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(Below is an insert copied from the internet… sorry, I don’t remember who gets the credit… I thought it was worth keeping and passing on to you.)
1—Plunge your main character into terrible trouble as soon as possible. (That trouble will mean something different depending on your genre. For a thriller, it might be life-threatening. For a romance it might mean choosing between two suitors.)
2—Everything your character does to try to get out of trouble makes it only worse.
3—Eventually things appear hopeless.
4—Finally, everything your character has learned through all that trouble gives him what he needs to personally conquer the opposition.
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My Hero was a War Hero
World War One, was "an awful war".
My grandfather, (name omitted) a private, Medical Detachment, 4th Infantry, 3d Division. For extraordinary heroism in action near Cunel, France, October 5, 1918. Having been wounded and ordered to the rear, nevertheless continued to administer first-aid treatment to other wounded men under constant shell fire, until he was wounded a second time, when he was evacuated, despite his protests. Residence at enlistment: Fayetteville, N. С.
(Source: Congressional Medal of Honor, The distinguished Service Cross and the Distinguished Service Medal Issued by the War Department Since April 6, 1917, up to and including General Orders, No. 126, War Department, November 11, 1919. Compiled in the Office of the Adjutant General of the Army. 1919. Page 532)
.Dearest Sister,
Have been having some very lively times this month. Had many narrow escapes as shell and shrapnel burst around me and often I was showered with earth and fragments as they returned from high in the air whence they had been thrown by the high explosives.
One morning about daylight we started “Over the Top”, and with the aid of tanks, we were soon well into the midst of the Huns first lines, which lay just beyond the summit of a small hill. Just as we started over we were met by a heavy barrage from the enemy’s artillery, and take it from me, that was one of the warmest receptions I ever received. Our men pushed steadily forward, facing machine guns which were furiously sprinkling our lines with lead.
After we had routed the Hun, we drove him from one position to another, until he was forced to find cover in the distant wood, and we had gained the ground which he was forced to abandon. My bit, of course, was to care for the wounded, which fell on the battlefield. I did not have much time to think about myself or the danger I was in. There was too much to do to think about other things. There were wounded men on every side, lying here and there patiently waiting their turn for first aid. I ran from one to another dressing their wounds and sending them back to the medical aid station, the ambulances could take them back to some evacuation hospital, which was done in fine order.
Fortunately, I passed the day without a scratch, although I had many close calls. Once while dressing a wounded soldier, a shell burst at a short distance, and about that time I felt a little sting as a very small piece struck me on the leg. It didn’t even cut the clothing and only stung for a few seconds. Another piece of shell cut through three pieces of clothing but did not scratch my person. Machine gun bullets clipped the bushes and plowed the ground about me, and you may bet I usually hugged the ground pretty close or kept very low when those savage guns poured forth their lead on every side. Oft times, one had not the opportunity to keep low, as urgent calls made it necessary to move forward.
On October 14th, I received a slight injury when a piece of shell penetrated my right shoe and slightly cut my ankle, and another hit my leg, but it did not penetrate my clothing. Finally, my turn arrived to share the pain, (caused by this awful war) along with my comrades. ‘Twas about 6 o’clock on the morning of October 16th, we were preparing to “chow” when a shell burst near, and hearing the call for first aid, I rushed to the trench where a wounded man had entered. Just as I reached the entrance, another shell burst about six feet from me, and the result was a portion of it entered my left upper and forearm, and left leg below the knee, going through same. Thus I was rendered unable to apply first aid to my comrade. A number of others was wounded at the same time, some of the boys got busy dressing our wounds, and in a few minutes, we were ready to go to the medical aid station. My comrades who were wounded in the upper extremities at once hurried away, and scrambling to my feet, with the assistance of another, I climbed from the trench where I had been lying and started forward, but found I did not have the strength to walk, so two of the boys carried me on a litter to a nearby aid station, where I was placed in an ambulance and hurried away to an evacuation hospital.
