PeriODDically...

Last Shepherd...

2011-12-30T09:30:00.000-08:00

Do I have the right to be proud of my music compositions? Oh heavens, yes. The difference between a machine generated playback and a professional performance (even though she called it a practice) is so thrilling that you just can't miss this YouTube of International Clarinetist Marion Harrington playing my music. "The Last Shepherd" was written for her and may be included on her 2012 Christmas Charity CD or even on tour (which you can help with by visiting her link). Marion has called my music "melodic and atmospheric". Listen to her play and its a slice of heaven. http://goo.gl/Cde37

And now I'll go off and cry...

Grave Anguish...

2011-11-11T14:40:00.000-08:00

I am hoping that I am not the only person in the world to feel the anguish that loved one's suffered while they buried those they loved, their family and friends.

I spent two afternoons at the Mormon Pioneer Cemetery next to the Winter Quarters Historical site where 1in12 individuals died that first winter. Half of them were children.

I felt the anguish here as well as in other cemeteries where families buried their children and while here I wrote a trio entitled "Winter Quarters" that I think shares the feeling, and still shares the ongoing drive behind the survivors. You can listen to it by using the PodBean link in the sidebar. If it is not there within a few hours of this post you can just go to http://danielhay.podbean.com and select it.

The layover...

2011-10-31T16:34:00.000-07:00

If this was a plane I'd be on a two week layover. But this is not a plane, it is an ancient RV that ran out of gas and then had a starter fail. So it was more like a two week hibernation.

Cash flow resumes tomorrow, starter is now replaced, gas tank will be full to the engine's gulping top and i'll be on the concert tour again.

I find lots of WiFi sites I can reach while parked so I can continue the marketing of concerts, sales of music, submission of manuscripts, and general chit chat on FB or Twitter. Of course, part of my marketing is right up there at the top of the page, the various links to reach the sites that have some part of me.

I might mention that in 2010 I only composed 11 solo instrumentals pieces while most years I compose in excess of 25. The 25 is good since my subscription guarantees 25 an automatic extension on the subscription. In the past two weeks I have composed fourteen solo works and twenty-three since the beginning of October. Also added another duet while continuing work on some large form compositions.

The weather is fixing to change in a few days, and I'll be on the road, but I'm sure I won't be outrunning the snow and cold. Oh well, its just another challenge.

To My Children...

2011-10-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

To you, each of you, I give my heart, my soul, my love. I have never stopped loving you. I miss you to the point of tears each and every day. I long to know you and my grandchildren with the very core of my being.

I love you; and, although I may not have been a perfect father I know that I was not a bad father. The pain of having lost your love is worse than burning alive.

I miss you; your presence empowered my life, and your absence leaves me drained and broken.

I long to know you; even though I see your aura in the distance, and feel your heartbeats with each breath I take, I long to know you, to know my grandchildren, to know the lives of those I love.

Above all I fear rejection should I breach my shell and seek for you.

Each of you: I long for you, I miss you, and, I love you.

Deer Me...

2011-09-12T11:05:00.000-07:00

I've been enjoying a family of deer for the past few months. The mother leads twins from last year, plus one spotted fawn from this year around the woods and meadows where I live. They often come right up to my porch while browsing. They stare at my dogs but ignore them as long as the dogs don't start running around and barking at them.

I've been working on the dogs to stay put and watch with me. They are doing fine at that most of the time.

When I went up to pick Huckleberries in July the mother doe snorted at me and kept circling around me to let me know I was a threat. I have neighbors who claim they have been attacked by a doe. I never spotted the spotted fawn when I was out in the woods, but I often see her peeking out of bushes when I'm out in the yard.

It is nice to have a family visit.

Emotionally Breaking...

2011-06-22T17:48:00.000-07:00

I don't often watch movies because I don't feel a need for entertainment. Inside my head music flows nearly nonstop. Twisting through the music stories try to make their presence known, worming, wriggling, sailing, trying to beat the music in the path of escape...either a pen or the keyboard. Deep down I know I am damaged and unless you have ever had an emotional breakdown you won't be able to understand the scars that creates.

Today I watched a movie at the recommendation of a hitch-hiker I recently gave a ride to when passing through Spokane. He rode with me for about an hour and before leaving he told me that he thought I should watch the movie "August Rush". We hadn't talked about movies but we had talked about music and he looked at my notebook of scores I carry. These are the scores that I wrote, that I play, that keep tumbling around trying to get out for others to hear. He said, "You really need to watch it!"

I forgot about it because I was busy with other things, but in the process of recovering from recent injuries I found my schedule has changed and I went to the library to find something to fill the gap. As I was leaving my inner music directed me to the rack of DVDs and the first one I saw on the shelf was "August Rush".

I had no choice but to take it and go home to watch it. And then I returned it today, the same day I checked it out, because I don't think I can bear to watch it again.

The movie is FANTASTIC and if you have not yet seen it, you should get it. I am sure that many people failed to enjoy it, but I feel that more people felt part of the energy. I enjoyed it. I loved it and "love" is not a word I every use lightly. I was enthralled. I was mesmerized. And I was emotionally shattered.

I am not proud to admit that I had a mental breakdown ten years ago when my wife chose to run off. My children and I survived somehow and over the years I have recovered to where I wish there was somebody in my life again. I am an intellectual, and academic, a very strong minded person, and I did not believe in mental health issues - and yet, I collapsed.

Watching "August Rush" (2007) brought back so many thing sof my life that tear at me and I was in tears. They were uncontrollable. I was sobbing. I could not breathe and my head hurt like a sledge hammer had struck me in the center of my forhead.

The boy, August Rush, (aka Evan Taylor) heard music everywhere and all the time. So do I. He was orphaned (erroneously). I was an orphaned as a child at age 4 (and then adopted) and again by my children a few years after I lost my wife and my life. He composes and conducts and so do I. And I could feel and hear his life.

The music and the portrayals within the film were exceedingly well done. The arrangements, the overal encompassing feel of the movie, and the deep, deep love that was being expressed, tore at my core - heart and soul. It was magical, expressive, and seared my heart as if a lance had been driven through me.

Life moves on and as time has passed so have on in my unique manner. Every day I know that I have music to write, music to play, words to write, life to express... August Rush did. I do. Many others also must express in many, many, forms of music and literature.

I hope that, I will rebound from this devastating release of pain much faster than I did before. Yet, if there is anything I can pass on from this experience the least would be that each of us needs to remember that there are people who must express with music, or art, or literature, or dance... They must in order to live, to stay alive, to grow.

I'm not afraid to tell you now, "I hear music. I see music. I feel music." I may never have a woman as part of my life again, and I both fear that and accept it because of who I am, but I am following the path presented to me that should be shared with a woman -- I am making music.

As my life moves on I hope that nobody ever has to feel the pain I have felt, and I wish that those who have felt worse find a soothing path in life.

I've been broken, I am damaged, and yet I am still whole. Music ... I hear it, I see it, and I feel it.

Catching Up...

2011-06-01T11:02:00.000-07:00

It has been a busy few weeks here at Daniel-land. You can google it for a map, but I don't think they have yet located which brain cell is at work inside my head.

The last PeriODDically... post was about the video challenge. I asked for people to create a video using my Taking Tea With Lady Grey trio. Although I have only had one response so far, despite Tweeting it, I have had a great submittal. You should take seven minutes time to relax and go view the video created by Lanie Leigh of LLeigh Productns (yep, spelled like that). It is posted on YouTube and you make view it here.

I was introduced to Yegor Lanovenko this past week. He is a Ukrainian award winning poet/songwriter. He has agreed to help me in the prose/libretto/poems/text/lyrics needed for the music composition Tears For Earth that I am presently scrambling to release from its space in my brain. I wrote the text for the first movement, and Yegor has written text for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th movements. You can read the initial draft texts at Tears For Earth. At the same time, for the first movement "Bones of Earth" I have been calling for help in collecting "bones of Earth" phrases in many, many, languages. Not faring well on that task yet, but I am continuing to collect data. The current list is at the same link under Bones For Earth>Chorus of Speakers menu selection. To look at more information about Yegor Lanovenko you can start at this page.

Also, this past few weeks my Twitter friend @MazzaClarinet, who is an international performing Clarinetist, has taken two of my solo pieces and performed them, videoed them, and will soon have them posted to YouTube. As soon as they are available I will update this page to include the link. One of the pieces is entitled "Last Shepherd" and was written and dedicated to to her in her worldly name: Marion Harrington. The other title I'll hold for the update to this message.

Additionally, an author requested permission to use two other solo works for the book trailer to be created for her upcoming publication.

A week ago, Rob Graham (@pensake) interviewed me for his blog "The Write Knight." That interview of a freelance editor is easily found at Hay On Blog link. While you are there you should read Rob's other materials as there are some great articles and interviews. Tell him I said, "Thanks."

Plans for the summer were semi-solidified this past week when the papers on my Idaho gold mining claim were filed and mailed. I am expecting to be driving from Spokane, WA to Sioux Falls, SD area to pick up the stuff I left in storage when my truck broke down last October. Then back to Pierce, ID area for a summer leisure (if you call hand shoveling 10-12 tons of rock leisure). I might even find a few flecks of gold.

Last, perhaps, but not least, I maintain two separate subscriptions list. The first is a subscription to each piece of music I create for solo instruments during the year and is suitable for most orchestral instruments in the strings, woodwind or brass groups. They are sent via email as pdf files. The second is the mp3 files for ALL compositions I create during the year (solo or other chamber works). You may play my music (or a child/grandchild/friend) or you may listen to it. For more information visit danielhaycomposer.

This is a rushed entry for PeriODDically... and I'm hoping there are no glaring or blaring errors. However, if you see any I always appreciate corrections emailed to me.

Interviewed...

2011-05-27T20:26:00.000-07:00

What a thrill it is...

Twitter user @pensake (Rob Graham) interviewed me as a freelance editor on his blog "The Write Knight". It was posted on 25 May 2011 so you'll find it at http://goo.gl/17nxW at the top or in the May 2011 Archives. Please, while you are there, take the time to look around his blog because there are some other great articles. Enjoy the visit.

If you wish to comment on the interview please do so there and I will try to reply. If you think I've missed replying you can contact me on Twitter @jesterhay or by emailing danielhay@gmail.com.

Video Contest...

2011-05-16T14:51:00.000-07:00

I had a friend who was going to work with me to create a video based upon the musical score "Taking Tea With Lady Grey".

I'd like to challenge video producers, trailer makers, film clip creators, of all types to create their work of art using my music. The music is about 5 and one half minutes long. The only thing that I require is that only my music is used, and that I receive credit for the music. I'd like to be able to create a web page listing each piece.

You can listen to "Taking Tea With Lady Grey" at http://danielhay.podbean.com and if you are interested in creating a work of art with it I can provide you a .wav or .mp3 file for your soundtrack.

All received entries will also be listed here in my blog, many times on Twitter, and on a separate web page.

Share this with those you know may be interested.

Off-Grid...

2011-05-16T14:47:00.000-07:00

Last fall I was off grid so intensely that I had no connection to the internet at all. Presently I have a few hours most days provided that there is fuel in the generator and that not to much storm interference conflicts with the satellite dish.

Although I find the restrictions somewhat bothersome I enjoy the benefits of permaculture by design, nature walks, wood splitting, tending the critters.

In a few weeks, or months, I may be back to a summer long disconnect. It is possible I will spend the summer in a forest sifting through gravels on the bottom of an ice cold stream, again. The sifting is to find tiny specks of gold. Previously I've been as long as 8 months on a gold claim. I expect this time only 3-4 months.

For those who follow me - don't be worried. I intend to return and if I don't it was probably for a good reason.

Oh my, I just bit into a whole clove of garlic that is POTENT.... catch ya later.

516 Title...

2011-04-22T23:41:00.000-07:00

So here you are at my blog. PeriODDically... is just as it sounds; mostly periodic postings and often odd insights into being Daniel J Hay.

Many times I have postings ready to upload and then decide to dump them because they are either bragging about myself which I find I am prone to doing, or complaining about my health or life, which I can't stand doing but again find that I am prone to lapsing into.

This posting, however, is not going to flow in either vein. No bragging and no complaining.

Actually this posting is a request for assistance in naming the piece of music I just composed. You see, I've been getting a backlog of instrumental pieces with no name. This will make it difficult to include them in the annual subscription service I maintain and makes it look like an uncompleted list when I list the titles. The attached opus number just doesn't look completed without also having a title to go with it.

Therefore, if you will listen to the piece listed in the sidebar, (Opus 516), and then send me a comment for a name I would appreciate it. From the names submitted here and via private communication I will select a winning name and then add the submitting person's name in the dedication on the sheet music.

This piece is voiced in Oboe because I find that my composing software sounds best as Oboe voice, (or Cello or Bassoon). It is, however, suitable for most orchestral instruments.

Please note that if this posting is not at the top of my blog then it is likely the piece of music shown may no longer be Opus 516. You can always visit http://danielhay.podbean.com and look for the piece that will include 516 in the title regardless of how long after this posting you are visiting. Also be aware that only a small number of my pieces are uploaded to podbean.

To see which pieces of music I have had printed you can visit http://danielhay.magcloud.com and for information on subscribing to my annual sheet music service please visit http://bit.ly/g9muFh

Research...

2011-04-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

I spend a great deal of time researching topics that interest me. Much of the research is fodder for the author side of me to be used in works in progress. (#WIP on Twitter) Some of it is merely because some intrigued me at the moment it flashed by on my computer screen - so I had to learn more. Some is used in application to my composing side. And then, some is intended for future use in what would be best described as 'real life' situations.

When I was newly married I had considered a commune environment, and my wife and I reconsidered the same over and over as our children grew. One thing we could not accept was that the places we liked best were also places that had group parenting (or none, perhaps) and we could not see placing the well-being of our children into the hands of others.

Now that I am single, or rather, during the past ten years of being single, I have often considered other intentional communities (see http://www.ic.org) as well. In fact, I have listed myself as a new community to be formed if I find others of like-mindedness. At this moment I am living with friends who are trying to build a natural farm in the Washington mountains. I consider this a learning experience.

Combined with the better part of a year camping in the California forest mining gold told me I have the basic knowledge and determination to survive in a rustic setting. I have raised goats and poultry and rabbits in the past and have thought to do so again now. Such is the environs of this mountain side. And perhaps I will acquire a multi-acreage parcel and build from scratch as I have often dreamed of doing.

So part of my research goes into planning what I would do in the "if" situation of building a house from raw materials by myself. There is a blessing to the internet and research is one of those blessings. It also has many drawbacks but those are for a different posting.

The research at this point is making me lean towards building a masonry wood fired heater (sometimes known as a Russian Heater) in the middle of nowhere. Then building a slip-form concrete house around that. Both are time consuming and require a great deal of labor but of time and labor I have plenty.

To this end I actually advertised on a certain 'date' service for a similarly minded woman who would be interested in a rural, rustic, pioneer, farming, cheese-making, yogurt-making, poultry-goat-rabbit-fish raising project. Apparently my research failed me because the only responses I have gotten are from titilation-for-pay-service bimbettes.

It seems my Facebook account (http://www.facebook.com/haydaniel) also sees me as a target for such. The only ads that ever show up on my FB page are of the same nature. Of course, I can't make it choose some other advertisement stream - and having no interest in such I tend to stay away from my FB page. Naturally, people will say but you can ignore those ads, and yes, I can, but they are still there in profusion and are annoying.

So while I research concrete, masonry heaters, siding, flooring, windows, how to... etc... it is nice to know the world is running on without me. It is of course, and faster than I pedal (being to old to run on bad knees). Yet what research would be replete without a plea for additional information?

No, no, not information on the bimbettes of the world, but perhaps you can give me instruction on finding the right person to share such an adventure. (Or families with or without children.) And then I will research that as well...

Teh Editer...

2011-03-06T18:18:00.000-08:00

On my editor page I have mentioned the damage you do to yourself if you are a writer submitting material that was not edited. Silly things appear, similar to the title of this blog, during self editing, fixing typos, changing text, and all the other actions you take preparing your manuscript. You've run a Spell Checker on your file, honest, guaranteed, and yet, they still show up.

It is crucial that the very last thing you do before submitting a file for consideration is to run your spell checker AGAIN. It doesn't matter how many times you have previously run your spell checker, how many times friends have reviewed your manuscript, nor how often you have had critique partners review it. The very last thing you do is to run spell checker again. Unless you can open your file in a view only mode every time the file is opened for any reason it is subject to errant changes.

Those changes may be as simple as hitting the wrong key while trying to scroll down to an area you had an idea about. It could be your family cat streaking by across your keyboard, or the youngster tossed you a ball while you weren't looking. It could be that your sleeve drapped, or your fingers got tired, or you fell asleep at the keyboard. Errors happen, (thanks Forrest Gump).

