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Saturday, August 30, 2008

August 30, 2008

I can remember very little about my childhood, my wife remembers things she did when she was 4, but I don't. I can remember facts, history, birthdays (actually anything with a date). If you ask me for stats about my favorite baseball players, the stats come to my mind immediately. My mind is full of useless trivia. I would make a great Jeopardy player, if it weren't for the fact I am too shy, and would blend into the scenery. Heck, I am even somewhat smarter than a fifth grade.

There are very little childhood memories, good or bad.

I do remember my sophomore picture in the yearbook (some call it an annual), my mother had just given me the worst hair cut in the history of motherly bad haircuts (when you grow up with 6 children in the family, mothers give the haircuts) anyway there I was with my bad haircut, horn rimmed glasses, smiling (well half a smile) for the camera.

I was so humiliated when I saw the finished outcome. For my junior and senior year I refused to have my picture in the yearbook. I had an aversion to having my picture taken for many years.

But my blog today is on another memory. One I haven't thought about for years.

When I was maybe 8 or 9, I slept in our basement with my brothers (all 5 of us), the basement was unfinished and quite frankly spooky. I did not like the arrangement at all.

To calm me down my older brother would read books to me (when we were supposed to be asleep). We would huddle together under the blankets, flashlight in hand, and read.

This is where I had my first encounter with Pinocchio, Huck Finn, a dog named Kazan, and other great literary figures. I learned to love reading and books while under that blanket.

I haven't seen my brother for years, he and I chose different paths. I think he still lives in Utah but I really don't know, we have lost contact. But I do cherish that memory.

I wish I remembered more, but that's the way the cookie crumbles


My next blog wll be "Is the fact my sister has more brothers than I have fair?"

Till next time
raballard

Sunday, August 24, 2008

August 24, 2008

Allow us to introduce ourselves; our names are raballard, obviously not our real names. We write middle grade fantasy. There is a good reason that we do not use our real names. We tell the truth. We make every effort to remain true to our fabricated truth; the Black Realm has placed a price on our heads. We are enemies of the state. We will not be silenced, which brings us to the reason for this mysterious blog.

For the purpose of this blog, and to cover our tracks, we will dispense from using plurality and change over to first person singular. I hope you the readers will indulge us, but never forget there are two of us in this mess.

I know the truth of our totally made up. The Realm does not exist. Our non-existent fantasy, magical kingdom, is known only as the Black Realm. It called the Black Realm for good reasons they have been ruled for generations by the epitome of pure evil. Because I am privy to the made-up truth my life has been in peril for years (at this time it is really actually only my life, the “we” part of us is yet to get involved. She has no idea the intrigue that lay in store) Because of my vast knowledge of the non-lies, and not real evilness that exists in the Black Realm, I have placed myself in danger. For the last 30 years rats, toads, and all manner of evil creatures have hunted me, trying to stop my one-man vigilant crusade against the injustice created by these evil rulers. They have pursued me from the City of Great Salt, in the Rocky Mountains, to a small hamlet 90 miles east of the famous “Bay” area, only to be discovered. I ran back to the City of Great Salt, back to the hamlet, to a city with a beautiful Arch. I could find no place safe. Returning to the City of Great Salt, I had resolved to meet my doom like a man. (Hiding in my easy chair with the remote control) Imagine my horror when the Great City of Salt is awarded a great sporting activity (the 2002 winter Olympics) I had no choice I had to leave my beloved City of Great Salt for warmer and safer environs. I was drawn to the Disneyland area to seek refuge. What was I thinking of, did I mention I was being hunted by rodents? I could not explain why I felt the compulsion to move there. It was like a moth to a flame.

OK this is where the “we” finally stumbles into my hectic, one-step ahead of sure doom life. It is here that I meet the “a” part of raballard. It was actually love at first site (for me, it took some time to convince “a” she was in love), I had to be cautious, I had already met two fair maidens in previously, only to find out they were magically transformed toads, and working for the Black Realm.

“A” finally falls in love with me, at that time she had not been informed about my dangerous life, we get married and live happily ever after. Wrong. Oh, don’t get me wrong “we” are happy and very much in love, it is just the after part that gets a little iffy. Soon after the marriage my nemesis evil toads, rodents, etc discovered us. We are forced to flee our happy, sunny home. Salvaging only a meager amount of our belongings, (it filled a very large moving van)

It is in our new home, in the “Show me State” I tell “a” about the dangers involved in being married to an enemy of the Black Realm. “A” showing her true colors (and proving she was not a magically transformed toad) tells me that we needed to tell the world about the evil Black Realm, It was our moral duty to inform the world. Are you ready for this; this is where “a” shows her shear genius. Write the story “r” she told me, but write it for young adults and middle grade readers. They will believe. I still marvel at her wisdom.

There you have my, our story, hope you have enjoyed.

Next blog “Literary Agents, professional ignorers? Or employees of the Black Realm”

Till next time, Readers

Raballard.