DougViages
Recycles dryer sheets
My DW and I are sliding into fire after more then 60 years (jointly) of work in our professions. We plan to drop to three day/week work averages in 2008, with a total FIRE 1 to 2 years later. We are both mid-50's. From both savings and an inheritance we plan a lovely FIRE, with a $50,000+ travel budget a few years out.
My real questions surrounds my desire to write book length projects. I believe that I have some talent, and life experience, to apply to my writing. I'm more concerned about how to successfully navigate publishing my book(s). Has anyone "walked this road"?
Here's a sample:
They found the first body a block from the clinic. Marine Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Smith pulled the palm fronds covering the body away while the other American bent down over the corpse. Navy Lt. John Johnson knew the man was dead before he bent down. The body’s arms had been hacked off, and the skull split like a melon. The man’s ears were gone, probably chopped off as a trophy of the kill. It was a sight ghastly enough to instantly sicken most people, but the lieutenant just straightened up and looked over at Gunny Smith. “I thought the civil war and RUF atrocities ended ten years ago”. Lt. Johnson was an MD, freshly out of residency, and an even more recently brevetted full lieutenant in the United States Navy.
“I’ve been hearing rumbles about these new wild boys since we arrived last month, sir. The top sergeant down at the embassy has been getting real concerned.” We are just about on our own out here, thought Smith. Sierra Leone is the most f’d place I’ve ever been, and that includes bum f’ing Baghdad. He thought back to his assignment to “baby sit” this bleeding heart clinic that the nut case politicians in Washington had set up down here. With twenty nine years in the Corps, this was the last assignment before his retirement. Smith’s thoughts were interrupted by the lieutenant’s hand on his arm. He looked up at the lieutenant. This guy is at least six foot four, and weighs 230. He’s the biggest doctor I’ve ever seen. Really big for a white guy. Smith then looked past his commanding officer, down the trash strewn street to a burning pile of clothes and old tires. “What is that?” Johnson asked.
As they walked towards the fire, Smith had a sinking feeling as he realized what they were looking at. The flaming pile of clothes and tires was another body, this one with the infamous African flaming tire necklace. Pant covered legs, with shoes still on the feet, stuck out from the burning tire. Smith stopped Johnson, and motioned him to walk back towards the clinic. Smith also drew his sidearm and clicked off the safety. Instead of the standard 9mm NATO sidearm, Smith carried the old Browning Model 1911 .45 caliber semi-automatic. He fondly remembered the words of his old Marine pistol instructor from so many years ago. “ It’s not the most accurate pistol in the world, boys, but it will put a man smack down.” Smith had held almost religiously to the .45, even has the Marines had adopted the newer NATO sidearm. In his hand it felt like an old friend.
Lt. Johnson looked over at the tall, tough black man next to him. I wouldn’t want come up against this guy. God, what’s he been in; Desert Storm, Iraqi Freedom, two, no, three Iraq tours. Then he thought, My dad is showing up tomorrow, with all those supplies for the clinic. I hope we can get him in and out of here without any trouble.
My real questions surrounds my desire to write book length projects. I believe that I have some talent, and life experience, to apply to my writing. I'm more concerned about how to successfully navigate publishing my book(s). Has anyone "walked this road"?
Here's a sample:
PROLOGUE: U.S. NAVY HUMANITARIAN AID CLINIC
FREETOWN, SIERRA LEONE, AFRICA
They found the first body a block from the clinic. Marine Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Smith pulled the palm fronds covering the body away while the other American bent down over the corpse. Navy Lt. John Johnson knew the man was dead before he bent down. The body’s arms had been hacked off, and the skull split like a melon. The man’s ears were gone, probably chopped off as a trophy of the kill. It was a sight ghastly enough to instantly sicken most people, but the lieutenant just straightened up and looked over at Gunny Smith. “I thought the civil war and RUF atrocities ended ten years ago”. Lt. Johnson was an MD, freshly out of residency, and an even more recently brevetted full lieutenant in the United States Navy.
“I’ve been hearing rumbles about these new wild boys since we arrived last month, sir. The top sergeant down at the embassy has been getting real concerned.” We are just about on our own out here, thought Smith. Sierra Leone is the most f’d place I’ve ever been, and that includes bum f’ing Baghdad. He thought back to his assignment to “baby sit” this bleeding heart clinic that the nut case politicians in Washington had set up down here. With twenty nine years in the Corps, this was the last assignment before his retirement. Smith’s thoughts were interrupted by the lieutenant’s hand on his arm. He looked up at the lieutenant. This guy is at least six foot four, and weighs 230. He’s the biggest doctor I’ve ever seen. Really big for a white guy. Smith then looked past his commanding officer, down the trash strewn street to a burning pile of clothes and old tires. “What is that?” Johnson asked.
As they walked towards the fire, Smith had a sinking feeling as he realized what they were looking at. The flaming pile of clothes and tires was another body, this one with the infamous African flaming tire necklace. Pant covered legs, with shoes still on the feet, stuck out from the burning tire. Smith stopped Johnson, and motioned him to walk back towards the clinic. Smith also drew his sidearm and clicked off the safety. Instead of the standard 9mm NATO sidearm, Smith carried the old Browning Model 1911 .45 caliber semi-automatic. He fondly remembered the words of his old Marine pistol instructor from so many years ago. “ It’s not the most accurate pistol in the world, boys, but it will put a man smack down.” Smith had held almost religiously to the .45, even has the Marines had adopted the newer NATO sidearm. In his hand it felt like an old friend.
Lt. Johnson looked over at the tall, tough black man next to him. I wouldn’t want come up against this guy. God, what’s he been in; Desert Storm, Iraqi Freedom, two, no, three Iraq tours. Then he thought, My dad is showing up tomorrow, with all those supplies for the clinic. I hope we can get him in and out of here without any trouble.