As an editor, see ( http://bit.ly/9Yk7TX ) I often find problems that could have been found and corrected by the author before it was ever submitted. When editing for a publisher I feel that the author didn't care enough to run spell check so there is no reason for us to care - and the story gets passed over. With hundreds or thousands of manuscripts passing my eyes why would I want to work with an author who couldn't take the time to run spell check?

Another problem that I've seen in manuscripts submitted for consideration to agents or publishers include missing words, or missing sentences, most often caused by cut and paste operations and then the author saves the file thinking their little change is okay as the rest of the document has been edited.

I have read through manuscripts that have been reviewed by other writers, by critique partners, by writers groups, by friends and family, and by other editors, and have always found errors that should have been fixed. You, yourself, have seen errors in published books that made you wonder how it got missed -- and the greatest number of errors could have been caught by a simple spell check program.

And then, sometimes, there are content conflicts. As an example; a recently published book tried to say that four men carried two casket-sized, lead-lined, crates full of gold ingots, along with shovels and picks, across boggy ground in one trip. While editing I noticed the near impossibility of this and had it changed to be more feasible. Yet, making that change required another change near the end of the book, for consistency, and three previous editors had failed to take note.

If a character has black hair you can't let them have blonde hair later without making the change - and yet I find such character adjustments in many manuscripts. Even though spell checking takes care of many problems it can not take care of all the potential problems in a manuscript.

It is important that you get an editor. A real editor. And then send your editor the final spell checked version by running spell check as the last operation you do before saving the file.

Snow Down...

2011-02-28T14:17:00.000-08:00

The snow is coming down. Flakes are thick, and heavy with moisture. I just shoveled the walk for the folks at the WiFi cafe and found it to be nearly an inch of slush underneath 4-5 inches of heavy snow. Must be why I have a pectoral cramp.

While the snow is coming down I've nearly finished the countdown of uploading Music of Daniel J Hay. Two more to go today. Lullabies for Treble and one for Bass clef instruments is up. Next will be a collection of Laments, both for Treble and Bass clef. I still have many, many, pieces to upload but I think I'll go back to the sequential process for awhile like the first six volumes and try to get them brought up to date.

Of course, if I get on a roll (drum roll) I may attack the duet collections next as most trio or larger ensemble pieces have been uploaded. I've got an idea for the 18 voice brass piece but I'll have to reformat it before giving it a try.

I've finished "The Thirteenth Worm" editing. That children's story is going on the list to be presented to literary agents (along with the other dozen or so.) Ugh! Maybe I should consider putting them into magazine format and just uploading them. Ah, perhaps, subscription service...hmmm...

Spark Of Past...

2011-02-15T15:43:00.000-08:00

At times it is hard to believe that many, many, months have gone by since my last posting. And of course, being that this is me, nothing turned out the way planned, expected, or even slightly anticipated.

Greetings to those I know. Greetings and greetings to those I don't know. I believe I've been paying a penance to fate. I have been without internet access for so long I have even forgotten some of my access codes for various pages that I used to visit with regular abandon. Of course the only pages that forgetfulness affected were those having to do with my financial status each month. (The effect of a big ZERO.)

However, I did get logged in two months ago very briefly and discovered that some of my Twitter friends had been looking for me - with concern. I received an email from the Sheriffs department in Shelby County, TN who informed me that I had been placed on a national missing person listing because of my last posting on Twitter admitting that I had become stranded when my truck went kablooyeeeee! Whether the listing action was due to Twitter friends or my neighbors in Memphis it was not only surprising but endearing. (However, getting off that list is proving to be difficult.)

My dogs and I are fine. I rent a room in a 100 yr old cabin, and have since December. There is no internet available there and until February I did not have a car. There is a nice little WiFi cafe here in town, but the two mile walk in snow and ice was more than I was willing to do - the risk of falling with my knees is ever present.

Now I have a huge gas guzzler with 4x4 so can get around if needed. This is in the lick of time as I am preparing to move on somewhere else still. This has been a temporary setting born of desperation and frustration. The where of the moving on is still up in the air. The two main choices are so far apart in their descriptions perhaps only their differences are the underpinning of my soul. One choice is a 20 acre piece of raw land - so raw that there is no power, water, or habitat. The other choice is a full service furnished room including Internet.

Wow, tough choice for the likes of me since I want all the perceived benefits of both. Of course, I'd give up any and all goals if I were to find the right person to share my life with, but as I am me, myself, and I, there are no expectations left in me for the potential to ever again be sharing.

Why am I serving penance to fate? If this is possible it is well deserved. For I have wronged my friends in an attempt to make my departure understandable. Although I am not going to discuss the details here I will lay the blame where it belongs. It is ME. My fault, for I fabricated a story to cover my feelings. Truthfully, I lied. It was false, and it was wrong. And I have been ill from the stress I caused myself.

So to my neighbors across the street I wish to apologize. The truth is that being closely involved with your family, your son, yourselves as a family, broke me up. There is great love in your family even though you don't want it to show. And that love, that family togetherness, broke me. I wish you, my neighbors, to know that I appreciated being accepted so willingly but I found myself on the verge of a mental collapse. I had to isolate myself again.

And to my neighbor next door - you understand my wanderlust. I thank you for accepting me as me regardless of my skin color. There are too many people in the world who can't see past color when in fact humans should be color blind (or blinded).

Unfortunately my isolation became more than expected. Was it fate? Was it punishment? To me it is just life but I have had a great deal of time to ponder my mental condition. I have written more on my projects, and have again been writing music that had been eluding me in my distress at the beginning of fall.

So I am recovering again. I miss Twitter and hope to become active again. I miss checking on my friends on FaceBook even though I don't like to post on there often. I am getting busy again with compiling my music for the print publications. My visit here is limited by the battery in my laptop so I won't be on often or very long. But for now I get the chance to say "greetings" and hope that all of you are doing well.

A Publishing We Go...

2010-10-02T20:45:00.000-07:00

I have just announced that my children's story Lost Lullaby has been accepted for publication. The illustrations were done by Jen Davies and the cover art is apparently going to be by Aidana WillowRaven. It is exciting to know that you are on the publishing schedule; not exciting to see how many decades down the road before your book gets printed. I am hoping for a 2012 date but won't be surprised if it doesn't show up until a year or two after that.

Lost Lullaby includes a copy of the instrumental sheet music by the same name, "Lost Lullaby" composed by Daniel J Hay, (that would be me).

I also have recently had my There Be Dragon Eggs accepted for publication. This children's book is both illustrated by, and cover art by, Aidana WillowRaven. The current publication date is early 2011 -- which as we all know is not far from the date of this blog posting.

As the covers become available I will certainly get them posted. Soon there will be new webpages created and posted for each story. Now I have to move in to marketing gear because nobody can rely solely upon the publisher to get their book sales.

If you begin noticing postings, tweets, messages, email signatures, etc. showing up repeatedly or in strange locations -- well, chalk it up for excitement, high stress, and an attempt to make good on sales so other publishers will want to print my face on the back of a book. I'm hoping when they do they will include my stories between the covers.

Printing Truth...

2010-09-24T18:51:00.000-07:00

I keep an eye on all the discussions on getting published, alternate means of publishing your own book, companies that offer various level of author services, etc.

There just isn't any feeling that compares with getting signed by a literary agent, signing a contract on your book with a major publisher, and seeing it come out. I can't vouch for that because I have yet to hit each of those plateaus. Yet, I often work in the publishing industry and recently was Chief Editor. (I've taken a medical and personal leave.)

In the various processes I continually see manuscripts that are not ready to be seen by an agent or publisher and I see books coming off a variety of presses that should not yet have been printed. It is really bad, in my view, to see mistakes in books published by the major publishers. I think an author apology for any errors is stupid. It is more understandable in a small publisher to see some mistakes slip by. But that should be the limit. Books should not have come out of the press, whether it is off-set or print-on-demand with all of the mistakes that we are seeing, and this holds true in epublishing as well.

The problem is that so many people are writing and expecting to be published that the mass is letting mistakes go through to press because they aren't being edited. Combine the non-edited manuscript with a vanity press or a subsidized press and the number of poor books increases astronomically.

Having friends, crit-partners, writing groups, beta readers, et al is worthwhile but that is not a finished edit for your manuscript. I have never, (and I will repeat that), NEVER, seen a manuscript edited by friends and family that was able to go straight to press. I have had to edit material that several editors have looked at, that beta readers have read, or that the family English expert has passed as okay. In all honesty I have to have my own writings edited. I know a retired grammar teacher who has her stories edited by 5-6 editors, and sometimes 3-4 times for each one.

Unless you are just dying to give copies of your book to friends there is no reason to give your book to a vanity press and pay them for publishing. You can do the same with a number of printing on demand services (the same services many major and small publishers use)and have the same results for less money. And also, the unedited manuscript will still be the same unedited manuscript.

If you are proud of your work then get it edited. There is nothing wrong with a subsidy press if what they offer is what you want. It will cost you in different ways, but as long as you determine their offering is acceptable to you then there is no valid stigma - unless your manuscript is not edited.

There are subsidy printers that operate more like a small publisher, providing full editing services to their authors if, IF, their submission is accepted. They can be very good but just need author assistance to afford the publishing costs, marketing included. And best yet, they edit with the authors. They won't accept an unfit work.

You can not complain about being unable to find an agent, or a major publisher, if you have not had your manuscript fully edited: not family, friends, volunteer aspiring authors. You can not adequately edit your own manuscript in today's market and expect to be sought by publishers and readers.

I took a 700 page book back for a refund because it was missing a page. I returned a 500 page book because there were four errors on the first page. I've seen enough ebooks filled with errors, and no way to return them, that I've not yet ventured into ebooks. If I wish to buy poorly edited books I can do that easily enough. But I don't want poor quality books.

Stop and think about your favorite books -- how many errors are in them? The odds are that you will find very few errors in such books -- why would you consider publishing your own books without having made sure your error level is on a par with the books you most enjoy?

Disclaimer: I am an editor. I am for hire. I own a co-op publishing company; a cross between a flat-rate subsidy publisher and the full services of a small publishing house. I'll edit anything. I will only publish what is well written and well edited.

Bootstrapping CD Recording...

2010-08-26T13:50:00.000-07:00

At the suggestion of a Twitter Friend I am posting this page link: http://bit.ly/cGAF2M

It provides a way to donate to my recording project via PayPal Donate Button. Is there a reason you should want to help? I think so. Please take a moment to read, or just jump right to donating.

I compose music in the classical genre for chamber groupings and solo performance. Surprisingly some people think of my music as any of new age, meditational, spiritual, baroque, or renaissance. I also perform with my Flauto Dolce (sweet voice flute) which in the USA are called Recorders. (I assure you this is not the sound of fifth grader Recorders.) If you think of the instruments as wood flutes you will hear and even feel the beauty of their voices.

As a composer I had over 300 pieces of music stolen during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina while I was helping a family recover their belongings from a sinking car. The music and also my instruments, which were stolen, were the core of my life. Since then I have acquired some replacement instruments and have written an additional 200+ pieces of music. I am in the midst of a publishing project to get the sheet music in print and archived so I never risk such a loss again. I would like to record all the music to CD masters as well. At present that would take about twelve CDs and 1-4 hours per recording session. A local studio is willing to work with my unique mic'ing requirements for wood flutes. Cost is holding me back. I am looking at total costs of about $70 per hour. At an estimated 30 hrs I need to raise over $2,100.

Because I can record in sessions of one hour each, if needed, I can work with small amounts and spread it out over time. If you would be willing to help with ANY amount of donation towards this project I would be very appreciative. Every donator will be listed on the CD insert by name or @Twittername (by permission) and every donation will receive a thank you gift of select live recording tracks from recording sessions. Donations over $40 will receive a copy of any two CD titles I am able to create. If you donate $200 or more you will receive each CD produced of the music presently written (estimated at 10-12 CDs). {If there are any sales proceeds I will share prorated to donations received.}

Double-luck Death...

2010-08-11T02:13:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure that humans have ever been attributed with multiple lives such as our feline friends enjoy. So what do we call those near-terminal events in our lives that fate prods a fraction past us, or time twists to thrust us just beyond? To me it has to be circumstantial luck.

Some people will attribute such saving moments as being due to a deity looking over us. I'm not about to argue that point because I'd hate to spend time in an intellectual debate when I could be out watching the next event that tries to end my life. I really want to be there when luck fails and death wins. Sorry, I've got no iPod...

You see, many years ago, decades past, a span longer than the number of years I'm willing to count, my life was ended by a white Rambler skidding on ice trying to avoid the foolish paper-delivery boy riding his bike in blizzardy snow sliding down an iced drive-way; a direct course for collision. The car hit me, knocked me off my bike and then slid after me for another fifty feet as if trying to reach me for another attempt. I was 12. He was 21. It was the first time I'd ever flown or gone body-sledding and I lost all memory of the event. I've always felt bad for the driver because the accident was my fault and unavoidable on his part. I was lucky. He was lucky. I lived. A 12-hour concussion later, a bone chip in my knee, and my best friends sneaked into my hospital room even though under aged.

I think death got near twice more that same year. The previous summer I climbed up a steep river-side embankment of cliffish nature. It was vertical broken crumbling dried clay with interspersed chalk on the bank of the North Platte River. I always claimed it was fifty-feet up although as an adult I found the spot again and measured it at twenty-eight feet - the river must have raised the river-bed in the intervening years.

I climbed up that wall with hand holds and foot ledges crumbling nearly as fast as I could find new ones. I was showing off to my sister, of course, who didn't think I'd climb up to the square shaped opening near the top that had a tree hanging over it. At that age I'm sure it had to have been an Indian cave. So up I went. And I made it only to discover that the floor of the cave-like opening was a sloped bed of sand that constantly shifted down and outward causing me to scrabble back on butt, hands, and feet trying to stay in the cave. I feared an uncontrolled descent was about to happen. And there were no mummified remains in there to make the challenge interesting. Finding one small solid spot I suddenly stood and leaped out for the river far, far below.

You've seen the famous leaps off cliffs in to deep rivers that all the movie main characters have to do to evade the avengers riding hard behind them. That was me...out stretched, screaming for more distance, riding the air currents, hoping I'd land in the water instead of the solid shoreline. I made it. Hard. I landed in about 18" of water feet first, striking the bottom very hard even as I tried to roll. It is probably there that I suffered the first major damage to my knees and lower back.

And the previous winter, almost a year before the Rambler, I was caught in a snow storm with my boy scout troop and suffered frostbite and loss of memory. Well, I remember the healing of the frostbite and I remember the telling of the rescue. The National Guard had to come get us; as I have been told. But I have no memory of getting back from the camp site, nor any memory of more than the first night.

There have been other instances which I believe have used up more than a cat's share of lives from being hit on my motorcycle and doing a side-over roll through the air to land in the median wheels down, to triple lighting strikes of light pole, ditch, and road where I had been leaning, falling, running. Excursions that included a face full of glass particles and falling backwards off of a 40' ladder, having a nail bounced off my eye, a knife dropped by my best friend onto my head, massive tree fall on my camp site where my tent had been removed by a dozen feet and only minutes before... Well, enough incidents to last a life time, or more probably a short life time.

However, today death took a double shot at me and almost won. Closer than every other attempt besides using the Rambler to crush me. As my readers my recall, one of my pursuits is photography and near my home is a swamp of murky water and cypress trees and a fabulous stump. At least I call it a swamp. It is, more rightly, a lake of smaller dimensions but from the road I didn't know it had the depth of a lake. I have been waiting for the flood waters, and spring rains to evaporate into the air so that the water level of the 'swamp' would go down enough to wade out in to it. I really, really wanted to photograph that stump. It looks like the head of an elder Ent raising from the murky depths.

Should I remind you that today it was 97 degrees outside, humidity at near suffocating levels, and I'm wading into swamp water that feels like a hot bath; all this while wearing a neoprene wading suit, more commonly known as a boiling bag. The water turned out to be about three feet deep in most places but with a two foot deep mucky bottom. And it was sucky bottom material, trying to pull me in deeper, as if something didn't want me to leave. It took me nearly an hour of maneuvering around underwater logs, through muck and water, feeling out sudden deep holes, and perspiring like I was a leaky fire hose.

My waders kept taking on water every time the depth exceeded the top of the coverall bib. The suit billowed with extra warm water heated by my own body heat as it lay trapped between me and the neoprene suit. Finally, I got to where I wanted to take pictures and began working my way around the gigantic stump, hollowed by fire, openings peering like giant eyes. I tried to ignore the ballooned suit with water temperature surpassing my own, so it seemed, and things swirling around inside it with me.

