I published my collection of short stories yesterday with Amazon/kindle. The whole process only took about an hour.

It is “Sex on a Distant Planet.” Sub-title is “Probed Again.” For the time being it is only available as an e-book at 99 cents on Amazon.

Keep on Reading and Writing


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Eastern Shore Memories

Yo gang

I think I was successful in uploading the manuscript and creating a paperback. (Eastern Shoe Memories) It is 6 by 9 inches, 231 pages and 88,000 words.

Amazon said it will be available in 72 hours. I set the minimum price at $6.04. Amazon said it costs $3.62 to print and make the book. Everything is free.

It is still available as an e-book at 99 cents.

Hot today at 77 @ 11.

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eastern Shore Memories

These are my articles and short stories that I published recently on Amazon as an e-book. Later, I hope to also publish as a paperback.

Eastern Shore Memories

Table of Contents

Taylorville and the War 5

Huckstering in Ocean City-Tomatoes three for a Dime 8

Spring in the 1930’s 11

Hog Killing Day 17

Life on the Lynch Farm During the Winter of 1939 23

Fish Pounds, Permanent nets in the Ocean 25

Building a Lapstrake/clinker Built Yacht 28

A Farm boy goes to College 31

A Taylorville Christmas 36

The big Red Steel PT Boat 38

Dale 42

Earth Day, A Trip to Assateague 44

Laid By 48

Thanksgiving at the farm 53

The Taylorville Church 54

A July Evening 57

Yearly Menu Around 1940 59

Ned France, A Berlin Icon 63

Tomato 65

My First Novel 68

Dad Captures a Swarm of bees 69

Our First Tractor 70

Visit to the Dover Livestock Auction 72

Fiction from here on out 75

Adder, A new beginning 75

Mrs. Pine and the CIA 80

Ancient Love: trouble with two women 88

Baghdad Café: close call with a scimitar 90

Borneo: sexual habits of the head-hunters 93

Cell Phone: one in the casket 95

Cosmic Egg: a new creation theory 97

Dreams: semi-true story about my parents and grandfather 107

The Feng Shui Woman: something has to go 112

Frogs, Kisses and Gin: old friends at a sidewalk cafe 120

Gospel Cafe: mistaken identity 123

Lightning Strike: aka Big Boob Blonde Bimbo 125

Revival Meeting: a newly saved man is accused of rape 134

Assateague Rum Runners: semi-true 150

Splash: his ex-wife made a better martini 155

Time: a new theory on how time behaves 158

The Cyclic Extinction of Life: theory of the missing dinosaurs 160

Tombstone Cleaning: boy wants to give excitement to the dead 162

A Classic Pickup Line: side effects of the IQ virus 166

Singing Fool: wounded soldier in Afghanistan 167

Volunteering for the First Saturday Writers 174

Tomato Plants: woman wanted heirlooms, not hybrids 178

Undersecretary: crazy people running our country 181

Dementia: three words to remember 197

Turkey Trot: a classic spy story 202

Panties: the panty bandit is at it again 207

About the Author: a good old Taylorville boy 219

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Go to Amazon books. Search for Eastern Shore Memories.

I screwed up a little. I listed Richard Boston, Janet Boston, Lucy and others as contributors. In the description it has Richard and the others as authors. Hohoho

I will fix after Christmas. Right now I am very pleased that it is for sale (99¢) already. Hoho I may have a cold one tonight.


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Story for August// had to be hot


