Jonas Fiction

2005-12-17T00:50:00.000-08:00

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some

true enemies;

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank people may cheat you;

Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;

Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness they may be jealous;

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today people will often forget tomorrow;

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough;

Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis it is between you and God;

It was never between you and them anyway.

--Mother Teresa

2005-12-17T00:29:00.000-08:00

THERE'S A HOLE IN MY SIDEWALK

I walk down the street

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk,

I fall in.

I am lost...I am hopeless.

It isn't my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk,

I pretend I don't see it.

I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in the same place.

But, it still isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk,

I see it is there.

I still fall in...it's a habit.

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk,

I walk around it.

I walk down another street...

-Portia Nelson

2005-12-17T00:15:00.000-08:00

WALK A LITTLE PLAINER DADDY

"Walk a little plainer, Daddy,"

Said the little boy so frail,

"I'm following in your footsteps,

And I don't want to fail."

"For sometimes your steps are very plain,

Sometimes they're hard to see;

Walk a little plainer, Daddy,

For you are leading me."

"For sometimes I am tempted,

I don't know what to do,

Walk a little plainer, Daddy,

For I must follow you."

"Sometime when I grow up,

You are like what I want to be,

And I will have a little boy,

Who will want to follow me."

I would want to lead him right,

And have him to be true,

Walk a little plainer, Daddy,

For we must follow you."

2005-12-17T00:00:00.000-08:00

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads divided in a yellow wood,

and sorry I could not travel both.

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

and that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

2005-11-12T02:58:00.000-08:00

It's time to bring on some HURT!

2005-11-12T02:52:00.000-08:00

I'm the best there is at what I do,

But what I do best isn't very nice.

I'm here on business; to hunt, to kill.

Like I said- what I do best.

-Wolverine

2005-11-12T02:26:00.000-08:00

You may be able to get under my skin,

but you can never penetrate my rock!

-Hulk to the Thing

2005-11-12T00:57:00.000-08:00

I AM

I am the dawn
I bring the morning joy
My word is love
And the end of fear

I am the light
I bring you forever peace
I am within you
And in my presence
There is only truth

Seek no more, delay no more
I am here and now
And in the stillness
Of your heart
I am, I am, I am

-The Dead Sea Scrolls

2005-11-12T00:44:00.000-08:00

LIONS OR GAZELLES?

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up.

It knows it must run faster than the fastest

lion or it will be killed.

Every morning a lion wakes up.

It knows it must outrun the slowest

gazelle or it will starve to death.

It doesn't matter whether you are a lion or gazelle:

when the sun comes up, you'd better be running.

Things may come to those who wait,

but only the things left by those who hustle.

2005-11-12T00:20:00.000-08:00

You cannot teach
a person anything...

You can only help
them find it
within themselves!

-Galileo

2005-11-12T00:05:00.000-08:00

WHEN I DIE, I WANT

TO GO PEACEFULLY IN

MY SLEEP LIKE MY

GRANDFATHER DID...

NOT SCREAMING

LIKE THE

PASSENGERS

IN HIS CAR.

2005-11-11T23:51:00.000-08:00

To Scottish friends I lift a glass

To you, who've kept alive

The memory of heroes past

Across dark moors of time

To you who know this simple truth

And show it near and far

It is the tales we tell ourselves

That makes us who we are

So let us drink to Scotland fair

Its sorrow and its solace

And lift our glasses in the air

To you and William Wallace

And to the Clan that bears his name

My sisters and my brothers

I'd rather be a man in your eyes

Than a king in any others.

2005-10-08T11:55:00.000-07:00

THE MAN IN THE GLASS

When you get what you want in your struggle for self

And the world makes you king for a day,

Just go to the mirror and look at yourself

And see what the "man" has to say.

For it isn't your father or mother or wife

Whose judgment upon you must pass.

The fellow whose verdict counts in your life

Is the one starring back from the glass.

You may be like Jack Horner and chisel a plum

And think you're a wonderful guy.

But the "man in the glass" says your only a bum

and you can't look him straight in the eye.

He's the fellow to please, never mind all the rest

For he's with you clear to the end.

And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test

If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the world down the pathway of years

And get pats on the back as you pass.

But your only reward will be heartaches and tears

If you've cheated "the man in the glass".

2005-10-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

King's 'Colorado Kid': You decide
By Carol Memmott, USA TODAY

Stephen King is so hot that an advance copy of his latest novel, The Colorado Kid, was stolen and sold for $1,623 on eBay.

Aw, c'mon, it's good, but not that good.