In the process I forgot to test my footing. I don't have to tell you the result of my forgetfulness. Yes, you got it in one thought. I stepped into a deep hole. A very deep hole. Probably gouged out by the fallen trunk that lay across the bottom that now had me pincered between itself and the mucky bottom and sides of the hole. I'm 5'10.5" in height and there was no air caressing my thinning hair. My left elbow was locked straight up but it was submerged too. My camera strap, hanging down from where it wrapped my wrist was soaking wet, but my camera was skyward, surrounded only by air and humidity and not swirling in muddy water.

I'm not a smoker, and I play woodwinds. I have good breath control. Today I exceeded that control stuck in a mucky hole in the bottom of a swamp. Given a few more seconds and we could have changed the wording to, "There's a body in the hole with the log in the middle of the sea (swamp), there's a body, there's a body, there's a body in the hole with the log in the middle of swamp (sea)."

In what became somewhat frantic efforts I managed to twist my ankle, smash my knee against the submerged trunk, wrench my back and exacerbate the old broken neck injury. I finally managed to free myself with pain in my lungs, air all gone, head pounding and eyes blanking (or was that the mud). And, best of all, my camera remained rigidly aloft.

I managed to slosh to the stump and lean on it for support while I gasped for air and balance. I thought I was fine, breath under control, and managed to slosh some of the water out of my suit. My camera was safe. I again started taking pictures but carefully felt each step for depth. Yet, in only a few minutes I realized something was wrong with me; I was no longer sweating and my head and face felt feverish. My head started swirling with dizziness and my eyesight was fading.

At age 53 I've had three rounds of heat stroke, all since I moved here five months ago, and I vaguely knew I was in trouble. I clearly said out loud, "Damn'it, Daniel, you're going to die out here and nobody will every find your camera." And that statement was enough to urge me back to shore. Needless to say, I made it back and returned to my truck peeling the neoprene suit off while I stumbled down the side of the road still holding my camera up and away from my body. I yanked down the tailgate and heaved myself on to it setting the camera down in a dry spot and then spewing vile bile and gasping for breath trying to regain my mental equilibrium instead of completely passing out. No passing drivers felt a need to see if there was something wrong.

After twenty minutes, or so, with a slight breeze helping to revive me, I managed to get the camera and myself into the cab but could barely get the door open. Once in, I leaned on the steering wheel while trying to open the bottled water I'd left on the seat. I drank three bottles of overheated bottled water and eventually revived enough to drive the two miles home although with arms a quiver and eyes trying to stay focused.

I could not find my set belt which is odd since it hangs from the sidewall but I made it home, or I wouldn't be here now. I sat in the front lawn and then later on my handmade Adirondack chair, with the garden hose pouring on me for nearly an hour before I felt strong enough to go inside. We don't have cold tap water here, which is probably a good thing, the shock of cold water on my overheated body and head may have been to much for me. Yet, it was cooler than my own body and the sun had gone down allowing the temperature to drop a few degrees.

The truth is that this really happened to me yesterday, not today, because I was unable to do more than dry off and collapse on my bed in a dazed, muddled condition when I returned. Why have I shared this with anonymous readers? Perhaps because I realized that I've probably used up more luck, more fate diversions, more twisted timelines, more confrontations with cessation of life than any one person has a right to expect. Maybe more so because I realized that an inanimate object was worth more to me than my human existence. I am the sole human companion to two canine pals. They curled next to me, upon the bed, and licked, licked, licked, arms and legs for hours. My arms and legs. They were showing their concern for me and those companions deserve my affection.

Life doesn't matter so much as how you choose to live it. Death doesn't matter either if you have choosen to live your life.

Hours later I still felt shaky, weak, drained, but managed to imbibe more water and ice-tea, and suck down some fresh tomatoes. I lumbered through a shower, dried, and collapsed back on the bed. My trusty companions no longer played nurse and went off to their own sleeping spots. And so, I knew I was returning to life ... once again lucky, but twice too close ...

Being Chief Editor...

2010-07-25T21:46:00.000-07:00

I was asked today, "What's it like. Being Chief Editor? Is it fun?"

Whoa... Slow down.

I was an editor before, in a time gone by. This is harder.

I was a publisher long, long ago. This is more difficult.

I was an author, edited, and published. This is more complicated.

I was a columnist, regularly. This is tough.

I've been there and done that, all of that. I am finding that being Chief Editor for 4RV Publishing makes me more aware of the lack of hours I have in a week and makes me pay more attention to what I type. Arrggghh!

I have many projects in the works from music I am composing, music I am arranging, music I am publishing, children stories I am writing, editing, and publishing, a photo studio to run, private chores around the house I share with my dogs, neighbors to help out, friends to learn about, Twitter to arouse, and of course assigning evaluations and editing for 4RV. Oh, and last, but not least, editing, final proofs, reproofs, re-edits, and more of both for 4RV.

Through the process I have learned a lot that I hope will be of benefit to me in the future. The odds are I am on the shorter side of my life line now. What I do and when I do it I hope has more meaning and value than most of what I have done in the past.

The tasks I do for the benefit of 4RV are not replacing my insomnia, nor improving my health, but then none of the other projects I take on have provided either benefit. It, nor them, have cured the loneliness that my dogs try to cure for me. Life goes on. I go along with it.

I'm still kicking and struggling with fate. I find being Chief Editor is lots of fun, lots of work. If somebody asks you about your job, your life, your task...you say "Whoa..." and think about it.

I'd take the train through the mountains before I took the speedy tunnel with nothing to look at. How about you?

On Being Twitterpated...

2010-07-13T20:43:00.000-07:00

The following was an email to a new Twitter friend. The reply back was "you should post this in your blog"... or something like that. And, so I did... (ignore all brand names, personal names, any suggestion of suggestions, and any thing that might make sense)...

Hey,

First, thanks for following my blog. You may be the fourth person to do so...gosh, now I'll have to update it again.

I see you are Tweeting from TweetDeck. This is a good choice. If you haven't already done so set your screen up with a column that shows "mentions" - that will be anything that uses your Twitter address either in sent to you or if mentioned in the text of the message. Then you may want to make a list or two of people you want to be sure to see because once the All Friends gets busy it is hard to see any messages from them. I consider All Friends to be the bane and often don't even have it showing. I have one list that is Fresh and contains the people I don't want to miss. Then I have DM column loaded generally so I can get it too.

In TweetDeck you can turn on an alert and alarms. I have the alerts deactivated but turned on alarms for anything that shows in Mentions or in DM -- then I can ignore the rest generally.

I also went to Conversationlist.org (I think its at .org). It sets up an automatic list of the people you conversed with the previous day - as if you might want to talk to them again today. This means that somebody I spot on another users page, or in my All Friends list that I acutally reply to will show up again tomorrow. Eventually I may move them to my Fresh list or my Rawr list so they are easy to find again.

Of course, with people in columns and on lists you are going to see repeats of messages as they get updated to the columns. Takes a bit of getting used too but is handy. You can also go in to settings and tell TweetDeck not to show any tweet with certain keywords. I use this to remove some profanity and also to remove the hashtags people are using when they are in a group chat mode about some subject I don't want to bother with. It lets me keep them on screen for general chat but doesn't display their chats when hashtagged (#) with a subject they are discussing if I didn't want to be included.

Now for helpful software: Go to www.twitcleaner.com and sign in. It is great and used to be fantastic. Twitter made them stop allowing an automatic unfollow of spam/trash posters. But it will still analyze who you are following and the categories are great. When you see your report the light colored, italics, text are peeps not following you back. If its been three days or so since you followed them it might be wise to trash them.

Generally when I have spare time and am watching All Friends column I just unfollow anybody with a message I don't like. Helps narrow it down - and certainly for spammers. But the TwitCleaner will help you identify them, although at present you have to manually go and unfollow them.

There are other programs, such as SocialOomph that will allow you to autofollow anybody who follows you (a good way to get tons of spammers though). Or, if you have a specific interest in people who use a certain hashtag, do a keyword search in TweetDeck and then start followoing the people who use the keyword. If you use Google Chrome, let me know, because there is a nice extension I use to track users of keywords.

Next, if you like following somebody go to their page and click on who they are following or who is following them and browse the list for possibles.

Unfortunately I haven't found anything that will display the users bio blurb and the last few messages - which to me would be a better way of deciding if I wanted to follow them.

I also set Twitter up to send me any DM I got. It comes as a text message to my phone. You can also have it text you for anybody you want to follow. I used to do that for a few but one I really liked usually starts texting in the 5-6am range when I'm finally trying to sleep - so now just my DMs come in - and they generally arrive before they show up on the computer for me.

If I forgot anything let me know...er, if I remember I forgot anything I'll let you know.

Hope you enjoy,

Rejections: To Be Or Not To Be...

2010-05-31T20:48:00.000-07:00

I consider myself a good story teller. I am not so sure that carries over to being a good story writer or a good editor. I can easily count up the number of rejections I have on my stories because every one is in a folder on my computer. Then there all the implied rejections that float in the dust of silence. I don't like the rejection part of being a writer.

A sudden shift in some warp drive left me open to accepting an internship as an acquisitions assistant editor. That is reading query letters, synopses, and manuscripts. The key is internship, I believe, and it is very hard work for no pay. On a professional basis it could lead to paying positions in the future if I wanted to stick with it. It is a line item that can slip into a resume and bear some weight. Yet, on a personal basis I am not sure I'd want to expend the time needed to fill a full time position where my words are dashed off in short notes that end up dashing the hopes of other writers.

On day one I received a synopsis and first chapter and thinking I was reporting to the editor and publisher wrote up my comments. Other than being completely oblivious to the active voice and passive voice, the former not used and the latter overused, to which the publisher roundly chastised me, my comments were used as the rejection letter to the editor. Yes, mine. I was the one who yanked the cord that released the guillotine. There was enough to the story that the offer to resubmit was extended but the rejection was still tangible. I know the feeling as I have felt that slap many times.

On day two the file sent to me was a manuscript for novel. The publisher wanted my thoughts on whether they should make an offer. So I read nearly 30 chapters of a romance novel. My initial feeling was that it is only the first full I've done for the publisher so surely I'm merely being tested and will receive instructions as a response to my comments. Now, I am not the typical male reader who has never even touched a romance novel. I have, in fact, read a great quantity of them. Unlike many romance novel readers I also read just about every other genre instead of burying my face in a never ending stream of romance novels.

So I am well read and think I can adapt to the task of reading whatever is submitted to the publisher. I may learn otherwise, but have started out with two rejections. Any mistakes in a manuscript should not show up in a simple spell check. In this case a quick spell check disclosed several incorrectly spelled words. This immediately indicates the work has not been polished. Did I like the story? Yes, but it didn't grab my interest enough to make me want to finish reading it. However, I did read it completely and I noted a number of ways the tension could be increased, methods to add more bite to the conflicts, perhaps even refined resolutions. The resulting response to the publisher passed on to the author: As it is we don't want to publish this story, but if you choose to work it over, and polish it, we would be pleased to take another look at a submission.

So what have I done? I have begun inflicting rejections upon authors who share the same shoes I wear, who wear the same hats I change rapidly. They receive those emailed rejections that I dread to see pop into my incoming folder - only now those notices contain my words.

Since the words are mine and come from a publisher does that mean I am now a published author?

(Book) -- Kaliac...

2010-05-21T13:08:00.000-07:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

...Smoky grey wisps curled in gentle waves as great wings beat through the clouds with each resting stroke slicing through vaporous layers.

Far below, along the mountain trails, keen eyesight would have noticed a speck in the sky. Only a speck. In dawn’s glow or evening’s dim the speck would seem to be muted hues floating through the clouds. Obviously a bird of prey circling overhead. An active mind would have wondered about how high in the sky the bird was, as it would appear to be far, far, above the highest mountain tops. Most birds of prey would find it hard to stay above such a high mountain peak, but then, most observers wouldn't have been aware of the distance between themselves and the creature just barely in view. More rightly, most viewers, not having keen eyesight, wouldn't even know that Kaliac was above them - the distance so great that human vision would fail.

And then, in the bright of day or the dark of night no human eye would ever discern the wings, talons, or the great feathered tail, as it slithered up and over roiling couds. Each dive pulling apart the vast billowing clouds to drift unseen below.

Kaliac watched the trail through Trader's Pass with some interest. The movements of humans would spook the grazing markhor. Despite being both more massive and more agile than domestic goats the markhor would bound higher and further from the lower grazing trails seeking solitude in their efforts to protect their fawns. Each doe swiftly guided triplets away. The bucks would fan out looking for danger and family groups would disappear up thin winding trails. Elusive creatures. Few hunters saw markhor even though the downy wool, superb hides, and massive spiraling horns were considered valuable. Soft downy fur, pale white and muted amber in individually unique patterns were sought by the wealthy. Sheer crags, deep ravines, plunging trails and finely tuned senses kept the markhor far from most people.

Movement was good. Exposure. Dinner. Suddenly, with speed like lighting, Kaliac plunged. Wings and talons pulled far back he plunged beyond sight of the humans, feathers wind-plastered to face, head, and body. A twitch of tail, and in owlish silence he veered across the face of the mountain and struck with killing momentum. The buck died before realizing he had taken a stance upon a high rock that exposed him to the silent death. No mere mouse; and then they were gone. Kaliac shifted the slight burden to one taloned foot and soared into the clouds before heading home into the far reaches...... (the rest is hidden in the book...)

Clip Art...

2010-05-16T23:35:00.000-07:00

I am not sure what time it is at this moment; surely somewhere between the time I should have gone to bed and the time I normally finally, with great effort, fall asleep. Every so often I actually write material by hand. Whether it is text for the blog, or stories to add to my growing unpublished collection, or even more music - but what I don't do is draw, sketch, paint, or any of the arts in those areas.

I wish that I did because I often have need of art work. In fact, to follow through on my efforts to independently publish some of my children stories I need art - but its not coming from these hands. To create more interesting covers for the music issues I am publishing of my own music compositions I need simple musically related art; simple like in clip art.

Many hours have been spent in perusing the clip art I find on the Internet, and very little of it is usable by me, or for me, and still being free to use. At this time I don't have the budget to allow purchasing art work, graphics, clip art, or hiring an artist. So I keep wasting time trying to find the art work that I can use.

As an example: I am working on the cover for the http://danielhay.magcloud.com issue of "Susan's Concerto" which is for Violin, English Horn, and Bassoon. Can I find usable graphics that both look nice and blend well together (since I haven't yet found one image of all three, or any two of them, together)? Nope, I haven't. Where possible I would like to show an image of the instrument the music is written for - so much better than just a solid color cover with text on it.

It appears that I have to somehow evaluate the available music related art work in a royalty free paid service. Unfortunately I have been unable to find one, yet, that appears to have anything I can use.

So I go back to searching and searching just for the simple pre-made music graphic material; and can't even get close to figuring out a way to get illustrations for my children' fiction. I think I may have to quit working on my projects and get fully employed so I can afford to get the art I need. Somehow that just doesn't seem to fit my schedule but I guess I need to provide income to other people so that I can progress on my own projects.

Publishing Music...

2010-04-30T12:01:00.000-07:00

There are many ways to publish. I have two fields of endeavor needing publishing so I'm always looking for the best way. Not only do we have various technical ramifications we then have marketing concerns for our publications. If they don't sell we don't make an income.

I find publishing music to be even more difficult than the process to get published in the big publishers arena. Knowing that with about 200 pieces of music to publish it would take me years just to query half of them I chose to begin publishing as an independent music press.

The first round, or rather the first effort, is now going to press. I have chosen to use MagCloud.com as the publishing house. They produce magazine format material. Although not the standard for sheet music the format does suffice for collected works of solo music, and for longer works in any chamber groupings. At the time of this posting I have already uploaded four issues of the Solo Music magazine and one issue of the Music of Daniel J Hay magazine.

I call them magazines because that is the format used, the paper type, and the publisher is a magazine publisher. In my own mind I think of them as books. In either case, they are on line to be ordered at any time, are produced only when ordered, and MagCloud.com maintains the files, handles the order, prints, and ships. Then they send me my profits. It may not be a perfect world, but this process is a good substitute.

Having lost all my music once before I don't want to loose the new works at all. So I do have a variety of backups in different locations, and now will have a printable and salable form in another safer location. This does not limit my efforts though. I can, and will, be releasing my music in other forms and to other markets because exposure is required. I don't feel my marketing via MagCloud.com would give me a large share of my intended market. And, in any case, this does not cover the mp3 format at all.

So there will be further publishing to cover different formats and markets. At this time you can access my music issues at http://danielhay.magcloud.com

Breezy But Not Quite Blustery...

2010-04-18T10:09:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in the back yard, the area I fenced off with recycled chain-link fencing and various sized fence posts. I am sure it is not the world's best job but I did a two person job with just myself, and it is sturdy. It is not a stop-gap job but I did not want to pay for anything other than concrete and the pre-cut wire used to attach the fence to the poles. Its only purpose is to allow my dogs to be outside without my constant supervision.

