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods - Let them think twice before they use their powers To blot out and drink up and sweep away These flowery waters and these watery flowers From snow that melted only yesterday. When Spring Goes By The winds that on the uplands softly lie, Grow keener where the ice is lingering still Where the first robin on the sheltered hill Pipes blithely to the tune, "When Spring goes by!" Hear him again, "Spring! Spring!" He seems to cry, Haunting the fall of the flute-throated rill, That keeps a gentle, constant, silver thrill, While he is restless in his ecstasy. Ah! the soft budding of the virginal woods, Of the frail fruit trees by the vanishing lakes: There's the new moon where the clear sunset floods, A trace of dew upon the rose leaf sky; And hark! what rapture the glad robin wakes- "When Spring goes by; Spring! Spring! When Spring goes by." Annisette sat cross-legged on the grass peering through the stalks of the zinnias waving gently in the summer breeze. Her eyes were just below the level of the blossoms. She could hear the bees working busily but could not really see them until they slowly hovered from one flower to the next.
Her vision anyway was locked on her brother on the other side of the yard looking painstakingly through the rhododendron and lilacs. She could almost hear his whistling over the hum of the bees. She knew it was the theme to The Andy Griffith Show even though she never thought his whistling and the song sounded remotely similar. She waited until he made it to the pump house and the small white building blocked him from her view. She sprang up and dashed ten feet to suddenly sit again, this time behind the bed of snapdragons, the multi-colored flowers now waving at eye level. Jeremy emerged from the far side of the pump house and looked right at her without seeing. Her print dress blended perfectly with the flowers screening her from his view. His gaze passed to the zinnias and then even further to the sunflower bed. He started to amble in that direction. Annisette took her chance, jumping up and racing for the giant sycamore. Jeremy shouted “Ha!” and burst into a run on an intersecting path. She started to giggle as her bare feet pounded across the soft grass. She could hear him gaining ground, his much-longer legs eating up the distance between them, but, like often, his steps seemed to slow as they all closed together – Annisette, the sycamore, and Jeremy. She reached the tree. “Safe!” she squealed. And then he reached it, and her, and one finger tickled her ribs, expanding the giggle to peals of laughter. She collapsed to the ground out of his reach, still laughing, and a grin split his face. “You are so-o-o-o fast.” “And tricky!” she giggled. “And tricky” he agrees. “Next time I’m going to start looking at the zinnias!” “OK! Count!” and she starts to run into the middle of the yard, the giggling stopping with the seriousness of the next hiding place. Jeremy hides his face in the tree and starts counting, loudly, and peeking to see where she goes, “One! Two!...” In 1969 the ex-Royal Navy officer, Douglas Reeman, set his course to write a novel about a daring English captain during the Napoleonic Wars. Reeman chose to write the novel under the pseudonym Alexander Kent, a friend of his who had been killed in World War II. In Form Line of Battle, Richard Bolitho was launched.
Over the next 27 years there would be 26 more Bolitho novels, filling the entire period from the American Revolution to the final demise of Napoleon. Bolitho himself, like Horatio Hornblower who slightly preceded him and Jack Aubrey who is his contemporary in literature, has his basis in history with many real historical events being fictionalized into the books. The captains (earlier midshipmen and later admirals) are all an amalgam of the best in the Royal Navy during this tumultuous half century. I have read a lot of these seafaring naval novels and prefer the Bolitho ones if for no other reason than the entire panoply of the crew of a sailing man-o-war is captured with each of the characters having depth and a place to play in the plot. With all three I never did read the latter (in historical chronology) novels; after all the stories of personal command and risk I just could not adjust to the admiral worrying over strategy. The sailing is real - Reeman actually taught sailing and was intimately familiar with the needs to sail a large square-rigged vessel. The battle sequences are full and throaty. The situations are complex and the scenes painted thoroughly. From the back of the early paperback edition: "The year is 1793, and England is once again at war. For Richard Bolitho, the renewal of hostilities with France means a fresh command and the chance for action after months of inactivity." Form Line of Battle can be had for as little as $3.94 on Biblio. Recommended! |
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