Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Cat Norris: Kime


Yoko Geri Kekomi or perhaps Ura Mawashigeri?

This is a perfect moment of 'kime', pronounced key-may.

Kime (Japanese: 決め) is a Japanese word. It is the noun form of the verb "kimeru," which means "to decide," "to conclude," etc. In English, it's general meaning is "deciding."

Kime is very important in the japanese martial arts. In shotokan, applying the proper kime, the proper power at that one critical moment is all-important in deciding the conflict.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Melynda's Labor Day Blogfest & Book Fair

Melynda's Labor Day Blogfest & Book Fair - Come check out the amazing books (some free eBooks included) we're featuring in support of raising awareness for diabetes


Sign up to join a Labor Day Blogfest and Book Fair. Sunday September 2nd -Tuesday the 4th.

In honor of Melynda Fleury--who has bravely been fighting diabetes and almost completely lost her eyesight--Wayman Publishing is offering unlimited free downloads of their top ten bestselling books to all entrants during this event!  In addition, we're featuring some phenomenal books you should check out AND giving away X-amount of Cash (announced after Blogger signups completed).

Other bloggers can join in for this great opportunity to gain new traffic. We're excited to spread the word about some fantastic authors and Wayman Publishing; we hope you'll join us for this fun event.

The first links to enter are free with the agreement that you will post the button and information about this giveaway on your site. Any additional links will be $3 for Social Network links and $5 for RSS/Email Subscriptions.
Feel free to grab this button:
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Monday, August 6, 2012

Bones Speak: Cremation Part 2


His body lay on the cradle of concrete; the flesh stripped away, the spaces between the bones made more poignant by the absence of the organs that should have been there. No longer did the mottled flesh stretch across emaciated bones, he had been restored to a state of beautiful by crematorium fire.
    While still alive, the cancer had eaten his mind and body until I no longer recognized the man I’d grown to love. But, here he was! In the mountains of central Japan, in the region he had lived for over fifty years. Here he was on the concrete slab, in the city crematorium, next to the municipal garbage dump.
    His pure white bones screamed at me. “I’m here, Shane. Do you hear me? Take care of your wife, my daughter. Take care of my grandchildren, the last surviving memory of me on earth.”
    They had exhumed his slab the same way it had gone in. None had touched his sacred remains since my wife pushed the button to release the cleansing fire. An hour later, she huddled at my side, weeping, her father’s delicate skeleton before us.
    A man, dressed in the clean but simple jumpsuit of a recycling plant worker took up a pair of massive chopsticks from a small pedestal situated to the side, but still on top of the concrete cradle. He motioned for each of us to take up a pair of our own and removed the lid from one of two urns beside the chopsticks.
    “I did not get to see my last grandchild before I died,” the bones said. I stared back in shock. “It is your responsibility to remember me to him.”
    The man in the jumpsuit continued as though he hadn’t heard or found talking bones to be common place. He used his chopsticks to pull a small bone near the skull from the surrounding ash. “This bone is one that makes up the inner ear,” he said.
    My wife and I took the piece together and placed it in the smaller urn. The piece broke as it fell, revealing the soft tan of baked marrow inside. The process continued, a fragment of eye socket, the final link in the right index finger, a segment from around the nose, all were deposited inside.
    The partially erect skull, half buried in ash, stared up at me. “Do you remember that time at the base of Mount Fuji? At the restaurant? When I told you it wasn’t you who was funny?” it asked.
    “I remember,” I whispered.
    “I’m not sorry,” it said.
    “I know. It’s not in your nature to be sorry.”
    The bone emancipator held up a tooth. The open doors let in a cool breeze of mountain air, but it failed to stir the palette of white and gray hues beneath him. “Your father had amazing teeth. Most teeth of people this age don’t survive the fire."
    “I loved my teeth,” the crusty white incisor confirmed. A breathless pause followed and let in the rustling of bamboo of the forest outside. “Do you forgive me?” it asked. The man holding the tooth placed it on the pedestal. My wife picked it up and put it into the small jar. The man locked the tooth away, along with the other bits as he placed the lid atop the urn.
    “Yes,” I said.
    The jump-suited man took both chop sticks in one hand, placed them against the balled neck of the right femur and broke off the ball by pushing at the top of his instruments of dissection. He placed the dislocated joint on the pedestal and my wife transferred it to the now uncovered larger urn.
    “Thank you for finding my high school yearbook,” the spherical piece echoed from the bottom of the container.
    “It took forever to clean out that shed.” I smiled. “There was fifty year old junk buried beneath thirty year old crap with worthless ten year old trinkets stacked on top of that. It was like excavating for the lost city of Tanis.”
    “You’ve always been too wordy,” the jar resonated at me.
    “I know, it’s in my nature,” I said.
    Something shifted and I looked down. A piece of rib had broken off on its own accord. “Does she love me?” it asked.
    “Does she love you?” I tested the words with my tongue. The man in the jumpsuit had followed my gaze and immediately relocated the fragmented rib to the pedestal.
    “Does she love me?” it asked again from its new position. It was not an easy relationship my wife had endured with her father; not with the drinking, or the long hours at work, or the fact that they were both so headstrong a boulder would break if it came against their will.
    My wife’s chopsticks reached across the void and gently lifted the frail bone from the stone. Tears streaked her face. Her other hand shot out to catch the treasured cargo in a moment of doubt, in case it should fall, but her transport of it remained true. She placed it in the urn and stared at the jar as though it was her heart she had put inside.
    “She loves you,” I said.
    “I know,” the rib called, its voice muffled inside of the container. “She just told me.”
    The last urn was filled and the lid returned to its proper position. The man packaged the jars in a black satin box with a white cross on the front and presented it to my wife with a bow.
    We left the crematorium and my wife turned to me as we drove away. “I can’t believe you asked me if you could take a picture.”
    “He was so beautiful. I want to always remember him like that. I could feel his presence there.”
    My wife looked at me as I negotiated a hair pin corner through the cave of bamboo trees around us. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to write a story about it then.”



I am very proud to announce that Middle Damned, the novel, is available for purchase at amazon.com in hard copy and Kindle e-book.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Middle Damned, the Novel

I am very proud to announce that Middle Damned, the novel, is officially being released today by Wayman Publishing. It's available for purchase at amazon.com in hard copy and Kindle e-book. Here are a couple of excerpts from reviews it has received so far.

"I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It kept my attention as it was both intriguing and entertaining." -APTeacher

"His ability to overlap the world as we know it with the Realm of the Middle Damned is nothing short of a pleasure. Wonderful imagery around characters that you can't help but root for the whole journey." - Joshua

"The plot is unique and fresh which provided unexpected twists and turns. I recommend this book with confidence the reader will be pleasantly surprised by how much they enjoy the book." -GL


Life after death was not all Blake Stillwater and his family had expected. Some went to live in the light, another into darkness, while Blake fights for survival, somewhere between, in the Realm of the Middle Damned. At this cross roads connecting the dimensions of the Living World and the hereafter, failure is a one way ticket to everlasting torment in the lake of fire. Blake’s only hope is the gifts of those he was responsible for in the car crash that claimed their lives. The blood staining his hands entitles them to endow him with a final token of their memory. It’s a race against time, for while the gifts of those who love the light will sustain, the one who now dwells in darkness can ruin it all.

Click on Middle Damned to see My Book