How wonderful it is to be out here in the shade, yet wearing long sleeves while the dogs are sunning themselves a few feet away. As I look up the steep slope beyond the fence my yard merges into the woods. The tree tops are blowing and birds are visiting. They have eye-balled the dogs and then scratch around in the short growth. "Eureka!" they call out as they snatch bugs and grubs and flitter off to nests hidden in the woods.

It is amazing that the laptop computer becomes nearly unusable out here. It still gets a good signal from the wireless router but the screen is so much darker, and it runs so much slower without the cord running to the wall. I have carved a niche out of the mess that was here and blended my section into the natural border, but nature and technology remain at odds. And nature is winning as it is replenishable and my laptop is not.

Eventually I will string an outlet to extend my convenience to this area, but when I do it will be as unobtrusive as I can make it. Due to the looming forest my back yard spends most of the day in shade at this time of the year. It is not conducive to gardening but I have located two small sections that get greater quantities of direct sunlight. It is likely that instead of doing more arranging and unpacking inside, I'll be out here digging and planting.

I need the convenience of technology for which I pay for satellite connections and cell phone service but I also need the not so blustery breezes, the filtered sunlight, the dancing leaves, and the chatter of the forest and woodlands. I am human so I leave a footprint but it doesn't have to be a vile footprint. I reduce, I recycle, I rebuild, and I regenerate.

I do so in order that I can sit here sharing nature and technology on equal terms. It is not the home I would prefer if circumstances allowed, but it is a best fit given my goals, my life, and my efforts. So, I'll spend my time improving the here and now, continue to expand my reach, and allow the tang of nature to encompass me.

A Boy Named Vinny...

2010-04-13T19:32:00.000-07:00

Last year, in the midst of Klamath National Forest I was invited to a Memorial Day cookout. I knew two of the forty some people there, and four of the eleven dogs (two of them were mine).

I met some good people there, and more during the summer months I camped at the Hungry Hay Placer Mining Claim. I learned a lot about gold mining, and even found a very small bit of gold that took 4 hrs per day for six months to collect. Not even worth the gas to go to the store and back once, but it was fun.

I learned more about nature and used it to write more music and to write children stories. I remembered, and according to my notes, promptly forgot, parts of my life that had been blanked from my mind. Some memory lost to emotional trauma, some to physical trauma, and perhaps more to vanish as time goes on.

But this is about Vinny...a boy at the cookout who had spent the week at the campsite with his parents to hold the space for the gathering. And it is about a little girl, a friend of his family, who was celebrating her birthday. Now Vinny was a first year violinist and with some coxing from his mother had brought his instrument out to the camp. It was safe in their very long fifth-wheeler, and he had been practicing how to play Happy Birthday.

Vinny's mother felt he had mastered it well enough so she asked him to play if for the assembled guests. Uh oh! Stage fright set in and Vinny could not be persuaded to play. I saw fear in his eyes and a tenseness in his neck and shoulders. I had met Vinny a few days before so wasn't a complete stranger to him. I went over to where he and his mother were discussing it. She trying to persuade him, and him trying to back away.

"Vinny," I said, "I didn't know you played Violin. I played Cello for a very long time, but now I write music for people to play. I compose for most of the instruments in the orchestra." And so we chatted for a bit about his year of Violin playing. What he had learned, and the notes he knew. I told him I would write him a piece of music. And I did. That evening back at my campsite after washing some blacksands down to the cleanest particles...I pulled out a sheet of music paper and wrote Vinny's Tune.

The following day was the last of the gathering. I drove the four miles over there and presented the music to Vinny with his father present. These days it is not wise to offer children anything without a parent at hand. They need the security of knowing the offering is okay with their parents. The parent needs to know they have control, and that the offering is not something wrong. There is too much wrongness in the world as it is.

As most young boys, Vinny didn't really appreciate the gift immediately, but after his mother came over to join us and started asking him what notes this one, that one, and those, were he perked up a bit. I left him a message that the tune was his. Whatever his mood he could play that tune and take it slow or fast to suit himself. It could be sad, it could be speedy, it could be slow, it could be happy. And so it is. It is Vinny's Tune. I also told him that I hoped he continued playing for many, many years.

Why would I talk about Vinny and his tune? Because I have three children, whom I have also written music for, and named the pieces for them. They have yet to hear them, and may never hear them, as I don't know where any of them live. There is much I don't know, bits I do, and much I fear to know. Is it emotional? Yes. Is it physical? Yes. Will I live long enough to overcome either or both? Perhaps not.

This year I expect much of my music will be published and archived in other places than just on my computers. Someday perhaps my children will find my works, including the simple Vinny-like tunes bearing their names. They don't have to like them, but they will know that often I think about them and wish that the blanks were filled.

I am thinking that after I have posted Vinny's Tune for a short while I may post the pieces for my children. I may do that. I may forget because much of the present gets forgotten, but by writing here I may get around to it yet.

I seem to recall wanting a round-tuit.

Spirit of Amraah...

2010-03-29T18:26:00.000-07:00

It wasn't her given name but Amraah used a chosen name. She was a unique individual of an indeterminate age. She was older than my 51 of the time, and yet not so old she couldn't take care of herself on her travels through life.

She drove a van that she called Bear, and I think she told me he was Red Bear. She lived in her van and had been living in a vehicle for 15 years or more. She traveled where she wanted and kept limited contact with the world by laptop. Amraah was on a spiritual trip and felt infused with the spirituality of life.

In the middle of a forest, on a seldom used road, she stopped to help me where my truck was stranded. Three other people from the area had driven right by me. Amraah, on the otherhand, was not from the area and was just out looking and searching and had chosen this road for a reason she could not explain. Yet, she stopped to help a man she didn't know, and who with long ratty looking hair, beard, old beat-up truck, and two dogs, probably didn't look to savory.

After trying to jump start the battery in the truck she offered to drive to town, 38 miles away, so that I could get a new battery. During the drive she didn't drown me with her spirituality but there was an aura about her that told me she was different than anybody I had known before.

Before we parted ways I told her I wanted to name one of my music compositions after her. I told her that it wouldn't necessarily be about her but that I liked naming music for people. In this case the music turned out to be about her and to explore some sense of her spirit.

She gave me her business card so that I could tell her about it. And then I lost it for ten months. Today I found it and sent her a copy of the music "Spirit of Amraah" so that she will know I kept my word. I wrote the music that very night after returning to the woods and my truck. It is a different piece and the computer generated recording does not do it full justice because the repeats are taken at different tempos, but I hope she will like it.

As of the date of this posting it is also in the side bar for anybody to listen too, although at some point that mp3 player podcast will be changed to another piece of my music. For now, I hope the spirit reaches Amraah, and that it entices you as well.

On The Road...

2010-03-14T23:18:00.000-07:00

March 14th -- Unlike most blogs that make multiple entries per day, or one per day, my blog is less precisely timed. You might say that it is calendorically challenged. (I could have used "calendric" but "calendorically" seems to fit better.) This particular entry may be updated over the next several days or weeks as I progress across country from California where I can nearly touch Oregon, to Memphis, Tennessee which Google Maps tells me is a "1 day, 17 hr." drive. I hope to have the cameras ready to go during the trip, several of my Recorders, music scoring paper, and the laptop. I just may stop at any moment whether there is a railroad crossing or not.

--- There are a number of photographic projects I've deferred working on until I returned to a more populous area. I hope to finish planning them out so that when I've completed moving into my Memphis house I can get started on them again. Of course the music writing and practising, and the child lit. is like a faucet with no turn off valve. I've spent a year now in camping mode, more secluded then ever before, perhaps even lonelier than ever. I'm not sure if that stimulates or retards my music and writing. I guess time will ... In the mean time, you may want to bookmark this blog and watch it for periodic updates during the travel.

March 24h -- Well that didn't work too well. My long slow drive across country turned into a race in front of snow storms and heavy rains. I am now in my home in Memphis and just this evening got the internet up and running with the new satellite dish on the roof. The trip itself was a challenge. I got run off the road in New Mexico by a big dark green semi. If you see any, look for tan paint on the driver's bumper and let me know. I ended up in the median bouncing across rocks with my overloaded truck. Blew two tires and had to replace all four. I had no other damage and the rest of the trip was uneventful other than stormy weather.

--- Upon arrival I moved right in and began some of the repairs that still needed to be done. Papers are signed and the house is mine now (as long as I make the payments). I've meet some of my neighbors and shared some hardcore yard work with Barry across the street. He suffered gout and I had swollen joints from unloading. But we got the edging all done for both yards, and helped their landlady (also mine) move stuff. Benefits us all, so we did well.

--- Also had 750 emails to handle and only half were spam that the filters missed. I have several photography projects pending for which I had advertised via Craigslist. I had a slew of messages regarding them so those projects may be on the way soon. The studio space is not quite what I expected but I hope to make use of it so I don't have to rent a studio. It will work well for the recording of my music I plan, and the video recordings for YouTube.

--- My employee in the Phillipines has continued working while I was on the road so other projects are moving forward as well. All in all I guess the month turned out better than it started.

--- Just as I was preparing to move, and finishing helping my friends move a friend of theirs, a dear friend proposed. I am sorry to say that I have had to turn down the offer simple. As some of the stress evaporates from the move process, and the projects get under control again, perhaps I will be able to consider her offer with the illumination that considers the welfare of both of us and not just my own selfish reasons. I have, for ten years, been a single person, but I truly enjoyed being part of a family. Life will wait on me and we shall see what happens.

Final -- Since this did not turn into a daily journal of my 2500 mile trip this is the last entry for this blog title. My dogs are snoozing on the floor in comfort. They have had all week to stretch out in any corner, on all the furniture, and even convinced me to put a step-up to the very tall bed for them to get up there to sleep as well. They have checked out the woods, the yard, the neighbors' yards and have decided that this is home. At least, as long as the food dish and water dish are filled and they can give me directions to make their life pleasant, then they are happy with where we are at. For those of you whom have read this, you will see that it is different from my standard blog posts, but it was a major change in an old life that is springing forward with a new spark. If you enjoyed this I hope you will still read my other blog entries. If you didn't like this one, then you most certainly need to read the others because they are different.

Lady Grey...

2010-03-07T17:20:00.000-08:00

My favorite Internet haunts are overflowing with inane comments on what is happening at the Oscars. Like most programs on television, I figure if I wanted to know what was happening I'd turn on a television. The fact that I don't own one anymore is a moot point, I could easily buy one or just visit somebody who already has it on (or never turned off).

Instead of growing irritated at the flow of messages that I can't filter out without turning off the people I normally enjoy reading, I'm sitting here drinking a huge mug of Lady Grey tea and listening to the "Taking Tea With Lady Grey" trio that I wrote a short time ago. I am both writing at projects and composing another piece of music in snippets at a time.

As Lady Grey comes to a close I click on replay, click on the tab for the score, contemplate a few notes, click on the blog screen and enter a few letters, then back to the score, the blog, the score, the blog, and eventually to a moment of pause and bliss. Those moments are when I sip tea and consider the mood that the music just provided.

Listening to one piece of music while writing another one is a challenge. The first challenge is to make sure I don't mimic the aural sounds with the new written sounds. I don't want a clone of Lady Grey. I found her to be both tasty as tea, and delicious as music but do not need to create a copy of her. She is there for my enjoyment as desired.

Just a moment, click, click, click, click, the process had to be started over. When I tire of the same music I'll simple click on the mp3 player and have it randomly play through all of my music. Music from solo to an eighteen voice brass ensemble. Trumpets, trombones, timpani, to piano, strings, woodwinds and brasswinds. And because I play Recorder many of the pieces are computer-voiced as Recorder.

It makes for a pleasant time without the repetitive voice and commercials on television. It lets me do what I want to do while I plan for a move across country to a house with space for my studio. And it lets me still enjoy the onslaught of Internet activity - I just bypass the parts I don't wish to view.

So all is fine in the world when taking your tea with Lady Grey...

Pay It Forward Project...

2010-02-26T00:57:00.000-08:00

Some of my friends and readers will recall that I lost most of my instruments in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Along with the file box of over 300 pieces of my composed music, all of my handmade wood Recorders, and my handmade Cello were stolen while I was helping a family retrieve their items from a partially submerged car.

I still have not replaced all of my instruments. I probably will never be able to because of the expense, however, I have received several handmade recorders since then as gifts. I can never thank those people enough for their help. I still don't have a cello although I did buy a very cheap one which actually fell apart in the repair shop. I have since composed another 100+ pieces of music. So, life goes on...

As those people helped me I try to help others. There is a delightful lady in Brazil, Clara Borges, who plays Cello in several orchestras, plays piano, and Recorders. She also teaches music. Her cello is needing repairs that she can not afford to have done. Can you help her?

I have created a webpage at http://bit.ly/cuoxts just to help raise donations to help Clara. Any donation amount will be most appreciated. Please read the webpage for details. Please note the return policy if enough money is not raised.

All donations will also receive a pdf file of one of my compositions. The greater the donation the more pieces of music I send. I have pieces suitable for most orchestral instruments so be sure to tell me what you prefer.

(Book) -- It Is A Colorful Day...

2010-02-24T18:10:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

It is a colorful day today. The sky is super blue and the sun is blazing yellow. A few puffy white clouds are floating along. I like those colors.

The grass is greener than a frog. The tree bark is browner than a worm. The house is painted pink. And I like those colors too.

I wonder what color I should make my clothes today? Should they match? Should they clash? Stripes, or dots, or perhaps ziggity-zaggity every which way.

If I had a rainbow I could wear it on my shirt.

If I had a cloud I could paste it on my shoe.

Or maybe I could mow the yard and cover myself with grass.

Okay now, I'm looking in my closet. I think I can find just what I want to wear.

Ah, a shirt that is light brown with short sleeves. On the back it has a big blue ball with white and green. Oh its the world. The entire planet printed on my shirt. On the front a big red heart.

And shorts, hmmm, blue, or green, or black, or brown, or... there they are... Stripped shorts in red, white and blue with gold and silver stars all over. Yes, those will be cool.

Socks will be fun to choose. I think I'll wear a neon-green sock on my left foot. It even has an orange stripe around the top. For my right foot I shall wear a black sock with lots of white dots.

Then I will put on a red sneaker for my left foot and tie it with yellow shoe string. On my right foot a green sneaker with a purple shoe string.

Look at me. I am covered with colors. All I need now is a funny looking hat.

Can you fine one for me to wear?

(Ends with a picture of many hats jumbled in a closet.)

Feeding Mind and Body...

2010-02-14T13:16:00.000-08:00

In today's short blog I would like to introduce you to www.feedingmindandbody.com and their efforts to spread books to families. They are associated with author David Baldacci's literacy foundation - www.WishYouWellFoundation.org.

Why am I telling you about those organizations? Because I believe one of the strongest pillars in personal growth, in national development, and solutions to the world's problems begins with educated minds. Educated means minds that are aware, that seek, that enjoy, that learn, and that share. This comes from imaginations that are stretched and exposed to new ideas, that explore the history and the future, and from developing innate intelligence. This comes from reading.

And so, I hope you will assist by donating as you see fit. Give books and you give new ideas. Support reading and you expand minds.

My own effort to donate will be contributing one of my children's stories for Feeding Body and Mind to distribute in any manner and any quantity that grant or donation support will allow. My contribution is the entire title and rights. Could your contribution be the funds for them to produce and distribute to those eager minds they serve?

If you are an artist able to illustrate this title with one or more contributed illustrations it will speed the donation along. If you would like to help a family read instead of starring at a flickering screen then email me at danielhay@gmail.com to see a story draft for which you can create art.

(Book) -- Enchanted Fire...

2010-02-13T12:18:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

The Story of the Enchanted Fire...or...The Boy With a Measuring String...

Once upon a time... Oh bother! Its another one of those stories. You know the type. Those stories that just could not be real. Nothing in life could happen the way those stories say they do. Nope. Not at all.

Nevertheless, we will go on with the story. However, just so you know... this story is real. Don't shake your head in doubt. Really, it is a real story. Truthfully it is a true story. Honestly. Honest.

You don't believe me? Phooey on you. Just go ask your librarian. Do it tomorrow or the next day, okay? (Uh, don't mention my name though.)

Anyway, once upon a time...ah let's just skip to the action...

“Grrrr...” (See, action already.) “Pokay, mokey, slokay, hokey,” growls the old man in a tall pointed hat. “Scrats, bats, colo, bolo,” he continues, “within this room you shall stay for eternity. Fire, spire, flame, smame, my treasures here you will guard.”

(Note: never rhyme the last words of spells or they explode on you.)

