I’m here to share myself on the web. To communicate with my
family, friends and hopefully readers. I have stories from my life and stories from
my imagination. I believe I have some
good stories to tell. Bear with me while I remember and conjure them.
I wrote this some time ago. Thought I would share this here
I was around 10 the first time I saw an African-American. Two dark men in work clothes had backed a truck full of hay up to my Cub Scout den mother’s barn. The other guys and I were playing about 30 feet away from them. They had a boy about our age with them. He was a little bigger than we were. The other boys cut off running when they saw they had seen us. But to me the boy looked like a chance to make a new friend. I don’t remember if we said anything as we approached each other, I think I said “hi”. The next thing I knew I was on the ground with him on top of me. He wasn’t hurting me but he sure had me trapped. I heard the men yell “what are you doing?” I was wondering the same thing. He got up off me and ran to the men and started helping them unload the hay into the barn. I figured that’s why he had bigger muscles than me.
Several years later I learned why I didn’t see any other African-Americans around, when a guy in junior High told me “No n—-r ever spent the night in Pryor and none ever would. They didn’t dare to”. I kind of knew what that word meant but the only time I heard that word at home was when my mother was talking about her favorite nut (What we call a Brazil nut now). A phrase she dropped sometime before I left for college.
Around 1963, we began attending a church in Tulsa. There I developed a friendship with a boy a little younger than me named Richard. I really enjoyed playing with him. So much so I wanted him to spend the night some weekend like some of my other church friends had. I knew better that to spring this on my folks in front of him and his mother so I broached the subject one Friday night. They got the strangest look on their faces. Looked at each other then one of them said we can’t. “Why?” I wanted to know. “We don’t want a cross burnt in our front yard” was their reply. That mystified me. The very idea that someone would do something so strange because I had a friend spend the night. But the fear in my parents’ eyes stopped me pursuing that train of thought.
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So I got control of the twitter account using my email. The twitter agents were helpful. It was more of waiting, than anything else. So now I need to do more writing.
I’m all atwitter tonight because of twitter. On the advice of my Niece, Amy, I decided to open a twitter account. Much to my surprise I discovered that there was already and account open under my preferred email address. Not remembering the password I reset it. Behold a suspended account and a name user name I did not recognize.
Long story short. Someone in 2015 opened a twitter account using my email address. It might be wise to check if yours’s is being used.
So I finally finished the re-write. Major struggle that it was. I cut about 10% from the book. Took out at lease on story line. And now I’m ready to start submitting again.
Just added an image to share
On the trail back to Utroor.
“Jaernleik Tygeson from Hver Landnam?” The courier quizzed as
he walked up to where Jae and Catherine were sitting. Jae’s ears reddened as he
stood and acknowledged that he was indeed Jaernleik Tygeson. The packet had to
be from his mother, she was the only one who insisted on calling him by his
formal name. The one his grandpa Ingle had insisted he bear. “I’ve a packet for
you. I thought you were in Boar Akarn. Probably passed you on the road on the
way there. When I got there, they told me that you were escorting with the king’s
party on the way to Goa Vollar.” He handed a small packet to Jae and began to
“Can you take one I’m sending home?” Jae asked. The man was
a military courier and might have orders preventing him from carrying it to the
next station on the way back through the web of couriers that made the communication
network of Alfheim’s military. In peace time they also carried private letters
between the various towns and villages. The small fees charged helped defray
the king’s expense.
The man nodded his head that he could so Jae reached into
his shirt and pulled out the letter he had written to his family. He passed the
courier a halfpence as he entrusted the letter to him. With any luck it would relieve
his mother’s distress from the tales of the yetann raid that would have reached
their village. She would recognize that he was in the area of the raid and be
“So, your real name is Jaernleik?” Asked Catherine.
For once Drew did not attempt to redden Jae’s ears more. Jae
knew his given name as well. He considered Dureast. How his mother derived that
from dugr and oestr was beyond his keen. Naming a child courageous noble was by
far worse than play of iron any day.