Was operated on both arm and leg to remove the pieces of shell, which did not go all the way through. Woke up after the operation feeling fine. At the earliest convenience, I was placed on a Red Cross train and removed to a base hospital, where I am now receiving the very best of medical aid. Am getting along nicely.
Once my grandfather was released from the Army, he and his young bride moved to Atlanta in search of work which was hard to come by during those hard times. They struggled as did many and years later a newspaper article appeared.
My Grandfather only acquired the rank of private in the Army during World War One. He served in the Medical Detachment of the Fourth Infantry, and he wrote an interesting letter to his sister when he was recovering from his battle wounds. Below are his words as transcribed by me of the letter he wrote.
.WAR HERO DOWN AND OUT.
Was Hero Six Years Ago and is Now Peddling Bananas.
Atlanta, Ga., Dec. 9. 1925—
Slightly more than six years ago, Private (my grandfather), United States Army shell-shocked and all but dead, was telling with pride the officer of Fort McPherson about the distinguished service cross which he wore. Yesterday, found by a reported by the Atlanta Constitution to be peddling bananas on the streets of Atlanta in order to ram support for his wife, little daughter and baby son, the latter born Monday, his income was found not to exceed $15 a week. The case was called to the attention of the American Legion officials here who are putting machinery in motion to make things “break better” for him’ from now on. “In addition to his $15 a week, he made peddling bananas, (my grandfather) receives $20 a month compensation from the veterans bureau, he said. He told legion officials he had been unable to obtain employment because of his physical condition. The certificate accompanying his medal shown that it was awarded for "extraordinary heroism” October 15, 1018, while serving as a private in the medal corps of the Fourth Infantry, A. E. F. A subsequent citation told of his “having been wounded and ordered to the rear but he continued to administer to the other wounded under constant shell fire until he was wounded a second time, when he was evacuated despite his protest. (my grandfather) is a native of Fayetteville, N. C., and married (my grandmother), in April 1918 shortly before he went over.
My grandfather was born in 1889 and died in 1972 living a total of 83 years. He was not only a war hero, he was my hero long before I learned any of this. I remember growing up and he sat next to me at his kitchen table. He use to joke and tell me after school that school wasn’t out until I had my final lesson of the day and it was to take place right there at his table. He would teach me the scriptures and we would pray together. At the time I didn’t realize the importance of what he was doing but years later the light bulb came on.
Thank you, Granddaddy
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. Do you realize how hard it is to concentrate on writing when there is outside noise? Such as a dog barking and a grown kid talking so loud, making himself be heard.
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It seems I have always wanted to write, and I do. My grandfather used to tell me intriguing stories of the battles he was in during the first world war. As we sat in his kitchen at the table, my young eyes would be locked on his, and my ears would be glued to every word. My English teacher in the sixth grade used to have us read and read and read some more. She gave all the students incredible access to a trove of books. It was there that I discovered what a library was. The stories I picked to read began sparking my imagination and my love for literature. My dream is to imagine that blockbusting novel! Maybe one that will become big-screen material. Well, at least something read by many readers and receives ego-boosting reviews. I write as much as I can, squeezing the minutes into my busy life. I am a retired general contractor, and I thought that now, at last, I might become the next Mark Twain. I wanted to write as well as Jack London or my favorite, Jules Verne. As it is, I get up at 4:30 am and catch up with the world on the internet as I drink my morning coffee. Then after dressing and breakfast, I might get in an hour of writing before being motivated by chores to get out and tend to my horse and critters. If you want to write, you have to love the idea of writing. Then you have to write. Sit down and write and write some more. Keep writing, and maybe you will be the one to amaze the world as the Author you can be. Get started by reading books written by other authors in the genre that you want to be in. Get ideas, but never copy another writer. Be original and create your world. Join other writers, authors, and readers through Goodreads, Twitter, or another online community of authors. Do your research, and you will learn many things about being a writer. Find out who to connect with within your area of the world. Have fun with it! That is important. You can do things in the imaginary world that you would not dare do in reality. You can go places you have dreamed of. You can create some of the best and not-so-best characters. Write. Dive in with your heart! OK, I’m done. (for now)
This is a bit humorous... and it is a true story... I was in the checkout line at the grocery store and of course, I had on blue jeans, a blue jean shirt, my cowboy boots, and my cowboy hat... I met a sweet young child there and it made my day... when I got home, I wrote this... I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed being in the moment!