If we were actually with the spell caster we would see a sudden explosion of flame as a fireball bursts throughout the dark room. You would have seen his grizzled face sizzling in the heat as flame burst into existence.

“Aiieiee...” screeched the man as he stumbled backwards. He turned and ran up the tunnel he had laboriously carved into the mountain. When at last he reached cool night air any hidden viewer would have seen... well... a mess.

The wizard, for that is what he was, now wore a charred black hat. His face was scorching red. His beard and eyebrows were turned to ash and fell off even as he shook ash from his badly burned robes.

“Well, that is that,” he grumbled to himself. “My treasures are safe. Nobody can survive that guardian flame,” he laughed as he staggered away.

You know, of course, that many years went by. As the wizard traveled from place to place he would tell of his wonderful treasures and how he had protected them. He bragged about his eternal flame guardian. He said none could stand... (the rest is hidden in the book...)

Tree of the Pyramids...

2010-02-01T15:39:00.000-08:00

Some time back in history, during the dull, dry, text of bygone ages, there was a tree. Although this tree had never been exposed to humans and therefore didn't know an Egyptian from a Mayan, it was alive while pyramids were being built in more than one place of the world.

Something like 4,500 years ago stones were being quarried and heaved across the lands. They were carved and stacked, hauled, placed, and piled higher and higher, higher and deeper. The tree, just sunk it's toes deeper into the cool soil beneath the swamp. It was overlooked, nobody came around to cut it for firewood, nobody used it for construction of homes or palaces.

The tree, a common Swamp Oak, sometimes felt that it was all alone in the world. It was alone. It had outlived all the other nearby trees, and old trees just rot away. It didn't know that humans didn't want to build anything out of it. It just continued to grow and mind its own business.

Far away, pyramids were built and somehow the tree was destined to bear a carving that was even then being carved into walls of stone. It didn't feel the rumble of stone, nor hear the crash of carved stone striking the earth, but somehow a connection formed from far distant pyramids to the heartwood of this tree.

Years later, centuries later, thousands of years later, the pyramids are still in place. The swamp tree, long since having died, is discovered. It is not rotted away like it should have been. It hasn't turned to stone from petrification. The Swamp Oak is just very old wood and it is beautiful.

Parts of it made their way to an artist who carves Blockenflotes (Recorders) and slowly works of art were created. The art took the form of beautiful recorders from wood not normally chosen for such usage, but from wood that was over 4,500 years old. The wood from the heart of the Egyptian-ages Swamp Oak. As a sign of honor to its age the instruments are visual masterpieces as well as beautiful sounding playing pieces.

The carvings from the stone wall shared in these creations and were also carved into the new instruments. The link from far distant Egypt to the heart of the Swamp Oak was completed in limited editions only.

As a composer of new music for a very old family of instruments, and as a player of both modern and older version of those Recorders, I would like to obtain a set of the Egyptian Wood recorders. I would like to write new music for the old heart wood. I want to take those ancient wood instruments to young budding artists in our schools. I want to take the link from pyramids to a lonely old Swamp Oak to fertile minds of the modern world.

To do this I need to raise contributed funds of $4,500 to buy a set of instruments made from 4,500 year old wood. I am not tax exempt, but I would willingly form a non-profit if doing so will prove receipt of needed funds. I will make sure that all contributors are listed in the material honoring these fabulous instruments and the concert tours using them. If there are any proceeds from tours using these instruments those proceeds will be donated to other artistic programs as a way of paying forward on the heart of the old Swamp Oak.

If you can make any contribution please visit this link: http://eCa.sh/NPUw

Nano-Gnomes...

2010-01-25T11:09:00.000-08:00

There are lots of nano-gnomes in my keyboard. They are always dodging this way and that, tumbling upside down, getting mashed by quickly depressed keys, but still they manage to change much of what I type. It is a never-ending story...that of trying to quash the pesky rascals. They must not have been hungry or they would have left supper where it belonged instead of making it super.

They do those things just to hear my explicative and expletive command of language -- where else do you think gnomes learn their troublesome magic spells. They only times I have ever found them helpful is thusly:

They have an uncanny knack of infecting keyboards of typists and writers. This makes a great means of sabotage or revenge. It is very simple, just hold down the Cntr-Alt keys and every so softly whisper the URL of your target. In a blur you'll see a blue streak whirl through the keys and blast into the internet dragging bits and pieces of verbal flotsam and keyboard jetsum. Vouched, warranted, guaranteed. You'betcha'
Or, if you are studying the history and magic of gnomes you will find that they make less havoc in your results. It doesn't seem to matter much to them which variety of gnome you are writing about being that they are a very close-knit species. However, there is a miniscule improvement if you are specifically reporting on nano-gnomes.

In the softest tones you can whisper in, if you speak of dropping snack cake crumbs, or tiny bits of fresh chocolate chip cookies, fibers from your clothes such as threads and lint, flakes of dead skin, hair, and nail clippings, they will calm down in anticipation of these edible or usable rewards. Mostly though, they can't hear the human voice as it is like the roar of a storm gale. This leaves us severely handicapped in our struggle for normalcy on the keyboard.

In closing, I should remind you to frequently clean your keyboard with a high-powered vacuum cleaner running at full power. There is no need to toss the debris into the nearest blender set on puree for they will immediately escape once you turn off the vacuum. No, your only defense is to leave the vacuum running, attached to a very long extension cord, and toss it into the ocean. Not the river, the lake, or the nearest pond. It has to be an ocean because only passing seahorses are attracted to nano-gnomes escaping from a drowning vacuum cleaner.

Remember to buy stock in your favorite vacuum cleaner manufacturer and carry insurance on runaway drowning vacuums. It will save you a lot of headaches. And never mention within a mile of a keyboard how you disposed of your vacuum cleaner.

Query: Likes me, likes me not...

2010-01-20T15:13:00.000-08:00

Like me, like me not, likes me, likes me not...

Ever play that game while pulling petals off of a flower? Sometimes that is what if feels like when sending query letters to literary agents. We have to keep up hope with every sent query. Yet, we know all of them are going to be ignored or returned with a "likes me not" note. There is no roller-coaster to equal the up and down emotional ride we subject ourselves too. Yet, we know that we have to continue sending, sending, and sending, because somewhere there is an agent who will read it and exclaim, "likes me!"

The literary agents we seek have requirements we must meet or they won't bother with our submission. So we struggle to meet them, one by one, group by group. As a writer we should be spending our time writing a new story or polishing our words to make the book better. Instead we are seeking representation and seeking, seeking, seeking.

I do not exoricate all agents. Oh no, not at all. For there are great agents in the folds. There are bad agents mixed in, and there are a lot of average agents. The same holds true for all social strata, all professions, all people. We desperately want to slalom our way, carving into the path of the best agent for our book. Still, although we jump the yawning gaps, hurl through hoops, and hone our words, there are inevitable road blocks we can not help but to slam against.

Let me tell you about one blocking wall I ran into today. I was given the name and email address of a potential literary agent dealing exclusively in the genre I write. I could not find an address nor a webpage so I emailed a note asking permission to send a query. As I only had the email address I wanted to find out where to send a query letter.

Ms. Agent responded with a short email that said I could send my query to her at this email address. She requested I put "Query" into the subject line. She also indicated that a webpage was being constructed.

Perfect! I had permission to send a query. And, so I did. Before clicking on the send button I reread my effort. I reread the submittal again. I reread both the query letter and the submittal text again, and again. Then I reread it one more time.

Perfect! It seemed to be perfect. It just had to be perfect. So with the click of a mouse I was again soaring skyward with projected hopes of an agent awaiting my query. With anticipation I had become so used to I tossed and turned with fractured dreams during the night. When morning came I had finally calmed down knowing that I would probably be waiting for weeks and weeks. Knowing that in those weeks and weeks I could expect another rejection or no answer at all.

Expectations quelled, I powered up the laptop and steeled myself to confront the day's agenda. BLINK! blink, blink, blink. The email notifier was blinking at me. I looked and there in the special folder was a response from Ms. Agent.

Ever have an instant adrenaline surge? Excitement crash over you? Ever feel propelled by a success you had schooled yourself to never hope for? There it was. Blood pressure soared, muscles quivered, fingers itched to type and tears glistened. Such a fast reply could only mean one thing...

NOT! It didn't mean anything good at all. Instead it was an email from Ms. Agent that said, "Thank you for this opportunity. Unfortunately, I am presently swamped with submissions and can't offer to read even one more. I am sorry and wish you success in finding an agent with more time to devote to your interests."

Wow... ever have an instant adrenaline surge? Waves of anger swirling over you? Ever feel denied after doing all the right steps? Ever want to curse and swear...?

I did, did, and did. Tell me please, what was the purpose of asking permission to send a query. Right! To make sure I was jumping in the correct hoop. What was the meaning of the response telling me I could send the query to that email address? Correct! To let me know that I could send a query to that email address.

Then why would a return to the actual submittal be a simple "I'm to busy to read your query?" What was the purpose of saying the query could be sent? Why not respond the first time with, "I'm sorry I am to busy to accept new queries at this time?" Or, as is more prevalent these days... why bother to respond at all?

Some literary agents do use autoresponders for queries. It lets the submitting author know the email did arrive and was not lost in spam. Most times those responses inform the author of the expected delay the agent has on being able to read the query. Some even give further directions. Most no longer bother to send a rejection notice although it should be easy enough to drag the query to a folder and have an assistant later send a canned rejection. In fact, they could use an autoresponder on the query address that lets the author know email arrived. It could state, "If I find I/agency is not the match for your work I will send a blank reply to your email so you can continue to direct your efforts appropriately." If you haven't received a reply within 4-6 weeks please feel free to contact ...." Nice, eh? Let us know you got our work, let us know you aren't going to represent it, and keep the ball rolling.

This is all understandable due to the tremendous amount of queries they receive. But, if you are too swamped to read a query why bother telling the submitter to send it in the first place. I consider such a breech of etiquette. It is with some dismay that I realize that I am not in a position to do something about it.

To the back burner it goes. It will not be deleted but will sit there and simmer. Perhaps...perhaps it will goad me on to make better query letters to submit to other agents. Perhaps it really was a canned response that Ms. Agent uses instead of a rejection of the material. I'd expect more truth in a rejection but some people can't handle expressing the truth. Perhaps it was an automatic responder Ms. Agent uses to allow herself time to actually peruse the text later and then when finding one she likes she comes back and says it was a mistaken auto response. Again, an unfair process.

For this author it is just one more stone wall thrown up to prevent success. Stone walls can be climbed. Stone walls can be gone around. Stone walls can be gone under. And a stone wall built on a weak foundation can be toppled.

(Book) -- Big Sister's Crocagator Letter

2010-01-11T21:13:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

Dear friends,

Daddy took us fishing. It was not far to go. Down the big wide road we went, brother, sister, and me. We bounced upon our seats and tried to guess where we would turn.

The road curved south. The sign pointed to the left. Daddy went the other way and somehow got it right. There it was, the river and fishing ponds. Here a camp grew where the river made a bend. It flowed one way and then bent the other way. Daddy said the big bend was like our elbows. We should just hope it doesn't bend right back on us. If it did we would have to bend down to walk straight.

We looked at each others, brother and sisters. We giggled with hands over our mouths. If daddy heard us he'd tell another silly story. And then soon we would be laughing so hard our tummies would hurt.

Then mommy would look at daddy in that special way and say, "Daddy!" And we could all take a breath and stop laughing. Whew! I am glad. Laughing too much is silly.

We got to our camping spot. We got out of the car. Mommy and daddy said we could play on the merry-go-round next to our camping spot. Wheeee! 'Round and 'round we went. Ohh... dizzy we got.

When all of our camping gear was set-up we headed to the fishing ponds. On the way we stopped on a long wooden dock. It went way out into the lake. We watched crocagators swimming. There were fifty, or one hundred, or maybe one thousand. Long tails swished the water. Big eyes watched us. Gigantic mouths with a billion long teeth snapped together.

Both mommy and daddy said the same thing, "Stay away from them!" Wow. That's a rule when both say the same thing. And I asked why the sign said, "DO NOT FEED CROCAGATORS, if all those other people were feeding them"

Daddy said that many people ignore signs even when it is for their own safety. He pointed to the dock and said, "See those people? They are standing just six feet above the water. That is about from my head to my toes. They think they are safe. But they aren't. And they are teasing the crocagators with food."

He told us that the crocagators were six feet long. Some were ten feet long. Others were even longer. Somebody could reach out to drop food and any of those crocagators could jump up and SNAP! no hand, or no arm. Or worse, no little child.

Then we walked on to the fishing area. We got to carry our own fishing poles. Little sister even carried a small fish net but she wanted to catch butterflies. She called them flutterbies because daddy told her that is what they are named. Brother used to call them that. I used to call them that too. Daddy grinned at us, so we didn't say anything.

Mommy had a picnic basket. Daddy had an ice chest and the fishing gear box. We were all ready. I like catching fish. I always catch more ..... (the rest is hidden in the book...)

Watching Fish And Patient Turtle...

2010-01-03T13:09:00.000-08:00

When I first moved from Nebraska to New Jersey I felt somewhat out of place. We had moved from a town of 25,000 to a church camp and conference center with a neighboring town of 167 people and twelve thousand cows. I might be slightly off on the count of the cows since I didn't meet all of them, but Johnsonburg dairies sent seven or eight semi-trailers of milk to NYC every day. I am positive that it took more udders than it did people.

The camp was over 400 acres in size and I spent a great deal of time wandering the woods, investigating the swamps, the creeks, the springs, and the lake. I learned a great deal of nature and introduced myself to wild food harvesting. Once a year I would visit a spring-fed creek and collect a few mussels that the raccoons had not gathered. I cooked them in a broth I made from watercress and one small stewed fish. Ummmm... delicious.

I found I didn't enjoy catching and eating fish as much as I enjoyed watching them. I thought of myself as a budding musician then. I'm still budding all these years later and no longer have my handmade 12-string guitar because I gave it to my son-in-law. But my first summer at the camp I had a wonderful Yamaha acoustic and then later I had my Maton 12-string.

I learned to modulate sounds and how sound waves traveled through the air, wood, and water. The camp had floating swimming cribs and floating docks. Many evenings I would sit on the docks and play my guitar and sing, and watch the fish. The sunfish would gather around me first and fan out like steel filings attracted to a magnet. Behind them the bass would form and sometimes a few bullhead would gather below the sunfish. A large snapping turtle would cling to the outer edges of the floating swimming cribs and not move.

They weren't just immersed in the water, they were engrossed in the sounds. The fish in our lake preferred the minor keys and modes. If my chord patterns stayed in the major group too long the bass would slowly back away and vanish. The turtle would start looking around and the sunfish just disappeared. I learned to toy with my finned audience and could make them move as if choreographed ballet. At times I felt as if playing for the fish healed my soul from the hurts of adolescence.

Being a child of the camp director made "belonging" difficult. I belonged there but all the visitors were off-limits. It was difficult to stay aloof from the people there but I had a few friends and I had the fish. I am sure that none of the fish remembered my discussions with them, but perhaps that snapping turtle would remember. The turtle was still there, or seemed to be the same one, when I revisted the camp fifteen years later.

My father released the caretaker and their family moved away. I was heart-broken and shared my anger and disappointment with my congregation of gathered fish. I told them and the turtle of my sadness for the caretaker's daughter had captured my heart. She smiled and my world was lighted. She touched me and my soul melted. She taught me the majestic beauty of a horse and how to ride. And it was the turtle clinging to the wooden slats of the swimming cribs that heard it all. I entertained the fish with my music and their slow dance cured my riven heart.

I wonder if that turtle remembers the beautiful blond I fell in love with in a later summer and then surprisingly met again when I switched schools. My best friend David and I got to play ping-pong with her and her friend. She never new how much I wanted to talk to her more, but the turtle did. In the new school she knew me but just didn't know what I had felt for her.

Did the fish remember my anguish at breaking up with a high school sweetheart one year, then actually having her arrive at the camp with her parents and sister? Probably not, but the turtle would recall how excited I was then and the love songs I wrote for her even though she preferred Peter Frampton. And my circle of fish, with fins waving as they slowly drew in closer to my guitar and lamenting voice, drew closer still when tears coursed my cheeks when again my Martianette severed our ties. No longer to be her Preppie, but the turtle patiently listened to my pain.

One night under the stars a new throb in my heart sat with me and talked for hours into the early dawn. Under the shining stars and glorious moon she shared my heart with the ballet of fish and my good friend the snapping turtle. We sang together and they danced. We held hands while we talked and the fish drew in close as if they too wanted to be so close as we. But age and time drew us apart as well and the fish gathered near to sooth my soul once again. The turtle floated in the water and watched me and listened patiently.

