Friday Morning with C.W. Hime

Good morning followers and friends! I hope this day brings success to those who seek it, and rest to those who need it. I woke up this morning in a vivid dream state. I was surfing – slowly, through a sea so thick with sharks I could have stepped off the surf board and walked on their backs!

There was no sense of dread or fear. Instead, a feeling of whimsy accompanied my journey. My morning coffee was punctuated with visions a chrome celestial ships appearing out of nowhere – coming to a slow impulse power as they shift from another dimension. My 12 yr old eyes can’t believe the fantastical scene playing out before me! The noon sky sparsely dotted with cotton ball clouds becomes the scene of an invasion, or perhaps just a visit from the keepers of time.

Now I watch 12 yr old Clayton, run across the city park, glancing over his shoulder, making sure the visitors remain in the sky. Adults walk the city quadrangle apparently unaware of the events playing out over the heads.

Clayton, desperate to get home to tell his mother, runs in to a gentleman knocking him down. Both are startled by the presence of the other. Apologetically, Clayton helps the man up. A pair of gold rimmed glasses lay at their feet. Clayton starts to pick them up – “Don’t touch them!” , the man exclaims, quickly retrieving them from the ground.

Clayton looks back to the sky – a parade of chrome spaceships of every size move like clouds on a windy day. Clayton, shares glances with the stranger, who’s now wearing the glasses. Both watch the spectacle playing out overhead.

“Tell me boy, do you see them too?” The stranger asked. Clayton hesitates – “yes, I see them!” “Then we have no time”, the stranger grabbed Clayton’s arm, “come with me!”

So I guess I’ve just written a little more for my short story, “Aliens in the Park”. It will be interesting to see where this goes. Another good day lays before us! Sharpen those pencils and get to it!

Sunday with C.W. Hime

Good day to all my new followers and old friends. I haven’t posted anythng new this week – recovering from a week of the flu and the necessities that illness reminds us that are due. But, words will find a page and perhaps an audience today!

“The king plunged his mighty sword into the storming sea – prowl gone, a leader steps forth steering his men to safety. His very breath fills the tattered sails, warriors man oars driven by the cadence of king’s beating heart. Broad backs driven by war, not the lash, power their ship toward an unknown foe – beckoned by the cry of the enslaved. Choose your master carefully, fore this king comes with impunity.”

So this just happened – this happens frequently. I do not know what it’s for or what it will lead to. Perhaps it’s a life already lived or one I will be lead to tell. It left my chest heavy – there must be more.

“Impunity” is a dark horse, I know her well. Her steel-clad hooves cut deep into foriegn soil. Blood pools in the wells of her path. She will not travel here again though – for there will be nothing left. The conquered lie in the potter’s field – perhaps seeds of history to be someday addressed. But for today, they are carrion – a feast attended by vultures, ravens and wolves.”

As you read this, so do I. I did not come here today to start something new. Perhaps it’s a tale to be written – both in the memory of king’s and the conquered alike. So many lives lived – so many to address. Despite our best efforts to mark the graves of those who have past. Eventually, we all find ourselves seeding the potter’s field.

What are the choices? Turn your gaze away, walk quietly into history – or – Ride a heavy hoof in the direction of the cries of the enslaved. Be mindful that Impunity, takes no prisioners and you can not free the enslaved without becoming their master…

Storytime with C.W. Hime Update!

Made a great deal of headway on the podcast over the weekend. Built the webpage and outlined the first episode of “Nomads”, an interactive story described in previous post! Currently, we are recording the introduction episode. We are very excited about how this is all coming together!

We will have a second podcast that will feature campfire stories told by me. I love to tell a good story, especially the kind that make you strain your eyes to see into the dark and move a little closer to the fire. You know, that darkness just past the light of the fire that feels like it’s staring back.

I will be using my WordPress page to share excerpts from current short stories and novels I’m actively working on. Your comments would be greatly appreciated! I will soon be uploading new content and removing some of the old on this site, so follow along!

This is C.W. Hime, until next time!

Story time with C.W. Hime, A podcast

We would like to announce that we are developing a podcast that features an interactive storyline. Followers will be able to contribute to the story, effectively altering the course of the story and lives of the characters!

Our first featured story will involve time travel, history and a team of historians known as “Nomads”. Members of an ancient sect bound by family pedigree to preserve the integrity of man’s recorded history. These Nomad’s travel back in time to record and correct the written history that has been altered by king’s, emperor’s, and tyrants through the millennia.

We are actively working out the details, how to submit prompts for the story, acknowledge the contributors/followers and frequency of episodes updated and posted. We are planning on 45-60-minute episodes uploaded bi-weekly. The first name and city of the episode’s contributor will be acknowledged at the beginning of the episode.

At the end of the story, we will publish an ebook with all the contributors and their ideas listed in the acknowledgements. Three contributors will be selected to receive a free copy of the completed book.

We will keep you updated as to the progress and expected release date of the podcast!

Thank you all so much!

C.W. Hime

Awakening a Sleeping Webpage

I’m finally in the position to write fulltime! I would be more excited if it would have comne about a decade or two earlier. Don’t get me wrong, I feel very blessed to be in this position now – even if I’m 61 yrs old!

My WordPress page has lingered in the “Wisha Coulda – Shoulda” Metaverse of failed dreams – (failed follow-through)! In hindsight, I realize the latter is the driving force that placed me here in the first place. The dreams are very much intact.

With that realization being my truth, there’s no time like the present! Actually, I have been persuing this path with daily consistency for a month now. This week I’m focusing on upgrading this WordPress page to a pro-page account, along with new and updated content.