Jack did a little dance step as he crossed a crack in the sidewalk. He did this for the next fifty feet.
Alan had to walk faster to keep up. “Slow down. What’s your hurry? I’ve never seen you trot to the library before. Those history books will still be there.”
“She’s hot, she’s hot.” He danced across the intersection smiling at the people in the two cars. “She’s hot, really hot.”
“Whoa.” Alan blocked Jack from dancing down the street. “Who’s hot? Who are you talking about?”
“She smiled at me last night. A big smile. She’s really hot.”
Alan nodded as Jack jumped over a crack in the sidewalk. “I assume she will be at the library. What’s her name?”
Jack quit jumping over cracks and began walking normally. He walked ten feet before answering. “Betty.” He walked another ten feet. “I think it’s Betty. It might be Betsy.” He kept walking. “I’m not exactly sure about her name.” He turned toward Alan and grinned. “I remember her smile. She has a really hot smile.”
“You sure her name isn’t Hetty? Teddy? Zetty? Just how long have you known this girl with the magnificent smile.” Alan stopped. “That reminds me of ‘The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.’ Does she by any chance have a dragon tattooed on her shoulder?”
“How would I know that? She had her clothes on in the library.” He slowed for Alan to catch up. “And I’m certainly not going to ask her about any tattoo. She’s hot. Hotter a hot rod with a four-barrel carburetor.”
“Maybe I’ll ask her.”
Jack stopped completely. “Ask her what?”
Alan walked on for five seconds. “If she has a dragon tattoo. She might have one on her rear-end. Now that would be hot. Jack’s girl has dragon tattoo on her rear. Hot. Hot. Hot.”
Jack shook his head. “Don’t ask anything like that. You would embarrass the poor girl to tears. Plus she would never speak to me again.”
Alan ignored Jack’s statement and altered his steps to step on cracks. “Step on crack and never fear, see the girl with the tattooed rear. She’s hot. She’s hot.”
Jack stopped on the first step of the library. “Why don’t you sit at a different table from Betsy and me. I don’t want you to be embarrassed with your lack of knowledge about American history.”
Alan was on the top step before he turned around to face Jack. “What does my knowledge of American history have to do with this hot young thing. Is she some kind of history nerd who looks down on us C-minus students.”
Jack shook his head as he opened the library door. “Betty is a tutor. She is helping me prepare for the mid-term exam. It’s mostly about the Civil War. She says she is highly regarded by her instructor.”
“When you’re hot, you’re hot. The history professor may think she’s hot, too. That’s why she is so highly regarded.”
Jack ignored Alan’s comment. “Just sit at another table. Don’t even look at her. Read the comics in today’s newspaper.” He entered the library leaving Alan standing beside the door.
Alan waited five seconds, just enough time for Jack to find a table. He entered, stood with other students and scanned the room. Jack and the hot girl were not to be seen.
He rubbed his jaw and eyed the four private work rooms on the far wall. He took his time walking around the room to the first door. He peered into the room through the huge window in the door.
The girl looked up and smiled. Thoughts ran through Alan’s mind as he stared through the glass: a smile that went from ear to ear, teeth that glistened, a dimple in just the right place and hair with a well-care-for-wind-blown look. His mind snapped back to normal when she beckoned him in. “She is hot. Real hot.”
Jack twisted around, shaking his head and mouthing a silent no. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have some work to do in your remedial arithmetic class? Multiplication tables or something like that?”
Alan ignored Jack remarks. “Hi, my name is Alan and I need help in Civil War history and Reconstruction.” He held out his hand.
She gave Alan a magnificent smile.
“Jack has done nothing but brag on you all day.” He held her hand a second too long. He released her hand and glanced at Jack. “Aren’t you going to introduce us.”
Jack tried to frown at Alan and smile at the girl at the same time. “I’d like you to meet Mary, my friend and tutor.” He turned back toward Mary, “Alan is an exchange student from Somerset County, so his knowledge of the Civil War is very limited.”
“How nice. I just love the way Somerset natives talk, especially the Smith Islanders.” She leaned toward Alan and gave him a dazzling smile. Her blouse opened a bit. “Any chance of you speaking that awesome dialect? I would give anything to hear it spoken.”
Alan shook his head and tried not to stare. “No, my dialect is strictly Marian Station. But I have been to Smith Island.”
“How quaint. I just love these little villages that keep their village station status like Marian Station and Ironshire Station.”
“Enough.” Jack pushed on Alan with his elbow. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go? There’s a ping-pong table in the basement.”
“No games for me when there’s history to learn. I want to catch up on details from Sherman’s March to the Sea.”
Mary turned a loose-leaf page in her notebook. “General Sherman is not on my lesson plan for today. We are going to go over causes and what led up to the first shots being fired.”
Jack put both elbows on the table. “Yes, we were going over yesterday’s lesson on slavery, so why don’t you hit the road.”
Alan dropped his eyes to Mary’s blouse. “I really loved Rhett and Scarlett. The whole Civil War, especially Sherman’s March to the Sea, is told by their lives. Don’t you think so?”
Mary pulled her blouse together. “I’m not familiar with Rhett and Scarlett. Whoever they are, they had absolutely no bearings on the outcome of the Civil War.” She spoke without smiling. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go? Jack and I want to continue with today’s lesson.”
Jack moved back a few inches. “I kind of liked Rhett and Scarlett, too.”
Alan’s opinion of the girl shifted a hundred and eighty degrees. He smiled widely. “You do know who we are talking about, don’t you? Rhett and Scarlett are in American lore like apple pie and ice cream.”
Mary leaned back and folded both arms across her chest.
Alan moved in like a terrier looking for a bone. “Jack says you have dragon tattooed on your rear-end. Is that right?”
Mary used both thumbs and sent a text message. A few seconds later the door opened.
“I’d like you two to meet my boy friend, Rocky, from the university’s football team. He and I have an important meeting to attend. So this tutor session and all future sessions are canceled.”
The two-hundred-fifty pound defensive lineman smiled, showing a missing front tooth.
Alan jumped on a piece of pine bark on the sidewalk. “Step on the bark, break Jack’s heart.” He stopped at the next crack. “You know, nobody can be hot if they haven’t read Gone With the Wind.”
Jack nodded. “She really wasn’t that good looking either.”