And so I've learned patience of my own. I have no fins to steer my course. I have no shell to protect me. But I've known drawn hearts, twinned souls, and merged minds. My fish are gone and my turtle too, but those beautiful girls grew up to be beautiful women and fill me with wonder every time I see them in the distance or hear of their dances through life. The didn't know the inner me, but my fish did. They may not remember our fleeting pasts, but my turtle did and may still. And I remember.

So it is to fish and turtles, and all nature, that I turn for soul soothing. And it is with great interest that I learn about more wildlife, and I am always reminded of past love when I see nature at work. The mermaids of my youth weren't fictional. They were and are unique persons and I still sing to watching fish and talk to patient turtles.

Happy New Decade...

2010-01-01T20:55:00.001-08:00

Here we are in the year 2010, a few steps closer to 2525, and everybody has been wishing friends a Happy New Year. Yet, something is missing.

It is somewhat like Rabbit Rabbit Day. Some of my friends may remember Rabbit Rabbit Day, and at least one most certainly should remember it. The day came around on the first of every month when a smiling young lady would walk around campus and wish everybody a Happy Rabbit Rabbit Day.

Well, the new year is similar, it just comes around on the first day of each new year. But how would you feel if you were the decade and nobody remembered to pass on wishes for your new time? Miserable! Of course, so while we are all thinking of having happy new years, we should remember that this is the start of a new decade and decades have feelings just like years. If we take the time to wish our friends a happy new decade then we are empowering each of the new years within the decade.

Once empowered with the umbrella decade having a good span of time, then the shorter, although more prolific, year span has a stronger base to work from. A Happy Decade would therefore most certainly mean a Happy New Year as well.

I think it deserves consideration, and, in fact, should have its own holiday parties. The Happy Decade should be adorned with falling tinsel balls, big spot lights, and lots of foolish people shouting and drinking just like for its smaller sibling.

So, to get that ball rolling I will take it upon myself to wish you all a Happy New Decade, and of course a smaller Happy New Year.

Music by Daniel J Hay...

2009-12-21T22:17:00.000-08:00

I've installed PodBean podcasting service so that I can selectively put my compositions on my blog page. I don't know if I want to try and squeeze it into the FaceBook and MySpace pages or not. I may add it to some of my personal websites later. But for now, these are somewhat like sneak previews.

This first PodBean driven playback is Susan's Concerto: for English Horn, Bassoon, and Violin.

Although I have performed many of my solo works the only chamber piece ever performed to date is the Two Flutes and A Cello I mentioned in an earlier blog posting. Of the 300+ pieces lost in Hurrican Katrina in 2005 most had been choral pieces and a good number had been performed.

Among the many tasks I have assigned myself, which includes writing more childrens stories and getting them published, and composing more music, I wish to get my music published. To do so I am squeezing time in on preparing collections for print and CD. The ones featured on my blog, PeriODDically... will be part of that process.

I am interested in forming or working with one or more chamber groups to get my works performed. Currently in the northern portion of California, I could be available locally. Or, perhaps something could be arranged for long distant contact.

(Book) -- The Lost Lullaby...

2009-12-18T19:37:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

Once upon a time...(You know all the best stories start out this way. Just say, “Once upon a time,” and your story is off to a good start.)...

So...once upon a time there was a lullaby sitting in a meadow of wild flowers. She was watching a Lady Bug. First the Lady Bug crawled up a flower stem. Then she crawled across a leaf and onto a pretty yellow flower. She stopped there, to eat her lunch, and noticed Lullaby sitting across from her.

“Well, well, a lullaby,” she said after politely swallowing her salad. “What are you doing here? I have already had my nap. It is not time for my children to go 'nite nite' yet.”

Lullaby said, in a thin and quavering voice, “I don't know where I am. Nobody has called for me in a very long time.” She paused, took a very deep breath, and added, “I think I have been lost.”

“Dear, dear,” Lady Bug declared. “All mothers know a lullaby. Somewhere a mother knows your song. Maybe you just need to visit the mothers so they don't forget.”

“But I don't know where I am. I don't know where to go,” moaned Lullaby.

“My, my, little Lullaby, you are in the wild flower meadow. I think you should follow the path to the house. Check with the mother. All mothers have children. Surely they need a lullaby.

Lullaby looked happy with that idea. Smiling, she thanked Lady Bug and started down the path. After a few steps she turned and waved, saying, “Bye!”

“Bye, bye” Lady Bug sang back. And then Lady Bug crawled under a leaf and disappeared from sight.

The path seemed longer and longer with every step she took. Lullaby could not see a house but eventually she came to a large pond. There were cattails sticking up and dogwoods leaning down at the water's edge. Feeling tired Lullaby sat down on a rock that tilted towards the water. Not far away she could hear birds singing in the trees.

“Maybe I should go ask the birds for directions,” she said in a tired voice.

“Are you speaking to me?” A great big green nose poked up out of the water. “Ribbit,” croaked the frog behind the nose.

Lullaby tumbled backwards in fright at the sudden appearance of Frog. “Oh my, you sacred me,” she gasped.

“Ribbibbit...so sorry. Nobody seems to see me until I speak. I was right here when you sat down. I thought you were talking to me. Please sit down and share my rock.”

Grateful for a place to rest, Lullaby sat down and Frog hopped up next to her. He blinked a great big eyelid at her and asked, “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I'm looking for a house with a mother. I am a lullaby, but I think I have been lost.”

“Well you aren't lost now, ribbitt, but even daddy frog's know lullabies. I'm sorry, but I don't think this is where you need to be. You could ask the birds, I guess, but they are tucking their babies in their nests for naps. You can hear them singing lullabies right now.”

Sure enough, Lullaby could hear mother birds singing lullabies to baby birds. “Frog, do you know where the house is?” ..... (the rest is hidden in the book...)

(Book) -- Pooka's Story...

2009-12-15T12:53:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

The story about Pooka is very, very long. It is so long that you do not have time to listen to it unless this is Wednesday. This story takes many, many pages to make into a book. In fact, her story is so long that I know you won't listen to all of it. So, I am not going to tell you her story.

Nope. Not at all. I absolutely refuse to tell you that Pooka was a puppy with a special name. You can look for Pooka in that big book of words that tells you what words mean. Go ahead. Do it. I don't have the time to tell you Pooka means "animal spirit". When you see who used that word you will know it was a special word.

Since you won't listen to this story why should I tell you that she got her name because her heart didn't pump when she was born. Oh, and her lungs didn't give her air. And, her people were very sad.

You are not reading the book so you won't know that the house cats meowed at her. Pooka didn't hear them. Her mommy nudged her and she didn't nudge back. Her oldest and older brothers whined. Her younger and youngest brothers were waiting their turn to be born. But mommy was sad. Her people were sad. Even the cats were sad.

Of course you aren't sad because have not heard this story. You have not read the book because it is so very long. Suddenly people-daddy thought of something and you don't know what he thought. While you are ignoring this long story the people family took the tiny bundle of black fur and wrapped her in a towel.

They rubbed her briskly and vigorously just like a person drying their hair. Daddy breathed into Pooka's nose, "Puff, puff, puff." They tapped a finger over her heart, "Tap, tap, tap." In a few minutes she open her mouth and whined. She wiggled a paw. She was waving at her people and asking for warm milk. Soon she was tucked into the blankets with brothers and mommy.

Did you have to use the big word book to look up some of these words? Oh, I forgot, you aren't reading this story because it is so very long. You might not even know that there are words to be learned.

After a while all the people were sure that Pooka was warm and snoozing. They could see her lungs were working and could feel her little heart pumping very strongly. They kept her tucked into the blankets with her puppy family. Mommy kissed her over and over. Brothers rolled over and went to sleep.

If I was not trying to make this long story short I would tell you that this is how she got her name. She has a very special spirit inside of her.

Many pages and a great amount of ink were required to tell this part of Pooka's story. I am not going to waste more paper and ink. This is a very long story. You are not reading it so I can skip all of the long parts. You won't miss them anyway, right?

In the long story book I would have to tell you that Pooka had a very special mommy. Her mommy told her stories about her people. Pooka knew that mommy was named Kita. When they asked her if she liked that name she wagged her tail and yipped in agreement. Besides, the people name didn't really matter to her because she knew her puppies would always call her mommy.

Do you know that in the long story I would tell you about Pooka's brothers? I could tell you their names. Each of the four had white fur of different length than his brothers. They could have been named Longest Fur, Long Fur, Short Fur, and Shortest Fur. But they weren't. That would be ridiculous so none of them were named Fur. In the middle was Pooka with her black fur. This book is to long to spell out her brothers' names.
After a few weeks of warm milk Pooka had a big little tummy. She could sit up and look like a grizzly bear except that her ears flop over. Mommy's ears stand up. Brothers' ears stand up. Pooka's ears flop.

Yes, I know, the story is already to long to be telling you about ears. Pooka's ears do flop. When she runs they flop. Do your ears flop? Silly question to ask somebody who is not reading this story. Sorry. I'll go back to making this a short story.

Puppies grow faster than people children. Soon they get older and need their own new people families to play with. Sometimes they get to be pets and sometimes they get to work with their family of people.
Kita was a breed that protected people from little creatures and big insects ................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)

Half A Can...

2009-12-13T13:05:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back, not too many, I purchased a 24-can pack of soda (pop). It's not something I do often because I know that if I have it I'll drink it. As fate will have it, since obviously my own will power has nothing to do with it, such a purchase never lasts as long as I convince myself it will.

"Wow, 24 cans for $6.00. Hmm... that will last me a month or more," says I to self. Myself agrees with me and quick as a flash the package is in my cart, to the registers, and out the door.

Then, it sits there next to the table for a few days as I school myself to ignore it in preparation for stretching the life of the unopened box, and extending the time frame where there will still be unopened cans. A month I said, and any mature adult can stick to such plans.

It is a good thing that I don't have to claim to be a mature adult. I won't even have to explain why. Sure, the box got opened too soon, and the drinks got drunk too quickly, and less than two weeks later there was only one can in the box. I reached for it, grabbed it, and then let out a cry of anguish. I know, I know, some of you would have let out a blue streak, but I didn't. It was more along the lines of "Ahhhcckk!"

Now that ack sound is reserved for one can being sticky from having somehow sprung a leak. Or at least in the past such an ack would have sufficed for a can in that condition. In this case I should have used half an ack, as in "Ahck!" for there was only half a can in the box. Yes, the top half of the can was there, but the bottom was missing.

A bit on the strange side of things I'd say. Should I return it to the store, or call the producer and threaten a large settlement lawsuit for having upset my mental balance? Ah the money sounds good. So I went for the money.

Yep, at $6.00 each can of drink cost me $.25 (not counting the sales tax) plus the CA CRV $.05 fee to make me take the empties to the recycle center to get a nickel back. I went for the big money. I wanted that nickle back. So I took it to the recycle place and they refused my nickel because the half can was not a can and therefore could only be scrap metal at about $.01 a pound (or pretty near to that price.)

They wouldn't accept my plea that the can obviously was worth the nickel because it had never been opened. The tab was still flat, the hole still sealed. It even bore the CA CRV enstamped to indicate it is worth a nickel. Drat, I shouldn't have gone for the quick money I should have asked the store for a refund and then offered the can on ebay since the missing edge did sort of kind of look a bit like a religious icon facing an Elvis icon, and used that for proof of its existence, to sue the producer for millions of dollars. I guess I feared that officially they would discover I was housing a newly discovered metal eating termite.

Instead I stealthily slid the partial can over the bottom of another can and held up one red can top and said "One." With sleight of foot I bumped the basket to make it sound like I dropped in the red can, and with sleight of hand I flipped it and showed the attendant a black can and said, "Two." With more sleight of foot I banged the basket in a tumble while dropping the can in, and it swirled away into the mass of other cans. Then I said, "ten cents, please."

I slipped my new dime into my pocket, walked back to my truck and drove the return 38 miles, changed one flat tire, and got home in time to pop a cork for dinner.

Veteran and Humane Care...

2009-12-12T18:42:00.001-08:00

One of my contacts has a contact that I thought I recalled having seen and/or photographed so I clicked on the button to view their profile. From the picture I couldn't be sure if I had or if I had not met or photographed them, but I noticed where they worked.

I am moved, deeply moved, by human care of animals -- and more so by our mistreatment of them. It bothers me a lot.

So I sent the following mesage because this person works at an important humane care facility. A new friend I hoped, and that was based upon the pet theory that my dogs have always upheld. If they like somebody then I'll probably like them. If they mistreat my dogs I don't feel inclined to respect them or include them in my biosphere. Well, being a friend of a friend, and being friended by animals she is befriending, should be a pretty good vote of confidence. Now I haven't mentioned her name because I didn't ask her to let me write this. But some of you know her and if you don't you can choose any humane society individual to befriend.

Anyway, long winded that I am, here is my message to her:

"As a veteran, this past year I've been thanked by a number of people for serving. Its good that the current new vets are thanked although I wonder why it took so long to remember the other vets.

However, I wanted to thank you for taking care of those animals that have often seen the bad side of humanity. Please tell your co-workers that many of us are thankful because there was nothing else we could do to help.

When the police in Fort Worth told me there was nothing they could do about the man beating his dog I was shocked. I hope that the good you and others in humane care can do outweighs the evil of so many pet owners.

Again, thanks."

And in response I got a great note when all I was seeking was to add a worthy friend link. She replied:

"First off, Thank You for your service. I am a former Marine Reservist and my father was a Disabled American Veteran in the Air Force.

Secondly, thank you again. It is folks like you that keep folks like me doing what we are doing. Some days it seems we are outnumbered and overwhelmed, but we continue to preach animal welfare and responsible pet ownership. I believe education is the key. Yes, there are those out there that will abuse an animal just because, but there are more that do it unwittingly... They just don't know any better.

There are laws that need to be changed and updated and made easier to enforce, and that is where we need to start.

Thank you again for your support and well wishes. It makes it easier to do what we do knowing we have people behind us!"

You may note that I only told her I was a veteran. I didn't mention that I am a disabled veteran and that I served in the Air Force. That, to me, is some coincidence. You may ask why I even mentioned that in the first place?

I find it easier to write things even in messages that have lead-in to the topic. Even more so, if the reader is a stranger or an unknown recipient. It sets up a comparison that can be related to. In this instance that opening comparitive subject just happens to fit her father, and herself.

So this total blog is not about Veteran Care as some may have expected. That in itself is a touchy subject. Nor is it about just Humane Care. But, after I got her response I realized that I had material for a blog that could touch on two subjects I favor.

One, the longer our military personel are out and away the lower our national respect and concern gets for those individuals. And as many of us know, in previous military clashes our veterans were ignored, disdained, and sometimes forgotten. This time they aren't. Not YET. Please don't forget what they serve nor forget that they do serve.

Two, the many shelters and humane care facilities in our country are often understaffed, and under funded. Animals under human control can suffer many of the same mental and emotional traumas that we humans do. They also suffer physically from mistreatment. Be sure to have all pets spayed/neutered. And remember that you can help with even the smallest donation of money or time.

So two birds in the bush with this blog and now you can listen to them sing.

Nutritional Data (for real)...

2009-12-11T23:16:00.000-08:00

Do you read the label on the food products you buy? They put them there to help us help ourselves stay healthy. What you find on some of them should warn you off of ingesting the contents, but most people glance at part of the label and then just chomp chomp or chug chug.

At the bottom of this blurb there is a link to an intriguing site about nutrition. Why would I have an interest in nutrition? Well its actually three fold, or maybe only two fold with a twist or an extra wrinkle. Maybe there are no folds which certainly is best for my waist, right?

In 2004 I was diagnosed with diabetes which as we all know is a metabalic disorder characterized by abnormally high glucose levels in the blood. Yeah, the blood sugar stuff. As a matter of fact my glucose level was so high it was off the emergency room's meter, off the hospital lab's test chart, and had to be diluted to come to a number. Whew....and I was laying on the bed in a flimsy robe in a freezing exam room suffering severe cramping in the bottoms of my feet while they tried to figure that out.

Hence I had a thirteen hour overnighter at the hotel Hospital. In that time they ran three insulin IV bags through me, gave me several handfuls of little tables, and not only injected me in the ole tum tum, but had me inject me in the ole tum tum every two hours.

Then they sent me home because I had no insurance and told me how to take the pills and change my diet. BOOM! instant diet change. Two years later, after numerous evaluations I was told I did not have diabetes.

Now, either the first diagnosis was wrong or the second set was wrong. I don't have diabetic symptoms any more, but I used to. Am I cured? Its a miracle! Its my guess I was, am, are, is, borderline diabetic so I continue to stay fairly faithful to my diet. "Faithful" brings up another topic that I'm not going to bring up. And I'm not going to tell you all about my diet either.