King wrote The Colorado Kid for Hard Case Crime, which publishes old and new hard-boiled crime fiction in paperback at a far more affordable price: in this case, $5.99.
The Kid is an intriguing story, but there's really nothing hard-boiled about it. Vince Teague and Dave Bowie, veteran (geezer) editors for the Weekly Islander in Moose-Lookit, Maine, spend a lot of time shooting the breeze, and they recap for summer intern Stephanie McCann the mystery surrounding the death of an anonymous man on one of the island's beaches in 1980.
Incompetent detectives never solved the case, but Bowie and Teague did their own investigation and are happy to speculate about what they don't know for sure.
Be forewarned: Don't expect them to tie everything up in a neat package.
In an afterword, King writes that people will either love the ending or hate it. "I think for many people, there'll be no middle ground on this one, and that's fine with me."
Whether feeling cheated or angry, readers won't be shortchanged.
The characters and dialogue in Kid are wry and lively. The recounting of the man's last days as well as the investigation into his death are artfully detailed.
But speaking of details, here's a note to King: I know this is a work of fiction, but one of your characters refers to a Starbucks in Denver in 1980. A little sleuthing shows the first Starbucks didn't open there until 1992.

The real question may be the identity of the sultry brunette on the book's cover. There's no one like her in the story.

The Colorado Kid
By Stephen King
Hard Case Crime, 184 p.p., $5.99

2005-08-27T01:38:00.000-07:00

BLURRY
By Puddle Of Mud

Everything’s so blurry
and everyone's so fake,
everybody’s empty and
everything is so messed up-
pre-occupied without you
I cannot live at all
my whole world surrounds you,
I stumble and I crawl.

And you could be someone,
you can be my scene,
you know that I'll protect you
from all of the obscene,
I wonder what you're doing
imagine where you are
there's oceans in between us
but that's not very far.

Can you take it all away?
can you take it all away?
well you shoved it in my face
this pain you gave to me
can you take it all away?
can you take it all away?
when you shoved it in my face
this pain you gave to me.

Everyone is changing,
there’s no one left that’s real
make up your own ending
and let me know just how you feel
cause I am lost without you,
I cannot live at all
my whole world surrounds you
I stumble then I crawl.

And you could be my someone,
you can be my scene
ou know that I will save you
from all of the unclean,
I wonder what your doing
I wonder where you are
there's oceans in between us
but that's not very far.

Nobody told me what you thought,
nobody told me what to say
everyone showed you where to turn,
showed you when to run away
nobody showed you where to hide,
nobody told you what to say
everyone showed you where to turn,
showed you when to run away.

To Buddy and MAJ-
-There's Oceans in between us, but that's not very far!

2005-08-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

As a nation, we've been through too many fights to
preserve our rights of free thought to let them go just
because some prude with a highlighter doesn't approve
of them.

-The Book-Banners: by Stephen King

2005-08-24T08:24:00.000-07:00

The Hand

It was nearing Thanksgiving and the teacher had just given the children instructions to draw something for which they were very thankful.As she looked at the children she thought in her heart: These poor little children have so very little to be thankful for, half-fed, half-clothed. They all came from the poorer part of town. What would they draw that they were especially thankful for?As her eyes wandered over the room they finally came to David. Her heart went out to him. He was so thin and uncared for, so shy. He didn't enter into the games with the other boys for he wasn't able to hold his own with them. They rejected him. He was a Jew and they were Protestants and Catholics.Inspite of her best efforts she knew they ridiculed his religion behind her back. Always, when she was on duty on the playground, David would follow her about like a shadow as she moved around. He pressed very close to her as if for protection. What would he draw for which he was very thankful? The drawings were completed and she held them up for the class to see. There were the usual turkeys, tables laden with food, pets and people. But David had drawn a hand and when she held it up she did not tell them who had drawn it. It got many responses from the children. One child said, "That is the hand of God, for he gives us everything." Another said, "That represents the hands of the Prophets that help us." The teacher felt grateful for these comments. This drawing caused more comments than any of the others. But David said nothing. The teacher was curious, so when the other children were busy working on their next assignment she leaned close to David and she said softly and quietly, "Whose hands are you especially grateful for David?"Looking up at her face with tears in his eyes he said simply, "Yours."Then she remembered the numerous occasions when he had pressed closely to her and she had reached down and taken his hand in hers and pressed it warmly.
She had given something of herself to this little boy that was most priceless to him and for that he was eternally grateful!