1277 words 7/5/17

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Somebody was walking up his sidewalk. He dropped the morning paper on the table and reached for his coffee. He leaned closer to the window. A man wearing a brown toga and hoodie was pulling a woman along in broad daylight. The person was also carrying a huge scythe. In a split second he made up his mind not to answer the door.

“Mr. Jones.” The man pulled a huge smart phone from an inside pocket. “It’s Ralph, isn’t it. Ralph Wilmer Jones.”

“Whoa, not so damn fast.” He spilled a few drops of coffee. “How in the hell did you get in? The screen door was locked and so was the entry door.”

The man waved the phone at Ralph while keeping a tight grip on the woman’s wrist. He ignored Ralph’s question. “I had an appointment with you this morning. Or rather you had an appointment with me.” He consulted his phone again. “At eight this morning and you missed it.”

Ralph slid back a few inches from the breakfast table. “What the hell is going on? Are you crazy?” Ralph was distracted by the woman frantically nodding her head. He tore his eyes from the woman and back to the man. “I was in bed this morning at eight, sleeping like a baby.” He thought for a second. “How did you get in? The doors were locked.”

Again the question was ignored. “You were supposed to have been at the bus stop at eight. We can’t allow this to happen again. My superiors are getting angry and blaming me. I’ve done nothing wrong.” He held up the phone. “My records indicate that this is the fifth time you have failed to keep your appointment. This cannot go on. It has to stop right now.”

Ralph slid back to the wall giving him a narrow escape route. “Where did you escape from? You are a certified lunatic, aren’t you?”

The woman nodded vigorously and tried to pull away.

The man’s phone emitted an ominous church bell sound from an old deserted graveyard. He fumbled with the phone and accidentally released the woman. She bolted into a bedroom, slamming the door, causing a hanging light to sway.

The man made one step toward the bedroom. His phone gave out two peals from an ancient bell. He halted and tapped the phone once. He glanced at Ralph. “I have an appointment to keep. Right now. I can’t waste any more time here.” He walked quickly to the door. “Stay here please, I won’t be too long.” He paused a moment. “And don’t let the woman leave under any circumstances.”

Ralph glanced at the bedroom door for a second. He looked back at the entry door. The man was gone. He sat perfectly still listening. Not a sound. He slowly sipped his coffee and stared at the bedroom door. He walked over and tried the knob. Locked.

He rapped on the door lightly. “You can come out now. He’s gone.”

A faint whisper came back. “Are you sure​? He is sneaky and sly as a fox. Check your sidewalk.”

He waited a few seconds. “I checked. No one there.”

The door flew open. She glanced around the room. A second later, she jumped at him, arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “We have to leave. Right now. Let’s go to Las Vegas. He’ll be back soon. We don’t want him to find us.”