At the store while in the checkout line,
A cute, little, excited black girl in the buggy ahead of me, "I’m seven years old! Are you a cowboy?"
Me, "Yes Ma'am, I am!"
Lil Girl, "Do you have a horse?"
Me, "Yes Ma'am, sure do!"
Lil Girl, "Can I ride it?"
Me, " Don't think that would be a good idea sweetie, with you being so little!"
Lil Girl, "Oh."
Pause....
Lil Girl, " When I grow up I'm gonna get me a horse."
Me, " Yes Ma'am, that would be nice, I hope you do."
Lil Girl, "Why do you call me Ma'am? I'm just a kid!"
Me, "Good manners I reckon Sweetie!"
Lil Girl, "I have to go now, Goodbye Mister Cowboy, I love you!"
Me, "Thank you, Sweetie. Bye!"
Me... BIG SMILE!
I thought it might be interesting to write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18, etc. The story ends with a single word.
The bell atop the steeple rang incisively with excruciating clanging sounds that ate at the very core of my being.
Falling to my knees, covering my ears, I was painfully being subjected to the noise and I screamed pathetically.
A kind woman, who was incidentally passing by, stopped her car and got out to check on me.
Tenderly taking my tear stained face into her hands, she drew me close against her soft bosom.
My only thoughts were refuge from the agony as I buried myself deep into her cleavage.
Even though barely being able to breathe, I welcomed her relaxing heartbeat and soothing voice.
I didn’t move until the shock waves of the ringing instrument high above stopped.
Glancing up, I saw the beautiful samaritan who had come to my aid.
Her steel blue eyes pierced my heart and quickly melted my soul.
She stroked my face and hair asking if I was alright.
I smiled sheepishly and thanked her for her kind concern.
Rising to my feet, I then walked with her,
Her vehicle was only a few steps away.
My mind begged her to stay here.
Would I ever see her again?
Why wouldn’t my tongue speak?
The car door opened.
My heart sank!
She smiled.
Gone!
.One day God and an Angel were sitting on a cloud high above the earth
God turned to the Angel and asked, "Well, what do you think?"
The Angel, with a tear in her eye, smiled and said in return,
"What this world needs is more love."
God in his wisdom said, "The task is yours"
and with that He sent You, my Darling to us
Our Angel here on earth.
Good evening, 7:25 pm here in Mississippi. Freeze warning and windy tonight through Sunday. I will be in my home snug as a bug in a rug! It's great writing weather! I hope you all are staying warm.
.I'm averaging 4,000 words per chapter in My WIP and averaging a chapter per night when I write. Yesterday and today, I didn't get in from work until late and was just so tired, No writing. Well, I guess we all need to take a break sometime. Tonight I'm going to watch a movie.
Two years ago, the flood waters invaded my property via a creek that feeds my ponds. The pond directly behind my house was beautiful and I enjoyed it tremendously. This is how it use to look....
This is what it looks like after the flooding and I have been battling the nasty alligator weed to no avail. The stuff just won't die! But I have come up with a new attack!
I decided to build a boat with a front-end loader attached! It's not totally finished but I had to try it out to see if it would work.
Well, it sort of works... I think I need a larger motor! That would not only push the boat better but help with the counterweight to balance out the boat. Then maybe, I can lose the concrete blocks.
At least it didn't sink! That's a plus!