I'm going to tell you why I'm even discussing this. You see, one thing I did was immediately switch to a grain/seed breakfast nearly every morning. And, I'm nearing production of this particular mixture for resale. So there is a reason to be tellling you about it, and about the nutritional webpage I started out leading you with. You can order Daniel's Power Cereal at http://bit.ly/6dEWto .

That page is loaded with the nutritional details of so many things that it will be odd for you to try one that they a haven't compiled. Wanna go see? Of course you do. Just visit http://www.nutritiondata.com/ and know that I am not associated with them in any manner. (Isn't that how you state there is no financial gain for me to have you go there?) Go ahead, try Alfalfa Seed. Yes, of course, you've always wanted to know the nutritional value of that tiny little seed that grows up to be cut down and bound into bales for feedinf four legged farm critters.

Not only will they have the food-label style of information but they have wonderful color charts of the values for most foods and ingredients. I've checked all the ingredients of my Power Ceral mix and got information on most of them. I didn't find any complete data on Flax Seed or Hemp Seed, but there is info on Flax in other forms.

So what is this Power Cereal mix? Its my own personal blending that I eat nearly every morning and is about as quick to fix as instant oatmeal. Oatmeal is good for you, you know, but my blend is even better, and you can always add the oatmeal to it. How's that for a useful product?

I'm not going to tell you, dear reader, (Like that personal touch?) the exact ingredients and quanity of each here because that would be, well, just giving it all away. But I am going to try and sell by mail-order, fairly soon so you'll probably see an announcement flash by -( see announcement flashing by? )- and then you can take a look yourself.

The twofold and threefold mentioned are that I lost 30 pounds in the first six months of my diet change. That change was only three things, my ceral mix most mornings, no fast food meals, and no more sugar in most instances. I wobble in my keeping to the no sugar and no fast food meals, but still, almost six years later, stick to my cereal. Yeah for me!

If you have health problems - FIX your diet.

( This blog edited 12/13/2009 to include links to Daniel's Power Cereal at http://bit.ly/6dEWto )

Plumber For A Day...

2009-12-09T23:30:00.000-08:00

If you have read my blogs you will recall that I am not a mechanic. I do well with tools but don't know a motor from an engine.

Unfortunately for me, plumbing is a similar category. Again, the tools are no problem and I have most of what I need. However, spending a couple of hours bent over working on frozen pipes, or on my knees repairing somebody's haphazard under-sink work leads to a severe increase in the pain level of this body.

It isn't a bad body for a 52 yr old with years of accidents and worn joints. And it was never a bad body, just average physically and not pro-sports. It has had its moments. Good moments. I ignore the bad moments.

Back in North Warren Regional High School I was on the wrestling team. Most times I was JV because I couldn't beat long legged Ralph and his long legs during the weekly wrestle-off for the Varsity spot. He was just probably better than me, but I did wrestle varsity in one very important match. Before I can go on about plumbing I just have to relate this match.

Ralph didn't make weight the night we wrestled Belvidere (I think). He was a few pounds over, or sick, or maybe he didn't want to face the undefeated state champion. I can't remember his name, and I should because he went to Blair for a post-grad year. I'm sure I met him on the mat again during my short-lived Blair wrestling career. But its been more than 30 years and I have forgotten some details of those ages. (If somebody can refresh my memory I'll edit this and correct it.)

Anyway, Ralph didn't make weight and I was moved to the Varsity team. This was only my second year of wrestling. Just a mere sophomore. Suddenly I was matched to the undefeated state champ who was a senior with many years of experience including preschool, gradeschool, junior high and high school, and dozens of wrestling camps.

He was good. I didn't win. He was very good. And, although I lost on score, I was not PINNED by the state champ. A proud yet somber moment for me.

I remember being stuck in a back-bridge unable to see anything except one light on the ceiling and the time clock ticking down from 1:04 in the third and final round.

Tick...tick...tick......tick...........tick...............tick and each moment took longer and longer.

He was unable to break my bridge, you know with feet on the mat, bent over backwards to top of head on the mat, twisting and turning trying to toss him off, trying to stay up so he couldn't get my shoulders down on the mat.

The referee warned him about delaying, and I think I got a point on the second warning...but that could just be wishful thinking. Eventually the time ran out before I collapsed. He had the win. He was still undefeated. I was JUST a two year JV wrestler that he couldn't pin.

This was the only match my father ever attended. And there was a very cute girl on the cheer leader squad that I wanted to ask to the next dance. (She also later attended Blair Academy.)

So why tell you about this? Because it is proof that the old body was never that bad, and still isn't all that bad. Yet, bending over working on rusted, corroded pipes behind the tub, or kneeling and working on fouled up plastic pipes under a sink -- they just don't fit me.

However, the work got completed. The leaks are gone and everybody is happy except for my back, my neck, my knees, my knuckles, and my pet gorilla.

Uh, sorry, there is no pet gorilla. And there was no plumber's crack either. So the body is still holding up even when I have to be the plumber for the day...

Twitterbration With Milla Jovovich...

2009-12-08T19:48:00.001-08:00

It's December 8th, 2009 and the followers of the Milla Jovovich tweet have surpassed 100,000 individuals. In celebration Milla and her tweet friends held a celebration that may last for 24 hours.

As part of the celebration everybody is asked to donate to one of two charities. A dollar each would be great for the them. And if you are not able to do so, just do something nice for somebody. Its a great idea and I'm proud to have followed along - how about you.

You can follow Milla's tweet thread at @millajovovich and join in the cheers, the fun, and pass along a few bucks to charities. As Milla's tweet said, "i'm going to make my donation now to both batteredmother.org and savethechildren.org hope u can donate to 1 of them as well!" And bear in mind that Milla and friends planned this while she has been on a movie shoot.

To the best of my understanding Milla is not associated with either organization, and in fact asked for suggestions. A great many people made suggestions and did some research and these two were chosen as part of the ongoing Twitterbration. However, if you have a favorite please do donate to it. It is hoped that with over 100,000 followers making donations right now that a substantial amount of donated funds will become available to these organizations.

Lastest word in the tweet is that PayPal seemed to be down. Hmmmm.... an overload of donators?

And here is a link to a video Milla upload with thanks to all the followers who donated. http://twitvid.com/5F16D

Lemon Squeezed...

2009-12-06T12:50:00.000-08:00

What do you do with a blog posting that is empty and won't allow itself to be deleted?

Apply lemon juice to it.

Exactly! Since it was seen as place holder with no text in it and obviously was a mistake glaring with strobic effect, the solution is to Edit It Into Lemonade. This particular blog entry is now being squeezed and twisted, juiced out, and teased into something fruitful.

This container is now filled with something useful instead of just announcing to the world that it was a mistake. Now it is sweetened to taste and can be poured into your routine with some assurance of sparking a smile or chuckle.

By the time you see this posting it has undergone a unique metamorphosis. It is no longer a creepy-crawly bug-like burp on the screen. With this final sentence it takes wings and flies in gentle spirals to its rightful position within the blog as an acceptable entry.

(Book) -- Henny Penny the Singing Rooster...

2009-12-06T01:07:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was a chicken named Henny Penny. She thought the sky was falling and began a long journey to go tell the king about the falling sky. Of course, she was mistaken as you can clearly see. Go outside and see if the sky has fallen.

It hasn't.

However, this is not the story of Henny Penny of "the sky is falling" fame. No. Not her. This is the story of somebody else who just happened to have the same name. Yes. It is the story of Henny Penny. (Remember, this is a different Henny Penny. Okay?)

Now, since Henny Penny didn't live a very long time ago we have to start the story over. So...

Once upon a time there was a rooster with a magical voice. His name was Henny Penny. It is true that most of his friends thought his name was really the name of a hen, but since his parents gave him the name, well then, it must be a name for a rooster. People who came to visit at the farm where he lived might laugh at his name, but once he stood up and fluffed his gleaming feathers out, puffed up his chest and sang ?awk-a-doodle-doo? at them they stopped laughing.

Everybody praised Famer Dan for his wonderful rooster. The first awk-a-doodle-doo they heard caused them to admire the handsome Henny Penny. Why, if Henny Penny had been a king they would have bowed to him. Many people came just to hear Henny Penny singing his rooster song.

That's right, his rooster song. If you ask around you will find that most people say roosters crow. That just isn't right. Roosters are not crows. Maybe some roosters sing so poorly that people think they sound like crows, but not Henny Penny. In fact, Henny Penny had blue ribbons and gold medals from many contests because he sang so well. So, no, he didn't crow, he sang.

If you remember, we said that Henny Penny was a rooster with a magical voice. When he sang at contests and sang to the visitors at Farmer Dan's farm he didn't use his magic voice. The magic was very special and had to be saved for his job.

Yes, roosters have jobs. They are supposed to sing every morning and every evening so that all the animals and all the people on the farm know when to wake up, and when to go to sleep. Some people use an alarm clock to wake up and then just guess when to go to sleep. But all the best farms use rooster song. And at Farmer Dan's farm they used Henny Penny songs. They did not know that his song was magical but they knew he had a very fine awk-a-doodle-doo. Just ask anybody ................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)

Naming Music...

2009-12-05T14:59:00.001-08:00

When I start composing a piece of music it usually is because there is a melodic phrase POUNDING between my ears. Most instances there is no name for that music so the piece gets started with a number as the file name.

When I switched to using Finale for scoring I started using Opus numbers so that I would have a convenient way of naming files. Up until Hurricane Katrina I had just over 300 pieces of handwritten music stored in my lockable file box. When the box was stolen I started numbering at 313 to be sure there was no overlap of the earlier pieces. There was a slim hope that the filebox would be recovered and I didn't want to renumber later. I actually think 307 was the last piece prior to Katrina, but the memory is questionable.

I have recovered the first and second pieces I wrote. They were both written at Blair Academy. "The Hermit" for Oboe and Strings has never been performed although the computer playback is great. "Two Flutes and a Cello" was performed at Blair by myself and classmates Louise Ewing and Donald Blocker. (I have mentioned this before.) At least a few of our classmates were actually at the Headmaster's home for that performance. Not an exciting name for the piece, but it certainly was descriptive. As a tidbit, the only other piece I have written which is named for the instruments it uses is "Trombone and Timpani, with Piano and Strings".

Three other pieces, "Sarah's Trumpet," "Horn March," and "Brash Brass" have different stories. Both Sarah's and Horn were written for Recorder although the Sarah in question was actually a trumpet player and both are now stored on my computer with brass voices instead of Recorder. Brash Brass is an eighteen-voice brass piece that was written for a Dallas Symphony contest but due to illness was not completed in time to meet the deadline.

Names for my music generally come to me as I am completing the work, or later when I am rehearsing it. Some of my music has remained numbered and hence, unnamed, for years until the feeling that I knew the name I wanted came over me.

On the other hand, I do have pieces that are named from their very first note. Some of these are the four piece Blue Ridge Mountains Water Music, Sorcha Lawhir, and Shasta Snow Light. At a guess I would say that maybe 30-35% of my music compositions start out with names.

On the other hand, some are actually renamed because the music evolved as it was being written from the concept the name originally portrayed. Some had names applied for competitions and then renamed when I didn't win, and others get renamed to fit or to honor individuals such as "Susan's Concerto" for Englilsh Horn, Bassoon and Violin or "Bodil Diesen" who is the maker of two of my Recorders. And a few still bear the "Ode" titles with a number because I couldn't remember the original purpose of the music.

So is there an art to naming music? Most assuredly, but it is exercised differently for each composer. As a larger portion of my works are for solo performance it would be repetitive to name the piece for the type and number of instruments. Just a number for a name doesn't feel right to me. But still, at times the name is nothing more than a convention because it gets attached to the music that has been struggling to get out of my head.

One thing I promised myself was to never name a piece for the key it was written in. As an example, consider a Dance in A-minor; once it get's transposed it is no longer a Dance in the original key. So at least I have one restriction in my naming process even if the others all more closely follow gut reaction.

Submitting Query To...

2009-12-04T17:01:00.001-08:00

The process of submitting email query letters to literary agents or publishers is just as fraught with potholes as is the snail mail process. I have to say I don't enjoy getting rejections, but then, who does.

Some of the agents/publishers make good use of the email process while others seem to have that process glued down to the stack of snail mail piled in the corner.

As an avid researcher, digging and delving into every topic that interests me I do watch a FEW blogs. Too many of them would be way to much information, tiring, and ultimately both boring and a waste of productive time.

One blog I watch is that of Nathan Bransford of Curtis Brown, Ltd. After having determined that Nathan was a good potential literary agent for my Grandpa Jester story I sent the email query.

Sadly, Nathan didn't feel the way about Grandpa Jester as I thought he might. So, I received another rejection notice. However, I must say that he has what appears to be a nice way of handling it and does not ramble on about how the story doesn't fit the genre, or the author should have paid attention to the categories this agent is interested in, yada yada yada.

Nathan merely thanked me for submitting. And then excused himself as not thinking he was the best agent for my work. Although this query led to another plodding step, it does put me closer to publication because I now have one less agent/publisher to go through -- therefore, I must be closer to finding the correct one.

Whoppeeee! Uh, sorry about that. Did you feel the tension release? Okay then, back to the writing, the reading, the joy, the fun, SNAP... ooops my pen broke.

Henny Penny...

2009-12-03T18:11:00.001-08:00

We had a rooster named Henny Penny when my children were young. He would dance around your feet, drag a wing like he was injured, and if ignored would bat your legs with his "injured" wings until you picked him up. He liked to be hugged and would tuck his head under my beard and go to sleep.

I remember this because I was given an idea to write a story. The idea came from a friend to whom I was telling about the rooster in my story The Lost Lullaby. So I did research on Henny Penny and learned that the oldest stories about Henny Penny came from a time when he was a hare, or a rabbit. But the stories in England were of a hen named Henny Penny, also known as Chicken Little.

I have lost a great many of my memories but they tend to come back when jarred loose by similar thoughts, or hands on experience, etc... It is difficult at times to feel normal. Heck it is down right nerve wracking, but as with all problems it is something to overcome and to deal with.

Back to the friend and The Lost Lullaby... she suggested I expand on the rooster. She then told me about the rooster they'd had (until recently) named Henry. So off I go working on a new story...

This story is about a grumpy rooster who won't let anybody go to sleep because he doesn't want them to know he can no longer wake them up. I chose to use the name Henny Penny even though most people expect that to be a woman's name, err... a hen's name.

Since I am actively trying to get my books published via traditional publishers, via literary agents to them, and by author paid publishing, I think I'll take this story and run a different route and use Print On Demand.

That would give me three channels of potential publication. It is also one of the channels I am perusing for publication of my music. (Arrrggghhh, got a reject notice today on the music.)

Factoid: In some areas chickens were known to have gold in their crops. Yepper, tiny little Chicken Nuggets.

(Book) - A Castle and Giant Rings...

2009-11-30T15:12:00.000-08:00

(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)

Once upon a time, in a small town, lived two friends. A girl and a boy...

You knew this story had to start with “Once upon a time.” It just had to. There really is no other way for a really first-rate story to get started. In fact, it is so important that we better do it again.

“Once upon a time, in a small town, lived two friends.”

Well they didn't really live in a town. They lived in what might be called a village, or maybe a hamlet. You see, there were exactly three houses on the road where they lived. Two roads, actually. One went west and east, and the other went south.

So, on the south road lived a very poor goldsmith. Also on the south road, facing across the road lived a very poor blacksmith. One worked with gold. The other worked with iron. On the north road that ran west and east, but facing south, and just across the road from where the north road really went south between the home of the goldsmith and the home of the black, stood the other home. Perhaps home is not accurate. It was, you see, and perhaps still is, an old, yet beautiful, castle. An empty castle.

Now, in once upon a time stories friends are truly friends forever. Not so for the blacksmith's daughter and the goldsmith's son. They fought all the time. They yelled at each other and promised to never speak again. One such promise worked for an entire three days. Normally they would be meeting again by the next day. And often they were only mad until after lunch. It is hard to stay mad at the only other person you have to play with.

What usually got them mad was when one decided they were boss because they were older. And in fact, they never knew who was oldest. Their birthdays were the same day of the same week of the same year. And in this story their births are so important that we just have to tell the story. So...

Once upon a time...two mothers were expecting the births of their children. They suspected the babies would be born at very nearly the same day. Being the only two women................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)

Publishing Hopes...

2009-11-27T01:55:00.000-08:00

I have a rather long list of children's book titles to which I am seeking receptive publishers. This is a time consuming process and can only be handled in stages. Right now I am shopping three of my titles to both literary agents and publishers.

Wanting to speed up the process I have completed months of digging and delving research on alternate ways of publishing. Print-on-demand (POD), eprint, vanity press, full press but no marketing, etc... I have chosen DragonPencil Press as my best alternate solution because they have well structured process from design, illustration, editing, printing, warehousing, marketing. Yet, it is costly.