“Whoa. Stop. What the hell is going on? Who is he? Who are you?” He resisted her pulling him toward the door.

“I’ll explain everything later.” She tugged on his wrist. “There’s a park down the street. Let’s go and I’ll tell you everything there is to know.”

At times she was trotting with a death grip on his wrist. He was panting slightly when she pushed him onto a park bench. “Alright, stop the damn nonsense. First, who is this guy?”

She kept a firm grip on his wrist and took a deep breath. “He’s a Grim Reaper or sometimes just called Death. Let’s go to Vegas.”

Ralph was shaking his head and trying to free his wrist. “How dumb do you think I am? He’s crazy and I’m beginning to believe you are also crazy.”

“No, no. Remember him saying you had cheated him five times. The first time was in the army. You bent over to pick up a dime and the sniper hit the man behind you.” She paused. “Do you remember that? Death told me all about you. The second time you cheated Death was when you got into the wrong taxi. The other taxi exploded and killed the driver and passenger.”

Ralph barely nodded. “I remember those weird incidences.”

“Just this morning you were supposed to be at the bus stop at eight. A man was killed. Death was waiting for you and you stayed in bed. He was extremely angry.” She suddenly hugged Ralph with her head on his shoulder. “Don’t look. Death is walking up your sidewalk. He went in. Now he is in front of your house. He’s furious, he’s jumping up and down shaking both fists at the sky. We should leave for Vegas right now.”

Ralph tried to look but she hugged him tighter. “He’s consulting his phone. He has another appointment to keep. He’s gone.” She relaxed her hug a bit.

Ralph pushed her away roughly. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Who are you?”

“We can go to Las Vegas. Death won’t find us there.”

“Stop talking trash. I don’t believe a word you are saying. Who are you?” Ralph paused a second. “And why was he pulling you along?”

Her shoulders sagged. She looked at the grass at her feet. “I’ve cheated him four times. Last week he came to my home. My husband was supposed to kill me.” She paused too long for Ralph.

“What happened?”

“I killed him.” She kept on quickly. “But it was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Ralph slid to the edge of the bench. “Holy cow! You murdered your husband!”

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I told you it was an accident. He came into the living room with a big shiny pistol. He shot at my head and just missed. He pulled the trigger again but the spent shell hadn’t ejected. His gun was jammed. In the second he was trying to get a new bullet in, I grabbed a fire-place poker. One with the hook on the end for pulling on burning logs. I swung. He fell with the hook buried just above his right eye.”

Ralph shuddered. “What did you do?”

“I ran into the kitchen. There he was. Death was standing in the doorway waiting.”

Ralph looked up and down the street. “What was he waiting for?”

“Death was waiting for me. He was very upset that I was alive and it was my husband who was dead. He said I messed up his appointment book.” She looked at Ralph and squeezed his knee. “Let’s go to Las Vegas. He won’t look for us there.”

“Forget Las Vegas. You just killed your husband. I wouldn’t even go to the next city with you.”

Suddenly Death was standing next to them. “Well, I see you two have found each other. A good pair. Both of you cheated death.”

Ralph tried to see his face. It was hidden in the shadows of the brown cowl. Death idly let his scythe twist back and forth in the sunlight. The reflected light from the blade seemed to stay in Ralph’s eyes.

“Purely accidental. I certainly didn’t mean to screw up your appointments.” Ralph stood and tried to look Death in the face. “You don’t have an appointment with either of us. So why don’t you leave us alone. Go wave the scythe at someone else.”

The scythe spun emitting all the colors of the rainbow. Death was gone.

The woman hugged Ralph tightly. “You were so brave to talk to Death like that.” She moved her lips closer to Ralph’s ear. “Let’s go to Las Vegas. We be safe from him there.”

Ralph hesitated a moment feeling her body heat radiate out to his body. Then he thought, No way. She just killed one man. Death wants her badly and she’s crazy as a bedbug.

He pushed her away. “You can go to Las Vegas by yourself, Sweetheart. Don’t bother me any more.” He walked to his home without a backward glance.

A month went by without incidence. Ralph checked everything. He stood in the doorway of the bus and looked over the riders. He sat and tried to relax. Someone was sitting down beside him.