The bigger picture is focused on my epic novel, “Donor Farms”. I started writing this in 1993. I just completed the first chapter rewrite. Updating the timeline and tech has been a significant part of the work. The bonus is that research has been less daunting than using the public library and digging through used book stores. Oh and who remembers the internet 30 years ago?!

I will be posting previews as chapters come together. I hope everyone will follow this page! I will be posting new essays and Short Stories.

Kill Procrastination and Write!

I’m here again. My last activity on this page was 2017. I wish I could tell you I’ve been so busy turning out manuscripts I haven’t had time. I’ve repeated this process since 1993 when I first outlined “Donor Farms” and “The Mud People”. At the time I also spent a great deal of time on the first draft of “Anonymous Presence”.

Manuscripts either started or in outline: Donor Farms/The Mud People/Anonymous Presence/Life Extension by LifeNet.

Stand alone thrillers: Savanah’s Ghost/Paradise Lake/Trent.

Young Adult Summertime short story series: Monster’s of Men/Eddy Bose-Bone Mill/Alien’s in the Park.

This would be an impressive list even if they were all rejected. The success would be measured in a stack of completed work. I currently have no completed work.. What will be different this time?

I turned 61 yrs old this year. Last December I had a signifcant heart attack leaving me with 5 stents. I’ve worked 32 years in Critical Care/Trauma as a Registered Respiratory Therapist. In the last 2 yrs I worked 4-5 12 hour shifts per week in ICU – I have never seen so many people die. My Cardiologist summed up the stress of the last 2 yrs and chronically high cortisol levels is what lead to my heart attack.

I have always had an excuse why I couldn’t write – “Not today but maybe tomorrow, if not tomorrow – then when? I don’t know – i’ll have to get back to you.”

So what’s going to be different? I’m making my personal needs a priortiy. I’m feeling a need to accomplish something in this later half of my life thats outside of the ICU. I have taken steps to set myself up for success and change my chronic trajectory of self-sabotage;

1. I’ve stepped away from ICU and took a position at a small hopital without an ICU.
2. I have been going to NeuroFeedback now for sometime. If you have not heard of this a strongly suggest researching this approach of therapy.
3. I’m using Nuance Dragon Professional – thanks to my wife! This is a game changer if typing is your adversary rather than a tool!
4. I wake up every morning, get dressed – including shoes even on my days off.

This is more of a start than I have ever implemented in the past. I’m currently reviewing all my existing work and some new storylines to determine which to move forward with. This will include making a “Decision Tree” today.

If any of you have any suggestions, personal experience or thought you want to share, I would love to hear from you!

“The Monsters of Men” by C.W. Hime, 2nd of a young readers summer series/thriller. Character introduction, “Skinner”

Rhrup…Rhrup…Rhrup..”Come on Susie!” pleads Skinner under his breath.  Rhrup..Rhrup..Rhrup….”Dammit!” Susie, ever faithful, isn’t giving Skinner anything tonight. Frustrated, Skinner settled back on the seat of his 16 foot aluminum john-boat. With a couple of heavy breaths, he stared at the old Johnson outboard. Susie, was a relic even by Louisiana standards, but she was Grand-pappy’s motor and until tonight, never failed to start.

With daylight fading fast, Skinner’s eyes trace the surrounding swamp. What was familiar, even comfortable an hour ago, wears a mask where truth hides in shadows and fear stares back. Nobody spends the night in the “Black Hole”, not even Skinner…

“Eddy Bose”, 1st of a young readers summer series/Thriller

The summer’s night air was cool with a hint of honeysuckle. Crickets and tree frogs sounded off the coming of another summer night. In the distance, Peter could hear the whistle of the “Dixie Bell”, as she announced her nightly pass through the village of Gettysburg. Glancing at his bedside alarm clock, Peter noted the time, 10:51 pm. Always on time, the last of the old steam engines, the “Dixie Bell” ran freight East to West then back, across central Ohio.

Now 10:57, Peter could feel the slow increasing vibration as the trained neared his house. Peter sat up, reached under his pillow and pulled out his boy scout flashlight. He then quickly crawled to the end of his bed, leaned on the open window sill, shining his light at the tracks. Peter leaned further out window, peering down the tracks. Trees, yards and houses were but silhouettes against the low glow of the town’s night sky. Two houses down, Peter could see a light shining out the window. Like every night of summer, his best friend “Jelly Bean”, his real name “Horatio”,  had joined him. Jelly Bean directed his light at Peter. Responding in kind, the two shared a code only known to 10 year old boys.

The Dixie Bell was upon them. Crickets and tree frogs were quickly replaced with the slow thunderous, pulsing crawl of the old steam locomotive as she tried in vain, to tip toe through the sleeping town. Steel grinds and squeals as wheels clack against railroad ties and track. Dixie’s load tonight, empty boxcars returning to the Lima yard, another 50 miles East.

Peter aimed his flashlight at the open doors of the boxcars. “There they are,” Peter whispered to himself.” His light dimly crossing the faces of men riding the rails – Hobos. The count was different every night. A few were familiar and would wave. Others were lifeless and unknown. 40 cars in all, six riders he could see. A dozen more boxcars past, nothing, then there he was. Not like the others, he stared back. A menacing smile tight across his face. The hobo raised his left hand pointing at Peter then drew his thumb across his throat in a cutting motion, spitting in the boy’s direction. As quick as it happened, the last of the train disappeared from Peter’s light.