Would you be interested in helping? Ah, the pitch, here it comes... but first let me ask another question. You know all the producers and directors you see listed on movie credits (do you read them)? Some of them are only listed because they put up money. They do so, of course for the clout but with the intention of making a profit off of the film.

Would you be interested in helping publish? What it means is that you make an investment in my publishing effort. In return I will list you in the book as an Associate Publisher, or Assistant Associate Publisher, or Assistant Publisher. The level, and the size and prominence of the type used on your name, would depend upon your investment amount. You would be in the credits.

Your return? Of course there is no way to guarantee the total return and like any investment it could be a loss. What I can guarantee is that you will recieve a prorated share of 50% of the proceeds again based upon your portion of the investment for that book. You will continue receiving your share from any reprint runs until you have received your investment plus 12%. Although your name will always be in future reprints, your return ends on whichever run completes after hitting your minimum. You might make more if that run is large. It is simple but must be considered a high risk.

Details... I have chosen DragonPencil because of the entire process and quality of product. Publishing is not cheap. These are hard cover books, with or without Read Along CDs. The cost varies from title to title based upon things such as word count, page count, illustration counts, marketing plan, number of books printed, etc... I am going to choose three titles to work with but only one at a time. Their entry onto the market will be timed only by available funding assistance.

How much? The first title has an estimate of $11,000-$13,000. Therefore I am going to ask for assistance in a total of $13,000 but will accept it in increments from many people or larger increments from only a few, or even one sole investor. Your choice of amount. When the total is reached I send it off to press. If enough funds are made available I will do up to three titles in this manner.

Added benefits... I will continue pursuing the Grandpa Jester series of four books with lit agents and publishers. Each publishing pathway will enrich the other. Being in print either way supports the titles of any publishing method. Showing that one title sells well is an added consideration for the large publishing houses. DragonPencil is part of Whimsical which includes Big Tent Books and Castlebridge Books. Since I am still seeking big house publishing, and expect that will happen one day, I will tag 25% of any royalties earned off of any other title published and use it to speed along your investment return.

If you are interested in this project please contact me at danielhay@gmail.com and we will arrange funds and a letter of agreement.

Why Giving Thanks...

2009-11-26T15:43:00.000-08:00

Giving thanks is often forgotten in Thanksgiving.

As with all holidays many people forget the reason behind it and dote on their comfort and enjoyment. It is great to have family gathered, to enjoy extra special foods, to be off work perhaps, to relax...

Relax! What... who is getting to relax. For every holiday parts of the family are working harder and with much less thanks for the effort than they generally do. Do we remember them and make an extra effort to let them know. Do we let them know they are appreciated with more than just saying, "That was very good."

The labor in celebrating should be as shared as the euphoria in enjoying. The holiday should be shared not just partaken of. The appreiciation should be remembered throughout the year.

While we are enjoying the fruits of somebody's labor, perhaps our own, are we remembering the reason for the holiday? Are we thinking of those who can not enjoy the holiday? Do we recall that there are many who no longer have a family to celebrate with, those who are unable to find their families, those beyond holiday reach?

As you share your holiday spirit with your family remember those who have no way to share. Remember that there are many who are lonely, struggling, or remote. Make an effort year long to share with them as well. A little bit multiplied by often and many can make a great effect.

Inept Mechanic...

2009-11-25T16:35:00.000-08:00

If you are like me and inept at auto mechanics you should take heart at my success. I've learned that my old truck is a Slant 6, 225, 3.7 with a single barrel Holley Carb (now that I installed it). It claims to be a Dodge Ram 100 better known as a D100. Says so right on the side of the truck with a fancy chrome name plate that says Ram 100 Custom.

Whoa... the VIN plate translation claims that it is a D150. Hmmm.... it is a 1984 but usually we can't find parts for it that match unless they are for a 1983 or a 1986. It was one of the early models that included an Engine Control Computer unit that hangs on the side of the air cleaner housing. Nobody seems to be able to get a replacement for mine so I had to retrofit my truck to match a 1973 system.

I have rerouted wires, removed vacuum hoses, plugged hoses, installed an older distributor, replaced my ignition coil, installed a resistor on the firewall (virus not included), snipped and capped this wire and that wire, pulled plugs, taped every which way. I hooked springs back up to the new replacement carburetor and generally fumed with busted knuckles and nails torn to the quick.

However, a generous pumping of the accelerator pedal and a simple turn of the key was responded with the truck perking up and saying, "Oh, you want me to start?" And then it did. It started.

All this has been a very long process, since way back when I bought it last year. And I, the inept mechanic, have finally got it running and only a few rather mild choice words were ever employed. I didn't even break my foot with a swift kick to the truck's ribs.

I'll still call it "Beastly" in anticipation of the next set of problems to overcome but now with less rancor and more affection. It is now my blood, sweat, and tears I get to drive around in.

The Blog Path...

2009-11-25T12:22:00.000-08:00

When I canceled my Anon Blogs and began this one I didn't think I would update it more than once every blue moon. I hadn't updated the blog on MySpace in at least three blue moons so why would this be any different. I don't really enjoy writing odd-bits on either it or Facebook. And just now I think I realized that the clutter bothers me, the screen noise irritates me, and I feel like I'm being watched very closely.

A Blair classmate, Les Oakes, did remind me that I am indeed being watched. So off I went to my new blogspot and began entries. Now I find that it is only my own words in front of me while my fingers dance around the keyboard. I have no interruptions to trains of thought other than the music roiling between my ears.

I had a blog on Word Press under a name I don't want to reuse. I tried to rename it but they don't allow changing the account name that matches to your email address. They told me to go into the old account and change the email address and after it is verified then I could open a new blog account with my email address. Yep! Only problem is that I only have one email address and I'm not going to bother to get a new one just to fake out their computer. In fact, they should not be telling us how to fake them in the first place. Duh!

So I just stay here and explore thoughts and polish words so that they shine as bright as the lights I envision. I struggle daily, hourly, with music pounding in my head clashing with stories trying to get out. Sometimes I
succeed in calming them by getting one of the works into the computer where it quietly awaits the interest of a publisher. And even though I thought I wouldn't be writing much in the blog doing so seems to act like a pressure valve venting explosively with steam. Surprisingly, instead of loosing the thoughts and forms it feels like what is formulating is doing so with more precision.

This funneling has provided me with some peace of mind as well. In just the short life of this blog, and of the twitter stream, I've made more progress on other works besides my childrens stories and my music composition. In fact, when I figured out how to set up both the blog and the twitter posts on the same page I actually felt like an accomplished web author. Of course, partial success could be rewarded with publisher contracts, but that is still to come.

Those of you who find me on MySpace or FaceBook get the twitter stream automatically. In fact, you may never get to the blog page here. I am not writing either for you. I am writing them for myself only. I narrate to an invisible audience, I know, and I see some of them float in and then float out far quicker than a reading should allow. (Seeing them floating means they are not so invisible.)

At least here I can reaffirm to myself that I am. I am a composer. I am a writer. I am a photographer. And when those lives don't seem full enough I enjoy pulling tiny bits of gold from large piles of rubble.

Recorder Music...

2009-11-24T19:34:00.000-08:00

When I was younger, in school in Hastings, Nebraska, I started playing Cello. The strings program there, in fact all the orchestral instruments, was fantastic. Then my family moved to New Jersey, and I had to go along with them since I was just 12-years old.

I spent two years at North Warren Regional High School. The first year I was the only string player in what was mostly a marching band that did two concerts on stage per year. I got featured in a front stage position and they taped a mic to my cello. Our band director didn't really understand strings and couldn't deign to note that I was trying to tune my cello from a string slippage. My A-string broke as I frantically tried to tune and I ended up playing the last two pieces entirely on the D string using advanced finger positions that I didn't really have mastered. Only a few people noted the difficulty, the adjustment, and the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Two of those few were my mother and myself.

I learned to play both trombone and baritone and actually marched a few times with the band. I had tried using a wheeled device to trundle along the cello but it just wasn't successful. I wish now I had learned the flute or oboe then, or later.

Then I transferred to Blair Academy and although I still was not in a strings program I did have a private
teacher come out from NYC. I fear that teenagedness took over parts of my brain and I did not pursue my cello education as I should have -- but I did get a college scholarship on it and in voice.

While at Blair I was asked if I would join a starting Recorder Class. Ms. Kathyrn Phillips-Price, flautist, got me started on an instrument I have played ever since. In fact, even though hurricane Katrina was the indirect cause of loosing most of my music scores, and Recorders, and Cello, I still have the Soprano, Alto, and Sopranino Recorders from my Blair days. That makes a few of my instruments well over thirty years old.

Now I compose a great deal of music and much of that is for solo instruments. I started doing that because I wanted more music to play without having to buy it. On the computer I often voice them as Oboe because it sounds better, but I play most of them on Recorder. I like to think most are suitable for Cello as well and I have transposed some for Cello.

One day, perhaps, I'll begin marketing the music through a publisher. At this time I just fill an annual subscription to customers that gives them nearly everything I compose. This includes duets, trios, quartets, quintets, etc... in various instrumental groupings. Composing has become a large part of my life and I think I owe part of that to Blair and the Recorders.

So from Nebraska and my Cello, to brass and Recorders in New Jersey, there is an instrumental part of me that coincides with my vocal part. I've been in the business world and enjoyed the money but I much prefer the musical part of me, the peace within after completing a new piece of music, even if it means I join the starving artists.

Beastly...

2009-11-24T16:53:00.001-08:00

Dear ol'beastly is still out of commission. That should not come as a surprise if you consider who is doing the repairs. Moi! I know a great deal about tools, but I know next to nothing about engines. When you turn the key the dang thing is supposed to run.

So I have been forced to begin learning about engines, how they work, what is bolted to mine, what it should do but doesn't do, and how much it costs to replace parts. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry has a different solution to my truck not starting when it is cool, damp, cold, wet. So far, every one of them has been wrong.

Let's not forget that they were kind enough to stop and try to help when i was stranded, each and every, very many times. And that I do thank them profusely for the efffort. One old gent (old being older than myself) stopped three different times, tried the same processes each time, and told me three different reasons for my trucks failure to be more than a mass of metal in the parking lot.

Well, anyway, today I put a replacement carb on after finally getting the correct base mounting gasket thingy-ma-jiggy. This is supposed to be the final solution. I have yet to find out, because part of this replacement
meant replacing the distributor, bypassing some vacuum hoses, replacing the ignition coil, and some electrical bypasses as well as installing some parts that weren't even in the truck before. And, I have yet to attempt the electrical stuff.

If I could make some sense of this I could possibly write a book about it so some child would know how to do what I can't figure out on my own. I have to admit dealing with beastly leaves me feeling as if I were swimming at the bottom of a quicksand pit.

The Art of Women...

2009-11-23T01:16:00.000-08:00

I ran across a blog that consists of artwork. I have always been an artist myself, only I am limited to music and literature. This blog should be shared because it is filled with powerful paintings of women painted by female artists. http://womenpaintingwomen.blogspot.com/

I once filled in for an art teacher as a substitute. I spent three days in art class. Surprisingly I learned more about creating art then than I had enjoying art in all my other years. To claim I took art class would be most misleading. I had art in school but never took an art class for very long. At North Warren Regional I did take art for a short time but then managed to weasel out of it. At Blair Academy I appreciated the results of the art students but considered myself a music student and had no time to pursue other arts.

Yet, art appreciation is important for it opens other channels in our thoughts. It gives us views that we would
never conceive of on our own. We should always strive to improve the arts in schools; the visual arts, the aural arts, and the literary arts. By providing our young students the chance to experience arts we increase their understanding in all their other subjects.

Claiming to not be an artist would also belittle my junior high years when I did create art of my own. Down on our basement floor I used a hammer to crush rocks in baby food jar lids. Many of those rocks came from the Platte River in Nebraska. Using good ole' Elmer's Glue I would glue powerderized rock in landscapes of trees and mountains onto boards. They were much like sand paintings. I was proud of those pieces. I no longer know of what happened to those works of art, but to me they were my highpoint in artistic concepts. I can still see the beauty of those pieces within my mind's eye.

So, please, go visit the Women Painting Women blog and enjoy each woman's expression.

Grandpa Jester strikes again...

2009-11-22T15:02:00.001-08:00

Let me tell you about Grandpa Jester.

He's a bit strange although very quiet. Soft-spoken when he does speak, but generally doesn't need to say much at all. He often strokes his beard, tugs on his left ear, and nods.

Yes, he nods. He nods when making a point. He nods when answering a question with just a nod. He nods when you suddenly realize the answer to your own question.

Grandpa Jester also seems to have the inside scoop on the 1893 Storybook. He should since he gave it to his grandchild. There is something odd about that storybook. It seems to always open to the center page, and I'm not sure anybody has actually read a story from it. Instead of reading a story the owner becomes a part of the story and makes an entrance into what's happening through the closet. Yepper, the old secret
dimensional access through the closet trick, and thank you very much Maxwell Smart.

Grandpa was a Jester within the confines of the 1893 Storybook. Now he is introducing his grandchild to the denizens of literature as the next Jester. Although we tend to think of jesters as clowns, in truth, within the Storybook a Jester has to be both funny and wise. With Grandpa Jester hopping, skipping, or twirling in place, hilarity is bound to shine. Can the new Jester fill his shoes, or would that be, his robes?

Adventures to the literary realm of The Three Little Pigs, King Arthur's Court, the Queen of Hearts, and even into a Future Conundrum are awaiting publication. Other adventures are pending. Guide me to the right literary agent, or publisher, and I'll make sure you get a free copy of each Grandpa Jester book as it comes out.

Since Grandpa Jester is also planned as a children's show if your guidance succeeds in placing it in production for television show or a cartoon I'll suggest your child or grandchild as the character or voice-over.

Now you know about Grandpa Jester.

Time a wasting...again...

2009-11-21T16:26:00.001-08:00

Just went through install of IE8, dumped all the added trash, but it won't connect to any URL. So back to a system restore point, trash the trash IE and go looking for something better. I've tried Google's Chrome a few times but it never installs correctly on my system. Perhaps I'll try FireFox.

Under foot...

2009-11-21T12:43:00.001-08:00

Beautiful sunshine and wonderful snowflakes make slippery, sloshing, slimey mud.

To Tell a Tale of Three Trios...

2009-11-21T02:18:00.001-08:00

The last three trios, in reverse order, Op 477 Romance Turmoil, Op 472 Taking Tea With Lady Grey, and Op 470 Shasta Snow Light. While picking pieces for the Cello music collection I realized I probably have a collection of trio. Problem is they aren't all the same trio configuration.

Regardless of the instrument configurations I went through the list this early a.m. and find the second piece I wrote and the last piece I have written are trio works. The first, Two Flutes and a Cello I wrote at Blair
Academy and there it had its only performance thanks to Louise Ewing and Donald Blocker on flute and myself on cello.

I seem to have migrated to more Oboe and Cello groupings because I play Recorders and the Finale Allegro voicing for Recorder is poor - but the Oboe is great. The Cello voicing is great, but the Viola isn't. Its a shame since 477 is for Oboe, Viola and Cello.

Oh well, some day I'll have the extra cash to upgrade the software, (and then the hardware, and then the brain surgery too).

Flakes! All of 'em...

2009-11-20T21:47:00.001-08:00

Big, fat, fluffy, all of 'em are flakes. They crowd from the left, slip in from the right, swirling around and glomming onto the glass. Do they scream at the end as they hit the ground and melt? Flakes, snowflakes, floating down and melting into the ground. They are all flakes.

Concert Tour...

2009-11-20T20:07:00.001-08:00

I am beginning plans for my second concert tour. If anybody has suggestions please feel free to share them. I perform on Recorders and am available as well for school programs.

Consolidation...

2009-11-20T19:54:00.001-08:00

Soon I won't have to change pages to post comments to webpage, to blogger, to twitter, to the stars and back again. Hmmm.... getting deep here.

Wind blown...

2009-11-20T19:52:00.000-08:00

I posted earlier, on a different page, but having just finished setting this up I felt the need to repost.

The wind gusts last night were powerful enough to swivel my camper nearly 30 degrees. This was done with me inside, all 196 lbs of me, all my gear, both dogs, and with the camper sitting down on both blocks and all four (4) jack legs. It took me nearly an hour to rotate it back using a very large lever after I pulled the legs up. Then had to reset them - I suppose the camper would have been toppled instead if the legs had not been extended for added support.

Opening move...

2009-11-20T19:35:00.001-08:00

I find it hard to believe that I get all the way through the Blogger creation process and then can't have my name as the blog name. There aren't that many Daniel Hay folks running around the world. How dare they use our name instead of letting me use our name.