2005-08-12T19:48:00.000-07:00

BIRTHDAY PRESENT

A week after my son started first grade, he came home with the news that Roger, the new Negro in the class, was his playground partner. I swallowed and said, "That's nice. How long before someone else gets him for a partner?" "Oh, I've got him for good," replied Bill. In another week I had the news that Bill had been asked if Roger could be his desk partner. Unless you were born and reared years in a white supremacy state as I was, you cannot know what this means. I went for an appointment with the teacher. She met me with tired cynical eyes. "Well, I suppose you want a new desk partner for your child, too," she said. "Can you wait a few minutes? I have another mother coming in right now." I looked up to see a woman my age. My heart raced as I realized she must be Rogers mother. She had a quiet dignity and much poise, but neither could cover the anxiety I heard in her questions. "How's Roger doing? I hope he is keeping up with the other children? If he isn't, just let me know." She hesitated as she made herself ask, "is he giving you any trouble of any kind? I mean, what with his having to change desks so much?" I could feel the terrible tension in her, for she knew the answer. But I was proud of that first grade teacher for her answer: "No, Roger is not giving me any trouble, I try to move all the children around the first few weeks until each has just the right partner." I introduced myself and said that my son was to be Rogers new partner and I hoped they would like each other. Even then I knew it was only a surface wish, not a deep felt one. But it helped her, I could see. Twice Roger invited Bill to come home with him, but I found excuses. Then came the heartache that I will always suffer. On my birthday Bill came home from school with a grimy piece of paper folded into a small square. Unfolding it, I found three flowers and "Happy Birthday" crayoned on the paper- and a nickel. "That's from Roger," said Bill. "It's his milk money. When I said today was your birthday he made me bring it to you. He said you are his friend, cause you're the only mother that didn't make him get another desk partner."

2005-08-06T15:01:00.000-07:00

The issue behind censorship is always somebody saying,
"My point of view is more valid than your point of view."
If the censorship initiative succeeds, then the answer is,
"Yes, my views are more valid than your views;
my views are more moral than your views."

-from "Stephen King on Censorship"

2005-08-03T08:23:00.000-07:00

THE INFANTRYMAN

There's a hundred years of history
And a hundred before that,
All gathered in the thinking
Going on beneath his hat.

The cold flame burns within him
Until his skin's as cold as ice,
And the dues he's paid to get here
Are worth every sacrifice.

All the miles spent in battle,
All the time it took to train,
All the "yes Sir's" and "orders"
All the bandages and pain.

All the female tears left drying
All the fever and the fight,
Are just a small down payment
On the War he joins tonight.

It's guts and love and glory,
One mortals chance at fame,
His legacy is Combat
And Soldier is his name...

Don't be afraid to do what you want to in life-
and chase your dream,
but you need to be willing to pay the price...

2005-08-03T08:17:00.000-07:00

Here's a short story- I hope you like it!
It's called GOING HOME.
I first heard this story a few years ago from a girl I met in New Yorks Greenwich village. The girl told me she had been one of the participants. Since then others to whom I have related the tale have said that they had read a version of it in some forgotten book, or been told it by an acquaintance who said it happened to a friend. Probably the story is one of those mysterious bits of folklore that emerge from the national subconscious every few years, to be told a new in one form or another. The cast of characters shifts, the message endures. I like to think that it did happen, somewhere, sometime.
They were going to Fort Lauderdale- three boys and three girls, and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in brown paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches and sea tides as the grey cold of New York vanished behind them. As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He chewed the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into some personal cocoon of silence. Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into a Howard Johnsons, and everyone got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people began to worry about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself. "Were going to Florida, she said brightly." "I heard it is beautiful." "It is," he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget. "Want some wine?" she said. He smiled and took a swig. He thanked her and retreated again into his silence. After a while, she went back to the others, and Vingo nodded in sleep. In the morning, they awoke outside another Howard Johnsons, and this time, Vingo went in. The girls insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously as the young people chattered about sleeping on beaches. When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he told his story. He had been in jail in New York for the past four years, and now he was going home. "Are you married?" "I don't know", "you don't know?" she said. "Well, when I was in the can I wrote to my wife," he said. "I told her that I was going to be away for a long time, and that if she couldn't stand it, if the kids kept asking questions, if it hurt too much, well, she could just forget me. I'd understand. Get a new guy, I said- she's a wonderful woman, really something- and forget about me. I told her she didn't have to write me or nothing. And she didn't. Not for three and a half years." "And your going home now not knowing?" "Yeah," he said slowly. "Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through, I wrote her again. We used to live in Brunswick, just before Jacksonville, and there's a big oak tree just as you come into town. I told her that if she'd take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I'd get off and come home. If she didn't want me, forget it- no handkerchief, and I'd go on through." "Wow," the girl said. "Wow" she told the others, and soon all of them were in on it, caught up in the approach of Brunswick, looking at pictures Vingo showed then of his wife and three children- the woman handsome in a plain way, the children still uniform in the cracked, much handled snap shots. Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and the young people took over window seats on the right side, waiting for the approach of the great oak tree. The bus aquired a dark, hushed mood, full of the silence of absence of lost years. Vingo stopped looking, tightening his face into the ex-cons mask, as if fortifying himself against still another disappointment. Then Brunswich was ten miles away, and then five. Then, suddenly, all of the young people were out of their seats, screaming and shouting and crying, doing small dances of exulation. All except Vingo. Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree. It was covered with yellow handkerchiefs- 20 of them, 30 of them, maybe hundreds, a tree that stood like a banner of welcome billowing in the wind.
As the young people shouted, the old con rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.