It was Death. The scythe glittered.

“Go away.” Ralph’s voice wavered and cracked. “You don’t have an appointment with me.”

Death ignored Ralph. He studied his phone. An eternity flew by. Death touched Ralph’s knee. “Something is going to happen at the next stop.”

Ralph’s muscles turned to jelly. His eyes filled with tears as the bus stopped. The woman stepped in carrying a fireplace poker with a hook.

Death touched Ralph again. “I gave her an all-expense-paid trip to Las Vegas. She was very appreciative.”

1570 6/22/17 is the place to go

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“Well.” She paused for a short second. “How many words do you have?”

He leaned closer to the computer and didn’t acknowledge her question.

She waited two seconds for an answer. “How many words do you have? You’ve been sitting at that computer for three months. Your novel should be at least a quarter done by now.”

He thought for ways to avoid her question. Five seconds went by. “A lot.”

His wife slowly shook her head. “A lot. What kind of answer is that? It doesn’t tell me beans.”

He studied the screen a few more seconds. “I really don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track of the word count. But I’m sure it quite a lot.”

She was shaking her head the whole time he was talking. “No, no, no. Quite a lot is worthless also.” She moved closer to her husband. “Doesn’t your word processor have a word count icon? What word processor are you using? Microsoft Word? Word Perfect? Something else?” She tried looking over his shoulder. “Regardless, it doesn’t make any difference. All modern word processors have a word count icon.”

He kept his eyes on the screen. “I’m really busy right now. I’d like to finish this page this afternoon.”

“This afternoon! It’s a lovely Saturday afternoon in May. You should be outside working in the garden. I want some big red tomatoes this summer.”

“OK, OK. I’ll roto-till the garden and plant some Better Boy tomatoes just for you.” He paused a second. “How does that sound?”

She nodded but didn’t move away. “I still want to know how many words you have.” She pointed at his computer. “Click on tools at the top of the page and then on word count. Simple as ABC.”

Reluctantly he followed her instructions. “It says 5140.”

“Not very much. You’ll be ten years finishing this thing. Tom Clancy or Mary Higgins Clark would write that much before lunch.”

A few seconds went by. “I’m not trying to be like either one of them. I just want to write my own novel my own way. Since this is my first novel, there are a lot of things I have to learn along the way.”

“I can go along with that.” She nodded faintly. “What type of novel is it going to be? A sci-fi? Historical? Adventure? A murder mystery.” She stopped and smiled briefly. “I hope it’s not going to be one of those Bodice Rippers things? One of those novels where a big hunk of a man always gets the fair maiden on the last page?” She paused again. “Heaven forbid, I hope it’s not one of the porn novels. Think what the neighbors would say.”

He leaned away from the computer for the first time. “No porn. I could write all I know on the first two pages and then be at a total loss for words and ideas.”

She smiled at her husband. “What is it, then? I hope it not a top secret and you can’t tell anyone.”

He ran what he had written and what he hope to write through his mind. “I think it’s going to be a murder mystery. The old hard-boiled detective that Bogart and Mitchum use to play in the movies. The bad guys are going to be like Greenstreet and Lorre.”

“I loved those guys.” She glanced at the computer. “How are you describing them? Is one bad guy going to be big and fat? The other guy short and thin?”

Her husband nodded. “I’ll change some things. I don’t want the reader to think I plagiarized everything.”

“What about the woman?”

“What woman?”

“The woman in your detective story. There is always one there. Sometimes she’s a good guy, sometimes she’s not. Is she tall and willowy like a clothing model?”

He glanced at his tall wife. “Oh, maybe five-foot-seven. But I really haven’t described her yet.”

“Is she sexy?”

He resisted glancing at his wife. “I think so. I’ll make her a combination of Jennifer Jones and Lauren Bacall.”

She nodded in approval. “What about the guy? Your detective? The hero of your novel? Is he sexy?”

He managed to hold back a grin. “I’d like to think so.”

“What does your detective do?” She paused a moment. ‘When does he do his best work?”

He faced his wife. “He does his best work after having sex with a sexy woman on a Saturday afternoon.”

She held out her hand and grinned widely. “That should have been on the first page.”

760 4/24/17 is the place to go

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