2005-08-01T19:19:00.000-07:00

New Books from Donald M. Grant, Publisher, Inc.
Donald M. Grant, Publisher, Inc. will be publishing a book containing THE LITTLE SISTERS OF ELURIA and the revised edition of THE GUNSLINGER (which was published by Viking).
The book will be illustrated by Michael Whelan and will contain new art as well as the art originally published in the first edition of THE GUNSLINGER.
Price, schedule and other details have not been set and when further information is available it will be posted here and on Grant's website www.grantbooks.com and published in their newsletter.
Donald M. Grant, Publisher, Inc. is not taking orders, reservations or putting people on a waiting list. Please do not call or email then for further details as they will just refer you to their web site. We suggest you remain subscribed to their email newsletter which you can do on their site.

I love the Gunslinger- it is a kick Ass book! The only question I have is: It has already been updated by Viking! Why does it need to be updated again? -Just for NEW art?

2005-07-30T23:52:00.000-07:00

Entertainment Weekly SUNDAY, July 31, 2005
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince J.K. Rowling Reviewed by Christopher Paolini

'PRINCE' OF DARKNESS Rowling's Half-Blood Prince casts its spell on guest critic Christopher Paolini I was introduced to Harry Potter when I was 16, right after the fourth book, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, was released. Having learned of the series from an article, I devoured each volume with a sense of growing wonder. They weren't just good. They were extraordinary. From then on, I have waited for every new installment as eagerly as millions of other fans.
At last the next one is here, the penultimate book of this septology. I'll be honest, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince isn't my favorite J.K. Rowling book — that distinction goes to The Goblet of Fire — but it ranks right up there.
One of the great pleasures of these novels has been watching Rowling's storytelling skills develop. And she certainly spreads her wings in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
Lord Voldemort now terrorizes the wizarding world with random murders and destruction. Whenever Hermione opens a newspaper, Ron asks, ''Anyone we know dead?'' — a far cry from the bright and whimsical world we were first introduced to in The Sorcerer's Stone. The parallels with current events are inescapable: Students are searched for dangerous devices before entering Hogwarts, a renegade leader evades all attempts to capture him, and the Ministry of Magic throws innocent people in prison just so it appears that the government is doing something to resolve the crisis.
The children have changed as well. They swear when they're upset — not that Rowling actually gives us the dirty words — make rude hand gestures, and are often caught snogging in corridors. To put it another way, they act like real teenagers.
Harry himself isn't as angry or as angst-ridden as in The Order of the Phoenix. In the past five books, he has survived numerous attacks; watched Voldemort kill Cedric Diggory, a fellow classmate; and lost his godfather, Sirius Black. In this volume, Harry follows Dumbledore's orders despite their almost unimaginable consequences, and, again, loses someone close to him. No one can endure such hardships without being altered, and Harry is no exception. He's tougher now, more self-possessed, and unafraid to challenge the authority figures around him. I admit, it's a bit of a shock to realize that Harry Potter is quite nearly an adult.
The new tone is disquieting because it's so different from what came before. Yet if Harry and his world didn't continue to evolve, they would soon become nostalgic curiosities. It's heartening, both as an author and a reader, to see that J.K. Rowling is brave enough to experiment with her beloved series, and that she has remained true to the emotional and physical development of her characters.
Rowling has given me more hours of reading pleasure than most other authors. Her epic stands as one of the great achievements in fantasy literature. And though I finished The Half-Blood Prince only a few hours ago, I have to ask her the question that every author who's just published a novel dreads hearing: So, when's the next book coming out?
(Paolini is the author of the best-seller Eragon. The second book in his planned trilogy, Eldest, is due in stores next month.) Grade: A-

2005-07-30T23:36:00.000-07:00

Stephen Contributes to "Covering the Bases" Album

Stephen King joined World Series Champion Boston Red Sox pitcher Bronson Arroyo on Bronson's album "Covering The Bases". The album, which includes various cover songs, was released on July 12. The album features many of the top musicians in music, including Kenny Aronoff (John Mellencamp), Leland Sklar (Phil Collins) and Mike Inez (Alice In Chains). The album also features Red Sox players Johnny Damon, Kevin Youkilis and Lenny DiNardo, along with Red Sox General Manager Theo Epstein. Stephen contributed additional lyrics and spoken word on the fourth track "Everlong". Check out Bronson's album at http://www.bronsonarroyo.com/